CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2

"Iowe you," Brooke said an hour later via Bluetooth in her dented Explorer as she drove. She was still rattled, her nerves stretched from the accident and the disturbing call.

From the other end of the connection, Andrea said, "Don't worry about it! Seriously." Andrea, who had been her friend since Marilee and Andrea's daughter, Zuri, met in kindergarten. Now, once again, Brooke had asked her to come to the rescue this afternoon.

She had texted Andrea earlier, while still dealing with Gustafson, and asked her friend to pick up Marilee at the high school. Of course Andrea had stepped up, located Marilee at the school, and given her a ride to the athletic club where they had a membership. Brooke had texted her daughter as well, but Marilee hadn't responded.

No surprise there.

Now, Brooke maneuvered her dented car into the parking lot of the club and pulled into a spot with a view of the gym's tall windows. Beyond the glass, teenage girls were clustered around the gymnastic equipment. Brooke caught a glimpse of Marilee dressed in her leotard and shorts. "You're a lifesaver," she said to Andrea, then cut the engine.

"You'd do the same for me."

"In a heartbeat."

"So there you go. Don't give it another thought. Besides, you'll pay me back."

"Of course. Name the time."

"Oh well . . . maybe next week? Zuri's got piano again and I've got to take DJ to the pediatrician at the same time."

"Done." Brooke nodded as if Andrea could see her. "Just text me a reminder."

"Will do. Hey—I just got a call from Joanna Nelson; you know her, right? She's Kinsey's mother."

Kinsey, a redhead with freckles, was another student in Marilee's class. The two girls had been close in elementary school but drifted into different cliques in junior high. "Yeah, the girls used to hang out."

"She says there's a girl missing from the class. Allison Carelli. Two days now. The police have been called in. As you can expect, Alli's mother, Elyse, is freaking out. Has no idea where she is. Has called all the friends and hospitals and everywhere."

"And they can't find her," Brooke said, feeling a drip of dread. She knew Allison of course, a quiet, petite girl with curly black hair, blue eyes, and an attitude that bordered on sullen.

"Gone without a trace."

"Two days?" Brooke whispered, sick inside. She told herself that two days, forty-eight hours, wasn't all that long, but she knew better. If Marilee were missing two hours, she would be going out of her mind.

"The police think Allison might be a runaway, but Elyse doesn't buy it. Neither does Joanna, who knows the family pretty well. Alli's a good kid, you know. Average student, on the swim team, low key—shit, I hate this stuff. Scares the hell out of me."

"Dear God." Brooke bit her lip. "Maybe she'll turn up." She tried to sound hopeful despite the little drip of dread that was becoming a steady stream.

Two girls in two years.

"Maybe, but Penny Williams didn't," Andrea said, as if reading Brooke's thoughts. "And that's been what—like nearly a year?"

Brooke was nodding. Penelope Williams just hadn't come home from school last fall. Since then the girl, in the class above Marilee's, hadn't been located.

Brooke's gaze was still centered on the oversize windows, her thoughts taking a dark turn when she thought about the missing girl and the pain her mother must have been feeling. If anything happened to Marilee, she would lose it. Absolutely lose it.

"Well, everyone's freaking out. I even got a call from Austin Keller; you know him, right? The fireman?"

"Yes." She smiled. "I've known Austin since high school. A shame about his wife." Stacey was a classmate as well and had died a couple years ago in a biking accident.

"He called. Worried sick. Single dad. Only kid." She let out a sigh. "You know, he always asks about you."

"Really?"

"Mm."

"Weird. I had such a crush on him my freshman year." She caught movement from the corner of her eye. A low-riding Honda wheeled into the lot, taking a space three slots down, the thump of bass audible through the driver's open window. He, a boy of about eighteen, cut the engine and unfolded his lanky frame from the car before heading toward the glass doors.

From the other end of the connection, Andrea said, "Oh crap, look at the time! Sorry, I've gotta run. DJ can't seem to find his soccer cleats for the third time this week. But warn Marilee, okay? About Alli. We need to be super-vigilant. More than ever. Later!" And then she was gone.

Leaning back in the seat, Brooke bit her lip. New fears crowded through her mind as she continued to watch her daughter. Marilee, her near-black hair pulled back into a long ponytail, was currently going through her routine. Her face was set, her expression determined, her shoulder muscles straining as she spun around the upper bar, then swung to the lower bar while her coach, a fit woman pushing forty, stood nearby.

At fourteen, her daughter was a good if not stellar student and a dedicated if not naturally talented athlete. Also, in Brooke's opinion, Marilee seemed more mature than some of her friends, and, as an only child, more than a little self-centered. Then again, what teenager wasn't? And having a sibling didn't make everything all peaches and cream. Didn't Brooke know that from personal experience? It wasn't as if having a sister had helped smooth out the treacherous road of adolescence for her. In fact, it had only deepened the ruts.

And as for being self-centered?

Was Marilee any worse than Brooke? She had only to remember rear-ending the car in front of her to remind herself of her total self-absorption.

