Unfortunately, other things about the situation were also fading away. And though Brady was glad Rae was safe, he wasn’t sure what that meant for him. For them.
Would there be a them?
He turned into the parking lot of the police department.
His feelings for Rae hadn’t changed in fifteen years. But her feelings for him? Brady had no idea where he stood. He could picture the way she’d clung to her husband’s body, kissed him goodbye. She’d loved the man, and now she was grieving for him.
Where did that leave Brady?
He’d just stepped into the squad room when he heard Chief Jamison’s voice. “In here, Thomas.”
He beelined for the chief’s office and paused in the doorway. “You need something?”
“Have a seat.”
Brady sat in the worn leather chair across from the chief’s desk and regarded the older man. His head was bent over paperwork on his desk. His buzz cut looked fresh, and Brady could see the sunburn on his scalp. He made a mental note to buy the chief a fishing hat.
Finally, Jamison looked up. “You back today, or are you meeting the feds again?”
“They’re done with me for now.”
“Good to hear.” The chief tapped his pencil on the desk, and Brady braced himself. “So we need to talk about that Farah Hanachi woman.”
Brady forced his face to remain impassive but lowered his hands to his lap. No need to let the chief see the tremble that came back whenever he thought of that moment. “Feds managed her too. Officially, she was found with Moreau and his goon. They even got another poker chip to make it look authentic.”
Jamison ran his hand over his scalp. “You’ve never killed anybody in the line of duty before.”
Brady sat back in his chair and swallowed. “Not as a cop. But when I was in the service—”
The chief waved that away. “It’s different.”
He shrugged, but he disagreed. It was the same. Both were terrible.
“You doing all right?”
“I saw the shrink.”
“You going back?”
“Have to until he releases me.” And needed to, but he didn’t say that. Because maybe he hadn’t had a choiceabout killing her. Maybe Farah Hanachi hadn’t left him one, but it was still hard to come to grips with sending another human to meet her maker.
“A woman,” the chief said.
“Yeah.”
“But you did it, Brady. I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”
“It was her or Reagan. Didn’t have much of a choice.”
The chief’s eyebrows lifted. “Still...”
“I’m handling it.” He hadn’t meant to sound so frustrated.
Jamison regarded him a moment, then nodded once. “Good. Let me know if you want to talk about it.”
“Sure.”
“Aside from the situation with the feds,” Jamison continued, “it’s been a quiet week.”
“I talked with Finn and Trent. They know nothing about the other break-ins, so it looks like they’re not connected to the burglaries by the lake. I think we need to talk with the folks who live on the lake year-round, see if they can get a neighborhood watch going. And increase police presence. If we can’t catch them, maybe we can at least get them to move into someone else’s jurisdiction.”
Jamison smiled. “Spoken like a true chief.”
Chief? His face must’ve registered his surprise, because the man laughed.
“Talked to the town council, and they’re on board with offering you the position.”
Looked like he’d be getting the job he wanted after all. At one point, it had been all he’d wanted. Now, he could barely muster a smile.
“I’ll stay on ’til after the holidays,” Jamison said. “You and I can spend the next few months getting you up to speed. Then come January first, I’m retiring.”
“I won’t let you down.”
The chief stood. “See that you don’t.” He looked beyond Brady, then met his eyes. “Keep it quiet for now. We’ll announce it in a few weeks. Let all this die down first.”
“Works for me.”
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? You could use the rest.”
Brady thought of the many messages on his phone and shook his head. “I’ll rest next week. Today, I need to finish this stuff up.”
The chief shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He came around the desk and shook Brady’s hand. “The town’s a better place since you came back. Congratulations on the new job.”
Brady swallowed an unexpected lump of emotion. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”
Seventy
Rae held Johnny and stood beside her car, staring at McNeal’s. It was one of those crisp New Hampshire days. Deep blue sky, a cold breeze carrying the scent of ripe apples and a faraway wood fire. It was too bright outside to see inside the windows. What kind of reception would she get when she walked in? She hadn’t been into McNeal’s since she was a kid, and back then she’d felt like such an outsider she couldn’t wait to leave. The stares, the snickers. Even Gram had understood. After her mother’s arrest, they’d never gone back.
But this was where her friends were congregating, and she’d been invited. Samantha had called and said everybody wanted her to come. Who was everybody, and why did they care? They’d never cared about her before.
Or had they, and she just hadn’t understood?
She shouldn’t be so nervous. But it wasn’t just facing the townspeople of Nutfield that had her standing there, quivering in her boots. The Boyles were in there. This would be the first time she’d seen them since she’d almost gotten Nate killed.
She heard tires and turned to see a white Isuzu Trooper park behind her Accord. Rae’d spent a lot of time with her best friend in the week since the incident. Samantha’d arrived at the house before the police left that day, offering her support. When Rae hadn’t been able to talk for the emotion, Samantha’d sat beside her silently. Probably praying. She seemed to do a lot of that. Rae certainly wasn’t going to complain. Here she was, alive and well. Maybe there was something to it.
