Behind The Mask

“She never complained. And she took real good care of Timmy. Why, anyone with eyes in their head could see that as far as Beth was concerned, the sun rose and set on that little boy of hers.”

“Her husband said she was a good mother,” Michael said, although Webster had indicated just the opposite. “I’m sure Mr. Webster would be happy to pay a reward to anyone who could help me find his wife and son.”

“I’m not looking for any reward,” the woman informed him. “And if Beth ran away from the man, she must have had her reasons.”

He was beginning to wonder if the lady was right, but immediately cut off that line of thought. “From what I understand, he and his wife had a nasty argument, and the next thing he knew, she and the little boy were gone. I’m sure you can understand how worried Mr. Webster is, not knowing where they are.”

“I suppose so,” Ms. Schubert told him.

“There are a lot of crazy people out there in the world. Because of Mr. Webster’s wealth, he’s afraid that if the wrong person were to find out that she’s his wife, she and her little boy could be in danger. Maybe even held for ransom.”

“Oh my,” Ms. Schubert said in alarm. “I guess being rich isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Doesn’t seem like it to me,” Michael told her. And because he suspected she was weakening, he added, “If you can think of a place or the name of someone that Beth might have mentioned, anything that might help me locate her, you’d be doing her and her little boy a favor.”

“And if Beth doesn’t want to go back to this Webster fellow, she doesn’t have to?”

“No. Not unless that’s what she wants. My job is to make sure that she and her son are safe, and to let her know that her husband would like to see her. What she does after I tell her is up to her.”

“Well, I don’t know for sure, mind you,” Ms. Schubert began, “but she did mention going to New Orleans. She said her grandmother had an old friend who’d moved there years ago.”

“Did she happen to tell you the name of this friend?”

Margie Schubert shook her head. “And I didn’t ask.”

“Thank you, Ms. Schubert. You’ve been a tremendous help.” Michael stood and shook the woman’s hand.

“If you find Beth, would you give her something for me?”

“Sure,” Michael said.

The older woman disappeared into a back room of the sprawling house. When she returned, she handed him a photograph. It was of Elisabeth Webster and her son, Timmy. Only, the woman in the snapshot didn’t look anything like the glamorous creature in the studio photo Webster had given him. This woman wasn’t wearing diamonds. Nor was her hair a curtain of long blond silk that fell to her shoulders. Her lips weren’t pulled into a sexy pout and painted a bold red. And she wasn’t wearing a strapless gown that revealed milk-pale shoulders and cleavage that would make a man’s mouth water for a glimpse of what lay beneath the sheer black lace. Instead, the woman in the snapshot was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a sweatshirt that only gave a hint of the curves that lay beneath. Instead of looking sexy, she looked wholesome seated in the center of a pile of leaves. Her hair was pulled up into a lopsided ponytail strewn with leaves in various shades of orange and gold and brown. Her lips were bare and the smile on them totally lacking in artifice as she clutched the laughing little boy in her lap.

“I took that the day before she left. She and Timmy were raking the yard for me, and they were having such a good time. I remember thinking how happy they looked that day,” she said, her expression softening with the memory. “I thought Beth might like to have the picture, to remember her time here with me.”

“I’ll see that she gets it,” Michael promised, and tucked the photo into his pocket.

Later that night in his hotel room Michael made a series of calls and planned a trip to Elisabeth Webster’s grandmother’s old neighborhood, then he stretched out on the bed. Pulling the snapshot out of his shirt pocket, he stared at the woman whose green eyes had haunted him from the moment he’d first seen them in the framed photograph on Adam Webster’s desk. While he’d found the sexy Elisabeth Webster appealing, it was this softer version of the woman that intrigued him. “Who are you?” he murmured to the fragile-looking woman in the photo. Was she the calculating, coldhearted gold digger who’d drugged her husband and stolen his child? Or was she this innocent-looking creature who pitched in to help a sick old woman in need?

The sound of his cell phone ringing pulled Michael from his disturbing thoughts. He tossed the photo onto the nightstand and snatched up his phone. “Sullivan.”

“I got your message. You said you had some news for me. Have you found Elisabeth?”