How had she missed the warning of the Porsche's glowing taillights? And how had she not seen the kid with the ball in the street ahead? The boy could have been seriously injured or even worse. And what about the older couple in the Buick behind her? They had appeared fragile and certainly could have sustained serious injuries. Maybe even had a stroke or a heart attack from the stress? Who knew? Not to mention the ass she'd rear-ended. More than his ego could have been bruised had her Explorer pushed his car into oncoming traffic.

Still, Gustafson was a prick. A major prick! And she'd hated that she had felt forced to play the my-husband-is-a-lawyer card, but the jerk had goaded her into it.

But what about the call she'd received? Who was behind the whispered warning?

He's not who you think he is.

The single sentence revolved through her mind in an endless loop.

Someone was aware of her affair with Gideon Ross. Someone who had her private phone number.

Who?

Until that call, she'd believed only she and Gideon knew of their involvement. Brooke had told no one. But what about Gideon? How did she know she could trust him to keep his lips sealed?

A sick feeling came over her.

What had she been thinking? Why had she gotten involved with him in the first place?

Before she allowed herself to go there, to get into her own psyche, she reminded herself that she was going to break it off with him anyway. Time to calm down. It wasn't a problem.

Yet.

And there were bigger issues to worry about with the girls missing from Allsworth High.

She picked up the burner phone, studied the Recent Call menu, but there had been no name attached to the warning call. Just "Unknown Caller" and a phone number. Without thinking twice, she hit the button to return the call. It rang, and she felt her whole body tense. She would demand answers.

Who are you?

What do you want?

What do you mean, "he's not who you think he is?"

What the hell do you think you know?

And, most importantly, she'd issue her own warning: Don't ever call me again.

But she never got the chance. The phone disconnected after the fifth—or was it the sixth—ring? No voicemail.

Her stomach roiled. This was no good. Her secret fling had been discreet and now short-lived, but someone knew. And they were calling.

Who? Her mind spun with possibilities and came up empty. She'd been careful.

But what about Gideon? How careful had he been?

Fingers trembling slightly, she tried to send a text to the number.

That didn't work either.

"Awesome," she said to the empty car. "Just freakin' awesome." She'd given out the burner phone's number to no one but Gideon. But someone had it. Someone, she assumed, who knew it belonged to her.

Frustrated all over again, she leaned back in the driver's seat, the accidents ever-more horrifying what-if scenes playing through her mind. She was at fault for the accident with the Porsche. No doubt about it. And the whole situation could have ended up so much worse. As it was, no one was injured, unless she counted her own pride. That definitely took a hit and was bruised black and blue.

Maybe it was a sign, she thought, watching Marilee dismount and converse with her coach before approaching the balance beam.

Brooke told herself she didn't really believe in omens or curses or signs from a higher power, but sometimes she sensed there was more going on than met the eye. She and her sister were brought up in a strict Catholic household. Her grandmother was always reminding her that the devil was lurking just over her shoulder, that God was expecting her to sin and ready to mete out his painful punishment.

Their summer cabin on the island, passed for generations in Brooke's mother's family, had once been filled with Nana's religious artifacts. Jesus statues adorned the mantel. Candles, most decorated with the Sacred Heart of Jesus, were placed on the hearth. Pictures of the Madonna graced the walls. Rosaries were draped over bedposts and crucifixes were nailed over doorways, inside and out. When Brooke was a kid the cabin was a shrine to Christ. Over the years, after Nana's passing, most of the candles, crucifixes, and rosaries were packed away.

Despite her own teenage rebellion, some of the beliefs and teachings of the Church had rubbed off on Brooke. Her grandmother had always looked for signs that God was talking to her. So maybe, today, He was turning his attention to Mary O'Hara's granddaughter. The accident a warning of her sins.

"Yeah right."

Either way, it was time to end the affair. She'd even thought about doing it earlier that afternoon when she'd been with Gideon but had lost her nerve.

She glanced at her watch. Marilee's lesson would be over in ten minutes. More than enough time. She glanced around and saw no one nearby, but she turned on the engine again, rolled up the window, and with the AC blasting dialed Gideon's number on her burner phone.

He picked up on the third ring. "Hey, babe."

His voice caused the breath to catch in her lungs. Jesus. Even though she hated him referring to her as "babe." Even though she was mad as hell at him.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Who did you give this number to?" she demanded, her voice edgy.

"What? No one."

"You're sure?"

He laughed. "Of course I'm sure. Why would I tell anyone? That's what makes it special, you and me, right? Just our little secret."

She plunged on. "So then why did I get this weird call, like some kind of warning? From an anonymous caller."

"A warning?"

"Yes."

"About what?" he demanded.

"Us—or, more specifically, about you."

"Me?" he said, the timbre of his voice changing slightly, the laughter having drained away.

"Yeah. They said, ‘He's not who you think he is.'"

"And they were talking about me?"

"Who else?"

"Anyone. Neal, to begin with." He was getting defensive. "Who was it? Who called?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"You didn't recognize the voice?"

