CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 10

Sea-Tac was teeming as usual, the airport parking area filled with vehicles, cars weaving between taxis, buses, and hotel vans, all clogging the roadway.

Leah's flight, delayed by two hours, had finally landed.

She had texted Brooke that she was heading to the spot where they'd agreed to meet, in a parking garage where Brooke had squeezed her Explorer into a tight spot marked "Compacts Only."

Ten minutes later Brooke spied her sister. In a pink sundress, pulling a roller bag behind her, holding on to a floppy-brimmed hat with the other, Leah looked around, lost.

Brooke honked, then climbed from behind the wheel to wave and catch her sister's attention.

Leah started in her direction, stopped suddenly, and waited impatiently for a minivan to drive past before hurrying along the aisle between the parked cars.

"Good God, I forgot how cold it is up here," she said before releasing the suitcase handle so she could offer Brooke a huge, unexpected hug. "Brrr. I don't know how you stand it."

Brooke flinched a little as Leah inadvertently squeezed her hard enough to remind her of the bruise healing on one shoulder.

"Ooh, sorry." Leah stepped back and appraised her sister, her large eyes focusing on Brooke's scraped chin. "You look like hell."

"I missed you too."

"I mean . . . I forgot you took a header and—" Her gaze swept over the front end of Brooke's Explorer. She ran a finger along a huge dent. "Ouch."

"Yeah, ‘ouch.' Let's go." She put Leah's bag onto the back seat.

"Wait!" Leah leaned in through the open back door, unzipped the bag, and found a sweater and a pair of casual shoes. Quickly, she took off her heels, closed the door, then climbed into the passenger seat, where she slipped her feet into her Skechers. "Sorry," she said. As Brooke climbed in behind the wheel, Leah wriggled into the oversize cardigan before snapping her seat belt over her slim torso. "It's freezing."

"It's sixty."

"Like I said, freezing."

"Didn't you live in Chicago?" Brooke started the SUV.

"Once upon a time, yeah. Eons ago. With Ryan." Leah glanced out the window as if she'd rather not talk about the time when she was married to her first husband, Ryan Connolly, whom she usually referred to as Ryan the Rat. "It's a dry cold there, you know."

"What? In Chicago? No. Cold is cold. And it really freezes there. I've seen pictures of ice on Lake Michigan." Eyes on the backup camera, Brooke reversed the Explorer out of the tight parking space. "You're just used to Arizona."

"I guess." Leah changed the subject. "All this"—she made a circular motion with her hand to take in Brooke and all of her injuries—"happened when you—what? Tripped?"

"Right."

Leah gave Brooke an exaggerated once-over as the sound of a revving motorcycle engine echoed through the structure. "You should be more careful."

"Ya don't say," Brooke said dryly.

"Seriously."

"I'm working on it." Brooke wound her way down the spiral ramp, other vehicles sliding behind her, the sound of the motorcycle still audible. For a second she thought about Gideon and his Harley, then tried to shove the idea out of her head. There were hundreds—no, make that thousands—of motorcycles in the area. And he hadn't bothered her in the few days since the fight. She was letting her own paranoia get the better of her.

"That was kind of a freak accident, right? You tripping like that. I mean, you've been running for years and never—"

" What?" Brooke's thoughts had taken her out of the conversation. "Oh, when I fell down? I just lost my concentration." Brooke didn't want to talk about it, to keep lying, to think about the physical altercation with Gideon. "It wasn't a big deal."

Again, the wide-eyed and skeptical appraisal from the passenger seat. "If you say so."

"I do." Brooke's fingers tightened over the steering wheel. Leah had only been in the car a few minutes and already she was getting under Brooke's skin. Unfortunately, this had always been the case. As their mother had said when they were still in elementary school, "I swear, you two are like oil and water, or dogs and cats, or oil on dogs and water on cats! I don't understand why you girls just can't get along. You're sisters, for God's sake."

"You mean like you and Aunt Janey get along?" Brooke had reminded her.

"That's different. Jane and I are ten years apart, almost different generations. And different interests. You two, on the other hand, should be close. Not quite a year separates you."

Which, in Brooke's opinion, had only made it worse.

Brooke's jaw slid to the side as she remembered their mother turning from the front seat of their grandmother's old Chevy Impala, where the odor of once-smoked cigarettes lingered in the interior despite the fact that the windows were cracked slightly.

