Then There Were Three

by Jeanie London

Calling back wasn’t okay. That much Violet knew, but she had to find her dad before she lost him completely.

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” she whispered, even though Mom wasn’t there to hear her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MEGAN BELL SANK INTO the chair, relief sapping every drop of strength from her legs. She stared disbelieving at the BlackBerry as the display darkened.

  Violet.

  Then she let her eyes flutter shut, blocked out everything but the sound of her daughter’s voice, impatient, irritable, alive… Okay, Violet was alive.

  Start there, Megan, she warned herself. Don’t get too far ahead here. Violet’s alive.

  Since this whole nightmare began, Megan had received three texts. She’d tracked credit card purchases to piece together a trajectory that had her daughter heading to New Orleans of all places, but until she’d heard Violet’s voice…

  “Take a deep breath, dear, and tell me what she said.”

  Megan did exactly that then forced herself to open her eyes to find Marie looking as relieved as Megan felt. As always, Marie’s presence had a calming effect.

  A slender, stately woman with bright white hair that fell in gentle waves around her face, Marie Gleason was an honorary grandmother to Violet and dearest friend in the world to Megan. She was such an important part of their lives, in fact, that after her husband had passed away nearly six years ago, she’d come to live with Megan and Violet, traveling to whatever part of the world Megan’s job took them. As a project consultant for nonprofit organizations, she worked all over the world.

  “I’m good.” She forced the words out, as much to reassure Marie as to convince herself. “Violet’s with… him.”

  Too many years had passed for Megan to wrap her mouth around his name so easily. Years of mental preparation to explain the situation to Violet about why she’d chosen not to tell him about his daughter. But all Megan’s careful preparation for an unavoidable conversation was wasted since she hadn’t anticipated the impulsivity of a headstrong teenager.

  Marie crossed the room and sat on the ottoman in front of Megan. “Well, you’ve known it was coming. I’m surprised Violet lasted this long. A girl’s relationship with her father is so important. You know that.”

  “I know.” Her own father had influenced so much in her life, rocky though their relationship had been for the past fifteen years.

  Reaching forward, Marie slipped her hands around Megan’s and gave a supportive squeeze. “It’s going to be okay, dear. You can only control so much.”

  Megan nodded. She knew that, too.

  Had it only been twenty-four hours since this nightmare had begun? Twenty-four hours since Violet hadn’t returned from her friend’s house, where she was supposed to have spent the night during their spring break from school. She’d been texting at all the appropriate times—at night before bed, in the morning when she awoke—so Megan had had no reason to suspect her daughter wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

  If she’d had any clue that Violet had unearthed the hidden past, Megan might have been able to address the situation before it had gotten out of control. The very thought made her struggle for another breath.

  Out of control? This situation was a train wreck.

  “If she had questions, why wouldn’t she ask me, Marie? Why all this subterfuge and drama?”

  “I’m as surprised by that as you are,” Marie admitted. “By the subterfuge, anyway. Violet doesn’t usually mince words. I’m not surprised much by the drama. She is fourteen.”

  Fair enough. Violet was an only child, used to exercising a fair amount of control over her life. While Megan took her parenting responsibilities seriously, she felt equally strongly that their daily lives should take everyone’s needs into consideration. She liked to think of it as a democratic dictatorship, with the dictator part only surfacing if all attempts at negotiation failed.

  She’d never wanted to shelter or control her daughter the way she’d been sheltered and controlled growing up. She wanted Violet to learn to explore and enjoy life, not live by someone else’s narrow interpretation of right and wrong. To have balance and flexibility and accountability and appreciation for whatever life threw her way.

  And, Megan supposed, she was getting a taste of her philosophy in action now. Violet clearly hadn’t thought about the effect of her actions on anyone except herself. She hadn’t even considered school, which would be back in session next week.

  “We’ve been dismissing all her moodiness as hormonal.” Megan groaned, feeling stupid and guilty and horribly powerless. “How could I have missed this?”

