"Oh, yeah. Sure. Everybody knows about the Vandersons in this town. Less than a decade ago, they locked up Marissa after their eldest was killed in a motorcycle accident. It's a shame, too. Their first child, Zachary, was kidnapped and never found." Her lips quirked. "Are you saying Dane's girlfriend is the Marissa Vanderson?"
He'd never heard of the Vandersons, but he'd moved here a couple of years ago. Dane wasn't native to the city, either, so he probably hadn't guessed about Marissa's past. Knowing she'd spent most of her life trapped in a mansion by parents who could buy her everything but freedom sure explained a lot. Yep. This little piece of information was interesting, but not as interesting as Lillie's offering of it.
"Her sister was killed?"
"Yes. The night before her eighteenth birthday, Gillian Vanderson snuck out to meet her boyfriend. They were both killed when his motorcycle hit an embankment." Lillie's voice softened as she spoke and she turned away, obviously searching for a distraction. She moved to the sink with its dirty dishes, opened the dishwasher, and started loading. Brent kept quiet. Sometimes the most effective tool to encourage someone to talk was to stay silent.
The dishes clinked, clanked, and slid into the wire slots with teeny bangs. When she'd finished with the dishes, she took paper towels and wiped out the sink, then scrubbed the counter.
After tossing the towels into the trash, Lillie looked at him, a tight smile creasing her lips. "All I know about the Vandersons is what I read in the paper."
Her steady gaze met his and had he not fallen in love with her, he might have missed the sadness hiding in her forthright look. She sought to fool him with her straightforwardness, daring him, on some level, not to believe her. Was she asking him to call her on the lies that fell so easily from her lips? Begging him to dig harder and deeper to find the truth? Or was she asking him to leave her alone and to abandon his questions and concerns?
She tilted her head, her gaze still matched to his, and waited. "Lillian..." Lillian. Then it clicked. All of it. The familiar smile. The interest in Dane. The desperate hope lurking her eyes. "Or should I call you Gillian?"
* * *
KADE MURPHY STARED at the ugly pink building that housed the Paradise Club. He'd managed to ditch Pete after a fast-food dinner. While the pup did the endless paperwork that came with the job, he drove to the bar. It would be nuts for Lillian—or even Michael—to show up. But since the vic had died in one of the vacant buildings on this street, he was damned sure someone had seen either Lillian or Michael.
Flipping open his cell phone, he called the Vanderson residence again. That old-World, pissy butler got on his nerves; the snobby ass insisted he hadn't heard from Lillian or Marissa and he refused to tell Kade the whereabouts of Alan and Fiona.
Kade unfolded from the economy-sized rental car, locked the piece-of-shit, and turned to cross the street. A man and woman hurried to the club's entrance; his breath hitched. Lillian? No. She had the same kind of hip-wiggle walk, but her hair wasn't blonde. She looked familiar, though.
He jogged across the pavement and entered the Paradise Club scant seconds after the couple. He saw them wind through the crowded tables to a door marked "Employees Only." He caught the woman's profile just before she ducked through the door. Then he recognized her.
Hello, little sister. He grinned. Sooner or later, Lillian would contact her sibling and he'd be right there, waiting.
* * *
GEOFFREY SNEEZED VIOLENTLY, secretly satisfied when Fiona Vanderson flinched. He'd managed to crawl out of bed, into a uniform, and get to the door minutes before the Vandersons arrived home from their one-week vacation in Europe. Without their daughter. Again.
It wasn't that Fiona and Alan didn't love Marissa. They did. Too much. After Zachary's disappearance and the death of Gillian, they'd done everything to protect Marissa. But, truth be told, they loved each other more than anyone else in the world and simply didn't realize how exclusionary their devotion had become. They had spent the last nine years protecting Marissa from the big, bad world, but had spent little time developing a good relationship with their only living child...well, the only living child they knew about.
