CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4

"Something bothering you?" Neal asked the next morning as Brooke opened a bleary eye, then stretched on the bed.

Neal was already up and showered, his wet hair glistening as he adjusted his tie and caught her gaze in the mirror over the bureau.

"Just the usual," she said, and it wasn't a lie. She'd tossed and turned all night and it was because of Gideon. "I kept thinking about Allison Carelli and Penny Williams." That wasn't a lie, not entirely. She'd worried about the missing girls off and on, her thoughts interrupted by disjointed images of Gideon on the deck of his sailboat or riding his motorcycle. She'd been haunted by an image of him reading at a small table on the boat. Behind him, the door of a slim closet was ajar and hanging from a hook within, she'd seen the red cap he'd worn on her doorstep just last night.

Her stomach ground.

"Maybe Allison came home by now." Neal was still watching her in the mirror.

"Let's hope." She reached for her cell phone, scanned the messages, learned nothing new. The school had issued warnings via text and email, suggesting students stay in groups and parents be extra vigilant. The school administration was beefing up security. A group text from some of the moms was full of lots of worry and little information. "If Allison's been found, no one's let me know."

"They would have." He frowned. "I already texted Jennifer. She'd heard about it—has a nephew at the school—but she said he didn't know anything. She's looking into it."

Brooke didn't respond; didn't want to think about Jennifer Adkins.

Neal broke eye contact in the reflection and turned to face her. "This okay?" he asked, motioning to his shirt and tie.

Eyeing him, she scooted up on the mattress to lean against the padded headboard. She scrutinized his white shirt and gray slacks. His silk tie was a muted blue. "You look like a successful attorney."

"That bad, eh?"

Squinting as if really sizing him up, she lifted a shoulder. "Or maybe a CPA?"

"What?"

"Yeah, like maybe someone who's worked for the IRS for about fifty years."

He laughed and his eyes twinkled. "Flattery will get you nowhere." Then he cocked his head. "It's the tie, isn't it?" He untied the silk knot and reached into their shared closet. "Maybe this is better." He held up a navy-and-white-striped tie.

"No." She slipped off the bed, yawning as she did so, then padded to the closet. Pawing through his ever-growing collection of neckties, she finally pulled out a small floral print of muted grays, peach, and mint green. "Now this is a statement!"

"Yeah, that I'm an ex-hippie."

"It's not yellow and purple tie-dyed, for God's sake."

"I had one of those. My aunt handed it over when my uncle died."

"I know." She laughed. "But this one"—she fingered the smooth silk—"is sophisticated. It speaks of a man who knows his own mind and isn't afraid to thwart convention."

"Yeah sure. If you say so."

"I do. And Marilee gave it to you for Father's Day two years ago," she reminded him.

"Fine." He slid the tie around his neck, tucking it beneath his collar. "But seriously, last night you were restless."

"I know. As I said. Worries. The girls, the accident, and no job," she said.

"The job hunt not going well?"

"Not that great." She helped him with the tie. These days she and Neal were getting along better than they had in a couple of years. Hence the divorce was on hold. Hence breaking it off with Gideon was a priority.

"You know, with everything else going on, I forgot to ask," he said, looking suddenly abashed. "You went to the doctor yesterday for a follow-up?"

"Oh. Yeah."

"And—?"

"It went fine," she lied. She hadn't been at the clinic; she'd been with Gideon, and she felt uncomfortable lying about it, but she'd already rescheduled with her oncologist. The doctor's office, Starbucks, the gym, and dry cleaners had all been part of her alibi.

"So how did you end up having the accident near Alaskan Way? Isn't that the opposite direction from the clinic in the University District?"

Her fingers froze on the tie for a second. He was right. Her trip to the marina had been out of the way. "Yeah, I know," she said, thinking quickly. "Potential job near the waterfront. Thought I'd check it out and then I was late to pick up Marilee, and the rest, as they say, is history."

"Oh." He glanced in the mirror again, tightening the knot a bit, and Brooke changed the subject. "Is Marilee up?"

He shot her a disbelieving look. "How old is she? Fourteen? What do you think?"

"Okay, okay, I get it. My job." She made her way down the hall and rapped on her daughter's door before poking her head into Marilee's darkened room. "Hey, time to get up."

A groan emerged from the mound on the bed, where only a topknot of black hair was visible. "Nooo."

"Come on."

