Breath of Dawn, The (24 page)

“And where’s he?”

“She left town. The person who did it is harassing her.” This wouldn’t be easy without explaining everything, but Morgan had been adamant.

The officer turned. “She’s not here to swear a complaint?”

“No, but we are,” Rick said. “The warehouse there is as bad as this. I’ll show you.”

“And I’ll take a look, but until the property owner is back—”

“She won’t be back . . . soon.” Noelle looked from one man to the other. “She received threats, and . . .”

“What kind of threats?” At their guarded expressions, he said, “Did you hear or see them?”

She exhaled. “No, but . . .”

“The guy who did this is here,” Rick said. “He came to our ranch this morning, asking for her.”

“Have a name?”

“He called himself Ken West. But we think he’s Markham Wilder. He was recently released from prison.”

“Parole?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I can look into that. But without your friend . . . What was her name?”

“Er—Quinn Reilly.” Noelle flicked a glance at Rick, and he nodded.

“I can’t do much with threats and vandalism until I talk to her.”

Noelle crossed her arms in the chilling wind. “Can’t you take fingerprints?”

“With her permission. Unless you think something’s happened to her.” He looked up with the question in his eyes.

She shook her head. When Morgan called about the Maserati, he seemed certain they’d shaken Markham. And Erin was uninjured.

“Have a phone number for her?”

“Yes.” Noelle pulled out her phone and opened her contacts
to give it to him, but Rick said, “I don’t think that one’s good anymore.”

The officer tried it and said, “Out of service.” He straightened as the matter took on a little more substance. “You have a way to reach her?”

Rick said, “Maybe.”

“If you talk to her, have her call. She can make a complaint by phone. But she’d have to appear for court.” Officer Wentz looked back inside. “Unless she saw him do this, we’d need evidence to prove it. Without a complaint, I can’t really get a tech in here.”

It was just as Morgan said.

“Well, thank you.” Rick had probably come to the same conclusion. Why would Erin risk her escape to possibly get damages awarded that she would likely never see?

When the sheriff’s department vehicle pulled into Quinn’s driveway, Markham had left the Tahoe—registered to someone else—under the balcony behind the house and crept around the side to listen. He could have run into the woods if any real search had occurred, but the deputy did as much and as little as the situation called for.

Markham smirked. After losing Quinn, he’d come back to her house, even though, as a hideout, it had been compromised. He’d guessed correctly that little would be done about the vandalism if Quinn had fled. But his position was precarious, so after they left, he made the call he’d been resisting. “Hannah,” he said, “I need you to come.”

Her silence stretched, until finally, she answered querulously, “Come? You have my car.”

“Then use mine.” He’d left her his modest Toyota since it was uncomfortable for a prolonged period, during which he would have decided whether to return her Tahoe or not. If he’d found Quinn immediately and gotten what he needed, he’d have been on his way.

Now he needed Hannah, though it would be tricky. At the merest hint of irritation, she crumpled, and especially since his incarceration, he’d struggled to maintain his composure—as today so
shamefully demonstrated. “I’ll give you an address to enter into the GPS on the dashboard. You should get here with no trouble.”

“But . . . why can’t you come back?”

“I’ll explain everything when you’re here. Just know I wouldn’t ask unless I needed you.” God’s honest truth. But she would come. Faithful, devoted Hannah. And the best part was, she looked so much like her baby sister, Quinn.

Around seven, Morgan stopped for lodging at a roadside strip motel that had been renamed but not upgraded by a national chain. He’d have gone on to St. George or even Vegas, but Livie needed food and a good night’s sleep. The room was clean and didn’t smell, with two queen beds in faded floral spreads and Southwestern prints in warped frames on the walls. He set up a rickety portable crib for Livie and straightened. “Restaurant or fast food?”

Erin looked out the window to the low-slung shake-shingled building with a half-lit neon sign that read
—AURANT
. No fancy name for that eatery. “We can walk to that one.”

Probably the best recommendation the place had. While she insisted she wasn’t injured, she was shaken, and Livie would fight the car seat if he tried to impose it in search of alternatives.

So holding Livie snugly, he crossed the street with Erin. The restaurant smelled like an old-fashioned cafeteria, canned soup, and gas stove.

