14
It was another hot night. But Lucy was feeling better overall. She hadn’t heard from Reggie, and although she didn’t want
to allow herself to lean on Ford, she felt safer knowing he was close by. Besides, she’d slept with her windows open last
night without incident. That somehow made her feel more confident doing it again.
She glanced at the bat that was now leaning against the wall in her bedroom. There was a chance it wouldn’t help her—not if
Reggie broke in and was on top of her before she could grab it—but she was probably letting her imagination run away with
her. Surely, he wouldn’t go that far. She’d watched too many true crime shows, trying to better understand her father—and begun to think almost everyone was
dangerous.
With a sigh, she rolled over to go to sleep—but heard a knock at the door.
“It’s me!” Ford called out immediately.
She couldn’t believe it. Was he going to make a habit of showing up at her place after dark? she wondered as she put her clothes
back on and went out to let him in.
Cracking open the door, she peered at him. “What’s going on?”
He was holding a plate covered with tinfoil with one hand, the other was shoved into the pocket of his faded jeans—jeans that
fit him far too well to go unnoticed. “Just checking on you.”
She wasn’t his concern, but she was grateful. She knew she had enemies. “I was... in bed.”
He gestured toward the closest window. “Are you giving up on locking everything?”
“I don’t really have a choice,” she admitted. “It’s too damn hot.”
“That makes me a little nervous.”
She lifted her eyebrows. There was no reason for it to make him nervous. Why would he care one way or the other?
“I’m trying to help you,” he said, responding to the look she’d given him.
“And I’m grateful. I think,” she added uncertainly.
“I realize I have zero credibility with you, but I’d appreciate you giving me the benefit of the doubt.” He held up his phone
to show her Darren’s contact record. “After all, I got Darren’s number. I’m going to give him a call tomorrow.”
“To see if he’ll speak with Mr. Friedman?”
“Yeah. I thought if I prepped him a little, we might have a better chance.”
“Makes sense.” She leaned against the door as she held it partially open. “I hope he’ll be receptive.”
“Maybe I’ll talk to Reggie, too.”
“You must have a lot of confidence in your powers of persuasion if you think you can convince Reggie to speak to Friedman. That guy is selfish and angry and... just plain scary.”
“If he was telling the truth on the stand, he has no reason to refuse.”
“Except that he was lying, which means he has a very good reason to refuse.”
“You never know.” He handed her the plate he’d been holding. “I thought you might like this.”
She pushed her long hair out of her face. Although she’d worn it up all day, she’d removed the tie before bed. “What is it?”
“The best damn pineapple cake on the planet. I didn’t even know pineapple cake could taste so good.”
“You mean like... pineapple upside-down cake? I haven’t had one of those in years.”
“It’s more like a carrot cake—moist with nuts and a thick, cream cheese frosting.”
A homemade cake was something Lucy would never bother to make, not just for herself. The scarcity of home-baked goods in her
life made his offering even more appealing. “Where’d you get it?”
“My friend Chet and his wife, Kira, had me over for dinner tonight and sent that home with me.”
She tried to hand it back to him. “Then they wanted you to have it.”
He gave her a coaxing smile. “Why don’t you let me in, so we can share it with a glass of milk?”
He was far more appealing than the cake, and she loved cake. Because of that, she was casting about for an excuse to refuse when he said, “Come on. Don’t be like that.”
“Fine.” Reluctantly, she opened the door wide enough for him to get past her and the cake she was now holding.
“Chet’s in town, huh?” she said as he made himself at home in her kitchen by getting out a second plate as well as a knife.
“You remember him?”
“Of course. He hung around you all the time.”
“He still comes back every summer and stays in his family’s vacation home on the Potomac.”
She remembered the house, too. Like Coastal Comfort, she’d never been inside it, but she’d seen it. It wasn’t far from the
party Aurora had attended before she was murdered. “Is it as nice as your place?”
“Depends on what you like. It’s... cozy.”
“And how would you describe Coastal Comfort?”
“You’ve seen it.”
“A decorator’s dream?” she said.
“A decorator’s work ,” he clarified. “It’s comfortable, too, in a different way.”
“In the way money makes everything comfortable—expensive mattresses and pillows and thousand thread count sheets?” she said
with a laugh.
“I guess I can’t argue there.” He cut the cake she’d put on the counter and slid a thin sliver onto the extra plate before
handing the much bigger piece to her.
“Whoa, this is a lot more than half,” she said.
“I’ve already had some.” He went through the drawers until he found the forks while she got the milk and poured two glasses.
“Shall we go to the porch again?” he asked.
“Why not?” she replied. “It’s the best place in the house. Well, it’s not really in the house, but you know what I mean.”
He followed her out and muttered “thank goodness” as he took a seat on the wicker furniture, apparently relieved to get a
small reprieve from the heat. Even with the windows open, the house was hotter than the outdoors.
“What kind of house do you live in?” he asked as she sat across from him so she could use the table nearby for her milk.
She picked up her fork. “If you’re wondering if I hit the lottery since I left here penniless, the answer is no.”
