“It’s no use, Tess. I was stupid to even be in that position, especially since you warned me. I mean, seriously? Why didn’t I listen to you? It’s not like there weren’t signs.” She picks up her backpack and slings it on one shoulder. “Just let it go.”
I jump up. “Can you live with that?”
“I didn’t—” She waits for a group of students to pass, then lowers her voice. “I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?”
“Of course not.”
She swipes at a tear, but it’s followed by another. And another. “I don’t think I can do this. Everyone will know.” Her face crumples, and a sob escapes.
I want to hold her and assure her she can hide from it, but I know different. Instead, I stiffen my shoulders, take a deep breath, and take her arm. “If I had come forward ten years ago, you wouldn’t be another victim right now. Don’t you see that? It’s my fault you’re in this position in the first place. And only God knows how many other women he’s abused because I let it go.”
She looks me in the eye. “What good will it do if we can’t prove it?”
I think about Carol’s suggestion of an email blast. “But what if we can?”
She slaps the tears away and sniffles. “How?”
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
Chapter 33
Jake
I tack a note for Maris on the industrial-sized fridge—see me. By the time I got rid of Justine the other day, Maris was in full cook mode. Apparently, there’s more going on than I’ve been privy to. Two Sisters…that connection can’t be coincidental. Maris is knee-deep in this. Now, with Tess snooping around…
Been dodging her for two days. It’s either that or demand to know why she sicced an investigator on me. But the answer’s obvious, and I have no right to resent her for it. If I were her, I wouldn’t trust me either. Even so, if I see her, it’s doubtful I could let it go without a challenge.
Two hours until we open. I’ll hide away in the office. There’s always work to do. Busy work. Pointless, as far as I can tell, but it was Sean’s passion, for lack of a better term. Only, my office is already occupied. Julia’s sitting behind the desk. Max in the corner.
“I wasn’t expecting you today.”
She looks up and blinks. Probably catatonic from staring at the monitor. “Oh hey, Jake. I’ll be out of your way in two shakes.”
“No hurry.” Plenty of drudge work in the dining room. I turn to Max. “What’s up, Maximilian?”
He high-fives me and slumps back in the chair. “Mom says I gotta stay here.” Drumming his fingers on his knee, he plants pleading eyes on me. “It’s boring.”
“Wash your hands, and we’ll put you to work.”
He tilts his head. Contemplating, no doubt. Which is worse, boredom or work? He makes a production of sighing. “Okay.”
His enthusiasm is underwhelming. “Don’t get too excited, kid.”
His eyebrows furrow. “I’m not excited.” Sarcasm’s wasted on him.
“Let’s go.”
After a stop-over in the kitchen for a little sterilization, I show him to the linens. “Every table needs one of these. Think you can handle it?”
“Sure.”
“Hey, boss man, you rang?” Maris, hot-pink bandana in place, stands in the dining room entrance, waving my note.
“Meet you in the kitchen.” I pass a folded tablecloth to Max. “You have any questions, kid, come find me.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s a cinch.”
When I get to the kitchen, Maris is washing a sink full of vegetables—zucchini, eggplant, romaine lettuce.
“How’s it going?”
“If it makes you feel better, I’m willing to do the small talk first. But if you’re doing it for me, I’d rather pass.”
Doesn’t leave much of a segue. “Something I can do to help while we talk?” Nothing more awkward than standing around when someone else is working.
With a slight twist, she nods at the chopping block. Five yellow onions and large knife take center stage. “Those could use dicing.”
I had to ask. “Sure. No problem.” Knife in hand, I slice off both ends of an onion and run the tip from top to bottom, opening the first layer.
“Were you a chef in a previous life?”
“Are you kidding?”
“You’re pretty good with that knife.”
If she only knew. “I like to cook.”
“Tess could do worse.”
I peel the skin from the onion, the bite of it burning my nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m not blind, you know.” She shakes the water from a romaine leaf. “You two have been dancing around each other for months.”
I scowl at her back. “Thought we were passing on the small talk.”
Dishtowel in hand, she turns to face me. “Tess’s future isn’t small talk. At least, not as far as I’m concerned.”
“Appreciate your loyalty, but that’s not why I’m here.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
Eyes tearing from the onion, I blink to clear them. “Tess says you’ve been volunteering at a soup kitchen in Sacramento.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. Of course not. I’m just…curious.”
“Did she tell you why I volunteer?”
Setting the knife and onion down, I swipe my sleeve across my eyes. Perfect. Now my nose is running, too. “I assume out of the goodness of your heart.”
She glares. “Is that sarcasm?”
“Despite evidence to the contrary, I believe you have a good heart.”
“You mean the embezzlement.”
I shrug. “Let’s just say you’re not the easiest person to talk to. You have a chip on your shoulder the size of Cleveland.”
Dropping the towel, she turns back to the sink.
“But, it’s obvious you’re loyal to the O’Shays.”
“Sean saved my life.” The words said so casually have the impact of a linebacker. “You probably think that’s melodramatic, but—”
“No. I don’t.” Because he saved mine, too. Sean, the guardian angel.
