Truly, Madly

by Unknown

  Slowly, he unbuttoned. I pulled off my cami, hesitated with my bra. I could feel Sean’s searing gaze.

  Suddenly chicken, I kept the bra on, slipping the straps off my shoulders. I jumped into the bed, pulling the sheet up to my chin. I patted the space next to me. Dovie would be there any second.

  Sean’s shirt opened to a white tank beneath. Solid, enticing muscles defined his arms, his chest. Slowly, he pulled the tank over his head.

  My mouth dropped open. “What happened to you?”

  A thin red five-inch surgical scar stretched downward from his left collarbone. It was a recent scar—it hadn’t fully healed.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Sean dove into the bed next to me. He drew the blankets to his waist, covering his jeans, and leaned up on his elbow. His gaze locked on mine. I couldn’t look away from the sadness in his gray depths. Instinctively, I leaned into him.

  He cupped my face, his thumb sliding along my cheekbone, my lip.

  Drawing in a shaky breath, I wanted to question, to say something, but the look in his eyes asked me to wait. Besides, there was nothing I wanted more at that moment than his kiss.

  As if in slow motion, his head lowered to mine, his lips a whisper away from my own. “Shall I kiss you?” he asked.

  His husky voice pulled me closer to him, leaving me suddenly wishing this wasn’t pretend at all.

  “Do I need to beg?” I asked.

  Dovie knocked again and yelled, “LucyD?” The doorknob jiggled; the front door creaked open.

  His lips quivered in a faint smile just before his mouth met mine.

  The kiss was slow and sensual, wrapping me in spirals of desire, leaving me wanting more, more, more. He shifted on top of me, his elbows bracing his weight. The heat of his body against mine nearly did me in.

  I tried to think of all the reasons why this scenario was a bad idea.

  At this very moment I couldn’t think of one, though there were probably many.

  In the back of my mind, an alarm was going off, warning bells blaring, but I pushed an internal snooze button.

  Through my sheer pleasure, I heard footsteps approach, then fade away. A second later, the front door closed.

  Sean’s kiss slid from my lips to my ear, my neck, then back up again.

  “She’s gone,” he whispered.

  “I know.”

  Neither of us moved. His chest beat against mine, our hearts in rhythm.

  Eyes closed, he rested his forehead against mine, our noses touching. The rest of us nestled together in the most intimate of ways, making me want him more than ever.

  “This isn’t pretend,” Sean whispered.

  “No,” I agreed.

  His eyes flashed open. “We should stop?”

  There were so many reasons to. But I didn’t want to think about them. I just wanted this moment to last. But I had to be realistic and protect my heart.

  Stupid Cupid’s Curse.

  Slowly, I nodded.

  He gently kissed my forehead and levered himself off me.

  I closed my eyes, wishing for things that could never be.

  TWENTY-ONE

  I was changing Grendel’s kitty litter when I suddenly realized my visions of Sean and me had come true. My breath caught, held.

  Slowly, I let it out in a long exhale.

  How? Why?

  Not having the answers frustrated me.

  As I tidied the rest of my cottage, I tried not to think about saying no to Sean. My heart was aching. There were so many reasons Sean and I shouldn’t get together. Cupid’s Curse, for one. Cara, another. We worked together. We barely knew each other.

  It was true Sean and I had met a few days ago. . . . But I did know him. And he knew me. It wasn’t something I could explain—I could just feel it.

  Which made this a very tricky situation indeed.

  Because I could see myself falling in love with sexy Sean Donahue.

  It was the last thing I wanted to do. Because losing him would tear me apart. And there was no doubt I would lose him eventually. We Valentines just weren’t made for long-lasting commitments.

  I tried to look on the bright side. I could enjoy what we had while it lasted. Dance the dance and all that, and simply ignore the dark cloud hanging over the slippery dance floor.

  Blowing out a breath, I wondered about the scar on Sean’s chest. I wished he hadn’t left before we could talk about what had happened to him. He’d obviously had a serious operation. Was it why he left the fire department?

