Читать книгу Ring Of Deception - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 8
ОглавлениеABBY DARTED THROUGH A HOLE in the traffic, ignoring the blare of a horn.
Still, she wasn’t moving quickly enough to catch the man. He had a head start, and his longer stride ate up the distance at a startling rate.
The teacher paused at the foot of the steps and said something to the children. Abby could see them moving into a neat little two-abreast line; Emily and Lily clasped hands and grinned at each other.
“Emily,” Abby shouted, just as the man reached the gate and opened the latch. “Emily,” Abby yelled again, and all the children looked toward her. Emily’s face split in a joyful grin and Abby knew her daughter had spotted her.
“Mommy?” she said happily, and in that instant Abby realized she’d made an awful mistake. Emily suddenly let go of Lily’s hand and started running toward the gate, moving away from the relative safety of the teacher and the group of children.
“No! Em, stay where you are—”
Too late. The man swung the gate aside and stepped into the yard. Emily ran straight into him. She staggered and he caught hold of her, lifted her off the ground . . . .
Abby shouted, ran the last few feet and deliberately barreled into him as hard as she could.
It was like hitting a stone wall and bouncing off.
“Put her down!”
The man swung around, still holding Emily, and looked at Abby as if she were crazy.
“What’s the matter?” he said.
She stepped in close, her breath ratcheting in her lungs, the adrenaline pumping through her blood so hard that she could feel the surge of it in her muscles. The man towered over her, just as he had this morning.
This morning, she thought bitterly. What had he been doing then? Sizing up the situation?
She had to tilt her head back to make eye contact.
“Damn you, put her down!”
“Mommy?” Emily said, and began to cry.
“Put . . . my . . . daughter . . . down!” Abby demanded, punctuating each word with a fist to his shoulder.
Baffled, Luke lowered the little girl to her feet, then watched as she flung herself at her mother and clasped her skirt.
It was the same pair, the kid and the brunette from this morning. The woman had looked cool then, almost icy. Now her face was flushed. Strands of hair had escaped from the combs that held it back from her temples and curled against her cheeks. She was glaring at him; the kid was sobbing . . . .
What in hell had he done to deserve this?
“Take it easy, lady,” he said.
“Take it easy? Take it easy? You try to—to steal my little girl—”
“Whoa! What are you talking about?”
“I saw you try to take her.”
Luke took a step back. “Listen, lady, I don’t know what your problem is, but I didn’t—”
“I saw the whole thing. You—you—” She caught her breath and shoved the child behind her. “But you won’t get away with it.”
Luke blinked. Backpacking through the Wonder Mountain Wilderness one time, he’d come face-to-face with a black bear and her cubs. The look in the bear’s eyes had been the same as the look in the brunette’s. Hurt my baby, the look said, and I’ll rip you apart.
A four-hundred-pound bear was a tough adversary, but even though the woman facing him probably didn’t weigh much more than a quarter of that, he knew he’d rather face the bear. The bear had seen him as a threat to her cubs. The woman saw him the same way, though he’d be damned if he knew why. Still, he tried to see the situation from her viewpoint.
Luke held up his hands, palms out, and tried for the tone he’d learned on the streets his first months on the job, the one meant to convince a nut coming at you with murder in his eye that you weren’t the enemy.
“Easy,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what you think is happening here, but just calm down, okay?”
Calming down didn’t seem to be on the agenda, not for the fire-breathing brunette or the kid, who began to wail. Luke heard another couple of little sobs from behind him, which caught the interest of some of the passersby, enough so they stopped to join the growing cluster of gawkers.
Just what he needed, Luke thought in disgust, and shot a glance over his shoulder. The teacher had gathered the children in front of her. The sobs were coming from a little boy whose face had gone so pale his freckles stood out, and a little girl whose braids were tied up with blue ribbon, same as the kid hanging on to the brunette.
All of them, teacher, kids, the boy with the freckles and the girl with the braids, were staring at him as if he’d just dropped in from the one hundred and fiftieth remake of Friday the 13th.
Great. Just great. No doubt about it, this was definitely the textbook approach to blending quietly and unobtrusively into the background.
Who’d have believed it? He was here to find out who was fencing jewels in the Emerald City Jewelry Exchange. Instead, he was being accused of child molestation or kidnapping or who knew what by a woman who was clearly a certifiable psycho. Cops had to deal with crazies as part of their job, but until now, the crazies he’d dealt with all had that otherworldly shine in their eyes.
