Chapter 6
SIX
The words sounded brave and tough, but in reality, while she meant them, they also covered the trembling deep in her soul.
One of her biggest nightmares was coming to life. One that she may have triggered with her very public, passionate promise to make sure her father’s name and legacy lived on. Her recklessness both terrified her and made her glad in a strange way. Maybe she would finally find the man who killed her family.
She shoved the blanket off her shoulders and a shiver swept through her. At the moment, all she wanted was to go home, grab a hot shower, and curl up on the couch to regroup and plan. “Can one of you guys give me a lift home after I give my statement?”
“I’ll be happy to,” Nathan said as he held out her phone.
“Thank you.” She slid the phone in her pocket, then rubbed her forehead. “I’ll have to get my stuff out of the Jeep and arrange for a rental.”
“You can call on the way.”
She frowned. “I love that Jeep.”
“It can be fixed or you can get another one.”
“Don’t want another one,” she muttered, then shook her head. “Let me give my statement, then I’ll be ready to go.”
He waited, then she followed him to his Rhino-XT and couldn’t help the smile that started to curve her lips.
“Don’t,” he said, his tone mild but the warning clear. “I was already in it when your call came.” Normally he’d be in a Bucar, but he hadn’t known he’d be arriving at a shootout.
“What?” She raised her brows, going for the most innocent expression she could muster. It was so much more fun to tease him than think about what could have happened. Kidnapped. Getting shot. Dying. She shuddered.
“You know what. It’s just a loaner.”
“Sure.”
“It is.”
“So you’ve said.”
He rolled his eyes and Jesslyn couldn’t help being amazed that she could feel amused after the past couple of hours. The ride to her house—with the blessed heat blasting on high—was short and uneventful, for which she sent up prayers of gratitude. “This is going to sound weird because it’s been twenty years, but I have some of my dad’s sweats in a drawer in the guest room,” she said once they were inside with the doors locked. “The pants might be a little short on you, but they’ll do for now. Second drawer from the bottom in the tall dresser.”
“It’s not weird. You don’t mind me wearing them?”
She smiled. “No. He’d be glad to help you.”
“Then thanks.”
She pointed him in the direction of her guest room and bath, then went to take care of her own soaking self.
Twenty minutes later, she padded into the kitchen, her feet clad in thick wool socks. Finally, she was starting to warm up, but a cup of coffee was still mandatory for both of them.
Her phone buzzed. She walked into the den, a cup of coffee in each hand. She set the drinks on the coffee table, curled up on the sofa, and aimed the remote at the television. Leaving it on mute, she grabbed her phone and swiped to answer the call.
“Hi, Carol.”
“Hey, sweetie. I wanted to run something by you.”
“What’s up?”
Nathan appeared in her doorway and her pulse did that little skippy thing. She cleared her throat and waved him toward a cup. With a clearly grateful look, he snagged it and settled on the other end of the couch. He filled out her father’s sweats very nicely.
“Jess? Are you listening to me?”
“Um, yes, of course.” She blinked. “What?”
“Is this a bad time?”
“No, not at all.”
“You have company, don’t you?”
“Well—”
“Is it a man?”
The gleeful tone in her aunt’s voice sent her brows into her hairline. “Aunt Carol...”
“Okay, okay. I have a brilliant idea.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Oh stop. We need to have an event. I already have it all planned and want to go over your part.”
“My part?”
“We’ll have a dinner and you get up and give a speech. Talk about your family and why you’re doing this to honor them.”
“A dinner? I thought you were just going to be calling a few of Dad’s friends and coworkers.”
“I was. I mean, I am. Along with anyone in the community who wants to attend. They’ll have to RSVP, of course, but I think a lovely dinner would be a nice touch. If we’re going to ask people for money, we should at least feed them.”
“Right. Okay. Sure, that’s a good idea. So, what you’re saying is we’ll do a full-blown thing. I’ll talk about Dad and Mom’s dream to give back.”
“Exactly. Because think about it. While the initial investment will go to renovating the space, you’re going to need regular donors to keep it going. And if we have people in the community giving money, then they’ll be invested in making sure it succeeds.”
That was true enough. “And that’s why I hired you,” she said. “You’re right. It’s brilliant. Just send me the schedule and I’ll be there to do whatever you need me to do.”
