Whisper (20 page)

“Sprained wrist. Looks like they’ll be home for a while.”

“Are you all right?”

He wasn’t, not really. After the day he’d had, he found himself in a rotten mood. One he’d try to keep in check when he and Whisper talked. Mark’s accident couldn’t have been timed any worse.

Wanting answers about her, and then stressing all day, hadn’t left him with an abundance of patience.

He took her arm and led her away from the activity. “Kitchen.”

Billy walked in behind them and Keith pointed.

“Living room.”

Billy left promptly and he turned his attention to her. “Answers, Whisper. I want a bunch of them.”

“I’m sorry,” she said backing away.

“For what?” She kept apologizing for things he’d been too stupid to question.

Keith believed their current situation to be mostly his fault. That would end. Five minutes would give him a better idea what he’d been glossing over. Just five minutes of some direct conversation would settle things. “Please, sit down,” he said.

She sat and lowered her gaze. He opened the refrigerator, grabbed two cans of pop, set one down in front of her, before he sat in the chair across the 167

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table. Popping the tab, he chugged half the contents, wanting a beer more than ever.

“You’re married?” He’d start at the very beginning so he wouldn’t miss one fact.

“Probably not. I think the papers got filed. I didn’t stick around to find out for sure though.”

“His name?”

“Doug.”

“Why are you running from him?” She sat there.

“Because he hit you?”

She nodded. It’d be a long night with him asking and her nodding. He waited and slowly turned the can clockwise. His issue with the situation wasn’t really the fact she might be married. He knew she’d been evasive about her past, suspecting at some point she’d been mistreated by a man. The largest problem between them lay with her inability to trust him enough to say something sooner. The second problem—he couldn’t deal with her break down after they’d had sex. All rolled together, his mood turned to shit, and he wanted to find out exactly what the hell caused it. He wanted details.

“Where is he?”

“San Diego.” She ran the tip of a finger up and down the can.

“Is that where you lived?”

“Yes.”

“What about Texas?”

“I grew up there.”

He sat quietly, waiting her out like he might one of the kids. Maybe with enough silence, she’d start talking. She eventually did. “I tried to do everything the right way. The divorce was mostly over but he had the best lawyers. He tried forcing Heather to go back.”

“How could he legally take her from you?” She glanced up and placed her hands around the 168

Whisper

cold can, staring at it. “Heather’s his sister, not mine.”

The headache he hadn’t experienced for a week suddenly returned. The tightness in his shoulders increased. “You have
his
sister.”

“He had no real interest. She was terrified of him. I love Heather. He didn’t.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t just get over it.”

“No. That’s why I haven’t been straightforward with you. The last time we got careless, the private investigators found us. The police were involved.”

“The police!”
Calm down. Listen. Don’t accuse.

“Technically, I have Heather…” Her fingertips ran over her forehead. “He told them she was kidnapped.”

He tried comprehending what she’d done.

“Anyone can see she wants to be with me.

Another year and a half and she’ll be eighteen.” A very soft-spoken fugitive sat across from him trembling.

“He has the type of money to keep chasing you over a year later, with private investigators?”

“More than enough.”

“You deserve part of that money if you were married to him. You got nothing?” Her face paled and her eyes became glassy. She spoke quietly and occasionally glanced at the doorway. “No. I got nothing in the settlement. I had no money to fight about Heather’s guardianship. I would’ve lost if we stayed and fought.”

“She had nowhere else—no other relative?”

“Not close. None that cared. Not that’d fight Doug.”

“How did you avoided him this long? What about credit cards, social security numbers, Heather going to school? You leave a trace wherever you go.”

“We’re careful, learned along the way.”

“Your car…”

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“Is registered to Gertrude McMillon. Her widow sold it to us in Georgia. Said he’d keep it in his name. When the plates expire, the car needs to go away.”

“School for Heather?”

“She’s enrolled under a false name without a social security number. If I pay enough, they record her grades and
fix
the social security number when she turns eighteen.”

