I'll Find You (16 page)

“Yeah? I’d like to see that documentation.”

He half-expected her to jump up and bring him the papers. She was so definite that she was in the right that he felt she must have something that said as much. But she didn’t charge to get the proof.

“You want the authorities to come down on you?” he asked. When she remained stubbornly silent, he asked, “How does she contact you? Still by e-mail?”

She couldn’t quite hide her shock at his knowledge though she tried to pass it off as if she were just thinking things over. “We call.”

“You have a cell number.” Now they were getting somewhere.

“No. She calls me from different numbers. I don’t call her.”

“She’s on the run,” he said. “When was the last time you heard from her?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know everything that’s going on here,” West said in a softer voice. He didn’t want Callie and Tucker to overhear any more than they already might have. “But that boy is a Laughlin, and Teresa’s wanted back in California to explain some things about her husband’s death. You know anything about that?”

She shook her head again. It was as if she’d decided it was safer not to talk at all.

“Whatever she’s doing, whatever she’s done, you’re going to find yourself right in the center of it. I don’t know what you do for a living other than take care of Tucker, but if it’s anything other than on the up-and-up, it will be exposed.”

Callie came out of Tucker’s room at that moment with the boy racing around her to stop in front of Aimee, who was so involved in her own internal struggle that she scarcely noticed.

“I go to Michel’s now?” he asked.

“Tomorrow . . .
demain,
” she said distractedly.

“But we go
matin,
” he cried.

“That’s tomorrow,” she said, then walked to the door, a plain invitation to leave. Tucker was still pleading with her as they were ushered into the hallway and missed the way she hissed under her breath, “Don’t come back.”

They were deep into chanting, all looking pious and worshipful, when Jerrilyn deigned to join them, much to Daniella’s disappointment. She’d really believed something might change, but of course not.

Jerrilyn had walked in wearing skinny jeans and a black, stretchy Lycra tube top paired with a matching black sweater. Her breasts stood out like torpedos, more plastic than mammary gland, but the look of boredom in her eyes couldn’t be disguised. Maybe there was hope yet, Daniella thought as Andre stopped chanting abruptly and they all subsided as well. Daniella pretended not to be watching so avidly, putting an expression of mild interest on her face. She hated Jerrilyn the most, she decided. She was so . . . classless.

In a voice that could cut ice, Andre ordered, “Go to your room.”

Jerrilyn turned on her heel, but though it was beneath her breath, they all clearly heard, “Fuckin’ A.”

“Come back here!” Andre roared.

She turned around slowly, her gaze flicking in disdain toward Clarice, Naomi, and Daniella before she walked up to Andre and met his stormy eyes with clear rebellion. “What do you want, Messiah?” she asked silkily.

To Daniella’s growing horror she then watched Jerrilyn do a sexy striptease, sliding out of the sweater and thrusting those abominable breasts forward, then crossing her arms over her chest and pulling the tube top from her pants, wriggling herself free so her breasts sprung out like jack-in-the-boxes.

Whatever punishment Andre had been thinking of exacting—Daniella had prayed she’d be thrown in the isolation cell until she was reduced to tears—his sexual desire ran rampant and he grabbed her and shook her even while she laughed at him. Rolling her eyes toward them as if to say, “See?” she started fake moaning as he stripped off her jeans and threw her onto the mat.

Daniella shut her eyes and closed her ears to the animal sounds issuing from their throats but her traitorous imagination saw them writhing around at her feet as Naomi and Clarice took up the chanting once more.

She rolled her fingernails into the palms of her hands and pressed as hard as she could. She was never going to have Andre to herself. He was always going to want the pretty ones. He had no control over Jerrilyn or Teresa, and they could play him sexually with no effort at all. Naomi and Clarice were both pretty too. She was the only one who wasn’t. She was the workhorse. And even the times Andre made love to her, she’d always sensed he’d been somewhere else.

Naomi nudged her hard in the ribs because she wasn’t chanting. Reluctantly, she joined in.

I’ll tell Robert Lumpkin,
she thought.
I’ll tell him about Teresa and Andre and the rest of them.

