Maggie's Man: A Family Secrets Novel

by Lisa Gardner

Cain was sitting in a tiny wicker chair by the window, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. He didn’t look up as she entered; he didn’t turn. She took another step toward him, her hair brushing her hips. Then another.

  And realized that the object of her ardor had fallen asleep.

  His chin was nestled on his chest, his face clearly lined with fatigue. In the past twenty hours, he’d slept only three and it showed.

  She bent down beside him and simply watched him for a moment. He looked so unbelievably dear she didn’t have the heart to wake him.

  The new improved Maggie. More self-confident, still no audience.

  She stroked his hand lightly, but he still didn’t wake. There was only one thing left to do.

  Half an hour later, after attacking her clothes with the hair dryer and pulling them on, she slid out the front door.

  • • •

  Cain’s eyes cracked open at the sound of the door clicking shut. He stared at the closed door for a moment, blinking.

  “Maggie?” he called out.

  No answer. His head turned slowly to the bathroom. Door open, lights off, room empty. The fatigue crashed down on him hard, his shoulders finally bowing beneath the strain.

  He could only shake his head in the cool, silent room.

  “You promised,” he whispered. “Maggie, you promised.”

  • • •

  Six thirty a.m.

  In Beaverton, Joel Epstein’s phone started ringing and the junior officer fumbled for the receiver. He’d fallen asleep only an hour ago and he had too much on his mind to sleep well anyway.

  “Officer Epstein?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This is Captain James. We got a lead on the Cannon case. I thought you’d want to be the first to know.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Captain James was succinct. Two kids had been pulled over in Bend in a stolen vehicle and had been identified as suspects in a recent convenience store holdup. Looking for bargaining chips, the young couple claimed they hadn’t really stolen the truck, but had taken it from another man and his tiny, red-haired companion. The police were pretty sure the second couple was Cain Cannon and his hostage, Maggie Ferringer.

  The APB had just been updated in Bend with the license plate of a gray hatchback car the kids had abandoned in favor of Cain’s truck. All police in the area were now on the lookout for that vehicle. When they found it, they would most likely find Cain.

  “I would like to go to Bend, sir,” Joel said immediately. His heart was pounding in his chest. Sometimes he remembered playing the saxophone in the smoky clubs with Cain and Kathy smiling at him from the audience, clapping their hands as the notes got high and sweet. But mostly he remembered the morgue, identifying his sister’s body, and realizing for the first time what kind of man Cain truly was. And just what he’d done to Joel’s sister.

  Captain James hesitated. Joel understood that. The department would like to keep him uninvolved, given his emotional ties.

  “Captain,” Joel said in a steady voice, “we both know I have leave due to me.”

  The captain sighed, knowing at his age there was no point spitting in the wind. “Take your leave,” he said. “Go to Bend, but not with your badge. And don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Joel hung up quickly. He hesitated one moment, then dialed a new number he’d been given just ten hours earlier. He should keep the information confidential, but then he knew too well what it was like to want to protect your sister. And he didn’t want someone else to be too late for their sister, as he’d been too late for his.

  “Brandon Ferringer, please.” A two-second pause. “Brandon? This is Joel Epstein. I have a lead on Cannon. We’re going to Bend.”

  Chapter 11

  Maggie banged open the motel room with her hip, juggling three plastic grocery sacks and one bulky coat. Dawn was just beginning to lighten a lavender sky and triumph already stained her cheeks.

  She stumbled over the slight step and half tumbled into the room, a crinkling blur of plastic bags and giddy smiles. The coat fell off her arm, but was embraced comfortably by the carpet. The rest of the bags she held out with a flourish.

  Cain wasn’t sleeping in the chair as she’d expected, but stood in the middle of the room with a single white towel wrapped around his lean flanks. His blond hair was damp from a recent shower and moisture still beaded his smooth chest. His face was curiously bland and guarded.

  “I did it!” she declared and shook her bags of supplies. One fell open and a box of granola bars went tumbling to the floor.

  Cain simply stared at her, his green eyes perfectly flat.

  She decided more explanation was in order. “I wasn’t tired at all,” she burst out in a rush. “So I thought, why not take care of everything now and save us a bit of time in the morning? I dialed the operator from the pay phone in the lobby and convinced her to hail a cab for poor stranded me. Then I got the driver—his name is Barney and he has three daughters, one of whom he swears looks just like me—to take me to a twenty-four-hour convenience store. Barney helped me pick out granola bars, orange juice, bananas and bagels. They didn’t carry much in the way of clothes, but the man had some hunting supplies so I also got a thermos, a pocketknife, a canvas bag, two T-shirts saying ‘Burns, Oregon—Been There, Done That.’ And then”—her smile grew huge—“my pièce de résistance—a hunting jacket.”

  She dropped the three bags in favor of the camouflage jacket, which she scooped up off the floor. “They only carried it in extra large, but Barney says the extra room is good so you can wear layers beneath it. Can you believe he didn’t even charge me for the time in the store? He’s such a nice man. I got his address so I can send him a thank-you card when this is all over.”

  She draped the jacket over the bed and surveyed her trophies once more with a satisfied nod of her head. Her cheeks remained flushed, and her blue eyes unbelievably brilliant. At last she settled her hands on her hips and declared in a very smug voice, “Not even C.J. could’ve done it better. Hah!”

  She grinned at Cain, who still hadn’t moved. His face hadn’t changed, either.

  “You shouldn’t have done this,” he said abruptly.

  “What?” The roses faded from her cheeks. She stared at him, genuinely puzzled.

  “You didn’t need to do all this, Maggie,” he said levelly. “I’m not one of your lost causes.”

  She scowled at him immediately, her hackles rising. “And you’re welcome,” she snapped back. “Now go back to bed and don’t get up again until you’ve found your manners!” Wow, she sounded just like Lydia when she said that. She resumed smiling, feeling ridiculously proud of herself.

  Cain did not appear amused. “I told you—”

  She gave up, throwing her hands up in the air. “What is wrong with you? I did a good thing here. I know I did. We have to have supplies. We’ll save so much time now and—”

  “What we?” he gritted out abruptly, his voice uncharacteristically tight. “There is no we. There is me, the escaped felon, and you the hostage, but there is no we.”

  She looked at him, and for the first time some of the wind left her sails. She studied his face, searching for some sign to tell her where she’d gone awry. She’d been so sure he’d be delighted. She’d gone so far as to imagine him scooping her up in his arms and telling her she was so wonderful, so perfect, a true blessing/angel/godsend. She’d thought he might at least smile and say, “Thank you, Maggie. That was very smart thinking.”

  “I thought . . .” Her voice sounded so weak, so faint. She took a deeper breath. “I thought we were a little beyond that captor-hostage thing,” she said at last.

  “Why? Because of last night?”

  “Last night? Cain, that was three hours ago.”

  He didn’t even look ashamed. He simply shook his head and said in a hard, relentless voice, “I told you at the time, Maggie, that there were ground rules.
I told you that you wouldn’t own me, that you couldn’t adopt me or save me, or any of that—”

  “No!” she cried, his words hurting her horribly. She didn’t crumple, though; she jabbed her finger at him and fought back vehemently. “You told me I couldn’t own you, but now you’re trying to own me. You’re telling me how to think, how to feel. What I should expect, how I should act. Well, you can’t do that. I’m helping you and you’re just gonna have to suffer through it, mister. And I’m not leaving and you’re going to have to suffer through that as well!”

  “You don’t even know anything about me!” he exclaimed sharply.

  “I know what I need to know.”

  “And what is that, Maggie?”

  Her face was more troubled. “That you’re a good person, intelligent and levelheaded. That you don’t usually yell at me. That generally you treat me like an intelligent human being who’s capable of making her own decisions and strong enough to bear the consequences. That you respect me, that you think I have a big heart and that . . . that you find me attractive just as I am.” Her voice faded away. She could no longer look at him. Instead she studied the rug, her hands knotted before her.

  Cain was silent for a long time. Not moving, not speaking, just standing there. She finally risked a glance. His face was no longer blank, but troubled.

  “I thought you’d left,” he said abruptly.

  “I did. I went to the store.”

  “No. I mean I thought you had left, as in you were never coming back.”

  Her eyes widened. “Cain,” she said softly, “I gave you my word.”

  “I know.” He looked at the ceiling. “I know. But I thought you had left anyway, and it bothered me, Maggie. It really . . . bothered me. I . . . I don’t want to be bothered by such things.” He peered at her through squinted eyes, his blond hair waving over his brow. “Can you understand that?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Cain, I—”

  “Maggie, you’ve never asked about the murder.”

  “I don’t need to.”

  “You can be that sure?”

  “Yes,” she told him honestly.

  Her faith didn’t seem to make him proud, though, or soften him, or touch him. Instead, he was abruptly shaking his head as if that proved she was a fool, and that hurt her tender feelings all over again.

  “You think I’m so naive then?” she asked through an unbearably thick throat. “That it proves I’m stupid?”

  “I wasn’t going to s—”

  “No, but you were thinking it. You were thinking, how can this tiny woman with her big ol’ generous heart be so gullible? It’s not like you’re the first person who’s thought that, Cain. And . . . and dammit, I refuse to apologize or defend or change. I trust people, all right? I go through life assuming the best about everyone, so there. Just sue me.

  “And I’ve spent nearly twenty-four hours in your company and I do not believe you are capable of murder. You didn’t hurt the guard—you didn’t hurt me. You are one of the most even-tempered people I know—the thought of you committing a rash crime of passion is frankly ludicrous. And then there’s the simple matter that I asked you and you said no. You said no. I believe you, Cain. You can think I’m stupid if it makes you feel better, but I believe you anyway—”

  “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

  “Are you so sure about that?” She refused to be so easily mollified. Instead, she stood five feet away from him, her fingers clenched into fists, her body stiff and her open face filled with hurt.

  “Maggie . . . ah!” He seemed frustrated and distraught and, for the first time since she’d known him, at a loss for composure. His hand raked through his shorn hair once, then twice. “I’m mangling this.”

  “No kidding. And the clock is ticking, buster.” She tapped her foot for emphasis. She was beginning to sense she had the upper hand and she had no intention of letting him off lightly. Let him squirm a bit; it was the least he deserved.

  “I’m not used to people like you,” he said abruptly.

  “Oh?” She arched a fine brow. “You mean nice people? Kind people?”

  His lips curved reluctantly. “Yes. Exactly.” Then his face sobered. “I’ve been alone a long time, Maggie. I think sometimes . . . I’m better alone. Kathy used to say I was too remote, too self-contained, that no matter how much time she spent with me, she never knew what I was thinking, never thought that I needed her. I didn’t really understand what she meant. But then she was dead and everyone agreed that I’d done it. My family betrayed me—my friends believed in the betrayal. Everyone, shaking their heads. ‘Well, I never did feel like I knew him,’ they all said, as if I’d been a stranger all along. As if none of it, none of the friendships, had been real.” His voice broke. He forced himself to continue, his gaze planted on the wall. “And then there’s you, Maggie. You’ve known me less than a day, you’ve met me under the worst conditions, and you’ve already given me more, trusted me more, than anyone else. You believe in me. And by God, I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”

  He looked down, his voice too hoarse to continue.

  Maggie gave up on distance. She strode toward him, not stopping until she was against his body, his damp towel against her damp skirt, her hands splayed lightly on his bare, freshly showered chest. Her fingertips massaged his collarbone, her gaze searched his eyes. “Tell me, Cain. Tell me what happened that night. Tell me everything. I promise to believe.”

  “I introduced them,” he whispered, and she could hear the underpinnings of guilt and remorse in his voice. “Ham suddenly appeared in Portland, said he wanted to get to know me again as it had been five years, and without ever suspecting a thing, I invited him to dinner.”

