by Lisa Regan
She turned back to David before leaving and thanked him for his time. Before he closed the door on them, Jocelyn had a glimpse of his stricken face.
She waited until they were outside to call Simon. “What’s up?”
“That thing you asked me to do? It doesn’t need to be done,” he said.
Jocelyn felt a dropping sensation in her stomach. “What?”
Anita stared at her. Jocelyn beckoned her closer, holding the phone between their two heads so Anita could hear. “That issue that you wanted me to take care of,” Simon said. “Turns out it was completely unnecessary.”
He spoke in code because they were on a cell phone and Simon had done just enough underhanded things to be paranoid about their cell phone conversation somehow being picked up by a third party. But Jocelyn knew what he was getting at, and when he told her the final bit of news, she stormed back into the building with Anita in tow. They took the elevator back to David Porter’s office and didn’t give the secretary a chance to speak before they strode past her desk and threw open David’s door.
His mouth hung open. The receiver of his desk phone sat limply in his hand. “I have to call you back,” he said to the person on the phone and hung up.
Jocelyn closed the door behind them and advanced on his desk.
“You can’t be here,” he said. “You have no right to ask questions. It’s not like you’re a police officer.”
Jocelyn smiled. “No, I’m not a police officer. There are no rules that I have to abide by. I’m just a person who was in an accident with your daughter-in-law.”
“I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”
Behind Jocelyn, Anita said, “You might want to hear what we have to say first. Then you can call nine-one-one.”
Before he could protest further, Jocelyn said, “You’re Christopher’s father, not Evan.”
“Wh–what?”
“You were having an affair with Molly. She met you at an office building in Ardmore in a vacant charity office every Tuesday before and after Christopher’s birth.”
“No. How do you—?”
“The court ordered a DNA test for your son—to prove his paternity—because Molly’s best and oldest friend, Lacey Gaither, was suing for custody. That DNA test is going to show that Evan is not Christopher’s father. It’s going to show that he is Christopher’s half-brother.”
“How do you know that? You can’t... you can’t...”
“I can’t what?” Jocelyn said. “It doesn’t matter how I know. It’s not going to change anything. I can turn around and leave right now. You don’t have to tell me the truth about Molly. That’s not going to change the fact that in the next week or so, those DNA tests are going to land on Evan’s lawyer’s desk. I hope you have a good relationship with your son, although he doesn’t seem like the forgiving type.”
As David’s hands covered his face, Jocelyn turned. She and Anita walked to the door. Anita’s hand was on the doorknob when David said, in a defeated tone, “My son is not forgiving. We don’t have a relationship. Not a meaningful one. He’s going to kill me. I know his tendency toward violence. I know what he did to Molly.”
Jocelyn and Anita walked back toward his desk and quietly sat down, listening as his story poured forth. “It didn’t start out as an affair. I mean, not really. Molly, she liked—well, have you ever heard of ‘stranger sex’?”
Jocelyn raised a brow, but Anita sighed and said, “It’s exactly what it sounds like. Having sex spontaneously with a complete stranger.”
David looked at them over his fingertips. His voice was slightly muffled as he went on. “I had never done it before. Years ago, long before Evan had even met her, I had some... encounters with her. We both used to jog the Wissahickon Creek trail. I never even knew her name. It only happened a handful of times. Then I didn’t see her again. Never expected to see her again. Until my son brought her around and introduced her to my wife and me as his fiancée.”
“Why would Molly do something like that?” Jocelyn asked.
David’s hands flopped onto his desk. His features sagged. “I asked her once. You know about her past, I suppose? Well, thanks to my loving son, the whole world knows now. I found out a couple of years ago, after she told Evan and he nearly killed her.”
“Yes,” Jocelyn said. “We know she was manipulated into prostitution at a very early age.”
“She got out,” David said. “Did quite well for herself. But she said sometimes she felt like she didn’t deserve the life she made for herself. She felt like she needed to break away. To do something bad, something taboo.”
“Something risky,” Anita interjected.
“Yes,” David breathed. “Like me, she never thought we’d ever see each other in real life. We never talked. I didn’t even know her name until Evan brought her to dinner. We kept our distance after that. I hoped the relationship with Evan would fizzle, but Evan always gets what he wants. They were married. I stayed away from her. My intention was to forget the whole thing. It would destroy my wife, not to mention enrage my son.”
“What happened?” Jocelyn asked.
“Like I said, she told Evan about her past, and he beat her so badly he nearly killed her. Then convinced her to lie and say it was a hit and run. She called me after she was nearly recovered. Begged me to meet her. She told me everything. I felt... I felt sorry for her.”
“But you were in love with her,” Anita said.
He nodded. Tears glistened in his eyes. “God help me, I was. For a long time, we simply carried on whenever and wherever we could. Any time she could safely get away from Evan. Then she got pregnant. I didn’t see her for almost a year. After Christopher was born, she wanted to meet. I thought she wanted to resume the affair, and I was prepared to tell her I couldn’t, but what she wanted was to blackmail me.”
“Blackmail you?” Jocelyn echoed.
