Hideaway (10 page)

M
artin Cole had called himself every kind of fool only moments before he knocked on the door to Parris’s apartment. He had run from trouble all of his life, not sought it out. He knew going after Parris Simmons again was more than trouble; it was certain disaster.

He had stood out in front of the building complex waiting and watching the school bus pick up the children gathered on the corner. He had recognized his daughter immediately, even though her hair was covered by a red knit cap. It was one thing to see her face in a photograph and another to see the image in the flesh.

Raising his hands, he laced his fingers over the thick black hair curling on the nape of his neck. His hair was still damp from the falling snow. His right hand moved down his face and a long, tapered forefinger grazed the neatly barbered moustache concealing his upper lip. If Parris had opened her eyes she would have recognized the gesture. The gesture was familiar to all who knew Martin Cole well. Whenever he was deep in thought the right forefinger toyed with his upper lip; and the black moustache covered a sensual mouth many had not seen in nearly ten years. He had grown the moustache just after Parris disappeared from his life, and its presence had become a constant reminder of how much she had altered his life. What he was unaware of was that the moustache enhanced his Afro-Cuban heritage.

Martin Diaz Cole, the eldest of four offspring of Samuel and Marguerite Cole, had inherited the superior genes of both his parents: Samuel’s impressive height and rich sienna-brown coloring; and Marguerite’s delicately sensual features and curling black hair. Some men claimed Martin’s looks were too refined, while most women adamantly disagreed with them. Whatever their opinion of him, both sexes were drawn to and captivated by his looks and commanding manner.

Martin had registered Parris’s breathless whisper when she called out his name. He’d always loved the timbre of her voice. She had the lowest, huskiest, sexiest feminine voice of any woman he had ever met. He found it cloaking, velvety, and soothing.

But Parris’s voice wasn’t the only thing that had captivated him. It was also the woman herself. And as in the past, he suspected Parris was completely unaware of the spell and power she wielded over him.

Parris opened her eyes, staring at Martin as if she had never seen him before. Although Parris hadn’t changed much over the past ten years, Martin had changed drastically. His inky-black hair no longer flowed to his shoulders but was short, close to his scalp, while a sprinkling of gray sparkled throughout the ebony strands, reminding her of his rapid approach to forty. The black well-defined eyebrows above his expressive dark eyes were the same, as well as the tiny lines around those deep, penetrating eyes; however, slashes on his lean cheeks, around his nose, and the thick growth of a moustache were new.

Instinctively, Parris knew these new changes were not only due to maturity, but to a hardness and determination she recognized immediately in the man who had once captured her heart.

Martin shrugged out of his coat, dropping it on the opposite end of the sofa. Rather than sit beside Parris, he decided to sit on the love seat. His gaze moved leisurely over her straightened hair which was pulled off her face and secured in an elastic band. Unsecured, her hair was long enough to sweep over her shoulders.

He had never forgotten her soft almond-brown coloring, her large clear brown eyes with the dark green centers, her pert nose
and her lush full mouth. Parris looked no differently than she had years before, except for her eyes. They were older, wiser, haunted and guarded.

“You know why I’m here,” he said without hesitation.

Parris couldn’t help smiling. “You always were direct, weren’t you, Martin?”

“That’s the only way I know how to be,” he replied, unsmiling. “I want you and I want
my
daughter.”

She successfully concealed a shudder. “Why now and not ten years ago? What took you so long to come after me?”

Martin rose to his feet and walked over to the expansive window that covered an entire wall from the living room to dining area.

A pair of gray wool slacks, a matching gray cashmere V-neck sweater over a pale blue silk shirt emphasized a muscular, proportioned six-foot three-inch frame, and testified that his clothes had not come off a department store rack. Martin Cole was a man who would only grow more attractive with age.

Parris, having recovered from the shock of seeing Martin again, replied, “I want you to leave.”

Turning around, he glared at her. “I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”

“Answer my question first. What took so long to come after me? Don’t tell me that you woke up this morning and decided to look up Parris Simmons because she just happened to cross your mind.”

Martin let out a deep sigh. He returned to the love seat and sat down. A hardness touched his jaw as he said, “I hated you for running away from me, Parris. It took me a long time to get over your deceit. But with time the memories faded and so did the hurt. It was only a few weeks ago that I paid someone to find you.”

“Why?” She was surprised at her own outward display of calmness although her stomach muscles churned and knotted in apprehension.

