CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 34

Don't freak out! Don't freak out! For God's sake donot freak out!

But Brooke felt her entire world imploding. Gideon was here? Posing as Eli Stone? Intending to marry Leah? After leaving the bracelet and putting up a spy camera?

She felt as if she might hyperventilate.

"I don't know about you," Neal said to Brooke, "but I could use a drink." He turned to the hutch by the dining room, where one lower cupboard had always been used as a liquor cabinet. Crouching and rooting around inside, he said, "Well, shit! All that's in here is peppermint schnapps. Oh no! Wait a second! What's this? Here we go!" He let out a long whistle as he stood to dust off a blue bottle. Eyebrows lifting, he said, "Bombay Sapphire! As you know, I make a mean martini." He eyed the bottle and muttered, "Let me see." Then searched again. "May the gods of booze be with us and . . . ah yes!" He pulled out another bottle and wiggled it. "Vermouth! Now we're in business." Grin stretching, he looked up at her, "Want one?"

She shouldn't. It would be far better to keep her wits about her, but she couldn't stand it and she needed something, anything to help her calm down and slow her heart rate. "Sure," she said, throwing caution to the wind. "And while you're at it, make it a double."

"Your wish is my command." Neal found a small pitcher, rinsed it out, and chipped ice from the frozen mass of cubes in the freezer with the ice pick while Brooke opened a fresh jar of olives. "Note to self," Neal said, "pick up more ice."

"Or make some. It's Christmas tomorrow, remember?"

"And this is Christmas Eve—oh, hell." He handed her a glass and they clinked rims. "Merry Christmas."

"You think?"

"We can try."

"Right." She touched the rim of her glass to his again but knew she was lying. She might fake it for the family, but the last thing this Christmas was going to be was merry. Inside her mind was screaming, her heart palpitating from the shock of seeing Gideon again, but she had to think, to figure out what to do, rationally. Calmly. Without freaking out.

Yeah right.

She took a swallow and felt the welcome warmth of the gin on her throat.

"What do you think about Eli—the new guy?" Neal asked, scowling into his drink.

I think he's a lying scumbag capable of God knows what!She remembered Gideon with the gun, how she'd felt he was going to kill her on the deck of his sailboat. But she couldn't mention any of that. Instead, she settled for, "Don't trust him."

"That makes two of us."

"Three if you count Marilee."

"Yeah, I know." Neal took a swallow of his martini. "She looked as if she'd seen a ghost when he walked in. Well, so did you."

I did!"It was a shock." She took another swallow and tried to gather her wits about her. Why would Gideon play this charade? Why change his name? Why try to infiltrate the family? Why go to such lengths of deception? Why go as far as marry Leah under an assumed identity? None of this made any sense.

"Yeah," Neal said and finished his drink in one long swallow. "I just don't get it. Leah never said anything."

"To you?" Brooke said. "You've been talking to her?"

"To Marilee." But the way he said it made her wonder. She remembered their fight when she'd confronted him about the loans to her sister, about the lien Leah had signed against this very cabin.

It had been less than a week after her final near-death blowup with Gideon. Brooke had been on pins and needles, half expecting Gideon to show up on her doorstep again. To find him lingering in the park, or see his number show up on her phone as he tried to text or call her.

There had been nothing.

Radio silence.

The same was true of Leah. Once she'd walked through the airport doors at Sea-Tac, she hadn't communicated with Brooke at all.

They'd gone about their lives.

As if none of the drama had happened.

Except that Neal had let it slip about the loan to Leah.

Brooke had stepped into his office and his laptop was open, Leah's name visible. Neal had snapped it closed.

Too late.

Brooke had seen the lien again. But now Neal knew it.

"Fifty thousand dollars?" she'd said.

For once, Neal didn't try to change or dodge the subject. It was almost as if he'd expected the confrontation.

"It's secured." He'd waved her into a side chair and she'd dropped into it.

Brooke couldn't believe that he'd gone behind her back. "It's Marilee's college fund."

"Not all of it. We'll be okay." But as he'd sat in his desk chair, he'd twiddled a pen between his fingers and the little tic at his temple, the telltale indication that he was nervous, became visible.