The different meals they’d shared, from Thanksgiving, to Paris, to this, made a sort of road map for the course of their relationship. Each stage had high and low points, though he was struggling to find a high point now as he settled into a booth, letting Livie stand on the seat between him and the wall.

Erin slumped into the other side. “I feel awful about your car.”

“I know you do.” One other booth and two stools at the counter were occupied. Probably travelers, as the waitress talked to them like strangers.

“It isn’t as though I can pay for the repairs.”

“It isn’t as though that matters.” He handed Livie the container of sweeteners to sort, and she settled onto her knees.

“But your Maserati—”

“Half yours.”

“No.” Erin stared, palms flat on the table. “Your things aren’t mine just because—”

“We’re married? Must have hit your head harder than you thought.”

She touched the bump, then realized what he meant and sighed.

Though thin and faded, the napkins were cloth. He spooned a few cubes from the plastic water glass the waitress brought and held the ice pack out to Erin.

“Thanks.” She pressed it to her head. “Are you okay?”

He frowned. “Of course.”

“After Jill’s accident, it can’t have helped—”

“Let it go.” Her words were like sand in a wound.

“Maybe you should see—”

“I’m dealing with it.”

She lowered the ice. “I know. But L-i-v-i-e is starting to notice.”

“Don’t tell me how to parent.”

She jerked back just enough for him to realize he’d said it too harshly. He apologized.

“No, I get it,” she said too quickly. “Not my place.”

“Erin . . .”

“I need to use the rest room.”

He watched her stand, watched her walk away. Neither were at their best, but she hadn’t deserved that.

“Daddy? Sing me ‘Sunshine.’”

“Sing you ‘Sunshine.’” Sighing, he lifted and set Livie on the table directly before him. Softly he sang the song that was both plea and love song. Please, please don’t take my sunshine.

Erin ate hot turkey and gravy on a slice of cheap white sourdough. He hardly knew what he ate, but Livie devoured her mac and cheese. The clouds had fragmented, revealing cold, bright stars as they walked back. In the small bathroom, he washed his face and brushed his teeth, gave his little girl a bath, lotioned and jammied her, and then tucked her into the portable crib.

She had the ability to close her eyes and fall asleep. When Erin went into the bathroom to change, he hung his sweater and jeans
and got into bed wearing the rest. She came out in soft-looking pajamas and located him, then headed for the other bed.

He followed her with his eyes. “Is this a forever thing, or are you just punishing me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Separate beds.”

“Morgan, we talked—”

“You talked. As far as I’m concerned there are very few things as depressing as sleeping alone.”

She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her hands. After a moment, she looked up. “It’s better not to complicate it.”

He read the strain in her face and nodded. “Okay.” Sliding under the covers, he rolled to his side. He wouldn’t do anything with Livie right there, but it would have been nice to hold his wife. He closed his eyes and begged for sleep.

Somewhere in the night, he realized his face was wet. Now they came? When his biggest feelings weren’t about Jill? He ground his palms into his eye sockets. Grief hadn’t broken him. But healing might.

M
organ woke angrier than he could remember feeling since Jill told him about Kelsey. He worked hard to hide it when Erin raised her tousled head in the other bed. Since Livie was still sleeping, he got up and power showered.

Then they traded places. While Erin washed, he rallied Livie, eager to hit the road. He hoped Erin wouldn’t spend hours coifing but didn’t expect her to coil her hair damp into a clip and leave it at that. “You can dry it if you want.”

“No need.” She packed her things and carried them out to the SUV. If she was trying to downplay her attractiveness it was failing, because every aspect of her appealed to him at deeper and deeper levels. The fact that she tried gave his mood teeth.

“We’ll grab some breakfast, then get going.”

“Okay.” Hands tucked under her armpits, she crossed the street to the same restaurant as last evening. Following with his little girl, he hoped they brewed the coffee strong.

Picking up on his mood, Livie misbehaved to the greatest degree she ever had. He told her, “You’re going to be hungry if you don’t eat.” He could have said the same to Erin but didn’t.

Rick called while she was in the bathroom and explained the response from the Sheriff’s Department. Not surprised, Morgan said, “Well, at least it’s on the record. Erin can decide if she wants to follow up with a complaint.” When they were speaking again, he’d tell her.

Loading up, Livie objected to the car in escalating tones. Erin said, “You should sit by her and let me drive.”

