“Thanks, Dad,” Shawn said, clearing his voice as it began to crack.
Belle was full of questions when Shawn hung up the phone, and although Shawn was totally drained from the events of this evening, he knew he had to give her the details. Most important to her was the fact that Olivia Gaines, Belle’s icon and the woman she had hoped to meet in the next few days, was dead.
“I know meeting her was important to you,” Shawn said.
“Shawn, that’s the last thing to worry about. But thank you.”
“Your dreams are important to me.”
“You’re all that’s important to me. You and Claire,” she answered. “And you really were a hero.”
“And women all love heroes, don’t you?” Shawn answered.
“What do you mean?” she said with a twinge of guilt.
Shawn realized he’d hit a sore spot totally unintentionally.
“Nothing, truly,” Shawn replied and meant it. “The past is the past.”
Philip, who Belle’d once not only loved, but also briefly married, had been a war hero in Iraq. It was one thing Shawn could never compete with.
Until now.
“I need some sleep,” he said, gently changing the subject.
“Maybe we can just hang out on the boat tomorrow.” She sighed. “Really take it easy.”
“I want to be back at the hospital by eight.”
“Why?” Belle asked.
“Charley Gaines should be conscious by then,” he answered. “She doesn’t know that she lost her mother and that her father’s been arrested. I was there for it all. Do you understand?”
“Sure,” Belle replied.
Shawn took her in his arms and held her a long moment. Then he gave her a peck on the forehead and headed back to their cabin.
Belle stood silently for a moment, her hand going to her stomach. The only noise was coming from the partyers still reveling in the wee hours.
I understand, she thought. But will you?
WHEN COPIES OF THE Spectator HIT THE STANDS, THEY CAUSED an international uproar. “ILL-GOTTEN GAINES LOSES” was the headline splashed across the front page.
Photos taken by Chelsea’s camera covered the top half of the paper: Shawn and Chelsea in the foreground with the Aston Martin hitting the ground behind them, and Richard Gaines being handcuffed by the ISA agents at the hospital.
Jennifer Horton Deveraux’s byline accompanied the heartbreaking story of Olivia’s accident, while Abby’s detail of Richie’s scandalous arrest had her name firmly under the subhead.
Media from around the globe were outside Princess Grace Hospital.
“There he is,” screamed a producer from Argentina as Shawn was dropped by taxi at the front door.
Police were quick to surround him as he entered the building with reporters shouting questions to him in various languages.
An equal number of rabid reporters were outside the Monte Carlo Police Department as Jackson and Chance Gaines headed into the station. Their father had been arrested on securities fraud, and they were his business partners. They had not been arrested, however, as authorities quickly believed they had no knowledge of their father’s despicable crimes.
Led to Richard Gaines’s cell, the boys were stoic, but devastated by the revelations. Their glorious, larger-than-life mother had also just been stolen from them in a horrific crash that nearly has taken their sister. And if the charges were true, they had been lied to for years by the father they adored.
Chance, the twenty-six-year-old graduate of Harvard Law, was representing his father. Prematurely silver-haired with piercing gray eyes, he had often been compared to Anderson Cooper, for more reasons than one.
When his sons arrived, Richie was lying on a cot, his right arm covering his eyes.
A guard opened the cell.
“Dad,” Chance said simply.
“It’s all true,” was Richie’s equally simple reply. “All lies all these years.”
“We’ve posted your bail,” Jackson said. “Five million euros.”
“The house in London as collateral,” Chance added.
“Let’s get out of here.” Richie sighed heavily.
“There is a stipulation,” Chance told him.
“You’re released on bail, but under house arrest at the villa.”
“Could be worse,” Richie said blankly. “Can we see Charley first?”
“We’ll check with the court,” Chance said.
The atmosphere was cold, clinical, and distant. Chance nodded to a guard outside the cell, and he entered.
“What’s this?” Richie asked as the guard asked him to pull up the cuff of his thousand-euro slacks. It became immediately clear as the guard pulled an ankle monitor from a small case.
“Sorry,” Chance said, steadying his father as the ankle bracelet was strapped on.
“Jules plea-bargained a deal,” Jackson added matter-of-factly. In certain ways, he was so much like his father.
“Pity,” Richie said. “I guess our dicks are what did us in.”
“Our?” Jackson blanched. He should have known she was one of Richie’s girls all along.
The ankle bracelet was locked into place.
“When they’re that hot and smart, you’ve gotta be extra careful,” Richie warned. “I always told you that.”
“Guess I just didn’t listen.”
“As if any of that matters now,” Chance said, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Richie took a long beat. “I am sorry, guys.”
Chance and Jackson just nodded. No way they could forgive him right now.
Jackson led the way as the three headed out together, Richie fully aware of the monitoring device that would be a part of him for who-knew-how-long.
None of them mentioned the devastating loss of the boys’ mother.
John had been watching CNN on the plasma flat-screen in his room as the remarkable events of the last twelve hours unfolded.
John had been through the tortures of the damned over the last few years, and his paralysis wasn’t the worst of it. His mind had been wiped clean, and he spent over a year as an emotionless robot.
