Karen Young - Sugar Baby

“He was tall!” Danny cried, eager to cooperate.

“He says that every time he’s asked to describe him,” Claire said.

“He was real mean!”

“That, too,” she said dryly.

“He has something funny on his hand.”

Claire’s and Mack’s eyes met. “Like what, a tattoo?” Mack asked.

“No…” He screwed up his face, thinking hard. “You know…like a…”

“Like a scar?” Claire suggested.

“Yeah.” He nodded vigorously.

“You never mentioned that before, Danny,” she said.

“I just ‘membered it. I saw it when he touched me in the store.”

“Can you tell us anything about how the scar looked?”

Danny looked at his mother. “I don’t know, it was like when you hurt yourself and it gets all better.”

“It’s okay, son,” Claire said, giving him a smile. “You’re a good detective, isn’t he, Uncle Mack?”

“You bet. Just one more thing, Danny. Where on his hand was it?”

“Here.” He stuck out his fist, palm down.

“What did he say when he came up to you?”

“He tried to talk me into coming with him. He said we’d go get a treat at McDonald’s, but my mommy always says don’t go anywhere with strangers, so when he started sorta making me walk beside him, that’s when I started yellin’ my head off.” He settled back. “It worked, too.”

Mack smiled. “You did the right thing, hotshot.”

“Ryan’s dad calls him hotshot,” Danny said.

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh. Do you have any kids?”

“One,” he said, shooting a quick look in Claire’s direction.

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“A girl.”

“Oh.”

He saw more questions in the boy’s eyes and was relieved when Claire spoke.

“Now you know why we didn’t feel safe returning to the hotel.” At his nod, she touched her hair, smoothing a few wisps that had worked free. “What do you suggest now? Should we drive back to Houston tonight or wait until tomorrow? I thought perhaps you could accompany us to the hotel, help us get our things into my car and then follow us onto the interstate for a few miles, perhaps all the way to Beaumont.”

“And then what?”

“Well, we’d be able to tell if we were being followed on the highway, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. And if you were, what would you do?”

“Well, I’ve got a cellular phone.”

“And you’ll whip it out and call 911 to come and rescue you. And while you’re waiting, the bad guy is…where? Doing what?”

She shrugged. “So what do you suggest?”

With a sigh, he rubbed the side of his neck. “This is a hell of a mess.”

“It wasn’t my idea to come here at all, Mr. McMollere,” she said coldly. “And I certainly hadn’t planned on my son’s witnessing a murder.”

“ If that’s true,” he said, “then you’ve got exactly one option, the way I see it.”

“I can hardly wait to hear it.” She looked out her side.

“You can’t go back to Houston tonight or tomorrow. If things are as you say, this guy knows you, knows Danny, knows your car. If he’s in law enforcement, he has access to records. Finding you in Houston will be a piece of cake.” Glancing at Danny who was once again taking in the sights from the back passenger window, he lowered his voice. “If this actually happened, you’re both in jeopardy, you and Danny. You won’t be safe until this whole thing is cleared up.”

“Gosh, I feel a hundred percent better.”

He blew out an impatient breath. “Don’t you see what I’m getting at?”

She turned to look at him. “I see that you’re trying to scare the daylights out of me. Why? Do you get a kick out of scaring single moms and five-year-olds?”

“I’m sorry.” He took off his hat and rubbed a hand over his hair. Glancing at Claire, he saw that she’d put a hand on her throat. God, she was a beautiful woman, he thought, watching the beat of her pulse above her fingers. Even with that severe hairstyle and a minimum of makeup, there was no hiding the perfection of her face. He could almost understand why Carter had lost his head over her. Watching her mouth tremble, he reminded himself that she had willingly seduced a married man and selfishly wrecked a marriage without any thought of the hurt it would cause others.

But she was in deep trouble now if the kid had really seen a murder.

“What can I do?” she whispered.

“There’s only one thing to do.” His tone was brisk, businesslike. Be damned if he would fall for that soft, bruised look in her eyes. Reaching for the ignition keys, he started the Jeep. “You’ll have to go to Sugarland.”

“No.”

He could see it on her face. Sugarland was the last place in the world she wanted to go to for protection. “Then you tell me where I can drop you,” he retorted.

When she didn’t—couldn’t—find anything to say, he grunted something rude, rammed the Jeep in gear and took off.

Claire sat silently gazing at the town as John McMollere—equally silent—drove. How ironic, she thought, that the safest place for Carter’s son was in the bosom of his father’s family. The family who had rejected him outright from the moment they had learned of her pregnancy. For Danny’s sake, she would have to put that painful memory behind her.

Suddenly they turned off LaRue’s main street and she gave in to curiosity and stole a look at the man beside her. She wished she hadn’t argued with him. For her, it had been a no-win situation, but her pride had pushed her to challenge the man. He was right, of course. If she had to turn to others to help her protect her son, the McMolleres were surely the logical choice. And John McMollere—Mack—seemed tailor-made for the job. Even though she knew he disapproved of her, there was something about Mack that gave her a feeling of security. Still, she couldn’t just let him call the shots without at least letting him realize she was going along with his plan against her will. He didn’t have to know how relieved she was to have his help.

As they cruised a secondary street, she thought about what she knew about Carter’s older brother. Precious little, she concluded. He was a Vietnam veteran who’d flown helicopters during the war. In fact, it was Mack who’d taught Carter how to fly. She studied his hands on the wheel—hard, work-toughened hands—and then his face. He was less handsome, although his face was a good one, she decided, noting the strong jaw and firm chin. With those sunglasses concealing his eyes—lazerblue if she remembered right—it was hard to tell what he might be thinking, but she’d bet he wasn’t a man to advertise his feelings, anyway. She tried to remember what Carter had told her about his brother, but realized the information was vague in her memory. There’d been grudging admiration, she recalled that, and jealousy. Knowing what she now knew about Carter, she could well imagine that his weaker character had been swallowed up in this man’s quiet strength. He was nothing like Carter. One look at John McMollere and you sensed the difference in the brothers.

If only he wasn’t a McMollere.

A truck lumbered out from a side street forcing Mack to swerve and hit the brakes. He swore, then cast a wry look first back at Danny, then at Claire.

“Sorry, not used to kids,” he muttered, slowing to turn between two brick pillars. Claire said nothing, merely looked around with curiosity. Were they nearing Sugarland? Wasn’t the McMollere homeplace much farther out of town?

“I need to make a stop,” he told her. “My daughter’s here visiting a friend. I have to pick her up.”

Before she could reply, he pulled into a driveway and stopped. The house was all brick, large and luxurious with numerous windows. Off to one side, a magnificent oak tree dripped Spanish moss. Some distance back, along the crape-myrtle-studded driveway, was a detached three-car garage. Two teenage girls stood at the porch railing. Near them, a boy leaned against a square column. Claire judged him to be slightly older than the girls. The kids had obviously been expecting Mack since one of the girls straightened abruptly and started toward the Jeep.