Читать книгу Husband by Choice - Tara Taylor Quinn - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

STEVE WAS GETTING SLOPPY. She’d managed to give him the slip two times in one day. With shaking hands, Meredith gripped the steering wheel, gritting her teeth as her sweaty palms slipped on the smooth leather.

More likely he was playing with her. Taunting her. Letting her know he had her on his hook and could pull her in at any time.

She couldn’t go home. She’d lost Steve again, for the moment, but he was moving in on her. As long as she stayed away, Max and Caleb would be safe. Steve didn’t want them. He wanted her.

As far as her ex-husband was concerned, Max and any child she’d borne him didn’t exist because the marriage didn’t exist. It couldn’t when she was still married to him.

He’d refused her pleas for divorce. Hadn’t signed the papers when they’d been sent to him. The judge had finally granted the divorce, signing it into law without Steve’s agreement, after Steve had failed to show up for court.

In Steve’s world, if he didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t exist.

It was simple, really, if you could accept his version of reality and breathe at the same time.

But she knew him. He’d have shown up for court and fought the divorce if he hadn’t been afraid she’d expose his abuse of her. She’d finally found the strength to fight him—to file for divorce—he couldn’t be sure what else she might do. He’d have denied any allegations. And she’d had no physical proof. But the perfect Las Vegas detective hadn’t wanted the hint of scandal on his record.

She had to get off the road. He could be around any corner. Probably had some kind of GPS device planted on her van.

Which was fine. She had that much of her plan ready. She’d always worried that this might happen, and much as she’d tried to dismiss the note left on her vehicle the other day, it had ignited her fears.

She’d lead him out of town. Ditch the van. And her cell phone, just in case. Just because he was no longer a member of the Las Vegas police force, didn’t mean he’d divested himself of all his tracking devices.

Or the knowledge he’d gained during his ten years as a cop.

He’d know where to find illegal means of keeping tabs on her.

Clearly.

And he wouldn’t hesitate to use them. He lived by the “law according to Steve.” Neither the divorce, nor the restraining order she’d been granted against him in the state of Arizona—and reinstated in the state of California—had fazed him.

Eight years, four states, and four aliases hadn’t stopped him from finding her.

Nothing would.

She knew that now.

Just as she knew that she couldn’t run anymore.

There was no point.

* * *

THERE WAS A benefit to being a widower of a cop killed in the line of duty. A single phone call and you had a group of trained men and women at your disposal, offering to help in any way they could.

His “group,” the Las Sendas Police Department just north of San Diego, was smaller than some, but when Max hadn’t heard from Meredith by five o’clock that Wednesday evening, he placed his call. He’d moved from Las Sendas to Santa Raquel shortly after Jill’s death. Was no longer within the jurisdiction of anyone who’d known her. But cops helped cops—and the families of cops. It was a statute written in some kind of cop blood code.

He knew it well. Knew it would serve him.

Because that code—that cops stood up for cops—had gotten his wife killed.

* * *

MAX FED CALEB. He wiped the toddler’s face and hands, and when his son asked for his mama, he assured him she’d be right back. He was calm. Moved with ease around the kitchen. And when he dropped Caleb’s Melmac ABC plate, splattering the remains of Meredith’s pre-made ground beef stew all over the floor and lower cupboards, he carefully cleaned up every drop.

He had a follow-up call from his Las Sendas police contact. And when Caleb cried for a cookie, and Max remembered that they were out of the little vanilla wafers that were the only treat the boy was allowed, he lifted Caleb out of his chair, grabbed his keys, strapped the toddler into his car seat and went to the store.

He wheeled the cart around the store without hurry, going up and down every aisle, aware that Caleb attempted to touch things he couldn’t reach, and focused on the displays in the aisles and the wares on the shelves. Considering them all with utmost concentration so that he didn’t miss something else they might need, or were out of.

Meredith had been missing for a couple of hours. She’d left Devon’s house late. He’d had confirmation on that point. But she should have been at the day care by the time Max had arrived.

There’d been no reported accidents anywhere in the area involving her. She wasn’t in a hospital emergency room.

And they didn’t need toilet paper. He’d had to replace the roll before dinner and there’d been a twelve-pack in the closet.

