I'll Find You (13 page)

She gave the boy a look and said, “Tucker, you’ve always called Aimee
Maman
.”

“
Non,
” he insisted.

“So, this woman is not your mother, and Aimee is not your mother,” West clarified, holding on to his patience with an effort. He didn’t much like being played for a fool.

“I’m Callie Cantrell,” she insisted.

“You don’t live with your mother? Teresa?” West pressed Tucker.

His tone shut the little boy up tight. He just stared at West and “Callie” snapped at him, “He lives with Aimee.”

“And Jacques,” Tucker said solemnly, never taking his eyes off West.

“Who’s Jacques?” West asked.

“Jacques is the wharf cat who’s adopted Tucker,” she filled in.

Tucker asked, “
Qui?
”

“Jacques is your
chat,
” she clarified.

Tucker nodded his head several times. “He eat rats.”

“Can I meet Aimee?” West asked the boy.

“I’ll take you there,” she inserted tautly before Tucker could respond.

“Nooooo,” he cried, running to the other side of the room and plopping down in one of her rattan chairs, holding on tightly to its arms. “I stay.”

“What are you doing home so early?” she asked. “I thought you were at school.”

“Ahh . . .” His small shoulders lifted in a very Gallic shrug. “
Maman
. . . um . . . Aimee forgot. We leave
école
soon.”

“School was early out? But Aimee was there when you went home just now,” she reminded. “You went there first.”

“She was there,” he said, but his eyes slid away.

“Tucker, was Aimee there when you got home?” she demanded.

“
Oui.
I eat what you brung me.
Merci!
” He suddenly jumped up and darted past West to the balcony.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

She was nervous, it was clear. Didn’t want to hardly look at him. Well, fine. But the jig was up now, at least where Stephen Tucker Laughlin was concerned. He’d already been convinced she’d been connected with Teresa, and now, after seeing Tucker, nothing she could say would convince him this boy wasn’t his brother’s son.

As if reading his mind, she said, “I’m not Teresa.”

“Yeah?”

“But I haven’t been completely honest,” she admitted.

No shit, sister.

He saw her hug herself and it caused her breasts to swell over the square neckline of her blue top. Dragging his gaze away, he looked instead around the room.

When he’d first followed her into the apartment, he’d looked around with a cop’s eyes, sizing it up. It was clearly a rental. The flower-printed cushions were faded and slightly worn although the pillows were plumped and clean. The small table and chairs were rattan, beaten up at the legs by a vacuum cleaner, if he was reading the whitened, scarred wood correctly. The kitchenette cabinets were functional but the laminate was peeling up just a teensy bit at the corners of the doors. Still, it was comfortable. And probably a helluva lot cheaper than his room at Bakoua Beach; he’d purposely kept back the information that he was staying at the hotel, not wanting to scare her when she had inadvertently chosen his hotel as yesterday’s venue. Now he was glad he hadn’t been forthright. He was pissed off at her. He’d wanted to believe in her.
Had
believed in her, but she’d hornswoggled him on damn near everything and he’d believed he was beyond being hornswoggled by a good-looking woman again.

Just goes to show you
, he thought darkly.

He’d gotten a call back from Dorcas, his ex-partner, who’d wanted to know what he was looking for. “The car that went over on Mulholland about a year ago,” West had reminded him a bit impatiently.

“Yeah, Cantrell. Got it,” Dorcas had said. “The husband and kid died. Wife survived. But what are you doing?” Then, before he could answer, “You on some kind of private case?”

“For my grandmother,” he had said, seeking to squelch any further questions.

But Dorcas wasn’t known for taking hints. An ex-college linebacker, Peter Dorcas kept his block of six foot three, two hundred fifty pounds in fighting shape from a five-day-a-week workout at the gym. West had also been a regular gym rat, but he was a much leaner build and not quite as tall. Since his falling out with his captain, which had included an IA review that had proven nothing other than showing Paulsen for the demigod he was, West had slacked off the workout routine, had been in search of whatever he wanted to do in this next phase of life with or without a job in law enforcement.

Dorcas had responded with, “Bullshit, pard. You’re workin’ on sumpin-sumpin, ain’t ya?”

“Ex-pard,” West had said. “Just dig into the Cantrell accident and get back to me. And send me a picture of the wife, if you can.”

“Where you at?”

“Martinique.”

“Where the Sam Hill is that?”

“An island in the Caribbean.”

“What the fuck, man?”

