Bound by Deception

by Trish McCallan

  Shrugging, he gave the film a push and sent it sliding across the table to her. “None of it’s proof. At least not strong enough proof to reopen your mother’s case.

  She stared at him for a moment, that flat look harder than ever in her eyes. Dropping her gaze, she carefully picked the film up and slipped it back into her purse. Zipping the pocket up, she pushed back her chair and rose to her feet.

  “I was surprised when I heard you made detective.” She lifted the strap of her purse over her shoulder and stared down at him. The flatness of her face gave way to contempt.

  Don’t ask. Let it go. Let her go.

  “A detective? Really? You? Really?” Pure sarcasm radiated in her voice. “The man always so willing to take other people’s opinions and accept them as his own. Why bother investigating, and drawing your own conclusions, when you can just sit back and let people tell you what to think?” Disgust sharpened her eyes. “But think about this. If I’m right and mom was pregnant when she died, then she didn’t kill herself. And considering she was found hanging by a rope twelve feet from the ceiling, it’s impossible to claim her death was an accident, which means she was murdered.” She caught and held his gaze, her eyes full of fury and disgust…and perhaps a hint of disappointment. “But go ahead. Parrot the status quo. I’ll find someone else, someone willing to put some actual effort into finding out what really happened to my mother.”

  Keeping his face blank, even though irritation tightened his skin, he watched her march to the door. She didn’t wait around to see his reaction to her attack, another change from the girl he’d once known. In the past, she would have kept her eyes on his face, judging the effectiveness of her barbs.

  Once the door closed behind her rigid spine, he swore softly and scrubbed a hand down his face.

  He’d know soon enough whether there was anything to this claim of hers. Rachel Blaine’s autopsy report would indicate whether she’d been pregnant.

  If she had been with child, DNA would have been taken from the fetus. Considering his prior relationship with the deceased, Aaron Hart would have been interviewed extensively. His DNA would have been tested against the child’s. If he’d been the father, the investigating officers would have checked his alibi, motives, financial records, dug into every aspect of his life. The fact Rachel Blaine’s death had been ruled suicide, meant they hadn’t found any evidence to support foul play.

  But it wouldn’t take long to pull the file and do a quick assessment. He doubted there was anything concrete to Rebecca’s claim. But if there was, he’d find evidence of it. Because she was wrong.

  He was a damn good detective.

  Chapter Three

  Frustrated rage fired Becca’s muscles, and lengthened her stride as she shoved open the police department’s door and stepped into the hot, Southern California sunshine. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Rio’s apathy wasn’t squashing the investigation into her mother’s murder. Because that’s what it had been—murder.

  Her mother had been a staunch Catholic. Suicide was a sin. So was abortion. There was no way her mother would have committed suicide while she was pregnant, not when taking her own life meant taking her infant’s as well.

  Someone else had stolen those two lives.

  Since Rio had refused to look into her mother’s death, she’d hire someone who would. She had the resources. She’d use every penny of Harold’s bequest, if that’s what it took, to find out how her mother had ended up with that rope wrapped around her neck.

  The impatient rap of her heels against the concrete caught her attention. She slowed her pace until the sharp crack was less staccato, less demanding. Until her sensible black pumps didn’t broadcast her frustration and fury quite so loudly.

  Part of the annoyance seething inside her was directed at herself, rather than Rio. Butterflies still fluttered in her belly, chills feathered her spine, her skin had tightened and alternated between hot and cold. All signs of sexual arousal. He still turned her on. It didn’t matter that he’d betrayed her, or that they’d spent the last twelve years apart. It didn’t even matter that he’d ignored everything she’d told him just now. Regardless of everything, her body was still fixated on his.

  It was the last thing she’d expected. How in the hell could she still be attracted to that asshole? Maybe it was because he looked the same, so she’d subconsciously reverted to eighteen again.

