The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  Josie planted her elbows on the rolled arm of the chair and clasped her hands at chest level. She wished he would fight because she was itching for one. If Matthew was going to own his mistakes with Grace then he could answer for others that were personal to Josie.

  "Why didn't you tell me about her when we were together?"

  "Because I cared about us." He answered as if he had filled himself up with honesty just for her.

  "Oh, please." Josie chortled. "You can do better than that."

  Matthew was amused, too. He loosened his tie. "It's the truth, Josie. We were both tired of carrying around all that baggage about our parents leaving us or dying on us. We were so good together. Neither of us needed any more misery."

  "But Grace was alive and she was family," Josie reminded him.

  "She was trouble. You would never have understood that," Matthew answered. "Why do you paint every failed relationship with your mother's brush?"

  "Because you knew what family meant to me. If you cared about me you would have told me Grace existed," Josie countered. "That would have been decent."

  Matthew laughed outright and the sound startled Josie. Archer, quiet and introspective, didn't throw his head back and laugh like that. He didn't lounge on the sofa, comfortable in her house as if he owned it, even if he had every right. But here was Matthew acting like it was yesterday, as if the long day was over and it was good to be together at night.

  "And if I did tell, you would have insisted I find her. Women and lawyers, they push until you do exactly what they want." He chuckled sadly. "As far as I was concerned Grace was as dead as my parents.''

  "Then why resurrect her?" Josie demanded, unable to drop the subject, proving his point.

  Matthew rested his elbows on his knees. His shoulders were broad, his legs long. He was tan, sinewy and there was something new in him, too. It was an impatience with her that felt jagged, as if it would wound her if she didn't stop moving.

  "I didn't do that, the campaign did. And I would like to point out, Josie, that you're taking on some kind of hurt that isn't even yours. My wife is dead and the police think my sister killed her. You're low on the wronged-woman meter at the moment."

  Matthew's head pulled up ever so slightly. This was a mirror of Grace's involuntary gesture. There was that same glint deep in the eye, that same peevishness that flickered when either brother or sister felt cornered. Funny, Josie had never noticed that in Matthew before. But why should she have? They had never weathered a crisis together; theirs had been a perfect life. Yet, as quickly as she saw the flash of annoyance, it was gone.

  "You're right," she admitted quietly. "You don't owe me a thing. You never did. But you have a responsibility to Grace no matter who brought her back into your life. I'm sure Tim got hold of you the minute Grace called your office. I'd like to know why you didn't drop everything."

  "I didn't drop everything because I was with very important, very nervous people, Josie," Matthew explained.

  "Money type people?"

  "People who have connections and expectations," he countered. "Some of them share my ideals, most of them want to profit from my candidacy, and I want their money and connections. Politics makes for strange bedfellows and I wasn't going to kick off the covers and go running until everyone was tucked in tight. I won't apologize for taking care of business."

  "I didn't ask you to," Josie pointed out even though that wasn't quite honest. Matthew called her on it.

  "But you expected it and these people expected me to act in their best interest. They were watching closely to see how I reacted to a crisis."

  "I've never liked those people," Josie said as if that wasn't old news.

  "That was pretty clear when we parted ways. You hated politics. You would have hated it as much as my wife did if you'd found out how it really works," Matthew said. "When Michelle killed herself, the party conducted a poll to find out how many sympathy votes I was going to get."

  "That's pitiful," Josie scoffed.

  "That's the reality. Now they'll do another poll." Matthew distracted himself by running a finger along the edge of Josie's coffee table. "They'll want to find out if I'm still perceived as a grieving widower or a man of questionable character. They'll want to know if Michelle and Grace are perceived to be tragic figures or two very disturbed women. The latter would bring my judgment into question."

  "I'm a little curious about that myself," Josie pointed out. "So what are they? Tragic or disturbed?"

  "Semantics, Josie," Matthew said dismissively. "We all had issues. I'd venture to guess you still have a few, too."

