Vicious (2 page)

For your sake, I hope not,
Pamela thought. Did that young woman—eighteen months from now—really want to discover that Justin Senior, the father of her child, was a cheating slime bucket?

Okay, so maybe Steve hadn’t actually cheated yet, but he’d been working up to it.

Pamela had taken Andy out of Rainbow Junction Day Care early and gone for a long drive. The phone was ringing when she came through the front door with Andy in her arms at 4:30. It was Steve. He’d left several messages for her at the office—and then at home. “Jill phoned me, and said you e-mailed her,” he admitted. “Listen, you’re freaking out over nothing. This e-mail thing with her is all very innocent—and—and
harmless
. It’s so dumb. It started when they sent the notice about the reunion. I was going to tell you about it, only I…well, listen, just do me a favor and stay put. I’m leaving work right now. I should be there in a half hour….”

Pamela waited. She put Andy in his crib for a late nap, poured herself a glass of merlot, and plopped down at the kitchen table. She kept busy painting her nails—a honey-brown color called Cinnamon Sin. Ninety minutes later, she was still sitting there, impatiently clicking her newly painted nails on the kitchen table. She sat there and glared at Steve as he paced in front of her, apologizing, explaining, and groveling.

Apparently,
poor Jill
had just been through a messy divorce and was very fragile. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings by telling her that her e-mails were inappropriate. Yeah, sure, maybe he kind of liked the attention, but it was all very innocent.

“I was going to tell you about it,” he claimed. “Only I knew you’d go ballistic. This is just the sort of reaction I’ve been afraid of. Can you really blame me for not saying anything?

Yes, indeed, I blame you, you son of a bitch.

She took Andy and left. She just needed to cool off for a while.

That had been nearly an hour ago. Steve was probably going out of his mind with worry. Maybe he thought he’d never see her and their baby again. Well, good, let him think that a little while longer.

Up ahead, past the dahlia garden, Pamela thought she saw him, walking along another intersecting trail. Then she realized—although he had Steve’s loping gait and wore a navy blue windbreaker very much like Steve’s—the man wasn’t her husband. For a few moments, a streetlight behind him cast a shadow over his face. But as he came closer, Pamela saw he was extremely good looking and he was smiling at Andy in his stroller. “Well, well, well, what a handsome little rascal you are!” he said.

Pamela stopped for him. The stranger crouched down to grin at Andy. He wasn’t a toucher. He kept his hands in his pockets. “What’s your name, fella?” he asked.

“Andy,” Pamela answered for her son.

The handsome stranger looked up and locked eyes with her. He had such a sexy smile. Pamela felt herself blush. She could always tell when guys were interested in her, and this one was interested. Not that anything would happen, but it sure was nice. In fact, this impromptu flirtation in the park was just what the doctor ordered to make her feel desirable again.

The man glanced down at Andy once more. “Is this beautiful lady your mommy?”

Pamela let out a coy laugh. “Well, I don’t know about ‘beautiful,’ but I’m the mommy.”

He locked eyes with her again. “Listen,
Mommy
,” he said quietly. “I have a gun aimed at Andy right now. Unless you want to see his little head blown off, you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do.”

Pamela wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. Dumbfounded, she gazed at the man. The smile disappeared from her face. She glanced down at his hands—still in the pockets of his windbreaker. She could tell he was holding something in his right hand.

Andy let out a screech and squirmed in his stroller. He clapped his little hands and giggled.

The man furtively pulled the automatic out of his pocket for a moment—the barrel pointed at Andy’s face.

“Oh, God, please, no,” Pamela murmured, paralyzed with fear. White-knuckled, she clutched the stroller handles. She glanced around to see if there was anyone else in the vicinity—anyone who might help her. A man in track shorts and a sweatshirt ran along another paved trail about thirty feet away—but he was moving too fast to even notice them. Within moments, he was gone.

Tears stinging her eyes, Pamela gazed at the stranger. “What—what do you want?”

With an odd, little smile, he nodded toward the greenhouse—and the dark, wooded area beyond it. “Let’s take a walk down there, and I’ll tell you what I want.”

Pamela hesitated.

He reached up and gently tugged at the pale green scarf around her neck. “C’mon.”

Pamela swallowed hard and then started walking toward the darkened woods. Her legs felt wobbly. Wincing, she felt something grind against her spine, and realized it was the barrel of his revolver. Pamela realized something else. She was going to die.

