Ensnared: A Love Letters Novel

by Kristen Blakely

  Ensnared

  A Love Letters Novel

  Kristen Blakely

  Copyright © 2015

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Contents

  Ensnared

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Flawed

  Love Letters

  About the Author

  Ensnared

  They were named for the archangels. They should have come with warning labels.

  The two Falconer boys, Raphael and Michael, were named for the archangels. I know they are anything but. At twenty-two, I married Raphael, the first Falconer boy. By twenty-five, I was divorced. I traded my wedding ring for two near-fatal bullet wounds—and it was the best damned trade of my life.

  Now it’s time to go back to the place where it began, where Michael, the second Falconer boy, waits; his life on pause ever since I married his brother.

  He’s convinced I’m there to destroy his life.

  He’s not wrong….

  Chapter 1

  Michael Falconer knew his day took a turn for the worse the moment he pushed open the door to the Wave Café and all eyes flashed in his direction. He looked down; his fly was zipped. Check. So what exactly was the problem?

  The problems, in plural, were the sympathetic, even pitying, expressions cast his way.

  He looked over the heads of the seated customers and caught the eye of Anna Ludlow, the owner of the café and his occasional Friday night date. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

  “Oh, Michael.” Anna scurried from behind the counter and wrapped her arms around him. “Haven’t you heard?”

  Heard? Heard what? His older brother, Raphael’s trial for the attempted murder of his ex-wife, Lily Herald, had been the hottest news in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, but that was six months ago. That particular bit of news needed to stay six months in the past.

  The opinionated and interfering people of Portsmouth needed something new, something juicy, to sink their teeth into. Perhaps this latest piece of gossip—whatever it was—would provide an alternative to the unwelcomed spotlight shining on the Falconer family.

  “Patricia was just hired to clean and prepare their vacation home for a long-term stay,” Anna intoned in a stage whisper. “She’s coming back.”

  “Who is?” A splinter of dread lodged in Michael’s heart. How many waterfront vacation homes were there in Portsmouth? Not many, and the most lavish of them all was owned by the Herald family.

  Anna’s eyebrows arched. “Lily Herald, of course!”

  The curse words tangled in Michael’s mind didn’t make it past his lips.

  He did not swear aloud easily. For more than seventy-five years, his father and his grandfather had been the ministers of the church at the corner of Islington Street and Chapel Street; swearing—among other things—had been frowned upon for a second-generation pastor’s kid.

  But mostly, his mind blanked.

  “Michael?” The alarm in Anna’s voice recalled him.

  He blinked and refocused on her. “What?”

  “Did you hear? Lily—”

  “Yeah, I heard.” Michael headed to the counter and dug out his wallet. He gave the kid behind the register a nod and hoped that the tugging motion at his cheeks looked more like a smile than a grimace. “I’ll have a burger and fries to go.”

  Anna’s footsteps sounded behind him. Her gentle hand rested on his bicep. He tensed at the touch.

  “Do your parents know?” she asked.

  “Probably not yet.”

  Anna sighed softly. “How are they doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “I haven’t seen them since they moved to Woodworth Avenue.”

  “It’s farther out from the old town.” Michael tossed up the obvious excuse even though he knew, as did everyone else, that the extra five miles wasn’t the reason his parents rarely left their house. He drummed his fingers on the countertop and tried not to scowl. If Anna was looking for a reaction, she had better not hold her breath. He was done with Lily; he had been for three years now.

  Anna continued. “It’s going to be tough on them if Lily comes back.”

  Yeah, well, Lily had a way of making waves. She always had. Where was that damned burger?

  “Do you know why she’s coming?” she asked.

  Michael spread his hands in a what-the-hell gesture. Did he look like he ran a confessional? Did the people of Portsmouth really think he still knew what Lily was up to? The days when he had believed he and Lily were soul mates were long past. He shrugged. “Haven’t spoken to her since she got married.”

  “Would your sister know?”

  Michael glanced at Anna. For an instant, his mind overlaid an image of a flat-faced bulldog across her pretty features. He sighed. “Maybe. Guess I could call her.” He exchanged a twenty for the paper bag the kid behind the counter set in front of him, waving his hand to negate an offer of change. “Have a good one.”

  He did not have to look over his shoulder to know that every gaze followed him from the café. God, he hated the spotlight. He had endured it three years earlier when Lily married Raphael. He had endured it yet again six months earlier when Raphael was sentenced to life imprisonment for attempting to kill Lily.

  Lily. It was always Lily.

  He grimaced. I’m not getting sucked back in. The last time had cost him everything.

  Michael shoved thoughts of Lily aside. It was easy. He’d had years of practice. He got into his car and drove across the old town of Portsmouth to the chapel-turned-cottage he was restoring. The church had moved to new premises several years earlier. Three years ago, he had purchased it for a bargain price at the city auction in exchange for his promise to restore and maintain the eighteenth-century building.

