Winters bit down so hard his teeth hurt. “Her name is Chaniqua Priest.” Or Pierce. The kid was gurgling there towards the end. He could have said Priest.
“You have a location?”
“Just downtown.” “
Helpful, Detective. Keep your informant available in case we have more questions.”
Winters swallowed the chuckle. His informant was now answering questions at the business end of a fiery pitchfork. “Yes, sir,” he said, knowing the “sir” pissed her off more than anything else, but technically was not something she could get him on. “Did you have a particular reason for paging me, Lieutenant Ross?”
“Yeah. You got a call from a Sheriff Hutchins, Sevier County, Tennessee. He says it’s urgent you call him.” She rattled off the number and he memorized it instantly. He had a good memory for numbers and names. He’d been through Sevier County on his way to Gatlinburg, but he’d never heard of Hutchins.
Winters pulled into the first convenience store parking lot he saw and punched in Hutchins’s number. The sheriff was available, his assistant told him, if he’d please hold. Winters grumbled as he waited. This had better be important, he thought. He was using up cell phone minutes waiting on this yahoo. Finally the illustrious sheriff came to the phone, huffing and puffing.
“Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Officer Winters,” he said and Winters could hear the creaking of a chair in the background as the sheriff apparently sat down.
“It’s Detective Winters,” he corrected sharply. Didn’t Ross tell him that? Bitch.
“Oh, sorry. Your lieutenant told me you’d been promoted. My brain’s a little fried at the moment. We’ve been draggin’ Douglas Lake all day lookin’ for an accident victim and I just had the pleasure of tellin’ his parents.”
“That’s a shame,” Winters offered, rolling his eyes.
“But what does that have to do with you, huh? Listen, Winters, when we were dragging the lake we came up with something else. I thought you should know before the bureaucrats get involved.”
Winters listened and suddenly Lieutenant Ross and Alonzo Jones were the last things on his mind.
They’d found his car. Seven years of helpless fury came rushing back with the force of a freight train. They’d found his car, but his boy was not inside.
Neither was his wife.
Chapter Two
Chicago
Monday, March 5
7 A.M.
“So what’s the occasion?”
Caroline jerked, sending her mascara wand skittering up her forehead, leaving a thick black line in its wake. She turned her head deliberately, mouth bent down in a frown, eyes narrowed. She hated the nervous reaction time had failed to diminish. Made her feel like a stranger in her own skin. She drew a breath and slid the wand back into the mascara tube.
“You know not to do that.”
Dana leaned against the bedroom doorjamb, arms loosely crossed, one eyebrow elevated. “Sorry.” One corner of her mouth turned up. “You look like a lopsided raccoon.”
Caroline blew out a sigh as she surveyed her ruined makeup in the mirror. “I don’t need this today, Dana. I’m stressed enough without you sneaking up behind me.” She fumbled in her drawer for a tube of eye makeup remover.
Dana stiffened. “I didn’t sneak. I called your name when I came in the apartment and talked to Tom for five minutes before I came back here. You just weren’t listening. Oh, for crying out loud, Caro. You don’t have to make such a production about it. Just wipe it off.”
Caroline closed one eye and scrubbed. “I can’t. It’s waterproof.”
“I hate that waterproof stuff.” Dana leaned over Caroline’s dresser and picked up the tube of mascara. “Since when did you start using waterproof mascara?”
Caroline took the tube from her hand and focused on redoing the job. “Since Eli died.”
Dana’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Caroline. I didn’t think.”
Caroline closed the drawer with a snap. “It’s okay. You’d think I’d be over it by now, but I can’t seem to get through a day without at least a sniffle or two.”
“It’s only been two months, honey.” “
Two months and twelve days.” Eli Bradford had been her teacher, her boss, her friend. Besides Dana and Tom, Eli had been the only other person in the world to know her deepest secret. Her throat tightened in the now-familiar response to any memory of the man who’d been the closest thing to a father she’d ever had. Now he was gone and she missed him more than she thought possible. She made herself think of something else. “Well, now that you’ve invaded my space, how do I look?”
