Deceit: A Novel Part 22

My throat dried up. An image of the gunman dressed in black flashed through my mind. He was out there, wasn't he? The hunter waiting for his inevitable prey.

Perry pulled car keys from his pocket and put them in his left hand. Leaned in close to Melissa and me. "Once we go through the door, move fast."

We nodded.

He lifted his shirt and withdrew his gun from its waistband holster. Inched the door open and peered outside. He glanced over his shoulder. "Now."

Perry pushed out into the night, Melissa and I right behind. Perry's car faced us. I scurried to the pa.s.senger front, Melissa to the rear. In peripheral vision I saw a few parked cars, a tall parking lot light. No one lurking. No gunman.

We threw ourselves inside the car. Melissa and I slid down in our seats. Perry put his gun in the console. He backed out, braked hard, and lurched forward toward the street. I sat half on the floor, the edge of my seat digging into my back, watching the streetlights slide by the window. The night sky hung starless and gray-curdled, threatening more rain.

We stopped again, then turned right. I squirmed to look over my shoulder. The hotel faded in the distance.

Perry's eyes flicked from road to rearview mirror. He drove straight-backed, headlights from oncoming cars washing over his face. "Don't see anyone following. But stay down."

He went right. Then left. Right. Left. My mind flashed back to my own white-knuckled drive away from 264 Anniston. "See anybody?"

"No."

Clothes rustled from the back seat.

"Stay down, Melissa," Perry barked. "Don't get up till I tell you."

He made more turns until I lost all sense of direction. Out the window, commercial buildings gave way to houses. I could no longer hear sounds of traffic.

My legs were getting cramped.

Perry slowed. Veered right.

He exhaled a long breath, flexed his fingers against the steering wheel. "We did it."

I wriggled up into my seat. Melissa did the same. We were on a quiet residential street, no cars around. We'd made it. I could barely believe it. We'd made it.

A prayer of grat.i.tude breathed through my lips.

But this night wasn't over. Far from it.

"Now what?" Melissa's voice mixed relief and anxiety. "Where do we go?"

Perry shot me a sideways questioning look.

"Now I make a phone call." I reached in my purse for my cell phone.

FORTY-ONE.

JULY 2004.

Melissa was synching Baxter's schedule on his computer with his Blackberry when a call came in from Rex Shalling in Texas. Mr. Shalling and his wife were moving to the Vonita area and were buying a multimillion-dollar home in an upscale area. The sale would go through in a few days. It was a sale Baxter badly needed.

"Just a moment, Mr. Shalling." Melissa put him through to Baxter.

"h.e.l.lo, Rex." Baxter leaned back in his chair. "How are things with your job transfer?"

A long pause. "I see. How wonderful for you." Baxter's voice held a different tone. Jovial but forced. A client wouldn't have heard the deep disappointment. Melissa did.

She turned to watch Baxter. His shoulders slumped.

He hung up the phone and stared at it.

"Bad news?"

A moment pa.s.sed before Baxter answered. "He's ending up getting a promotion in Texas. Won't need to move after all." He spoke without turning around.

Melissa closed her eyes. Baxter had lucked out by being both listing and selling agent on the deal. Even after cutting his fee from 6 percent to 5, he stood to make around $140,000.

All that money-gone with one phone call.

Baxter slammed his fist against his desk. He shook his head, rubbed his temple. "I can't believe this. What is happening with my sales?"

Melissa rose and walked over to him. Laid a hand on his shoulder. Her palm p.r.i.c.kled. Never had she touched him like that. "I'm really sorry."

He shrank away from her touch, his voice sharpening. "Not now, Melissa."

She pulled her arm away, stricken.

Baxter straightened and threw a glance out the office window. No one was in the hallway. He raked his gaze up to her face. "Sorry, didn't mean that. I just...someone might see you."

Understanding flooded Melissa. She backed up one step and gave a tight nod. Not now, he'd said. Not now.

Baxter turned away. Melissa went back to her desk.

She blinked at her computer. What had she been doing?

The atmosphere in the office tremored. Two minutes pa.s.sed without a sound. Melissa sneaked a peek at Baxter. He sat with one leg stretched out, his left arm on the desk. Staring out the window. His fingers rose and fell in a slow, silent tap.

"Melissa?"

"Yeah."

"That was nice of you."

She gazed at his back. How she wanted to throw her arms around him and comfort him. Hang on and not let go. He worked hard all day, and what did Linda do? Spend money. Well, let the woman shop till she dropped. Melissa wasn't going to spend another dime. She had enough clothes for a lifetime anyway.

"No problem," she said.

On their drive home an hour later Melissa clutched her purse in her lap, toying with its handle. There was so much she wanted to say. Not one word of it would come.

"Not now, Melissa."

They stopped at a red light. "Don't tell Linda about the sale falling through," Baxter said.

"You know I never tell her what happens at work."

Baxter turned his head and surveyed her. Melissa met his gaze with meaning-filled eyes.

The light turned green. Baxter focused on the road. "She's out tonight after dinner." His tone was so casual. "Got some church volunteer meeting."

Melissa's heart flipped. "Oh. That's right." She pushed the purse around on her legs. "I'll do the dishes for her."

"You always do the dishes."

"Well, then, all the more reason to do them tonight."

Baxter smiled.

As they drove into the garage his mood darkened. Melissa could almost see the weight descend upon him. He slammed the Mercedes' door. His jaw hardened, eyes turning cool as the moment when he faced his wife approached. Melissa trailed Baxter into the kitchen, giving him plenty of room. Not for herself, but to send a message to Linda.

