by Terri Reed
“Excuse me,” a sharp voice called from the doorway. “What are you doing?”
Ryan spun around. A plump woman stood just inside the open front door. “Are you Dosha Meniski?”
“No. I live next door.” The woman’s gaze flickered over Ryan’s uniform but her posture didn’t relax. “Is Dosha in trouble?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Ryan said, moving closer. “Have you seen her recently?”
“She was here last night with her great-niece and great-grand-niece. But I haven’t seen them today.”
Ryan’s heart sped up. Not a dead end after all.
“Does Dosha own a car?” Meghan asked, her voice tinged with excitement.
He admired her quick thinking in asking the question. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.
“A red Cadillac. It’s not parked in its usual spot though.”
Ryan clutched Meghan by the elbow and steered her toward the door. “Thank you so much, ma’am.” He paused to offer the woman his card. “If you see Dosha, please have her call this number.”
They left the building.
“She was here,” Meghan said. “We’ve got to find them.”
“We will.” He started to dig in his pocket for his phone to call the Boston precinct who did have jurisdiction here so they could get to work.
A loud crack split the air. Gunfire!
Meghan cried out as bits of sidewalk cement puffed up mere inches from her legs. Pulse rocketing, Ryan reacted instantly, yanking Meghan down behind the back bumper of his SUV. The shot had been angled from an elevated trajectory. The shooter had the advantage of higher ground. Ryan glanced around the bumper, looking for the sniper on the building across the street. There, on the far west corner of the roof, he could just make out the silhouette of the gunman.
Not good.
In a low crouch, Ryan scuttled backward until he could open the rear passenger door. “Get in,” he ordered Meghan. She dove inside. Another round pinged off the hood of the vehicle. Ryan winced, hoping the engine hadn’t suffered, too, and opened the front passenger door and slid inside and across to the driver’s seat.
The back window exploded. Glass flew into the SUV, shards making it all the way to the front seat. Meghan let out a startled cry.
Ryan worked to get the key in the ignition. “You okay?”
“Yes. Get us out of here!”
“Working on it,” he muttered.
The engine roared to life. Slouched down so he could barely see over the dashboard, he threw the gear into Drive and gunned it. The SUV shot forward with a squeal of rubber on road. Another bullet hit the back fender. Ryan yanked the steering wheel and took the corner, putting a building between them and the shooter. He sat up and headed toward the highway.
Taking out his cell with one hand, he called Boston P.D. and reported the shooting. Were they being followed? Or had someone been waiting in case they showed up at Dosha Meniski’s apartment?
Only one person knew they were headed to Dosha’s—the patient at Elm’s Peace. Unless someone had been following them. He was positive there hadn’t been a tail on the way to Meniski’s. But someone could have put a tracking device on his rig.
Obviously the attempts made on their lives had to be connected with Christina and Georgina. He was beginning to seriously doubt Christina, the lawyer’s widow, was the boss of all this. Though how it all connected, he didn’t know. He glanced at Meghan, her hair covered in glass from the back window, her eyes wide with panic twisted him up inside.
He better find out fast.
Before someone else died.
* * *
Meghan tried to breathe. In. Out. But fear continued to shake her to the core, making the simple task of taking in air difficult.
She sat up straight in Ryan’s SUV and buckled the seat belt around her. Air swirled through the now-shattered back window, whipping her hair into a frenzy. Much like terror was whipping her insides.
She clasped her hands together to regain control.
“Someone sure doesn’t want us poking around,” she managed to say. Her voice sounded like a cartoon mouse. All high and squeaky.
“That’s an understatement,” Ryan replied, meeting her gaze in the rearview mirror. “You’re not hurt?”
“No. You?”
“Not this time.”
Everything had happened so fast she hadn’t even had a chance to pray before Ryan had hustled her into the car. He’d saved her, protected her. He was strong and capable and every inch the hero she’d needed him to be.
She lifted up a prayer of thanksgiving.
Dear Lord, thank You for protecting us. And thank You for Ryan. For making him the man he is. Please show us how to find Georgina. I beg of You, Lord. Don’t let any harm come to her.
Ryan’s phone chirped. He answered, listened for a moment then said, “I’m on my way in.”
After he hung up he said, “Granddad’s press conference just aired. The tip lines are going nuts.”
A jolt of anticipation made her sit forward. “That’s good, right? Someone has to know where Christina and Georgina went.” Oh, please, oh, please.
When they arrived back at Fitzgerald Bay police station and entered the building, Douglas Fitzgerald clapped Ryan on the back. “Glad you’re here in one piece, brother.” Douglas turned his sharped-eyed gaze to Meghan. “Miss Henry, no worse for the wear, I see.”
She managed a smile and picked a shard of glass from her hair. “A little shaken.”
Douglas nodded. “Comes with the territory.”
“News?” Ryan asked.
“Lots of supposed sightings of Christina Hennessy and the little girl. California, Florida, downtown Boston. We’re following the leads as best we can.”
“We have a lead, too,” Ryan stated. Meghan and Douglas followed him into his office.
“Christina’s great aunt has a car,” Meghan explained.