With a full day’s drive ahead, that made sense. The bump on her head looked better, and she’d seemingly slept. Discussion would be superfluous. And just to make sure, he connected his music player to the sound system and chose a playlist heavy on Creed, Rammstein, and Dave Mustaine.

As “Engel” started to play, he tucked his head back. Sometimes he wanted music to hurt.

In the car seat next to him, Livie entertained herself with a zoo book that had finger-puppet animals. Erin drove without comment. After a while, with his hand on Livie’s chest and her hand over his, they both closed their eyes and fell asleep.

She’d thought Morgan might expect to drive, but he hadn’t even raised the question, or made more than minimal conversation, which would have been difficult anyway with the harsh lyrics, screaming guitars, and drums booming. His playlist sounded like an orc uprising, but Morgan hadn’t asked her opinion. He’d gone to sleep.

Around noon, she looked for a place to stop. Even if neither adult had an appetite, Livie needed a break from the car seat and something substantial in her tummy. She pulled into a roadside station with several fast-food options.

For the first time in days, she felt like herself, a woman who stood against what was wrong, who had taken control of a bad situation and paid the price. She felt like Quinn Reilly—except she used Morgan’s credit card to fill the tank of Morgan’s vehicle on the way to Morgan’s home in a state she’d never seen. Okay. That was reality. Deal with it.

Morgan got his daughter out, letting her walk off the traveling
stiffness across the parking lot in the chilly but no longer snowy weather. Inside, they ordered food to eat on the road, which meant continued progress and no awkward tableside conversation—or lack of. Erin got back behind the wheel and disconnected Morgan’s MP3. Livie balked at the car seat, poor thing, crying when her daddy prevailed, but it was halfhearted and soon she was playing with more things they’d collected on the road.

Morgan didn’t sleep again. He worked on his laptop. Nice for him. He still had a business, still had a life, an identity. When they stopped again for fuel, he asked how she was doing.

“A little ragged, I guess.” She had driven through the tip of Arizona, the lower point of Nevada, and into California.

“Want me to take over?”

“I think Livie’s more secure when you’re beside her.”

He crouched beside his daughter in the roadside multiplex. “Would you like Erin to sit by you, Livie?”

The child looked puzzled until it clicked who he meant. She grabbed another beanie creature off the shelf and beamed. “Playammals?”

Morgan straightened with a few years coming off his face. “That was her first action verb. I haven’t the heart to correct it.”

After his wall of silence, that tiny confidence almost brought tears. “I suspected as much.” She handed him the keys and got into the back. His laptop lay on a container beside her, and she slipped it into its case and set it somewhere safer. Glancing up, she saw him watching in the rearview mirror.

“You can use it if you want.”

“What for?” She settled next to Livie and sighed.

Coming into Santa Barbara in the dark, he felt the acute vivisection once more. The drive had been a sort of torture he didn’t want to experience again, but what came next had the potential to be far worse. He hadn’t stepped inside his house since the day of Jill’s funeral.

Coastal air swept in when he lowered the car window and keyed the code that opened the gates guarding his enclave. He drove
reluctantly to the third of five homes perched on the edge of the country. Taking Livie and her blanket from her car seat, he kissed her soft cheek. “How’re you doing, sweetie?”

She blinked in the lantern-lit courtyard. “Where is this?”

“Daddy’s house. Want to see inside?”

Erin shouldered her purse, waiting. He owed her about a thousand apologies but managed only, “Ready?”

Her face told him little as she followed him across the tiles to the mission-style doors. When he reached for the iron handle, the door flew open.

“Ay!” Consuela’s cry would terrify the neighbors. “Señor Morgan! You did not tell me you were coming. Why would you not—” She saw Erin behind him, her affront increasing. “You bring a guest and don’t warn me?”

It would have been an easy phone call to make, and if he had to apply motive to his decision not to, it might have been a little payback for her refusing to come when he summoned.

“Consuela, this is my wife, Erin.”

Giving him the evil eye, she pushed past, grasped Erin’s shoulders, and kissed her on both cheeks. “
Lo siento
for Señor Morgan’s terrible manners. If he had told me I would have prepared something very special. And you.” She turned. “This
niña preciosa
is my little Olivia?”

Unused to anyone making so much noise, Livie shrank into him.

