Authors: Fern Michaels
Kentucky Sunrise (20 page)
The old man laughed. “I always do what I say I'm going to do. I think we should lock up now and get out of here.”
Willow looked around. Satisfied, she followed the old man out of the bathroom, across the huge bedroom, and out into the hall. In the kitchen, she let her gaze swivel around. She hadn't touched anything in the kitchen. “Okay, we're good to go. I'll drive. How far do you live from here, Zack?”
“Just a spit. Maybe a mile or so back the other way. I moved out here after Melba died. Didn't need a big old house anymore. Don't really know the neighbors. I got a dog and a cat to keep me company. I'm ready to go if you are.”
“You could go to jail for helping me like this. You do know that, don't you?” Willow said, climbing into the truck.
“Yes, I guess I could. Haven't had this much excitement in over twenty years. Don't worry about me getting to town either. I can use Melba's old Chevy. I keep it gassed and running. Just drop me off at the house and get out on the highway.”
They drove the short distance in silence. Willow thought it strange that she wasn't getting her adrenaline rush the way she normally did when she was on the run. She genuinely liked the old man and hoped he wouldn't get into trouble.
“Whoa, little lady, slow down. Make a right, and my house is down the road.”
It was a neat little house with window boxes full of yellow Gerber daisies. She found herself smiling. Her mother had loved Gerber daisies. When she was little there was always a vegetable garden as well as a flower garden. Until her father would get in a drunken rage and rip everything out, after which he would slap her mother around and beat her with his belt.
“What are you thinking about, Mazie?”
“My father. He was a drunk. He used to beat me and my mother. I used to dream about him frying in hell. When he died, my mother and I had him cremated. It was the closest thing to hell we could think of. If I had a father, I'd want him to be like you.”
The old man screwed up his face into a grimace. “I don't know as how I'd like to have a daughter doing the things you do. I like you, but I don't approve of all these shenanigans. You could end up in jail again. Murder is something to take seriously.”
“I am taking it seriously, Zack. I'm not going to jail for something I didn't do. The best I could possibly hope for is some kind of plea bargain and some serious jail time. For something I didn't do. No, thanks. I'll help you carry in the bag.”
“I can do it. You go on now and get out of here.”
“Thanks, Zack. I'll be in touch.”
Willow shifted gears and peeled out of Zack's driveway. She waited for the usual adrenaline rush when she was on the run. When it still didn't come, she shivered in the intense heat of the Nevada desert. An omen?
Ninety minutes later she was cruising down a back alley, looking for a warehouse she'd visited once before. For the right amount of money, she could get a driver's license, a passport, a credit card, and a new Social Security card, that would pass muster anywhere in the world. As a bonus, for an extra incredible amount of money, she would walk away with an A-1 credit rating. It paid to explore the seamy side of any city you were going to live in for any length of time, which was exactly what she had done within a week of settling in Las Vegas. Two hours at the most and she could move about freely. All it took was a fistful of money, and she certainly had that.
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She drove around the block twice before she parked Zack's battered maroon truck around the corner from the house she wanted to visit. Her watch told her it was 3:10 and she was bone tired. She set out on foot, the heavy bag dragging down her right shoulder.
It was probably a mistake to go there, but for some reason she couldn't help herself. She wanted to see Nick Clay one last time. She'd made so many mistakes in her life that one more could hardly matter.
Willow took a moment to admire the house in the moonlight. It was an impressive structure, with white columns running across the front porch. Obviously, Nick Clay was doing very well for himself.
She walked around to the back of the house. It was easier to pick a lock on a kitchen or a garage door than to muddle around with dead bolts on front doors. Of course, if Nick had an alarm system, she was going to be SOL.
It was a quiet night, no dogs barking anywhere to announce her arrival, and for that she was thankful. She looked around to make sure there were no nocturnal neighbors sitting on their decks or patios. A moment later she almost jumped out of her skin when she felt something brush up against her leg. Sucking in her breath, she looked down to see an orange-and-yellow tabby cat. She purred loudly as her back arched. Willow scratched her behind the ears for a minute until she felt her breathing return to normal.
The tabby continued to purr as Willow fished inside her breast pocket for her new Visa card with the ten-thousand-dollar limit. She worked it quietly until she heard the snick of the lock. She smiled in triumph. People went all out with bolts, chain locks, and double locks on their front doors and forgot about the flimsy locks that were usually on kitchen doorways. She was glad she didn't have to crack a pane of glass, a dead-sure giveaway on a quiet night.
Leading a life on the run had taught her a lot of things. She could break and enter using a credit card or a pick. She knew how to hot-wire a car in under three minutes, and she was so good at being a decoy in times of acute danger that she even amazed herself.
She bent down to put the credit card with her airline ticket inside the green bag. Her heart picked up an extra beat when she entered Nick's kitchen and locked the door behind her. The tabby had followed her inside and looked at her forlornly. She waited in the darkness to get her bearings from the slivers of moonlight creeping through the blinds over the kitchen window, then set the green bag down in a corner so it was out of the way.
Even in the semidarkness she could tell the house was just a place to sleep and perhaps eat on rare occasions. There were no plants, no knickknacks, no flowers, just dark, bulky shapes of furniture.
She headed for the stairs that led to the second floor. She walked softly, crossing her fingers that the stairs wouldn't creak and groan. At the top, she looked left and then right. All the bedroom doors were open. Nick must require a lot of room. Five bedrooms and, she had to assume, five adjoining baths, was a lot of room for a single guy. Maybe the house was a tax write-off. She took off her sandals and left them by the top of the stairs before she started down the hall.
