No One to Trust (20 page)

As she maneuvered down the stairs, she smiled to
herself. In less than a month she wouldn’t have to worry about
being both parents. After she was married to Michael, it would be a
relief to share some of the responsibilities. She might not have
passion with him, but he loved Jonathan and treated him like his
own. Not to mention he was secure and dependable.

Those were the important things. If she told herself
that every day, eventually she’d believe it.

* * * * *

Hunter watched a two-story, colonial-style house from
the safety of his SUV. He’d parked across the street to blend in
but he ached to march across the street and ring the doorbell. Not
that he’d actually do it. Still, the desire to see her was almost
painful.

This
had
to be Alexis’s house. The
investigator he’d hired was the best. Rick wouldn’t have given him
this information if he hadn’t been totally sure. Still, fear and
worry burned in his gut like slow-moving acid. After being gone for
so long, it seemed impossible he’d found her. Everywhere he went,
he expected to get a sniper bullet in his head. So far Davis had
left him alone. Of course it had only been two days since he’d
escaped Panama, and he’d made a point to stay off the radar so he
wasn’t feeling too lucky just yet.

Hunter simply needed to know that Alexis was alive.
Safe.
He’d watch out for her for a while—from a
distance—then he’d leave her alone. It wasn’t as if he had a place
in her life anymore. The man she’d known had died in the jungle.
The things he’d seen and done were too much for anyone to forgive,
especially someone like Alexis. Even imagining he might have a
place in her life was unnecessary torture, and he’d never been a
masochist.

The front door opened and a little boy with sandy
blond hair came tearing down the front steps toward the four-door
utility vehicle parked in the driveway. He glanced down at his
email printout and rechecked the address even though he’d memorized
it. The boy couldn’t be more than five. Maybe he did have the wrong
house.

Then he saw a woman carrying what appeared to be a
constructed clock of some sort. It was so large it covered most of
her upper body and face. Strange, Rick hadn’t mentioned a husband
or a child. And Rick had told him this was Alexis
Baptiste’s
home. The woman carefully placed the clock in
the back of the vehicle and turned around as she closed the
hatch.

Then he saw her face. His years in the navy and his
many years spent in the jungle had trained his body to remain calm
in every situation, but he couldn’t control the tightening in his
chest.

He thought he’d been prepared to see Alexis again,
but reality was a bitch.

Everything about her had always screamed sex appeal,
and it was no different now. Her thick, jet-black hair was much
shorter. She wore it just above her shoulders, not like years
before when it had fallen halfway down her back. She was still
lean, but there were more defined curves beneath her snug
turtleneck and jeans. He couldn’t see her eyes from where he was
positioned, but he remembered them clearly. They were the color of
the palest sea, almost turquoise. And they had the ability to see
right through him. The first time they’d met he’d been mesmerized
by her eyes. Had stared like a fool until it had been obvious he
was making her uncomfortable. Thanks to her Greek heritage, her
olive complexion was perfect even in the winter months.

Though he was too far away to hear the conversation,
it was obvious to anyone watching how much she loved the kid. A
maternal fierceness surrounded her. Yes, that must be her
child.

This presented more unanswered questions. Was she
married, or divorced? Was the father involved in her life? And why
hadn’t Rick given him any of this information? A twinge of pain
shot through his chest. This could have been his life, his kid.

A familiar sensation overrode the pain and filled him
at the knowledge of all he’d lost.
Icy anger.
He embraced
it and held on to it tight, using it as his anchor. The rage he
felt for all those lost years bubbled up and Hunter funneled his
anger at the one man who’d taken him away from Alexis. From a shot
at a real life. At least if he was angry he couldn’t dwell on the
fact that she’d never be his again.

He kicked his vehicle into gear when she pulled out
of the driveway and punched the familiar number into his cell. As
he dialed, he barely had time to keep up with her as she pulled
away from the house.

“Why didn’t you tell me she had a kid?” he barked
into the phone.

“Damn it, man, do you even know what time it is?” His
friend’s voice was thick and slurred. “I had a rough night. Call me
later.”