“Perfect. Thank you, darling. I’ve decided that I’ll match donations up to a certain amount. I haven’t come up with that amount yet, but I will. Now, I’m off. Tell your young man I said hello.”
“Aunt Carol...”
But her chuckling aunt had already disconnected.
She rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“What was that all about?”
“My aunt and the benefit that’s now turned into a dinner.”
“You sound really excited about that.”
“Just thrilled.” A low groan slipped from her. “I also sound really ungrateful. I’m not, I promise. And I can’t say this wasn’t my idea. It was totally my idea. I will say it took some convincing on my part that she would be the best one to organize this, but she agreed. She also just decided to donate a lot of the money for the project.”
“A youth center in downtown Lake City. Nice.”
“The McCormick Youth Project. My dad was in commercial real estate, but volunteered with a local program that tries to help troubled kids. He was very vocal about his opinion that if they had a place to go after school and during holidays, they wouldn’t get in nearly as much trouble.” She shrugged. “At least the ones who don’t work. He was mostly talking about those who come from violent and broken homes, those who are angry and just looking for an outlet, but anyone, from any walk of life, was welcome. He was passionate about that, from what my aunt has told me.”
“You don’t mind public speaking. That’s awesome.”
“You don’t like it?”
He grimaced. “Nope. I hate it and avoid it if at all possible.”
“Ha. Well, you’re not the first one to say that.” She shook her head. “I should have known putting my aunt in charge would help make this into something I didn’t envision.” She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “And it’s fine. Truly. Or it will be once I get used to the idea.”
“You’re going to need security in light of recent events.”
“Yes. I know. I’ll start looking into that.”
He tilted his head and Jesslyn gulped at how handsome he was. Seriously, he was going to be a distraction.
“Tell me about your family,” he said.
She pushed away these romantic leanings. “I don’t talk about them much. Not because I don’t want to, but sometimes when I do, I go down the ‘what if’ road. And the ‘I wish’ highway. I don’t like going there. You would think after all these years, the sting of the grief would have lessened.” She paused and frowned. “I mean, I suppose it has. But the anger hasn’t. It’s still as raw as it was when I finally understood someone had set the fire on purpose and killed them.”
He nodded, his gaze compassionate, hurting for her. She shifted, not sure what to do with that. She was used to pity, but this was different. There was no pity, just ... empathy. “I don’t remember much about my sisters. I have flashes here and there when something triggers a memory, but I do remember Maria liked dolls. She was all about the dolls. The more the merrier. Gabby was the tomboy. She wanted to play baseball and carried around a little pink ball glove. She loved watching sports with my dad. Even at that young age.” She smiled. “They were cute, but I do remember they drove me crazy some days.”
“Siblings can do that.”
“Speaking of siblings, you never did tell me your story.”
He stiffened and pulled back. “What story?”
She quirked a brow at him. “The one you don’t like to talk about.”
If she’d sucker punched him, the look on his face would have been about the same. “What makes you say that?”
“A feeling.”
His phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen with a sigh. “Do you mind if I take this? It’s my brother.”
“Don’t mind at all. Enjoy the reprieve.”
“Not exactly sure that’s what I’d call it,” he muttered, “but thanks.”
NATHAN STEPPED INTO THE KITCHEN and answered the call. Only because in some weird way, talking to Eli seemed safer than talking about his past. “What can I do for you, Eli?” His gaze roamed her kitchen that boasted cream-colored cabinets and white-speckled granite countertops. The window over the sink was framed with gray curtains that had a subtle pattern of circles on them.
“Mom is doing Saturday brunch. Can you be there?”
“Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe.” Nathan raised his eyes to the ceiling, noting the smooth white surface. “What time?”
“Nine thirty.”
“Who else is going to be there?”
“All of us. If you’ll come.”
So far the man hadn’t said anything about Nathan’s need for therapy. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch, Natty. Mom’s just making a meal. Her usual. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, and hash browns.”
Eli had used his childhood nickname once again. He shuddered and ignored that. “She hates to cook.”
“But she’s good at it, she loves us, and she knows we’ll come if she does it.”
That was true. She’d cooked two meals a day, sometimes three, when he and his siblings were growing up. When their baby sister finally went away to college, she said she was done cooking on a regular basis. She’d only do it once in a while and when she chose to.
Apparently, Saturday was the day. “I think I can make it.”
“Think?”
“Yes, Eli. Think . I’ll let Mom know one way or the other.” Why hadn’t she called or texted him herself?
