Lara greeted Harriet Blythe with an embrace and a weary hello. After a moment of meaningless chitchat, the older woman slipped away, leaving the little family alone. Hunter jabbered a few moments about the stories “Miss Harriet” had told him, but he grew quiet as Connor spread their dinner of hamburgers and French fries on the table. Lara knew her perceptive son had noticed the shadows behind her smile.
Connor and Hunter finished eating, then moved into the living room to gather the latest sports scores from ESPN. From the kitchen table Lara could see them on the couch, one dark head and one blond, both sitting with an ankle propped across a knee, both clutching a sofa pillow.
Hunter had lived with Connor for little more than two months, yet he had already begun to mirror the man. How long would it take him to become a miniature Devin Sloane if the judge ruled in that fiend’s favor?
She could not live in this city or this house while Sloane imprisoned her son in that walled mansion only a few miles away. She could not walk past that bedroom, knowing her son had been born there; she would not be able to look at Connor without thinking of the boy who had been stolen from her.
She would never let Sloane have her son. If the trial went badly tomorrow, she would snatch Hunter up and run. On the pretext of taking Hunter to the restroom, she could walk out of the judge’s chambers and make her way out of the building. With a ten-minute head start she could take a cab to the bus station, and from there she could go almost anywhere. She’d just have to make sure that she carried her collection of credit cards and birth certificates with her; they were all she’d need to leave town and begin again.
She dunked a limp French fry into a pool of ketchup. Karyn Gower would describe this meal as junk food. If she had witnessed this dinner, she would undoubtedly tell the judge that Sloane’s cook would offer Hunter a dinner of baked fish, steamed vegetables, fresh-baked bread, and carrots. Brain food. Nutritious food. Three-hundred sixty-five days a year.
Lara swallowed the French fry, then lowered her head into her hand. Despite her resolve to hide her fear in Hunter’s presence, she couldn’t stanch the swell of pain rising in her chest. She felt as though a tumor had blossomed between her lungs, pushing them aside, taking up the space she needed to breathe. She gasped to fill her lungs with air, then heard Hunter’s alarmed cry from the living room: “Mom?”
“It’s all right, buddy.” She closed her eyes, her voice sounding shrill and false in her own ears. “Mom’s just tired.”
She heard the muffled creak of the couch springs as Conner stood; then the television went silent. “Hunter, your mom and I need to talk to you,” Conner said. His creditable attempt at naturalness was marred only by the thickness in his voice. “We spent the day in court, and the judge there—a nice man named Mr. Weaver—has asked that you come with us tomorrow. He’d like to talk to you.”
Lara shifted and peered at her son through her fingers. She saw the clean profile of his face and noticed that his eyes had gone serious. He said nothing, but waited with the patience of a child who trusts the one who leads him.
She looked at Connor, then fought down the small sprout of jealousy stirring in her breast. Connor had entered this marriage with an open heart for each of them, but he hadn’t spent six years checking his rearview mirror and yanking Hunter inside the house every time an unfamiliar vehicle passed on the street. He was a shiny new hero in Hunter’s eyes, and it wasn’t fair that her son knew her as the one who had to say no a dozen times a day.
Connor held out his palm and grinned at Hunter. “Can you give me five? We’ll be with you tomorrow, right beside you all the time. I think you’ll like the judge.”
Hunter held his hand over Connor’s for an instant, his face aglow with a wide smile. Lara smiled too, warmed by the sight of his joy, but her smile froze when she noticed the way his hand trembled over Connor’s. He wasn’t shaking his arm voluntarily; this was a shiver, almost a spasm.
Anger beat a bitter rhythm in her heart as she clenched her fist. Devin Sloane was responsible for this. If her son was ill, it was because of the stress Sloane had put on all of them.
She stood and began to clear the table, turning her back on the living room so neither Connor nor Hunter could see her eyes blazing with anger.
Lara heard the hall clock strike nine, then covered her mouth and pretended to yawn. “If you don’t mind, Con, I think I’m going to bed. I’m exhausted.” She spoke lightly, hoping he wouldn’t be offended. Usually they stayed up and talked during the quiet hours after Hunter’s bedtime, but she had to search for her false credit cards and the birth certificates. She wanted to be sure they were safely tucked into her purse before morning.