“Just get me the info.” He had then told Dorcas the number to call him back, adding, “And anything you can find on Mrs. Cantrell would be appreciated.” Then he had clicked off as Dorcas had tried to complain about the extra work. As yet, his ex-partner hadn’t phoned back, but it was a lot earlier in Los Angeles, so maybe he would check in later.

“We can walk Tucker back,” she said, as if it were the last thing she wanted to do.

“Noooo!” said Tucker, who was pressed up against the wrought-iron balcony rail, looking down at the passing cars and pedestrians, vehemently shaking his head. “I not go back!” A torrent of French followed this, which West couldn’t understand. Neither, apparently, could Callie because she said, “Speak American, Tucker.”

That stopped the boy short. “American?”

“Mr. Laughlin and I don’t know that much French. I think you were saying you’re going with Michel,” she encouraged.

He glanced at West and said solemnly, “Michel is
mon amie
.”

“Michel’s father, Jean-Paul, is a fisherman and the boys like to go fishing with him,” she explained.

She wouldn’t meet his gaze any longer. West said, “All right, let’s go.”

Over Tucker’s continuing protests, they headed for the door, and finally the boy stomped his way across the room and preceded them into the outer hallway.

She could feel sweat forming down her back and between her breasts as they walked up the hot streets. She felt slightly light-headed, but maybe that was because she was anxious. Having West meet Tucker had ratcheted up the danger level.

Tucker, after getting over not wanting to leave Callie’s, was in the midst of a fishing tale that was half in French, half in English. “Big fish . . . big, big
poisson,
” he said, stretching his arms wide.

“That big, huh,” West said. His first comment since leaving her apartment.

“Big more,” he said proudly. He smiled widely, a gap showing in the line of his lower teeth where he’d already lost a tooth.

But when they got to Tucker’s apartment, Aimee was not there and the door was locked. Tucker ran down the hall and knocked on another door. A fortyish woman with a round shape and a big smile came to the door and ushered Tucker inside as if it happened all the time, which it probably did. Upon seeing Callie and West, she said, “
Allo?
”

“We were looking for Aimee?” Callie gestured toward Tucker’s door.

“She is out. Tucker stays with me when she is out. Ummm . . .
comprendez vous?
”

“You’re his babysitter. He comes to your place when Aimee is away.”

“
Oui.
”

“Come in!” Tucker called to her.

“Next time, buddy,” she said. “Merci,” she added to the woman, then she was alone in the hallway with West.

Callie walked out of the apartment building and once they were on the street, she opened her mouth again, but he interrupted her.

“I know. You’re not Teresa.”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” she said.

“Well, who the hell’s Aimee, and did she really give you the bracelet?”

“Tucker gave me the bracelet.”

“Tucker gave it to you.” He was surprised.

“He just brought it to me one day.”

“Oh, sure.”

“I’m not lying,” she flashed. “About this, anyway.”

“Well, what have you lied about? Or maybe I should ask what you haven’t lied about. Whatever’s shorter.”

“Tucker found me. He picked me out at the pier one day when he was with Jean-Paul. I thought Jean-Paul was his father, but then it became clear that his son, Michel, and Tucker are friends. Tucker acted like he . . . I don’t know . . . knew me.”

“Knew you.” He sounded disparaging.

“Hey, I’m telling you the truth here. This is what happened. I was about a week into my vacation and I just ran into him. He came toward me, skipping, and then he saw me and just beelined . . .” Her throat closed at the memory of Tucker giving her that first, enthusiastic, big hug, as if he’d just discovered something wonderful. “I was kind of taken aback, but he was so adorable. If Teresa’s his mom, maybe he saw a resemblance,” she added unsteadily. “I thought Aimee was his mother, but she is not, apparently. I found out he lived near me and we started this relationship, call it what you will. I needed him, too. I
need
him too,” she corrected.

“What does Aimee think of you?”

“Of me, or of Teresa? She doesn’t like me much. I don’t know what she thinks of Teresa, but I asked her about it this morning.”

“What do you mean?”

They’d been walking down the sidewalk but now he stopped short and Callie had to stop as well. “I went to the apartment this morning. Weren’t you following me? You didn’t seem surprised to find out where Tucker lived.”

When she waited for him to respond, he admitted, “I saw you coming from that direction.”

“I knew Tucker was at school, so I went to see her.”

“What did she say about Teresa?” he demanded.

