Читать книгу Ring Of Deception - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 7
ОглавлениеABBY DOUGLAS STARED AFTER the man.
Even from the back, he looked as rough as he’d sounded. Tall. Big shoulders. Long black hair caught at the nape of his neck. And a way of walking that said he owned the world and everything in it.
Maybe you should teach your kid not to talk to strangers.
She had taught that to Emily, drummed it into her head over and over. Her little girl knew that litany better than most four-year-olds.
She had to, because there was always the chance that Frank, or someone hired by Frank, might be out there trying to find her.
Trying to find the both of them.
If a stranger comes up to you, she’d told Emily, walk away. Don’t answer any questions. Don’t listen to stories about daddies wanting to find their little girls, or strangers wanting help finding lost puppies. And if somebody tries to touch you, run, run, run.
But that wasn’t what had happened. The man hadn’t sought Emily out. He hadn’t even spoken to her, not until he overheard her childish comment.
Still, the incident had shaken Abby.
She’d thought she was long past that rush of terror, the thump in her chest, the suffocating panic that came of suddenly being confronted by a glowering man who was physically intimidating . . . .
Who really hadn’t done anything but react to a child’s innocently made comment.
“Mommy?”
The man hadn’t showed interest in her or in Emily. He was just an unpleasant stranger and he didn’t have a damned thing to do with her ex-husband. All true, but logic didn’t matter. One snarl, one growl, and all the old fears came right to the surface.
Damn it, Abby thought angrily, could she still fall apart that easily?
“Mom?”
A little hand tugged on her skirt. Abby blinked, looked down into her daughter’s upturned face and saw the telltale glimmer of tears on her lashes.
“Oh, honey!” She bent down, clasped her child’s shoulders and dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Don’t be upset, Em. That man was just—”
“He yelled at you.”
“No. He wasn’t exactly yelling, baby. He was just . . . ”
“Daddy used to yell.” Emily’s voice quavered. “I ‘member.”
Abby’s heart turned over. How could her little girl remember that? She’d left Frank when her baby was two . . . but children sometimes stored up things subconsciously.
A social worker had mentioned that at the shelter back in Eugene. Katherine Kinard had said something similar during a parents’ coffee klatch. A worried-looking father had mentioned that his son had had a bad experience in day care when he was only a couple of years old, and that he still remembered it.
That happened, Katherine had said calmly. Children’s memories went back further than many people thought. What mattered was letting a child admit bad things had happened, and then helping the child leave those things behind.
Abby nodded. “Yes,” she admitted gently, “he did. Sometimes people yell when they’re angry at each other.”
Emily’s face scrunched up in serious thought.
“Sam says his daddy never yells.”
Abby smiled. Sam was in Emily’s play group. “That’s good. People shouldn’t yell.”
“Was that man angry at me?”
“Well, he didn’t like what you said, Em.”
“But I was right. He should have said he was sorry.”
“Yes, but . . . Maybe he got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
“Or maybe it was ‘cause he has a cold.”
Smiling, Abby smoothed the frown line from between her daughter’s eyes.
“You think so?”
“Yup. His nose was all red, like Lily’s when she got sick. She had to drink lots an’ lots of orange juice an’ she didn’t come to day care for a whole week. Remember?”
“I remember.” Abby hesitated. “Em. Do you remember what I said about talking to strangers?”
“Uh-huh. And not helping anybody look for their little girl or their puppy.”
Emily’s expression was solemn. As she had so many times during the last two years, Abby wondered where to draw the line between keeping her baby safe from the man who’d fathered her, and letting her enjoy the innocence of childhood.
“Yes. That’s right.”
Emily tucked a finger into her mouth. “I didn’t talk to that man, Mommy.”
“You did, baby.”
Her daughter shook her head so emphatically that her braids flew around her face.
“I talked to you.”
One point to the four-year-old, Abby thought. She sighed and rose to her feet.
“Right. Technically, anyway.”
“What’s technically mean?”
Abby smiled. “It means you’re right and I’m wrong.”
Emily’s light brown eyebrows rose in confusion and Abby gave another deep sigh. “Okay, how about this? You shouldn’t say things about other people so they can hear them.”
“Yesterday, you said Lily’s new dress was pretty. You said it to me, but Lily was right there. She could hear you.”
Two points for the four year old, Abby thought, and grinned.
“Right again. How’s this? You shouldn’t say things that aren’t nice. Got that?”
“Yes.” Emily wrinkled her freckled nose. “You should whisper them.”
Abby began to laugh. One thing she’d learned since fleeing Oregon and her ex was that no matter how rough things seemed, her baby could always brighten her day.
