The Widow's Bodyguard Page 24

She groaned and wished she was sitting in front of the portable A/C unit back in the first-floor apartment she’d rented for the month. But she’d promised Katie a day out. And breaking promises was something she didn’t do. She’d assured the kid that there’d be swings and slides and possibly ice cream, if they could find a shop nearby.

  And speaking of Katie...

  Elle squinted against the unforgivingly bright light. The dark-haired girl was barely half a block ahead, but it was still a bit of an effort to keep her petite six-year-old body in perfect view. She darted in between trees and benches, seemingly unaffected by the all-around swelter. Katie was like that. Almost impervious to the seasons. She forgot her mittens in the winter, and never grabbed a raincoat no matter how hard it rained.

  Smiling, Elle watched as Katie grabbed hold of a lamp standard and did a spin, then let out a noisy giggle. A moment later, she jumped down and bent over, momentarily disappearing from view before immediately popping back up again. Elle swiped a bit of sweat off her brow, and fought an urge to call the little girl to come closer. She wasn’t really that far ahead. And Elle knew that any second, Katie would stand up, spin and run back. It was a game the kid was overly fond of—sprinting ahead, sprinting back, and then calling Elle a slowpoke. For no good reason, Katie thought it was hilarious. And as nervous as the separation made Elle, she still indulged. As always.

  I just want a normal life for you, kiddo, she thought.

  And right now, outward appearances made it seem like she was succeeding. Katie looked utterly carefree. Her French braids whipped with her spinning, and an older woman with a cane paused on the other side of the street to smile indulgently at her visible zest for life. No one would be able to tell from looking at her that they’d spent the last week on the road, making their way from Toronto to Vancouver, or that Katie had been through six schools over the course of her kindergarten career. They wouldn’t suspect the agony Elle had gone through in deciding to enroll her in the first place, and they’d probably be shocked to hear about the danger that hung over their lives.

  A sharp sting of familiar worry slid in under the heat and gave her a chill that was anything but pleasant. But Elle was quick to stow it when she saw Katie turn and bound back.

  “Did you see him, Momma?” she called out excitedly as she approached.

  Elle resisted a need to jerk Katie out of view and forced a small smile and a light tone. “See who, little love?”

  “There was a big fluffy cat up there!”

  Elle exhaled. “A big fluffy cat?”

  Katie nodded and bounced a little. “He was just lying beside that bench, and when I said hello, he purred. Guess what his name was?”

  “Mr. Fluffy Pants?”

  “No.”

  “Linda?”

  “That’s a girl’s name!”

  “Well, are you sure he was a boy?”

  Katie nodded. “I read his nametag.”

  “Hmm. Maybe you’d better just tell me then.”

  “Three more guesses, Momma. Please?” Katie begged.

  Elle conceded. “Okay. Was it... Lyle?”

  “No.”

  “Erik the Great?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm. Final guess. How about... Kidney Bean?”

  “Momma!”

  Elle grinned. “My guesses are up. You have to tell me now.”

  “It was Billy Boddington,” Katie announced proudly. “That’s a weird name for a cat, right?”

  Elle fought a laugh. “It sure is.”

  Katie’s little forehead wrinkled in a way that made her look like a worried old lady. “It also said he lived on Greenburn Street. But the sign up there says Redburn Avenue.” She pointed to the street sign in question. “Do you think he’s lost, Momma?”

  Elle’s heart squeezed. “No, little love. I don’t think he’s lost. He’s probably just visiting.”

  Katie’s forehead smoothed out. “Well, that’s a relief.”

  This time, Elle couldn’t contain her chuckle. “How old are you again?”

  “I’m six, silly Momma. You know that!”

