“Then maybe I don’t have all the space I need,” she said quietly, looking at Jane. Jane nodded, giving her encouragement. Mac was formidable, a man you wouldn’t want to cross, but Lizzie had rights, too, and Jane wouldn’t refuse her support. “I found a place just a few miles from here, Mac. It’s great, really. And I have plans for fixing it up.”
Mac stared at her, then at Jane. He paced the floor, his face a study in fury. He shook his head over and over, breathing deeply.
Jane hated to see this confrontation. These past few days with Mac had been glorious. After they’d returned home from his ranch house, they’d gotten into a domestic routine like any other happy couple. Mac would go off to work and Jane would spend time volunteering at the bookstore. She’d come home and fix dinner, then they’d spend quiet time sitting together outside, talking about mundane things until they fell into bed. Nothing was mundane about their lovemaking, though. It was hot and passionate one time, then sweet and lazy the next.
The only bleak spot marring their days had been with the news that Jane’s identity was still a mystery. The investigators, including Mac himself, had located every woman who’d had boots made by the eight shoemakers on the list. Every one had checked out. Every single woman had been accounted for. Mac had come home that night with a dozen red roses, gently breaking the news to her. Jane had been sorely disappointed, her hopes dashed, but Mac had been so sweet and tender, holding her and making love to her throughout the night, that Jane had woken with a newfound feeling of hope. And it had little to do with learning her identity.
“Damn it!” Mac’s curse brought her back. He threw his arms up, his voice filled with disgust. “Maybe Jane can talk some sense into you.”
Jane walked over to him, put her hands on his arms and said gently, “Maybe you should talk to Lizzie, Mac. All you’ve been doing since she told you her plans is shout. Sit down and listen to her.” Jane turned to Lizzie. “Both of you, listen to each other.”
Mac opened his mouth to comment, but a knock at the door stopped him. He walked over and yanked the door open.
Deputy Lyle Brody stood on the threshold.
“Morning, Sheriff.”
Mac grunted, his face grim. “Brody. What’s up? Hell, it’s Sunday. Is there a problem at the station?”
Standing tall, Lyle peered into the house, meeting Lizzie’s eyes. He smiled, and Mac turned his head in his sister’s direction to find Lizzie smiling back. Jane walked up to stand beside her. “Actually, boss, I came here to see Lizzie.”
“This isn’t a good—”
Lizzie rushed up and slipped out the door to stand right next to the deputy. “Hi, Lyle.”
“Lizzie,” Lyle said, “it’s good to see you. Do you have time to take a walk with me?”
Lizzie turned her back on Mac and answered, “I’d love to.”
Mac turned to Jane, his face wrought with emotion. He slammed the door after the two had taken off down the street. “What the hell’s happening around here?”
Jane took his hand and led him over to the couch. “Sit.”
He glared at her with defiance, but Jane knew him better than that. She knew his gruff facade was only window dressing, covering up a more vulnerable man underneath. That guarded vulnerability was one of the reasons she loved him so much. She reached up to kiss his lips, and gave a little shove. “Sit down.”
The shove wouldn’t have budged him if he hadn’t wanted to comply. He sat down.
She planted herself atop his lap and wrapped her arms around him. “Things are changing, Mac. And it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.”
“Lizzie doesn’t want to hurt you. Don’t make it harder on her than it has to be. She adores you, Mac. But it’s time to let her go.”
“Don’t give me the if-you-love-her-you’ll-let-her-go speech, Jane.”
Jane’s chuckle broke the tension and she grinned. “You know me so well, Mac.”
He didn’t budge, his expression still grim. “What’s she doing with him, anyway?”
“Lyle? She likes him. A lot. And apparently the feeling is mutual. She only wants your blessing. And in this day and age, I’d say that was something special.”
Mac sighed heavily, closing his eyes. “He’s not right for Lizzie.”
“Mac, listen to me. I think I’ve figured out why you’re so opposed to Lizzie seeing Lyle.”
Mac tipped his chin up to listen, but with narrowed eyes. Jane knew she had to tread carefully. Mac was a prideful man who didn’t like anyone analyzing his motives. “I’m listening.”