  “He wanted your girlfriend?”

  “I don’t think so. I think he just wanted to get back at me. He wanted to destroy his turncoat brother who’d spit on everything we were raised to believe. I’d just been appointed project manager to a new program we were developing for the government. I think that might have been the last straw for him.”

  “I don’t understand,” she told him honestly.

  “Our father . . . he believes the government is evil. Schools are corrupt, public water supplies, public services. Street signs and traffic lights contain secret codes that will one day be used to herd together all dissidents. The ZOG hates middle-aged white Christian males, and if Aryans don’t stick together, we’ll all hang separately.”

  “Do . . . do you believe it?”

  “No. I’m the family heretic. I figured that if God asked Noah to save two of all the animals from the flood, then he must value the diversity of the creatures that he created, including mankind. It was an unpopular belief where I grew up. I moved to Portland instead. I met all the people I’d been told were evil—they weren’t.”

  “Then Ham came.”

  “Yes.” He said softly, “I was willing to believe he wanted a reconciliation. I don’t know why. We’d always fought. There was no logical reason for me to think things had changed.”

  “He was your brother.”

  “He set me up. I let him in, introduced him to my coworkers, to Kathy, and he took it all in, and in one brutal stroke took it all away. It wasn’t even difficult for him. He was handsome, charming, and Kathy liked men with a dangerous edge. We’d been dating for a while, but the flush was over. She wanted things I couldn’t give her and we both knew it. She must have thought Ham was quite dashing.

  “And he must have thought it was very easy to kill his brother’s Jewish lover.”

  “Oh, my God,” Maggie whispered and pressed against him. Her open face was filled with so much horror, so much compassion for him and Kathy both. “Oh, my God.”

  He found his hands buried in her thick red hair; he found himself pressing her body slightly closer. She felt tiny and delicate, but not breakable. She was too supple, bending like a willow when under pressure, while he knew only how to stand stiffly and snap.

  It had
been more than six years since that night, but it had changed too much to ever let go. He’d been so sure relationships could be simply and easily defined. How much could go wrong? Even when he’d begun to realize Kathy and Ham were involved, he hadn’t wanted to dwell on it. Kathy was a free woman. He didn’t own her, she didn’t own him. She could make her own choices.

  But he’d never told her about Ham’s upbringing, about his hatred and bigotry. When Ham had arrived in Portland, he seemed to have left that behind as well, and Cain didn’t push too hard or ask too many questions. Cain had been weak, after all, wanting to believe that his brother shared his enlightenment, that leopards could change their spots.

  He’d made Ham’s job so easy and Kathy had paid the price for Cain’s naïveté. Life wasn’t supposed to work like that. His life wasn’t supposed to work like that.

  “But you didn’t do it,” Maggie whispered softly. “Why didn’t the jury believe you?”

  “Ham used my own hunting knife, then testified as an eyewitness to my alleged enraged attack on Kathy. The case was open-and-shut.”

  “We’ll have to change that,” she declared immediately. Already, she was gnawing on her lower lip. “Now how are we going to prove that?”

  Very gently he wrapped his hands around her waist and set her from him. “We aren’t going to do anything,” he said quietly. “I’m going to go to Idaho. In the meantime, I’m hoping Ham will arrive in Oregon. While he looks for me here, I’ll try to find evidence against him at home.”

  “Do you think you’ll find much?” Maggie asked, momentarily ignoring that silly I-we thing. She’d cross that bridge later.

  “I doubt it. It’s been six years. On the other hand, Ham likes to brag. His friends will never testify against him, but perhaps a bartender or cocktail waitress might. Or there are a lot of magazines and propaganda documents that circulate among militias. Generally, they include ‘accounts of war,’ generic anecdotes of local activities.”

  Maggie’s eyes grew huge and her face pale. “You mean . . . you mean he might have written up what he did and published it for others to read?”