Every Waking Moment

Praise for Brenda Novak

“Novak’s story is richly dramatic, with a stark setting that distinguishes it nicely from the lusher world of other romances.”

—Publishers Weekly on Taking the Heat

“Readers will be quickly drawn in to this well-written, multi-faceted story that is an engrossing, compelling read.”

—Library Journal on Taking the Heat

“Cold Feet left me breathless. Any book by Brenda Novak is a must-buy for me.”

—Reader to Reader Reviews

“Novak’s Cold Feet is a nail-biter…. The plot is riveting, the ending delightfully unpredictable and the characters compelling.”

—Romantic Times

“This story should appeal to readers who like their romances with a sophisticated touch.”

—Library Journal on Snow Baby

“A one-sitting read! Kudos to Brenda Novak for an insightful and emotional story that tore at my heartstrings.”

—The Best Reviews on A Baby of Her Own

“Novak is an expert at creating emotionally driven romances full of heat, sensual tension and conflict that not only satisfy her characters but her readers as well.”

—Writers Unlimited on A Husband of Her Own

“Once again, Brenda Novak delivers a stunningly magical performance…. Novak’s fans will easily recognize her unforgettable style and characterization from the first chapter.”

—Wordweaving on A Family of Her Own

“[A Home of Her Own] kept me on the edge of my seat, Kleenex in hand, totally enthralled to the last page. This is a forget-about-dinner, just-order-a-pizza kind of read.”

—Romantic Times

Every Waking Moment

Brenda Novak

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my husband, Ted,

who’s stood behind me for twenty years. Even in the beginning, through the lean times, he supported me financially when I started flying off to every writers’ conference I could feasibly attend. He’s constantly searching for the next computer, software, keyboard, chair and anything else that might make my job easier. He listens to every story I write and tells me, even when I’m sure he’s wrong, that what I’ve written is good. And he props me up when I get too tired or overwhelmed. What more can a wife ask? I’ve always been able to depend on his love. For that, I’m eternally grateful.

Dear Reader,

When I’m not writing romantic-suspense novels, I’m writing relationship stories for Harlequin’s Superromance line (the longest and most mainstream of the various series). I’ve found it to be a great mix. If I’m craving danger and intrigue, I dig into one of my “bigger” books, like this one. If I miss the cozy comfort of a good relationship novel, where there’s rarely any threat of physical danger, I write another story set in the fictional town of Dundee, Idaho. They’re different styles of books—and yet they’re similar in many respects. I like creating characters who have an interesting past, a conflicted present and the hope of a fabulous future.

But back to this story…. I’ve long found it fascinating how some people feel compelled to control others. I’ve never really understood that compulsion, which is part of the reason for my fascination. It can become such a driving need, one that causes all kinds of trouble, sometimes resulting in murder. In Every Waking Moment we have two villains who can think only of fulfilling their own desires. They set off a chain of events that change the hero and heroine forever. But some characters really deserve a “happily ever after” and, after you read this story, I think you’ll agree with me that Preston and Emma fall into that category. I enjoyed seeing how they’d react when faced with certain daunting challenges, but I especially enjoyed seeing them triumph in the end.

I love to hear from readers. Please feel free to contact me through my Web site, www.brendanovak.com, where you can enter to win a $500 shopping spree at the store of your choice, check out excerpts and reviews for this and other books, see what’s coming in the future, or help me reach my juvenile diabetes fund-raising goal. If you don’t have an Internet service, write to P.O. Box 3781, Citrus Heights, CA 95611.

Stay safe!

Brenda Novak

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

VANESSA BEACON’S HANDS SHOOK as she stared down at the California driver’s license she’d had her gardener purchase for her several months ago. The photo was hers, along with the physical characteristics. Hair: Bld; Eyes: Bl; HT: 5-06; WT: 120. The name, birth date and address, however, were not. The name read Emma Wright. Vanessa had chosen “Emma” because it was her mother’s middle name. “Wright” she’d selected as a reminder. She was doing the right thing. She had to believe that wholeheartedly or she would never have the courage to take such a risk.

The clock ticked loudly on the wall of her expansive chrome-and-marble kitchen. It seemed even louder than Manuel’s new plasma television, which she’d turned on in the living room to occupy their son, Dominick. She’d gone through her and Dominick’s suitcases, checked for his new birth certificate, her driver’s license and the two prepaid credit cards she’d purchased as additional identification, plus the teaching credential in her new name. She also counted her cash and packed her maps. But she couldn’t help worrying that she’d forgotten something.

God, she couldn’t make a mistake. Dominick’s life might depend on what she’d forgotten.

Mumbling a silent prayer that she could think straight despite her racing heart, she once again sorted through the backpack she’d hidden in the attic for the past three weeks. A small, handheld cooler contained three types of insulin—NPH, Regular and the fast-acting Humalog. Outside the cooler and loose in the backpack, she’d packed two hundred Ultra-Fine needles for Dominick’s three or more daily injections, two blood-glucose monitors, arm and finger pokers with plenty of test strips and two boxes of extra lancets. There was also a biohazard sharps collector, which was so large and bulky she’d almost taken it out a number of times but didn’t in the end because she had to have somewhere safe to toss the needles. She’d included KetoStrips to test for protein in Dominick’s urine, an emergency glucagon kit—in case he ever passed out, God forbid—and a tube of oral glucose gel for use in smaller emergencies. Besides all that, she’d packed his logbook to record his blood-sugar readings, and plenty of carbohydrates disguised as granola bars, trail mix, fruit and individually packaged chips for her son’s mid-morning and mid-afternoon snacks. She’d nearly required a small suitcase just to transport his diabetes supplies. But every item was absolutely essential. One missed insulin injection could quickly result in ketoacidosis, a life-threatening condition.

I have everything. There’s nothing to worry about…. Vanessa closed the bag. A glance at the clock made her feel weak in the knees. It was after ten. Juanita should’ve been here fifteen minutes ago. Would she come at all? Or had Manuel gotten to her?

Vanessa cautioned herself against the paranoia that threatened. Manuel always watched her closely, but she was sure he had no idea she was about to disappear. She could trust the gardener. Carlos had proved himself with his secrecy on the false ID and the car he’d bought for her. Juanita would come through, too—if her loyalties were what Vanessa believed they were, and if she clearly understood what Vanessa wanted her to do. Vanessa thought she did. Manuel had insisted on hiring a nanny who could speak only Spanish, so his son would learn his native tongue, he said. But there were plenty of bilingual nannies, especially in San Diego where they lived. No, it wasn’t solely for Dominick that Manuel had selected Juanita. Manuel liked the idea that Vanessa wouldn’t be able to communicate with her. Isolating Vanessa gave him that much more power and control.

Fortunately, it wasn’t quite that simple. He didn’t know it, but during the four years they’d been living together, she’d taught herself enough Spanish to speak and understand most of what she heard. At first, she’d done it to help while away the empty hours of her day, since Manuel wouldn’t let her return to school or get a job. Later, she’d wanted to understand the strange phone calls he received at night and to decipher what the Rodriguez family discussed during the frequent meetings they held in the conference room off Manuel’s home office.

But she didn’t want to know about Manuel’s business dealings anymore. Or his family’s. His family was the main reason Manuel had never married her, even after she’d had Dominick. His mother refused to accept her, ostensibly because of her nationality, but Vanessa knew it went a little deeper than that. Mama Rodriguez couldn’t tolerate the thought of another woman in her favorite son’s life. Period. It was a fact Vanessa had once lamented, but no more. She’d learned enough about Manuel’s mother, his whole family, to be thankful for their rejection.

Dominick came in from the living room, his round face a picture of impatience. He’d just turned five two months ago and would’ve been starting kindergarten in a few weeks. She hoped she’d be able to get them situated soon so he could go to school this year. “Mo-om, I thought you said we were going to leave!” he said.

Vanessa attempted a reassuring smile, even though she was sweating profusely and feeling as though she might faint. Juanita had to come. She had the car Carlos had bought. And if she didn’t appear soon, it meant Manuel had figured out what was happening. He’d take Dominick to Mexico and Vanessa would probably never see her son again. Manuel had certainly threatened that often enough—whenever she tried to establish some independence. He’d made his point when she’d tried to leave the first time. Her father had passed away several years before she met Manuel, and her brother had been killed in a motorcycle accident not long after, but her mother and married sister lived in Phoenix. She’d gone to them, and wished she could do so again.

But she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Manuel had tracked her down and dragged her back—then let her know, in no uncertain terms, that he wouldn’t tolerate her leaving in the future.

Don’t think of that. Don’t remember….

“We’re waiting for Juanita,” she said, aching to pull her child into her arms. She didn’t know what she’d do if she could never hear Dominick laugh again or tell her how much he loved her. But she knew a clingy, desperate hug wasn’t what he needed at the moment. She didn’t want to communicate her anxiety to him any more than she already had.

“You said she was coming a long time ago,” he complained. “Where is she?”

Vanessa had no idea. Juanita had worked for them for nearly a year and was never late. Where could she be today? Without her support—and the car—Vanessa and Dominick would never get away.

“Maybe she had a flat tire.” Please let it be that. “I’m sure she’s coming.”

The phone rang. Vanessa quickly gave Dominick some markers so he could write on the dry-erase board attached to the fridge, and approached the desk in the corner.

Anxiety stabbed through her when she recognized Manuel’s cell-phone number on the caller ID. He was supposed to be on a plane to Mexico. He left the country often and stayed sometimes for several days, sometimes for a couple of weeks. He claimed to import marble from Culiacán, but Vanessa had long suspected that he imported more than marble.

The steady bursts of noise jangled her already frayed nerves. Should she answer it?

She wasn’t sure she could keep her voice level. Hoping that his plane had simply been delayed, that he’d be gone soon, she decided to let the answering machine take it. But she should’ve known she couldn’t avoid him so easily. Her cell phone, which was sitting on the counter, started ringing only a few seconds later. Manuel hated it when he couldn’t reach her. She knew he’d keep trying, again and again and again, until she finally picked up, even if it meant missing his flight.

She couldn’t let him miss his flight.

When she continued to hesitate, Dominick glanced up from his drawing. “Mommy?”

Spurred by the curiosity in her son’s voice, Vanessa arranged her expression in a blank mask to hide the fear and loathing Manuel elicited, and retrieved her cell. “Hello?”

“What’s going on?” Manuel demanded without a greeting.

“Nothing. Why?”

“You didn’t answer the house phone.”

“I told you last night that I might run a few errands this morning.”

“You haven’t left the house.”

A prickly unease crept up Vanessa’s spine. He’d spoken with such certainty. “How do you know?”

“A good guess.”

She didn’t believe it was a guess at all, and judging by his flippant tone, he didn’t care whether he’d convinced her. Somehow he always knew where she was. She’d scoured every inch of the house and been unable to find any type of listening device or video camera, so he must have hired someone to watch her. Which made Juanita absolutely integral to her plan.

Dominick went back to drawing, and Vanessa moved to the sink to stare out the kitchen window at the perfect summer day, wondering for the millionth time who was out there.

“Why didn’t you pick up?” Manuel pressed, unwilling to let the subject go.

“I was—” she swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat “—in the bathroom.”

“I had a phone installed there, remember? For your convenience.”

Not for her convenience. So she wouldn’t have even the bathroom as an escape from him. “I refuse to answer the phone while I’m in the bathroom,” she said. “I haven’t used that extension since you put it in. You know that.”

He chuckled softly. “Querida, you can be so stubborn.”

Manuel had no idea. But he was about to find out—if only Juanita would arrive as promised.

