* * *
The address Cassidy had sent him took him into Pacific Heights, an upscale San Francisco neighborhood of mansions, many of which were set back behind circular drives or iron gates. At this particular four-story home, the gates were open, and Cassidy's Wild Garden van was in the driveway. Suspecting he'd be most likely to find her in the back, he avoided the front of the house and headed down the drive.
The backyard was a definite work in progress. There was a lot of dirt and building materials off to one side. Stakes had been laid around various parts of the yard. A massive deck off the back of the house boasted potted plants and pallets of small flowers. Bricks were stacked and waiting to be placed somewhere, perhaps around one of the garden areas.
As he moved farther into the yard, he saw Cassidy on her knees working on an oval area by the deck. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her work jeans and tank top were dusted with dirt and stray twigs. Her face was red from probably both the sun and the exertion, but she looked happy. This was her element. Planting always made her smile.
He remembered one Saturday when his mom had asked for Cassidy's help in the garden. She'd been over the moon with the invitation. He, of course, would have preferred to take her to the beach, rather than help her and his mom plant vegetables. But Cassidy had been so excited, he hadn't been able to say no.
She'd made a point of checking on that garden every time she came over, impatient to see a bloom of some sort. Unfortunately, she'd left before the garden had started to flourish. He could still remember looking at it through his bedroom window and wanting to go rip out every tomato and zucchini he could find just because she wasn't there to see them.
He hadn't really understood Cassidy's love affair with gardening back then, but now he could see that planting something and watching it grow gave her back the control she'd lost over her life. Not only that, it gave her a chance to make something good happen, to put some light into her dark world.
Watching her work, he could see the passion for what she did in every movement, and it made him question where his passion for his job was. Did he love firefighting the way she loved gardening? He certainly loved parts of it, and he was good at his job. It gave him satisfaction to save someone's property, sometimes their life, but sometimes he couldn't save either. Sometimes it was hard to witness so much destruction day after day. Whereas Cassidy was bringing new life to the world in her planting. She was creating something new, and it felt a bit more inspiring.
He took a step forward and a branch crackled under his feet. Cassidy whirled around, jumping to her feet, as if preparing for fight or flight.
"It's just me," he said quickly.
She put a hand to her heart. "I thought you would text me before you came over."
"Sorry."
"It's fine. I didn't hear you come into the yard. How long have you been standing there?"
"Just a minute. You looked busy; I didn't want to interrupt you."
"I can get lost in my work." She picked up a nearby towel and brushed the dirt off her hands.
"I'm glad you contacted me, Cassidy."
"I had a moment of temporary insanity."
He grinned at her dark words. "Or maybe you were actually being smart. Two heads are better than one. But if I hadn't heard from you, I was going to get in touch. I just saw Emma."
She immediately stiffened. "Is there news?"
"Nothing yet. Max is conducting more interviews today. Mrs. Faulkner has not yet been interrogated. But someone unexpected did call Emma."
"Who was that?"
"Lindsay Grayson."
"Lindsay called Emma? Why? I didn't realize they knew each other. Was she looking for me?"
"Actually, she was looking for me. Emma told Lindsay she'd give me her number."
"Did you call her back?"
"Not yet. I was going to, but…"
"But what?" she challenged, a harder light coming into her eyes.
"It felt like a conversation you should be there for."
"She called you, not me."
There was a definite edge to her voice. "She was your friend."
"It seems like maybe the two of you were better friends."
"You sound jealous."
"I'm not. That's ridiculous. You probably dated the entire cheerleading squad after I left."
"Which would be none of your business, since you did leave."
She frowned. "Right. But it feels a little odd. Lindsay was my friend. She knew I liked you. She heard me talk about you. It's just weird that the two of you…" She cleared her throat. "It doesn't matter. It's not my business. I don't care at all. And it was a long time ago anyway. You should call her back on your own. She might want to talk to you in private."
"Are you done? Wow, I used to think you were on the quiet side, but that's changed."
She made a face at him. "I'm a bit unnerved these days."
"I get it, but here's the deal. Lindsay and I became friends after you left, and then senior year we started hanging out more. I wasn't interested in having a girlfriend, but she was easy to have around. It wasn't until I asked her to the senior prom that I realized she was more interested than I was, but I didn't want to hurt her, so I took her to the dance. And after that, I told her I thought we should just be friends. I was graduating. She still had two more years of high school."
"I'm betting she wasn't happy about that."
"She wasn't. She was angry. But that was that. And there's one more thing. I never slept with her."
Cassidy stared back at him. "You could have."
"I know I could have, but I didn't. Are we clear?"
Ten
"We're clear." Cassidy felt a stunning sense of relief that Hunter hadn't slept with Lindsay. She didn't know why the idea had bothered her so much, but it had.
"Do you want to call her together?" he asked.
"I guess." As she looked into Hunter's compelling and pointed gaze, she found herself getting distracted by his face, his dark-blue eyes, his full, sexy mouth, the scruff of beard on his jaw, the waves in his brown hair.
