22

Greg stared at the arc of blood shooting from his left forearm.

Of all the stupid . . .

“Hey! You’re bleeding, man! Bad!” From the adjacent sawhorse, Sal gestured toward the spray of red with his circular saw.

Like he couldn’t see that.

Setting his own saw on the ground, Greg looked around for something to stanch the flow of blood from the cut. He’d never, ever slipped up like this on the job before. His injury-free record had always been a source of pride for him.

One more thing in his life that had gone down the tubes.

Seeing nothing appropriate nearby, he yanked off his T-shirt and wrapped it around his arm. If he’d been concentrating on the job instead of thinking about Diane and formulating escape plans and wondering about the progress Emilio’s friend was making on his documents, the saw would never have slipped and . . .

“What happened?” The foreman hustled over as a small crowd gathered around him.

Great. Now he was the center of attention.

“Just nicked my arm. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think so.” The foreman planted his fists on his hips, his gaze on the makeshift dressing. “It’s already bleeding through the shirt.”

Greg examined it. The man was right. Slapping a bandage on this cut wasn’t going to fix it.

“Let me take a look.” Some hard-hat-wearing guy he didn’t know elbowed through the group. “I used to be a medic’s assistant in Iraq. Are there latex gloves in the first-aid kit?”

“Should be. Somebody go get it from the office.” The foreman gestured toward the construction trailer.

Two of his co-workers took off at a sprint.

“Why don’t you sit down?” The guy with the hard hat put a hand on his shoulder and guided him toward a sixty-pound plastic bucket of drywall joint compound.

He didn’t want to sit. He wanted everyone to disappear and leave him alone.

But when his legs suddenly grew shaky, he sat.

His co-workers returned with the first-aid kit, and the medic’s assistant snapped on a pair of latex gloves with practiced ease. If the guy was a pro, maybe he could stop the bleeding and they could all get on with their day.

But as he carefully unwrapped the T-shirt and examined the gash, he shook his head. “I can’t do anything for this except apply a compression bandage. It needs stitches. Possibly even surgery, if you nicked an artery—but I’m not seeing a lot of evidence of that. You need to get to an ER or an urgent care center ASAP.” As he spoke, he quickly slapped on a thick sterile dressing and began to wrap a stretchy bandage around it.

“There’s one a few miles down the road. I’ll take you.” The foreman motioned over his shoulder to someone Greg couldn’t see. “Keep an eye on the place while I’m gone.”

This whole thing was getting out of control.

“Look . . . I’m sure this will stop bleeding on its own.”

“Don’t count on it.” The ex-soldier rose and held out a hand. “Keep your arm elevated as much as possible until you get this treated. That will help reduce the bleeding.”

With the hand extended and everyone watching him, he didn’t have much choice except to take it. After accepting the assistance, he tapped his watch. “Listen . . . this isn’t going to work. I have to pick up my son from daycare in an hour.”

“Is there someone you can call?” The foreman took his uninjured arm and started tugging him toward the area where the workers parked.

No, there wasn’t. That was why he’d listed his neighbor as a contact on the daycare application—unbeknownst to her—since the school required a secondary contact. But he’d been on the verge of asking Diane if he could put her name there instead.

Would she pick up Todd?

“Greg? You with me?” The foreman tightened his grip.

“Yeah.” Unfortunately, she’d ignored the message he’d left last night about going out for pizza this evening. His flowers should have arrived by now, though. They may have softened her up. And she cared for Todd. She’d do it for his son even if she wouldn’t do it for him. “I can call the friend I brought to Bob’s picnic.”

His boss gave a low whistle. “Now there’s a looker. You sure know how to pick ’em.”

He ignored that comment as they approached the man’s car, using the dead airspace to retrieve his cell, praying she’d answer.

She didn’t.

Mind racing, he considered his options as he waited for her voice mail to kick in. Worst case, he could call STL, tell them he was delayed, and shell out the extra bucks for overtime. They were there until six, and hopefully he’d be past this crisis by then—but in case he wasn’t, it would be better to connect with Diane.

The answering machine beeped.

“Diane, it’s Greg. Listen . . . I had a little accident at the job site. Looks like I’m going to need some stitches. I’m on my way to an urgent care center now, and I was hoping you might be able to pick Todd up at daycare for me at three-thirty. I’ll wait about fifteen minutes, and if I don’t hear back from you, I’ll try something else. Thanks.”

“No answer, huh?” The foreman helped him with his seat belt, then put the car in gear.

“I’ll give her a few minutes.”

