“Okay. I had a thought this morning about Gilbert.”
“What kind of thought?”
“Well, after Alec called yesterday afternoon and told me about your meeting with Charlene, I started thinking . . . If Gilbert was working for someone, there has to be a record of that, right? Bank accounts, deposits, that kind of thing.”
“Yes, but he hasn’t been out of jail that long. Do you think he’d take time to set up accounts? He’s on the run. He’d want cash.”
“True, but when Alec was a kid, he wasn’t. If what Charlene said is true, Gilbert was working for these people back then. I think it’s worth checking into.”
“It is, I agree.” And she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of that herself. Of course, yesterday you were dealing with the fallout from that meeting with Charlie and learning Alec was an abducted kid himself, then Gilbert’s phone call and the bag he left on your deck, and finally the remains found in those woods. Was it any wonder she hadn’t thought of it? There hadn’t been much time to think about anything besides fear.
She stiffened her spine, determined not to give in to that fear.
“I’ll keep looking into Gilbert’s funds and let you know if I find anything,” Hunt said, drawing her back to the conversation. “There wasn’t a lot left of Murray’s car after he went over that embankment. His death is being attributed to alcohol. My contact at PPD said they did find an odd blue paint on his bumper that didn’t match his paint job, leading them to think maybe there was another car on the road behind him when he went over, but they haven’t been able to find any witnesses.”
“You mean they think he was rammed from behind?”
“That was their initial thought, but they couldn’t find any other evidence supporting that theory. Several cars have gone off the road at that spot. It’s possible his vehicle scraped a rock or something that was already streaked with paint from an earlier accident.”
Possible but highly unlikely as far as Raegan was concerned.
“I’ll try to call Alec,” Hunt said softer, “and give him this info too.”
“Okay.” Raegan’s heart ached all over again. She didn’t want to drag Hunt into their relationship. She’d already leaned on him too much the other day in the hospital, but she knew if Alec reached out to anyone, it would probably be him. “If you hear from him, would you tell him to call me, please?”
“Of course I will. Maybe he’s just trying to process it all.”
“Maybe.” She looked down at her feet and forced back the tears. “But I’ve texted and called him a dozen times since last night, and he’s not responding. I’m afraid—” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. “I just want to know that he’s okay.”
“I know you do. I’ll try to see if I can figure out where he is.”
“Thanks.” She wasn’t going to break. Not now. She had too much to do. Blinking into the sunlight again, she breathed deep. “Look, I gotta go. Call me when you know more about Gilbert’s funds.”
“Will do. Stay strong, Raegan.”
She clicked “End” and stared down at the phone. Staying strong was exactly what she planned to do.
Right after she found Miriam Kasdan’s number and set up a meeting.
Every inch of Alec’s body hurt, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. A blinding, burning ache that consumed every muscle.
He rubbed a hand over his mouth as he sat on the barstool in the dimly lit dive bar he’d wandered into an hour ago and stared at the shot of whiskey in his hand. He’d had every intention of going home with Raegan last night. Of doing what she did every damn day and being resilient, but as soon as he’d heard those agents talking about that shoe, he hadn’t been able to move.
It had been black from the earth when they’d pulled it out of the ground. A tiny toddler Converse tennis shoe. None of the agents could tell what size it was, and they couldn’t even agree on what color the shoe had originally been, but all Alec had been able to think about was the fact that Emma had been wearing a pair of white Converse shoes the day he’d taken her to that park. From that moment on he hadn’t been able to do anything but stand and watch, waiting to see if they pulled anything else that belonged to his daughter out of that pit.
He swirled the amber liquid in the shot glass and watched it stick to the sides and gradually peel away. An image filled his head of skin peeling away from bone as it decomposes.
Sickness rolled through his stomach, threatening to come up. Fighting it and the image back, he breathed through his nose until the nausea eased. But the pain was still there, pummeling his chest like a prizefighter attacking a speed bag. The sight of that grave, the bones, the snow, that shoe . . . all of it flashed behind his eyelids again and again until he wanted to scream.
