the middle of her office and bawled like
a baby. She was twenty-seven years old and all she could think was had her
parents ever talked about her like that? Had they ever loved her, had they ever
thought of her first? Had they ever spoken of her with pride or affection?
Stephanie had never once said, "I love you." Neither had her father.
And sometimes late at night, she found herself
holding the heart pendant around her neck and thinking of her dad. Maxmillian.
Maxmillian the chameleon. Even after all these years, she knew so little about
him. Even Lydia hadn't understood her son. When she spoke of him, she recalled
his high school days as class president, Eagle Scout and student voted most
likely to succeed. No one understood the man he'd become. Why he'd loved the
women he'd loved, why he'd traveled like he'd traveled. He'd been, and then he
was gone, and sometimes Maggie felt this huge, gaping hole she just couldn't
fill.
All she had left was a cheap gold locket and a
silly little girl's secret she'd still never divulged because it was the only
part of her father's life that was uniquely hers.
One night, she'd found her hand on the phone,
already dialing C.J. in Sedona. Not to talk, not for anything. But just to see
if he was still there, to make sure he hadn't disappeared as well. She wanted
to do the same thing with Lydia and Brandon, except she already knew Brandon
wouldn't pick up. He was traveling the world. He had become as distant and
enigmatic as Max even though he'd sworn to be there for her forever.
People just came and went in her life. She
didn't know how to make them stay. She didn't know how to make anyone stay.
"Hello. Shopping!" Cain
abruptly announced. He turned to her with a triumphant smile that abruptly
faded away. "Are you … are you all right?"
She gazed at him helplessly, pinned by those
peering green eyes. Don't look at me like that, don't ask me that kind of
question. She glanced away sharply, blinking her eyes against the tears and
clutching the door handle as if that would give her strength. She couldn't look
at him and she couldn't bear to cry twice in one day. "I've … I've just
been kidnapped," she whispered at last. "How all right should I
be?"
"Of … of course." But she could still
feel his gaze upon her back. The silence stretched in the tiny cab. She didn't
know why he didn't snarl or growl, why he didn't act a little more mean. She
didn't know why he kept looking at her like that and she wished he would stop.
Finally, he turned away. She heard a small
sound as he cleared his throat and could almost picture his hands flexing and
unflexing on the wheel.
Another moment passed in silence, then she
realized that Cain was now pulling over the truck. She glanced up to see a row
of mud-splattered cars and pickup trucks, and the bright orange Caterpillars of
a work crew excavating a broad space for a new housing development.
"What?" she asked, bewildered.
"New truck."
"No!"
"Yes." He turned their truck in at
the beginning of the line of vehicles. She glanced toward the construction
crew, waiting for one of them to notice. They were intent upon their work.
Cain opened the door and hopped out, yanking
her with him. She tumbled out behind him with less grace.
"You can't do this," she whispered
urgently, tugging in vain on her half of the handcuffs. "Stealing the
first truck was bad enough."
"Keep your head down."
"Are you listening to me?"
"Of course I am. Stealing is wrong, bad,
evil. I've broken one of the commandments and I'm not a nice person. Did I miss
anything?" His gaze was sardonic, and because he outweighed her by one
hundred pounds, he slowly and methodically dragged her toward his intended
prey.
"Haven't you looked at the construction
crew?" she continued desperately. "These people are hard at work to
earn paychecks to support their families. You can't steal their only vehicle
while they try to earn a living like that. It's just … just—"
Cain whirled on her
a baby. She was twenty-seven years old and all she could think was had her
parents ever talked about her like that? Had they ever loved her, had they ever
thought of her first? Had they ever spoken of her with pride or affection?
Stephanie had never once said, "I love you." Neither had her father.
And sometimes late at night, she found herself
holding the heart pendant around her neck and thinking of her dad. Maxmillian.
Maxmillian the chameleon. Even after all these years, she knew so little about
him. Even Lydia hadn't understood her son. When she spoke of him, she recalled
his high school days as class president, Eagle Scout and student voted most
likely to succeed. No one understood the man he'd become. Why he'd loved the
women he'd loved, why he'd traveled like he'd traveled. He'd been, and then he
was gone, and sometimes Maggie felt this huge, gaping hole she just couldn't
fill.
All she had left was a cheap gold locket and a
silly little girl's secret she'd still never divulged because it was the only
part of her father's life that was uniquely hers.
One night, she'd found her hand on the phone,
already dialing C.J. in Sedona. Not to talk, not for anything. But just to see
if he was still there, to make sure he hadn't disappeared as well. She wanted
to do the same thing with Lydia and Brandon, except she already knew Brandon
wouldn't pick up. He was traveling the world. He had become as distant and
enigmatic as Max even though he'd sworn to be there for her forever.
People just came and went in her life. She
didn't know how to make them stay. She didn't know how to make anyone stay.
"Hello. Shopping!" Cain
abruptly announced. He turned to her with a triumphant smile that abruptly
faded away. "Are you … are you all right?"
She gazed at him helplessly, pinned by those
peering green eyes. Don't look at me like that, don't ask me that kind of
question. She glanced away sharply, blinking her eyes against the tears and
clutching the door handle as if that would give her strength. She couldn't look
at him and she couldn't bear to cry twice in one day. "I've … I've just
been kidnapped," she whispered at last. "How all right should I
be?"
"Of … of course." But she could still
feel his gaze upon her back. The silence stretched in the tiny cab. She didn't
know why he didn't snarl or growl, why he didn't act a little more mean. She
didn't know why he kept looking at her like that and she wished he would stop.
Finally, he turned away. She heard a small
sound as he cleared his throat and could almost picture his hands flexing and
unflexing on the wheel.
Another moment passed in silence, then she
realized that Cain was now pulling over the truck. She glanced up to see a row
of mud-splattered cars and pickup trucks, and the bright orange Caterpillars of
a work crew excavating a broad space for a new housing development.
"What?" she asked, bewildered.
"New truck."
"No!"
"Yes." He turned their truck in at
the beginning of the line of vehicles. She glanced toward the construction
crew, waiting for one of them to notice. They were intent upon their work.
Cain opened the door and hopped out, yanking
her with him. She tumbled out behind him with less grace.
"You can't do this," she whispered
urgently, tugging in vain on her half of the handcuffs. "Stealing the
first truck was bad enough."
"Keep your head down."
"Are you listening to me?"
"Of course I am. Stealing is wrong, bad,
evil. I've broken one of the commandments and I'm not a nice person. Did I miss
anything?" His gaze was sardonic, and because he outweighed her by one
hundred pounds, he slowly and methodically dragged her toward his intended
prey.
"Haven't you looked at the construction
crew?" she continued desperately. "These people are hard at work to
earn paychecks to support their families. You can't steal their only vehicle
while they try to earn a living like that. It's just … just—"
Cain whirled on her
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