"Why, Neal?" she'd asked. "And why didn't you talk to me about it?"

"Because you and Leah were already at each other's throats and she told me that you were against it. In fact, she said you told her to talk to me."

"But it's so much money."

"And she lost everything she had," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, having the decency to at least look a little uncomfortable. "Everything," he repeated. "Including her inheritance."

"By letting her dumbass husband get his hands on it!"

"She has nothing, Brooke, and we have so much. God, could you have a heart? She's your sister!" And he'd seemed agitated then, the tic pulsing more visibly. She'd wanted to argue, to remind him that Leah was a victim of her own making. But Brooke had sins of her own. When she thought about what she'd been through, how she'd put her family as well as her own sanity at risk, she decided to drop it.

"Okay, fine," she'd finally said. "But in the future before we loan out a penny, we discuss it."

"Agreed." He was nodding, looking out the window. "If we have to, we can take a loan out on the cabin."

"What? No!" she'd argued. The cottage on Piper Island had been in the family for decades and all the while unmortgaged, owned free and clear. "Let's not get crazy. I'll have a new job soon and we'll figure it out."

"You should talk to Bill Clayton," Neal had said. "They're expanding, doing all things wirelessly, cutting-edge technology. You like that stuff. You and Marilee. I can call him."

"No. Don't. I'd rather do it myself," she said.

"Always."

That was true; she had a habit of trusting her judgment over others, creating her own path, and it had worked out for her—until Gideon.

So she'd called Bill Clayton, had been hired within a week, and she and Neal hadn't mentioned the money that Leah had owed them again. Marilee's boarding school was expensive, but they managed to get by, as they would when she went off to college.

"How about another?" Neal now was already pouring himself a second drink.

"I'm good." Brooke put her hand over the top of her glass. She couldn't take a chance on getting buzzy and losing control of her lips. She had too much to do.

No, now that the shock was wearing off, she had to be clever, to expose Eli as a fraud without exposing herself. Somehow she had to trip him up, to get rid of him, before Leah made the mistake of marrying him.

Somehow they got through dinner. As surreal as it was.

It had been touch and go, but Eli had convinced Leah to come downstairs and Brooke had managed to convince Marilee that she would try her best to get along with her sister, even though it was probably impossible, especially considering the circumstances and how freaked out Brooke was. But she pulled it together. "It's Christmas," she said, and Marilee had finally deigned to join the tense group seated around the old oak table.

Leah wanted to pout. Brooke recognized the signs. Her slightly protruding lower lip, the dark looks sent Brooke's way, and an overly dramatic slump of her shoulders. But Leah really couldn't give into her usual poor-me routine with Eli at her side. She had to portray herself as the ebullient bride-to-be, a tough act when she was also the preyed-upon victim.

If only she knew that in this case, tonight, her two roles had truly melded into one.

Marilee, though quieter than usual, held up her part of the conversation as they consumed spicy chowder, slices of hot bread, and a salad made with kale, pumpkin seeds, and dried cranberries, which Marilee steadfastly picked out and slid to the edge of her plate.

"So, Leah says coming up here to the island was your idea?" Brooke said to Eli.

He was seated across the round table, the small arrangement of pine cones, holly, and greens separating them. The drink had taken the edge off, and she could actually speak to him face-to-face. But damn, he looked like Gideon. He was Gideon. She just knew it! And it scared the hell out of her.

"Yeah, I thought it was a good idea."

How could she call him out? Expose him?

Brooke was still trying to slip him up, to make him admit that he was a fraud and, possibly, Leah was an innocent victim. A mark. She hated to give Leah the satisfaction of being used because of her history and her outright envy, if not jealousy, of her older sister. Still, would Leah try to ruin Brooke's life as she claimed her older sister had destroyed hers? Would she really be so brazen as to bring Gideon here to claim he was someone else, someone she intended to marry?

None of it made sense, but her wits weren't as sharp as usual. Neal's martini was strong: a double shot of gin with just a whisper of vermouth along with two olives. And she'd downed it quickly. Then there was the wine with dinner. She'd had a glass, maybe two, but definitely not three . . . or . . .

