* * *
London
Freshly fucked and cleaned up, I’m in Jacobi’s car. He’s navigating through Santa Monica and we’re getting closer and closer to Cecelia’s house.
I don’t know what to call her. To her face, I’ll call her Cecelia. What did Jacobi say her last name is? Mrs. Gomez. But who is she to me?
I’m grateful Jacobi is here. How can I get so attached to him after such a short time? It feels like we’ve been together so much longer.
Jacobi squeezes my knee. “We’re a block away.”
I asked him to give me a warning when we’re close. I study the neighborhood. Quaint. Tidy. Jacobi turns the corner but the houses stay the same. Cottage style houses. White shutters. White picket fences.
Has she lived here long?
Does she have a new family?
Are they really new? She left twenty-four years ago.
He parks in front of a house but points to the next one up. “That’s it. I don’t know if anyone’s home.”
“I guess it’s time to see.”
“Yep.”
He doesn’t make the first move and neither do I.
A minute ticks by. We’re in a nice car, but someone might still call the cops if we sit here too long. But I can’t move.
Jacobi gets out and rounds the car. He opens my door and it’s the walk-in closet near-meltdown all over again.
I accept his offer. We silently walk up the sidewalk, take the first step to the porch at the same time and continue to the porch. A dog starts barking from inside. I’ve only ever lived in a gated community and so have Penni and Holland. Walking up to a door like this is… odd.
Jacobi knocks and steps behind me.
From inside, I hear a “Ginger, quiet.” A woman’s voice. Cecelia’s?
Ginger does not quiet, but that doesn’t stop whoever’s opening the door.
The inside wood panel door swings open, but the gated screen door stays closed. On the other side of the bars of iron is a woman slightly older than Diana. Her hair is mixed gray and dirty blond. Her eyes are shrewd and a dish towel is slung over her shoulder. A small, curly-furred dog is barking and jumping by her legs.
“Can I help you?” Her voice is sharp and cracks like a whip.
“Umm…” I twist my hands together. It’s not too late to run. I’ve run various versions of what to say through my head but settled on an introduction that’d explain everything. “I’m London Vanderbeek.”
Nothing. That’s her reaction. The only change is in her eyes. A hardening. Suspicion. “Okay. And you’re here, why?”
“I’m looking for Cecelia Gomez.”
“You found her.” There’s a flash of something in her eyes. It’s gone so fast I can’t describe it. Her gaze is frigid and her stance is primed to slam the door in my face. Sensing her mood, the dog’s volume grows until I fear I’ll be the one to get a migraine.
I search her face for a resemblance. For me. It’s there. Fuller cheeks that never went away in adulthood. Stick straight hair. I got the lighter complexion from Dad, but my frame matches the woman in front of me. She holds herself like she’s waiting for the world to attack.
“You should’ve called first,” she snaps.
I rear back. This is the reaction I feared. Hatred. I thought I’d run from it, but her reaction only sparks anger. How dare she be upset I didn’t call first? “You shouldn’t have walked out on your kid first.”
Jacobi smothers a cough. He probably thought I’d crumble too after the way I acted this morning.
Enough of Cecelia’s guard drops. The emotion she lets through is guilt. “London, I—”
“Hey, Mom.” A tall boy jumps from what must be stairs into the line of view behind his mother. Ginger runs to him and he picks her up, finally silencing the cacophony. He only gives me a brief once over, then dismisses me. Is he a half-brother? “I’m gonna go to Stanford’s house. Can I use the car?”
Cecelia blinks and nods. Her harsh demeanor is getting harder for her to maintain. The shock of my visit is sinking in. “O-okay. Put Ginger in the back yard.”
He walks through the house. Dark hair. A swagger I didn’t inherit. Maybe it’s from his dad.
“How many kids do you have?” I ask. “Other kids.”
“Two,” she answers hoarsely. Then she firms her shoulders, resolve filling her light eyes. “They’re much younger than you. Know why?”
I shake my head. Her tone makes me feel responsible for why she couldn’t have kids again for years.
“Because Dennis,” she hisses his name, “gave me a whopper of a case of pelvic inflammatory disease. We treated one STD that man gave me, but another went undiagnosed.”
My stomach swells and I’m grateful that it’s been a while since I’ve eaten. I shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake. I’m bringing up horrible memories for her and I’m not gaining anything. Nothing at all.
Jacobi’s hand lands on the small of my back. It keeps me from running.
I reach for that anger from earlier but it’s withdrawing quickly. “Is that why you wanted nothing to do with me? Is that why you could walk away from your own kid forever?”
“No, that was all your father.”
“If he was so bad, why leave me with him?” I can’t imagine what my life would’ve been like with this woman.
She slumps and puts her hand to her forehead. “You don’t understand. How can you? All that pink frilly shit with that makeup company. He always did put on a show, and that stupid place was the biggest coverup he produced.”
I get the pun. I don’t appreciate it. “My makeup company.”
