Cries of Penance (23 page)

“Enrique is wonderful,” I assure him.

He sounds wistful when he says, “I wish we’d have gotten the nannies arranged before I had to leave,” making me wish I hadn’t cal ed. I don’t know what’s going on with his parents, but he doesn’t need to be worrying about me right now.

I shake my head, even though he can’t see. Nikkos starts to get fussy, so I make faces at him and make him giggle. “Just as wel you didn’t. I think we should wait. I don’t want to rush into adding even more new people into their life.

Let’s help them feel safe and secure. There’s plenty of time for nannies.”

It’s obvious the babies are ready to go, and so I throw trash away and pack everything up. I keep talking to Garrett as I strol up the street, Atso on my hip, holding Nikkos’s hand. I stil have four hours until school lets out for the day. A chic baby boutique catches my eye, and I wander in. I could spend hours looking at cute outfits and nursery decorations. “Oh, Garrett, you should see this.”

“You sound different.”

I shrug, realizing I feel different. I should be hysterical or catatonic with both Thomas and Master away but I’m not, I’m doing okay.

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“Stil the same Celia,” I say and then I realize what I said. Celia, not Kitten.

Citing a fussy baby, I hurriedly end the cal then apologize to Atso for involving her in my lie. I kiss her pink nose and she grins. “You are the happiest baby.”

“Happy,” she repeats, and I am glad we are crossing the language barrier.

I look down at Nikkos. He’s so quiet compared to the others. Aside from the death-grip he has on my hand, I could forget he is there. Squatting, I hug him to me with my free arm. “You are a happy boy, aren’t you?”

He nods against my neck, and I hold him tighter. I hope he can stay happy.

What happens if Thomas doesn’t return with their mother? I fight back tears.

“Looks like you have your hands ful .”

I jerk, stil on edge, but look up to find a pleasant enough looking saleswoman. Lumbering back to my feet, I agree, “Yes.”

“When are you due?”

I let out a sigh. “A few weeks.”

She laughs. “I imagine, not soon enough for you?”

I nod, not admitting that with my present circumstances I wish they would just stay inside indefinitely.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“A little bit of everything,” I admit, realizing that even though I am due in a few weeks I haven’t real y bought anything for the babies to come home to. “Newborn sleepers and—” Looking at Atso and Nikkos in their desert garb, I realize they need American clothes. “—do you have anything in their size?”

Suspecting a big commission, the clerk goes to work, throwing together outfits for Atso and Nikkos while I shop for sleepers and cute little infant head and hand 215

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warmers. I take a huge pile to the checkout counter, and then spy the bigger kids section. It hardly seems fair to return home with something for everyone except Hektor and Olympia, even though they did just get new school uniforms.

Impulsively, I grab several summer dresses for Olympia and some shorts and tshirts for Hektor.

Through the boutique window, I see the same dark car driving past.

Shaking, I present my credit card and am rewarded with a fast transaction.

After the woman’s helpfulness I know I seem exceedingly rude as I rush away from the counter and herald the kids out of the store. The car is parked at the other end of the block, making me wish I hadn’t walked so far. Idiot. I’m such an idiot. This is not my imagination!

I toss shopping bags in the trunk, strap kids into car seats, and hurry back toward the school. Halfway there, I cal the principal’s office and tel them there’s been an emergency and I’d like the children brought to the front door so I can pick them up early.

The secretary informs me I have to come in and sign them out.

Frustrated, I start to lose it a little and imagine she thinks I’ve lost my mind. “I cannot take the time to come into the office and sign them out! Do you understand that I said it’s an emergency?”

I feel like a lunatic, but when I pul up to the curb I am relieved to see the children waiting with the principal. He walks them to the car as I’m climbing out.

“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t standard procedure.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

I meet his gaze. “Pray.”