Leah filled in the blanks. "Eli found out that you and I weren't on the best of terms and he didn't like it." Seated next to him, she reached out and touched his hand.

"Didn't like it?" Brooke repeated.

"Uh-huh." Leah nodded, her eyebrows arched, almost daring Brooke to argue. "He knew we weren't speaking, and then when Marilee said she was coming up here for Christmas, he suggested we all get together. That we sisters should, you know, mend fences. How did you put it?" she said, glancing Eli's way, "embrace family?"

For the love of God. "Is that right?" Brooke said and caught a warning glare from Neal.

"It is," Leah insisted and stood. "It's what he does. He's kind of a counselor."

"A psychiatrist?" Neal asked.

Eli shook his head. "Not a doctor." Anticipating Neal's next question, he added, "Not a psychologist either. It's not really what I do."

"What then? What is it you really do?" Brooke asked, expecting him to squirm under the scrutiny.

He didn't. "I give free advice to my clients. I'm a personal trainer."

"What kind of advice? Like, do you solve marital problems?" she persisted. "Family issues?"

His lips pulled into a tight smile. "More like using common sense. Clients come to me and start talking, that's all." He sent a meaningful glance at Leah. "I'm not a trained counselor."

"He's a life coach," Leah said.

"Without a degree," Brooke pointed out, and while Leah seemed to fume, Eli—or whoever he was—let a slow smile crawl across his lips. He was amused by all the underlying tension.

"What exactly does a life coach do?" she asked, pushing it.

"Helps people!" Leah's eyes narrowed.

"So you didn't go to college or some special school to become a personal trainer? Don't you need to have some certification if you're planning to ‘coach' people on how to live their lives?"

" He doesn't need a degree for that!" Leah was getting angry.

"Doesn't he?" Even though alcohol was loosening her tongue, Brooke figured he would need some formal training. "What about sailing?" she asked.

Did the muscles in his neck tighten a bit?

"A little."

Brooke asked, "Ever own a sailboat?"

"No." He shook his head, but a bit of a smile touched the corners of his lips.

"For Pete's sake, just stop," Leah said. She forced a cold grin, and if there ever was a look that could kill, Brooke would have been dead five minutes earlier. "Let's have some champagne," Leah forced out. "I think we need to celebrate!"

She scraped her chair back, found the bottle she'd put in the fridge, yanked it out, and hauled it back to the table. "You can do the honors," she said to Eli, then rummaged around in the hutch and came up with five champagne flutes, part of a set their mother had owned since her marriage, a gift from a close friend. "I know you're not legal," she said to Marilee as she quickly rinsed the stemmed glasses and returned to the table, "but we can fudge a little."

"Because it's not every day you decide to get married?" Brooke asked.

Leah took in a swift breath. Wow, she mouthed. Low blow.

Brooke was about to say something more, but Neal placed a hand on her thigh, his fingers tense. The tiny shake of his head was almost imperceptible. But she caught his message: This wasn't the time.

What he didn't understand was that there would never be a good time. Ever.

"Pooh, Brooke. Get over it. I already told you, Sean—er, Eli—knows everything about me. About my marriages."

"And you know everything about him?"

"I'm not going to let you ruin everything!" Leah insisted. "Eli—please. Let's do this thing!"

"I'm not trying to ruin anything," Brooke argued as Eli took the champagne bottle from Leah's quivering fingers. "I'm just asking."

"Sure," Leah said icily. Her jaw was set, her lips flat.

"Maybe Leah doesn't know everything about you," Eli said to Brooke.

"What?" Brooke couldn't believe his nerve.

"It happens. Siblings keep secrets from each other," Eli said and Leah, idiot that she was, actually seemed pleased, as if he'd come to her rescue.

Oh save me!

While Marilee looked as if she wanted to melt into the floorboards and disappear and Neal sat tense as a bowstring, Eli tore away the foil, twisted the wire holding the cork in place, then quickly worked the cork from the bottle. The champagne erupted with a loud pop that sounded like a gunshot.

For a second Brooke was thrown back in time, remembering the gun going off in that cold, dark water. The explosion. The blood. His ghostly face as he drifted away. He was injured that day. He had to have been. There was just too much blood for it to have all been from the miscarriage . . . and yet she'd seen him pull himself from the water. She remembered punching the gas, freaking out, driving away while her insides cramped.