“She pretended not to know her, but she was taken aback when I said ‘Teresa Laughlin.’ I told her I had the bracelet and she really got upset and insisted the bracelet’s hers.” He was staring at her with cold blue eyes, intimidating enough for her to have to look away. “I didn’t want to tell you about Tucker until I was sure everything was on the up-and-up. That’s why I was at the Internet café today.”

“Where is she now?”

“I don’t know. I think Tucker’s lying about going home first. But he said he had the pastry. . . .” She shook her head. “I was relieved to see the neighbor’s a babysitter. Tucker just has so much freedom. Half the time he runs home by himself. I’ve tried to walk with him, but he just takes off and leaves me in the dust. He has zero supervision, as far as I can tell, which makes me crazy. I’ve told myself I should call Child Services, or whatever they are here, a dozen times, but I haven’t yet. I don’t know why. Well, yes, I do. Selfish reasons. I don’t want to risk not being able to see him, but if something happened to him . . .” She couldn’t finish the thought, it was too terrible.

“How long do you plan on staying on the island?”

“I told my attorney that I would leave this week,” she answered, “but I might have lied to him, too.”

West began walking again and Callie fell in step beside him. She couldn’t discern his mood. Finally, he said, “Tucker is my brother’s child. I’d bet my life savings on it.”

“You believe I’m not Teresa.”

“I don’t know who you are. Right now, I don’t really care. But I can tell you’re concerned about Tucker.” He paused, and then added, “Somebody should be.”

Daniella was hot, thirsty, and irritable. Why was it her job to always clean up the shit? She was glad Teresa was gone. Glad! She’d hoped she’d be gone for good, but Andre had other ideas. They were all supposed to be involved.

She’d been at her “search” for two hours. She wasn’t sure why she was delaying. She was going to have to tell Andre where Teresa had gone, and what did she care anyway? Let him find her. Let them all find her. This wasn’t going to end well for Teresa no matter what, so why was she delaying?

She shook her head and put the Malibu in gear, heading back to their house. She didn’t like sharing Andre, and she was letting Teresa’s defection play out because she wanted her gone. One less handmaiden to fight with. But was that the smart way to play this? It was so hard to tell.

Daniella felt a lump in her throat. She wanted Andre to herself, but could she ever admit that? Noooooo. She was just a handmaiden, and he was The Messiah, and she was sworn to share him. That’s the way things stood. If she even tried to act like she was worth more than the rest of them, a whole pile of shit would rain down on her head. She would be told she was unworthy and maybe she was, but she didn’t care. She just wanted him for her. Was that so bad? He was such a beautiful man, and he did possess true spirituality.

But that’s why they all wanted him. Daniella had seen the way the other handmaidens slid glances at each other when they thought no one was looking. She pretended not to notice, but jealousy and envy came off Naomi, Jerrilyn, Teresa, and even Clarice, that little snot, in waves. You could practically touch it. No matter what they said, they all wanted to be Andre’s chosen one. He knew it, too, the bastard, and he reveled in it. It was enough to break Daniella’s heart.

She’d thought there was a chance things were breaking open when she’d realized there was something weird going on with Teresa. She’d stopped being all sassy, smart, and in control, and had gotten all depressed, even though it made Andre mad. It was like she’d moved to some other astral plane, detached, saying less, being more secretive, sometimes barely getting out of bed. Noting the change, Daniella had been secretly happy. Maybe she’d just go the fuck away forever.

And now she had . . .

Why haven’t you told Andre about Miami?

Daniella’s hands clenched the steering wheel. She wanted to smoke a cigarette but didn’t dare. If Andre were to catch the scent of it on her, he would lock her into that cold room in the attic. That was the punishment if they weren’t pure, which was kind of a joke because they could drink and ply their marks with drugs, so who cared about cigarettes?

Andre. Smoking was not for the handmaidens. Purity. Ha. Like any of them were pure. Even Clarice, with all her talk of God, was a fake.

But they’re all prettier than you.

Daniella burned inside. Maybe she
would
have that cigarette. Maybe she’d run away like Teresa, but would Andre even come after her like he would for Teresa? Hell no. She was the little brown wren who kept the outside world from invading their nest. She knew that’s why Andre had chosen her. Without her, who would keep the disbelievers safely away from them?

But then again, without Andre, who would
she
be?