  Oh, he’d filled out some, packed on muscle and breadth. He was harder, colder, more suspicious. But the hair, the eyes, the tall, muscular body—they were the same. And he still moved with the fluid, masculine power of someone in peak physical condition. Damnit, he was still sexy as hell. The kind of man who stopped women in their tracks and wetted panties far and wide.

  None of that had changed.

  Breath by breath she wrestled the anger, frustration and attraction back, sought to absorb them, calm them, flush them from her system. Strong emotions carried consequences. They blinded you, fooled you, left you vulnerable.

  Rio’s rejection during her eighteenth summer was a perfect example of the deception inherent in strong feelings. If she hadn’t been so wildly in love with him, she would have realized sooner that he hadn’t felt the same way about her. If she’d known beforehand that he hadn’t loved her, his abandonment wouldn’t have hit her so hard and left her vulnerable to Adam and Adele’s manipulation.

  Breathe Becca, just breathe. Let it go.

  Taking her own advice, she washed the anger away, until nothing but numb disappointment remained.

  As she crossed into the parking lot and closed on her car, her cell phone buzzed. Without stopping, she fished it out of the side pocket of her purse. Maybe the call was from Rio. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Granted, that hope was a long shot, mixed with a heaping dose of wishful thinking. But at heart, she was an optimist. She glanced down at the screen and stopped cold.

  Slowly she raised the phone closer to her eyes, as though seeing it more clearly would alter the name and number blazed across the screen.

  Adele Hart.

  How in the world did she get my phone number?

  She shook her head, still staring in surprise. It had been twelve years since she’d talked to her half-sister. Twelve years. It didn’t take much mental gymnastics to figure out why Adele was calling now. Or how she’d known Becca was in town. Rio must have reached for his phone the second Becca stepped out of the police station. Which also explained how Adele had gotten her phone number, considering she’d just given it to Rio.

  She jabbed the call reject button with her thumb.

  There was only one reason Adele would be calling her now. But no matter what her half-sister said, Becca wasn’t walking away from this case. She owed it to her mother to find out what had really happened.

  Straightening her shoulders, Becca started walking again. She’d promised herself before leaving Olympia that she’d avoid all contact with her dysfunctional family. Best to stick to that plan.

  Her phone buzzed again, she glanced down…Adele Hart… and kept walking. She dug into her purse for her keys and beeped the locks on the Corolla, as her cell went quiet. But by the time she’d slid into the driver’s seat and cinched her seatbelt, the buzzing had started up again.

  Adele was determined. She’d give her that. But Becca was even more resolute. The Hart family dynamic was pure poison. She wasn’t about to get sucked back into it.

  By the time she reached her hotel room, the buzzing had stopped. Hopefully Adele had gotten the message and given up. She ordered room service, pushed back the drapes so she could look out over the bay and settled in the plush arm chair next to the window with her laptop. Time to check out private investigators.

  She’d narrowed her search for the perfect P.I. down to one agency, based off reviews, when a knock hit her door. Room service had arrived. With the phone plugged to her ear, she waited for the receptionist to check her book for a late afternoon appointment and opened her hotel room door.


  Her visitor was not room service.

  Becca’s fingers clenched around the phone, as tension knotted the muscles at the base of her neck.

  The tall, stick thin, bottle blonde standing before her shuffled her weight from side to side—a nervous tick recognizable from way back when Becca had shared a room with her.

  Apparently, Adele hadn’t gotten the message after all.

  “Thank you for getting me in so quickly,” Becca said into her phone, her gaze fixed on the tight, nervous face of her half-sister. “Right. Within the hour. I’ll see you soon.”

  With the appointment made, she disconnected the call and slowly lowered her arm. Adele was barely a year older than her. She’d been nineteen to Becca’s eighteen during that last summer, but she hadn’t aged well. Her skin was sallow and dry. She was thinner, neurotically thin. She’d changed her hair style, too. Rather than fat, sassy curls, her hair fell limply from her scalp, lightly brushing her drawn cheeks. Her eyes, though, they were the same, faded blue and full of anxiety.

  “Adele,” she said, without stepping aside. “This is a surprise.”