Ditto on the paper towels. He’d used half a roll on stew cleanup. And had found a bulk pack in the pantry.

Meredith was a firm believer in being prepared.

Tissue, he couldn’t remember. He hadn’t used any. But if Caleb’s nose started to run, he’d need a lot of them. Certain that Meri had extra tissue at home, too, he threw in an extra three-pack anyway. It didn’t spoil. They’d use it eventually.

Better safe than sorry.

Wherever Meri was, it probably wasn’t good. She’d have called or texted if she could and since she hadn’t....

She’d put on her stiff-chin face, get through it, and fall apart when she got home. She’d deal with whatever challenge she was facing with enough strength to move mountains. And be too weak to climb the stairs when it was all over.

In the safety and security of his arms she’d tell him what had held her up. Like the time she’d passed an old woman waiting at a bus stop and given her a ride. Or the time she’d helped a friend get a deadbeat ex-son-in-law out of her home. She’d survive. And then she might fall apart, depending on the situation.

The tears, when they came, could last a while.

Tissues were good.

Still, in both of those instances, and various others, she’d always called or texted him. Meri didn’t want him to worry. Because he had a past, too.

“Mama!”

With a force that hurt his neck, Max swung around in the paper product aisle, expecting to see Meredith walking toward them. But he and Caleb were the only ones there.

“Mama!” Caleb said again, kicking his feet against the grocery cart.

The boy was staring at Max. Obviously expecting him to produce.

“Mama’s busy, son, I told you that, remember? She’s helping someone and she’ll be back very soon.” He didn’t lie to Caleb. And the words calmed him as much as they appeared to calm the boy.

Meri didn’t risk her life. Or the safety of her family. It was the golden rule by which she lived.

So different from Jill’s call to serve—with a gun at her side, a Taser and a club hooked on her belt and a knife strapped to her ankle.

But like Jill, Meri had enough compassion to fill an ocean. And couldn’t bear to let someone suffer.

Opening the box of vanilla cookies, he gave one to Caleb, and pushed on, navigating his cart through aisle after aisle.

He would not let Meri’s panic infuse him. It was the golden rule by which he lived. He’d promised her he’d be the keeper of her panic. His job was to make certain that old fears didn’t live in their home, lest fear rob them of the second chance at happiness life had afforded them. Steve Smith, former Vegas police detective and abusive ex-husband, was in her past.

Caleb needed a bath. And it was coming close to bedtime. But he wasn’t leaving the store. Not until his phone rang and he knew that Meredith would be at home waiting for them. Or, at the very least, knew where she was and that she was safe.

Of course she was safe. His phone would ring any minute now.

* * *

CALEB TOOK AN extra-long bath. Happy to splash in the water, poking at bubbles and pushing his plastic boat up the sides of the ceramic tub, he asked for his mother a few times, but then went back to his play.

Max sat on the travertine floor, leaning against the wall, one arm on the side of the tub, ready to grab his son if he slipped or tried to stand. He stared at his tennis shoes—purple high-tops that day—and tried to remain calm.

Purple was a spiritual color according to Meri. She’d told him about color associations and some of that had infiltrated his thoughts, as well. But he’d chosen to wear his purple shoes that day because they were the pair closest to the front of the closet. Not because he’d felt in any need of spiritual protection.

Chantel Harris, Jill’s best friend and fellow police officer, had told him to go home when she’d called and found out he was at the grocery store. Someone needed to be at the house in case Meri returned. Or someone else tried to contact them. He’d given her a list of places Meri frequented, from their dry cleaner and grocery store, to clients’ addresses and schools where she worked. Other than Caleb and him, she didn’t have any close friends.

But there were several people, all women, whom she’d helped out of tight spots during the four years she’d been in Santa Raquel.

Chantel had assured him that local police were checking out every place on his list. As a precaution. Meri was only a few hours late. No one was really alarmed. There wasn’t any need for panic.

But in the four years he’d known her, Max had never known Meri to go anywhere or do anything on the spur of the moment. And she’d never once failed to be where she’d said she’d be without a phone call or text to alert him first.

