Unsafe Haven (20 page)

As a young boy, Conroy wasn’t allowed in the study, but he’d hidden in the shadows and peeked around the edge of the door a few times whenever it was left open. He’d only gotten caught once, and to this day he could still feel the cut of his father’s wide leather belt as it slashed the bare, tender flesh of his four-year-old buttocks. His father had beaten him for “spying,” and then tossed him out of the study so hard, Conroy slid across the hallway’s slick parquet floor and landed in an unconscious heap against the wall.

Conroy fingered the faint, ridged scar behind his right ear. He had quite a few choice memories of Grayson Herington. And once Conroy learned his lesson, he stayed out of the bastard’s way until the day Grayson died after a long, painful bout of cancer.

Sometimes, karma worked in mysterious ways.

The feminine clatter of heels outside the study alerted him to his mother’s presence.
Right on time.

“Darling, is everything all right?” She tossed her snakeskin purse on the nearest chair and rushed to his side. “I was in a meeting. I dropped everything as soon as I got your call.”

As usual, her charcoal-gray Chanel suit epitomized her flawless sense of fashion, and her carefully-maintained figure gave her the look of a woman easily twenty years her junior. He’d grown up feeling pride in her appearance. He probably always would. Conroy shook his head in regret.

My beautiful mother. Stupid, interfering bitch.

He rose to his feet and came around the wide desk. Her pale gray eyes reflected worry and love. Always that smothering, cloying
love
.

“Good morning, Mother.” His voice held a satisfying degree of serene calm. His hand remained steady as it closed into a fist, drew back, and plowed into her perfectly made-up face. Without a sound she crumpled to the floor. Her eyes flickered opened, dazed and already beginning to swell from the force of his blow.

Conroy turned one of the comfortable leather armchairs around, sat and crossed his legs before adjusting the crease in his slacks. Then he snaked out a hand, twisted his fingers into her black, upswept hair, and pulled her forward until her tear-filled eyes were inches from his.

“Tell me, Mother.” He spoke softly, with absolute authority. “Tell me about the letter you received from Staamat, Alaska.” His fingers fisted hard in her hair and she cried out in pain as he jerked her even closer.

His voice dropped to a low, threatening hiss. “The letter addressed to me. The one that contained everything I needed to find my beloved Victoria.”

Conroy tugged again, harder. When she screamed, he released her long enough to wrap his hands around her long, slender white neck . . . and squeeze.

Kendall flipped the sign and locked the front door.
Another day, another dollar. Okay, lots of dollars.

She grinned as she aligned and straightened several racks on her way back to the counter. Business had been especially good all week. She paused at the sound of Jeffie’s slightly off-key whistling. He’d jumped right in to help today, restocking where necessary and assisting customers at the cash register. Tall, quiet, and cute as could be, Jeffie seemed older than his almost-fourteen years. She could see why Luna crushed on him. Stepping behind the counter, she opened her register and counted out his pay.

“I’m done back here, Kendall. You need anything else?” Jeffie reached the counter as Kendall slipped the money into an envelope.

She smiled in gratitude and slid it across to him. “Nope. You’ve been a godsend today, Jeffie.”

He blushed as he folded the envelope and slipped it into his back pocket. “Thanks.”

“You want to work for me again?” she asked.

Jeffie’s face brightened. “Sure. I’ve almost got enough to buy a dirt bike. The gear costs a lot, so I have to keep working. I did after-school stocking over at Fake’s, but this is more fun.”

“You’re a hard worker. I appreciate it.” Kendall pulled her laptop closer, brought up
Quickbooks
and entered checks. Ever curious, Jeffie leaned his elbows on the counter and observed the overall procedure.

She pointed to the snack display at the end of the counter. “Grab something. Trail mix, jerky, whatever you want. I know you’re hungry.”

He eagerly reached for a bag of smoked almonds, hovered over the jerky, then gave into teenage hunger pangs and took both. “Thanks, I’m starving. I forgot to eat lunch.” He broke the jerky in half and took a hefty bite.

