Chapter 23
Savannah pulled into the driveway of their soon-to-be-together home and smiled. The sight was just what she needed after a
day of interviewing applicants to replace Jess, followed by a meeting of the board of trustees. Lights sparkled through the
prisms of the big front window in a welcoming burst of color. Lights glowed from the folly as well, which drew her gaze out
toward the dock stretching into the waves with the sunset glimmering on them.
Hez had thought of everything, and she wished Simon could be with her to see it—though the thought of a romantic evening alone
with Hez made up for it. She hated the armed-camp atmosphere that strained their relationship with her nephew. She feared
he’d be awkward with her tomorrow morning when she got him after Michael had appeared as a rescuing hero.
She bounded up the steps with an anticipatory smile and opened the door to the mouthwatering aromas of garlic, butter, and
seafood. “I smell shrimp bisque and crab cakes.” Her voice faltered when she saw Hez’s ashen face. “What’s wrong? Is it Simon?”
He stepped nearer to take her hand. “I have something I need to tell you. I think we’d better sit down.”
She eyed the envelope in his hand. Was it about the adoption? Had they lost?
He led her to the sofa and tugged her down with him onto the cushions. “Michael showed up an hour ago.” Hez raked his hand
through his hair. “I knew something was up, but I couldn’t figure it out. I never expected anything like this.”
“You’re scaring me. What is it?”
“There are pictures.” He swallowed hard and tried again. “Michael was so determined to stop our adoption petition that he
hired Martine to help him blackmail us. He brought pictures of me with Martine and demanded we drop our suit or he’ll use
them in court.”
Pictures? Hez’s extreme reaction told her more than his words, and all thoughts of a romantic dinner vanished. He would never
betray her, never. She clung to that belief. “I need to see them.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, babe. Some of them are fake and th-they look bad.”
She held out her hand. “Now.”
The first picture showed Martine, shoes in one hand against a beach background, gazing up at him with an adoring expression.
Savannah focused on Martine’s proprietary arm around Hez—like she had a perfect right to embrace him. Even worse, his arm
curled around her trim waist. Savannah forced herself to the next picture and recognized the setting of it too—the Seabreeze
Saloon. She winced at the half-empty mojito in front of him.
She shot an accusing glare his way. “Is this fake?”
He shook his head. “No, but I haven’t touched a drop of liquor since I started AA.”
She held on to the thin shred of hope that he hadn’t and went to the next picture, also at the bar. Martine, eyes closed,
kissed his cheek. He didn’t seem to be objecting. Savannah flipped to the next picture, one at the door of a motel room. A
seductive smile on her face, Martine led him through into the darkness inside. Pressure squeezed Savannah’s heart, and she
struggled to pull in oxygen. She didn’t want to see the next pictures, but she forced herself.
The lurid photos of Hez and Martine in bed slammed into her brain. The last thing she saw before she shut her eyes against
the onslaught of pain and disbelief was the birthmark on his bare hip. There was no mistaking the irregular star shape. Bile
churned in her chest, but she managed not to vomit.
Hez’s voice pushed past the roaring in her ears. “Those last pictures never happened, Savannah. I promise you. Look at me.”
His voice held pain.
She forced her lids open. “If those are the only faked photos, were the other ones real? You let her kiss you, you had your
arm around her? You met her at a bar?”
“I didn’t touch a drop of alcohol, I swear.” His blue eyes begged her to believe him. “She was providing information about
the case, and in every instance, she instigated inappropriate behavior, but I thought it was worth the risk if I could find
Hornbrook. Then you and Simon were kidnapped, and I thought if I could talk to her client, I could find you.”
He massaged the bridge of his nose. “I thought she was just flirting like she always does. It’s never meant anything—she acts that way with all men. I had no idea she was on Michael’s payroll and was providing blackmail pictures.”
“You went to a motel with her, Hez. How was that ever okay? Didn’t you see for one second how she manipulated you? Didn’t
the alarm bells ring even once?”
“Your lives were in danger! I realized it was a peculiar meeting place but went anyway, hoping it would lead to finding you.
I swear to you those last pictures are fabricated. They’re completely fake.”