“I want a wife,” he admitted, deciding on honesty. He’d never lied to her and he didn’t want to begin now.

Parris ran a hand over her hair. “You wanted a wife ten years ago.”

“Wrong.” He frowned. “I needed a wife ten years ago. I needed you.”

“You needed me for all the wrong reasons, Martin,” she managed to state in an even tone.

His face flushed under the deep rich color of his tan. “Why do you think I wanted to marry you? I just wanted to give you what your husband did not give you. I wanted to show you that being married to me would not have been the same as being married to Lawson. Things haven’t changed that much in ten years because I still want to marry you.”

“You always said you got whatever you wanted. You weren’t content to just sleep with me. You had to have it all.”

Martin covered his face with his hands. “Damn you!” he whispered savagely. “Nothing has changed, has it?” His hands came down and his eyes danced wildly. “You’ve had ten years to think of something new, Parris.” His chest was now rising and falling heavily. “What excuses have you given my daughter?”

Parris schooled her features not to reveal the panic spinning out of control within her. “Her name is Regina. I’ve created no excuses. Your family despised me and made no attempt to conceal it. And as for Regina, I told her that you lived in Florida; and although I had no intention of ever returning, I would make certain she would meet you one day.”

He moved from the love seat, his right hand lashing out to grip her left wrist. “When? How many more years would she be forced to wait?”

Martin relinquished his hold when he saw her impassive expression. He couldn’t believe this was the Parris Simmons who had haunted him for years. Her indifference and ability to hide her emotions frightened him.
When had she changed? Was she a cold, unemotional mother? Had a part of her died, leaving no room for love?

He released her wrist and Parris stopped herself from massaging the area where his fingers had burned her flesh. Her sculpted eyebrow lifted slightly. “I don’t know,” she replied.

Martin moved back to his original position on the love seat.
“That doesn’t matter anymore. I’m not leaving New York without my daughter. Or without you.”

Parris was grateful to be sitting, because she knew if she had been standing she would’ve fainted. His promise was not a promise but a threat. A threat she knew Martin intended to carry out.

Rising to her feet, she walked into the kitchen. She had to get away from him, even if it was only a few feet.

She took down two coffee mugs and poured freshly brewed coffee into them. She was back in control by the time she returned to the living room and handed Martin a cup.

He murmured a low thanks and stared down into the black depths of the strong brew, looking for answers to questions he found difficult to ask.

“Why did you leave me, Parris?” he asked softly.

She cupped her hands around her coffee mug, feeling its warmth seeping into her icy-cold fingers. Ten years and twelve hundred miles and countless sleepless nights when she prayed she would be able to forget him. It still had not been enough. There were times when she was successful, but many more when she wasn’t. Sometimes she reached for the telephone to dial Martin’s number, but became physically ill whenever she remembered the threat against her life.

“Would you believe me if I said I was afraid to remain in Florida?”

“I don’t know what to believe, Parris. All I know is that your ex-husband tried to kill you.”

“I couldn’t stay.” What she couldn’t say was that her life, their lives, had been threatened.

Martin’s expression changed, becoming one she recognized immediately. His anger was apparent.

“Did Lawson have anything to do with your leaving me?”

He was asking questions she was unable to answer. “If he did, what would you do, Martin? Would you go look for him and kill him this time? What do I tell Regina? Do I tell her that her father is a murderer?”

Martin’s mouth twisted under the moustache as he glared at
Parris. It was apparent she was upset as well. There was just a hint of green in her clear brown eyes.

“I’ve never murdered anyone, Parris. So don’t think of me as a killer.”

She refused to back down. “Of course you wouldn’t kill anyone. You’d pay someone to kill him the same way you paid someone to find me.” She registered his quick intake of breath.

Martin refused to rise to her baiting. “You’re spoiling for a fight, aren’t you?” He gave her a crooked smile.

She ran her tongue over her lower lip. “No. I don’t want to fight with you.”

He placed his cup on an end table and moved over to sit beside her. The knuckles of his right hand grazed the silken flesh of her cheek. His obsidian gaze caressed the delicate bones of her jaw. The same jaw that had been shattered and healed, leaving no trace of a scar.

His gaze lingered on the length of her lashes and the curve of her high cheekbones. His fingers spread out and wound through the hair which fell from the elastic band to grace her long neck. He leaned closer until his face was only inches from hers.

“Do you still love me?” Her breath quickened against his throat.