  “I called, but you didn’t answer.” Adele looked away, shifting her weight between her spiky red heels. The hand she lifted to push the hair back from her cheek was tense. “Can I come in? I need to speak with you.”

  Becca’s fingers tightened around the edge of the door. She wanted to slam the damn thing in Adele’s face. But the entreaty in the pale blue eyes stopped her. It was so much easier to ignore someone when they were just a buzzing on the phone.

  “Please?” Adele said, her voice thin. The knuckles on the hand she had wrapped around the strap of her oversized purse turned white.

  Silently, Becca stepped back and retreated to the window, seizing on the calming view of San Diego Bay spread out in the distance. After closing the door behind her, Adele followed her into the room.

  “How did you know where to find me?” Becca turned slightly to keep her unwelcome visitor in sight.

  At one time, she’d trusted this woman implicitly. In the early days, after she’d moved into her father’s house, the two of them had been inseparable. Best friends even. They’d formed a pact against Adam and had had each other’s back. Until Becca’s arrival, Adam’s favorite pastime had been tormenting his little sister. His focus had shifted to Becca after she’d joined the family. Only with Becca, his hazing had turned darker…uglier.

  Adele had been her best friend, until that last summer, when Rio had returned to town on leave and jealousy had ripped their sisterhood to shreds.

  “Mother told me you were staying here,” Adele said, her gaze skittered to Becca’s face and then back to the window.

  Well that was a surprise. How had Lena known where she was staying? Sure, Rio could have blabbed about her return to Adam and Adam could have passed on the information to Lena, but Rio didn’t know where she was staying, so how had her location made it onto the gossip train?

  “What do you want?” Becca asked, when the silence between them carried on too long.

  Adele flinched at the question. With an internal sigh, Becca ran her fingers through her hair. Her question hadn’t been sharp or angry. A bit brusque, perhaps, but surely that was expected? This was the first time they’d spoken since Adele had betrayed her.

  “Look—I don’t mean to sound unkind, but I really don’t have time to talk right now. Besides, there’s nothing you can say that will change my mind, so, you may as well go home.” Becca kept her tone even and polite.

  Another recoil rolled through Adele’s reedy frame. Briefly she closed her eyes, but then she squared her shoulders, and turned to Becca, resolution shining in the pale depths of her eyes.

  “I just…I just need to apologize. I should have done this years ago, but you were gone.” Adele drew a deep, shuddering breath. “What I did to you—” Her face twisting, she broke off, her gaze jerking away from Becca’s face again. “—was unforgivable and I need you to know how much I regret my role in what happened that night.”

  Becca frowned, suspicion stirring as she studied her half-sister’s face. “This visit isn’t about my mother? About reopening her case?”

  She wouldn’t put it past Adele to attempt to reforge their earlier friendship, and then try to change Becca’s mind. Although why she thought Becca would ever trust her again after that damn party...

  “No.” Confusion flashed across Adele’s face. “I’m here to apologize.” She paused a beat, cocking her head, her limp, pale hair brushing her cheek. “What about your mother’s case?”

  Becca debated telling her. But what the heck, Adele was bound to find out eventually anyway.

  “I found mom’s journal, along with an ultrasound. She was pregnant. Which means there’s no way she killed herself.”

  “Your mom was pregnant when she died.” Surprise widened Adele’s eyes. “Do you know who the father was?”

  Since Adele’s expression of shock had shifted to foreboding, Becca was certain she’d already figured that out for herself.

  “I’m pretty sure it was dad. There was writing on the back of the ultrasound. Aaron Robert.” Becca steadied her voice and watched her half-sister’s face. Adele would know the significance of the name.

  “Aaron was dad’s name.” Adele’s voice dropped to a whisper. But rather than anger, or betrayal, wistfulness touched her face. “We would have had a baby brother?”

  Becca nodded slowly. This was not at all how she had expected Adele to handle the news. She’d expected fireworks, not sorrow.