“I give up.” Abby retied the blue bow around one of Emily’s braids. “Go on. Have fun, drink all your milk at lunchtime, and I’ll be back for you after work.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
Mother and daughter exchanged hugs just as the door swung open again. A blond woman and a little girl who looked enough like Emily to be her sister stepped inside.
“Lily!”
“Emily!”
The children fell on each other as if they’d been parted for years instead of overnight, exclaiming happily at braids identically tied with blue ribbons, at blue jeans, blue sneakers and blue T-shirts.
“See, Mommy?” Emily said happily. “Lily wore blue everything, same as me.”
“Was there ever a doubt?” Faith Marshall, Lily’s mother, smiled at Abby. “‘Today we’re wearing blue,’ my daughter announced this morning.” Faith shook her head. “You think maybe we’ve got twins who were mysteriously separated at birth?”
Abby chuckled. “Sometimes it seems like we do.” She bent down, gave Emily another quick hug. “Now, scoot. Otherwise, you’ll miss morning storytime!”
The little girls kissed their mothers and skipped off, hand in hand. Abby turned to Faith and smiled.
“They’re quite a pair.”
Faith grinned. “Two peas in a pod.”
“I was going to call you and see if Lily can come over tomorrow and spend the night. I promised Emily we’d bake chocolate chip cookies.”
“You’re off tomorrow?”
“That’s the other thing I was going to tell you. I’m off Saturdays from now on.”
Faith grinned. “Will miracles never cease?”
“My manager called me in and gave me the news just yesterday. I’d asked for that when I first began working at Emerald City, but Mr. Black—my boss—said it was impossible.”
“What changed?”
Abby shrugged. “Who knows? My manager simply said she’s decided to work Saturdays.” She grinned. “Mine not to reason why—”
“Yours just to reap the trickle-down benefits. The guys on top always get what they want.”
“In this case, that’s fine with me. I’d much rather have a normal weekend—and you won’t have to watch Em for me Saturdays anymore.”
“Lily and I will miss her.”
“Just remember, you can still leave Lily with me anytime you have a freelance job nights or weekends.”
Faith smiled. “Trust me, Abby. I won’t forget.”
“So, how about it? Want to bring Lily by tomorrow?”
“Sure. What time’s good?”
“One, two, whatever works for you.”
“Fine.” Faith pushed open the front door and she and Abby trotted down the steps to the gate in the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the day care center. “You have time for coffee?”
Abby shook her head. “Sorry. I’m almost late as it is.” She looked across Sandringham Drive at the big windows of the Emerald City Jewelry Exchange. “My boss is probably already wondering where in heck I am.”
Faith nodded. “Another time, then.”
“Absolutely,” Abby said, and wondered if the word sounded as false as it felt. “See you tomorrow.”
“Sure. See you then.”
The women exchanged smiles. Then Abby checked for traffic and ran across the street.
Their daughters had grown close, and she and Faith Marshall had quickly discovered that exchanging occasional baby-sitting duties was a lot less expensive—and a lot more reassuring—than paying strangers to watch their children for them.
Still, the women hadn’t moved beyond a superficial friendship. It wasn’t Faith’s doing, it was Abby’s. Of necessity, she’d settled for something less.
There was too much risk in getting involved with people. When you’d run away from a man who’d sworn never to let you go, you never really knew who you could trust.
Abby stopped before the Emerald City door and tapped lightly on the glass. Bill, the security guard, smiled, opened the lock and let her in.
“‘Morning, Abby. Lovely day.”
“‘Morning, Bill. Yes, it is,” she agreed as she hurried up the main aisle of the exchange.
It was a couple of minutes before ten and all the counters—fine watches, gold and platinum jewelry, gemstones, sterling and china—were staffed and ready for customers. Well, all except hers. She sold estate jewelry at a counter right up front in one of the big windows that looked out on the street.
She wasn’t late. Not really, she thought, and glanced up at the loft. Yes, her boss was there, tall and distinguished-looking, his hands clasped behind his back.
He smiled pleasantly.
Abby jerked her gaze down.
Mr. Black had never given her a hard time about being a few minutes late. She’d explained she was a single mother, that she had to drop her daughter off at the day care center every day, and he’d been wonderfully understanding. But sometimes he looked at her in a way that made her feel . . . uncomfortable.
Silly, she knew.
It was just that any man looking at her made her feel uncomfortable, whether they were polite like Mr. Black or surly like the stranger at the day care center. Frank had taught her enough about men to make her more than cautious.
As far as she was concerned, she didn’t want a man anywhere near her, ever again.