That was how he’d ended up in this bar instead of going to Raegan’s apartment. As he’d driven back into the city this morning, the pain had been so unbearable he’d had to pull over. And before he’d realized what he was doing, he was sitting on this barstool, staring at this drink.
His cell on the bar next to him buzzed, and he glanced down to see Hunt’s name on the screen.
Shit, Hunt had probably heard the news from Raegan by now. Alec knew she had to be wondering where the hell he was and why he hadn’t come home yet, but he couldn’t face her until he pulled himself together. What was he going to tell her? He didn’t have any answers for her yet, and every time he remembered the panicked sob in her voice when those agents had taken her away from the scene last night, that pain in the middle of his chest intensified until it hurt to even breathe.
He looked back at his whiskey. One drink. He could have one drink to take the edge off, kill a little of this pain and numb him out. Then he’d have the strength to face Raegan and Hunt and his siblings and parents—all the people he knew would inevitably be phoning next.
He lifted the shot from the bar and had a memory flash of Raegan standing in the middle of that muddy road after they’d gone to see Charlene, looking up at him with soft, loving green eyes as she said, “I never thought you were like him.”
Just as quickly, that memory was followed by another. Of Gilbert hollering when Alec had been about ten to get him his “drink.” Of Alec going into the filthy kitchen in that trailer they’d lived in with Charlene. Of pushing aside dirty dishes and climbing onto the counter to find the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Of staring at it and wondering what about the amber liquid was so appealing. Of pulling off the cap and taking a long swallow that burned a path of fire to his gut and made him cough. Of Gilbert laughing maniacally from the doorway and sneering, “That’s right, boy. You’re no better’n me, you little shit.”
He stared at the whiskey in his glass, remembering how the Jack Daniel’s had settled like a lump of coal in his belly that day. How he’d wanted to puke it all back up. How he’d swallowed another mouthful just to spite the man. And how he’d felt ten minutes later. Like he no longer gave a shit about anything Gilbert said or did.
That had been the start of a lifelong addiction he was still battling. Yes, the alcohol numbed the pain, but it never got rid of it completely. When the buzz wore off, when his eyes cleared, it was all still there. Alcohol hadn’t fixed things for Gilbert, had it? It hadn’t done anything but turn the man into a mean son of a bitch, one Alec never wanted to be like.
He set the shot glass on the bar. His white-knuckled fingers released their death grip on the glass, and he drew his hand back to watch the color slowly seep back into his skin. Much as the life had slowly seeped into his soul starting with the day he’d met Raegan.
His pulse picked up speed as he thought about the last few days with her, how she made him feel alive, how he didn’t want to be numb when they were together. He wanted to feel everything with her—the pleasure, even the pain, because with her the pain was never quite so bad as it was when he was alone. And staring at this glass now, he knew why. Because she believed in him. Because she supported him. Because she loved him
in a way no one ever had before.
His heart felt as if it came to life in his chest, picking up speed until the rapid thump against his ribs was all he could feel. He could sit here and be like Gilbert, blame others for his agony, wallow in the guilt, lose Raegan for good, or he could make a choice. To hurt and grieve and live. Live through the highs and lows and joys and heartache of this crazy thing called life. And he could do it all with Raegan. If she hadn’t given up on him yet.
His hands shook as he climbed off the stool and pulled a twenty from his wallet.
The bartender looked up from the dishes he was scrubbing at the end of the bar. “You leaving? You didn’t even touch your drink.”
“No, I didn’t.” And he never would again. “Thanks.”
He pushed the heavy steel door open and blinked against the blinding glare of the morning sun. He hadn’t showered since yesterday. Needed to go to his house and get a clean change of clothes. But he needed Raegan more. He ached to tell her that he loved her and couldn’t live without her. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he dialed her number and pressed the phone against his ear with trembling fingers.