  "Issues serious enough to kill for? To commit suicide over?" Josie asked.

  "Issues," Matthew stated flatly. "Look, I just had to do some damage control and buy us all some time before I made a move. I'll answer your questions, but you've got to understand that I was working for your benefit as much as mine. Grace's arrest, Michelle's suicide and an ex-lover retained to defend my sister is going to bring an incredible amount of attention." Matthew spread his arms over the back of the couch. The tip of his shoe knocked gently against the table now. His eyes flitted to Max, sleeping on the floor, then back to Josie. ''I didn't think you'd want to see our history splashed all over the news tomorrow, so I sent Tim to tell you what was up. It was just like you to blow him off."

  "Nice speech," Josie mumbled as she got up.

  He was right. Her reaction to all this was a knee-jerk one. Her indignation was misdirected, sparked because Matthew hadn't come running when he heard she was in the mix. That was so unprofessional on her part that Josie gave an inch.

  "Do you want a drink?"

  "I could use one," Matthew answered. "But before you bring out the chips and salsa, maybe I should tell you that I'm not thrilled Grace went to you for help."

  "Don't let the nest fool you, Matthew. I've still got the smarts. Besides, it's not your call."

  Josie went to the kitchen unwilling to hear that he didn't believe she was still invincible. But that was the coward's way out. There could be questions about her being the right choice but there shouldn't be any regarding her ability. Needing to set him straight, Josie went back, only to pause when she saw him. Matthew McCreary was hunkered down beside Max, stroking his fur, lost in thought. She leaned against the wall under the half-finished archway, crossed her arms and watched. He noticed her a minute later but turned his attention back to Max.

  "What's up with you, Matthew?" she asked quietly. "You never cared about what anyone thought. You were your own man. Now you're getting all your ducks in a row before you open your mouth."

  "That was a long time ago, Josie," he said, still intent on petting Max. "Now I have a chance to do something big and my past is interfering. I just wanted to accomplish something for me, for the man I am today."

  "But you've been successful. There's the company. You have all the money you'll ever need."

  Matthew shook his head and stood up. He looked toward her French doors, looked out of them as if the answer was beyond them both.

  "That company belonged to my father. Grace belonged to my parents. When she was gone and the company was basically running itself, I thought it was my time to begin my real life. I sure screwed that up. My wife is dead, my sister is arrested for murder and I'm trying to figure out how all this happened."

  Matthew wandered around the living room, touching the things that belonged to Josie as if he found comfort in them.

  "Do you know the first thing the party does when you decide to run for office? They ask if you have anything to hide. It's sort of like a moral strip search. Do you have a fetish? A girlfriend? A boyfriend? Do you think you see aliens? Nothing is sacred."

  "Did you tell them everything?"

  "I told them enough. I told them about you." He flashed her a so-bright smile that faded with the next admission. "I told them about Grace. When they wanted to find her I told them—no, I ordered them— not to. They did it a
nyway. They just dug around in my life like it was a sandbox. I resented it."

  "What were you afraid they'd find?"

  "Just what they found." Matthew was at the patio doors again. He rested his back against the glass.

  "Grace was a hurt, rebellious teenager when she took off. And make no mistake, Josie, it was Grace who left. After our parents died I did everything I could to help her, I loved her like no one else ever had. It was all a waste of energy. The years went by and it was like she never existed. So when the people who run my campaign wanted to reconnect us, I assumed they would find an angry, bitter woman. I needed that like a second head. Besides, I wasn't sure how Michelle would react."

  "Was she thrilled to find out about the prodigal sister?" Josie asked.

  "Actually, Michelle adored Grace. I guess it shouldn't have been a surprise. Michelle was an only child, she didn't have close friends. Everyone seemed to want Grace around except me."

  "But your sister isn't bitter and angry. Didn't that make you want to mend fences?"

  "Truth?" Matthew asked. Josie nodded. "No. Can't say that it did. She had a whole life without me, same as I had without her. We had nothing in common. But I'm not going to turn my back on her if that's what you're worried about. So tell me, what are we going to do now?'