As she pushed Andy in his stroller, she could only see the little hood covering the back of his head. He let out a squeal, then giggled and kicked.

“Please…please, don’t hurt my baby,” she whispered to the man.

“I won’t hurt him,” he promised. “Just you,
Mommy
, just you…”

Pausing under a park light, Hannah McHugh pressed two fingers along the side of her neck and ran in place. Warily, she glanced back at the winding pathway. The strange man had been on her tail for about ten minutes now, and he was still there—about twenty feet behind her. He was dressed in tan corduroys, a flannel shirt, and a light jacket—and he was
jogging
. He wasn’t even wearing running shoes. From this distance, they looked like loafers, for God’s sake.

A paralegal in a law office downtown, Hannah had been varying her after-work running course from day to day, and it had paid off. She’d gone from a size 10 to size 6. Divorced and thirty-eight years old, Hannah had convinced herself forty wouldn’t be fatal. She’d recently made the transition from medium-brown brunette to Sassy Ginger (at least, that was the name on the Clairol box) and joined an online dating service, www.lifeconnexxions.com. So far, the guys she’d met had been drips, but Hannah wasn’t giving up. Though she hadn’t been in the mood to run tonight, she’d still donned her sweats and taken the Volunteer Park route. Just her luck, her persistence was paying off in the guise of some weirdo following her around the park’s paved trail.

Hannah continued to jog in place and watched the bizarre man coming closer and closer. She studied his brown crew cut and the determined expression on his pockmarked face. He passed by her without even a glance her way. He was muttering to himself in an odd, singsong monologue. Hannah couldn’t make out the words. She watched him retreat down the darkened pathway past the greenhouse—until he disappeared in the shadows.

“Talk about strange,”
someone said.

Startled, Hannah swiveled around and gaped at the man.

With his hands tucked in the pockets of his blue windbreaker, the handsome stranger gave her a crooked grin. “Looks like he just stepped off the crazy bus,” he said.

Hannah shyly smiled, wiped the sweat from her forehead and flicked back her Sassy Ginger hair. She nodded toward the darkened trail in front of them. “Yeah, I think I’ll wait a minute before I head down there. He’s probably harmless, but I’m giving him a wide berth just the same.”

“Smart,” the handsome man replied. “A pretty woman like you shouldn’t take any chances at this hour.” He gave her a little wave. “Well, take care.” Then he started to walk away.

“You too!” Hannah called. “Take care!” Biting her lip, she watched the good-looking man wander toward the shadowy trail.
Don’t just stand there, stupid,
she thought.
He’s cute. Go after him, talk to him!

“Hey, wait a second, okay?” Hannah called. She hurried to meet up with the man.

Stopping, he turned and half smiled at her.

Suddenly, she was a little breathless. “Listen, would you mind if I walked with you—just to be on the safe side?”

“No problem, c’mon,” he said, taking a step toward her. For a moment, Hannah thought he’d touch her arm. But his hands remained in the pockets of his blue windbreaker. He nodded toward the paved pathway that snaked through the gloomy woods ahead. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you. Do you live close by?”

“Yes, near the Cornish School,” Hannah answered, strolling beside him. “Lucky for me you came along.”

He didn’t respond. They’d just passed under the last streetlight for a while, and now headed into the wooded section. A few empty cars were parked on the side of the winding road. Hannah kept a lookout for the weird jogger, but she didn’t see him in the darkness ahead. She didn’t see anyone at all.

She felt the stranger’s shoulder brush against hers. Was he flirting? She stole a furtive sidelong glance at him. No, he wasn’t even looking at her. He seemed to be scoping out the area. Maybe he was on the lookout for the crazy jogger, too.

A cool wind kicked up. Tree branches and bushes seemed to come alive for a moment. She could hear the man’s breathing grow heavier. Hannah glanced at him again. He looked so serious—and tense. His gaze shifted from side to side as if he were making sure no one else was around. Then he peered over his shoulder.

Hannah glanced back in the same direction. There was no one behind them. “So—did you lose something?” she asked.

“What?” he said.

“I was wondering if you’d lost your dog or your cat, the way you keep looking around as if you…” She trailed off.

