Moonlight Sins

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  “Well,” he said with a sigh as he stepped away from the bed and walked over to the bag he’d brought with him and placed on an oval table by the door. “I am thinking it’s something psychological.”

  She faced the doctor. There were tests that even the most basic ER doctors could do to see if someone was faking unconsciousness. She’d seen them do a chest rub before. If you weren’t out, you were going to react. “You think she’s faking this?”

  “I don’t think that’s the case. It’s highly possibly that her condition could be the result of extreme emotional or mental stress. The brain can convince the body of almost anything.” He folded the stethoscope and placed it inside his bag. “For example, there are people who believe that they’re actually dead. It’s called Cotard delusion, also known as Walking Corpse Syndrome.”

  Mind over the body was a real, fascinating thing. Whatever had happened to Madeline could’ve been traumatic enough that it forced her into this kind of state, possibly giving her time to recover before she could mentally and emotionally deal with what had happened to her.

  God, the poor woman. No matter what the cause was, this was no way to live.

  “Did she have any previous history of mental illness?” she asked.

  Dr. Flores looked up from rooting around his bag. “You do realize that your job here is to simply provide supportive care, correct? Not to diagnose her.”

  Whoa.

  That was a somewhat polite way of telling her to shut up and just do her job that wasn’t even remotely necessary. “I’m not asking these questions because I’m nosy. You have to realize that the more I know about her, the better I’ll be able to help her or look for signs of deterioration or improvement.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re correct,” Dr. Flores said, straightening his white lab coat. “I’ve known the de Vincents for a long time, and I . . . I fend off questions about them practically every time I go out in public.” He coughed out a dry laugh. “So, I guess I’m used to ulterior motives.”

  She nodded. “I understand that. Apology accepted.”

  He glanced over at Madeline. “There have been previous mental health issues with their family. I wasn’t treating any of them or Madeline before her disappearance, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “But I was told that they did have some issues with her before she disappeared. She could be quite rebellious and reckless.”

  Her gaze fell back to Madeline. According to the chart, she was roughly a year older than Julia. “She was a teenager. I imagine the rebelliousness had a lot to do with that.”

  Dr. Flores didn’t respond immediately. “I’m not quite sure exactly what she may or may have not done, but there is one person who would definitely know and that’s her twin.”

  She knew who that was without asking. Just based on the appearance alone. “She and Lucian are twins?”

  “Fraternal.” He flashed a brief smile as he closed up his bag. “Runs in the family. Their father and uncle were identical, and from what I’ve heard, there were several other siblings throughout their father’s line that were twins. Anyway, I need to get back to the hospital.” He started toward the door. “If you have any questions or something comes up, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

  Nodding, she said goodbye to the doctor as she turned over the new piece of information, tucking it away while her mind raced back toward the beginning of the conversation. Something Julia couldn’t wrap her head around.

  As far as the world knew, Madeline was still missing.

  Julia hadn’t asked Dr. Flores if the police knew that Madeline had returned, because she figured that they hadn’t been told. What good would keeping such a secret do? She understood that the family didn’t want the media attention such a revelation would surely bring, but that wasn’t going to affect Madeline at the moment.

  But someone out there had to know what had happened to her, where she’d been this entire time. Didn’t her family want to know what happened to her?

  Wouldn’t they want the police out there investigating so they could bring whoever was responsible for Madeline’s state to justice?

  Calling this a mystery was understatement, she thought as she closed the door.

  Julia was full of questions, but a wave of sympathy for the family also rose. The brothers lost their sister and mother on the same night, and God only knew what had been done to Madeline. The de Vincents may be a grossly rich family, but they were all still human.

  Death didn’t care how rich you were. Neither did sickness of the body or mind.

  The hardest parts of life did not discriminate.

  Exhaling heavily, she turned back to the bed. The next breath got caught in her throat as her heart turned over heavily.

  Madeline was looking straight at her.

  Frozen for a half a second, she then rushed to her bedside. “Madeline?”

  The woman stared back at her, her gaze glassy and . . . blank. She wasn’t actually looking at her. She’d simply woken up and her head had lolled toward her.

  “Geez,” Julia muttered. There was a good chance she was going to give herself a heart attack. It was a rookie move to be so startled by it, but Julia felt out of her element in this house—in this room.

  Then again, she’d been up since the butt crack of dawn and after receiving not one but two big surprises of her life, she’d gone straight to work. No one would blame her for being jumpy.

  Julia wasn’t alone with Madeline long. An older woman showed up a little after two, pushing a cute little trolley. There were several covered dishes on the surface, a lunch for Madeline and enough food for Julia to eat off of the rest of the day. The woman introduced herself as Richard’s wife and then promptly demanded that Julia call her Livie, “just like the boys did.”

  Boys was not a word she would use to describe the two de Vincent brothers she’d met so far. She knew there was one more lingering out there.

  Julia had found the supplies necessary to attend to Madeline’s hygiene and bladder needs. Knowing that some patients who were in a vegetative state could have normal adult brain networking, she took care of these things quickly while maintaining as much privacy as she could for Madeline. To Julia, it didn’t manner if there was a biological or psychological reason behind her current state. Madeline deserved to be treated with dignity.

