Kendall wasn’t choosing Ray over Liza, but he didn’t know how to tell her that. If only he could be in two places at the same time. He’d follow Liza anywhere she wanted to go. New York. Nantucket. New Zealand, for all he cared. He just couldn’t follow her . . . yet.
This day just kept getting worse.
This morning, everything had been right in Kendall’s world. His mom was doing great. The cart he’d ordered was finally going to be delivered. And by sundown, Liza would be back in his bed, where he planned to keep her for as long as possible.
How could shit go so wrong so fast?
“How could you keep a secret like that?” Francine demanded as Kendall paced her living room. “That poor woman just had the shock of her life. Can you even imagine what she’s trying to process right now?”
A lecture was not what he needed. “I told you. I didn’t know he was her grandfather. I barely knew about the Mafia part.”
“Excuse me?” Aadi said, speaking up for the first time. “Ray was a mobster?”
“Not exactly.”
Debating how much to tell, Kendall assessed his audience and assumed that whatever he revealed would stay between them. Then again, all this could end up on bookshelves soon, so what did it matter now?
“Back in the ’70s and ’80s, Ray was an accountant for the mob. He flipped to the Feds, or was being forced to—that part of the story is still a bit fuzzy—and ran off before the bad guys could take him out. By ran off, I mean he faked his own death.” Kendall wasn’t ready to share his father’s role in the deception, so he skipped to the end. “The only part I knew about was that he’d turned over evidence, left town, and changed his name. I was barely a toddler when it all happened, and they kept me in the dark until I left for the army.”
“So you did know,” Francine accused.
A muscle ticked along Kendall’s jaw, and he shot her an impatient look. “One more time. I never knew Ray’s real name, and I had no idea he was related to Liza until today.”
Silence fell over the room as doctor and artist stared unseeing, absorbing the story more fit for Hollywood than Haven Island. Kendall understood the dazed expressions. He was still dazed himself.
Carrying her wineglass to the sofa, Francine dropped onto the stark white cushion. “Well, that changes everything.” A bit of an understatement. “What do we do now?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Aadi said. “Ray Wallis, regardless of who he is or what he’s done, is dying.”
Francine frowned. “True. At his age, there’s no telling how much time he has left.”
The doctor rose to his feet. “Months at the most. More likely, weeks.”
“What are you saying?” Kendall closed the distance between them. “You can’t know that.”
Weary eyes met his. “Ray has an aggressive form of melanoma. By the time he sought treatment, it was too late. I’m guessing that’s why he brought Liza here. He wanted to see her before he died.”
Words failed as Francine gasped from behind him. “But I took him to all those doctor appointments. We were there just yesterday. Why didn’t they tell me?”
“They needed his permission to do that, honey. Ray didn’t want anyone to know.”
“But you knew,” Kendall growled, infuriated. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Aadi didn’t flinch. “I guess we all helped him keep his secrets.”
A beat passed before Francine mumbled, “His head. They brought me in and showed me how to change the bandage. Ray said he had a mole removed and didn’t want anyone else to know.” She looked up with wide eyes. “I thought he was just being vain, so I kept quiet.”
Ray had made them all unwitting accomplices.
“What about Liza?” Francine asked. “She needs to know.”
“Do you think that’s fair?” Aadi said. “She’s hardly had time to deal with him being alive, and now we’re going to tell her that he’s dying? That’s a lot to put on a person.”
Kendall didn’t want to put any more weight on Liza’s shoulders, but Francine was right. She deserved to know. “Are you sure he only has weeks to live?”
The doctor locked his hands behind his back. “I recognize palliative medicines when I see them. The day Ray fainted on the beach, I convinced him to give his doctor permission to share his condition. The oncologist was pretty certain, but doctors aren’t God. We can never know for sure.”
“So he could have months,” Kendall said, clinging to whatever hope he could find.