“She wanted money, or she was going to tell Evan about our affair—even about the encounters on the Wissahickon Creek trail. I told her I’d help her, but only if she met with me from time to time so I would know she was okay. I think she was planning to use that money to leave Evan.”
“How much?” Jocelyn asked.
David sighed. His gaze drifted to the wall of windows and the vast city beyond. “A half million dollars. She had me deposit it into an account in her name—an account she closed a few days after the money was deposited. I don’t know what she did with it or how she hid it from Evan.”
“Did you know Christopher was yours?” Jocelyn said.
He shook his head. “No. I never suspected. We were careful, after the trail. What we did on the trail was extremely risky. So once she was married to Evan, we were more diligent about using protection. At least, I thought we were.”
“Your meeting the Tuesday she died,” Jocelyn said. “Did you have a disagreement? Was she upset?”
“No. She wasn’t upset. She was normal. We met for five minutes and parted ways.”
“Five minutes?” Jocelyn said. “But she was in Ardmore for over an hour.”
David shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. I spent five minutes with her. That was the last I saw of her.”
~~~
David Porter had not exaggerated when he said that his son would kill him when he found out about his affair with Molly. The DNA results were delivered to the parties in the custody dispute between Lacey and Evan a week later. Evan’s lawyer managed to keep the whole thing quiet until Evan showed up at his parents’ home in a rage and beat his father senseless. Evan’s mother tried to intervene and ended up injured herself. The entire thing was covered widely by the local press—adding even more unseemly details to the whole Porter scandal. Evan’s friends were not prosecuted for their attack on Lacey—as Jocelyn predicted, they denied everything and already had alibis lined up. Evan would never pay for ordering them to attack her, but Jocelyn was satisfied that he would spend a great deal of time in prison for what he had done to his parents.
David, as Christopher’s biological father, signed over custody to Lacey Gaither. David knew that Molly’s dying wish had been that Lacey raise her son, a wish that David was fully prepared to honor, as long as he was given visitation. David’s wife cared for Christopher until both Lacey and her husband were well enough to do so. Then she filed for divorce from David.
Lacey’s recovery was slow and difficult, but Jocelyn kept tabs on her and helped her whenever she could. The guilt of driving Molly Porter over the edge still nagged at her. Disappointment in herself for stooping so low as to try to have the DNA results tampered with continued to gnaw at her gut. Still, she had felt an obligation to the woman she’d driven off the bridge to see that her son was protected. She still didn’t know if she’d made the right choices. Perhaps she should simply have walked away from the Molly Porter thing—like any other person would.
Doing the right thing wasn’t always clear or simple. Not for the first time, she accepted that she was the kind of person who couldn’t leave the puzzle pieces scattered.
“Where are you?” Caleb’s voice interrupted Jocelyn’s thoughts.
She looked around the interior of her new car, which was parked outside of a house she, Caleb, and Olivia were about to tour together. It was one of the few both she and Caleb could agree on. Now it only needed to pass the Olivia test. “I’m in this car,” she said.
From the back seat, Olivia called, “That was a silly question.”
He laughed. To Jocelyn, he said, “I mean in your mind. Where are you?”
Jocelyn shook off thoughts of Molly Porter for the umpteenth time in the many months since she heard David Porter’s revelations. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m here. I’m with you two. Let’s go look at the house.”
But as they walked through the rooms with Olivia exclaiming and jumping around excitedly, her mind kept going back to Molly. Because she had finally figured out where Molly went every week after meeting with her father-in-law for five minutes. It had taken quite a few drives past the office building where she used to meet with David for Jocelyn to realize she was looking in the wrong direction.
~~~
Molly
Present Day
I pinch the sand between my toes. The salty spray of the ocean mists over my face and bare arms. It is nearly sunset before I see Christopher, running across the sand on his tiny legs, a red plastic shovel in his hand. A floppy white hat covers his head, and I can see white streaks of sunscreen on his arms and legs. His torso is covered with a rash guard covered in cartoon dolphins. He shrieks with joy as he runs through the surf, Lacey limping along behind him. Her head is thrown back, her mouth open in laughter. She’s done a good job with him. He looks healthy and happy, and he’s grown so big. It makes my heart ache for all that I’ve missed. But it had to be done.
I still can’t believe that I pulled it all off. Getting the money from David had been the easy part. Even hiding it hadn’t been as difficult as I anticipated. The swim lessons—that was the challenge. I couldn’t go to my local Y or a local gym. People in my neighborhood looked out for one another. If I was a regular at one of those places, people would remember me and approach me elsewhere. I couldn’t risk anyone talking to me in public when I was with Evan.
I’d had to pay an exorbitant price to the woman who ran the Guppies Swim School in Ardmore to give me private lessons every Tuesday before she opened the business for children. Disappearing into the Schuylkill had always been my plan, but I had wanted it to be some kind of boating accident or something less dramatic. When I hit that car on the bridge coming home that Tuesday afternoon, I knew I couldn’t face Evan. Getting caught out of the house would expose all my secrets—or enough of them that he would kill me and maybe even Christopher. To this day, I still think of it as a brilliant stroke of luck that I got into an accident on a bridge. I didn’t even think about whether I’d survive the fall. It was the greatest leap of faith I ever took. But it was worth it.