  She scampered ahead again, and as Elle watched her go, she felt her own forehead wrinkle. Katie was only six. Just barely. Her birthday had passed only a little over a week ago. But her heart and mind often seemed much older. And her ability to read so well was just the tip of the development iceberg. At her last school—the one they’d just left—the kindergarten teacher had called Elle in for a parent-teacher conference. Elle had been worried. So much so that she’d seriously considered taking Katie and running right then and there. But there’d been only a month left in the school year, and she’d made the kid another unbreakable promise—that Katie could go to her kindergarten graduation.

  So she’d sucked it up and gone in. And when she’d arrived at the classroom and sat down for the discussion, she’d literally been aching with tension. But Ms. Lisa had jumped right in, explaining that she felt Katie was gifted. She wanted to put her name forward for a special program. One not just based on academic accomplishment—though Katie did excel there as well—but one for kids who shone in other ways.

  And Elle has that shine, the teacher had said, sounding utterly delighted.

  Elle had been overwhelmed. And deeply torn. On the one hand, she knew in her heart that Katie deserved the benefit of the very best school. And if she was gifted—which Elle had no trouble believing—then she also deserved to be challenged. But on the other hand, standing out meant unwanted attention. It meant more carefully kept records. And though the little girl’s name had been changed so long ago that she never knew herself as anyone but Katie Marie Pearl, one glance at her little face, and her father would recognize her in an instant. There was far too much of him in her features. And there was the little scar over her eyebrow. The wickedly curved mark that her dad had left her with on the day that Elle took her away for good.

  Elle exhaled, thinking of how the teacher’s eyes had widened with surprise when Elle asked how long she had to decide about the enrichment program. The other woman flat out said that no one had ever declined, so she wasn’t sure if there was a cutoff. And Elle had mumbled an excuse about a possible move that summer, then got out of the classroom as fast as humanly possible. At home, she’d automatically started packing. Stuffing what few items they kept permanently into the well-worn, well-traveled suitcase they’d shared. But the rare look of disappointment on Katie’s face, and her whisper—“you promised”—had stopped Elle from going through with it. She’d stuck it out. Stayed on until just last week, praying the whole time that it wasn’t a mistake.

  And it wasn’t, she told herself now, watching as Katie paused at the crosswalk ahead, then turned and sprinted back.

  “Come on, Momma!” she said. “I saw the park! The slide is huge!”

  Stuffing away her melancholy, Elle laughed and let Katie grab her fingers and tug her along faster. Together, they looked both ways, then crossed the road. On the other side, Katie dropped Elle’s hand, then bolted into the playground. In spite of the heat, it was full of moms and kids, and in seconds, Katie was pushing a little boy on a swing, chattering away happily.

  It’s going to be fine, Elle thought.

  Low River was the perfect town to spend the summer in. Nestled between a riverside campground and an out-of-the-way hiking area, it was just touristy enough that they wouldn’t stand out, and just small enough that Elle wasn’t worried about who was lurking around every corner.

  She watched as the boy and Katie traded places.

  “Excuse me,” said a feminine voice.

  Startled in spite of the friendly tone, Elle jumped a little, then turned her head. A woman with a baby carrier on her chest smiled and pointed down.

  “Sorry,” said the woman. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just noticed your shoelace was undone. Thought you might want
to know.”

  Elle managed to smile back. “Thanks.”

  She bent down, tightened the lace and secured a new bow—double knotting it for good measure—then stood up again, ready to add a more genuine expression of gratitude. But the woman was gone. And so was Katie.

  * * *

  Noah Loblaw paused at the end of the road and glared up the street. He was already in a foul mood, and his current view was just the metaphorical icing on the cake from hell. Which had been served up in stages. Unpleasant ones. It started this morning when his truck had chosen—on the hottest day of the year so far—to blow a gasket. He’d waited an hour for a tow truck before the company finally called him back to tell him their primary driver was out sick and that their backup driver’s wife had just gone into labor. Then Noah’s phone had died. So he’d walked for thirty-eight minutes—and yeah, he’d counted them—to get to the mechanic, then found a closed sign on the door. He’d taken it as a hint to just go home. Except that hadn’t worked out either. Fifteen more minutes of walking, and he’d run into yet another problem. A detour. Multiple intersections closed for underground utility repairs.

