Steal My Heart (6 page)

Holly shivered on the green bed. The bed was so big. The room the awful man had locked her in was big, too. And dark. The curtains were drawn tight and the man said she couldn’t open them or she’d be sorry.

Her cheeks were wet from crying. Her nose was wet, too. She closed her eyes and wished she could go home. Where was Mommie? Why didn’t she come for her? Didn’t Mommie love her anymore?

She sat up and tried to dry her face with her hands. She wiped them on the sheet. She didn’t like this bed. It was hard. And was so much bigger than her own. And the ugly green covers were scratchy.

There were red flowers on the table. Mommie never put flowers on her table. Where was Jack the Rabbit? She wanted Jack. She wanted his soft head to cry on.

She must have done something very bad to make Mommie go away. Mommie must be very angry with her.

She thought about school. Mommie was supposed to come and get her. Gramma dropped her off in the morning, but Mommie was supposed to come after school. She was sure of that. But Mommie didn’t come.

Instead, the man was outside waiting for her.

He said hello. He said her name. He told her he had candy. But she didn’t get candy. Instead, she got…scared.

Mommie always said not to go with a stranger. Even if they had candy. But when she stopped to think about that, the man grabbed her and put his big smelly hand over her mouth. She tried to bite him. She tried to kick him, but she couldn’t get away from him. He dragged her into the back of his car and they drove away. She’d gone to sleep. And then she woke up in this room.

“Mommie,” she said softly and started to cry.

The door opened and she saw the horrible man standing there.

She caught her breath. Stop crying, she told herself. He would be angry. Only bad girls cry.

He stepped inside the room. His face was wrinkled and his nose was crooked. His hair was thin and white. His eyes were light blue. Not like Mommie’s gray eyes. Not like her eyes, either. Her eyes were a darker blue. He smiled and his face crinkled like Santy Claus. But he still looked mean.

He had a glass of water in his hand. “How are you doing there, my little girl?”

She shook her head. She wasn’t his little girl.

The man didn’t like that. With a grunt, he tossed some cookies on the mattress. She didn’t want any more cookies. “I want my mommie’s food.”

He tilted his head. There was a flash in his eyes. But he spoke softly. “Well that’s a good thing because your mommie is coming for you.”

Her mouth opened. “Mommie’s here?” Her chest felt like it did when she ran too fast in the yard chasing her ball.

“No, but she’s coming.”

“When? When is she coming?”

“Soon.”

She looked past the man to the open door. “Now?”

His shook his head and smiled his mean smile again. “No. Not now.”

“Not now?” Tears welled up in her eyes. Her nose burned. “I want Mommie now.”

“She’ll be here soon.” He held out the glass of water. “Are you thirsty?”

She wiped her face and licked her lips. She was very thirsty. But she knew the water would make her sleepy again. Mommie had good water. Mommie would be here soon.

“Come have a sip.”

She couldn’t help it. She was so thirsty. Carefully, she climbed off the bed and stepped toward him. She reached for the glass.

He tipped it to her lips. It tasted good, but it made her feel sleepy already. He touched her hair. She didn’t like that, but if she didn’t let him, he’d take the water away. She gulped it before he could.

“That’s right. Take a big drink.” He wrapped a curl of her hair around his finger. “When your mommie comes, she’s bringing a surprise for you.”

She wiped her mouth with her hand and took a step back. “A surprise?”

“Yes.” He laughed softly to himself, as if he was thinking of a funny joke. “Your daddy’s coming with her.”

She blinked. “I don’t have a daddy.”

“Yes, you do.” He leaned over her and held the glass out. “Come now. There’s a little left. Drink the rest of it.” He brought it to her mouth.

She pushed the glass away. “No, I don’t want it. I don’t have a daddy.” Her eyelids were closing.

“You just don’t know him.”

“No.” Mommie said Daddy was in heaven. Mommie never lied to her. She was so sleepy.

He set the glass on the table, picked her up and laid her on the bed. Then he sat down beside her. She wished he would go away.  But he didn’t.

“I don’t have a daddy,” she murmured again as her eyelids shut. The last thing she saw was the man sitting there.

Watching her.