“All your life you’ve been in control of things. You took care of Lizzie when she was younger, being both brother and father to her. You worked hard at your job, and built a wonderful career as a sheriff who is highly respected. You’re handsome and strong and perfect in almost every way.”
“I don’t think of myself like that, Jane.”
“I do.”
His lips broke into a reluctant smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Yeah?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Are you trying to get me into bed, honey? Because I’m pretty much a sure thing.”
Jane let out an unexpected chuckle. “I’m glad, but let’s get back to the real subject here. I think that having Lyle around the station house is one thing, but you don’t want to see him anywhere else. You don’t want Lizzie to have a relationship with him, because every time you see him, it’s a reminder of the one failure in your life, Mac. I’m not saying your divorce was your fault. I don’t think it was, but Lyle Brody reminds you of something you couldn’t fix. Something that you couldn’t control. You don’t have anything against Lyle personally. In fact, I think you like him. It’s what he represents that bothers you.”
Mac sat there quietly, absorbing her little speech, staring off into space.
“Am I close?” she asked.
He lifted her off of him, gently setting her down on the sofa, then stood up to face her. With hands on hips, he stared into her eyes, his expression pensive. “I don’t know, Jane. I’ll give it some thought.”
Jane stood to face him, and her encouraging smile was enough for Mac at the moment. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been happier. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her expression so open and honest. “I meant all those things I said about you, Mac. You’re a special man.”
Mac had to face facts. He was crazy about Jane. She was the special one, the woman who had filled his life and brought him a kind of joy he’d never known before. It was time he owned up to his emotions. It was time to admit to Jane what was in his heart. “Jane, I’m—”
A hard knocking at the door interrupted Mac’s confession. With a deep sigh, he glanced at the front door. “Lizzie must have gotten locked out,” he said, shuffling aside his annoyance. His sister had lousy timing, but he wasn’t angry with her. Not anymore. Thanks to Jane, he decided to cut his sister some slack. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to have her move out,” he said, striding to the door. “At least this place would quiet down some.”
“I’ll be in kitchen making coffee,” Jane said, grinning, and Mac figured she wanted to give him a chance to speak with his sister alone.
Mac opened the door. To his surprise, it wasn’t Lizzie standing on the doorstep, but an impeccably dressed man with jet-black hair, looking him directly in the eye. “Sheriff Riggs?”
Mac nodded, a sense of dread he couldn’t explain invading his chest.
“I’m here for Bridget Elliott.”
Ten
Mac swallowed hard. He sized the man up in one quick moment and his instincts told him this was the real deal. The air of confidence about him, the way he looked Mac squarely in the eyes and his well-groomed appearance told the lawman that the mystery surrounding Jane Doe would soon be over.
In a smooth move, the stranger produced a wallet-size picture. His heart in his stomach, Mac took a quick look, seeing Jane smiling at the camera, with this man’s arms around her.
“You do recognize the woman in the photo? Is this the woman who’s been living here?” he asked, and Mac came out of his stupor to realize that he should be the one asking questions.
“Before I answer that, let me ask how you arrived on my doorstep and who are you?”
The man shot him a no-nonsense look. “I’ve been searching for Bridget for ten days, Sheriff. I have contacts that led my search here.”
Mac didn’t miss the note of softness in the man’s tone when he spoke Bridget’s name.
Bridget?
Was Jane’s name really Bridget Elliott?
“What kind of contacts? Who are you?”
“My contacts aren’t any of your concern. All that matters is finding Bridget.”
“I still don’t know who you are,” Mac said firmly.
“My name is Bryan. I’m Bridget’s—”
“Mac, coffee’s ready,” Jane called out, and Mac gauged the man’s reaction at hearing her voice. His eyes widened and he tried to peer into the house. “That’s her voice,” he said decisively. “May I?” He took a step forward to enter.
Mac wanted to block the doorway. He wanted to send this man packing. He didn’t know a thing about him, except he did know. The truth. This man had come to take Jane home.