“If she’s like my wife, you’re hosed. Martha never turns her cell phone on. Says it’s just for emergencies—on her end, mind you, not mine. But I can’t complain too much. At least she’s not one of those women who talk your ear off, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” He bent his left arm, supporting his elbow with his right hand to keep the gash elevated.

The man glanced at the spreading crimson stain on the bandage and pressed harder on the accelerator. “I bet that hurts. We’ll be there in less than ten minutes. Hang on.”

Like he had a choice—about anything these days.

He turned his head and watched the passing scenery, fighting back a wave of despair. This wasn’t how he’d expected his move to St. Louis to play out. It was supposed to be a new start, a second chance.

Instead, another Marshall was wreaking havoc in his life.

Resentment curdled in his belly, and as rage began to simmer in his heart, he made a vow.

Kate Marshall wasn’t going to win this game she was playing.

Yes, she might come up with enough evidence to get the attention of law enforcement. Maybe even enough to have the case officially reopened. It would be difficult, considering how careful he’d been about covering his tracks—though not outside the realm of possibility.

But if it came to that, he’d find a way to make her pay before he disappeared with his son.

Just as he’d made her husband pay.

“So who do you have on tap for the night shift?”

Connor looked up as Cal, soda in hand, stopped in his doorway. “Dale. His wife is out of town visiting her sister this week, so the night schedule suits him.”

“Suits me too. I’d rather spend my nights with Moira.”

“I figured as much. And Dale’s reliable. I trust him not to fall asleep.”

“So do I. He was a force to be reckoned with when he and I worked cases together for County. They lost a good man when he took early retirement a few years ago.”

“They’ve lost a couple of good men in the past few years.”

Cal shrugged, uncomfortable as usual with compliments. “So Dev’s on for now, and you’re picking up the afternoon/evening shift?”

“Right. You’re on tomorrow.”

“Got it. Have you . . .”

As his cell began to vibrate, Connor held up a hand and pulled it off his belt. When Diane Koenig’s name appeared in the LED display, his eyebrows rose.

“I need to take this.” He punched the talk button.

With a lift of his hand, Cal disappeared down the hall.

“Hi, Diane. Connor here. What’s up?”

“I’ve had two calls from Greg.”

“Since we talked last night?”

“Yes. There was a message on my answering machine when I got home, inviting me to join him and Todd for pizza tonight. I never returned it. Then, about noon, a bouquet of flowers arrived. A peace offering, I take it. And he just called again, on my cell. There’s been an accident on the construction site, and he asked me to pick up Todd from daycare while he goes to urgent care. Being new in town, he doesn’t have many friends, and I hate to leave Todd stranded. Do you see any problem with me doing this?”

Connor frowned and turned his pen end to end on the desk, evaluating the unexpected opportunity and toying with an idea. If Diane could pull it off, it would expedite their case.

“Does your offer to help us still stand?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in her response—a positive sign. “Why?”

“We need a DNA sample from Todd. That’s the best way to establish a credible connection between him and Kate. Once we have that link, law enforcement will step in. We’ve been waiting for an opportunity to get one, but if you could take care of it for us, that would speed things up.”

“What kind of sample?” Wariness crept into her tone.

“A few strands of hair. A dozen, max, and as long as possible. But they’d have to be gathered without arousing the boy’s suspicion to lessen the likelihood he’ll tell Sanders.”

“That could be a challenge. How were you going to manage it?”

“Follow them to a salon or go through the trash if he cuts the boy’s hair at home.”

“But how could I get one without being obvious?”

Connor swiveled in his chair, toward the picture of him and Joe as teens. The two of them had gotten into several scrapes involving loss of hair during their growing-up years. Like the time Joe had run into the tree with his sled, a stunt that had left him with several stitches and a shaved patch on his scalp. Or their initiation into the neighborhood tree house club that had required them to contribute a lock of hair to the club’s collection. Not to mention the day their mother had intervened moments after ten-year-old Joe began giving him a Mohawk haircut. Then there’d been the day his giant bubble of gum had broken on the back of Joe’s head. His mother had had a bear of a time getting it out of Joe’s hair and had finally resorted to scissors for the gummiest strands.

That could work.

He swung back to his desk. “Does Todd like bubble gum?”

“Bubble gum?” Diane sounded puzzled.

“Yes.” He relayed the story about his own childhood escapade.

“Hmm.” Her voice grew thoughtful. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen him chew any—but what kid doesn’t like bubble gum? And I was a world-class bubble-blower in my younger days. I think I can pull this off without arousing suspicion. What should I do with the hair?”

“Seal it into a ziplock bag. You can call me as soon as you leave the house, and I’ll meet you around the corner so you can hand it over. The key is to make this all seem natural. We don’t want to give Todd any reason to bring it up to Sanders.”