Nana was driving, a bit of a woman whose eyes, like Brooke's, were "as green as the Irish sea," according to their now-dead grandpa. Nana was clinging to what seemed an oversize steering wheel in her small hands, the rosary wound over the rearview mirror dangling and swaying, casting prisms of tiny lights onto the ceiling.

They were heading to the cabin on Piper Island. The road hugged the shoreline, the sound of the sea filtered into the car. From the passenger side Mom looked from one of her daughters to the other, searching for the culprit who had started the squabble that had been escalating ever since the Chevy had bounced off the ferry and onto solid ground. Brooke sat behind Nana in the wide back seat, Leah behind their mother. Though each girl was on her "side," the middle area between them was dubbed "no-man's-land," or more precisely, "no-sister's-land," was always the sought-after prize, one sister inching her fingers across the worn vinyl to touch or pinch the other.

Of course the response was a squeal of protest or a "She's hurting me!" cry, which was just what had happened as the sedan bounced over a pothole.

Carole Fletcher was at the end of her rope. "Stop it!" she'd ordered through clenched teeth, her narrowed gaze moving from one daughter to the other as Nana navigated the dusty, gravel road. "I mean it! Just . . . for once . . . stop fighting! Is that so impossible?" Her eyes, a golden shade that could darken with rage, pinned them to the backs of their seats.

Brooke thought the idea of getting along with Leah was impossible on that warm summer day. She'd looked past Carole to the windshield, where bugs had splattered and died quick and messy deaths.

But she and Leah held their tongues. They behaved until the end, when Nana drove into the tiny, shingled garage that tilted on its ancient foundation. For a final attack, Leah's fingers slowly dared to creep across no-sister's-land. Leah's index finger rubbed on the crack in the hot vinyl between them and inched even closer. It was all Brooke could do not to slap it away. Instead, she'd innocently curved her fingers so that the middle one was prominent, poking upright from her otherwise curved digits as she pretended to stare out the side window at the seagulls wheeling overhead.

Her quiet gesture didn't go unnoticed. From the corner of her eye Brooke caught her mother casting a glance at the gesture and frowning. Carole opened her mouth as if to chastise her oldest, then snapped it closed and fished in her purse for her cigarette bag. Meanwhile, stupid, pretty Leah remained unaware that her older sister had quietly but definitely flipped her off.

So that day Brooke was satisfied that she'd won.

Just as she had a few years later . . . but she didn't want to think about that now as she drove steadily north on the expressway and caught a rare glimpse of Mount Rainier rising in the east, the late October sunlight piercing the clouds to glisten against the mountain's snowy crest. As Leah started fiddling with the radio, checking different preset stations sputtering songs, ads, and news, Brooke thought she heard the whine of a motorcycle.

But wasn't that her new paranoia? How many times had it happened since her horrendous fight with Gideon? Let it go, she silently berated herself.

Still, she glanced in the rearview but saw only the grill of a pickup far too close—no, wait! Behind the truck, nosing as if to pass, the single headlight of a bike?

No way!

She was jumping at shadows.

Stop imagining things!

But the muscles in the back of her neck tensed.

Music with a sharp beat came through the speakers. "Geez, what is this? Rap?" Leah asked, pulling a face. "Really?"

"Marilee."

"Oh. Right." Little lines appeared between Leah's eyebrows. "Not my thing."

"Not mine either."

Leah kept switching channels while the traffic knotted and slowed as vehicles juggled to switch lanes. She went blithely on. " I'm kind of into country now." Short bursts of music spurted through the Explorer's speakers in rapid succession. "Sean got me hooked—oh shit, what's that!"

"What's wha—?" The sound of a motorcycle's engine roared from behind.

Brooke's gaze turned to the mirror again just in time to see a huge Harley cut from a lane on the left behind her, inching between her and the pickup. The truck braked just in time and the motorcycle accelerated, flashing past Brooke's Explorer on the right, unaware that a sedan had moved into the lane and swerved back just in time to avoid a collision.

"Jesus! What an idiot!" Leah cried.

Brooke's heart was in her throat.

Her foot on the brake.

She caught a glimpse of the reckless driver's helmet—matte black with a teal stripe.

Gideon.

He'd followed her?

Knew she would be at the airport?

Sweat broke out along the back of her neck. How had he known?