Time and experimental underground treatments had returned his memories. His mind was functioning again, with the intelligence that allowed him to be a human chameleon.
During the months and months of grueling physical therapy, his only salvation was television and his computer. He refused to let his brain and imagination die, especially if that’s all he would have left.
“You’re watching it too,” Marlena said as she quickly entered in her silk robe.
John was so focused on the screen that he didn’t hear her enter.
“What are you doing here?” he said, startled.
“It’s just unbelievably sad,” she answered. “I didn’t think to knock. I’m sorry.”
She truly was sorry. They had agreed she would never enter without knocking.
If he knew that I’d climbed into his bed the other night, he wouldn’t be happy, Marlena thought. No, she knew.
If she climbs into my bed like she did the other night, I may have to make love to her, John thought. It’s why he made the rule about knocking. He had to steel himself from her touch, her smile, and her smell. He could not make love to her yet. Not now. Maybe not ever.
“Another Princess Grace tragedy and Bernie Madoff debacle,” she said to avoid more discussion. “To one family, all in less than an hour.”
“Is that Shawn?” she asked as her son-in-law’s face splashed across the TV screen.
“You haven’t been watching,” John mocked.
Marlena shook her head and watched in disbelief as the story unfolded as a CNN field reporter from France was in front of Princess Grace Hospital thrusting a mic in front of Shawn’s face.
“Mr. Brady, could we speak to you for a moment?” she asked. “CNN. We understand you were not only at the accident site, but in the room when Mr. Gaines was arrested.�
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“Only speaking to the Spectator, sorry.” He tossed off as he passed. “You can read everything there.”
“He’s certainly matured,” Marlena said. “Where’s Belle?”
As if on cue, her phone rang. She pulled it from the pocket in her robe.
“We’re on the same wavelength, sweetie,” Marlena said.
“You’ve seen the news,” Belle stated.
“It’s everywhere,” Marlena answered. “How are you? How is Claire? I’m sure you know it’s all very confusing.”
“For all of us,” Belle said. “We’re fine, really. I just didn’t want you to worry.”
“We always do,” Marlena said. “From one mother to another, I’m sure you understand.”
Belle glanced at Claire. Yes, now she truly understood the bond of a mother and daughter.
John signaled for Marlena to let him talk to her.
“Dad wants to speak to you,” Marlena told her and held the phone up to his ear.
“Hey, baby girl,” John said.
“Hi, Daddy,” Belle said warmly. “Can’t wait to see you.”
“You too. When?”
“We were supposed to drive up there tomorrow,” she answered. “But now I don’t know. How are you, Dad?”
“A bit better than when we last saw you,” he answered. “Even though that was almost two years ago, don’t expect miracles.”
“I’m Mom’s daughter,” she replied. “I always do.”
“Keep us posted, and let us know when to expect you,” John said. “Kiss little Claire Black for me.”
Marlena stared at John. He caught her gaze.
“Sorry. I should have let you say good-bye,” he said and then turned back to the news.
“I’ll speak to her later,” Marlena replied. She couldn’t take her gaze off him. She had seen a glimpse of the man she loved when he was talking to their daughter.
Why couldn’t he respond like that to her?
“Can she have visitors?” Shawn asked the volunteer outside of Charley’s private room in the ICU. He could see a glimpse of her, hooked up to tubes and catheters, with electrodes monitoring her.
Charley had a large bandage covering her neck where Shawn had applied pressure to keep her from bleeding out. Her dark hair was pulled up behind her, and she was sleeping.
“Are you family?” the efficient but gentle woman asked.
“No, I’m—”
Before he could finish, Esther, the nurse who’d taken his blood donation, appeared from the other side of the nurses’ station.
“Mr. Brady,” she said.
“You remember.” Shawn smiled.
“He’s the gentleman who donated the B negative for Miss Gaines,” she told her co-worker, then addressed Shawn apologetically. “Are you here to give more?”
“How is she?” he asked.
“She’s been heavily medicated since the surgery,” she answered. “But she’s expected to make a full recovery.”
“Good.” Shawn sighed.
An alarm went off from the monitors, which had been steadily beeping softly. There was a flurry of activity as two nurses came from opposite directions and made a beeline into Charley’s room. Shawn jumped aside as one of the doctors rushed past him at a clip.
The volunteer strained to see inside, but they’d pulled the curtain closed.
“If you’d like to donate, the clinic is on the second floor,” she said to Shawn.
He hesitated, not wanting to leave.
Before he had to answer, the doctor emerged. “She’s awake and talking,” he reported.
“Great.” Shawn smiled.
“Could you call the chaplain?” the doctor asked the volunteer. “We need to inform her about her mother.”
The doctor moved behind the nurses’ station to complete his report, and one of the nurses got on the phone to the chaplain.
Shawn had spent a lot of time in and around the hospitals of Salem. His great-grandfather, Tom Horton, had been the chief of staff at one time, and hence, a number of his relatives had become doctors or nurses. It still amazed him at how they could be so compassionate and clinical at the same time. His own parents, both cops, had also instilled in him the belief that life had to be fair and balanced. Sometimes he didn’t feel like either a Horton or a Brady.
