One Last Breath by Lisa Jackson (6)

Chapter 6

Charlotte had perked up. After a day of art, card games, and “dress up” in some of Maude’s old gowns, they’d had an early dinner and watched some television before the little girl had tumbled into the double bed tucked into an L-shaped room on the second floor.

Heather had indulged in two glasses of wine with a salmon dinner that Kent and Maude had put together, which included Maude’s “famous” scalloped potatoes. They seemed happy together and when Heather, helping with the dishes, asked again why they’d never married, Maude had smiled and said, “We’d kill each other if we were married. This way, the romance never dies.” She’d dropped a saucepan into the dishwasher, then touched Heather’s arm with wet fingers. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve been married before. Three times.” She held up three beringed fingers to prove her point. “I was mad about each of my husbands and then once we were married, I was mad at each of them. Being single and having Kent part-time suits me just fine.”

Kent had come in from the dining area, carrying two plates that he slipped into the sink. “Trust me, I’ve been after her all these years to let me make an honest woman of her, but, as I said before, there are complications.”

She rolled her eyes and snorted. “A man of mystery.”

Heather smiled. They all knew that The Magician skated a bit with the law. They also knew he was loyal to a fault.

“I’m just after her money,” he said.

Maude chortled and he wrapped his arms around her middle, standing behind her while she rinsed plates before stacking them in the dishwasher.

“I adore you despite your poverty,” he proclaimed, and they both laughed.

Heather’s heart twisted as she thought about her own life, how she’d vowed after the debacle with Liam to never risk love again. Wistfully she wished somehow she could reclaim that which she’d lost, then mentally chided herself. She and Liam had never had this kind of relationship.

She left them bickering playfully in the kitchen and walked into the living area, where she’d contacted the O’Briens and spoken with Maxine, who’d let her know that they had already decided to cut their trip a little short. When Heather mentioned that she’d left the cat for the night, Maxine had assured her that Mr. Bones would be fine. He did have a pet door, and despite his nocturnal feline instincts, generally stayed inside at night. She seemed unconcerned that anything bad might happen to him, but told Heather that they’d have their neighbors make certain that he was all right and “in for the night.”

She’d just hung up when Kent came into the living room and sat in his favorite striped recliner. “A disgusting piece of furniture if you ask me,” Maude had said behind The Magician’s back, “but he loves it and it fits him and”—she’d shrugged—“what’re ya gonna do?”

Kent leaned forward. “Let’s figure out a plan,” he suggested, and Heather nodded.

“I think I need to be in the States,” she said. “Charlotte will be going to elementary school, not this year, but next. So maybe it’s time to move.”

“Oh, dear. I hate to think of you far away,” Maude said.

“Me too.”

“You know,” Uncle Kent said and Heather braced herself. “If we could just clear up what happened, maybe you wouldn’t have to be on the run. If you told the police what you told me, about the attack on you, they might be lenient. You left a wedding. That’s not a crime.”

“You don’t believe that. And I’m worried you’ll be charged with aiding and abetting. The Seattle police sure questioned you after I disappeared, and you never told them where I was. You thought it was a good idea for me to stay hidden then, and even though they’ve circled back to you a few times, at least that one detective has, you’ve stayed mum. Are you saying you’ve changed your mind?” she challenged.

He didn’t immediately respond. After a few moments, he said, “You might be able to offer them some evidence. You told me you thought you knew your attacker, this guy who huffed the helium.”

She’d mentioned it once and Kent had never let it go. “I can’t prove anything and I don’t know who he was, or even if he lived. I stabbed him,” she said, swallowing.

“There were no other deaths reported, and you stabbed him in self-defense.”

“How can I prove that now? After all this time?” She shook her head. “I’m the runaway bride, and worse than that, I left the scene of a vicious, murderous assault, so why would anyone believe me?”

“Maybe the man in the hotel room was someone from the wedding party? Or . . . Everett, your stepbrother,” he said, running over old territory. “Or maybe someone else? Didn’t you say that you thought you saw Cal Redmond there?”

“I said I saw someone who looked like him,” she reminded him. She’d been hurrying through the lobby of the hotel on her way to the room where she was to get dressed, and thought for a half second that she’d spied her ex-boyfriend in the bar. It had just been a glimpse of a man standing at the edge of the long bar, close to the door of the kitchen, and there had been something familiar in his bearing, the way he carried himself in the dark pants and white shirt that the waiters wore, that had reminded her of Cal.

She’d taken two steps backward as she’d passed, but the man was gone, the door to the kitchen swinging as if someone had just slipped through, and she’d told herself the sighting had been her imagination, nothing more. Wedding-day jitters. After all, she’d run out on Cal and it had not gone well.

