by Jan Coffey
The unfocused eyes continued to stare at the ceiling.
“There is a lot that I don’t know or understand about him, but I want you to know that I’ve given up worrying about it. I’m going away and I’m staying away. So you never have to worry about having me around.”
His hand squeezed Tracy’s once before letting go. “Now, go to sleep and get well.”
He was almost to the door when he heard her voice.
“Owen.”
He didn’t know if he’d imagined it or not. He turned to the bed. Her eyes were still open, but this time they focused on him as he drew near.
“I’m here, Tracy.”
~~~~
Sarah held on to his hand and didn’t say a word as the nurse pushed Owen’s wheelchair to the front entrance of the hospital. She had seen his eyes. She’d watched him pull on the sunglasses in the corridor. She had felt his need just to hold on to her hand.
Outside, a black stretch limo was waiting for them at the door. She had offered before to drive, but Owen had insisted.
Once they were inside and the car had left the hospital, Sarah saw him remove the glasses and reach for her.
“Tracy wants to see me again. She told me…told me that Andrew was my father.”
She wrapped her arms around him and made no effort to stop her tears.
He told her exactly the few words that Tracy had said to him. She listened as he poured out his emotions through the words. And she smiled and cried with him as he tried to make peace at least with the memory of the man who had fathered him.
They rode in silence for a long time before Sarah looked out the windows and realized that they were not going to his apartment as she’d been told.
“Where are we?”
She had her answer as the cottage came into view, the sparkling waters of the inlet visible beyond.
“What…what are we doing here?” She turned to Owen and found his blue eyes watching her and nothing else.
“Susan tells me her in-laws want to sell this place.”
“And are you…interested in buying it?”
“Only if you give me the right answer.”
“What’s the question?”
“There’s the question of a dog…a van…a couple of kids…marriage.”
“Owen…” Sarah felt her heart racing in her chest. All the dreams of her life were tied up in this one moment—tied up with a tangle of insecurities. “I…you and I…have different lives. I have to find a new job, maybe open an office of my own. I belong here. You are used to the fast lane. You can’t be happy in my life, and I can’t live in yours.”
She turned her face away.
“I want to tell you something. I have made a point of pushing my presence steadily behind the camera rather than in front of it. And that’s because fame might be great when you are twenty-five, but when you get to my age, it suffocates you. I want to enjoy a life without the glitter and emptiness that goes with that glitter.”
Sarah looked back at him.
“But more than anything else, I want to be with you. I want to get up every morning and see your smiling face on my pillow. I want to go to bed every night and have you in my arms. It’s you, Sarah. I want you.” He took hold of her hand and looked into her eyes. “But if you tell me you don’t feel anything for me, I’ll go away.”
“You didn’t last time.”
“You weren’t playing fair last time.”
“I love you, Owen, but that doesn’t mean that everything will just work out because—”
He silenced her with a kiss. When he pulled back, she was robbed of her complaints.
“I want you to know something else. I have trusted you from the moment you got into my car on that wild and rainy night. Now, I want you to trust me…once…in marriage. In building a life here. Forever.”
She looked at the cottage. She looked back at the man she loved. She saw in his eyes the promise and felt the bonding of two souls.
“I trust you, Owen. Now and forever.”
Author’s Note
Thank you for taking time to read Trust Me Once. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends and posting a review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated.
Also, you can visit with Sarah and Owen again in our next Jan Coffey suspense, Twice Burned.
As always, we love to hear from our readers. Write to us at:
www.Jan Coffey.com
[email protected]
Twice Burned
by
Jan Coffey
Copyright © 2014 by Nikoo K. and James A. McGoldrick
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher: May McGoldrick Books, PO Box 665, Watertown, CT 06795.
First Published by Mira books, 2002
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To the Kepples…our extended family.
Table of Contents
Prologue – Chill in the Air
Chapter 1 – Verdict
Chapter 2 – A Letter
Chapter 3 – Back in Stonybrook
Chapter 4 – Haunted
Chapter 5 – Dusty
Chapter 6 – Black Lipstick
Chapter 7 – Dirty Pictures
Chapter 8 – Sleeping Pills
Chapter 9 – Therapy
Chapter 10 – Attack in the Dark
Chapter 11 – River Walk
Chapter 12 – Dead Flowers
Chapter 13 – The Kiss
Chapter 14 – Daddy’s Girl
Chapter 15 – The Lake Cottage
Chapter 16 – Taking It Up a Notch
Chapter 17 – Dirty Pictures
Chapter 18 – Wild Flowers
Chapter 19 – A Toy Tiger
Chapter 20 – Missing
Chapter 21 – Twice Burned
Chapter 22 – Date Night
Chapter 23 – At the Lake
Chapter 24 – At the Trailer
Chapter 25 – Sinking
Chapter 26 – Idol
Chapter 27 – On the Flagpole
Chapter 28 – After Dusty
Chapter 29 – Splintered
Chapter 30 – An Open Blade
Chapter 31 – Nightmare
Chapter 32 – Sisters
Chapter 33 – Next Door
Chapter 34 – An Answer
Author’s Note
Prologue
Bucks County, Pennsylvania
Friday, May 19
In waves as palpable as mist, the chill from the river radiated through the night air. Settling on the skin, on the scalp, it was a feeling, a sensation, a living presence…almost. In time, it would seep through to the bone.