His reverie was broken when the gentle nurse, Esther, emerged from Charley’s room.
“She’d like to see you,” Esther said.
“Now?” Shawn asked.
“She saw you out here and wanted to say thank you.”
Shawn moved into her room, and he was struck again by her natural beauty. She was a bit groggy, but her eyes widened when she saw him.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “If not for you, my mother and I wouldn’t have made it.”
Shawn tried to not react, but his expression betrayed him.
There was no need for the chaplain to deliver the news.
Charley grabbed his hand and squeezed it like a vise, her breathing getting deeper and deeper, until she was gulping in the dead air that filled the room.
“I’m so sorry,” was all Shawn could offer.
Charley let out a mournful, empty wail that sliced into his heart like a knife, then collapsed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
The mother she adored was gone.
“NEVER THOUGHT I’D LOVE TO SEE THE HOUSE THIS MUCH,” Richie said as he pulled aside the privacy curtain in the backseat of his shiny new graphite Bentley Mulsanne.
Jackson was at the wheel of the car his father had purchased less than a month ago for nearly $400,000 (and which now was certainly in jeopardy if the charges against him were true). He and Chance both wanted to believe the charges were bogus, but Richie had already admitted to the ISA that the Financial Gaines Group was one big fat scam.
The door opened, and Richie stepped out of the car, catching the ankle monitor on the running board.
“Damn,” he said.
“Going to have to get used to that, Dad,” was all Chance could say. Both the boys were angry. Their father had lied to them for over a decade.
As the three approached, Kelsey opened the front door to the villa. They brushed past her without so much as a hello.
The emotional toil was getting to them. They moved into the living room and sank into the large down-filled couches.
“Give me all you’ve got,” Richie threw at his sons. “I have no excuses for what I’ve done.”
“Monaco extradites,” Chance started. “If you’d bought the villa in France—”
Richie cut him off. “Wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. I deserve whatever I’m handed.”
“Jeez, Dad, thanks,” Jackson spit. “Do you know what we had to go through yesterday? We were grilled for four hours.”
“Mr. Gaines?” Kelsey said meekly as she approached. “I’m so sorry to hear about, well, everything.”
“I need a drink,” was Richie’s response.
Kelsey had hoped she could take the man she loved in her arms and comfort him, but in front of his sons, she knew better.
“Scotch, neat,” he barked.
“Same,” Jackson added.
“One of us has to be sober,” Chance said, refusing the alcohol. “And it’s time we discussed Mom.”
They didn’t see Kelsey cringe as she headed to make the drinks. The room fell eerily silent for a moment.
“I don’t want to believe she’s gone,” Richie said, choking back emotion. “Maybe with this, it’s better,” he added, pointing to the ankle monitor.
“Don’t even think that,” Jackson said harshly.
“They said her gorgeous face was crushed,” Richie said, trying to shake it off. Whatever he had done over the years, he had always and always would love her. “We need to make sure she looks her best, you know?”
Chance knew what he was saying.
“We’ll call her personal physician,” Chance replied. “If he’s unavailable, we’ll call Sharon Os
bourne’s guy. He’s amazing.”
“Whatever it costs,” Richie said.
“They’ve frozen all our bank accounts, Dad,” Chance reminded him. “But we’ll make it work somehow.”
Kelsey finished pouring the Macallan into Baccarat snifters and set them on a sterling silver tray. Next to the tray was a beautifully framed photo of Olivia with Charley, smiling and laughing. It was a portrait Charley had done, and it was one of Richie’s favorites. She put it facedown and then delivered the drinks.
Jackson took his glass first, and then Kelsey served Richie. She gave him a sympathetic look that the boys didn’t catch. Neither did he.
Richie raised his snifter to Jackson.
“To your mother,” he said. “No one will ever replace her.”
Kelsey’s back went up, but she knew she’d forgive him. She knew all this was for show, and there was no way he could reach out to her yet.
“Why’d you do it, Dad?” Jackson asked.
“For all of you. Because I wanted you to have the best, and I love you,” Richie said with conviction.
Chance’s phone rang. It was the hospital.
“Yes?” Chance answered. He listened a moment. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
He hung up and half smiled. “There’s good news and bad.”
“Bad?” Jackson said, concerned.
“Charley’s awake and now she’s stable, but she found out about Mum, and she’s devastated.”
“I have to go with you,” Richie said.
“Can’t.”
“She’s my little girl,” Richie added as a demand.
“And the press will have a field day with you,” Jackson reminded him. “We’ll fill her in.”
Richie was like a racehorse at the gate, he was so anxious to join them. “Please.”
“Sorry, but no,” Jackson added firmly.
“Tell her I love her,” Richie answered, knowing they were right.
“What you’ve done for love,” Jackson said, shaking his head.
“Let’s go,” Chance said, not wanting to argue.
The two boys headed out through the massive foyer. Richie sat nursing his drink.
A Secret in Salem Page 8
