Tyler Raines leaned back against a tree holding a book—a battered paperback copy of Watchers by Dean Koontz. He’d read the book three times over the past ten years and he enjoyed it every time. Today, though, he wasn’t really reading. He was using the book as a prop while he kept an eye on Diana Sheridan. She sat on a blanket with another woman some distance away. The child Willow was taking pictures of a little girl of about the same age.
Tyler’s gaze lingered on Diana. She wore jeans and a light-green blouse open over a cream-colored tank top. Her honey-brown hair shone in the sunlight, parted on the side and left free to curl halfway down her back. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he remembered their exact shade of gray-green and the long, tilting lashes. He remembered the gentle curve of her nose, the shape of her lips over the straight white teeth, and the sprinkle of light freckles across her nose and cheeks. On the night of the explosion, when she was frantic and pale and eventually smudged with soot, she’d still been beautiful, and he’d cursed himself for even noticing her looks in the presence of such tragedy.
After they ate, the woman beside her talked animatedly, using her hands, her body leaning toward Diana, her face in constant movement, changing expressions. Diana sat motionless, never taking her gaze off the little girl Willow. Occasionally she said something to the woman, but she never relaxed her posture or looked around the park. She was no doubt listening to the woman but not for an instant dropping her alert observance or her attitude of curled intensity ready to burst forth if anything or anyone threatened the child. Tyler wondered if Willow could feel the force of Diana’s vigilance.
The little girls had been taking pictures with what Tyler thought must have been a disposable camera. They put their heads together for a no-doubt serious chat, then they began walking back to Diana. Suddenly Willow stopped, stared into the distance, and began taking small, almost robotic steps backward. Her gaze locked onto a man stalking toward Diana—a tall, heavily built man with sandy-brown-and-gray hair, a strong-featured face suffused with blood, and big hands clenched into fists.
Diana watched Willow as she raised her hands to cover her mouth, probably to prevent a scream. Diana followed the little girl’s gaze and leaped to her feet just as the man stopped within a few feet of her and bellowed, “You bitch!”
Diana stiffened and said something. At the same moment, Tyler stood up, ready to take a run at the man if he came closer toward Diana. But he didn’t. Instead he yelled, “You knew about Penny! Do not stand there and tell me you didn’t know about her and a man. Who is he? I’m her husband, dammit. I have a right to know!”
The other woman had now stood up beside Diana and held out her arms beseechingly toward the man. She resembled the man. He paid no attention to her, though. He stood solid and implacable in front of Diana, his head lowered slightly as if he planned to charge like a bull. Diana shook her head and said something, then looked at Willow, who was still walking backward. Even her little friend had retreated, clutching her camera, looking bewildered.
The man yelled, “You do know and you will tell me if I have to beat it out of you!”
Tyler launched into motion, bolting away from the shelter of the tree, heading straight for the man who’d taken another step toward Diana, his fists raised. Just as Tyler reached the midpoint between the tree and Diana, a slim black-haired man appeared behind Diana’s tormenter, wrapped his right arm around the heavier man’s neck, and jerked. The big man made a slight convulsive motion then dropped to his knees. A classic chokehold, Tyler thought. The sleek, black-haired man had disabled the big, muscular lout not with swinging fists and sloppy lunges, but by calmly, expertly exerting just the right amount of force on one of the body’s pressure points.
While the sandy-haired woman cried out and rushed to the man still on his knees in front of Diana, Tyler pulled out his cell phone and called the police. They made regular passes by the park. Tyler was not going to let this guy just catch his breath, clamber back to his feet and leave. Or worse, go after Diana again.
He couldn’t let that happen because he knew the man was Jeffrey Cavanaugh, and he was dangerous.
Diana stood motionless while Lenore and Blake helped Jeffrey up, Blake keeping a firm hold on him while Lenore cried, “Are you all right, Jeff?” Jeffrey waved her away, trying to get his breath. She turned to her husband. “Blake, how could you?”
“How could I? Lenore, didn’t you see you the same thing I did? Your brother going for Diana? Getting ready to punch her?”
“That’s idiotic. Jeff would never hit a woman.”
“Then why was his fist aimed right at her abdomen?” Blake demanded furiously. “Sometimes you seem like some sickeningly doting mother when it comes to Jeff, oblivious to what he can do—”
“Shut up, you son of a bitch,” Lenore hissed.
Diana’s lips parted. She was as shocked by Lenore’s suddenly feral tone as she was by Jeffrey’s behavior.
Lenore looked at her husband, who drew back stiffly, his face blank of all emotion. She turned to Diana, clearly trying desperately to subdue her temper. “I’m sorry, Diana. Jeff didn’t mean—”
“Don’t apologize to her and I meant everything I said!” Jeffrey snarled, struggling to his feet without Blake’s assistance. Jeffrey looked at her as if he was going to start yelling again, but in astonishment, Diana caught the glint of tears in his tortured eyes. He suddenly reminded her of a helpless, wounded animal.
Blake finally reached out with both hands, got a firm grip on Jeffrey’s middle, and turned him around. “We’re leaving now, Jeff,” he said in what sounded like controlled rage.