###

Jean-Claude pulled the starchy hotel bedspread over the sleeping child and settled himself beside her. He studied the
tender face, the pouting lips. She was a lot like her mother. Stubborn, willful, proud. So the former Mrs. Mark Storm had never told her daughter who her father was. He couldn’t blame her.

With his forefinger, he wiped the moisture from under her soft cheek.

So many tears. The little girl didn’t know the meaning of real tears. Not the way he did.

He’d learned that in Paris, growing up on the shabby streets of
Goutte d’Or
with its pickpockets and drug dealers. And from a mother who sold her body to a different man every night but never seemed to have enough money to feed her own son. He’d known tears then. He’d known want and hunger and fear from the moment he was born.

And yet in those crime-infested streets he’d found his destiny. There he’d taught himself the Trade simply from observation. When
Jean-Claude first transferred twenty francs from a stranger’s pocket to his own without a soul nearby being a whit the wiser, he knew he had talent.

He worked the streets tirelessly. Soon he had enough for good food and good clothes. He became ambition and enlisted the aid of others. Young boys from broken, dysfunctional homes like himself. He taught them the skills he’d learned. Sent them out to practice it. Guided them—all in exchange for a cut of their take. He kept them in line with praise and intimidation.

And one unbreakable rule.

Once in the employ of Jean-Claude Laroche, you could never leave. If you tried, you would find yourself floating facedown in the Seine. No one had ever dared test him.

At seventeen, he left his mother’s rundown flat and moved into a lovely place near the Champs-Elysees. He made friends with merchants and later weaseled himself into the circles of the rich. He learned their habits, where they were careless, when they were away from home. He pretended to be everyone’s friend, all the while robbing them blind. They were such easy marks.

He began to build his empire in earnest. He traveled. London. Rome. South America. The Middle East. At last he settled in New York and set up shop there. That was where one fateful afternoon, he’d found Mark Storm begging on the side of the street.

As needy and desperate a street urchin as he had once been himself. He took him under his wing, as he had with so many others. But Mark was different. Mark had superior talent. After the boy matured and began bringing in sums to rival his own, Jean-Claude began to think of him as something of an heir. After all, who else would run his empire after he was gone?

But it seemed loyalty was an attribute Mark was short of. He turned against him.

The night Storm went out on his own, Jean-Claude had just been about to capture him and pay him back for his betrayal when the young man was arrested by the Feds. When he learned Storm’s wife was pregnant, he’d come up with a much better plan. All it would take was a little patience. And when Storm deepened his betrayal with the unthinkable, it sealed the young man’s fate.

As he would soon see.

Once more he ran the back of his long finger over the sleeping child’s cheek. Tender, delicate. Her fair skin and pretty hair were just what some men preferred. Just the sort of features that would bring top dollar on the black market.

Sell her or kill her? Such a dilemma.

He would make the decision shortly. He only had to discover which way would make Mark Storm most regret the day he turned on his old mentor.

He took the empty water glass, rose and locked the bedroom door behind him. Yes, he’d find out soon.

Paige left Mark and his everything bagel with strawberry cream cheese at Déjeuner and drove around the city for an hour, her mind an angry blur.

Six o’clock? Coney Island?

Why was the kidnapper making her wait so long? Was he just taunting her? Why? She had his stupid necklace. Why didn’t he just take it and give her Holly back? And Mark knew the man in the white suit? Surely that was just coincidence. The kidnapper couldn’t know she’d been married to Mark. Why would that matter to him anyway?

If only the horrid man on the phone had let her talk to Holly. If only she could hear her little girl’s voice again. She should have demanded to speak to her. Tell him he wouldn’t get his necklace if he didn’t. But she’d been too afraid he’d hurt Holly.

Six o’clock. She could go crazy by then.

She should fight back. Come up with some sort of a plan. But she couldn’t think of a thing that wouldn’t put her daughter’s life in more danger.

She made her way around another block and ended up turning into a garage near the mall on Broadway.

Hardly knowing what she was doing, she parked her Acura, got out and blended into the crowd on the sidewalk. A bright neon sign caught her eye and she glided through the store entrance as if in a trance. She made her way to the open area, wandered across the glossy checkerboard tiles, past the lingerie shop, the vitamin store, and displays of color-coordinated dresses on skinny mannequins.

