Chasing a Dream (21 page)

“Okay.” He cast a look over his shoulder to the girl’s parents who seemed tremendously relieved to see their daughter’s response to the musician. “But only because I have a secret weakness for little girls with freckles.” Justin reached out and tapped the girl on her nose. She beamed, and her smile filled his heart with a special warmth, like sunbeams streaming into a cold, dark room. He played again, another upbeat tune, while the girl watched him with stars in her eyes.

“All right, that’s all. You need to rest now, sweetie.” The girl’s mother brushed past him and pulled a blanket up over the child’s arms.

As he turned to set aside the borrowed guitar, the girl’s father extended a hand to him. “Thank you, Mr. Boyd. I haven’t seen my girl smile this much in weeks. I don’t think you can ever appreciate how much this means to us.”

Justin shook the man’s hand. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re quite talented. Do you sing professionally?” the silver-haired man asked.

Justin shook his head. “Not yet.”

The man nodded thoughtfully but said nothing more.

Facing the little girl again, Justin leaned close enough to kiss her cheek. “Hang in there, sweetheart. I’m pulling for you.”

He gazed at the freckled face of the young girl, and his chest tightened with a bittersweet ache. She was too young to die. So young. A lump swelled in his throat as he headed out of the room, and he locked the memory of that little girl’s smile in the dark recesses of his battered soul. Knowing his music had brought her just a few minutes of pleasure lightened the burden of guilt and despair he bore. By sharing his music with her, he’d eased her suffering a little bit. He’d finally done something right, something that helped, something that made a difference. He wouldn’t soon forget the joy that seeped through the darkness inside him as he walked away from the girl’s bedside. It was his first taste of real success.

“Thanks, Justin,” Kathy said softly as they walked back out to the wide corridor.

“Thank you, lady.” He startled her by giving her a hug. “I’ll always appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

“I’ll keep one ear on the radio, waiting to hear you there.”

“You’ve got front row seats at my first appearance at the Grand Ole Opry, pretty lady.”

He handed Kathy the guitar that she had borrowed from a friend, and her face became serious.

“Be careful, Justin. Take care of yourself.”

Backing away from her, he gave her a quick nod. Then striding confidently toward the elevators, he left the hospital and headed out to the bus station to begin his trek back to south Texas. To find Tess.

***

“I received an interesting phone call at work today, Tess.” Randall stabbed a bite of chicken and turned his gaze toward her.

Over the past few days, she’d endured the pretense of a marriage that Randall insisted on. His manner remained cool and authoritative, but as long as she humbly submitted to his demands and played her part of the dutiful wife, he’d left her alone. After her refusal to have sex with him her first night back, he’d played the role of the wounded lover, too proud to try again until his hurt ego healed. Many nights he came home smelling of cigarettes and cheap perfume. His sideline trysts were a relief. As long as he found satisfaction elsewhere, he wouldn’t bother her. But how long would it last?

Now, she raised her eyes to him, wary of what he had to tell her. Normally, they didn’t speak at dinner, and she preferred the silence to a tense guise of conversation.

“An Officer James Holton of the Memphis Police Department called. He asked for you. When I told him I was your husband, he informed me that your truck has been found. You’ll never guess what was inside.”

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

Tess’s heartbeat stumbled, and her mouth became dry. “They found the Jimmy?”

“It had been stripped for parts and left abandoned on a road on the edge of town. Holton got your name and home number off paperwork in the glove compartment. Of course, when he called the home number, the call was forwarded to me.”

Randall had set up a system that ensured that all calls to the home phone were routed to him. He stuck a bite of chicken in his mouth and chewed slowly, drawing out the suspense for Tess intentionally, she was sure.

“Holton said that the thief wasn’t interested in your personal possessions,” Randall continued, “and that they were left behind. I’ve sent a man to Tennessee to recover your things. It will be interesting to see what they found in your getaway vehicle. Don’t you think?”

Her pulse pounded in her ears. Why had Justin abandoned the car after taking it? Had he been the one who sold the parts? Was he that desperate for cash? But why would he be, if he had the money from her purse? Her mind spun, trying to make sense of this turn of events.