Her mind raced wildly. Was he at the park the other night? Had he overheard her conversation? But how? And what about the fact that he'd entered her house, that she'd actually heard footsteps? That he'd stolen her lingerie?

Then another sickening thought: Her SUV. He must've put a tracker on it.

Her blood turned to ice and she actually swerved a bit.

"Hey!" Leah shouted as she righted the SUV, keeping it in her lane. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," she muttered as he swung directly in front of her.

She hit the brakes. Her gaze immediately went to the rearview mirror, where she saw the truck behind her fishtail slightly.

"Jesus!" Leah yelled, now looking at the motorcycle less than a hundred feet in front of them. "What kind of an ass is that jerkwad?"

"I don't know," Brooke lied, letting up on the brakes.

Gideon, hunched over the handlebars, flew into the passing lane, roaring between cars crazily, weaving in and out, causing brake lights to flash and horns to honk.

"He's crazy!" Leah cried. "He's going to cause an accident! Someone should turn him in!"

"Maybe someone will," Brooke said, her heart racing as the motorcycle cut through traffic ahead of them.

"I didn't get his plate number, otherwise I would!" Leah vowed, then leaned dramatically back against the seat, her fingers splayed over her chest. "I hope to hell he gets a ticket. Would serve him right."

"Me too," Brooke agreed, trying to still her galloping heart. Her fingers still clutched the wheel in a death grip. What a stupid, reckless move! And Gideon knew what he was doing all right. She was sure of it. He'd probably figured Brooke was more nervous than usual when she was driving, the aftereffects from the accident with Gustafson.

"Pricks like that shouldn't be allowed to drive!"

"Amen." They were easing their way through the city, skyscrapers knifing upward between the freeway and Elliott Bay, huge ferries churning in the Sound.

"I need a drink after that. A double. And you? Geez, you've already had one accident this week! You don't need another."

"Right."

"And I'm kidding about the drink." Leah craned her neck to see the motorcycle disappearing through the crush of vehicles, then settled back into the seat.

As the crisis passed, Brooke became aware of the forgotten radio, which was now tuned to an eighties station, Bon Jovi's music wafting through the speakers.

"Holy shit, that was too close for comfort." Leah's phone chirped and she dug into a small clutch bag before sighing. "I was hoping it was Sean," she admitted sadly before clicking on, holding the cell to her ear, and pasting a smile on her face. "Hey, Dani, what's happening?. . . Oh right. If you could water the plants I would, like, owe you forever . . . uh-huh. Seattle, with my sister and her family . . . yeah, I know. No, he couldn't come. Work, you know . . ." She glanced at Brooke, who was negotiating her way to the off-ramp on the south end of Lake Union and still trying to figure out how Gideon had known she was at the airport.

No way it could be a coincidence; she just couldn't believe it.

By the time Leah disconnected, Brooke was turning onto the street where she lived. "Everything okay?" she asked.

Her sister sighed and looked up at the sky through the windshield. "Not really."

Uh-oh. Brooke braced herself. With Leah there was always drama. Hadn't she told herself that Leah didn't just show up because she missed Brooke? Wasn't there always an issue? "What's going on?"

Leah blinked rapidly. "It's Sean," she admitted, and Brooke's heart sank.

"What about him?"

"He wants a divorce."

Brooke turned into their drive. "Oh, Leah, why?"

Her chin trembled and her voice, quiet and higher than usual, cracked. "He says he doesn't love me anymore. In fact he says that he never really did." At that she broke down into sobs.

"Oh Leah, I'm sorry." Brooke pressed a button and the garage door started to roll upward.

Sniffing loudly, Leah said, "You're so lucky, Brooke. So damned lucky. You have Neal and Marilee and I . . . I have nothing."

"That's not true," Brooke said but trod lightly.

"It is!" Leah cried.

Brooke cut the engine, slipped out of her seat belt, and tried her best to hug her sister. Theirs might be a tense relationship, but she hated to see Leah hurting. Again. But it was too late. Now, as the garage door rolled down, Leah gave up all pretense of being in control and was openly sobbing, her face pink, tears running down her cheeks.

"Come on," Brooke said. "Let's go inside."

"I can't. Not like this."

"Sure you can. We're family." Feeling a stab of guilt for her negative thoughts about her sister, Brooke reached across Leah's lap and opened the glove compartment, where she found a small pack of tissues. "Pull yourself together. Okay?" She handed the package to her sister. "Everything's not as bad as it seems."