When Gillian lived in their home, they'd spoiled her senseless, again leaving Marissa in an emotional snowdrift. He'd tried to be her friend and confidante, but the truth was, he'd never be what she really needed—a good parent. Alas, it was too late for Fiona and Alan to be a decent mother and father. Marissa had run away from her boxed-in life and her parents. Maybe he should have encouraged her to leave long ago.
Alan entered the house, talking on his cell phone, and was followed by the baggage-laden chauffeur.
"Geoffrey? Have you been to the doctor?" Fiona peered at him, concern marring her Botoxed brow.
"No, mum."
"Why ever not? You look miserable."
"I've been resting and taking doses of Nyquil."
"Sonia."
The maid hurried forward and accepted Fiona's Gucci purse and huge make-up bag. "Call Dr. Meehan this instant and tell him our dear Geoffrey is on the verge of collapse. And would you call down to Marissa and let her know we're home?" Sonia hesitated, her startled glance meeting Geoffrey's stoic one.
Fiona's brows rose as she caught the maid's questioning look. "My daughter. Where is she?"
"She's gone, mum." Geoffrey looked his employer in the eyes. "And it's about damned time she left, too."
* * *
TUESDAY AND ROZZINDA took the stairs three at a time. He prayed his little sister had called him from Jeremy's crib and not one of the bastard's crack houses. When they hit the fifth floor, he ran to the end of the hallway and banged on the last door. "Open up, Slane. It's Tuesday."
Silence greeted him. He glanced at Z and saw her worried expression. He pounded on the door, screaming his sister's name, but no one answered. Then Z stilled his movements with one gentle hand, reached past him, and turned the knob.
The door creaked open.
Tuesday didn't want to go in, but Z saved him the decision and crept inside. Watching Z's courage in action made him feel like a pussy. He grabbed her hand and gestured for her to stay behind him.
"Slane? Baby girl?"
Jeremy's crib didn't fit in with the rest of the apartments in the tenement. Everything electronic was state-of-art, every stick of furniture cost thousands, and he'd hired a celeb decorator to create a House Beautiful atmosphere. But nothing Jeremy did could hide the ugliness of the drug lifestyle. The stench of his inhumanity clung to his possessions like a vile poison.
"Tuesday..."
He turned, realizing he'd been staring at the living room like a zombie, and saw Z standing the doorway of the bedroom. He didn't like the piteous expression stealing the loveliness from her face or the tears pooling in her dark eyes.
"No. No!" He sprinted to the door; she moved aside and he entered the room. The heavy metallic smell gagged him, but he stumbled toward the bed, holding his mouth to keep from vomiting.
Slane lay on the plush four-poster bed curled in a fetal position. Blood soiled the white coverlet, the beige floor, the muted blue walls, and the caramel skin of his youngest sister. She was naked excerpt for the pair of green cotton underwear tattered on her hips. Little girl underwear. Fourteen, hooked on crack, no one to love her, but still clinging in a small way to her girlhood.
He nearly choked on the bile rising in his throat. His guts roiled in disgust; hatred turned the churning nausea into hard knots. "Slane? Oh God. Slane..."
Kneeling next to the bed, he looked at her pale face, and cried. "Slane?" he whispered. He was afraid to touch her. What if she... her eyelids fluttered then her bloodshot eyes focused on him.
"T." Her voice sounded like a rusty gate. "I'm so c-c-cold."
He grabbed the coverlet and drew it over her body. He noticed the fine trembling of her arms and thanked God her body still felt something, anything. Hope slid through him.
"Why you cryin', Tuesday? Ain't never seen you cry."
Slane's lips attempted a smile, but dried blood stilled their movements. "You a player, T." She snuggled into the comforter and her eyelids drifted shut.
"Slane? You gotta stay with me. Stay awake. I mean it, girl, you open them eyes."
"You ain't the boss of me," she muttered.
Tuesday lifted his gaze to Z. She made a phone gesture with her hand and he realized she'd called emergency services. He mouthed "thank you," and looked down at Slane, who still mumbled smack about him bossin' her. A siren's wail cut through his despair.
Hurry, damn it. Hurry...
Fourteen
MARISSA BUCKLED HER seatbelt and looked at Dane. "Is your brother usually so..."