“No,” she whispered. The heat of his body flowed into hers and she shivered noticeably. “No, Martin,” she repeated, shaking her head and praying he believed her.

His fingers feathered over her neck and she stiffened, pulling away from him. Feelings she had repressed sprang to life.

“Don’t, Martin. Please don’t touch me.”

He released her, staring at her pained expression. Hunching over, he rested his elbows on his thighs. He knew Parris was lying to him, but why? Who was she trying to protect?

He wanted to tell her that he hadn’t begun searching for her two weeks ago, but ten years ago. After the police closed their investigation on her disappearance he hired private investigators to look for her. The result was the same: Parris Simmons had vanished without a trace.

He suspected Owen Lawson had something to do with her disappearance
and paid someone to follow him. But that also proved fruitless. The investigator’s report read that there was no reason to suspect that the recently promoted Captain Owen Lawson of the West Palm Beach Police Department had anything to do with the disappearance of his ex-wife. The last sentence in the report proved more intriguing than the conclusion of the investigation. Owen Lawson had remarried and his wife had given birth to a baby boy.

“Please call a cab for me, Parris. I need to check into a hotel.”

She jumped up, too relieved to hear the resignation in his voice. Martin had walked back into her life like a tornado, without warning or a respite.

She made the call, asking which hotel he was checking into, and replaced the receiver.

“The taxi will be here in ten minutes.”

Martin stood up and retrieved his overcoat, slipping his arms into the sleeves of the cashmere garment. His gaze was fixed on her face. “When can I get to meet Regina?”

“You make it sound so simple, Martin. You just can’t walk in here and disrupt her life. She’ll have to be prepared to meet you. I’ll talk to her and when she’s ready I’ll call you.”

“How long will that take?”

Parris struggled to control her temper. “I don’t know.”

He gave her a withering glare before he picked up his bags. She opened the door and without a word he walked out.

She closed the door, and only when she turned the lock did she find her way back to the sofa on trembling legs and collapse for the second time that morning.

The dread and danger she now felt would not permit her to experience the joy she felt of seeing and touching Martin once again. She loved him the way she could never love another man. He’d given her all she needed to exist as a woman; but all of that vanished ten years ago.

The stranger, a slightly-built pale man with a raspy voice, had changed her life forever. He had blindfolded her before he put her on a plane to New York City. She was blindfolded again when the small private jet landed, and she was driven to midtown
Manhattan. Before she was put out of the car, she was given a coat and an envelope; and it wasn’t until she had checked into a hotel did she realize her ex-husband may have been involved in her kidnapping.

She believed he had employed his own method of revenge. The envelope contained an amount equal to what she had received as a divorce settlement from Owen Lawson.

C
losing her eyes, Parris let her mind wander. Although she had been six weeks pregnant when she left Florida, she refused to accept her condition until she was unable to fit into her clothes. She had been well into her fourth month before she sought out a New York doctor.

Her physical state fared a lot better than her emotional state. Even though the envelope she had been given contained enough money for her to exist comfortably for a year, she rented a small furnished apartment and refused to venture out of her sanctuary until it was time for her to shop for food or to keep an appointment with her doctor.

The first time Parris felt the new life move within her, she broke down, crying until her eyes were no more than slits and sleeping in the same clothes for three days.

She cried for her father, Charles Simmons, who had died of a stroke before she had a chance to know him, and she cried for her mother whose delicate beauty faded quickly with the long, hard hours Ada Simmons worked to support herself and her only child; however, she had her mother for twenty years until an automobile accident claimed Ada’s life after she fell asleep at the wheel due to exhaustion from working a double shift at the county hospital where she was a staff nurse.

The pain of losing her mother had not faded when her abductor threatened to kill Martin. Fleeing Florida had not only saved her life, but Martin’s and Regina’s.

Opening her eyes, she stared out through the window as her delicate jaw settled into a stubborn line. If she hadn’t accepted her blackmailer’s challenge ten years ago she was certain not to tempt fate now that she was responsible not only for her own life but Regina’s.

Rising to her feet, she suddenly felt tired. Emotionally she was drained. How was she to tell her daughter that her father wanted to meet her? How would Regina react? How would Martin react?

She made her way across the living room and down a hall to her bedroom. Standing in the doorway, she examined the furnishings that were the trademark of her profession. As the decorator she had selected pieces from her favorite period—Victorian Revival.

