One Scream Away (9 page)

Before she’d decided whether she should be angry or grateful, the front door opened.

“Uncle Neil! Uncle Neil!” Three boys spilled past a woman, racing down the steps and lunging for Sheridan. He hunkered down in his coat and tie, scooped up the first boy in a bear hug, then rolled him over his back just in time to field the next attacks. They wrestled and laughed until Sheridan called a halt, then he ruffled their heads and smoothed a hand down his cockeyed tie. He came up to the porch. “Thanks for helping out today, honey,” he said, kissing the woman’s freckled cheek.

“No problem.”

Beth’s mind reeled.
Uncle Neil. Sacowicz’s wife. Honey.

“I’m Maggie Sacowicz,” the woman said, holding out her hand to Beth. “Come on in. Abby’s in the family room.”

Abby dived into Beth’s arms. “Mommy, there’s a little baby girl here. I helped change her diaper. And wait’ll you hear all the jokes Ritchie told me.” She whirled to Sheridan, whose crisp blue eyes showed the briefest flicker of panic. “Hey, why did the butterfly get kicked out of the dance?”

“Uh… Because he didn’t know the jitterbug.”

Abby thought about that for a second, then frowned. “It was a moth ball. That’s why the butterfly got kicked out.”

Sheridan grunted. “Mine was just as funny,” he said and followed the boys outside.

Abby dragged Beth into a playroom. Tonka trucks and bulldozers lay wrecked all over the floor, a baseball bat and Superman cape littered the sofa, and the computer idled on some sort of shoot-’em-up space invaders game. In the far corner stood a playpen, and in it an eight-or nine-month-old baby girl sat wearing a baseball hat, gnawing on a half-human, half-beast action figure. She was the pale spitting image of her mother.

“Abby’s been taking care of the baby for me,” Maggie said. “Playing mommy.”

“That sounds like Abby. I’ve tried to get her interested in ball games and trucks, but she likes the girlie things.”

“We need another double-X chromosome in this house. I’m way outnumbered, especially now that Neil’s here.”

Beth couldn’t resist. “Are you his sister?”

Maggie raised her eyebrows, then shook her head. “Neil was married to my sister, Heather. A long time ago.”

Beth blinked. So, Mr. Screw-the-World had loved someone once? Couldn’t be.

The French doors opened and a woman with a crew cut blew a puff of smoke and came inside. A county employee tag hung around her neck, the letters CPS at the bottom.

“Mrs. Denison?” she asked, coming straight to Beth. “Aw, never mind. Abby looks just like you.” She headed for the front door, waving Maggie off when she started to follow. “I can find my way out. Maggie, tell that husband of yours he owes us both.”

Maggie chuckled, a dry sound. “You tell him. You’ll see him before I will.”

“Whoa!” An earsplitting wail came from outside. The boys had conned Sheridan into another round of wrestling.

“Go on, sweetie,” Maggie said to Abby. “You can play with them, too.”

Abby went to the patio, lurking on the perimeter as she watched three boys and a big man attack, retreat, roll, and attack again. Sheridan saw her, then eased the group nearer and shoved the boys off all at once. He grabbed Abby’s hand and pulled her in, a
whoop
flying from her lips. Beth’s breath caught.

“Don’t worry,” Maggie said. “He won’t let Abby get hurt.”

He won’t let Abby get hurt.
The words spiraled to Beth’s chest. It was true, she realized, shaken. Sheridan had Abby right in the thick of it, gave her a fair share of pushes and flip-overs, but always had an arm loose around her like a shield, always cushioned her falls with his body. Beth found herself laughing when he tossed Abby into the air, caught her, and spun her round and round to back off the boys. She found herself cheering when the kids dropped him to his knees to tickle him, and he let them. She found herself staring when it was over and he stood, absently straightening his clothes and turning a thousand-watt smile on Beth. It shot through every nerve in her body.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he said, plucking the kids from his sleeves like bugs. “I’m an old man; I can’t do it any longer. C’mere, Abby. I’ll show you how to get away from the boys.” He seized a football from a basket on the patio and pulled back his arm with the easy skill of a pro quarterback. “Whichever one of you guys catches this gets ice cream after dinner.”

The ball spiraled through the air, the boys chasing it in a mob. Sheridan swung Abby over his head to straddle his neck and ducked under the doorframe and into the house.