“I understand. I’ll do my best.”

For a few seconds, Connor hesitated, debating the downsides of the plan. Worst case, Todd would mention the incident to Sanders. The man would either pass it off as inconsequential and innocent, or his suspicions could be further aroused. But by then they’d have the sample, and within a week the lab would have the analysis. In the meantime, they’d be keeping the man under surveillance. He wasn’t going anywhere without a tail. If they passed up this opportunity, they might have to wait another two or three weeks just to get the sample.

When the silence lengthened, Diane spoke again. “In case you’re worried, as the wife of an abuser I became very adept at deception in my former life. You learn to say and do whatever you have to in order to keep yourself safe and deflect suspicion—in that case, misplaced. I can do this job for you, now that we have a plan.”

Her confident tone sealed the deal.

“I’m sure you can. Call me on my cell as soon as you have the sample.”

“I will. Talk to you soon.”

As he weighed the phone in his hand, he debated whether to tell Kate about this latest development. No. Better to wait until he had the sample in hand.

But once he did, this thing would shift into high gear.

And by the middle of next week, if everything went as he expected, a long-separated mother and son would be in the midst of an extraordinary reunion.

“So is Dad hurt bad?”

As Diane showed her ID to the woman behind the desk at STL Academy and signed out for Todd, she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “No. He cut his arm on a saw and had to get some stitches, but the doctor’s fixing him up right now. As soon as we get to my car, I’ll call his cell and let you talk to him. How does that sound?”

Todd clutched his daypack and stared up at her, eyes wide as he gave a silent nod.

The poor kid was scared out of his mind.

But if everything that PI and Kate had told her was true, the little guy was in for a lot more upheaval.

Life stunk sometimes—even for innocent kids.

The woman behind the counter pulled out a booster seat and handed it over. “You or Mr. Sanders can return this tomorrow or the next day.”

“Thanks.”

Juggling the seat, Diane took Todd’s hand as they walked toward the parking lot. “Everything’s going to be fine, you’ll see. Why don’t we stop on the way to your house and get a soda? Would you like that?”

“Dad never lets me have soda before dinner.”

“I think we can make an exception this once.” She opened the back door, secured the booster seat, and helped Todd buckle up. Then she circled the car, slid behind the wheel, and pulled her cell out of her purse.

Greg answered on the second ring. “Did the daycare place give you any trouble?”

“No. Your call to them smoothed the way. How’s it going with you?”

“The urgent care center is a zoo. This must be the day for accidents. I’m estimating another hour at least, maybe more. Sorry to inconvenience you.”

“No problem. Todd would like to talk to you.”

“I want to talk to him too. Sorry again to put you out. I’ll be home as fast as I can.”

“Don’t rush on my account. Todd and I will keep each other entertained.” She handed the phone over the seat. “Here you go.”

As she backed out of the parking space and headed toward Greg’s house, she listened in on the one-sided conversation.

“Are you hurt real bad, Dad?”

Pause.

“No. She was waiting for me. They even let us borrow a car seat.”

More silence.

“Yeah! That will be twice this week! And Diane said we might stop for a soda on the way home too. Can I have soda and a sundae on the same night?”

Another pause.

“I love you too, Dad. Bye.”

Diane’s throat tightened. Their mutual affection was so endearing . . . yet she had only to recall Kate’s tearful comments yesterday about hearing her absent son call to her in the night to know she was doing the right thing. And she’d see it through. This was one thing in her life she wasn’t going to mess up.

Spotting a 7-Eleven, she spoke over her shoulder. “What kind of soda would you like?”

“Can I have a Mountain Dew?”

“Sure.” She swung into the lot and found a spot near the door, eyeing the counter and the soda dispenser beyond it. She could see the car from the store; no need to take Todd in with her. “I’m going to run in real fast. Can you wait here for me?”

“Yeah. I’ll look at the book about dinosaurs I borrowed from the library at daycare.”

“Great idea.”

Exiting the car, she locked the doors and hurried inside. No one was in line, and in less than three minutes she was back with two sodas, a pack of bubble gum tucked in her purse.

“Here you go.” She stuck a straw in Todd’s cup and handed it over the seat, then put her own Diet Coke in the holder beside her. “So tell me all the fun things that happened today—and the stuff you’ve learned about dinosaurs.”

He was off and running as she drove to Greg’s house, chattering away as she fed him questions. By the time she pulled up in front of the bungalow, the sodas were gone and Todd’s worry about Greg seemed to have been assuaged.

“Your dad said you know about a key that’s hidden behind the bush next to the front door?”

