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How had things gone so wrong? she wondered miserably.
From its hiding spot under her pillow, she pulled out her phone and started to call. If she could just talk to him, hear his voice . . . find out if he’d . . .
NO! She couldn’t think that way. She slid the phone back under the pillow, didn’t want to chance losing it.
Even though she had a backup. One that would have to be activated, if she so chose, but at least it was something. Stealing Larissa’s phone had just felt right. It was deactivated, of course. No way would her father keep paying for service for a missing phone, but still it was there if she needed it. She could sell it or somehow find some computer nerd to get it up and running. And wasn’t that fair? Larissa had Daddy. Now Ivy had the latest iPhone.
Ivy glanced at the bedside clock. Ten AM. She could still carve out a few hours if she could just relax enough, forget for just a little while the images of her mother, Paul, and that horrid man who had attacked her.
She could hear all the activity in the house—the doors opening and closing, dogs barking, coffee being ground, the baby crying. Had she made a huge mistake coming here? Aunt Regan was a damned cop. Sooner or later she might learn the truth.
Not if you keep your mouth shut.
Not if you play it cool.
Not if you don’t blow it.
Remember: this is the place you were told to come to.
By more than one person, though her mother’s voice was the one she heard again, telling her to go to Aunt Regan if she was ever in trouble. She’d given Ivy that same advice many times over the years, and as a child Ivy had wondered what it meant. “Won’t you always be around?” she’d asked her mother once, when Brindel had picked her up from the private elementary school she’d attended.
“Of course I will be,” her mother had responded, though she hadn’t smiled, just kept her eyes on the road ahead.
“Then why would I have to call Aunt Regan?”
“Oh, honey, I mean if... you know, I get waylaid or Daddy and I are on a trip and out of town or—”
“You mean Paul, don’t you?” Ivy had declared. “He’s not my daddy.”
“Yes, yes, honey, I know that. Yes, I’m talking about Paul. Of course, but I meant—Oh, for the love of St. Jude, did you see that?” she’d said suddenly. “Holy Jesus, they issue licenses to total morons these days!”
Ivy had looked to see what her mother was talking about, but the only car on the road wasn’t anywhere near theirs. Mom had wanted to drop the subject when Ivy started asking too many questions. That was the nature of their relationship, she realized.
Now, lying on the bed, her head pounding, Ivy knew she was in trouble. Big trouble. What could she tell the San Francisco cops? They wouldn’t be as understanding as her aunt, and Ivy wasn’t certain she could really trust Pescoli. Though her face had remained calm, even passive, Ivy had sensed that her aunt had reservations about her story, and that might develop into a problem.
But if it did, she knew how to solve it.
Her gaze moved to the closed door of her room, which, as it so happened, was right across the hall from the nursery.
Which was perfect.
Chapter 18
Oh. Joy.
Bianca could see her father was waiting for her in the school parking lot, behind the wheel of his idling Mustang convertible, his latest shi
ny toy. She was already halfway through the door near the gym when she caught sight of him. Why the hell wouldn’t he just leave her alone? Setting her jaw, she decided to once again ignore him. Swept up in the tide of other students, she beelined for her Jeep, which was parked several rows away from his vehicle.
She hated him. Hated her own father for the way he’d played her, used her, nearly costing her her life itself, all for fame, glory, and of course, money, some of which had gone into the purchase of the new car with its vanity plates that said simply: “Lucky.”
Sick jerk.
Of course he would show up here.
Over the noise of car engines revving, laughter, and wheels spinning, kicking up loose gravel, she heard Annie, one of her friends, call out to her. “Hey, Bianca! Wanna hang out?”
She couldn’t deal with Annie now. Or anyone else for that matter. She just lifted a hand and kept trudging through the crisp winter air and across the parking lot where snow, ice, and gravel made walking a bit of a trick. As she neared the Jeep, she pulled her remote key from her pocket and hit the button to unlock the driver’s side door, sliding quickly inside.
