Protection Read online

  Shannon turned away. “I’ll set the table.” Her hand trembled as she lifted plates from the cabinet. Why was she so nervous all of a sudden? Or was she picking up his vibes? She set down the plates and collected the silverware, including steak knives. “Do you have steak sauce?”

  “It’s in the door of the fridge. I’ll get it.”

  “No, I can get it.”

  They both turned and ended up chest to chest, although his chest was a bit higher than hers. For a moment, they stood, not breathing, just looking at one another. Then Jake took a step backwards. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry,” she said at the same time. Shannon bit her lower lip as she felt the rush of heat to her face. “I’ll get the steak sauce.” She welcomed the blast of cool air from the open refrigerator and took more time than needed to retrieve the bottle of A-1.

  Jake returned to the grill, turning the steaks and then taking a long draw on the beer he’d carried outside earlier. She watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he chugged the drink. She determined that, no matter how Herb assessed the damages to her car, she would find a way to get of town within the next twenty-four hours. Or at least out of this house. She had about eight thousand dollars in the briefcase, money she hadn’t planned to use. Tainted money. She just had to get it out of the car—something she should have done sooner. She could surely buy a clunker for a few thousand, one that would at least get her to Lynden.

  “Steaks are done,” Jake called as he came through the back door. He set the platter on the table and used an oven mitt to get the potatoes from the oven and drop one onto each of their plates.

  They sat across from one another, staring at the food.

  “Please, go ahead.” Jake nodded toward the salad.

  She filled a small bowl with salad and passed it to him.

  Jake split his baked potato and dropped generous dollops of butter and sour cream onto each half. “So, Herb’ll be out tomorrow to check your car. You may want to call your insurance company and see if they need to send someone out to view the damage, as well.”

  “I will.” But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. One phone call that attached her to Heather Carlson could set off a chain of events that would be catastrophic. She would simply have to consider the car a loss and move on. But how?

  She toyed with her salad. “I was thinking. Do you know anyone in town who might have an apartment for rent? Cheap?”

  His eyebrows lifted. “You thinking of staying here?”

  She shrugged. “For the time being. I don’t have to be in Lynden any certain time.”

  Jake chewed on a piece of steak and swallowed. “You know, I might know someone. There’s an elderly couple that has a garage apartment. Mr. Swinson asked me a couple of weeks ago to come by and see what needed to be done to get it ready for a renter. I haven’t had time yet to do that, so I don’t know what condition it’s in now.”

  “I don’t need anything fancy. Just clean and safe. One bedroom is sufficient for me and Bailey.”

  He nodded. “We can check it out tomorrow. Mr. Swinson used to be a handyman of sorts, so I can’t imagine it’s in a state of total disrepair. Arthritis had him sidelined the past year and he couldn’t do the things he might have done to keep the place up.”

  She blew on a forkful of steaming potato. “I don’t mind if it needs a little work. I can handle that. Thank you.” Relief washed through her. She could just as easily settle here for a time as she could in Lynden. The bigger issue was going to be finding a job that wouldn’t require identification. Shannon Chase had no identification. At least not current. Shannon Chase had died eleven years ago.

  *

  Governor Corinne Baker Hastings stood at a window in her library of the Governor’s Mansion and watched dusk darken the waters of the Missouri River. At forty-six, she was beginning to show signs of age—lines at the corners of her eyes and around her mouth and a few grey hairs that she had quickly had her hairdresser cover up. The lines, she insisted, were the result of stress. Her state had recently been hit hard with several storms that produced tornadoes. It seemed they were always on the brink of a state of emergency. Much like her personal life.

  She turned and stared at the photograph on her desk—a picture of herself and her husband, Mark, vacationing in Hawaii a couple of years earlier. They both looked happy, relaxed. Solid. Had he been cheating on her even then?