“You’re terrible,” Maggie said as the boys tangled over the ball.

“I think you’re fun!” Abby said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He plopped her down and touched her nose. “But I think your mom’s ready to go.”

“No,” Abby whined.

“Sorry, honey, it’s getting late. We have to let Mr. Sheridan take us home.”

Her face brightened and she whirled to Sheridan. “
You’re
taking us home? Yippee!”

It was almost eight when Neil pulled onto Ashford Drive. Abby hadn’t lasted five minutes before falling asleep in the backseat; Neil didn’t think her mother could go on much longer, either. She looked ready to drop.

He got out and bent into the back to unbuckle Abby. “Show me her room; I’ll carry her up.” Ms. Denison hovered so close she bumped him. “For God’s sake, I’m not going to drop her.”

“I can carry her. I do it all the time.”

“This time you don’t have to. Wanna be useful? Open the garage door and go turn down Abby’s covers.” Somehow he just knew Abby’s bed was made.

She tucked Abby’s jacket around her shoulders and inserted an electronic key card beside the garage door. It lifted with a dull grind. Inside, Heinz greeted them with impartial enthusiasm, and Denison flipped on lights here and there as she led Neil through the cozy family room, past the homey kitchen, and up the stairs.

He was doing fine until he stepped into Abby’s room, then his breath caught. Lemony walls, sunflowers everywhere. Toys and books and a bed draped with white princess netting, a hammock hanging in one corner and overflowing with stuffed animals, while a half dozen more sat on the bed. Her favorites, Neil supposed, and he could see her with them: tucking them in at night, dragging them around with her in the mornings.

His throat closed up.

“Mr. Sheridan?” Neil blinked. Denison tugged Abby’s shoes off, whispering, “I need to go let Heinz out. I’ll be right back.”

She slipped out and Neil laid Abby down. She stirred.

“Mommy’ll be right back, sweet pea,” he said. “She’s letting Heinz out.”

“Tell her it’s okay to sleep in here if she gets scared again.”

Neil bent over her. “What?”

“If the dreams come.”

Neil frowned. “Dreams?”

“The scary ones that make her cry.”

A sliver of concern slid under his skin. “Does Mommy have them very often?”

“Just lately. But she can sleep with me tonight if she wants. Heinz will make room.”

Neil’s chest tightened. “Okay, pumpkin, I’ll tell her.”

Denison reappeared, got a weary hug from Abby, then stood looking down at her for a long moment, her eyes following the rise and fall of the covers. Finally, she turned off the light and led the way downstairs.

Leave it alone, Neil said to himself as he trailed behind, past the pictures of her husband and through the foyer.
Her
secrets,
her
nightmares.
Her
daughter.

She opened the front door for him.

Walk away, Neil.

“Bad dreams?” he asked, stopping on the porch. She pulled a face. “Abby says you can sleep with her if the nightmares come back.”

She stiffened. “Oh, okay. Fine.”

Her eyes were downcast, the porch light gilding her features and her lashes casting long, dark shadows over the scar on her cheekbone. A cut of some sort, but not clean. A wide, messy gash that must have lain open for a time. He wondered about the internal scars that came with it and if they had healed with the same tough, nerveless finish as the wound on her skin. He wondered if they were the same wounds that kept her awake at night.

And on the heels of that thought came a pure, physical response to the image of Beth Denison in bed,
not
sleeping.

Walk away, Neil.

“What keeps you from sleeping, Ms. Denison?”

She let out a sigh. “Dolls, that’s what. Just because Abby’s off school this week doesn’t mean I’m off work. I’m appraising a set of dolls; they’re rare, and the research is end—”

“I’m not talking about working late. I’m talking about nightmares.”

“That, from a six-year-old.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?”

“I can handle things myself. I’m stronger than I look, Mr. Sheridan.”

“Handling things alone doesn’t mean you’re strong. It just means you’re alone. Let someone help.”

“Someone?” she challenged, lifting one winged brow.

“Me. Sacowicz. There’s more than one person in the world willing to help you. I’d even step back and let Evan Foster take care of you if I thought you trusted him.”

“I trust Evan.”