  As soon as Sean had left my cottage, I’d noticed I had several missed calls on my cell. One from Em (she was meeting with Joseph and would be late), one from Raphael (checking in), one from Marisol (who was working the graveyard at the animal hospital but wanted details ASAP and oh, by the way, was going with Butch the next day to the Patriots game), one from Dovie (“Hubba, hubba! He’s a good choice, LucyD. Your babies are going to be beautiful!”). Babies. I almost choked. The last call was from Aiden Holliday (he would be stopping by tonight at eight to take a statement from me). Still nothing from my parents.

  I’d wondered about Raphael and Maggie. Were they together?

  One thing I knew for sure—if Raphael was with Maggie, it meant that she and my father had never been an item. Raphael was too loyal to overstep those bounds.

  I changed into a navy blue tracksuit, pulled my hair back in a headband, and tended my feet with the supplies Dovie had bought. The pain was subsiding, much to my relief.

  I was doing my best to not think about Rachel or who may have killed her, though Elena was the only one on my list.

  Before I thought better of it, I called Michael Lafferty to check on him. He didn’t answer.

  Flipping on the TV, I channel-surfed to see if any wealthy Americans had gone missing in St. Lucia (none had). I shut the TV off when I heard a car on the crushed-shell drive outside.

  Pulling open the door, I saw Aiden Holliday standing near his sedan as another car pulled up behind him.

  “There’s someone who wanted to see you,” Aiden said. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  The back door of the second car flew open. Max O’Brien bounded out, took one look at me, and came running.

  Tears welled in my eyes as I bent down to catch him. He landed with a thump against my chest, his little arms squeezing me tight. I lifted him up, not letting go.

  Finally, he pulled back and looked into my face, a smile stretching ear to ear. He was missing a bottom tooth, I noticed, thinking he was the most adorable little boy I’d ever seen.

  “Thanks for findin’ me,” he said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  A flashbulb popped to our right. Aiden took off after the cameraman who’d trespassed.

  “Are you famous?” Max asked me.

  “Not as much as you are.”

  He giggled.

  I soon found that four-year-olds were heavier than they looked. My arms burned, and I had to put him down. Katherine and John were next, hugging me and thanking me.

  The ocean melodically crashed against the cliffs, and sundown had brought a chill. I invited everyone inside and was surprised when they declined.

  “We’re off to Disney World. To recover,” Katherine joked. “Our flight takes off at midnight. We just couldn’t leave without seeing you first.” Her eyes, I noticed, were filled with life, with joy. It was such a difference from the images on TV.

  “Thank you,” I said. And meant it. I didn’t know how much I longed to see Max until he came barreling toward me.

  “I think we can stand here all night, thanking you,” John said, “but we should go.”

  I gave Max another hug.

  “And here’s this,” Katherine said, pulling an envelope from her bag and handing it to me.

  “What is it?”

  “The reward money.”

  I pushed the envelope back to her. “No, no. I don’t want it. I didn’t find Max for the money.”

  “We
know that, Lucy. But it is what it is. The people who raised it would want you to have it. You’ll put it to good use, I’m sure.” She pressed it into my hand, gave me another hug.

  I waved as they drove off until I couldn’t see them anymore.

  “Thanks for bringing them,” I said as soon as Aiden was close enough to hear me after returning from his chase.

  “Thought you might like that.” He strode to his car, opened the door, and pulled out a leather briefcase. “I have some paperwork to go through with you.”

  “You didn’t have to come out here. I would’ve come to you.”

  “I don’t mind.” He followed me into the house, looked around. “You alone?”

  “Em’s out till later,” I said.

  His face fell. Ah. The real reason he’d come here—not to see me, but to see Em. Poor guy. He didn’t stand a chance—not with Joseph in the picture.

  We worked until nine, going through all the events leading up to finding Max.

  “You’ll have to come in and sign the official statement, but that should only take a minute or so.”

  “I’ll do it on Monday.”

  He gathered up his things and rose. Then abruptly sat back down. “I—”

  “What?”

