Colleen Coble (35 page)

“Yes. Are you okay?”

Heather’s eyes filled. She thought his actions had ripped every root of love from her heart, but she was suddenly sobbing. Amy quickly embraced her, and she buried her face in the soft cotton of Amy’s shirt.

Amy led her to the table and pulled out a chair. “I shouldn’t have told you so abruptly. I’m sorry. I guess you still have feelings for him. Let me get you some iced tea.” She moved to the counter. “We have no idea how to find Raine. Or this Bossman fellow.”

While Amy rummaged in the refrigerator, Heather tried to collect herself. Grant was scum, a con artist, and who knew what else, but he’d been all she had, and she’d been holding out hope that he would call her and ask her to join him. That he wasn’t as bad as it first appeared when she called from jail.

Now she was truly alone.

She clutched the cold glass of iced tea and took a gulp. “Do you think I still have a job?”

“I don’t know, Heather.” Amy hesitated, then shook her head. “I’m sure Imogene has heard what you did.”

“And likely will terminate me.” Heather put the glass on the table and buried her face in her hands. “I’ve so screwed up my life. There’s no way of fixing it.”

“There’s always a way of redemption.”

Heather lifted her head. “You’re talking about God, I suppose. Let’s get real, okay? I’m a lost cause, even for him.”

“No one is ever a lost cause.” Amy paused. “Have you ever thought about going back to school? You never finished, did you?”

Heather shook her head. “It’s impossible. I have to work to support myself.” Rising, she went to look out the window. “There has to be a way to find Bossman.”

“What do you know about him?”

What did she know? The man had been an enigma. Always hovering near Grant with that ominous bulge in his pocket she’d assumed was a Glock. He looked the sort to carry a heavy-duty gun like that. And why did Grant need protection?

She turned abruptly. “He was a bodyguard. From things they said, I thought he’d been with Grant a long time, years. He had a Boston accent. I heard Grant call him Vince once, so that might be his first name.”

“You have no idea why you were supposed to take Raine?”

Heather went back to the table and sat down. “I told you—it was about paternity and money.”

Amy’s face was full of pain. “That makes a lot more sense now that we know Ben isn’t Raine’s father.”

Amy’s eyes were gritty as she sat on the sofa with her legs curled under her. She couldn’t remember when she’d last had a good
night’s sleep. With the baby still missing, she tossed and turned, praying most of the night. And five days later they were no closer to finding Raine.

Ever since she’d gotten back from the jail three hours ago, Heather had barely moved from her bedroom. It was as if she feared saying the wrong thing and ending up back at the jail. Heather’s cell phone rang, and Amy picked it up to take it to her. And froze.

Ben’s picture flashed on the screen.

Amy stared at it. It was like hearing from a ghost. She had to know. She flicked it on and muffled her voice. “Hi.”

“Heather, that you? You sound like you have a cold.”

It was her brother’s voice in her ear. No other voice had that deep rumble, that resonance that made you want to do whatever he wanted. Amy’s throat closed, and she couldn’t speak as tears flooded her eyes. Was this some kind of prank? A recording that some cruel person had used to hurt her? She looked again. Wait, this was Heather’s phone, not hers. Why would someone play a prank on Heather?

“Heather?” Ben asked. “You there?”

It was no recording. “Ben,” she managed to say. “It’s Amy.”

There was a long pause. “I don’t know any Ben. I’m looking for Heather.” The phone clicked in her ear.

Shaking and crying, Amy ran up the stairs and flung open Heather’s door. The girl was sprawled across the bed with a
Seventeen
magazine in her hand.

She bolted upright. “What’s wrong?”

“You got a call,” Amy choked out. “It was Ben.”

“You answered my phone?”

Amy held up the phone. “I saw my brother’s picture on this phone. Of course I answered it!”

“What are you getting all upset about? So what if he called me?”

“He’s dead!” Amy threw the phone onto the bed. “At least I thought he was until today.”

Heather got up. “Oh. Yeah, that.”

“What is going on? I have to know right now. And where is my brother? I want to see him. Immediately.” She began to shake so hard she could barely stand, so she grabbed the edge of Heather’s desk and held on. “You have to tell me.”

The girl bit her lip and sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s not my business. You’ll have to ask him.”

Amy knew she should be elated to discover her brother was alive. But she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she wouldn’t like the reason behind all the deception. “I’ll be happy to do that. Where is he?”

“He’s going to kill me,” Heather groaned.

“If you don’t want to go back to jail, you’ll tell me right now where he is.”

“He’s at a house on White Swan Beach.”

“One of the four-by-four beaches?” There were fabulous houses along that northern stretch of Hope Island, but the only access was with a four-wheel drive.

Heather nodded. “It’s a big blue house.”

Amy grabbed her arm. “You’re going to show me.”

Heather tugged her arm out of Amy’s grasp. “We can’t get there in your little car.”

“Curtis will drive us.” Amy rushed out of the room and back downstairs to get her cell phone. Her heart pounded as the call rang through. Ben was alive. What did it all mean?

“Amy. Is there news?”

Sobs erupted from her throat. “I-It’s Ben.”

“Ben? What do you mean?”

“He’s
alive
, Curtis.” She told him about the call. “Can you come? The only access is with a four-wheel drive.”

“I’ll be right there. Oh and, Amy . . . ?”

She’d started to hang up. “Yes?”

“I’m glad he’s alive, honey.”

Her throat closed. “Thanks, but I—I don’t know what to think. He’s
lied
, to all of us. How can he even explain that? See you in a few minutes.” She ended the call and dropped her phone into her purse.

Was that the back door? Her legs barely carried her to the kitchen, but the room was empty. A flash of movement caught her eye through the window. It was Heather, running for all she was worth into the trees.

