The Other Daughter

  “I will not risk you for the stupid case—”

  “This isn't your choice, David. It's mine, and I'm going home!”

  She pivoted, took a step toward the car, but David grabbed her arm.

  “Don't you put yourself in the line of fire.”

  “They won't hurt me,” she insisted stubbornly. “They won't.”

  “You are blind and stubborn and completely ignorant when it comes to your parents. You're so caught up in your romantic notion of what families mean that you're going to get yourself killed!”

  “Why, thank you, David. I trust your judgment and intelligence just as much.”

  She jerked her arm free and stormed back to the car.

  Detective Jax let out a low whistle. “I guess we pissed her off.”

  “She doesn't understand.”

  “The woman is standing in front of a corpse. I think she understands just fine.”

  “No, she doesn't.” David turned on Jax. “You don't get her yet, Detective. She was abandoned and that has skewed her judgment. Her family is perfect. Her family must need her. It's a great dream, an understandable dream. And it's gonna get her killed.”

  Detective Jax shrugged. “And if it were your family, Riggs? If it was your father we were talking about? Who would be the naïve romantic then?”

  “Oh, shut up,” David said darkly, and stalked after Melanie to the car.

  They drove downtown in taut silence, David tapping his fingers crossly on the wheel while Melanie stared resolutely out the window.

  “You are a pigheaded fool,” he said finally.

  She smiled tightly. “I believe it runs in the family.”

  They made it another half-mile, then he exploded again. “Dammit, you can't ignore the fact that someone wants you dead.”

  “I'm not ignoring it.”

  “You're walking into the proverbial lion's den!”

  “No, I'm not! I'm going home, which is my right. I'm going to kiss my mother on the cheek, I'm going to hug my father. I'm going to hunt down my brother for a serious heart-to-heart, and then I'm going to corner my godfather for a nice long chat.”

  “Because you believe they'll magically tell you everything?” His voice lowered with scorn. “Whatever happened to Meagan, they've kept it secret for twenty-five years. Now someone has even gone so far as to hire a paid gun. So really, I don't think they're going to simply confess. Not even to their favorite daughter.”

  Melanie drew in her breath with a sharp hiss. “They are not evil.”

  “Close enough. Dammit, Melanie.” David suddenly slapped the steering wheel. “Are you going to make me say it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I'm an agent. It's out of line.”

  “Then I'll take it off the record, Mr. Riggs.”

  He growled, but she didn't relent. She had not realized how much this mattered to her until right that moment. She was leaning toward him. She was staring at him intently. She'd come to need him even more than she'd realized. She really wanted to know that he cared, as well. That the last few days had not been another illusion.

  He spoke in a rush. “I care, dammit! You matter to me, Melanie, more than you're supposed to, and I don't want to see you hurt.”

  “I know.”

  “I sympathize, all right? They are your family, and while I certainly won't win son of the year award anytime soon, my family is important to me too. If it was my father or brother in question, I don't know that I would handle it any better.”

  “I have to trust them, David. They've loved me so well.”

  “Of course they've loved you, Mel. You're as close to Meagan Stokes as they're ever going to get.”

  Melanie recoiled. She knew he was trying to shock her, and it worked. Her eyes were stinging. She was on the verge of tears.

  There wasn't anyone in the world who didn't long to be loved for simply being herself. It wasn't fair of him to state that no matter what she did, she would always be the substitute daughter.

  She turned away and looked out the window.

  David got off 93, whipped through the financial district, and emerged on Beacon Street. Three blocks from home. He slowed down the car. She groped for her composure. When he finally stopped the car, she still didn't feel ready.

  “Be careful,” he said quietly. The scowl had dropped. He looked genuinely worried and that touched her.

  “Thank you.” She brushed his hand.

  He pulled it back, shaking his head. “I don't want your gratitude. I'm too far over the line to even pretend this is professional courtesy.”