Dana pursed her lips and tipped her auburn head to one side, playing along with Caroline’s need to change the subject. “Your roots are showing. You need a touch-up.”
Caroline leaned forward to stare at the top of her head. Sure enough, a thin ribbon of gold ran along the part in her hair in stark contrast with the coffee brown waves. “Darn it. I just did my roots two weeks ago.”
“I told you not to choose such a dark color. But did you listen to me? Noooo.”
“Smartass. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.” Quickly she braided it back, hiding most of the tell-tale gold.
Dana shook her head. “It’s too dark. It’s always been too dark. You should lighten it.”
“Da-na.” It was a sigh of exasperation Caroline didn’t even try to hide.
“Caro-line.” Dana mimicked her tone, then sobered. “After all this time you still think you need to hide behind that hair color?”
“Better safe than sorry.” It was her stock response.
“How true,” Dana murmured, her eyes downcast for just a moment. She looked back up, still serious. “You could lighten it just a little. The contrast makes your face seem so pale. Especially this time of year, coming out of the winter.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Dana grinned and the atmosphere in the room suddenly brightened. “Don’t mention it. But I do like the sweater. The blue matches your eyes.”
“Too little, too late, my friend. And I do use that term loosely.” It was the farthest thing from the truth and they both knew it. Dana’s unique combination of laughter and sobriety had pulled Caroline through many a dark day. They were best friends. And having gone so many years so totally alone, Caroline Stewart was fully aware of the value of a best friend like Dana Dupinsky. They didn’t come any better, smarter or more loyal. Caroline slid her feet into a pair of low-heeled pumps. “Can you tell these are $10.99 Payless specials?”
Dana squinted, looking down at Caroline’s feet. “No. Why all the fuss this morning? And to bring us full circle— what’s the occasion?”
“My new boss starts today. I just want to make a good impression.” She turned sideways in the mirror, inspecting the final package. “I want to look professional without overdoing it.” She peered more closely. “Do you think these earrings are too Saturday night?”
Dana snorted. “Those earrings are the closest you’ve ever come to a Saturday night, girl.”
“Don’t nag me on my love life now. Just answer the question.”
“You don’t have a love life, Caroline. And they’re fine. Don’t worry. You look wonderful. You are a terrific secretary. Your new boss will be impressed.”
Caroline sighed. “I hope so. I got so used to working for Eli. I knew what he wanted before he even asked for it. I really need to keep this job, just until graduation.” After graduation, she’d be off to law school, the day-to-day worries of managing the Carrington College history office a thing of the past.
“You’ll be fine.”
Caroline glared mildly from the corner of her eye. “You always say that.”
“I’m always right.”
Caroline smiled. “You’re such a fathead.”
“But I’m a fathead who’s right.”
“That you are.” She stepped closer to the mirror and pushed the turtleneck collar of her sweater aside, inspect
ing the side of her neck.
“You can’t see them,” Dana said softly. “Stop worrying.”
Caroline let her collar spring back into place and straightened her spine. “Then I’m ready to meet Dr. Maximillian Alexander Hunter.”
Dana laughed. “That’s his name? He sounds like he should be a four-hundred-year-old history professor.”
“He is a history professor.”
“My point exactly.”
Caroline shrugged. “He’s probably no older than Eli was. As long as I don’t have to work for Monika Shaw, Hunter could be a four-hundred-year-old stuffed kangaroo and I’d still be a happy woman.”
She started for the kitchen, Dana at her heels. “How’s old Shaw-claw taking it?”
Caroline snickered, then her face went serious as she saw Tom sitting at the tiny dinette eating Cheerios. He must go through a box a day. At fourteen he was growing more and more, truly eating her out of house and home. She put on her “mom” voice. “You must stop calling her Shaw-claw, Dana.”
“Give it a rest, Mom,” Tom said, his spoon pausing mid-lift. “I saw you laughing.”
“Doh!” Caroline ruffled his wiry blond hair. Cut short in a crewcut it felt like a scrub brush, tickling her palm.