Randall smiled smugly. “Oh, and he said they have a lead on who took the car. But then we already know, don’t we?”

“What kind of lead?”

“Blood.”

Her breath stilled.

“They can get a type on it and narrow the field of suspects, if we choose to pursue the investigation.”

She barely heard Randall over the buzzing in her ears, and she fought the wave of dizziness that washed over her by gripping the edge of the table.

Blood.

Justin’s blood? Was it possible that Justin wasn’t the thief, but was as much a victim as she was? The possibility both delighted and horrified her. For Justin to be exonerated would mean that he could be hurt, even dead.

“I told him we would be pursuing the investigation,” Randall said, and Tess gave him a curious look. “You seem surprised. You of all people should know that no one takes what is mine and gets away with it. Your friend Rebecca will pay for her misdeed. I’ve already sent my people after her.”

Tess shuddered. Randall might discover that Rebecca was dead. Then what would happen? And what about Justin? Tess needed to know whether he was all right. The thought that he was injured or worse left a pit in her stomach.

“You’re not eating,” Randall said with a mocking edge in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

She battled the tears that fought their way to her eyes, burning her throat and nose. She couldn’t let Randall see her cry. Swallowing hard, she mumbled, “I’m not hungry, I guess.”

Sliding his glass across the table, Randall sneered at her. “Then make yourself useful by fixing me another drink.”

No matter what had happened to the car or to Justin, one unavoidable fact remained. She was trapped, stuck with Randall, imprisoned by the man she feared more than anyone on earth.

The next day, in Randall’s absence, Henry answered the door when her possessions were delivered. Tess walked to the entry hall and stood back as a man she didn’t recognize brought in her suitcase. Stooping, she ran her fingers over the small suitcase wistfully, and while she stared down at the piece of luggage, she heard Henry ask, “What’s that?”

“They were in the car, too. Sinclair said get everything they recovered.”

She looked up, and her breath caught. Justin’s backpack and guitar. She clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a gasp, but Henry eyed her suspiciously.

“That’s it. No money. No purse,” the delivery man said.

Henry produced an envelope full of money and paid the man for his services. “Want me to carry these things upstairs for you, Mrs. Sinclair?”

Her bodyguard—or rather, her babysitter—had proven to be polite, even respectful, but she didn’t make the mistake of forgetting that Henry was on Randall’s payroll and answered only to him. Henry had an intimidating physique with a barrel chest, thick neck and a bulldog-like face. He wore his blonde hair shaved close to his head, military-style, and despite his seemingly pleasant disposition, Tess knew he could be deadly. The bulge in his sport coat near his armpit was undoubtedly a gun.

“I can get them. Thank you anyway.”

Henry turned and headed into the living room, where he resumed his guard duty. She watched him pull out a cell phone, presumably to report to Randall about the return of the items.

Lifting the suitcase and guitar, she took them up to her room first, before returning for the backpack. She would have precious little time to search the contents before Randall came home. Not that she could hide or dispose of anything incriminating. Henry had already seen the loaded backpack and guitar and would tell Randall about them.

Sinking down on her knees in front of the backpack, she slowly opened the first pocket with trembling fingers. She pulled out a small, framed picture of a woman Tess recognized immediately as Rebecca. Next she extracted the small notebook Justin had been scribbling in their last day together. Flipping through it, she studied the neat block-style handwriting that could only be Justin’s. On the last page, she read the words he’d printed, and a knot swelled in her throat. It was the song he’d been writing for her.

You’ve been hurting far too long

There’s healing in the sky

So spread your wings little bird

It’s time for you to fly. 

What would put the shine

Back in your eyes of gold?

You were meant to soar

Despite what you’ve been told.

Love can be a balm

That soothes a wounded soul

No more need to run

I want to make you whole.

Tears spilled down Tess’s cheeks, and pain filled her heart. Justin hadn’t abandoned her. He loved her too much to hurt her that way. She knew it now with certainty. The proof lay before her. He’d never have left his backpack behind. Or Rebecca’s picture. Or his guitar.