  Adele’s brows suddenly knit. “If your mom didn’t commit suicide, then…” She trailed off as though she hated to put the alternative into words.

  “She was murdered.” Becca filled in for her.

  Sympathy softened Adele’s face. “I’m so sorry. This must be awful for you. It must be opening all sorts of wounds. Although…” She frowned. “If someone killed her, it means she didn’t abandon you, right? I know how much that used to bother you. That she cared so little she could kill herself like that and leave you all alone.” She took a step in Becca’s direction, her hand rising. When Becca stepped back, she dropped it again. “I don’t know which would be worse. Thinking she abandoned you or knowing that someone stole her from you.”

  Becca wasn’t sure which was worse either.

  The manner of her mom’s death had haunted her for years. Which Adele had known. It had been impossible to hide. Becca had cried herself to sleep in the bed beside Adele’s more nights than not, in those early days.

  “If you’re re-opening your mom’s case.” Adele went very still, her forehead creasing. “News will get out about your mom’s pregnancy and the fact dad was the father. Everyone will know he was still having an affair with your mother.”

  “Yes.” Becca braced herself, waiting for the pleas to cease and desist to hit the air.

  “Mother is not going to like that,” Adele murmured, a slight upward tilt tugging at her lips. And then the strangest expression spread across her face. Satisfaction maybe…or even enjoyment.

  What the heck?

  Adele drew back her shoulders and the expression faded. “You should get hold of Rio. He’s a detective with the San Diego police now. He can help you get your mom’s case reopened.”

  Becca grimaced. “I’ve already spoken with him. He won’t get involved. I’m hiring a private detective instead.”

  “Oh.” Adele’s voice rose in surprise. “Really? That doesn’t sound like Rio at all. He takes his police work seriously.”

  “Well, he isn’t taking my request seriously. But it doesn’t matter. I can go around him.”

  Adele nodded absently. “Did you actually see him?”

  From the facial tic that accompanied Adele’s question, she knew what her half-sister was wondering.

  “I saw him. At the police station. But we didn’t talk about what happened that night.” She hesitated, before asking slowly. “I take it nobody bothered to tell him that I’d been drug
ged?”

  “I don’t think so.” Adele winced. “I didn’t. And Adam sure as hell wouldn’t.”

  No…Adam wouldn’t have owned up to it. Her brother had been far too determined to break them up. She still didn’t know why. Sure, Lena had wanted Rio for Adele, and Adele had wanted Rio for herself, but what had Adam gained by deliberately breaking them up?

  It had never made sense.

  At first, she’d thought Rio would track her down once he found out how they’d been set up, if for no other reason than to apologize for turning his back on her and leaving her there, vulnerable and alone.

  Except he’d never reached out to her. Either he hadn’t found out…or the circumstances behind what he’d seen that night hadn’t mattered to him.

  “I don’t think Rio and Adam have much to do with each other anymore,” Adele said, wandering closer to the window. “Drifted apart through the years, I guess. He doesn’t come out to the house anymore. Not since Rosaria died.”

  “His grandmother died?” Becca repeated, only to mentally smack herself. She wasn’t interested in Rio’s history, damnit. That bridge had blown up years ago.

  “Yes, she died a couple years after you took off. Cancer. He left the SEALs to take care of her.”

  Of course, he had…she wrestled back the cynicism. He’d refused to leave SEAL Team 7 when she’d asked him to. But he’d left the team for his grandmother. But then he’d been devoted to his grandmother. While Becca…well clearly, she hadn’t meant shit to him.

  “What does he look like now?” Adele asked, turning from the window. “He was always so good looking. Has he gone to seed?”

  Flat blue-gray eyes, and a square, chiseled face flashed through her mind. “He looks the same.”

  Unfortunately.

  Adele nodded slightly, a frown wrinkling her tight brow. She hesitated and took a deep breath. “Do you want me to talk to him? Tell him what really happened at that party? Maybe knowing you weren’t cheating on him will affect his attitude toward you now. Maybe he’ll be more willing to check into your mom’s case.”