  “You’re not a mind reader, dear. If Violet had something brewing and wanted to keep it from you, then she would have.”

  “No argument there. This had to have been percolating for a while. How she even managed to find out who he was…” This was all Megan’s fault. For trying to cover all the bases.

  If she hadn’t asked her attorney to add a clause in her will entrusting Marie, as Violet’s guardian, to facilitate a meeting with Nic should Violet want to know her father…

  If she hadn’t kept that photograph, one of her only connections to the past, so Violet would have one keepsake of her parents together…

  “And the trip. She hopped on a flight for another continent without even leaving a note.”

  Marie’s eyes twinkled, and for the first time since this whole nightmare began, she looked amused. “Well, you reared her, after all. Did you really expect anything less than a competent and independent young lady?”

  “Competent? Independent? Marie, she flat out ran away. From South America to New Orleans. And right when I’ve been angsting over whether or not to take a project there. The timing can’t be coincidental. Oh, I honestly can’t believe this.”

  Megan buried her face into her outstretched hands, unable to wrap her brain around Violet’s journey. All the things that might happen to a young girl traveling alone—Another deep breath. Her beautiful daughter—Right now she was north of the equator while Megan was still south.

  With him.

  What part of this was okay?

  “Come on, dear,” Marie said softly. “You’ll have nearly seventeen hours in the air to dwell on all the whys and why nots and what you might have dones. Let me help you pack. We have to leave for the airport soon.”

  Deep breath. She looked up, ready to cope again. “Okay, thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re always the calm in the storm.”

  “Then you should let me fix you a bite to eat, too. You haven’t eaten anything.”

  “I’m fine. I had soup last night.”

  Marie had the advantage and ran with it. “I would hardly call hot water and a bouillon cube soup. You didn’t even drink the whole thing.”

  “I’m having trouble swallowing.” Stress had that effect.

  Marie didn’t approve, but didn’t bother arguing. “I’m packing munchies in your carry-on. They’ll be there if you start to feel faint.”

  “Thank you.” Megan propelled herself into action, suddenly infused with purpose—mania most likely—but she’d take whatever she could get.

  Striding across the living room of the rental that had been their home for over a year and a half, she headed into her closet and dragged out the bag that was never far away.

  Marie was right. She’d have plenty of time on the flight to obsess about the mess she’d made of all their lives.

  At least Violet was safe now. With him.

  Megan might not have spoken with the man since the summer after her high school graduation, but she knew in her heart he would never hurt their daughter regardless of whether he’d known of her existence or not. Of course, finding out he even had a daughter would knock him back a few steps.

  That thought overwhelmed her again, forced her to grab the doorjamb to hang on. Squeezing her eyes shut, Megan tried to manage the sensation that things were impossibly out of control.

  It wasn’t only him or the idea of him
being sandbagged by an unexpected daughter after so many years. As if that wasn’t enough. She was also struggling with memories of a time in her life when she’d felt so powerless and alone, so betrayed.

  But not by him. There’d never been any doubt he’d assume responsibility, none at all. She’d felt betrayed by her parents, by their refusal to accept that Megan didn’t want to give up her daughter for adoption.

  Nor had they prepared her for any life but the one they’d deemed acceptable. They’d sheltered her so completely that Megan didn’t have the first clue about how to cope when an unplanned pregnancy had turned her life upside down.

  She was a much stronger and better person for learning how to stand on her own, and for that she was truly grateful. But she’d tried to rear Violet differently, to embrace life to the fullest, to be responsible for her actions. She’d always wanted Violet to have the skills to cope with whatever came up, to roll with the punches and trust herself to make good choices.

  This choice had not been good. Her daughter had been clever enough to track down her father, but she didn’t know the whole story, wouldn’t understand why Megan had chosen to keep her a secret.

