by Aimee Laine
January 20th — The doctor has confirmed that I will never have children.
She skimmed pages as she pressed forward.
May 14th — I’ve found my love. Mara has joined George and me. I only wish, for her sake, it could have been another way.
Oh, god.
Lexi reached for Emma as she walked back in, waving her hand until she wondered if it would fall off her arm. “Emma!”
“What?”
“Please read this.”
Emma slid down the wall next to Lexi as she took the book. Her eyes followed each line through the first, second and third pages. “Oh, my god, Lex.” Emma slapped the journal against Lexi’s thigh. “Does this imply what I think it does?”
“I don’t know. What … do you think it means?”
“This makes it look like she kidnapped a baby, Lex. She couldn’t have any of her own, so she took Mara?”
• • •
The rush of cars, horns, blares and sounds of the city woke Tripp. He stretched under the covers, turned to the empty space next to him and heaved a sigh. Morning meant one last ditch attempt to fend off Jill. He and Ian decided to part ways for the day, to give Ian time to dig further into the job they’d done for Jack Sloan. His first step included verification of the information provided by their sources and the formulation of a plan—in case Tripp’s failed.
He moved to his closet, eyed a few of his suits and jackets, polos and khakis Jill purchased on his behalf. Instead, he opted for his favorites: jeans and T-shirt. On the floor, a selection of shoes, again from Jill, beckoned to him. He slipped on his loafers. Since Lexi’s interruption in his life, he’d found himself again—in attire and purpose. Ian saw it. Missy even did in the brief time they’d spent together.
Tripp chuckled at thoughts of Missy-the-whirlwind. Not only did she find out about the house, she made the drive down.
He walked through his New York apartment—a space made for a bachelor with a TV near the fridge, couches aligned for the best skyline view of the city and his flat screen. Though the design touches all came from his sister, she’d met all his criteria, too.
The thought of Lexi’s smile—a genuine, love-filled expression—brought him back to the farmhouse. Different than the space in which he stood, he had more a sense of ‘home’ there than in the one he’d lived for ten years.
When his cell buzzed, Tripp checked the caller ID and discarded it as a wrong number when he didn’t recognize it. He grabbed his keys, headed down the twenty flights via the elevator and out the front door. One cab ride later, at nine sharp, he arrived at the Sloan Building, where, at the top, Jill’s penthouse—decorated by top designers that did not include his sister—waited to suck him in.
“Hey, Calvin.” Tripp passed through the open glass door as his cell buzzed for voice mail.
“Mornin’, Mr. Fox.”
He’d miss the banter, if nothing else, because he’d come to know Calvin and his family a little. After Tripp keyed in his code, he checked his cell as the elevator whisked him up. With no signal—probably due to his metal enclosure—he stuck his phone back in his pocket.
As soon as the double doors opened, Jill jumped into his arms, pinching his sore side as if she’d forgotten he’d been shot. Lexi always took one extra second to make sure she grabbed or pushed away from his arm.
“Ow.”
“Oh, sorry, baby.” She rubbed her hands up his chest on the wrong side again as if she didn’t even know where he’d been shot. “I’ve missed you so much.” Her lips found his, and while she nipped, he stayed still, refusing to reciprocate. “You must’ve had a long trip.” She tugged Tripp’s hand, leading him into her immaculate living space.
White couches sat against taupe walls. Crystal vases full of fresh flowers decorated throughout the room.
Jill sat, pulling Tripp down to one of the seats and snuggled up to him. “So, I have the church booked. My mother is planning a true engagement party for us—”
Tripp let himself soak in the money thrown around the space. He had plenty and could live without another job for as long as he wanted, though if Sloan had his say, he’d be fighting battles to keep it or living in one of Sloan’s jails.
“—and then we’ve got to choose the flowers. I told my mother I’d let you make that decision—”
The billionaire—or so said Forbes in their latest review—designed and built hundreds of the incarceration facilities throughout the country.
“Or do you want me to?”
