Nobody's Baby But Mine Part 11

"It's awful. Nothing more than a monument to greed."

"Doesn't bother me none. I wasn't the one who cheated the G.o.d-fearing."

His narrow-mindedness maddened her. "Think of all those people sending Snopes money they squeezed out of their food budget and social security checks. I wonder how many malnourished children went into that ceiling mirror?"

"A couple dozen for sure."

She shot him a quick look to see if he was joking, but he had wandered over to explore an elaborate ebony cabinet that held electronic equipment.

"I can't believe how callous you're being about this." She didn't even know why she was trying to make someone so self-involved and intellectually impaired see beyond his limits.

"You'd better not say that in front of G. Dwayne's creditors. More than a few of them are finally getting paid because I bought this place." He slid out a deep drawer in the cabinet. "He sure did have a taste for p.o.r.n. There must be a couple dozen X-rated videos in here."

"Perfect."

"You ever see Slumber Party Panty Pranks Slumber Party Panty Pranks?

"That does it!" She stomped over to the cabinet, dug into the drawer, and filled her arms with the ca.s.settes. The pile was so large, she had to brace it under her chin as she headed out the door to find a garbage can. "Starting now, this house is G-rated."

"That's right," he called after her. "The only use you've got for s.e.x is to get yourself knocked up."

She felt as if she'd been kicked in the stomach. She stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to face him.

He glared at her with those d.a.m.n-the-torpedo eyes, his hands splayed on his hips, chin jutted forward, and she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd told her to meet him outside so they could settle this with their fists. Once again, she realized how woefully ill equipped she was to handle this man. Surely there had to be a better way than sniping.

"Is this how we want to live for the next three months?" she asked quietly. "With the two of us attacking each other?"

"Works for me."

"But we'll both be miserable. Please. Let's call a truce."

"You want a truce?"

"Yes. Let's stop all these personal attacks and try to get along."

"No dice, Professor." He stared at her for a long moment, then walked forward, his steps unhurried, but still threatening. "You're the one who started this dirty little war, and now you're going to live with the consequences." He brushed past her and headed down the stairs.

She stood there with her heart pounding as he disappeared out the front door. Moments later, she heard the sound of the Jeep driving away. Deeply depressed, she dragged herself to the kitchen, where she deposited the videotapes in the trash.

The requisite Snopes's family crystal chandelier hung over an island works.p.a.ce topped with black granite that made it look like a crypt, an effect that was enhanced by the s.h.i.+ny black marble floor. The connecting breakfast nook had a charming bay window and a beautiful view. Unfortunately, the view had to fight a built-in banquette upholstered in blood red velvet and wallpaper printed with metallic red roses so full-blown they seemed on the verge of decay. The entire area looked as if it had been decorated by Dracula, but at least the view was pleasant, so she decided to settle in there until she felt more able to cope.

For the next few hours, she alternated between putting away the groceries that had been delivered, making phone calls to tie up loose ends in Chicago, writing a quick note to Caroline, and brooding. As evening approached, the quiet in the house grew thick and oppressive. She realized her last meal had been a very early breakfast, and though she had little appet.i.te, she began putting together a small meal from the badly stocked pantry.

The groceries that had been delivered included multiple boxes of Lucky Charms, cream-filled chocolate cupcakes, white bread, and bologna. It was either hillbilly gourmet or the dream diet of a nine-year-old boy-either way, it didn't appeal to her. She preferred her food fresh and as close to its natural state as possible. Deciding on a grilled cheese sandwich made from Styrofoam white bread and rubbery slices of artificial cheese, she settled on the red velvet banquette to eat.

By the time she'd finished, the events of the day had caught up with her, and she wanted nothing more than to stumble into bed and sleep, but her suitcases weren't in the foyer. She realized Cal must have put them away while she'd been exploring the house. For a moment, she remembered that awful master bedroom and wondered if he thought she was going to share it with him. She immediately dismissed the idea. He'd been avoiding even the slightest physical contact with her; she certainly didn't have to worry about him being s.e.xually aggressive.