  He understood why the town planners didn’t want an ultra-modern townhouse standing where the stone chapel had been, but he hadn’t known how much time and money his project would require.

  Sure wasn’t worth the tax break.

  But then again, he hadn’t purchased it for the tax break.

  He walked into his home and looked around. Three years and thousands of hours of work later, the building was livable. The foundation was solid. The support structures were sturdy, and the roof was new. Pretty was still a long way in the future, but Michael didn’t need pretty. Several months earlier, as soon as he had the bathroom plumbing fixed, he had finally moved out from his parents’ place and into the chapel.

  The back room, formerly the pastor’s office and study, had been converted to a master bedroom with an attached bath. The sanctuary, with its magnificent open layout and large stained-glass windows, became the living room, kitchen, and dining room. The mismatched furniture scattered around the open space were family hand-me-downs and Salvation Army castoffs, but the chairs didn’t break under his weight—although one of them did creak in a rather alarming way—and the bed was comfortabl
e. He couldn’t really ask for more.

  Lily would have loved what he had done to the old chapel.

  Michael scowled and shoved her out of his mind yet again. He scarfed down his burger, left the fries untouched, and started to sand the spiral staircase that led up to the loft over the large master bedroom. At that moment, the loft was little more than hardwood floors covered by a thin layer of dust, but he could envision the transformation of that space, bathed in sunshine from its many skylights, into a study with cozy reading nooks, or perhaps a child’s play area.

  It would be beautiful, he reflected. In about ten years.

  He could accelerate the work by bringing in contractors, but it required money he didn’t have. Besides, he enjoyed the physical labor most of the time. He sat on the lower step and began sanding the rough edges of the wooden staircase.

  Why was Lily Herald coming back to town?

  She wasn’t even a local girl. The waterfront house her family owned was a vacation home, and one that she had not visited since she had gotten married and moved with Raphael to New York City. What could she possibly want in Portsmouth?

  Would she return just to rub salt into his parents’ open emotional wounds?

  Michael paused to stretch out the aching muscles in his back and shoulders. She wouldn’t, would she? Cruelty wasn’t her style.

  But then again, how would he know what her style was? He had thought he knew her, and she had proved him wrong. He didn’t dare make any bets on why Lily was returning to town, but his parents would need answers.

  He needed answers.

  Michael shook his head. He inhaled deeply and forced himself to relax his shoulders as he exhaled. Instead, the muscles in his neck and upper back clenched into knots. What he really needed was a swim; he had to clear his head.

  He repacked his duffle bag for another visit to the athletic center. Once in his car, he reached for his smartphone to call his sister, who lived in Los Angeles, eking out a living as a bartender while waiting for her lucky break in acting.

  “’ello?” Ariel mumbled into the phone.

  Michael glanced at his watch. He should have known better than to expect his sister to be awake. “Ariel. It’s Michael.”

  “Is Dad okay?” was Ariel’s immediate question. She had always been something of a daddy’s girl.

  “Yes, he is.” Though not for much longer now that Lily’s coming back to town. “Have you heard from Lily?”

  “Last time was just after she’d given birth. Complete radio silence since.” Ariel yawned loudly into the phone. “Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “The next time you’re ‘just wondering,’ send me a freaking e-mail instead, okay?”

  He knew Ariel was moments away from hanging up on him. “She’s coming back to Portsmouth.”

  Silence greeted him.

  “Ariel? Are you still there? Did you hear—?”

  “Yes, I heard you.” Ariel’s vibrant tone had suddenly gone flat. “Wow, that’s gutsy of her.”

  “Gutsy?”

  “Yeah. I bet most of the town is still rooting for Raphael to get vindicated or something.”

  “That’s right.” Michael frowned. How did Ariel know? She did practically nothing to keep up with the local news.

  “Even though he deliberately shot Lily.”

  Discomfort squirmed through Michael.

  “Twice.”

  Discomfort transformed into an ice shard and lodged in Michael’s chest.

  “In front of multiple witnesses, including her daughter.”

  The shard pierced his heart. Michael sucked in a deep, shuddering breath and ground his teeth. The photographs that had plastered across the internet and print media seared into his mind.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. What would it take to purge the image of Lily slumped against the wall, her hand pressed to her chest? Crimson stained her white sweater. Her other arm wrapped around her blood-splattered two-year-old daughter, who screamed and clung to her.

  “Like I said,” Ariel continued. “Gutsy. If I were her, I’d stay the heck away from Portsmouth and the Falconer boys who ruined her life.”

  “The Falconer boys who what?” Michael’s jaw dropped. “What does this have to do with me?”