“I want roses,” Tripp said ignoring her question.
“No, honey, you’re not listening. Roses are so mundane—old school. Orchids and—”
She rattled on while his mind wandered to Lexi’s lie about the flower shop. She’d said a rose was her choice. He believed she’d told him the truth.
“No, Jill, I want roses and farmhouses and maybe even a cow that moos in the middle of the afternoon before it sinks to the ground and takes a nap.” Tripp stood, moved to the full wall of windows. “And I want the smells of the country—”
“Well, we could go to France for our honeymoon, stay in an inn somewhere in the northern area. It’s more remote there.”
He turned to her with a plan to make her listen—if for the first time ever. Her eyes reflected not a bit of her education, but all her upbringing—a daddy’s girl who lived off her father, never taking a chance on herself. His sense of pity overtook him as he ran his hands up and down her arms.
“You’re confusing me, Tripp.”
Tripp internalized the sigh, lowering himself to her eye level so she had nowhere else to look. “Jill?”
She smiled, an excited, giddy expression, which meant she picked up on none of his vibes nor any of the words he’d left her with before.
“What would you say if I told you I stole art, jewels and even money from people?”
She laid a light slap against his chest. “How silly are you? You’re a recovery expert. You return stuff. It’s not stealing.”
“But what if I told you I did?”
“I’d say you’re lying to tease me.” Despite the statement, she stepped away.
Getting through finally? “And if I said I took a job with your father?”
“Everyone works with him at some point.” Her grin never wavered.
“I stole a painting for your dad, Jill. I stole it from a museum and gave it to him.”
“My father has plenty of pieces on loan, I’m sure you just got one back he needed.” She rubbed her upper arm with one hand.
Tripp shook his head. “I’m not a good guy, Jill. Not the right one for you. I don’t just wear an earring because it’ll piss your father off … I wear it because it’s me. This star …” He pointed to the spot Lexi would trace with her fingertip, but Jill suggested he remove. “This is a birth mark. I can’t have it taken off.”
“Well, that’s okay. I can live with those things.”
Tripp spun back to the windows. Her marriage proposal, her failure to accept anything he told her grated on him. “You don’t understand.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist though the expression gave him no comfort. “These are just blips in the road, honey. It’s okay to be nervous.”
He peeled her arms away, took her hands in his. “Look up at me.”
She did as he asked.
“I’m leaving New York, and I’m not coming back. No matter how hard you try, you won’t find me. I’m not ready to get married to you, and I never will be. I’ve tried for six months to tell you this. This is the last time I’m doing it. Find a guy your dad will like.”
Her eyes filled with tears, but she somehow kept them from spilling over. “But we’ve got a wedding to plan, we—”
“We are not a ‘we’. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore.”
“Is there someone else?” Her voice turned hard, jealous, burning off the tears. “Because if so, well, I can’t—”
“Yes.”
She spun away, hurt an
d fury in the set of her eyes. “I can’t live with someone who would cheat on me, Tripp. That’s uncalled for.” She pointed to the door, one well-manicured nail indicating he should leave.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Jill. You’ll find the right guy. I’m just not him.”
He stepped through the opening and closed it with a soft click. As he approached Calvin again on the main floor, Tripp removed the key from his chain and placed it in Calvin’s hand.
“Will you make sure this gets to Lex—I mean Jill, please?”
Calvin nodded.
• • •
“Good mornin’, ladies!”
Lexi blinked half-closed lids as the sun and Janine’s voice carried through the room.
“Heard you guys were camping out in the old Fergs place, so I thought I’d bring breakfast.” She set out a table cloth and a series of plates on the floor.
The smell of eggs with some sugary sauce—perhaps caramel, apple or both—wafted to her.
“Mmm.” Lexi sat up, rubbing her temple.
“Too much wine?” Janine’s level of sweet came in both food and kindness.
“Yes,” Emma said and repeated Lexi’s motion.