Michael gritted his teeth at the sound of Webster’s voice and reminded himself that the man was paying him to do a job. “Not yet. But I’m getting closer. I talked to some people in Arkansas who knew her as Beth. She left here about two and a half months ago.”

“I’m not interested in where my wife was, Mr. Sullivan. I want to know where she is now.”

“The best way for me to find her is to retrace her path so I can get an idea of where she was headed. Thanks to the bozos you sent after her, getting people to talk hasn’t been easy.”

“If finding my wife was easy, I wouldn’t be offering you such a large sum of money to find her, now, would I?” He paused. “Of course, if you don’t think you can find her—”

“I’ll find her, and the boy, too. I talked to the owner of the boardinghouse in Arkansas where they stayed and was able to get a more recent photo of her and your son.”

“I want to see it,” Webster demanded.

“I’ve already overnighted a copy to you. I’m headed for Alabama in the morning to check out a lead.”

“What kind of lead?”

“The lady who ran the boardinghouse said your wife mentioned visiting one of her grandmother’s old neighbors.”

“But Elisabeth’s grandmother has been dead for more than ten years. She’s had no contact with any of those people,” Webster told him.

“Like I said, I’m checking out a lead.” What he didn’t tell Webster was that the lead would take him to New Orleans.

“It sounds like a waste of time to me. Just be aware that the clock is ticking on our agreement, Sullivan. You said you could find my wife within thirty days. Don’t disappoint me.”

“I’ll deliver on my end of the bargain. You just make sure you have the rest of my money ready,” Michael said, then he cut the connection.

Tired, Michael lay back down on the bed. But when ten minutes had passed and he was no closer to sleeping than he’d been when he’d lain down, Michael sat up. Might as well get a head start for Mobile and then get on to New Orleans, he decided. And after grabbing his bag and jacket, he picked up the snapshot. He took another long look at it, then shoved it into his pocket and headed out the door.

“Mommy, I no feel good,” Timmy whined to Lily as she settled him into the big, comfy bed at Gertie’s house.

“I know you don’t, baby,” she soothed, and pressed her hand to his forehead. “It’s because you have chicken pox. But the shot and medicine Dr. Brinkman gave you is going to make you feel all better real soon.”

“I’m going to fix you a special treat this afternoon,” Gertie Boudreaux promised as she came into the spare room and joined the pair.

“Cookies?” Timmy asked hopefully.

“Something better than cookies,” Gertie assured him. “But you need to be a good boy and take a little rest now while your mama goes to work.”

“I not seepy,” Timmy informed her.

“I know you’re not, sweetie. But if the medicine is going to work and make you feel better, you need to rest,” Lily told him.

“You bring me ’prize?” Timmy asked her.

“All right. Mommy will bring you a surprise.” Lily kissed his forehead. Then she planted a kiss on his teddy’s forehead, as it was her custom.

“And ’prize for Teddy, too,” Timmy added.

While she knew Timmy was pushing it, there was no way she could refuse him. “All right. Two surprises. One for you and one for Teddy. But that means you need to be a really good boy, and do what Gertie tells you until Mommy comes back.”

“’Kay,” Timmy told her, and hugging his teddy close, he snuggled beneath the covers and closed his eyes.

She sat on the edge of the bed a few minutes longer until his breathing had settled into the steady rhythm of sleep. But even when he’d dozed off, Lily found herself reluctant to leave him.

As though sensing her thoughts, Gertie placed a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, child. What he needs now is to rest.”

With leaden feet, Lily stood and followed Gertie out of the room and into the kitchen of the small cottage. But her thoughts remained with her son. “The doctor said it’s a mild case, but he looks so sick.”

“If you ask me, you look a lot worse than he does.”

“I’m all right.”

“Uh-huh. That’s why you look as though a strong gust of wind could knock you over. I bet you didn’t sleep a wink last night. And you were probably too worried about that boy of yours to bother eating anything this morning, weren’t you?”

