He’d tried to tell her earlier. He’d tried to ease her into realizing that Gerry was a criminal back at the diner, to help her see why she should cooperate with Trent and Chloe’s investigation, even if they ended up arresting her.
But he could tell in a glance that she still didn’t believe it.
“What we need to worry about right now is getting your handcuffs off,” she said. Daisy undid her seat belt, then she reached over and undid his. Her hair brushed softly against the scruff of his day-old shadow.
The scent of her filled his senses. She was so close that all he’d have to do was bend his head and his lips would brush hers. Jane’s voice echoed in his mind, asking him just how well he thought he knew her. “Now, if you want to turn your back to me, I’ll see if I can open them.”
He shifted around in his seat. “They’re metal, not plastic zip ties. We’ll need a key.”
“Don’t worry, I might be able to do something.” Her fingers ran along the edges of the handcuffs and brushed over his skin. “I just need something from your jump bag.”
“Help yourself,” he said, though he wasn’t sure what she was going to find in there.
She rummaged around and came up with a long, thin safety pin. She bent it. “Now, hold your hands as straight as you can.”
He did as she asked. Scattered raindrops fell, splattering the windows in thick drops. He felt her slender fingers of one hand hold his hands together, as the other slowly and carefully worked the pin into the handcuff lock like a key. “How did you learn to do that?”
“My stepfather is a retired police constable,” she said. “He started living with my mother and me when I was about nine or ten. He taught me a few things.”
“Is he why you don’t trust cops?”
The gentle movement of her fingers against his skin stopped again. He looked up into the passenger window and saw her reflection there, looking back at him from the tinted glass. Her reflected eyes held his gaze for a long moment. Then she turned back to the handcuffs.
“He’s why I don’t trust people,” she said. “He’s a horrible man, but he was charming at first. Something changed after my half sister was born. He was rough with my mother. He was tough on me. I’m not sure how or why he lost his job, but suddenly he was home every day, drinking and gambling on whatever he could bet money on. I was eleven.”
Something metallic clicked. He felt her fingers run along the inside of the handcuffs, brushing against the insides of his wrists. The cuffs didn’t move. She sighed.
“Please keep going,” he said. “I like listening. I think it keeps me from fidgeting.”
He watched as raindrops fell heavier against the window, running in long lines down the reflection of her face. She went back to working on the lock.
“My mother and stepfather had four kids,” she said, “one right after the other—Gilly, Candi, Michelle and Albert—three girls and a boy. He hit me for the first time after Gilly was born. Not a real hit, he’d say, just a slap across the face because I wanted to go out to a youth club and he wanted me to stay home, so he could drink. His slap was so hard my teeth rattled. I called the cops for the first time when I was fourteen, but I guess he had enough friends on the force who believed him when he said I was dramatic. When I was sixteen, it got so bad I went to live with my aunt.”
He heard another click and then he felt the handcuffs slide off his right wrist. He held his breath and fought the urge to move.
“I graduated early and hitchhiked around Scotland, Ireland and Wales. I hiked around some of Europe, too, took odd jobs and saved my money. It was glorious actually. I loved the freedom. But then social services threatened to put my half siblings in care unless my mother took better care of them, and my aunt couldn’t afford to support them all on her own. So I went home and told my stepfather I’d pay off what he owed the landlord in exchange for his car. He agreed. Then he called the cops on me, claiming I’d stolen both his car and some other stuff that was actually mine.”
His other hand fell free. The urge to turn around and face her filled his core. Instead, he reached back, grabbed both her hands and held her fingers tight. She hesitated, then looped her fingers through his. His eyes met hers again in the rain-smeared glass.
“What happened?” he asked.
“My mother begged me to plead guilty in exchange for probation. Told me if I did, they’d let me move back home and everything would be different. Every instinct in my body screamed that it was the wrong decision. But I trusted her over my instincts because I was nineteen and foolish. My stepfather kicked me out again the next day.”
“You weren’t foolish,” he said. “You were a good person, with a good heart, who was trying to do the right thing and someone took advantage of that.”
Then he took a deep breath and prayed his words would come out right.
“Just like I worry they’re doing now,” he added.
“Because you think Fitz’s father is a crime lord.”
She pulled her fingers out of his. He turned around. His hands reached for hers again. She didn’t let him take them.