“It’s almost noon in London!” Hunter shouted in
annoyance, and then heard the definite sound of the phone
clattering to the floor. Any normal human being should be up by
this hour.

“I guess you’re right,” Rick mumbled, and Hunter
heard a rustling on the other end.

He also thought he heard a woman’s voice in the
background. “Rick, why didn’t you tell me about her child? That’s
what I consider relevant information.”

“You call me after six years and want an address. No,
‘how are you,’ nothing, nada. Go to hell, Hunter! You didn’t say
you needed specifics.”

“That’s not the point. I need to know
everything
about her.” His fist tightened around the
phone.

He should have given Rick more details, but he hadn’t
wanted to alert anyone about Alexis’s importance in his life. Now
it looked like he had no choice. He trusted Rick more than he
trusted most people, but after the past few years in a permanent
state of hell he couldn’t afford blind faith in anyone. He couldn’t
risk anything happening to Alexis. Not after he’d come so far.

“Fine, fine, I’ll get right on it. I’ll contact you
this evening.” Rick’s voice was clipped and he knew he’d made a
mistake angering one of the few people who could help him.

Hunter swallowed his pride and rubbed a hand over his
face. “I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t specific, but give me a break. I
haven’t had much contact with the civilized world for six years.
I’ve forgotten how to act like a human.”

“Nah, you were a Neanderthal back then too…but I’ve
still missed you, man.”

“If you need to send me anything, email me.” After
they disconnected, Hunter continued to follow Alexis at a distance.
He wasn’t sure if she was in danger, and he didn’t plan to let her
out of his sight until he knew she was safe. Watching her, then
having to leave her again, would likely kill him but he had no
choice. Not if he wanted to live with himself.

One Night to Remember

Copyright © 2012 by Kristin Miller

April 14
^th
,
1912

North Atlantic Ocean

Elizabeth Scott closed her eyes, and for the
tenth time this dreaded evening, wished she were invisible. Maybe
then she could pretend the trip was over. If the hum of the
Titanic’s engines didn’t buzz beneath her feet, she could imagine
she was hard at work in her studio in Boston, the troubles of
Europe far behind her.

The trip was nearly over.

Waiters shuffled around tables in the first
class dining room, picking up silver, delicately setting plates of
steaming lamb on every setting. Whether or not the seat was taken
was no matter. Wine was poured. Courses were served. Smiles were
stretched to the limit.

Only the finest for the finest passengers
sailing on the finest ship in the world.

Which was perfectly acceptable, unless there
were others in the room like Elizabeth. Other passengers holding a
first class ticket who viewed everyone on the ship, from first to
third class, with the same level of civility.

She’d bet the gold coin in her shoe that the
passengers in steerage weren’t being served on such elaborate
china.

It wasn’t until Elizabeth sighed that the
woman next to her, a busty woman with a pound of rubies dangling
from her ear, finally spoke up.

“Is the lamb to your liking?” she asked,
stabbing her own filet with a fork. “They can make you another. All
you have to do is ask.”

“The lamb is fine.” Elizabeth forced out a
cough and slid a salad fork off the table, right into her lap. When
she was certain no one saw what had happened, she peeled open her
purse and slipped it inside. “I think my stroll around the deck
this afternoon has simply taken the wind out of my sails.”

“Too much walking can make a lady pale with
fever.” The woman leaned in close as if she were telling a dear
secret. Elizabeth could almost smell the money seeping from her
pores. She was clean, freshly bathed, and smelled strongly of
rose-hipped musk. “You should take care. Perhaps some water would
help.”

“Perhaps.” Elizabeth took a drink to appease
the woman, then slid her elbow back across the table, dragging the
knife from her setting onto her lap. “Are you traveling to New York
with your husband?”

“I am,” she said, and swiveled in her chair.
Her face lit with genuine excitement. Like no one had spent two
seconds speaking with her about anything other than the necessary
formalities. Her eggplant evening gown sparkled with more hand-sewn
jewels than Elizabeth could count. The fabric was silk. Foreign.
Very expensive. “He’s feeling under the weather and decided to
retire for the evening.” She paused, pursing her lips, readying for
a smile. “I‘m Lady Isabelle Grace,” she said with purpose,
elevating her voice for everyone at the table to hear. “Pleased to
meet you.”