The only thing shining in this woman’s eyes was fury.
Nine years of on-the-job experience dealing with people who were in direct contact with talking dogs and creatures from the planet Mongo kicked in fast.
“Listen,” he said, as calmly as he could manage, “I can understand your concern.”
The woman snorted in disbelief.
“Honest, I can. But I think you’re making a mistake here.”
“You saw Emily this morning.”
“Emily,” he said, trying for a smile. “Is that her—”
“Don’t give me that innocent routine! You saw Emily this morning!”
“Well, yes,” he said, working at keeping it together, “I guess I did, but—”
“And then you watched the center, saw my baby come out the door, ran over and—and grabbed her!”
“That’s not what happened. Your little girl ran into me. I didn’t want her to fall down, so—”
“Marilyn,” the woman said, her eyes never leaving his, “take the children inside and dial 911.”
Luke almost groaned. That was all he needed to make things perfect. A patrol car showing up. Odds were that whoever caught the call would recognize him.
And even if he got lucky and they didn’t blow his cover, he’d never live it down. Detective Luke Sloan couldn’t handle a good-looking brunette who stood no higher than his chest without making a bunch of kids cry their hearts out . . .
Jesus.
He knew how stuff like that went. Cops would be talking about it every time somebody mentioned his name, just the way he and Dan had talked about Rutledge this morning.
“No,” he said quickly, “don’t do that, Marilyn.” He took a breath, forced a smile. “Look, I can understand your concern, Mrs . . . .”
“Don’t you try and placate me!”
“I’m simply saying I understand why you might be upset. In today’s world . . . ” He shot a look at the kid. She was peeking out from behind her mother, hanging on to her skirt and looking as if she expected him to bare a set of fangs any second. “What I’m telling you,” he said carefully, wanting to avoid specifics because he still didn’t really know what was going on, “is that whatever you think I was doing, I wasn’t.”
The brunette’s mouth thinned. And why wouldn’t it? If a suspect made that kind of statement to him, he’d guarantee the guy was guilty.
“I mean, I don’t know what you think was going on here, but—” He paused. “Actually, now that I think about it, I do know what you think was going on, but I assure you—”
“You were taking my little girl,” the woman said. Her voice quavered. “That’s what was going on here.”
“No,” Luke said again, even more adamantly. “Try listening, okay? I just told you, I was coming through the gate, your kid ran into me, and—”
“I was running toward my mommy,” the kid said defiantly. “Not you.”
“Okay. Fine. She was heading for you and I was in the way, and instead of letting her run into me, I picked her up and—”
“That isn’t what happened.”
“Yes, it is,” Luke replied, his tone no longer quite so conciliatory. “It’s exactly what happened. And if you don’t stop making wild accusations, I’ll—”
What? Blow his cover all by himself?
“Is there a problem here?”
Luke looked around. Thank God. Katherine Kinard was coming down the steps.
“Yes,” the brunette said. “This man—”
“—is a bad man,” the little girl said, her mouth trembling.
Puppy-kicking time again, Luke thought in disgust, except this time, he wasn’t to blame.
“Okay,” he said through his teeth, “that’s it.” He took a step toward Katherine. As if on signal, the teacher and the kids with her stepped back. “Ms. Kinard, something happened here. This little girl ran into me, and . . . ” He shook his head. The Kinard woman looked as puzzled as he felt. “The kid’s mother saw me pick up her daughter instead of letting her fall down, and now she has me pegged as everything but a serial killer.”
“For all I know, you’re that, too.”
“Ms. Kinard,” Luke said, ignoring the brunette, “will you please tell her who I am?” He saw the quick puzzlement in Katherine Kinard’s eyes and silently cursed himself for being a fool. “That I’m the carpenter you hired yesterday,” he added quickly, “and I’m going to be working here for a while.”
“He’s the what?” the woman said, her voice racing up the scale in disbelief. “Katherine? Does this man work here?”
“He does, yes.” The day care director smiled at Luke’s accuser but still managed to pin him with a glare that said he was an idiot to have gotten himself into this situation. Hell, he already knew that. “This is Luke Sloan,” Katherine continued dutifully. “He’s a carpenter, putting in some shelves and cabinets in my office.”
“No!”