  “Yeah, it's part of your charm.”

  “I don't have any charm. I'm old, arthritic, and cranky. Half the time I have the personality of a porcupine. Don't tell me I have charm.”

  “You do, because underneath it all I know there beats a good heart.”

  “Female fantasy,” he muttered.

  “Truth.”

  He looked like he might argue some more, but then he sighed and now he did take her hand with his own. “Melanie, for lots of reasons I think you know, I can't just stop by your house.”

  “I expected that.”

  “You really will be on your own.”

  “I understand that too.”

  “And you're scaring the shit out of me.”

  “Given.”

  “Okay, fine. This is my beeper number.” He scrawled it on a piece of paper. “If you're in trouble, I'll come. Have a bad dream, I'll come. Have a bad memory, I'll come. Just dial the beeper, okay? I'll be there, Melanie. I will.”

  She took the piece of paper. “Thank you,” she said, and saw him wince once more at her gratitude. “I need to go now.”

  “Mel, wait.”

  But Melanie didn't wait. She slipped out of the car. She started walking and didn't look back, not even when the car started up and drove away.

  Then she was alone.

  The cherry blossoms waved merrily. The scent of hyacinths was spicy and fragrant in the air. A beautiful day in a beautiful city.

  Melanie looked up at the three-story brick house that was her home. She saw the solid walnut doors, the heavy iron gate. She saw the bay windows of her bedroom.

  And for just a moment she shivered with fear.

  Then she opened the door and stepped inside.

  TWENTY-TWO

  M AR Í A, THE MAID, greeted her with a friendly nod. She looked at Melanie's wrinkled clothes and disheveled hair but took them in stride. Her parents and Señor O'Donnell were on the back patio eating lunch. Would she like anything?

  Melanie shook her head and headed for the patio.

  Jamie came walking through the back door. He halted at the sight of her, his face registering surprise.

  “Melanie?” her godfather said hesitantly, holding out his arms as he always did but clearly uncertain.

  She went into the hug, realizing she needed the contact more than she'd thought. Before she was ready, he pulled back and held her firmly at arm's length.

  “What's up, lass? I hear you've been gone for two days without so much as a by-your-leave. Why are you worrying your mother like this? It's not like you.”

  Melanie didn't answer immediately. Confronted by her first family member, she discovered she wasn't sure what she wanted to say. Or maybe she wasn't sure what she wanted to hear. David was right. This was more difficult than she'd thought. Her first question caught even her by surprise.

  “Do you love me?”

  “Of course, lass! You are my favorite woman in the whole world.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Her godfather arched a brow and regarded her more seriously. “You are in a mood. Well, I don't know. Why do you love anything, Melanie? I suppose because you do.”

  “Is it? You've always been there for me, Jamie. For my coming-home party, my first day of school, my birthdays, my charity balls, everything. That's a lot of interest in a goddaughter's life.”

  “Well, you are a special goddaughter.”

>   “But why? Why do you love me so much, Jamie? What is it you want from me?”

  Her voice was rising a notch. Her godfather immediately waved away her distress. He said simply and calmly, “I love you for being you. And all I've ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

  Melanie thought it was one of the loveliest things she'd ever heard, and a heartbeat later she knew she didn't believe a word of it. For the first time in her life she doubted her godfather.

  Moments passed, the silence growing strained. Jamie's expression changed from tender to wary.

  “If something was going on with you,” he finally asked, “you would let me know, wouldn't you?”

  “I don't know. If something was going on with you, you would let me know, wouldn't you?”

  “No, I wouldn't.”

  “Why? I'm twenty-nine, I'm ready to hear—”

  “And I'm fifty-nine, which is still older than you and wiser.”

  “Wiser about what, Jamie? Wiser about a reporter named Larry Digger, or a midwife to Russell Lee Holmes? Wiser about Brian and Meagan Stokes?”

  Her godfather studied her. His eyes, she realized, were much more sharp, much more knowing than she'd ever given him credit for.

