Skin Tight (37 page)

The smell of the soup lured her to the kitchen, which was every bit as well kept as the rest of the house. At their invitation, Mia sat across from Harold and dug into her food. She ate two bowls without any shame at all and then wolfed down two slices of homemade bread, slathered in butter.

“She eats like Sam,” Harold said in an almost friendly way.

“That’s our daughter,” Alice explained.

Mia ducked her head, abashed. “I haven’t had anything in a while.”

“It’s all right. You’ll take Sam’s room tonight. She’s all grown up and living in Phoenix. She teaches Phys Ed. We don’t see her much.”

As if the words invoked an irresistible sleep spell, Mia felt her eyelids growing heavy. Sleep would be a blessing. She realized belatedly that she hadn’t had the dreams since sleeping with Søren. Who said sex couldn’t cure what ailed you?

“I know it’s early, but would you mind if I crash now?”

“Not at all,” Alice said kindly. “But first I need to doctor those feet.”

Mia felt teary as the woman got her first aid kit and cleaned her wounds. In another life, she could’ve had a mom like this, one who liked to cuddle and nurture. Sam the Phys Ed teacher might be nuts for moving so far away. The woman probably thought her parents were old-fashioned and embarrassing, and Mia wanted to cry. If she didn’t get some privacy, she was going to lose it completely and scare the crap out of this nice, old couple.

“I don’t suppose you have a computer,” she said, as Alice finished wrapping the last bandage.

“Can’t say we do,” Harold answered. “Never saw the need, myself. Sam had one, but she took it with her when she moved.”

Which was a pity, because she didn’t have a phone number for Søren. He would have to wait until morning when she got to town and could find a library with free Internet; she doubted a small town like Alice had described would have an Internet café. But given Søren’s cool, controlled nature, the delay shouldn’t present much of a problem.

Once the bedroom door closed, and she was sure she was alone, Mia let the tears come. They soaked her pillow, muffled by the tight press of her face to old linen. She wouldn’t let anyone see her as weak. She wasn’t. In the morning, she would set things right.

Søren’s car was
exactly where he’d left it in the parking lot of Mia’s condo. He left the Toyota in its place and drove to the cabin he’d rented. The place didn’t look as though anyone had entered while he was gone. All his traps remained untouched. If he’d been searching, this would’ve been the first place he hit.

But Travis hadn’t been the methodical sort. He didn’t plan well. Instead, he followed orders, so he’d waited for Rowan to tell him where to go. Sudden panic hit Søren. Had they found out about Lexie and Beulah, as well as his true identity?

His hands trembled as he hit speed dial. A few seconds later, a female voice said, “Whispering Pines, how may I help you?”

“I’m calling to check on two patients. Unfortunately, I missed my visit this week. One is in pediatric long-term care, the other in elder care.”

“Mr. Winter?” Sad, but she could ID him based on that little information.

“Yes. How are they?”

“Unchanged.” Her tone was sympathetic. “Your mother was asking for you.”

“Good. I’ll come round tomorrow. Thank you.”

It was hard to believe it was finished. The lab was no more.

That knowledge didn’t bring him the satisfaction he’d anticipated. Then again, he hadn’t expected to survive its destruction. The fact that he was standing in his living room, keys to the Infiniti in hand, seemed altogether wrong—even more so the fact that Mia hadn’t made it out, despite his vow.

I’m here,
he’d said.
And you’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.
Later, he’d said,
I promise you will take no lasting harm from your time with me.

But she had. Christ, she had. Checking the traps had seemed so fucking important. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit he’d been running from her. Running from the way she made him feel, because each time he touched her, he lost a little more detachment. Ceded a little more emotional control.

Rowan’s seared flesh haunted him. Mia had been down there. Burning was a horrific way to die, but maybe she’d been lucky. Maybe smoke inhalation took her gently before she felt the pain.
Please, God, let that be so.
He had never wanted so badly to die . . . or felt less like he deserved to. Hell itself could offer no greater torment.