The line rang five times before flipping to voice mail. “This is Raegan Devereaux. Sorry I missed you. Leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
She didn’t want to talk to him. He couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t been there for her last night. But he was determined to make it up to her now.
He headed for his truck and waited until the line beeped. “Raegs, it’s me. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back earlier. I’ve been . . . processing.” Tears burned the backs of his eyes as he climbed into the cab and stared out the windshield at the dumpy tavern. Owning every ounce of the pain, he scrubbed a shaky hand through his hair. “I don’t know anything. I don’t know if that was our baby or not.” His voice grew thick, but he forced himself to go on. “I just know that I love you and need you. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
He hit “End” and shoved the truck into drive. And knew that no matter what happened now, he was never going back to the bottle again. He just prayed he hadn’t pushed Raegan so far this time that she’d closed the door on them forever.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Raegan’s heart raced as she sat in the front seat of her car with the door open and watched Alec’s name disappear from her screen.
She’d wanted to answer, was desperate to talk to him, but had been too scared to hit that button. Guilt pressed like a heavy weight on her shoulders. If she heard even the slightest slur to his voice, she knew it would wreck her, and she couldn’t be wrecked right now. Not when she was about to meet with Miriam Kasdan.
Telling herself she was doing the right thing, that she would call Alec back when she was done here, she slid the phone into the change compartment on her console so she wouldn’t be distracted by it during her meeting, climbed out of her car where she’d parked in the brick circular drive, and slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder. After dropping her keys in her pocket, she tied her trench coat around her waist, hit the lock on her fob, and headed up the wide concrete steps of the stately Tudor mansion in the southwest hills.
When she’d called earlier and spoken with Miriam Kasdan’s secretary, the woman had said Mrs. Kasdan would be happy to provide a few follow-up answers to her interview at the station. Raegan just hoped the elderly Mrs. Kasdan hadn’t seen her photo the day the woman had done her on-screen interview.
She rang the doorbell, eyeing the mansion with a mixture of awe and disgust. The three-acre property was meticulously cared for, something straight out of the British countryside with low hedges and envy-inducing English gardens that, even in the middle of winter, looked pristine. Raegan doubted the people who lived inside were as picture perfect as the property, though. Her parents owned properties like this, and their lives were nothing but giant, chaotic, soul-crushing messes. There was more to life than image. More than accumulating objects and showing off. She’d never felt as alive as she had the day she’d moved out on her own and finally walked away from this kind of wealth.
No, that wasn’t true. She’d felt more alive. When she’d been with Alec. Even when life had been cruel and heartbreaking, she’d always felt alive with him. Through the good and the bad, through the ups and downs, through every moment of every day. And she didn’t want to lose that. She wanted it back. Wanted it all. Wanted him with all his flaws and struggles because they were as much her flaws and struggles as they were his.
Her chest tightened, and she turned for her car, desperate to call him back now instead of later. The front door of the stately mansion pulled open before she reached the first step, though. Whipping around, she stared at a young woman in a long black skirt and white blouse with blonde hair pulled back into a bun.
“Ms. Chapman?” the woman asked.
Raegan forced a smile. “Yes. Anna Chapman,” she lied. “Ms. Hennessy?” When the blonde nodded, Raegan smiled. “We spoke earlier.”
“Of course.” Miriam Kasdan’s secretary moved back so Raegan could enter. “Come in, please.”
Raegan stepped into the marble entry and glanced up at the soaring ceiling above with its intricate sky painting, then over the expensive artwork on the walls, not a speck of dust anywhere to be seen.
“Mrs. Kasdan is awaiting your arrival in the library.” The secretary led Raegan through an expensively decorated sitting room and down a wide hallway before stopping in front of a set of double doors. Opening both doors, she stepped back and said, “I’ll be in the kitchen if either of you need me.”
