Текст книги "Crush "

Автор книги: Kim Karr

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

ELLE

I opened the back door of my townhouse with my hands full.

I had my laptop on one shoulder, my purse on the other, and a giant plush elephant clutched in between. Logan had picked it up yesterday for Clementine. It was so big it had to be the size of her. I’d been unsuccessful in replacing Rosie and although Clementine had long forgotten her once precious rattle, he hoped this would fill any void the lost toy might have created.

It was really sweet.

Much to my chagrin, when I glanced toward the dark sky filled with gray clouds, I knew it was going to rain again. Boston in the spring was proving that my investment in a good raincoat was well worth it. I’d also picked up a red rain hat and red rain boots. Luckily, I had already shoved the hat on my head before stepping foot outdoors, but unfortunately my rain boots were at the boutique.

I took in the beautiful green colors that surrounded me—the trees, the grass, the stems of the flowers. Everything was starting to get so green and lush. I loved the Northeast and couldn’t believe I’d spent so much time anywhere but here.

After a few moments of taking in the fresh air, I turned on my heels to lock the kitchen door. When I did, I felt something strange beneath my soles. The giant elephant was blocking my view but still, I managed to glance downward.

Black rose petals covered the stoop. Hundreds of them. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I felt a chill that was not from the cool temperature. I glanced around. Nothing. No one. Where did they come from?

That unease I’d felt earlier crept right back inside my soul.

Worrying my lip, I locked the door and hurried up the sidewalk to the street. The Porsche was parked behind the Mercedes, but there were no signs of anything or anyone unusual.

Today I was taking the Mercedes and as I rushed toward it, my mind was whirling. What I knew about black roses came from reading books and watching movies. Possibly total folklore, they meant to symbolize a warning for something like an impending death or a plot for revenge. Were these left for me or were they a prank by some neighborhood goth kid who dabbed black food coloring in his grandmother’s rose garden? I tried calling Logan to tell him about it but the call went right to voicemail. I hung up. I was being silly. I’d tell him about it later.

I eased down the accelerator. Was it just my imagination, or could I smell the woodsy, pine-like smell of the outdoors in the car? I glanced around. Nothing. Odd. I was really losing it.

Driving fast, it still seemed to take me forever to get to Michael’s. As I pulled onto his street, I looked in the rearview mirror and told myself I had to focus on what was important. I had to be brave. For Clementine.

I parked out front and double-checked that the thumb drive was still in the pocket of my black palazzo pants. I’d selected an outfit where the pants were loose and the top sheer so as to hide any evidence of what I was carrying on my body and draw attention up to the top. It wasn’t the best plan, but I also hoped it wasn’t one that was needed. Hopefully, Michael would stay at work during my weekly breakfast date with Clementine—he always had. But then again, he hadn’t propositioned me before now and wasn’t awaiting an answer, either.

Knock. Knock.

I didn’t want to scare Mrs. R and just go on in. This was her first week and she was still learning the ropes. In fact, I hoped Michael had reminded her to give Clementine only a small snack until I arrived.

There was no answer and I knocked again.

For some odd reason, I started to sweat even though it was cold outside.

The lock finally gave way and I felt a swoosh of relief. The door swung open and Mrs. R stood before me in her plain taupe pants, white blouse, and practical shoes. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She was very proper. Like an English nanny. I both liked and disliked the idea of it. I wanted Clementine to have the freedom to express herself while understanding the rights and wrongs of the world. I wasn’t certain Mrs. R would allow for the former, but at least I knew I would.

She moved aside. “Good morning, Miss Sterling. Clementine has been waiting for you.”

I stepped inside. “How’s everything going with her?”

“Very well. Thank you for asking.”

I had the oddest feeling that I was like a stranger to her. Of course she didn’t know me, but still, she knew I was a part of Clementine’s life. When I’d first met her, I thought she would be ideal for Clementine, but maybe my state of mind wasn’t exactly in top shape then because today she seemed cool, aloof. It was as if she didn’t like me for some reason.