The thought of never having him in her bed again made her want to weep. She loved making love with him. Loved feeling him moving inside her, their bodies one. No, she didn’t like it when the other handmaidens watched. She didn’t want their love on display. She wanted it to be private. Special. Just for the two of them. Jerrilyn was a born exhibitionist and thrashed, moaned, and bucked for all she was worth whenever it was her turn, but Daniella kinda thought it embarrassed Andre a little. She was chosen the least often for their circles of love, but it was torture whenever she was. Jerrilyn had a way of staring straight at Daniella with that hateful little smile that made Daniella lower her gaze in shame.

Sometimes she dreamed of killing them all.

She drove the last few miles back to the house and turned into the drive. The Malibu was the only car they allowed in the driveway, just in case the neighbors were paying attention.

Switching off the ignition, she pocketed the keys, staring up at the sun as she exited the car and headed for the front door. Andre would ask her a thousand questions about how she’d tracked Teresa, which she had no answers for, but she didn’t care. She should have told him last night and didn’t quite understand why she hadn’t.

Entering the house, she stopped short upon seeing Andre standing in the hallway in one of their prayer robes and nothing else. The lapels were parted, showing a swatch of skin from neck to crotch, displaying his stiff, eager cock, which was standing up like a flagpole. Clarice came giggling out of his bedroom, also robed, and she fell on him, taking him into her mouth and lavishing him with her tongue.

Daniella’s stomach revolted, and she could feel her cheeks burn as Andre’s dark eyes regarded her calmly, a little smile playing on his face. She managed to keep from screaming at them though she wanted to fucking
kill
Clarice.

She said in a monotone, “Teresa took a flight to Miami and she’s catching a connecting one to somewhere else.”

“
What?
Where?” Andre pushed Clarice away from him.

Daniella felt a surge of delight and power. “I don’t know.” She fought the smirk that stole across her lips as she witnessed Clarice’s hurt expression. But the dumb bitch just moved forward and put her mouth back on his now flaccid member, trying to revive it.
Good luck with that, whore.

Andre was lost in thought, or maybe Clarice’s attention was sending him to a rapturous place, which made Daniella clench her teeth.

“I know where she is,” he said after a moment. He patted Clarice impatiently on the head until she backed away, then brushed past her as if she were a piece of furniture, which cheered Daniella no end. “We’ll have to go get her.”

“We?” Clarice asked, gazing up at him.

“We’ll meet in the prayer room with the robes. . . .” He was walking away from them. “One hour. Then we’ll see about flights.”

Daniella knew now why she’d delayed telling him about Teresa. Though Andre carefully locked up their money, occasionally he would take out thick rolls of cash and they would go on some mission. There was generally a downside to these sprees, and somehow Daniella always got the short end of the stick.

The last time they’d all gone somewhere they’d ended up in Las Vegas where Andre had picked up Jerrilyn.

With a sinking heart Daniella worried Andre was looking to expand his flock. They might be getting rid of Teresa, but someone new would be coming their way. The thought of sharing him with one more woman sent a cold spike of fury into her heart. She was going to have to do something about that.

No one was going to take care of her except herself.

Maybe killing someone wouldn’t be that hard. In fact it might be downright easy, if it was one of the other handmaidens.

Callie stood in the living room, trying not to stare too hard at West, who was back on the balcony, looking over the street much as Tucker had. She didn’t know what to do with him. He’d lost all trust in her. She understood why, but she didn’t trust him, either. In fact, how did she know he was who he said he was? He’d asked for her ID, but she hadn’t asked for his.

Do you really think he’s lying to you about being West Laughlin?

No, but . . . there were a lot of unanswered questions.

“That article on the Internet didn’t mention you,” she said. It had been a while since they’d said anything to each other and for a moment he didn’t react.

Then he half-turned.

“It mentioned your family . . . your father, brother, and grandfather, and Victoria. But there was no West Laughlin.”

“I told you why.”

“You’re the black sheep. Right. Could I see your ID? Your passport?”

He turned around and regarded her fully, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning indolently against the rail. “Now you want to make sure I’m who I say I am? You’re a little late to the party.” But he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. A moment later he slipped out his California driver’s license and handed it to her. As she studied it, he said, “My passport’s in the safe at my hotel room. I was warned about pickpockets.”

She handed his license back to him, and he lifted his brows. “It’s you,” she said.

“You’re not going to accuse me of faking it?”

“That would be your line,” she told him. “You thought Teresa was capable of that.”

“That particular article only mentioned who was in direct line to inherit, not the rest of us.”