Samantha had listened to Rae’s stories, held her when she’d cried for her late husband, and understood. Julien hadn’t been the saint Rae had first thought, nor was he the monster she’d come to imagine. He’d somehow been both—and neither. Maybe she’d never truly known the man who was the father of her son. The man who’d died to protect her and Johnny.
Samantha joined her on the sidewalk. “I took care of the death certificate.”
“Oh. Thank you. I didn’t think of that.”
“No problem.” She scanned the cars lining the street. “I don’t see Brady’s truck. Is he here?”
“No idea. He’s been busy.”
“You two still haven’t talked?”
Rae shrugged and stared toward the police station.
“He’s giving you space,” Sam said.
“I don’t need space.”
Samantha shook her head. “Julien was your husband, Rae. Maybe not on paper, but still...”
“What does that have to do with Brady?”
“Don’t you think he wonders where your heart is now?”
Rae started to protest, then stopped herself. Did Brady doubt her devotion? “Maybe you’re right.”
“Where is your heart?”
Rae smiled and kissed Johnny’s little head. “It’s right here.”
Samantha nodded toward the door. “Good. Then let’s go. I’m starved.” She led the way across the street, pushed open the door like it was no big deal, and stepped inside.
A few heads turned. People smiled. Gordon’s wife, Ellen, crossed the space to meet them at the door. She gave Sam a quick hug, then turned to Rae. “We’re so glad you came.” She grabbed Johnny’s little fist. “He’s adorable. Can I hold him?”
Rae handed Ellen the baby as Gordon approached. He peered at the infant, then turned to Rae. “Glad you made it.”
Rae’d been practicing
her speech for hours. She looked around to make sure nobody could overhear. Then she swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry for everything I put you through. I put Nate in danger when I introduced him to Julien. I made him a target. And though I didn’t do any of it on purpose, it still hurt him, and you. I hope you can forgive me.”
Gordon’s smile vanished, and he shook his head. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
“There is. If I had just been honest...”
“We love you, Rae.” Ellen shifted the baby to her shoulder and patted his back. “Nate is safe. You’re safe. We’re just glad to have you home.”
“But—”
“I told you she’d blame herself.” Nate hobbled across the small entry, smiling at her.
Ellen stepped aside so he could join their small circle. The swelling in his face had gone down, and his bruises had faded to a brownish-yellow. He walked stiffly, thanks to the broken ribs. But he was standing upright.
“You have to stop, Reagan.” Gordon’s voice was commanding, like her own father’s would have been, if he’d been here. “Your father’s death, your mother’s choices, Julien’s lifestyle. None of those things are your fault.”
“Well, no.”
“You don’t have nearly as much power as you think.”
She started to protest. Then she looked at Samantha, Nate, Ellen, and Gordon, saw their smiles and their concern. Four people who’d always stood by her, and always would. “That’s a good way to look at it.”
“The only way,” Gordon said. “My only complaint is that you still haven’t come by to talk about your grandmother’s estate. Can I pencil you in for Monday?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good. Now I’m starved. Come on. We’ve got the big booth in the back. Great view of the TV.” He turned as if the conversation were settled. And perhaps it was.
She and Samantha followed the Boyles. The restaurant was not the dive she remembered from her youth. It was larger, for one thing. They must’ve bought out the place next door and expanded. The old wood paneling had been torn out, the walls painted a sage green and decorated with sports paraphernalia—mostly professional teams, but a few photographs of the Nutfield Squirrels teams joined the rest. The bar was still there, its dark stain brighter than before. Booths lined the walls, and round tables filled the center of the room. It was cheerful and packed with people.
Gordon weaved among the tables toward the back. They passed one, and Rae smiled at the picture there. Caro and Finn were sitting side by side, perhaps a little too close, deep in conversation. Caro pushed her bright red hair behind her ear, and Rae caught the blush on her cheeks.
A young woman sipped a soda beside Caro. The girls looked so much alike, this had to be Laurie, her sister. She whispered something in Caro’s ear, and the younger girl tore her attention away from Finn, followed her sister’s gaze, and giggled.
An older couple filled the other two seats at the round table. Must be Caro’s grandparents. The woman looked uncomfortable, but the man was having an animated conversation with an older gentleman sitting at a booth across the aisle. Oh, it was Mr. Young, the janitor from the high school. Though young didn’t quite describe him anymore. The white-haired Mrs. Young, Rae’s former English teacher, sat beside him chatting with a woman Rae didn’t recognize and sipping from a bottle of beer.
There was a picture you didn’t see every day.
Eric, the police officer Brady worked with, was standing beside another man behind the Youngs’ table, watching the Patriots on the TV mounted over the bar. More people were watching the game, talking. Every seat in the place seemed taken. Some turned when she walked by. Some stood to greet her with a hug, others just waved hello as if she’d never left. Rae greeted neighbors she’d known since forever and friends from school she hadn’t seen in years. People she’d never met but who acted like friends already. They welcomed her as if she were one of them.
After everything, could she be one of them? All the ambitions she’d had when she lived here, and now all she wanted was to stay and make a home.