Lily saw no point in telling her that when Timmy had awakened her saying that he didn’t feel well during the wee hours of the morning, she’d panicked upon discovering he had a fever. When she noted that what she’d thought was a rash during his bath had spread to his belly, she’d been terrified. The emergency call to the pediatrician, and his diagnosis by phone that it sounded like chicken pox, did nothing to ease her worries. She’d been unable to sleep a wink after that and had sat beside her son’s bed until morning, when she’d taken him to the doctor.

“You better sit down before you fall down, and let me fix you something to eat.”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry. And I need to get to work.”

“Work isn’t going nowhere, and you’re not leaving here until you have something in your belly,” Gertie insisted.

Knowing there was little point in arguing with Gertie Boudreaux, Lily sat down at the small kitchen table where she’d sat, for the first time, two and a half months ago and poured out her troubles to her grandmother’s friend. To this day, Lily hadn’t figured out how old Gertie was because she had the same white hair and plump figure now that she’d had all those years ago when she’d lived next door to Lily and her grandmother in Alabama. And just as she had done when Lily had first shown up on her doorstep with Timmy in late November, scared and desperate after narrowly escaping Adam’s men, Gertie had set about calming her with food. Gertie served up two cups of coffee, placed a plate with steaming biscuits in the center of the table. A dish with real butter, not margarine, followed. She plopped a plate, napkin and utensils in front of Lily.

“I still can’t believe I let Timmy catch chicken pox.”

“And what makes you think you had anything to do with it one way or the other?” Gertie asked as she took the seat next to her. She picked up the dish and peeled back the cloth to reveal the hot flaky biscuits and held them out to Lily. When Lily selected only one, Gertie added a second one to her plate, then served herself.

“The doctor said Timmy probably came into contact with someone, maybe one of the children at the playground.”

“Or he might have picked it up from someone in the grocery or at that hamburger place he likes to go to,” Gertie informed her. “He’s a child, Lily. Children get chicken pox. Nothing you do or don’t do is going to stop that.”

“But did you see his eyes? How pitiful he looked?”

“Looked like he was laying it on pretty thick so you’d agree to bring him a surprise, if you ask me,” Gertie replied. “The little scamp’s got you wrapped around his little finger, Lily, and he knows it.”

“I wasn’t the only one who promised him a surprise.”

She dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. “Us honorary grandmothers are allowed to spoil grandchildren.”

Lily leaned over and kissed the older woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Thank you for loving him.”

“Hard not to. That boy of yours is a charmer. Mark my words, he’s going to steal a lot of hearts.”

He’d certainly stolen hers. From the moment she’d known she was carrying him, she had loved Timmy. If only Adam had been able to get beyond his obsession with her to love his son. And just as she’d done so often during the past seven years, she questioned her own blindness to what Adam was. Lily thought of her grandmother, remembered how she’d told her the reason her mother didn’t live with them was because of the choices she’d made. Her mother had wanted to be famous, see her picture in fashion magazines, go to fancy parties, her grandmother had explained. Having a baby girl didn’t fit in with the lifestyle she’d craved. So when she’d been three months old, she’d left her with her grandmother and had never come back. It had been her mother’s choice.

And while she might not have felt she’d had a choice about marrying Adam since he had supported her following her mother’s death, she could never regret having done so. Because had she not married Adam, she wouldn’t have Timmy. No matter what had happened or would happen, she would never regret her son.

“Child, you going to butter that biscuit and eat it or just admire it?”

“Sorry,” Lily said, and smoothed butter onto the warm golden bread. Her eyes strayed toward the bedroom and she thought of her son asleep in the next room, how warm he had been.

“Lily, you need to stop worrying about him. He’s going to be fine.”

“I know. It’s just…he’s so little to have chicken pox already.”

“No littler than you were when you got them,” Gertie told her.

“I had chicken pox?”

“Sure did. Only yours were a lot worse than Timmy’s. Your poor grandmother, God rest her soul, worried something fierce you were going to have scars on that pretty face of yours. But you didn’t. Not a single one. And your skin’s still just as pretty now as it was when you were a baby.”

“I don’t remember,” Lily admitted.

“And Timmy probably isn’t going to remember getting them, either. Now eat,” she instructed.

