Comes the Night (Entangled Suspense) (10 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Throwing her arms wide, the woman laughed in delight, spinning in a slow circle, her glorious hair flowing in the winter breeze. How he longed to bury his hands in those curls and draw her close. Taste her lips and feel the softness of her skin. Just a few more steps until she was his.

He reached for her…and grasped nothing but air. Spinning around, he searched frantically, but she was gone. For a moment he thought he heard her in the distance, calling his name, but the breeze whipped the sound away.

In its place a harsh voice thundered, “You are not in charge! Not in charge…not…” He turned in rage toward the intruder…and tripped over the hockey stick that lay unexpectedly at his feet. The cruel voice faded into the night.

Thomas jerked awake, drenched in sweat. He was exhausted, yet all too often sleep eluded him. When he did sleep, he dreamed. Amazing dreams that both beckoned and confused. Troubling dreams that drifted just out of his reach the moment he awoke.

Tonight’s dream held something else, something evil.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling. He hated it here. Hated this house, hated the furniture, the food, the work. Hated everything except his son…and Maggie.

He supposed he didn’t actually hate Desiree, but he didn’t much like her, either. She wasn’t his type—at least not anymore.

And his father. It shamed him to admit it, but he hated him, too. How would he feel if one day Ace felt the same way about him?

He was slowly suffocating, day after tedious day. The need to be free of this prison of expectation had grown to the point where something was bound to break, and he was determined it wouldn’t be him. Ace needed him too much.

Glancing at the clock, he sighed with relief—2:00 a.m. It was time for Ace’s late-night feeding. A duty, a privilege really, that he enjoyed.

When he entered the nursery, he found that Maggie had beaten him to it. She sat in the rocking chair, her hair pulled into a haphazard bun from which so many wavy strands escaped that she might as well have worn it down. She quietly fed Ace a bottle as the pediatrician had directed with the intent of eventually decreasing the boy’s dependence on her milk altogether. Thomas realized it saddened him for Ace to lose this special connection.

“Hey.” He nodded, feeling subdued. A few hours ago she’d been crying in his father’s arms. “How are you?”

She smiled a rare smile of genuine happiness that contrasted sharply with her red-rimmed eyes. “I’m good. I’m always good when I’m with this little guy.”

Looking closely at the bottle she held, he realized it contained breast milk instead of formula. Man, she was stubborn, a quality that drew him in almost as much as her love for his son.

Or was it her love for her lost baby? The myriad questions he’d pushed aside began to gnaw at him again. “About what happened after dinner…”

She stiffened, and her peaceful demeanor fled, filling the room with tension.

Though he missed the peace, he was glad. He was finally going to get some answers.

…

Lizzie panicked, afraid he would mention her discreet message that she was lying when she said everything was fine. “You mean when you rudely interrupted a private moment between your father and me?” She glared at him, praying she communicated more than anger with her eyes. “I hope those financial projections were worth ruining my evening.” She tossed her messy hair in her best imitation of disdain, hoping to distract Alistair if he were observing their interaction.

Zach stared at her and she felt the most inappropriate urge to laugh. If the situation weren’t so dire, she’d actually enjoy his look of
what the hell?

“So, you’re really involved with my father.”

His head tilted as he observed her. She sensed his disbelief, further prompting her warped sense of humor. She feared her desire to laugh bordered on hysteria. Great, he already thought she might be a little crazy.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“You’re involved in a physical relationship. Even though just the other day you called him that ‘miserable, controlling old man.’”

“Yes, well, I didn’t think you’d approve of our relationship.”

With a humorless laugh, he looked at the ceiling and gritted his teeth. Taking a deep breath, he looked back at her and enunciated each word, “You’re having sex with that old man.” He practically cringed as he said it.

She pulled Daniel protectively to her, drawing his eyes to their son. “Ace is too young for this discussion, but, yes, your father and I are having an affair.” She was proud of herself for not choking on the words.

As she adjusted Daniel in her arms, she hoped she was doing the right thing and subtly overlapped her index and middle fingers for a moment. Zach’s eyes shifted, and Lizzie saw brief acknowledgment in his face before he looked back at her.

