Crime and Passion. Marie Ferrarella
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as if she was about to pass out. The color had suddenly drained from her face. She looked vulnerable, he thought. “Hey, are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said defiantly just before she felt herself crumbling inside. She shut her eyes to keep the tears from suddenly leaking out. Where had they come from? she thought accusingly. This wasn’t like her. She was strong, resourceful.
But he and his cousin had made her think that her baby was in danger, and that changed everything.
“No, I’m not,” she admitted. “Someone tried to get in here, Clay. Someone I didn’t know or want in my house was trying to break in. They could have scared my son. I—” Her voice cracked and she covered her mouth with her fingertips to keep the sob from breaking free.
“Shhh.”
Faced with the promise of tears, not knowing what else to do, Clay did what came naturally. He took Ilene into his arms and held her against him. She struggled for a second before giving in and letting him hold her.
A flood of feelings instantly rushed over him. Six years ago, he was holding her to him because they were wildly, unreasonably in love. Back then, at times like this, he’d find himself loving the moment he was in because she was in it, as well.
And being terrified of that same moment. Because Ilene represented everything that could make him weak, that could make him codependent. Everything that could take his manhood and cut him off at the knees.
She’d had that kind of power over him. Until he’d taken it away from her. But for now she needed comfort, and he needed to be able to give it to her, such as it was.
Stroking her hair, he whispered against it. “It’s going to be okay.”
Just for a moment Ilene allowed herself to cling to him, to cling to the moment and pretend that he could protect her. Pretend that nothing had changed and she could put her faith and trust in this man who would always be there for her.
But he hadn’t been.
And he couldn’t be. No one could. He’d proved that to her.
A cold resolve came over her. She couldn’t depend on anyone but herself. She was all that Alex had. Which meant she had to be brave for both of them. Being brave meant not falling to pieces.
With effort, she pulled herself together and drew away.
“No, it’s not. Nothing’s going to be all right, not yet. And nothing is ever going to be the same again.” She wiped the heel of her hand against the tears. Tossing her head, she tried to regain some of fragmented composure. For a second she tried to deny the obvious. “Maybe it was just a common burglar.”
“Maybe,” he said, his eyes on her face. “But you don’t believe that.”
Another shaky breath left her. She’d never been much for lying, even to herself. “No, I don’t believe that.”
With a sigh she sank down on the sofa, then rose again, as if there were springs in her legs that wouldn’t allow her to relax. She couldn’t sit, couldn’t remain still. Someone had tried to break in, to harm her. To harm her son. And she was powerless to do anything about it except dial a phone.
Frustration chewed at her. Had Walken actually authorized this? Had the man who’d played Santa Claus at last year’s Christmas party, who’d had her son climb up on his knee, given the go-ahead to someone to attempt to break into her house? And do what? Threaten her? Or worse?
Unable to stay still, she began to pace the room again. But there was nowhere to go.
Clay watched her as she prowled about the space. “You want to tell me what happened?”
Talking. Talking about it was good, she thought. Talking about it brought it into the light and maybe would make it fade away. She ran her hands along her arms as she spoke. She was cold.
“I just came down from putting Alex to bed. He likes me to read to him until he falls asleep, and sometimes it takes a while,” she said, a hint of a smile playing along her lips as if she was seeking comfort from the familiar act. He could remember when that smile had been his exclusive property. Now it belonged to anyone but him. “I came downstairs to put away the dishes and thought I heard something at the back of the house. There’s a sliding glass door that leads out to the back patio,” she explained. “When I got there, I didn’t see anyone, but then I thought I heard someone walking along the side of the house.”
She knew she should have checked it out herself first, but all she could think of was that it would leave Alex alone in the house.
“I thought I heard him rattling the window. I guess I panicked and called you.” Her shrug was dismissive as she ran her hands along her arms again. “Maybe it was the wind,” she muttered.
“The wind was dressed in black and wore sneakers.”
Her last shred of hope tore away from her fingertips. Even so, she fell back on another attempt at denial. She didn’t want to believe the worst, not about someone she’d worked so closely with. “Then it was a burglar.”
“Or someone trying to blend into the night until he got in. Let me take a look outside, see what I can find. You stay here,” he told her sternly as she began to follow him. To his surprise, Ilene nodded her head and remained where she was.
He was back within a few minutes, holding something in his hand. A drawing of some sort. “I don’t think whoever it was was trying to break in. He was trying to warn you off.”
“Warn me off?” she repeated, puzzled.
In response, Clay held up what he’d found taped to the window she’d heard being rattled. It was a drawing of three monkeys sitting side by side. One covered his mouth, another his ears, the third his eyes. The message was clear.
“This is only the first step. It’ll escalate. The next time he’ll be inside the house.”
She looked at Clay accusingly. “You’re scaring me.”
“Good,” he retorted flatly. “I want to. I also want you to take Janelle’s suggestion seriously.”
She didn’t want to. Janelle’s suggestion meant going into hiding. She wanted to stand her ground, to stay in her own home. To continue with her life as if nothing had happened.
But she knew that something had happened, and just as she’d said to him when he first came in, nothing was ever going to be the same again.
She couldn’t hide her head in the sand. Not when she had Alex to think of. “So what do I do?”
“Well, you can’t stay here. We can place you in a hotel and—” Clay began to outline the familiar course of action in these cases. She was a witness and had to be kept alive.
But Ilene was already adamantly shaking her head. “No.”
He could feel his temper suddenly getting frayed. No one had that kind of effect on him—except for her. But then, she could always make him feel things no one else could.
“Ilene, this isn’t the time to be stubborn.”
“I’m not being stubborn. But I won’t disrupt Alex’s life.”
He stared at her. “And having people break into his house and possibly abduct his mother or worse isn’t going to disrupt it? Think, Ilene, use your head. This time he was asleep, maybe next time he won’t be—”
She wasn’t going to let him scare her, at least not any more than she already was. “There’s got to be another solution.”
Did she think this was some kind of game that if she didn’t like it, she could just pick up all the marbles and go home? She’d set something in motion by bringing the audit’s discrepancies to light, something that couldn’t be stopped. All he could do was get her out of the way of the rolling boulder that threatened to crush her.
“There