  Corinne had married Mark Hastings three years after graduating from Columbia Law School at the University of Missouri. She worked then in one of the more prestigious law firms in St. Louis. Mark was an entrepreneur, always excited about some new opportunity, creating or investing in new business ventures. She found him to be intelligent, handsome, sexually creative, and exciting. They agreed on just about everything—politics, religion, and not having children. Both wanted a lifestyle without the responsibility of a family. He was enough for her, and vice versa.

  When he came to her five months ago in this very room and confessed to an affair, she’d been stunned. But when he told her his mistress was pregnant and about to give birth to his child, Corinne felt as if he’d kicked her in the stomach. He didn’t ask for a divorce but, rather, asked for money to make the whole mess and the woman in question go away. He wanted fifty thousand dollars.

  After raging at him about his infidelity, knowing it was not the first time he’d strayed, Corinne told him she would have to think about it.

  “Think about it?” he’d asked. “What’s there to think about? If word of this gets out, it’s your career on the line. Remember, I don’t have one. I’m just your arm candy for political dinners.”

  “Arm candy? You can’t be serious.”

  Mark flashed his easy grin, the one that had gotten her reeled in the first time. “Well, I’m not your secretary or your personal assistant. Hell, Corinne, I’m barely your husband. You haven’t had time for me for the past three years. And with elections coming up, I doubt I’ll see you for months. Unless, of course, you need an escort to some campaign dinner.”

  “You son-of-a-bitch. You’ve been leeching off of me and this office for the past three years and, now, you have the nerve to want me to pay off your mistress? I should just divorce you and let her have you.”

  He’d laughed at that. “Divorce me? That’ll be the day. That would really put a wrinkle in the happily married couple image you like to throw out to the public.”

  She had stared at him long and hard, mainly because he was right. She had to maintain the image of a happily married couple until this next election was over and she was reelected Governor of Missouri. “I want to meet her.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “If I’m going to pay her off for you, I think I should meet her.”

  He’d shaken his head. “No. She’ll never agree to that.”

  “How do I know the money is for her, then? How do I know you won’t take the money and run?”

  “Oh, please. Fifty thousand dollars wouldn’t get me very far. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Fine. You can sleep in here, then.” She strode from the library and down the hall to their bedroom, where she slammed and locked the door.

  By the next morning, she had a plan. She and Mark would take the baby and raise it as their own. He owed her this much. He had cheated her out of a child by convincing her they didn’t need a baby to complete their family. She had let him do it and now it was too late for her. Besides, adopting a poor baby whose mother couldn’t care for it would win her favor with some of the pro-life groups in the state. Not to mention those affected by adoption.

  When she presented the plan to Mark the next morning, he agreed. He talked to the woman whom he referred to as Heather, but reported back to Corinne that Heather wasn’t so keen on the idea. The baby wasn’t due for at least six weeks. He was sure he could get her to see the sense in giving him the baby. He assured her the child would be well cared for and that she would be compensated so that she could start a new life somewhere else.
/>   Corinne called upon Phil Barclay, one of her personal body guards, to shadow Mark and find out more about the woman. Heather Carlson was seventeen years her junior, an attractive woman with shoulder-length chestnut brown hair. She worked as a bank manager in Jefferson City and lived in a modest apartment building just a few miles from the mansion. She was single, had a mother who lived in Jefferson City, no pets, and drove a more recent model Chevrolet. Corinne had looked at the photos her body guard, who had been sworn to secrecy, had taken. What did this woman offer Mark that she herself did not? The woman had no money, other than her paycheck. Sex with no strings attached. That was clearly the attraction for Mark. Well, that and her age.

  It was risky to go outside the staff assigned to her to hire a private detective. She had to rely on the trustworthiness of Phil Barclay. Corinne continued to pressure Mark to get Heather to agree to an adoption. But the woman just wasn’t listening to reason. The baby, a girl, was born two weeks early. Mark’s feigned excitement about the infant made Corinne physically ill. She decided it was time to take matters into her own hands.

  Late one May evening, she slipped out of the mansion and had Phil drive her to the woman’s apartment. She sat outside for a long while, staring at the windows on the second floor, watching someone pace while soothing a baby. Her arms ached and a strange twinge tightened her uterus. Mark had stolen all of this from her. It was time for her to take it back.