"No! That's what I've been trying to tell you." Her voice had elevated an octave and she held the phone in a death grip as she stared through the dusty windshield.

"So what? You think l told someone and they called you?"

"I don't know what to think, but someone knows."

A pause. "Maybe it's a prank."

"Oh right, what're the chances of that?" Was he being dense on purpose? Outside a crow flew onto a nearby tree.

"I don't know. I have no idea what you're talking about." Now he was just being obtuse.

Tell him. Tell him now!

She gathered the courage she hadn't found earlier. "So maybe we should cool it," she said, her heart racing.

"What?" he said, a cautionary note in his voice. "What're you talking about?"

She drew in a long breath, then plunged in. "I've been thinking for a while now. And I don't really know how to say this, because it's new territory for me, but I guess it's best to just come out with it. Gideon, I'm done."

"You're—?"

"What we had?" she cut in quickly. "It was great. Okay? But it's over."

She waited, the silence stretching long.

Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty. Then, finally, "You're kidding. Right?"

"No. Not kidding. Dead serious. I can't do this anymore."

Another achingly long pause, then, tentatively, "But . . . why?"

"Because it's wrong, Gideon. We both know it." She stared through the windshield but couldn't see Marilee in the glare. "I have a family. And I don't know what I was thinking to let this go so far, but I just can't go on with it. I won't. I'm a married woman, for God's sake. I've got a kid."

Yet another stunned silence. Then only, "Wow."

She waited.

As if he finally understood, he said, "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything."

"You were just here."

"I know." She didn't admit that she'd been too nervous to say what was on her mind to his face, that she'd planned to break it off for weeks. "It's been coming a long, long time."

"As I said, you were just here," he argued, his voice a little harsher.

She cringed as she eyed the half-drunk cup of iced coffee melting in the cup holder, the dry cleaning tossed into the back seat with her gym bag, all part of her alibi if she were asked what she'd done all afternoon.

Lies.

All lies.

Well, it was over.

But Gideon still was not believing her. He said, "You could have given me a heads-up. You know, when we were together. If it's been on your mind for so long, why didn't you say anything?"

"I wasn't sure."

"But you are now?" Skepticism tinged his voice.

"Yes." No hesitation. The time was right.

More seconds passed, and she watched a jet rising in the sky before he said in a low voice, "I think this is a mistake."

"Please, Gideon, don't go there. Okay?"

"So, I have no say in this?"

She didn't answer. Shouldn't have to. If either of them wanted out, it was unwritten, unspoken, that the other would acquiesce. That had been their deal from the start. If not said aloud, at least inferred.

"Goodbye, Gideon."

She cut the connection.

It was over.

At least for her.

All of the tension drained from her body and she rested her head on the steering wheel.

The burner phone rang in her hand and she saw his number flash onto the screen.

Ignored it. Adjusted the air-conditioning. Watched as the jet, leaving contrails, disappeared. The phone stopped ringing.

Less than a minute later another call came in, the disposable phone again ringing insistently, Gideon's number again visible.

Nope.

"Take a hint," she said as if he could hear her, then rolled down the window. As she switched off the engine, she heard the ding of a text coming through.

She glanced at the burner phone.

No message.

But her cell, mounted on the dash, was lighting up with a text.

We need to talk. In person. Face-to-face.

"Shit." He'd contacted her on the phone that was supposedly off-limits, the one connected to her family plan with her husband and daughter. Though the call came through marked "private caller," she knew who was on the other end of the connection.

Her heart froze.

Gideon was never supposed to contact her on that phone. Not ever. He knew that. It was one of their rules.

But you broke the rules first, didn't you? By breaking it off.

Nervously, she punched in his number from her burner phone. Waited. Counting the rings. One. Two. Three. Four. He wasn't picking up. "Come on. Come on." Five. Six. Click!

Fine. She'd leave him a blistering message and opened her mouth to speak, then decided against it and hung up.

A text message came through—on her cell: Face. To. Face.

"Crap!"

Once more she tried him on the burner phone and glanced through the windshield, squinting against the glare.

Marilee seemed to be completing her routine on the beam, working on her dismount. Marilee, who was on the cusp of womanhood. Emotional. Impressionable. Like Allison Carelli or Penelope Williams. Young girls gone missing. Her heart twisted. What if that happened to Marilee?

She swallowed hard, thinking about her daughter before her thoughts turned to Neal. A man who trusted that his wife of fifteen years had been faithful, even if they were considering a separation to "sort things out." Even if they'd separated before. Even if he hadn't been as loyal as she.

Stupidly, Brooke had risked it all, tumbling with full-fledged abandon into what was probably a midlife crisis.

What had the jerk she'd rear-ended, Gustafson, called her? A fuckin' moron?

Unfortunately, he'd been right on the money.

Another text came through on her regular phone, the message clear and imperative:

Now.

"No. I can't," she whispered, but the texts kept coming.

We meet now.

She had to stop this. She couldn't go home and just have text after text come in.

We meet now. Or else.