She shoots me an unimpressed look. “He was a liar and a cheat. I don’t know what fairytale he built for you, but he was good at destroying others’ dreams. His attitude was like the mafia when he was just low-level scum. He brought trouble to me, to our home. I knew…” She put her fingers to her lips like the thought nauseated her. “I knew that he’d never be out of my life if I took his little princess. Never. And one day, the way he treated others would catch up to him.”
So she gave me up. To live a life she thought might be ridden with crime and punishment. My thoughts are so conflicted about this woman. Pity. Anger. Resentment. More anger.
I only have one more question. “Do your kids know about me?”
The guilt rounds her shoulders even farther. The shame. I’m her dirty secret.
The urge to flee returns and I give in. Jacobi follows, replacing his hand on my back after I jog down the steps. I manage not to run back to the car.
When we leave, he has to drive past her place. I resolutely stare straight ahead. Whether she’s still standing stunned behind her barred screen door, or slammed the main door, I don’t care to know.
I don’t say anything the entire way home. The radio’s not on. Jacobi just drives. That’s all I need him to do. Drive. The conversation with Cecelia is running through my head. I shouldn’t have come.
But now I know. I know that it wasn’t my fault she left, and it wasn’t my fault she cut off all contact. It was between her and Dad, and Dad’s gone. If she chooses not to have anything to do with me, then… fuck her.
Jacobi pulls into his garage and as the door’s shutting, I realize that I haven’t thought about going to my place. All my things are still there, and I’m willing to do without them to stay here as long as I need to.
He gets out and I only have my side of the door open by the time he runs around. My numbness is fading.
She thought I would’ve made her life worse while my dad changed his for me. His methods were more than dubious, but he changed. Because of me. She couldn’t even open the goddamn door all the way. I’m the ghost that’s haunted her for the twenty-four years since she left and this is the first time she’s been faced with me.
Hot tears track down my cheeks. I can’t see where I’m going. Strong arms pick me up. The guy who also thought I made his life worse holds me close to his chest, takes me to his
bedroom, makes me feel like the most important person in the world, and holds me while I sob against him.
Chapter 21
Jacobi
London’s quiet this morning. She’s working from home, mentions that she’ll go in this afternoon.
While she’s working at the island counter, I’m going through items from Diana’s at the dining room table I never use. I’d be in my office, digging for everything Blanchard, but I don’t want to leave London alone.
My concentration keeps getting broken by thoughts of the events from yesterday. She wanted me to go with her to meet Cecelia. And I was the one she clung to after she was dealt a horrible blow by a woman who should’ve been nothing but nurturing and supportive.
London trusts me while she’s going through this emotional turmoil. She and I have gone so far beyond that stupid contract to marry. And I don’t know what to do about it.
Be honest.
That’s always an option. Maybe what I’ve done would seem less creepy, stalkerish, or demented if I confess to it. But what I’ve done is on a level that isn’t going to be okay, no matter what. I’ll deserve whatever reaction I get.
But… what if hearing it from me gives us a chance? What if telling her means that it won’t be the end of waking up to her perfect body and hearing her laugh?
I glance up from my computer. Her feet are curled around the legs of the stool and there’s an adorable crinkle in her forehead. I can’t see her screen, but I imagine it’s full of spreadsheets.
She senses me watching her and catches my eye. A small smile graces her pink lips, but the melancholy from yesterday is still there. She hasn’t cried today and is moving forward, but all those hurt feelings lurk just under the surface.
If I decide to tell her about how I learned who she was and why I started that damn file on her, it won’t be fucking today. It might relieve me to hold on to my secret and therefore London a little longer, but I know it’s coming.
Her phone buzzes, snatching her attention away from me. Diana’s checked in once already, her mama bear senses are going off that all is not right with her daughter.
London’s sigh is loud enough to catch.
“You haven’t told her yet?” The answer is obvious from the way she’s ignoring the call.
“I feel like such a traitor.”
“You’re not a traitor. I think Diana will understand more than you think. Your dad wasn’t the same man he was when he was married to Cecelia. He changed for you. But he also changed for her.”
It’s startling when I think about it. If he hadn’t set himself on a better path, London would’ve suffered, maybe worse than me. And Diana as well. She could’ve just as easily been taken in by the con artist that is Dennis Vanderbeek.
I sit back, cross my arms, and scowl at the documents in front of me.
“Did you find something?” London slips down from her stool and drifts over.
“No. But…” Damn. Do I tell her something that my intuition has only tapped on?
“But what? You might as well tell me.” She pulls a chair closer and sits, leans forward, and carefully sifts through my arranged piles.
I found several failed startups in Dennis’s documents. He saved everything. He was shady as fuck, but he legally screwed everyone over. I’ve researched those he fucked out of money, but they’ve all moved on. There were even small claims court documents. Dennis walked away scot-free. He worked the system the best until someone’s system worked for him.
My parents didn’t stand a chance against him. He wasn’t your average con artist, he was too smart for that. And when he sunk his claws into an idea that might work, he made sure to push everyone else out. Then when that idea worked, viola. Natural Glow, worth millions and growing.
Maybe it’s because I’m still hiding my own secrets, I don’t mince words with London. “Your dad was a con artist.”
She stiffens and her expression is stricken, but she nods. “Yes. I think that’s the best way to describe him.”