  Ariel made a rude sound. “Let me know how she’s doing, okay?”

  “Me? How would I know how she’s doing? She’s not going to want to see me.”

  “Men…” Ariel sighed. “It’s a wonder why God gave the dominion of the Earth to the clueless half of our species.”

  “Entertainment value, I bet, but why would Lily come to see me?”

  “Why else would she return to Portsmouth?”

  “If I knew, do you think I’d call you?”

  “Awww, man. And all this time, I thought it might have been because you loved me.” Ariel’s whine gave way to a serious tone. “I’m going back to bed. You be nice to her, okay?”

  “What do you mean ‘nice to—?’” The flat beep told him his sister had hung up on him.

  Michael frowned. His sister had not lost her ability to confuse the heck out of him. He turned the key in the ignition. His grip tightened on the steering wheel before he pulled his car away from the curb.

  Lily was coming home.

  Damn it to hell.

  Chapter 2

  Water had always been Michael’s sanctuary. Weightless. Soundless. A cocoon of purest blue.

  Water had also always been his nemesis. He pushed against it; he slammed all his strength and endurance against it. He railed against its infinite power and exhausted himself against it.

  On another day, he might have kept an easy pace and enjoyed the seemingly effortless back-and-forth across the Olympic-sized swimming pool.

  But today, he swam to outrace his memories and questions that had no answers. He cut through the water, his limbs churning with trained precision and economy of motion. He swam until his muscles quivered from exhaustion and his mind was lulled into calmness. When he finally hauled himself out of the water, he sagged by the edge of the pool, his chest heaving.

  Black spots flashed on the edge of his vision.

  Stupid. He had almost pushed himself beyond the zone. He would pay the price for it tomorrow.

  A shadow fell over him. “The Olympic team missed out on a hell of a swimmer.”

  He rolled onto his back and stared up into the grizzled face of Hakon Saxberg. The older man had been his swim coach in college. Michael dragged a hand over his eyes to block out the glare of the bright lights over the pool. “Don’t start now, Coach.” Hakon had earned that honorific for life when he had taken Michael’s swimming career to the edge of greatness.

  It wasn’t Hakon’s fault Michael had fallen short.

  Hakon’s booted foot nudged against Michael’s side. “Get up, kid.”

  Michael did not bother to sigh. It would be too obvious and childish to point out that he was twenty-five. Besides, he would probably always be “kid” to his coach. He accepted the hand Hakon extended to him and pulled to a sitting position, then brought his knees up to his chest and rested his head on his knees. Closing his eyes kept the flashing black spots from making his head spin.

  “Pushed too hard again, didn’t you?” Hakon asked.

  Michael grunted.

  “What problem are you trying to outswim now?” Hakon paused. “Don’t suppose it has anything to do with Lily Herald coming back to town?”

  Michael drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “No.” A muscle twitched in his cheek—a subtle tell whenever he lied.

  Hakon made a sound in his throat. “Pool closes at ten. If you need a keycard for late access, you let security know.”

  Hakon’s footsteps faded.

  Everyone knows about Lily.

  Perhaps it was a good thing he was too tired to curse in the privacy of his own head, let alone aloud. He dragged himself to his feet and headed for the locker room. He stood beneath the hot shower and allowed the steady beat of
the water to pound against the knotted muscles in his back. His mind became blissfully blank, untroubled by thoughts of Lily, or indeed, of anything else.

  Reality intruded when he emerged from the shower.

  What was he supposed to tell his parents?

  He tugged on his clothes, dragged his hands through his hair, and left the college athletic center. His first stop was the grocery store. The grocery run was, unfortunately, not nearly as quick as he had hoped. Just about everyone insisted on stopping him to ask with polite voices and barely concealed curiosity if he had heard the news.

  Yes, he had.

  Condolences immediately followed, each one pricking a warning. Ariel was right. The town’s loyalty resided firmly with Raphael Falconer, their golden boy, and not on that outsider, Lily Herald.

  As quickly as he could manage it, he completed his shopping and drove to his parents’ new home. The single-story house was on the outskirts of town, in an old subdivision recently rezoned for low-income and Section 8 housing. The yard was mowed, and the tiny house—although a little shabby on the outside—had a neat appearance.

  Michael felt a stab of regret over his parents’ altered circumstances. The home in which he had grown up, a two-story colonial-style house in a lush, tree-lined neighborhood, had been in his family for at least two generations and was informally known as the Pastor’s Manse. However, the house had been sold and all its profits paid to Raphael’s lawyers.

  All because of Lily Herald.

  If she had never come to town—

  If she had never met the Falconer boys—

  Too late now, he reflected grimly as he let himself into his parents’ home. “Hey, Mom! Dad!”