Pieces of You (20 page)

“And then what? Always wonder if she wanted to be with you? Maybe come home one day, years and kids later, and find her gone? Is that what you want?”

“But why did she leave?” The truth seeped into his brain, contaminating his thoughts. “She used me, didn’t she? Once Maldonando was gone, so was she.”

“That’s not true.”

“No?” He swung around and faced his mother. “What would you call it? The stalker husband is killed and she walks out the next day. That’s not a hell of a coincidence?”

“That’s not the reason she left,” Evie said quietly.

“Then why?” Was that desperate voice really his?

“She’s pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” A tiny bubble of surprise filled him, expanding until it burst at the possibility of a child. “Pregnant,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“It’s okay.” He worked up a half smile and said, “Actually, it’s more than okay. I’ll find her and we’ll have a quiet civil ceremony as soon as possible. I guess subconsciously I wanted this to happen.” A child. With Danielle.

“But Quinn—”

“I’m going to be a father,” he said with equal parts awe and exhilaration. He’d be a good father, no matter what it took.

“It’s not your baby.”

Her words buzzed in his ears making him dizzy. “What?”

“She was pregnant with Alexander Maldonando’s baby when she came here. That’s why she was so desperate to hide from him.”

“No.” He dragged a hand over his face. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She was waiting for the right time.”

“But she left.” None of this made any sense.

“Yesterday, after the incident, you made a promise to her. Do you remember what it was?”

Of course he did. “I told her she was safe and that I’d make sure no one hurt her again.”

“That’s not all you promised.”

He stared at her. “What else did I say? Will you just tell me?” Anger and fear boiled inside. How could she leave him when he couldn’t even remember what he’d said?

His mother’s voice gentled. “You promised to wipe out every memory of Alexander Maldonando.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean . . . ” His voice faltered and he tried again. “I didn’t know . . .”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“I never would have . . .” Loss and regret pounded through his brain, stealing the ability to formulate a complete thought.

“I tried to convince her to speak with you, but she wouldn’t listen. That’s why she left. She thought you left her no other choice.”

***

Didn’t anyone understand that
Do Not Disturb
, meant DO NOT DISTURB? Apparently not. He’d specifically told Sylvia he had several briefs to review and did not want to be interrupted, but she’d only nodded her red head and given him one of her looks, the kind that had the uncanny ability to slice right through his lies.

Now she stood before him, a fluff of pastel and pressed powder swathed in an aura of secrecy. “Arianna’s waiting to see you.”

He heaved a disgusted sigh and glared at her.

“One minute.” She lifted a hand and her bracelets jangled. “Just one.”

Why wouldn’t they all just leave him alone? He slammed the brief in front of him shut and said, “All right. Let’s get this over with.”

Sylvia cast him a sympathetic look as though he were the most pitiful creature on earth. If she kept up the ‘poor pitiful you’ scenario, he’d threaten to send her to the unemployment line.

“Quinn?”

Arianna stood in the doorway, tall and beautiful, hands clasped tightly in front of her. “May I come in?”

He gave a grand gesture and swept his hand in the air. “Sylvia’s paved the way. By all means, come in.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was quiet, her demeanor demure as she slid into the Queen Anne’s chair opposite his desk.

Quinn lifted a pen and twirled it between his fingers. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you but every time I call, your mother says you’re unavailable. I’m sorry to barge in here but I had to see you. I know you must hate me.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I can’t tell you . . . oh, Quinn, I’m so sorry.”

Her voice clogged and for a split second he thought she’d break down. He’d never seen her cry, not even when Ash Revelin walked out on her.

“Don’t.” He was not going to let her cry now. Not over him.

She opened her mouth and the words slipped out. “I’m responsible for what happened and I don’t know how to make it right.”

“Don’t,” he said again, this time gentling his voice. He laid the pen down and held out his hand. She placed her hand in his and he gave her a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not your fault. You can’t control what other people do.”

She swallowed, once, twice, three times. “I introduced you to her. You didn’t want to get involved but I forced you.”

“It would have happened anyway.” He spoke the words and realized the truth in them. 

 “What do you mean? If I’d never introduced you, then you wouldn’t have gotten involved.”

“I was involved the second I spotted her wielding that blow torch.” More truth. “It might have taken me a little longer to check things out,” his lips twitched as he added, “you know I can be a thick-headed, stubborn jerk.” The smile faded. “She was in my blood. I had to find out the truth, and the more I uncovered, the more I needed to know.”

“I could talk to her aunt and see if she’s heard from Danielle.”

“Her name is Eve and no, you will not speak with her aunt.”

“But
she loves you
. I’m sure of it.”

He wasn’t so sure.

“And you love her.”

He didn’t answer, there was no need to, the truth clung to him like one of Sylvia’s auras.

“You have to go after her.”

“I can’t.”

“Don’t let her just walk away.” Her usual, soft voice pitched high and frantic.
“Go after her before it’s too late.”

Quinn withdrew his hand and rubbed his eyes. “Are we talking about me here, or you? As I recall, you didn’t exactly try to track down Ash either.”

Her lips thinned into a straight line. “Because had I found him, I’d have shot him. Why are we even talking about that man? I’ve been done with him for a long time.”

Right.
The man was hard-wired into her brain. He knew the feeling. “Okay, you’re done with him.”

“Looks like I’m doomed to make bad choices where men are concerned.” Arianna sighed and said, “I go almost two years without looking at another man and then, wham, along comes Alexander Maldonando.”

