Hideaway Read online

  “You know I will, but—”

  “None of that. My mind’s made up. I damn well expect I’ll have a place to lay my head when I come visit. And I will come. We had good years here, me and your da. I want what came from us to have good years here as well.”

  She patted his hand. “Look out there, Hugh.” She laughed as she saw Cate do a handspring. “That’s the future out there, and I’m so grateful I had a part in making it.”

  While Cate did handsprings to entertain two of her younger cousins, her parents argued in their guest suite.

  Charlotte, her hair swept back in a chignon for the occasion, paced the hardwood, her Louboutins clicking like impatient fingersnaps.

  The raw energy pumping from her had once enthralled Aidan. Now it just made him tired.

  “I want to get out of here, Aidan, for God’s sake.”

  “And we will, tomorrow afternoon, as planned.”

  She whirled on him, lips sulky, eyes sheened with angry tears. The soft winter light spilled through the wide glass doors at her back and haloed around her.

  “I’ve had enough, can’t you understand? Can’t you see I’m on my last nerve? Why the hell do we have to have an idiotic family brunch tomorrow? We had the goddamn dinner last night, we had this whole endless deal today—not to mention the funeral. The endless funeral. How many more stories do I have to hear about the great Liam Sullivan?”

  Once he’d thought she understood his thick, braided family ties, then he’d hoped she’d come to understand them. Now they both understood she just tolerated them.

  Until she didn’t.

  Weary to the bone, Aidan sat, gave himself a minute to stretch out his long legs. He’d started to grow a beard for an upcoming role. It itched and annoyed him.

  He hated that, at the moment, he felt exactly the same about his wife.

  The rough spots in their marriage had smoothed out recently. Now it seemed they’d hit another bumpy patch. “It’s important to my grandmother, Charlotte, to my father, to me, to the family.”

  “Your family’s swallowing me whole, Aidan.”

  She did a heel turn, her hands flying out. So much drama, he thought, over a few more hours.

  “It’s just one more night, and there’ll only be a handful of us left by dinner. We’ll be home this time tomorrow. We still have guests, Charlotte. We should be downstairs right now.”

  “Then let your grandmother deal with them. Your father. You. Why can’t I take the plane and go home?”

  “Because it’s my father’s plane, and you, Caitlyn, and I will fly home with him and Lily tomorrow. For now, we’re a united front.”

  “If we had our own plane, I wouldn’t have to wait.”

  He could feel the headache growing behind his eyes. “Do we really need to go there? And now?”

  She shrugged. “Nobody would miss me.”

  He tried another tack, smiled. He knew, from experience, his wife reacted better to the sweet than the stern. “I would.”

  And on a sigh, she smiled back.

  She had a smile, he thought, that just stopped a man’s heart.

  “I’m being such a pain in the ass.”

  “Yeah, but you’re my pain in the ass.”

  On a quick laugh, she walked over, cuddled on his lap. “I’m sorry, baby. Almost sorry. Sort of sorry. You know I’ve never liked it up here. It feels so isolated it makes me claustrophobic. And I know that doesn’t make sense.”

  He knew better than to stroke that shining blond hair after she’d had it styled, so he lightly kissed her temple instead. “I get it, but we’ll be home tomorrow. I need you to stick just one more night, for my grandmother, my dad. For me.”

  After letting out a hiss, she poked his shoulder, then offered him her signature pout. Full coral lips, sulky and soft crystal-blue eyes dramatically lashed. “I better get points. Big points.”

  “How about a long weekend in Cabo points?”

  On a gasp, she grabbed his face with her hands. “You mean it?”

  “I’ve got a couple weeks before I start production.” So saying, he rubbed a hand over his scruff. “Let’s say we hit the beach for a few days. Cate’ll love it.”

  “She has school, Aidan.”

  “We’ll take her tutor.”

  “How about this?” Now she circled her arms around him, pressed her body, still in mourning black, against his. “Cate has a long weekend with Hugh and Lily, which she’d love. And you and I have a few days in Cabo.” She kissed him. “Just us. I’d love some just us, baby. Don’t you think we need some just us?”

