River's End

  “I—” The screen door slapped smartly behind him, and Olivia threw up her hands. “You didn’t have to do that. He’ll be fine at the campground. You’ll just be uncomfortable if he stays here.”

  Val walked over to tuck the bags away in the broom closet. “Are you in love with him?”

  “I—it’s just . . .” She trailed off helplessly as Val turned back to look at her.

  “Are you in love with him, Livvy?”

  She could only nod as tears swam into her eyes.

  “And if I said I don’t want him around here, I don’t want you to have anything to do with him? That you owe me the loyalty to respect my feelings on this?”

  “But—”

  “I’ll never have peace if you let that man into your life.”

  She went white, white and rigid with the lance of pain. This was the woman who had given her everything, who had opened her arms, her heart, her home. She had to grip the edge of the counter to steady herself. “I’ll go . . . I’ll go tell him he has to leave.”

  “Oh. Oh, Livvy.” Val dropped into a chair, covering her face as she burst into tears.

  “Don’t! Don’t cry. I’ll send him away. He won’t come back.” Already on her knees, Olivia wrapped her arms around Val’s waist. “I won’t see him again.”

  “He was right.” Eyes drenched, Val framed Olivia’s pale face. “I wanted to throw it back in his face, but he was right. You’d turn away from him, from your own heart if you thought it was what I needed. I wanted him to be the selfish one, but I’m the one who’s been selfish.”

  “No. Never.”

  “I’ve hoarded you, Livvy.” With an unsteady hand, Val brushed at Olivia’s hair. “As much for your sake as mine in the beginning, but . . . As time passed, just for me. I lost my Julie, and I promised myself nothing would ever happen to you.”

  “You took care of me.”

  “Yes, I took care of you.” Tears streaming still, Val pressed a kiss to Olivia’s forehead. “I loved you, and, Livvy, I needed you. I needed you so desperately. So I never let you go, not really.”

  “Don’t cry, Gran.” It ripped her to shreds to see the tears.

  “I have to face it. We both do. I never let either of us face it, Livvy. Every time your grandfather would try to talk to me about it, to make me see, I closed off. Even just a few days ago, I wouldn’t listen to him. I knew he was right, but I wouldn’t listen. Now it’s taken an outsider to make me face it.”

  “Everything I have, everything I am, I owe to you.”

  “It’s not a debt.” Anger with herself made Val’s voice sharp. “I’m ashamed to know I let you think it was or should be. I’m ashamed that I pulled back from you when you chose to cooperate with this book. I could see it was something you needed, but I pulled back, deliberately, and made you suffer for it. I put a wedge between us, and I was too proud, too afraid to pull it out again.”

  “I have to know why it happened.”

  “And I’ve never let you. I’ve never let any of us.” Val drew Olivia closer, rested her cheek on the soft cap of hair. “I still don’t know if I can face it all. But I do know I want you to be happy. Not just safe. Being safe isn’t enough to live on.”

  Steadier, Val eased back, rubbed the tears away. “It’s best if your young man stays here.”

  “I don’t want him to upset you.”

  Val took what she hoped was the next step and managed a smile. “I’d rather he stay here where I can keep an eye on him and see if he’s good enough for you. If I decide he’s not, I’ll see that your grandfather whips him into shape.”

  Olivia turned her cheek into Val’s hand. “He claims he can charm you in less than an hour.”

  “Well, we’ll just see about that.” Rising, Val plucked out a tissue, blew her nose. “It takes more than a pretty face to charm me. I’ll make up my own mind in my own time.” Her head felt a little hollow from the emotional ride. “I suppose I’d better go up and see that the guest room’s in order.”

  “I’ll do it. I’ll just take my pack up.” She hefted it. “I should run over to the Center, check on things. It won’t take me long.”

  “Take your time. It’ll give me a chance to interrogate your young man. You never brought one home with you before for me to make squirm.”

  “He’s slippery.”

  “I’m quick.”

  “Gran, I love you so much.”

  “Yes, I know you do. Go on. I need to make myself presentable. We’ll talk more, Livvy,” she murmured after Olivia started up the stairs. “It’s long past time we talked.”

  Her step was light as she crossed the upstairs hall to her room. She was in love, and it didn’t hurt a bit. The gaps that had widened between her and her grandmother over the past months were closing.

