by Eliza Watson
Ethan gazed around the cemetery, trying to feel his mother’s presence, hoping she forgave him for never coming to visit her grave, and for…everything. He wanted to believe his mother’s death had finally brought her the peace she’d never found in life.
Chapter Eight
Even with the DA and the defense attorney sitting between them, Ethan could feel the bastard staring at him from the next table. He refused to acknowledge the man’s presence. Jaw tightening, he stared straight ahead at the three parole board members. The whitewashed concrete walls behind them almost made him forget about the scum housed in the prison outside the room.
“Mr. Ryder,” the parole board commissioner said, “please respond to the question. Why do you feel you are suitable for parole?”
Ethan gripped the chair arms to keep himself from leaping up and going berserk when his father started spewing bullshit in his own defense.
“I have great remorse for what I did,” his father said, his voice raspy, strained from a lifetime of two packs a day.
No longer cringing in fear at the sound of his father’s voice, Ethan cringed with disgust. Prison had broken him, weakening the stern tone of his voice. This gave Ethan satisfaction, even though he’d hoped to never hear him speak again.
“I was under the influence of alcohol, but that’s no excuse.”
Ethan’s top lip curled back at the memory of the pungent stench of Scotch always on the man’s breath. If he could stand to look at him, he’d probably find his six-foot frame had shrunk several inches and cirrhosis of the liver had given him a jaundiced complexion and sunken brown eyes.
“I should have gotten help before it came to…what happened. But I’ve changed. I’d give my life to get my wife’s back. I wouldn’t go through years of therapy unless I felt remorse. I’m better now. If I could stop the hurt for Ethan, I would.”
Feeling his father’s gaze on him, Ethan continued staring straight ahead.
“I’m sorry, son.” His father’s voice trembled slightly. “Please trust that I’ve changed.”
How dare he call him son! He’d lost that right long before Ethan had lost his mother.
A cry erupted at the back of the room from Ethan’s aunt, Maggie, his mother’s only sibling. He turned to see her run out. He’d tried to convince her not to come. Her heart attack had likely been the result of this damn hearing. She’d been an emotional wreck over it for months. She’d written down her testimony for him to read, knowing she’d be unable to do it herself.
“Mr. Ryder, as advised, you are to direct your comments to the parole board members only,” the commissioner said.
“I’m sorry. I just want him to know I wanna make amends. I ask the state, and my son, to give me a second chance. Hell, I may not seem deserving, but I’m rehabilitated and wanna chance to prove that.”
What a crock! He sounded so sincere, like he always had the day after he’d gone on a drinking binge and beaten Ethan’s mother and him. He’d been full of empty promises.
Ethan tried to focus on his own testimony as his father spoke about all the ways he’d been rehabilitated. The prison jobs and volunteer projects he’d been involved in. Like that justified releasing him. After he finished speaking, his attorney stated a bunch of crap in his defense, the only one there speaking on his behalf. Whereas Ethan, his aunt, the DA, and the arresting officer from that night were all there to make sure his father stayed on the inside. The door opened, and he assumed it was Aunt Maggie returning, but if he looked at her he’d lose it. He had to remain focused.
The commissioner turned to Ethan, asking him to speak on how the murder had impacted his life. Ethan took a deep breath, looking at the board members. This was it.
“Not only did I lose my mother that night, but a part of myself. I’d lost my father long before. I still have the emotional and physical scars of that night.” He gestured to the scar on his face. The result of his father backhanding him, his wedding ring slashing Ethan’s skin, when he’d tried to protect his mother. “I could handle my own pain, the broken arms and ribs, but I couldn’t deal with seeing my mother in pain.”
He took a deep breath, reining in the flood of emotions the memories caused. “That night he beat her till one final blow sent my mother crashing to the floor, and she lay there, motionless.” He could hear himself screaming out her name. He wanted to slap his hands over his ears, but that wouldn’t make the voice in his head disappear. “When I tried to run to her, he grabbed me around the neck. He’d have killed me too given the chance. I broke free and ran for help, thinking she was unconscious like the other times. My mother wanted to hide our secrets, but I couldn’t do it any longer. Maybe she’d still be alive if I’d spoken up sooner.”