She swallowed hard and felt her own face drain of color. Blinking, she found Eli staring at her as he poured the glasses.

She'd expected to hear from him.

Or the police.

Or someone.

For weeks, if anyone came to the door she'd freeze inside, certain to see him on her doorstep, or a cop on the porch with dozens of questions.

Instead, there had been silence.

Blessed but cold silence.

He didn't show up at her door, or at the school, or in her vehicle, waiting for her.

He didn't call or text.

No email.

And all those raspy warnings from an anonymous caller had stopped.

The silence had been deafening, and, in the first few weeks, put her on edge. She'd barely eaten, jumped whenever the phone or doorbell rang. Not even the sight of the empty berth, the knowledge that he'd sailed off, could ease her mind.

Eventually, her fears had faded.

But she'd never forgotten his vow: I will never let you go. Never. And now he had caught up with her when she'd least expected it.

"Brooke?" Neal brought her back to the present and she saw that Eli was trying to hand her a glass of champagne.

"Oh. Sorry. Daydreaming, I guess."

Leah gave a disgusted little snort as Brooke accepted the flute from Eli's outstretched hand.

"To us!" Leah said, holding up her glass before taking a sip.

Brooke couldn't add so much as, "May you have years of happiness together." Nor could she force out, "Welcome to the family, Eli." Because she just didn't feel it. And it would be a lie. She knew he was an imposter. He was playing some mind-bending, macabre game.

Neal managed a weak, "Hear, hear," while Marilee, her glass lifted limply in a toast, looked as if she would rather be anywhere else on the planet.

"To family," said Eli. "May we always be together." He looked at his bride, then his gaze skated around the table, lingering, she thought, a beat too long on Brooke. Or was it her own anxiety, her painful memory? Or maybe the alcohol she'd already drunk settling into her bloodstream?

"'Til death do us part," Leah whispered and Brooke almost choked on her champagne.

Hell no!

"Awkward," Marilee whispered under her breath before sipping and setting down her glass.

The whole scene made Brooke's blood run cold, but she managed to get through the rest of the meal despite the fact that her insides were churning. She even choked down one of the hand-decorated petits fours that Leah had brought from "the most darling little bakery" she'd discovered in San Francisco.

"Absolutely charming—oh, Marilee, you would love it. It's not far from the Presidio. You'll have to come up and visit. We'll show you all around."

Over my dead body!No way in hell was Marilee going to visit them. Again Brooke caught the glimmer of dark amusement in Eli's eyes.

This was all too much.

The whole scenario seemed so staged.

Leah was trying too hard and Eli—what was up with him? He looked like Gideon and kind of sounded like Gideon. Whenever she caught him watching her, she had the same feeling she'd experienced when Gideon stared at her a little too long.

"I've been to San Francisco," Marilee said.

"Well, come again. There's just so much to do, to see, to explore. Bring . . . uh, that new boyfriend of yours. What's his name?"

"Wes."

"Yes, bring Wes!" she said enthusiastically and polished off her champagne. "We'll make it a party!"

Never, Brooke thought.

Marilee looked wan. "Sure," she said weakly. "Can I be excused?" Before anyone could answer she scooted her chair back and shot up the stairs.

Leah watched her go. "Is she okay?" she asked.

"I don't know," Brooke said. "I'll check."

Neal put down his napkin. "Maybe I should—"

"I've got this." Brooke was already pushing away from the table and hurrying up the stairs.

Marilee was already in her room, flopped on the bottom bunk and texting on her phone. "You okay?" Brooke asked.

"As if!" Marilee let out a short huff. "Are you?"

Brooke lifted a shoulder. "Maybe."

"Liar." Her phone pinged and she glanced at a text. Her fingers flew over the tiny keyboard. "I'm fine," she said in a flat tone and finally looked up. "I don't like that guy," she admitted.

"Eli."

Her jaw slid to the side. "Yeah. Eli." But there was something in her tone that caught Brooke's attention.

"Do you know anything about him?"