“Mommy!” Clementine called, barreling toward me at toddling speed with her juice cup in her hand.

“Don’t run,” Mrs. R warned, but her smile told me it was concern in her voice and not the need for obedience I’d heard in my father’s voice every day of my young life.

I dumped everything in my hands and bent down with my arms extended. When Clementine reached me, I scooped her up and kissed her. “Good morning, silly girl. How are you today?”

Her hands clasped my cheeks and she opened her mouth for another kiss. Open-mouthed kisses were her thing. She breathed on me and she smelled of Cheerios and orange juice. A scent I had grown to cherish.

I held her tightly, the wave of love I felt for her as powerful as blood. She might not have been mine, but I felt like she was. “Look, I have a new friend to join your others.” I set her down and handed her the stuffed elephant.

She giggled and threw her arms around the soft fur. “Rosie,” she beamed.

My heart leapt at how much she loved her new Rosie.

“Mrs. Sterling, would you like me to prepare her breakfast now?” Mrs. R asked.

Still in the foyer, I glanced around at how tidy everything was. In the family room, all the toys were in the toy chest, the board books were placed neatly on the shelf, and Clementine’s stuffed animals were nowhere in sight. “Oh, no, we do that together, but thank you. Did Traci come?”

She tidied her bun. “She came Monday and will come again tomorrow.”

“Oh, it’s just everything is so neat.”

Mrs. R’s eyes lit up. “Yes, Clementine and I did some straightening up of her things yesterday. They were in quite a disarray.”

Panic set in and I didn’t know how to stop it. “She has to be allowed to play,” I found myself saying, knowing I was being ridiculous.

“Mommy,” Clementine said again, but when my eyes darted down to hers she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at Mrs. R.

A twinge of jealousy struck and it was followed by unreasonable disappointment.

Mrs. R bent to Clementine’s level. “Now sweetie, we discussed this. I’m Nanny and,” she pointed to me, “this is Aunt Elle.”

Clementine was oblivious to the entire conversation as she pretended to give Rosie some juice, but I could see in that moment that Mrs. R truly cared for her and that my tension was tainting my view of the situation.

“How about I bring Rosie upstairs to your room to join your other friends in our tea party and you go make breakfast with your aunt.”

She was correct. I was her aunt, not her mother.

I plastered a smile on my face and took Clementine’s hand. “Come on, let’s get those pancakes going.”

Mrs. R gently took my arm. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m trying to make the situation clear for her. We were in the park yesterday and she was calling every woman there ‘Mommy.’ I’m certain she misses her own mother and with no one constant woman in her life, she sees everyone as her mommy.”

The sucker punch came out of nowhere, but I knew it wasn’t intended to hurt me. Clementine did have a parade of women in her life. Nannies, housekeepers, Michael’s sister, me, but none were here all the time. “No, not at all. You did the right thing.”

Clementine and I went into the kitchen while Mrs. R left us alone and went upstairs. As always, I enjoyed my time with her. We made the batter, cooked the pancakes in the shape of princess tiaras, and then ate them with lots of syrup.

I shoved my own issues aside. Mrs. R was good for her. She was stable and reliable and could see what I had failed to see.

“How was it?” she asked Clementine as she entered the kitchen.

“De . . . lick . . . is,” she said, rubbing her tummy.

My heart fluttered. She was cute beyond words.

“If you don’t mind, Miss Sterling, I’m going to take her for a walk before the rain starts. It looks like it might just storm all day.”

I was washing the frying pan. “Please, call me Elle, and that’s a great idea. I’ll just finish up here and be off. I have to get to work by ten.”

“You can leave those. I’ll clean them up later.”

I pushed the hair from my face. “I’m almost done.”

“Okay, then, we’ll be off.”

I wiped my hands on a towel. “Give me a kiss, silly girl.”

In her shiny patent leather shoes she came over to me. “Bye, bye.”

I gave her a big squeeze and kissed her. “I love you and I’ll see you this weekend.”