She pushed herself up, then tossed her magazine into the basket by the couch. She hadn’t been reading it anyway; she’d only stared at the pages while her mind raced over all the possibilities tomorrow could bring. The judge could see that Hunter was better off with her, or he could be swayed by Sloane’s false concern. But tomorrow would definitely be the day of decision; Franklin had made that clear. Judge Weaver was not the type to draw out a trial when the fate of a child was at stake.
Connor picked up the remote and clicked off the television. “I’ll come to bed, too. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
Lara held up her hand. “Don’t let me stop you from watching TV.”
“There’s nothing on.”
“There’s sports on ESPN.”
“Lara.” His penetrating gaze fixed on her. “The truth may hurt, honey, but it’s the lie that leaves a scar. I’m not blind. I know when you’re hiding things from me.”
Sighing, she gave up the charade. “Honestly, Connor, I’d like a few minutes alone.”
Connor moved to block her path, his gaze lifting to her face in an oddly keen, perceptive look. “Don’t you think I know what you’re planning?” He spoke in a hoarse whisper, as though the words were too terrible to utter in a normal voice. “I know you want to run. I know you’d run without me. That’s okay, but it won’t be good for Hunter if you do.”
Stunned by his appraisal, Lara took a half step back. She opened her mouth to deny it all but shock caused the words to wedge in her throat.
Connor guided her to the sofa. “Lara, we need to talk about this.”
She sat down but couldn’t look at him. “I don’t want to talk.”
“I know you don’t, and that’s the problem. Lara, we’re married. We took vows—for better or worse, remember? And though I included Hunter in those vows, you won’t let me into his life. You won’t even let me into your life. Oh, you’ve let me dance around the fringes, hold you in my arms, and we’ve shared a few secrets. But Lara, I’m your husband and I love you. I need you to trust me.”
Lara lifted her head to look at him. For the first time she noticed that his strong face bore the marks of anxiety and grief, while loss shadowed his eyes. She sat silently, absorbing the reality of his suffering, then slowly shook her head.
“Connor, he’s my son. I’ve had him—by myself—for six years. I am responsible for him, and I can’t let Sloane have him. You could follow us after we leave, but if you come there’s a greater chance Sloane will find us.”
“Can’t you hear what you’re saying?” His eyes were wild with pain and despair. “I want to love you. I want to help Hunter, but you won’t let me! You won’t let anyone help. Poor Eva Godfrey wants desperately to see Hunter, but you won’t give her the time of day—”
“God gave him to me! It’s my job to take care of him!”
“God gave both of you to me. I want to take care of you, but it’s not easy when you keep pulling away. It’s always ‘Hunter and me,’ with you, Lara; it’s never ‘us.’ Last night you told God that if you lost Hunter you’d be losing everything”—his voice broke—“and I know you meant it.”
Something in her shriveled at his expression. She’d hurt him, and she never meant to. She loved him, but that love lived in a tidy little compartment while her love for Hunter overshadowed every crevice of her life.
She’d been wrong to marry Connor. She had accepted the proposal of a dear, wonderful man who deserved more than what she brought to the marriage. She loved him as much as she could love any man, but Hunter needed her . . .
She clenched her hands. “I don’t know what you expect of me. I have to take care of my son.”
“Then let’s take care of him together. We have to be a united team, especially tomorrow. Let me be the leader of this family; let me protect you. You’ve fought your own battles for so long; let me pick up the sword for a while. God will give me the courage I need to face whatever comes our way.”
She nearly choked on a desperate laugh. At that moment, with his hair askew and his eyes blazing, Connor looked more like a warrior than a librarian. If this were a medieval love story, he would leave her by the fire and race out to saddle his warhorse, then gallop off to fight Devin Sloane in a duel . . .
But this was reality, and Devin Sloane was more powerful than Connor or Lara could ever hope to be. You couldn’t outduel Sloane. The field of competition would never be level. If he hadn’t already bought Judge Weaver’s decision, he soon would.
“I love you, Connor,” she said, her anguish almost overcoming her control, “but I can’t let you throw your life away on us. You were happy before we came back; you were content, but we’ve turned your life upside down.” Unable to look at him, she lowered her gaze. “If things start to go badly tomorrow, I’m taking Hunter and we’re disappearing. I’ll contact you through the library e-mail when I know it’s safe.”