“Why didn’t you say something? I’ve got food in the apartment. I could have made you a sandwich or heated up a can of chili.” Kendall finished entering the checks and stacked them neatly. She hid a smile at the sight of Jeffie licking salt off his fingers and handed him a chocolate bar. “Here, this’ll help hold you over.”

While he made short work of the candy, she wrote out a deposit slip and stuffed everything in a bank bag. “So, is your dad picking you up, or do you need a ride home?”

“He’ll be here in a few minutes. Are you coming to see Mom later on? Luna said you were.”

She eyed him with amusement, noting yet another flush high on his cheeks. “She did, huh? And when did she tell you this?”

“Um, a while ago. Mom finally let me spend some of my Dividend on a new cell.” He fumbled in his jeans pocket and produced a shiny new Blackberry. “Luna said you’re coming over to see the twins.”

Kendall tapped her finger against her lips and studied him long enough to make him squirm. “Hmm. Did you text her, or did she text you?”

“Uh, I texted her first.” She didn’t think the poor kid’s face could turn any redder, but it did. “I know I shouldn’t make calls when I’m working. I won’t do it again.” Earnest resolve shone from his dark eyes as he vowed.

Kendall could have hugged him for being so sweetly adorable, but he’d either suffer extreme mortification or get the wrong idea. She opted to let him off the hook. “It’s all right, Jeffie. You can use your cell as long as you’re not on the phone when a customer needs your help.”

She nodded toward the soft drink cooler. “Egg’s cousin did the installation for me last week. Why don’t you go get yourself something to drink? Let me know if it’s chilled enough.”

“You mean Matty?” Jeffie sent her a dubious look. “Not a good idea for him to mess with electrical stuff. He’s kind of a goofball.” But he obediently loped over and grabbed a Pepsi, fingering the plastic bottle. “Feels cold.” He unscrewed the cap and took a swig, just as Frank Purna knocked on the door. “Hey, it’s Dad. I gotta go.” He took a few steps, then turned. “Thanks, Kendall. See you later?”

She waved him off. “Yes, since Luna told you I’d be over.” She chuckled as he ran out to meet his dad.

After relocking the door, Kendall headed toward her apartment to grab a few supplies for the night. She collected a change of clothing and assorted necessities and folded everything into a tote bag, then paused for a moment to give her bedroom a fast once over.

“Have I even slept here a full week?” She spoke aloud to the quiet room. “Nope, too busy sleeping with Denn.”

The self-admission made her giddy with joy.

She sat on the edge of her bed and played with the fringe on one of her pillow shams. She’d found the comforter set at Baltos on clearance. The floor lamp in the corner and a few area rugs were all garage sale bargains and gave the room a lived-in feel.
Even if I haven’t bothered much about the living-here part.

More joyful giddiness at the thought of where she spent her nights. Could her smile get any bigger? Kendall jumped to her feet and spun in a circle, let her glee take over, because it felt so good to be completely, thoroughly
happy.

Crossing the room, she trailed her fingers over the loveseat Denn had teased her about with his claim of fleas. How she’d freaked out, thinking fleas were going to overrun her apartment as soon as they had flea sex on her furniture and laid thousands of nasty eggs. She snickered, yet flushed from head to toe as she recalled the way Denn had kissed her. Their first kiss. She pressed a hand against her heart and willed it to stop pounding so hard.

In the kitchen, she poked into a few cabinets, then stuck her nose in the fridge. She’d been fixing herself lunch each day. She’d work through most of the contents of her fridge and tiny pantry, especially with Jeffie here, helping out a few times a week. Teenage boys awoke in the morning, starved, and maintained the condition all day, every day, until they either got their fill or reached their twentieth birthday. Whichever came first.