“Diana fell into a bad crowd when she went into adult entertainment. Then she met your dad.” London’s features pinch, but she keeps listening. “I was just thinking about how it could’ve gone another way. Your dad might not have turned over a new leaf, and you’d have both been at his mercy.”
Her expression wavers as she considers the very real possibility. She shouldn’t endure more pain about the man who raised her and who she idolized. “We were a best-case scenario.”
“But now that your dad is gone, Roland appears.”
Just like me. I had no legal recourse against Dennis. I almost dealt with him before he died and left his daughter, alone and vulnerable. And I pounced.
Maybe I wasn’t the only one who waited for an opening to swoop in and get what I wanted.
“You think Roland might be a con artist?” She shakes her head. “I don’t understand. He owns his own business. And Danielson’s doing well for himself.”
“On the internet, anyone can look good.” Roland and his son could be like looking at a polluted lake on a windless day. Still on the surface, contaminated underneath. “Your dad’s passing didn’t make the prime time, but news definitely circulated in the business world. A multi-million dollar company left to a widow and his young daughter. It didn’t matter that he retired, as long as he was around, people assumed he was still up to his elbows in work.”
She kicks back in her chair. “Do you really think… he waited for a year after Dad was gone.” Her brow furrows. “Like you.”
I don’t make any excuses for what I did. But if Roland and his kid are up to something and I catch him because of what I did to London, then I don’t regret it. Not that part at least.
“You want to hack them.” London’s gaze flashes with displeasure.
“If I’m going to find anything, that’s how I’d need to do it.” My mind is already working over how I could get in. Adrenaline pumps through my veins at the thought of taking on someone like Danielson. He could be the biggest challenge I’ve ever faced on the other side of the screen.
“But it’s illegal.”
“Illegal as fuck.”
Her lips twitch, but she reaches for my hand. “No. I won’t risk you. There has to be another way.”
I could have Kase work on it, but I don’t want him to go down if we’re caught. He’s already saved my ass once because I hired him to do something that was too dirty for me to do.
“Cannon can look into it.”
She gives me a sidelong look. “I don’t feel like he’s any more legal than you are.”
Her instinct is right on. “He’s a PI.”
“My statement still stands.”
I laugh. “I can tell him that we need to be good on this one.”
She works her lower lip between her fingers. “Roland and Danielson have done nothing, but I just can’t get over this feeling…”
“Like it’s all too convenient?”
“Yes. Like he got to Diana when she was weak. Then surprise, his single son who’s my age is moving to town. And Danielson seems nice and all, but…”
“Fake.”
She nods. “But I haven’t talked with him much. I didn’t like feeling set up.”
“Which was conveniently when you happened to be single.”
“I think that’s what bothers me. It feels like Roland’s using Diana to do it. I believe her when she said she didn’t know about the lunch date. And then the other night at her place.”
It makes too much sense.
She doesn’t want me to do what I do best, nor does she want Cannon because he’d be illegal as hell. She doesn’t even know what Kase could do. How else am I supposed to catch—
“My maid.” It’s perfect.
“The one you fired—Elsa? What about her?”
“She’s an actress. We can hire her to play a part. Like a single heiress. If he falls for the bait, we know he’s after the money.” We won’t know why, but it’d be enough for Diana and Lond
on to cut them out of their lives for good.
“And you could build a nice online persona for her. One that Danielson would believe.” She works her lower lip between her teeth, her forehead furrowed. “I don’t like it. What if he’s dangerous?”
“Cannon can tail her like he did you.”
She frowns. “Did he follow me while we were apart?”
“I don’t take your safety lightly.”
“But you do with Elsa?”
I put my hand on her thigh. Warm skin soothes my palms. I lock her gaze so she knows how serious I am. “London, we have to do something. If they’re truly trying to get to you and Diana, enough to tamper with your company, they aren’t going to make it easy to find. This way, Elsa gets a gig and maybe we’ll get answers.”
Employing Elsa is what does it. The girl might’ve tried to fuck me, but London’s a better person than me.
“Do you have the number to her housekeeping service?”
* * *
London
I open the door to Elsa. Her arms are crossed and she’s tapping her foot. She’s wearing worn athletic shoes, yoga pants with rainbow swirls on them and a baggy T-shirt. Her glossy mahogany hair is up in a messy bun.
Jacobi only called her an hour ago. She almost hung up on him, but he got out the words “acting job” in time.
“It better not be a porno.” Her foot doesn’t quit moving. Tap-tap-tap.
“It’s not. But it might not be what you’re hoping for.” She rolls her eyes, so I add, “But we’ll pay a lot.”
“Fine.” She stomps in. Her posture is rigid and her arms are more hugging herself than defensive.
“Neither of us has hard feelings with how things ended.”
She glances over her shoulder, suspicion in her eyes. “I’m just a maid. It’s not like you have real competition.”
This woman has a lot of chips on her shoulder, and probably a ton of valid reasons to continue to carry them. “I’m hoping you can be real competition. For another guy.”
Redeemed: Ruined and Redeemed Duet - Book 2 Page 18