"Pissed off?" Dane pulled out of the parking lot of the Paradise Club and drove toward the freeway. "No. But I left him short-handed. I usually work the weekends to help him out."
"You said he bought the club a few years ago?"
"Yeah. I moved here about five years ago to take the TeenCenter job at the Center. Charlie moved his family out here a couple of years later and he bought the club. He owned a couple of bars in California."
"So you're from California?"
"Yeah."
Dane seemed disinclined to talk so Marissa settled into her seat and stared out the window. After a day of looking at luxury apartments and condominiums, she was exhausted. She sensed Dane's frustration as she turned down eligible after eligible property. Well, not so eligible if she wanted to keep all her new furry friends. She couldn't confine eight animals in a small space and looking at houses seemed strange, especially since everyone had assumed she and Dane were married.
To look at houses, the dream of many newly married couples, would be surreal. Besides, contemplating an abode of her very own scared her. She'd lived as Fiona and Alan's daughter in their home her entire life. What would she do alone in a condo with only pets for company?
Dane had spent the day pulling away from her emotionally and physically. After making love last night...if one could call it that...he'd been more distracted than usual. He was always emotionally distant, but now, oh, her heart knew he wanted nothing more to do with her. It hurt, too. If he'd shoved a hot poker into her chest, it would've been kinder.
She wondered why he continued to sacrifice time and effort for her until it struck her that the end of the week was tomorrow and he'd finally earn his ten thousand dollars. Not that they had completed too many items on her list, but she had accomplished many wonderful things...like falling in love with Dane.
Oh! In love with Dane? She stole a glance at his profile and her heart stuttered. Yes. Diagnosis: Love. For her, it was a terminal case. For Dane—the 24-hour flu.
Tomorrow, she would go to the zoo and honor Gillie's memory. Tomorrow, she would tear up the list and let go of a fourteen-year-old's dreams. Tomorrow, Dane would leave her and she'd start a new life...alone.
* * *
MICHAEL SHUT THE door and leaned against it. Goddamned animals. That three-legged Dane was a monster. He'd considered shooting them all, but he didn't have time to play. He had to set up for a new game, one with Marissa as the prize. He knew Lillian would find her sister soon, but as usual, she'd be too late. When would she learn that he was master and she the pawn?
He laughed. Oh, he loved that she kept trying. He even let her catch him once just so she could feel confident in her skills. But he couldn't indulge her little whims anymore. He wanted her where she belonged—with him. Wasn't the role of a wife to minister to her husband? Oh, yes. He'd indulged her quite enough.
Whistling, he headed downstairs to begin preparations. Once Marissa was out of the way, Lillian would be his and their lives would be beautiful, perfect, and free.
* * *
"ARE YOU HUNGRY?" asked Brent. He slanted a look at Lillian. She gazed out the truck's window, her thoughts elsewhere.
They just left Dane's apartment on their way to Brent's house. He prayed his furniture, carpet, and, please God, his big-screen TV were intact.
"Gillian?"
"It's Lillie. I haven't been Gillian in a long time."
Brent sighed. She hadn't told him much more than that she and her high school boyfriend had been put into the Witness Protection Program after they'd witnessed the murder of his mother. He knew there was a lot more to the story, including why she had returned to her hometown and why she believed Marissa was in danger. He still hadn't figured out Kade's role in the whole mess, but he was sure he wouldn't like the guy no matter how he fit.
Up ahead, he saw the familiar sign of a family restaurant he knew made great hamburgers. He whipped into the parking lot and killed the engine. "We might as well eat. I'm starving and I don't think I can face the state of my house on an empty stomach."
Lillie looked at him and grinned. "I guess I could eat something. But now that you know I'm not really a housekeeper, don't expect me to clean it up." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "And thanks."
"For what?"
"For giving me the time I need to figure out what I'm going to say to Marissa."
Brent turned away from her knowing gaze and opened his door. "I'm just hungry, that's all."
"Yeah, right."
