Page 77 of At Midnight Comes the Cry
“Nothin’.” Cal March shut the door behind him. The gun pointed toward Clare didn’t waver. “Hi.” He smiled. “I bet you thought you’d really pulled it off when you lost me the other day. But you didn’t even notice me following you here.” He shook his head. “All you bitches are alike.”
She’d been looking for a box truck. Stuck on one idea, not considering he might have gotten a car. Stupid. Stupid. “I called the police when I left the church. If I don’t check in now I’m here, they’ll send an officer to this address.”
“Oh, no!” He waved one hand in the air. “Not anofficerof thelaw!” He gestured with his gun. “Let’s get to it, then.”
“Tiny’s not here.” As soon as she said it, she knew she’d made a mistake. “And the baby’s with her.”
“Really? ’Cause it didn’t look like it when I saw her and the old lady turning up the end of the street. How ’bout we take a look around, just in case you might be lying to my face.”
“There’s already an arrest warrant out for you. You don’t want to do this.”
“Bitch, I’ll shoot you right here. Wrap you up and drop you someplace in the woods and they’ll never find you. Open the doors here.”
She opened the doors off the kitchen, revealing the bathroom and Margy’s bedroom. Cal gestured her inside. “Open the closet door.” She opened it. He picked up a framed photo from the dresser. “Aw, look at you all pretty in your wedding dress. This your mom’s place?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “She’s got three other pictures of this guy, and no more of you. You really love to lie, don’t you? You know what happens to liars? I don’t have to kill you to hurt you bad. Look at me.”
She looked at him.
“No more lies.”
She nodded.
“Say it.”
“No more lies.”
“Good. Back to the kitchen.”
Cal glanced at the screened-in porch at the back of the house, stripped down for the season and empty. He gestured toward the living room. Clare backed in all the way to the unused front door.
“Cozy. I like it.” Cal pointed to the stairs. “You go first. Put your hands on your head and lock your fingers.”
She did so. With every step, she could feel her heart pounding, her muscles shaking, the rush of her blood almost deafening. “Keep going. Right into the bathroom. Oh, here we are. Here’s my little girl. Okay, come out.”
She emerged from the powder room. Cal was looming over the crib, his gun large and obscene and terrifying. “Pack up her stuff for me.”
“Cal, don’t do this. Don’t take the baby. Take me instead. Don’t take the baby.”
He smiled. “Maybe I should take both of ’em. I wanted a boy.”
After she came home from Iraq, Clare had vowed to never touch a weapon again, but if Russ’s Glock were at hand she would have emptied the whole clip into Cal March’s face with no regret. Instead, she picked up the overnighter she’d loaned Tiny and began putting Rose’s clothing and blanket and diapers in it.
“Good. Get her snowsuit on her.”
Clare eased Rose into the thickly padded one-piece. The baby whined a complaint and batted at Clare’s hands.
“You carry her downstairs. Back to the kitchen.”
Rose laid her head on Clare’s shoulder and fell back asleep. Ethan, mercifully, hadn’t stirred. Clare walked carefully down the stairs and crossed through the living room.
“You got something for her to eat in here?”
“Her formula and some baby food, yes.”
Tiny had left her diaper bag hanging from one of the coat hooks by the door. Cal set it on the table and unzipped it. “In here.”