Every time he’d begged his mother to leave, she’d insisted his father would hunt them down and things would only be worse. After that night, Ethan vowed to protect people in danger. To help them disappear and start new lives, like he’d always wanted to do.
He tried to block out the sound of his aunt sobbing in the back of the room.
“After our neighbor called the police, I snuck back home, wanting to help my mother, afraid my father would run away before the police got there. I held my mother’s lifeless body in my arms, crying, unable to make her breathe. Furious, I went looking for my father and found him passed out in bed, like any other night, like he hadn’t just killed my mother.” He’d stood over his father with a baseball bat. He should have killed the bastard. A few years in a correctional institute would have been worth it. He didn’t give a rat’s ass that it would have made him no better than some of the criminals he protected.
“He tries to justify what he did, blaming it on the alcohol. He was an angry and brutal man sober. He beat the tar out of his supervisor at work because he threatened to fire him if he didn’t get his act together. My mother lived with abuse and fear, and she died with it. Why should he get parole from suffering when my aunt and I never will?”
He heaved a deep sigh. Thank God that was over. However, reading his aunt’s letter would probably prove even more difficult. He took a deep breath, then read her letter on how his father had threatened her when she’d confronted him about the abuse. How she and Ethan would never recover. How he’d taken her only sibling from her.
The DA made his case next, emphasizing that Mr. Ryder posed an unreasonable risk and harm to society, and that according to the prison therapist, he still showed signs of unstable behavior. The cop on the scene that night described how, to this day, it was the most heinous crime he had ever experienced.
The board deliberated, expected to return in ten minutes.
Ethan glanced over his shoulder at his aunt sitting in a chair along the back wall, next to Olivia. Shit. He figured Olivia would be safe outside the parole hearing room with a guard, and inside a prison.
After five minutes, the board returned.
“Not suitable for parole. His release would compromise the welfare of society…”
His aunt let out a cry of joy, and Ethan relaxed back in the chair, releasing his white-knuckle grip on the chair arms, flexing his fingers, attempting to relieve the tension not only in his hands, but his entire body. As his father was escorted from the room, the stench of Scotch and blood slowly evaporated from Ethan’s mind. He pushed himself up from the chair and walked back to his aunt, avoiding Olivia’s stare.
“We did it, Joanna,” his aunt said, gazing heavenward. “We kept that bastard in prison for at least another five years.”
Petite and slender like his mother had been, Maggie stretched her short arms up, and Ethan stooped over to accommodate her hug. Her floral-scented perfume replaced the rancid odors that had filled his head. Olivia wore a sympathetic expression, something he didn’t want. His personal life was off-limits. He only got close enough to witnesses to earn their trust, without becoming close friends or disclosing any weakness about himself that they could one day use to their advantage.
His aunt wiped tears of joy an
d sorrow from her flushed cheeks.
He glared at Olivia. “Thought I asked you to wait outside.”
“She was such a dear, comforting me out there, I asked her to come back in with me.” His aunt gave Olivia’s arm an appreciative squeeze. “I wanted to hear what was going on but couldn’t bear to sit here alone.” She smoothed a hand over her short white hair, smiling brightly.
* * *
Olivia’s dad’s crime seemed petty compared to Ethan’s dad’s. She had an overwhelming urge to touch Ethan, to hug him—something to make the pain go away. “I don’t know what to say,” she said quietly, eyeing the scar on his face, wanting to brush a gentle finger across it. Until he’d gestured to it during his testimony, she’d assumed it was the result of protecting a witness, not his mom’s life when he was only ten years old.
“Don’t say anything about it. Ever.” His gaze sharpened, and the frightened ten-year-old boy who’d just recounted the traumatic event that had changed his life forever disappeared. “You shouldn’t have been in here.”
