by Docter, K. L
“I knew this was going to come back to Karly.” Jack pinned him under a hard look. “You have to let her go. You can’t know what was in her head. And bro, just for the record, Rachel isn’t Karly.”
“Don’t you think I don’t know that?” The women were polar opposites. Rachel was soft and inviting and giving. She’d sacrifice herself to protect her child. She was strong and independent, and he’d fallen in love with her despite his resolution to stay away. Karly had been weak. Fragile, both emotionally and physically. Karly….
“Well, I don’t have time to sit up here and watch you drink yourself into another stupor.”
He picked up the whistling tea kettle and waved it at his brother. “Does it look like I’m drinking?”
“Not yet.” Jack tilted his head, his no-bullshit expression firmly in place. “Karly’s gone. It’s time you put her to rest.”
Patrick banged the teakettle down on the butcher block and took a moment to control his irritation. Finally, after a count of ten, he nodded. “I know. The truth is, before you drove up, I was on my way upstairs to find Karly’s things. She kept some diaries. I was hoping that if I knew what she was thinking, I’d understand why she did what she did.”
Jack studied him for a full minute. “Want some help?”
“Yeah. I think I do,” he said, the weight on his shoulders lifting. Of all his brothers, Jack was the closest in temperament and understanding. It was one of the reasons he’d tracked him to the cabin last year. Jack had somehow known Patrick needed someone to pull him back to the land of the living.
“Lead the way, runt.” Jack’s descent into the familiar childhood taunt grounded Patrick.
His brother at his back, he took the staircase to the second floor that his great-grandfather had built on to the cabin. A hallway bisected the cabin, with two bedrooms on either side. Bypassing the four small rooms, they went to the end of the hall. He didn’t hesitate until he stood outside the door that led to the storage space under the eaves.
“Are you ready?” Jack stood at his back. Jack always had his back.
Was he ready? Did he truly want to know what Karly was thinking in the days and weeks before her death? They’d been married less than six months and, God knows, they hadn’t been all lightness and love. She’d fought depression for years and it didn’t magically disappear on their wedding day. He’d often felt helpless when she withdrew into herself. She’d cry for hours and there was nothing he could do for her. She’d sent him off to work, saying he had a business to run. He’d accepted the easy way out. He should have been more understanding, spent more time with her when she was having a bad day. He hadn’t been there when she needed him most.
He’d never be ready. “Let’s do it.” His jaw firmed, he opened the door and climbed the stairs into the low storage room under the eaves. Ducking his head, he made his way across the cluttered space to the four medium-sized boxes stacked in one corner. He handed two to Jack, and followed him with the other two down to the kitchen table.
Looking down at what little remained of his wife’s life, he felt the regret swell inside him. He cleared his throat.
Jack looked at him. “You sure you want to do this?”
“It’s just,” he paused, “it’s disconcerting to see how little Karly added to her personal belongings in our time together. It’s almost like she knew she was moving on and had to keep her bags lightly packed. She told me once she didn’t dare stay in one place too long because she was afraid her past would catch up with her.”
“You can’t take responsibility for the life she had before you.”
“I know.” Guilt still banged around inside him, but it forced him to push a couple of boxes across the table to Jack. “Take a look inside those,” he said. “We’re looking for her diaries.”
Patrick opened the box in front of him. It was filled with clothes, some pictures from their courthouse wedding, a pair of shoes, and a book with the first wildflowers she’d pressed between the pages. Jack found more of the same in the box he opened. No journals with Karly’s distinctive scrawl.
“Here’s something,” Jack said. He reached into his second box and pulled out several journals. He handed a couple to Patrick.
They took turns reading whenever they found something of interest. But generally, the books were filled with sketches of places and people Patrick didn’t know. One of the entries mentioned her psychiatrist’s suggestion she put her thoughts and feelings into pictures and tuck them away where they couldn’t hurt her.
Jack read an entry that revealed she’d had suicidal thoughts before Patrick met her. He was suddenly grateful for his brother’s presence. He might not have continued this probe into Karly’s secrets alone.
For several minutes, the only sound in the room was of pages being turned. “Whoa,” Jack said. He held up several sketches he’d found folded between the pages. “Some of these are pretty dark and menacing.” He frowned. “It’s hard to believe this is the same woman you married.”
Patrick nodded. “I knew she fought depression, but I had no clue she carried this much pain and despair. It must have been frightening.” Karly also had the sweetest smile and a gentle nature that called out to him. It made him want to curl himself around her to shield her from the harsh realities of the world. That was, if he was honest with himself, the reason he’d married her. He’d wanted to rescue her from the darkness.
How could he have failed so abysmally?
At the bottom of the final box, Patrick uncovered two more diaries. A quick skim told him the first one held entries from the months before their mother invited Karly home with her. He set it on the table with the others, unread, and picked up the last journal. It began the day of their marriage.
I got married today. His name is Patrick and he’s wonderful and beautiful, inside and out. He’s gentle and kind. He never screams at me, like mama did. He doesn’t frighten me like…no, that time is behind me now. That’s why I’m starting this new book. A new name. New life. A new book to keep my good memories.
Her words struck him so hard he had to escape them. Abandoning the diary on the table, he stood and walked away to look out the window. Pages rustled behind Patrick telling him that Jack had pulled the journal to him, but he did nothing to stop his brother from reading about his life with Karly.
