CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 14

Upstairs, Brooke saw Leah seated at the table, a glass of wine resting near her phone. As she heard Brooke and Neal approach, Leah looked up, and she seemed more composed than she was earlier.

Good.

"Don't suppose you've got a cigarette?" she asked.

"Don't smoke," Brooke said, and when Leah's eyes narrowed she added, "I quit. Remember? When I was pregnant with Marilee. Never took it up again."

"Right." Leah leaned back in her chair and her eyes thinned in disbelief. "You don't smoke like I don't drink." She held up her refreshed glass and took a sip. "How about you?" she asked Neal. "Got any ciggies?"

"Me? Nah." He held up his hands. "Not for years. I'm clean. No more vices."

Leah clucked her tongue. "Look at the two of you, just paragons of effin' virtue."

"Give me a break," Brooke said under her breath.

Neal, sizing up the situation and Leah's mood, was already peeling off, backing out of the room, "I've got a little catch-up work to take care of, so I'll be in the office. But dinner? Your night."

"I know. I've got it covered." She noticed the questions in his eyes. "I pulled the lasagna out of the freezer earlier." She pointed to the foil-topped casserole dish on the counter next to the toaster oven. "I'll put it in soon. It should be done in about an hour, maybe an hour and fifteen. That gives Marilee time to get ready for the dance."

"So she's going?" Neal asked.

"Of course she is."

"With Nick?"

"No—well, not technically. We discussed this already. He's going to meet her there."

"And she agreed?"

"We came to an understanding." She turned on the oven to preheat.

"Okay. Good." He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. "I'll be in the den." With a flick of his wrist he twisted off the cap and, to Brooke's utter annoyance, sent it sailing across the room.

"Really?"

"Old habits die hard."

"You're not in college anymore," she reminded him but managed a smile.

"Right." He picked up the cap from the floor and put it in the garbage under the sink before heading to his office located in the turret near the front door.

Leah watched him leave with the dog at his feet. "You two seem to be getting along," she observed.

"Why wouldn't we?" Brooke said, refusing to think about Gideon and her infidelity or Neal's . . . though his had been different.

"Didn't he move out a while back?"

So she did know. Of course. It wasn't a secret that they'd separated, and Marilee and Leah communicated.

"We've had our ups and downs. Currently up," she lied as the alert for the temperature gauge dinged. She slipped the lasagna inside the oven and set the timer. Her ankle was starting to ache a little, so she sat down across from her sister.

"Take a look at this." Leah twirled her phone on the table so that Brooke could view the open social media app.

"What's this?" Brooke asked.

"Not what, but who." Leah cocked her head. "This is Isabelle Van Dyke's page, and if you scroll through her photographs and look closely, you'll see a familiar face."

"Don't tell me," Brooke said, already guessing the obvious answer. "Sean."

"Bingo! Give the little lady a prize." Leah blinked against another spate of tears, but none fell. "If I go back on this page, I can figure out about when he entered the picture, so to speak, and on his page too. So it's pretty easy to tell about when they became ‘friends.'"

Brooke hated herself for asking but did anyway. "How does he know her?"

"He used to work with her, I do know that, but"—she turned the phone around again and scrolled through the online info—"Izzy—that's what she goes by," Leah explained, pulling a face. "She left the company about the time he got the axe. He said he quit, but I heard from one of his coworkers that he was fired, and then within a month of the time she started at a new company, he began investing in it."

Brooke thought of her own savings, which she'd placed in the start-up where she'd worked, how it was kind of a show of faith, how she'd believed in the business, and how it had cost her.

"So you think this . . . Isabelle, she got him to invest?"

"Pretty damned sure." Leah took a swallow of wine. "The timing is right," she said. "About the same time he showed up on her page he became less interested in me. In sex, I mean. And he's always been horny. Or was." She took another long swallow and drained her glass. She shoved her hair away from her face in frustration. "What is it with me and men?" she asked not just Brooke but herself and the universe as a whole.

"Don't go there," Brooke advised.

Leah scooted her chair back and found the wine bottle on the counter, then held it up. "Join me?" she asked, looking in Brooke's direction.

"No, I don't think so."

"Fine." Leah poured again, filling her glass to the rim. "More for me." She held her glass aloft for a second, some red wine sloshing over the rim. "Cheers," she said, taking a sip. "Fuck men."

"Right."

A cell phone jangled.

"Is that yours?" Leah asked, holding up hers. "Not mine."

"I'll see." Brooke's stomach clenched. Not a ring but a buzz. Not her cell phone but the burner.

Oh. Damn.

She reached into her purse and ended the call. She reminded herself to put it on silent and hide it in a small recess in the cupboard over the washing machine.

Leah glanced up at her. "Who was that?"

"Don't know. Probably a telemarketer," she said just as the timer went off and she turned her attention to the oven, where she rotated the baking dish, the scents of garlic and tomatoes wafting to her as the heat of the oven warmed her skin. "I'd say another fifteen or twenty minutes," she said, though Leah hadn't asked.