As Missy pushed up, Janine walked to her. “I’m Janine. I own Dulces downtown. You must be Missy.”
She nodded. “I am, but how—”
“Would you believe it if I said this is a small town?” Janine asked.
Both Emma and Lexi shared in a laugh before Lexi turned to Missy. “Small towns spread gossip like wildfire.”
From within a picnic basket, Janine produced orange juice, cups, plates, a fruit basket and some of her more delicious pastries. “What she said.”
“Dulces is a restaurant downtown,” Lexi began. “It specializes in the combination of food with a sweet bent.”
“We heard the old Fergs house finally sold, and well, everyone downtown wondered who in the hell would buy the place. We figured a developer snatched it up or something. Then we heard your man bought it, Lex.”
Lexi tried to envision when such activities might have happened and remembered George and Marge’s wild ride downtown which nearly killed them.
She chuckled at the irony. Had they spilled the beans? “He did.”
“Where is he now?” She ladled eggs onto plates and passed plates full of breakfast to each of them.
“In New York.” Lexi scooped a forkful. “Oh, god, Janey, these are … amazing.”
She dug into her picnic basket as if searching for something. “Glad you like them. So why did Mr. Hottie leave?”
“Mr. Hottie is my brother, but I’m okay with the label. He had some business to attend to, I hear.” Missy bit into a mound of egg. “I second Lexi’s expression about this food. What’s in here?” She pointed with her fork.
“Egg, a bit of caramel and some apple.”
“I totally guessed right,” Emma said as she dug in.
“Mommy?” a small child’s voice called out.
“Aw, you brought the help, Janey?” Lexi held her hands out for Casey, who ran to her and wrapped her arms around her neck.
Janine’s four-year-old daughter often rode with Lexi when she needed to visit the Fergs or show the house to yet another prospective customer.
“I need to get one more thing from the car. Can she hang with you a sec, Lexi?”
Lexi snuggled into Casey. “Absolutely.”
“Where are Grandma and Grandpa?” Her little brown eyes scanned the room. “It’s empy in here.”
Lexi chuckled at the mispronunciation. “The Fergs moved away, honey. They went to Alaska, I think.”
“Did the horsies go away, too?”
“I don’t remember the Fergs having horses.” Lexi looked to her sister for confirmation.
“Maybe they were boarding a few for some neighbors?” Emma said.
“Where’s Moxie and Buster?” Casey’s big eyes held the sheen of tears.
“I’m sorry, honey. They all went with them. You can come visit the house again, though, I’m sure.”
“I finished the preliminary sketches last night,” Missy said. “I’m going to drive home today, finish them up and send them to you and Tripp by the end of the week.”
Lexi smiled over Casey’s shoulder. “I was hoping you’d do me a favor when you get back, Missy.”
“Anything, if you get me this recipe.”
“No way she’ll sell it to you,” Lexi said.
“Damn. Maybe she’ll open a second in D.C.? This would be over-the-top awesome there.”
“Told ya, Janey.” Lexi waved her fork in the air as Janine returned with a box of Lexi’s favorite chocolate. “I’ve said it from the beginning. Don’t think small. You’re the next Emeril or Martha Stewart of the kitchen—without the felony charges.”
The entire group fell into chuckles, Casey included, though Lexi knew she didn’t understand why they laughed.
“Since you all are now satisfactorily fed, I’m heading out,” Janey said. “We’ve got lunch starting at eleven if you need more or want something to take with you, Missy.”
“Um, yeah, definitely. I’ll stop by on my way out.”
Lexi stood, Casey’s hand in hers. “Let me walk you out.” As they reached the side door, she pulled Janine aside. “How’d you find out we were here? The small town bit aside. We didn’t go into a lot of detail about being here—”
Janine held her hand in the air, a smile across her lips. “Your man stopped in on the way to the airport yesterday and said his sister was going to renovate the farmhouse he bought. He also said she’d be spending the night here to get a feel for it and specifically asked me to bring breakfast for three, expecting you and Emma would join her. Guess he was right.”