“I’m not comparing or judging you. I’m just curious about your life. Is that so terrible?”
What she had could never compare with what he had, but she was proud of herself for owning a piece of real estate. Her father
had never owned anything beyond a vehicle, and even that was generally a piece of junk. “I have a condo in Vegas,” she told
him. “I could’ve bought a house, but I didn’t want to worry about the yard, and I like the security the complex offers—the
amenities, too, with the pool and clubhouse.”
“Why Vegas?” he asked.
She put the first bite of cake into her mouth and closed her eyes as the cream cheese frosting melted on her tongue. “God,
this is good.”
“Lucy?”
She opened her eyes.
“Why Vegas?”
“That’s where I work.” Although, she could live anywhere if she could get used to playing poker online. So far, it hadn’t
been her thing. Maybe she was a little superstitious, but she tended to do better in person, felt it was easier to read the
players around her.
Already finished with his small sliver of cake, Ford put down his fork. “What do you do that enables you to take the whole
summer off?”
“I’m not going to tell you,” she said and took another bite of cake.
He looked up. “Why?”
“I’d just rather not.” Some people frowned on gambling. She didn’t want to give him another reason to feel superior—or his
parents another reason to commend themselves for keeping their son away from her.
“Are you a teacher?” he guessed. “Teachers have summers off...”
“Not a teacher. I didn’t have the opportunity to go to college. I was homeless until I was twenty-two. I doubt I would’ve
been able to get through college even if I’d had the money. I was pretty messed up after what happened here.”
His lips compressed into a straight line. Then he said, softly, “How’d you survive?”
She used her fork to make swirls in the frosting on her cake. “It’s kind of a blur, to tell you the truth.”
He drank his milk. “You didn’t have any family to help you?”
She shook her head.
“I didn’t think so. What about your mother? You never reconnected with her?”
“Maybe you forgot, but I didn’t know where she was. I still don’t. And I don’t want to know.”
“You’ve never tried to look for her?”
“No. I figure I’m probably better off without someone like that in my life.”
He studied her for several seconds, long enough that she began to feel uncomfortable.
“What?” she said, scowling at him.
“You should be proud of yourself,” he replied.
She laughed humorlessly. “For what?” She thought it was pretty cool that she’d been able to buy a car and a condo and amass
some savings. But that would be nothing to him.
“Not only did you survive, you landed on your feet. Not many people could’ve pulled that off.”
Wishing his praise didn’t feel quite so good, she told herself not to take it seriously. Words were just words. “I appreciate
that. I’m glad things have gotten easier.”
“So am I.” He stood and gathered his glass and plate. “I’ll let you get back to your night—and I’ll call you tomorrow after
I talk to Darren.”
Grabbing her own plate and glass, she followed him inside. “You weren’t serious about contacting Reggie, were you?”
“I was.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“You’ve said as much.”
“You’re not going to listen?”
“Nope,” he replied, but tossed her such a devilish grin she wanted to smile back.
Resisting, she looked away while putting her dishes in the sink. “I guess that’s your choice.” She turned on the faucet so
she could rinse the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. “Thanks for the cake.”
He didn’t walk out like she expected. He stood next to her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, and waited until she looked up at him again. Then he lifted his hand and wiped her bottom lip with his thumb. “Frosting,” he explained.
The beat of her heart seemed to radiate through her whole body as she met his gaze. Then the memories came rushing back—not
only of the first time they’d kissed but of making love with him on the beach.
Lucy ordered herself to blank her mind, feel nothing, but that crooked smile of his, not to mention the way he smelled—so
clean and warm and male—made her wish she could lean into him, if only for a moment. Apparently, she, who had such trouble
getting close to men, still craved what she’d lost in this place.
Maybe that was really what’d driven her back... She was trying to plug that hole. There were still times, like now, when
she asked herself why she hadn’t meant more to him. It didn’t matter that she’d been only seventeen. Had their roles been
reversed, she never would’ve abandoned him.
“Thanks,” she muttered as if she felt nothing, but she could barely breathe and stayed right where she was for several minutes
after he let himself out.
Lucy had ended up in Vegas? That was more than halfway across the country. Ford couldn’t help wondering what’d drawn her there,
other than the fact that she’d probably wanted to get as far away from North Hampton Beach as possible.
He wondered what she did for a living and where she’d gotten the savings she’d mentioned. Obviously, she didn’t like talking
about her past, but he was curious. What had she been forced to do? Eat out of garbage cans? Sleep on the street? How desperate
had she gotten?
The images that paraded across the stage of his mind made him cringe. He felt he was part of the reason she’d had no support. He certainly could have and should have done more to help her. Although... at seventeen, he probably couldn’t have done enough. Still, he’d feel better about himself if he could at least say he hadn’t piled on.
He thought of how much she seemed to enjoy the cake he’d brought her tonight. Christina had always had so much. She wouldn’t
have thought anything about getting some leftovers, homemade or not. She could have a chef bake her whatever cake she asked
for. She probably wouldn’t eat something that calorie-laden, anyway.
