Luxury Model Wife (24 page)

Steve squeezed her fingers and chuckled before letting go. “You have a point.” He lowered his voice, “And you were spectacular.”

Their waitress appeared at the table. She wrote down their orders and swept their menus from the table before hurrying away.

Steve reached again for Victoria’s hands. “Do you want to have kids?”

She was pleasantly surprised by the question. “You should have said something before we used protection,” she teased.

Steve laughed. “Uh, I was thinking maybe later. Hypothetically. To be honest, I wondered why you and James never had children. I think you’d make a wonderful mother.”

His assessment of her came as an even bigger surprise. Although she’d experienced times of almost painful longing for a baby, memories of her own nightmarish childhood usually kept those feelings at bay. Except for the example set by her foster family, her vague notions of good mothering came from reading books and watching television. If she decided to become a mother someday, she’d need parenting classes.

“James’s late first wife, Lydia, had four miscarriages before carrying a successful pregnancy to term,” she replied.

“From what James told me, their son’s delivery was hell on earth. Both Lydia and Jimmy nearly died before an emergency C-section was performed.” She shook her head, sad for what they must have suffered. “Their decade of struggle to produce a Van Orr heir was so traumatic that James had a vasectomy afterward.”

“So he was unable to impregnate his young second wife. I wondered about that.”

“I suppose he could have had the procedure reversed. But James was no longer young and the reversal process can be painful and unreliable. Considering my own lack of familial skills, I accepted that children weren’t in the cards for me. I expected to be married through my childbearing years, and hoped time would dull the desire for a pregnancy.”

“And now? Do you see motherhood as a possibility?”

Victoria’s cheeks flushed. “Is this an interview question?”

Steve seemed amused by her embarrassment, but his eyes told her his question was deadly serious. “You bet.”

“You’re refreshingly honest.”

“Count on it.” He kissed the knuckles of her right hand and her heartbeat quickened. “I’ve always wanted kids,” he said. “But I have a theory about marriage and childrearing I’ve never seen covered in psychology books. I think we should discuss it.”

He’d piqued Victoria’s interest. “Are you speaking as a man or as a former medical student?”

“Both. It seems to me that men bond with their children in direct proportion to their relationship with the child’s mother. Some tend to see children as a reflection of the woman who gave birth to them, and are either attracted or repelled for that reason.”

“Wow. That’s some assessment.” Victoria mulled his idea—still thinking about its implications when their waitress brought platters of hot pancakes and eggs to the table. Victoria leaned back and waited to continue the conversation until fresh cups of coffee were poured.

“Interesting theory.” She remembered James’s affection for Jimmy, in stark contrast to abusive fathers like hers, who had beaten and abandoned her and her mother.

“Then you understand why I want to be sure about my future wife. I refuse to make another mistake, and I will
never
leave my children.” His cornflower blue eyes shone with determination.

Apparently Steve didn’t know how endearing his words sounded.

Victoria wanted to kiss him, but stayed focused on the conversation. “God help the woman who marries badly. Just look at what happened to my mother. Her self-esteem level is still zero.”

Her mother had moved to an Arizona trailer park a few years ago. Despite the generous checks Victoria sent each month, she’d refused a better living situation.

“Marriage is serious business. I found that out the hard way,” Steve replied.

He reached for his fork and dug into his pancakes. “Man, I’m hungry. A double order of buttermilks, three eggs over easy, bacon, coffee, and a beautiful woman smiling at me are all I need to cap a great night. And morning.”

He carved a square of golden pancakes with his fork, stuffed the pile into his mouth, and closed his eyes with obvious pleasure. “Mmm.”

Victoria worked on her own breakfast in peaceful silence. She watched Steve enjoy his meal and exchange greetings with the others inside the diner with his typical ease and openness. Being down to earth was a vastly underrated quality, she decided.

She sipped her orange juice and realized, with a cold-water wash of relief, that she was no longer afraid of the world.

She had worked her way through college, married well, and survived the trauma and responsibilities of widowhood. The anger she felt toward her parents, especially her father, might never be resolved, but she was determined to change how her past affected her future with Steve.

He grinned at her with a mouthful of pancakes bulging inside his cheek, and Victoria laughed. In the humble surroundings of the diner, sharing a simple meal with the man she loved, Victoria felt truly at home.

