Beyond Innocence Page 19

  Faye poured a shot of bourbon and silently lamented the fact that her husband had seemed to care more for his whores than he had for his own wife. They lived in nice apartments and could afford nice clothes. He almost never yelled at his girls. And he never hit them.

  She sank into a new oak kitchen chair and contemplated the depths of her tumbler. That thought brought back vivid memories of a night seven years ago—a night she had tried desperately to forget. She had never seen Tate so angry. She almost thought he could have killed her. And he might have if Tanner hadn’t been in the next room crying. That was what had stopped him. Those tiny pleas for peace had shocked him out of his fury and made him realize what he was doing. He had stopped short of breaking any bones, but it had never been the same between them. Not that it had ever been particularly good.

  She rubbed her eyes until she saw stars. It hadn’t been great but it had been better than this.

  She heard Calvin, in Tate’s Dodge Ram pickup, pull into the driveway, and she wondered idly if it wouldn’t have been better if Tate had killed her that night. This cold, torturous existence barely qualified as a life anyway. Even the drugs couldn’t seem to help her shake the reality of the world she had found herself in. There seemed to be no joy left anywhere.

  Calvin slammed the door as he came in, and she knew he was in an unparalleled foul mood. She could already smell the liquor on his breath, and one glance at his eyes told her that he, too, had made a futile attempt at escaping reality. She had discovered the hard way that, even if she managed it for a while, the return trip to Earth invariably ended with a crash landing that left her feeling more battered and bruised and wondering why she had bothered trying to get away in the first place.

  Calvin crossed immediately to the bottle of bourbon she had left sitting out on the counter. Wordlessly, he grabbed a glass from the drying rack in the sink and poured himself three fingers. He downed half of it in a single swallow.

  “Tough day at the office?” asked Faye sardonically.

  She could see his fingers tighten around the glass. “Don’t start with me, bitch,” he growled. “I’ve had it up to here,” he slashed the air above his head, “with mouthy broads tonight.”

  “The girls giving you a rough time?”

  “Damn right! What a bunch o’ spoiled whores. They don’t like this, they don’t like that.” He puckered up his lips and pitched his voice high in a hideous parody. “‘Where the hell is Tate?’ ‘Get him back here pleeeease!’ ‘I just live to kiss that man’s ass!’” He downed the rest of his whiskey and slammed the glass on the counter. “What I wouldn’t give to tell them there’s no way in hell he’s coming back, and that they damn well better stop bucking me at every turn or I’ll really start making some changes.”

  Faye was only half-listening to him. Her eyes were trained on the naked truth at the bottom of her tumbler, so she was startled to feel his hand caress her shoulder. She shuddered involuntarily as he bent low and whispered in her ear. “I could really use a little understanding tonight. It’s been a while with you.”

  Faye knew all too well what that meant. It meant he didn’t reserve his favors for his new girlfriend. He was a stud, after all. God forbid he deny the women around him a taste of that hammerhead between his thighs.

  He continued his less-than-imaginative seduction. “How about doing a couple of lines and then letting me fuck your brains out?”

  “Tanner’s awake.”

  “So? It’s not like the kid doesn’t know what it’s all about.”

  Knowing it was a bad idea but suddenly beyond caring, she shrugged off his hands and bolted from the chair. “I’m not in the mood. Why don’t you go down to The Pit and pick out some nice piece of young meat? I’ve seen Sylvia batting her eyes at you. I don’t really—”

  He grabbed her arm and wrenched her roughly around, bringing her in tight in a blatant reminder of just how hard he was. Everywhere. If she fought with Calvin she would lose and she knew it. But at that moment she didn’t give a shit. She had already lost everything. She had nothing left.

  “What the hell’s your problem?” he blasted in her face. “You’ve been moping around here for weeks. I got you your stupid house and a whole closet full of silk blouses. I get you lots of good shit and I don’t care how often you snort the nose candy. We’re starting to make decent money for a change and you’re still not happy!”

  She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t have it. His grip tightened and he bent low until she could smell the liquor and the garlic on his breath.

  “You’re just as ungrateful as all the others. All I ask is a piece of tail now and then, and lately I can’t even get that.”

  He was looking at her, waiting for a response, but she wouldn’t give it to him.

  He shoved her away, so hard her head smashed into the wall behind her. She let herself slide to the ground and didn’t meet his eyes. She could hear him breathing heavily and could see the sheen of sweat on his chiseled biceps. “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re feeling guilty.”

  She shrugged.

  He bent down and grabbed her shoulders. He dragged her up and forced her to meet his eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it? You feel guilty about offing Tate. You stupid bitch! You never even loved him. You told me so yourself. You—”

  “Don’t you?”

  “What? Feel guilty? No goddamn way! He—”

  “He saved your miserable life! I know the story. I know what you were. And you repay him by stealing his wife and murdering him.”

  He backhanded her across the mouth, and she felt the trickle of blood on her chin. “Shut up! You don’t know shit! You don’t know anything about what he did. I didn’t owe him anything.”

  “Bullshit!”

  His fist met her cheekbone, and this time she went down, not feeling the pain and not caring that she was getting blood on her brand new linoleum.

  “Admit it, Calvin. You don’t know what you’re doing! And the cops are snooping around—”

  “I took care of them just fine!” His voice shook with rage as he edged toward her, the toes of his boots stopping inches from her gut.

  “Oh, yeah?” she taunted. “You’re a damn genius, aren’t you? Threw ‘em right off the scent. In fact, when they left they were just quaking in their boots. Practically peed their pants, they were so scared of the great Calvin Carter. Jesus! Do you actually listen to yourself—”

  His knee connected with the side of her head and she saw stars as the pain rocketed through her. But she knew there was only one way she would stop.

  “Dammit!” he screamed. “Shut up! Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “I’m the one who was stupid enough to believe you and all your fancy lies and big plans. I’m the idiot who believed you could make my life better.” Groping her way blindly up the wall, she dragged herself to a standing position.

  “You watch your tongue, Faye, or I might just have to rip it out of your ungrateful face.”

  Standing again at last, and only vaguely aware of the pain in her head and the blood on her shirt, she persisted. “Face it, Calvin, you’re making a mess of things. The girls are unhappy, the clients are staying away in droves. Your big new plans aren’t bringing in the big bucks. Instead they’re fucking everything up.”

  “I’ll fuck you up,” he growled, “if you don’t shut up.”

  “I’m sick of keeping my mouth shut. I’m sick of listening to you. I should never have—”

  His fist connected with her side and she felt something crack.

  “You’re going to regret that.”

  “Never,” she whispered.

  He hit her again and she fell against a chair before dropping to the floor. As she groaned she heard him rant. “Tate thought he was so smart. He thought he had all the answers. Well, look where he ended up!” Calvin’s voice rose to a fevered pitch. “A bloody mess at the bottom of a mountain.”

  He kicked her, but through the pain she managed to croak out, “He wa
s smart. The only stupid thing he did was to try and help people like us.”

  “He didn’t help me. He needed me, but he was just too stupid to listen to me!”

  Faye felt herself being lifted off the floor, and a moment later Calvin threw her against the wall. Her head reverberated with the force of the blow, and her vision clouded. “That’s what he told you. He wanted you to think you were worth something. And like an idiot you believed him.”

  “Shut up!” Never releasing his grip, he rammed her into the wall again. Her back hit and she felt the drywall give. “Shut up!” Again.

  He let go and she was once again falling. She hoped that maybe this time she would just keep falling. Maybe if she fell far enough she’d never have to come up for air again. Maybe then she could escape this godforsaken hellhole once and for all.

  She barely felt the blow from his boot. A gray mist was starting to settle over her senses, but through the fog she caught a glimpse of a familiar face, and she regretted what she was doing. Or at the very least she regretted her timing. “Tanner,” she whispered. As happened all too often, she had forgotten about him. He shouldn’t see this. He had seen enough ugliness in his life.

  But he acted as if he hadn’t heard her. He was standing in the doorway, just watching them. His expression was set, his eyes icy. He looked far older than his meager ten years.

  Distracted by the interruption, Calvin graced Faye with one last kick to her side before turning and heading for the door. “Next time I’ll kill you for talking like that. Next time will be the last.” He stopped in the doorway and shot back at her. “And don’t go getting any funny ideas about easing your guilty conscience. I’m smart enough to know how to deal with a double-crossing broad and her no-account son.”

  He slammed the door on his way out, and Faye became aware of the throbbing pain in her side, her head, her face. The sight of Tanner had made her forget why she had begun goading Calvin in the first place. She only knew that she had to make contact with the boy. He had been so distant lately. It had felt like he was a million miles away. She wanted so little. She just wanted to touch her son.

  “Tanner!” she whispered as she began to crawl toward him. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. So sorry for everything.”

  “Why didn’t he kill you?”

  She blinked at him in astonishment. She was about to plead with him again, or demand an explanation, or something. She couldn’t believe how calmly he had stood there and just watched his mother being beaten. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to do. But he saved her the trouble of deciding on a course of action and dealing with him when she was injured and hurting.

  By the time she found the strength to stand, he was gone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Calgary, Alberta

  Luke hesitated as they got out of the car. Marnie looked to him questioningly and allowed a smile to flit across her face as Tiffany slipped her hand into his. After only two days together it had become such a habit that neither of them even seemed aware they were doing it.

  He gazed down at his khakis and the shirt Marnie had picked out because she thought the dusky blue color matched his eyes. The crisp cotton hugged his torso in snug lines, and the sleeves were short enough to reveal a hint of the sordid truth beneath.

  He let go of Tiffany’s hand just long enough to finger the diamond studs in his ear. “Are you sure about this?”

  She should feel guilty. On some deep level—well, okay, so it wasn’t that deep—she was using him.

  Luke’s presence and his struggle were having a profound effect on Marnie. She had stood up to her parents at a couple of crucial junctures in her life, but as a general rule she had bowed to their wishes, or, at the very least, made an effort to let them believe she was trying to be what they wanted her to be. But recently she had been finding a strength of will in the face of her family’s expectations that shocked her.