Okay, enough dithering.
She wanted at least an hour at Jo’s with the babies, and Luna would be chomping to leave, too. Denn had rounds tonight and he wouldn’t get home until eight, but at least he was in all night. She smiled as she locked her apartment door and made her way toward the front of the store carrying her tote bag.

A shadow moved in the dim interior, near the tee shirt racks, and she jumped, dropped her tote. “Who’s there?” She’d definitely locked the front door and only one person had a spare key. “Denn?”

“No, not Denn.” Half the overhead lights came on as Wendy stepped into the open area in front of the counter.

Conroy folded the damp washcloth neatly and hung it on the towel bar in the master bath. He verified his impeccable appearance in the mirror. Not a hair was out of place and his tie remained perfectly knotted, his shirt pristine. He examined his well-scrubbed nails and smoothed a bit of hand lotion onto his fingertips for good measure. Ragged cuticles were so unkempt.

On the way to his walk-in closet, he palmed his cell and punched in numbers. As he flipped through the racks of summer-weight suits, he brought the phone to his ear. “Rachel? Please cancel my appointments for the rest of the day and clear my schedule for a week. I have to make a quick trip to Pendleton.” He considered a taupe silk Armani and rejected it as too formal. “Yes, Pendleton. No, I’ll make my own reservations.” He listened and rolled his eyes.
Stupid woman.
“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll see you in a week.”

He disconnected, then punched in more numbers and let it ring and ring, until the message clicked on. “Mother, it’s Conroy.” As he spoke, he stepped to the rear of the closet and laid his hand on the smooth wall. “I have to go out of town for a few days.” He pressed an invisible panel and the door swung open on silent hinges. “I should return in a week.”

His lips curved in a smile when he stared at the body wrapped in bed sheets, secured with utility straps, and crammed into the narrow cubicle. “Until then.” He folded his cell, slipped it in his pocket, then extended his foot, shod in a black Prada wingtip, and kicked the shrouded form, once, twice. A third time for good measure.

At last, I found a way to shut you up, you needy, clinging, interfering bitch.

He backed away from the opening and reengaged the panel, took satisfaction in the seamlessness of the hidden door. When he’d first had it installed, he’d intended it as a house safe. But this was such a better use for it. She’d adored the damned house. Now she could rot in it. He made a mental note to leave at least two more messages on her office phone.

It’s all in the details.

Conroy congratulated himself on his utter calm as he packed a matched set of Vuitton luggage with clothes and a few selected toiletries. He’d dreamed of this day for years, of ridding himself of one of the most worthless people he’d ever known.

Evelyn Herington’s position in his life ceased to be vital the day she picked him off the second-story parquet floor, half-naked and bleeding from a deep cut behind his ear and the lashes his father had meted out. Without a word, his mother had carried him to the nursery, laid him on the bed, and rang for one of the maids, who had silently and emotionlessly tended his welts and wrapped his broken ribs. His mother floated in and out, petted him, and sang lullabies as he convalesced. Not a word had been spoken against his father’s abuse. She’d acted as if nothing was wrong.

No doctor had evaluated him, no x-rays were taken to ascertain the extent of his injuries. He’d been restrained on his bed, in a half-conscious world of pain and Demerol, until he’d healed. At four years of age, Conroy learned a valuable lesson: money could buy anything in the world. Loyalty, silence, violence. And it could buy death.

He now had plenty of money, thanks to his superior intellect and precognitive intuition. Over the years he’d siphoned and then squirreled it away, drawing on the family’s immense personal trust. He’d amassed enough funds to live a luxurious life anywhere in the world he chose.

Perhaps, deep in the recesses of his mind, he’d always known he’d murder his mother. It paid to have more than one backup plan. And she’d given him the ultimate motivation, hadn’t she? Almost a year and a half of not knowing where his beloved Victoria had hidden herself had been plenty of motivation.

Amazing, the things a person in pain and afraid for their lives will confess.
He smiled in fond remembrance at how his mother had confessed her black heart out . . .