  She had been able to get Madeline to consume half a bowl of broth and noodles after finding the supplies necessary to give her a dry bath. Based on her chart, Julia was worried about her food consumption and getting the necessary nutrients. Most patients who were in Madeline’s state ended up with a feeding tube.

  About a half hour after feeding, it appeared that Madeline had fallen asleep, giving Julia a bit of freedom to explore a little.

  And that was what she was doing now.

  Earlier, she had discovered that the doors Madeline had been focused on had led to a small walk-in closet where most of the supplies had been kept. There was a flat-screen TV mounted to the wall to the left of the bed, but Julia hadn’t turned it on. There were several chairs spaced throughout the room, one that had been positioned close to the bed when she had arrived earlier. Now that the doctor wasn’t here and they weren’t discussing the patient, she noticed there was a book on the shelf of the nightstand.

  Bending at the waist, she picked up the heavy hardback, recognizing the green cover featuring a bespectacled boy.

  Someone, maybe one of the brothers, had been reading Harry Potter to her.

  That was actually sweet. A grin pulled at her lips.

  A soft knock sounded on the door. Placing the book back where she found it, she hurried around the bed and opened the door.

  Mr. Besson stood in the hall, dressed as he was this morning, wearing the black jacket, the kind with the coattails. Coattails! She’d wanted to laugh, but figured that would be wildly inappropriate. And weird. Definitely weird. At least he wasn’t wearing white gloves that matched the undershirt.

  �
��If Madeline is resting, I thought I would show you to your living quarters before dinner,” he offered.

  “Oh, that would be lovely.” She glanced over her shoulder. “She’s asleep, so now is the perfect time.”

  He waited while she picked up her purse and the plate of leftover lunch. That was going to be her dinner, because there was no way she was joining them for dinner. She followed him down the hall, passing several closed doors. She expected to be placed in one of the rooms near Madeline, but when they started down the interior stairwell, she figured that wasn’t happening.

  “What was shipped ahead has arrived,” he explained, stepping out into the second-floor hall. As they walked down the hall, one of the wall sconces flickered and went out.

  Mr. Besson sighed.

  Julia said nothing as they neared the end. He stopped in front of a single door that was catty-corner to what appeared to be an exit out to the exterior stairs and another room.

  “Livie put away most of your clothing,” he said, opening the door and then stepping aside. “She also stocked the fridge for you.”

  Both things surprised her. She appreciated the acts even though she was a little weirded out by someone putting her undies away. But at least she didn’t have to do it now. “Thank you, Mr. Besson.”

  “Call me Richard, just like—”

  “The boys do,” she finished for him.

  He smiled with a nod. “You will see that you have your own attached bathroom and a small kitchen area for your use. If there are any groceries you would like picked up, please let us know. The shopping is done twice a week, Monday and Thursday.”

  Julia walked in to the rather large room, letting her purse dangle from her fingertips. The room was similar to the one Madeline was in. A large bed with the beautiful woodwork was placed against the wall and across from doors that led out to the porch. Two more sets of doors she assumed led to a bathroom and a closet. There was a small kitchen area complete with a bistro table, a refrigerator, and a small microwave.

  “I hope this meets your expectations.”

  “Oh, this is more than I expected. Really.” Julia placed the covered plate on the table and her purse on the bed and faced Richard. “Actually, I didn’t have many expectations. I was told that I would be provided with my own living quarters and that was it. This is more than enough.”

  Richard inclined his head. “On the table you will find a card with phone numbers and information about entering and exiting the home. Tomorrow I will show you which car you can use.”

  She really kind of hoped it wasn’t a Mercedes, because she seriously didn’t need to be behind the wheel of one of those cars.

  “You will find our number on the card—Livie and me,” he clarified. “Once dinner is served and cleaned up, no staff is here. Not during the night. If you need anything, Ms. Hughes. Anything. No matter the time of night. Please do not hesitate to call.”

  “Oh.” She smiled faintly. That was a nice, but slightly weird offer. “Thank you.”

  He nodded once more, reminded her of the time dinner was served, and then exited the room, closing the door behind him.

  “Okay,” she said out loud and then spun around. “I’m really doing this.”

  Puckering her lips, she looked around the room, spying a stack of magazines by the bed. It was like someone knew that she’d need them. Her job would have long periods of downtime.

  The first thing she did was dig her phone out from her purse along with a charger. Finding a plug near the bed, she set to charging her phone. There was a missed call from her mom. She’d text her later.

  She toed off her flats and walked over to the doors. The first set was the closet, and yup, her clothes were hung up and others were placed in a wide dresser.

  She did find her stash of nursing scrubs neatly folded in the bottom two drawers. There was no real dress code, but when you were cleaning patients and helping them with their business, you didn’t want to be wearing street clothes.

  The second set of doors led to the kind of bathroom she was not expecting in a million years. An oversized claw-foot tub. Separate shower stall with rain shower and body jets.

  Body jets.

