Fortune

Dorothy’s words registered, and Claire straightened. “What are you saying? You didn’t know where I was. You didn’t—”

“Your last call, about the paper. Since you’d seen an article about the benefit, I figured you must be somewhere in the Philadelphia area. Then, while you were talking, someone yelled at you and I…I…”

Now Claire remembered. While she had been talking, a man had wanted to use the phone. He had been loud and insistent. He had called her carnival scum. How could she have been so stupid?

“I thought I would help all of us,” Dorothy continued. “I never believed Pierce would carry through on his threats, after all you’re Grace’s mother. She needs you and I…I…” Her voice trailed off miserably. “Come home, Madeline. Please.”

“How could you, Dorothy?” she whispered. “You know why I ran. I told you about Griffen. I told you what he…did. He means Grace harm, he—”

“You’re wrong about him, Madeline. You always were. He’s grown up, going off to college in a few weeks. He’s responsible and so handsome. Girls love him, Maddie. If what you thought was true, do you think girls would flock around him the way they do? Please, just come home. It’s not too late. I’m sure, if you did return of your own free will, Pierce and Adam would forgive and forget. Grace belongs here, with her family. With Monarch’s.”

Claire only half heard the last, her mind racing, scrambling to think of a way out of this, a way to escape.

“Madeline? Are you still—”

“Does he have pictures of Grace?” she asked, interrupting, a thought occurring to her.

“What? I don’t—”

“Does he know what Grace looks like?” Claire gripped the receiver tighter. “Does he?”

“I don’t think so. Because Griffen asked. He wanted to know what she looked like and Pierce said he didn’t. But why do you—”

“Griffen,” Claire interrupted, cold racing over her. “He was at dinner.”

“Of course.”

The line crackled. “He said he’s anxious to have his sister back. He’s been waiting for her, he said. He loves her, Madeline. He could never hurt her, he—”

Claire hung up the phone, her world crumbling around her. She never should have trusted Dorothy, she was given to fits of emotionalism and poor judgment. And she was a Monarch, after all. To her, the family and the family business were everything. Everything.

And Dorothy, like everyone else, hadn’t believed her. She hadn’t seen Griffen’s obsession as dangerous; she hadn’t witnessed the scene in the playroom; she hadn’t seen Grif-fen’s expression as he hurt Grace.

It had been like looking into the face of pure evil.

Claire began to shake. Pierce was close. So close he could “smell” her. They would take Skye away from her. Easily. She might even go to jail. She probably would.

Who would protect her baby then? Her head filled with the image of what she had stumbled upon all those years ago. Griffen holding Grace down, his hand over her mouth to silence her cries for help. His other hand up her dress. Inside her underwear. Touching her, violating her.

Claire brought a fist to her mouth, holding back her sound of horror. Griffen had not changed. She knew he had not. Dorothy’s words had said it all—he was anxious to have his sister back. He had been waiting for her.

She had to run. They had to run.

But they would be looking for her. Claire dropped her head into her hands. Except for her hair color and cut, she had changed little in the seven years she had been gone. And although Skye looked completely different, they would recognize them together. They would be looking for a mother and daughter—her and a daughter.

Together, because of her, they would recognize Skye. But apart…

If she left Skye, if she went on without her, Skye would be safer.

Claire shook her head, not believing what she was thinking. She couldn’t leave Skye. How could she live without her baby, even if only for a few weeks.

But if Pierce got her, she would never see her again.

Susan. The image of her oldest friend popped into her head. Though as different as two people could be, they had been as close as sisters, growing up. From the first grade on, they had seen each other through both triumphs and heartaches, through the upheavals of youth and the giddy fears of early adulthood.

Pierce had put an end to that. She and Susan had fought over Claire’s decision to marry Pierce; Susan had warned her about Pierce, she had said awful, ugly things about him, things Claire hadn’t been able to accept. Hurt and feeling betrayed, Claire had accused her friend of being jealous and bitter.

Susan had been right, of course. Claire should have known. Susan had always been right. Where she, Claire, had struggled through school and made one poor choice after another, Susan had sailed through both school and life.

Pride had kept Claire from calling her friend when she had realized the truth about her husband and marriage, it had kept her from calling her for help when she ran with Skye.

Until about a year ago. Claire had awakened one morning to realize that pride was a silly, stupid thing and that she needed her friend, that she wanted to talk to her. She had located Susan through her parents, and called. It had been like nothing had ever happened between them. They had both cried, so happy to talk to each other.

Claire had told her everything. Everything. About Pierce’s abuse and threats. About Griffen’s obsession with his half sister and the horror she had witnessed. She had told her about Adam’s nearly strangling her, and of how she’d escaped. Susan was the only person in the world who knew who Claire and Skye Dearborn really were.

