Now You See Her (28 page)

Marcy felt her eyes sting with tears. Audrey was supposed
to he here, but she’d changed her mind. Once again she’d come so close, only to fall short.

Was there any chance her daughter might still show up?

“Do you think she’s got a fella?” Shannon asked.

“Audrey’s always got a fella,” was Jax’s terse reply.

“Do you know who he is?”

“Nah. She don’t say much about him. I think he’s older.”

“Older? Mr. O’Connor’s age, you mean?”

“Don’t know. She keeps talkin’ about how mature he is, that sort of shit. Anyway, who gives a fuck? You’re here. That’s all I care about.”

Even in the dark, Marcy could see Shannon blush.

“It was a lucky thing you called when you did,” Shannon said.

“Yeah, I’m a lucky bugger all right.”

“I mean it was lucky you called
today
. Tomorrow, you’da missed me.”

“Are you goin’ somewhere then?”

“Over to Kinsale for a few days. Mrs. O’Connor’s got an aunt who’s not well.”

“What’s the matter with her?”

“Cancer.”

“My granddad died of cancer.”

“Mine, too. It’s so sad really.”

“So when will you be back?”

“Sunday night.”

“Oh, not so long then.”

“No. Only three days.”

“Still, I’ll miss you.”

“You will not. You’re just sayin’ that.”

“It’s the God’s honest truth. I like you a lot. What—you don’t believe me?”

Shannon giggled. “I don’t know.”

“You think I’d have given you those earrings if I didn’t?” Jax asked.

Another involuntary cry escaped Marcy’s lips. Jax’s head immediately twisted in her direction. Was it possible he’d heard her, despite all the noise? Marcy quickly turned away, brought her hand up to hide her face.

“Hold on a minute,” Jax said.

“What is it?”

Oh, shit, thought Marcy, feeling him advance. Had he seen her? What was he going to do? She had to get out of there, get out now.

Except she couldn’t move. She was trapped, as if she were mired in quicksand, squeezed between dozens of sweating, undulating bodies, unable to feel her feet or even wiggle her toes. She felt a scream rise in her throat as Jax began shouldering his way through the throng.

It took Marcy a few seconds to realize that he wasn’t moving toward her, that he was, in fact, taking off in the opposite direction.

“Jax, wait. Where you goin’?” Shannon called after him.

“Be right back,” he yelled, fighting his way toward the door.

Marcy immediately began worming her way through the stubborn wall of revelers after him, elbowing past groups of teenage girls, stepping on their boyfriends’ boots—“Hey, watch it!” “What’s yer hurry, granny?”—till she reached the door and escaped into the cold night air, her ears ringing, her eyes shooting up and down the street.

Where did he go? she wondered, running up the steps and stopping suddenly, realizing how exposed she was. Had that been his plan all along? Had he known she was watching and bided his time, baited his trap, knowing she’d follow him? No
way he could confront her in a room full of people. No, if he’d been smart enough to break into her hotel room without anyone noticing, he was smart enough to realize he had to wait until he had her alone.

She heard him before she saw him, his voice coming at her in waves from around the side of the building. “I’m tellin’ you,” he was saying, “that’s what she just said.”

Who’s he talking to? Marcy wondered, tiptoeing closer, head down, shoulders slumped forward, body hugging the brick wall as she strained to make out his words. Who else was there?

“Okay, I’ll go over the whole thing from the beginnin’,” he said, and Marcy realized he was talking on his cell phone. “We’re at Mulcahy’s. She’s like a bleedin’ alien, all googly eyed and full of wonder, never seen anythin’ like it in her life. You’d think she was from bloody Mars, for fuck’s sake. Yes, I gave her the earrings. Yes, she loved ’em. Just like you said she would. So I got the stupid girl eatin’ out of the palm of me hand. Everything’s movin’ accordin’ to plan. I’m startin’ to feel like fuckin’ James Bond. Hey, we should call this ‘Operation Babycakes.’ ” He laughed. “Anyway, that’s when the dumb twat lowers the boom. Says she’s goin’ away for a few days. Tomorrow. ’Til bloody Sunday. To fuckin’ Kinsale. The whole bleedin’ family’s goin’. Apparently, Mrs. O’Connor’s got a sick aunt. Fuckin’ cancer,” he sneered.

