Nothing to Fear (10 page)

“Now is that any way to talk to your personal delivery service?” he mocked.

She’d been afraid of this. One damn favor, that’s all she’d asked. A favor she’d paid for in more ways than one just two days before. “What do you want?”

He chuckled. “Just checking in on you, baby. You find the place all right?”

“Yes.”

“And? Did they believe you? Was my work acceptable?”

Sue eyed her reflection in the mirror over the sink. The bruises he’d applied to her face with such relish were just now beginning to fade. But they’d been necessary, both to convince Dupinsky and Tammy.

She’d needed to know how to contact the shelter Tammy had told her about so many times during their five-year Hillsboro cohabitation, the shelter where Tammy herself had hidden for weeks before returning home to kill her husband. Tammy would never have believed her story without the bruises, never would have given her the phone number for Hanover House had she not been certain Sue was really in danger. That was the thing about people who murdered in the heat of passion, like Tammy. When they were in their right minds, they tended to have . . . scruples. Sue grimaced, finding even the word distasteful. “Yeah, they believed me. I have to go.”

“Not so fast, baby. I was walkin’ my rounds today and Tammy asked about you. She wanted to be sure you were all right.” Laughter filled his voice and she knew what came next would not be good. “I told her I’d check on you myself.”

Fred had been the best way to get a message to Tammy. Sue hadn’t been about to return to Hillsboro during visiting hours, even if she’d been allowed through the front gates, which as a paroled felon, she was not. That’s where Fred had come in. He’d been a guard in her cell block, a dependable supplier of anything they’d wanted from the outside—for a price, of course. Fred wasn’t Hollywood material, but no troll like some of the other guards, so most of the girls hadn’t minded paying his price. Sue had. Every damn time.

The morning of Sue’s release, he’d taken her into the supply closet for one more little “heart-to-heart” as he liked to call them—just for old times’ sake. When he was done, he’d told her if she ever needed anything to just give him a call.

So she did. She’d called him from Columbus, asked him to meet her at the station in Indy, but he hadn’t shown, the bastard, and she’d missed the next bus to Chicago, waiting for him. She’d ended up taking the Friday morning bus to Chicago, where she and the kid transferred to the bus the regular visitors called the “Prison Express.” A cab ride later she was on Fred’s doorstep. She told Fred she needed some convincing bruises on her face, a Polaroid to show them off, and a letter containing the photo delivered personally to Tammy. After locking the kid in the bathroom, she paid Fred’s price, gritted her teeth as he obliged her need for bruises, and waited until he made a trip up to the pen.

A few hours later he was back. Tammy had bought the story and Sue had the telephone number she needed. She and the kid had gotten back on the bus to Chicago and a few hours later met Dana Dupinsky at the bus station. All in all, a smooth operation. Except for Fred. He was a loose end. Loose ends were normally a bad thing. She should have dropped him in his apartment Friday afternoon, except he’d been armed, too.

“Tell Tammy I’m fine. I have to go.”

“Not so fast.” His voice hardened. “Now that you’re there, you’ll do a favor for me.”

“Evie!”

Sue started at the yell, which had come from right outside the door. “Somebody’s coming,” she whispered. “I have to go.”

“Just remember, I have the phone number, too, sugar. One phone call from me will expose you and the kid, whoever he is. Call me later.” Damn. She’d have to take care of him and soon. She dropped the butt in the toilet and flushed it.

“Evie! Where are you?” There was a light knock. “Evie?”

Shrugging back into character, Sue opened the bathroom door and came face-to-face with a very pregnant woman she hadn’t met yet. Her blond hair was too shiny, her eyes too calm, her face too serenely content to be a “client,” which was what Dupinsky called the women she took in. Blondie must be one of the wardens. The woman’s brows went up in surprise. “I guess Evie’s someplace else,” the woman said with a soft drawl and a kind smile. “You must be Jane. Dana said you arrived just yesterday. I’m Caroline.”

Sue dropped her eyes, glanced up through her lashes. Managed a trembling nod. “I did,” she murmured. “Me and my son.”

“Erik, right?” Caroline, still with the soft smile. “Dana says he’s ten.”

“That’s right.” That’s what she’d told Dupinsky. The kid was so scrawny that Sue was afraid they’d insist on a doctor if she said he was twelve. “You work here?”

Caroline smiled. “Sometimes. I’m looking for Evie. Have you met her yet?”

