Found Wanting (11 page)

He kept his head down, shook it. "I worked my ass off for him for sixteen years. I made PCware what it is. He didn't have vision. I did."

She reached inside herself for sympathy and came up empty. A year ago ... hell, a week ago, she would have been on her knees beside him, commiserating her heart out. Yes, Daddy screwed you out of what you deserved. Alaina and her brat did nothing to earn a third of PCware. We'll fight it, my darling. We'll fight for every penny that should be ours. Not because she wanted it. As far as Addison was concerned, they had more than they could ever know what to do with. But because it was important to him.

But now ... now ... she kept hearing his words: "Kill the bitch and bring the kid to me."

What he'd said was menacing enough, but his tone had been downright chilling. At that moment, her husband had become a stranger to her. Now all she could do was comb her memory for all the things he'd done over the years, searching for clues to the man her husband really was. The search wasn't that extensive. The clues had been there all along, some of them so alarming and distasteful, so unbelievable that she had long ago pushed them far from her consciousness.

Her chest constricted with the memory of Alaina in tears, so distraught she couldn't speak. Curling her hand into a fist in her lap, Addison hoped the rage didn't show in her body language. Rage at Layton, for what he had done to her sister, the assault and the character assassination afterward, and rage at herself for letting him get away with it.

"We'll work it out, Layton," she said, proud that her voice sounded so even. Maybe after this was over, she would head to Hollywood for a new career.

Layton raised his head to look at her, and his blue eyes were bright. "Yes. We will."

Chapter 10

At seven-thirty at night, Chicago O'Hare airport was busy. Now that she was in the United Airlines terminal and so close, Alaina started to run, her hand pressed to the ache in her side. Breathing hurt, but she ignored the pain, consumed by the fear that was lunging against the leash she had put it on.

She hadn't been here in three years. The last time, Jonah had been eleven and irritated that he had had to pass on a pickup basketball game with some friends for the annual outing. Alaina promised him then that she wouldn't put him through the drill again.

Now, hoping to God that his memory had retained something from that day, she followed the signs to baggage claim. The airport had always seemed like the most logical place to meet. It never closed for the night, and there were only a few hours a day when flights weren't taking off.

It also offered the most avenues of escape. From the baggage claim area, they had nearly instant access to several modes of transportation. Cabs and buses waited right outside the automated doors. Rental car counters were a few paces away, along with access to the Metra train. If their identities were intact, they had only to go upstairs to buy plane tickets.

She'd taught Jonah to carry a couple of twenties and change to pay for subway tokens and cab fare, and he was well-versed on how to use public transportation.

Carousel number two was to the left, and, winded, Alaina slowed to a fast walk. She remembered Jonah at eleven, standing with her beside carousel number two, bored and probably thinking his mother was a nut job as she asked him, "Why carousel number two?"

"Because it's just the two of us," he'd said. "I'm not a baby anymore, Mom. I got it, okay?"

She could see carousel two now. It was still, surrounded by people awaiting the delivery of their luggage from a newly arrived flight. She scanned the crowd, scanned the faces. Some were animated as they told their family and friends about their flight, asked about the local weather, exchanged the latest news. Others were tense, impatient for the luggage to arrive so they could be on their way. Jonah was not among them.

She spotted an information desk nearby, occupied by a man peering at a computer screen.

He looked up when she approached. "May I help you?"

"I'm late picking up a boy, a teenager," she said, trying to sound calm. "Blond hair, blue eyes, White Sox jacket." She raised her hand, palm down, three inches above her head. "About this tall."

"Doesn't sound familiar."

"He might have been here, waiting in this area, hours ago."

"I'm nearing the end of my shift, ma'am, and I haven't seen any kids that look like that. Want me to page him?"

She hesitated. Would that be safe? But then she thought, if Jonah were here, he would be where she had told him to wait. He might have been annoyed at her compulsive planning and quizzing, but he had understood that it was important. When they had fled Wisconsin and then Colorado, he'd been old enough to grasp that someone bad was after them, and they had to hide.

Shaking her head, she turned away and scanned for him again.

"What do I do if you're not there?"

The question, offered after they'd settled in Chicago, when he was nine, had startled her.

"I'll be there, Jonah. Don't worry."

"But what if? What should I do?"

"I promise I'll do everything in my power to be there. But if I'm not, find a police officer and ask for help."

She'd never stopped to consider what she would do if he didn't show up.

Despair began to wind its tentacles around her heart. Now what? Now what?

She told herself to calm down, to wait until the travelers cleared out. Maybe he had gone to the bathroom. Or to get something to eat. Maybe he hadn't even arrived yet.

But of course he should have. If he had escaped Grant and Lucas' unharmed, Jonah should have been here hours ago. She couldn't imagine what might be going through his head, what he might be feeling. Worry. Fear. Anger.

