by Cate Beauman
“Sure.” She bit into her piece. “Mmm. Good.”
“Good.” He was glad she was enjoying her food, because that was about all the good news he could give her. It was time to lay it out on the line. “So I started by looking into the Harley dealerships that were open in the Tampa area during the 1986 timeframe.”
She nodded. “That makes sense.”
“There were two.”
“Okay,” she said, covering her full mouth with her hand as she spoke.
“I then did some digging into anyone named Dale Abbot associated with those companies.
“Uh huh.”
And here came the hard part. “I thought we had a couple of promising options, but after looking further into both, I’m going to have to say neither are him.”
She stopped chewing. “Oh.”
“One Dale Abbot worked for the west-end Tampa Harley dealer for a couple of weeks, but he’s been in and out of prison since.”
“But his name is Dale Abbot and he worked at a Harley dealership.”
“And he was locked up for a six month stint when you would’ve been conceived.”
“Oh,” she said again, and her shoulders slumped slightly. “I guess that seals that deal.”
“Pretty much.”
“All right. Who’s next?”
“The other Dale Abbot is dead.”
She set her pizza down. “What?”
“He died of a heart attack two years ago, but he did own a Harley shop and handled a lot of the repairs.”
Her eyes brightened again. “That’s promising.”
He shook his head. “Not so much. He doesn’t look anything like you—neither do his kids.”
“You have pictures?”
Only because Ethan spent a good two hours of his day tracking them down when he couldn’t. “A couple.” He expanded them on his computer screen.
She leaned in close and wisps of her hair tickled his cheek. “You don’t think he looks like me? I can see it.”
He raised his brow. “Jules, he’s six-five, has brown hair, blue eyes, and you definitely don’t have a big, hook-like nose.”
She turned her head, and their faces were an inch apart. “But his skin tone is kind of like mine.”
She was grasping for anything, and he cared too much to allow it. “Millions of people have an olive skin tone.”
“You have a picture of his kids?”
“Yeah.” He clicked to the next photograph. All three of his children shared their father’s features, except the daughter who was shorter and chubby with beady brown eyes.
“I don’t know. I think this is him.” She tapped the screen with her finger.
He rubbed at the back of his neck as he looked at her. “Jules, I don’t.”
“But he was a mechanic at a Harley dealer. And maybe he was handsome almost twenty-nine years ago.”
He glanced at the picture of a homely looking man. “It’s doubtful.”
Her eyes heated and her nostrils flared. “Why are you so determined to brush this off?”
“Because he looks nothing like you.” He laid a halting hand on her thigh when she moved to stand. “I want you to find him, Jules, but it has to be the right Dale Abbot.”
“He could be. We’re both dealing in assumptions.”
“According to the records, his widow still lives at the address where he died.”
“Great. I need to call.”
This was a waste of time. He was more certain than ever that the answers Julie sought were waiting in Boston with Neve Porter, but he accessed the number, knowing Julie wasn’t about to let this go—couldn’t. “Here it is.”
“Perfect.” She rushed up for the landline and sat back down next to him, pressing her hand to her stomach before she dialed. “God, I’m nervous.”
“Yeah,” was all he could say.
“It’s ringing,” she whispered and gripped his hand. “Yes, hello. Is this Mrs. Dale Abbot? No, I’m not a telemarketer. My name is Julie Keller.” She licked her lips. “Uh, I’m actually calling because I’m searching for my father.”
Chase slid his thumb over her knuckles as Julie smiled at him with such hope in her eyes. He steamed out a long breath, hurting for her as she insisted on chasing down false leads.
“Your husband owned a Harley dealership.” Her eyebrows shot up. “He was owner and head mechanic. My mother told me my father was a mechanic… Mrs. Abbot I think—I think your husband might have been my father.” She winced and held the phone away from her ear as Dale’s widow shouted. She put the phone back to her ear as the woman’s rant wound down. “Mrs. Abbot? I’m not trying to cause—I’m twenty-eight. I’ll be twenty-nine on May fifth. Oh.” Her shoulders sagged once again and sadness crept back into her pretty eyes. “Are you sure? Yes, then I couldn’t be.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. I’m so sorry I upset you. Thank you.” She hung up and sighed. “He’s not my father.”
He gripped her hand tighter. “I’m sorry, Jules.”
“He had a vasectomy in 1985 after he and his wife had twins—the two boys in the picture.” She looked at the computer again. “How can it not be him? It has to be if he and the other Dale Abbot are the only Dale Abbots who worked at the Harley dealers.”
That was the conclusion he’d come to. “You’re sure he was a bike mechanic?”
“Yes. At least I’m pretty sure. Mostly sure.”
He nodded.
Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Why?”
Sometimes it sucked that they could read each other so well. “I looked into the other bike shops that were open in 1986. There weren’t any Dale Abbots on any of their payrolls.”
“Are you saying he doesn’t exist?”
“I’m saying I’ll run another search and see what else I can find.”
“Do you think I’m her?”
“I think you need to talk to Neve again.”
“I don’t think I can.”
He got up off the floor and sat next to her. “Take a little time. Nothing has to happen until you’re ready.”