To that end, Abby had made certain rules for herself and Emily when she left Eugene, though “left” wasn’t exactly the right way to put it. What she’d done was just grab Emily and run as if the devil was on her heels, with only one suitcase crammed with clothes and baby things, and the last of the money she’d inherited from her parents in her purse—money Frank hadn’t been able to get his hands on.
At two, Emily had thought their flight was a great adventure.
“We goin’, Mommy?” she’d kept asking.
“Yes,” Abby had answered, “we’re going somewhere special.”
That was better than the truth, which was that she’d had no idea where they were going until they got there. At first, she’d fled to a shelter, then to Portland, because it was familiar. But Frank found her there, and when she ran next, it was to San Francisco, where she’d figured on the security quotient of being swallowed up by a big city.
Wrong. San Francisco was too big. Too expensive. Within a week, she’d abandoned it for Seattle. The city was large enough to get lost in, small enough to make her feel comfortable. She’d loved the waterfront on sight, and when the clouds parted and she saw Mount Rainier shouldering up against the sky, she felt as if she’d come home.
Abby opened the door to the back room and went to her locker.
She’d been in the city a year now and she still loved it. She’d found an apartment in a converted Victorian house in a nice neighborhood. The apartment was tiny, but how much space did she and Em need? Plus, it included a small porch and use of a handkerchief-size yard. The rent deposit had taken a big bite out of her remaining funds and she’d gone searching for a job right away.
Who’d have imagined she’d luck out and find one like this so quickly?
Abby put her purse on the bench that ran the length of the lockers. The door swung open and Bettina Carlton strolled in. Bettina had handled the estate jewelry counter before Abby. Now she was Emerald City’s manager.
As always, she looked elegant. Cool and ladylike.
“Good morning, Abby.”
“Hi, Bettina. I know I’m late, but—”
“Not yet,” Bettina said pleasantly. “The front door’s still locked.” She opened her locker, took out a nail file and worked carefully at one perfectly manicured nail. “We’ll be short one clerk today, Abby. Phil’s out with a cold, so I’ll have to relieve you a bit later than usual for lunch.”
Abby closed her locker. Looking at Bettina always made her want to check her hair for flyaway strands, her panty hose for runs.
“No problem.”
Bettina gave the nail one last brush with the file. “Is one-thirty okay?”
“Fine.”
“Great. I have a private client coming in at noon.” Bettina put the file away and looked at Abby. “I noticed you’re doing well.”
“Sales have been good,” Abby said.
“Better than good.” Bettina paused. “That’s one of the primary reasons for the scheduling change we implemented.” She smiled. “Sort of a bonus for you. I know you have a little girl. Emily, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I recalled that you’d originally asked for Saturdays off, so when I had the chance to juggle things a little . . . ”
“It was very kind of you, Bettina.”
“Oh, I’m not any kind of saint, I assure you. I like working Saturdays. You know, lots of customers in and out. Gives me the chance to keep up my sales skills.”
Abby nodded. In truth, Bettina’s sales skills were incredible. She still handled private customers, the rich and the eccentric. They would occasionally come in and demand to deal with Bettina and nobody else.
Someday, Abby hoped to be just as invaluable to the store. Her job, this job, was important to her.
She’d been lucky to find it, especially since she didn’t have any real work skills. But she was good with people and she knew a little bit about fine jewelry, thanks to the few pieces her mother had owned—pieces she still cherished and knew she’d never sell, no matter what. Estate jewelry, it was called now.
Maybe that was why the ad for a clerk at the Emerald City Jewelry Exchange had leaped at her from the classifieds.
The bell announcing the start of the day pealed politely. Abby smiled at Bettina, who was smoothing back her hair. Then she took a breath, as she always did before manning her counter, stepped out of the back room and made her way up the aisle to the front of the store.
Look busy, Mr. Black always reminded his clerks, even if you’re not.
Taking a cloth and a bottle of Windex from behind the counter, Abby sprayed the glass tops of the cabinets and wiped them clean. Mr. Black walked by, nodded at her and smiled pleasantly.
Frank had never smiled pleasantly. Only in the beginning, when she was naive, when she was just weeks past her eighteenth birthday and her parents’ death had turned her world upside down. Back then, Frank had seemed wonderful.
Not that her ignorance had lasted long. A year into the marriage, he’d begun losing his temper with her, demanding to know how she spent every minute of her day. Two years into it, he’d hit her for the first time. Afterward, he’d begged her forgiveness, sworn he’d never hurt her again . . . .
But he had.
She’d called the police, they’d taken him away, and when they let him out of jail the next day, Frank had wrapped her in his arms and wept. He adored her, he’d said, and she’d wanted to believe him, so she’d taken him back.