Forcing herself to open her eyes, she didn’t look at the pornography in front of her. Instead, she gazed down at the little half-moons filled with blood on her palms left after her fingers unfurled.

West and Callie returned to her apartment, both of them lost in thought. Callie still had the bracelet and though West had thought Aimee would do about anything to get it back, she’d been more concerned with just getting them out of her home. Maybe that was because, despite what she said, she knew the bracelet really didn’t belong to her.

“At least you know I’m not Teresa now,” she said as they entered her apartment.

“Unless you’re in cahoots with Aimee.” Her head whipped around in disbelief and he chuckled. “Kidding.”

She relaxed a bit. “Aimee,” she said disparagingly. “You heard through the door how she was berating him because he left the preschool with the neighbor lady, Marie, who has a key to the apartment. He took the key, let himself in, and then let himself out again without locking the door.”

“That’s when he came to your place?”

“Apparently. Marie thought Aimee was home because Tucker brought the key back and said she was.”

West’s brows lifted. “So, he’s a liar and a sneak,” he said, half-amused. “And a thief. He took the bracelet,” he reminded her when she looked about to object.

“He’s just a little boy.”

“Yeah, well, he’s Teresa’s, and he’s been living with Aimee. Neither one of ’em’s up for mother of the year. Don’t worry,” he added, seeing real concern cross her face. “We’re going to get him out of there.”

“How?” she asked.

“Don’t know yet.” For all his hard talk with Aimee, he was aware he didn’t have a leg to stand on. According to Aimee, Teresa had entrusted Tucker to her care and West had no proof otherwise. His threat about bringing in the authorities was basically bullshit since Teresa was the boy’s mother. The way Aimee let Tucker wander the streets might be enough to nick her on child endangerment issues, but that wouldn’t necessarily guarantee putting Tucker into West’s care, so he was reluctant to go that route yet.

Callie opened the doors to the balcony to get some air through the stuffy rooms and West followed her outside, aware of the way her dress flowed around her knees and tucked in at the waist as she turned her face to a capricious, little breeze that lifted the edges of her hair. Beyond, the sun was a line of gold on the western horizon.

West had taken this job because he’d been incensed at Stephen’s conniving widow, at the way she’d taken Stephen and the Laughlin family. Not that he gave a damn about the Laughlins, but the injustice of it had stuck in his craw. He hadn’t thought of Tucker in any real sense other than he was Stephen’s son and he needed to be found, safe and sound.

Now, however, Tucker was a real person and the job had become personal. His initial sense of injustice had been replaced with determination and a feeling of urgency. He needed to do something, embark on a course of action, but without Teresa, he wasn’t sure exactly what that plan should be.

He wondered if Tucker even spoke to his mother. He’d never said anything about her to Callie, as far as he knew. How old was Tucker when she’d dropped him off? Twoish, three? It had been almost three years since Stephen’s death.
What was their relationship at this point?
he wondered. Maybe nothing.

They’d been standing silently, side by side, for several long moments but when West turned toward Callie, she faced him.

“What if she never comes back?” she said.

His thoughts were clearly traveling along similar pathways. “Stephen met her in LA. Maybe I have to start from that end.”

“And leave Tucker here?”

He heard the horror in her voice but had no answer for her. “What’s her real relationship with Aimee?” he mused. “Are they friends, relatives? They’re in contact, but she knows where Teresa is.”

“What if, after this, she doesn’t let me see Tucker anymore?”

She didn’t try to hide the fear in her eyes. He had to stifle the urge to run his hand down her cheekbone and jawline, touch the pulse at her throat. Pull her into his arms and hug her tightly.

“I mean, clearly, I have no rights where he’s concerned, and I don’t even have a life here, really, but I can’t imagine being separated from him. I’m supposed to leave and I just can’t. Not now.”

“How long are you planning on staying?”

“I don’t know.”

West heard uncertainty and a bit of anguish in her tone. He understood. This job was tugging at emotions he’d thought long buried. He didn’t want to feel connected to the Laughlins, and even being with Callie made him feel raw in a way he didn’t like or trust.

“Maybe Tucker’ll shake loose and come see you,” he said.