  Grendel dragged himself out of bed and stretched his way into the room, paw by paw, stopping at his food bowl to see if there was anything in it worth his interest.

  Aiden pulled another file from his bag and dropped it on the coffee table. “There’s another unsolved case . . .”

  I stared at the file on the table as if it would jump up and bite me.

  “And I spoke with some colleagues. We’d like to discuss hiring you as a consultant to the state police.”

  “You know I’m not psychic in the traditional sense. There’s little I can offer.”

  “Not true, Lucy. Your ability to find lost objects can help us tremendously. Maybe not everyone, but a majority.”

  “How?”

  “The same way you found Max. Focus on what the missing person has with them when they disappear. An iPod, a cell phone, earrings, a sweatshirt. Anything that was a gift from someone else.”

  The weight of what he was asking hit me, knocking me backward into the couch cushions. The file on the table tempted me.

  Aiden tapped the manila folder. “This is the case of Jamie Gallagher, one of many missing person cases. She was sixteen when she disappeared on the way home from school one day last winter.”

  A lump lodged in my throat. “You do know most of the cases won’t end up as Max’s did.”

  “I’m aware. But any lead is helpful. And if it’s a body we recover, you can’t imagine the relief for the family just knowing. Being able to have closure. Let me leave the file here. You can bring it when you come by headquarters. Just think about it, Lucy.”

  “I will.”

  He held out his hand. I shook it. Images swirled, flying past at a dizzying speed. I wobbled, pulled my hand away, and narrowed my gaze at him. “Was that a test?”

  He blinked innocently.

  “Your camera is on the ocean floor, somewhere off Nantasket Beach.”

  He grinned. “You pass.”

  The front door opened and Em strode in. Her cheeks reddened when she spotted Aiden.

  Wasn’t that interesting?

  “Am I interrupting?” she asked.

  “I’m just leaving,” Aiden said.

  “Me, too, actually.” Em held out car keys. “I just came back to bring you your car, Lucy.”

  “You’re leaving?” I asked.

  “Going home.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I gave my notice today. Time to face the music and go see my mother tomorrow. Could you give me a ride to the rail station?” she asked. “I think I can catch the last train into town.”

  “I can take you,” Aiden volunteered quickly.

  “I couldn’t ask—”

  “I’m going that way,” he insisted.

  “Okay, then.”

  I watched the way the two of them looked at each other. Joseph better watch out.

  Her face suddenly crunched into a frown. “I’m being selfish! Are you going to be okay here alone, Lucy? I can stay awhile; we can talk.”

  Honestly, I was talked out. “I’m fine. Plus, Dovie’s not far.”

  “All right.” Em hugged me. “Get some rest, okay?”

  I locked the door behind them. My cell rang and I hurried to answer. It was Sean.

  “Hi,” I said. “Is Thoreau okay? He was alone a long time today.”

  “Yeah, but I hope Sam can get the stains out of his dining room rug. Anything going on there?”

  I laughed, but it was hard with the lump in my throat. I glanced at the file on Jamie Gallagher. I had a big decision to make. “This and that. Em just left, going home. Holliday came by with papers. Oh! And I got to see Max.” I shared all the details.

  “Wish I’d been there to see that,” he said softly.

  “Me, too.”

  I wished he was here, period.

  TWENTY-TWO

  If there was sainthood for patience, I’d have achieved the status by now.

  Sean and I were in his car, going 75 miles per hour southbound on I-95.

  I’d been with him for nearly five hours straight, and he hadn’t brought up his scar once.

  Sean had picked me up early, and we’d confined Thoreau to my kitchen so Grendel could taunt him from atop the refrigerator. Then we’d driven to the storage unit to look through Rachel’s belongings. Now we were on our way to Rhode Island to see Elena . . . not a word.

  I should just ask.

  But I wanted him to tell me, to share.

  “You’re quiet,” he said.

  “Just thinking.”

  “About Rachel?”

  “Yeah,” I lied.

  “She didn’t have much, did she?”