Decorating her home offered a sense of fulfillment she never was able to achieve when she designed spaces for clients. Each piece of furniture in her home had been selected with meticulous care to satisfy her moods: from the large bed with a massive mahogany headboard and side chairs covered with an intricately designed tapestry pattern, to the round antique table, desk, and chair. The mood was regal with patterns of pink and beige intricate paisleys and florals. Lacy panels, which once covered long tables hung at the windows while the table skirt matched the pattern of the bed sheets and pillow coverings, and a carpeting of creamy ivory repeated the color of the wall covering.

The sparse Christmas cards on the desk served to remind her of how solitary her life had become. Aside from the Edwards and the antique dealers she contracted with she had no family or close friends in New York.

But Regina did have a family: paternal grandparents, two aunts, an uncle and at least a half-dozen cousins.

She wondered how much longer she could keep Regina away from them once they were made aware of the child’s existence. But more importantly, she wondered if Regina would resent her for keeping her from the only family she had.

* * *

Martin lay on the hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling. Joshua had done what he had asked him to do: he found Parris Simmons. But in finding her, he had opened a wound, forcing him to feel the ache, causing his heart to bleed.

He wondered if the separation had been as painful for her as it had been for him.
No
, came a nagging little voice somewhere in his head. She left him.

Martin Diaz Cole offered Parris Simmons what he’d never offered any other woman—his name.

She didn’t want his name. She only agreed to live with him and decorate his house, refusing to become his wife or the mother of his children. It was after this that he cursed Owen Lawson.

He’d tried to forget Parris—with other women, alcohol, and parties that went on for days. Afterwards, he would wake up in a drunken daze, feeling worse than before he began poisoning his body with mind-distorting alcohol.

He spent thousands on investigators to look for her, lost weight, couldn’t sleep and spent weeks at a time drifting along the Atlantic in a rented sloop. It took a year for him to finally convince himself that Parris wasn’t coming back.

A satisfied smile lifted the corners of his mouth and deepened the creases in his cheeks. She was back because he had found her; and she was the mother of his child.

Folding his arms under his head, he closed his eyes. Whatever reason Parris had for running away was no longer important to him. He had found her, and she would never hide from him again.

Parris heard Regina’s distinctive laugh through the door before the child rang the doorbell, and wondered if the child would continue to laugh after she told her about her father.

She had spent all morning trying to form the words she would use to tell her daughter that the man she had loved and continued to love had come to find them.

Opening the front door, Parris smiled down at Regina as she stood with Scott, both children holding snowballs.

Regina held a piece of paper in one gloved hand. “There’s no school tomorrow, Mommy.”

“Lucky you,” Parris said, pulling the knitted cap from her daughter’s head.

“Mommy, can I spend the afternoon at Scotty’s house?”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “We can look at videos until the night.”

“I’ll see,” Parris replied, not committing herself.

The door to the neighboring apartment opened and Stephanie looked out. “There’s no school tomorrow, Mom! There’s snow in the school yard up to the sky,” Scott said excitedly.

“How wonderful,” Stephanie replied, winking at Parris.

“I’ll see you later, Scott,” Regina promised as she made her way into her own apartment.

Parris waved to Stephanie and closed the door. “Put that snowball in the sink, Regina. I don’t want water tracked over the floors.”

“Can I put it in the freezer, Mommy?”

She stared down at the expectant look on her child’s face, amazed at how much Regina resembled her father. Seeing him again had verified the startling similarity of their features. It was as if she had nothing to do with the creation of this child except carry her to term.

“Yes, you may.”

Regina dropped her backpack and raced to the kitchen. “How long do you think it’ll stay a snowball?” she asked after placing it in the frost-free freezer.

“I don’t know, angel.”

“All winter?”

“Perhaps.” Parris’s voice was soft, her manner distracted.

“Can we make cookies, Mommy?”

Whenever Parris took time off from work she and Regina had made it a habit to bake cookies. Baking cookies and visiting museums together was their way of bonding.

As a working mother Parris had to make many of the sacrifices that other mothers made, but she tried to make the precious time she and Regina spent together quality time.

“What kind of cookies this time?”

“Double chocolate chip raisin oatmeal,” Regina replied.

Parris pulled at a fat silky braid hanging over the red ski jacket. “Now that sounds like a monster cookie. Change your clothes and wash your hands and I’ll get all of the ingredients together.”

