Sandra Marton - Ring Of Deception

“No,” Luke said again, even more adamantly. “Try listening, okay? I just told you, I was coming through the gate, your kid ran into me, and—”

“I was running toward my mommy,” the kid said defiantly. “Not you.”

“Okay. Fine. She was heading for you and I was in the way, and instead of letting her run into me, I picked her up and—”

“That isn’t what happened.”

“Yes, it is,” Luke replied, his tone no longer quite so conciliatory. “It’s exactly what happened. And if you don’t stop making wild accusations, I’ll—”

What? Blow his cover all by himself?

“Is there a problem here?”

Luke looked around. Thank God. Katherine Kinard was coming down the steps.

“Yes,” the brunette said. “This man—”

“—is a bad man,” the little girl said, her mouth trembling.

Puppy-kicking time again, Luke thought in disgust, except this time, he wasn’t to blame.

“Okay,” he said through his teeth, “that’s it.” He took a step toward Katherine. As if on signal, the teacher and the kids with her stepped back. “Ms. Kinard, something happened here. This little girl ran into me, and . . . ” He shook his head. The Kinard woman looked as puzzled as he felt. “The kid’s mother saw me pick up her daughter instead of letting her fall down, and now she has me pegged as everything but a serial killer.”

“For all I know, you’re that, too.”

“Ms. Kinard,” Luke said, ignoring the brunette, “will you please tell her who I am?” He saw the quick puzzlement in Katherine Kinard’s eyes and silently cursed himself for being a fool. “That I’m the carpenter you hired yesterday,” he added quickly, “and I’m going to be working here for a while.”

“He’s the what?” the woman said, her voice racing up the scale in disbelief. “Katherine? Does this man work here?”

“He does, yes.” The day care director smiled at Luke’s accuser but still managed to pin him with a glare that said he was an idiot to have gotten himself into this situation. Hell, he already knew that. “This is Luke Sloan,” Katherine continued dutifully. “He’s a carpenter, putting in some shelves and cabinets in my office.”

“No!”

“Yes,” Luke said coldly. “Disappointed?”

“Then, why did he try to grab my daughter?”

“What’s wrong with you, lady? Haven’t you been listening to a thing I said? I was coming to work, your kid slammed into me, and . . . damn it, I don’t believe this!”

“Ooh,” a small voice behind him whispered, “the bad man said a bad word!”

There was a heartbeat of silence. Then Katherine turned a beaming smile on the teacher.

“Marilyn,” she said briskly, “isn’t it time for juice break?”

“Is it?” Marilyn stared blankly, and then she shook herself. “Oh. Oh, yes, of course, Katherine. It’s time for juice break! Kids,” she said, smiling brightly, “let’s go in and have our juice.”

The kids didn’t move. Why would they? Luke thought glumly. They were as transfixed by the scene as the still-gawking crowd beyond the gate.

“Tell you what. How about cookies with your juice, as a special treat?”

The little boy who’d been whimpering leaned toward the girl with braids and whispered in her ear. The girl nodded.

“No juice,” she said firmly. “We want ice cream.”

Luke laughed. He couldn’t help it, though all it won him was a withering look from the brunette.

“Ice cream,” Katherine repeated happily, as if the child had just spoken words that held the wisdom of the ages. “That’s a wonderful idea, Lily. Marilyn? Ice cream for everybody.”

That did it. The teacher went up the steps and opened the door, and the children trooped obediently inside. Then Katherine slid her arm gently around Abby’s shoulders.

“Abby,” she said softly, “I can understand your fear.”

“You can?” Abby’s pulse rate went into high gear.

“Certainly.” Katherine gave her a quick squeeze. “All these awful kidnapping cases in the papers lately . . . Nobody could blame you for worrying about Emily, but I promise you, she’s safe here.”

Abby looked from Katherine to the stranger. He was a carpenter. That’s all he was, just a man headed for work. He’d turned up twice in one day, and she’d written a story that had nothing to do with reality.

Letting that happen was like letting Frank still control her.

She bent down, cupped Emily’s face and smiled.

“Go on inside, baby. You don’t want to miss that ice cream.”

Katherine held out her hand. “Emily?”

Emily shook her head. “I want to stay with my mommy.”

Abby’s throat tightened. She’d frightened her little girl. That was the last thing she wanted to do, ever.

“Em honey, everything’s fine now. You go with Katherine.”

“But the bad man . . . ”

“Listen, kid.”

Luke squatted down until he and the girl were nose to nose. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the brunette jerk forward, but Katherine Kinard caught her by the arm and stopped her. The only one who didn’t move was the kid. He had to give her credit. She figured him for some kind of scum, but she wasn’t going to budge an inch.

“Don’t call me ‘kid,’” she told him. “My name is Emily.”

“Emily. That’s a really pretty name.”

She gave him a look that said flattery, if she’d known what it meant, wasn’t going to work.

Luke couldn’t blame her. This was hardly a good scene for a child to endure.

“Emily,” he said in the same tone he’d have used with an adult, “I’m not a bad man.”

“My mommy said you were.”

“Your mommy made a mistake. Think about what happened from start to finish. You and the others came out of the day care center. You went down the steps and—”

“And,” Emily said, her face puckered in thought, “I heard my mommy call me. An’ I looked up and saw her. An’ I ran to the gate, but you was there first an’ I ran into you, an’ you said ‘Whoa, kid,’ like I was a horse instead of a girl, an’ I bounced off your legs an’ I kinda started to fall, an’ you grabbed me to keep me from falling, an’ then my mommy started yelling.”

As the kid paused for breath, Luke rose to his feet. “I rest my case,” he said smugly, and folded his arms across his chest.

“But you didn’t say sorry to us this morning,” Emily added.

“This morning?” Katherine echoed, frowning.

“Yes,” said Abby. “We met this—this gentleman as we were coming into the center.”

Luke heard the twist Emily’s mother put on the word “gentleman,” but decided to let it pass and respond only to the child.

“You’re right,” he told her. “I guess I wasn’t very nice. I was in a bad mood and I took it out on you. I apologize.”

“Mommy said you got up on the wrong side of the bed, but I said it was ‘cause you got a bad cold.”

“You noticed that, huh?” Luke asked with a grin.

The child nodded. “You were sneezing. And your nose was all red, like it is now.”

“Well, that’s all true, Em. I have a cold and I was grumpy this morning.” He bent toward her and tapped his finger lightly against her nose. “And I said a bad word a couple of minutes ago, but that’s it. None of that makes me a bad guy.”

Emily rubbed the tip of one sneakered foot against the other and regarded him with sober interest.

“What’s a carpenter?”

The non sequitur almost threw him. Then he remembered that Katherine Kinard had just explained what he was. What he was pretending to be.

“A carpenter’s a person who makes things out of wood.”

“Like boats? I saw a man make a boat on TV. The Discovery channel.”