Together, they notified Marissa Garcia and her family and answered all their questions. Jerry informed Susan Standish, and Lucy talked to Garrett King—and gave him some unsolicited advice on how to get his life back together. Whether he listened or not, she didn’t know. But she tried.
They also talked to Abby every day, notified Trevor James about the situation, and hoped that Abby would find some peace. She seemed to take the information well—she was shocked, angry, but mostly sad. She stayed with her friend Becky while her great-aunt made arrangements for her to move back to California.
On Monday, Trevor James called Lucy and said that he was in town. She took him to Becky’s house and the smile on Abby’s face when she saw her uncle was genuine. It was the first real smile Lucy had seen from the teen since she’d met her.
“You came!” Abby said, hugging her uncle tightly.
“Of course I did. I’m on leave, for as long as you need me.”
“Forever?”
“Not forever. But a long time.”
She hugged him again.
“Thank you for finding out what happened to my brother,” Trevor said to Lucy.
“It was truly a multi-jurisdictional investigation. I’m sorry that she’s not in prison. We would have gotten a conviction.” She hoped. It would have been a tough case to prosecute, but Lucy knew they had the right suspect. “I wish she’d confessed before she died.”
“I’m glad she’s gone,” Trevor said. “I know that sounds callous, but she deserved it.”
Maybe she did, Lucy thought. Justice had been served … but not in the way Lucy wanted.
“I have news,” Trevor said. “Abby, I talked to your aunt Abigail last night when my flight landed in San Diego. She agreed with me—though it’s ultimately your decision.”
“What?” Abby looked worried.
“I’ve applied for a commission that will keep me in the states—in San Diego. I’d like you to live with me. I know Steven would have wanted this—more important, I want it. You’re my only family, kid, and nothing would make me happier than to have you with me.”
Tears spilled out of Abby’s eyes, and she hugged him yet again. “Yes, yes! Thank you!”
“No thanks necessary. Really—this is what family is for. I love you, Abs.”
Lucy said, “I’ll let you guys pack up and make plans.”
Abby turned to Lucy and hugged her, too. “Thank you for everything, Lucy,” she said.
“It’s my job.”
“I think it’s more than a job for you, like the Navy is for Uncle Trevor.”
“Yeah, I guess it is. Let me know how you’re settling in—San Diego is a terrific place to live, and I’ll bet you’ll be living near Point Loma.”
“In Point Loma. I’ve been promoted to lieutenant and should be able to score a good place. And I have a family, which helps.” He winked at Abby.
“If you need anything while you’re here, call me,” Lucy said.
She drove the short distance home. She planned on calling in sick tomorrow. She’d had the weekend off, but she still felt drained and oddly emotional.
“You’re early,” Sean said when she walked into the house before five that afternoon.
“I’m taking sick time.”
“You’re sick?” he asked, concerned.
“Just tired. One day. You’re not going to rat me out, are you?”
“We’ll play hooky. It’ll be fun.” He grinned and kissed her. “We’ll watch old movies and make love in the middle of the afternoon and eat ice cream out of the carton.”
“As long as it’s chocolate.”
“Triple chocolate.”
“Sold.”
She sank into the comfy chair in the sun room and Sean joined her. “Jesse has soccer practice? You told him light workout only, right?”
“Yep, and he’s being good. I don’t have to get him for an hour. What’s wrong? You look sad. I thought everything worked out.”
“With Trevor and Abby. He’s taking her to San Diego to live, and she seems to be really happy about it. I hate that she lost her dad, though. That poor kid has been through hell.”
“She has family who loves her. She’ll bounce back.” Sean rubbed her chin. “Talk to me.”
“I talked to Tia Mancini this morning.”
“Oh. Princess, I’m sorry.”
“How do you know it’s bad news?”
“Because I know you. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Well, it’s mixed. Chris Smith is in Florida. Marissa refuses to press charges. Tia worked with her, talked to her friend Maryanne in housekeeping, believes she could build a case … but can’t guarantee that Marissa would win.”
“Of course she couldn’t. A case like this is unpredictable. Marissa still has time to change her mind.”
“Yeah, still—I want Smith in prison. But he left, and will be in Florida for at least two years. And I get it. I want him punished, but Marissa doesn’t want to risk her family. I guess I don’t blame her.”
“Why would you?”
“Because rapists don’t spontaneously stop. Except … Tia confirmed that Smith is an alcoholic. He used to get so drunk that he got in fights, blacked out … and after she interviewed Marissa she learned that Smith was intoxicated at the time.”
Sean tensed. “That’s no excuse.”
“No, it’s not. Yet since then he appears to have maintained his sobriety. His grandfather sent him to Arizona initially to go through a rehab program. Then kept him there to open the hotel. Maybe … maybe he won’t hurt anyone else again.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No. But I can’t tell Marissa to risk her son on the slim chance that she can take down a wealthy heir. Her family is far too important to her. But if he returns to San Antonio, I will watch him closely. I may also have given a colleague in Tampa Bay a heads-up about him. People will be watching him. One slip—one mistake—and we’ll be on him.”