“What if she stops him? What if she moves now that she knows we know? What if she’s talking to Teresa right now and making plans to leave?”

“I’ll watch her apartment tonight. Maybe confronting her will bring things to a head.”

“Tucker’s supposed to go on Jean-Paul’s fishing boat tomorrow. I’ve never actually met Michel’s father, but I’ve seen him from afar. Didn’t want to get in the way. He’s a big, bearded guy. Seems good with Michel and Tucker. He must know Aimee, though.”

“What’s the name of his boat?”

“
Sorciere de Mer
.” She suddenly shivered. “I should put the bracelet somewhere safe. Yesterday at the pier, a pickpocket tried to take my carryall.” She walked back inside to the carryall, which she’d left on a small end table, dug through it, and pulled out the bracelet, holding it out to him. “I think you should take it.”

“You keep it. I don’t have a place to put it.”

“I don’t want the responsibility.”

“Put it back and I’ll take it to my hotel safe later.”

“How far’s your hotel?” She reluctantly slipped the bracelet back into her bag.

He opened his mouth to answer, hesitated, then said, “Bakoua Beach.”

Her gaze jerked to his face. “You’re staying
there?
”

“Yes.”

“And you couldn’t tell me this yesterday?”

“I didn’t trust you yesterday.”

“And today?” she asked, an edge to her voice.

“Well, you’re not Teresa,” he said lightly, walking in from the balcony.

“There’s a ringing endorsement.”

He regretted the flash of betrayal he saw in her eyes, but it couldn’t be helped.

“We both want what’s best for Tucker. That’s the bottom line.”

“You sure you believe that. I could be covering up some other agenda.”

“Yeah. You could be. But you care more about Tucker than anything else.”

She looked away from him and he saw her lip quiver. After a moment or two, she pulled herself together and said, “Y’know, I think I need to be alone for a while, if you don’t mind.”

“Why?”

She slowly shook her head, her expression hard to read.

He had to resist the urge to argue with her. He didn’t want to be at odds with her. He’d liked having a partner. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the hotel.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It clearly does.”

“I just . . .”

“What?”

Callie made a frustrated sound that seemed to reach from her soul. “You need to take the bracelet. I don’t know who it belongs to, but it’s definitely not mine.” She grabbed up the piece of jewelry from her purse and thrust it into his hand.

“Hey,” he said, frowning.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t know what we’re doing here. Whatever happens, I have a sense that it’s not going to go well for me. You’re trying to get Tucker away from Aimee and Teresa, and in the care of your grandmother. I’m trying to . . . just put my life back together.”

“You want what’s best for Tucker, too. We’re on the same team,” he said, watching her.

“I’m glad you trust me that much.”

Her tone suggested she felt just the opposite. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he tried one last time as she walked to the door and held it open for him. As an invitation to leave, it was pretty plain. His own steps were slower as he followed in her wake.

“Call it waking me up to reality,” she said. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and I’m leaving soon, and I don’t want to.”

“I thought you weren’t on a timetable.”

“I’m not . . . exactly. I want Tucker to be safe. That’s all I want.”

“That’s what I want.”

“Good.”

“All right, I’ll go,” he said. “I’ll let you know what I find out from Aimee.”

She nodded. “We’ll talk tomorrow. It’s fine. Good-bye.”

“It’s not fine.”

“West . . .”

Hearing his name on her tongue got to him more than he cared to admit to himself. He wanted to argue with her but it was clear she’d made up her mind. Feeling like he should stay and fight, he nevertheless stepped into the hall.

She caught herself in the act of wringing her hands and had to force herself to stop.

“I know how you feel about Tucker. I get it. He’s a great kid,” West said.

“A sneak and a thief?”

“Yeah, well, and a liar.” He smiled and she looked away, as if she suddenly couldn’t bear even interacting with him. “What is it? For God’s sake, what happened?”

“Nothing. Nothing that can be helped. It’s just that, I don’t know how this is going to end up for Tucker, and it worries me, and I have no say in it anyway.” She moved to shut the door behind him, then stopped herself and added urgently, “Do call me tomorrow. Please.”

She shut the door with a distinct click.