She gave me that open-mouthed kiss and then took Mrs. R’s extended hand.

As soon as I heard the door close, I ran into Michael’s office.

Sightless eyes were watching me, or that’s how I felt as I plugged the thumb drive into Michael’s computer and a series of letters and numbers flashed before me. The bar at the bottom moved at a snail’s pace. I dug my fingernails into my palms as it inched ever farther toward one hundred.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

I glanced around and noticed the bouquet of roses on Michael’s desk.

“That’s it,” I thought, and ran toward the tile that hid the keypad.

With shaky fingers I tried to move it. Nothing happened. I tried to turn it. Nothing happened. Had he relocated it?

Feeling defeated, I pushed in as I went to shove away and the tile popped open. I entered 7673—the numbers that corresponded to Rose, Michael’s mother’s name. The dead woman whose pictures were everywhere. The mother he had obviously loved.

I couldn’t believe it, but the bookcase to the left of the fireplace slowly started to open. My heart was racing and I bit my bottom lip in an attempt to steady my shaking body.

Anticipation clogged my throat. I wanted to run inside and see what all the fuss was about, but I was cautious and I waited for it to fully open. My eyes glanced back to the computer screen and the bar read 100 percent. Torn between the safe room and the computer program, I decided to eject the thumb drive first.

Once I did, I turned back and the door was still fully opened. I shoved the thumb drive in my pocket and wondered how long I should wait to see if it closed on its own. I should have asked Miles. I patted my pockets for my phone but it was in my purse, which was out in the foyer, and there was no way I could leave Michael’s office with the door to the safe room, panic room, or whatever you want to call it the way it was.

It remained fully open. I stared at it. It hadn’t closed by now and I knew it wasn’t going to. I was certain of that. I saw a large five-prong handle on the inside and knew it was there for someone to pull it shut and lock the door quickly by turning it.

Bracing myself, I took a tentative step forward . . . nervous but filled with hope that going inside would lead me closer to the truth.

One step.

Two.

Three.

And I was inside.

It was smaller than I had imagined. Twelve by twelve at the most. The air smelled musty and dry like the basement. But it was neat and clean. The walls were a deep blue. There were three clocks across the one directly opposite me. Each was labeled—Tokyo, London, and Washington. Under them was a desk that stretched the entire length of the room. Two monitors were located on each end of the desk. To my right was a couch sandwiched between open shelves with bottles of water, cans of fruit, and first aid supplies. There was another couch sandwiched between cabinets.

Curious, I started with those.

The center of the room was clear and if Michael had money or drugs hidden inside the room, they’d have to be in there. My pulse was thundering in every pressure point in my body as I moved quickly. If Michael came home and found me in here, I’d have no excuse that would ring true. Clementine wasn’t even in the house.

The bottom cabinet was a refrigerator that was empty. The top held a few guns, ammunition, and flashlights. The other cabinet was completely barren, but salt crystals were on the bottom of it. There was also a safe on the top that I wasn’t even going to try to open.

The desk held the monitors and a keyboard. I clicked the enter button and was shocked to see rooms in the house pop up as well as the front and back doors. In plain sight were the kitchen, the family room, and Clementine’s bedroom. Thank God, none of the other bedrooms were being monitored. Still, it made me a little jumpy to know Michael could watch me almost anywhere.

Oh, God, could he see me now?

I was just about to give up and run when a sheet a paper with what I knew to be my sister’s writing caught my attention. Her letters always looked printed in all capital letters and they were easily identifiable. My heart stuttered a little as I reached for it. It read:

Gabby,

You must have known how much I need you right now. Things in my life are a mess. I need to get away. Please bring Clementine, a bag of her things, and as much money as you can. Meet me later tonight at 615 One Park Lane. Don’t tell anyone, especially Michael, and please, be careful.

Love, Lizzy

Tears stung the back of my eyes and I sucked in a breath to hold them back. My sister had tried to contact me and somehow Michael intercepted the note. The wave of sadness I felt was excruciating.