Come sing, little bird/ There’s music in my heart/ Let me show you love/ and make a brand new start/ Traveling together/ Our hearts will be our guide/ Don’t be afraid now/ There’s no more need to hide. Beautiful little bird, now that you’re free/ Say that you will fly away with me.
Tess finished reading, though her tears blurred her vision.

“Oh, Justin.” She hugged herself as she cried. Moving to the bed, she opened his guitar case as if it was a treasure chest and lifted out his guitar. Stroking the instrument, she remembered how Justin’s hands had caressed the wood and the strings as he sang to her.

She’d never told him how much she loved him. She’d been afraid to, afraid of the feelings in her heart, knowing that one day Randall would find her. Justin was out there somewhere, and he didn’t know she loved him. That knowledge clawed at her, left her bleeding inside.

She thought of the blood Randall said they’d found in the Jimmy, and her chest squeezed painfully. What if he was hurt? What if he was dead?

Clutching the guitar to her breast, she rocked slowly as she sobbed. “Oh, Justin, please be all right. Please, God.”

“How touching.”

Tess stiffened at the sound of Randall’s sarcastic tone. She dashed away the tears from her cheeks as she whirled to face him.

Randall’s menacing dark eyes traveled from Tess to the backpack propped against the wall near the head of the bed. “What have we here?”

Her palms sweated and nervous tension coiled inside her as he stepped over to the backpack and unzipped the main compartment. He pulled out a T-shirt, then a pair of jeans, eyeing them with suspicion. Then he dug out a stick of men’s deodorant and a pair of Justin’s briefs. His jaw tightened as he turned to Tess with the incriminating evidence. “This pack belonged to a man.”

The simple statement and Randall’s flat delivery of the words belied the rage Tess knew was building to lethal proportions. His face grew red. “You were traveling with a man. Weren’t you?”

Tess hugged the guitar tighter as if it could protect her. When she made no response, Randall grabbed the neck of the guitar and yanked it from her arms. In one swift motion, he slammed the instrument against the wall, and it broke into several pieces.

Tess cried out in horror and grief. Randall aimed the piece of the guitar neck still in his hand at Tess and screamed, “You lying whore! You ran off with a lover! Didn’t you?”

When she shook her head, denying the accusation, Randall dropped the guitar piece in his hand and lunged for her with outstretched hands. Tess scrambled backward on the bed, but he caught her shoulder with one hand and backhanded her across the chin with the other. She bit her tongue and tasted blood. The chill of terror raced through her veins.

“You were humping him, weren’t you? Weren’t you? Answer me, whore!” Randall ranted with a rage unlike anything Tess had ever seen in him before. He was crazed, his eyes wild and deadly.

She trembled and stared at him in disbelief.

“Answer me!” Randall lunged again and wrapped his hands around her neck.

She would have gasped her shock if Randall’s grip had allowed the flow of air. But his long, aristocratic fingers circled her throat and squeezed the breath from her. Tess clawed at his hands in a vain attempt to free herself.

“You bitch! I’ll teach you not to screw around behind my back!”

His fingers dug painfully into her skin. Her lungs burned with the need for oxygen, and the room began to fade before her eyes.

“Don’t do it, Mr. Sinclair! Not here. Not like this. There’d be too many questions,” she heard, though she barely registered the fact that Henry had come to her defense.

“Stop it, Sinclair!”

Randall’s chokehold broke abruptly, and Tess fell on the mattress weakly, sputtering and gasping for air. She peeked up in time to see Henry push a still-seething Randall out the bedroom door. “Find out who that belongs to!” Randall pointed a finger at the backpack. “Then hunt him down

and kill the sonofabitch! Once he’s dead, bring the body to me!” “Yes, sir,” Henry answered as he closed the door, leaving Tess alone in the room. She had no doubt that Henry had just saved her life. But would he be around the next time? And what would happen to Justin? Randall had just issued Justin’s death warrant.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN