by Becky Wade
“Yes.”
“Deal.” He began to move away.
“Dad.”
The older man paused.
“I’m sorry if I’ve added to your stress this last week,” Corbin said.
“It’s all right.” Joe opened his arms. “C’mere.”
Corbin gave him a hug complete with the two usual back slaps.
Soon, Corbin wouldn’t be able to hug his father, hear his voice, look into the face that was more familiar to Corbin than any other face in the world. His first supporter, the one who’d always loved him, the one who’d never left, was dying.
He wanted to scream, No! That he couldn’t made him feel as if he were hyperventilating. He wished he could give his dad his own strength and health. He wished he could beat the cancer, the one opponent he most wanted to conquer. He wished he could unload some of his own powerful will to fight into his father. He wished he’d managed to convince his dad to attempt a trial or an experimental treatment.
But none of those wishes were going to come true.
His dad’s mind was made up.
Phone call from Roger from the American Coalition for the Discovery of Missing Persons to Willow:
Roger: I’m calling to let you know that we distributed the posters of Josephine in Mission two days ago. Since then, we’ve received three phone calls from people who say that they know the woman in the picture.
Willow: Three calls?
Roger: We’ve actually received far more calls than three, thanks to the posters. What’s promising about the calls I mentioned is that all three people said that the woman’s name is Felicia Richmond. Apparently Felicia owns a small but popular plant nursery called Haven Gardens on the outskirts of town.
Willow: Felicia Richmond?
Roger: Yes. Whenever we receive corroborating accounts from multiple callers, we sit up and take notice.
Willow: Oh my goodness. . . . Do you think that Felicia might be Josephine?
Roger: It’s possible, but I feel compelled to caution you. It could be a coincidence that the age-progression portrait of Josephine resembles Felicia. Felicia might not be connected to Josephine in any way.
Chapter
Twenty
Willow sat in her Range Rover in the parking lot of the Wallace Rehabilitation Center, her attention trained on the building’s front door. Her heater chugged against the forty-five degree temperature outside. Dark gray fringed the canopy of a sky that looked to be considering the merits of turning stormy.
The moment she’d finished talking with Roger about Felicia Richmond, she’d checked her watch. It was Tuesday, and on Tuesday afternoons Charlotte coached Corbin through his PT sessions before the two of them drove to the inn, aka League of Justice Headquarters, for their meetings.
Since the news Roger had given Willow was too momentous to keep to herself until their meeting, Willow had decided to intercept them here instead—
The automatic sliding doors zoomed open, and Corbin strode out. Her breath caught with pleasure at the sight of him.
She turned off the ignition, grabbed her red coat, and cinched its sash as she waited for him near her front bumper. Chilly air that smelled of fir, rain, and ocean enveloped her.
Corbin hadn’t yet seen her, so she took advantage of the chance to study him without his knowledge. He wore a black waterproof jacket over his workout clothes. He held his keys in one muscular hand. He walked purposefully, head bent, rugged features troubled.
No doubt, he was thinking about his dad. She fisted her hands against an instinctive need to comfort him. To love him.
You can’t love him!
Loving him would not be good for her.
Not good at all.
Thanksgiving was the day after tomorrow. Her flight left Monday, just six days from now. The manager her mom had hired to run the inn had arrived. She’d been training him and—no surprise—he was more than accomplished. More than ready to take over.
Corbin lifted his chin and caught sight of her. As soon as he did, a crooked grin overtook his face.
She didn’t need Vitamin D. That smile was sunlight to her.
All at once Willow wanted to cry. Because she was leaving. Because she was scared to let herself love him. Because of the promises she’d made to Joe. How in the world was she going to say good-bye to Corbin without telling him about the promises she’d made to his dad?
He walked to her, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. “This is a nice surprise.”
“You’re not worried I’m stalking you?”
“I don’t think I’m lucky enough to have you as a stalker. Speaking of stalkers, have you seen yours around lately?”
“Nope.”
He kissed her again and, in response, delight swirled at the backs of her knees. Almost three weeks had passed since their first kiss. They’d spent time together every day since then and, impossibly, every kiss was somehow sweeter than the last.
“Corbin?”
“Yes?”
“You’re kissing me in the parking lot of the Wallace Rehabilitation Center.”
“This is rehabilitating me, that’s for sure.”
“We’re in a parking lot.”
He pulled back a few inches. “Would you rather we go inside the center and kiss there?”
“Charlotte will see us!”
He rested his hands on the side of her neck. “I couldn’t care less if Charlotte sees.”
“Where is she?”
“In the restroom. I came out ahead of her so I could warm up the car—”
“I knew it!” Charlotte called from far away, voice ringing with triumph.
“I think she saw us,” he whispered.
They stepped apart.
Charlotte rushed to them, eyes glittering. The faux fur on the hood of her parka encircled her face. “I knew you guys were together!”
“How’d you know?” Corbin asked.
“Because you’re always staring at Willow like you’re in love with her.”
“No!” he protested.
“And you’re always staring at Corbin like you’re in love with him.”
“No!” Willow squeaked, alarmed.
“Yes,” Charlotte said, planting her hands on her hips. “How long has this been going on?”
“Just a little while,” Corbin said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We just did,” Corbin said.
Willow clapped her hands together once to command their attention. “Enough about that. I drove here so that I could tell you both, in person, that we might have a break in our case.” She related the call from Roger. “I ran a phone and address search for Felicia Richmond. No phone records came up. But look . . .” She extracted a small sheet of paper from her coat pocket and held it out so they could see what she’d written. “An address did come up.”
Charlotte covered her mouth with her hands. “We’ve found Josephine?”
“The answer to that is maybe. I don’t know if we have. But . . . maybe?” Willow extended her cell phone to the girl. “I thought you should be the one to call your grandma and tell her about our lead.”
“Yeah. Sure! Oh my gosh.”
Charlotte turned and took a few steps away to have her conversation.
“We couldn’t have found Josephine,” Corbin said to Willow. “Could we?”
“I would have bet against it. Until today.”
“No one who met me when I was a kid would have bet on me playing in the NFL one day.”
“She wants to talk to you,” Charlotte said to Willow, offering her the phone.
Willow took it. “Hello?”
“Do you think that this Felicia Richmond could be Josephine?”
“It’s possible. Felicia owns a nursery. Was Josephine a gardener?”
“No, she wasn’t.” A space of quiet. “In order to settle this, we’ll need to go and meet Felicia for ourselves.”
“If you’d rather call, I can look up the number for t
he nursery. I’m sure you could get her on the phone that way.”
“And give her another chance to disappear before I can see her? I need to be able to see her with my own eyes. That’s the only way I’ll know for sure if it’s her.”
“What do you suggest?”
“That we all drive to Mission on Friday. You, me, Charlotte, and Corbin. Charlotte said you have an address.”
“I do.”
“Then we’ll drive to her address. And we’ll knock on her door. And then we’ll see.”
So far Corbin’s discussions with his father about faith were going about as well as the Exxon Valdez voyage.
“Praying a prayer seems too easy, Corbin.” They were sitting across from each other at the breakfast table.
“I know.”
“You just say a prayer, and then you go to heaven when you die?”
“If you believed what you were saying, then yes.”
His dad’s face puckered. “I’ve never been one for praying out loud.”
“You can pray silently.”
“If I do this, are you going to expect me to pray out loud before meals and such?”
“No.”
“Nobody better try to hold my hand while they pray out loud, either.”
Corbin took a desperate sip of coffee.
“And I don’t like hymns,” Joe stated. “You’re not going to make me listen to hymns, are you?”
“I don’t like hymns, either, Dad. In case you forgot, I didn’t grow up in church singing church music. Praying out loud and hymns are things that religious people do, but they’re not the main thing. The way I understand it, the main things are believing and asking for forgiveness.”
His dad ran a hand over his scruffy cheek, then shook his head. “I just don’t buy it, Corbin. Christianity seems like something people invented to make themselves feel better about death.”
One of the necessities of autumn in the Pacific Northwest? A good bathrobe.
Willow stepped from the shower at 5:15 p.m., dried off, then wrapped herself in her favorite pink velour robe. She combed out her wet hair, donned slippers, and hurried downstairs to retrieve her phone. She’d left it in her purse and wanted to stay up-to-date with the text conversation she, Nora, and Britt had been having about the “last supper” her sisters were hosting for her the night before her flight to New York.
She scooped up her phone. No hurry. She still had a full hour before Corbin was scheduled to pick her up for tonight’s date. They were attending a black-tie fundraiser in Tacoma benefitting the NFL Foundation. Willow had brought only one fancy dress with her to Washington, a navy confection with a beaded halter-style top and a voluminous skirt. She was delighted to finally have a reason to wear it. And she couldn’t wait to see Corbin in a tuxedo.
She was turning back in the direction of the staircase when she caught sight of movement beyond the den’s windows. She stopped and tried to make out what she’d seen, but the sun set early in November. The familiar view was a study in shades of charcoal and black.
All manner of wild creatures visited Bradfordwood. It wasn’t uncommon to spot them on the lawn. She went to the light switches next to the French doors and flipped on the outdoor floodlights.
They illuminated a man’s figure, running out of sight around the corner of the house.
Willow’s heart contracted. She’d only had one long glimpse of him before he’d disappeared, but it had been enough. She recognized his heavy build. The olive skin. Shaved head.
Todd Hill. Todd Hill had snuck inside Bradfordwood’s protective gates. He’d no doubt been watching her just now, in her robe. Fear squeezed her consciousness, threatening her ability to move, to think.
Valentina and Clint, the only two people who were sometimes on the property with her, had both gone home. She was the only one here.
Corbin. She should call Corbin. He would help her—
What? No. He was too far away.
She scrambled toward the alarm keypad. She’d armed it earlier, hadn’t she? Yes. It was still armed. She kicked off her slippers—bare feet were faster—and flew to each of the downstairs doors to make certain they were locked. They were.
She dashed inside the hallway powder room, locked the door behind her, and dialed the Merryweather police. An officer informed her that a squad car was on its way. Using her phone, she remotely opened Bradfordwood’s gate so that the police would be able to drive all the way to the house.
Thud thud thud. Todd knocked on the front door.
Willow flinched against the ominous sound.
“Willow!” he yelled from outside. “I just want the chance to talk to you. Things went wrong the last time, but I know if you’d let me explain myself you’d see that I don’t mean you any harm.”
“You jumped my fence and violated a restraining order,” she whispered, voice shaking.
More insistent knocking. “Willow!” A moment of silence. More knocking. “Willow, I promise I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk to you. That’s all.” The front door rattled on its hinges. “Can you open up?”
Not going to happen.
Her breath came fast and jagged. She felt all wrong. Too faint. Her fingers weren’t working as well as they normally did, either, because it took two tries to pull up Corbin’s contact details. She hit Call.
“Hello?”
Hearing his voice gave her a shot of courage. Her eyes briefly sank closed. “Todd is here.”
“What.”
“Todd is here, at Bradfordwood. I came downstairs and noticed movement outside, so I switched on the lights and saw him. The security system is on, and I’ve called the police. They’re sending officers who should be here soon.” The words tumbled out in a rush.
“I’m on my way.” His tone rang with forceful reassurance. With those four words he communicated You’re going to be fine and I’m going to kill him and You can count on me. She heard rustling in the background of the call. Then static caused by wind. He was running. “Stay on the line with me.”
“Okay.”
“Where are you inside the house?”
“The downstairs hall bathroom. There are no windows in here, so I can’t see what’s going on but I can hear him at the front door. He’s knocking and saying he wants a chance to talk with me.”
“Do you have a weapon with you?”
“I only have my phone with me.”
“Is there a baseball bat in the house?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Golf clubs?”
“Yes, but my dad keeps them in the garage and the garage feels far away.”
“What about a poker? For the fire?”
“Yes. In the den.”
“Go get it.”
She bit her lip and had to force herself to unlock the bathroom door. But really, the simple doorknob lock on the bathroom door wasn’t going to protect her if Todd was able to get past the far stronger locks at the front of the house. If he did get past them, she’d rather be holding a fire poker.
She ran to the den. Grabbed the poker and returned to the bathroom. Re-locked the door. “Got it.”
“Good.”
A surge of ferocity went through her as she gripped the long strip of metal with white knuckles. Now she wasn’t defenseless.
Corbin asked for updates on Todd. She told him that Todd was still calling for her. Still occasionally banging on and rattling the door.
He explained to her where and how to hit Todd with the poker if it came to that. When he guaranteed her that she was strong enough and brave enough to bring Todd down, she believed him.
All at once, the noise Todd had been making ceased. Willow didn’t know whether to take that as a terrible sign or a good sign. Where were the police? It felt as though a great deal of time had passed since she’d called them, but that was probably wrong. Anxiety made every minute into a marathon.
Corbin remained with her over the phone. A lifeline. A comfort.
“I hear sirens,”
she finally said.
He released an exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath.
She refused to let her guard down, so she remained where she was, listening to Corbin, holding the fire poker as the sirens drew nearer.
Her phone beeped to let her know she had an incoming call. “The police are trying to contact me.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”
She clicked over. They informed her that they were pulling up to her residence. She crept out of the bathroom, pulled the lapels of her robe more tightly closed, and opened the door for them. After she’d explained what had happened, they searched the house. Todd was nowhere within.
Another squad car arrived and two of the officers remained with her while the others set out to find Todd on Bradfordwood’s grounds.
She was jittery and a robe wasn’t the clothing she’d have chosen to wear in the company of intruders and policemen. But all in all, it could have been so much worse. Todd had frightened her, but he hadn’t injured her.
She filled the teakettle and set it over a burner. She’d grab a mug of chamomile and take it upstairs to sip on while she changed.
She was watching steam wisp up from the teakettle’s spout, idly listening to the officer in the den as he talked to his colleague at the station, when she heard the front door open and shut. She looked up in time to see Corbin fill the dining room doorway.
He was dressed in tuxedo pants and a tuxedo shirt opened at the throat. He looked pale, shaken, and coldly furious. His dark eyes were seething. But when he crossed to her and took her in his arms, his embrace expressed nothing but tenderness and protection.
“Are you all right?” he asked roughly.
“I’m fine.”
He examined her face to verify the truth of her statement for himself.
“He never came inside,” she said.
He guided her head against his chest, and she soaked in the power and heat flowing from him. She worked to memorize the feel of him, the nuances of his solidity. To be held by Corbin Stewart was sheer bliss. Complete security. Which was ironic, considering that she’d long considered him to be the greatest threat to her security. “After I drink some tea and finish getting ready for our night out, I should be back to normal,” she said. She didn’t believe that fully, but she wanted to sound as daring as he thought her to be.