  "What we're not going to do is make this more complicated than it is." Josie said, feeling better now that Matthew was onboard. "I put in a call to the deputy DA. Monday morning I'll make a motion to have the charges dismissed. If that doesn't work we'll have a bail hearing. After that I'll ask Grace if she wants someone else to take over. She should make her own decisions even if you are footing the bill."

  "I'm not." Matthew shook his head. "Grace has always shared fifty-fifty in the company profits. The money was taken care of through accountants and electronic transfers. As far as I was concerned, she was just another entry on the balance sheet until about a year and half ago"

  "So do you know where she was all those years?" Josie asked.

  "Around," Matthew said. "She ran away from school and then she ran away from home. By the time she was nineteen, I stopped looking for her. I didn't keep track of her."

  "And now?" Josie prodded.

  "And now," Matthew mused. "Now, I will do what needs to be done. Michelle would have wanted it and I know for a fact Grace is no murderer. I don't want to see her railroaded."

  "She's not being railroaded, Matthew," Josie said. "There is cause. Grace was on the balcony with Michelle that night.'

  The color drained from Matthew McCreary's face. His jaw clenched. His head swung to the side. He hit his thigh with his fist.

  "She told you that?" he asked quietly, his eyes wide.

  "She did."

  "Damn." Matthew McCreary put one hand over his mouth, muffling his curse. Josie was beside him the next second, offering assurances and comfort.

  "All this means is that she was wrong not to tell anyone before now," Josie said as she put her arm around his shoulder and held tight. The cotton of his shirt was cool and smooth and beneath it she could feel the warmth of his skin.

  "I don't believe it," he said as he dropped his hand. "I don't believe she told you that."

  "Don't jump to conclusions . . ." Josie backed away and took his hands in hers, holding them close to her chest. He needed to understand the consequences of Grace's action but, before Josie could explain, the front door opened. Josie turned her head, Matthew looked up. Hannah Sheraton stared back at both of them with a scowl on her face and suspicion in her spring green eyes.

  "I'm home," she said flatly. "Unless you'd rather I wasn't."

  CHAPTER 15

  "He could have gone to the office on Monday. You didn't have to see him here."

  "I don't have to do anything," Josie reminded Hannah for the third time. "And it didn't make sense to send him away if there was a chance he knew something that would help my client."

  Josie leaned against the door of the room that had once been her office. It had become Hannah's place without either of them really noticing. There were clothes on the chair, on the floor, spilling out of drawers. Hannah's easel was near the window, along with a jumble of paints and brushes laid out on a narrow table in an order only she understood. The red lacquer stool Hannah had brought from the Malibu house, the last place she lived with her own mother, was by the bed. In the corner was a desk with Hannah's books and a picture of Josie torn out of the newspaper when she had defended Archer. There were cosmetics and scarves. There was a jar of seashells, a gift from Billy Zuni, that Hannah pretended meant nothing. That the jar had not been relegated to the trash or a closet said differently.

  Now Hannah was sitting on her bed, cross-legged, her hair plaited into two braids that she pinned atop her head. She was beautiful. She was a pain in the ass. Hannah thought the world revolved around her when, in fact, it revolved around no one: not teenager, not politician, not even a rich woman in jail.

  "Yeah, I guess it was smart," she mumbled, picking at her purple nail polish. "It just looked weird to have a guy here. I mean a guy who isn't Archer."

  "Matthew McCreary is a very old friend whose sister is in trouble. This wasn't exactly the way I would have chosen to see him again, but I wasn't going to turn him away."

  Hannah's gaze slid toward Josie, "I think he's more than a friend."

  "And you say that because?" Josie led her on, curious about what Hannah thought she had seen.

  "Have you forgotten how many men my mother had around?" Hannah answered smugly. "It's not hard to tell when a man wants something."

  "And have you forgotten I'm not your mother and Matthew is a successful businessman? A politician?"