  With a wordless mutter, he gave the button for the walk signal a third tap. The stupid thing hadn’t changed yet. He supposed he could’ve just run across. He was a grown man, and if he chose to jaywalk, the consequences were on him. It wasn’t like shooting up a bank. Except if he was being honest, he wasn’t exactly in a hurry to cross. He could see the top of the twisty slide in the playground just ahead. He could already hear the children’s laughs and squeals and the mothers calling out to be careful. He knew he was dreading walking past.

  Noah ground his teeth together.

  The sounds themselves weren’t unpleasant. They didn’t actually grate on him. Maybe they evoked more emotion than he would’ve liked, but it’d be a lie to say it bothered him on some negative level. But he had rules, and cutting past the playground violated one of them.

  No kids.

  He kept to it obsessively in regard to his work. It only made sense to let it spill into his day-to-day life. Staying away from parks and school zones and pretty much everywhere that appealed to the twelve-and-under crowd just made it easier. If it weren’t for the three-way road closure and the fact that the heel of his left boot had come loose and started to flop up and down, he would’ve taken a longer route. As it was, making his way past the kids and their moms would get him home in two minutes.

  Assuming I don’t get hit by a bus while I cross the road, Noah thought grimly as the light finally changed.

  On cue, a car came whipping around the corner, too fast and too hard. He just barely managed to pull back in time. The driver laid on his horn, too. Like it was Noah who didn’t have the right of way. He reined in an urge to lift his middle finger.

  No unnecessary attention.

  It was another rule. He needed to be able to blend in with a crowd when the occasion called for it. Or at least not be too memorable. And his two-hundred pound six-foot-four-inch frame already made that hard enough.

  He watched the rear of the car disappear around the corner, then breathed out and stepped into the crosswalk. He moved quickly over the hot pavement. But by the time he’d reached the other side, his speed and his posture had already changed. He’d unconsciously jammed his hands into his pockets, hunched his wide shoulders, and dipped his head low. His feet had slowed, his broken size thirteen boots smacking rhythmically against the ground.

  C’mon, Noah, he silently chided himself. If you don’t want to draw attention to yourself, you probably shouldn’t stalk by a playground looking like a creep.

  He knew it was true. He could picture exactly how he’d appear to the moms in the park. Unkempt hair, dirty blond and a little too long to be called anything but shaggy. A couple of days’ worth of beard on his chin. Long jeans, ripped in the knee, white tank top, sweat-soaked to his chest and speckled with dirt from the overly long trek from the highway. Like he’d just been released from prison, spent three days on a bender in a biker bar, then emerged into the sun, ready to steal away their children.

  The irony of the thought—juxtaposed against his past—was almost enough to elicit a dark laugh. Not quite, though. Noah’s bad mood wouldn’t let the chuckle pass through his lips.

  Grimacing instead, he made a concentrated effort to give off less of a kidnapper vibe. He couldn’t do anything about his clothes, but he did his best to adjust where he could. He rolled his shoulders and straightened them. He forced his hands out of his pockets and held them loose at his sides, then tried to relax his face into some semblance of normalcy. Indifference to the nearness of the park and its inhabitants.

  You gonna pull out a razor and shave, too? asked a sardonic voice in his head.

  He snorted at the sarcasm, but he also grabbed the thick rubber band from his wrist and twisted it into his hair, just at the top of his neck. The art of creating a ponytail was still new to him. Something he’d done in desperation once while trying to unlock a coded safe, and which he’d been doing with increasing frequency as of late. Each time, he reminded himself that he needed to take a half hour and get a haircut. Something he wished he’d actually done as he got closer to the park.

  The layout of the street was such that Noah had a choice. He could either stay the course, remain on the sidewalk and go directly past the playground. Or he could step across the cobblestone, pedestrian-only pathway under the cover of the large trees on the other side. The latter had more appeal, but he suspected it would also be more likely to draw suspicion.