  Oh yeah, she was going to live in this bathroom.

  And she couldn’t wait to make that shower her best friend after she finished up with Madeline this evening.

  Knowing she had a few minutes to spare before heading back to Madeline’s room, she decided to indulge her curiosity and unlocked the doors that led outside. The tacky warmth was so unexpected it nearly bowled her over. It had been several hours since she was last outside, but damn. She could already feel her shirt starting to stick to skin as the rich, earthy scent that reminded her of digging in gardens surrounded her.

  Walking past a set of wicker chairs and a table, she went to the vine-covered wrought-iron railing and stared out over the grounds.

  Julia’s mouth dropped open as she placed her hands on the railing.

  This was the first time she was seeing what lay beyond the back of the house. A large garden crowded the right side of the home, fresh red buds blooming. She realized she’d found the source of the vines. Julia could see where they started, somewhere deep in the garden.

  The patio led into a pathway that headed straight for an in-ground pool that literally was the size she imagined Olympic divers practiced in.

  And there was more.

  Off the side of the pool was a sand volleyball court. Behind that was a basketball court. There were several smaller buildings dotting the landscape. Off in the distance, she could see what appeared to be a tall cement wall and . . . and a runway?

  “Is that a plane?” she said out loud.

  Holy shit, that was a plane.

  Julia had no idea how long she stood there and stared out over the grounds—at the plane. The home was huge, big enough to house a family of thirty probably, and the outside looked like an adult playground.

  “Rich people,” she whispered, shaking her head.

  All of this made her feel completely comfortable taking a million dollars from Lucian. Come to think of it, she really wanted to—

  Jerking her hands back from the railing, she sucked in a shrill breath and stared down at the railing. What the . . . ? The vine had felt like it had—like it had wiggled under her hands. That was ridiculous, but . . .

  Had to be the wind. Julia lifted her head, scanning the porch. Except there was no wind. Her gaze darted to the vines as she drew her hands back to her chest. A shiver tiptoed down her spine. Pivoting around, she hurried back inside, locking the doors behind her.

  Over the rim of his glass, Lucian eyed the entryway to the dining room. Impatient, the fingers of his other hand tapped along the edge of the table. Roasted hen and savory potatoes had just been laid out seconds ago among other food he was barely interested in.

  He was waiting.

  He had been waiting.

  The rest of his afternoon and into the early evening had been sucked up by plans. Unsurprisingly, the senator hung around and was still there, at the dinner table, even after their little showdown in Dev’s office.

  If the motto “the family that fought each other stayed together” was an actual thing, the de Vincents could’ve trademarked it.

  Dev’s incessant prattling about how they would handle breaking the news about Lawrence’s passing mingled with Stefan’s own demands that made the funeral sound like it would be a damn wedding.

  It needed to be worthy of Lawrence’s stature. Eye. Fucking. Roll. In other words, it would be a damn circus that he’d have to liquor himself up just to get through.

  Eventually they’d gotten the A-team of lawyers on the phone to hammer out the press release. Because hell must’ve frozen over, Dev listened to the council of advice even though their uncle was dead set against the game plan.

  But alas, the uncle really didn’t have any say in it.

  The family would be honest—well, as honest as any of them could be. They would ann
ounce that Lawrence de Vincent took his own life. A sizable donation would be made in his name to one of the national suicide prevention organizations. The press release went out about a half an hour ago, so Lucian had turned his phone off.

  By the time he’d been able to escape, he sort of wished it were his funeral they were planning. He knew Dev had kept him occupied on purpose. Not like he could freely stalk his nurse from Dev’s office.

  Too bad the cameras didn’t work. He’d plop his ass in front of the video feed all the time. Sounded creepy as fuck, but he didn’t care.

  “Why are there five places set?”

  His gaze shifted to Stefan. “Why are you still here?”

  “Because I live to make your life miserable,” he replied.

  “Family.” Lucian sighed. “It’s wonderful.”

  Stefan looked over at him and have him a half smile; the same exact smile he’d seen his father give him a thousand times.

  “What?” his uncle demanded as he continued to stare at him.

  Before Lucian could respond, Dev appeared and took his seat. They weren’t in the large banquet hall. This was the smaller dining room, fitted with an oval table that didn’t make you feel like you were at the Last Supper about to get stabbed in the back. At least at this table, you could see someone coming at you with the knife.

  “We are expecting a . . . a guest tonight,” Dev replied, plucking up his linen napkin and dropping it in his lap.

  “A guest?” Stefan sat back, lifting his glass in the air. Without a word, it was filled by one of the staff who assisted Livie in the kitchen. “Is it Sabrina?” Interest sparked in his light green eyes.

  The kind of interest Lucian’s lip curled up at.

  “No.” Lucian lowered his glass and waited for his uncle’s sole attention before he continued. “We hired a nurse to work with Madeline.”

  “You’re inviting the nurse to dinner?”

  His fingers tightened around the glass as he sensed Dev was about to say something. Lucian beat him to it. “Yes. Her name is Julia Hughes and you will treat her like she’s an heiress to a ripe, unplumbed oil field.”