She'd spent most of the night and half the day telling herself he hadn't looked that good, but that was certainly a lie. He looked even better than she remembered. While the boy of her dreams had been hot, the man in front of her was even more attractive. His shoulders had broadened, his frame had filled out, his jaw had gotten stronger and more determined. In jeans and a T-shirt, he looked incredibly fit, with powerful, muscular arms and long lean legs. She could only imagine what was going on under those clothes.
Her heart started to race and sweat damped her palms as a wave of desire ran through her.
The worst part was that Hunter knew what she was feeling. She could see it in his eyes. No matter how much of her life she had been able to hide from him, she'd never been able to hide the fact that she wanted him.
"Cassidy?"
His husky voice almost undid her. She had no idea if he'd said more than her name in the last five minutes, because she'd completely lost track.
She moved toward the patio table, reaching desperately for her water, hoping the long drink would bring some much-needed cooling.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I'm just warm. It's amazing how hot it is after the storm yesterday. I've been working since dawn. I guess it just caught up to me."
"I don't think it's the work or the weather that's bothering you."
As she sat down at the table, he took the chair across from her. "You're feeling overwhelmed," he said.
"A bit." She was happy that he'd gone for overwhelmed instead of suggesting she was lusting after his body.
"It's understandable. I feel the same way."
She gave him a doubtful look. "You? Hunter Callaway, overwhelmed? I don't think so. You've always been in control, in charge, confident, the kind of guy who goes after what he wants and gets it. I can't believe that's changed."
"Is that how you think of me?"
&
nbsp; "Did I say something that wasn't true?"
"I wanted you, but I didn't get you."
"That wasn't because I didn't want you, too." The admission was probably a bad idea, but it seemed like it was past time to be honest. "But I was living a double life, and I wasn't really the girl you thought I was. I was pretending to be someone I wasn't. I think I always knew deep down that our time together would be short."
"You made it short. You decided when it ended."
"I know. But we can't keep going over old ground. It's pointless."
"That's true."
She took a sip of water. "Sorry I don't have anything to offer you to drink. The Holmans gave me full access to the yard, but not the house."
"I'm fine." He looked around the yard. "This is a magnificent house. The views are spectacular."
"And worth a fortune," she said, happy he'd changed the subject. "The Holmans bought this house last year for twelve million dollars."
"That's a lot of cash."
"I'll say. I can't even imagine how much money they must have to make such an investment."
"And you're doing all the landscaping? That will be profitable."
"It will definitely put the nursery in the black. But more importantly, it will hopefully bring us more high-end customers. We've struggled a bit the last few years. Mary was sick for a while, and after she died, George couldn't keep up with things. He made some bad decisions, but we're getting back on our feet now, and this job will really help."
He gave her a thoughtful look. "I was thinking when I saw you digging in the dirt how happy you looked, just like when you planted that vegetable garden with my mom."
"She was very nice to include me."
"She wasn't being nice. She wanted a helper, and none of her kids liked to garden."
"I thought about that garden after I left. I wondered if all the vegetables came in."
"They did. We were eating salads every night for dinner. Well, the rest of the family was. I couldn't look at a tomato or zucchini without thinking about you."
His words touched her heart. "I thought about you a lot, too. I wondered if you would go into photography or follow in your dad's footsteps. You always seemed a little torn about whether your destiny should be ordained by your family name. It looks like your dad won out."
"I didn't do it for him, but I had to do something, and firefighting is the family business."
"I suspect you're good at it."
"I was doing better before I fell down an elevator shaft."
"What? When did that happen?"
"Last year. It happened during a high-rise fire. I only fell three stories. It could have been worse."
"How badly were you hurt?"
"Broke my foot and a bunch of ribs. While they were healing, I took time off and did some traveling."
"That's when you went to South America."
"Yes. The day I found Tommy's remains was my first day back on the job, and the fire at the Faulkners was the first call. It felt somewhat fateful."
She shook her head at that bit of irony. "I can't even imagine. You remembered right away that it was my house?"
"I did. The past came rushing back."
"I felt the same way when you drove into the parking lot of the nursery. The fourteen years in between just vanished."
He met her gaze. "It's a hell of a thing. Tommy drove us apart and now he brought us back together. He probably wouldn't like it that I was the one who found his remains."
"Oh, I don't know about that. He didn't dislike you nearly as much as you disliked him."
"I'm not sure I believe that."
"He didn't like me the way you did. He was like a brother. You can believe that or not, but it's the truth."
"Then I'll believe it. If we don't lie to each other from here on out, it will probably make things easier."
She nodded. "I agree. I texted you to come over, because I also got a call from someone in my past—David Bellerman."
"What did he have to say?"
"He expressed shock and horror. He spoke to Max earlier. He doesn't want to believe that his parents had anything to do with Tommy's death. Did I mention that David was officially adopted by the Faulkners?"
"No, you didn't."
"They got him when he was six or seven. They treated him much better than the rest of us."