  A memory of the sweet little girl who’d loved to chatter about everything, always trusting her thoughts to her mom, suddenly brought tears to Megan’s eyes. Those sturdy little arms would wrap around her neck and cling so tight.

  Clearly, Violet didn’t trust her thoughts to Megan anymore.

  If she had only asked… Of course, she shouldn’t have had to. Megan should have been honest, instead of choosing to wait until Violet asked, which would have signaled she was old enough to handle a truth that would rock her world. But there had been no perfect solution to the mess Megan had made. None.

  There had only been damage control.

  Throwing open the closet doors, she stared blindly at the neat row of clothing. Formal wear. Suits. Business casual. Casual casual. Purses and belts hanging from a unique hanger that Bonsom, their maintenance man in Ghana, had fashioned from akasa, a local wood. Shoes lined neatly on a three-tiered shoe rack for easy access. Orderly.

  Exactly what her thoughts weren’t right now.

  Megan hoped with her whole heart and soul that he had handled the shock of finding out about his daughter well.

  Violet had sounded okay, but Megan knew her daughter, and meeting her father must have been the most important thing in her world to prompt this titanic mutiny.

  If things didn’t turn out well, Violet would be so hurt. And he hadn’t had a chance to prepare. He would have been blindsided by the news. Who knew what was going on in his personal life? She could only learn so much on the internet. What if Violet had to not only contend with her father’s reaction, but the reactions of his loved ones? Given his position in the NOPD, what if an illegitimate daughter was not only a shocker, but an embarrassment?

  Megan had almost placed Violet for adoption. She’d learned all about the process. She knew children sought out birth parents all the time, but reunions didn’t always yield fairy-tale endings.

  If only they’d have had the one all-crucial conversation, they could have come up with a solution to deal with this mess together. A solution that would have prepared Violet and not left him unexpectedly facing a daughter who looked so much like him.

  Megan’s thoughts raced with a plea—Please, please, please don’t let Violet be heartbroken. Or…Nic.

  There, she’d said his name. In her head at least.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “NOW WHAT IN HELL IS this problem you couldn’t tell me about on the phone, Jurado?” Dominic DiLeo, newly installed Superintendent of the New Orleans Police Department, demanded when he caught up with the night’s shift commander.

  “It’s a juvenile, Chief.” Deputy Chief Emile Jurado cast a scowling glance around the operations center as if afraid half the duty shift might overhear them. “Picked her up last night in the Quarter for curfew infraction.”

  Nic stared at the short powerhouse of a man, clearly missing something. “What’s the problem?”

  Another glance around the room. “Not here.”

  “Let’s go to my office.” Nic led the way through the rank and file of New Orleans’s finest, inclining his head in silent greeting whenever he made eye contact with any of his men.

  Keeping the benign expression on his face proved to take some effort. He was in no mood to play twenty questions this morning. Not after a near-sleepless night spent dealing with his younger brother Damon’s latest drama.

  No one in the family was remotely unhappy Damon’s girlfriend had dumped him and run. No one was even surprised—except by how long she’d hung around. If Damon ever listened to anyone, he wouldn’t have been shocked Roxy had vanished from the apartment they’d shared with no more than Ciao scribbled on a napkin and the contents of their joint checking account.

  Nic was damned tired of cleaning up Damon’s messes. And everyone else’s for that matter. Nic had put his own life on hold after his father had died. As the oldest, it had been his responsibility to see everyone settled.

  Vince’s residency at Charity Hospital should have been the end of the line for Nic. He’d gotten his youngest brother through med school. Marc traveled as a bounty hunter. Anthony had a life with Tess and the twins. Damon was a train wreck, but Anthony had given him space for a dojo above the auto repair shop, so at least Damon could teach martial arts whenever he wasn’t getting involved with the wrong kind of woman.