  “Not Brian,” he said. “But you, lass. You.”

  “Jamie—”

  He moved away, making a show of dusting off his trench coat, flicking at lint. “I'm going to be in town a bit, Melanie. Business is booming, what can I say? So if you need anything, of course”—he looked at her meaningfully—“call me at the Four Seasons. Day or night, I'll come.”

  “Jamie—”

  “I've met a woman, Mel, have I told you that? I'm thinking of settling down, maybe becoming a local. What do you think? Can you see me as a married man? Bah. You're right, you're right. What am I doing looking at myself as a family man? That's Harper's gig, you know. Pipe dreams again. I'm getting maudlin and foolish in my old age.”

  “Jamie—”

  “At the Four Seasons. Just call the number and your old godfather will be here. Now try to get some sleep.”

  Then he was gone.

  After a minute Melanie opened the French doors and walked onto the patio.

  Her parents were dining alone. Harper was wearing hospital scrubs and reading the paper; he must have had a surgery this morning. Patricia sat across from him, sectioning out bites of grapefruit, which she followed with nibbles of dry toast. For as long as Melanie could remember, her mother had dined on only grapefruit and plain wheat toast.

  Patricia turned at the sound of Melanie's approach and her eyes grew wide. They looked at each other uncomfortably, memories of a phone call stretching between the two of them. Melanie had never felt awkward around her mother, but now she did.

  Finally, Patricia smiled tremulously and held out her arms for her daughter's embrace.

  Melanie's knees almost gave way. This was what she wanted, she realized. After the last forty-eight hours, she wanted to come home to her mother. She wanted to inhale the scents of Chanel No. 5 and Lancôme face cream she'd known most of her life. She wanted to hear her mother say, as she had so many times over the years, “It'll be all right, child. You're a Stokes now, and we'll always take care of you.”

  And then Melanie thought, Oh, God, what did you people do to Meagan?

  “How was your evening?” Patricia asked lightly.

  “Fine,” Melanie said. She stared at the patio floor, then fingered the petals of a pink climbing rose. Her mother's arms finally came down. She turned back to her grapefruit, shaken, and Melanie felt worse.

  Her father lowered his newspaper. He looked at her, then at Patricia, then her again. He frowned. “Melanie? Are you all right? We haven't seen you in days, which is not like you.”

  “I just needed some space.”

  “That may be, but we're still family. Next time, make sure you call. That's common courtesy.”

  “Of course,” she murmured. “How . . . how is life around here?”

  “Busy,” her father said with a sigh. He looked pale and overworked, his face showing his age. “Got called in this morning for another pacemaker installation. I swear, that hospital never lets me get any rest.”

  “Your father and I have been talking,” her mother interjected suddenly. “We think it's time the whole family went on vacation. Even Brian.”

  “Europe,” Harper said.

  “What?” Melanie couldn't have been more surprised.

  “I've always said we should take a family vacation,” her father continued reasonably. “Finally I said to your mother that maybe we should just pack our bags and go. We'll spend six months traveling around France and England and the Mediterranean. It will be the time of our life.”

  She was bewildered. “I don't want to go to Europe. Not now.”

  “Nonsense,” her mother said. Melanie thought her voice was too bright, as if she were placating a child. “You need a vacation, Melanie. You deserve one. It will be wonderful. We'll relax and bask in the sun.”

  Melanie shook her head. She looked at her parents, but they wouldn't return her gaze. Patricia was wringing her hands on her lap, then twisting her wedding band. Harper was tapping his foot, shifting a bit to the left, shifting to the right, in a way she'd never seen her father do before.

  This wasn't a vacation, Melanie realized. This was escape. Had they gotten a shrine? Or maybe a phone call telling them they got what they deserved. Were they panicking and resorting to fleeing once more, as they'd fled from Texas to Boston?

  “I won't go,” Melanie announced.