“Tough break.”

“Right. He’s cured me for another ten years of being man-less.”

“They’re not all like that.” Who was he now, Dr. Phil?

“Really? I’m not I’m willing to take the chance again, but thanks for the vote of confidence for the male species.”

“Okay, granted, most of us are real jerks, but there are still a few good guys out there.”

“Who aren’t married, gay, or priests?”

“Yes.” They were out there somewhere, a woman just had to dig beneath the layers of arrogance, testosterone, and commitment shyness to find them.

“Look, I didn’t come here to talk about my love life or lack thereof. I came to talk about you and Danielle.”

“Eve,” he corrected.

“Okay,
Eve.
You should go after her.”

“I can’t.” The room closed in around him, making it harder to suck in oxygen.

“Give me one good reason why?”

He sipped in air, opened his mouth and spat out the words. “She’s pregnant.”

“Pregnant?”

That stopped her and she hadn’t even heard the punch line yet. “It’s Maldonando’s.”

“Oh my God.” She wet her lips, once, twice, three times and said again, “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t know.” He floundered back to that day when his world and his future split apart. “I didn’t mean what I said, not the way she took it. I didn’t want her to choose between me and the baby . . . I only wanted to protect her . . . and now she’s gone.”

“I’m so sorry.” Arianna clasped his hand. “Please let me try to make this right, let me talk to her aunt.”

“No.” He shook his head and dragged a hand over his face. “If she believed I’d try to force her to choose, then she doesn’t know me.” And then the sad truth. “We didn’t trust each other. How could it have ever worked?” 

Chapter 22

Evie floured the rolling pin and worked it over the dough. Twelve days had passed since the incident, eleven days since Danielle left. Annie was coming over soon to help make Quinn’s pie.
What can I do, please what can I do?
Guilt plagued her, along with a tearing restlessness that stole her sleep, cleaved her to her brother’s side, to help, to seek forgiveness.

Evie was drawn to Quinn for the same reasons, though she knew neither food nor words would fix what was wrong and yet, it was the least she can do. Surprisingly, it was what she wanted to do. Quinn climbed out of one day and fell into another, weary, disoriented, a shell of his former self. It happened when reality proved too stark, too knowing. Senses shut down and refused to acknowledge what would not be understood. Evie knew this because she’d lived it. Quinn would live it too and he would survive.

The cool afternoon breeze reminded her of fall, the season of camouflage and unveiling. A grand discard. It was this way with life, too. She sprinkled sugar on the apples, poured two tablespoons of lemon over them to keep their whiteness, a trick her mother-in-law had taught her so many years ago. She’d stay a while longer to care for Quinn, perhaps out of duty, but mostly because she wanted to.

Evie didn’t hear the creak of the sliding door or the soft footsteps on the hardwood floor. She heard nothing until a massive hand clamped her mouth and shoved her against the granite counter with a force that buckled her legs.

“Playing house are we?” Pete Muldaney squeezed her neck, choking the breath from her lungs. He laughed when she tried to pry his beefy fingers from her mouth. “Where’s my money?” She squirmed and shook her head. “Where is it?” He loosened his grip just enough to let her speak.

“Please, I’m not Rita.”

“I want it now!” He swung her around and Evie gasped. This Pete Muldaney looked nothing like the bearded, greasy ex-convict who had hunted her down in Maine. The man standing inches from her was clean shaven, his hair trimmed close, revealing a small stud in both ears. He wore a black cotton shirt, olive slacks, and tasseled loafers. His fingernails were buffed.
This
Pete Muldaney bore no resemblance to the man in Maine, until she looked into his eyes.

“I warned you, Rita, get my money or I’ll slit your throat.” They were such casual words, spoken as though her life
or
death didn’t matter to him one way or the other. He eased a knife from his back pocket and flipped it open, the sharp blade glinting in the light. “Eighteen years is a long time to wait.”

“I told you, I’m not who you think I am.”

“And I’m not going to kill you either if you don’t pay up.” His long, slow smile wrapped around her. “But don’t bet on it.”

“Please, don’t.”

“Save it. You’re nothing but a damn liar.” He flipped the knife between his hands and inched closer.

She had to create a diversion. “How did you find me?”

“Artists are so damn egotistical.” He laughed. “I followed the painting your friend sent.”

She’d needed that painting, hoped it would answer questions for herself and Quinn but it had led Pete Muldaney to her. “If you’ll just listen, I can prove I’m not Rita Sinclaire.”

“No, sweetheart,
you
listen. I spent eighteen years locked up while you were breathing free air,
my
air, and I don’t want to hear another word about who you are or aren’t. We both know you’re Rita.”

“But, I’m not. I told you I bought her identity.”

“Yeah, you told me.” His silver eyes snaked over her. “And I told you, that’s bullshit.”

“No, but you see, I really did. For two thousand dollars. My friend got it for me. She said I looked almost like the real Rita.” Truth spilled out. “It was the only way to disappear completely. She just told me Rita was dead, that’s it.”

He stared at her, his thumb working up and down the blunt side of the knife. “Tell me,
Rita
, what was so damn bad that you had to disappear? Huh?”

A man like this would not be interested in the tale of an unfulfilled housewife and mother but she had no choice. “I left my husband and two children.” Her voice grew smaller but she forced out the words. “I went to the grocery store one day and never came home.”

“That’s damn cold.” His thin lips pulled into a smile. “And a lie.”

“No, it’s the truth.”