She stepped onto an escalator and rode it up to the brightly lit second level. A toy store caught her eye. Holly had been asking for a “friend” for Jack the Rabbit. Paige had said no but now she wanted to buy every stuffed animal in the place.

She headed straight for the store. She’d almost reached it when her cell rang. The kidnapper?

Her heart racing, she reached into her purse and pushed the button on her phone. “Hello?”

“Is anything wrong, dear?”

Paige exhaled, partly in relief, partly in exasperation. “Hello, Mom.”

“Honey, I’ve been calling all morning. Where have you been?”

She ran a hand through her hair. “I’ve just been…shopping.”

“Oh. Shopping? Without me?” Her mother laughed. “What are you buying my grandchild this time?” Her mother loved to spoil Holly with gifts.

Paige squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could tell her the truth. “Nothing.”

“Tightwad,” her mother teased. “Let me talk to her. We’ll both conspire against you.”

Paige stared blankly at the door to the toy store. A young woman in a blue sweat suit pushed past her. She turned away, found a bench near a potted tree and sank onto it. Her mind spinning, she forced herself to think of something to say. “Holly’s still at her friend’s, Mom.”

“Really? She’s awfully young to be away from home so long. Don’t you think?”

Paige put her hand to her mouth. She couldn’t break down. She couldn’t lose it. Not now. “She, uh, called me this morning. They were having so much fun. I just couldn’t say no.” It was such a heartbreaking lie, she couldn’t believe the words were coming out of her own mouth.

“You’re not usually such a pushover.”

“I guess I’m getting more like you, Mom.”

“Oh really?” Holly could get anything she wanted out of her softhearted grandmother and Paige was the one who often said no.

She watched a young couple with a baby in a stroller roll past. “I…I just needed some alone time.”

She could feel her mother’s sympathetic  smile. “Now that makes sense. Every parent needs a break now and then. It’s perfectly natural, dear. I understand.”

“I’m glad you do, Mom.”

“But you could have asked me to take her.”

“Maybe later.”

There was a long pause and Paige thought she might blurt out the truth. She couldn’t do that. The kidnapper could be spying on her.

“Well, I guess I’ll let you go.”

Paige winced at the disappointment in her mother’s voice and promised herself she’d make it up to her when this was over. “Thanks, Mom. I do have some things I need to do.”

“Have Holly call me when she gets home. I want to hear all about her sleepover.”

“Sure. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

More guilt ridden than ever, Paige hung up and gazed at the toy store again. All she had to do was wait until six and Holly would be back. She’d buy her a huge toy to welcome her home. Her eyes tearing up, she rose and started toward the store. Her phone rang again, making her heart bang even harder in her chest. Shivering, she pressed the button and held it to her ear.

“Dunbar. Where the hell’s my story?” It was Bigelow.

She stopped short in the middle of the aisle and two teenaged boys in torn jeans nearly bumped into her. She stepped away. Good grief. What could she tell her boss? “Sorry, sir. I, uh. I ran into a little problem.”

“Problem? The damn thing’s been stolen. You knew that, didn’t you?”

She swallowed, trying to catch her breath. “The Fantasia? Yes, I heard that.”

“Heard it? You were there. Didn’t you
see
what happened?”

“That’s what I meant. Actually I didn’t really see anything Everyone was so panicked. It was frightening.” More and more lies. When was this going to end?

“So where’s my exclusive?”

“Exclusive? The necklace is gone.” Her pulse picked up. He didn’t know, did he? Nobody knew she was the one who took? The police would be after her, if they did.

“Dunbar, have you lost your nose for news? You were an eyewitness. Why isn’t your article in my inbox already?”

She exhaled in relief as her mind raced. Bigelow was right.

If she hadn’t been the one instigating the robbery, if she hadn’t been so worried about Holly, if she hadn’t been dealing with a kidnapper, she would have been on that story like a starving dog on a bone. She would have been outraged that the Fantasia had been stolen. She would’ve produced a scathing column describing everything that happened last night, listing possible suspects, blistering Adolphus for his lack of security.