“What do you need?” she asked.

“I’m calling to check on you.”

Check on her? Not in a loving way. Vanessa could hardly tolerate the sound of Manuel’s voice or the pretense of his caring. When she’d first met him, at twenty-two, she’d just graduated with a teaching degree. He’d been older, twenty-five, and had seemed energetic and ambitious—but loving and kind, too. He’d changed so fast….

Maybe she’d never really known him. Maybe the man he used to be was simply a persona he adopted when it suited him. In any case, she barely recognized him anymore. His dark eyes, once the color of melted chocolate to her, watched her too carefully, frightening in their obsessive intensity. And the thick black hair she used to love, especially when it fell across his brow, he now slicked back in a dramatic style that added to the impression he gave of being as hyperaware as he was hypercritical.

She brought a hand to her chest, preparing herself for the answer to her next question. “Aren’t you going to Mexico today?”

“The trip’s been postponed.”

Her muscles tightened. No! Not when I’m so close. “Until when?” The knocking of her heart against her ribs made it difficult to speak.

“Come on, mi amor. You know better than to bother your pretty head with business.”

A dodge. Typical of him. As was the condescension in his voice. He didn’t like her knowing his schedule. Except for the odd occasion, he typically sprang news of an impending trip only the night before.

But Juanita still wasn’t here, and Manuel hadn’t said why his trip had been postponed. Did he realize she was planning to leave him?

“Will you be home for dinner, then?” she asked.

“Of course. I always spend my evenings with you, if I’m available.”

Bile rose in Vanessa’s throat at the thought of postponing her escape until Manuel’s next trip to Mexico. Holding out until he was far from home would be the wisest course. She and Dominick needed the lead time. But everything was already arranged. And staying meant she’d have to suffer through more nights in Manuel’s company, nights that always ended, at some point, with her lying beneath him. Manuel had an insatiable sexual appetite and demanded she perform some kind of sex act for him daily, often two or more.

“Maybe you could mention to Juanita that I’m in the mood for meñudo,” he said.

Even the prospect of sharing another interminable dinner with Manuel made Vanessa ill.

She frowned at the cigarette burn her husband had inflicted on the inside of her wrist four days ago. Manuel loved to deal out little reprisals for anything that displeased him—

Dominick rounded the kitchen island. Quickly hiding the injury, she rubbed her son’s back as he came over to hug her leg.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Worry clouded his innocent eyes.

She held a finger to her lips to indicate silence. She didn’t want Manuel to overhear.

“I’ll tell her to make it for dinner,” she said into the phone.

“And I’m going to need those suits I had you take to the cleaners,” he added. “Can you pick them up for me while you’re out?”

Her life was closing in on her again. “Of course.”

“Thank you. You’re such a wonderful wife.”

“I’m not your wife,” she said.

“As far as I’m concerned, you are. Every man should be so lucky.”

Vanessa’s nails curled into her palm at his assumption and false praise. He threw her a few compliments from time to time—figuring that would keep her happy. But he’d never trusted her or loved her enough to let her be truly happy. Or to stand against his family and marry her, as she’d once wanted. Or to treat her as an equal instead of chattel.

“How do you want me to pay for it?” she asked because she knew he’d expect this question. Their gated, ten-thousand-square-foot mansion provided proof of his wealth. But he kept such a tight rein on their money that it had taken her nearly two years to save the funds she’d given Carlos for the car. She’d only managed to accumulate that much by returning small items she hoped Manuel wouldn’t miss—even groceries—and hiding the money between the insulation and the wall in the attic.

“I’ll call the bank and add an extra hundred to your account,” he said.

“Fine.” She grimaced at his stinginess. He allowed her no standing balance. He waited until she had a specific need, one he could easily verify. Then he called and transferred enough to cover the expense. One hundred bucks would barely pay his dry-cleaning bill; Manuel clothed his lean, sinewy body almost exclusively in the finest hand-tailored suits.