He paused to catch his breath, allowing Marcy a few seconds to try to make sense of what she’d just heard.
Yes, I gave her the earrings
. Judith had given her those earrings for her fiftieth birthday.
Yes, she loved ’em. Just like you said she would
. Just like
who
said she would?
I’m startin’ to feel like fuckin’ James Bond. Hey, we should call this “Operation Babycakes.”
What were they planning? Who else was involved?
She’s goin’
away for a few days.… The whole bleedin’ family’s goin’
. What did it mean? Was Devon somehow involved? Involved in what exactly?

Good God. What had her daughter gotten herself into now?

“Yeah, I know it’s only three days, but I can already taste that money.…”

Marcy’s cell phone suddenly began ringing in her purse. Shit, she thought, frantically trying to muzzle the sound by stuffing her purse under her sweater and pressing down on it with her arms. Had Jax heard it?

“Hold on a sec,” he said, the heels of his boots clicking against the cobblestone. “Thought I heard somethin’.”

Marcy immediately ducked inside the doorway of a nearby store, almost overwhelmed by the smell of nearby vomit. Tessa, you cow, she thought, recalling the laughter of Tessa’s friends. Her phone continued to ring, the sound mercifully fainter now. Would Jax still be able to hear it? Would he find her? What would he do when he did?

A sudden burst of noise, the angry sound of Mick Jagger directing someone to get off his cloud, laughter, coughing, a girl’s voice rising above everything else: “Jax, are you out here?”

“Comin’, luv,” he answered immediately.

Marcy heard heavy footsteps descending the steps.

“I was worried about you. Is everything all right?” Shannon asked as the door closed behind them.

Marcy immediately extricated her purse from her sweater and her cell phone from her purse. But it had stopped ringing. She tossed the phone back into her purse, deciding it had likely been Liam calling to check up on her. Should she call him back? And tell him what? That instead of staying put and ordering room service as he’d wisely suggested, she’d spent the night
going from one disaster to another? That her amateur sleuthing had almost gotten her raped? That she’d come this close to spending another night in a garda station? That she’d stumbled upon Jax with Shannon in a notorious after-hours club? That she may or may not have uncovered some possibly nefarious plot that may or may not involve her daughter?

Shielding her head from a fresh onslaught of raindrops, she began the long walk back to her hotel.

S
HE DREAMED OF CAKE
. Double-layer vanilla cake with rich vanilla icing and lots of gooey red flowers. The kind of cake that Devon always requested for her birthday. “She has such a sweet tooth,” Marcy explained to the smattering of guests around the long dining room table.

“Sweets for the sweet,” Shannon said, blushing the same color as the roses on the cake and adjusting the party hat on her head.

“Sugar and spice and everything nice,” Judith added. She was dressed all in black. Her well-toned arms were covered with tattoos.

“That’s what little girls are made of,” Jax said, entering the room, a crying baby in his arms.

“Oh, let me see,” Devon gushed, running toward them.

“Take her.” Jax transferred the baby to Devon’s eager arms. “She weighs a right ton.”

“She’s so cute.”

“If you like babies,” Jax said dismissively.

And suddenly Marcy and Liam were strolling down the cobbled roads of Youghal. “Where are we going?” she asked him.

“Haven’t you heard? Claire and Audrey have opened a bakery. They make the best cakes in all of Ireland.”

“What’s their secret?” Marcy asked.

“Cranbabies,” Liam said.

Somewhere in the distance, a baby started crying.

“Please, can’t somebody do something about that incessant racket?” Vic Sorvino asked, walking quickly past, clearly in a hurry.

“Vic?” Marcy called after him. “Wait. Where are you going?”

“Kinsale,” he answered. “I have a date with Devon.”

“But you’re too old for Devon.” Marcy glanced toward the ground, watching the cobblestones at her feet become autumn leaves as a cool wind pushed at her back. She entered a clearing, seeing Georgian Bay stretched out before her, an empty canoe drifting aimlessly in the middle of its rough waters. Devon was sitting on a blood-splattered, gray cashmere blanket at the water’s edge, Shannon beside her, a baby crying in her arms.

“Did you bring the cake?” Shannon asked.

Marcy held out a large wicker picnic basket.

Devon stood up, took the shrieking infant from Shannon, and walked toward Marcy, her mouth twisting into a cruel smile. “Here’s the girl you’ve always wanted,” she said. Then she opened her arms and let the baby fall.