"I can't." An arm reached out for a pillow, then plopped it over her head.

"Sure you can. See you downstairs."

"Nooo," came the muffled reply. "Mom, I don't want to. Really . . ."

"Too bad," Brooke said and glanced around the room, where clothes were strewn on the floor. Her desk, pushed into the windows of the rounded turret, was obscured by her computer, gaming equipment, and iPad. Gone were the teddy bears and "blankies" and picture books, all replaced by video games and electronics and bottles of nail polish.

"See you downstairs."

"No!"

"Fifteen minutes!"

Brooke closed the door again, annoyed by the confrontation that seemed to be a part of their morning routine. Just once Brooke wished she could escape the role of predawn nag. But not today.

By the time Brooke was through with her shower and dressed in jeans and a sweater, Neal had Eggo waffles warming in the toaster. A fuzzy blanket wrapped around her body, Marilee was seated on one of the barstools at the kitchen island. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, her face pinched as if she were a vampire coming face-to-face with the sun.

"Good morning," Brooke said as Neal slid a toasted waffle onto a plate and placed it in front of their daughter. Shep had gotten out of his bed and was beneath the bar, waiting patiently for any crumbs that might fall to the floor.

Neal prompted, "Your mother said, ‘good morning.'"

"What's good about it?" Marilee was hunched over, her head resting on the counter while she twirled the plate in front of her nose.

Neal grinned. "Oh to be fourteen again. The joy of—"

"Dad! Stop!"

That was enough. Brooke said, "I think you meant to say, ‘thank you,' as your father was good enough to make you breakfast."

Marilee's eyes were slits as she stared at her mother, but she did manage to mutter, "Thanks," as Neal deposited a glass of orange juice in front of her. "I just don't want to go to school."

"You have to." Neal was adamant as he turned to face her and bit into a bagel.

"There's cream cheese in the fridge," Brooke reminded him as she walked to the counter, where half a pot of coffee sat warming in the coffee maker.

"No time." He took another bite and washed it down with a big swallow of coffee. "Big meeting this morning." Taking a look at his watch, he grimaced. "Gotta run. Oh, by the way, Leah called while you were in the shower."

"Leah?" Brooke hadn't heard from her sister in eons.

"Mm-hmm. Said she'd phone you back."

"Why?" Brooke asked, suddenly edgy that her sister had called. "Is something wrong?" Leah never called unless she was in trouble and needed help, usually in the form of money.

"Don't know. She didn't say. But she didn't sound upset, if that's what you mean." Another bite. Another long swallow.

"But—"

"That's all I know."

"She never calls or texts or—"

"I know." He held up one hand, as if fending off an attack, and then tossed the remains of the bagel into the sink. "Look, you can call her back. Or if that's—I don't know, too personal or whatever—just shoot her a text. You've got her number." He cocked his head. "Don't you?" Then, added, "If you don't, I do." He whipped out his own phone. "Here, I'll text it to you." He typed quickly and a second later her phone dinged.

"Weird that you have her number," she pointed out, seeing the information and adding Leah to her contact list.

"Weird that you don't," he countered and she let it go. For now.

Brooke wanted to argue, but there was no point. How could she explain that Leah made her anxious, that theirs was a frail, distrustful relationship at best? That Leah could go from zero to sixty emotionally in a nanosecond, especially when triggered by her older sister. "Fine." Marilee, who resented being an only child, did not want to hear about the complications of sisterhood.

"Geez, Mom, so your sister called. So what? That's not a major problem, right?" Marilee frowned, but she had picked up her fork and was cutting into the waffle. She tossed a bit to Shep, who deftly caught it on the fly. "I don't know why you have to make such a big deal out of everything."

"I don't—" Brooke began to argue, then let the thought run out. Marilee was right. She did make mountains out of molehills, as her grandmother used to say. That was a new little chink in her personality, one that had come with her breast cancer scare a year earlier. "I'll call her."

"Big of you," her daughter mumbled, the words barely audible as she pronged a bit of waffle into her mouth.

"Good." Neal brushed some crumbs from his shirt, snagged his suit jacket from the back of a chair, and jangled his keys. "She"—he pointed at Marilee, pouring more syrup onto her waffle—"is all yours."

"Real cool, Dad." Marilee flung him a dark look.

He responded with a wide grin and a reminder: "Be nice."

She pursed her lips and continued to glower at him.

"Love you!" he called over his shoulder and headed to the stairs leading to the basement and the garage.