  She was probably right—the smooth patches needed tending as much as the rough. While he hated leaving Cate, she was probably right. “I can make that work.”

  “Yes! I’m going to text Grant, see if he can do some extra sessions this week. I want a perfect bikini body.”

  “You already have one.”

  “That’s my sweet husband talking. We’ll see what my hard-assed personal trainer says. Oh!” She hopped up. “I need to shop.”

  “Right now we have to get back downstairs.”

  The flicker of annoyance marred her face before she smoothed it away. “Okay. You’re right, but give me a couple minutes to fix my face.”

  “Your face is gorgeous, as always.”

  “Sweet husband.” She pointed at him as she started toward her makeup counter. Then stopped. “Thanks, Aidan. These past few weeks, with all the tributes, the memorials, it’s been hard on all of us. A few days away, well, that’ll be good for us. I’ll be right down.”

  While her parents made up, Cate organized a game of hide-and-seek as the final outdoor game of the day. Always a favorite when the family gathered, the game had its rules, restrictions, and bonus points.

  In this case, the rules included outdoors only—as several of the adults had decreed no running inside. The It got a point for every hider found, with the first found designated as the next It. If that hider, now It, was five or under, he or she could choose a partner on the following hunt.

  If a hider went three rounds without being found, that meant ten bonus points.

  And since Cate had been planning this game all day, she knew how to win them.

  She darted off when Boyd, age eleven, started the countdown as the first It. Since Boyd lived in New York like his grandmother, he only visited Big Sur a couple times a year at most. He didn’t know the grounds like she did.

  Plus, she had a fresh hiding place already picked out.

  She rolled her eyes as she saw her five-year-old cousin Ava crawl under the white cloth of a food table. Boyd would find Ava in two minutes.

  She nearly backtracked to show Ava a better spot, but it was every kid for herself!

  Most of the guests had gone, and more were taking their leave. But a lot of adults still milled around the patios, the outdoor bars, or sat around one of the firepits. Remembering why, she felt a pang.

  She’d loved her great-grandda. He’d always had a story to tell, and lemon drops in his pocket. She’d cried and cried when her daddy told her Grandda had gone to heaven. He’d cried, too, even when he told her Grandda had had a long, happy life. How he’d meant so much to so many, and would never be forgotten.

  She thought of his line from the movie they’d made together, while he sat with her on a stone wall, looking over the land.

  “A life’s marked along the way, darlin’, by the deeds we do, for good or ill. Those we leave behind judge those marks, and remember.”

  She remembered lemon drops and hugs as she scurried to the garage, and around the side. She could still hear voices, from the patios and terraces, the walled garden. Her goal? The big tree. If she climbed to the third branch, she could hide behind the thick trunk, in the green leaves that smelled so good, ten feet up.

  Nobody would find her!

  Her hair—Celtic black—flew behind her as she ran. Her nanny, Nina, had tucked it back at the sides with butterfly pins to keep it out of her face. Her eyes, bold
and blue, danced as she flew out of sight of the multitiered house, far beyond the guest cottage with its steps leading down to the little beach, and the pool that overlooked the sea.

  She’d had to wear a dress for the first part of the day, to be respectful, but Nina had laid out her play clothes for after. She still had to be careful of the sweater, but knew it was okay to get her jeans dirty.

  “I’m going to win,” she whispered as she reached up for the first branch of the California bay, put her purple (currently her favorite color) sneaker in the little knothole for purchase.

  She heard a sound behind her and, though she knew it couldn’t be Boyd, not yet, her heart jumped.

  She caught a glimpse of the man in a server’s uniform, with a blond beard and hair pulled back in a ponytail. He wore sunglasses that shot the light back at her.

  She grinned, put a finger to her lips. “Hide-and-seek,” she told him.

  He smiled back. “Want a boost?” He nodded, then moved forward as if to give her one.

  She felt the sharp needle stick on the side of her neck, started to swat at it as she might a bug.

