She Can Run (17 page)

Beth flinched.

“Sorry.” The doctor shined a penlight into her eyes. “Jack said you were unconscious for at least five to ten minutes. Have you had any concussions in the past few years?”

“Yeah, a couple.”

“A couple? How long ago?” The doctor’s face revealed nothing as he continued to examine her.

“About a year and a half. I was in a car accident.” Beth shifted uncomfortably on the table. Lying took a lot more energy than she had at the moment.

“That accounts for one.”

“I fell down the stairs last year.”

Quinn moved his hands down to her stomach and lifted her shirt a few inches. As he gently pushed on her ribs around a darkening bruise, he zeroed in on the thick line of scar tissue that ran across her rib cage. “How did you get that?”

“In the car accident.”

Quinn’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t ask about it again. Which was a good thing, because she was way too damned tired to spin a believable story. She swallowed the lump in her throat and shifted her eyes away from Quinn’s, counting the tiles in the exam room ceiling.

“OK. X-rays first, stitches second. Then we’ll talk again.”

Beth opened her mouth to protest but he’d disappeared.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Richard Baker crossed the thick grass and approached his father. The former senator, Stafford Baker, leaned on the fence, watching a broodmare and her foal in the early twilight. The mare’s elegant lines were indicative of careful breeding. Her colt’s parentage was evident already in the slope of his shoulder and prance in his step. This baby would be a fine addition to their racing stock.

Stafford glanced sideways at him. “Johnson has a lead on Elizabeth’s whereabouts.”

Richard rested his forearms on the rail and bit his tongue for a few seconds, not wanting to reveal his excitement at the news.

“I’m sorry I talked you into marrying her.” Stafford placed a hand on his shoulder. The apology was a surprise. His father didn’t often admit to making mistakes. “But you needed a wife to get elected. People were starting to talk, linking your name to celebrities, whores—and worse.”

Richard nodded. If his father only knew. A few celebrity scandals were nothing compared to the truth.

Stafford removed his hand and thumped a tightly clenched fist on the top fence rail. “I thought Elizabeth would be easy to control, but I misjudged her.”

“We both did.” Richard had learned all about keeping women in their place from dear old Dad. Elizabeth had seemed so vulnerable. Grieving widow, no family, young children to provide excellent leverage if necessary. He’d assumed she’d be malleable. Her backbone had been an unpleasant surprise.

The bay mare approached. He patted the big animal’s neck, and then scratched the colt behind the ears when it stuck its bony head through the fence rails to nibble on his trousers.

“Where is she?” Richard kept his eyes on the horse, barely containing the thrill that coursed through his blood. The urge to hurt his wife grew with every beat of his heart, flowing through his veins, fueling his dark desire the way gasoline powered an engine. It was all he could think about since he’d made the decision to do the deed himself.

“Westbury, Pennsylvania. It’s just past the Poconos. My men had already narrowed it down to there or one other Podunk town, but when someone made a call to James Dieter’s number from a pay phone in Westbury, that clinched it. We have photo confirmation.” His father turned toward him. “You need to let Johnson handle this. It’s his job. We keep people like him on the payroll for a reason.”

Richard met his father’s hard stare. The old man’s eyes were the same bluish gray as a shark’s and just as cold. “I’ll take care of Elizabeth. Your men have already failed several times. I have another situation that requires Johnson’s expertise.”

The vein in his father’s temple throbbed just once before he responded. “I’ll have Johnson contact you. He’ll take care of whatever you need.” Stafford turned back to the horses.

Did he suspect? Richard often wondered. Good old Dad would never ask for the details of his only son’s transgressions. The Bakers came from a long line of powerful men. Their wealth and sphere of political influence swelled with each generation. Their appetites were insatiable; their need for control, absolute. In such an atmosphere, it was just as easy to be tainted from within the family as from the outside. Keeping one’s hands clean could be a chore.