Aadi’s eyes cut to Francine before coming back to Kendall. “It’s possible, yes. But unlikely.”
Could they afford to gamble? Hold off on telling Liza until she’d had time to process what she already knew? There was a chance, if Kendall told her now, that she wouldn’t believe him. Why should she? Ray had lied to her from the moment she’d entered his home. Who’s to say he wouldn’t lie again to get her back?
“I say we wait.”
“But—” Francine started.
“Trust me,” Kendall said. “We keep this between us until the time is right.”
Aadi agreed and Francine nodded reluctantly. They would keep one more secret. But this time, for Liza’s sake, not Ray’s.
By the time her plane touched down at JFK, Liza almost wished her face would fall off. Despite her best efforts, she had not been able to stem the flow of tears during her long journey home.
“You look like hell,” Vanessa said when Liza emerged from baggage claim.
That meant she looked better than she felt. “It’s been a long day. I don’t want to talk about it.”
The trunk slammed shut. “Are you kidding me? You called me from the Charleston airport, sobbing so hard I thought I was talking to a walrus.”
“I’ll tell you everything, I promise.” Liza’s bottom lip quivered. “Just not now.”
Visibly annoyed, the agent relented. “Fine. Then let’s go.” She dashed around to the driver’s side, not noticing her passenger’s lack of movement until she’d climbed inside the Lexus. Lowering the passenger window, Vanessa waved impatiently. “What are you waiting for?”
In addition to the throbbing around her eyes, Liza’s heel felt as if she’d driven a nail through it.
“I can’t walk.”
“But you walked out here.”
“I can’t.” Dots entered her vision. “Please . . .”
Within seconds, Vanessa was propping her up, struggling to get her passenger in the car. A horn blew loudly from the car behind them. “Shove it up your ass!” the native New Yorker yelled in reply. “Stupid jerk.”
The moment Liza’s bottom hit the leather seat, exhaustion and a killer headache combined to take her down. The next thing she remembered was waking up in her own bed, water and pain medication on the nightstand, and a note from her agent that read Call Me.
Squinting against the intruding sunlight, she checked her alarm clock. Eight fifty-two. Her plane had landed shortly after six in the evening, which meant she’d slept for close to twelve hours. No wonder her face felt better. Ignoring the water, she limped into the kitchen, desperate for coffee, only to find the cupboards bare.
Oh yeah. Stocking the shelves had been unnecessary when she wouldn’t be home for a month.
Dragging a chair away from her tiny two-person table, Liza plopped down, contemplating her new reality. No way in hell was she writing Ray’s memoir. Though he wasn’t Ray anymore. He was Elijah Teller, her long-deceased grandfather. Which was the exact reason she wouldn’t be writing his book. Because there was no book.
Three weeks of her life spent believing that she was there to do a job. A job she’d already been well compensated for. Liza dropped her head onto her folded arms. She’d have to give that money back. And if he wouldn’t take it, she’d give it to charity, but she couldn’t keep it. Regardless of the fact that it was all she had.
Sitting up, Liza told herself there had to be something redeemable about Ray . . . Rebranding him as Elijah in her mind was going to
be difficult. There had to be some good in him for Grandma Teller to have loved him so much. She wouldn’t have devoted her life to a manipulative, selfish man.
But she had. Her husband had abandoned her. Abandoned his entire family.
To protect them.
Liza didn’t want to give him the benefit of the doubt. She didn’t want to justify his actions in her mind. All she wanted was to go back to the way things had been. Before Elijah had made his confession. Before Kendall had let her go.
“No,” she said, bolting from the chair and regretting the forceful stomp immediately. “I’m not ready to forgive him. Either of them.”
What she needed was a plan. Without the advance money for the memoir, Liza was back to being broke. But she had a notebook full of plots, and if she needed to take a job until one of them paid off, she would do it.
In order to plan, she needed coffee. Hitching herself from the room, Liza waddled down the hall toward her room, pretending she had everything under control.