A soul-searing pain settled in Mac’s gut. Everything inside him ached with the knowledge that Jane was lost to him now. This man named Bryan had come to claim her. A quick glance at his left hand said he wasn’t married to her. But that didn’t mean that they weren’t deeply involved. Maybe engaged? All of Mac’s initial fears and apprehensions had come full circle now. And another emotion he hated to admit tore at him. Jealousy. So deep, so raw, that it shook him to the core.
He forced himself to step away and allow the man entrance. Both men stood just inside the house.
“The coffee’s hot, Mac,” Jane said, coming out of the kitchen holding a steaming mug. She shot him a look, then her gaze flew to the man who called himself Bryan.
“Oh hi, Bryan. What are doing…”
Jane stopped, the mug in her hand, shaking. She blinked, and Mac noted the revelations, her past instantly becoming her present, all reflected in her deep lavender eyes. She took a moment, as if she’d been hit with the fast-forward button to her life. There was no doubt that her memory had returned. He saw it all in her expressive face.
Slowly, she set the mug down, then smiled at Bryan with such warmth that Mac felt as though an elephant had trampled his body. “Bryan!”
She raced into his outstretched arms and he swung her around, lifting her off the ground, joy evident on both of their faces. “Oh my God,” she said, “Oh, my God. You’re here, you’re really here.”
Bryan set her down. “I’m here, honey. I’ve been searching for you. You gave us all a big scare.”
“I had amnesia, Bryan. But everything came back to me. Just now. Seeing you. I can’t believe it. Everything’s back.”
“That’s great, honey,” Bryan said, his gaze roaming over her, as if making sure she was all right. That proprietary look struck Mac like a sharp knife to the gut. Mac had been the one seeing to Jane’s welfare all this time. He’d reserved that right for himself.
“I’m glad I found you,” Bryan continued. “What the hell happened to you?”
“I remember now,” she began after a brief pause. “I flew to Colorado nearly two weeks ago, after Cullen’s wedding. My rental car broke down, so I started walking up the canyon road. I fell and hit my head. That must have been when I lost my memory. Mac found me. He and his sister, Lizzie, took me in.” She glanced at Mac, her face beaming. “Oh, sorry. Here I am, going on, and I haven’t introduced you. Bryan, this is Sheriff Mac Riggs. Mac, this is my cousin, Bryan Elliott.”
“Cousin?” Mac couldn’t help blurting out. Stunned, he shook the hand Bryan had offered, still reeling with this new turn of events. Relief swamped him, and Mac took his first calm breath since the man had showed up on his doorstep.
“Yep. Bryan and I are cousins. And I have a whole family back in New York, Mac. A whole big crazy family. I can’t wait to tell you all about them.”
Mac ran his hand along his jaw, his lips pursed, listening to Jane—to Bridget Elliott—as she filled him in about her life. She’d smile as the memories washed over her, reciting them to him but at the same time seeming to relive them.
Mac cursed his bad luck. Bridget Elliott was a rich New York socialite, whose family had an estate in the Hamptons, no less. Her family owned one of the most prestigious magazine publishing houses in the world. Bridget was the photo editor for Charisma, a high-end fashion magazine that catered to the rich and beyond. Hell, he’d been sleeping with a woman who under any other circumstances he wouldn’t have given the time of day. Bridget Elliott was way out of his league.
He’d already had one failed relationship with a woman who had higher aspirations than bedding down with a small-town sheriff. Mac couldn’t help but place Bridget—he’d have to get used to calling her that—in the same category. Bridget Elliott might look like Jane Doe, might talk like Jane Doe, but Mac wouldn’t deceive himself. They were worlds apart.
Bridget Elliott had money to burn.
Her family could probably buy the whole of Winchester without so much as blinking their eyes.
“Bryan owns this very trendy restaurant called Un Nuit. His place is great. I can’t wait for you to see it, Mac.”