Consuela’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t know me. You, Señor Morgan, have broken my heart.”

“She just needs a little time.” And quiet. Why was Rick’s house so quiet? Except for Liam, of course.

Consuela tossed her head. “Erin, you come in. Let me look at the one Morgan has chosen.
Está muy hermosa.
And so tiny.”

“I’m a little travel worn.” She pulled off the clip, her hair tumbling free.

“Oh, such beautiful hair should not be trapped.”

He totally agreed, but Erin only shrugged.

“Come with me. I will make you a bath.”

Morgan stopped and instructed her in Spanish to prepare a guest bath and bedroom. Confused, Consuela gave him a dark
look but nodded. He shifted his daughter. Livie was tired and needed her bed.

The one that awaited was in the nursery he and Jill had prepared and decorated in lace and flowers. Climbing the stairs, his heart began to pound, his chest closing down as though constricted in a python’s coils.

“Daddy.” Livie squeezed his neck.

He squeezed her back, drawing strength from her love, his tiny savior. Even though she was only a newborn the last time she’d inhabited the room, the bookcase held a treasure of books, schoolteacher Jill convinced she’d read before she walked. When he flipped on the lamp beside the rocker, Livie squirmed loose and ran to the shelves.

“Read to me, Daddy.”

“Of course.” They wouldn’t consider sleeping without a thorough bedtime ritual.

This nursery adjoined the master suite, and when he kissed Livie the final time and tucked her blanket like a soft cocoon all around, he went through the door into his room and pressed his hands to his face. No way he’d sleep there tonight.

Erin sank into the hot scented water, feeling her body relax. With the tension of their escape, the frost and fire of Morgan’s moods, the beauty of his home—what she’d seen of it outside and her trip up the stairs behind Consuela—she’d left the house of mirrors and boarded the Tilt-A-Whirl.

Still at last, she leached every bit of comfort from the bath, then dressed in the soft pajama pants and chemise someone had laid on the guest bed. Guest. She might not be as fluent as Morgan, but she’d caught his instruction to Consuela. She should be glad, yet she suddenly felt lonely.

From her carryon, she took the photograph of Pops and his two Quinns. With a sharp longing, she set it on the nightstand, then quickly unwrapped the jewelry box and set it beside the picture frame. Putting the carryon down, she saw a corner of something peeking out of a side compartment. She unzipped it to remove an envelope.

It held a thank-you note written in RaeAnne’s bold round script. At the end she included all her contact information—
so you can reach me any way, any time.
Holding the note to her heart, Erin rode the wave of emotion, then called with her disposable cell phone before she realized she was on the West Coast and RaeAnne on Central time. “I’m so sorry!” she said when RaeAnne’s groggy voice answered.

“Quinn?”

“I totally forgot the time difference.” It was even late in California. The series of cross-country and international flights and two long days of driving had fuzzed her normally keen sense of time.

“Quinn, I’m so glad you called. I’ve been trying and trying to reach you.”

She imagined her phone ringing in the men’s room trash. “I had to change my number. Someone was hassling me.”

“Don’t you hate solicitors?”

“Yeah.” She pictured Markham’s spiteful face. “Did I wake your husband?”

“He’s still out of town. Wish you were here to make brownies.”

“Me too.” She smiled, remembering.

“And, sugar, any time you call is a good time. I’ve been wanting to tell you I know who my dad is.”

“Is?”

“Yes, he’s alive. Raymond Hartley. And the thing is, I know where to find him.”

“You’ve been busy.” If it was that easy, how long before Markham was back on her trail?

“I have. And, Quinn, it means, if I want, I could try to see him.”

Standing by the dark window, she pressed a hand to her heart. “Do you want?”

“I don’t know. It’s driving me crazy going back and forth.” RaeAnne groaned. “What would you do?”

Erin thought of her own dad. If something happened to him before she made this right, could she live with it? “I wouldn’t want something to regret. I think you’ve been given an opportunity.”

“I knew you’d say that. You’re so good with relationships.”

She expelled a breath. “Why do you think that?”

“Look how nice you’ve been to me. I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

And she didn’t know her at all. Not the facts. Not even the biggest thing she could tell her. Remember Morgan? Oh, by the way, I married him.

“How’s your business going? Did you unload the stuff from Mom’s cellar?”