  Corinne hurried across the street, hoping she wouldn’t be recognized. She entered the small outer lobby and found the buzzer for H. Carlson. When Heather’s voice came through the speaker, asking who it was, she said, “Miss Carlson, this is Corinne Hastings. It’s very important I talk with you. It’s about Mark.”

  To her surprise, Heather buzzed her in. The apartment was small, but neat and clean. A stack of freshly laundered baby clothes had been folded on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Heather at least had the grace to be embarrassed as evidenced by the flare on her cheeks. She offered coffee or soda, which Corinne refused.

  The baby’s cry sounded through a monitor on the table, and Heather excused herself. Unable to resist, Corinne followed her to the bedroom and glimpsed the infant. She ached with the desire to hold the baby, to breathe in that sweet powdery scent most babies had, to feel that little body snuggle under her chin.

  Corinne got to the point, stating she wanted to adopt the baby and raise her with Mark, the child’s father. She restated the offer of fifty thousand dollars, ten thousand of which she tossed onto the sofa beside where Heather sat, feeding Amanda. She stared at Heather. “Mark told me you’re reluctant to give us the baby. You do know as the father he could petition for partial custody. Maybe even full custody, given your current situation.”

  “My situation?”

  “Single, alone, soon to be unemployed. I’ll have my lawyers draw up the papers. I’ll notify you when they’re ready, probably a day or two, then I’ll have the rest of the money.” With that, she turned and walked out before Heather could argue or refuse.

  But instead of showing up for a meeting with the lawyers, Heather had fled, taking the baby and the ten thousand dollars. Phil, who was supposed to be watching the woman, had painfully explained he had slipped away for a few hours to attend his niece’s First Communion. If she wasn’t afraid he would retaliate by leaking the story to the press, Corinne would have fired him on the spot.

  Now what was she going to do? Maybe it was time to call in some favors and get a private investigator on the woman’s trail. She didn’t care about the money. She wanted that baby. And if she had to silence the mother to get it, so be it.

  Chapter Six

  “I’ll take care of the dishes.” Jake stood and carried their plates to the sink. “Sounds like Bailey is ready for her dinner now.”

  The baby lay in the makeshift cradle Jake had constructed and screwed up her reddened face.

  “That’s her diaper change cry,” Shannon said.

  “You can tell the difference?”

  “You get to know the subtleties after a while. I’m going to take her upstairs and change her. Would you mind carrying the cradle up for me so I can get her to sleep soon?”

  He wiped his hands on a dish towel. “Sure. Is it warm enough in that bedroom? Do you need a blanket for her?”

  Shannon shook her head. “It’s not good to cover a baby with a blanket. They can get it over their face or get tangled up in it and suffocate. She’s fine.”

  “I have a trunk I can move in there to set this on so she’s up off of the floor.”

  She was touched by his sensitivity to the baby’s needs. She hadn’t even thought about the possibility of a draft on the floor. “Thanks for thinking of that. But it’s more stable on the floor. She’s fine. Really.”

  Once she had the baby bathed and settled into the cradle, she returned to the kitchen to warm a bottle. Jake was outside cleaning off the grill. She stuck her head out the door. “It’s a nice night.”

  “It is. I’m going to sit out here for a while. You’re welcome to join me when you’re finished.”

  “Thanks. I may do that. I could use the air.”

  She returned to the bedroom and fed the baby. Bailey sucked eagerly on the bottle, her eyelids gradually drooping until she was sound asleep. Shannon lifted her onto her shoulder and walked the room, rubbing circles on the tiny back until a burp sounded. She smiled and settled the sleeping baby back into the cradle.

  The deck was dark except for a citronella candle that burned on the small round table between two Adirondack chairs. Jake occupied one chair, his long legs stretched so that his heels rested on the deck railing. She took the other chair. “It’s beautiful here. So quiet.”

  “I had to get used to it.”