The knowledge should have comforted her, but it didn't. There was something so overwhelmingly male about him that she couldn't help feeling threatened. She simply hoped her superior intelligence would win over his physical strength.

The colored lights of the fountain in the foyer below threw grotesque fun-house shadows on the walls as she made her way upstairs to find a bedroom for herself. With a shudder, she headed toward the door at the end of the hallway, choosing it only because it was farthest from the master bedroom.

The charming little nursery she found surprised her. Simply decorated with blue-and-white-striped wallpaper, it held a comfortable rocker, white enameled bureau, and matching crib. Above it hung a needlework prayer mounted in a simple frame, and she realized this was the only religious object she'd seen inside the house. Someone had designed this little boy's nursery with love, and she didn't believe it had been G. Dwayne Snopes.

She sank down in the wooden rocker that sat by a window with tieback curtains and thought about her own child. How could it ever grow strong and happy with two parents constantly at war? She remembered the promise she'd made Annie Glide to put Cal's welfare before her own and wondered how she had let the old lady trap her into agreeing to something so impossible. It seemed even more ironic in view of the fact that he had promised nothing in return.

Why hadn't she been wilier and ducked the old lady's prodding as he'd done? Still, in light of the wedding vows she'd spoken, what difference did one more broken promise make?

As she rested her head against the back of the rocker she searched for a way to make peace with him. Somehow she had to accomplish it, not because of what she'd said to Annie, but because it was best for the baby.

A little after midnight, Cal sealed himself in the study to call Brian Delgado at home. While he waited for his attorney to answer the phone, he viewed the room's Gothic furnis.h.i.+ngs with distaste, including the trophy heads mounted on the walls. He liked his blood sport to involve able-bodied men, not animals, and he made up his mind to get rid of them as soon as possible.

When Brian answered, Cal was in no mood to chitchat, so he got right to the point. "What have you found out?"

"Nothing yet. Dr. Darlington doesn't seem to have any skeletons in her closet-you were right about that-maybe because her personal life has been almost nonexistent."

"What does she do with her spare time?"

"She works. That seems to be her life."

"Any blots on her professional record?"

"Problems with her boss at Preeze Labs, but that looks more like professional jealousy on his part. High-level particle physics still seems to be pretty much a boys' club, especially with the older scientists."

Cal frowned. "I hoped you'd have more by now."

"Cal, I know you want this handled yesterday, but it's going to take a while unless you want to attract all kinds of attention."

He shoved his hand through his hair. "You're right. Take the time you need, but handle it. I'm giving you complete authority to act. I don't want this pushed aside."

"Understood."

They talked for a few minutes about the terms Cal was being offered to renew his contract with a fast-food chain, and then they discussed a proposed endors.e.m.e.nt for an athletic clothing manufacturer. Cal was just ready to hang up when a thought occurred to him.

"Send one of your people out tomorrow to buy up a batch of comic books. Soldier of fortune stuff, action heroes-have them throw in a couple of Bugs Bunny. I'll need four or five dozen."

"Comic books?"

"Yeah."

Brian asked no more questions, even though Cal knew he wanted to. Their conversation ended, and he headed upstairs in search of the woman who had so deviously altered his life.

He didn't feel even a pang of guilt for wanting revenge. The gridiron had taught him a lot of survival lessons, and one of them was fundamental. If somebody laid a dirty hit on you, you had to strike back twice as hard or pay for it in the future, and that was something he wouldn't risk. He had no intention of living the rest of his life looking over his shoulder trying to figure out what she might be up to next. She needed to understand exactly who she'd tangled with and exactly what the consequences would be if she ever tried to deceive him again.

He found her in the nursery curled up in a rocker with her gla.s.ses resting in her lap. In her sleep she appeared vulnerable, but he knew what a lie that was. From the beginning, she'd been cold-blooded and calculating as she'd gone about getting what she wanted, and in the process she'd altered the course of his life in a way he'd never forgive. And not only his life, he reminded himself, but the life of an innocent child.