“Miss Sterling, are you still here?”

My eyes darted toward the door and I spotted a sealed vanilla envelope on the desk labeled Clementine’s Paternity. I had no time to look through it now, though; Mrs. R and Clementine were back and I had to get out of here. Frantic I was going to be caught, my hands were shaking hard and my mind was a scattered mess.

Clop, clop, clop, like a little racehorse I heard Clementine’s small footfalls on the wooden floor in the foyer.

Snapping into action, I shot like a rocket out of the door. The door. How was I going to close it? I hoped it was programmed as Miles had described. Holding my breath, I reentered the code and then closed the panel that covered it.

“Miss Sterling.”

I felt a flicker of terror. Was I going to get caught?

The panic room door continued to close and I hoped it wasn’t noticeable that I’d been inside. With no time to dwell over it, I tore toward the office doors, which, thank God, I’d shut before sitting at Michael’s computer, and placed my hand on the knob. My heart was in my throat. A quick glance back told me I’d left the desk the way I’d found it and that the panic room door had completely closed. I heaved a sigh of relief and shut the door behind me. Then I crept out into the hallway and saw Mrs. R and Clementine in the hall powder room.

Mrs. R hadn’t seen me, and I tiptoed toward the kitchen and then turned on my heels. I drew in the deepest of breaths that I could and said, “I’m still here.”

She peeked out of the bathroom. She was soaked from head to toe and so was my little princess, who came surging for me when she saw me. “Mommy.”

Mrs. R was still looking at me. I shrugged and gave Clementine a little huff of laughter. “What happened? Did you get rained on?”

“Wet,” she giggled.

I laughed harder and held my hand out. “Come on, I’ll take you upstairs and get you changed.”

“Oh, I can do that, Miss Sterling.”

“Please, call me Elle. And you get dried off while I take care of her and then I need to get going.” Peyton opened on Wednesdays, so I could be a little late.

The rain had become a downpour by the time I pulled away from Michael’s house. The minivans, swing sets, and porch swings along the road were a blur. Rain or shine, I didn’t care. I was just relieved that I’d made it out of there without Michael coming home and without getting caught by Mrs. R.

That woodsy, pine-like smell was still potent in the car. I glanced in the backseat and saw nothing. When I got to the boutique, I’d have to check the trunk. Something had to be in there.

Taking the shortest way, I turned the corner and I swear I saw Michael’s car heading in the opposite direction, toward his house. I hoped I was wrong.

When I felt like I could mask my overwhelming need to vomit, I fumbled for my phone and called Logan.

“Are you okay?” he answered, worried. “I saw you called and tried you back. Why didn’t you answer?”

Even through everything, the sound of his voice made me smile. “I couldn’t, but listen, I’m on my way to the boutique and everything went well. More than well, in fact.”

“Did you install the program?” he asked, clearly concerned.

Suddenly, I felt a little proud of myself. I’d done it. “Yes, and I got into the safe room.”

“What the fuck, Elle? I told you not to do that.”

“I know, but the code hit me and I had to try.”

His words were laced with anger. “I said it was dangerous. What don’t you understand about that?”

I wanted to argue with him, but I knew he was right.

“It was a stupid thing to do,” I agreed.

His sigh was heavy.

“Do you want to know what the code was?” I tried to extinguish his anger.

“Yeah.” His tone was still off.

“It’s Rose, Michael’s mother’s name.”

“Son of a bitch.”

There, he was fine. I laughed. “Can you believe it?”

“No. But you still shouldn’t have gone in there. What if you had been caught?”

The car in front of me engaged its hazard lights. I pulled around it. “Since when do you talk in the hypothetical?”

“Since there was no plan A or plan B,” he answered matter-of-factly.

The light turned yellow and I pressed the gas. “Okay, okay. Do you want to know what was in there or not?”

“Of course I do. Were the drugs still in there?”

“No, I looked everywhere. There were those crystals on the floor in one of the cabinets but nothing else. However, I found a note in there, and it was from my sister to me asking me to meet her. Michael must have gotten to it before me.”