  She turned to look at him. “Did you live in the city before you came here?”

  He nodded. “Phoenix.”

  “What brought you from the desert to the mountains?”

  “I needed a change of scenery. What about you?”

  She stared up at the dark sky and glittering stars. “Trying to make a new life for myself and Bailey.”

  “What about her father?”

  “He’s…uh…not in the picture.”

  Jake shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s not any of my business.”

  Silence lay between them dancing like the flickering candle flame.

  Jake dropped his feet from the railing. “I’m going to have a beer. You want one?”

  “Sure.”

  He stepped past her and returned with two cold bottles of Coors. “Did you want a glass?”

  “No, the bottle’s fine. My dad always used to say it tasted better right from the bottle.”

  “He’s a wise man.” Jake sat again and took a draw on the beer.

  Shannon stared into the dark tangle of trees at the back of the property. Every so often, she imagined seeing the glow of eyes and a chill ran through her. Could someone have followed her here and would they be watching right now?

  “Do you need a jacket?” Jake asked.

  “No, why?”

  “You were shivering.”

  “I’m fine.” She sipped the beer and tried to distract herself from thinking about the ‘what ifs.’ “So, you’re a carpenter. Did you build this cabin yourself?”

  “Just the deck.”

  “It’s nice.” She was running out of ideas for conversation. He wasn’t exactly talkative. Maybe he didn’t want to talk and was just being polite when he invited her to join him out here. She picked up the half-empty bottle. “I’m kind of tired. I think I’ll check my email, then turn in if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. Have a good night.”

  “You, too.”

  She dumped the remainder of the beer into the sink and rinsed the bottle before placing it in the trash can labeled ‘recycling.’ At the computer, she opened Eve Adams’ email to see if there was anything new. Only two spam emails trying to sell her penis enlargement products. She deleted
those and went to the internet. She looked up the Jefferson City News Tribune and browsed for any articles mentioning the governor. She found one, a story of Governor Hastings and her husband, Mark, attending a benefit dinner to raise money for breast cancer research. She stared at the picture of Mark standing with an arm around his wife. Tears stung her eyes. How could she have been such a fool? How had she fallen for someone like him?

  The back door swung shut and she heard Jake move about the kitchen. She hastily closed out of the internet and headed for the stairs. Then she remembered the briefcase. She’d have to come down for it later, after she was sure Jake was asleep.

  *

  Jake sat down at the computer. He was about to log into his email when a ding alerted him to a new message. He glanced down at the tool bar and saw a Gmail inbox. He clicked and opened the window. The email account belonged to Eve Adams. He stared at it for a moment and then turned to look at the stairs. What was going on? And who was the woman sleeping in his guest room?

  Before his conscience could get the better of him, he opened and read the emails between Eve and babblingbrooke30. Nothing much there, just a few back and forths about missed get togethers and a family crisis. He re-read the messages. Nothing that piqued his curiosity. So maybe she used a different name for email purposes. Lots of people used other names on the internet. Who was he to question? He closed down the computer and headed to the stairs.

  He brushed is teeth and crossed back to his bedroom, stripping down to his boxers. He settled into bed, then thought about opening the window to let in the cool night air. This time of year was his favorite, early summer when the days were warm and the nights still cool. After opening the window, he stretched and crawled back into bed. He always slept on the same side and the mattress was beginning to dip, like a boat that had taken on water. It was time to flip the mattress over. Or find someone to even it out.

  Where had that thought come from? He didn’t have to think too long and hard to find an answer. He lay in the dark, the cool night breeze wafting across his body, and he remembered his life before the life before this one. In high school, he’d been Steve Avery, top running back for the Leopards. He had girls falling at his feet, and he never missed an opportunity. He wasn’t a stranger to women or to sex. It wasn’t until his third year of college that he even considered the priesthood. The idea had come out of nowhere, but he couldn’t shake it off. Long discussions with the Catholic chaplain on campus led him to a retreat that, in turn, led him to a weekend at a local seminary to explore life as a priest.