  The future was a wide, wonderful space overflowing with possibilities. Wanting to hurry, she flung open the door of her room. And the joy that had just begun to fill her soul fell away.

  There, on the pillow of her bed, bathed in a quiet stream of sunlight, lay a single white rose.

  thirty

  She couldn’t breathe. Her head rang, wild, frantic bells that vibrated down from her skull, pealed down her spine, beat along her numbed legs until she simply collapsed forward on her hands and knees and began to suck for air like a woman drowning.

  There was a terrible urge to crawl away.

  Into the closet, into the dark.

  She fought it and the ice-pick jabs of panic in her chest. She pressed her hand to her shirt, then stared down it, surprised it wasn’t covered with blood.

  The monster was here.

  In the house. He’d been in the house. With the thought of that chuckling hideously in her ear, she lunged to her feet, stumbled over the pack she’d dropped. Momentum carried her forward so that she fell on the bed, her fingers inches away from the stem of that perfect white rose.

  She snatched her hand away as if the flower were a snake, filled with venom and ready to strike.

  She reared back, her eyes wide and round, the scream tearing at her throat for release.

  In the house, she thought again. He’d come into the house. And her grandmother was down in the kitchen, alone. Her hand might have shook, but she reached for the knife at her belt, unsheathed it so that blade hissed against leather. And she moved quietly toward the door.

  She wasn’t a helpless child now, and she would protect what she loved.

  He wouldn’t still be inside. She tried to reason with herself, to follow logic, but she could still taste the fear.

  She slipped out into the hall, keeping her back against the wall. Her ears were cocked for any sound, and the hilt of the knife was hot in her hand.

  She moved quietly from room to room, carefully as she would when tracking a deer. She searched each one for a sign, for a scent, a change in the air. Her knees trembled as she crossed to the attic door.

  Would he hide there where the memories were locked away? Would he know somehow that everything precious of her mother was neatly stored up those narrow stairs?

  She imagined herself going up, climbing those steps, hearing the faint creak of her weight against the old wood. Then seeing him, standing there with the chest lid flung open, and her mother’s scent struggling to life in the musty air.

  The bloody scissors in his hand, and the deranged eyes of the monster looking out from her father’s face.

  She all but willed it to be so as her fingers trembled against the knob. She would raise her knife and drive it into him, as he’d once driven the blades into her mother. And she would end it.

  But her hand lay limply on the knob, and her brow pressed against the wood of the door. For the first time in two decades, she wanted desperately to weep and couldn’t.

  At the sound of a car rounding the lane, she slid the bolt home under the knob and ran on jellied legs to a window.

  The first fresh spurt of fear when she didn’t recognize the car shimmered into relief when she saw Noah climb out.
Her hands curled on the sill as she scanned the trees, the lengthening shadows.

  Was he out there? Was he watching?

  She spun around, desperate to run downstairs now, to let the terror spill out so someone else could take it away.

  And thought of her grandmother.

  No, no, she couldn’t frighten her that way. She would handle it herself. Cautious, she slid the knife back in its sheath, but left the safety unsnapped.

  She leaned against the wall again, taking slow, even breaths. When she heard Noah’s step on the stairs, she moved back into the hall.

  “She’s starting to warm up to me. Asked if I liked grilled pork chops.”

  “Let me give you a hand with that.” How steady her voice was, she thought. How cool. She reached out to take his laptop case and left him with his bag and gear. “The guest room’s in here. It has its own bath.”

  “Thanks.” He followed her inside, glancing around as he dropped his bags on the bed. “This is a hell of a lot more appealing than a pup tent on a campsite. And guess who’s here?”

  “Here?”

  His eyes narrowed on her face at the thready ring to her voice. “What’s the matter, Liv?”

  She shook her head, lowered to the edge of the bed. She needed a minute, just another minute. “Who’s here?”

  “My parents.” He took a good look at her now and, sitting beside her, took her hand. It was clammy and cold.

  “Frank? Frank’s here?” Her hand turned over in his, gripped like a vise.

  “At the lodge,” Noah said slowly. “They’d booked a room a while back. I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I will. Frank’s here.” She let her head drop weakly on Noah’s shoulder. “I asked him to come. When I was in L.A. I went to his house and asked him if he could. And he did.”

  “You matter to him. You always did.”

  “I know. It’s like a circle, and it keeps going. All of us around and around. We can’t stop, just can’t stop going around until it’s all finished. He’s been in the house, Noah.”