“Busted. You need to hurry or you’ll—”
“Miss the bus,” Tom finished. He shoveled another four spoonfuls in his mouth before grabbing his backpack. “Gotta go. I got practice after school, Mom. I won’t be home until five.”
“Be—”
“Careful,” he finished with a saucy grin. “You too. Good luck with Hunter today.” His smile faltered. “And be careful with Shaw, okay?”
Caroline reached up to cup his cheek. At six-one Tom’s cheek was almost out of her reach. “I will. I told you not to worry. Shaw can’t hurt us. She’s mean and vindictive, but it’s more likely I’ll win the Nobel peace prize than that Shaw will take the time to dig up our family secrets. Don’t worry, honey. Please.”
Tom frowned, his blue eyes stormy with a mixture of fear and anger. “Don’t you ever worry at all?”
Caroline studied his face, a replica of her own. Fate had been kind to them that way. If he’d looked like him, he would have been so much more difficult to hide. “Yes, I worry,” she replied honestly. They’d been through so much together he deserved nothing less than the truth. “Sometimes I get through a day without worrying he’s going to jump out from behind some bush and drag me back, but those days are few and far between. There are days I wish we could go back and hide at Hanover House, but I know Dana would kick our butts out on the street.” She saw the glimmer of a smile in his eyes and knew humor had taken the edge off his fear, as usual.
Dana moved to Tom’s side and slung her arm around his shoulders. “I would. I’m a scary witch that way.”
Tom managed a weak grin. “Yeah, I remember. ‘Eat your peas,’” he mimicked. “‘Do your homework. No Nintendo after eight-thirty.’ Man, was I glad to move out of that prison.”
He hadn’t been. Caroline remembered the day they left the shelter of Hanover House for the big, bad world of downtown Chicago, with nothing more than a suitcase filled with clothing donated by others more fortunate. She remembered his silent tears, the expression of abject terror on his small face, the way his eyes had darted back and forth looking. Always looking. But he’d obeyed. Slid his little hand in hers and walked out without a single look back. He’d come a long way in seven years. They both had.
“Tom, honey.” Caroline shook her head, looking for the words. “I’m afraid still. But I’m not terrified anymore. He could find us, that’s true. He could jump out from behind any bush and try to drag us back to North Carolina.” It wasn’t “home” anymore, for either of them. It was always “him,” never “father” or “husband.” They never, ever used the names they’d left behind. They were as vigilant about those little things now as they’d been seven years before. Attention to those little things had kept them safe.
And it was way, way better to be safe than sorry.
Sorry equaled dead.
Caroline stood a little straighter. “But we’re stronger now, both of us. We have weapons at our disposal that we didn’t have back then.”
Dana squeezed Tom’s shoulders hard. “Yeah, like me.”
Caroline smiled. “And she’s a scary one, don’t forget. But there’s more. I have an education now. I know my rights.” She hesitated. “And I know how to run.”
Tom squared his jaw. “I don’t want to run again.”
“And we probably never will again. But if he comes—”
“If he comes, I won’t leave you.”
Caroline sighed, then shrugged. “Honey, we’ve discussed this a thousand times.”
“I won’t run,” he asserted. “I won’t leave you alone.” Suddenly he looked so much older than fourteen. Her son was fast on his way to becoming a man, she realized. And she knew what she needed to say, even if the words stuck in her throat.
“All right. If that day ever comes, we stick together.” She reached up again to touch his face. “But for today, don’t worry. And same goes for tomorrow and the next day.”
“One day at a time,” he murmured, as if to himself.
“You taught him well, Caro.”
Caroline looked from her son to her best friend. They had taught him well. Together, she and Dana. And stick together or not, Tom was equipped to survive, whatever happened. She’d surrounded him with friends who would care for him in an instant should anything happen to her. It was a comforting assurance.
“It’s time for school. Have a good day, honey.”
“I’ll try.” He hesitated, then dipped down to peck her cheek. “Bye.”
The door slammed on his way out and the little apartment trembled. Caroline stood still for a moment, then shook herself back into motion. “Want some coffee?”