It had been so good to talk to her again, so good to have someone she could share her fears with. Since then, they had spoken several times. Each time, Susan had begged Claire to come live with her. She was an English professor at St. Mary’s College in Notre Dame, Indiana. She would help her, she promised. And if Pierce found them, she would help Claire fight him.

Claire had declined each invitation. She had been too afraid. Susan didn’t understand the power of the Monarch family. She didn’t understand the lengths they would go to have their girl back.

And her friend didn’t understand the depths of Griffen’s dark obsession. No one did but Claire.

“Lady, you paying rent on that stool, or what? I gotta use the phone.”

She looked over her shoulder at the dripping-wet, red-faced man who stood behind her. “Sorry,” she murmured, sliding off the stool. “It’s all yours.”

Claire made her way to the bar, got a glass of wine then returned to the phone. The man was still talking, so she took a seat at the empty booth adjacent to it. She sipped the slightly sharp cabernet, her hand shaking so badly some of the wine sloshed over the side. She sipped again, then sagged against the booth’s ripped vinyl back. She couldn’t do what she was contemplating. Leave Skye? Even if only for a few weeks? How could she bear to be without her?

What other option did she have?

Claire closed her eyes, thinking again of Susan. Susan was the one person she knew well enough, the one person she trusted enough, to leave her precious baby with.

Susan would help her. If she asked her to come for Skye, if she asked her to keep her—hide her—for a while, she would. Claire could give Pierce and his private investigator the slip. She could run tonight, in the height of the storm’s fury; she had already laid the groundwork for her and Skye’s disappearance. Everyone would think that they had gone together. Of course they would. When Pierce’s P.I. showed up, Chance could point them in whatever direction she had asked him to.

She dropped her head into her hands. If Pierce caught them, he would take Skye away from her. He would take Skye back to that dark, joyless place. Skye would be at Griffen’s mercy.

The monstrous dark beast was almost upon them.

The red-faced man hung up the phone and walked away. Claire took a gulp of her wine, screwed up her resolve, stood and crossed to the telephone. She deposited some change, dialed Susan’s number, then said a silent prayer that her friend was home.

The phone rang once, twice, then three times. Answer, Susan. Please answer. And then she did, her voice thick with sleep.

“Susan, it’s me.”

“Madeline?” Claire could almost hear her come awake. “What’s wrong?”

Claire took a deep breath, dangerously close to tears. “I need your help.”

“You’ve got it.”

Claire glanced over her shoulder, then turned her back to the crowded room, hunching over the phone’s mouthpiece. “Pierce has found us. He’ll be here…soon. He means to take my…he means to take—”

Her tears spilled over so violently she couldn’t speak. Her friend waited out her tears, allowing her time to compose herself enough to finish. “He means to take Skye away from me. He means to see to it that I go to…jail. He said I would never see her again.”

“My God, Maddie, what can I do?”

“I need you to come get Skye. I need you to keep her for me, for a little while. I’ll give them the slip. I’m their only link to her.”

“I’ll leave now, Maddie. Don’t worry, your daughter will be safe with me. I’d die before I’d let that bastard get his hands on her.”

Chapter Fifteen

Chance opened his eyes. Claire stood in front of him, dripping wet, visibly shaking. He blinked, realizing that he must have fallen asleep. “Claire?” he said, glancing around the trailer, dark save for the intermittent flashes of lightning from outside. “What time is it?”

“I need your help,” she said, ignoring his question, squatting in front of him, taking his hands. Hers were as damp and as cold as death. “Please, Chance.”

He straightened, fully awake now. He searched her gaze, a sinking sensation in the pit of his gut. Something terrible had happened. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to watch Skye for…for a while longer. Please, I—” Her words dissolved into tears. She bent her head to their joined hands, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.

“My God, Claire, what’s—” He drew in a ragged breath. “Of course I’ll watch Skye. Go do what you have to do. I’ll stay.”

“You don’t understand.” She lifted her tear-streaked face to his. “You don’t understand. He’s coming. He’s almost…I have to go.”

She looked lost. Devastated. Chance closed his fingers around hers. “Who’s coming? Where do you have to go?”

“There are some people after us. They mean us harm. They mean Skye harm.” She struggled, he saw, to compose herself. “Tonight I learned that they’re close.”

“I don’t understand…what do you mean they’ll hurt Skye? Who?” He sucked in a sharp breath, alarmed. “Claire, this sounds a little nuts. You’re exaggerating, right?”

She shook her head, her teeth chattering. “If they…find us…I might never see Skye again. They’ll take her away from me. And they’ll…there’s someone who’ll hurt…he’s hurt her before.”