“How the hell did you get away with that!”

“A sympathetic principal. I told her who I was and what happened. She did the research and accepted my terms.”

“Who are you?” The headache throbbed behind his eyes as he waited for the answer. He wanted to hear
Whisper Neuman
.

“Wendy Black.”

“Not Neuman.” He didn’t ask a question. He wanted confirmation.

“My married name is Neuman. I’ve never used it. I’ve always been Wendy Black. Doug insisted I keep it for the media. He wanted no confusion about who my father was.”

She used her husband’s name to hide from him!

Black?
He started piecing things together. “Robert Black’s daughter?”
Rock and Roll Hall of Fame
induction last year.

She nodded and his temples threatened to explode.
Wendy Black, the drummer for the Robert
Black Band. Bob Black, the man, the legend…

Wendy Black, the felon, the fugitive.
He groaned and put his elbow on the table, his forehead in his hand.

“Jesus Christ! If you’re Bob Black’s daughter, why the hell don’t you have the money to fight a bastard husband?”

His voice gained volume and he didn’t care at the moment. She might as well have neon strobe lights taped to her ass and a banner saying,
here I
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am, hanging out with the Manchester’s.
Oh, and
when you find me, make sure you question Keith’s
guardianship of Corey and Billy.
He drained the can of pop and really wanted that beer. Hell, he wanted two! “Doug took care of finances. I never got near the money. When Dad died, Doug took over. The guys in the band were paid and he handled all the expenses.

I didn’t question him.”

“In a bad marriage, to a jackass who slaps you around, and you didn’t question anything?” She’d married him when she turned nineteen. He could see it then, a girl having been raised with
school,
homework, church and work
. Even at twenty-seven, her innocence was evident. That particular quality drew him when he’d met her. He needed to keep his voice calm and non-threatening. He’d do better in a minute, after thinking things through.

“I drummed where he booked us and spent time with Heather at home. I’d just never been exposed to the money end of things. I didn’t realize its importance.”

He could almost understand her ignorance of financial matters. Other, more important questions surfaced immediately though. “You’re familiar with drugs. How?”

“Doug.”

That explained a lot. “Could you use that against him?”

“Not unless I said very specific things about it.

He’d kill me.”

“But he’ll merely chase you down when you have Heather.”

Her eyelids drooped. “If he gets Heather, he knows I’ll go back. I make him money. He’s angry because I left. Divorcing him was like a slap in the face. His ego suffered. Money and how people view him are very important. If however, he goes down for 171

Kathleen Lash

a drug bust, a lot of people would go with him. If it happened because of me, I wouldn’t be safe hiding in an alley in Peru.”

She either had an answer for everything, or she’d done a lot of thinking over time. His neck hurt, eyes burned and head throbbed, trying to grasp the enormity of the situation. He worried about her, Heather, and his own kids. They all had a lot to lose.

He glanced at the clock and saw the time.

“You’re not working tonight.”

She shook her head and placed her hands in her lap. “The computer place pays you under the table?” He asked as an afterthought.

Again, she shook her head slowly. “Can I help here in any way before we leave? Is there anything you need?”

Oh, hell no!
The change in subject glared like a red light and siren going off. “You don’t get paid under the table?”

“Sure. No taxes.”

“You don’t work for a computer company,” he said, really thinking about it before realizing he’d taken way too many pain pills over a prolonged period. He hadn’t questioned too much of anything.

“Where do you work?”

She afforded Heather’s tuition, rent, utilities—

God only knew whose name
they
were in—as well as groceries, clothes… What the hell could she do in Cleveland to clear that type of cash, especially when she’d rolled into town a few months before? His stomach tightened, knowing she’d been educated in drugs. She couldn’t—wouldn’t! Not after a drug-using, abusive husband. But in reality, until ten minutes ago, he knew her as Whisper.

“Where?” He slammed his fist on the table to emphasize his need to know. The pop can jumped and she caught it. If she brought drugs around his 172

Whisper

kids…

“Ruby Red,” she said so quietly, he’d barely heard.