  “Who?”

  She straightened up, and though her cheeks were still pale, her eyes were level. “My father. He’s been in the house.”

  “How do you know?”

  “There’s a rose on my bed. A white rose. He wants me to know he’s come back.”

  The only change was a hardness that came into his eyes and a coldness that glinted into the green. “Stay here.”

  “I’ve looked.” She tightened her grip on his hand. “I’ve already looked through the house. Except for the attic. I couldn’t go into the attic because . . .”

  “Damn right you couldn’t go into the attic.” The idea of it made his stomach churn. “You stay in here or go downstairs with your grandmother.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I couldn’t go up because I wanted him to be there. I wanted it because I wanted to go up and kill him. Kill my father. God help me, I could see it, the way I’d ram the knife into him. The way his blood would run over my hands. I wanted it. I wanted it. What does that make me?”

  “Human.” He snapped it out, the word as effective as a slap. She jerked back, shuddered once.

  “No. It would have made me what he is.”

  “Did you go up, Olivia?”

  “No. I locked the door from the outside.”

  “Lock this one from the inside, and wait for me.”

  “Don’t go.”

  “He’s not here.” He got to his feet. “But you’ll feel better if we make sure. Lock the door,” he ordered. “And wait.”

  Despising herself, she did just that. Hid, as she had hidden before. When he came back, she opened the door and looked at him with empty eyes.

  “There’s no one there. I didn’t see any indication there had been. We need to tell your grandparents.”

  “It’ll frighten my grandmother.”

  “She has to know. See if you can track down your grandfather. Call the lodge. I’ll call my parents.” He skimmed his knuckles over her cheek. “You’ll feel better if you have your cop.”

  “Yes. Noah.” She laid a hand on his arm. “When I saw you get out of the car just now, I knew I could lean on you. I wanted to.”

  “Liv. If I told you I’d take care of you, it’d just piss you off, wouldn’t it?”

  She gave a watery laugh and sat back on the bed again. “Yeah, not now because I’m shaky, but later.”

  “Well, since you’re shaky, I’ll risk it. I’m going to take care of you.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “Believe it. Now call your grandfather.”

  He’d taken such a risk. Such a foolish and satisfying risk. How easily he could have been caught.

  And then what?

  He wasn’t ready to face that yet. Not quite yet. As he sat in his room, he lifted a glass of bourbon to his lips with a hand that still shook slightly.

  But not with fear. With excitement. With life.

  For twenty years, he’d had no choice but to follow the rules. To do what was expected. To play the game. He couldn’t have known, could never have anticipated what it was like to be free of that.

  It was terrifying. It was liberating.

  She would know what the rose meant. She wouldn’t have forgotten the symbolism of it.

  Daddy’s home.

  He drank again, felt such power after so many years of powerlessness.

  He’d nearly been caught. What incredible timing. He’d barely left the house by the back door—wasn’t it wonderful that such people trusted the fates and left their doors unlocked—when he’d seen them step out of the trees.

  Livvy, little Livvy and the son of the cop. That was irony enough for any script. The cycle, the circle, the whims of fortune that would have the daughter of the woman he loved connect with the son of the cop who’d investigated her murder.

  Julie, his beautiful Julie.

  He’d thought it would be enough just to frighten Livvy, enough to make her think of that bloody night so many years ago, to remember what she’d seen and run from.

  How could he have known, after all these years, that he would look at her as she turned to another man and see Julie? Julie pressing that long, slim body against someone else?

  How could he have known he’d remember, in a kind of nightmare frenzy, what it was to destroy what you loved? And need so desperately to do it all again?

  And when it was done . . . He picked up the knife and turned it under the lamplight . . . It would be over. The circle finally closed.

  There would be nothing left of the woman who’d turned him away.

  “You’ll need to take basic precautions.” Frank sat in the MacBride living room, his blood humming. Back on the job, he thought. To finish one that had never felt closed.

  “For how long?” Olivia asked. It was her grandmother who concerned her most. But the crisis appeared to have steadied Val. She sat, shoulders straight, eyes alert, mouth hard.

  “As long as it takes. You’re going to want to avoid going out alone, staying in groups as much as possible. And start locking the doors.”

  Olivia had had time to settle, time to think. So she nodded. “There really isn’t anything we can do, is there?”

  He remembered the little girl hiding in the closet, and the way