“Yes,” Luke said coldly. “Disappointed?”
“Then, why did he try to grab my daughter?”
“What’s wrong with you, lady? Haven’t you been listening to a thing I said? I was coming to work, your kid slammed into me, and . . . damn it, I don’t believe this!”
“Ooh,” a small voice behind him whispered, “the bad man said a bad word!”
There was a heartbeat of silence. Then Katherine turned a beaming smile on the teacher.
“Marilyn,” she said briskly, “isn’t it time for juice break?”
“Is it?” Marilyn stared blankly, and then she shook herself. “Oh. Oh, yes, of course, Katherine. It’s time for juice break! Kids,” she said, smiling brightly, “let’s go in and have our juice.”
The kids didn’t move. Why would they? Luke thought glumly. They were as transfixed by the scene as the still-gawking crowd beyond the gate.
“Tell you what. How about cookies with your juice, as a special treat?”
The little boy who’d been whimpering leaned toward the girl with braids and whispered in her ear. The girl nodded.
“No juice,” she said firmly. “We want ice cream.”
Luke laughed. He couldn’t help it, though all it won him was a withering look from the brunette.
“Ice cream,” Katherine repeated happily, as if the child had just spoken words that held the wisdom of the ages. “That’s a wonderful idea, Lily. Marilyn? Ice cream for everybody.”
That did it. The teacher went up the steps and opened the door, and the children trooped obediently inside. Then Katherine slid her arm gently around Abby’s shoulders.
“Abby,” she said softly, “I can understand your fear.”
“You can?” Abby’s pulse rate went into high gear.
“Certainly.” Katherine gave her a quick squeeze. “All these awful kidnapping cases in the papers lately . . . Nobody could blame you for worrying about Emily, but I promise you, she’s safe here.”
Abby looked from Katherine to the stranger. He was a carpenter. That’s all he was, just a man headed for work. He’d turned up twice in one day, and she’d written a story that had nothing to do with reality.
Letting that happen was like letting Frank still control her.
She bent down, cupped Emily’s face and smiled.
“Go on inside, baby. You don’t want to miss that ice cream.”
Katherine held out her hand. “Emily?”
Emily shook her head. “I want to stay with my mommy.”
Abby’s throat tightened. She’d frightened her little girl. That was the last thing she wanted to do, ever.
“Em honey, everything’s fine now. You go with Katherine.”
“But the bad man . . . ”
“Listen, kid.”
Luke squatted down until he and the girl were nose to nose. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the brunette jerk forward, but Katherine Kinard caught her by the arm and stopped her. The only one who didn’t move was the kid. He had to give her credit. She figured him for some kind of scum, but she wasn’t going to budge an inch.
“Don’t call me ‘kid,’” she told him. “My name is Emily.”
“Emily. That’s a really pretty name.”
She gave him a look that said flattery, if she’d known what it meant, wasn’t going to work.
Luke couldn’t blame her. This was hardly a good scene for a child to endure.
“Emily,” he said in the same tone he’d have used with an adult, “I’m not a bad man.”
“My mommy said you were.”
“Your mommy made a mistake. Think about what happened from start to finish. You and the others came out of the day care center. You went down the steps and—”
“And,” Emily said, her face puckered in thought, “I heard my mommy call me. An’ I looked up and saw her. An’ I ran to the gate, but you was there first an’ I ran into you, an’ you said ‘Whoa, kid,’ like I was a horse instead of a girl, an’ I bounced off your legs an’ I kinda started to fall, an’ you grabbed me to keep me from falling, an’ then my mommy started yelling.”
As the kid paused for breath, Luke rose to his feet. “I rest my case,” he said smugly, and folded his arms across his chest.
“But you didn’t say sorry to us this morning,” Emily added.
“This morning?” Katherine echoed, frowning.
“Yes,” said Abby. “We met this—this gentleman as we were coming into the center.”
Luke heard the twist Emily’s mother put on the word “gentleman,” but decided to let it pass and respond only to the child.
“You’re right,” he told her. “I guess I wasn’t very nice. I was in a bad mood and I took it out on you. I apologize.”
“Mommy said you got up on the wrong side of the bed, but I said it was ‘cause you got a bad cold.”
“You noticed that, huh?” Luke asked with a grin.
The child nodded. “You were sneezing. And your nose was all red, like it is now.”
