“That someone had used the computer in the last ten minutes, it’s programmed to stay on that long before going into sleep mode and the monitor turning black.”
“Well, I can’t explain it.” She gave him a pained expression, then reached upward and ran her hand down the side of his face. “You’re working too hard. Go to bed, Alex. We’ll figure this out in the morning.”
“Just tell me you’re not lying,” he said, his eyes hard and assessing.
“Okay, ‘I’m not lying’ and you’re acting like a lunatic!” She turned, intent on making her way to her room when his arm snaked out, grabbed her by the elbow and spun her around.
His features had contorted into a barely controlled rage, his nostrils flaring, his lips barely moving. “Don’t cross me,” he warned, his fingers digging tight into the muscles on her forearm. “That would be a big mistake.” He let go of her then and stormed off to the office. Probably to discover that his gun was missing. Marla’s knees nearly gave way. She held on to the rail and told herself to buck up. She had to put up with only a few more hours in this house. And now she had a weapon.
Tomorrow she’d take the kids and leave.
And go where? With what? You don’t have any money. You don’t have any identification. You don’t have a car.
But she’d find a way to leave this prison.
Even if it killed her.
Chapter Eighteen
“I swear to you if you try to take my son away from me, I’ll kill you!” Alex’s face loomed over hers as they stood in the foyer. Fury etched his features, hatred turned his gray eyes black.
“No! Oh, God, no!”
Marla’s eyes flew open. Her heart pounded wildly. Sweat oozed on her body.
She was alone. In her bed. In the dark. Somewhere outside a tree branch banged against the window and in the foyer the old clock ticked off the minutes, but there was no one with her.
Slowly, as the horrid nightmare disappeared, she pushed herself upright, gathering the edge of the blanket in her fist and holding it to her chest. “It was a dream,” she told herself. “Just a dream.” She glanced at the clock. Four-thirty. Not yet light outside. She rubbed her arms, but the nightmare didn’t fade. The image was too lasting and sharp. It seared deep into her brain, a replay of some other scene, one that came back with mind-numbing clarity.
“I won’t let you get away with this,” Alex had growled. “I won’t let you take him away.”
“Watch me, you bastard,” she’d thrown back, advancing on him. “I’ll take you to court, I’ll do whatever it takes, but my baby isn’t going to be raised in this . . . this travesty of a situation. Where is he?”
“Not here.”
“Bull!”
“Look for yourself.”
“If you’ve hurt him . . .” Her voice faded, strangled at the thought. “I swear—”
“Never. He’s just hidden away.”
“I don’t believe you.” She’d taken the stairs two at a time and he didn’t follow. Oh, God, he was telling the truth. She raced to the bedroom floor and was only vaguely aware of the phone jangling over the beating of her heart. The nursery was empty. Cold. Austere. She swept through the other rooms, but knew in her heart that he was telling the truth and this house, one she’d often thought was a storybook mansion, was cold and heartless, no servants, no family, no . . . baby. She was breathless by now, her labor had been only a few days before. She made her way to the stairs and paused on the living room level, holding on to the rail and seeing Alex, his back to her on the phone. His voice was soft, yet distinct.
“Yes . . . yes, I said I’ll be there. Just wait . . . I don’t know . . . two hours, maybe three . . . I have a situation to take care of here . . . yes, I know . . . I do, too . . .” His lover, he was talking to his lover and . . . and this all had something to do with the baby. “Hang in there . . . look at the ocean, walk on the beach . . . just calm down . . . that’s it.” “Who is that?” Marla demanded, hurrying down the rest of the stairs.
He hung up. Looked guilty as he whirled around.
“Where’s my baby?” she demanded.
He’d grabbed her then. With lightning swiftness, he grabbed her upper arms in his big, viselike hands. She felt the blood drain from her face. His grip was so tight she’d been certain he would snap her bones as easily as matchsticks. His face had contorted with a hatred so intense, he’d actually sprayed her with spit as he’d shaken her. “Don’t push me. This is the way we planned it.”
“Like hell,” she’d countered.
“We have a deal.”
“Had. Had a deal. I want out! And I swear by God that I’m going to take my baby with me. Away from this horrid place and all the lies, all the treachery.”