“Of us?”

“My father had a brother, Jason, who was practically excommunicated by Victoria and my grandfather. Apparently Jace was one of those guys who follows cults. I understand it’s a personality type. Some people can’t live without being part of a group with a leader whom they can follow. After the fallout, he left for the South Pacific and never returned. Also, Stephen’s mother, Talia, wasn’t mentioned. She must be still around somewhere. She was still married to my father when he died and I don’t think she’d give up on the Laughlin money that easily. I’ve read Wikipedia and most of the other sites about the Laughlins as well,” he added dryly. “Interesting you chose the one about who’s in line to inherit.”

“You didn’t give me time to even look before you showed up. I don’t give a damn about who inherits. You still think I’m Teresa,” she accused.

“You’re connected somehow.”

“Hate to disappoint you, but we’re not.”

“Uh-huh.”

Her temper flared at his all-knowing attitude. “I never even heard of the Laughlins before you showed up. And for someone who acts like they don’t give a damn, you’re pretty quick to go to the money yourself.”

That scored a direct hit. She could see him getting angry. “So, that’s not the reason you’re after Tucker?” he grated. “Because he’s next in line?”

“I . . .” She could hardly get the words out. “That’s what you think? Really? You think I would—”

“Teresa would,” he cut in, before she could work herself up to full outrage.

“Tucker is a wonderful kid, despite God knows what kind of care he’s gotten. Maybe Aimee’s not so bad. She’s done something right with him.”

“Stephen Tucker Laughlin is the sole heir to the Laughlin fortune,” he said.

A coldness settled into her soul. She knew firsthand about the kind of ugly infighting that went on when one member of a family inherited and the others were ignored.

“That’s another reason Victoria wants Tucker. He’s not only her flesh and blood, he’s also next in line to take over.”

“He’s also five!”

“Victoria never thinks she’s going to die, so she probably expects to still be around when he’s old enough to take over.”

“But it won’t happen that way,” Callie argued.

“You and I know that,” he agreed.

“You can’t let Tucker be caught in the middle of that.”

“I’m just giving you the facts.”

“You need to step in and protect him. Maybe . . . maybe the reason your grandmother picked you to find Tucker is because she really wants you to take over.”

“When pigs fly.” He straightened from the rail and came back into the living room. Callie took a couple of steps away from him, too aware of the space he took up. “I am not connected to Teresa,” she said.

“You are. But I’ll grant you that you might not know how yet. You’re too good at playing this part.”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

“I’m good at getting to the truth. That’s all I’m saying. Whatever happens happens, and whoever’s standing in the way might get hurt.”

“Does that include Tucker?” she challenged.

“He’s the one innocent in all of this.”

Callie didn’t respond. The one thing she did believe was that West was on the side of the angels where his nephew was concerned. “Okay,” she said, not really sure what she was agreeing to.

“If you’re not Teresa, then where the hell is she?” he asked softly. “And why is this Aimee taking care of Tucker?”

Callie shook her head. Even when she’d believed Aimee was Tucker’s mother, the relationship had seemed off.

“Teresa must’ve given the bracelet to Aimee,” he said. “Maybe as payment for taking care of Tucker.”

“How could she leave her son with anyone in the first place?”

“Teresa clearly doesn’t have your maternal instincts,” he said. “Maybe Victoria’s right and something went down with Stephen. Maybe she knows something about that accident that she shouldn’t, and that’s why she left and couldn’t take Tucker with her.”

“It’s still not enough,” Callie said.

He exhaled. “I’m going to have to watch Aimee’s apartment, hope that she comes back soon.”

“Actually, I’m supposed to meet her back at her apartment at three with the bracelet.”

“You’re giving it back to her?” he asked.

“Well, it’s not mine, and I sure as hell don’t want it.”

“It’s not hers, either.”

“So you say, and I believe you, to a point. But Tucker took the bracelet from her and gave it to me, so that’s where it came from. Maybe she owns it rightfully.”

“Doubtful.”

“But it’s yours to take from her?”

“That’s what Victoria wants. It’s hers.”

“But you said it’s possible Stephen gave it to Teresa, and then if she gave it to Aimee . . . I mean . . . you don’t have any claim.”

“Let’s just go back at three and see what happens.”

“I think it would be better if I went alone.”

“Fat chance of that,” he said. “Whoever you are, Callie Cantrell or somebody else, I’m tired of either searching for you or following you around. We’re going together.”