All he said was, “I see.”

Now that he was watching for her signal, she allowed one hand to drop to a less conspicuous position, partially concealed by the blanket. She tried to control her excitement. They were communicating.

She prayed that she could trust him.

…

Although Thomas didn’t really understand the reason for this truth-or-lie game, he was willing to play if it brought him closer to real understanding. She was either incredibly clever or a candidate for the psychiatric ward. He desperately hoped it was the former.

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he walked over to the sitting area and grabbed the ottoman. Maggie watched in silence as he carried it back across the room and placed it directly in front of her chair so that when he sat, he was at eye level with her.

“Is he forcing you into a physical relationship with him?” Although he tried to be analytical in his questioning, he felt anger seep into his query.

“Oh, please.” She raised her eyebrows in disbelief, but her fingers lay separated alongside his son. “Do I look like the kind of woman who would allow a man to force her into a physical relationship?” When he failed to answer, she insisted, “Well, do I? Look at me.”

He stared deeply into her eyes, searching for hidden meaning that, like his dreams, lay just beyond his grasp.

Looking away, he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He turned his gaze back to her. “As long as you’re content…not frightened or anything.”

“No, I’m not frightened. Do you have any more ridiculous questions?”

Her fingers were crossed, clenched together so tightly that he saw the whites of her knuckles in the dim light. She relaxed her hand and ran it over Ace’s back.

“As long as you’re not in danger.” Although stated in measured tones, it was clearly another question.

She hesitated and turned her lips up in a semblance of a smile. “No,” she said with a noticeable attempt at nonchalance that couldn’t quite hide the fear in her eyes, “I’m not worried that I’m in danger.”

The truth. He frowned. He wasn’t asking the right questions.

“What would this Zach guy think about you being here…with my father?” He regretted the flicker of hurt in her eyes at the question.

A hollow laugh forced its way past her lips. “He wouldn’t be very happy about it, but he would understand.”

Thomas scowled. “What kind of man could possibly be okay with this situation?” When she failed to respond, he pushed. “Why are you here? Where is this paragon of a husband?”

He stood and began to pace, disgusted with himself for echoing his father’s sentiment. Getting his temper under control, he stopped in front of her and waited.

Anger burned in her eyes. He watched, fascinated as she banked the fire and spoke calmly, never breaking the rhythm of the rocking chair. “Don’t insult the man when you can’t possibly understand.”

Frustrated, he glared at her. “Oh, I understand plenty. A man takes care of the woman he…” He felt a faint flush rise on his cheeks, uncertain if he was talking about Zach or himself. “A man takes care of his wife.”

For a moment she was silent, and he swore he saw compassion in her eyes as she responded, “And a woman takes care of her husband.”

Confused, he tried to get their conversation—and his emotions—back on track. “Well, as long as you’re happy.”

She laughed, still that haunting hollow sound, and lied again. “I’m happy.”

He wanted to ask more questions, but he could see the exhaustion on her face. And if he were honest with himself, he was confused—hurt without understanding why—and he needed time to regroup. In the meantime, he’d confirm his suspicion that the room was being videotaped. This would explain why she refused to have a direct conversation with him.

Focusing on this problem he walked around the room, looking at its contents. He’d witnessed Alistair’s preference for taping meetings, had noticed cameras discreetly placed in other rooms of the mansion.

Her voice shook a bit as she asked, “What…what are you doing?”

“I’m thinking about redesigning this nursery. I don’t know what I was thinking when I first set it up.” He gestured broadly and frowned. “This is a depressingly formal room for a child. Hell, it’s depressingly formal even for me! I think redecorating, maybe even some light construction, is needed.”

He continued his tour, occasionally touching items or shifting objects from one place to another, until finally he found it.

A hidden camera.

He continued to examine the room, ignoring her as he searched for any other cameras or listening devises. When he completed his inspection, he returned to stand in front of her. She looked weary, both body and soul, as she struggled to keep her eyes open. “Hey, I’m sorry about the questions. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He reached down for Ace. “Here, let me put him down. You need to get some sleep. You’ll need your rest to take care of this active boy tomorrow.”

As he removed Daniel from her arms, his hand made contact with hers and he squeezed reassuringly. A promise hidden by the falling folds of the baby blanket and the cover of the night. He would discover the truth and take care of both her and his son. He hoped she understood.

He laid Ace in the crib and stood for a few moments enjoying the rise and fall of his chest as he gathered his thoughts. When he turned back to Maggie, he saw that she’d fallen asleep, a lone tear tracing a path down her cheek. She looked exhausted…and vulnerable.

Mindful of the camera, he sat back on his heels in front of her. Careful to position his body so that the camera caught mostly his back, he rubbed her arm, talking softly. “Hey, wake up, sleepyhead.” She stirred and her eyes fluttered open, an alluring smile transforming her face at the sight of him. His heart began to race. He felt drawn to her warmth, the love in her eyes reeling in his confused heart until she spoke wistfully, hurting him more than he would have thought possible.

“Zach.”

Chapter Eighteen

Lizzie lay in bed, clutching her family picture. How had everything gone so wrong last night after they’d finally started to make progress?
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
She should never have let herself fall asleep. But when she woke up and saw Zach’s handsome face right in front of her, felt his strong hand caressing her arm, looked into his caring eyes…well, she didn’t think. She just reacted.

Zach
.

That was all it took for him to shut down. She saw a brief flicker of hurt and then he withdrew, physically and emotionally.

“It’s late. You should get some sleep.” He’d stood and moved toward the door.

“Wait. I—” She tried to stop him, but he interrupted.

“Maggie.” His voice was soft, but she heard the subtle warning. She frowned at the hard look in his eyes and then realized that the coldness in his tone wasn’t just because he was hurt, but because he was protecting her, warning her to be careful.

He ran his hand roughly along his jaw and tears gathered in her eyes at this sign of his distress. “We’ll talk more about the room redesign tomorrow.”

And then he was gone.

…

Thomas ran at a grueling pace through the dark night. A chill had settled over the land as clouds obscured the moon and stars, the perfect complement to his mood. What was wrong with him? The woman couldn’t have made it clearer where her loyalties lay. With Zach. And still he found himself drawn to her.

A cry split the night. He winced, but never broke stride. The night bird called again, its hunter’s cry followed by the shrill squeak of unfortunate prey. He envied the predator’s ability to achieve its objective. Although he ran every day, his running mirrored his life. Round and round he went, getting nowhere.

To hell with it. He wanted answers? He’d pay another visit to the warehouse under the cover of darkness.

Breathing hard, he changed direction and headed toward the place where the footpath intersected the dirt road, maintaining a harsh pace. He ran automatically, for once paying little attention to his surroundings. His frustration increased rather than decreased. As he neared the opening to the road, sharp pain shot through his calf and he stumbled. The combination of cramp and hectic pace threw him to the ground.

He sat amid the encroaching undergrowth and rubbed his leg. He was acting like a fool. Running heedlessly, without a care for his physical well-being. The cramp subsided and he stretched his muscles.

Something out of place caught his eye. He froze.

If he hadn’t been running like an idiot, if he hadn’t fallen, he would have missed it. Minuscule streams of red laser light crisscrossed the entrance to the dirt road. Pretty advanced technology for a dirt path that led to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere where supposedly unimportant items were stored.

Now he was even more curious than before, but also more wary. Likely this was only the first precaution Alistair had taken. He wasn’t lucky to have seen the trap. He suspected he was meant to see it. It was a warning.

Damn. He wanted to know what was going on at the warehouse, but the last thing he needed was Alistair scrutinizing his actions more closely. With its inland location, he was fairly certain the building didn’t contain a boat or airplane, and his primary objective was to discover options for leaving the island. Reluctantly, he headed back toward the house, vowing to return sometime in the future after his primary objective was met.

He fought feelings of cowardice, reminding himself that he was making progress. He had funds. He’d developed a friendly relationship with the gardener. And he’d avoided taking the unmarked white pills for days, although Alistair assumed he took them regularly. Each day the dull thud in his head became more manageable, and it disappeared completely when he took good old ibuprofen.