  His baby sister, Francesca, had blown out of New Orleans the day after she’d graduated from high school, so there wasn’t much he’d been able to do there. Except blast her for not keeping in touch. On voice mail, usually, since she didn’t bother picking up his calls.

  Everyone was as settled as they were going to be. But no sooner had Nic started looking forward to a life that didn’t involve taking care of someone named DiLeo than he’d been derailed when the new mayor had appointed him as the new superintendent, a glorified title for the chief of police.

  “We’ve got to clean up this department, Nic,” the mayor had said. “We’ve got to earn the community’s trust again. I don’t care what the good old boys around here say. They’re part of the problem. You’re the right man for this job and the Feds agree.”

  What was Nic going to do except trade his title as commander for superintendent and postpone living a while longer?

  In the corridor to his office, he reached for the door—

  “Wait a sec, Chief. You don’t want to go in yet.”

  Nic paused with his hand on the knob and glanced over his shoulder. “Why not?”

  “She’s in there.”

  Nic shook his head, unsure he’d heard correctly. “Let me get this straight. You picked up a minor in violation last night and she’s not at the curfew center, but in my office?”

  Jurado shrugged. “It seemed a good idea at the time.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because she refused to talk to anyone but you.”

  “Help me out here, Jurado. Where’d you pick her up?”

  “Big Mike’s place on Iberville.”

  That got Nic’s attention. He’d taken a stroll to Big Mike’s place on Iberville last night, and since he didn’t believe in coincidences… “You want me to start guessing wildly?”

  “Got the call after midnight. Ever since we received that anonymous tip Busybodies Massage Spa was a front for prostitution, we’ve been keeping an eye on the place.”

  “That much I already know.” He’d still been Eighth District commander when Big Mike, proprietor of Insane, Ink, had leased space to Busybodies to keep his doors open in the down economy.

  “Disturbance in the massage spa. Customer allegedly got handsy with one of the therapists,” Jurado explained. “The owner called in because she thinks we’re looking for some reason to shut her down. She was afraid this customer would cause trouble if he didn’t get what he wanted.”

  “Let me guess…Dubos.”
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  “Good wild guess.”

  Not so much. An informant from Nic’s days as commander had tipped him that Busybodies was Judge Hugo Dubos’s new massage joint of choice. Nic had been keyed up after a dinner with the mayor and U.S. attorney last night, so he’d hit the streets like in the old days, walking to take the edge off.

  Might have worked, too, until Damon.

  “Get anything?”

  Jurado snorted. “Statements from the therapist and the owner. That’s about it. Apparently, there was an argument. Dubos left before the duty officers got there. Couldn’t get a statement out of Big Mike. Said he didn’t see or hear anything. Details are in the incident report.” He held up a lumpy folder.

  No surprises here. Big Mike had been around long enough to be a French Quarter institution. He’d weathered Katrina when many businesses had gone under or relocated and wouldn’t want attention given to the way he skirted legalities to make ends meet. His infractions were small potatoes in this city.

  Until Hurricane Katrina.

  When New Orleans had emptied out, the crime had gone with it. That’s why the U.S. attorney and his federal buddies had come to town—to make sure the new mayor and police chief got a grip on the city as it filled back up. That would take some doing because they weren’t only cleaning up the city but cleaning inside the department.

  “This juvenile see something?” Nic asked.

  “Told you, Chief. She won’t talk to anyone but you.”

  Obviously, Nic wasn’t going to get this on his own. He tightened his grip on the door handle, ready to end the suspense. “Anything else?”

  “Good luck.” Jurado handed him the file folder containing the incident report. With a sigh, he headed toward Operations. “You know where I’ll be.”

  The instincts that had kept Nic alive for so long on the streets suddenly revved into gear. He didn’t know what was on the opposite side of this wall, but Nic knew that whatever—whoever she was—would rock his day.

  Not bothering to glance at the report, he opened the door to find a teenage girl dozing in his chair, sandaled feet with brightly polished toes propped on the corner of his desk.