Stafford’s jaw tightened. “I assure you that Johnson is more than capable of multitasking. This time I’ll make sure he does the job himself. No subcontracting. There can be no question that her death is anything other than a tragic accident. The wheels are already in motion. You stay in Washington, far away from Elizabeth.”

Richard almost always followed his father’s advice, but this time, well, that just wasn’t going to happen. His father’s employee needed to dispense with the blackmailer first. Richard would make that clear, and he’d provide a little extra incentive for Johnson to back off Elizabeth. Stafford might be the head of the family right now, but Richard was the future. Johnson would shift his allegiance. No question.

His calendar was full for the next few days with appearances he couldn’t get out of without attracting attention, but after that Richard would arrange a few days off to relax at his Philadelphia home, which happened to be just ninety minutes from the Poconos—and his lovely wife.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Jack shifted in the hard seat. His shoulders extended far beyond the back of the chair, and the curved plastic dug into his back. He didn’t want to move, though. Katie slept against his shoulder. Ben slumped in the chair on Jack’s other side. Given the awkward tilt of Ben’s head, the boy would have a stiff neck later.

Jack’s gaze was drawn to the industrial clock on the wall. It had been nearly two hours. Where was Quinn? Could Beth’s injuries be more serious than he’d thought? He shouldn’t have given in and moved her. What was wrong with him? He knew better. He should have pinned her to the ground and called that ambulance.

His mental flogging was in full swing when Quinn appeared in the waiting room doorway and motioned for Jack to join him in the hall. Jack extricated his shoulder from beneath Katie’s head and slid out of the chair. His cane was trapped on the other side of Katie’s chair. His cousin frowned as Jack limped toward him without it.

Jack kept his voice low. “How is she?”

“Lucky. Half dozen stitches in her head, another eight in her arm, and a concussion, plus numerous bruises and abrasions, but miraculously, no broken bones. She’ll be really sore for a week or two, but after that she should be fine, provided she gets some rest.” Quinn removed his glasses and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’d like to keep her overnight, do a CAT scan in the morning, but she won’t stay. I can’t make her. She already signed a release.” Quinn hesitated. “How much do you know about her?”

“Not much. Why?”

“Just a feeling.” Quinn frowned and was quiet for a moment. “I shouldn’t really give you any medical information—you’re not her family, but I think you need to know just in case I’m right.” He paused and glanced quickly up and down the empty hall. “She’s evasive about the origins of some previous injuries. Does she have a husband or boyfriend?”

“Not that I know of. She says she’s a widow.” Jack looked over his shoulder through the doorway behind him to make sure Ben and Katie were still sleeping. “None of them will talk about their past, but they’re afraid of something. I don’t want to push too hard for information. I get the feeling they’d take off. They need help.” Jack told his cousin about their uncle’s letter. “So, let’s keep this low-key, OK?”

Quinn sighed. “OK, but you are going to have to watch her carefully for the next couple of days. You’ve had a concussion or two. You know the drill. Call me tomorrow and let me know how she is.”

Jack returned to the waiting room and lowered himself into the chair next to Ben. Katie was still sleeping, curled in a tiny ball on Ben’s other side. Her face was far more peaceful in sleep than the haunted expression she wore when awake.

Jack looked at the tall, lanky youth slumped in the chair beside him. Ben’s eyes were closed, but Jack knew he wasn’t asleep by his uneven breathing.

“Is she gonna be all right?” The boy’s voice shook.

“Yeah, she should be fine. She’ll be ready to go home soon.”

“I can take care of the horses and stuff until she’s better. I know how,” Ben offered.

“I’m sure you do, Ben. Don’t worry about anything like that. We’ll all pitch in for the next couple of weeks.” Jack paused. “You know, Ben, your mom always seems so nervous. She’s too thin. She needs to take better care of herself. I’m worried about her. I’d like to help you guys.”