"Oh, wait!" Marilee suddenly yelled as the door shut behind him. She turned her big, horrified eyes to her mother as the light dawned. "You're not driving me."

"I'm not?" Brooke took a sip of her coffee as she heard the garage door roll up just as the Range Rover's engine caught.

"Oh God, I'm not going to school in your car!" Marilee insisted. "It's wrecked."

"And still drivable."

"Unfortunately." Miserably, Marilee took another bite of her now soggy waffle.

Brooke stared at her daughter. "You'd prefer my car was totaled?"

"No, but . . . urgh. It's just so embarrassing." She dropped her fork. It clattered against her plate.

Brooke didn't know which was more mortifying for her daughter—the Explorer with its crumpled hood or being seen with her mother. She decided not to ask. "Look, unless you want to walk, and oh—it's too late for that; I don't think you have much choice." Brooke glanced at the clock on the stove. "You already missed the bus. Now eat up and get a move on."

"You're impossible." Marilee scraped back her barstool.

"I guess it runs in the family."

With an exaggerated sigh, Marilee headed up the stairs and stomped to her room.

And Brooke slowly counted to ten. Because as cool as the exterior she displayed to her child was, she was inwardly churning. Not so much at Marilee's insolence, which only added to the stress but worry over the missing girls and the determined man who had shown up on her doorstep last night. She couldn't do anything about the teens who had vanished, but she sure as hell could deal with Gideon.

This morning in the locked bathroom, after retrieving both her phones, she'd turned them on while waiting for the water to heat so she could step into the shower. She'd prayed for news of Allison Carelli. Instead, she'd found texts on her burner phone:

We need to talk.

Face-to-face.

It's not over.

We are meant to be together.

Meet me. TODAY!

The messages had been repeated, every hour on the hour, throughout the wee morning hours.

"Dear God," she'd whispered, an edge of panic to her thoughts as she erased them. It was as if Gideon was losing his mind.

And she wasn't far behind.

How had he known that they'd ordered dinner from Alphonso's last night? What had tipped him off? She'd never mentioned the Italian restaurant to him. She'd tossed and turned all night, wondering.

It had been all she could do to appear "normal" this morning after reading the messages and stuffing both phones into her purse before heading downstairs. Everything seemed off a bit.

She was jarred back to reality when Marilee returned to the kitchen. "Ready?" she asked, setting down her coffee cup and grabbing her purse.

"I guess," her daughter said sullenly.

The drive to school was uneventful, rain clouds gathering as if Indian summer had disappeared overnight. As Brooke turned toward the side street running past the school, Marilee insisted on being dropped off two blocks before they reached the campus.

"It wouldn't kill you to be seen in a crumpled car with your mom," she said.

"No? Not sure about that." But Marilee managed to scare up a smile, and Brooke was reminded of the girl her daughter used to be, a sweet, funny, and imaginative kid. A girl who loved books and climbed trees and dabbled at the piano when she wasn't forever cartwheeling around the house.

But all of that had changed with the dawning of Marilee becoming a teenager, which just so happened to collide with Brooke's diagnosis and the subtle cracks in her marriage to Neal.

"So be careful today," she warned, thinking of the two girls who had gone missing. "Well, every day. Be careful every day."

"God, Mom, I am!"

"I'll be here to pick you up. Right after school."

Marilee rolled her eyes.

"And when you get home? We're going to have a serious talk about your attitude," Brooke said.

"My attitude?"

"Uh-huh." Brooke pulled onto a side street, where a parking space had opened up and leaves had piled near the curb. "It needs to improve. A lot."

"Yeah right." Marilee was out of her seat belt in a second. She started to close the door but thought better of it and managed a quick "Bye" before slamming the passenger door shut and jogging along the sidewalk toward the school.

Brooke watched for a moment, then pulled into the street and followed her daughter. In tattered jeans, a sloppy sweater, tennis shoes and her dark hair pulled into a ponytail, Marilee crossed the school lawn and wove through clumps of students.

Brooke nosed into a spot in front of the school. With her SUV idling, she waited until she saw her daughter actually walk through the glass doors and into the building. Safe for now.

Brooke pulled away from the curb and nosed into the flow of traffic.

Then, mentally girding her loins, she headed toward the dock where Gideon's sailboat was moored.

He wanted a face-to-face confrontation?

Fine.

He was damn well going to get one.