* * *
TUESDAY PACED THE hospital's lobby, the can of soda in his hand unopened. Z sat on a couch, a magazine on her lap, covertly watching his restless progress.
"What's taking so long?" he asked. "She's been in there two hours."
"Let's go to the cafeteria. I'll buy you some dinner."
"I'm not hungry."
Z tossed the magazine aside and rose. "You gonna wear a hole in the carpet, Tuesday. Walk to the cafeteria with me." Not knowing where Slane was, what the doctors were doing to her, whether or not they'd gotten her to the emergency room in time...he rolled the Coke can between his hands wishing it was Jeremy's neck. Why hadn't he protected Slane better? Why hadn't he taken Marissa's money when she offered it and paid off Jeremy? Why hadn't he done something to get his sister off the crack pipe?
Z crossed the room, plucked the Coke from his grasp, and grabbed chin with her free hand. "You're a good man, Tuesday Jones. You done all you could for your sister. Now it's between her and God."
He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, taking in the comfort she offered, the comfort he needed. He closed his eyes and prayed God would give his sister a second chance to live the life she deserved.
The doors slished open and determined footsteps crossed the foyer. Tuesday released his grip on Z, but held her hand as he lifted his head and faced his Momma's steady gaze.
"Good evening, Tuesday."
"Momma."
"How's Slane?"
His mother's gaze assessed Z. He nearly smiled when he saw her not only stand up to Momma's frank stare, but return it with equal vigor.
"I thought you washed your hands of her, Momma." Tuesday felt weary to his bones. Z slid her arms around his waist as if her strength could hold him upright. "She was half-dead when I found her."
"Child made her choices, just like you." Momma marched to the couch Z had vacated and sat. "I was at choir practice. Leela called the church and gave me your message."
"I didn't think you'd come." He looked at his mother, really looked at her. She'd lost weight, her face was pale, her eyes red. She'd been crying, probably wiped away those tears right before she entered the building. Then he realized she'd been grieving for Slane a long time.
He thought about his siblings still at home and the ones who'd made it into the world without doing drugs or turning to violence. Leela was just a year older than him, still living at home and working two jobs to save for college. He'd lost track of his family, his brothers and sisters, during the last couple of years. He'd been too busy trying to make it on his own, to prove to his momma he didn't need her or anyone else.
What a damned fool he'd been.
Releasing Z, he went to t
he couch and wrapped his arms around his mother. She'd spent the last thirteen years a widow, raising seven children on her own. All she ever had to give was her love and her strength and, until this moment, he'd never understood that loving someone meant letting them go.
It was a difficult lesson. As his mother turned her face into his shoulder and sobbed, he released his guilt for Slane and his hatred for Jeremy.
* * *
FIONA AND ALAN sat in the main living room with Police Chief Henderson and tried to convince the chief to call in the FBI. Geoffrey had been surprised at the ferocity of Fiona's reaction when she realized her daughter had been gallivanting around the city for the last week, well beyond the protection of the mansion.
"I don't know where she'd go. I don't know why she'd go." Fiona blew her nose on the wad of tissues in her hand and sniffled.
Chief Henderson leaned forward. "Fiona. Alan. Marissa is almost twenty-three-years old. She's a legal adult and can go where she pleases, when she pleases."
"What does age matter?" asked Alan. "She's a little girl. She's our only little girl!"
Geoffrey placed the tea tray on the marble table and poured Chief Henderson's coffee. "Cream, no sugar, sir." He handed the cup to the chief, pleased to see the man trying not to roll his eyes at his friends.
"She's missing. I want the FBI. I want the CIA. I want...NASA. I want everyone looking for her." Fiona accepted the tea laced with bourbon from Geoffrey, but her glare was enough to tell him she blamed him for allowing Marissa to leave. "She's never really been outside this house, not unless we were with her. I don't understand why she'd leave here. It's the only safe place. After what happened with Zachary and with Gillian..." Fiona downed the tea and gestured for more.
"Maybe she needed to grow up," said the chief. "It's time you let her make up her mind about life...and it's time let her go."
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