“It’s the only thing that could possibly make sense of everything that’s happened,” he said. “Gerry told you not to trust the cops. You find counterfeit money in his car. Both of his wives are dead.”
“Well, maybe I’m not ready to believe that means he’s a criminal yet.” Her voice rose. “Maybe I want to hold on to the hope that there’s another answer and that Fitz is going to have a better life ahead of him than one parent who’s dead and another who’s in prison. Maybe, it’s because I actually know Gerald Pearce. He’s exactly what you think an absentminded inventor would be like. He’s distracted. He’s forgetful and confused. He’s emotionally erratic and volatile. Those are his symptoms. Sounds like early-onset dementia, right?”
“Possibly,” he said, carefully. “Or it could be a mental illness like depression, considering his wife died less than a year ago and he rushed into a new marriage. Or it could be a head trauma, postconcussive syndrome, some kind of poison or nervous system disorder, especially if combined with shakes. It could be any number of things. You can’t look at three symptoms and jump to a diagnosis.”
“But you can look at two or three facts and conclude someone’s a criminal?” she asked.
It wasn’t the same thing. He closed his eyes and prayed. If he told Daisy about Trent and Chloe, she’d be livid and he’d have done exactly what Trent told him not to do. But surely Trent’s motivation was that he didn’t want her to either spike the investigation or take off running, and she couldn’t exactly do either in the woods. But she could get even more upset. He opened his mouth, but she jumped in before he could say anything.
“Gerry works five days a week and was always away at one of his companies,” she said. “But he comes home on the weekends, and when he does, he always makes a beeline for Fitz and brings him some ridiculous new toy. I don’t believe he has the mental wherewithal to run a criminal enterprise. I never believed he was evil and calculating. I believe he’s romantically foolish, not particularly methodical and he loves his son. Maybe I’m wrong about everything. But my whole life, my instincts where the only thing that kept me alive. Whenever I didn’t listen to them, I paid the price, and right now, my gut is all I’ve got.”
Her eyes met his. Tears shone like gold in their depths. She held his gaze for one long, agonizing moment and everything inside him wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her. Instead, she turned and pushed through the door and stepped out into the drizzling rain.
For a moment, he thought she was going to take off running. But then she stopped just a couple of feet away from the vehicle, with her back to him and her face to the lake. He watched as she wrapped her arms around herself.
She’s wrong. Her instincts aren’t all she has. She has me.
Lord, what do I do? How do I help her?
His hand reached for the door handle, but his eyes glanced at the phone she’d left mounted in the charger on the dashboard. He picked it up, typed the special secure number he knew would be redirected to his brother’s phone. Now all he had to do was compose a message that anyone intercepting wouldn’t understand.
It’s ’swell. Not secure. All safe.
He watched the message go and prayed that his pitiful attempt at a coded message would get through. It’s (Max)’swell. (Phone line) not secure. (But we are) all safe. A minute passed slowly. Then a second. Then finally the phone beeped. A new message had come in from an unknown number, but he had no doubt who it was.
Cute. Glad to hear it. Picked up what you left in the ditch. Stay off the grid.
* * *
Daisy didn’t know why she was crying. It was like all sorts of tears—fear, frustration, sadness and relief—had been building inside her for hours and now they were all rushing out so quickly she could barely breathe.
Anna was dead. The house was gone. Smith and Jones had tried to kill her. Two corrupt cops had threatened Max. The money from Gerry’s car was counterfeit.
Help me, God. I feel like I’m drowning. It’s all too much. It’s more than I can take.
Cold rain poured down her body and soaked her skin. The urge to run pounded deep inside her chest, but something invisible and unbreakable tethered her to the tiny child sleeping in the vehicle. A door slammed behind her. Then she heard footsteps crossing the muddy ground.
“All I care about is keeping Fitz safe,” she said. She didn’t turn and wasn’t even sure he could hear her. “But I don’t know how.”
“I know,” Max said.
The sound of his footsteps stopped. She heard the rustle of waterproof fabric and then he draped an emergency blanket around her head and shoulders. She wiped the tears from her eyes and blinked hard to keep any more from falling.