Raegan nodded and moved into the library. Hundreds of leather tomes filled the cherry bookshelves that circled the room. A wall of windows looked out across the stone patio and vast green lawns. Across the way, a fire crackled in a giant fireplace, and seated on the couch facing the fire, a salt-and-pepper-haired woman dressed in a crisp navy suit turned toward Raegan.
Miriam Kasdan’s hair was cut in a perfect bob to her chin, and the skin near her eyes crinkled underneath her flawless makeup as she smiled, laid her book on the couch next to her, and rose. “Ms. Chapman?” she asked.
“Yes.” Raegan rounded the couch and offered her hand. “Call me Anna.”
“It’s very nice to meet you.” The woman’s slate-gray eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe we crossed paths at the station the other day.”
“No, we didn’t.” Relief rushed through Raegan that she hadn’t been recognized. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
With a curt nod, Miriam Kasdan gestured for Raegan to sit. “You actually caught me at the perfect time. I don’t have to be at the children’s museum until two o’clock.”
“Wonderful.” Raegan set her purse on the floor near her feet and her notebook on her lap. “This won’t take long.” She flipped to a blank page and pulled a pen from her bag. “I know your on-tape interview focused on all the wonderful things you’re doing for the arts community in Portland.”
“It did. We spoke at length about the Portland Ballet Company and where the company is heading.”
“You’ve also done a lot to make the children’s museum more accessible to the less fortunate in our city.”
“I have.” Mrs. Kasdan folded her hands on her lap, sitting up straight and proper. “I always wanted the children’s museum to be a place for all of our city’s youth, the privileged as well as the underprivileged.”
“Can you speak a little about the things you’re doing to open the museum up to at-risk children?”
“Of course. The board and I have been working with various charities to bus inner-city children to the museum. As you know, the museum sits up on the hill outside downtown. Not exactly easy to get to if a child lives on the east side. This summer we’re also planning two one-week summer day camps, which will provide transportation for children to and from camp from the outlying areas.”
She wasn’t specifically mentioning the Children Are Our Future charity. Raegan bit her lip, choosin
g another approach. “Is this drive you have to help the less fortunate something that’s specific to you, or do others in your family share the same passion?”
Mrs. Kasdan tipped her head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Raegan shifted against the expensive fabric. “I mean, was community service work, specifically regarding the plight of children, something your husband cared deeply about before he passed?”
“Walter?” She considered a moment. “Walter cared about a great many things.”
“And what about your son?”
Mrs. Kasdan’s slate-gray eyes narrowed. “I thought this was a follow-up interview regarding my work with the arts.”
“Oh, it is,” Raegan covered quickly. “My director was just so impressed with your charity work that he asked me to get a more rounded picture about other things you’re doing in the community. You and your family, that is.”
“Hm.” Mrs. Kasdan eyed her skeptically. “My son, Arnold, is a very busy man, but he believes in the power of giving back to the community. He always has.”
Not what Raegan was hoping for. She scribbled the son’s name for effect. “Are there any charities here in Portland that he’s involved with?”
“I’m not su—”
The double doors pushed open, and Ms. Hennessy stuck her head in the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Kasdan, but you have an important phone call.”
“Who is it, Claire?”
“Tony. He says it’s urgent.”
Miriam Kasdan’s jaw tightened. It was a very subtle move, but Raegan caught it.
Flashing Raegan a tight smile, Mrs. Kasdan rose. “I’m sorry. This will only take a moment.”
The older woman moved toward the doors with hurried movements, her expensive heels tapping across the inlaid wood floor like nails being hammered into a coffin. Terse, hushed voices echoed from the hallway, followed by Mrs. Kasdan’s heels clicking into silence.
Raegan’s stomach rolled as she set her notebook on the table in front of her and stood. The interview was not going well. Mrs. Kasdan wasn’t giving up anything, and worse, she was starting to grow suspicious.