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I secure seat belts and climb back behind the wheel with no plan. As I leave the parking lot I memorize every car, and as I get closer to the house I try to pay specific attention to each person…a workman on telephone pole, a woman walking a dog, a man sitting in a car cross the road, reading a newspaper. This is a new neighborhood, each one of these people might actual y be perfectly in place but even though Garrett’s assurances made perfect sense I don’t feel like I’m being ridiculous now.

Maybe I am transferring my concerns about Thomas’s safety into baseless fears, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. Thomas would want me to pay attention to what my gut is tel ing me.

I drive past the house. “Hey kids, wanna go to the beach?”

Cheers come from the backseat.

I cal Enrique and give him a list of groceries to bring to us.

Looping around, I drive to Thomas’s Sea Cliff Road property. The house is familiar since I spent almost three months here with Thomas. I feel safe here.

Maybe because it’s only two levels instead of four—that’s a lot fewer rooms to hear noises from—but more I think it is because it is Thomas’s house.

Strangely, as I prepare dinner from a hodge-podge of pantry finds and the children watch cartoons on the television, I begin to feel a certain rightness, like this is what I’ve been waiting for al along. Why did it take Thomas’s house to make me feel at home?

I don’t want to consider it, but I do.

I try to not think about the day Garrett asked me to marry him and I couldn’t, or the day I asked Garrett to marry me and he couldn’t. Or that I whispered to 217

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Thomas that I felt already married to him. I can’t help that my soul feels drawn to his.

Settling the children around the dinner table, I imagine Thomas sitting at the head of the table. He would be comfortable there, surrounded by his family, but try as I might, I can’t see Garrett taking on the role. I can envision him as Uncle Gar, making hasty entrances bearing hugs and gifts, and even hastier exits, always in a rush to get back to his real world.

Our real world, right? I am Kitten.

Ding-dong . When the deep-toned doorbel rings, I almost jump out of my skin. I tel the children, “Stay in your seats. Don’t move.”

Heart pounding, I cautiously look through the peephole. Enrique. Opening the door to let him in, I see his arms are laden with bags of groceries, but I don’t assist him. Noticing the same black car from earlier, the one that fol owed me to the school and then into town, parked along the curb, I jerk him inside by his sleeve.

“Why ju not come home to da new house?”

I slam the door but keep an eye on the car through a narrow window. I’m truly terrified when a man steps out. I try to remember every detail. He is wearing sunglasses and a bal cap. It’s dusk and everything is shaded, I couldn’t identify him if I had to. I write down the details about the car he is driving but can’t see a license plate number. I notice another vehicle that’s been parked out front too long, a white, late model van with Huey’s Carpet Instal ation written on the side.

“Did you notice that van out front?”

“Ju are scaring me.”

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“I’m scaring myself,” I admit as I google Huey’s Carpet Instal ation. Nothing.

Not a single match. “If he was legitimate, wouldn’t his information pop up on my screen?”

Looking over my shoulder at the screen, Enrique shrugs.

Cal ing 911 seems out of the question. I tel Enrique, “You should go back to the house.”

“I’m not leaving ju here alone.”

Meeting his gaze, I try to convince him. “Please go. I’l be fine.”

He stands his ground, and I leave him to gather the children off to bed. It seems early but they don’t argue. We’re al nervous and even though I’m doing my best to hide it, the children sense my fear. I can see it in their eyes.

* * * *

Panicky, I ramble through the kitchen, opening every cabinet, testing each appliance, even opening the stove, turning al the dials. I search each bathroom for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing. What did I expect? A secret panel?

I walk back to the bedroom. This is Thomas’s house. He wouldn’t live in a house that didn’t have special security measures. Think. The bedroom is a huge room, but when I pace off the inside room against the number of paces down the hal way, I end up two feet short.

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Back inside the bedroom, I tap the wal behind the bed. It sounds hol ow but there’s no hidden levers on the headboard. No remote control. Nothing. Lying on Thomas’s side of the bed, I inhale a deep breath, and exhale, trying to think like he would. Reaching down, I feel under the bed, running my hands along the underside of the frame. There! Two buttons. Shit, shit, shit. Which button? “Here goes.”