“Yeah.” Todd released his seat belt and pushed the curbside door open as she set the brake. “I’ll get it.”

Daypack thumping against his back, he dashed toward the bush and dived underneath as she pulled the borrowed booster seat out of the car.

“Here it is!” He held aloft a small ziplock bag, waving it triumphantly—and reminding her of the real motivation behind her good Samaritan deed.

Once in the house, Diane disposed of the soda cups, set her purse on the table, and pulled out the pack of gum. “Would you like a piece?”

Todd gave it a covetous look. “Dad doesn’t let me chew gum very much.”

“I have a feeling he wouldn’t mind today.” She unwrapped a piece and held out another for him.

“I guess I could have one piece.”

As he undid the wrapping, she sat at the kitchen table, working the gum with her teeth. “Do you know how to blow bubbles?”

“Not very well.”

“I used to be able to do this. Let’s see how much I remember.”

As he watched, she positioned the gum with her tongue and managed to blow a midsized bubble.

“Wow. That was real good.” Todd’s expression was tinged with awe.

“You try.”

His inaugural effort produced a small bubble.

“Not bad.” She coached him through a few more attempts. “You’re doing great. I’ll tell you what . . . why don’t we have a contest for the biggest bubble?”

“I’ll lose.”

“You never know.” She stood and took his hand, leading him toward the mirror in the guest bath. “When my friend and I had contests, one of us had to stand on a chair, but since I’m taller, this will work.” She positioned him in front of her and bent down until she was just above his head. “Now we can watch ourselves and each other and judge who has the biggest bubble. Ready . . . set . . . go!”

Her bubble came out fast and large, as she’d hoped . . . and she lowered her chin as it popped, one scant edge collapsing on his hair.

“Whoops!” She straightened up as Todd kept blowing, making an impressive-sized bubble.

A moment later, his burst too.

“I think you won.” She smiled at him in the mirror.

“I don’t know. Yours was bigger . . . but it broke faster. I guess it was a tie.”

“Excellent call. Now let’s see if I can separate my gum from your hair. Why don’t you go get your comb for me?”

As he took off down the hall, she returned to the kitchen, feeling in the pocket of her skirt to verify the small pair of scissors and ziplock bag she’d slipped inside. Still there.

“Here it is.” Todd waved the comb as he skidded to a stop beside her.

“Turn around and let’s have a look.”

As he complied, she surveyed the damage. Not bad. Her aim had been spot on. Combing through the fine strands, she was able to remove the evidence of their contest. But she pretended to work on a nonexistent tangle.

“There’s just one spot here . . .” She gave it a slight tug. “Gum and hair don’t mix very well.” Fingering the hair with one hand, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the scissors. “I might have to snip this out.” She cut off a tiny clump close to his scalp and slid her hand back into her pocket, aiming for the bag.

Done.

Taking a deep breath, she fiddled around with his hair for another fifteen seconds before handing over the comb. “Good as new. While you put this away, I’ll see what’s in your fridge and get dinner started. After that, why don’t we build that skyscraper with your erector set?”

“Awesome!”

As he disappeared through the door, she sealed the ziplock bag and stowed it and the scissors in her purse.

Then she did a long, slow scan of the kitchen where she’d enjoyed such happy times with Greg and Todd. Where she’d hoped to enjoy many more.

But if the hair sample she passed on to Connor proved Todd belonged with Kate—and that Greg had never been the man she’d thought he was—the future she’d allowed herself to dream of would end up being nothing more than a sham and an illusion.

Just as her marriage to Rich had been.

Except this time she was going to be the victor, not the victim.

Straightening her shoulders, she crossed to the refrigerator. No matter how this ended, she was going to be okay—even if the worst happened, and the loving father and considerate suitor she’d come to know and care about turned out to be a cold-blooded killer and kidnapper.

A shiver rippled through her that had nothing to do with the blast of cold air emitted by the freezer.

It was hard to believe Greg could be capable of those heinous things—yet all the evidence added up. And she should count her blessings she’d learned of his dark side sooner rather than later, leaving her free to walk out of his world in an hour or two and never look back.

Kate, however, wasn’t so fortunate. She couldn’t walk away, not with her son’s future hanging in the balance. And now that Greg knew about the photo, he had to suspect Kate was trying to track him down. Could that put the woman who’d befriended her in danger?

As another shudder swept through her, she grabbed a pack of ground beef and slammed the door shut. She didn’t need to add worries about Kate’s safety to all her other problems. If there was any threat, Kate had that smart, handsome PI watching her back. A guy who’d protected world leaders—maybe even the president himself—wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. She’d be fine.

Wouldn’t she?