It wasn’t a perfect system. But it was the best they had, and Lucy was determined to make it work for the most people.
Sean kissed her. “I love you, Lucy Rogan.”
“I love you, Sean Rogan.”
He picked her up and carried her upstairs to their bedroom. “There is nothing I want to do more right now that make love to you.”
Lucy melted into the bed, under Sean’s affection and love. She closed her eyes and allowed the pain and frustration to fall away as her husband made love to her.
This was exactly where she needed to be.
Read on for an excerpt from
ABANDONED
by Allison Brennan
PROLOGUE
Twenty-two Years Ago
Martha Revere couldn’t leave without saying good-bye to Maxine. She was her daughter, after all.
But she had to get out of the house before her mother returned from whatever charity event she’d decided to grace with her presence. Eleanor Sterling Revere was psychic, Martha was certain of it. How else could she always know what Martha was doing? What her plans were? Especially before Martha herself had even figured everything out? Not to mention the stern judgment from on high, as if Eleanor were perfect, as if she were a god.
Just that morning, not even forty-eight hours after Martha came home, Eleanor confronted her.
What are your plans, Martha?
Like she needed to plan out her life. Eleanor had never done anything spontaneous, she had never understood Martha’s need to go where her whims took her.
Maxine needs stability. A good school, to learn proper manners, to attend university. Maxine must understand the benefits and responsibilities of being a Revere. You live like a nomad, Martha. You’re raising a waif.
Eleanor had been watching her closely—too closely—ever since she came home Thanksgiving morning with her beautiful daughter in tow. And then the clincher. While her father was bringing the car around this afternoon, Eleanor stood in the foyer, dressed impeccably, her hair done just right, her
makeup perfectly applied, her clothes both fashionable and appropriate for a wealthy woman of her age.
When you leave, Martha—and I know that is what you are planning, so don’t lie to me—leave Maxine with me. She deserves better than what you are doing for her.
How had she known that Martha never planned to stay? That leaving Maxine was always part of the plan?
For about two minutes, Martha decided to take Max with her, just to spite Eleanor. Serve her right. She never cared about Martha, yet seemed to care about the granddaughter she didn’t know? Taking Max after introducing her to Eleanor would upset her mother, and that pleased Martha.
The two-minute mental debate ended. Max would ruin everything. All Martha wanted was a few months to have fun, and Max was just like Eleanor. She simply didn’t know how to have fun.
Besides, as soon as Maxine acted up—and she would, because she didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut, which was almost as bad as not knowing how to have fun—Eleanor would rue the day she told Martha to leave her. When Martha came back, Eleanor would insist she take Max, and Max would beg to leave. Because no way could anyone sane live under Eleanor’s ridiculous rules and social mores.
Maxine was in the library. There were three “libraries” in the huge house—her father’s cozy study that always smelled like bay rum and pipe tobacco; her mother’s prim and stately sitting room where punishments were doled out; and here, the main library, with thousands of books no one ever read. And yet Maxine sat on the unblemished leather sofa, bare feet curled under her, reading a leather-bound book Martha doubted had been opened in a hundred years. She did a double take when she saw the title. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Wasn’t that a kid’s book? Leave it to her mother to find the stuffiest edition of a child’s book for her snooty library.
Max looked up from the book and stared at Martha with Eleanor’s too-smart, all-knowing, dark blue eyes. The “I know you’re going to leave” look. The look of disapproval. Disappointment. Judgment.
How on earth could a kid not yet ten have mastered the Eleanor Revere glare so quickly?
Martha straightened her spine. This was for the best. Ha! That sounded like something Eleanor would say.
This is the second time I’ve caught you sneaking back into the house this week. You’re grounded. Your father and I decided to take your car for a month. It is for the best. You need to learn responsibility and respect, Martha. To understand that you have a duty to family and community because you are a Revere.
Eleanor never understood that Martha wasn’t like them. She needed to be free, not living in the stuffy confines of norms and responsibility and expectations.
Why the hell should she have any duty to anyone but herself?
“Are you coming back?” Maxine asked in her quiet, too-regal voice.
“Of course, silly,” Martha said. “I always do.”
This time, however, she wasn’t certain she would return. Or when. Maxine had been turning into her mother, even though Martha had done everything in her power to make sure Maxine didn’t end up a Revere. Maybe genetics had more to do with personality than anyone thought.
“When?”
“I don’t know. Why do I need to give you a schedule? Look at this place. It’s huge. It wasn’t all bad growing up here. And there are books. You love books. You’ve been nagging me about school. Now you can go. See? Win-win.”
Why Maxine wanted to go to school, Martha would never understand. She hated school, from day one when Sierra Noble pushed her off the swing and said that there were rules to the playground and Sierra made the rules. And the first rule was that she always got to swing first at recess.
Martha hated rules before Sierra, and she hated them twice as much after that little bitch.
Of course, Martha had gotten back at the whiny, self-absorbed bully. And it never came back on her. Because she was that good.
She almost smiled at the memory of Sierra crying her big brown eyes out. She’d waited years for her revenge, but it was so worth it.