During the choppy boat ride through the Strait of Georgia she’d told Uncle Kent about possibly sighting Cal, and just recently she thought she’d seen Everett. The truth was, she was always thinking she saw someone. It was part of her paranoia. Once she’d been sure she’d spied Liam’s half brother, Derek, and another time a customer at the drive-through looked so much like Aaron that she’d scalded her hand pouring coffee.

“Okay, let’s leave it for now,” Kent said, exhaling heavily. “Think about it in the morning.”

Heather was only too happy to let it go.

* * *

Later, in the small bedroom upstairs with Charlotte sleeping next to her, Heather stared out the open window. Over the shimmering lights of the city, she saw the night sky, only a few stars visible. The house was quiet, only the tinny sounds of a muted television reaching her ears as Uncle Kent watched some late show downstairs.

Charlotte let out a sigh, smacked her little lips, and turned over. Heather’s heart cracked a bit. She’d never known unconditional love until Charlotte had been born, in this very house with the aid of Narna, a midwife. Heather was grateful that she didn’t have to birth her child in a hospital, under glaring lights, with dozens of nurses and a doctor and too many government forms to be executed, documents that might give her away.

She’d taken a risk, she thought now, but Kent’s rented row house was only five blocks from a major hospital. If complications with the birth had occurred and she needed to deliver her baby at a hospital, Heather would have done so.

As it was, the birth had gone well. Her water had broken at midnight and within four hours, she was holding a slippery and squalling newborn whom she’d immediately christened Charlotte Jane, the names coming from favorite books she’d read.

Charlotte’s birth felt like nothing short of a miracle. Maybe she was born to be a mother, maybe because her relationship with her own mother, Darlene, was iffy at best, maybe because she’d never felt so complete in her life, whatever the case, she was enjoying motherhood to the fullest. Despite her guilt and culpability over leaving on the day of the wedding, at least she had Charlotte, and until today they’d been safe living a quiet, simple life.

Now that had changed.

Because somehow Liam had found her.

Had she done something that had tipped him off?

Did someone she knew in Point Roberts contact him?

Could he have hired a private investigator to track her down?

“Doesn’t matter,” she whispered into the darkness. The fact was that he was on the peninsula and, after locating her place of work, had probably found her home. No telling who he’d talked to.

Worse yet, if he didn’t know already, he was soon to find out about Charlotte. Point Roberts was small, and when he asked about Heather Johnson at the market, or bank, or bakery, he’d learn she had a child of about four or five, a girl. And then it was just a matter of simple math.

He’d know.

His whole family would know.

The secret would be out.

She had recently confided in Darlene, but had sworn her to secrecy. Her mother was the only person other than Uncle Kent who knew she was alive, though she hadn’t told Darlene where she’d landed and, of course, The Magician had kept his mouth shut. Heather had always used a burner cell to phone her mother, and when Darlene had pressed her for pictures of her only grandchild, Heather had gone against her better judgment and relented, having Uncle Kent send the photographs from a Seattle post office. It had been risky, but could she really deny her own mother a glimpse of the girl? Wasn’t it bad enough that Charlotte knew no one in her family other than Heather, “Uncle” Kent, and Maude?

But then recently, because she’d begun to feel relatively safe, she’d given up the burner cell and had started calling her mother on her regular phone. A risky move, she knew. One she was now regretting.

Her heart suddenly somersaulted. Had Darlene told Liam? Is that how he’d found her? Did he know about Charlotte?

“Only a matter of time,” she thought aloud.

And then she’d have to face Liam. Her heart twisted at the thought. The ironic thing was that she was the one who had fought the attraction. She’d been filled with trepidation and tried to avoid a relationship with him, but it sure hadn’t worked.

They’d met by running into each other. Literally. They’d bumped into each other on a windy day in Seattle. Liam had been in Washington on family business, where Rory’s dysfunctional—oh, let’s call it what it was and is, criminal—family called home. She’d been hurrying down a narrow, steep sidewalk near Pioneer Square. It wasn’t dark yet, not really, but the oppressive clouds and rain had made twilight come early.

The week before she’d felt as if someone was watching her, which she told herself was ridiculous, more of her own paranoia, but nonetheless, she’d sensed a presence whenever she was alone, unseen eyes hidden in the shadows.

“Don’t be a fool,” she’d warned herself that day after a particularly nasty run-in with her boss, she’d left the office and was heading to the bus stop. The wet street was crowded, the city teeming with pedestrians and vehicles, the view of Puget Sound obscured by the thickening mist, when she’d felt it again, that uncanny sensation that she was being watched, possibly followed. She’d looked over her shoulder and seen no one focused on her, just other commuters and workers hurrying along the streets, some with umbrellas, others in hoods or hats, others bareheaded against the steady drizzle.

