Persuaded (30 page)

“Basically.”
Hanna sniffled. “But that’s not the worst of it.”

“Go
on, then, poppet. Don’t leave an old woman hanging about in her knickers! It’s
only just gotten good.”

Hanna
gave a tearful laugh that actually felt quite good, then filled her godmother
in on Eli’s role in the whole thing. When Hanna mentioned the article, Maude
lost no time in looking it up on the Internet.

“Well,
I’ll be buggered,” was the baffled response. “To think all that time he was
with you, he had another motive—the prat!” Maude paused, and Hanna pictured her
straightening her sweater. “And how is your Wentworth taking it all? I’d wager
he’s fit to be tied . . .”

Hanna’s
heart seemed to swell at the idea of his being
her Wentworth
. “He’s out
looking for Ella with everyone else.”

“A lot
of nonsense if you ask me. She’ll turn up soon enough, I daresay. You ought to
chivvy along to bed, dearie. I can tell you’re exhausted.”

Now
that it had been brought to her mind, Hanna did feel rather drained. She agreed
to call Maude with an update as soon as there was anything to tell. With a
parting “Cheerio” from her godmother, Hanna disconnected the call and drained
her tea. The clock on the microwave read nearly midnight. Stretching out on the
couch in the family room, Hanna texted Derick for an update and then let her
eyes fall shut.

THIRTY-EIGHT

CRASHES
and FLASHES

She fell on the
pavement on the Lower Cobb, and was taken up lifeless

 . . . her
face was like death.

—Jane Austen,
Persuasion

The searching
seemed to take hours, possibly because Derick ended up combing the downtown
area with the Musgroves while the Crofts took Adam’s car along the coastal
highway. Mother Nature didn’t seem to be in an obliging mood; if anything the
deluge increased the longer they were out.

As if
Mary’s manic worry wasn’t enough on top of the already tense situation,
Derick’s phone kept going off. The missed calls had all been people he hadn’t
heard from in a few months at least—some of his former teammates, his coach,
and a couple journalists he’d previously given interviews. The only call he was
waiting for was Paul’s—the team’s publicity rep—so he took the liberty of
ignoring the others for the time being. Silencing his phone, he shoved it into
his pocket and shifted his attention back to the task at hand. Truth be told,
his heart just wasn’t in it. The last thing he felt like doing was going on a
wild-goose chase for Ella when he had his own problems to deal with.

He
jolted out of his rain cloud thoughts when Charles’ phone trilled. Charles
checked the caller ID, then flipped it open. “Hey, Adam. You guys found
anything?”

Derick
scowled. It was a little strange that Adam had called Charles instead of
him—but on pulling his phone out he saw that he had two missed calls—one from
Hanna and one from Adam. Derick was about to dial Hanna back when he heard
Charles’ tone of voice change, and he looked over.

“Are
you sure it’s her?” Charles had gone a ghostly white. “Okay, we’ll be right
there.” He disconnected. “We need to get to the 95.”

“Is
everything okay?” Derick asked.

“Just
drive. Head toward the bridge.”

With a
knot of dread in his stomach, Derick did as he was told, trying to ignore
Mary’s worried whimpering during the ten minutes it took them to clear town.
The dread was short-lived, quickly giving way to horror as the Thames River
came into view.

Highway
95 crossed over the river between Old Lyme and Groton, Connecticut. The first
thing Derick saw against the flat black sky was the cluster of police cars with
their blue and red lights flicking like some kind of ominous strobe light. The
second was the ambulance parked next to Ella’s neon pink bug, the hood of which
was crunched up against the scaffolding of the bridge. Mary went into hysterics
immediately, practically jumping out of the car before Derick came to a
complete stop.

There
was no way to know the cause of the accident from looking at the scene. There
were no other cars on the bridge, but given Ella’s state of mind and the
rain-slicked asphalt, it was easy enough to deduce what had happened. Driving
while angry and distracted plus the rain equaled disaster.

Guilt
seared Derick’s insides. This could easily have been avoided had he tried
talking Ella down instead of making things worse. He could’ve taken her aside
and apologized; he could have at least tried to be a little more feeling with
the situation. But in that moment it was Hanna’s feelings he’d been more
concerned with than Ella’s.

Hanging
back as the Musgroves rushed forward, Derick watched as the paramedics pulled
an unconscious Ella from the vehicle and loaded her onto a gurney. There was a
bloody gash on one side of her forehead, but from this distance he couldn’t
discern any other details. Charles climbed into the ambulance, but when Mary
tried to follow, she was stopped by one of the paramedics. She and Charles
seemed to be debating about which of them had the right to ride along. Even
though it was the last thing he wanted to do, Derick approached the scene of
the accident and put a calming arm around Mary’s shoulders, gently turning her
toward the car.

“I’ll
drive you to the hospital,” he reassured her, to which she responded by
dissolving into tears. It wasn’t until they were almost to the car that Derick
registered a frenzied clicking noise and looked up to see a camera flashing in
his face. Several cameras, actually. When the questions started firing off,
Derick had the uncanny feeling that ignoring those phone calls had been a bad
idea.

“Derick,
is this your latest conquest? Do you have children with her too?”

“What
can you tell us about the other two girls?”

“Do
the women know about each other?”

“Can
you tell us where your children are now?”

“Did
you have anything to do with this accident?”

On and
on it went. Swallowing the angry responses that would only make the situation
worse, he helped a confused Mary into the passenger seat. The flurry of
paparazzi followed him around to the driver’s side, and he nearly nicked one of
them with the door as he slammed it shut.

With
his mind racing about the implications of this gaggle of reporters, Derick sped
toward the hospital, pulling up in the passenger unloading area. The press had
followed and were gathered around the car like vultures on a rotting carcass.
Quickly, Derick considered his options, then called Benny and asked him to
escort Mary inside. Sophie came as well, sliding into the passenger seat as
soon as Mary was clear.