"Isn't it?" Leah plucked a tissue from the pack and dabbed at her eyes.

"Come on. Let's go inside and you can . . . have a glass of water or a soda or tea. Maybe that drink you mentioned earlier."

"I don't want anything." Leah blew her nose and didn't move. The garage door light went out and the only illumination seeping into the garage came through a tiny window grimy with dirt and cobwebs.

"What am I gonna do?" Leah said as more tears filled her eyes.

"You're going to figure it out. We'll go in the house. No one's home and you can go upstairs to the extra bedroom—the one next to Marilee's."

"I remember."

"Good."

Leah slumped in the seat as if she suddenly couldn't move. Now that she'd confessed her real reason for flying to Seattle, she was too weary to get out of the SUV.

Brooke was having none of it. She couldn't be late picking up Marilee again. She wouldn't. As far as she knew—and she'd asked friends and kept up with the school and neighborhood platforms on Facebook—Allison Carelli was still missing. Everyone was on edge.

So she couldn't deal with Leah's histrionics. She grabbed her sister's shoulders, her fingers digging into the soft cotton of Leah's cardigan. "Come on now. Pull yourself together." Dear God, how many times had she said those very words to her?

"I–I can't."

"You can and you will." Brooke was nose-to-nose with her sister.

"But—"

"You have before!"

Leah gasped, obviously stung, but they'd been through this time and time again. Brooke knew what she needed to do. Leah could use a shoulder to cry on, sure, but she also needed someone to toughen her up. To slap her back to reality. Brooke said, "I'll bring up your bag and get you settled, then I have to run and pick up Marilee from school and grab something from the deli. As I said, Neal's still at work, so you'll have the house to yourself for about an hour. Maybe a little longer."

"No, I just can't—"

"Sure you can," Brooke said, cutting off whatever wimpy excuse her sister could conjure. "Let's go." Reaching across Leah's lap again, she opened the passenger door and the interior light blinked on.

"You don't have to be so mean," her sister said, but she unhooked her seat belt.

"I'm not being mean," Brooke countered, "just reasonable." She wanted to explain that she too was dealing with stress, but now was not the time. "Come on, move it."

"Geez . . ." Leah said and, under her breath, she might have murmured "bitch" as she got out of the SUV.

Brooke didn't care. Right now she had bigger fish to fry, as Nana used to say, larger problems than Leah's forever revolving door of husbands. Muscles aching a bit from her struggle with Gideon, Brooke set her jaw and dragged the roller bag up the stairs, a step ahead of her sister.

In the kitchen Leah glanced out the back windows to the view. "I've always loved this place, you know." As she dashed the remainder of tears from her eyes, she looked around the cluster of rooms on the first floor: the kitchen, the dining area and living room, and the alcove to the side yard. Then she wandered to Neal's office, tucked in the lowest floor of the turret, and peeked inside before returning to the kitchen. She seemed more composed and asked, "Do you know how lucky you are?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." And now more than ever.

"This house—"

"I know. I love it too." And she did. So why had she risked it all—her marriage and her home, even her child's affection—for what? A summer fling with a man she barely knew, a sexy bad boy who touched a forbidden place in her heart? God, she'd been stupid.

Leah sighed, her gaze meeting Brooke's, and beneath the hint of a smile was there just a bit of something darker than sadness? Envy? Jealousy? "Really, really lucky." Then she made her way to the staircase by the front door.

Feeling slightly chastised, Brooke ignored the pain in her ankle and followed Leah into the guest room, where she deposited the roller bag at the foot of the old double bed she'd inherited from their mother.

"Make yourself at home," Brooke said, and again she saw that shadow of a darker emotion cross her sister's blue eyes.

"I will," Leah promised. "Neal's at work?"

Brooke was walking into the hallway but stopped short. Neal was always a difficult topic with her sister. "Yeah. He's usually home around six."

"Oh. Okay." The innocence in Leah's words belied what Brooke believed was something deeper, something a little less pure, but maybe it was her own guilt pricking at her conscience. Whatever the reason, she wasn't going to worry about it now. She was going to pick up her daughter from school and be on time for once, come hell or high water.

And then she was going to find out how Gideon Ross seemed to know her every move.