All the things she was feeling. Except he had no idea who he was running from. Because she had not told him.

So many mistakes.

She sank onto a chair, her vision blurring with tears. She'd made so many mistakes. She should have told him everything so he could have been completely prepared, so he could know what he was dealing with. But how could she have told him they were running from his father? How could she have told him why?

On the verge of losing her composure, Alaina pushed to her feet and went to a pay phone. She tried Jonah's cellphone again, got the same infuriating automated message.

There was one last option. It was the one she had warned him against over and over: If something bad happens, don't turn to anyone we know for help. She hadn't explained, too concerned about his emotional health and sense of security to tell him that involving people they cared about could get them hurt.

Maybe, because she had never told him the rationale, he had ignored the directive. On the face of it, the instruction was ludicrous and counterintuitive. Why not turn to people you trust during a time of need?

Alaina plugged her last coins into the phone and dialed. Rachel answered on the first ring, sounding anxious. "It's me," Alaina said.

"Where are you? Are you all right?"

Hearing her friend's voice, Alaina almost lost her grip. "I'm fine. I just need to --"

"You don't sound fine. And what the hell did you think you were doing ditching the hospital like that? All you had to do is say you needed to go, and I would have taken you to Grant's. You didn't have to trick me like that."

"I'm sorry about that, but I don't have time to explain. I really need --"

"Grant was shot, and someone knocked Lucas around. I assume you know that seeing as how my car was found in their driveway."

"How are they?"

"They're going to be fine, though Grant is going to be in the hospital awhile. Is Jonah with you? Lucas said he ran away after Grant was shot."

Alaina felt both relief and dismay. Relief that Jonah had indeed run away, and dismay that he had seen Grant get shot. And he wasn't with Rachel. Closing her eyes, she rubbed at her temple with chilled fingers. A headache was raging. Along with a finely honed knife blade of panic. If he wasn't with Rachel, then where the hell was he?

"Jonah's fine, Ray. He's with me." She hated to lie, but Rachel couldn't help. And the truth, and fear for Jonah, would devastate her.

Rachel heaved a relieved sigh. "Thank God. I've been worried to death. Those feds questioned me for an hour after you took off. And when they were done, the cops cornered me --"

"I have to go," Alaina cut in.

"Wait. Where are you guys?"

"I'll call you later, Ray." Another lie. It struck her that her entire life was built on lie after lie after lie, like a tiny house made of Popsicle sticks that hadn't been glued together. One jolt, and her existence, and Jonah's, was reduced to a pile of worthless splinters.

"Alex, wait. I have your purse. An ER nurse gave me a bag with your stuff in it after you took off. Tell me where you are, and I'll bring it to you."

The desperation in her friend's voice nearly undid Alaina, and she clenched her back teeth so hard an ache shot through her jaw. "I'll get it later. Thank you, Rachel. For everything."

"Alex, dammit, please. I know you're in trouble. Tell me what it is. I'll help you. Whatever it takes to --"

Alaina hung up on her best friend.

* * *

Standing near the Hertz car rental counter beside baggage claim number two, Mitch Kane watched Alaina lower herself to a chair. He recognized the denim shirt that hung to her knees as his own. It looked damp, as did her dark hair, shoved behind her ears. The energy that had gotten her to the airport appeared gone as she bent forward in the seat, one arm curled around her middle.

He almost felt sorry for her, but then he reminded himself that she was the one who'd kicked the rock that had started this avalanche. She was lucky that Layton Keller was a reasonable man. A malevolent one with his kind of power and money might simply have had her killed and taken his son back.

Sauntering over to where Alaina sat, he paused beside her chair, fighting the urge to drape his coat around her trembling shoulders. "Is there a contingency plan?"

When she looked up at him, the desolation in her eyes jolted him. She also didn't seem the least bit surprised to see him. "You let me escape," she said.

"You didn't think I'm really that stupid, did you?" he asked.

"I wanted to."

The handcuff had fallen free of her sleeve, but she didn't seem to notice. Casually, he lowered himself to the chair beside her.

"I screwed up," she said, her voice cracking. "I screwed up, and he's gone."

"Saying you screwed up is putting it a bit lightly, don't you think? Keeping a child from his father for fourteen years is more than a screw-up. It's a felony." In one smooth motion, he grasped the free end of the cuffs and snapped it around his own wrist.

She stared down at their linked wrists, not reacting. "I did what was best for my son, Mr. Kane. If I go to jail for that, then so be it."

"Whatever." He stood, hauling her up by the arm.

Her breath hissed out between her clenched teeth, and the little color that had been in her face drained away. Annoyed at the tug in his gut, Mitch steadied her, then dropped his hand, reminding himself that he couldn't show her an ounce of sympathy. If he did, she'd know she was getting to him and use it against him. "If you pass out on me, I'll just haul you over my shoulder."