  Nothing like a man lurking in the bushes to motivate a hasty 9-1-1 call, he thought.

  He flexed his hands, unclenched his jaw, and made his way over the cobblestone. On the sidewalk, he concentrated on looking natural. He walked at a reasonable pace. Tried to look like he wasn’t overthinking the whole thing. Which, of course, was exactly what he was doing. Overthinking his walk. The way he held himself. The correct side of the damn road. The fact that his efforts to look natural probably had just the opposite effect.

  Exhaling, he rolled his shoulders again.

  A man who’s trying too damned hard to look like he doesn’t care just ends up looking like he does care.

  The thought had a proverbial ring to it, but Noah knew it was just because it was true. For the third time in as many minutes, he brought his shoulders up, moved them back, then dropped them down again. This time, he lifted his eyes for good measure. Just a cursory glance in the direction of the park, because the kids’ shouts and laughter had reached a crescendo, and it would’ve been odder not to look. When his gaze came up, though, it didn’t find the source of the fun. Instead, his attention landed on a twenty-something blonde. And it stayed there.

  Noah was so engrossed that he just about tripped over his own boots.

  It wasn’t so much that she was too pretty to look away from. Though really, in another setting—even in the slightly worn clothes and the battered-looking shoes—she might’ve been. Probably more than pretty, actually. Stunning in a girl-next-door way. Her hair was a perfect shade. Honey. Sunshine. All the good stuff. She was curvy, but short. Just the right height for pressing her head into the chest of a six-foot-four man. Makeup free, full pink lips, high cheekbones... Noah noted all of it. He even had a fleeting moment of wishing he could see the color of her eyes. But it was secondary, because every instinct in his body screamed something more important.

  The look on her face.

  The tilt of her head.

  The quick back and forth of her eyes.

  She’s looking for her kid.

  The realization hit Noah hard. Old panic—personal panic—rolled through him, and this time, he did trip over his boots. He had to grab hold of the low fence around the playground to steady himself, and a curse nearly slipped out before he could stop it.

  An unusual urge to break both his “no kids” and “no
unnecessary attention” rules surged up. With that went a need to dash away a third edict—no freebies. Noah held the fence a little tighter, and he was pretty sure his grip was the only thing keeping him from rushing into the park.

  Rein it in, Loblaw, he ordered silently. Action over emotion, like always.

  It was the code by which he lived. The personal mantra he’d adopted in his teens and held fast to ever since. Except at the current moment, he not only couldn’t act; he couldn’t move at all. His gaze hung on the pretty blonde. He willed the kid to come running out from one of the covered playhouses. Thirty seconds passed. Then forty-five. Except for the odd flick of her eyes, the woman didn’t move. She didn’t even speak.

  Why?

  Noah knew from experience what an average mom did when she couldn’t find her kid. She called out for her. She asked the other moms in the park if they’d seen her. She gave a panicked description. Checked every child that came even close to matching. Ran around like a crazy person, desperately searching. Not this woman, though.

  An explanation popped to the front of his mind. The blonde didn’t want anyone to know she was looking for her kid.

  Why? Noah thought again.

  Not shame at losing sight of her own child. Not doubt that the kid was missing, either. He could read her face.

  So something else.

  With his gut churning and his spine tingling, Noah took a slow, subtle look around. Eight moms. Two dads. Two dozen kids, and three dogs. Nothing amiss.

  He widened the frame of his search, and that’s when he spotted it. Spotted him. On the next street over—the one behind the park—was a dark-colored sedan. In its passenger seat was a bald-headed man staring far too intently at a newspaper.

  In his head, a warning bell rang to life. The long-buried questions floated to the surface.

  Did you see anything unusual?

  Anyone dressed not for the weather?

  Someone who just felt wrong?

  A man alone?

  Please, Noah. You must have seen something.