Douglas gave a nod of acknowledgment then turned to watch his brother. Meghan did, too. Her pulse quickened.
Ryan’s handsome face was a study in concentration. His blue eyes intent on his task. He punched the keys on his keyboard, his mouth set in a grim line. Nothing that had just happened seemed to affect him. All business, no worry. No what ifs. She admired that about him. Wished she could be more like him in that way.
A moment later he turned the monitor so they could see the document on the screen. “A red 1996 Seville Cadillac. License number TLX 596.”
“Sweet,” Douglas said. “I’ll get a BOLO out on it ASAP.”
After his brother exited, Ryan rose and came around the desk. “You should go home now and rest. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
She shook her head, hating the way the world seemed to have shifted. She was tired and a little light-headed, but her pride wouldn’t let her admit as much to him. If he could keep going, so could she. “No way. I’m staying the course on this.”
“Then you at least need to eat. Keep up your strength.”
“Only if you join me.” She wasn’t letting him out of her sight. He’d probably take off on a lead while she had her face buried in a plate of spaghetti. Which sounded really good. Her tummy rumbled. Ryan’s soft laugh made her cheeks burn.
He brushed away a stray strand of hair from her face. “I could use some refueling, too.”
A shiver of awareness shimmied down her spine at the slight touch of his warm skin. The sensation was unexpected and pleasant and a bit frightening.
Ryan gestured for her to lead the way out of the office. Needing some distance to collect herself and cool the attraction sizzling in her veins, she walked out of the station, careful to keep an arm’s length between them as they headed down
the street to the Sugar Plum Café and Inn. The quaint restaurant was owned by Victoria Evans, soon to be Mrs. Owen Fitzgerald, and looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
White porch with lattice railing, rocking chairs filled with content patrons sipping iced tea beneath hanging baskets teeming with colorful early summer blooms. Meghan sighed, sounding a bit wistful even to her own ears. In fact, the whole of Fitzgerald Bay was straight from Rockwell’s imagination, or so Meghan theorized.
Her own rented cottage by the sea was something from a fairy tale. Quaint and cozy were words that sprang to mind.
She didn’t look forward to leaving her cottage or Fitzgerald Bay. But she would eventually have to return to Boston and the life she’d had before her cousin’s murder. She didn’t belong in Fitzgerald Bay. No matter how much she wished she did.
They entered the wide foyer of the Sugar Plum with its quarter-sawn oak woodwork and glass pastry case full of delicious-looking treats that made Meghan’s mouth water. And added inches to her waist just by being in the same vicinity.
Victoria Evans descended the antique staircase leading up to the guests’ rooms. Her heeled shoes made no sound on the floral runner. Her anxious gaze searched their faces. “Did you find Georgina?”
“Not yet,” Ryan said.
Disappointment and worry knitted her brows and clouded her eyes.
“But we have more clues to follow,” Meghan stated, wishing the clues would hurry up and bear fruit.
Victoria nodded. “This is so stressful for everyone.” She turned her attention to Ryan. “Owen feels just awful for keeping his father’s secret from you.”
Ryan made a slight scoffing noise in his throat. “I’m sure Owen will get over his guilt quick enough.”
Victoria’s eyebrows dipped. “I know how hard hearing the truth was for you and your siblings. You have to understand Owen was dealing with his own issues, too.”
Meghan knew Victoria referred to the daughter she’d kept hidden from the Fitzgeralds for nine years.
Ryan’s jaw tightened but he didn’t respond.
Feeling the need to diffuse the uncomfortable situation, Meghan said, “We’d like a table, if one’s available.”
Victoria motioned to the hostess. “Charlotte will seat you.”
They nodded their thanks and followed the older woman to a table in the corner. Dusk was fast closing in. The setting sun hung low on the horizon, a brilliant burst of orange and gold against a backdrop of blue sky and water.
After they’d perused the menu and ordered, Meghan eyed Ryan warily. He sat angled toward the window, his face in profile, his blue eyes staring intently at the ocean beyond the shoreline.
The man was a paradox, at times gruff and domineering. Yet there was a tender, humble side that occasionally showed itself. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. Or what to think. He was so different from her ex-husband on every level. She was attracted, no question. Respect and admiration for Ryan had embedded themselves firmly in her mind and heart. Empathy made her want to reach out to him. Fear of what he could do to her heart kept her still.
Growing uncomfortable with the silence and giving in to the urge to draw him out of the hurt she knew had to be eating at him, she ventured, “I appreciate how hard you’re working to find Georgina and bring my cousin’s murderer to justice.”
His gaze slid to her. “I’m doing my job.”
She wasn’t buying his act. This had become personal for him just as it was for her. “True, but considering the circumstances, you’re doing your job well.”
He scoffed. “We’ll see.”
“I’m sure your father appreciates it, too.”
“I don’t want to talk about my father,” he said, his voice tight with anger.
“I don’t blame you for your anger. I’m angry, too. One would think the chief of police would have more honor and integrity.”
Ryan’s gaze snapped to her face. He opened his mouth then clamped his teeth together so hard she heard the crack and wondered how he didn’t break a tooth. No doubt he reflexively wanted to defend his father.