“I’m sorry.” She reached out, stopping shy of touching his arm, slowly lowering her hand.
“I asked her to come in,” his aunt said.
His gaze softened slightly at his aunt, then he glanced over at the chair where his dad had sat, and his body tensed, radiating raw anger and hatred. “We have a plane to catch.” He strode from the room, never looking back.
Maggie shook her head, frowning. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard him talk about his mother’s death. When he first came to live with Sal and me, he didn’t speak a word for weeks. I sent him to a therapist, but he wouldn’t talk to her either. So sad. It’s not healthy for him to keep all of that bottled up inside. Don’t feel bad if he doesn’t discuss it with you. I guarantee he’s never told a girlfriend about his father.”
“I’m…just a friend.”
“Well, obviously a good one, since he brought you here.”
He’d had no choice but to bring her. Yet, she wished it had been his choice. Despite Ethan distancing himself from her, emotionally and physically, she suddenly felt closer to him. A bit too close. Too bad their common bond was that their dads had both been criminals. Although for the last twenty-four years Olivia had been clueless about her past, whereas Ethan had been haunted by his for decades.
Could they possibly help each other lay their ghosts to rest and move beyond the anger and pain that could potentially destroy them?
Chapter Nine
Dusk was settling in as they reached a point just north of Madison, Wisconsin. Ethan had spent the flight catching up on sleep. The only thing he’d said to Olivia since leaving the airport in Chicago a little over two hours ago was “What do you want?” when they’d gone through a McDonald’s drive-thru. He was obviously still upset about his dad’s hearing and that she’d witnessed a vulnerable side of him. He likely viewed his emotional outpouring as a sign of weakness. Instead, she found it incredibly sexy.
She slid a sideways glance in Ethan’s direction, eyeing the scar on his cheek, obsessed with wanting to touch it. As if touching it would help take away some of the emotional pain it had caused. He glanced over at her, and she met his gaze. He held her gaze for a moment before looking back at the road. She turned and blew a frustrated sigh against the window, counting farm number one hundred and eighty-three. She popped a gummy bear in her mouth. Even her comfort food wasn’t putting her at ease. Her stomach was in knots. In less than an hour she’d be meeting her grandparents and changing her life forever.
Ethan’s phone rang, and he answered it.
“Hey, Gwen, how’s it going?” Glancing at Olivia out of the corner of his eye, he shifted in his seat, looking a tad uncomfortable talking in front of her.
Who was Gwen? If she was a girlfriend, it must drive her insane when Ethan took off, especially if he couldn’t say where he was going. Did she even know what he did for a living? Olivia could never trust a guy to that extent. That was another reason she and Luc could never have pursued a long-distance relationship once he’d returned to Paris. Distance didn’t make her heart grow fonder, it made her trust grow even weaker.
“Uh-huh. Okay. How’s he doing? Yeah. I’ll stop by as soon as I get back. Take care.” He disconnected.
No I love you? Did that mean he didn’t love this woman or was just too macho to say it in front of Olivia?
He glanced out at a cornfield. “Sure are a lot of farms around here.”
Suddenly he wanted to talk? Undoubtedly to avoid awkward questions about his phone conversation.
“One hundred and eighty-seven so far. Mostly red barns, but three white, and one yellow.”
He quirked a curious brow. “Good memory.”
“Just a tad bored. Is Gwen your girlfriend?” She couldn’t believe she’d just asked him that. It was none of her business. Yet, she wanted to know.
“Her husband’s a relocated witness, and she’s having family problems.” He glanced over at her. “I can’t discuss witnesses. I shouldn’t even have just told you that much or her name.”
Fine. She didn’t care about discussing witnesses. But for some reason a part of her did care that Gwen wasn’t a girlfriend.
“And I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Interesting that he felt the need to clarify that.
He went back to staring straight ahead at the road.
“Gummy bears?” She offered him the bag of candy.