“Jane phoned me,” she said, “after those cops showed up at the diner. I forgot to tell you, what with everything else going on. She called from the general Pearce company number, demanded I give her Fitz and said he belonged with her. What if she’s really Jane? What if Jane isn’t dead? What if the police dig up her coffin and discover there’s someone else buried there in the cemetery?” A sob filled her throat. She gasped a breath. “She tried to scare me. She tried to upset me. She laughed and screamed and played the music from Fitz’s favorite music box over the phone.”
“Clearly she has no idea how strong you really are.” Max’s voice was warm and deep in her ear. She didn’t turn but instead stepped back toward him. He parted his arms to make room for her, his hands brushed lightly against her arms and she leaned back against his chest, letting his warmth fill her body.
She shook her head. “I don’t feel strong. I feel like a fool.”
“But you are strong,” he said, “and incredibly brave. You might feel like a fool, but you’re really not. You’re compassionate. You’re quick thinking. You’re brilliant, Daisy. You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”
His hands ran down her arms, she slid her hands up to meet them, and their fingers linked together. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone gave her a compliment, let alone several of them in a row. “You’re pretty great, too, and I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess.”
“You didn’t drag me into anything.” He pulled her closer. “I chose to get involved. I chose to help you and Fitz and to make your problems my problem. Just like you chose to come back for me.”
But why? She let go of his hands and turned to face him. Her eyes searched his. Questions filled her mind, but she didn’t have the courage to let them pass her lips. Why was he standing by her when he had every reason to leave? Why had he rescued Fitz and brought him back to her? And why had she found it so impossible to just drive away and leave him?
The dark centers of his green eyes deepened. He wrapped his arms around her waist, she slid her hands around his neck and he pulled her closer still. Something unfamiliar fluttered in her chest. She’d never craved the feeling of being held in a man’s arms before. Watching the train wreck that her mother’s marriage had been and hearing how Gerry and Anna squabbled had cured her from ever wanting any man for herself.
But now here she was, burying her head in the crook of his neck and clinging to him, as if he was the only strong and solid thing keeping her tethered. He held her just as tightly, and for a single terrifying moment, everything felt right and safe inside her chest, in a way it never had before.
Then she felt the breath of him on her face. The stubble of his jaw brushed against her skin and she tilted her face up toward him. Their lips softly touched.
Fitz coughed from the back seat, then he whimpered with that little warning half cry that meant he was about to start howling.
“It’s okay, Fitz. I’m here! I’m coming!” She pulled out of Max’s arms and stumbled back across the muddy ground to the vehicle. What was she thinking? Standing out here in the trees and the drizzling rain, with her lips barely touching Max’s, just a breath away from letting him sweep her into his chest and deepen their kiss.
“Why don’t I drive?” Max suggested. “He’ll probably be hungry again in an hour or so, and by then hopefully we’ll be somewhere we can feed and change him.”
He slid his hand over his jaw, like he was wiping away the memory of the fleeting kiss. She nodded. “Thank you.”
They got back in his vehicle and he started driving. The wheels crunched over rocks and dirt. Tree branches brushed against the window. She pushed a teething cookie into Fitz’s hands and heard his cries turn to those gurgles of delight that always filled her heart with joy. Light rain splattered on the windshield and the roof. Her eyes closed.
Thank You, God, for Max. Thank You that he’s here. Thank You that I’m not alone.
She didn’t expect to sleep and didn’t even notice when she started drifting. All she knew was that her eyes were heavy and staying closed.
After a while, the engine picked up speed as the road turned from rough to smooth under their tires. The sound of the rain grew heavier on the roof. She heard the faint sounds of Fitz gurgling again and Max switching on the radio and searching for a channel. Then music filled the cab. Old hymns she knew from childhood and new songs she’d never heard rose and fell, mingling ancient words and modern instruments.
Max started to sing along. His voice was rich and deep, slightly off pitch and a bit hit-and-miss with the tune. It wasn’t the kind of voice anyone would choose for the choir or put on the radio. But there was something comforting and endearing about it. Adorable even.
Eventually, the vehicle slowed to a gentle stop. She heard the door open and close, and Fitz’s cheerful chatter, but even then she didn’t fully wake up until she heard footsteps crunching on the gravel.
She opened her eyes. Unfamiliar farmland filled her vision.
“Where are we? Why did we stop?” She sat up and glanced over. The driver’s seat was empty. But her heart didn’t fully begin to race until her hand reached back instinctively for Fitz’s car seat and found the back seat empty, too.
Max and Fitz were gone.