Chapter 13
Dear Gwen,
I love you. Last night meant everything to me.
But I can’t protect you if you’re with me, and I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you. I called Becky—she’s coming to pick you up. Don’t go back to her house, just in case. Find somewhere safe. I’ll see you as soon as I can.
Colin
Gwen let the paper fall from her hand and sat on the edge of the bed.
She had awoken slowly, languid memories of her night with Colin stretching through her mind.
Her fantasies hadn’t done the man justice.
When she wanted him again, she reached out for him with a cat-like purr, only to find his side of the bed cold and empty.
“Colin?” she called, sitting up. Her body felt funny, not used to lovemaking, and it made her feel good and alive.
She walked to the window and pulled back the curtain, light streaming in from the bright summer’s day, making her flinch. It was then that she saw the note on the table.
Anger was slow to percolate, gradually taking over where shock had settled first. She was hurt, betrayed.
Had he known that he would leave her, even as he became her lover?
She had opened her heart and shown him the love that was growing inside, believing he was doing the same.
But he was preparing to deceive her, to summarily lift her out of a situation that was vital to her wellbeing and drop her onto the sidelines like a spectator.
How dare he?
Gwen stood, just as a knock came at the door.
She reached for a towel and covered herself before opening it.
One look at Becky’s sheepish expression told her all she needed to know.
“Good morning, dear,” said Gwen. “Just so you know, we are going after that damnable man, no matter what he wants. Are you on the side of righteousness?”
Becky’s eyes lit. “Abso-freakin-lutely.”
“Wonderful. Make yourself at home while I get dressed.”
Rowan Mitchell stepped out of the terminal and into the bright sunshine of a New England summer’s day.
It had been too damn long since he set foot on American soil, the glamour of being an expat in Italy having long ago lost its appeal.
He hadn’t even seen his brother since his own wedding to Tamra three years earlier, an unconscious grimace crossing his face at the thought of his wife.
“Rowan!” Gwen was walking toward him in the sunshine, a bright smile lighting her face.
He held out his arms to her. “It’s been too long,” said Rowan. “You look fantastic.”
“Thank you,” she said, reaching up to pinch his cheeks. “And congratulations! I hear you are married. And a father! How wonderful.”
He bobbed his head as words failed him, his recent wounds too fresh and overwhelming for conversation. “A lot has changed.”
“She must be something, to have stolen your heart and taken you away to a foreign land,” Gwen said with a wink.
Oh, she’s something, all right. They began walking away from the terminal. “Where’s Colin?”
Rowan had been waiting to get his hands on his younger brother since he realized Colin and Gwen were sharing a room at the hotel. He’s in the shower, Gwen had said.
The thought had driven Rowan half crazy all the way across the Atlantic, imagining Colin doing all manner of inappropriate things to cajole the innocent widow into his bed.
Why couldn’t his damnable brother leave Gwen alone?
Why did he always have to push it, try for a relationship that was never meant to be?
The thought that Colin would pursue Gwen now, with David dead, made Rowan extremely angry.
It was like spitting on his best friend’s grave.
“I’m not sure where Colin is. He was gone when I awoke this morning.”
Rowan didn’t miss the intimate phrasing, but decided to bite his tongue. More concerning right now was the fact that his brother had abandoned her. “He just left you alone?”
Gwen’s chin came up. “He felt my tagging along was too dangerous, that he couldn’t protect me. He went off on his own to find the elusive bad guys and see that justice is served.”
Colin had a point. If David really had been killed and the two of them were walking around in harm’s way, knocking on unknown doors, then maybe Gwen really wasn’t safe with Colin.
Rowan felt a begrudging respect for his brother, surprised Colin had the maturity to put Gwen’s safety above his own lustful concerns. “That was probably a good idea, Gwen.”
She stopped next to an orange Suzuki and opened the passenger side door. “And why is that a good idea, exactly?”
He squinted at the driver of the car, unable to see beyond the glare on the windshield. “We don’t want you to get hurt.”
“We?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I see. I am no more fragile than you are, Rowan Mitchell. I’m a better shot with a weapon and I am well versed in the martial arts.”
He took in her graceful limbs and feminine frame, doubting her ability to fend off a sixth-grader.
Gwen put a hand on her hip. “Don’t let my girlish good looks fool you.”
He chuckled in spite of himself and climbed into the backseat of the car, surprised to see masses of red curly hair on the woman behind the wheel. The car smelled like cinnamon and something spicy, and the redhead turned toward him.
“I’m Becky.”
“Rowan. Pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.
“Not so fast, slick,” said Becky. “Gwen and I are in this, whether you like it or not. We’re coming with you to find the bastard who killed Gwen’s husband, and if you try to stop us I’m going to open a can of whoop-ass. You got that?”
Her eyes were incredible, a natural green that captivated him and drew him into their depths.
Rowan was instantly aware of her, like he hadn’t been aware of a woman in years.
His eyes fell briefly to her lips, and returned to those eyes.
“Whoop-ass?” he said, the lightest smile pulling at his mouth.
She raised her brows and moved her head from side to side. “Whoop-ass!”
“Got it.”
“We do this together,” said Becky.
Rowan nodded. “Whatever you say.”