“Waitress.” It came to mind with her being shy, especially when they’d first gotten close.

“Dancer,” she whispered.

Absolutely nothing about her was real! Not one blessed scrap of anything he knew was about a real woman! “A stripper!” he yelled. Shock and anger made his voice practically bounce off the walls.

She stood and called for Heather. He hadn’t nearly finished. “Mark and Nomad know! Hell, of course they do! I made sure you got a ride to and from work!”

He glared as she made her way around the table before running into Nomad. He grasped her upper arms, looked into her face, and immediately let her go. She darted to the front door and she said to Heather, “Coat, shoes. Move!”

Keith threw her full can of pop across the kitchen. It hit the wall and exploded on the way to the floor. He couldn’t believe what a damn mess everything turned into, and not just in the kitchen.

Nomad stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, glaring at him. He didn’t acknowledge the kid, having a hard time trying to digest and come to terms with the previous ten-minute conversation.

The screen door opened, the front door shut, and he felt like breaking something.

“You’re letting her leave like that?” Nomad asked.

Keith’s mind began processing information, bit by bit, rationalizing all the facts. He didn’t speak, didn’t move as he focused on all the things she didn’t say. He’d reacted to the words, the truth, her life.

Regardless of what she’d told him, he knew she’d finally been honest. It scared and hurt her, but she’d answered every question. How the hell could a 173

Kathleen Lash

woman like her dance at a strip bar? Almost thirty-five minutes later, he knew. Taking surprise and hurt from the equation, he saw the truth. She’d do whatever it took to take care of Heather. Anything.

“Goddamn it!” he yelled, toppling the chair as he stood. This time the anger was self-directed. He should’ve waited until he’d been less tired and stressed. She deserved someone to listen, maybe even sympathize or support her. Instead, she’d gotten judgments and rage. If his leg weren’t broken, he’d kick his own ass every step of the way to her house.

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Once Whisper got Heather inside, she said,

“Hurry. Get what you need.”

Heather crossed her arms and stood arrow straight. “You lied to me.”

Whisper couldn’t fathom what she’d lied about.

She only told untruths when avoidance didn’t get the job done. Whatever she’d done, she was sorry.

“Please hurry, Heather. We need to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere with a stripper.” Whisper froze in the kitchen, her hand touching the wad of cash in the coffee can.

“As a matter of fact, I’m not leaving, period.” Whisper turned toward Heather and found a red-faced, young woman who looked to be on the brink of an explosion.

“I’ll explain when we’re on the road.”

“No.” Heather said, “I’m not leaving. I won’t.

You’re not my sister, my mother or anyone important.
You
leave. Take whatever you want. I’m staying with Corey.”

“Honey, you’re sixteen. There will be other boys.”

“Don’t call me honey! It makes you sound like a slut
and
a stripper.”

Heather ran to her room and slammed the door.

The words stung but Heather didn’t mean them.

Young, scared, and feeling lost, Heather lashed out.

Whisper could take it. She’d taken worse. When she opened the door, a lap top computer hit her in the chest before toppling to the floor.

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“You stupid bitch, get out!”

“Please,” Whisper sobbed, deflecting a history book.

“No! You screwed everything up! You came between me and Doug. You’re the reason he didn’t pay attention to me!” It wasn’t true. Heather knew it too, but she’d gotten so angry. “Leave! I’m not going with you!”

“Heather, I love you.”

“You’re worthless! You let your father drink himself to death and then you worked on Doug. You didn’t do a damn thing to stop him from using drugs!”

Heather spoke the truth. Whisper couldn’t fix a thing. She’d always wanted to help, to make things better and like now, she unerringly found the appropriate course of action to make situations worse.

Heather stood beside her bed, breathing heavily before she exploded and swiped everything from the top of her dresser to land in a broken mess on the floor. Whisper tried to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come out. She swallowed and tried again.