Jeffrey said nothing. He began to shamble away with Blake, his head lowered. Lenore rushed to Jeffrey and put her hand on his shoulder, looking with concern at his face. Then she flung over her shoulder, “I’ll go with them, Diana. Thank you for the day.”
Yes, it was lovely day, Diana thought sarcastically as she watched the three stumble toward the street, Jeffrey’s feet dragging, neither Blake nor Lenore letting go of him, all of them ignoring the heads turning to look at them, then back at Diana. She turned and scanned the area for Willow, quickly locating her standing on the bank of the winding creek, looking into the water as if she planned to jump. Diana ran to her and kneeled beside her. “Honey, he’s gone. Don’t be scared.”
But Willow was more than scared. She stood tearless and rigid, abandoned by her little friend and now looking at Diana without seeing her.
Diana hugged her. “Willow, will you answer me, please? Are you all right?” Nothing. “Willow? Your arms are cold. I know you were scared when your daddy—”
“He’s not my daddy!” Willow shrieked. “He’s the Bad Man! I told you, he’s the Bad Man! He wants to kill people! He wants to kill me!”
She finally burst into a storm of tears and buried her face against Diana’s neck. Diana hugged her tightly and crooned softly, knowing they were the object of everyone’s attention and not caring. All she cared about was this little girl whose own father had fiercely approached Diana with clenched fists and yelled accusations in a public place, oblivious that the child he supposedly loved was watching and listening.
She let Willow cry until the sobs seemed to weaken of their own accord. Finally Willow lifted her face and said in a snuffling voice, “I got your hair all wet.”
“It’ll dry.” Diana lifted up the loose bottom of her blouse and wiped Willow’s tear-drenched cheeks. “So will your face. We should both look beautiful again in about two minutes.”
Willow smiled, sniffled, let out one more choking sob and then relaxed. “I want to go home now.”
“Me, too. I’ll just get our blanket and picnic basket and we’ll be on our way.”
As Diana folded the blanket and Willow carried the used plastic cups to a nearby garbage can, Diana looked toward the street and saw a police cruiser stop beside the blue Lincoln where both Lenore and Blake were helping Jeffrey into the passenger’s seat. A policeman emerged and they all seemed to freeze in place as he approached them. Thank goodness, Diana thought. Someone in the park called the police. Jeffrey can’t simply go back to the hotel as if he’s done nothing.
She turned and saw Willow staring at the policeman in his uniform and sunglasses. “Is he gonna take the Bad Man to jail?”
“I don’t know what he’s going to do,” Diana said. “I don’t know what happens to people who scream at you and try to scare you in public, but the policeman will do something. Don’t worry, Willow. Your—that man will suffer some kind of punishment.”
Diana carried the picnic basket and her camera, and Willow clung to the folded blanket and kept her eyes down as they walked back to Diana’s car. For an instant, Diana thought she saw a tall, slender man with sun-streaked blond hair—Tyler Raines—out of the tail of her eye, but when she looked around, he’d vanished. Tyler had a habit of vanishing, though. Wondering if he’d been there all along, seen Cavanaugh’s display and called the police.
I hope it was him, Diana mused, puzzled by the path her hopes took but too tired to again mentally list all the reasons she shouldn’t trust him. Reason seemed to have abandoned her when it came to Tyler, and for once, she decided to let emotions govern the path she would take with him in the future. If Tyler Raines would even reappear in her future. . . .
Relief washed over Diana when she arrived home and saw Simon’s Porsche in the driveway. She smiled, wondering how Clarice had felt arriving at church in a sports car with a tall, dashing escort by her side. Diana believed Clarice had experienced few luxuries in her life. And even though she always referred with affection to her “dear Henry,” Diana had seen his photo in Clarice’s house and thought that he looked genial and pleasantly round-faced, but he didn’t have the still rakish mien of Simon Van Etton.
“Uncle Simon and Clarice are back,” she said to Willow, who had not uttered a word on the short drive home. “I’m glad we won’t be going into an empty house.”
“Romeo and Christabel didn’t go to church and then out to lunch,” Willow finally uttered. “It wouldn’t have been empty even if Uncle Simon and Clarice weren’t back yet, but I’m happy they are.” As Diana turned off the ignition, Willow looked over with her unusually large eyes set in a tight little face. “I’m scared. The Bad Man won’t leave me alone.”
Diana couldn’t truthfully tell the child she would never see Jeffrey Cavanaugh again. After all, the man was her father. But his actions today would have an effect on whether he could simply sweep into the Van Etton house and take away Willow. Diana thought of Simon’s ex-student who’d pulled strings to get Willow released into their custody until the police found her blood family. She would ask Simon to call that student again and make sure he knew what had happened in the park. Someone had to stop Jeffrey from forcibly taking this child and whisking her back to New York.
“Willow, a policeman came to talk to that man. I’m sure he’s going to tell the man not to come near us, and he’d better do what the policeman says or he can get in very big trouble. That man might want to cause trouble for other people, but he doesn’t want to get in trouble himself, and that’s what will happen if he doesn’t just go back to his hotel room and stay there. You don’t have to think about him any more today.”