Gwen leaned her head back and peeked at Rowan. “Becky has a way with words.”
“I can see that.”
Becky held two cell phones in her hands, clearly copying a number from one to the other, then passed one to him. “You’re calling Colin. It’s ringing. Tell him you rented a car and find out where he is.”
Rowan had the odd sense that he’d been kidnapped and was being held against his will. It rang several times before going to voicemail.
“It’s Rowan. I just landed at Logan. Call me back at this number when you get this. My regular phone doesn’t work in the States.”
“Damn it,” said Becky. “Where do we go now?”
“We go to Aunt Bernice’s house. Six twenty-two Balina Place,” said Gwen.
Becky backed out of the parking space. “Where’d you get that?”
“It was in the documents I was looking at with Colin yesterday morning.”
“Good memory, girl.”
“Actually, it’s quite a coincidence. Six twenty-two is my anniversary—June twenty-second—and we went to Bali on our honeymoon.”
Becky’s slammed on the brake. “Are you kidding me?”
Gwen’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t you just love when things like that happen?”
Gwen stepped to the door of Jerry’s aunt Bernice’s house and rang the bell, taking in her surroundings as she waited.
The neighborhood of small brick ranches was welcoming and quaint, with small square yards and mature shrubs and trees.
An elderly woman at the house next door was watching her, and Gwen waved pleasantly, earning her a nod and a smile.
The door opened to a tall young man with warm brown skin.
“Hi there, my name’s Gwen Trueblood. I’m hoping you can help me find someone.”
The man was happy to help, but he had never heard of Jerry or his aunt, telling Gwen his parents had lived in the house for the past nine years.
Gwen slid back into the passenger seat of Becky’s car and reached for the seat belt. “No luck.” She shook her head. “I thought for sure we were going to find out where Jerry is.” Gwen’s intuition rarely steered her wrong, and she was nonplussed, unsure of what to do next.
“Wait for it,” said Becky, pulling her sunglasses down and peering over Gwen’s shoulder. The woman from next door walked gingerly toward them.
“Hello,” said Gwen.
“Are you looking for Bernice?”
Gwen nodded. “I am! Her nephew, actually. He’s my father-in-law.”
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” the woman’s face fell. “You’re looking for Jerry?”
“Yes.”
“He passed away years ago, my dear.”
Jerry was dead? Gwen didn’t realize just how much she was looking forward to meeting David’s father until the possibility disappeared. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.” She sighed heavily. “Jerry got himself into a little trouble and he went into Witness Protection. It was a few years after that he passed away.”
Gwen was confused. Was she referring to the dead Jerry of Cold spring, who was never really dead at all, or the true death of the man sometime later?
“Bernice,” said the old woman, “moved out to Sandwich to live with her son and his wife, must be upwards of ten years now. She needed a little help to get along when she got the cancer.”
“Sandwich?” asked Gwen, the hair rising on her arms as she remembered Martin’s story.
Becky leaned close to Gwen, sticking her head close to the window. “Do you know where we can find her son?”
“Why, yes. A little place down the road from the boardwalk entrance. A gray house with white shutters. If you find the boardwalk, you can’t miss it.”
The house was small and gray, its weathered shingles somewhat neglected. A cool breeze came in off the ocean, making a porch swing rock on its own and momentarily startling Colin. He walked up the wooden steps, which creaked beneath his feet, and rapped soundly on the door.
He could feel his sidearm in its holster, the weight of it adding both security and concern, his senses already on high-alert from knocking on what he believed was Jerry Ahearn’s front door.
Lace curtains moved to the side, revealing a boy with curling brown hair.
“Can I help you?” the boy asked as he opened the door.
“I’m looking for someone. An old friend. He used to live here.” Colin’s heart hammered in his chest. “His name’s Jerry. Do you know him?”
The boy rolled his eyes. “Um, yeah. He’s my dad. But he’s not home.”
Jerry was his father?
Colin’s eyes searched his features for any similarity to David. Their coloring was completely different, the boy’s warm skin tone suggesting his background was not completely Irish as David’s had been.
David’s brother.
Half-brother, he corrected. Adele died when David was six; this boy must have been born much later.
“How old are you?” asked Colin.
The boy eyed him wearily. “Who are you?”
He froze, unsure of what to say, just as a voice called from the door behind them. “Luke, who is at the door?” An attractive brunette appeared, wiping her hands on a towel. Her eyes met Colin’s and recognition slammed into his consciousness, making him reel.
The woman’s hands jerked and she dropped the towel, covering her mouth.
“Emma?” Colin gasped, his voice too loud as he stepped toward her, the boy all but forgotten. This wasn’t really happening. It simply wasn’t possible. He had looked for her for nearly a year, exhausted every possible avenue to find her.
The boy looked from Colin to the woman and back. “Mom, what’s going on?”
“Mom?” said Colin, his eyes raking over the boy’s face a second time, urgent now, easily noting his similarity to the brunette. “Oh, sweet Jesus…” He raised a shaking hand to the boy’s cheek and he pulled away from him, just as his mother reached out and hauled the boy to her side.
Emma’s voice shook when she spoke. “I can explain everything, Colin.”