She wanted to believe him when his voice vibrated with passion and outrage, but how could she when the last pictures . . .
She gulped and couldn’t bring herself to see them again, so she shoved them at him. “Explain how Michael faked your birthmark!
How would he know you had one?”
“I don’t know how he faked that, but I know he did because this never happened.” Desperation tinged his words. “I—I hadn’t
noticed the birthmark, but I would never do this, Savannah. In your deepest heart, you know I love you more than my own life.
From the first moment I met you, I’ve never been interested in another woman. Not once.”
Anger and hurt raged for control of her emotions, and she didn’t know what to believe. “I can’t talk to you right now. I’m
going for a walk to decide if I’ve been wrong all this time about the man I love.” Her voice wobbled, and she lurched to her
feet and rushed for the door.
She didn’t want to admit to herself she’d used the word love in present tense. If his betrayal ended up being true, it would rip the heart right out of her.
Michael took a long pull at his beer and put his feet up on the porch rail. He smiled as he watched Simon, Jack, and Olivia
chasing lightning bugs in the late-evening shadows. They darted among the loblolly pines at the back of Michael’s wide lawn,
their high voices ringing in the cool air as they called out each new catch. They didn’t seem at all tired, even though they’d
spent the day fishing in the pond that glimmered through the trees and riding ATVs in the four-hundred-acre pine forest that
stretched out around Michael’s house.
Tammy, her curly dark brown hair blowing around her face, sat on a swing down by the pond with her boyfriend Austin. They
were sipping sweet tea and keeping an eye on the younger children. Mama rocked on a well-cushioned chair on the porch, keeping
an eye on Austin and Tammy.
Michael turned to his mother. “They remind me of Jess, Deke, and Little Joe when they were the same age.”
She chuckled. “They put me in mind of you and David. I remember many a night watching you two chase lightning bugs.”
“Some things never change, I guess.”
Mama rocked in silence for a moment. “Didn’t Marie write a poem about that?”
“About what?”
“Boys playing.” Mama nodded toward the lawn. “I remember her sitting on this porch and watching my grandsons playing out there.
She scribbled something in that little notebook she always carried. I thought it was a poem.”
“It was.” Michael reached for a well-thumbed volume on a little table. “It was published in her last book.” He held the book
in the light from a window, found the poem, and read it aloud:
Boys
Yelling, jumping, throwing, catching, fighting, laughing, wrestling, fishing, swimming
Runningrunningrunningrunningrunning
Flop!
Lying on backs, green-smudged and gasping
Turning clouds to dinosaurs and rockets
Mama smiled and nodded. “I like her happy ones. I wish she wrote more of them.”
“Me too, but she said a poet had to tell the truth.” His mind went back to when she’d first told him that. It was a week after
the poetry reading. He had “accidentally” run into her in the park where she regularly walked baby Savannah. He quoted one
of her poems to her, charming her. They walked together and talked about poetry and TGU. She seemed to know nothing about
how her husband’s family had treated the Willards, and Michael didn’t enlighten her. If she knew the truth, she might be more
cautious around him, and he didn’t want that.
He’d told her he was writing a poem for his mother’s fiftieth birthday and asked for her help. It was a lie, of course, but
he needed an excuse to meet her again. She agreed and they met several times to talk about Mama’s life and go over drafts
of the poem. When Michael told her about Winona’s death, Marie was moved to tears—and wrote a verse on the spot that did the
same to Michael. She had taken his hand as he wept over the new lines and old grief.
He should have known then that he was laying a trap for his heart as well as hers, but he had been young and stupid.
Mama shifted in her seat. “Savannah Webster called yesterday. Says she’s going to build that pregnancy center her daddy promised.”
Michael stilled for several long moments. Building the neonatal center was the sort of thing Marie would have done if she
were university president. Could Savannah have inherited her mother’s heart? He batted the question away before taking another
swig from his beer can. “Do you believe her?”
“Actions speak louder than words.” The porch boards squeaked under Mama’s rocker. “And we both know what Legare words are
worth.”
“That we do.”
“It’s probably just a trick to soften us up about Simon.” She sighed. “Such a sweet boy. Too bad you have to take him back
tomorrow.”