Lily ate—more to appease Gertie than because of hunger. But fifteen minutes later, both biscuits were gone. So was the coffee. And she was feeling a great deal better—until she saw the time. Lily groaned. “Nancy Lee’s going to kill me. I’ve missed the breakfast crowd, and by the time I get there, the lunch rush will be starting. Let me help you clear these dishes and—”

“I’ll handle the dishes,” Gertie insisted, and took the plate and cup from her.

“All right. But only if you let me pick up something for your dinner.”

“You don’t need to be wasting your hard-earned money on me,” Gertie told her.

“Gertie…”

“We’ll see,” the older woman said, which was her way of saying no without using the word. “Now go check on that boy of yours like you’re itching to do and then get yourself out of here.”

Lily hurried from the kitchen to the bedroom where Timmy was sleeping. Her heart swelled with love as she looked at him. He was the one thing she’d done right in her life, Lily told herself. And to keep him safe, to protect him, she would fight a thousand Adams.

Gertie came up behind her, touched her shoulder. “He’s going to be fine,” she whispered. “You go on and stop worrying about him.”

After adjusting the blanket around him, she pressed a kiss to the top of his head and exited the room. “Okay, I’m going,” Lily told her as she glanced around the kitchen for her keys and sunglasses. She spied her keys, but no sunglasses, and decided she must have left them in the car.

Gertie handed Lily her purse. “Thanks,” she said, and kissed the older woman’s cheek, hugged her close. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“You’d do just fine, child. Now, where’s your coat? Did you leave it in the car?”

“I didn’t wear one. It’s nice outside. I think the winter’s finally over and spring’s arrived a little early.”

“Not according to the groundhog. He saw his shadow a couple of weeks ago, which means we’ve got ourselves another six weeks of winter. Bob Breck says a front’s coming through with some rain and that we’re going to have a light frost tonight. You’d better stop by your place on your way to work and pick up your coat and Timmy’s.”

“I thought New Orleans was known for its warm weather,” Lily grumbled.

“It is. But not in February. In February you’re liable to have the air conditioner on in the morning and the heater on by evening. Of course, come July, you’ll be wishing for the cool weather again.”

As Lily waved goodbye and slid behind the wheel of her car, she wondered if she and Timmy would still be around in July to wish for the cool weather. She’d already stayed in New Orleans longer than she had planned—and she’d involved Gertie far more than she should have. But she’d been so tired and scared when she’d arrived, just being with someone who knew who she was, feeling the freedom to at least use the nickname her grandmother had called her and not another alias had made her feel more sane. Gertie had been a godsend, a link to her grandmother and a time when her life had been simple. The time before she’d become a burden to her mother and then Adam Webster’s possession. As much as she hated the idea of leaving Gertie and uprooting Timmy again, she doubted that Adam had stopped looking for her.

Unless he had other things to worry about—things like the police discovering Adam had been involved in the murder of federal agent. She thought about the disk she’d found in Adam’s safe, taking it, along with some cash, the morning she’d escaped. Her hands shook each time she remembered drugging his morning coffee and then lying to the servants that he was sleeping in. To this day, she wondered how she had managed to act normal when she’d had Otto drive her and Timmy to the pediatrician’s office for an appointment she didn’t have, and how she had exited through the rear door with Timmy after asking to use the rest room.

Lily pulled her car to a stop and raced up the stairs of her house. After retrieving their jackets, she headed for the diner. As she did so, she recalled seeing the Miami newspaper two weeks after she’d escaped and recognizing the photo of a dead man named Carter she’d seen with Adam in his study. Only then did she remember having taken the disk from the safe, deciding it must be important if Adam kept it there. As long as she lived, she’d never forget finally accessing the disk and discovering it contained the names, photos and data on federal agents working on an undercover sting in the Miami area. And Carter had been one of the agents. Had the FBI connected Adam to the man’s death yet? she wondered. She’d left an anonymous message for them from a pay phone. She should make time to swing by the library this week and see if any of the newspapers had reported anything more about the agent’s death or an investigation of Adam as a suspect. If they had, then perhaps she wouldn’t have to worry about running anymore. She could begin planning a future for her and Timmy—one that went beyond simply staying alive.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.