“Well, that’s all true, Em. I have a cold and I was grumpy this morning.” He bent toward her and tapped his finger lightly against her nose. “And I said a bad word a couple of minutes ago, but that’s it. None of that makes me a bad guy.”
Emily rubbed the tip of one sneakered foot against the other and regarded him with sober interest.
“What’s a carpenter?”
The non sequitur almost threw him. Then he remembered that Katherine Kinard had just explained what he was. What he was pretending to be.
“A carpenter’s a person who makes things out of wood.”
“Like boats? I saw a man make a boat on TV. The Discovery channel.”
Luke smiled. “That must have been cool. Nope, I don’t make boats. I build houses.” It wasn’t a complete lie; he had done just that a long time ago, on the reservation. “And I build things that go inside houses, like shelves and cabinets.”
“Can you make toy chests?”
“Emily!”
The little girl looked at her mother. “I need a toy chest, Mommy. You said so. And you said you couldn’t find one to buy that didn’t look like it was made out of garbage.”
“Emily,” the brunette said again, and blushed.
She’d blushed this morning, too, Luke recalled. It was a nice thing to see in a woman. As far as he knew, women didn’t blush much anymore.
“I’d be happy to make you a toy chest someday, Emily.” Luke shot a quick look at the brunette. “Your mom and I can discuss it.”
“We cannot,” Abby said quickly. “I mean, thank you for the offer, Mr.—”
“Sloan. Luke Sloan.”
He held out his hand. She looked at it. For a couple of seconds, he thought she was just going to let it go at that, but then she held out her hand, too. His fingers closed around hers, swallowing them up.
“Abigail,” she said, with what he knew was reluctance. “Abigail Douglas.”
“Abigail. Nice to meet you.”
He smiled. She hesitated, then offered a smile in return. It wasn’t a real smile, but it pleased him. Not because she was a good-looking woman, but because he didn’t need the mother of one of the kids at Forrester Square watching his every move just to make sure he wasn’t some kind of pervert up to no good . . . . Although he supposed some might say the “no good” part could be construed as accurate, considering he was lying about who he was and why he was here.
“My mommy’s name is Abby,” the little girl said helpfully. “Nobody calls her Abigail.”
“Well,” Katherine said, clearing her throat, “why don’t we all go inside?”
Suddenly Abby thought of how she’d run out of the jewelry shop, dropping the pin on the counter, leaving the case unlocked, leaving Mrs. Halpern standing there in confusion . . . .
“I really can’t,” she said. “I mean, I don’t . . . ”
“Please, Mommy?”
She looked down at Emily. The child’s cheeks were flushed. Her daughter had spent a bad few minutes, and it was her fault. For the past two years, she’d lived in fear of Frank coming after them or sending someone else to do the job. Despite that, despite her lectures to Em about not talking to strangers, she’d never frightened the girl. Now she had, and for no reason. Luke Sloan was just a carpenter. He was harmless.
She looked around. Luke was making eye contact with the couple of people still standing outside the wrought iron fence, watching the scene and waiting for the action to start again.
“It’s all over, folks. Move it.”
He spoke softly, but it was enough. He was big. Leanly muscled. Powerful-looking.
People scurried away.
Harmless, Abby thought again. She’d thought Frank was harmless, too.
“Mommy?”
She looked down into Emily’s pleading face.
“Come inside, Mom, just for a minute.”
Abby nodded. “Just for a minute,” she said, taking her daughter’s hand.
They all went into the center and made small talk about nothing in particular for a few minutes. Then one of the teachers called out to Katherine, who made her apologies and went to talk with the woman. Emily gave Abby a big hug and a smacking kiss, and ran off to join her play group.
Abby watched her go.
Her little girl was going to eat ice cream.
She was going to eat crow.
She’d had one faint hope—that Luke Sloan would wander off once they were alone. He had work to do, after all. But he didn’t move. He stood there, motionless, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, his eyes fixed on her.
“So,” he said, “we all squared away?”
Abby nodded. “Yes.”
He took his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms over his chest.
“You’re sure?”
Abby nodded again. “Yes.”
He was waiting. She knew the reason, knew she had to get it over with.
“I guess—I guess I owe you an apology. I’m sorry.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said . . . ” Abby lifted her chin. “You heard me, Mr. Sloan.”