It didn’t matter where it was. The black endless void of the sea. A silent mountain lake. Even in a place known since childhood—a river’s bank, the pond’s edge—one sometimes felt it. It was a brush of damp on the face, the arm.
In the light of day, one could think that moments like this gave birth to tales of Grendel and his kind, of monsters that rose out of swamps and lakes and oceans to destroy and to devour.
But now, standing by the water at night, the chill raised the hackles on the neck. The sounds of night birds became omens. The glow of fireflies became warnings. The shadows of rocks and trees became deathtraps.
The low gurgling hiss of the river hid any sound of footsteps. Protected by a moonless sky, the intruder left the path along the bank and moved quietly beneath the trees. Above, leaves made rasping sounds in a s
olitary night breeze, shivering slightly before tumbling through the darkness.
The air was cool, heavy, and stretched like the dark coil of some huge and motionless snake across the grounds. The trespasser, now one with the deep shade, stopped and stared up past the lawns at the unlit windows of the house, and waited.
A sports car sped down the road. The garage door opened automatically and the driver pulled in sharply. In a moment, silence again reigned. Moving noiselessly, the shadow stepped out from beneath the trees and crossed the lawn to the house.
~~~~
“Help with your sister, Emily.”
The sleepy-eyed five-year-old stared blankly at her mother’s profile in the dim light of the car and then nodded off again. Marilyn Hardy switched off the engine and punched the remote for the garage door to close. Twisting in the driver’s seat, she found both girls asleep again.
“Emily!” she snapped. “Come on, girl. Wake up.”
She touched her older daughter’s knee and gave it a firm shake. The child opened puffy, red-rimmed eyes and groggily tried to focus on her mother’s face.
“We’re home. Hear me? Home. Now, get moving.” Pushing open the driver’s door, Marilyn cursed as it hit a new tricycle, jamming it against the garage wall. “Christ, Emily! How many times do I have to tell you to put this damn thing where it belongs?”
Marilyn snatched the girls’ packed bags off the front seat, letting them drop onto the cement floor before reaching for her purse. The thin handle strap caught on the gearshift on the center console. Losing patience, she tugged hard to free it. The clasp snapped open, pouring the contents out onto the seat and floor.
“Shit!”
She threw the purse aside and, backing out, wrenched the seat forward. Marilyn glared at Emily’s nodding head.
“I told you I need your help.” The child snapped awake immediately and reached over to undo the seatbelt holding her younger sister.
Without opening her eyes, Hanna cried and kicked her foot crossly. As her mother reached in to take her out of the car-seat, the three-year-old twisted away and whined angrily.
“Save that crap for your father,” Marilyn hissed, grabbing the child roughly under the arms and pulling her out.
Hanna uttered a soft complaining cry and opened her eyes, looking over her mother’s shoulder at her older sister. Emily fetched the small stuffed tiger from the back seat and stretched on tiptoes to hand it to her. The younger child tucked the precious toy beneath her chin and nestled her face against Marilyn’s neck, closing her eyes again.
The door of the car slammed shut with a loud bang. The tricycle was kicked out of the way. Emily stayed right beside her mother as the timed lights went off in the garage and the space was pitched into blackness.
“No more tears. No more whining. I don’t want to hear one more goddamn word out of you two tonight. You hear me?”
“Yes, Mommy,” Emily whispered, clutching a corner of Marilyn’s jacket as they moved quickly toward the door leading from the garage into the house. The girl kept her eyes on the three orange dots of light from the buttons that opened the garage doors.
“And I’d better not ever have to deal with you making a scene like that again. You will never—hear me?—never question me in public like that again. Got it?”
“Yes, Mommy,” the little voice barely squeaked.
The door was unlocked, as always. The wide hallway leading to the stairs was dark, but Marilyn didn’t bother to turn on the lights. She only paused for a second to kick off her high-heels before going up the stairs.
In the hallway on the second floor, she walked directly to the girls’ bedroom. Without being told, Emily slipped in front of her mother and pulled back the quilt and sheets on Hanna’s bed. The younger sister was already asleep when Marilyn laid her down.
As Marilyn straightened up, the sound of the phone yanked her head around.
“Christ! What now?” She stormed out of the room, giving Emily a sharp glance as she went. “Take her shoes off. And get yourself ready for bed.”
Marilyn turned on the light in her own bedroom and snatched up the phone beside the bed an instant before the voice mail kicked in.
“What?”
The voice on the other end was barely more than a snarl. “Look, Marilyn, I don’t know what this shit is you’re trying to pull, but I made plans with the kids for this weekend and I am coming for them right now.”