Now we are free. All three of us.
As they get closer to me, I smile. I kneel down so I am at Christopher’s height. He pulls up short when he comes within a few feet of me. His smile wavers only slightly. He waves his little shovel. “Hello,” he says.
A tear slides down my cheek. It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak. I make a note to ask Lacey what his first word actually was. There are so many things I don’t know about my son now that I will need to learn from her. “Hi,” I choke out.
He looks back at Lacey, who is walking slower now, her eyes alight as they land on me. In her hand is a small plastic bucket half-filled with sand. As she comes up behind Christopher, she places a gentle hand on the top of his head. “Did you meet a new friend?” she asks him.
For a moment, he looks up at her, confused. Then he looks back at me. “What’s your name?”
“My name is Nina,” I tell him.
~The End~
About the Author
Lisa Regan is the USA Today & Wall Street Journal bestselling author of the Detective Josie Quinn series as well as several other crime fiction titles. She has a Bachelor's degree in English and a Master of Education degree from Bloomsburg University. She is a member of Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, and Mystery Writers of America. She lives in Philadelphia with her husband, daughter, and Boston Terrier named Mr. Phillip.
Find out more at her website: www.lisaregan.com.
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P.I. Jocelyn Rush Mysteries
Want to find out more about P.I. Jocelyn Rush? Please read Hold Still and Cold-Blooded.
And then if you like Jocelyn Rush, you'll love Detective Josie Quinn. Check out the USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling Detective Josie Quinn series that has sold over a half million copies.
Detective Josie Quinn Series
Vanishing Girls (I) The Girl With No Name (II) Her Mother’s Grave (III)
Her Final Confession (IV) The Bones She Buried (V)
Behind Blue Eyes
A Shelby Nichols Adventure
Colleen Helme
Chapter 1
I took a deep breath and opened the car door. Wearing impossibly tall heels and a tight pencil skirt made getting out of the car a struggle. Pushing to my feet, I straightened my skirt, made sure my blue, button-up blouse was tucked in properly, and shut the door.
Exhaling to steady my nerves, I slung my purse over my shoulder and stepped purposefully toward the entrance to the tall building. Inside, I held my head high, doing my best to exude total confidence, and pushed the call button for the elevator. No one but me needed to know that I’d barely started my own consulting business, and Alex Drake, the CEO of a huge corporation, was my biggest client to date.
So far, my experience was limited to helping a police detective solve a few cases. It wasn’t much, but it got me on the payroll as a paid consultant. I wasn’t sure how Alex Drake had found out about me, but it could have been at the Museum Gala, where I’d been given an award for helping the police find a couple of stolen paintings worth millions. Lots of rich people had attended, so because he’s one of the richest people in town, he was probably there.
But there was another way he could have found out about me: through the local mob boss, Joey “The Knife” Manetto. If that was the case, I might have to change my mind about taking the job. Working for Manetto, or Uncle Joey, as I call him, was only something I did because he coerced me into it.
Uncle Joey had learned about me because of his niece, Kate, who wanted him to kill me. I’d had to tell him that I could read minds to stay alive. Now I’m his ace-in-the-hole, and I’ve had to work for him to keep myself and my loved ones from harm. He’s not my real uncle. I just call him that because Kate did, and he didn’t like it much. Now I do it to bug him.
I’ve had to attend a few meetings with Uncle Joey and his minions so I could tell him what they’re really thinking. I’ve learned a lot about diplo
macy, because it’s hard to tell a mob boss straight up that people hate his guts. I’ve also found out a few secrets that I’m afraid just force me deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole.
Then there are my mind-reading skills. So far, only Uncle Joey, his hit-man, Ramos, and my husband, Chris, know the truth about me. And Kate, but she’s out of the picture for now. Everyone else thinks I just have premonitions, including my kids, which suits me just fine.
Still, it’s hard to believe that getting shot in the head by a robber while grocery shopping for carrots could turn out like this. Who would have thought a person could read minds anyway?
It’s been a few months since that fateful day, but I’m still learning how to manage my ability. I find it difficult not to answer random thoughts I pick up from people, especially when they’re about me. I’m getting better at it, but there are times I wish I could defend myself to someone who’s thinking I’m a ditzy blonde.
Yes, I’m blonde, but I’m far from ditzy. Jeez.
The elevator ride to the ninth floor went by much faster than I liked. The doors split open, and my stomach clenched with nerves. Pushing my trepidation away, I stepped through the office doors and into cool elegance.
The white and dove-gray painted walls, combined with white tiled flooring made me think I’d just entered the pearly gates to meet with Saint Peter. I wasn’t sure yet if I was going to heaven or hell.
Cobalt blue vases, holding a variety of green plants and flowers, accented the corners, while bright, abstract paintings covered the walls.
The receptionist’s desk was also white, with the usual office supplies and computer in white. I half expected her to be attired in a white suit, but instead she wore a classic, peach-colored, sheath dress that warmed the place by at least ten degrees.