Forty-five minutes later, Parris watched Regina as she carefully removed several large cookies from a cookie sheet and placed them on a rack. Her mouth was compressed tightly in concentration and Parris was shocked when she saw the expression. Everything that was Martin Cole swept over her at that moment. Like Martin, Regina loved to cook. He was most comfortable in the board room and in the kitchen.

“I think that just about does it, Mommy.” Regina stepped back and surveyed her handiwork. Large cookies, at least six inches in diameter, were stacked up like saucers in a cookie jar.

“I believe you’re right.” She smiled, knowing she couldn’t avoid the inevitable. She had to tell Regina about her father.

“Do you think one cookie and some milk will spoil my appetite for dinner, Mommy?”

Parris glanced at the clock on the oven. “Not if we eat a late dinner.”

“I’ll fix the table,” Regina volunteered.

Waiting until after Regina set the table, Parris poured two glasses of milk and placed two cookies on a large plate. She sat down at the table and held the child’s hand.

“Regina, I have something very important to tell you.”

“What, Mommy?” She took a bite of a moist cookie, then raised the glass of milk to her mouth, taking a swallow of the cold liquid.

“It’s about your father.”

Regina’s eyes widened as she slowly replaced the glass on the table. “What about him?”

Parris was certain Regina could hear her heart pounding outside of her body. “He’s come for you. He’s here in New York.”

“Why, Mommy?” Her lower lip trembled while her eyes filled with tears. “Is he coming to take me away from you?”

She didn’t know what to expect, but it had not been fear. Why would Regina fear a man she had never met?

Pulling the child from her chair, she cradled her on her lap, holding her close. “No, angel. He’s not here to take you from me. Why does that bother you?”

Burying her face against her mother’s breasts, Regina sniffed back tears. “I don’t want my face on a milk carton, Mommy.”

Suddenly it all came together. Regina didn’t want to become a child who had been abducted by an angry, resentful parent.

She kissed her hair. “Your father would never take you from me, Regina. You’re my child.”

“But…but he’s my daddy.”

How was she to explain that Martin was her father biologically and not legally. She had not listed Martin Cole as Regina’s father on her birth records.

“You don’t have to meet him if you don’t want to. But if you feel you want to talk about him at another time we can. Okay, baby?”

Regina nodded, her arms tightening around her mother’s neck.

Parris held her until she was calm. Somehow she had thought Regina would be pleased to meet her father. She had no way of knowing that the child harbored fears of being abducted by the other parent.

Both of us have our fears
, Parris mused. When would it ever end?

Parris had just turned out the lamp in her bedroom when the telephone rang. She answered it before the second ring.

“Hello.”

“Did you tell her?”

Her pulse raced quickly at the sound of the familiar quiet Southern voice. “I said I’d call you when she’s ready to meet you.”

“Did you tell her?” Martin repeated.

“Yes, I told her.”

“And?”

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because she’s afraid of you!” Parris didn’t realize she was shouting.

Martin’s labored breathing came through the telephone line.
“Why should she be afraid of me, Parris? What have you told her about me?”

“I haven’t told her anything except that you’re here in New York and that you want to meet with her. She’s harboring some kind of fear that you’ll snatch her from me and that her face will appear on a milk carton as a missing child.”

“That’s preposterous!”

“Tell that to a nine-year-old who’s told constantly that she shouldn’t talk to strangers…”

“I’m not a stranger, Parris. I’m her father.”

“You’re still a stranger, Martin. She doesn’t know you.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“If you start with the accusations I’ll hang up on you,” she threatened.

There was a profound silence before Martin spoke again. “Talk to her, Parris. Convince her that I won’t take her away from you. All I want to do is see her. I won’t even touch her if she doesn’t want me to.”

Registering Martin’s plea, Parris found difficulty in swallowing. “Give her time, Martin.”

“How much time?”

“As much as she needs. I’m going to take her away for Christmas, and maybe that will give us the time we need to build the trust she’ll need to confront you.”

“Where would you be going?”

“To Las Vegas.”

Again there was silence from Martin. “I’ll wait for your call.”

“Why don’t you go back to Florida,” Parris suggested. “I’ll contact you there if she changes her mind.”

“I’m not leaving New York until I meet my daughter.”

Parris listened to the break in the connection as Martin hung up abruptly. There was no mistaking his intent, and something told her that Martin Cole would spent the next ten years in New York if he had to, waiting for Regina to come to him.

He was used to waiting. He had already lost ten years waiting for her to become his wife.