He'd always liked kids. For over ten years he'd spent a lot of his time working with underprivileged ones, although he'd done his best to keep that information from the press because he didn't want anybody trying to make him over into Saint Cal. When he finally got around to getting married, he'd always figured he'd stay that way. He'd grown up in a stable family, and it bothered him to watch his buddies and their ex-wives shuffle their kids back and forth. He'd sworn he'd never do that to a child, but Dr. Jane Darlington had taken the choice away from him.

He walked farther into the room and watched the blade of moonlight caught in her hair turn it into silver. One stray lock curled softly over her cheek. She'd taken off her jacket, and her silk top clung to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s so that he could watch their gentle rise and fall.

Asleep, she looked younger than the formidable physics professor who'd instructed her cla.s.s on Borromean nuclei. That day there had been something parched about her, as if she'd been closed up inside so long that all her juices had dried up, but asleep and bathed in moonlight she was different-dewy, renewed, plumped up-and he felt the stirrings of desire.

His physical reaction bothered him. The first two times he'd been with her he hadn't known what she was like. Now he knew, but his body didn't seem to have gotten the message.

He decided it was time for the next scene in their unpleasant melodrama, and he pressed the toe of his shoe down on the front of the rocker. The chair tilted, and she startled awake.

"Bedtime, Rosebud."

Her green eyes flew open and immediately darkened with wariness. "I-I must have fallen asleep."

"Big day."

"I was looking for a bedroom." She slipped on her gla.s.ses, then pushed her hands through her hair, where it had fallen forward over her face. He watched silvery blond drizzles trickle through her fingers.

"You can take the Widow Snopes's room. Come on."

He could see that she didn't want to follow him, but she wanted another argument even less. It was a mistake for her to telegraph her emotions the way she did. It made the game too easy.

He led her down the hallway, and as they came closer to the master bedroom, her nervousness grew. He felt a grim satisfaction watching it happen. What would she do if he touched her? So far, he'd avoided any physical contact, not quite trusting himself to stay in control. He'd never hit a woman-could never even have imagined doing such a thing-but the urge to damage her was primal. As he observed her nervousness, he knew he had to test her.

They reached the door just before his own. He extended his hand toward the k.n.o.b and deliberately brushed her arm.

Jane jumped as she felt his touch and spun to face him. His eyes were full of mockery, and she realized he knew exactly how nervous he was making her. There was something dangerous about him tonight. She had no idea what he was thinking; she only knew that they were alone in this big, ugly house, and she felt defenseless.

He pushed open the door. "We've got connecting bedrooms, just like those old-time houses used to have. I guess G. Dwayne and his wife didn't get along real well."

"I don't want a connecting bedroom. I'll sleep in one of the rooms at the other end of the hall."

"You'll sleep wherever I tell you."

p.r.i.c.kles of alarm skidded up her spine, but she lifted her head and met his gaze. "Stop bullying me."

"This isn't bullying. Bullies can't back up their threats. I can."

His lazy drawl held an edge of menace, and her stomach twisted. "Exactly what are you threatening?"

His gaze slid over her, lingering at the hollow of her neck, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, pa.s.sing down to her hips, then returning to her eyes. "You cost me my peace of mind, not to mention a wad of cash. To my way of thinking, that means you've got some big debts to pay off. Maybe I just want you close by while I decide when I'm going to start collecting."

The s.e.xual threat was unmistakable, and she should have been enraged-certainly frightened-but instead, a curious jolt pa.s.sed through her, as if her nerve endings had received an electrical shock. She found her reaction deeply disturbing, and she tried to move away from him, only to back into the doorjamb.

He lifted his arm and splayed one hand on the edge of the frame, just next to her head. His leg brushed the side of hers, and all of her senses grew alert. She saw the hollows beneath his cheekbones, the rim of black that surrounded the irises of his pale gray eyes. She caught the faint scent of laundry detergent on his knit s.h.i.+rt and something else, something that shouldn't have a smell, but did. The scent of danger.