“How close are they?”

“Very close. I don’t know what I…what I—”

Tears choked her, and she released his hands, stood and went to the window. Outside, the storm raged, vivid jags of lightning ripping through the night sky. She hugged herself, rubbing her arms as if to ward off the cold.

She turned to face him once more, her expression bleak. “They could be here tomorrow night. I’m hoping the weather slows them up. I need to put as much distance between us as I can.”

“Jesus, Claire.” He crossed to her. “Who are they?”

“I can’t tell you.” She caught his hands again, begging. “You’re safer not knowing. Skye’s safer. You have to trust me on this. Please?”

He nodded, and after drawing in a shaky breath, she continued, “I have to go away. Now. Tonight. I have to go as far and as fast as I can. And I—” She tightened her fingers on his. “I have to go without Skye.”

“Without Skye,” he repeated. “I don’t understand how—” But then he did, and he took a step backward, shaking his head. “Oh, no. You’re not leaving her with me. No way.”

“It would only be for the rest of the night and a few hours tomorrow morning. A friend’s coming for her. Someone I trust completely. She’s already on her way. She’ll be here by 10:00 a.m. tomorrow. Maybe sooner. Please, Chance. I have no one else to turn to.”

“I still don’t understand. Why not take Skye with you? Or meet this woman halfway?”

“These people have pictures of me. But not of Skye. And it’s Skye they want. It’s Skye they’ll hurt.”

“Son of a bitch. Claire, I…this isn’t a small thing. This isn’t—” He swung away from her, wishing he could think straight. Wishing he could block out her desperation, block out the way she looked at him, like if he didn’t help her she would be lost. “You can’t be serious about this, you can’t mean to go…without her. You can’t.”

“Skye’s all I have. She’s in danger. I have to protect her, even if it means—”

Her throat closed over the words, choking them off. She cleared it and took a step toward him. “I’m begging you, Chance. I have no one else to turn to. Skye has no one else. They’re almost here.”

He brought the heels of his hands to his eyes. This felt wrong, somewhere, deep down, in the pit of his gut. But he didn’t know what to tell her to do instead. He didn’t see what other choice she had.

He sighed and faced her once more. “What’s your plan?”

“I leave now, tonight. I slip out during the storm, tomorrow my friend Susan comes for Skye. I’ll rendezvous with them later, when I know it’s safe. It’ll probably only be a couple of weeks.”

“What if something goes wrong? What if this Susan doesn’t show up? What if these people show up before she does?”

New fear shot into her eyes. She shook her head, as if denying the possibility. “They won’t. They can’t. And I trust Susan completely. I’ve known her all my life, she won’t let me down.” Claire drew in a deep, uneven breath, catching his hands once more. “Will you do this for me, Chance? Will you do it for Skye?”

He looked into her eyes, knowing he couldn’t refuse her. She needed him; she had no one else. It would be for only a few hours.

He nodded and her breath caught on a sob. She brought his hands to her mouth. “Thank you, Chance. Thank you, I—” She drew away from him, looking almost frantically around her. “I have to pack now. I have to go as soon as I…I have to go.”

“Wait.” He caught her arm. “What about Skye? When are you going to tell her?”

She wasn’t going to. Even as Claire’s eyes flooded with tears, he shook his head. “You can’t do this. You can’t leave without telling Skye. I won’t let you.”

“I have to. If I wake her, I won’t leave without her. I won’t be able to, and she…she won’t let me. I have to do this, Chance. I have to. For Skye.”

He saw how close to falling apart she was. One nudge and she wouldn’t be able to go. One nudge and she would take Skye with her.

He couldn’t give her that nudge. Claire’s desperation was real; her terror was real. He was afraid for Skye.

Feeling helpless, he watched as she took an empty duffel from the storage space above the dinette, then went to the wardrobe, located right outside Skye’s closed door. She quietly and quickly took out her clothes, folded them and shoved them into the bag. From there she went to the bathroom for her toiletries, then the built-in chest for some folded clothing items. It took her less than ten minutes to pack.

“I have a couple of boxes in the outside storage,” she said, fastening the clasps on her bag. “I’ll get them on my way out.”

She scrawled a name and phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “It’s Susan’s number, just in case you…need to reach her. She’ll always know where I am.”

She carried the duffel to the door, dropped it and turned to him. Her eyes were bright with tears, and when she spoke, her voice shook. “Don’t tell anyone what’s going on. Not anyone. I’ve already told Abner that Skye and I were waiting out the storm with a friend. I had to have an explanation for unhitching my car. I told him you were watching our trailer through the storm.”

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