Chapter 24
Showered and dressed, Liza dabbed at the swollen bags below her eyes—why did women always cry in the shower?—before exiting her bathroom. Discarding the tennis shoes that reminded her of Haven Island, she dragged an old pair of sneakers from the back of her closet and carried them down the hall toward the kitchen.
Halfway there, her front door flew open, and Liza screamed like a banshee.
“What is wrong with you?” Vanessa snapped. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
Give her a heart attack?
“Have you ever heard of knocking?” Liza asked, lungs heaving.
The agent dropped Liza’s spare keys into the bowl on the entry table. “Since you never called, I assumed you were still sleeping.” She held out a white paper cup. “Here. I come bearing gifts.”
Bless her.
“I’m really sorry about last night,” Liza said, leading Vanessa into the kitchen. “Did I fall asleep in your car?”
“Out cold. I nearly drove straight to the ER, but then you snored. That seemed like a sign you’d survive.” Making herself at home, Vanessa settled at the table, crossed her denim-clad legs, and pinned Liza with a steady gaze as a Coach purse hit the floor. “Now spill. Why are you home a week early?”
Liza’s mother had always said that putting off the bad never made the good come any quicker. Not seeing anything good on her horizon, Liza leaped headfirst into the bad.
“I won’t be writing the memoir.”
A three-inch pump hit the floor. “You have to write the memoir. We signed an agreement.”
They’d signed an agreement with Ray Wallis, a man who didn’t exist. “The client provided false information. There is no agreement.”
The willowy brunette bounded to her feet. “What false information? Liza, I sold this book to Sudberry Publishing. They’re expecting a completed manuscript by Labor Day. The contract is in the works right now.”
How the . . .
“What do you mean you sold the book?”
“I mean, I sold the book. That’s my job, remember? You write them, and I sell them.”
“But there is no book.”
Vanessa plucked a manila folder from the tote beside her chair. “You sent me notes, remember? The entire book is outlined.” She waved the folder in the air. “How could there not be a book when you sent all this?”
Panic seized Liza’s heart as her stomach churned. “I didn’t know the truth when I sent those.” Her hands began to shake, so she set the coffee on the counter, splashing hot latte on the laminate. “The man in those pages doesn’t exist.”
Green eyes narrowed. “You mean none of this happened?”
“No. I mean, yes, all of it happened. Maybe. But . . . things are different now.”
Jimmy Choos clicked across linoleum, stopping inches from Liza’s bare toes. “I’m trying to help you here, Liza, but you need to meet me halfway. You are in the business of writing books. Because I believe in your ability to do that, I’ve put my name and reputation behind finding a home for those books. That won’t work for either of us if you don’t actually write a book.”
Eyes misting, Liza swallowed hard against the weight of failure turning her stomach.
“Then I guess we can’t work together anymore, because I can’t write Ray Wallis’s book.”
Vanessa spun away, pacing like an angry mama tiger. “Okay, then. Not this book. The advance Sudberry offered was piddly—seeing as you don’t have a substantial track record yet—so we’ll cancel the contract. You can write a different book.” Vanessa stopped pacing and turned hopeful eyes to her client. “Please tell me there’s another book.”
“There is,” Liza said, “but I don’t know when it will be finished.” Vanessa’s refusal to give up on her reinforced Liza’s determination to stop being a deadweight around the woman’s neck. “In the meantime, I need you to send the advance money back to Mr. Wallis. I’m going to find a job to pay the bills, and if I ever write a book worthy of being published, I’ll let you know.”
“Liza Ruth Teller, I have never given back money in my entire career. You say the client hired you under false pretenses. If that’s the case, and he has failed to uphold his part of the agreement, then that money is yours.”
Breathing through the pain in her chest, Liza kept her gaze steady. “I can’t keep the money.”
“Why?” Vanessa asked, throwing her hands in the air. “Why can’t you keep the money?”