She stood up and evaded his quick reach.
“Lara!”
“I’m going out.” She ran to the front hall and plucked her coat from the wall hook; then she slipped into it.
Connor stood behind her in the hallway, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Don’t go.”
Swallowing the sob that rose in her throat, she looked up. “I’ll be back soon. I just need . . . to get out.”
Before he could protest again, she slipped out the front door. She knew he wouldn’t follow. He wouldn’t leave Hunter alone.
Pulling her jacket hood over her head, she hurried away in the darkness.
Hunched in her coat, Lara ran through a neighbor’s lawn, then cut across to the sidewalk, hoping to avoid the attention of the reporters encamped across the street. Fortunately, the night was black and starless, the March wind bitingly cold. She exhaled deeply, watched her breath mist before her face, then realized that she’d left in such a hurry that she hadn’t even picked up her purse.
She searched her pockets and felt cold metal. Shivering, she pulled out a dozen quarters—all that remained from Hunter’s last visit to the video arcade. Great. Enough for a cup of coffee, should she be lucky enough to find a place that sheltered frantic mothers who enjoyed running away from home.
She came to a quiet intersection, hesitated on the corner, then jogged across the street. A major road lay ahead, and Lara knew she’d find an open convenience store, a gas station, and a Barnes and Noble within a few blocks. If the bookstore was open, she’d be able to order a cup of coffee and pretend to skim a magazine.
After maintaining a quick pace for a half mile, she pushed through the glass doors of the bookstore, then pulled her frozen hands from her pockets and rubbed them together. The shop hummed with the quiet, librarylike hush she always associated with books. Pushing the jacket hood from her head, she moved toward the coffee bar.
She ordered a plain cup of coffee, strong and black, then moved to a table against the wall. A pair of teenagers huddled at a table in the center of the cafe, and Lara sat with her back to them, not wanting to be drawn into idle conversation. She needed time to think, to be alone. She couldn’t think clearly with Connor’s wounded eyes flashing before her.
She wrapped her chilled hands around the foam cup, wishing she had one of Connor’s ceramic mugs—at least glass conducted heat. Just last night she had sipped from one of those mugs in the living room while Connor pulled out a Bible to read something to encourage them for their court appearance. He chose the story of Gideon, and Lara identified with the Israelite when he lifted his voice and said, “If the Lord is with us, why has all this happened? Where are all the miracles our ancestors told us about? The Lord has abandoned us now.”
Connor’s voice deepened when he read the Lord’s answer: “I will be with you.”
Connor smiled, terribly encouraged, but the Lord’s promise hadn’t been enough to persuade either Gideon or Lara. Gideon had insisted that God prove his presence by showing him a wet fleece on dry ground and, the next morning, a dry fleece on wet ground. Lara thought it wouldn’t take anything so dramatic to convince her of God’s promise— a simple case of spontaneous human combustion involving Devin Sloane would have done the trick.
Connor’s lips parted in surprise when she said as much, but he didn’t chide her. He had only pulled her closer, lowered his sheltering hand to her head, and prayed aloud for the trial to come.
Lara lifted her coffee cup and took a scalding sip. She had hurt him; she could see that now. She had hurt him with her indifference, with the limits she placed on her love, with her own half-truths. In the courtroom today she told the judge that Connor was Hunter’s psychological father, but wasn’t that a lie? So far she hadn’t given him the right to discipline, guide, or make plans for her son. Though she’d said all the right words, in reality she had only given him the right to be Hunter’s friend.
She sipped her coffee again, then set the drink on the table and watched her reflection shimmer in the cup. When she prayed for a child, she had no idea that the tree of life she’d receive would cause so much pain. What was God doing? She had always tried to trust him with little things . . . could she trust him tomorrow when Hunter’s fate rested in the balance?
Another woman came in from the cold and moved to the coffee counter. Lara lowered her head and sipped from her coffee cup, hunching forward on the table. She should have picked up a magazine; no one would interrupt her if she pretended to read.
“Whew!” blustered the woman, an indistinct form moving toward Lara. She stamped her feet and held her coffee cup in both hands. “It’s so cold I’d go to church just to hear about fire and brimstone!”
Lara turned, easing into a polite smile; then her facial muscles froze. The woman’s face was familiar, the voice an echo of some distant memory. Was she a reporter? An old neighbor?