They reached the large, circular booth, but Rae couldn’t sit down. Too overwhelmed or overjoyed or something. The Boyles slid in, but Samantha caught her eye. “We can stand, if you want.”
“That’d be good.” She caught Ellen’s eye. “Want me to take Johnny?”
“Not a chance, sister.”
Rae laughed. “Just let me know.”
Samantha leaned in. “You’ll be lucky to get your baby back at all today.”
Rae started to join the laughter, then froze.
Chief Jamison walked in the door. Brady was right behind him. He saw her, said something to the chief, and then maneuvered through the packed room to meet her. “How you doing?”
He was close enough to touch, and she almost did. “I didn’t see your truck.”
“I parked it at the station.”
She stepped closer. “I’m glad to see you.”
“Yeah?” He looked...hopeful. All her anxiety melted away. Silly man.
She turned to the table, saw that Johnny seemed content in Ellen’s arms, and turned back to Brady. “Can we talk?”
“Sure.” He looked around, then led the way through the crowd and out the door onto the sidewalk.
The trees towered over the street, their leaves just starting to turn. Another couple of weeks and they’d explode in color. And she’d be there to see it. The thought made her eyes sting with tears. She walked down the sidewalk slowly, taking in the view of this town she’d always refused to love. But she could now.
The Patriots must’ve done something right, because a roar came from the restaurant. She smiled and headed for a bench in front of a T-shirt shop. She leaned against the back of it, and Brady stood across from her.
“Where’ve you been?” she asked.
“Trying to work out all the details.”
“And?”
“Officially, they found all three bodies in Rhode Island, all with poker chips. The FBI’s gotten Interpol involved. They’ll inform Alejandro tomorrow.”
“And the evidence?”
“Turned it over to the FBI. They’re working with Interpol. I’m sure there’re all sorts of jurisdictional issues, squabbling over who gets credit, but from what I saw, it looks like it could indeed take down the whole enterprise.”
“Wow.”
Julien hadn’t been able to do much good in life, though their son was the exception. But he had accomplished plenty in death, not just saving her but helping to put an end to his father’s criminal activity. Someone else would step in and take over. She’d investigated enough criminals to know there was always someone new waiting in the wings. But to bring down one operation, there was satisfaction there.
“You were right about Julien,” Brady said. “Nate said he was horrified at the bombings.”
“I wasn’t right about him. He was a terrorist, a killer. The man I knew though—the man he showed himself to be...” She pictured his smile, remembered his easy laughter. “I’d hate to think I’m that bad a judge of character.”
Brady nodded and stared beyond her.
“Doesn’t change anything,” she said.
He glanced at her, and she saw pain in his eyes.
She took his hand. “Brady?”
He looked at their joined hands, then at her. “You don’t have to...” He swallowed and looked away. “We said some things. You were under a lot of pressure. You thought he was going to kill you. You thought you were going to have to disappear forever. It’s hard to think straight under those circumstances. And maybe you didn’t mean...” He met her eyes, though it seemed to take considerable effort. “That day when I offered to go with you, you said you didn’t want me, but I didn’t believe you. I should have. And now that you’re safe, you’re probably going to go back to...wherever.”
She took his other hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyebrows lifted. “No?”
“Not unless you are.”
He smiled slowly. “Nutfield is my home, Rae. I’d prefer to stay.”
“It’s my home too. I didn’t realize it until a few days ago. This is where I belong.” She quieted, listened to the voices coming through the restaurant door, and smiled. “All these years, I thought I had to do it alone. That I couldn’t count on anybody. That nobody was on my side. But then you, and all the police, and the whole town—you saved me. This is my home.” She tipped her head toward the restaurant. “Those are my people.”
He squeezed her hands. “I’m glad you finally figured that out. You belong here. But you and me... I wasn’t sure. I mean, your husband just died.”
“I am grieving. I’m grieving his death, and I’m grieving the man he could have been. But even before I discovered that Julien and I weren’t legally married, I’d quit thinking of him as my husband. I hadn’t loved him in a long time.”
Brady let go of her hands and wrapped his arms around her waist. He pulled her close, rested his cheek against her temple, and whispered, “That’s good, because I’ve been thinking of you the way a man ought not to think of another man’s wife.”
The husky promise in his words made her shiver. She shifted, and he met her lips with his own. The kiss tasted like forever.
Epilogue
Rae read the story one last time. It wasn’t the deep, investigative journalism she’d become accustomed to, but she’d managed to make the local Thanksgiving Day parade sound pretty amazing. She hit send, and a moment later received a reply from the editor at the Nutfield Gazette.
Great job. Enjoy the rest of your day.
She smiled and closed her laptop, then headed into the kitchen. The scent of the roasting turkey brought memories of so many holidays in this house. She could imagine Gram basting the bird, then sprinkling more salt and pepper, rosemary and thyme. She pushed away the tears. Her grandmother wouldn’t want her to spend this Thanksgiving grieving.
Brady stood from the kitchen table. “Finish your story?”
Convenient Lies Page 32