The boy silently contemplated the worn tread on his sneaker. With a tug of guilt, Jack pushed harder, sensing Ben was near the breaking point. The strain of the night’s events had overloaded the boy’s already stressed system.

“Ben, I was a policeman for a long time, but I can’t help if I don’t know what happened to you guys. You can’t run from your problems forever. They tend to catch up with you eventually. That’s no way to live. Let me help.”

“He hit her.” A single tear slipped out of Ben’s closed eyes. “While they were dating, he was always so polite. Mom said he was the perfect gentleman. After, she stayed because he said he would hurt us if she didn’t do what he told her. One night, they had a really big fight. Mom came and got us out of bed. She wouldn’t talk about it, but she was bleeding and he was out cold on the floor. We left right then. He’s been trying to find us ever since. Uncle James hid us for a while, but we had to leave his house because it got too dangerous.”

Ben wiped a hand across his face and sniffed. He sat up a little straighter, like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. “Are you going to tell her I told you? ‘Cause she said we could never talk about it, but I don’t think she planned on getting hurt like this. I like it here. We don’t have anywhere else to go.” Ben grabbed Jack’s arm in a panicked grip. “You can’t let him find us.”

“It’s OK, Ben. You’re not alone anymore. I like having you guys around.” Jack put his arm around Ben’s shoulders. To his surprise, the boy didn’t draw away, but leaned into him instead. Ben’s body relaxed, and Jack’s throat clogged for a minute.

Damn straight the asshole wasn’t going to hurt them again.

“Did he ever hurt you or Katie?” Jack asked quietly, knowing he had to do it but not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“No. But I don’t think he likes kids very much.”

Thank God for small favors.

“Can you tell me who he is?” He doubted Ben would answer, but it was worth a shot.

Ben shook his head. “I can’t. I already broke my promise. He’s a really important man.” The boy looked as if he were going to cry again. His jaw was clenched and his hands balled up into fists. “I should have protected her. I should’ve done something.”

“Ben, anything you could have done probably would have made things worse. It was best to let your mom handle it.”

Ben glanced at Jack. “Please don’t tell her I told you. She’ll get real upset. She might make us leave. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You were right to tell me, Ben.” Jack gave the boy another one-armed hug. He didn’t want to push him too much. “When your mom is better, I’ll talk to her. Maybe I can get her to trust me, too.”

Afraid that Beth would try to get up by herself during the night, Jack grabbed a pillow and blanket and settled himself in the overstuffed chair in the corner of her room. Quinn had suggested he wake her every few hours anyway. And shit, he’d slept sitting in the front seat of a car plenty of times on stakeouts. With Beth sleeping soundly, he dozed off as soon as his head hit the back of the chair.

The rustle of bedding woke him. Jack opened his eyes and scanned the dark room, settling his gaze on the bed. Beth moved restlessly under the covers, whimpering. He glanced at the bedside clock. Several hours had passed. It was time to rouse her anyway.

He lurched to his feet and sat on the edge of the mattress. Moonlight streamed from the window across Beth’s face, casting her skin ghostly white. Tears leaked from her closed eyes.

“Beth. It’s Jack. Wake up. You’re dreaming.” He placed his hand gently on her forearm.

Her eyes snapped open. Her body jerked upright and flew backwards as if jolted with an electric shock. She huddled against the headboard like a wounded wild animal. Under the thin T-shirt, still spotted with dried blood, her chest heaved.

Jesus H
.

Although he was tempted to back away and leave her to come around on her own, Jack held his position—and his breath. This was a make-or-break moment. She’d either accept or reject his help in the next couple of seconds. The fear that she’d push him away coiled tightly in his chest. “Beth, you’re safe. You’re having a nightmare.”

Her haunted eyes blinked. She scanned the room and focused on him. Recognition dawned in her eyes, then humiliation. Slowly she sank down into a sitting position with her knees drawn up to her chest. She pressed the side of her face against her legs and closed her eyes, as if unable to endure his scrutiny.