Sleep was out of the question.

As Søren gazed out the window, he saw Mia’s face reflected, as if she were standing behind him. He wanted to turn and wrap her in his arms, but you couldn’t touch a ghost. Ghosts could only haunt you from the dark, whispering of your failures. It took all his self-control not to put his fist through the pane. He studied the healing damage to his knuckles and then turned. In the kitchen he found a bottle of whiskey and poured a glass.

At 5 A.M., he didn’t feel any better, and there was no liquor left. His cursed metabolism had kicked into hyperspeed, burning off the alcohol before he could get a buzz going. It made drowning his sorrows impossible. A muscle ticking in his jaw, he crushed the glass in his palm and didn’t feel it when the shards pierced his palm.

Søren took a hot shower, shaved with meticulous care, and then dressed. In the mirror, his eyes looked hollow, haggard, but the rest of him appeared unchanged—funny how appearances could be so deceiving. Snatching his wallet and keys from the counter, he ran down the steps toward his car. No need to check for pursuit. It would be years before the Foundation recovered from the blow they’d suffered. No one would be searching.

He didn’t know where he was going until he made the familiar turns that took him to Maryland. The highway had little traffic at this hour, and he remembered the clever way Mia had tailed him, doing more to uncover his secrets than anyone had in years. Pain spiked through him, shocking him with its ferocity. It felt as if his chest would break wide open. By will alone, he held in the scream, though there was no one to hear it.

Søren made the trip in record time, breaking all the speed limits on the way. He had nowhere else to go, nothing left to do. That had never mattered before. Though he hadn’t spoken of it to Mia—he’d never even told her how much she mattered to him—he’d started considering the idea of a life with Mia, a second chance. If she wanted him.

His hands were shaking when he turned into the lot. After parking the car, he sat for long moments mustering his self-control. It seemed like forever since he’d been here, so much living packed into a short time. At last he clambered out of the car and strode toward the building.

The nurse at the front desk greeted him with a raised hand. “Morning, Mr. Winter. Your mom missed you last weekend. She kept asking if you’d called.”

It was difficult to maintain the pretense, even aided with accumulated levels of expectation. “I was forced to make an unexpected trip. I should’ve let her know.”

“Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

“Indeed.” His shoes made no sound as he passed from the reception area into the cool, antiseptic halls.

Many of the elderly residents were just having breakfast. Technically, it was too early for visiting hours, but the nurses liked him and didn’t raise a fuss. Søren found Beulah sitting in her easy chair, listening to the morning news on television. Sunlight spilled around her, making a white nimbus of her curly hair.

This facility was top notch; someone had already helped her with her rouge and lipstick. Her wrinkled cheeks split into a wide grin as he stepped into the room. Over the years, her other senses had become more acute to compensate for her lack of sight. She fumbled for the remote in her lap and turned the volume down with remarkable dexterity.

“Jimmy!” she said in delight. “I was worried about you. Thought you might’ve got yourself in trouble again.”

Adopting her son’s voice required no special gift, but for the first time, he wished he didn’t have to. “Hi, Ma. Sorry about that.”

He stooped and brushed her soft cheek in a quiet kiss. She always smelled of rose talcum powder, but this time the scent awoke an awful nostalgia. His real mother smelled of lilacs, and she thought he was dead. Søren nearly choked on the memory. Clenching his jaw against emotions threatening to overwhelm him, he sat down across from Beulah.

She had a private room, complete with a small sitting area. The colors were bright and cheerful, not that she could see them. For what he was paying, she could’ve had a condo in Aspen, had she been capable of caring for herself. Her blindness, paired with severe arthritis, made it difficult for her to perform routine tasks.

“Are you all right, son?”

His hands clenched on the arms of his chair and he realized he couldn’t lie. Not anymore. Speaking one more untruth might be the catalyst that unglued him. “No.”

“You want to tell me about it?”

But he heard himself saying, “I lost someone recently.”