I push the first button, and the wal beside the bed opens. I leap out of the bed and find a smal arsenal.

“Holy mother of God,” I mutter under my breath. At the same moment Enrique comes into the room and echoes the sentiment.

“I told you to go away. Go home.”

He comes up to stand beside me. “What are you doing now?”

I look at Enrique because I’ve never, ever heard him speak without his thick accent. I pick up a smal caliber and tuck it into my waistband. “I have no idea, but I’m going to be armed.”

“No, no, no.” He reaches for the gun. “This is too dangerous.”

“The safety’s on.”

Grabbing two boxes of ammunition and two handguns, I lay them on the bed.

“You’re going to get you and Thomas’s children kil ed. That’s what you’re going to do.”

Racing down the hal to the garage, I find the family cars, an Audi SUV and a BMW wagon with three car seats in the back and although it looks sporty, I assume the wagon was Lattie’s. I’m so used to seeing Thomas either behind the 220

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wheel of a sports car or on a motorcycle, the cars here remind me he also has another life—as a family man.

Enrique steps down into the garage with me and whistles. “Q-Five.”

“Does that mean something?”

“Fast, super charged. Off-road, up mountains, this baby is dezined for speed and maneuverability.”

I nod, not knowing what I’m thinking but thinking hard. Enrique opens the door and looks inside, inhaling deeply. “Leather.”

“You said fast. If you were going to pick a getaway car, which one would you choose?”

“Getaway car? What are you talking about? You’re scaring me.”

“Garrett doesn’t want to believe that we are being fol owed or watched, and that whatever is happening is taking place in Africa, but I know in my gut that we are and I don’t like it. I don’t know if the people out there are here to protect me or kidnap the children or kil us al in our beds while we sleep, but I don’t want to stick around to find out.”

My gut tel s me I have to get the kids off the grid, and I hurry back into the house for the shopping bags of clothes I bought earlier. They are by the front door where I dropped them because I was in a hurry to start dinner and try to put my fears out of my mind.

I toss the bags into the trunk of the Audi SUV and then start transferring car seats from the large BMW van to the smal er vehicle. I’m one short, they didn’t have Atso when they lived here. “Enrique, get Atso’s car seat out of my car in the driveway. Use the side door.”

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He doesn’t question, and he’s back in a flash.

“You have to help me if I’m going to make this work,” I tel him as I buckle the final seat into place.

Eyes wide, he nods. Together we load the car with Atso’s diaper bag, the snacks and the bottles of water and juice I had Enrique bring us in preparation for a few days at the beach, and a quickly packed bag from what I could find in Lattie’s closet for myself—honestly, not many of her things would fit me in my present state, but at the back of her closet I’d hit paydirt, finding several loose-fitting caftans and stretchy pants that I could wear pul ed up only to where my big bel y starts.

It looks like we’re going on a long trip. I can’t think about that—the long or short of it—I only know I have to escape this house right now. “You are going to take the BMW and peel out. Head toward Mexico. I am going to head the opposite way. They can’t fol ow both of us.”

“This is a stupid plan.”

“I don’t have a better one.” He is close on my heel as I head back into the house. I empty my purse of everything that identifies me as other than Blair Harrington. Being more paranoid than I’ve ever been in my life, I leave both of my cel phones laying on the table, fearful whoever is fol owing me might use them to track us. “Help me get the kids loaded.”

“This is insane.”

Hurrying through the house, I tel him, “If I have to tie you up and gag you I wil . Is that what you’d prefer?”

He looks truly torn. “Where wil you go?”

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“I can’t tel you. Someplace safe. And when the dust settles and we can al live happily ever after again, I’l come back.”

“Have you forgotten you are pregnant?”

“I know.”

“You are talking about dragging four children God knows where—”