They found her standing at the stove, fluffing rice in a pan with a fork. The smell of baking salmon filled the air. "Hi, honey." Linda smiled at her husband, her eyes gauging. Melissa gave a slight shake of her head. Linda's body tensed. "How was your day?"

"Fine." He walked past her and left the kitchen, on his way upstairs to change.

Melissa and Linda exchanged glances. Melissa lay her purse on the counter and walked to a cabinet for plates. "Let me help. I hear you have a meeting tonight."

"Yes, at seven-thirty." Linda stilled and c.o.c.ked her head. No sound from Baxter. "Did something bad happen today?" she whispered.

Work questions were one of the hardest parts of trying to keep balance in the household. Melissa couldn't betray Baxter by telling Linda the truth. At the same time she needed to play Linda's ally.

"I don't know. I had a lot of copying to do. If he took some bad calls it was while I was out of the office."

Linda set down the fork. "I just don't understand why he's gotten so bad the last few weeks."

Melissa moved closer to the stove, one ear tilted toward the stairs. "I don't either, but I'm so sorry. I mean, when I first came here I never would have guessed..."

"I know." Linda's voice tainted in bitterness. "You and the rest of the world." She replaced the lid on the rice and turned down the heat. Such simple movements, but to Melissa they symbolized Linda's life. Keep a lid on it. Try to keep Baxter from boiling over.

Why did adults have to be so confusing?

"When did he first hit you?" Melissa kept her voice low.

Linda stared across the room as if watching her own private screen. "Three months after we got married."

"Nothing before that? Not a clue?"

"Not one. He had me fooled like everybody else." She cradled her hands at her waist, watching one thumb rub over another. "The first time he did it I was so stunned. Just...shocked. He apologized later. Promised he'd never do it again. But of course he did." Linda's mouth twisted. "After awhile he stopped promising."

Indignation rolled up Melissa's spine. Linda was beautiful and smart. She could live her own life. "Why don't you leave?"

Linda turned world-weary, resigned eyes upon her. "I love him."

"How can you, when he treats you like that?"

A long moment pa.s.sed as Linda's gaze fastened upon Melissa, as if staring into the depths of her. "Why don't you leave?"

Melissa's jaw flexed. Just what was that supposed to mean? Anger bubbled within, her mind flashing through a series of pictures. The trashy trailer she grew up in...her drunken mother's slit-eyed, hateful looks...bruises on Melissa's body...her bedroom at the Jacksons' house...Baxter's face. Melissa stared back at Linda, her mouth hardening. "Because my life right now is a hundred times better than where I came from."

A hint of a pained, knowing smile flickered across Linda's lips. Her expression read so many things at once. That at sixteen, what did Melissa understand, and who was she to judge? That she could not begin to know Linda's heartache, because she'd never been betrayed by the man she loved. (Stepfathers and a lousy mother didn't count?) That Melissa would change her tune in a hurry if Baxter started mistreating her. (That would never happen.) Linda opened her mouth-maybe to say one of these things, maybe to say them all. Then she closed it. She turned away.

Baxter's footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Melissa swiveled to a drawer and started pulling out utensils. Linda opened the oven door and slid out a pan of baked salmon.

Dinner went pretty well, although all three of them were quiet. Melissa figured the church meeting was a point for Linda's side. It wouldn't do for Baxter to hit her too close to her seeing her church friends. She might get all teary, and how to explain that?

Or maybe he just had other things on his mind.

Melissa could hardly eat. Her veins burned. She hated Baxter's abuse of his wife, but neither did she like Linda's know-more-than-you att.i.tude. Fact was, Linda got hit because she wouldn't stand up for herself. She was an adult, not the kid Melissa had been in her trailer days. If Linda really thought Baxter was so bad, she'd march into church and tell everyone the truth about her husband. Press charges against him. And if her friends and the police didn't believe her story-show them her bruises. But she wasn't about to do that, was she? Because Linda knew the truth. She was the only one in the world Baxter treated like that. Everyone else knew him as a great man. The problem lay with her, not him.

After dinner Melissa did the dishes while Linda prepared to leave. At exactly 7:25 she pulled out of the garage on her way to church. The perfect volunteer, never late.

Baxter was watching TV in the den, sitting on his end of the couch. Flipping through channels, as usual. Melissa went upstairs to brush her teeth, then joined him on the opposite end of the sofa. For five minutes they were silent, staring at the TV, seeing nothing. The air between them shimmied. Then it rippled. Melissa found herself breathing fast and shallow, trying hard not to show it. Baxter crossed his legs male-style, one ankle against the other knee. Feigning relaxation. A man in his castle at the end of a work day, chilling out.

His muscles itched. Melissa felt it.

The channels kept switching, as if all of Baxter's energy released through his thumb. Local news to an old movie to a commercial to another commercial to a cop show. Baxter returned to the movie. Some oldie that didn't look a bit interesting. They watched it for a couple minutes.

Abruptly Baxter leaned forward, as if yanked by a noose. Melissa watched from the corner of her eye. He focused on the remote, eyes searching for some b.u.t.ton. His finger moved, and he pressed. The sound muted.

Melissa turned her head and looked at him.

Baxter dropped the remote. He gazed back at Melissa, lips pressing.

He rose and crossed the four steps to her end of the couch. Sat down beside her. His eyes darkened with guilt-ridden hunger.

The next thing she knew they were in each other's arms.

FORTY-TWO.