Most importantly, he had a plan. In preparation he’d begun to vary his running habits, going out sometimes in the morning, sometimes after dinner, occasionally in the middle of the night. He didn’t want to be predictable.

One day soon he was going to leave, and some deep, inner sense of self-preservation told him that when he left, he’d be moving fast.

…

The next day Thomas saw Ace briefly in the early morning and then spent hours on a series of boring conference calls, the tedium exacerbated by Alistair’s endless pontificating. He’d given up trying to generate any emotional attachment to his father. Instead, he relied on the feelings that came naturally.

Dislike. Distrust. Disgust. Blood relationship or not, the old man was a bastard through and through.

On a more superficial note, the old man was also an egocentric bore. Really, did he never tire of hearing himself speak? Thomas barely made it back to the nursery for the bedtime feeding.

Relieved to escape into the relative sanctuary of the nursery, he settled in the recliner with Ace while Maggie sat on the adjoining sofa. They watched in silence as Ace ate greedily from the bottle. The little guy was thriving. They’d finally found a formula that he tolerated well, and it wouldn’t be long before they were ready to introduce cereal into his diet.

But Thomas believed that the secret to his son’s good health was Maggie, and not only because of the nutritious breast milk that still made up a good portion of his diet. She loved Ace. Thomas was almost certain of it.

If only he didn’t harbor the ugly concern that she sometimes confused Ace with her own dead boy.

“So, Maggie,” he began, deliberately pitching his voice low and soothing, “I’d like to know more about you. You spend much more time with my son than I do, and, well, I need to know more, if you don’t mind. Tell me about your life before you came here—whatever you’re comfortable sharing.”

Well aware of the hidden camera, he resolved not to push for information that might endanger her. He would let her take the lead.

After studying him for a long moment, during which he felt his motives being weighed and measured, she shrugged as if she didn’t know where to begin.

When it became apparent she wasn’t going to speak, Thomas smiled encouragingly and coaxed, “Maybe you’d like to tell me about your son.”

She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes. When they opened, she focused on Ace and began to speak. “He was born too early. I went into early labor, but thought it was just false contractions.”

The baby finished his bottle and before Thomas could burp him, Maggie rose to take him. She held him to her shoulder, patting his back while she paced back and forth. “I was busy at work and I didn’t go to the hospital in time to stop labor. Daniel spent the first days of his life in an incubator.” She rocked the baby gently and looked at Thomas for the first time. “It was my fault.”

He caught his breath, scorched by the intensity of emotion in her eyes as she continued. “I felt so guilty and I was so afraid. Zach was wonderful. He took care of all of us. Daniel, Sam, me.”

Shifting the baby, she cradled him in her arms. “But Daniel got stronger and I stopped being so scared. I…I never got to tell Zach I was sorry, that I appreciated how strong he was for all of us.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Maggie, I’m sure he knew and understood.” Although he disliked Zach, he understood that Maggie needed absolution.

She looked at him sharply. “How do you know?”

He thought before responding. How did he know? Because he, Thomas, would have known. “He would have seen it in your eyes. Felt it in the way you cared for Daniel.”

Time passed in the spacious nursery, with neither of them speaking. He felt Maggie again weigh his words for truth. Then, she favored him with a small smile. “Thank you.”

Eyes still on Thomas, she bit her lip. He could tell the moment she resolved whatever issue she debated because a dam burst and words began to flow unchecked.

She put Ace to bed and rejoined him in the sitting area, all the while weaving a tale of love and life, told with both humor and tears. She spoke of betrayals and hope, a little princess and the dad who loved her, a baby who survived against the odds. She shared stories of a brother who stood by her, fought tears as she spoke of a wonderful old woman, Aunt Sophie, who understood her and loved both her and Zach as if they were her own children.

She allowed him unfettered access to her thoughts as she talked about her husband—how he knew her heart, how his caring had been an unexpected gift, first as her friend and then as her lover. How he’d fallen in love with both her and her baby.

Her story captured him so completely that for a moment he forgot his ulterior motive, mesmerized by the tale. Although it shamed him to admit it, he was also envious.

