I…I…” Her voice trailed off miserably. “Come home, Madeline. Please.”
“How could you, Dorothy?” she whispered. “You know why I ran. I told you about Griffen. I told you what he…did. He means Grace harm, he—”
“You’re wrong about him, Madeline. You always were. He’s grown up, going off to college in a few weeks. He’s responsible and so handsome. Girls love him, Maddie. If what you thought was true, do you think girls would flock around him the way they do? Please, just come home. It’s not too late. I’m sure, if you did return of your own free will, Pierce and Adam would forgive and forget. Grace belongs here, with her family. With Monarch’s.”
Claire only half heard the last, her mind racing, scrambling to think of a way out of this, a way to escape.
“Madeline? Are you still—”
“Does he have pictures of Grace?” she asked, interrupting, a thought occurring to her.
“What? I don’t—”
“Does he know what Grace looks like?” Claire gripped the receiver tighter. “Does he?”
“I don’t think so. Because Griffen asked. He wanted to know what she looked like and Pierce said he didn’t. But why do you—”
“Griffen,” Claire interrupted, cold racing over her. “He was at dinner.”
“Of course.”
The line crackled. “He said he’s anxious to have his sister back. He’s been waiting for her, he said. He loves her, Madeline. He could never hurt her, he—”
Claire hung up the phone, her world crumbling around her. She never should have trusted Dorothy, she was given to fits of emotionalism and poor judgment. And she was a Monarch, after all. To her, the family and the family business were everything. Everything.
And Dorothy, like everyone else, hadn’t believed her. She hadn’t seen Griffen’s obsession as dangerous; she hadn’t witnessed the scene in the playroom; she hadn’t seen Grif-fen’s expression as he hurt Grace.
It had been like looking into the face of pure evil.
Claire began to shake. Pierce was close. So close he could “smell” her. They would take Skye away from her. Easily. She might even go to jail. She probably would.
Who would protect her baby then? Her head filled with the image of what she had stumbled upon all those years ago. Griffen holding Grace down, his hand over her mouth to silence her cries for help. His other hand up her dress. Inside her underwear. Touching her, violating her.
Claire brought a fist to her mouth, holding back her sound of horror. Griffen had not changed. She knew he had not. Dorothy’s words had said it all—he was anxious to have his sister back. He had been waiting for her.
She had to run. They had to run.
But they would be looking for her. Claire dropped her head into her hands. Except for her hair color and cut, she had changed little in the seven years she had been gone. And although Skye looked completely different, they would recognize them together. They would be looking for a mother and daughter—her and a daughter.
Together, because of her, they would recognize Skye. But apart…
If she left Skye, if she went on without her, Skye would be safer.
Claire shook her head, not believing what she was thinking. She couldn’t leave Skye. How could she live without her baby, even if only for a few weeks.
But if Pierce got her, she would never see her again.
Susan. The image of her oldest friend popped into her head. Though as different as two people could be, they had been as close as sisters, growing up. From the first grade on, they had seen each other through both triumphs and heartaches, through the upheavals of youth and the giddy fears of early adulthood.
Pierce had put an end to that. She and Susan had fought over Claire’s decision to marry Pierce; Susan had warned her about Pierce, she had said awful, ugly things about him, things Claire hadn’t been able to accept. Hurt and feeling betrayed, Claire had accused her friend of being jealous and bitter.
Susan had been right, of course. Claire should have known. Susan had always been right. Where she, Claire, had struggled through school and made one poor choice after another, Susan had sailed through both school and life.
Pride had kept Claire from calling her friend when she had realized the truth about her husband and marriage, it had kept her from calling her for help when she ran with Skye.
Until about a year ago. Claire had awakened one morning to realize that pride was a silly, stupid thing and that she needed her friend, that she wanted to talk to her. She had located Susan through her parents, and called. It had been like nothing had ever happened between them. They had both cried, so happy to talk to each other.
Claire had told her everything. Everything. About Pierce’s abuse and threats. About Griffen’s obsession with his half sister and the horror she had witnessed. She had told her about Adam’s nearly strangling her, and of how she’d escaped. Susan was the only person in the world who knew who Claire and Skye Dearborn really were.
It had been so good to talk to her again, so good to have someone she could share her fears with. Since then, they had spoken several times. Each time, Susan had begged Claire to come live with her. She was an English professor at St. Mary’s College in Notre Dame, Indiana. She would help her, she promised. And if Pierce found them, she would help Claire fight him.
Claire had declined each invitation. She had been too afraid. Susan didn’t understand the power of the Monarch family. She didn’t understand the lengths they would go to have their girl back.
And her friend didn’t understand the depths of Griffen’s dark obsession. No one did but Claire.
“Lady, you paying rent on that stool, or what? I gotta use the phone.”
She looked over her shoulder at the dripping-wet, red-faced man who stood behind her. “Sorry,” she murmured, sliding off the stool. “It’s all yours.”
Claire made her way to the bar, got a glass of wine then returned to the phone. The man was still talking, so she took a seat at the empty booth adjacent to it. She sipped the slightly sharp cabernet, her hand shaking so badly some of the wine sloshed over the side. She sipped again, then sagged against the booth’s ripped vinyl back. She couldn’t do what she was contemplating. Leave Skye? Even if only for a few weeks? How could she bear to be without her?
What other option did she have?
Claire closed her eyes, thinking again of Susan. Susan was the one person she knew well enough, the one person she trusted enough, to leave her precious baby with.
Susan would help her. If she asked her to come for Skye, if she asked her to keep her—hide her—for a while, she would. Claire could give Pierce and his private investigator the slip. She could run tonight, in the height of the storm’s fury; she had already laid the groundwork for her and Skye’s disappearance. Everyone would think that they had gone together. Of course they would. When Pierce’s P.I. showed up, Chance could point them in whatever direction she had asked him to.
She