“But what about tomorrow? Just ’cause he’s scared today doesn’t mean he’ll still be scared tomorrow,” Willow said with maddening logic.
“We won’t worry about tomorrow until tomorrow comes,” Diana said briskly and was relieved when Simon opened the front door and strode to the car.
“I thought you were going for a walk,” he boomed. “Where were you?”
Diana immediately realized he’d been worried because her car was gone, and she berated herself for not leaving a note. “Lenore called and asked to come and see Willow. I thought it would be best if we all went down to the creek and had a picnic. Lots of people around,” she said with a wink.
“Ohhhh.” Simon winked back. “Much better than the three of you just sitting alone in the house.”
Diana climbed out of the car and grabbed her camera and the basket while Willow clutched the blanket and ran inside the house without a word. “We tried to have a picnic,” Diana muttered to Simon.
“Tried? What happened?”
“Jeffrey Cavanaugh happened. Let’s leave it at that for now.”
Once they entered the house, a flurry of information broke out about how everyone had spent the early part of the day. Willow said nothing, but instead walked to the piano, sat down on the bench, and touched the keys so softly Diana could barely hear the notes. When Diana began to tell Clarice and Simon that Willow had made a friend in the park, the child suddenly burst into tears, laying her head down on the piano keys as her body shook. “I want my mommy.” She sobbed hopelessly. “I just want my mommy so much.”
Diana felt as if a giant hand squeezed her heart. She rushed to the child and picked her up. “It’s okay, Willow. We’re home now. We’re safe.”
“But I don’t get to stay safe.” Willow wept. “The Bad Man will take me one day. He almost got me today. He would have hurt you and taken me except that man made him fall down before he could.”
Diana saw Simon and Clarice looking aghast and knew she couldn’t delay an explanation. “We were having a lovely day in the park when Jeffrey arrived. I don’t know how he found us—we were in plain view of the park entrance, I guess. He started with his same old mantra about me knowing more than I was saying. He stepped toward me like he was going to hit me, when Blake Wentworth seemed to come out of nowhere and got Jeffrey in a chokehold. Blake and Lenore took Jeffrey back to their car, but someone in the park must have called the police. An officer was talking to them when Willow and I left.”
“Good God!” Simon burst out. “That’s intolerable!”
“He’s gonna get me.” Willow sobbed. “They keep sayin’ he’s my daddy and he’s gonna take me away with him.”
“We will see about that!” Simon’s color intensified and his eyebrows had drawn together above his fierce green eyes. “Jeffrey Cavanaugh may believe I’m a doddering old professor capable of nothing except giving lectures to bored students, but he’ll find I’m more of a contender than he thinks!”
“Are you gonna try to hit him?” Willow looked horrified. “You can’t! He’s mean and you’re old!”
“She means you’re older than Jeffrey,” Clarice said quickly, although Diana could see her great-uncle had taken no offense. “Darling, you mustn’t cry,” Clarice crooned to Willow. “You have all of us to protect you.”
Willow turned her face away from them and began to sob heartbreakingly that all she wanted was to see her mommy. Diana, on the verge of tears herself, looked at Clarice. “Maybe some time resting with you and the cats for company?”
Clarice nodded. “That’s just the thing. I’m sure Willow is tired and the cats have missed her. They’re upstairs waiting for her. Willow, would you like to go upstairs and see Romeo and Christabel?” After a moment, Willow nodded. “Would you like to go up in the elevator?”
Finally Willow turned and looked at them with her mottled little face and swollen eyelids. “Yes, please.”
Diana held Willow as they creaked to the second floor in the elevator that had gotten more use in the last few days than in the last few years. Diana carried her to her canopied bed and was glad to see the cats were already in their beds, napping. They both awakened immediately, and Christabel jumped on the big bed beside Willow. Diana lifted Romeo onto the bed, then chose a DVD and left Clarice trying to look cheerful through her distress, telling Willow she had always wanted to see this movie about talking insects.
Diana came downstairs and headed straight for the kitchen, where she poured a glass of ice water and searched for the bottle of aspirin. As she swallowed two pills, considering that three might be necessary to stop the headache pounding at her temples, someone knocked on the back door. Diana peeped through the curtains to see Nan. Surprised, she unlocked the door. Nan stood in front of her wearing ragged jeans, running shoes, a much-washed T-shirt, and no makeup. She’d pulled her hair straight back into a ponytail. Without its shiny waves to soften her face, she looked even more unattractive than usual.
“Nan, what are you doing here?” Diana asked bluntly.
“I wonder . . . I mean, I know you don’t like me much but . . . well, Miss Sheridan, I gotta talk to you.”
She broke something and didn’t tell us, Diana thought. She stole something and she has a guilty conscience. She wants the next few days off . . . .
“Nan, I’ve had a very rough morning. Well, I guess it’s afternoon now. . . .”
“It’s almost two o’clock,” Nan said. “And I promise I won’t take up much of your time, but . . . well, please, Miss Sheridan. It’s real important.” She paused then said barely above a whisper, “It’s about Penny Conley.”