He wasn’t listening. As they walked side by side, Hannah became more and more uncomfortable. Finally, the stranger paused and whispered, almost to himself. “We’re all alone here, aren’t we?”

Hannah swallowed hard and tried to veer away from him ever so subtly. “You know, I think I’m okay now,” she said, finally. “I—I’m going to finish my run. It was—it was nice of you to—”

“Did you hear that?” he interrupted, stopping suddenly.

Hannah stopped, too. “Hear what?”

He took hold of her arm and led her off the trail—toward some bushes. Twigs snapped under their feet. “Listen to it,” he said. “Sounds like whimpering….”

Hannah’s whole body stiffened up. She gently pulled her arm away. Any minute now, she expected him to slap a hand over her mouth and drag her into the bushes. She thought about making a break for it—while he was staring into the thicket. But then she heard it, too: a strange, muffled whining. It sounded like a wounded animal.

He weaved around some bushes. “You’re gonna think I’m crazy,” he said, his back to her. “But I recognize that crying….”

Hannah didn’t move. She gazed into the woods, but couldn’t see anything beyond the first group of shrubs and trees. There was just darkness. Still, she heard the whimpering.

“Sounds like my kid,” the man said. He squinted over his shoulder at her. “Earlier, you didn’t see a pretty brunette with a baby in a stroller, did you?”

Confused, Hannah just shook her head.

He heaved a sigh. “My wife and I had an argument tonight. She left with the baby. Last time she blew up at me, she came to this park. That’s why I’m here….” The man rana hand through his red hair, then turned and gazed into the forest. “I can’t hear him anymore,” he said, a panic in his voice. “Pam?” he called out. “Sweetie? Is that Andy I hear? Sweetheart?”

Hannah dared to venture a few steps farther into the woods. At the same time, she widened the gap between her and the man. Just beyond a cluster of shrubs, she detected movement. Moonlight reflected off something shiny and metal; it looked like a fallen bicycle’s handlebars. With apprehension, Hannah moved in closer. The muffled whimpering became louder. The man was right. It sounded like a baby’s stifled cries.

“Andy, is that you?” the man called, heading in the other direction. “Pam?”

Hannah crept around the bushes and gasped. It wasn’t a bicycle’s handlebars shining in the moonlight. She could see the baby stroller now—and the gleaming metal struts. “Over here!” she screamed.

She hurried toward the baby. Writhing and kicking in his stroller, he wore a hooded blue jacket and held a little stuffed yellow giraffe that looked a bit tattered. Someone had wrapped a green cloth around the lower part of his face. Hannah wondered how the baby could breathe with that thing over his nose and mouth. The cloth—it looked like a scarf—muted his cries but didn’t stop him from trying to shriek in protest. His face was red, and tears slid down his cheeks. He vainly swatted at the scarf with one little hand. The other hand clung to the dilapidated stuffed animal.

Instinctively, Hannah lifted the wriggling baby out of his stroller seat.
How could his stupid mother just abandon him like this?
She held him tightly with one arm and started to unravel the scarf from his face. “You poor thing,” she murmured. It was hard holding on to him; he kept squirming and twitching. His little face was so red, it almost matched his hair.

The man staggered through the bushes. “Oh, Jesus, Andy!” he cried, reaching out for him. “It’s Daddy….”

Hannah gave the child to his father, but kept unraveling the scarf—careful not to scratch the baby’s cheek with her fingernails. His screams became louder, and he wiggled fiercely. “What in the world?” she muttered. To her horror, Hannah found part of the silky material crammed into the baby’s little mouth. She pulled out the makeshift gag, partially stained with his saliva and tears.

The little boy gasped, then let go an ear-piercing scream. He trembled in his father’s arms. The man kept hugging him and kissing his forehead.

“Do you know whose this is?” Hannah asked, showing him the green silk scarf. She had to shout over the baby’s cries.

“That’s his mother’s,” the man replied, dazed. He rocked the baby in an effort to calm him down. “She—she had it on when she left the house earlier. But she—she wouldn’t have done that to him, not Pam. She’s a good mother, she—”

Hannah gazed at him and shook her head.

The man seemed to choke on those words,
She’s a good mother
. Tears came to his eyes as he stared at the frayed stuffed giraffe in his son’s grasp. “Oh, my God, that’s not his…. It’s not his toy…. Oh, Jesus, this isn’t happening….”