His voice was a husky whisper. "The first time I strip you naked, Rosebud, it's going to be in broad daylight because I don't want to miss a thing."

Her palms grew damp, and an awful wildness rose inside her. She felt a suicidal desire to peel her silk sh.e.l.l over her head, unfasten her slacks, to strip herself naked for him right here in the hallway of this sinner's house. She wanted to answer his warrior's challenge with one of her own, a challenge as ancient and powerful as the first woman's.

He moved. It was almost nothing. A slight s.h.i.+ft of his weight, but it brought the chaos of her thoughts back in order. She was a middle-aged physics professor whose only lover wore socks to bed. What kind of opponent was she for this seasoned s.e.xual warrior who seemed to have chosen s.e.x as a weapon to subjugate her?

She was deeply shaken and just as determined not to let him use her weakness to his advantage. She lifted her gaze to his. "You do what you have to, Cal. I'll do the same."

Did she imagine a flicker of surprise on his face? She couldn't be certain as she turned into the room and shut the door.

The sun streaming through the windows awakened her the next morning. She propped herself up on the pillows and admired the Widow Snopes's bedroom, which was painted a pale blue with chalk white trim and soft iris accents. Its simple cherry furniture and braided rugs gave the room the same homey feel as the nursery.

Jane glanced uneasily toward the door that led to a master bath linking her bedroom with Cal's. She vaguely remembered hearing a shower running earlier, and she could only hope he'd already left the house. Last night she had placed her own toiletries in a smaller bathroom down the hall.

The Jeep was gone by the time she had finished dressing, gotten unpacked, and made her way to the kitchen. She found a note from Cal on the counter with the number of a grocery store that delivered and instructions to order whatever she wanted. She ate a piece of toast, then phoned in a list of items more suitable to her taste buds than foamfilled chocolate cupcakes.

Not long after the groceries arrived, another deliveryman showed up with her computer equipment. She had him carry it to her bedroom, where she spent the next few hours setting up a works.p.a.ce for herself on a table she moved in front of the window, so she could gaze at the mountains whenever she remembered to look up from her computer screen. For the rest of the day, she worked, stopping only long enough to take a walk outside.

The grounds around the house nearly made up for the interior. Shadowed by the surrounding mountains, they were a bit overgrown, and it was too early for anything to be in bloom, but she loved their feeling of isolation and slightly abandoned look. She saw a rough path leading up the side of the nearest mountain and began to follow it, but after less than ten minutes, she found herself gasping for breath from the effects of the alt.i.tude. As she turned back, she decided she'd make herself go a bit farther each day until she reached the notch at the top.

By the time she went to bed that night, she still hadn't seen Cal, and he was gone when she awakened the next morning. Late that afternoon, however, he walked into the foyer as she came downstairs.

He gave her that familiar contemptuous look, as if she'd crawled out from under a rock. "The realtor hired a couple of women to keep the house clean while it was on the market. She said they did a good job, so I told them to stay on. They'll be coming a couple times a week starting tomorrow."

"All right."

"They don't speak much English, but they seemed to know what they're doing. Stay out of their way."

She nodded and thought about asking him where he had been until two o'clock in the morning, the time she'd heard the toilet flush in the adjoining bathroom, but he had already turned to leave. As the door shut, she wondered if he was going off to be with another woman.

The thought depressed her. Even though their marriage was a sham, and he didn't owe her fidelity, she wished he'd give it to her, just for the next three months. A premonition of disaster settled over her, a sense of impending doom that made her so uncomfortable, she hurried back to her computer and buried herself in work.

Her days settled into a routine, but the uneasiness never quite went away. To keep it at bay, she worked most of the time, although she managed a walk each day. She barely saw Cal, something that should have eased her mind, but didn't, since she realized he had virtually imprisoned her. She had no car, he didn't offer to lend her his, and the only people she saw were deliverymen and the two Korean cleaning women. Like a feudal lord with a moated castle, he had deliberately cut her off from the town and its people. She wondered what he planned to do when his family returned.

