Abby stopped before the Emerald City door and tapped lightly on the glass. Bill, the security guard, smiled, opened the lock and let her in.
“‘Morning, Abby. Lovely day.”
“‘Morning, Bill. Yes, it is,” she agreed as she hurried up the main aisle of the exchange.
It was a couple of minutes before ten and all the counters—fine watches, gold and platinum jewelry, gemstones, sterling and china—were staffed and ready for customers. Well, all except hers. She sold estate jewelry at a counter right up front in one of the big windows that looked out on the street.
She wasn’t late. Not really, she thought, and glanced up at the loft. Yes, her boss was there, tall and distinguished-looking, his hands clasped behind his back.
He smiled pleasantly.
Abby jerked her gaze down.
Mr. Black had never given her a hard time about being a few minutes late. She’d explained she was a single mother, that she had to drop her daughter off at the day care center every day, and he’d been wonderfully understanding. But sometimes he looked at her in a way that made her feel . . . uncomfortable.
Silly, she knew.
It was just that any man looking at her made her feel uncomfortable, whether they were polite like Mr. Black or surly like the stranger at the day care center. Frank had taught her enough about men to make her more than cautious.
As far as she was concerned, she didn’t want a man anywhere near her, ever again.
To that end, Abby had made certain rules for herself and Emily when she left Eugene, though “left” wasn’t exactly the right way to put it. What she’d done was just grab Emily and run as if the devil was on her heels, with only one suitcase crammed with clothes and baby things, and the last of the money she’d inherited from her parents in her purse—money Frank hadn’t been able to get his hands on.
At two, Emily had thought their flight was a great adventure.
“We goin’, Mommy?” she’d kept asking.
“Yes,” Abby had answered, “we’re going somewhere special.”
That was better than the truth, which was that she’d had no idea where they were going until they got there. At first, she’d fled to a shelter, then to Portland, because it was familiar. But Frank found her there, and when she ran next, it was to San Francisco, where she’d figured on the security quotient of being swallowed up by a big city.
Wrong. San Francisco was too big. Too expensive. Within a week, she’d abandoned it for Seattle. The city was large enough to get lost in, small enough to make her feel comfortable. She’d loved the waterfront on sight, and when the clouds parted and she saw Mount Rainier shouldering up against the sky, she felt as if she’d come home.
Abby opened the door to the back room and went to her locker.
She’d been in the city a year now and she still loved it. She’d found an apartment in a converted Victorian house in a nice neighborhood. The apartment was tiny, but how much space did she and Em need? Plus, it included a small porch and use of a handkerchief-size yard. The rent deposit had taken a big bite out of her remaining funds and she’d gone searching for a job right away.
Who’d have imagined she’d luck out and find one like this so quickly?
Abby put her purse on the bench that ran the length of the lockers. The door swung open and Bettina Carlton strolled in. Bettina had handled the estate jewelry counter before Abby. Now she was Emerald City’s manager.
As always, she looked elegant. Cool and ladylike.
“Good morning, Abby.”
“Hi, Bettina. I know I’m late, but—”
“Not yet,” Bettina said pleasantly. “The front door’s still locked.” She opened her locker, took out a nail file and worked carefully at one perfectly manicured nail. “We’ll be short one clerk today, Abby. Phil’s out with a cold, so I’ll have to relieve you a bit later than usual for lunch.”
Abby closed her locker. Looking at Bettina always made her want to check her hair for flyaway strands, her panty hose for runs.
“No problem.”
Bettina gave the nail one last brush with the file. “Is one-thirty okay?”
“Fine.”
“Great. I have a private client coming in at noon.” Bettina put the file away and looked at Abby. “I noticed you’re doing well.”
“Sales have been good,” Abby said.
“Better than good.” Bettina paused. “That’s one of the primary reasons for the scheduling change we implemented.” She smiled. “Sort of a bonus for you. I know you have a little girl. Emily, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I recalled that you’d originally asked for Saturdays off, so when I had the chance to juggle things a little . . . ”
“It was very kind of you, Bettina.”
“Oh, I’m not any kind of saint, I assure you. I like working Saturdays. You know, lots of customers in and out. Gives me the chance to keep up my sales skills.”
Abby nodded. In truth, Bettina’s sales skills were incredible. She still handled private customers, the rich and the eccentric. They would occasionally come in and demand to deal with Bettina and nobody else.
Someday, Abby hoped to be just as invaluable to the store. Her job, this job, was important to her.
She’d been lucky to find it, especially since she didn’t have any real work skills. But she was good with people and she knew a little bit about fine jewelry, thanks to the few pieces her mother had owned—pieces she still cherished and knew she’d never sell, no matter what. Estate jewelry, it was called now.
Maybe that was why the ad for a clerk at the Emerald City Jewelry Exchange had leaped at her from the classifieds.
The bell announcing the start of the day pealed politely. Abby smiled at Bettina, who was smoothing back her hair. Then she took a breath, as she always did before manning her counter, stepped out of the back room and made her way up the aisle to the front of the store.
Look busy, Mr. Black always reminded his clerks, even if you’re not.
Taking a cloth and a bottle of Windex from behind the counter, Abby sprayed the glass tops of the cabinets and wiped them clean. Mr. Black walked by, nodded at her and smiled pleasantly.
Frank had never smiled pleasantly. Only in the beginning, when she was naive, when she was just weeks past her eighteenth birthday and her parents’ death had turned her world upside down. Back then, Frank had seemed wonderful.
Not that her ignorance had lasted long. A year into the marriage, he’d begun losing his temper with her, demanding to know how she spent every minute of her day. Two years into it, he’d hit her for the first time. Afterward, he’d begged her forgiveness, sworn he’d never hurt her again . . . .
But he had.
She’d called the police, they’d taken him away, and when they let him out of jail the next day, Frank had wrapped her in his arms and wept. He adored her, he’d said, and she’d wanted to believe him, so she’d taken him back.
By the time he hit her again, she was twenty-two. His rage terrified her, and she waited until he left for work, then began to pack her things. She was going to leave him . . . but she was overtaken by a wave of nausea, and she began to bleed. Somehow, she’d managed to call 911. Am ambulance took her to the hospital; a doctor who kept asking her questions about her blackened eye told her she was pregnant. When she told Frank, he fell on his knees, kissed her still-flat belly, and swore