"That skank!" she cried. "Oh my God! Look what she just posted!" She set down her glass so hard that the stem cracked, the glass broke, and wine sloshed all over the table as well as over her phone. "No! No!"

Neal rushed back into the room.

Marilee too hurried down the stairs, Shep bounding behind her.

"My phone! Damn it, my phone!" Leah had picked up her cell and was wiping it with her fingers.

Brooke tore off two paper towels and, avoiding the jagged pieces of shattered glass, started blotting up the wine that was running over the tabletop and dripping to the floor.

"What happened?" Marilee asked, eyeing the broken glass and her mother busily mopping up.

"Nothing. An accident," Brooke replied.

Leah shrugged. "Just your lush of an aunt spilling her drink and ruining her phone. Just like she's ruining the rest of her life."

"Stop it!" Brooke said, sending Leah a hard look. As she did, a sharp pain shot through her palm. "Damn." A shard of glass had pierced her skin. "Holy—"

"Are you okay?" Neal asked.

Sucking in her breath through her teeth, Brooke plucked the wicked piece of glass from her hand. "Son of a bitch," she hissed as she quickly stepped to the sink. Blood trailed after her, but she turned on the tap and ran water over the wound. "It's fine," she lied, ignoring the pain starting to throb. "Not deep."

"Oh Brooke. I'm sorry." Leah seemed ready to cry again as she continued to dab at her cell with the towel.

"Put the phone in rice," Marilee said and walked to the pantry, returning with a canister of white rice. "It's supposed to draw out the liquid."

"Is it that bad? Let me see." Neal took the cell from Leah's hand.

As Brooke found a Band-Aid and tore open the little packet, the dog began licking up a few missed drops on the floor.

"Ugh! Someone get Shep out of here!" Brooke ordered and then did it herself after slapping on the Band-Aid. "There could be glass on the floor! Come on, boy!" She grabbed the retriever by his collar and pulled him into the hallway. "Stay!" she commanded, pointing a finger at the dog. "You, stay!"

"I think it's okay," Neal was saying as she stepped back into the kitchen. He touched the screen on Leah's phone and was nodding as he handed it back to her. "Here—try it again."

"Thank you." Leah was already typing and swiping.

Marilee glanced at her mother. "You okay?"

"I think I'll live," she said, needing a moment to pull herself together.

"You sure?" Neal asked.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Neal didn't seem convinced, but he didn't press the issue and eyed the floor and tabletop, turning on the flashlight of his phone, trying to catch the glimmer of any tiny bits of glass still remaining.

Leah was still testing her phone.

"All clear," Neal declared.

"Mom, you're still bleeding." Marilee was staring at Brooke's hand. Sure enough, blood was soaking through the small Band-Aid. Marilee, to her credit, even found a damp towel and swiped the tabletop again.

"You should put some Neosporin on that," Neal said, motioning to Brooke's injured hand.

"Okay. Keep an eye on the lasagna, will you? It's got a few more minutes. And there's bread to heat and . . . a salad in a bag in the fridge."

"Got it!" Marilee said.

"Smells great." Neal gave her a wink as she snagged her purse from the counter, and she wondered how she'd ever not trusted him, ever thought they'd fallen out of love.

In the bathroom, she cleaned the cut on her hand and heard the conversation drifting up the stairwell. Muted voices, punctuated with laughter, her family. She applied the antibiotic gel to her cut, placed a large bandage on the wound and then, while everyone was downstairs, pulled the burner phone from her bag.

A voicemail.

Closing the bathroom door and locking it, she kept the volume on low and played the message. A raspy, whispered voice warned, "He's not who you think he is." Then the message ended.

Her heart stilled.

She licked suddenly dry lips.

Of course the number came up as unknown, and when she tried to call it no one answered. It cut off before the second ring. Who was calling her? Who knew? She felt cold inside and again heard a burst of laughter from the kitchen below.

She'd told no one of course, but Gideon could have told any number of people. He was reckless. Hadn't that been obvious just today as he, on his motorcycle, tried to cut her off in traffic? Showing up on her doorstep as a pizza deliveryman, for God's sake?

Unfortunately, his wild streak, his devil-may-care attitude, had been a big part of her attraction to him. The fact that she hadn't really tried to find out more about him, hadn't seriously researched him on the Internet, or had him scoped out by someone she trusted—

Like whom?

Who would you have trusted to look into a near stranger with whom you'd started an affair?

Face it, Brooke, you didn't really want to know him, wanted to keep the mystery going. You intentionally turned a blind eye.

You're an idiot.

God, she regretted every moment with him.

But you loved it at the time, didn't you? You wanted to step on the wild side and you dared to risk everything you loved for the thrill of the exhilaration, to feel young and wanted and alive once more!

Again, you're a fool.

The phone buzzed in her hand.

Gideon's number. Not a call but a text.

She froze, eyes wide as she read, Liar! I thought you and Neal never made love. That the marriage was over. Isn't that what you said? And yet there you were, fucking the hell out of him.

She stared at the message in disbelief.