Unlike a medieval n.o.blewoman, she could have put an end to her imprisonment anytime she wanted. A phone call to a taxi company would have done the job, but she didn't have any real desire to go out. With the exception of the p.r.i.c.kly Annie Glide, she knew no one here, and although she would have enjoyed seeing something of the area, she couldn't resist the luxury of uninterrupted time.

Never in her life had she been able to devote herself so completely to pure science. There were no cla.s.ses to teach, no faculty meetings to attend, no errands to run, nothing to distract her from her research. With her computer, modem, and telephone, she was linked to everything she needed, from the Los Alamos electronic library to the data coming in from crucial experiments being conducted in the world's billion-dollar supercolliders. And work kept her uneasy thoughts at bay.

She began to lose track of time as she absorbed herself in the mathematics of duality, applying theoretical physics to unravel mathematical puzzles. Using a free-flowing mathematics of intuition, she pondered convoluted curves and mirror symmetry. She applied quantum field theory to count holes in four-dimensional s.p.a.ce, and wherever she went, she left scribbled notes to herself-ideas scratched on the backs of pizza coupons that came in the mail, formulas written with a stubby golf pencil over the margins of the morning newspaper. One afternoon she walked into her bathroom only to see that she'd unthinkingly used her antique rose lipstick to draw a doughnut shape that was remodeling into a sphere on the bathroom mirror. With that, she knew she had to get out.

She grabbed her white Windbreaker, emptied the notes she'd stuffed into the pockets on previous walks, and left through the French doors at the rear of the house. As she made her way across the yard toward the path up the side of the mountain that she'd been climbing a little higher each day, her thoughts returned to the problems of convoluted curves. Would it be possible ...

The shrill call of a bird blasted through her conjecture and made her aware of her surroundings. What was she doing pondering quantum geometry in the middle of all this beauty? If she weren't careful, she'd become so strange that no child would want her as a mother.

As she climbed higher, she forced herself to observe the world around her. She drew in the rich scents of pine and leaf mold and felt the sun s.h.i.+ning with new warmth. The trees had a fragile green lacework on them. Spring was arriving, and before long these mountain slopes would be alive with blooms.

But instead of being buoyed by the beauty, her spirits drooped, and the premonition of disaster that had been nagging at the edges of her consciousness for days grew stronger. By immersing herself so completely in her work, she had kept herself from thinking, but with the quiet of the damp woods around her, that was no longer possible.

As her breathing grew labored, she made her way to a rocky area off to the side of the path where she could rest. She was so tired of living with guilt. Cal would never forgive her for what she had done, and she could only pray that he wouldn't take his hostility out on their child.

She remembered his veiled s.e.xual threat the night they had arrived and realized she had no idea if he'd really try to force himself on her. She s.h.i.+vered and looked down on the valley, where she saw the house with its dark-s.h.i.+ngled roof and crescent-shaped motor court. She watched a car turn into the gated lane. Cal's Jeep. Had he come back to grab a fresh comic book from his collection?

They were scattered all over the house: X-Men, The Avengers, The Vault of Horror X-Men, The Avengers, The Vault of Horror, even Bugs Bunny Bugs Bunny. Every time she saw a new comic book, she sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving that at least this one thing had gone right. Intelligence tended toward the norm. Surely his mental slowness would balance her own genius and keep her child from being a freak. She silently expressed her grat.i.tude by making certain his comics were never disturbed, not even by the cleaning women.

But that grat.i.tude didn't extend to her imprisonment. As much as the isolation helped her work, she realized she was giving him too much power by tolerating it. What would he do, she wondered, if she didn't return? He knew she went for walks, but how would he react if she didn't come back? What if she made her way beyond the gates, found a telephone, and took a taxi to the airport?

The idea of upsetting him elevated her spirits a few small notches. Leaning back on her elbows, she tilted her face and enjoyed the suns.h.i.+ne until she felt the chill of the rockyledge through her wool slacks. Then she rose and gazed back down into the valley.