She would’ve turned it into the Bigelow hours ago.

She pressed her hand against her forehead. She’d have to fake it. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m having trouble with one of my sources.”

“Doesn’t sound like you, Dunbar. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sir. Nothing at all. I’ll get on it right away. I’ll get that column to you in half an hour.” She clicked off and headed back to the bench, then reached inside her bag for the mini laptop she always carried.

She switched it on and felt almost delirious to get a Wi-Fi connection. She opened her word processor and started banging at the keys.

Spiro Adolphus’ gala soirée at the Piazza hotel last night was marred by the unthinkable. The gorgeous multi-jeweled necklace, dubbed the Fantasia, which he intended to auction off for charity, was stolen.

She closed her eyes, trying to bring back the details of the party last night. What came to her was the vision of Mark holding her in his arms as they danced to
Misty
. His touch, his lips. His strong, muscular body making love to her later on.

No. Stubbornly she willed her mind back to the party. She remembered the rim shot that sounded like gunfire. The screams and chaos. And her own hand reaching inside the display case to get the jewels.

She looked down at her purse saw the heart-shaped ruby twinkling under the mall lights. My God. She was in a mall with the stolen necklace. She grabbed her purse and tucked it between her laptop and her thigh, then glanced around, as if she were surrounded by bloodthirsty thieves.

No, she was the thief.

The article. She had to finish it before she totally lost it. With determination, she put her mind to work, letting her fingers fly over the keyboard. Facts. Details. The unbiased thoughts of a detached observer. Guilt bearing down on her, she described the scene, guessed at Adolphus’ reaction, invented possible suspects. She hinted the FBI might be involved in the investigation and promised a follow up.

God help her. She’d never fudged facts before. She’d never falsified evidence. But her daughter’s life was at stake and right now, her career was the last thing she cared about.

She gave the text a quick edit, pasted it into an e-mail, slapped Bigelow’s address in the To box, and clicked Send. Done. She hoped her boss would be happy.

Then she got up, shoved her purse tightly under her arm, and went to the toy store.

###

The next few hours were some of the weariest of Mark’s entire life. When Paige left Déjeuner after receiving the letter from the kidnapper, he’d done the only thing he could. He’d followed her.

He’d made his way through the city traffic as she drove aimlessly, his heart aching at her distress. Finally she went to the mall, of all places. Well, she always did like to shop when she was upset, he remembered with tenderness.

Dawdling far enough behind her so that she wouldn’t spot him, he parked and followed her inside.

It broke his heart to watch her go from store to store, to listen to her lie to her mother and to her boss on the phone, to watch in amazement as she whipped out an article—he assumed about last night. Then she went to a toy store. What was she thinking?

He kept two customers between them as she wandered through the aisles, picking up a doll or a stuffed animal. She was torturing herself with worry over her daughter and it tore his heart out.

He was glad when she left that place. But then he had to trail her to several dress shops and a jewelry store. Oh, my Angel Eyes, what are you doing in there? Some sort of penance?

Suddenly it hit him that she must be riddled with guilt. She wasn’t like him. She’d never stoop to stealing if she hadn’t been forced into it. She was so much better than he ever was.

He thought about making love to her last night. Her moaning, her gentle cries beneath his hands. His feelings for her twisted in his chest. She had been the brightest spot in his life. The best thing that had ever happened to him. He might as well admit it. He’d never stopped loving her.

But the way she felt about him was a different story. Her passion last night was generated out of loneliness. Or nerves. Not love.

Her feelings for him were gone. Vanished. So non-existent that she’d had a child with another man. He’d always hoped to have a kid with her one day. But then, what kind of a father would he have made? What kind of a family could they have had?

It was too late for them now. He knew that. But even if he could never have her, he’d always care about Paige. Even if her little girl wasn’t his, he cared about her life. Even if Paige hated him for it, he’d look out for both of them.

She couldn’t hate him much more than she already did.

At five o’clock, she was still shopping. He hated to tear himself away from her, but he knew where she’d be headed next from the letter he’d seen at the coffee shop. He had a plan and it required he beat her there.