She saw him in the second bedroom. Something tugged at her heart as she stared at the man she had married when he was still a boy. He looked vulnerable in sleep, his right arm thrown up above his head, the rest of his body sprawled across the king-size bed. His breathing was light and even, indicating a deep, peaceful sleep. She stared at him for a long time, her mind willing him to wake. He continued to sleep.
Willow turned to leave, wanting to stay, wanting to make love to the man who had once been her husband, but the commonsense part of her told her to leave quickly. She had enough emotional baggage to tote around.
Why didn't he sense her presence? The morning he walked into the Inn back in Kentucky, she knew he still loved her. A small part of him would always love her because she'd been his first love. The thought pleased her. If she'd ever loved anyone, it was Nick, but she knew she wasn't capable of loving any man the way a woman was supposed to love a man. Thanks to her drunken, brutal father. Maybe someday when she had time, she'd go into therapy and try to work it all out. Maybe.
Willow walked over to the bed and sat down on the floor, Indian fashion. She stared up at Nick. She was close enough to see the freckles on his naked shoulders. How lean and hard he looked. He wasn't that same awkward boy she'd taught the art of lovemaking. This was a man. A man she wanted. For now.
“What are you doing here, Willow?”
“How long have you been awake? What gave it away?” she whispered.
“I heard you come in the back door. Lately, I've become a very light sleeper.” He rolled over and sat up. “Did you just happen to find yourself in the neighborhood?”
“No. I came here deliberately. I just wanted to talk to you one last time. I don't know why. It's not something I can explain. Maybe I came to say good-bye. Are you going to call the police?”
“Yes.”
“Why? To get even with me? Because I was smart enough to elude the law, to walk out on the cops twice? They aren't very smart to have let me get away twice. I didn't kill Junior Belez, Nick. I have no intention of going to prison for the rest of my life for something I didn't do. Maybe someday they'll find the person who killed him. No one deserves to die like that.”
“What do you want, Willow?”
“Five minutes ago I thought I wanted to make love to you. Now I just want to talk, to try and explain something to you. I don't want you to ruin your life thinking there was something wrong with you. It wasn't you. It's me. I really liked you, Nick. I liked the fact that you were rich even more. I grew up dirt poor. You know the old story, the other kids had everything and I had hand-me-downs. I didn't have any friends because I didn't want them to know where I lived and how I lived. My father was always drunk. He'd drink up his paycheck and come home and then beat me and my mother. Once he tried to molest me, but I got away from him. I had to run screaming out of the house half-naked. I don't think I ever got over that.
“We never had enough money because my father either drank it up or gambled it away. My mother was a wonderful cook. She taught me how to cook. She worked for rich people, cooking for their dinner parties. I'd go along with her to help clean up. Without her, we would have starved. I saw how other people lived and what money could buy. As soon as I was old enough, I split. I worked, got enough money together, and helped my mother get a start on her own life. We had a good thing going, cooking in famous restaurants, meeting wealthy people. Mom stayed straight, and I took off in another direction. I didn't ever want to be poor again and I didn't want to be beholden to some man. So, I beat them to the punch. I played the game, took their money, and moved on when I got bored.
“You were different from all the rest, Nick. You were fresh and young. You loved with your entire being. In a million years I could never be what you wanted or what you deserved. I knew that the day we returned to Blue Diamond Farms. I knew it even before your mother pounced on me. What I'm saying is, I would have left you in a few weeks. You were just too nice. Believe it or not, I didn't want to hurt you.”
“Well, you did.”
“I know, Nick. I'm sorry. I realize they're just words but I mean them. Well, I guess I better get going. Would you mind giving me a little bit of a head start before you call the cops? Six hours should do it.”
“They'll find you, Willow. If you didn't do it, let Hatch clear your name. If you don't, you'll be running for the rest of your life.”
Willow untangled her legs and leaned toward the bed. “No, this time they won't find me.”
Nick looked into her eyes and believed her. “It's going to be light soon. You better get going.” His voice was so husky sounding he couldn't believe it was his own. “I won't call the police.”
“If you don't call them, that means you're aiding and abetting me. Can you live with that?”
“Yeah.”
Willow smiled. “I wouldn't have called Buddy about your sister's baby.”
“I know that, too,” Nick said.
Willow leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth. “Forget about me and be happy, Nick. You're a wonderful human being and you deserve to be happy. Tell Emmie I said good-bye.”
He didn't want to ask but he did. “Will I ever hear from you again?”
“No.”
Nick wiped at his eyes when he heard the door close behind her. He held his breath, waiting to hear the kitchen door close. A minute later he saw a yellow tabby cat he'd seen in the neighborhood leap onto his bed, a piece of sticky paper stuck to her head. He pulled it off and read the scrawled note. “This little girl looks like she needs someone to love her. Her name is Mazie Breckenbridge.”
Nick laughed until he cried.
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It was midafternoon when Willow packed her bag for the last time. She'd spent the entire morning cutting out the middle of ten rare first-edition books and stuffing Junior Belez's money inside them. She'd picked up a gadget in a Super Kmart that allowed her to encase the valuable books in plastic. The rest of the money went into three money belts she fastened around her body. The long, flowing Indian-style dress gave no hint as to what was underneath. The backpack and straw purse she'd purchased in the same Super Kmart held the balance of the money securely placed in other books and magazines.
At 5:10 she walked through customs and boarded a British Airways flight to Switzerland.
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