Lexi’s lips curved. “Yeah, he was.”
“He’s a keeper, Lex. If I didn’t already snag my Kevin, I might have to bait him with dinners and lunches.”
“You’d win.” Lexi couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “All I’ve got to offer is—”
Janine covered Casey’s ears.
“Oops. Sorry. Thanks for coming out.”
Mother and daughter walked together to the car, but Casey’s wide eyes back toward the barn caused Lexi to take in the same scene. Nothing out of the ordinary waited for either of them.
“You going to be able to drive home today?” Lexi plopped back down against the living room wall.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. What was it you wanted me to do?” Missy asked.
Lexi fingered the pendant, pulling it away from her skin. “You see this?”
Missy leaned down toward it. “Yeah.”
“I got this right before I met your brother, and there seems to be a connection between it and us.” Lexi crossed one leg under the other, heaving a sigh. “Anyway, I was hoping, maybe, I could get you to look up the woman who owned it before me.”
“Why? I mean, I’m happy to, but—”
“You’ve got a hunch, don’t you?” Emma raised an eyebrow. “What else did you read in that book last night?”
“From what I gather, Marge took it upon herself to bring Mara into their lives and left George in the dark. She was the one who couldn’t be caught, so it fits—”
Emma tapped a toe on the floor. “This is work for the police.”
“That’s a tough accusation to make,” Missy said.
Lexi nodded her agreement. “I don’t feel it, though. If I’m right, Mara’s disappearance is at least seventy years old, so I’m not going to the police on it. This is a no-point-in-dragging-in-the-authorities kind of situation, especially because it’s speculation.”
“But—” Emma started.
“There’s more, Em, but I want to check something first. Missy, if you don’t mind, I’d love it if you could get a meeting with Sherill. That’s the name of the woman who told me about this pendant. Just ask her about the necklace.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if you went, Lex?” Emma asked.
“Maybe, but I was hopin
g for a more neutral perspective. I go in asking and she knows I’m fishing for information since I already have it. Just see if you can sneak a line about George and Marge Fergs, Mara Fergs—those names—just mention them and see what happens. I just want to know her reaction at this point on them.”
Missy snuck a strawberry. “I thought my brother’s life was full of adventure, but with the two of you, not a minute of quiet.”
21
“How’d she take it this time?” Ian flopped onto Tripp’s couch.
“Not well, as usual. I expect I’ll get a visit from Isabelle in the next few days, or maybe hours—hell, minutes perhaps.” Tripp pulled clothes from his closet, adding them to the stacks and boxes he’d accumulated over the hour he worked. “Unless it clicks in that head of hers and she runs to Daddy with the news that she broke it off with me.”
“You going to box up your entire place today?” Ian stood again, leaned his hip on the bar.
“Just the stuff to give away. The electronics can be shipped, furniture stored until Missy comes up with a plan and my personal things get sent.”
“Sounds like you’re dying, not moving.” Ian huffed a breath. “Michael might like some of this. He’s always saying you have the best clothes, for a guy that is.
Tripp chuckled. “Anything in the boxes he can take—the entire box if he wants. You, too.”
Ian held up his hands. “Not me. I have a place full of crap already. But I’ll bring him up.”
“You’ve got a key, so whenever. Just don’t take stuff that’s not in a box.”
“When you planning to go back?”
“As soon as we’re done replacing the portrait.”
Ian scrubbed a hand over his head. “Yeah, well, on that.”
Tripp cocked his head at his friend. “What about it?”
“I spent the entire morning, and some time last night, looking into the location of the original painting.”
“Sloan’s house, right?”
“Well, no. According to one of his housekeepers, that painting doesn’t exist in his house in any form.”
“One of his buildings, then?”
Ian shook his head. “If the buyer has a fake and Jack has the original, he’s not going to hang it—not even a good replica. He’s got it tucked away somewhere, probably stored until after the wedding to make sure you do what he wants.”