Here she was, alone in a hostile house and threatened in some fashion by his father. She had no one and he coveted the one thing that brought her peace—her memories of a beautiful life. When she spoke of her children and Zach, her powerful love for the three of them was evident in each word. Her devotion pierced his heart.

When they at last said good-night, she seemed lighter somehow, as though a burden had lifted from her small shoulders. And he felt weighed down by an unexplainable sense of loss.

As he lay in his room, he realized she’d told him everything…and nothing. Aside from the name Zach Weston, which he’d already researched to no avail, he had nothing to guide his search for answers.

Thomas struggled most of the night, torn between his need for answers and the panicked urge to run. Maggie’s story of love and commitment had thrown the reality of his existence into a harsh light. This was not the life he wanted for himself, and certainly not the life he dreamed of for Ace.

Alistair continued to keep him in the dark regarding certain aspects of the family business. They were a seemingly innocuous pharmaceutical company specializing in vitamins and dietary supplements. But his suspicion that something unwholesome was happening in the warehouse at the back of the property warred daily with his need to appear content with his life.

Business issues aside, something was wrong in this household, and it was more than just his own dissatisfaction with the Forrester way of life. Although she’d been momentarily at peace last night, Maggie was frightened, desperately so. He was certain of it. He saw the fear in her eyes when she dropped her guard, noticed the slight trembling in her hand when she had trouble containing her emotions, observed the flash of hatred she directed toward Alistair when she thought no one was looking. Unless she was one hell of an actress, all these emotions had the stamp of reality.

She wasn’t having an affair with the old man, although in public they gave the appearance of being involved. She was scared, but not necessarily for herself. These were the things he knew to be true—things he
thought
he knew to be true, assuming her truth-or-lie game could be trusted.

Why was his father determined to make him think that he was involved with Maggie? What the hell was Alistair’s role in this mess? While he might not be sure that he could trust her, Thomas was certain he couldn’t trust the old man. Sighing in frustration, he traced the pattern on his bedspread and tried to organize his rioting thoughts. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he’d bet his life on the fact that every action Alistair took was designed to control and manipulate him into living the life of the Forrester heir.

The problem was, he was betting Ace’s life as well.

Running one hand along his jaw, he worried. As if he didn’t have enough problems, the one person he did trust—the one person he
longed
to trust—he feared he shouldn’t trust at all. Was it instinct that made him wary of Maggie? Or pride?

One week. That’s how much time he was going to spend searching for answers. Alistair’s persistence in finding a formula Ace tolerated ensured the baby would be ready. The amount of formula in his diet increased daily. So, whether or not he found the answers he sought, he and Ace would be headed for someplace where they had the freedom to live as they wanted. Although he hated to take anything that belonged to his father, he had his $10,000
allowance,
and when Alistair gave him his wallet at the hospital there’d been over a thousand dollars in it. It was enough to get started.

He was certain dear old Dad would never just let him leave. Hell, he wasn’t even sure where they were. He’d tried discreetly to search the internet, looking for information on Worldwide Pharmaceuticals, Alistair Forrester, Zach Weston, but something was wrong with the browser. As soon as he realized his searches weren’t yielding the expected results, he stopped trying. If the nursery was bugged, then he had no doubt other things were in place to control him—and Maggie.

Desiree, he wasn’t so sure about. Aside from her obvious disappointment that he’d avoided anything more intimate than an occasional kiss, she seemed quite content in the luxurious Forrester compound. While she appeared to be attracted to him, said she loved him, he felt nothing for her.
Nothing
.

Ah, damn. That wasn’t true. He didn’t like her and felt guilty about it.

Today, he planned to raise the stakes in the quest for information. He had to trust someone, and it wasn’t going to be his father or Desiree.

After raiding the office supply room, he’d made his way to the nursery, armed with a whiteboard and markers, sketch pad and pencils…and a clear understanding of where Maggie’s heart lay.

With Zach.

When he entered the room, he discovered Maggie and his son engrossed in the search for Spot. She swore
Where’s Spot?
was Ace’s favorite book, but Thomas was pretty sure Ace loved Maggie’s infectious laugh when she dramatically revealed each flap, looking for the missing dog.