“Oh, my dear boy, I’m so sorry. Who?”

No. No.
If he said it aloud, then it was true, and he had to accept it. He had to come to terms with the fact that he’d failed again. Søren squeezed his eyes shut, blazing from within. The pain threatened to incinerate him. No more detachment, no more icy calm.

And yet the words came, as if past razors in his throat: “The woman I loved.”

“I didn’t know you were courting.” She sounded shocked. “I wish you’d brought her to see me.”

“Me, too,” he said quietly.

Beulah reached out, seeking in the open space between them. For a second he considered letting her founder, and then he sat forward. Søren put his hand in her path; she curled her knotty fingers through his and gave a squeeze. He thought she’d offer platitudes, talk about God and heaven, and people smiling down on them.

Instead, the silence built.

When she finally spoke, it shocked the hell out of him. “Is it because I’m not really your mother?”

“How long have you known?” There was no point in denying it. He was only amazed she’d continued the ruse for so long.

She gave a little sigh. “Oh, honey, I always knew.”

“Then why . . . ?”

“So that’s your real voice. It’s nice. Educated. And . . . well. I reckoned if you needed a mama bad enough to lie, then it didn’t hurt me to pretend. And you’ve sure taken care of me over the years.” Her white, sightless eyes roved upward. “Better than Jimmy Lee. Is he dead? I always wondered.”

“Prison. It’ll be a long time before he gets out.”

“I wish I could say I’m surprised.” Her voice grew choked, her wrinkled face drawing into a sad frown. “He was never a . . . nice boy. Truth is, I love you like a son and I don’t even know your name. But you’ve been so good, the way you visit—oh, mercy, look, I’m getting misty.” Her face crumpled.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

She sniffed and wiped her eyes with a dainty, embroidered handkerchief she’d withdrawn from the pocket of her house-coat. “It’s not always a bad thing. Does this mean you’ll stop coming? Now that you know I know.”

“No,” he said. “I’ll be here for you, as long as you need me.”

After all, neither of them had anyone else.

 

 

In the morning,
Mia had a good breakfast with the Dixons and then, as promised, Harold drove her into town. Harmony was a one-traffic light affair, where all the businesses lined up on Main Street. The architecture was subtly Colonial.

As the old man parked the car, she couldn’t help feeling nervous. She’d broken the law before, but now she was about to file a false police report. They’d probably ask her to describe the guy. Mia closed her eyes to gather her courage and then climbed out of the ancient Buick. Harold would doubtless describe it as classic.

The police department was a small brick building, where four uniformed officers were drinking coffee. Most of them were well past middle age, and they didn’t look up to anything more serious than saving a kitten stuck in a tree. Two of them did notice the arrival and turned to offering inquiring looks.

Harold cleared his throat. “Is Deke around?”

“In his office.”

“Well, go get him,” the old man snapped.

Presently a barrel-chested man only slightly younger than Harold ambled out of the back. His color was high, ruddy on rounded cheeks, and he had a tonsure of white hair that looked like baby duck down. “What can I do you for, Hal?”

The old man, who had softened since last night, laid out her story for the sheriff or captain or whatever this guy’s title was. Mr. Dixon came from an era where men took care of women, and Mia didn’t mind right at the moment. She studied her borrowed Converse sneakers, which were two sizes too big. But that was just as well with the bandages.

Once he’d gotten the gist, Deke barked, “Winston! Are you writing this down?”

One of the uniforms snapped to his feet and got a pad. “I am now.”

It took about an hour to file the report. Guilt prodded at her.

“And you can’t be more specific about where you were camping?” the officer asked.

“I’m afraid not. My friend Kelly was in charge of the planning.”

“And where’s Kelly now?”

Shit.
Did they think she’d left a body in the woods?
Think fast.

“She texted me that she’d gotten a ride home, but I lost my bearings in the woods. I walked a really long way before I found the Dixon place, and I managed to lose my phone.”