“I don’t know how to be ready. How should I ready myself to even fathom the idea that I’m someone else’s child?”
Christ this was awful. “I don’t know, Jules.”
She rested her head against Gram’s afghan. “You said that agent gave you the Alyson Porter files.”
“Copies. Yeah.”
“I want them.”
“Jules, there are thousands of pages—from decades of potential sightings, to false leads, extortion attempts, the list goes on and on.”
“Everyone thinks I’m her. Even you.”
“I think this needs to be explored further before I’m willing to say anything definitive.”
“Show me.” She scooted closer to him. “Show me something that will make me stop doubting everything that I am.”
She had no one to turn to but him. He was the one with the law enforcement background. He was her best bet at figuring this out. He touched her face as her eyes filled and her lips began to tremble. “You have no idea how much I want to say that I can.”
“Then show me something that will make my life make sense again.”
He wasn’t sure he could do that either, but getting to the truth was Julie’s only chance at coming to terms with her new reality. “Let’s take a look.” He pulled the laptop into his lap, and she leaned in close as he clicked on the dozens of newspaper articles the Porters had taken out pleading first for the safe return of their beloved Ally, then as the years passed, information that might result in leads that could bring her home. Julie needed to see that Neve Porter wasn’t the enemy in all of this. Her kidnapper was.
Chapter Seventeen
Julie lifted the last chocolate chip cookie off the cooling rack and added it to the three dozen she’d layered in the large tin. She covered the sweet treats with waxed paper, then the lid, finding the process of baking and preparing a gift soothing. She brought the remaining dirt
y dishes to the sink and filled the bowls with hot, soapy water, grabbed a washcloth, and wiped the counters, pausing to press her hand to her queasy stomach. For much of the day, she’d fought bouts of nausea along with a nagging headache.
She’d tried her go-to remedies that always boosted her spirits during stressful times, but her meditation session helped little and her favorite lavender-fragranced bath made everything worse. Sitting in warm water and letting her mind wander gave her too much time to focus on her life, which seemed to grow messier by the day. On Monday she’d simply been Julie Keller, massage therapist and yoga instructor. Now it was Friday and she was potentially Alyson Porter, long-lost daughter and co-heir to Porter Pharmaceuticals. In less than a week, her contented, simple existence had vanished into thin air—and wouldn’t make another appearance until she got to the bottom of who she truly was. Her heart assured her she was Julie Elizabeth Keller, daughter of Miranda Keller and absentee father Dale Abbot, but her brain wasn’t so sure.
Her stomach clutched again as she thought of her troubling evening with Chase. When he let himself into her kitchen with a box of pizza, she’d been expecting him to give her good news, the beginnings of a satisfying conclusion to her problems. He was supposed to have handed over a phone number and address, but that didn’t happen. Now she had more questions than answers. If the two Dale Abbots on record weren’t her father, then which Dale Abbot was? Had her mother been truthful?
She glanced at Neve Porter’s card on the edge of the counter, the one she held in her hand last night while she sat on her window seat and stared out at the stars. For hours, she’d agonized and contemplated the events of the last four days, then finally picked up the phone and dialed the private line in Newton, Massachusetts. She wanted to loathe Neve for grabbing her arm at Food and Stuff, which had begun this awful rollercoaster ride, but after reading the dozens of newspaper articles highlighting the Porters’ grief and endless search for their abducted child, she couldn’t. The woman living thousands of miles away was as desperate for answers as she was herself, and that’s why she was heading east tomorrow. But she had things to do first right here in Bakersfield.
Sighing, she slipped on her Uggs, wrapped herself in a shawl, and grabbed the tin of cookies, walking to Nana’s. She knocked, waited, knocked again, and finally Chase opened the door in jeans and a black Ethan Cooke Security sweatshirt. He wore his black ball cap backwards, accentuating his handsome face.
“Hey.”
She ignored the uptick in her pulse and rush of longing when he smiled at her. “Hi.”
“Come on in.” He stepped back with his invitation.
She shook her head and handed him the tin. “Nana’s cookies.”
His eyes brightened as he grinned. “No way.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “It’s the least I can do.”
He gave the canister a gentle shake. “This thing’s full. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She shifted her weight and cleared her throat. “I, um, I want to say goodbye—for real this time.” She held out her hand for a shake, needing to do this right.
He frowned as he took her hand and pulled her inside. “I thought we were meeting for Mexican food and figuring out what we should do next.”
That was part of the problem. Her issues had suddenly turned into their issues. She shook her head. “I don’t want to waste any more of your time.”
He set the tin on the floor. “You’re not wasting my time.”
“I’m going to Boston tomorrow. I decided I should go and try to figure everything out,” she explained when his brow winged up. “You’ll be gone by the time I get back.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
She let loose a big sigh. “No, but I have to. I have to know what’s going on—one way or the other.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “What about your studio?”
“I’m postponing classes for a week. I told Leila I have some personal business I need to take care of, and she’s spreading the word. I haven’t told anyone anything until I know for sure—for my mom. I don’t want people thinking…” She still couldn’t say “kidnapper.” Not even to Chase.