*****

The police station hummed with activity. Lieutenant Leighton had gone home, but Officer Wilson asked Steve and Victoria to meet with him.

“You all right, ma’am?” The rookie motioned to a chair next to him. Victoria sat. Steve found a folding chair and carried it over to Wilson’s desk.

“I was sorry to hear about your trouble the other day. After reading your father’s rap sheet, you had good reason to be afraid.”

Victoria’s pulse surged. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll fill you in on Slater’s activities in a minute. First, let’s cover what’s happened so far with the Carlson burglary and the stolen Van Orr property. By the way, James Van Orr Jr. opted not to join us. He got a report over the phone. I’m afraid there’s not much to add to what the lieutenant already told you.”

“Did you get a confession from the guys at Pinnacle?” Steve asked.

The officer shook his head. “Nope. They’re not talking. Defiant as they come. Their lawyer walked them out of here early this morning. He knows that, except for possession of the doll, we have no proof that Mitchell and Vega committed the burglary.”

Wilson tapped his fingers in a fast rhythm on his desktop. “They claim they bought the doll at a flea market. Stolen goods pass through flea markets all the time, so their explanation is hard to disprove.”

“My store was listed on the price tag and they knew I’d been robbed.”

“Receiving stolen goods is a crime, though a lawyer will argue they’re victims of fraud.”

Victoria fumed. “That’s ridiculous. These guys are professional auctioneers. Antiques specialists. They should know better.”

“And that’s exactly the argument the D.A. will make, if it comes to that.” The cop leaned back in his chair. “We have plenty of fingerprints, even on places like your back door, Carlson. But that won’t hold in court, since these guys visited your shop often to do business. Before this all started, that is.”

“Bastards,” Steve muttered. “There must be some way to nail them.”

“We’ll keep you informed.”

Wilson leaned forward and opened a link on his computer. “And now to Mrs. Van Orr’s other business.” He began reading aloud. “Benjamin Franklin Slater, a.k.a. Bernard Cummings, Benny Simons, and Benjamin Van Orr, is on parole for armed robbery.”

Victoria cried out. “He used the Van Orr name as an alias?” She could feel her face flame. She squeezed her fingers into fists to keep them from shaking. Steve covered her hands with his as if to steady them. “And he’s on parole?”

Wilson nodded. “He was jailed for armed robbery. Numerous women have also filed battery charges against him, but most of those cases were dropped because the women refused to testify in court. He’s also been arrested for fraud, theft, receiving stolen goods, forgery, conspiracy, and intimidation.” He looked up and met Victoria’s eyes. “A real sweetheart.”

“Yeah. I’d like to get my hands around his neck,” Steve muttered.

“We think he’s skipped town, but assume nothing. If we pick him up, he goes back to Iowa for parole violations. He knows that, which is probably why we haven’t found him or his old prison buddy, Arnold Flynn.”

“Iowa?” Victoria said. He must have moved there after he left Ohio.

Officer Wilson grunted. “Been there at least ten years that we know of.”

“Tell us about Flynn,” Steve said.

“Another gem.” Wilson opened another screen on his computer. “Flynn is a sleaze who relies on occasional work as a P.I. for former cellmates and the underworld. He’s got known connections with fences, forgers, drug dealers—the whole enchilada of scum bags.”

“So what’s he doing with my father?” Victoria asked the question, though she thought she knew the answer. Flynn had found her so that her father could milk her for money the rest of his life.

She rubbed the hollows of her temples and sighed. Did Benjamin Franklin Slater really think she’d pay him off to go away? Probably. The tactic had worked with her mother. Sending an allowance had kept her mother out of her life for years.

“That’s what we’re trying to determine. We have our suspicions, but can’t prove anything yet. We need evidence.” Officer Wilson looked from Victoria to Steve, and then back to Victoria. “Watch your back, Mrs. Van Orr, until this is over.”

“I will.” She remembered the crushed flowers beneath her sitting room windows the day she and Jimmy had argued over the estate. She hadn’t worried at the time, but now assumed either Flynn or her father had been prowling around her house. Her skin crawled with the thought.

She stood and shook Wilson’s hand. Maybe it was time to move to a hotel. “Thanks. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

Steve nodded his thanks to the officer and walked Victoria to her car in the parking lot.