Back to me, she sniffles. Is she crying? Hope not. Wouldn’t have a clue how to comfort her.
“Tell me about Two Sisters.”
Straightening her shoulders, she turns. “What do you want to know?”
“Who started it?”
She opens her mouth to answer, then slams it shut. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
Just as I suspected. “It was Sean, wasn’t it?”
She squirms, folding and unfolding her arms. “Whatever gave you that idea?” It doesn’t matter. The truth of it is in her eyes.
How’d I miss it? “You weren’t stealing that money for yourself.”
She scowls. “I wasn’t stealing it at all.”
“You were donating it.”
She whips back around to face the sink.
“To the soup kitchen.”
“So, what if I was?”
“At Sean’s directive.”
“Sean’s dead, how—”
“It’s his soup kitchen.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions, boss man.” Crossing to the chopping block, she collects the un-chopped onions and knife. “How you jumped from me donating to a soup kitchen and Sean financing it…”
“Not assumptions. Deductive reasoning.” I watch while she empties the sink of vegetables. “What I don’t understand is why the big secret? Why didn’t you just tell us what you were doing?”
“I’m done talking about this.”
“Let me know how much you need, and I’ll work it into the budget.”
She turns wide eyes on me. “What?”
“If it’s what Sean wanted…”
Her mouth hanging half open, she nods. Maris speechless. Will wonders never cease?
* * *
Tess
It turns out that Carol suggested an email blast to connect with other students because
her sister-in-law works in registration. But without the college administration’s permission, it isn’t possible. I’m not quite ready to go public with Professor Fields’ extracurricular activities, so getting permission isn’t an option. However, I have another idea, for which I need reinforcements. I convince Stephanie to meet me in the campus library.
Okay, coerce might be a more accurate term, but whatever it takes, right?
Carol and I arrive a few minutes before the appointed time and find a table in a quiet corner far away from prying ears. I generally find libraries to be comforting, but this concrete edifice isn’t the library of my youth. It’s large, impersonal, and functional, which I suppose isn’t a bad thing given its use. It doesn’t help that butterflies are hatching in my stomach, making me slightly queasy. If this works, we might just be able to put an end to this nightmare—or at least contain it to manageable proportions.
Head bowed over her backpack, Carol rummages inside. “Sorry we couldn’t do this the easy way.”
“Will you stop apologizing? I’m just grateful you tried.”
She stops and pierces me with motherly eyes. “What were my options? Have you prowl around his property again? Have I told you how insane that was?”
“Only about ten times.”
“Let’s make it eleven. It was completely—”
“I got it.” I don’t dare tell her it was a thrill. She’s ready to call in the paddy wagon as it is. “It won’t happen again, Mom.” Sheesh.
She grins. “You’re welcome to repeat the story of how the guy you merely tolerate carried you off.”
My face heats, and I cover it up with a scowl. “Aren’t you a little old for fairytales?”
“That’s your problem, Tess. You don’t believe in happily-ever-after.”
“Sure I do.” Just not for me.
“Hi.” Stephanie slides into the chair next to me. “I only have a few—”
“Minutes.” I wave her excuses aside. “You’re starting to sound like a broken record. This is Carol. Carol, Stephanie.”
Carol stretches across me and offers her hand. “It’s good to meet you, Stephanie. I’m so sorry it couldn’t be under more pleasant circumstances.”
Stephanie’s cheeks redden. “I…I mean, were you—”
“Oh no. I’m just another pawn in Tess’s bid for justice.” She delves into the backpack again and pulls out a thick, nine-by-twelve envelope. “And I come bearing gifts.”
Stephanie’s brows lower. “What is it?”
I accept the envelope from Carol. “Her sister-in-law works in registration and was able to pull a list of the students who’ve been in Professor Fields’ classes.” Glee climbs up my throat. I must be grinning like an idiot.
“For how many years?”
Carol leans in. “Since it’s unlikely the email addresses from ten years ago are still valid, I had her go back five. He wasn’t teaching here the last two, so we have a three-year window of opportunity.”
“I don’t get it.”
Sliding the contents from the envelope, I glance at her. “We’re going to divide and conquer.”
Her eyes widen. “You mean we have to contact all those people?”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Carol says. “We eliminate all the male students, so that cuts it by about half.”
“Hardly.” Stephanie pushes her bangs back. “I don’t know what his classes were like when you were there, Tess, but it’s probably two-thirds women. As sick as it is, he attracts them.”
I pat her arm. “How do you think he got us, kiddo? Psychopaths can come across as very charming.” Isn’t that what everyone said about Ted Bundy?
“I was so stupid.” She drops her head, but not before I see the tears.
Carol reaches across me and takes her hand. “Are you still in his class?”
She shakes her head, swiping at her cheeks with her free hand. “I dropped out right after it happened.” She shifts in her chair. “You know the worst part about it? He doesn’t even get it. I mean, it’s like he’s not even aware of how he hurt me. Nor does he care.”