There was knock on his door. “Meet her where?”

“At some address at One Park Lane.”

“Hang on,” he told me.

The rain started to fall harder and I turned the windshield wipers up. “Okay,” I said.

“Put him in the conference room and see if he wants some coffee, I’ll be right there,” Logan said to who I assumed was Sheila, his receptionist. “I’m back. Sorry about that.”

The car in front of me came to an abrupt stop and I slammed on the brakes. The car behind me honked.

“Where are you, Elle? Are you okay?”

“Yes, it’s just raining so hard I can’t see two feet in front of me, but I’m almost to the boutique.”

“Take it easy, okay? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“You’re sweet, you know.”

“Now, you’re pushing it.”

I laughed. “You are. Are you ready for the address?”

“Yes, shoot.”

“It was Six-fifteen One Park Lane.”

“That was one of the three buildings that cokehead pointed out to Miles.”

All the spots were taken near the boutique and I found myself weaving up and down the side streets. “I want to go with you when you go,” I said.

“No way.”

I decided to give in and pay to park in a lot. I hated the high cost and very rarely did it, but the rain was cause enough to splurge. The lot I found was farther away from the boutique than I would have liked, considering I didn’t have my rain boots. “Logan, please.”

“No, Elle. Let Miles go with me and then I’ll bring you there later if there’s anything to see.”

I switched the ignition off and fumbled for my debit card. “Do you promise?”

“Yes.”

My bags were on the seat beside me and I pulled them onto my shoulder. “Oh, by the way, Clementine loved her new Rosie.”

“Did she call her that?”

The lot was deserted. Everyone must have been waiting out the storm indoors. I opened the door. “She did.”

“She’s the sweet one,” he joked. “Listen, I have to go. I’ll call Miles after I meet with this client and let you know what we’re doing. I have a few other things to fill you in about.”

Water swooshed across my shoes with my first step onto the pavement and I swiped my card to pay the hefty twenty-dollar parking fee. I knew better than to complain to Logan about it because he’d offered more than once to pay the yearly astronomical fee for the parking lot just around the corner from the boutique.

I started to move faster. The quiet of the normally bustling streets of Boston was eerie. “Logan, one more thing.”

“Yeah, sure, what is it?”

“It’s probably nothing, but when I opened the back door this morning to leave, it was covered with hundreds of black rose petals.”

“Where are you?” he asked, panicked.

He took me by surprise and I stuttered. I wasn’t exactly quite sure.

“Where are you?” he was yelling.

“I’m walking on a side street, heading toward the boutique.”

It sounded like he was moving. “Listen to me and don’t argue. Get back in the car, lock the doors, and come straight here. I’ll meet you outside.” The wobble in his voice told me to listen.

My legs buckled beneath me. “You’re scaring me.”

“I’m headed outside. I want you in your car and driving—now! Are you at the vehicle yet?”

The rain was coming down so hard it was whipping against me and it was hard to see. “No, I just turned back.”

“Reschedule my clients for the day,” I heard him say.

“I’ll call you when I’m in the car,” I said.

“No! Stay on the phone with me.”

My heart was beating erratically. “It’s just ahead.”

“Okay, keep walking as fast as you can.”

Panic like I’ve never felt gripped me. I hit the key fob and unlocked the door as fast as I could. “I’m getting inside. What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re safely inside and the door is locked.”

“I’m in,” I said, my voice nothing more than a whisper.

“Start driving. I’m outside waiting for you.”

That woodsy, pine-like smell was still in my car. It was stronger than ever now and it no longer smelled like the outdoors, but more like the expensive aftershave I can remember my father wearing on special occasions. I wanted to gag. I couldn’t stand it.

Just as my head turned to see what it could possibly be, an arm came around and covered my mouth. Terror plagued me. I tried to scream, but all that came out was a muffled sound. My eyes darted to the rearview mirror. There was a man wearing a black ski mask in my backseat. Icy blue eyes were all I could see.