The woman sat down at the next table, then nodded. “It’s good to see you again, Lara.”
The memory opened as if a curtain had been ripped aside; then a surge of rage struck Lara like a bolt of lightning. “You’re the investigator! You work for Sloane!”
“Not anymore.” The woman boldly met Lara’s gaze. “In fact, I wanted to thank you for coming home; your surrender freed me from my agreement with Devin. I’d been wanting to quit for years, but he hired me to find you . . .” She shrugged as her voice faded away. “That’s old news. I know this is a difficult time, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to you.”
Lara stared, too startled by the woman’s audacity to offer any objection.
Interpreting Lara’s silence as assent, the woman leaned forward. “Let me begin with a proper introduction. I’m Nadine Harrington. And I’ve been desperately hoping for a chance to meet you.”
Lara finally found her tongue. “I seem to recall that you have talked to me. You lied to me.”
“I was working then, but not now. And this isn’t business; it’s . . . personal.”
“What makes you think I’d want to talk about personal things to a stranger?”
“No reason . . . except we’re both mothers. And we love our sons.”
Lara lifted her cup and drank, grateful for a chance to look away from the woman’s penetrating gaze. She could be lying even now, but her eyes were clear and direct.
Lara lowered her cup, then laced her fingers together. “How’d you find me?”
Nadine shrugged. “I sweet-talked one of the reporters who’s been following the trial. When he saw you leave the house tonight, he called me.” She smiled. “Actually, you should be grateful because I paid the man a hundred bucks not to follow you himself. If I hadn’t paid him off, you’d be the headline of tomorrow’s local paper. You know—‘Distraught Mom Runs Out in the Middle of the Night.’” She shuddered slightly. “Those reporters can be nasty.”
“And investigators aren’t?”
Nadine lifted both brows. “Very good, my dear. It’s good to know you haven’t lost your spunk.”
Lara inhaled deeply, then lifted her coffee cup and drained it. “I’d like to say it’s been nice to meet you, but I’ll just say good-bye.”
“Please don’t go.” Nadine Harrington gripped her arm, all traces of flippancy vanishing from her eyes. “I really need to talk to you.”
Lara hesitated, torn between curiosity and her dislike for anyone affiliated with Sloane. She ought to jerk her arm free and go, but if Nadine Harrington could offer any information that might be useful in tomorrow’s hearing . . .
Slowly, she eased back into her chair. “What’s so important?”
Nadine’s eyes remained serious, and a muscle quivered in her cheek. “Your son. You’ve worked very hard to keep him.”
“Of course I have. I love him.”
“But you and I both know what Sloane did to you in Braun’s lab. Replacing your husband’s DNA was an atrocious, despicable deed.”
Lara stiffened. “You know about the Iceman?”
Nadine stretched her hand over the table, then traced a circle with a manicured fingernail. “See? This represents the first circle of Sloane’s secrets. Over the years, he allowed me access into ever-smaller circles. On the way I learned everything he did to you.” Her eyes became dark holes in the woman’s pale face. “I learned more than I wanted to know. The man is corrupt, Lara, but there’s a genius to his madness. Evil sounds reasonable when he justifies it. He has seduced more people . . .”
Hope rose in Lara’s heart like a startled bird. “Please, you’ve got to come to court tomorrow! If you tell the judge what you know, he’ll believe you!”
Nadine recoiled. “Lara, I am many things, but I’m not a fool. I wouldn’t testify against Devin Sloane if my life depended on it—because it would.”
“Has he threatened you?”
“Sloane never threatens. He acts.” Her tone went dry. “And no one is ever able to prove anything.”
Lara stared at the woman, her mind filling with sour thoughts. If Nadine Harrington feared Sloane, then she and Hunter didn’t stand a chance of defeating him.
“About your son,” Nadine continued, her finger tracing the tabletop again, “have you ever made a mistake with him?”
Lara laughed bitterly. “According to Sloane, I’ve made nothing but mistakes.”
“I don’t care what Devin says. Seriously—do you regret anything you’ve done?”
Lara fell silent as she considered her motherhood. Perhaps she had made mistakes from the beginning. She begged God for a miracle child, then ran away the first time disaster struck. She’d acted in blind panic, but she could have come home to face Sloane at any time. She had put Hunter through a gypsylike life when he could have known stability.