“Not for long, Steph.” A slap of reality is all it takes to wipe off my smile. A lump rises in my throat in response to her tears, and I swallow it down. “He’s gotten away with it for far too long. That’s why we have to take action. You do see that, don’t you?”
She runs her thumbnail along a scratch in the table.
“It’s either that,” Carol says, “or bail Tess out of jail.”
“Carol.” I nudge her with an elbow.
“Of course,…” Carol winks. “she can always get off on an insanity plea.”
Stephanie touches my forearm. “What’s she talking about?”
“Nothing. She’s just—”
“You mean she didn’t tell you?” Carol peers around me to look at Stephanie.
Steph shakes her head. “What’d she do?”
“Nothing.” I elbow them both out of my personal space.
“She snuck onto the professor’s property—”
“I’m warning you, Carol.”
“Oh please. What’re you going to do? Send your boyfriend after me?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“You might want to inform him of that.”
“Tess?” Stephanie lowers her voice. “Did you really do that? Sneak around his house?”
I rub my forehead. All this is getting me is a headache. “We all agree it was a stupid thing to do. Now can we move on?”
“I can’t believe you had the nerve to do that.” She straightens her shoulders and blows out a breath. “I’m in. What do you want me to do?”
I flop back in my chair and glance at Carol, who has a big grin on her face. That little manipulator. It’s good to know she’s on my side.
“So,” Stephanie says. “What’s the plan?”
“Okay.” I flip through the pages. “Unless either of you has a better idea, I suggest we divide the list. Using only the emails of the women, we each create a group. Send me your group lists and I’ll add them to mine. Once that’s done, we can send out one email to everyone.”
Stephanie’s brows draw together. “What do you expect to accomplish with this?”
“Unity.” I do a quick calculation and divide the list in three. “We can’t be the only women he’s attacked. If we can compose a heartfelt plea for justice, I think others will step forward.”
“And if they don’t?”
“One step at a time.”
We exit the library, but the hatched butterflies in my stomach take flight when a thought occurs to me: It’s possible that someone on our list might inform Professor Fields. And it wouldn’t take a computer genius to trace the email back to me.
Chapter 34
Tess
I sit cross-legged on the bed, my back against the headboard, laptop open. The logo for Jerald & Brothers Investigations stares back at me from my email inbox. And just like when I saw it the first time two days ago, my heartbeat kicks into overdrive. Actually, every time I spot it, my response is the same—increased heart rate, clammy hands, and nausea. Not all that different than my reaction to Stephen Fields, yet at the same time, as paradoxical as fear and hope.
Richard Stewart’s email is short and sweet—Ms. O’Shay, Please see the attachment for my findings regarding the investigation of Jacob Holland, for which you hired me. If I can be of further assistance, let me know. All I have to do is open the attachment and his secrets are history.
I must have hovered my mouse over that file fifteen times. And each time, an image of Jake stops me. Jake, drenched after I doused him months ago, drinking from the hose rather than turning it on me. Jake, running a finger down my cheek and igniting a flame from a long-forgotten ember. Jake, grazing my lips with his, so soft and gentle it takes my breath away to even think about it.
Then there’s Jake and the gorgeous mystery woman. Jake and his invasive reports to some unknown person. Jake who’s definitely hiding his past
and God knows what else.
Will the real Jake Holland please stand up?
Do I open the report or don’t I? I’ve given him every opportunity to tell me the truth, so it’s not like I owe him my trust. Then again, he certainly didn’t owe Katie or me his protection and kindness, either. He might say he did it for Dad, but somewhere along the way, as sure as I’m torn, something shifted.
Ask him.
Ask him? Hmm. It’s not like I haven’t done so already. But why not try again? What could be simpler? Things have changed between us, haven’t they? And if he refuses to divulge his past, I still have the report. I’d be justified then to open it, wouldn’t I?
Ask him.
No time like the present. I slap the laptop closed and slide it onto the bed. Dad’s faded red flannel shirt is draped over the bedpost, and I slip it over my t-shirt and sweats. On my way out, I sneak a quick glance at the full-length mirror and wrinkle my nose. I look like a refuge from the homeless shelter. Is this really the image I want to portray?
Rummaging through my closet, I find a baby-soft pink sweater hidden in the back along with a pair of pleated slacks. A quick comb through my hair and a swipe of lip gloss and I’m presentable. At least I no longer look like I’m trying to offend.
As luck would have it—or as Dad would say, divine timing—Jake’s in the kitchen. It has to be him I hear when I step out of my bedroom, because there’s no way Katie’s among the living this early on a Sunday morning. Crossing the dining room, I ease the swinging door open just enough to get a preview. It’s Jake, all right, dressed in his Sunday best, standing over the stove. He sure cleans up nice.
He looks over at me peering through the door. Caught. “Good morning.”
“What are you making?”
“Poached eggs. Want a couple?”
Stepping up to the stove, I peer into the pan of cloudy wisps of egg white. “I think I’ll pass. Thanks anyway.”
“Your loss.” His blue-eyed gaze sweeps my attire. “That’s a good color on you.”
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