“But I didn’t cheat!”
“We have solid evidence, Sierra. School policy dictates a zero on the final plus a three-day suspension. I’m sorry, Sierra, we certainly expected better of you.”
Martha had always been good at school—at least good enough to get by, manipulate the teachers, and make her parents happy. At least with grades. But that didn’t mean that she enjoyed it, or found it at all necessary.
“Look, Maxie, I’ll try to be back by your birthday, okay? That’s only a few weeks away.”
“Five weeks.”
“Jeez, semantics! I have things I want to do, okay? And you can’t come with me. You’ll fit in perfectly here, you’re exactly like my mother.”
She hadn’t meant to say that, or use that tone. Was the kid going to cry? God, she hated when Maxie cried, almost as much as she hated the look of disappointment on her face. Fortunately, she rarely cried.
“Why can’t you let me live with my father? I’ve never even met him. It’s not fair.”
Fair? What about life was fair? “I told you, he’s married and it’s complicated. He doesn’t want you. I wanted you, I kept you, I didn’t get rid of you like everyone said I should have.” She shouldn’t have said that, either, but Maxine was making her feel guilty. The only other person who had ever made her feel guilty was her mother. She didn’t like it, not one bit, so she pushed the guilt aside. It had become quite easy to do over the years.
“I don’t want to fight, Maxie,” Martha said. “You don’t like Jimmy anyway.”
“So you’re leaving me here with people I don’t know because you and Jimmy don’t want me around to cramp your style.”
“No.” God, how did she do that? She was nine years old. How did she figure this stuff out?
And it was clear she didn’t believe Martha anyway, so why even try?
“Life is meant to be fun,” Martha said. “Life has plans, baby. Never forget that. I guarantee when I come back, you’ll be begging me to take you away from this place and all the stupid rules. You will never want to be a Revere when you see what it really means. The formals. The charities. The smiling and being polite when all you want to do is go off with your friends but you can’t because you have responsibilities. Then you’ll finally understand and not judge me all the damn time. I really have to go now. Jimmy’s waiting for me.”
She hugged Maxine and pretended her daughter hugged her back. She didn’t have time for this, she didn’t want a confrontation with her mother. The only thing she kind of regretted was that she’d promised her dad that she’d go into the city with him and Maxine tomorrow afternoon like they used to do when she was a little girl. He would take her on the trolley car and they’d walk along the wharf and have fresh clam chowder soup in bread bowls at restaurants that Eleanor wouldn’t walk by, let alone eat at.
Those were the best memories of her childhood.
But the guilt was fleeting. Guilt was a useless emotion, Martha told herself on the rare occasions it crept in. She’d send her dad a postcard, explain that she couldn’t live with her mother, that she had things to do and he would understand.
At least, she convinced herself that her dad would understand.
“Good-bye for now!” Martha said with a bright smile. She walked right out the front door. No one else was in the house to stop her—it was the Saturday after Thanksgiving and Eleanor had given her staff the weekend off. No one else lived in the house. Martha didn’t have to answer to anyone, not anymore. Not even her daughter.
A white Mercedes coupe had pulled in to the driveway and Brooks got out. She glared at him.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“None of your business.”
“Where’s your kid?”
“Reading.”
“You have a lot to answer for, Martha.”
She hated her brother. Hated him more than anyone else. He had made her life miserable growing up, and why her mother actually seeme
d to like him more, Martha would never understand. “Good-bye.” She started to walk past him.
Brooks grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Don’t you dare leave that bastard girl here.”
Martha jerked her arm away from him. “Wait until you really get to know Maxine,” she said with a sneer. “She’ll hate you as much as I do.”
“I will send her to boarding school.”
Martha laughed. “Good luck with that. If Eleanor didn’t send me, she’s not going to send Max. Suck it up, Brooks. Your perfect life just got shaken and stirred.”
“You’d better come back for her, Martha.”
“Or what? You forget, I know every one of your secrets, and Mother may not like me, but she’ll believe me. She’ll believe everything.”
Brooks reddened. He should be scared.
She walked away before her brother could get under her skin. She wished there was another way. Brooks might eat Max alive—he hated Martha enough to make the kid’s life miserable.
But Max was a smart kid—really, for a not quite ten-year-old, she was smarter than most adults. Brooks might have met his match because he would underestimate her, and then wham! Martha almost wished she could be around to watch.
Unfortunately, it was clear from the minute they hooked up with Jimmy last month that Jimmy and Max were oil and water. Martha had given her daughter a decade of her time and attention—and truly, it was becoming more difficult. Max nearly blew their last gig, and that’s when Jimmy convinced Martha that maybe it was time to let someone else in the family step up and watch her. He’d wanted to ship her off to her father, but Jimmy didn’t know who Max’s father was, and that was a secret Martha would take to the grave.
But there was more to family than a mother and father. The Reveres could take over raising Max, at least until Martha decided to come back for her. A month? Two? Six? Some day she’d come back. And Maxie would beg to leave.
Nothing to Hide Page 36