Elizabeth didn’t need the woman to shout her
name from the hilltops to know who she was. She’d married banker
Lord Arthur Grace last year and they were headed to the states to
rendezvous with his business partners.

“It’s nice to make your acquaintance.”
Elizabeth took a sip of wine. It was woodsy with hints of vanilla
and went down smooth, but did little to warm the irritation
building in her middle. Dinner was dwindling to an end and
Elizabeth still had work to do.

She hadn’t brought down Lady Isabelle’s
guard. Not one bit….

“I’m Miss Elizabeth Scott,” she said, giving
a ten carat smile.

“And you’re traveling with your fiancé, I
presume?” Lady Isabelle twiddled a diamond bee brooch on the collar
of her dress. It was Tiffany & Co. 1890 collection.

“No. I’m traveling alone.” Elizabeth slid the
knife into her purse, then pressed it shut.

“Alone?” Isabelle spoke the word with such
disdain, Elizabeth wondered if her tongue was sizzling. “I’ve never
heard of such a thing.”

No, she wouldn’t have. Women born into money
didn’t understand the trials and troubles of women who weren’t.
Elizabeth knew those troubles all too well. Although she was
wearing a flaming crimson evening gown, accented with just as many
jewels as the pretentious Lady Grace, Elizabeth had slaved for
every dollar to purchase them and sewed them by hand in her shop in
Boston that she’d built from the ground up.

Bitterness balled her nerves into a fist that
rammed into her ribcage. She finished off the red droplets on the
bottom of her wine glass and glanced around the room. Other than
the band playing a soft tune in the corner and the stewards
clearing plates, most of the room had emptied.

And no one was paying attention to the crime
that was about to take place.

“We’re coming into a new age, Lady Grace.”
Deciding no time could be better, Elizabeth stood quickly, purse
clutched in hand. “I’m afraid I must leave you now.”

“So soon?” she asked, her expression
genuinely solemn. “Surely you can stay for dessert. With my husband
away, I should like the company.”

Elizabeth smiled and moved slowly around the
arched back of Lady Grace’s chair, dancing her long, graceful
fingers over the top. By the time Isabelle swiveled her gown around
to face her, Elizabeth had slipped her gold tasseled purse off the
table.

Holding it behind her back, Elizabeth leaned
over and nailed the boards into Lady Isabelle’s casket. “I’m afraid
I cannot stay. You see, I’m not feeling well, but it’s not due to
the lamb.” She went in for the kill, gently brushing her stomach.
“My situation is…delicate in nature.”

Nearly jumping out of her seat, Isabelle lost
all color. “You are with child? Oh my dear, I am so sorry. And with
no fiancé!”

“It’s all right. I’m plenty accustomed to
doing things on my own. Now if you‘ll excuse me…”

Careful not to turn so that Lady Isabelle
would see her stolen clutch, Elizabeth gave a small curtsey and
excused herself from the table. She’d done it. Another night,
another first class passenger swindled out of money they’d earned
off the backs of others.

By the time Lady Grace realized her purse was
stolen, Elizabeth would have the money emptied from it and have
returned the clutch to the Master at Arms. She would probably think
she’d misplaced it or dropped it along the way to dinner. When it
was discovered in the lost and found, Isabelle wouldn’t cause a
fuss. The snobbishly rich never did. Her husband, Lord Grace, was
known for his obsessive gambling and frequently “borrowed” from his
wife’s trove. She’d either think the money was missing or wasn’t
there to begin with.

It was quite ridiculous, really, to think
more people weren’t taking advantage of all the wealth of the world
on a single ship, stuck in the middle of the North Atlantic.
Elizabeth swelled with pride when she realized she might’ve been
the only ingenious person among them.

As she reached the French doors leading into
first class reception room, Elizabeth had the skin-crawling feeling
that eyes were boring into her back. She spun around, facing her
table. Lady Grace had gone back to her plate, oblivious to the
theft that’d taken place.