West stood a moment, staring back at the door. Then he walked away slowly, sensing he was missing something big. He told himself to shake it off. He’d never understood Roxanne, how did he expect to understand the enigma that was Callie Cantrell, someone he’d known just over a day?

“Damn.” Why did it feel much harder to leave her than his ex-girlfriend whom he’d been with for nearly two years?

As soon as West Laughlin was safely in the outer hallway, Callie locked the door behind him, then paced backward into the room, pressing her hands to her cheeks. She was overwhelmed by a familiar grip of panic, the same sensation that had haunted her days and nights after the accident, the same feeling that had been the root cause of her trip to Del Amo Hospital.

She was losing Tucker and it echoed how she’d felt after she’d lost Sean.

You can’t lose Tucker. He’s not yours.

She caught herself in the act of wringing her hands again and had to force herself to stop, drawing her fingers into fists and hurrying to the bathroom where she looked at herself in the mirror. Anxious blue eyes stared back at her. Her pallor was chalk white.

It had hit her like a cold slap. In the middle of the conversation with West. Here she was half-interested in the man, thinking about him romantically, when all she should be thinking about was herself . . . and getting well and staying well . . . and how she would survive after she left Tucker.

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t do it. Already. She knew herself too well. In the beginning she hadn’t worried about her association with him, her overriding need to mother him, because it had all been a fantasy. She’d believed Aimee was his mother and she had no right to any piece of him.

But then West Laughlin had entered her life and had made her believe she had a stake in what happened to Tucker. Unconsciously on West’s part—she got that. But it didn’t matter because she’d suddenly believed she had a chance in there somewhere to be something more to Tucker.

She suspected her romantic notions about West had more to do with an inner agenda she wasn’t even facing. It was one thing to throw that idea in West’s face, another to realize he wasn’t that far off the mark. Yes, the man was attractive, but really?

Don’t you want him because he’s linked to Tucker?

Of course she did.

Swearing softly at her own reflection, she shook her head. Then she headed back to the living room and her carryall, yanking out her cell phone and punching in all the numbers required to connect with William Lister’s phone. It was a crying shame that he was the only person she could think of to call. The friends she’d made when she was a teacher’s aide had faded away during her marriage. She’d received a couple of sympathy cards after the accident, but she’d shoved them aside, too raw, too destroyed to look outside of herself. She’d managed a call to her mother, which had been stilted and uncomfortable, a duty dispatched with relief on both sides.

Mostly she’d just slept and slept and slept at Del Amo, the private hospital that she’d checked herself into voluntarily after the psychiatrist who’d seen her when she’d woken up to learn her family was gone had suggested it. She’d been teetering on the edge of sanity after Sean’s death, so lost in despair she was paralyzed.

The call went straight to voice mail. “It’s Callie,” she said. “Call me when you can,” then clicked off.

What to do? She’d been here nearly a month and had easily passed the hours, but she felt the tick of every second.

Because she’d lost Tucker.

“I haven’t lost him,” she argued aloud.

Yes, you have. He’s Teresa’s or Aimee’s or West’s or Victoria’s. He’s a lot of people’s, but he’s not yours.

She sank onto the end of the bed and fought back the desire to race back to Aimee’s. When Tucker had taken her into his bedroom, she’d wanted to grab him and fiercely hug him close. She had forced herself not to. Tucker wouldn’t allow it anyway as, like a lot of children, any physical contact had to be on his terms. She could want to squeeze him with love, but he would squirm and twist and howl for her to let him go.

And she’d had one ear to the door anyway, listening to the rise and fall of Aimee and West’s voices, eaten up with curiosity. But Tucker caught her attention. “Where is it?” he had asked.

He’d been babbling away about his room and his meager assortment of toys, when he’d suddenly stopped and looked at her. “What?” Callie had asked, dragging her attention back. He had pointed to her arm. “Oh, the bracelet? It’s in my carryall.”

“
Maman
want it,” he had said soberly.

“Did you take it without asking?”

“It mine,” he had insisted again, but he didn’t sound quite as sure as he’d been before.

“Aimee said it’s hers.”

He had shaken his head emphatically.