“She’s in Alaska, in Alaska, please, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me—” Her low tolerance for pain had helped reveal everything he needed to know.

He’d whispered in her ear. “Thank you, Mother. Goodbye.” Her eyes bulged and her heels drummed the floor in final spasms as he’d finished strangling her. Wrapping her body in the cheapest bed sheets he could find from the maids’ linen pantry had been the capper. She’d spend eternity in a one hundred count cotton/polyester blend. How humiliating.

Downstairs in the foyer, Conroy waited for the Bentley to be brought around. He spared a final glance over the home he’d loved and hated in equal measure.
If I could get away with burning it to the fucking ground, I’d go for it.

He drew on his endless reserve of control and resisted the overwhelming urge to break out the gasoline and matches. It would have to be enough to know he’d never step foot in this hulking mausoleum again.

Ten minutes later, he relaxed in the Bentley’s sumptuous interior and sipped an excellent glass of Merlot as he listened to his favorite recording of
Die Fledermaus.
He hummed as he slid the privacy panel aside and addressed his chauffer. “Just drop me off at Baggage Claim, Drummond.”

“Yes, Mr. Herington.”

Conroy selected a marinated olive from the silver appetizer tray Drummond had so thoughtfully provided, relaxed against the buttery-soft leather seat, and thought ahead to his week in Pendleton. So much to do, so little time. Excitement bubbled beneath his habitual serenity, the thrill of plotting and planning and then executing a flawless series of events resulting in his ultimate goal: Victoria, under his thumb once more.

This time, she’ll never leave my side. I’ll make sure of it.

He popped the olive into his mouth, savoring the tangy bite, sipping his merlot, and enjoying the music as the Bentley sped toward Portland International Airport.

“How did you get in? I locked the door.” Kendall gripped the corner of the counter as she stared at Wendy. In the partially lit store, the woman looked . . .
off
was probably the best description. Her skin had an uncharacteristic pallor, shadows bloomed beneath her dark eyes, and her hair hung listlessly around her narrow face. She wore loose jeans and a sleeveless red pullover. Her feet were bare and dust clung to her toes.

Kendall hadn’t heard a car pull up, other than Frank’s. How the hell had Wendy gotten here?

Wendy advanced until she reached the counter, then she dropped a key onto the glass surface. “Here you go. You probably have no idea how many keys there are to this building, do you?” She poked at the key. “I’ve had it for quite a while.” Her lips formed the semblance of a smile when Kendall inched her hand toward the key. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve never had the urge to break in. Until now.”

Kendall took an uneasy step back. Denn had finally talked her into a cell phone, which was presently shoved in her back right pocket. She couldn’t easily reach it. He wouldn’t start worrying about her whereabouts for another two hours. With Jo’s household in an uproar, she wouldn’t notice if Kendall didn’t stop by anytime soon.

Then she chastised herself. For God’s sake, this was someone she knew, a friend of Denn and of Jo’s. What on earth could Wendy do to her? Throw folded-up sweatshirts at her?

Wendy eyed the immediate vicinity. “You’ve made some changes. Lots of new stuff.” She swung back to Kendall. “I used to come out here when Mike had the place. I worked a couple of weekends a month for him, too, when I was still in school.” She wandered through the racks, fingering shirts. A hot pink, zip-up hoodie caught her eye and she pulled it out and held it against her. “You think it’s my color?”

The garish jacket was one of Kendall’s least favorites, but it seemed to be a popular item with her older customers. The overly bright color clashed with Wendy’s complexion.

Without waiting for a response, Wendy returned it to the rack and chose a deep green vest with an etched golden eagle in full flight silkscreened on the back. “This is familiar. Some of Mike’s old stock?” She held it up and rubbed it over her cheek, her eyes half-closed.

Okay, this is getting weird.

Kendall tried to keep her expression casually friendly, but her skin crawled at the look on Wendy’s face. “Um, yes. I think it was here when I inventoried stock.”