Molly was alone with her. Too often, when they spoke in the evening, he could tell she was plastered. If he thought she was drinking when she and Molly went out... But, so far, he had no indication that happened.
A lightning bolt struck. Had Sonja been taking nips from a bottle that day at the park? Was that what Mommy had been doing when Molly slipped away? Sickened, he wondered how he could find out.
“I’m on my way to pick up Molly,” he said. “I’m legally entitled to have her, and considering your state, she’ll be safer with me. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Have her ready to go.”
She was yelling at him when he cut her off. At least the other woman who had sliced and diced him recently hadn’t raised her voice.
Nate sat for a minute in his car before he felt patient enough to join the crazy after-six-o’clock traffic in downtown Seattle, laid out with one-way north-south streets and steep east-west streets, all inadequate for the number of cars that poured out of parking garages at this time of day. Usually, he avoided the mess by staying late. Eight, even ten o’clock, although he could just as well answer emails and do his research on his laptop at home. Traffic, he knew, was only an excuse.
He heard Sonja’s voice in his head. Some of us want an actual life.
That stung, because she was right. He didn’t have a life outside work anymore. Why bother? He liked the highs and lows on the job better than he had living with Sonja’s wildly swinging moods. Until another man died saving Nate’s little girl, he hadn’t seen any reason to change.
He shook his head and started the car. The one change he intended to make had to do with Molly. He wasn’t prepared to lose his daughter because his ex-wife had turned her against him.
He was lucky enough to find a parking spot close to the thirty-floor tower where Sonja had bought a condo. When Sonja opened the door, he saw Molly on the sofa with a packed, pink bag beside her. His once bright, cheerful child sat with hunched shoulders, her hair hanging over her face.
Sonja called him a few vicious names before he could usher Molly out. Once she was in the hall, he turned back and said quietly, “Next time, I’ll record you. You’d be smart to think twice before you use that kind of language in front of a seven-year-old child again.”
The door slammed in his face.
He took the bag from Molly and squeezed her shoulder with his free hand. When she stole a look at him, he said, “Let’s go home.”
* * *
WEEKS LATER, ANNA still kept a sharp eye out whenever she left the house, with or without the kids. Catching the PI in the act had taught her a lesson. She’d never be so oblivious again when she went about her business. Mad as she was at Nate Kendrick, at least she didn’t have to worry that he’d use what he had learned to hurt her or the kids.
Which didn’t mean she wasn’t humiliated all over again to find a message from him on her phone when she was waiting for her coffee to brew early Saturday morning.
“Doesn’t look like your house has sold yet,” he said tersely. “My offer is still open. Job or cash settlement. Is your pride more important than your kids?”
That was it. No “Hello,” no “Goodbye.” Her first, stupid thought was to wonder how he’d gotten her cell phone number. As if that mattered.
She stood there in her kitchen, barefoot but otherwise dressed, because she didn’t have the luxury anymore of hanging around in her pajamas, not with the For Sale sign up at the foot of the driveway. Anger, humiliation, dented pride—yes, pride—and fear roiled inside her thanks to Nate Kendrick’s terse message.
He was right. Dear God, he was right. But she’d meant it when she described his offer of a settlement as blood money. What if she had to explain to the kids someday that they’d been living on money from Molly’s dad, paid to alleviate his guilt? She had no doubt that, once she cashed the check, he’d breathe a sigh of relief and go back to his workaholic ways, confident he’d done the right thing. Men like him never made time for their children. They were too addicted to adrenaline, to the pursuit of what Anna’s grandfather had called “the almighty dollar.”
But, with her stomach knotted, she had to face hard reality. If the bank evicted her and the kids, what would she do? Go to a shelter?
She’d give anything to have family to fall back on, but there wasn’t anyone. After Mom died when Anna was eight, she had gone to live with Grandad. She was a sophomore in high school when he had his second stroke, after which she’d been placed in a foster home. His estate had put her through college. She’d been so sure she could take care of herself after that. If only she hadn’t married so quickly, gotten pregnant almost immediately.
No, she couldn’t regret that. Those decisions had given her Josh and Jenna. She couldn’t unwish them.
Anna poured herself a cup of coffee, adding more sugar and milk than usual in hopes of settling her stomach. She felt queasy even thinking about eating.
“Mommy?” Still in her nightgown, Jenna wandered into the kitchen. “Josh told me to go away.”
“Let me guess.” Anna smiled at her daughter. “You tried to wake him up.”
A miniature Anna, Jenna looked mutinous. “He didn’t have to sound so mean.”
“He also doesn’t need to get up for another hour. You know he isn’t a morning person.”
“Like us,” Jenna said with satisfaction, leaning against her mother.
Even as she felt the familiar sting of joy and fear, Anna bent down to hug her daughter. “That’s right. So what’s it going to be? Scrambled eggs and toast, or cereal?”
“I want oatmeal,” she declared.
Instant oatmeal, with lots of sugar, cinnamon and raisins, was a current favorite. Anna made herself have a small serving, too. Yesterday morning, she’d weighed herself before showering to find she’d lost nine pounds. No wonder her face had begun to look gaunt.
After breakfast, she ran a bath for Jenna and sat with her while her little girl pretended she was a mermaid, which involved splashing half the water in the tub onto Anna and the floor. Anna laughed and played along while keeping an ear cocked for the sound of the doorbell.
She had Jenna out of the bath and wrapped in a towel before she woke up her son. He chose oatmeal, too, and when she hustled both kids out to the car, he accepted the lunch she’d packed the night before. Normally Josh took the bus, but since she needed to do a few errands, she’d decided to let him sleep a little later and drive him, instead.
Once at the elementary school, she watched until he met with friends and went inside before starting for the parking lot exit. When her phone rang, Anna braked and grabbed it from the cubby between the front seats.
Alan Lang.
Her heart drummed. This was early for him to be calling. Could he have received an offer on the house?
Please, please, please.
NATE HAD TAKEN to driving by Anna’s house every few days. No Sold! banner had been tacked onto the For Sale sign planted in her yard.
Twice he saw her.
The first time, she was backing out of the garage, both kids with her. Probably on her way to drop her boy off at school. Nate was glad she didn’t see him even as he fretted about her car, which had to be ten years old, at least. The PI had told him that the Graingers owned a second, much newer vehicle, a Kia crossover, the Sorento. The Kia wasn’t in the garage. With her money tight, she’d been sensible to sell that one, even if it would have been more reliable. He wondered what else she’d had to sell.
The next time he caught a glimpse of her she was setting off on a run, wearing