He had. He’d also heard the way she’d delivered that apology. What was it with this woman? Better still, what was it with him? Last night, a babe with twice her looks had practically thrown herself into his lap. This one had taken a tenth of a second to decide he was little better than something she might see floating belly-up in the bay.
So what? Why should it bother him? As long as she wasn’t going to point her finger at him and scream loud enough to call attention to him whenever their paths crossed, what did it matter?
Luke gave a sigh, relaxed a little and tucked his hands back into his pockets.
“You’re right, Mrs. Douglas. You apologized already. I should have accepted it the first time. It’s just . . . Here’s the thing, Mrs. Douglas—”
“Ms.”
“Sorry?”
“I said, it’s Ms., not Mrs.”
“Ah.” He nodded, wondering what that meant, whether she was divorced, widowed, had never been married . . . . He wondered, too, why it should matter to him. “About what happened here . . . ”
“I already said—”
“I know. I just want you to understand why I reacted so strongly. I’d never hurt a kid. Never. If you only understood how—” How cops feel about the kind of man you thought I was, he wanted to say. How we wish we could take the law into our own hands when we arrest the bastards who get their kicks out of hurting women and children . . . “I come from a big family,” he said, knowing that would have to suffice. “I have lots of cousins, a couple of them probably just about Emily’s age. So when you thought . . . ”
“I’m sorry,” Abby said, and he could tell that she really meant it this time. “It’s just that it’s such a crazy world . . . .”
“Sure. I understand.” Luke smiled. “Okay, then. Now we really are squared away.”
Abby smiled, too. “Yes. We are.” She was the one who held out her hand this time. “Goodbye, Mr. Sloan.”
Once again, Luke’s fingers closed around hers. “Luke.”
“Luke.”
“Goodbye, Abby.”
She tugged lightly on her hand. He let go of it and she turned quickly, went through the door and was gone.
Luke stared after her. Then he smiled, pursed his lips and whistled softly as he made his way to Katherine’s office, where his good mood vanished in an instant.
“Mr. Sloan,” Katherine said in a voice that was enough to freeze him in his tracks.
“Luke,” he offered as she stepped past him and slammed the door shut.
“Detective Sloan,” she said with deliberate emphasis, “if you think you can come to Forrester Square and disrupt everything—”
“Hold on.” Luke held up his hands. “I didn’t disrupt anything. That woman—Abby Douglas . . . ”
“Yes?”
He’d been going to say Abby had overreacted, but how could he know how a mother would feel if she thought her child was in danger? He’d been on the police end of a couple of child-missing cases, and as hard as such things were on cops, they had to be twice as tough on parents.
“It was a screwup,” he said. “Nobody’s fault, just one of those things that happen. Trust me, Katherine. You don’t want the kids upset, and I don’t want to call attention to myself. Okay?”
“This is exactly why I said I’d only cooperate if they sent me a female officer.”
“Yeah,” Luke said, straight-faced, “but could she build you shelves that will make you drool?”
Katherine stared at him. Then her lips twitched. “They’d better.”
“They will, I promise.” He took the leather bag he carried from his shoulder and walked to the back of the office. “As a point of information, is the Douglas woman widowed, divorced, what?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“It’s a cop thing,” Luke said casually. “Filling in all the blanks, you know? Okay.” His tone turned brisk. “I understand there’s a vacant apartment on the third floor.”
“Yes. My brother lived up there, but now that he’s married, he moved to a house. Eventually the day care will be taking over the space.”
“Good.” Luke zipped open the bag and took out a small black object. “I left my carpentry tools in my SUV. I’ll go get them in a little while. Meanwhile, I’m going to set this up.”
“What is it?”
“A camcorder. I’ll put it in one of the third-floor windows.”
“A camcorder? I thought you were here to do surveillance.”
“I am, but the camera can do it nonstop, and if something—somebody—interesting goes into the jewelry exchange, we’ll have a record we can view.”
“And you’ll still be here, in my office?”
Luke glanced up and smiled. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“No, that’s okay.” Katherine sighed. “Although, to be honest—”
“To be honest, the sooner I’m gone, the better. I agree. We’re just lucky that this window, this building, gives me such a perfect—”
“A perfect what?”
“Huh?” Luke turned toward Katherine. “A perfect view of the jewelry exchange,” he said, but what he’d just had a perfect view of was Abby Douglas, standing inside the exchange, behind the counter nearest the window.