  Then her eyes rolled back, and she felt nothing at all.

  He had the gag on, zip ties on her wrists and ankles in seconds. Just a precaution, as the dose should keep her out for a couple hours.

  She didn’t weigh much and, as a man in excellent shape, he could have carried her the few feet to the waiting cart had she been a full-grown woman.

  After shoving her into the cabinet of the service cart, he rolled it toward the caterer’s van—outfitted for just this purpose. He pushed it up the ramp, shut the cargo doors.

  In under two minutes, he drove down the long drive, wound to the edge of the private peninsula. At the security gates, he entered the code with a gloved finger. When the gates opened, he drove through, made his turn, then hit Highway 1.

  He resisted pulling off the wig, and the fake beard.

  Not yet, and he could handle the annoyance of them. He didn’t have far to go, and expected he’d have the ten-million-dollar brat locked inside the high-class cabin (owners currently in Maui) before anyone even thought to look for her.

  When he turned off the highway again, started up the steep drive to where some rich asshole decided to build a vacation paradise stuck in with a bunch of trees, rocks, chaparral, he was whistling a tune.

  Everything had gone smooth as silk.

  He caught sight of his partner pacing on the second-story deck of the cabin and rolled his eyes. Talk about an asshole.

  They had this knocked, for Christ’s sake. They’d keep the kid sedated, but wear masks just in case. In a couple of days—maybe less—they’d be rich, the kid could go back to the fucking Sullivans, and he, with a new name, new passport, would be on his way to Mozambique to soak up some sun in style.

  He pulled the van around the side of the cabin. You couldn’t see the cabin from the road, not really, so he knew no one would see the van blocked by trees around the side.

  By the time he hopped out, his partner had run down to meet him.

  “Have you got her?”

  “Shit yeah. Nothing to it.”

  “Are you sure nobody saw you? Are you sure—”

  “Jesus, Denby, chill.”

  “No names,” Denby hissed, pushing up his sunglasses as he looked around as if somebody waited in the woods to attack. “We can’t risk her hearing our names.”

  “She’s out. Let’s get her upstairs, locked in so I can get this crap off my face. I want a beer.”

  “Masks first. Look, you’re not a fucking doctor. We can’t be a hundred percent she’s still out.”

  “Fine, fine, go get yours. I’ll stick with this.” He patted the beard.

  As Denby went back inside, he opened the cargo doors, hopped in to open the cabinet doors. Out, he thought, as in o-u-t. He rolled her out onto the floor, dragged her back toward the door—not a peep from her—then hopped out again.

  He glanced back when Denby appeared in his Pennywise the Dancing Clown mask and wig, and he laughed like a loon. “If she wakes up before we get her inside, she’ll probably faint from fright.”

  “We want her scared, don’t we, so she’ll cooperate. The little spoiled rich bitch.”

  “That’d do the trick. You’re no Tim Curry, but that’d do the trick.”

  He slung Cate over his shoulder. “Everything ready up there?”

  “Yeah. The windows are locked down. Still got a hell of a view of the mountains,” Denby added as he followed his partner inside the rustic plush of the entryway, the open living area. “Not that she’ll enjoy that, since we’re keeping her out or the next thing to it.”

  Denby jumped as “The Mexican Hat Dance” played from the phone clipped to his partner’s belt.

  “Goddamn it, Grant!”

  Grant Sparks only laughed. “Used my name, nimrod.” He carted Cate up the stairs to the second floor, open to the first with its cathedral ceiling. “That’s a text from my sugar. You gotta chill, man.”

  He carried Cate into the bedroom they’d selected because it faced the back and had its own bathroom. He dumped her on the four-poster Denby had stripped down to sheets—cheap sheets they’d bought, and would take away with them.

  The en suite was to avoid dragging her out of the room, avoiding a potential mess neither of them wanted to clean up. If she made one, they’d wash the sheets. Once they’d finished they’d remake the bed, nice and tidy and with the original bedding, and remove the nails hammered into the window locks.

