Not-So-Secret

chapter two

She cradled the grocery bag on her hip as she opened the door. As soon as the lock clicked, Shaun pushed ahead of her and raced inside. His energy amazed her.

Her own energy level continued to dwindle, she knew the reason and wished she could do something about it but... It might do her some good to start her new craft project making bath salts and selling them at the local flea market. She'd never been a particularly craft-wise person, but there were only do many books one could read, so much time she could focus on her son.

She closed the door behind her, locking both dead bolts. A quick glance at the windows and around the living room showed her nothing had been disturbed.

"Cookie?"

Shaun, at two and a half, was her own personal cookie monster, with chocolate chip being the uncontested favourite. She'd had to put them up on top of the fridge and dole them out or he'd just munch through the whole batch in one sitting.

"Yes, but only after we put away the groceries."

"Okay."

With that, he was off like a shot, waiting in the middle of the kitchen for her to get her act in gear. She smiled, even while she had to chase away thoughts of what Shaun's life should have been. No use going there. This was a good life, a safe life and that was all that mattered.

Thank heaven for the activities at the library and of course, Alice, who watched Shaun five days a week. Louise sighed. She really should try to make friends with the other mothers in town. She just wasn't ready. Not yet.

She lifted the bag to the counter. Shaun could put the bread in the breadbox. He had to drag over the little stool, but once situated, he did the job like a fine young man. She, meanwhile, put the milk and butter in the fridge, then pulled out the hamburger for tonight's spaghetti.

"Now?"

She looked down. Shaun had put the stool away and stood staring up at her, his blue eyes eager, his body bouncing with anticipation.

"Yes, now."

He thrust his hands up in the air as if he'd just scored the winning touchdown. She reaches up and grabbed the cookie jar, then gave him his prize.

"Would you like milk or juice?"

"Juice."

She put the cookies back and took a juice box from the fridge. He was already at the table, his legs swinging back and forth, his cookie the only thing in the world.

She'd make up a batch of bath salts tonight. Use it herself to see if she liked the fragrance.

So it wasn't a thrill a minute. So what? It was safe. Safe was good.

She woke with a start, a sudden swell of panic in her stomach, a tightening in her chest. For a moment she held her breath, didn't move an inch, just listened. There was the tick of the clock on her nightstand. Behind that, the quiet of Milford at four in the morning. But the silence did little to assuage her anxiety.

She threw back her comforter, put her legs over the side of the bed and slipped on her pale yellow slippers. Her robe, the one she'd bought from the Sears catalog, was perched at the ready on a hook by the door. She was halfway to Shaun's room before she tied it on.

With each step the dread and fear worsened, all her nightmares of the past two and a half years melding together into unthinkable terror. This wasn't like the other nights she'd awakened from a bad dream.... Her baby. Something.... someone....

She flew into his room and the unthinkable became reality.

Shaun was gone.

She called out, but only once. Then her throat closed and the blood in her veins turned to ice. The window his window, with the locks and the safety glass open. His quilt on the floor, his Spider-Man sheet balled up, tossed aside. His pillow still held the impression of his head. So small and in the middle of the bed, an envelope. Her hand shook so hard she could hardly pick it up.

When she finally did, it was a note telling her when to be at Cedar City airport. It wasn't signed. But then, it didn't have to be.

THE VEGAS STRIP tried to be glamorous during the day, but it didn't succeed. Like an aging actress without her makeup, all the flaws came to the fore in sunlight. The sun-baked sidewalks, the desperate bids from the small casinos, begging gamblers to come for the ninety-nine-cent, foot-long hot dogs and stay for the video poker.

James Barnes hated the place. Hated the thousands of lights, the electronic billboards with the perfect pictures and snazzy ads. He hates the heat of the place which, according to the morning news, was almost one hundred and it wasn't even nine. If he'd had his way, he'd live in the mountains. Aspen, maybe, or Boulder. Somewhere green with little thick trees and lots of water. He'd have himself a nice little cabin that had no address. Where he could walk to the nearest stream to catch his dinner.

This town wasn't real. Yeah, okay, so there was Henderson and Summerlin, where there were grocery stores and dry cleaners, but there were poker machines in every damn market, in every gas station, in every drug store. The ubiquitous machines lent an air of desperation to the most mundane of tasks. Just ask the housewife who spent five hundred bucks on that gallon of milk. Or the bank teller who'd lost the rent . . . again

He'd been here too long, that was the problem. Living a nightmare life. If you were a player in Vegas, you slept during the day. Nothing important ever happens before sundown. Which could help explain his crappy attitude. He'd gotten to bed after four this morning, then Jones had called to tell him to make a pickup at the Henderson Executive Airport.