Unspeakable

by Elisabeth Naughton

The kitchen opened to a great room with wide windows that looked out over the deck and provided a view across the valley. It wasn’t quite as spectacular as the one from the upper tier of the barn, but it was still pretty amazing, and as Rusty moved toward the big sliding doors in the dining area and stepped out onto the deck, she could totally see him relaxing here. She could totally see herself relaxing here.

  “Slow down, girlfriend,” she muttered to herself before finding two wineglasses in the cupboard and bringing them back to the counter. They barely knew each other. Sizzling-hot sexual chemistry was one thing, but that wasn’t something to build a relationship on. First they had to plan their takedown of the Plague. Then she’d focus on whatever this thing was simmering between them.

  They ate dinner at the dining table that sat in the corner of the room, in the fading daylight. He hadn’t just taken steaks out of the freezer, Harper learned rather quickly. He’d put potatoes on to bake at some point while he’d also been working, and he’d made a salad. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had cooked for her. Wasn’t sure one ever had, aside from her father.

  When their dinner was over, Rusty told her to refill her wine and take her glass downstairs where he kept his research while he cleaned up. They hadn’t spoken about the Plague during dinner—she’d purposely kept the topics light, not wanting to ruin the romantic mood. But part of her was anxious to find out just what he’d already uncovered. And to compare it with what she’d found. Another part was nervous about what she needed to tell him.

  Twenty minutes later, she was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, her eyes wide as she flipped through a notebook he’d used to record each of his interactions with the Plague, when he came down the stairs.

  He set his wineglass on the coffee table next to hers as he sat on the leather sofa. “I see you found my stuff.”

  “This notebook goes back five years.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ve been doing this for five years?”

  “More like six. I didn’t keep track at the beginning.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Every weekend?”

  “Not every weekend.”

  No, just whenever he got a tip or heard about a missing girl. “How many have you rescued?”

  He shrugged and leaned back against the cushions. “I’m not sure.”

  “Rusty, there are over a hundred entries in here.”

  “I didn’t get to most of them.”

  No, but he’d gotten to a lot. At least twenty.

  The meticulous details, and the regret she heard in his voice, tumbled through her mind, telling her this might not be his passion like the winery, but it was important to him. His way of making up for what he hadn’t been able to do for Lily.

  Her nerves jangled, and slowly, she sat back on her heels and looked down at the notebook in front of her, not wanting to show him what she’d found today, yet knowing she had to. “I have to tell you something.”

  “Okay,” he said warily.

  She drew in a breath, unsure how to handle this. Figuring straightforward was best, she said, “I did some digging today while I was at the office. I didn’t tell you before, but I talked to Andy this morning before I came down for breakfast. There was something in his line of questioning that hit me as . . . off.”

  “That’s why you were acting so odd at breakfast?”

  “Yeah, I was trying to work it all out in my head.”

  “Okay.” He eyed her skeptically when she didn’t go on. “I’m not sure how to read that. What about his questioning felt off?”

  “All of it. I got this strange feeling he wasn’t being truthful with me about your entire case.”

  Rusty leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees and clasped his hands. “Go on.”

  She reached for the folder from her bag on the floor at her side and pulled it out. “Your stepfather was James Jordan, is that correct? He was a hotelier from Portland.”

  “Yeah. He owned Majestic Hotels, a chain of midlevel hotels throughout the country. But his pride and joy was the five-star Imperial Hotel in downtown Portland.”

  She set the folder on the table in front of her and flipped it open. “Andrew Renwick was his personal attorney in a few specific cases.”

  “That’s not a surprise. Renwick’s firm handled my trust fund after my mother and Jordan died in that fire. That’s why Michael and Hannah McClane called Renwick and set up that meeting for me when I was questioned by the cops about Strauss’s disappearance. They figured since he already knew me, he’d be on my side. Are you saying he’s not?”

  “I’m not sure. Andy didn’t seem thrilled when I told him Strauss was alive and well. He still assumed you did something to her.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “Nothing. Red flags were going up all over while I was talking to him, so I decided to keep quiet. I did a little digging at the office this afternoon after he was gone. So I could try to figure out what was going on.” She flipped another paper. “I didn’t find anything concrete, but this surprised me.”

  She handed him the paper and waited while he studied it. “Jordan’s primary attorney for personal and business dealings was Howard Bradbury. Not Andrew Renwick. But about three years before your mother married Jordan, Andy handled the paperwork and tax filings for a big donation Jordan made to a local charity here in Portland. He also signed the paperwork as a representative of Jordan’s estate.”

  “Wow. A hundred and fifty thousand. The man was a miser. I never knew him to be so generous.”

  That didn’t surprise Harper. And it didn’t make what she was about to tell him any easier.

  “CAOF.” Rusty’s dark eyes narrowed on the paperwork in his hands. “That name’s familiar, but I’m not sure where I’ve heard it.”

  “It’s a children’s charity. They help at-risk youth in the city.”

  He frowned. “Jordan was never concerned with at-risk youth.”

  “Neither is Andy as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Did you run a check on this place?”