"Then he has a different perspective."
"He does. He thinks Donald's brother, Evan, or one of the kids might have killed Tommy, but he didn't have anything to back up that theory."
"Has he tried to see Geralyn?"
"Yes, but he couldn't get in, either. He expressed sadness about Tommy's death, which I guess doesn't surprise me that much. They both loved basketball, and they'd shoot baskets every night. The old hoop over the garage got a lot of action. It didn't even have a net, but they didn't care. David said we should have a memorial for Tommy, and I feel guilty that I didn't even think about that."
"Things are happening fast."
"I know, but David thought about it."
"You can still organize something if you want to."
"I do want to. Anyway, David said something else that was disturbing."
Hunter leaned forward in his chair. "What's that?"
"He speculated that Donald's death might not have been an accident. Apparently, Donald's car went off the Pacific Coast Highway and crashed on the rocks. It was raining, so it was considered an accident. But now with the fire being arson, David is wondering if someone is out for revenge, and whether the events are tied together. He's worried that he could be a target, because of his special relationship with the Faulkners."
"That's interesting. I wonder if he told the police that."
"I would think so. He seemed pretty worried about it. He wants me to meet him tonight for a drink. I didn't commit either way. He still refuses to admit that Molly existed, but maybe I should go. He might know something that I don't know. He was there after Tommy and I disappeared. He knows what his parents did, how they acted."
Hunter nodded, a gleam in his eyes. "We should definitely meet with him."
She let out a sigh. "I know you want to go but…"
"There's no but; I am going."
"I'm just afraid we're getting in too deep. Maybe we should back away from this, from each other. You have your life; I have mine. Nothing we do will bring Tommy back."
"It's not about that; it's about justice, and I know you want that. Stop trying to push me away."
"I don't want to hurt you again."
"I told you how not to do that—don't run away without a word. And I don't think you're as interested in protecting me as you are in protecting yourself."
"Maybe that's true," she admitted. "I've been in survival mode a long time."
"Look, I don't know what's going to happen with any of this, but let's take it one step at a time." He pulled out his phone. "We can start by calling Lindsay."
As Hunter punched in Lindsay's number, Cassidy took another sip of water, mentally preparing herself to hear Lindsay's effervescent voice. The girl had always talked fast, with an energy that never seemed to flag. On their walks to school, Lindsay would talk nonstop, only occasionally waiting for her to acknowledge a comment before jumping into whatever else was on her mind.
She'd actually liked that Lindsay talked a lot, because it meant she didn't have to say much. She could just listen, and that was easier for her.
Maybe that's why Hunter had been a good fit, too. In high school, he'd certainly had a lot to say, and he'd always had so many friends around, it had been easy to just be by his side or in his shadow.
Was that why he liked her? Because she'd been comfortable in the background?
She frowned at that thought.
He gave her a questioning look. "What?"
"Nothing," she muttered.
Lindsay's phone rang several times and then went to voicemail. Hunter hung up. "We can try her later."
"That's fine. I don't think Li
ndsay will know anything anyway."
"She did grow up next door. You and Lindsay used to walk to school together. Didn't Molly go with you?"
"No. She was being home-schooled, I think. Or maybe she was in the middle of transferring between schools." She paused, frowning at her own lack of recollection. "Why don't I remember that?"
He shrugged. "You had other things on your mind. But speaking of details, I asked my sister Kate to see what she can find out about Molly, but she asked for more information. What else do you remember about her? Did she ever say where she came from, what her parents' names were, how they died, anything that would help us trace her?"
She thought for a moment. "She was born in New Mexico, but her mom brought her to San Francisco to live with her grandmother. Her grandmother's name was Lily. She worked in a jewelry store where she also sold the necklaces she made." An old image ran through her mind: Molly sitting in her bed, running the silver and turquoise pendant up and down the silver chain. "Molly had a necklace that her grandmother had designed for her. It had a beautiful turquoise stone. It felt tribal. Molly said it was supposed to protect her from evil. I don't think it worked."
"What else?"
She tried to remember what other things Molly had told her when they'd turned out the lights at night and talked in the dark until one of them fell asleep. "Her mother—I don't remember her name—she was a waitress when she wasn't in rehab."
Hunter stared back at her, a grim expression tightening his lips. "So, Molly's mother was alive when she was at the Faulkners?"
"I think she was. I don't know. There was one other thing. Her grandmother was sick. She was in the hospital. That's why Molly was at the Faulkners'."
"Is it possible that Molly ran away, just like you did, and the Faulkners didn't want to own up to it? Maybe her grandmother got better, and she ended up back with her."
"I really hope that's the case, but she was only fourteen. It was hard enough to do at sixteen; I'm not sure she could have made it on her own at her age. And I still don't know why everyone pretended she didn't exist."
"We need to find her."
"I would love to find her, but I haven't given you much to go on. Do you think your sister can locate her with what little information we have?"
Secrets We Keep GO PL Page 10