  He looked around, satisfied that Denby had taken out anything the kid could use as a weapon—as if—or bust out a window with. She’d be too drugged up for that, but why take chances?

  When they left, the house would be exactly as they’d found it. No one would know they’d ever been inside.

  “You took out all the lightbulbs?”

  “Every one.”

  “Good job. Keep her in the dark. Go ahead and clip those ties, take off the gag. If she wakes up, has to piss, I don’t want her doing it in the bed. She can beat on the door, scream her head off. Won’t make a diff.”

  “How long do you figure she’ll be under?”

  “A couple hours. We bring her some doctored soup when she does, and that’ll keep her out for the night.”

  “When are you going out to call?”

  “After dark. Hell, they’re not even looking for her yet. She was playing fucking hide-and-seek, as advertised, and headed straight for the grab spot.”

  He gave Denby a slap on the back. “Smooth as silk. Finish up, make damn sure you lock the door. I’m getting this crap off my face.” He pulled off the wig, the wig net under it, revealing a short, stylish mop of sun-streaked brown hair. “I’m going for a beer.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  As the guests dwindled down to family, Charlotte did her duty, sat with Rosemary, made conversation with Lily, with Hugh. She reminded herself the reward made the effort worthwhile.

  And it did take effort. Lily might see herself as a big-deal actress because she’d gotten a couple of Oscar nominations (didn’t win, did she!), but however nice she played it, Charlotte could feel her dislike.

  Hell, she could taste it whenever she got within five feet of the old hag with her stupid southern belle accent.

  But she could play nice, too, and did, forcing a smile when Lily let out that brassy laugh of hers. A laugh Charlotte figured was as fake as Lily Morrow’s trademark red hair.

  She sipped a cosmo Hugh had mixed her at the bar on the far side of the gathering room. At least the Sullivans knew how to make a decent drink.

  So she’d drink, smile, act like she gave a shit when someone told another Saint Liam story.

  And wait it out.

  As the sun dipped down toward the ocean, a ball of fire sinking toward the blue, the kids came inside. Dirty, noisy, and, of course, ravenous.

  There were hands and faces to be washed, and in some cases, clothes to change before the
children had their dinner, had their baths. The older ones could vote on a movie to watch in the theater, while the adults had their meal and the younger children their bedtime.

  In the kitchen, nannies put approved meals together—taking into account this one’s peanut allergy, that one’s lactose intolerance, another being raised vegan.

  Nina, busy preparing fresh fruit, glanced around, counting heads. She smiled at Boyd as he grabbed some baked chips.

  “Isn’t Caitlyn hungry?”

  “I dunno.” He shrugged, tried some salsa. “She didn’t win. She can say she did, but she didn’t.” Because his nanny—like he needed one!—was busy with his little sister, Boyd snuck a cookie even though they were off-limits before dinner. “She didn’t come in when we called the game, so that’s default.”

  “She didn’t come in with the rest of you?”

  A smart boy, he made short work of the cookie in case his own nanny looked his way.

  “Nobody found her, so she’ll say she won, but she defaulted. Maybe she snuck in the house before, and that’s cheating. Either way, she didn’t win.”

  “Caitlyn doesn’t cheat.” Wiping her hands, Nina set off to look for her girl.

  She checked Cate’s room, in case she’d come in to change or to use the bathroom. She glanced around the second floor, but many of the doors were closed, so she walked out on the wide, cantilevered terrace.

  She called out, more impatient than concerned, walked down the railed bridge that led to the pool side of the house, then back again before she took the steps down.

  Cate loved the walled garden, so she looked there, wandered through the little orchard beyond it, calling, calling.

  The sun dipped lower; the shadows lengthened. The air began to chill. And her heart began to thump.

  A city girl, born and raised in L.A., Nina Torez had what she considered a healthy distrust of the country. She began to imagine poisonous snakes, cougars, coyotes, even bears as her calls for Cate rose to desperate.

  Silly, she told herself, all that was just silly. Catey was fine, had just . . . fallen asleep somewhere in the big house. Or . . .