By the time he hit her again, she was twenty-two. His rage terrified her, and she waited until he left for work, then began to pack her things. She was going to leave him . . . but she was overtaken by a wave of nausea, and she began to bleed. Somehow, she’d managed to call 911. Am ambulance took her to the hospital; a doctor who kept asking her questions about her blackened eye told her she was pregnant. When she told Frank, he fell on his knees, kissed her still-flat belly, and swore the news had changed him forever.
How could she leave him then?
For a while, it seemed as if he’d spoken the truth, though sometimes she could tell he was bottling his anger inside him. It finally exploded on Emily’s second birthday when Em spilled her milk. Frank spoke sharply to the baby and slapped her hand. Em began to cry and Abby rushed to comfort her.
“Let her be,” Frank yelled, and when she didn’t obey, he went for her.
“No,” she remembered screaming, “not in front of the baby.”
Frank dragged her out of the room and beat her, and that was when Abby knew she had to leave—before he turned his attention to their daughter.
It took months to squirrel away enough money to make her escape, and she’d tried not to think about how she’d support Emily and herself after that. She had no skills—she’d been in her first semester of college when her parents died, and her grades slumped to Ds and Fs. With Frank’s encouragement, she’d dropped out.
“You don’t need a degree, Abigail,” he’d said. “I’ll take care of you. You’ll always belong to me.”
He’d reminded her of those words the night their divorce became final.
You’ll always belong to me, he’d said, and turned the statement into a promise with his fists.
That was when she’d known he was right, and she’d packed up, dressed Em, hustled her into the car and fled Oregon for good.
And all the time, all of it, she’d been sure if she’d turned around, she would see Frank coming after her.
Abby put the cloth and window cleaner away. As she bent down, she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the oval mirrors that were arranged along the countertops throughout the store.
What she saw was a woman who’d come a long way since she’d been foolish enough to fall for Frank Caldwell’s promises.
She stood up straight.
Her ex would hardly recognize her. Oh, he’d probably be able to look past the shorter hair, artfully applied makeup and sophisticated clothes—clothes she bought in a consignment shop in the city’s upscale Queen Anne Hill area—and find the girl he’d once known, but he’d never recognize her independence, her determination to make something of her life.
He’d surely not recognize her conviction that she’d never go back to him or the kind of life she’d been forced to lead as his wife.
And if she sometimes awoke in a sweaty panic in the middle of the night, or felt her heart climb into her throat because a man looked at her the way the man at the day care center had, if she overreacted just because an oversize jerk with cold eyes, a turned-down mouth and a surly disposition snarled . . . well, time was on her side.
Someday, she’d get beyond all of that. She’d learn not to let silly things spook her so she wouldn’t feel she was jumping at shadows, the way she did now.
The door to the street opened and the soft scent of rain drifted to Abby’s nostrils as a white-haired matron stepped inside the shop. Abby smiled pleasantly as the woman approached her counter.
“Good morning, Mrs. Halpern. How nice to see you again.”
The older woman’s face relaxed in a smile.
“Ms. Douglas. How have you been?”
“Very well, thank you. Is there something I can help you with this morning?”
Mrs. Halpern sank her teeth gently into her bottom lip. “Well,” she said, with the sort of coy smile that still looked good on her despite her years, “there might just be, yes. Our anniversary’s coming up and my husband wants to buy me a little gift.”
“That’s lovely,” Abby said. “Did you have something special in mind?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I was in last month, remember? And you showed me a charming little diamond and ruby pin . . . .”
“Of course.”
Abby unlocked a case, drew out the correct tray and reached for the pin.
A movement, a flash of color caught her eye. She straightened, turned her face to the window and saw the front door to the day care open. One of the teachers came down the steps, followed by six children, all holding hands so that they made a twelve-legged caterpillar.
Abby smiled.
Emily was one of the children in that chain. They appeared to be headed for the front yard. The rain had stopped, and the sun had peeped out. The kids were probably going to play outside for a little while.
Another movement. Another flash of color.
Abby caught her breath.
A man, his back to her, was trotting across the street toward the children.
He was big. Six one, six two. His long black hair was tied at the nape of his neck, and he was wearing jeans and a leather jacket this time, not a suit, but she recognized him in an instant.
The ruby and diamond pin fell from her hand and landed on top of the display case. Abby scooted around the edge of the counter and flung open the door.
“Ms. Douglas?” she heard her customer say, and the guard called her name, but Abby didn’t stop.
She was already flying toward Emily, her heart solidly lodged in her throat.