Mac held himself in check. “Bridget,” he said awkwardly, using her real name for the first time. “Your cousin Bryan might own a restaurant, but there’s more to him than meets the eye.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your family is powerful and wealthy, yet they couldn’t find you. But Bryan did. And he wouldn’t speak of his methods. Take it from a man in law enforcement, your cousin isn’t exactly who he seems.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Mac. Of course he is. Bryan just likes to be…cryptic at times.”
Mac nodded. “That’s one way to describe him.”
But Bridget was eager to go on. “And guess what, Mac. The boots. I know why you couldn’t track them down in Italy. Poor little Carmello DiVincenza, a genius at shoemaking, died two years ago. My boots were the very last ones he’d made. No wonder I cherish them. He lived and worked and died in this little village just south of Florence called Micello. I remember doing a photo shoot there for a story with Charisma. He insisted on creating the boots especially for me.”
“So you trot around the world, doing whatever you do for this magazine.” Mac leaned back on the sofa, glad that they were alone. Lizzie was still out with Lyle, and Bryan had left a few minutes ago, to give Bridget time to collect her thoughts. Of course, he wouldn’t say where he was staying. He’d just used the classic Arnold Schwarzenegger line: “I’ll be back.”
“No, not always. I work in the offices at EPH—that’s Elliott Publication Holdings—but on occasion, I go on location for a shoot. I love Europe, and Italy is my favorite country.”
“So you’re the one with Trump money.” Mac couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. Bridget couldn’t help who she was, but he didn’t have to like it.
She stared at him. “Mac. I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not a spoiled little rich girl. In fact, I deplore everything my family stands for. It’s the reason I came to Winchester to begin with. My family is full of secrets.”
“What family doesn’t have its secrets?”
“Oh, but my family is different. We have a whole volume of secrets. And I plan to expose them all—and expose my grandfather for the man he truly is. There’ll be no whitewashing my accounting of his life. I’m writing a revealing book to expose his self-serving manipulations. My book will uncover truths that have been secret for decades.”
Mac shook his head, staring at Bridget, seeing her with clear eyes. She wasn’t his Jane Doe anymore. She was a cynical woman bent on…what? Revenge? Payback? Or did she feel that her tell-all book would somehow be justified?
“Sound
s like you’re going to hurt a whole lot of people.”
“To clear the air, Mac. Patrick Elliott, my esteemed grandfather, has gotten away with too much to get to the top. He’s got the media in his back pocket. All these years he’s covered his tracks well. He needs to be stopped. He’s only getting what he deserves.”
“And you think a book is going to solve all the problems?” Mac rose. He set his hands on his hips, staring down at her. “Innocent people will get hurt.”
“But innocent people have been hurt, Mac. I came here because I received an anonymous tip that my aunt Finola’s child might be living right here in Winchester. A child my grandfather forced her to give up for adoption when she was just fifteen years old. He’d used his power and influence over her and it nearly destroyed her. Charisma is all the life she has now. It’s not fair, Mac. She shouldn’t have to go through life not knowing her daughter. I came here to find her. I know she was adopted by a couple living here in Winchester.”
“That’s what brought you here?”
She nodded, standing to face him. “It’s the sole reason. I came here to find and reunite Aunt Fin with her daughter.”
“It’s none of your business, Bridget.” Mac still couldn’t get used to her real name. It sounded false on his lips, as though he wasn’t speaking with the same woman who’d had come to mean everything to him.
“It’s not your battle.”
“It is my battle. Fighting my grandfather and uncovering the truth about him is what I set out to do six months ago. The book is the means to the end. It’ll put a stop to all the scandals. My family can then put the past behind them. Finding Aunt Fin’s child will make her happy and will send a message to Grandfather Patrick that he can no longer mess with our lives. Aunt Fin has suffered for too many years. Her daughter would be twenty-three now.”
That rang a bell with Mac. Could it be that it was his friend Travis’s daughter whom Bridget was looking for? Jessie was the right age, twenty-three, and she’d been adopted as a baby from a teenaged mother. Travis didn’t talk much about Jessie’s adoption now, having fallen in love with his daughter from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. No one would guess that Jessie and Travis didn’t hold a flesh-and-blood bond.
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