She saw no one following her, no one avoiding her eyes, no one staring at her. She was imagining it, that was all. She’d had a bad day at work and—

Her shoulder slammed into someone and she started to fall, purse flying, the wet concrete racing up at her. A strong hand grabbed for her shoulder and the man she’d run into—or who had run into her—caught her just as she landed, one knee banging painfully into the sidewalk. People on the street quickly stepped around her.

“Sorry!” the guy said, and in his free hand she saw his phone and the text he’d been typing. Obviously he hadn’t been paying attention to where he was walking.

“You should be.” Her tights had ripped, her skin visible through the torn fabric. She stood, pushed off his arm, then found her purse on the curb, wet from the rain that was running down the street. When she bent over to pick it up along with a few items that had poured from it, a pen, mirror, lipstick, and her wallet having skittered partway down the hillside, she staggered a bit. But when his hand reached for her again, she shook him off. She retrieved everything quickly, then straightened to find him standing next to a parking meter.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Do I look okay?” she snapped. Flushed with embarrassment and anger, her frustration with the horrid day erupting, she added icily, “Do you think you could watch where you’re going?” Tossing her hair from her face she muttered, “Forget it.”

Thank God she wasn’t bleeding, only her tights and her pride damaged.

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, fine,” she said tightly.

“I’ll take that as ‘apology accepted.’”

She glared at him. Who was this guy and why did she care?

“Believe it or not, I just told my brother I can’t stand anyone who won’t look up from their phone. That’s what I was texting about, and then . . .” He rolled one palm toward the leaden sky and offered a self-deprecating grin. “I am really sorry and you’re right. I should be looking where I’m going, too.”

Somewhat mollified, she turned away. Her skinned knee throbbed and she still wanted to light into him, but he seemed sincere, his head bent against the rain, his light brown eyes glinting with amusement and embarrassment.

“Okay, let’s just forget it.” She started down the hill again.

“No, wait.” He caught up with her.

She stopped short, and whatever he saw on her face had him lifting his hands in surrender and laughing, a deep rumbling sound that made other pedestrians turn and smile as they passed. “Let me make it up to you.”

She was immediately suspicious. “No need.”

He glanced at the name of the bistro on the flapping green awning above their heads: RENDEZVOUS. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee, or a drink?”

“Truly. It’s all right. I’m fine.” He didn’t seem convinced so she said it again, sincerely, and started walking.

He fell in step beside her. “It would make me feel better.”

“It would make you feel better? Oh, well, that changes everything. By all means, buy me a coffee and make yourself feel better.”

He laughed again, a really infectious sound that raised goose bumps on her arms. He was finding the whole scenario funny, while her knee was aching and she was getting wet. She nearly snapped at him again, when she felt that same sensation that had been with her earlier, that someone was observing her every move. Someone malevolent. Someone nearby. Someone who meant her harm.

“Okay,” she said quickly, changing her mind. “Fine. If it’ll make you feel better, by all means.” What was she doing, anyway? Besides sensing some malicious force in the air, she’d just had a fight with her boss at the office where she was employed and expected that when she returned to work in the morning, she might find herself out of a job. Ned Castrell didn’t take kindly to being shown up, and she’d made the mistake of pointing out his accounting error in front of his boss. Worse yet, he was always saying something slightly lewd, as if he expected her to find him funny, and he looked at her in a way that reminded her too much of her stepbrother Everett’s lewd gazes when she was in high school. Castrell asked her out once, despite the fact that he’d been married at the time, even suggesting he could “show her things she’d never experienced before.” She’d threatened him with sexual harassment and he’d backed off, except for the ogling stares. She figured her days at Java Jive, a Seattle-based coffee company, were doomed.

So be it.

It wasn’t as if she planned on spending the rest of her life there.

The job was just to make ends meet. She was seriously thinking about taking more business courses, finishing her degree, working toward a job with more career potential.

So why not take this guy with the phone up on his offer?

He was definitely handsome, with his dark, now wet hair, those intense eyes and a strong chin with a day’s growth of beard. Yeah, definitely on the hunky side of the male-o-meter. There were crinkles near the corners of his eyes, as if he either spent hours in the sun squinting, or laughed a lot. What would it hurt to spend half an hour with him in this very busy bistro?

The sad answer was “nowhere.” She didn’t even have a cat waiting for her in her walk-up. Even so, she’d meant to turn him down. She really had. But the kicky April breeze was turning into an all-out gale, and she didn’t really have anywhere to be, other than her empty apartment. She offered him a cool smile. “A place called Rendezvous wouldn’t be my first choice to go with a complete stranger, but okay.”

He thrust out his hand. “Liam Bastian. Not a stranger anymore.”

“Rory Abernathy,” she replied cautiously, shaking his hand. His grip was strong, but not crushing, his eyes warm.

And that was the beginning of their whirlwind romance, one that still had the ability to turn her throat dry and make her heart beat a little faster. He’d swept an arm toward Rendezvous’s front door and Rory had led him inside the bistro.