“No, you don’t,” Neil said, with the sudden certainty that he was standing too close. He could smell the scent of berries in her shampoo, remembered the electrical charge in her body when he’d held her at the restaurant. “A man who goes to kiss you and you offer your cheek? A man you lie to about staying for a cup of coffee? No, you don’t trust Evan Foster.” He took a chance and tilted her chin with a finger. “Is it just him? Or do you dodge any man’s kisses?”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said. “I don’t dodge a man’s kisses.”

He let his gaze drop to her lips. “Prove it.”

I
t started that way—a stupid dare, proof that she wouldn’t dodge him. Beth stood still as he bent his head, his hands cradling both cheeks and lips touching hers. His palms were warm and calloused, and his fingers slid into her hair as he angled her face upward and coaxed her lips apart. For a second, she tensed, sensing he could swallow her whole, but then something in her chest began to unfold and swell, something that might have been hope.

And desire. It was so unexpected her heart lost track of its beat. Reason slid from grasp, driven out by exhaustion and loneliness and fear, and some absurd craving to be coddled and safe and warm. She didn’t even feel cold in Sheridan’s hands. Heat surged through her body instead.

That wasn’t right.

“Stop,” she said, pushing away.

He pulled back, and for half a second, Beth felt as if she couldn’t stand on her own. She groped for the door-frame and missed.

God, get a grip.

She got her balance back and lifted her chin. “Proof enough?”

“Proof of something,” he said, his voice a little ragged. “Maybe proof that it’s been a long time since you’ve been kissed like that.”

Oh, yes.

“Beth.” He hesitated, and the sound of her first name on his lips did something strange to her belly. “Evan Foster. Has he ever… hurt you?”

“Of course not. No.”

“Okay.” A metallic edge slipped into his voice. “I didn’t want to have to kill him.”

A ludicrous comment, but it flipped Beth’s heart sideways. The idea of someone looking out for her was so foreign she didn’t know what to do with it. As if she’d just been gifted with a tool, but she didn’t know how to use it. She only knew it felt sweet to cradle in hand.

Until she thought of what it could do to Abby.

“You should go,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because she told you to.”

Both of them looked toward the voice.

“Evan,” Beth said, wondering where the hell he had come from. “What are you doing here?”

His gaze locked on Sheridan. “Do I know you?”

“No,” Sheridan said, and Beth noticed he made no further attempt to introduce himself. Two big dogs, sniffing each other out. The idea that she could be in the middle of some sort of romantic triangle was so ludicrous she almost laughed.

She looked at Sheridan, hoping her cheeks weren’t red. “Thank you for bringing us home.”

He held her gaze long enough to set her pulse skittering, then dipped his chin. “Someone will call you in the morning about getting your car back.”

He left, revving the engine of the Charger a little more than necessary, Beth thought, and Evan stepped up onto the porch. “What’s going on? We had cops at Foster’s this afternoon, asking a lot of questions.”

“About what?”

“About Kerry Waterford. Dealers we know in Denver and Omaha. You.”

Great. “Then you know as much as I do. They’ve been asking me questions, too. That was one of them. Well, not a cop, but he’s working with them.”

Evan humphed. “You gonna invite me in?”

She looked up. “No. Please, Evan, not tonight.”

“Then when?”

“I told you. What happened between us is over. It never really even got started.”

“In my world, going to bed with someone is getting started. Yours, too.”

“But it’s over now. And I have work to do. Did two more dolls come to Foster’s today? Mrs. Chadburne said they should have gotten here today.”

“I didn’t check,” he said, trying to nuzzle her. “Come on, Beth.”

She pushed him away. “Evan, stop.”

He straightened, at first seeming surprised but then gathering his pride. “Call me when you change your mind.”

Voices. A bump. Figures creeping close, huddled low.

Neil’s senses rocketed to red alert. He tensed, every muscle and tendon poised to strike. He could place the leader just beneath the left side of the bed. The others—two, if his radar was working accurately—were crouched near the foot.

He let the band close in, just inches away, then launched from the bed with an animal cry. He caught one in a headlock and tripped the others with his leg, toppling them. “Noooo!” squealed the leader, fighting. The smaller ones thumped to the floor, gasping for air.

“No?” Neil said, pulling Richie down onto the carpet. He threw a leg over Justin. Shawn weaseled out and climbed on his back. “What kind of a sneak attack was that? I heard you guys a mile away.”