Michael drained the can. “I may not have to.”
She stopped rocking. “Why not?”
“Because staying here is best for him—and because I just made a persuasive argument to Hez Webster.” He told her about the
photos of Hez and Martine.
Mama was silent for a minute. “I don’t like it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s underhanded, it’s cruel. It’s the kind of thing a Legare would do.”
“So?” He crushed the can in his fist. “We’re fighting Legares.”
“But that doesn’t mean we have to fight like Legares. We’re better than that, better than them.” She smacked him on the arm.
“This isn’t how Willards fight, boy.”
“And look what happened to us. Every. Single. Time.” He stood. “This is how Willards win, Mama.”
He turned on his heel and stormed off the porch.
Blake savored the last spoonful of bisque and turned to Hez. “Ahh. You should patent this, man.”
Hez forced a smile. “I’m glad someone is getting to enjoy it. I wasn’t hungry after seeing those pictures, and I don’t think
Savannah was either.”
Sympathy in his blue eyes, Blake set down his bowl and leaned against the newly installed black quartz kitchen counter. “She
must’ve taken it pretty hard.”
Hez’s gut clenched as he remembered the shock and hurt in her face—and the anger. Her reaction was multiplied a hundredfold
by betrayal—but he’d never cheat on her, never. “Yeah, she did. Thanks for coming over. I know things have been hectic at
the Sanctuary.”
“True, but Mom and Paradise have things under control for the evening. Besides, you know I’m always here for you—especially
when you’re making bisque.”
Hez nodded toward the stack of photos on the kitchen table. “This feels like the wine bottle thing again. The only difference
is this time I’ve got a shot at nipping it in the bud. Bruno is going to run some powerful AI-detection software on the fake
pictures.”
Hesitation clouded Blake’s eyes. “Umm . . .”
“Um what?”
Blake cleared his throat. “Well, you never went to the Seabreeze Saloon to meet a wine bottle.”
“If only that were true.”
Blake laughed. “You know what I mean, Hez. I know you had good intentions, but Martine obviously didn’t.
She’s been raising red flags since she showed up.
Not just the Seabreeze, but the thing on the beach and pretty much everything else she’s done.
And the Campbell Motel? As my aunt used to say, ‘That place is for trucks and tramps, and I don’t see eighteen wheels on her. ’”
Hez winced. “I hadn’t heard that one.” He held his hands up in exasperation. “I didn’t trust her, but what was I supposed
to do? Savannah and Simon were in danger, and I was desperate to get some kind of handle on where to find them. She said I
had fifteen minutes to get there or she was gone. I had no leads to follow and needed one.”
Blake shrugged his muscular shoulders. “I don’t know, man. I’m just saying that this isn’t exactly like the wine bottle thing.
There was nothing you could have done to prevent that.”
Hez stared through the kitchen window into the gathering darkness outside. “Savannah said the same thing. I tried to apologize,
but she stalked out.”
“Keep trying. She deserves major groveling.” Blake ladled another helping of bisque into his bowl. “Any idea how Michael’s
AI knows about your birthmark?”
Hez paced, his stocking feet silent on the hardwood floor. “No, and that’s been bugging me.”
“Maybe they got a picture while you were unconscious at the hospital.”
“True. I had pants when I blacked out and none when I woke up.” He pinched his lower lip as he evaluated the idea. “But I
was in surgery or the ICU basically the whole time I was out. How could Michael or his minions get access to me?”
“Good question—and I don’t have an answer. Just tossing out ideas.”
“I appreciate it.” Hez paused and wiped a tiny spot off the sparkling countertop. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Once Bruno has results, we’ll hopefully be able to prove those are fakes and put this whole thing in the rearview mirror.”
Blake rubbed his forehead. “Don’t count on it.”
“Why not?”
“Because the non-AI pictures aren’t great. Because Nova Cambridge is a small town. Because you’re the husband of TGU’s president.
Because a lot of people like to gossip. Because they’d rather believe a sexy lie than a boring truth.” Blake put a hand on
Hez’s shoulder. “Even if you can prove those last pictures are fake, I’m afraid this will get messy.”