  The storage unit had been smaller than I would have thought. All her belongings had been neatly boxed and labeled. There had been very little—a small dinette set with two chairs, a couch, a full-sized bed and frame, a couple of end tables, a thirteen-inch TV set, and a chunky coffee table. Three boxes held her clothes. A fourth contained assorted kitchen things. Personal items had been packed into one small box.

  Within a jewelry box lay a couple pairs of cheap earrings, a gold bracelet, and a heart-shaped locket that held two pictures, a man and a woman, who I assumed—based on the conversation with Marilyn yesterday—were Rachel’s parents.

  Traffic slowed on the highway. I’d taken this route many times with Raphael to see the Pawtucket Red Sox play at McCoy Stadium. Elena didn’t live far from the field, on a picturesque side road dotted every half mile with 1950s-style ranch houses and lined with tall maple trees. The only drawback to the neighborhood was the commuter train track that ran behind the houses.

  Elena’s house was the last on the street, a dead end. Trimmed hedges formed a natural L-shaped fence that followed the shared property line with the closest neighbor and also blocked the view of the train tracks at the rear of the property. The other side of the yard dead-ended into a six-foot-tall wooden fence separating the yard from a thick copse of woods, probably to protect the nicely landscaped yard from hungry deer.

  There was a Honda Civic parked in the stone driveway. As we walked up the cobbled path to the door, the Providence commuter train shrieked past, headed to South Station in Boston. The earth quaked.

  My legs were shaking a little, too. Mostly because I didn’t know what to expect from Elena Hart. I also noticed Sean had brought his gun with him today. I, apparently, wasn’t the only one nervous.

  Sean rang the doorbell.

  The house had been freshly painted in a cool shade of yellow. Green shutters bracketed the front picture window. Freshly swept steps and two planters of potted mums welcomed us. Everything was neat, tidy. Perfect.

  The door opened. A woman peered out. Sleek blonde hair fell in waves, framing her oval face. Dark
blue eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

  “Elena Hart?” Sean asked.

  With a wary smile, she said, “Actually, it’s Delancey now.”

  “I’m Sean Donahue, a private investigator, and this is Lucy Valentine.” He passed her a business card. “If you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to ask you a few questions about Rachel Yurio.”

  Elena’s eyes widened. “Rachel? I haven’t seen Rachel in,” she paused, “probably five or six years now. Wow, what a blast from the past.”

  Sean said, “Do you mind if we come in?”

  Stepping aside, she held the door open in invitation. She wore dark jeans, a pink cable-knit sweater. Barefoot, her footsteps didn’t make a sound on the oak floor. Her toenails were painted a sedate pale pink.

  She wasn’t as I had imagined her—hard and rough around the edges. A badass mean girl. I supposed everyone grew up sometime.

  “Not at all, but I can’t imagine I have any information useful to you. Like I said, it’s been a long time. What exactly are you investigating?”

  Sean and I glanced at each other. She didn’t know. Or was pretending she didn’t know.

  The most had been made of the small living room. Two cushy love seats faced each other, a glass-topped coffee table sandwiched between them. A brick fireplace was fronted with a wrought-iron screen. Creamy gold colored the walls. Several photos of Elena with a dark-haired man and two babies, a boy and a girl, decorated the mantel, and there had to be a dozen framed pictures of children’s artwork hanging on the wall. It was a cozy room, friendly and welcoming. The furniture, the art, the photos—all were such a far cry from what Rachel had possessed. It was a depressing comparison.

  “Cute kids,” I said. “How old?”

  “Two and three. They’re at the park right now with their dad,” she added. Twisting her wedding band, she glanced at the sofa. “Please sit down.”

  On guard I sat in the love seat facing the picture window. Sean sank down next to me. I cleared my throat. “Rachel had been missing for years. Her body was found a couple of days ago. She’d been murdered and buried in Great Esker Park.”

  Elena’s hand shot to her mouth to cover a gasp. She sat on the opposite love seat and stared at us. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “And you’re here why? You think I did it?”