Son of the Enemy (26 page)

She opened her eyes then, and they were filled with unshed tears. “I don’t want to think about it, John. I can’t go through with this. I’m sorry, I just…I can’t.”

Disappointment speared through him. They’d come too far to give up now. He would back off for a while, take her out for a meal and a walk on the beach, and then later on they could come back. Or better yet, give her a whole night to relax and come back in the morning. God help him if he traumatized her again. She’d worked hard to get her life straight, and he risked pulling the rug out from under her.

He lifted her gently to her feet and walked her through the bedroom to the door. “I think we’ve done enough for today,” he said.

They dropped in at a Starbucks for coffee and settled into overstuffed chairs in a corner to sip their lattes. Hannah’s body language said, “Leave me alone,” loud and clear, so he turned on his cell phone for the first time since they’d left Virginia. He punched in his pass code and saw he had six new messages. Four were from Walter’s cell phone, one from FBI Headquarters in Washington—and one from Thornton Bradshaw.

He had a pretty good idea what the FBI had to say to him, and it wasn’t going to matter a whole hell of a lot whether he listened to the messages now or later, but he had a bad feeling about the message from Bradshaw. He pressed the button and held the phone to his ear. The message was from Thornton Bradshaw, all right, but not the father. It was from Ty. His voice was breathy, nervous. Strained.

John, it’s me, Ty,
the message began.
Listen, man, I gotta talk to you. I did something real bad, and now I’m worried ’cause it’s… Oh, shit, I feel so stupid. It’s about Hannah, okay? I didn’t mean any harm, I swear to God.

John’s heart was pounding so hard he had to stick his finger in the other ear to hear what Ty was saying.

I just can’t go to juvie, okay? That’s the only reason I did it, ’cause I think Hannah’s really cool, and it made me sick to—God, I’m such an asshole. So can you call me back as soon as you get this? ’Cause the whole thing’s so fucking creepy, and I don’t know what the hell to do anymore. Okay? Bye.

John clicked the phone shut.
Christ almighty.
Could Ty be the one leaving gifts for Hannah? But that didn’t make any sense, unless he somehow knew about Belle. No, the boy had done something, but he wasn’t Hannah’s stalker. As soon as they got back to Virginia, he’d get the whole story out of Ty, but for now he had other things to worry about.

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. If Hannah had seen the killer that day in her parents’ bedroom and could identify him from a photograph—assuming he had a police record—at least they could get the police to reopen the case. That had been his plan in the beginning, when he first read the letter from
Regretful
. That letter had given him the first glimmer of hope in twenty-three years of reclaiming his father’s freedom. It was a dim hope, to be sure, but it had grown brighter and then flared when he made the connection between Hannah’s stalker and her mother’s killer. Now that he was here in Marblehead and saw how difficult it was for Hannah to confront her past, he realized how naïve his original plan had been.

“What’s wrong?”

John raised his head and saw the concern in Hannah’s eyes. “Nothing.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What, did you get fired?”

“Probably. Most certainly.”

“Oh. Well. That’s too bad.”

He shrugged and took a long sip of his coffee. “I accepted that risk going in.”

“So, tell me this. You brought me up here to see what you could pull out of my head by forcing me to relive that…awful day.”

“Hannah—”

“You’re taking me apart like a jigsaw puzzle, piece by piece, hoping to find something—anything—that might help your father.”

He couldn’t deny it. Hadn’t he thought the same thing, earlier? “I guess there’s some truth to that, although—”

“When it’s over,” she said, holding his gaze, “and the pieces don’t fit anymore, who’s going to put me back together?”

Hannah slid into the passenger seat of the rented Taurus, leaned back and closed her eyes. They stung from too little sleep and too much stress. She didn’t have to tell herself not to think, as she often did when there was too much going on for her to relax, because at the moment her head felt empty. The experiences of the last twenty hours felt…surreal.
Un
real.

It took her a few minutes before she realized they were going nowhere. She glanced over at John, half-expecting to find him slumped down in the driver’s seat, asleep. He had to be at least as tired as she was. But he was sitting up straight, staring at nothing, obviously deep in thought. She looked away before the sight of him made her feel what she couldn’t bear to feel. Not for him. Maybe not for anyone.