“Looks
like your peaceful summer just came to an end,” Sophie said.

“Yeah,”
was all Derick could say.

The ride
back to Uppercross was quiet, both Sophie and Derick consumed by their own
thoughts. It seemed like the moment he returned from Block Island, fate was
waiting there at the docks for him, tapping an impatient foot: first the
article, then Ella’s outburst and subsequent accident, and now the paparazzi on
his tail. Thankfully, Old Lyme was a gated community, and they wouldn’t be
allowed in. It was a small consolation, but a consolation all the same.

On
arriving at the gate, Derick briefed the security guard on the situation, then
passed through. He dropped Sophie off at Kelynch first, then killed the engine
of Charles’ car in front of Uppercross. He sat still for a moment, basking in
the breath of calm before the storm and sorting his thoughts.

He
couldn’t think about Ella, about whether she would live or die, without feeling
his own part in the whole mess. And there was nothing he could do now to affect
the outcome either way. That was something he’d learned during all those hours
alone with the elements on the
Laconia
—worrying about something you had
absolutely no control over was wasted energy. It was better to focus your
efforts on other things. You had no say in the weather, but you could batten
down the hatches to prepare for the storms.

Pushing
Ella’s fate to the back of his mind, Derick settled instead on the appearance
of the paparazzi. The article in the magazine was a story big enough to attract
the predators from further out. That was always the way with the media—once one
reporter caught the scent, it wasn’t long before a whole pack of them was on
your tail. And then there were the absurd questions about the “other women” and
his “illegitimate children.” He clenched his fists around the steering wheel,
his knuckles bleaching of color.

It
didn’t take a private investigator to know who was behind it all. Eli had taken
the photos, but he probably wouldn’t have found Derick on his own. The phone
call Derick had overheard was with someone named Talon Hoss—a particularly
persistent member of the paparazzi. Derick had had his share of run-ins with
Hoss in the past. When the harassment progressed past the point he could
tolerate, Derick had involved the authorities. Evidently his old friend Hoss
had found a way around the restrictions.

Derick
exited the car, willing all the stress to stay inside it. The torrent had
softened to a steady patter now, accompanying him around to the back of the
house. Fatigue tugged at him, but it had been too long since he’d seen
Hanna—and if he knew her at all, she was probably waiting up for news anyway.
He slipped in through the back door of Uppercross, his heart immediately
warming at the sight that met him.

It was
dark except for the emanating glow of a lamp in the corner. Hanna lay on her
stomach with one hand under her face and the other arm dangling off the sofa.
Derick wanted nothing more than to lie down beside her, feel her reassuring
warmth in his arms—a patch of stillness in the eye of the storm. But she looked
so peaceful that he couldn’t bring himself to disturb her. Instead he clicked
off the lamp, plunging them both into welcome darkness, and leaned up against
the couch. He scooted down into a reclining position, folded his hands across
his stomach and closed his eyes.

Hurricanes
rarely dissipated over night. He might as well get some sleep, because the
world would still be falling apart in the morning.

☼

It was
the first golden light of day that woke Hanna, and the ocean breathing in and
out, rising and crashing. She had dreamt of shattered camera lenses against slick
asphalt, pulverized hearts on the beach, bleeding out on the sand. And on top
of it all, a shroud of fog scented of rain and Old Spice.

Eager
to exit the sensory collage of her subconscious, Hanna opened her eyes to find
Derick asleep beside her, his head pillowed on the edge of the couch, close to
hers. Smiling, she reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, and he
stirred. When had he gotten here? His presence would explain the Old Spice, and
from the still-damp state of his clothes, the rain-scent as well. Derick sat
up, did his best to smooth down his hair, and checked his watch.

“What
time is it?” Hanna asked. It must’ve been fairly early since she hadn’t heard
from the boys. For that matter, she hadn’t heard from anyone.

“Six-thirty,”
he replied, turning toward her and tucking some hair behind her ear. “How did
you sleep?”

“Okay.
Where is everyone?”

Something
passed across Derick’s face, an obscure flicker of grief, and Hanna sat up.
“What is it? Ella?”

Derick’s
eyes closed and he took a breath. “She was in an accident last night.”

The
shock that Hanna felt on seeing the magazine article and the mortification that
took hold of her when Ella walked in on them kissing were nothing now. Nothing
to the soul-wrenching, pierced-with-shards-of-ice sensation that broke upon
her.

Hanna
stood. “Is she—she’s not—” She couldn’t get the words out.

Derick
got up as well and wrapped her in his arms. “She was unconscious when they
pulled her out of the car, and she had a head wound, but that’s all I know.”

Hanna
listened to the sound of Derick’s heart against her ear, committing its pattern
to memory. Then she stepped out of his arms and looked around for her phone.
Spotting it on the coffee table, she dialed Charles, who answered on the third
ring.

“Is she
okay?”

“She
hasn’t woken up yet, but she’s alive. The doctors said she hit her head pretty
hard when she crashed, but they won’t know anything more until she’s
conscious.”

“I’ll
stay here with the boys,” Hanna offered around threatening tears. “Let me know
what happens.”

Charles
assured her that he would, and Hanna disconnected the call with shaking hands.
She wouldn’t allow herself to cry. She had no right to cry, not when she was
responsible for it all.

When
she looked up, Derick was watching her with anxious eyes. “She’s still
unconscious,” she told him quietly.

One
look told Hanna that he felt just as guilty as she did. She wanted to reach
out, to smooth away the worry lines that had appeared on his forehead, to tell
him that it wasn’t his fault, that it wasn’t her fault either, and that their
love hadn’t caused any of it. But the words were lodged in her throat.