Chantel was checking into Steve Smith’s last known whereabouts, too. Just to assure Max that he was right not to let Meri’s natural inclination to believe the man would find her someday take over rational thought.

Maybe his shoe laces were too long. They looked like the floppy bunny ears on the wallpaper in exam room four. Not his favorite room.

Caleb splashed.

And Max’s phone rang.

The toddler turned, staring at him as he lifted the device he’d been holding in his hand and glanced at the caller ID. It was almost as if Caleb knew they were waiting.

As if he wanted to know where his mother was as desperately as Max needed to find his wife.

And like Max, was man enough to remain in control while he waited.

Chantel.

“Did you find her?” Watching his son, he kept his tone easy.

“Not exactly.”

Hearts couldn’t actually drop. He was a doctor. He knew how the pumping vessel was attached. And knew what stress could do to it, too.

Chantel’s tone made him want to hang up. To watch his boy play in bubbles and know that tomorrow was another day. That the sun would shine again and....

“They found her van, Max.”

Caleb made a motor sound with his mouth. Seemingly unaware that darkness had descended in their bright and cheery bathroom.

“I can’t do it again.”

“Hold on.”

Of course. That was what he’d do. His fingers gripped the side of the tub, slipped and gripped again, bruising the pads and turning his knuckles white. Pressure stopped the blood flow.

With no blood flow there was no pain.

Was there blood in the van? Jill had bled out on the street. And the clean-up crew hadn’t been fast enough. A vision of the empty street with a pool of his wife’s ended life—a photo that had been all over the news for days after she’d saved the life of a fellow officer—sprang to mind.

Caleb splashed. Laughed out loud. And looked to him for a response. Max smiled. His lips trembled and his cheeks hurt, but he kept that grin plastered on his face.

“Tell me,” he said into the phone, careful to keep his tone neutral. He’d promised himself he’d never again be at risk of a phone call like this.

He’d promised.

And then he’d met Meri. Safety conscious, paranoid, locked-in-fear Meri. Who’d found the heart and soul in him that he’d thought dead and gone, awoken it. And given him a son.

“There’s no sign of struggle,” Chantel’s voice held a note of sympathy, but not alarm. “The van was parked nine rows down in front of Chloe’s at the Sun Oaks shopping center.”

An upscale shopping development in the next town over. A maze of stores and parking that covered a square city block.

Meri liked to shop there.

Max’s thoughts calmed. And he rumbled inside. His stomach. His blood pressure. Every nerve on alert.

“Her cell phone was inside,” the thirty-year-old police officer continued. “That’s how they found the van, by tracking her cell. She’d left it on the console.”

Meri’s phone was a lifeline to her—her safety net. One push of a button and she could be connected to law enforcement. To Max. Or to The Lighthouse—a women’s shelter she’d been volunteering at since he’d known her. The shelter she’d lived at when she’d first come to Southern California.

She didn’t go from one room to the next without that cell phone. Wore it in a holster that clipped to any waistband. Showered with it on a shelf she’d had him install above the tile in the stall....

“There was a note, Max.” Another drop in Chantel’s tone. Another splash from the tub. Another rumble inside. “She said that she just couldn’t do it anymore. That she was too worried about Caleb all the time. That she couldn’t even leave him at day care for an afternoon, so how would she ever cope when he went to school? She was afraid that her paranoia would rub off on him. She said she had to go before he was old enough to remember and be traumatized. She left the phone because it was in your name.”

She’d have told him if she was leaving him. She would never have left Caleb. It didn’t make sense. He wasn’t going to panic.

“Were the keys in the car?” If she was ever in trouble and had to run—if she ever thought Steve was after her—she’d leave the car parked with the keys under the driver’s seat. It was one of the many precepts she’d laid out when she’d agreed to marry him.

Precautions, she’d called them.

They had to be prepared, she’d said.

“They were in the closed cup holder. Just like she said they’d be in the note.”

Who left a note in a car telling whoever looked that the keys were in the cup holder?

He sank down a little farther against the tub. She’d very clearly told him she’d leave them under the driver’s seat.

“She left you, Max. I’m so sorry....”

Another rumble. Another splash. And Dr. Max Bennet started to panic.