Fugitive Mom. Lynn Erickson

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СКАЧАТЬ not very nice now, she wanted to say. Instead, she asked, “What exactly did he do for you?”

      He looked away. “It’s a long story.”

      “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

      He drank the last of his beer, not replying.

      “So, you’ll start working on this right away? You’ll have to go to Denver, I guess,” she said anxiously.

      “As soon as you get the files to me, I’ll do some preliminary stuff from here. Run a computer check, see if I can find anything new on the Pope woman. Call a few people, ask around. I have contacts.”

      “But you’re not a policeman now.”

      “No. I’m an insurance fraud investigator these days.” His eyes flamed with dark outrage for a split second, then the fire was gone, and his flat blue gaze returned.

      She shuddered inadvertently. “But you can do this job?”

      “Yeah, I can do it. If there’s anything to be found on your kid’s mother, I’ll find it.”

      Grace looked away. “It sounds so awful when you say it like that. As if I were trying to frame an innocent person.”

      “She’s not innocent, though, is she?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Listen, I know a lot about justice and truth and all that moral crap, and I can tell you there are gray areas. Lots of gray areas. Don’t sweat it. I’ll nail Kerry Pope for you.”

      He sounded so positive. She tried to make herself believe in his assurance, but she didn’t know him. He was a stranger, really, and she couldn’t comprehend why Bob thought so much of him. But she had to trust her father. She had to.

      “Do you want to eat?” Luke was asking. “I can order, if you’d like.”

      Dinner with this man? “Ah, no, really. I have to get back to Charley. Thanks anyway.”

      “I guess that’s it, then. Bob said he gave you a cell phone.”

      “Yes.”

      “Let me have the number. I don’t want to be calling Bob’s house.”

      She pulled the phone out of her shoulder bag and read the number off to him. He didn’t write it down.

      “Um, will you remember…?” she ventured.

      “Yeah, sure. I’m good with recall.”

      “Can I have your number?”

      “Bob’s got my phone numbers.”

      “Okay. Should I call you in the morning, you know, to see what you might need?”

      “I’ll call you.” He regarded her for a moment. “Where are you staying?”

      “Not at home,” she said. “My dad told me I shouldn’t be seen there.”

      “Right. Where will you go, then?”

      “Oh, I haven’t thought. Another safe house, maybe. I’m not sure.”

      “Don’t use a credit card anywhere.”

      “Yes.” She looked down at her cup of tea, cold now. “I’m aware of that.”

      “Okay, then.” He stood, gazing down at her, and she rose too quickly, her shoulder bag sliding onto the floor. She leaned over to retrieve it, but Luke had already come around the table and picked it up.

      “Sorry,” she said.

      “Here,” he said at the same time, handing the bag to her, and their fingers touched for a heartbeat.

      He followed her down the steep stairs to the noisy room below. He said something to the waiter who had sent her upstairs, and he smiled as he spoke. The change in his face was shocking; he looked young and carefree and so handsome for a split second that she felt her breath catch.

      He turned back to her, his face once again frozen in its implacable lines, and pulled open the door for her. She hadn’t noticed when she’d entered, but on the door was a tiny, colorful Chinese birdcage with a wooden carved bird inside, and when the door was opened, the motion set the bird to warbling cheerfully. So incongruous, she had time to think, and then the door shut behind her and the sound was cut off.

      “Where’s your car?” he asked.

      She pointed. “Right down the block.”

      He told her he’d walk her there, and then he pulled out a pair of sunglasses and put them on. The evening sun clicked off the mirrored surfaces. She looked away.

      “I’ll stay in touch,” he was saying as they descended the steep hill, and she felt his hand rest lightly on the small of her back. Her skin shivered.

      He took her keys from her when they reached her dad’s station wagon, then unlocked the door and held it for her. She couldn’t fail to notice from the movement of his head how his gaze behind those mirrored glasses traveled up and down the block. He seemed unaware of his action, as if it were instinctive in him. Yes. A cop. She slid in behind the wheel and when he handed her the keys their fingers brushed again. She could smell him—beery breath cut with a smoky overlay, as if he’d been sitting around a campfire. “Later,” he said.

      “Okay. Um, thank you for doing this.”

      He waved a hand, dismissing her, watched as she turned on the ignition and merged into the heavy traffic. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head, pale-blue icy eyes, until she reached the corner and made a left turn.

      Then, taking her totally by surprise, a sob welled up from her chest, shaking her so badly she had to pull over into a gas station and stop. For the first time, she let the tears come, the moan building in her, until her face was wet and her throat hurt and her heart was empty.

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