Evie was Scarface, the one who’d run from the kitchen the night before. Sue had been eavesdropping outside the door, heard the little blond cop break the news of the woman’s murder. If the argument between Dupinsky and Evie had provided an earful, the brief peek into the kitchen after Evie’s stormy departure was an eyeful—Dupinsky in the arms of a delicious specimen of man. Even now the thought of him made Sue want to drool.

“She . . . um . . . she left an hour or so ago.” To go to the funeral Sue had heard Dupinsky and the lady cop expressly forbid. “She said she was going to a funeral.” And from the corner of her eye she watched Caroline’s face go dark for just a moment, then the wrath was smoothed away, serenity restored.

“Thank you, Jane. Is there anything else you or Erik need?”

A computer connection for my laptop, Sue thought. It was past time to send another communication to the Vaughns. Two uninterrupted hours with the Adonis that had been in the kitchen with Dupinsky last night . . . She ducked her head. “No. We’re fine.”

Caroline lightly touched her shoulder and Sue had to fight the urge to knock her hand away. She really hated social workers. Always trying to get into your head.

“Everything’s going to be okay now, Jane,” Caroline said. “You’re safe here.”

Sue made her eyes tear, her lips quiver. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“We’re doing some work on the roof later today. Will the banging bother Erik?”

An atomic bomb wouldn’t bother Erik. Even if he weren’t drugged, the kid was deafer than a rock. Sue had tried many times to catch him faking his deafness, but he wasn’t. “No, Erik will be fine.” Her brows furrowed. “Who will be working on the roof?”

Caroline’s smile was a tad too bright and Sue could see anger simmering beneath her calm exterior. She was still pissed at Evie. Most excellent. Diversions among the wardens would keep the spotlight off Sue.

“My brother-in-law David. He’s the most trustworthy man I know. Well, after my husband, of course. He’ll be done quickly, so you’ll get a good night’s sleep tonight.”

The Adonis was her brother-in-law? If her husband was half as good-looking as his brother, it was just one more reason to hate Caroline. Sue lowered her eyes to the worn carpet that covered the floor. “Thanks. I need to get back to Erik now.”

“Of course. Oh, Jane?”

Sue turned to find Caroline’s smile still firmly in place. “Yes?”

“I couldn’t help but notice the smell of smoke in the bathroom. We don’t allow smoking here at Hanover House. It bothers the children and it’s a fire hazard. It’s an old house. One spark . . .” She let the thought trail with a friendly grimace. “Okay?”

Sue drew a breath. Shoved the anger back down from where it boiled up. Little bitch, trying to tell me what to do. Sue nodded at the carpet. “I’m sorry.” She gritted the apology through her teeth, trying like hell to re-affect the put-upon Jane.

“It’s not a problem. I just needed you to know. I’ll see you later.”

Sue jerked a nod. “Later.” Quickly she escaped back into her room, glancing in the mirror on the wall. Caroline was still standing in the hall, staring after her with a troubled frown on her face. Sue shut the door. Carefully.

She would regain control of herself. You will calm down. She came to an abrupt halt, realizing she’d been pacing the floor with quick, savage steps. She drew a deep breath.

I only need a week, she thought, looking at the kid peacefully sleeping. But first, there were still things to do. She dug the digital camera she’d stolen from Rickman from her backpack and snapped a picture of the sleeping kid. Nothing dramatic, just a little reminder to the Vaughns that she still held all the cards. She pulled the laptop from her backpack, flipped its power button. She’d give them her terms now. Five million wired to an offshore account. She’d learned all about offshore accounts in the prison library.

She frowned. The laptop screen was still blank. Shit. The battery was dead.

The computer had plenty of juice when she’d sent the first e-mail from Morgantown. I must not have turned it off when I was finished, she thought crossly and pawed through her backpack, but found no electrical adapter. Fuck. That idiot Bryce had put it in his backpack, which now resided somewhere with the Maryland police. Her heart went still. Had she touched it? No, she was certain she had not, so her person was still in the clear. She just had to find another way to reach out and touch the Vaughns.

Chicago, Sunday, August 1, 2:00 P.M.