  “Yes, but the charity shut down about a year ago, and everything on the web regarding it has been scrubbed. I didn’t get very far.”

  “Hmm. That doesn’t look fishy at all.” After several seconds studying the paper, he reached for the cell from his pocket and pulled it out.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “My sister’s fiancé, Hunter O’Donnell. He runs a security company in town, and he’s got a few IT guys who can dig deeper than either of us right now.”

  “Good idea.”

  She waited while he dialed and drew a deep breath, almost afraid to tell him the rest. After several seconds he started speaking into the phone, but it was clear from his end of the conversation that it had gone right to voice mail.

  He hung up after he left a message and set his phone on the coffee table. “He didn’t answer, but he’ll call back. Hunt’s good about that.”

  She nodded and glanced back down at her papers. “There’s more.”

  “Okay,” he said skeptically again.

  She drew a deep breath and knew she had to tell him. “James Jordan traveled a lot.”

  “Yeah. He didn’t particularly like being stuck in one place.”

  “He was married twice before he married your mother.”

  “I know. The first was his college sweetheart. She left him after he had an affair with his secretary. The second was his secretary.”

  “Neither marriage lasted more than a few years.”

  “Right,” he said, drawing the word out. “I know this already.”

  No, she was pretty sure he didn’t know this. “Neither woman gave him any children.”

  His brow lowered. “Yes, the secretary did. That was Lily’s mother. She gave up custody of Lily to him after the divorce.”

  “No, she didn’t.” Harper drew out the other paperwork she’d uncovered at the office and handed it to him. “This is the other case An
dy handled for Jordan immediately after that large donation to CAOF.”

  Rusty’s confused gaze skipped over her face as he took the paper she held out. But when he glanced down at it, every muscle in his body went still. “This is a petition for an adoption.”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “About three years before you and your mother moved in with him. Look at the age of the child.”

  He stared at the paper without moving, without showing any kind of reaction, and as she sat on her knees on the carpet watching him, something in her heart broke open wide for him. For the turmoil she knew he was feeling and the knowledge there was nothing he could do about any of it now.

  “She was . . . twelve.” A vein in his neck pulsed, and he cleared his throat, lifting one hand to run over his mouth. “She told me he was her father.”

  “I guess by the time you met her, legally he was.”

  He stared at the paper another few seconds in silence, then dropped it on the coffee table as if it had burned him, pushed to his feet, and went straight to the bar near the wall, where he grabbed a glass from the cupboard and a bottle of Johnnie Walker and poured himself a generous shot.

  “He bought her?” He tossed back the shot and didn’t even hesitate to pour another. “You’re telling me that he bought a twelve-year-old girl. That was years before he started taking her to those meetings.”

  “I know,” she said quietly, pushing one hand against the couch cushion, moving to sit so she could see him near the bar, knowing he needed space and that she shouldn’t try to comfort him right now.

  But she wanted to. She didn’t like that wild look in his eyes. She didn’t like seeing every muscle in his body tense and straining as if he were holding back a firestorm.

  He tossed back the second shot. “Motherfucker. He bought a twelve-year-old girl like a fucking piece of meat. And he kept her with him every minute of every day like a goddamn . . .” He braced both hands on the end of the bar and dropped his head. “I always knew he was a sick son of a bitch, but I never thought he . . . goddamn motherfucker. It was going on right under my nose, and I didn’t even know.”

  She pushed to her feet, unable to sit still any longer, hating that she was the one who had caused him this much pain, especially when there was nothing either of them could do about it now. “Rusty.” She gently laid her palm on his back where he was hunched over the counter. “It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could have do—”

  “I need some air.” He pushed away from her as if her touch repelled him and crossed to the sliding glass doors that opened to the patio. Jerking the left side open with a hiss, he stepped out into the darkness and slammed the glass door at his back.

  Her heart contracted as she watched his silhouette disappear into the night, and she sank onto a barstool, unsure if she should go after him or let him have some space. She didn’t know him well enough to know if he was the kind of guy who wanted comfort in times of stress and turmoil or if trying would only push him further away. And she hated that she didn’t know that because she didn’t want to do anything to damage what had started between them, especially now, when she knew it could be something amazing.

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes. Tears she fought because she didn’t want to be weak. But more than anything she wished that she hadn’t brought any of this up. That she’d kept that one piece of information secret. That she hadn’t been the one to tell him the girl he’d once loved had been bought and sold as a sex slave long before he’d ever met her.

  Rusty couldn’t get the image of Lily as a naive twelve-year-old girl out of his mind. Of what the man who’d bought her like a piece of meat had done to her.

  He’d seen pictures of her at twelve years old. There had been snapshots of her in frames all over Jordan’s mansion. At twelve, she hadn’t looked a thing like she had at fifteen when Rusty had met her. She’d been prepubescent at twelve—flat-chested, no curves, with a body that could have been mistaken as that of a little boy instead of a girl.