Lucy, on the other hand, had closed her eyes and savored every bite. And seeing how much she enjoyed it made him happy he’d
given it to her...
It was such a simple thing. But it was joy about the simple things that was missing in his life.
His phone rang and his estranged wife’s picture popped up on Caller ID. He wanted to remain courteous to Christina, which
meant he should answer her calls. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not when he was finally feeling a little warmer
inside. He hadn’t felt human in so long. He’d been completely empty, just kept pushing himself to fulfill his duties and responsibilities
so he wouldn’t let his mother and brother down.
He turned off his ringer and put on some music. He was tired but not quite ready for bed. He wanted to live in this moment
a little longer. The slightly bewildered expression on Lucy’s face as she’d gazed up at him tonight had to be the most heartbreaking
look she’d ever given him, and yet there was something there that offered him hope of real forgiveness.
After a few minutes, the music cut out, signifying he’d received a text. He knew better than to do it, but he glanced down
to see what it was. He’d been hoping it was Lucy. Regardless of everything, he liked being with her, felt at home in a way
that was difficult to describe.
But it was Christina. She was saying she’d visited her OB/GYN today and heard the heartbeat of their baby for the first time. She’d sent him a recording of it.
Listening would only make him sad he wasn’t there, even though he couldn’t be there—couldn’t be with Christina—any longer.
Still, he pressed Play.
The heartbeat was much faster than that of a baby outside the womb and had a whooshing sound: Wow... wow... wow... wow...
He closed his eyes as he listened. He wanted to be excited. Especially because he’d just seen Chet’s baby and instantly loved
her. How could he miss the birth of his own little girl or boy? Staying up at night to help with changings and feedings? Holding
his child in his arms whenever he wanted?
And yet he couldn’t go back to Christina again , not when he already knew how it would end.
Although... Maybe the baby really would make all the difference. Would Christina care enough about their child to be decent?
Should he get back with her and put off the divorce until he absolutely couldn’t take it anymore? Or stay with her indefinitely,
no matter how miserable he got, for the sake of this other person they were bringing into the world?
A lump formed in his throat. He generally avoided a lot of emotion—did whatever he could to distract himself when the regret
and longing struck. That was why he’d worked so many hours; work was the only antidote to his turbulent home life. But all
the pain and disappointment, and the sense of failure, he’d been shoving away hit him as he played that heartbeat recording
over and over.
He could take the summer for himself, but then he had to go back to Christina, he realized. She’d had him from the second she told him she was pregnant. On some level, she knew it, too. It was because he’d tried to tell her no that she’d sent him this little reminder. The recording sounded like wow... wow... wow... wow , but it was really saying, I’ve still got you. You’ll never escape.
Lucy woke up thinking about Ford. She’d gone to sleep thinking about Ford, too. And that simply wasn’t acceptable.
Disgusted with herself, she got out of bed and made breakfast. She was going to scan the two letters she’d received from her
father so far and send them to Friedman. She thought he might be able to glean something from them or give her questions he
wanted her to ask. After all, she was the only one who had a connection with Mick. She doubted her father would talk to anyone
else—about Aurora or the Matteos. He hadn’t in all these years, wasn’t the kind of guy who pandered to the press.
While she was eating, Missy texted her a picture of her plants, which were thriving. Her friend also said the last guy she’d
dated had come back into the restaurant where she worked. Missy insisted he was feeling her out, hoping she’d encourage him
to get back in touch with Lucy. But Lucy knew she’d done the right thing calling it quits with him. The way she felt when
she was around Ford showed her what it should be like when she was interested in someone. She couldn’t allow herself to succumb
to the attraction she felt for her first love—had to find someone else who stirred her in the same way. She was positive of
that now, just as she was positive that she’d done the right thing breaking up with the other men she’d been with since leaving
North Hampton Beach.
She told Missy to discourage him. Then she got dressed and grabbed her keys. She planned to go to the house where Aurora had attended the party the night she was killed—to see, through an adult’s eyes, how things might’ve played out. What exit Aurora might’ve taken. Where she might’ve walked. Where whoever killed her might’ve found her and/or abducted her.
Maybe, since it’d been so long, some of the neighbors who weren’t closely tied to the Clarks would be willing to talk to her—if
the same people still lived in or used those homes.
She piled her hair into a messy bun, put on some mascara and lip gloss and grabbed her purse. But as she was letting herself
out of the house, she heard the pounding of feet as someone ran away and turned just in time to see the trees move where whoever
it was had torn through them to reach the road.
Who’d been in her yard? And why hadn’t that person come to the door?
Hoping to catch a glimpse of the culprit—to put her mind at ease that it was just kids—she started to follow. As far as she
knew, there was no reason for anyone to be at the cottage besides Ford, who was taking care of the landscaping, and he wouldn’t
run away when she came out.
But she hadn’t gotten very far when she heard a motor flare to life and saw a quick glimpse of the back end of a beat-up orange
truck scatter gravel as the driver peeled out and rocketed away before she could see who was behind the wheel.