"What? No. Why would I?" Marilee said a little defensively as another text chimed. "Just a feeling. I don't know." She was typing again. "And let's face it, Aunt Leah doesn't have the greatest taste in men."

"I won't argue there."

"It all seemed so fake. I just had to get away. You know, be alone." Marilee's attention was dragged to the phone again and Brooke took the hint and let her be, closing the door softly behind her.

She heard the sound of voices downstairs, of dishes being collected, a flurry of activity. She glanced at the door to the guest room. Ajar. Beckoning. Her chance to find out more.

But she had to work fast. Who knew how long anyone would stay on the lower level?

Noiselessly, she entered the guest room. Inside she looked for Eli's wallet—not visible on the dresser or nightstands, but his duffel was open beneath the window and she quickly went to it and riffled through its contents. Her heart was thudding as she strained to listen.

Hurry, hurry, hurry!Was that a footstep on the stairs?

Oh crap!

Another thought went through her mind. What if whoever had put the camera in the shower had placed another one somewhere in this room and if that person were Gideon/Eli?

Well, tough.

Too late now.

This was her chance.

She might not get another.

Sorting swiftly through the duffel, she discovered nothing but jeans, socks, boxers, and shirts. Was that faded T-shirt familiar? Were the battered jeans the same ones Gideon had worn? She couldn't remember, had no idea, and was about to give it up when she saw that the duffel, faded green, had a patch of darker canvas where something that had been sewn on was now obviously missing. An ID patch? For another man? Had she seen this duffel in the cabin of the Medusa? A corner visible in one of the small cabinets where the door had been ajar? She wasn't sure. She felt along the sides and on the bottom and . . . what? Something hard. In a nearly invisible zippered pocket.

Throat dry, listening for any sound from the hallway, she reached into the zippered area, a false bottom, and found a sheathed hunting knife. She extracted the knife and felt further. Nothing.

Why would he bring the weapon and somehow smuggle it here?

She could think of no good reason.

Again she thought she heard a footstep, so she eased away from the bag.

"Brooke?" Neal was calling to her and he was close.

Damn!

How could she explain herself?

And then she saw it. Eli's wallet, on the floor as if it had been knocked from the nightstand. But she didn't have time to go through it. Without thinking, she swept the worn leather wallet from the corner of the rug and hid it, and the knife, under the hem of her sweater. Each was too bulky to slip into her pockets and would show a bulge she couldn't explain.

A door opened in the hallway. "Hey," Neal said and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

She sneaked across the room.

"Have you seen your mom?" Neal asked.

Heart in her throat, sweat beginning to collect on her palms, Brooke cracked the door noiselessly. She peered through the opening and saw her husband leaning into Marilee's room.

"Yeah," Marilee answered, "she was just here."

"Must be in our room."

Pulse thundering in her ears, she watched through the slimmest of cracks as Neal crossed the hall.

The second he was inside the room and calling her name, she stepped into the corridor, slipped the door shut, and then said, "In here," as she slid the sheathed knife behind her back, under the waistband of her jeans. Moving stealthily, she kept the wallet pressed against her body.

A second later Neal was back in the hall. "What're you doing?"

"What does it look like?" She hitched her chin toward the bathroom.

"I know, but . . . why not use ours?" He cast a glance toward their room, with its small, attached bath.

"Dunno. Is it a problem?"

"Well, no. 'Course not." He shrugged, the expression on his face letting her know he considered it odd.

The wallet slid downward.

She clamped it tighter to her side just as Leah climbed up the stairs.

"Oh," she said, spying Neal and Brooke huddled together. "What's this? You two having a little tête-à-tête?"

Keeping her arm pressed against her side, hoping to secure the slick leather wallet, Brooke said, "Just checking to make sure there was soap and hand towels out in the bathroom. I—uh, forgot earlier."

Leah, more than a little tipsy, seemed to buy it.

"Where's Eli?" Brooke asked.

"He went for a walk." Rolling her eyes, she mimed puffing a cigarette. "Needed some fresh air, you know. As if I don't know he's going out there to smoke." She sighed. "I guess he's not perfect."

Not by a long shot, Brooke thought, the wallet wedged tight against her, the knife at least unmoving.