Liza locked a white-knuckle grip on the edge of her counter. “Because Ray Wallis is my dead grandfather.”
“Come on, Mr. Kendall. Uncle Bradley says you should come light the bottle rockets.”
“Maybe later.”
The six-year-old crossed his arms and stomped off down the beach.
“Pout all you want, kid. Life is full of disappointments.”
A fact that Kendall knew all too well. He’d done a lot of thinking since the day Ray came clean. About his father. And how his life might have been different if Christopher James had never met Elijah Teller. But mostly, he thought about Liza.
“Are you going to kill that twelve-pack on your own or pass some around?”
Kendall squinted up at the good doctor. “Have at it. There’s plenty to go around.”
Larimore was supposed to join him, but a pretty divorcée staying at forty-two B had made him a better offer.
With a sigh, Aadi lowered to the sand beside Kendall’s chair. “How’s Ray?”
“He’s hanging in there. Some days are better than others.” Now that Kendall knew the truth, he accompanied Ray to all of his doctor’s appointments, and they’d drawn up official documents to give him medical power of attorney, should the need arise.
Aadi spun the top off a longneck. “Where’s Amos today?”
The man was dancing around something, and Kendall had a good idea he knew what. “Home. He doesn’t like fireworks.”
“Right. That makes sense.” A weighted pause before Aadi finally got to the point. “Francine thinks you should call Liza.”
Kendall had hoped that she might call him. Liza reaching out first would be a strong indication that she’d come to terms with Ray’s true identity. And so long as Ray showed signs of getting stronger, he felt comfortable giving her time to get there.
“We all agreed, Aadi. It hasn’t even been a week.”
“That’s one less week she has with him.”
A truth that only complicated things further. Kendall was trying to do what was best for everyone, but at the top of that list was Liza.
“Aadi, everything Ray put her through was for selfish reasons. I don’t blame him for wanting to see her, but the way he did it wasn’t fair to Liza. And putting this on her before the rest sinks in isn’t fair, either. We need to wait.”
The older man rolled the wet bottle across his knee. “I can’t help thinking about Sacchi . . .”
“I get it, man. But this is different. Ray made his choice a long time
ago. Liza had the right to make hers.”
With a nod, the contemplative man rose to his feet. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
Kendall had thought of it every way imaginable. Every night, he stared at his cell phone, debating whether or not to call. Whether to buy a plane ticket and go after her. Whether to walk away and let Liza get on with her life.
And then the sun cut through the sky, and he still didn’t have any answers.
As Aadi strolled off down the beach, Kendall sought a distraction from the noise inside his head. Dragging out his cell phone, he called his mom.
“Happy Fourth, son. How are you doing today?”
Kendall closed his eyes as the knot in his gut loosened. “Happy Fourth, Mom. Things are good. Are you over at Clarice’s for the cookout?”
“Not yet. Your cousin Davis is picking me up in about an hour.” As if she could sense his tension through the phone, she said, “What is it, Kendall? What’s wrong?”
“Can I ask you something, Mom?”
“Of course. You can ask me anything.”
He hoped that was true. “What did Dad do when we lived in New York?” The line hummed as Kendall’s heart beat in his ears. “Who did he work for?”
A long sigh echoed from the other end. “Let me guess—Ray Wallis finally started talking.”
Kendall exited the chair and strolled back toward the trees. “His name isn’t Ray, but you know that.”
“Yes, I do. How much has he told you?”
“Enough.” More than Kendall wanted to hear. “Is the Carpetti part true? Was Dad part of the mob?”
A bitter laugh floated down the line. “Your father was a lot of things, but a mobster was not one of them.”
The muscles in his chest relaxed, and Kendall took his first deep breath in days. “Then he didn’t work for the Carpetti family?”
A beat passed. “He did, but not the way you think.”
How many ways could someone work for a crime syndicate? “Either he worked for them or he didn’t. Which is it?”
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