She closed her eyes and focused on tensing her muscles and then relaxing them, tensing, relaxing, over and over. She came awake with a start, and discovered that the car still hadn’t moved.

“What’s going on?” she asked in a voice gravelly with fatigue.

He trained bloodshot eyes on her. “There’s something else I need to ask you to do. I didn’t think of it until you remembered the argument between your parents. Now I realize it’s a missing piece that could be important.”

“What is it?”

John reached out and stroked his knuckles gently over her cheek. “We need to pay a visit to your father.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

John watched Hannah out of the corner of his eye as he turned down a block lined with huge, stately homes. There it was on the mailbox, 4725 Valley Creek Road. The house wasn’t visible from the street, so he turned into the driveway and followed it through the trees directly up to a large, federal-style colonial with white columns lining the front porch. He parked on the circular drive, cut the engine and turned to Hannah. She hadn’t said a word the whole way from Marblehead.

“Hey,” he said gently. “You okay? I told you I’d do most of the talking.”

She turned haunted eyes to him, and he badly wanted to start up the car and get the hell out of there just to make that look go away. But he couldn’t. The thought of his father sitting in that prison cell wouldn’t allow him to spare her, or himself. He had gone into this crusade of his fully intending to use Hannah as ruthlessly as necessary to get what he wanted, and he was doing just that. There was no use pretending differently. She was his sacrificial lamb. Collateral damage.

He turned away for a moment and took a long, slow breath. Guilt was a useless emotion, but one with which he was intimately familiar. He hadn’t planned on caring about her at all, much less with this intensity. Somehow he would make it all up to her.

Sure you will, John. Just like you made it up to the women you used for the bureau and threw away.

God help him, he wanted to keep this one.

He took Hannah’s cold hand and rubbed it between both of his. “One thing you should be prepared for. I’m going to introduce myself as John Samuels. I mean, you never know. I’m in enough trouble with the FBI without your father checking up on me and finding out I’m a special agent. Or was. And I don’t want him making the connection between me and his late wife’s lover.”

“What’s one more lie?” she said, but there was no sarcasm in her tone.

He could see she was nervous. He squeezed her hands and let them go, then got out and came around to open her door. She sat there for a moment, lifted her sunglasses from the top of her head and put them on. After another few moments, she stepped out of the car. He reached for her hand, but she ran it through her hair instead, then straightened her sweater, smoothed her palms over her jeans and cleared her throat. The poignancy of her primping for the father who had abandoned her all those years ago made his chest ache.

He led the way up the steps to the porch and rang the bell. Behind him, Hannah cleared her throat again. A few seconds later, a young girl with curly brown hair and a turned-up nose opened the door. He guessed she was eleven or so.

“Hi,” John said. “Is this the Duncan residence?”

The girl glanced between them. “Yes?”

“Is Dr. Duncan at home?”

“Um, yeah. Can you hang on?” She turned away and shouted, “Mom! Somebody’s here to see Daddy.”

Hannah gasped. When John turned to her she was holding one hand over her mouth and had an arm wrapped around her middle. He pulled her to his side.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, kissing her temple. How must she feel to discover she’d had a half-sister all these years? “We’ll do this and leave as soon as possible.”

Hannah pulled her hand off her mouth and wrapped her other arm around her middle. She said nothing, but she was struggling for control.

“Can I help you?”

John let go of her and turned back to the door. A slightly overweight, middle-aged blonde with rimless glasses frowned at him. He gave her his most charming smile.

“Hi, are you Mrs. Duncan?”

“Yes?” The frown was gone now.

“I’m John Samuels, and this is my wife, Hannah.” He stepped aside for a second and was relieved to hear Hannah murmur a greeting. “I hope we haven’t come at a bad time, but we’re staying at an inn in the area and I figured this was a good time to pay a visit to your husband. My dad was at Harvard at the same time as Dr. Duncan, and he told me about his work in neurosurgery. It’s Sunday, so I thought we’d take a chance that he’d be home.”