  "Like that matters? Sometimes there's just the pull, you know? Like my mom. She used to say that sometimes there was just something about a man that made her crazy. I'm never going to be like that. I didn't think you were like that."

  Hannah uncoiled her legs and did a half- somersault as she got beneath the sheet then pulled it up around her shoulders. The bedspread had been kicked to the floor.

  "Some women know when it's not real Hannah. Some women won't jeopardize what they have even if there is a pull." Josie almost took the sheet to tuck under Hannah's chin, then thought better of it. Instead, she turned out the light and changed the subject. "I'm really proud of you. I'm not just talking about selling your paintings, either. I'm talking about the fact that you didn't freak when I left the gallery. You've come such a long way."

  When Hannah stayed quiet, Josie took a few steps to the window. Hannah's room sat at the juncture of Hermosa Avenue and the end of their walk street. Thanks to the double panes, noise was minimal. Because of the right-angled bank of windows the room was flooded with moonlight.

  Deep in thought, Josie closed the plantation shutters one by one. Her mind was a jumble with everything that had happened that day, not the least of which was Hannah's reaction to seeing Matthew touch Josie. In Hannah's mind there were only two reasons a man touched a woman: to hurt her or as a prelude to sex. Hannah didn't like either option with the tall, good-looking man who eyed her with the same suspicion she afforded him.

  "He thought I was your daughter. He didn't like that." Hannah's voice was muffled as she snuggled into the pillow but Josie heard, and there was no arguing the point.

  She had seen the flight of questions and conclusions in Matthew's eyes. A black lover? A Middle Easterner? A husband in the wings? A bastard child? As quickly as those thoughts came, they went. Matthew was smart—he knew the timing was off. The girl was too old to be Josie's daughter. The truth, when it was told, fascinated him. Josie had never wanted children and here was one, almost grown up, smart, sharp-eyed and not even her biological child.

  "Matthew was just surprised. He didn't think I had a maternal bone in my body." Josie closed another shutter.

  "He's wrong, you know. You're . . ."

  Josie almost turned her head to look at Hannah but she tuned
out when she noticed the big car across the street and the man leaning across the hood. It was dark outside. Hermosa Avenue was wide so Josie couldn't see his face but she could feel his interest; it was as if he was looking through the house and into Hannah's room, zeroing in on Josie, forcing her to acknowledge him.

  Adjusting the louvers, Josie narrowed her eyes but all she could make out was the angle of a shoulder and the shape of a head.

  "Josie?" Hannah was sitting up in her bed, the sheet falling away as she reached for the light.

  "Don't." Josie held out a hand to stop her.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing," she said too quickly. "I thought I saw something across the street."

  Josie looked out the window again. The car was still there but the man was gone, yet the unsettling sense of being under surveillance lingered. Josie closed the windows and locked them.

  "Josie, it's too hot. I'll die in here," Hannah complained.

  "I'll leave the air-conditioning on all night. I'll feel better when the trees grow up and give us a little privacy from the street." Josie held the sheet high and Hannah lay down once more. Before she left, Josie put a hand on the girl's head. "Congratulations again."

  "Thanks." Hannah rolled on her side and Josie could hear contentment in her voice.

  Josie went to her own room. There she turned on the news, put away her clothes, waited for Hannah to make her nightly pilgrimage and check to make sure Josie was still in the house and all was well. The girl looked in only three times tonight. Hannah was growing out of her obsessions and compulsions and Josie was growing more comfortable with her new role. When she was sure Hannah was down for the night, Josie took her father's gun out of the drawer in the bedside table. For a long while she sat and looked out onto her patio, waiting to be sure that the world around them slept. As the night wore on, the gun in her lap grew as heavy as the feeling in her heart. Something bad was coming down the road. Maybe it was only the realization that she had, for the first time, taken on more than she could handle. Whatever it was, it would come in its own time. Finally, the gun was put away but the feeling lingered on.