“Thank you, querida,” he said. “What else do you have planned for the day? What is my hijito doing?”

She glanced at their son. Dominick was so unlike his father, so much more similar to her side of the family—especially the younger brother she’d lost the year she and Dominick had moved in with Manuel. Large for his age, Dominick had sandy-blond hair, eyes that were an unusual shade of green, and golden skin that still retained the softness of a baby’s. “He’s standing here, waiting to go to the store.”

“He should be reading, Vanessa. You know I want him to read.”

“We’ll read when we get back.”

“Let me transfer the money to the credit card I’ve given Juanita. She can do your shopping and pick up my dry cleaning. I don’t know why you like doing such menial tasks.”

Maybe it was because she had nothing else to do. Manuel insisted that Dominick needed one hundred percent of her attention, but she believed there should be more to life than following her son around, watching over his every move, correcting all his mistakes, stealing the same privacy and independence from him that Manuel had already taken from her.

“I like to get out once in a while,” she said. If you only knew how badly I’m dying to get out right now. “It’s good for me.”

“So you’re always telling me.”

She had to leave. Right away. She couldn’t survive the helplessness any longer.

“But today…today you might be right,” she said. “I’ve got a headache. Why don’t you go ahead and put the money on Juanita’s card. I’ll have her take Dominick out to run errands while I lie down.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” she said, eager to get off the phone. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes, tears of disappointment and bitterness toward the man who had systematically cut her off from friends and family.

At least he didn’t know what she had in store for today. If he did, he would’ve said something about the way she’d set him up—wouldn’t he?

“Te amo,” he said.

She couldn’t say it back. She hadn’t been able to for years.

“Goodbye.” She hung up then slumped over the kitchen sink, afraid she was going to be sick.

The sound of keys jingling and the front door opening brought her head up. Dominick dashed off and, a moment later, marched into the kitchen ahead of Juanita, who met Vanessa’s eyes with a fearful expression.

“Are you ready, my friend?” she asked in Spanish.

“Where have you been?” Vanessa replied in the same language.

“I had a neighbor check the engine of the car. I couldn’t let you go without knowing you and Dominick would have a reliable vehicle.”

Vanessa feared the car might be stolen property. It should’ve cost a lot more than it did. But Carlos hadn’t admitted anything, and she hadn’t asked. What was the point? She had to take what she could get; she didn’t have a choice. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or call?” she asked in English.

Juanita scowled and moved closer, gazing around the kitchen as if looking for the camera Vanessa had searched for repeatedly. “I thought of it too late yesterday, and we agreed never to discuss this over the phone.” She lowered her voice so Dominick, who’d started using the dry-erase board again, couldn’t hear. “He called me last night, you know. He asked how Dominick was doing in his studies, but he also asked many questions about you.”

“Like what?” Vanessa whispered.

“What you do while he’s gone, where you go, whether you try to communicate with me.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing.” She removed the long heavy coat, sunglasses and head scarf Vanessa had asked her to wear. “Put these on and go. Right away. It isn’t odd for a little old lady like me to dress so warmly, even in the summer. And the engine of the car is good, strong. You should be fine.”

Vanessa hesitated as she accepted the clothing. “But he didn’t go to Mexico, Juanita. He’s still here, in town. He wants you to make meñudo for dinner!”

“So…are you going to wait?” Juanita leaned around the island to check on Dominick.

Vanessa could see that he was still happily occupied. But she put Juanita’s belongings on the center island and pulled Juanita into the formal dining room. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You have to go,” Juanita said. “He senses something. I know he does.”

“But now that he’s coming home tonight, you won’t be able to tell him I was here when you left at dinner but gone when you returned in the morning. What will you say to him?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll say I was running late and you were already gone when I arrived.”

Vanessa checked Dominick again. He’d given up on the dry-erase board but was busy arranging magnetic letters into the small words she’d taught him to spell. “He’ll want to know why you didn’t call when I didn’t return.”