  Bile shot up his throat, and he slammed his eyes shut in the dim light of the wine cave where he was sitting with his back against the curved wall, swallowing hard to hold it back. Normally, the caves relaxed him. He could come here and think, calm down, find that fucking inner peace his brother Ethan was always yammering on about. But not today. Today he couldn’t stop thinking about Lily. He’d thought she was a snob when he’d first met her. He hadn’t realized that blank look in her eyes had been the haunted sign of abuse. Years of sexual abuse at the hands of the man he’d believed was her father.

  He’d always hated Jordan. He’d never liked his slick personality, not even from the start. And after he’d learned how Jordan was exploiting Lily and what he’d done to get rid of her, he’d hated the son of a bitch even more. But nothing compared with what he felt now. The urge to wrap his hands around Jordan’s thick neck, to watch the life fade from his eyes, overwhelmed Rusty. So much so he curled his hands into fists against his thighs. He’d do it now if he could. He wouldn’t even think twice about the consequences or going to prison. But he couldn’t even have that satisfaction because the motherfucker was already dead.

  A creaking sound echoed through the cave, and without even looking, Rusty knew who’d found him. Knew and didn’t want her here. Not when he was hovering close to the edge of a meltdown he wasn’t sure he could stop.

  Footsteps sounded across the polished cement floor. Footsteps that echoed like cannon fire in his head. Harper rounded the corner, stepping around a pallet of wooden wine-bottle racks he’d ordered but had yet to set up, and moved into the light shining down from the round, iron candle chandelier.

  Her steps slowed when she spotted him sitting on the floor against the wall. “There you are,” she breathed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  He ground his teeth together, just wanting her gone. “I didn’t ask you to look for me.”

  “I know.” She tugged the blanket she must have grabbed from the back of his couch tighter around her shoulders and stared down at him with worry and regret in her hazel eyes. “It’s just . . . you’ve been gone awhile. I was worried.”

  He drew a calming breath that did little to settle his raging pulse, and pushed to his feet. “I’m really not in the mood for company anymore.”

  “Rusty, I know you’re upset—”

  He exhaled a sound that was a half laugh, half huff of disgust, he wasn’t sure which, and rubbed a hand across his forehead, fighting back the urge to scream. Or pound his fist right into the rocks around him. “Upset doesn’t even begin to describe what I am. Which is why you need to leave and head home where you’re safe.”

  She stared at him for several seconds, but instead of turning and running like he’d hoped, her lips thinned. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  He lifted his head, knowing he wasn’t really mad at her but unable to keep the animosity from his voice when he said, “Well, maybe you should be. There’s a reason I’m thirty-five and single. There’s a reason I don’t date.”

  “I know there is. Because you don’t think you deserve to be happy. But you’re wrong.”

  He huffed and turned away from her. “I don’t need to listen to this. I can get the psychobabble bullshit from my brother anytime I want it.” He pressed both hands against the rock wall and dropped his head, wishing, praying she’d give him time to deal with the conflicting emotions swirling inside him before he lost his shaky hold on control. “I’m asking you to leave.”

  She took a step toward him. “Rusty, it was twenty years ago. It wasn’t your fault, and there was nothing you could have done to stop it then.”

  The cap on his temper started to wobble. He closed his eyes and curled his fingers against the rocks, every muscle in his body flexed and rigid. “Get out, Harper. Get out right now before I decide not to ask.”

  “What are you going to do? Throw me out?”

  He lifted his head and glanced toward her, the edges of his vision dark from his vib
rating emotions, seeing nothing but her defiant hazel eyes and her sharp chin lifted in challenge. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I’ll do.”

  One side of her lips curled in a smirk. “Try it. You won’t get very far.” When he only stared at her in shock, she added, “I’m not leaving you like this. You need me whether you realize it or not.”

  She was wrong. He’d never needed anyone but himself. He’d proved that time and again, hadn’t he? Without even realizing what he was doing, he stepped toward her, intent on proving to her he didn’t need her or anyone. Needing people only fucked you over in the end. It left you raw and exposed. It came back to bite you in the ass twenty years later.

  He stopped in front of her, leaned down, and wrapped one arm around her legs, planning to toss her over his shoulder and haul her out of his cave if he had to. But she surprised him when she jerked one leg from his grip before he could immobilize her and hooked her foot behind him, knocking him off balance.

  Her hands pressed against his shoulders. His weight shifted back. He stumbled, tried to right himself, but couldn’t keep from hitting the ground on his butt and falling back on the cave floor.

  The blanket broke his fall, but it didn’t completely keep him from cracking the back of his head against the hard floor. “What the hell, Blake?” he managed as pain shot across the back of his scalp.

  Harper straddled his waist before he could sit up and pressed her palms hard against his chest, holding him down. “It’s Harper. And I’ll tell you what’s what, mister. You’re not getting rid of me. I told you I’m not leaving you, and I’m not.”

  “Jesus Christ.” He dropped his head back against the blanket and stared up at the ceiling, fighting for control, wishing like hell he could just be alone. Everyone was always trying to drag him out of the shadows and into the world—his siblings, his parents, her. But life was safer alone. Cleaner. Way fucking easier.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she said, staring down at him, not releasing him, not easing up on the pressure on his chest either. “You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened to her. You were just a kid too. You didn’t know.”