Amy leaped for the door and jerked it open, but by the time she reached the deck, the girl was gone. “Heather!”

She raced in the direction she’d seen the girl, but though she called and searched for fifteen minutes, she couldn’t find her. There was a distant voice. Curtis had arrived and was calling for her. He sounded almost frantic. Retracing her steps, she rushed back to the cottage. He was standing on the back deck.

Relief lit his features when he saw her. He leaped from the deck and caught her in his arms. “I was so worried when I couldn’t find you.” He pulled her close and rested his chin on her head.

His heart thudded under her cheek, and she felt cradled and protected. His lips grazed her forehead, and she closed her eyes, savoring the moment of safety and contentment. Then reality intervened. Ben was out there, alive somewhere.

She pulled away a few inches. “Heather ran off, Curtis. Without her, we have no idea which house. All she said was it was blue.”

His breath whispered across her cheek. “We can stop at every blue house we see. We’ll find him. I can have the sheriff look for her too. She can’t get off the island without being seen.” Keeping one arm around her, he pulled out his phone. “I have to let go a minute, honey. I think you’re in shock. You’re still trembling.” He led her to the deck and got her seated on a step, then placed the call.

Amy felt as though she were about to shake into a million pieces. How could Ben do this to her—to their parents? He’d let them believe he’d drowned and was eaten by a shark. Who was he, really? Not the brother she thought she knew.

T
HIRTY
-E
IGHT

C
urtis had taken the top off his Jeep for better visibility. The big tires ate up the distance along the sand, smoothed by the outgoing tide earlier. The ocean breeze blew Amy’s curls into a tangled riot around her face. A few puffy clouds floated in the brilliant sky overhead. It was a perfect late afternoon—or would have been if they’d been out here for any other reason.

So far, the few houses where they’d stopped had been either empty or occupied by someone who looked at them oddly for inquiring. The dunes had seemed endless when they started, but now there wasn’t much left of this stretch of beach before they would need to give up and turn around. There was no cell phone service out here either, so they would have to go back to a place where they had service to see if the sheriff had found Heather.

The dunes rolled into maritime forest to their left, but he stayed at the waterline where the moisture had packed the sand into a smooth stretch of makeshift road. The recent storm had deposited more than the usual amount of kelp and seaweed.

He glanced at Amy, who wore a pensive expression. “I can see the wheels turning. You’ve thought of something?”

Her eyes were wide, and she bit her lip. “It may mean nothing, but Preston has a vacation house out here. He rarely uses it,
but my parents visited once. It’s blue. I don’t know—it may be a wild card.”

“I thought you’d absolved him of all guilt in this.”

She peered ahead, then looked back at him. “It’s a little too coincidental, don’t you think? That he would have a house out here where Ben is?”

“Maybe. Where is his place?”

“Clear at the end.”

Something niggled at the edges of his memory. “Wait a minute. That address book of your brother’s. There was an address listed out this way. I thought it was a fish house. Could it be Preston’s house?” He drove back the way he’d come until he had two bars, then pulled to the side of the road and called Edith and asked her to look at the note on his desk. He jotted down the address she gave him. “Let’s check this address.”

She nodded, but tears stood in her eyes. “Why would Ben pretend to be dead? I don’t understand any of this.”

He glanced at her. The anguish in her voice told him a lot. If he’d suddenly found out Gina were alive and had let Edith and him grieve all this time, he would have been devastated too. It was the height of selfishness. Though he’d disliked Ben, Curtis would never have pegged him as deliberately cruel to his family. Unless that money had been stolen or something. Maybe someone was after him.

He drove along the beach and watched the signposts that designated the addresses.

“That’s it!” She pointed to a large blue beach house set off at the edge of the maritime forest. “I recognize the widow’s walk on top.”

“And that’s the address in your brother’s book.” He slowed the Jeep and turned toward the house. From here, it didn’t appear to be occupied. The hurricane shutters were shut, and the house had a closed feeling. The driveway was empty, but he drove on past
and parked along the beach down the road. “I don’t want to warn him that we’re here.”

Amy got out as soon as he parked. “I’m going to go around back. Lots of people out here hide keys.”

“You don’t want to knock?” He followed her down the road and around the side yard.

“No. He might not answer.” Her voice was tight.

They reached the back, and she began to check the yard. Nothing under the mat or on the windowsill. No key around the garage. She headed for a small wishing well. All the bricks were right with nothing hidden.

“I don’t think it’s here,” he said.

“Just a minute.” Lifting the flowers in the bucket of the wishing well, she exhaled. “It’s here.” She extracted a key, then headed to the back door.

The big deck on the back appeared to have been coated recently with solid gray stain. The red-and-white-striped deck furniture looked clean and new, and there was no debris in the chairs, so someone had been here in the not-too-distant past, at least long enough to clean. He said nothing about it, though, as she stepped past the table and peered in the window of the red back door.

“See anything?” He looked over the top of her head. “Looks like someone has been here. Dishes and glasses are on the counter.” They looked fresh too. The half-eaten peanut butter sandwich wasn’t moldy.

“Peanut butter and jelly is Ben’s favorite.” She inserted the key in the door. When it clicked, she twisted the knob and opened the door. The aroma of some kind of soup rushed to greet them.

Her face went even whiter. “Smells like tomato soup. Ben eats it nearly every day.”

He followed her into the kitchen. Touching the pan on the
stove, he nodded. “Still warm.” The distant sound of a television’s canned laughter came through the doorway.

She tipped her head and listened. “
MASH
. Ben loves it.” Color washed up her cheeks, then faded, leaving her deathly pale again.

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? Want me to go first?”

She tensed. “No, I want to see his face and catch his first expression.”