The woman’s face softened. “Let me go get him, Mr.—”

“Samuels. John and Hannah Samuels. From Philadelphia.”

“I’ll go get him, Mom,” the girl said from behind the door.

After an awkward moment in which the woman obviously couldn’t decide whether it was safe to let a couple of strangers into the house, she stepped back and said, “Please. Come in.”

John took Hannah’s elbow and moved aside so she could pass. She hesitated for half a second and stepped into the foyer.

Mrs. Duncan eyed the sunglasses curiously. “It must be brighter out than I thought.”

Hannah gave a weak smile. “I thought it seemed a little dark in here.” Lowering her head, she pulled off the sunglasses and took her time putting them in her purse. At the sound of heavy footsteps she froze. John laid a protective hand on her shoulder and swallowed hard. They were about to come face-to-face with the bastard who had caused Hannah so much pain.

Martin Duncan strode into the foyer with glasses perched halfway down his nose and a book in his hand. His white hair was receding, revealing more of his deeply tanned forehead than he probably liked. John could tell the man’s smile didn’t come easily. He held out his hand and John took it. Duncan’s grip was firm. Hard. Like the man’s heart.

“John Samuels?” Duncan said.

“Yes, sir. I was hoping we could have a few minutes of your time. There’s something very important we need to discuss with you.”

Duncan and his wife exchanged looks. “I don’t remember a Samuels from Harvard. What was your father’s first name?”

John pulled his hand back and had the urge to wipe it on his jacket. He wrapped his arm around Hannah’s shoulders. “Actually, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Hannah raised her head slowly. Duncan’s eyes widened, and the blood left his face. He gripped the edge of the open door, frozen.

“Martin?” Mrs. Duncan glanced nervously between her husband and Hannah. Then she stopped and fixed on Hannah’s face. Several seconds passed before she understood.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

The girl who had answered the door sidled up to her father and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Daddy?” she said, looking up at his face. “What’s going on?”

Duncan patted his daughter on the shoulder and said, “It’s okay, honey. I just need to talk to these people privately for a few minutes. You and your mother go on.”

The girl squeezed closer to her father. “Who are they?”

“No one important,” he said, his eyes still on Hannah.

John felt Hannah’s shoulders sag and wanted nothing more than to beat the living shit out of Duncan for saying that. The man was a first-class shithead.

The girl turned to them, her expression angry. “Who are you?”

“Avery,” her mother said, grabbing her daughter’s arm. “Let go of your father, now. He needs to talk to these people.”

Avery yanked her arm back. “Who are you?” she asked again, her tone more strident than before.

“Don’t worry, Avery,” Hannah said. John knew that gentle tone well. He’d heard her use it to reassure the kids at school more times than he could count. “Your father’s just surprised to see me. I’m…a distant relative, from a part of the family he’s no longer in touch with. That’s all.”

Avery looked up at her father. “Is that true, Daddy?”

“This has nothing to do with you. Go with your mother. We’ll be in my office, and I don’t want to be disturbed.” He turned and walked out of the foyer.

Hannah turned to Mrs. Duncan. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”

Mrs. Duncan had tears in her eyes. “It’s okay,” she whispered, then pulled her daughter into her arms.

John nudged Hannah forward, and they followed her father through the living room, across a covered breezeway and into a large office with lots of windows. She held herself tall, just like she did at school, and John felt a surge of respect and affection for this proud woman who had lost so much, yet had so much to give. If he had ever doubted his feelings for Hannah, witnessing her compassion for the family that had, literally, replaced her, affirmed what his heart had known all along.

Duncan walked around a large oak desk and sat down in a high-backed leather desk chair. He didn’t offer them seats, but Hannah perched on the sofa anyway. He fixed his gaze on John. “What do you want from me?”

“Answers.”

“It’s very awkward, having you show up now. My daughter doesn’t know anything about that business twenty-odd years ago, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

John could barely contain his fury. “You have another daughter. And this
other
daughter is being stalked. Just like her mother was twenty-three years ago.”