“Over my dead body, Ted,” she snapped. She could hear the sound of traffic through his cell phone. “I told you before, and I’m telling you now, you aren’t taking my girls anywhere near that crazy woman.”
“My aunt has Alzheimer’s, damn it! She is not crazy. And if this is all part of some trick you’re trying to pull with that new lawyer of yours to keep the girls away from me…”
“Daddy?” The soft whisper of Emily’s voice on the phone line jerked Marilyn’s head toward the hallway. The light from the bedroom stretched across the carpeted floor. The little girl was holding the phone to her ear with both hands. “Daddy, are you coming after us? Please, Daddy…?”
Marilyn marched angrily toward her daughter.
“I am, sweetheart.” Ted Hardy’s voice gentled instantly. “Don’t cry, sweetie. I am calling from the car. I’ll be there before—”
Marilyn snatched the phone out of the little girl’s hands and slammed it down. Emily looked up, terrified, pearl-like tears rolling down her round cheeks. “He…he’s coming. I can get Hanna ready. I promise not to be any—”
“I told you to get to bed,” she barked. “Now!”
For a split second, a spark of defiance showed in the blue eyes looking up at her. Marilyn raised her hand to slap her, but Emily darted back down the hallway, closing the door tightly behind her.
Marilyn raised the phone to her ear as she glared at the closed bedroom door.
“If you ever—” he was saying. “Do you hear me, Marilyn? If you ever lay a hand on my children again—”
“Go fuck yourself, Ted.”
She dumped the phone on the long table in the hall. Thinking she’d heard the far off sound of a car’s engine, she turned her back on the girls’ door and started down the stairs.
The front hallway and the living room were dark. Marilyn padded across the thick plush carpet to one of the front windows and peered out at the quiet street. There was no car in sight. Crossing to the front door, she locked the deadbolt and hooked the chain. She moved silently through the house and, a moment later, bolted the door from the garage, too.
At the bottom of the stairs, she paused and listened. The only sound was the tick of the grandfather clock in the living room. Satisfied, she pushed her hair back over her shoulder and walked down the long hallway to the kitchen.
That room was dark, too, but just as Marilyn reached over to flip on the lights, she froze at a movement beyond the island separating the kitchen from the spacious den. Her heart nearly stopped as she stared at the gauze curtain gently fluttering by the patio door.
With prickles of panic washing over her, she glanced at the light above the stove. The light was always left on…but not now. She watched as a breeze lifted the curtains again. And then, for the first time, she sensed the presence of someone else in the room.
Marilyn flipped the switch and turned around.
“Oh, it’s you.”
~~~~
“I don’t know how it happened, Léa. She was sitting right there watching TV.”
The heavyset woman pointed to the worn recliner in the corner of the small living room. The television, nestled into the bookcases and cabinets that lined the opposite wall, was still on, making somebody a millionaire. Léa switched it off.
“I was standing right in the kitchen,” Clara continued, flustered and upset. “I was talking to Dolores on the phone and fixing Janice’s dinner tray. When I brought it out, she was gone.”
Léa checked the two bedrooms again, the closets, the small bathroom. She even pulled back the show
er curtain and checked the tub. In the coat closet, she saw the walking shoes and tan overcoat her aunt always wore when she went out.
“I am so sorry!” Clara blurted tearfully as soon as Léa came back to the kitchen. “I know you told me to watch that she doesn’t go out. But she seemed so good tonight. She was happy, chatting away about Ted and the girls coming over tomorrow for her birthday. She said Ted got tickets to the Phillies game…that you were all going down to…”
“Clara, can you please stay here until I get back?” Léa grabbed her car keys and purse off the pile of books she’d just dumped on the kitchen table. Her aunt’s dinner still sat on the table on a plastic tray. “In case Aunt Janice comes back on her own, you have my cell phone number.”
“Sure.” The middle-aged woman glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “I can stay until it’s time to wake up my son. He’s on third shift now, you know.”
“Right,” Léa said, going out of the kitchen. Clara followed her through the small apartment toward the front door.
On impulse, Léa stopped at a small table and picked up one of the picture frames. It was a photograph of Janice, with Ted and the girls in front of the Liberty Bell. She slid the felt covered backing out and removed the picture, tucking it into her jacket pocket.
“Do you want me to call the police or something? I know it hasn’t been more than an hour since she’s been gone. But you never know…in the city and with all these punks on every corner these days…and poor Janice in her slippers and house dress…” The older woman stopped and dashed away a tear.
“Let me check the building and go around the block first.” Léa opened the door. “I’ll call them myself if I can’t find her.”
Léa didn’t tell Clara what a waste of time calling the police had been last week. The time she’d spent explaining everything on the phone and answering the dispatcher’s canned questions had been for nothing. In the end, Léa had called Ted, and he’d driven into the city. The two of them had scoured the streets until they’d found her, at about 2:00 a.m. in an alley nine blocks from the apartment. A tight knot forced its way into Léa’s throat as she recalled how terrified Janice had been, crouched beside a Dumpster and weeping softly like a lost child.