Dana closed her office door, wincing when Evie’s bedroom door slammed upstairs, hard enough to shake the whole house. Caroline had shaken her awake, told her that Evie had gone to Lillian’s funeral. Dana tried to intercept her, but had been too late. Instead, she’d waited until Evie came out of the church, her heavy pancake makeup streaked with tears. The ride back had not been pleasant. They’d argued bitterly and Evie’s tears flowed again—until a glance in the visor mirror had Evie’s accusations shuddering to an abrupt halt.

Without the makeup, Evie was scarred. With it, Dana thought she looked fake. But when it was melting off her face . . . Dana had to admit Evie looked scary. Like the Phantom of the Opera. Understanding her dismay, Dana had stopped at her apartment to allow Evie to fix her makeup so that no one else could see her that way. And after that, Evie hadn’t said a word.

Dana sat down at her desk and closed her eyes. Her head still hurt from this morning. And she was hungry. French fries at Betty’s with Ethan Buchanan had been a long time ago. Ethan Buchanan. He wanted her to meet him tomorrow. She’d thought about it, sitting out in front of Lillian’s funeral, waiting for Evie. She knew nothing about the man except his name and that he could make her heart calm with a look and her nerves zing with a touch. But she could learn more. The resources of the Internet were a click away.

She eyed her dormant computer screen. She could do a search on him, but that seemed rude. An invasion of privacy. She nudged her mouse with one finger.

And sighed when her screen woke up to the Google search result screen. One of their residents, Beverly, would be going west this week and Dana had been searching low-cost housing in California the night before. It seemed to be a sign. If her screen had woken up to solitaire, she could have laughed it off and gone on with her business. But the Google screen beckoned. Tentatively she typed in his name. And hit SEARCH.

Dana stared at the screen as the results came up. Nothing caught her eye. She was being silly. But the arrows at the bottom of the page beckoned and she clicked to the next page, and the next. She was about to give up when a few bolded words caught her eye. And caught her breath. The words Kandahar and casualty jumped off the screen. She remembered the crisp little salute he’d given Betty that morning. He was military. Or had been. Her palm sweaty on the mouse, she clicked. And watched as her dial-up connection slowly loaded a page from what appeared to be a newsletter. Very slowly.

There was a light knock at her office door and Caroline poked her head in. “Did you eat while you were out?” Not waiting for an answer, she set a bowl of stew on the desk. “What are you looking for?”

Dana shot her a veiled look. “One laugh, one little chuckle, and you’re toast, Caro.”

Eyes wide, Caroline pulled up a chair. “I wouldn’t. It’s too important.”

“It’s from a Marine Corps base in California,” Dana murmured. Another minute that seemed like an hour passed while a photo loaded, and Dana found herself staring into those steady green eyes again, this time serious under the brim of a Marine cap. Her pulse once again scrambled. Her heart lodged somewhere in her throat. He was every bit as beautiful as she’d remembered. He’d been a Marine. He’d been wounded. But he was fine now. Very fine. Very much alive. Which is just the way she felt at the moment. Alive.

“That’s him?” Caroline asked.

Was it ever. “Yeah, that’s him.”

Caroline squeezed her shoulder. “Looks like your Ethan Buchanan is a war he-ro.”

Dana’s lips curved at Caroline’s twang as her eyes scanned the article. “He was part of a Marine Expeditionary Unit sent into Afghanistan after 9/11.”

“He was wounded. He’s okay now?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“So find out what he’s doing now.”

Dana refined her search, looking for security consultants, and blinked when her search yielded his Website. “Maynard and Buchanan. He does have a security business.”

“So he is who he says he is. You didn’t think he would be, did you?”

“Sitting there talking to him, I did. Later, I had my doubts.”

Caroline reached over and grabbed the mouse. “Let’s look at the staff.” She clicked and hummed in approval when a more recent picture of Ethan loaded, minus the Marine cap. “He’s a blond. You didn’t tell me that.”

Dana crossed her arms over her chest to keep her thudding heart contained. She remembered that golden hair at his open collar. “He’s a blond, okay?” He’s blond all over.

“And built. You didn’t tell me that, either.”

Dana fought the urge to fan herself. The picture didn’t do him justice. “Yes, he’s built.”

Caroline’s eyes twinkled. “And there’s a phone number for his office.”

“It’s Sunday. No one will be there. Besides what would I say to anybody who answered? Hi, my name is Dana and I want to know if your boss is a homicidal lunatic?”

“It does have a certain ring to it.” She turned back to the screen with a slight frown. “But you’re right. If you’re going to be careful, he’s the kind you’d need to be careful about.”