"He's taking Shep with him," Leah announced as she stepped into the bathroom.

"What?" Brooke was thrown back to the panic of the night Shep went missing and a "stranger" brought him back to Leah in the park. The wallet slid, pushing past the sweater's hem.

"He loves that dog," Leah said with a disbelieving expression. "How weird is that?"

Not so.

"I guess we'll have to get a puppy." Leah pulled the door shut behind her.

Still pressing the wallet tight against her, Brooke was already heading for the stairs.

Just as she reached the top step she heard the click of the French doors opening to the back porch. Damn it all! She nearly tripped as she raced to the first floor and grabbed her jacket from a hook near the front door on the fly. Then, looking around to make certain no one was nearby or watching, she jammed Eli's sliding wallet into one of the pockets, the knife in the other.

At the back door she hurried outside but saw no one. "Shep!" she called and heard a soft woof at the side of the house. She sped around the corner and found Eli, leash in hand, with the dog. "Hey! Wait!"

He stopped, turned to face her, and in the light cast from the snow, he looked exactly like Gideon.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, darkness surrounding them, only the reflection from the light in the windows on the snow giving any illumination.

"Just needed a break, I guess."

"With my dog?"

"He wanted to come."

"Like before?"

"What're you talking about?"

"I know who you are."

His eyes were shaded, his entire face in shadow, but she swore his jaw tightened. "Good."

"Not Eli Stone." Her pulse was pounding in her brain.

"No?" He didn't sound surprised.

"Give it up, Gideon. What the hell are you doing with my sister? Why are you here?"

"Gideon?"

"For the love of God!"

"Again, what are you talking about?" His voice was harsh. Offended. And in the darkness she couldn't be sure.

"I know you're posing as Eli Stone."

There were a few minutes when he didn't answer, when the wind rushed through the surrounding trees, when, farther away, the surf was a dull, ever-present roar. "Why would I ‘pose,' as you put it, as someone I'm not?" he asked. "Are you out of your mind?" He stared at her as if he really did think she was crazy.

And then she stopped.

What if, after all, she was wrong?

What if this man was a doppelg?nger of the man with whom she'd been involved? What if he were someone who was almost identical to Gideon? There were those people in the world, but the odds of Leah being involved with a Gideon look-alike were astronomical. Impossible. No, she wasn't wrong.

"Why?" he repeated.

"To get back at . . ."

"At? Who?" He let out a low whistle. "Oh, at you." Shaking his head, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one as if he'd had the habit for decades. "That's pretty self-centered, don't you think? Leah warned me about that."

"I know who you really are."

"No. You don't know a thing about me. Obviously." He offered the pack to her. "Want one?"

"No, I don't . . ." Of course she saw that the brand was Marlboro Lights, the brand she'd smoked once after making love to Gideon. He'd never even taken a drag. "Get that out of here," he'd said. "There's a reason my dad used to call them coffin nails." And she'd never smoked around him again.

But now . . .

Eli drew hard on his cigarette, the tip glowing red in the night, noticed her staring. "Leah hates these things," he said. "I said I'd give 'em up once we're married." He leaned against the post supporting the porch. The voice—too low for Gideon. From the cigarettes?

Nah. If he were Gideon—and he was—it was too soon to have developed a smoker's voice. He was just disguising it.

"Look. I don't know how, but for some reason we got off on the wrong foot." Another long drag, then he threw the rest of the cigarette onto the lawn, where it fizzled and died in the snow. "Maybe we should start over."

And the way he said those words caused her heart to freeze.

"Start over?" she repeated, slipping her hand into her jacket pocket, feeling the security of the knife—his knife. Just in case. "I don't think we can."

His smile was disarming. "It's never too late."

He took a step toward her.

Her breath caught and the look he sent her—so intense, so dangerous—made her heart nearly stop.

The door opened with a loud creak.

Leah stepped onto the porch. "There you are!" she said before spying Brooke. "What—what's going on here?" She wrapped her arms around her body and shivered dramatically. "God, it's cold."

"Just getting to know your fiancé," Brooke said quickly.

Eli said evenly, "She's confused me with someone else."