Unaccountably, she felt badly for Ryan that he couldn’t. His father’s actions were indefensible. Seeds of hostility and resentment burrowed in, trying to find moist ground.
Aiden Fitzgerald had had a hand in Meghan’s cousin’s death, even if he hadn’t struck her with the rock that delivered the fatal blow. Olivia had gone to him for help and he’d turned her away. Left her to fend for herself because he’d been too spineless to face the consequences of his long-ago actions. Not to mention his candidacy for mayor.
Where was the forgiveness? The grace and mercy?
God’s word said she needed to forgive those who hurt her. She knew the passage by heart. Had resisted the instruction for so many years. Her heart throbbed as conviction dug deep, clawing at old wounds she’d hoped had healed over.
But letting into her heart even the tiniest bit of bitterness scraped at the scars left on her soul by her ex-husband’s abuse, reminding her of the battle she’d faced and overcome.
The road to forgiveness was long and narrow and fraught with thorns. But, oh so freeing.
Her giving over to anger and fueling Ryan’s hurt and rage only made her part of the problem not part of the solution. She needed to be Ryan’s help just as Nurse Justine had been for her that day in the hospital when she’d nearly died from the injuries David had inflicted.
Though why she felt compelled to reach out to Ryan Fitzgerald she didn’t know.
Well, okay, so she did know. She liked him. Liked his integrity, liked his protectiveness and the way he cared about her, his family, his job. He was a man of action, a man of his word. He put duty ahead of his own hurt and that said a lot about his character. And made him dangerous to her peace of mind because she could easily see herself falling for him. So not a good thing.
Yet, she couldn’t let him suffer.
Meghan reached across the table to lay her hand over his. The contact sent heat curling up her arm. “I’m sorry. That comment was uncalled for. I have no right to judge your father or his actions.” She remembered the anguish in Aiden’s eyes as he had confessed his fallibility to his family. That hadn’t been fake. “I’m sure he’s hurting just as you are.”
“I don’t understand him.” Confusion and pain etched lines in his handsome face.
For an unguarded moment she glimpsed the turmoil going on inside Ryan and her heart ached for him. “We all make bad decisions sometimes, horrible choices that have far-reaching consequences we can’t anticipate or want.”
“That’s an understatement.” He looked away, his jaw set. “It’s one thing to keep his affair secret all these years. But another to keep quiet about Olivia, especially after she came to town.”
“In his misguided way he was trying to protect all of you,” she said. But not his illegitimate child. A spark of anger flared. She battled down the flame to a smoking ember.
He stared at her, his disbelief as clear as glass. “How can you be so forgiving?”
Drawing on her faith and the wise words a kind nurse had once told her, she said, “Forgiveness is a process. Taken step by step. Moment by moment. Consciously giving over to God what we can’t humanly do ourselves. Forgiveness is the way to freedom from that which binds us.” And if she recited the words often enough, she’d finally master the concept. She hoped.
Ryan’s mouth twisted. “Trite words meant to offer comfort no doubt, but how could you possibly understand the depth of betrayal I feel?”
Defensiveness rose. “I know how devastating the cut is that you feel all the way to the quick of your soul when someone you love, someone you trust turns on you.” She’d given her heart so easily, so foolishly only to have the man she’d married beat her to
a pulp. Literally.
“Who hurt you?” Ryan’s voice softened. He turned his hand over to twine his fingers with hers.
She swallowed, realizing too late she’d unwittingly opened up a door she wasn’t ready to pass through with him. “We’re not talking about me. I’m trying to help you.”
“But I’m not allowed to return the favor?”
She swallowed and was grateful to see the waitress heading over with her arms ladened with their dinner.
The smells of rich marinara sauce wafted from the plate of pasta. Meghan reached for a slice of garlic bread in the breadbasket at the same time as Ryan. He pulled his hand back. “After you.”
Appreciating his manners, she took a piece. Hoping to keep the conversation from turning back to her, she said, “The Red Sox are playing the Orioles tonight.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You a baseball fan?”
“You can’t live in Boston and not be.” She took a bite of her spaghetti. Her eyelids closed as she savored the taste. There was nothing better than pasta sauce done right.
“Good, huh?”
Her eyelids flew open. “What?”
He watched her with an amused gleam in his eyes. “You looked like you were enjoying your food.”
“I am,” she said and took a drink of iced tea to cool the burn of embarrassment heating her checks. “Is your Stroganoff good?”
“Yes.” He twirled some of the flat noodles covered in creamy mushroom sauce and held it up. “Want a taste?”
She nearly choked on the bit of bread she’d put in her mouth. Tasting each other’s food was an intimate act shared by close relations or…people in relationships. She was neither.
And had no plans to travel down that road.
SEVEN
“So what do you think of the Red Sox this season?” Meghan asked, her gaze on the bread she was tearing to pieces, the crumbs landing in a pile on her half-eaten serving of pasta.
Her words about forgiveness echoed in Ryan’s head. His curiosity about her deepened. Someone had hurt her. From the background check he had done on her—after the first time she’d stormed into his office demanding to know what he was doing to find her cousin’s killer—he knew Meghan was divorced. He could only guess that the marriage had ended badly.