  Today was a prime opportunity she couldn’t pass up. She had an uncharacteristic urge to shock her mother, and flaunting Luke’s earrings, his bed-tousled chestnut hair that was sorely in need of a trim, and, of course, the tattoos that adorned lean, sinewy arms were the icing on the cake. She had drawn the line at asking him to wear jeans and a muscle shirt. This was Sunday dinner, after all. She couldn’t abandon every convention with which she had been raised.

  “Marnie?”

  She made a show of straightening his collar and then tugging at her own flowing white chemise that hid her physical flaws and swished over black leggings. “I’m sure.” But then she looked up into his skeptical expression and knew she couldn’t send him in there like this—unprepared and defenseless. “Well, okay—maybe I should be honest with you.”

  “Honest?”

  “I’m pretty sure my mother won’t approve of you.”

  “Oh? And why would that be?”

  Marnie smoothed a strand of hair back, tucking it into place. She had pulled the braid a little tighter than usual today, hoping the slight discomfort would keep her on her toes—keep her from letting down her guard and saying something she would regret.

  She cleared her throat quietly. “To put it simply, tattoos and earrings don’t go with her image of an ideal…friend for me.”

  He narrowed his eyes and she winced at his penetrating gaze. Then he swept his eyes over the flagrant display of his tattoos and touched his earlobe once more. “You want to tick her off. You want to make her uncomfortable.”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  “Okay.” He started leading Tiffany toward the front door of the neatly kept bungalow that her mother had purchased a year after her husband’s death.

  Marnie scurried to catch up with those long strides. “Okay? You mean you’re not mad?”

  “Well, I would have been if you hadn’t warned me. But now I know what to expect.” A mischievous smile tugged at his lips as he stopped on the front stoop. “After everything you’ve done for me, the least I can do is help you disappoint your mother.”

  “My hero.”

  He tapped the heels of his boots together and touched a finger to his brow in a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Tiffany giggled as Marnie pushed the button that would summon their hostess.

  Luke shushed her loudly. “You keep quiet. And you better not tell your daddy that you shared a bed with me last night. Sheesh! Sneaking in on me like that, when I’m all doped up and defenseless. I have no doubt he’d skin me alive.”

  “That’s our Luke. Corrupting a minor.”

  “What do you mean? I am a minor.”

  “No, I’d say you’re about as major as they come.”

  “A major what?”

  “I refuse to answer that.”

  Tiffany was giggling again when their banter was interrupted by the door swinging open.

  “Marina!” Helen Grant greeted them in flowing pink chiffon, her hair pulled back in a graceful twist that left just a few wisps fluttering about her delicately rouged cheekbones. Her gaze swept over Marnie, registering mild chagrin at Marnie’s choice of wardrobe, before settling on Luke. To her credit she maintained her composure and extended a hand. “And you must be Luke.”

  He grasped her hand, and to Marnie’s utter amazement he bent low and touched her mother’s knuckles with his lips. “It’s a pleasure.”

  Obviously flustered, Helen withdrew her hand and stepped back, motioning for them to follow. “Do you have a last name, Luke?” she asked as she led them down a short hall toward the living room.

  “Not really. I don’t know my real one, and I haven’t heard one I like yet.”

  “Oh. That’s a shame.”

  “I am considering Grant, though.” He winked surreptitiously at Marnie. “It would make sense considering…everything.”

  “Excuse me?”

  But Helen’s distress was interrupted by an enthusiastic greeting from Tiffany’s father. Dressed in his Sunday best and looking his usual powerful self, Don swept Tiffany out of Luke’s gra
sp and swung her up into his arms. “How’s my angel? Did you have fun? Any adventures?”

  Helen excused herself to the kitchen, but Marnie caught the backward glance in Luke’s direction as she swept through the door.

  “Yeah. It was fun.” Tiffany’s voice drew Marnie’s attention. It was much more subdued than it had been just moments before. But that was what was expected. That was who Tiffany was supposed to be, especially in the presence of her parents.

  Marnie felt a tug on her heart as she remembered how she had balked at those expectations and how her childhood contrariness had baffled and then infuriated her parents. Eventually Marnie had learned that the questions and the defiance weren’t worth the trouble. They earned her nothing but exasperation and anger. Contrariness and hesitant rebellion had melted into silent acquiescence. Her parents had chosen not to question her change of heart. They had merely accepted it as a matter of course, as the natural order of things. They never seemed to mind that their daughter had lost her spirit, or her sense of individuality. Eventually she became very good at blending into the woodwork. So good that no one had noticed her anymore. Least of all her father.

  Tiffany, too, had already learned her role well. Marnie wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or alarmed by that knowledge.

  Don hugged his daughter and greeted the guests. “Hi, Marnie. I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.” His eyes flitted to the final member of the party. “Luke.”

  Luke merely nodded, and Marnie motioned for him to join her on the overstuffed couch, upholstered in a muted floral chintz that matched the drapes. The wallpaper bore a miniature version of the rose-and-ivy motif, and Marnie thought once again that June Cleaver would have been proud to call this house home.

  “She was no trouble at all,” confirmed Marnie as she settled close enough to Luke to give them both a good dose of moral support. “And I can’t be sure, but I think she had a good time.”