“No. I had some already. What brought all that on?”
“Oh, Tom’s worried that Shaw will exact revenge against me because I was on the committee that recommended Hunter to take Eli’s position as Department Chair.”
“She had her eye on it, huh?”
“From day one. I think she was counting the days until Eli retired. And then when he had that heart attack …” She cleared her throat before her voice could break. Forced her hands to steady as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “You should have seen her at Eli’s funeral.”
“I did.” Dana retrieved a carton of half-and-half from the refrigerator and added some to Caroline’s cup. “She was …” She held the carton by its bottom and turned it toward the overhead light. “Like the proverbial cat in cream.”
“Well, I’m so glad I don’t have to work for her. Hunter would have to be one step up from Jack the Ripper to make me … dislike him as much as I … dislike Monika Shaw.”
“Dislike?” Dana stopped pouring Cheerios in a bowl to look over her shoulder with a grin. “Such strong words from the lady this morning.”
Caroline grinned back. “Okay, I hate her. She’s a mean bitch. Satisfied now?”
Dana’s husky chuckle filled the little kitchen. “I am. Nothing less than the truth will do.”
Caroline looked pointedly at Dana’s full cereal bowl. “I thought you didn’t want breakfast.”
“No, I said I didn’t want coffee. I’m starving to death. My cupboards are bare.”
“Da-na.” Caroline sighed. They sat down at the table.
“What?”
“You gave it all to the kids, didn’t you.” It wasn’t even a question.
Dana lifted her chin defensively. “Yes, I did.” Then her shoulders sagged. “We got this family in yesterday. From Toledo. They were starving, Caro, literally. Mom was so bruised you couldn’t even see what shape her face was supposed to be. Her back …” She shuddered. “It still gets to me, even after all this time.”
“That’s because you’re human. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be nearly as good at what you do.”
&n
bsp; And what Dana did, Caroline reflected, was to save lives. Literally. Dana managed Hanover House, a shelter for abused women and their children. It offered a safe place to stay, medical attention for those who needed it—and most quite certainly needed it. But best of all, Hanover House offered hope and the promise of a new start. And the means to make that start. Caroline wasn’t sure where Dana got the new social security cards and birth certificates and she’d never asked. She’d been so grateful to get a birth certificate with her own son’s new name that she’d cried. She remembered the moment as if it were yesterday instead of seven years before. Tom Stewart. Live birth at Rush Memorial in Chicago, Illinois. Father unknown. The last name matched the birth certificate she’d … borrowed for herself. Caroline Stewart. There were even some days she could go an hour or two without remembering who she really was. Where she really had come from. That Mary Grace Winters was just a bad nightmare. That Mary Grace was gone.
Caroline Stewart held her future. And Caroline intended to make the most of it.
“Caroline?” Dana tapped her spoon against the bowl.
Caroline sighed. “Just remembering my own first experience with Hanover House.” She reached across the table and squeezed Dana’s hand, studied the dark circles under her friend’s brown eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. “And with you. How about you, Dana. Are you okay? You look so tired.”
“I’ll be fine with a few hours’ sleep. I came over straight from the House. One of the new kids from Toledo has strep, and—”
“And you spent the night taking care of him.”
“He’s only three years old. And so damn scared.” Dana’s brown eyes filled, uncharacteristically. “Dammit, Caroline. That baby had scars. Worse than his mother’s. I held him because he couldn’t lie down on the bed. His back was one big black bruise. He screamed every time I touched him. His father …” The tears spilled over and down her cheeks. “His father burned him with cigarettes. On his feet, dammit.” She choked on a sob, pushed the half-eaten bowl of cereal away.
Caroline squeezed Dana’s fisted hand tighter with one hand, the other creeping up to the side of her neck to touch her own scars. Makeup and high collars covered them so that they weren’t visible to anyone’s eyes but her own. In her own mind’s eye, she saw them as they’d been when they were fresh, still felt the paralyzing fear, still smelled the acrid odor of burning flesh.