*****

When the bell jangled over the door to Carlson’s Antiques Emporium, Pirate screeched.

Victoria cooed and made loud kissing noises. “Miss me, Pirate? Has Pirate been a good boy?”

The cockatiel flapped his wings and hopped around his cage. “Good boy.
Waak
.”

The door to Beverly’s studio burst open and she rushed into the room. “Oh, there you are. I’ve been worried sick.” The fabric of her ankle-length skirt fluttered and her bangles clattered as Beverly hurried toward Victoria with her hair flying behind her.

Steve stepped out of the way while Victoria stepped forward with her arms outstretched. Beverly folded herself around her like a comfortable pillow.

“That horrible man. In his next life he’s coming back as a toad,” Beverly said, referring to Victoria’s father. “I’m so glad you’re okay. You’ve had a horrible week.”

Beverly looked Victoria over from head to toe, seemingly checking for injuries or other visible changes. “You look all right, thank goodness.”

Her expression turned pensive and she eyed Victoria again. “Hmm, but something
does
seem different.” She crossed her arms and tapped a forefinger to her cheek. “I’m not sure what it is.” Her hawk eye scoured Steve and drifted slowly back to Victoria.

Victoria’s cheeks warmed and she cursed her inability to withstand Beverly’s scrutiny. After years of hiding or pretending to be someone other than who she was, she’d developed a knack for masking her feelings. Clearly, Steve and Beverly had broken down her barriers.

Beverly’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Dozens of silver bangles clashed and jangled as she brought her hand to her lips to cover a smile. “Never mind, girlfriend, I’m sensitive, remember? I know exactly what’s different.” She put a finger to her lips. “Shh. No need to say another word.” She turned and winked at Steve.

Beverly hooked her arm though Victoria’s and pulled her toward the office. “Tell me everything,” she whispered.

Victoria strolled toward the back of the shop with her eccentric friend, grinned over her shoulder at Steve, and signaled for him to wait.

“Let’s just say…he made me sweat. Profusely. And often.” Victoria smiled again.

Beverly patted her on the back. She opened the office door and strode to the bar to pour them a drink. “I want details.”

Chapter Sixteen

The ice in Victoria’s glass clinked as she raised the vodka to her lips. “I’m checking into a hotel until this is over.”

Beverly thumped her tumbler on Steve’s desk. “No way are you going to a hotel. Stay at my place. Tom and I would love to have you. And I don’t want you to be by yourself.”

Steve leaned into the open doorway. “She won’t be alone, don’t worry.”

He inclined his head in Beverly’s direction. “Pour me one of those, will you? Assuming you’ve finished discussing the length of my dick.”

Beverly chortled with a lusty laugh and rose from her chair. “We are, and I will.” She sloshed vodka into a clean glass from the cupboard and handed it to Steve. He added ice and took a sip.

“She’s staying with me.” His gaze bore through Victoria as if to say,
no arguments
. “We’ll go back to your place to pack some things, grab some dinner, and come back for Pirate. He’ll be better off at my house than a hotel.”

He spoke again to Beverly. “Not that he wouldn’t be happy with you. But I’d feel better if Victoria and the bird stayed with me. I can’t risk any of you getting hurt.”

Victoria tipped her glass at Steve. “Do I have anything to say about this?”

“Only if you agree with me.”

Victoria had to laugh. “Do you have a guest room?”

Steve gritted his teeth. “Can we discuss the sleeping arrangements later?”

“Well, I think it’s fabulous that you’re together.” Beverly finished her drink and brought her glass to the bathroom sink. She rinsed it while she continued talking through the open door. “And about freakin’ time.”

Victoria poured the rest of her drink down the bathroom sink and rinsed her glass when Beverly was through. “I guess I’ll feed Pirate so we can get out of here.”

Steve spoke to Beverly. “I want you to close up shop and go home. Take the rest of the week off. I don’t want you here alone. Things are too unsettled.”

Beverly leaned against Steve’s desk and frowned. “No one’s going to bother with me. Anyway, I have too much work to do. You haven’t seen all the stuff in the warehouse your dad shipped from Europe. I’m still taking inventory. I have restoration work coming out my—uh—ears.”