He smiled. “No thanks.”
A few miles later, they encountered a Kmart and a Fleet Farm, signs of civilization. They passed a McDonald’s, and she wondered if the restaurant had been there when she was little and if she’d gone there for Happy Meals. Hopefully, something familiar would spark a memory.
Growing up, she’d suffered from two repeat nightmares. One with a woman standing on a porch crying, calling out Olivia’s name as she faded into a speck in the distance. Another where she was surrounded by total darkness, alone, cold, crying. Then bright lights exploded and sirens wailed. Muffled shouts in the distance grew closer and a rush of cold air swooshed in, along with a large man who scooped her up and took off running.
Her dad had assured her the nightmares were the result of watching a scary movie. Had he known the source of them? In college, she’d seen a therapist and a hypnotist trying to make sense of them. Her therapist had warned her if she tried too hard to remember, she might fabricate false memories. For Olivia, false memories were better than no memories, but the nightmares had stopped before she’d graduated.
A string of cottages that had been turned into quaint shops lined a main street. A lime green coffee shop with magenta shutters. A blue convenience store/bait shop with a huge fish mounted on the roof. Beemers, Mercedes, and flashy convertibles, many with Illinois license plates, filled the parking lots of restaurants and bars. She and Ethan would fit right in with their car they’d picked up in Chicago, and he’d peeled the car rental sticker from the bumper.
A mama duck and her babies waddled across the road, and Ethan slammed on the brakes, thrusting a protective arm out in front of her, even though she had on a seat belt. She glanced over her shoulder at the carry-on bag on the backseat containing her dad’s urn, making sure it hadn’t landed on the floor. Even if she decided to honor her dad’s wish, she wasn’t emotionally ready to visit her mom’s real grave. Not yet. It would be too weird after twenty-two years of sharing memories with her “grave” back home.
Ethan smiled faintly. “Dangerous place.”
“Let’s hope not,” she said lightly, yet a foreboding feeling caused goose bumps on her arms. “No wonder my parents moved to Chicago. Not that I remember my mom, but I can’t imagine my dad growing up here. He liked the opera, symphony, and upscale restaurants. Yet, I guess the area reminds me of a town in the boonies where we rented a cabin every summer.” She stared out at several boat lights dotting the lake. “When I was thirteen, I took out a rowboat while my dad was napping. I fell out, trying to reel in a fish. I knew
how to swim, but I panicked and almost drowned. My dad had warned me not to go in the water unsupervised, so I never told him about it. I never swam again. Once I graduated high school, he went to the cabin by himself.”
“It’s hard for most witnesses to give up all their hobbies and interests, their total identity.”
As if her dad hadn’t given up his life of crime? She had to be careful what she told Ethan. Although he’d assured her his priority was protecting her, once they’d caught this psycho, he’d undoubtedly pursue whether or not her dad had continued his life of crime. She was just another job to Ethan.
Why did this bother her?
Ethan gestured toward a sign that read Pine Lake Inn & Cottages Next Right. “We’re here.”
He turned down a narrow road lined with cottages, mature maples, and pines. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. This was it. She slid her mom’s wedding band along the chain around her neck.
“Pull over,” she said.
“There’s barely a shoulder.”
“I don’t care. Pull over.”
He pulled over, stopping partly on the road.
She stared straight ahead, shaking her head. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Sure, you can. Let’s practice one more time. Your name is—”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
She peered over at him. “You can give them the urn and tell them about my dad. Drop me off at that restaurant back there. I can’t do this. I’m going to change all of our lives forever. What if it’s not for the better? What if they don’t accept me?”
Staring deep into her eyes, he placed a gentle hand on her bare shoulder, covering her sundress strap, massaging his thumb over her skin, easing the tension in her body. “You can do this. Think about your family’s safety. This guy could be headed here right now.” He gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You don’t have to reveal your identity ever if you don’t want to. You don’t have to make that decision right now. But we do need to go there.”