“Sure,” she whispered, “I’ve made mistakes. Every mother makes mistakes. But we ask forgiveness and we go on.”
“That’s the part I don’t understand.” Nadine’s finger abruptly stopped circling. “I have a little boy, you see—well, actually he’s not so little anymore. He’s thirteen and he lives with his dad in Maryland. I haven’t seen him in eleven years.”
Lara blinked, stunned by the confession. “Why don’t you visit him?”
“I’m afraid to.” Nadine rested her elbow on the back of the chair, then propped her head on her hand. “I was a drunk, you see, when he lived with me, so my husband left and took my son. I finally got sober, but now I’m afraid my son hates me—not for being a drunk, but for staying away. With every day that passes, it’s harder to even think about facing him.”
Her voice faded to a hushed stillness. “When Sloane hired me, he said he knew I’d understand how he felt because I surrendered my child to a parent who could take better care of my son. What he didn’t know was that I began to wonder why you fought so hard to keep your boy. Even now, I wonder what makes you continue fighting . . . and lately I’ve begun to think I should try again.”
“Maybe . . . maybe you should.”
She gave Lara an abashed smile. “Once I told Devin that you’d be easy to find because women always look back. Now I find that I’m the one who can’t stop thinking about who I left behind.”
“Then go back.” Lara dredged the advice from a place beyond logic and reason. She didn’t know why she felt led to encourage this woman, but the thought of an abandoned teenager tore at her heart. “It’s not too late. Apologize for the past, ask his forgiveness, and let him tell you what he’s thinking.”
Nadine looked away, her expression softening into one of fond reminiscence. “He was such a cute baby. I imagine he’s a very handsome boy.”
“You’ll never know unless you go to him.”
“I suppose not.” Nadine sighed; then her gaze settled on Lara. “You’ve been an inspiration. You were more clever than I expected, and far more steadfast.”
A smile found its way through Lara’s uncertainty. “I wasn’t the clever one. That was Connor. I would have been lost without him.”
Nadine pushed back her chair. “A good man. You should keep him too.” She stood, then placed her hand on Lara’s shoulder. “I don’t know how I can help you openly, but I’ll see what I can do quietly. If you lose the case tomorrow, I’ll see that your lawyer receives a packet of materials that might help you convince another judge to overturn the decision. I won’t sign it, but you can tell your lawyer it’s trustworthy information.” She hesitated, her vivid blue eyes distant and still. “I warn you— it’s going to be tough for me to expose Sloane without implicating myself in serious trouble. He pulled me into the circles, you see.”
“I hope you break free.”
“Me too. Maybe I’ll have my people check into the witness protection program. It might be a little tricky to run my business from some town in Wyoming or Iowa, but anything is possible these days. And staying alive is a big plus.” Nadine bit on her lower lip, then squeezed Lara’s shoulder and left the cafe. As Lara watched her cross the foyer and disappear into the night, she lifted a prayer: Father God, bring peace to that woman . . . and to her son.
She sat in silence for a few moments, the brooding sorrow over her heart seeming to spread until it mingled with Nadine’s and Connor’s and a hundred thousand other griefs and sighs of despair. The entire world ached tonight and, like Gideon, its people wondered, If the Lord is with us, why has all this happened? Where are all the miracles our ancestors told us about? The Lord has abandoned us now.
But God said, “I will be with you.” Jesus amplified that promise: “I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”
She was not alone. God had not left her. Her tree of life was sleeping peacefully in his bed, guarded by a loving father and husband. She had been through dark days, but God had never left her comfortless. He was her heavenly Father; he loved her; he would never let her face any trial he had not allowed.
A wry smile crossed her face. Lord, I won’t even ask for the miracle of the fleece. Just fight for us tomorrow, and strengthen us to face whatever will come.
As she slipped out of the bookstore and began to walk home, snatches of her conversation with Nadine rose in her memory.
Don’t give up.
A good man. You should keep him too.
It’s not too late if you’ll go back and find him. Apologize for the past, ask his forgiveness, and let him tell you what he’s thinking.
Two blocks from the town house, Lara broke into a jog. Connor would still be up, and she had a lot to confess. But he was a good man, and he would forgive.
He wanted to be her warrior, and Lara was finally ready to lay down her arms.