  Harper frowned. “We're offering you a vacation to Europe, Melanie. Of course you'll go.”

  She shook her head. Her hands were knotted at her sides, and she realized as she spoke that her voice was climbing. “This has nothing to do with a vacation. You never go on vacation, Dad. One would think if you spent more than ten minutes away from your precious hospital, you'd turn to stone.”

  Her father's gaze narrowed. “I don't know what you are talking about, young lady, nor do I appreciate your tone.”

  “I'm talking about the truth,” Melanie cried. “I'm talking about what happened to a little girl named Meagan Stokes.”

  A silence descended upon the patio. Melanie saw her mother pale. Then the silence was broken by the sound of metal screeching on flagstone as her father pushed back his chair and leaped to his feet, his face an unhealthy shade of red. “Don't you dare, young lady. Don't you dare bring this up in front of your mother!”

  “Why not? It's been twenty-five years. Why don't we ever speak of Meagan? It's not like you guys don't think about her. Or that I don't find Mom staring at her portrait, or you yourself gazing at it over a glass of Scotch. Brian still calls out her name at times, Jamie used to stutter every time he had to say Melanie. Meagan's here. She's in this house and she's part of all of our lives. So why don't we ever speak of her? What are you so afraid of?”

  “Young lady, that is enough. You will not speak to your parents like that—”

  “My parents. Yes, my parents. One more thing we never mention. Why didn't we ever look for my birth parents, Dad? Why didn't you ever suggest hypnosis or regression therapy or anything that might help me reclaim my own identity? Why were you at the hospital that night and not watching the execution of Russell Lee Holmes?”

  “Melanie!” her mother gasped. “What . . . what is this?”

  Melanie didn't get a chance to answer. Harper thrust up a hand, immediately silencing his wife. He stared at his daughter, and there was a cold expression on his face Melanie had never seen turned on her before.

  “How dare you.” His gaze burned the way it had when he'd looked at her brother the night Brian had announced he was gay. “How dare you stand in my own house and speak to me this way. After everything I've done for you. Goddammit, I took you in, I put a roof over your head. I've done everything a father is supposed to do, looked after your health, paid for your education, guided you through life. I've never short-changed
you, young lady. I have never treated you as less than my own child, you spoiled, ungrateful—”

  “What?” Melanie goaded softly. “Killer's brat? Is that what you're trying to say? Is that how you really feel, Harper?”

  “You little bitch.” He raised his arm and smacked her hard. Melanie fell onto the patio without even a murmur. As if from a distance, she heard her mother's soft cry of distress.

  Slowly Melanie raised her head.

  “It's not going to go away, Dad,” she whispered. “The truth is out now, and not even Boston's best cardiac surgeon can control this mess. Not even you can make it go away.”

  “You don't know what you're talking about—”

  “Stop it,” Patricia yelled. “Just stop it.”

  They both turned to her. Patricia was getting shakily to her feet. Her body swayed tremulously, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

  “Please,” she whispered. “No more. This is our daughter, Harper. Brian is our son. They are all we have. What are you doing?”

  “I'm trying to teach them some gratitude. You see what happens when you give them everything, Pat? How they are both turning out—”

  Patricia placed a hand on his shoulder. “Harper, please.”

  He yanked his arm away, his expression too angry, too hurt.

  “You too, Pat?” he growled. “Goddammit, I have had enough. Who bought this house and the cars you're driving and the clothes you're wearing and the food you're eating anyway? Certainly wasn't you or your father. He left all his money to charity, remember? Told us we could earn ours. So I did. I go to that hospital every day, I work my ass off in a stressful position you couldn't even imagine, and what kind of respect do I get for that? What kind of appreciation from my own wife?”

  He whirled on Melanie. “And you. Your charity work is great, but how the hell does it pay the rent? What kind of responsibility do you show around here? You just went off for two days as if you hadn't a fucking care in the world.