Gideon knew that she and Neal had made love . . . no, wait, not just knew but had seen them?

She read the damning words: and yet there you were, fucking the hell out of him.

As if he'd been watching, or in the room with them.

Her stomach somersaulted.

No way.

That was impossible.

Or was it?

Fear oozed through her blood.

Hadn't the shades been open?

Hadn't she thought she'd seen someone in the backyard?

Hadn't she heard the roar of a motorcycle?

"Stop it!" she said aloud, jarring herself. He couldn't have seen them. Not from any position in the yard two stories down. No way. He was only guessing and she was letting her paranoia get the better of her.

Calm down.

He's out of your life.

Just because he buzzed you and Leah on the freeway doesn't mean he's stalking you. And you expected to hear from him after your showdown the other day. You knew he wouldn't just leave you alone. So this is how he's reacting.

Pull yourself together!

The uneasiness persisted, but she punched it down. Recriminations at this point were useless. She couldn't change the past, only the future. She turned off the phone, stuffed it into a pocket in her purse, and reminded herself to get rid of it. Splashing water on her face, she tried to cool off.

As she dried her cheeks with a hand towel, she heard the buzz of the timer for the casserole. Snagging her purse, she walked into the bedroom.

On the way out, her eye caught the glitter of something on her dresser. What? Something out of place. She stopped short. A small, bloodred stone winked from beneath the lamp. Her breath caught as she spied the bracelet Gideon had given her, the one she'd admired, with Marilee's birthstone and the engraved charm.

But she'd left it in the birdhouse.

Never brought it in.

Her mind spun.

Who had found it?

She snatched up the gold links and held them tight in her hand, then spun, searching the room as if she could find the perpetrator. Her heart was hammering, her breath trapped in her lungs.

Someone who knew about the bracelet, someone who had discovered it had been in her house and planted it where she would find it.

Once more she wondered if Gideon had been in her house, her home?

But he didn't have a key.

Or did he?

She'd heard footsteps, hadn't she?

Her underwear had gone missing.

Her heart was racing, her pulse thundering. Could he have somehow lifted her keys and made a copy when she hadn't been aware of it? But when? Frantically, she dug into her purse, found her set of keys, and identified the one to her house. She told herself she was grasping at straws.

Or was she?

He knew that she usually came in through the garage, with its automatic opener. Her key could have been off the ring for days, or weeks, and she wouldn't have noticed.

She started to hyperventilate, thinking how her life was destroyed, how he'd invaded every part of it. Nothing was sacred! No, no—

Get a grip!

Don't freak out.

You can't lose it!

Leah and Marilee are downstairs, and Neal . . .

Neal!

She froze.

Hadn't he been the one who sent her up here looking for Neosporin? Could her husband have found out the truth and decided to tease her, to gaslight her by leaving the bracelet on the bureau?

Neal was upstairs earlier.

Or what about Marilee? She was alone on this upper floor. Brooke had assumed her daughter was spending time in her own room, but maybe she'd found the bracelet earlier, even days ago, and sneaked into the room.

No, no. That was crazy. Marilee wouldn't even be paying attention.

Her mind went to her sister. Leah was alone in the kitchen when the adjuster was with Neal and Brooke. And she was upstairs. Could Leah have gone onto the deck and somehow found the bracelet? If so, why wouldn't she have mentioned it? Would she know the significance of this one piece of jewelry?

No.

None of Brooke's thoughts made any sense. So how had this happened? Her mind raced. Who had planted the bracelet on the dresser? As if to answer her question, she was sure she heard the sound of a motorcycle's engine revving in the distance. Then, when she listened more intently, she was certain she was mistaken.

Gideon hadn't been here.

Couldn't have sneaked into the house.

Right?

Frantically, she let her gaze scour the room as she turned in a slow, wide circle. He could have climbed in! Slipped inside and climbed up the back stairs? The ones they never used? Or scaled the exterior somehow; the drainpipe maybe? Hadn't she seen him scurry up the mast of his sailboat, perching high above her and looking down, laughing at her for her obvious concern. "Don't worry," he'd yelled, the sharp, salty breeze whipping his windbreaker and tossing his hair over his eyes. "I do it all the time."

Her stomach dropped.

The skin on the back of her arms pimpled.

All of a sudden she was back to her original fear: He'd been here.

In this room.

Watching as she and Neal—

"Hey! Dinner's on!" Neal's voice boomed up the stairs.

She nearly screamed.

Hastily, she stuffed the bracelet into her pocket, nearly ripping off her recently applied Band-Aid.

She would throw it away, she decided, smoothing the bandage against the flat of her hand. The next time she ran, once her ankle was strong enough, she'd drop the phone and this damned bracelet into a public wastebasket, or heave it into the bay, or . . . somehow disentangle herself from the damning thing with its glittering stones and emotional ties to Gideon Ross.

At that moment the phone buzzed again, and her stomach twisted as another text from Gideon appeared on the small screen. She read the words and felt a chill as cold as winter seep through her bones:

Call me

"No way," she whispered.

And then the rest of the text appeared.

Or else.