Eli had probably volunteered because he had more to talk about.
“One more question,” his brother said.
And here it came. “Yes?”
“Um ... I know you’re not interested in talking to me about the past, but there’s a new doctor with our practice who has a lot of experience dealing with childhood trauma. I would like us to go together if you’d be—”
“Bye, Eli.”
He hung up and resisted the urge to smash his phone against the wall. What in the world had gotten ahold of his brother. They’d gone years without talking about the worst day of his life—had in fact gone out of their way to avoid talking about it, burying it deep, pretending it didn’t happen—and now, all of a sudden, in the last three months, they couldn’t have a conversation without Eli dredging up that day and refusing to leave it alone even after Nathan insisted. Which was typical. If Eli wanted something, he didn’t let much stand in his way of getting it. Except Nathan no longer played by his big brother’s rules.
“Everything all right?” Jesslyn asked from behind him.
He turned. “Yes. Fine.”
“Hm.”
She didn’t believe him. He didn’t either. “It’s my brother,” he said. “He’s driving me batty about something that happened years ago. I keep telling him to drop it and he keeps pushing.”
“I’m sorry.”
He waved a hand. “Forget it. He’s been a selfish handful all his life. It’s a boring topic. We can move on to a different one.”
“All right. I called to check on Mr. Christie and he’s still being kept in a coma.”
“And probably will be for a while from what I understand. It’s why we’re not there at the hospital waiting for him to wake up.” He sighed. “Jesslyn, we need to think about who is after you. Any thoughts?”
“No, not really. I mean, someone who’s mad I didn’t approve their building because it wasn’t up to code? Or an arsonist I put in prison with my testimony who’s now out? Or an arsonist’s family member who decided it was a good time to get revenge for putting away their loved one? It could be any number of people.”
“And we’ll check on all of that.” He nodded to the den. “Wanna sit back down?”
She yawned. “Well, there you go. All of a sudden I’m struggling to stay awake. I need some more caffeine.” She walked to the Keurig and fired it up.
“It’s the adrenaline rush and crash,” he said. “Not to mention the knock on the head. How’s that feeling anyway?”
“Ibuprofen is my friend.” When her coffee was ready, he followed her back into the den, and they took their respective spots on the couch. “What’s next?” she asked.
“You get some rest?”
“No, I can rest later. I need to figure this out.” She pulled her phone from the end table and tapped the screen. “I keep coming back to this jewelry. I’ve seen that mark before, I just can’t remember where or when or...” She shrugged. “I think it was as a child, but I’m not sure why I think that.” She shivered and grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch to pull it over her. “You know, after my family was killed, I went to live with my aunt Carol.”
“Right. I knew that.”
“About two weeks after I was starting a new life in a new town with a new school, trying to navigate the grief and just ... not crumble, I woke one night to a man in my room.”
He grunted. “What? Who?”
“I don’t know. I remember being terrified of him, then wondering if it was a dream. Then totally convinced he was real. But now ... I’m not sure.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. He just looked at me and then turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him.” She paused. “Sometimes, I think he said something, but...” She frowned. “I don’t know. Dreams change, right?”
“Maybe. And you don’t know who it could have been if he’d actually been a real person?”
“Not a clue.”
“What brings this to mind now?”
She gave a little laugh. “I keep saying ‘I don’t know,’ but it’s the answer that fits. Whenever I think about my family and the fire and the night they died—were murdered—I think about the man in my room.” She groaned and rubbed her cheek. “You probably think I need therapy.”
“I think each person has to decide that for themselves.”
“Well, I had therapy. Years and years of it. And every time I told the story about the man in my room, no one believed he was real.”
“But you did—do?”
Another heavy sigh. “At the risk of sounding like a broken record ... I don’t know, Nathan. I really don’t know. In the beginning I did, but then everyone kind of convinced me that it was all in my head. But if he was real, then who was he? And why show up in my aunt’s house in the middle of the night to watch me sleep unless...”
Nathan studied her for a few seconds. “Unless?”
“I mean ...”
“You think it was him, don’t you?” he asked, his voice low. “The arsonist?”
She bit her lip but didn’t look away. “Yeah,” she finally whispered. “I do. And I’ve been afraid of him coming back to finish the job ever since.” She paused. “And hopeful too. Because then I would finally have someone to fight. I would finally have the opportunity to get justice for my family. And me.”