Marcy bolted upright in her bed, frantically grabbing for the child before she hit the cold earth. “No!” she cried, the sound of her protest piercing her subconscious like a pin through a balloon. She woke up, gasping for air, her hands pulling helplessly at her sheets. “Damn it,” she said with a sigh, coming fully awake and flopping back down on her pillow. Pushing her hair away from her face with her still trembling fingers, she glanced at her bedside clock, amazed to see it was almost eight a.m. She was so exhausted from the events of last night, she probably would have slept ’til noon had her nightmare not jolted her awake. “Stupid dream,” she muttered as its details began to fade and break up, like a bad telephone connection. Cakes and babies, she thought, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it all.

Babycakes.

“Operation Babycakes,” she remembered Jax saying jokingly. Marcy’s brain suddenly scrambled to retrieve the few fragments of her dream that remained in an effort to corral them and bring them into sharper focus. She saw Devon walking toward her, a demonic smile on her lips, a howling baby in her arms.

The O’Connor baby, Marcy realized, finding it difficult to breathe. “Caitlin,” she whispered, sitting up again, her whole body growing ice-cold.

What was she thinking? Was it possible?

“No,” she answered immediately. “You’re being silly and melodramatic.”

Was she? What was she thinking?

Everything’s movin’ accordin’ to plan
, she heard Jax say.

What plan? What did it mean?

“Absolutely nothing,” Marcy told herself, repeating the words again in an effort to give them greater weight.

Except …

Except what if it did?

What if it meant something after all? Something of consequence. Something even sinister. Something almost too terrible to contemplate.

Yes, I gave her the earrings. Yes, she loved ’em. Just like you said she would
.

Like who said?

Audrey? Marcy thought.

Had he been talking to her daughter?

Were Jax and Devon involved in some crazy scheme regarding the O’Connor baby? And did that crazy scheme include winning over the baby’s hapless and naive nanny?

Bleedin’ alien
, Jax had called her.
Stupid girl. Dumb twat
.

Hardly the words of an infatuated suitor.

Yeah, I know it’s only three days, but I can already taste that money
.

And if Jax
had
been talking to Devon, exactly what were they talking about?

Was it possible that there was a plan to kidnap Caitlin O’Connor and hold her for ransom? And was Shannon an active participant in the carrying out of that plan or was she simply an unwitting dupe?

Could Devon really be involved?

Marcy jumped out of bed, ran into the bathroom, threw some cold water at her face, and brushed her teeth with the toothbrush the hotel had provided. There was no time for a shower, she decided as she pulled on the same clothes she’d been wearing the day before. No time to go shopping. No time to eat breakfast. No time for anything except finding her daughter and stopping this insanity once and for all.

She might not have known where to find Devon, but Marcy
knew exactly where the O’Connors lived. She’d go there now. Go there and warn them that their baby was in danger. Tell them everything she’d overheard at the club last night. It was still early. Hopefully they hadn’t left for Kinsale yet. After all, it took time to get organized when you traveled anywhere with a baby, especially one as colicky as Caitlin. With any luck, they’d still be home. There’d be time to catch them before they left, to warn them.

What would Shannon say? Would she support Marcy’s story, risk incurring Mrs. O’Connor’s wrath by admitting the truth of where she’d been and with whom? Or would she deny it, afraid of losing her job? Would she laugh derisively and dismiss Marcy’s ravings as those of a seriously deranged individual who’d been pestering her for days, an obviously deluded and unbalanced woman who was well-known to the local gardai?

Which was exactly why she couldn’t call officers Murphy, Donnelly, and Sweeny, Marcy understood. What could she tell them, after all? That she’d eavesdropped on a phone call outside a seedy after-hours club, a one-sided conversation at that, a
vague
and one-sided conversation, and from that brief, vague, and one-sided conversation, she’d magically deduced that the O’Connor baby was in danger and that her daughter, yes, the same daughter who was missing, the same daughter she was searching for, the same daughter everyone else was convinced had drowned almost two years earlier, might be involved. Yes, of course they’d believe her. Why wouldn’t they?

“It doesn’t matter,” Marcy told herself.

It didn’t matter if the O’Connors believed her or not. It didn’t matter if anybody believed her. What mattered was that by warning the O’Connors, by alerting them to a potential threat, they would be all the more vigilant regarding their daughter, and Marcy would have put an end to this harebrained scheme
that was sure to bring disaster down on the heads of all those involved. She would have succeeded where she’d failed so often in the past: in protecting her daughter from herself.