He nodded. “I understand.” He turned, snatching up a yellow legal pad and pen from the pile on the edge of a sawhorse. “Let me leave you my contact information—my e-mail and work number—”
She shook her head.
“Jules—”
“I can’t.” She stepped back to the door, gripping the knob like a lifeline. “It was good to see you again. I’m glad we were able to end things on a better note and find a little closure.”
He took a step toward her. “But I can still help you. There’s more I can do from California.”
She pressed her lips firm, certain she was about to cry. “We can’t keep saying goodbye and finding ourselves in the same place again. It’s not good for either one of us.” Her heart couldn’t take it.
“This is a lot to take on by yourself.”
“I’ve been handling stuff on my own for a long time.”
He scribbled his information down and ripped the sheet from the notebook. “Take this anyway—just in case.”
She hesitated but took the paper, intending to toss it away. “I hope Nana’s house sells quickly.” She opened the door.
“Wait.” He surprised her when he pulled her against him and wrapped her up in a hug.
She closed her eyes, breathing him in, holding on, treasuring how good it felt to be cocooned in his arms.
He slid his palm down her hair then cupped her face in his hands, pressing his forehead to hers. “Goodbye, Jules.”
She swallowed the ball of emotion choking her throat as she drew away. “Bye.” She hurried out the door, as a tear trailed down her cheek. It was over—this time for good. Feeling lost all over again, she looked toward the gloomy skies growing darker as afternoon turned into evening. It was time to move on, time to start packing.
~~~~
Chase pushed the lid back in place on the can of paint and looked around Nana’s finished room. He'd kicked ass, completing both upstairs spaces in a few hours’ time. Standing, he tossed the roller in the trash and walked to the bathroom, washing the specks of beige off his hands. With the major projects completed, he only had minor details to see to, which he still had plenty of time for, especially since Julie had canceled their evening plans.
He steamed out a long breath, looking at himself in the mirror. He’d wanted one last meal with her, one last night to spend time with the woman who fascinated him as much now as she used to—probably more. He wanted to tease a few smiles out of her and make her laugh the way he had before he screwed everything up and Neve Porter rolled into town.
Moving back to Nana’s sewing space, he grabbed up the drop cloth he’d laid over the new carpet and glanced out the window toward Julie’s dark living room. She hadn’t turned on her tree. Sighing, he went across the hall to his room and stopped, looking toward the light glowing bright in Julie’s bedroom window where she sat on her bed, staring off into space.
She seemed so small on her big mattress, so defeated and alone. Jules had Bryce and Mindy and her other friends, but she said she wasn’t saying anything to anyone about her current situation until she had more information, which meant she was dealing with all of this on her own. Jules had taken the contact information he gave her, but he’d seen in her eyes that she had no intention of calling.
He rubbed at the back of his neck, unable to turn away from the window the way he’d been able to a few days ago. How could he leave her? How was he going to know she was okay? What was she going to do when she found out she was more than likely Alyson Porter?
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, plagued by a sense of helplessness, and wandered closer to the window, hesitating, then grabbed the long interconnecting dowels he’d tapped against her window hundreds of times before. Julie was right when she said they couldn’t keep saying goodbye, but as he studied the
sweet woman who’d been so important to him for so long, he couldn’t help but feel that he’d come back to Bakersfield at just the right time—when she needed him most. Supporting Julie wasn’t about appeasing his guilt or some skewed sense of obligation, it was about being there for the person who’d been there for him time and time again. He unlocked his window frame and knocked three times against her panes of glass.
Julie sat up, breaking free from her trance and moved to the window, sending him a small smile. But her eyes were sad. She paused with her hand on the lock then twisted it and slid open her window, sitting on the seat.
He sat as well, resting his hands on the frame the way he used to. “How are you doing?”
“Good.”
He glanced toward her empty suitcase lying open on the foot of her bed. “How’s the packing going?”
“It’s coming along.”
She’d never been much of a liar. “Are you sure you don’t wanna have dinner? We could get it to go. I bet Juan and Carla will hook you up—extra chicken strips in your fajita and lots of sour cream.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m not very hungry.”
He wanted to tell her she needed to have something. She needed to take care of herself even though her life was falling apart. “Jules, please let me help you.”
She swallowed. “You have—so much. There’s nothing more you can do.”
Nothing she would let him do.
“I really should go.”
He sighed, knowing that arguing wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “Okay. Happy packing.”
“Thanks. You too.”
She shut her window, locked it, and tossed him a quick wave before she closed her curtains.
“Damn it.” He gave the baseboard a frustrated kick. Jules was on her own, but it didn’t have to be that way. He turned away, running his hand through his hair. What more could he do? He grabbed his coat and headed for the truck, ready for a few tacos at Juan and Carla’s. Sometimes he did his best thinking over food.
Chapter Eighteen
Chase glanced at his watch, then out his bedroom window, as he’d done a dozen times over the last twenty minutes, knowing Jules was due to leave at any moment. He wasn’t sure how well the next few minutes were going to go. He’d had hours to contemplate his decision while he played phone tag with Ethan, finagled his schedule, and tossed and turned for the remainder of the night. He would soon find out.