Fear assaulted me.

My pulse started to thunder out of control.

All I wanted was for my defense mechanism to kick in.

My heart beat wildly as I figured out what I had to do.

The phone fell to the ground when I raised my arms to attack. But we weren’t standing, and he had an advantage. As a result, my movements were jagged, not coordinated like they should have been. When I reached back to tear his eyes out, pull his hair, cause any bodily injury I could, he pressed something sharp against my face—a knife. “Don’t move,” he said through gritted teeth.

I knew better, but I tried to knock the knife from his hand by jabbing my elbow upward. His response was immediate and he pressed the blade harder. Along with pain, I felt warmth tricking down my face. He’d cut my cheek. How bad, I had no idea. Tears leaked from my eyes.

Then, in a rage, I went a little crazy. My hands going to my cheek, to the roof of the car, reaching behind me. My wild actions were enough to knock the knife from his grip, but in response he started to strangle me. I wasn’t going to be able to get away from him. All my training, all the strength I thought I possessed, and I wasn’t going to be able to fight him off.

“Elle?” I could hear Logan’s frantic voice.

My attacker’s hand was no longer on my mouth and I screamed, “Help! Help!”

In an instant he was covering my mouth again, this time with something thick and cottony. It smelled sweet and I immediately began to feel nauseous.

Moments later, his mouth was at my ear and I could smell the foul scent of his breath permeating my membranes even through the chemical scent. “‘They said to him, teacher this woman has been caught in adultery, in the very act. Now in the law Moses commanded us to stone such women; what then do you say?’”

My sounds, although muffled, had to convey my fear.

“You’re much stronger than your sister. I thought you weaker. I thought I’d only have to hold on to you for a day or so. That all I had to do was convince you of the value of monogamy. I didn’t realize you were snooping into affairs that have nothing to do with you.”

I shook my head no.

He tsked. “Don’t lie. He hath punishments for those who dare do so.”

Again, I shook my head.

“I overheard your phone call. I know that you were looking around at things that are none of your business,” he said in a whisper.

I tried to deny it, but nothing came out.

He removed the cloth from my mouth. “What do you know?”

“Nothing. I swear. The only thing I care about is Clementine.”

The cotton was back in my mouth.

This time my gag reflex was triggered and I tried to push air from my mouth. I didn’t like the sound of his voice at all. It was disguised in some way. It was familiar yet not. It was like he was deliberately trying to change it.

“You’re the one who’s been calling me,” I tried to say.

Just then, everything around me became hazy. He let go of his hold on me. I wanted to open the door and run, but it was too dark. I couldn’t see anything. The sound of the rain on the roof of the car seemed to be amplified and I felt like I was drowning, like I was lying on the sidewalk and the water was rushing over me.

I wasn’t breathing. I gasped and sucked in a breath. Air. I needed air. The window. Could I open it? I tried to find the button on the door, but my fingers wouldn’t move that far. The horn, what about the horn? I should pound my fists against the horn. But my body was sluggish and by the time I placed my hands on the center of the steering wheel and pressed, no sound came out. Wait, I wasn’t pressing; I couldn’t.

My limp body was like a puppet and he was tugging the strings. I could feel what he was doing, but I couldn’t fight it. He pulled at my coat, took my arm out of it, and then he tore my top. I heard the sound of buttons popping and a cool draft hit my shoulder. I heard the familiar sound of a wrapper being torn, the flick, flick of nails against plastic, and then smelled the all-too-familiar scent of Band-Aids.

It was the nightmare of my mother’s diabetes all over again, except I wasn’t diabetic and he was going to give me insulin.

In a hopeless attempt, I tried to move away. I couldn’t.

The needle plunged into my arm. It felt cool as the liquid swooshed through my veins, and then in the next moment I felt like I was falling. Falling into a deep, dark hole.

My father’s face flashed before me. “You’re so weak!” he yelled.

And this time I couldn’t argue with him, because he was right.