Watching the night settle over the meadow, he knew he hadn’t been successful at keeping the darkness from creeping back into Karly’s life. He knew her father abused her until she was nine, when he disappeared from her life. She’d told him the day he didn’t come home from his factory job was the best day in her life. Only when her drunkard mother fell down their apartment stairs a year later, and Karly was removed to foster care, did she begin to heal. It couldn’t have been easy being separated from her brother—Skip was of legal age then—but she said he wasn’t able to provide her the care social services could give her. Then, to lose her college boyfriend?
“Who’s Robby?”
Startled, Patrick turned back to Jack. “She mentions a Robby?”
“Yeah,” he waved the diary. “About a month before she died.”
“I got a letter from Robby today.”
“I don’t know anyone by that name. Maybe an old friend from college?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t know how he found me here. It’s been three years since I saw him in Memphis. He doesn’t know I’m married now. I’m afraid to tell him about the baby.”
Patrick had been careful not to let his family know about the pregnancy, but his brother didn’t seem surprised when he caught his eye. “You told me last year when you were drunk.” He shrugged. “No one else knows. I figured you’d tell mom and dad when you were ready.”
He swallowed his guilt. He should have told his family. “I didn’t know she was pregnant until a few days before she died.” They’d discussed waiting until he got Thorne Enterprises firmly in the black, but he’d been happy when she told him she was almost three months a
long. Why would she wait?
“What the hell? Listen to this.”
“I’m scared. I was so careful! I don’t know what he’ll do when he finds out. I’m afraid he’ll kill Patrick.”
“What am I going to do?”
Jack scowled. “This sounds more like paranoia than depression, Patrick. Did you notice any signs her mental state was deteriorating?”
“No. I can’t say she was depressed either. It’s one of the reasons why I was blindsided by what she did.”
“Then who is Robby and why would she think he’d want to kill you?
An icy shudder rippled under Patrick’s skin as Jack flipped through the next couple weeks, looking for more references to the mysterious Robby. “Here. Her final entry, the day she died.”
Robby called yesterday while Patrick was at work. He wants to meet outside the World Trade Center on Broadway this afternoon.
Karly was hit by the bus near that corner!
I don’t know if I can get there and back before Patrick comes home, but I have no choice. I can’t let Robby come to the house. I have to protect Patrick. Robby can never know.
Karly’s love for him was heart wrenching. The only thing he’d done that day was argue with her. Suspecting something was wrong that morning at breakfast, he came home early and caught her going out. When he demanded she tell him what was wrong, she burst into tears and said she was worried about the baby, that she was afraid mental illness was hereditary and she couldn’t pass that on to their child.
Patrick was so shocked by the implications of what she said he didn’t immediately follow her when she dashed out of the house. An hour later, she and the baby were dead. If he’d stopped her, convinced her that everything would be all right, maybe she wouldn’t have killed herself. But he didn’t stop her, and he’d live with that pain and guilt forever.
“Son-of-a-bitch!”
“What?” He grabbed the diary from his brother’s hand and skimmed the entry until he got to the part that had stunned Jack.
I should have run away again, but I just can’t do it. Patrick’s good to me. I love him. I want our baby to grow up with his father, his grandparents and uncles. I want him to be loved the way they’ve all loved me.
Somehow, I have to convince Robby to let me go. Finally, and forever. I can’t be his Angel anymore.
He glanced at Jack over the top of the diary when a photograph dropped out of the diary to land face up on the table. It was a picture of Karly and Skip. Karly didn’t look older than fourteen or fifteen, though she was already curvaceous. Her wavy, chocolate-colored hair was held off her forehead with a headband and fell over her shoulders and breasts. She wore a simple white blouse and a blue skirt that could have doubled as a school uniform.
Just like the skirts and blouses that were nailed to the Southgate wall by his saboteur.
Uneasiness stole through Patrick’s bloodstream. Karly’s hair was dyed a reddish color when he knew her, but she’d been a natural brunette. The same color as the women who were kidnapped and killed in recent months. They all had similar, girlish looks and curvy body types.
“Christ, Patrick,” Jack said, staring at the photograph. “I didn’t know Karly was a brunette. Tell me she didn’t have a tattoo.”
“She had a burn scar where she said she’d fallen against a wood stove.”
Jack flipped over the photo to find Karly’s distinctive scrawl. Robby and his ‘Angel’. He leapt to his feet, cursing a blue streak. “Shit! Shit! Shit! Robby is Skip,” he said. “Skip’s our Angel Killer!”
Patrick remembered the bouquet of flowers tossed in the Kinnikinnick at Karly’s gravesite. Not eaten by foraging animals. Ripped to shreds by a raging brother with an unnatural obsession with his little sister. Karly didn’t commit suicide. She’d loved Patrick, wanted their baby. She’d met her brother to ask him to let her go, and Skip had killed her. Jesus.
Scooping all of the diaries into a box, Jack made for the door. “We’ve got to get back to Denver. Now,” he said harshly. “It’s going to take at least an hour to get anywhere near a cell tower and another hour to get to Denver.”
He continued to shout orders as they raced for their vehicles in the dark. “Follow me down in your truck. When we get back to the city, go directly to the hospital. I left mom and dad with Rachel and Amanda and a security detail. Tell them what’s going on while I get the task force rolling. We have to find Skip before he kills again.”
Stopping next to Patrick’s truck, Jack gave him a hard stare. “Stay with them. No heroics. If Karly’s right, Skip wants to kill you…and Rachel.”
Just the thought made his pulse pound. “I’ll be damned if I let him hurt any more of our family,” he promised. “I’ll protect them.”
“And, Patrick, be careful driving back to the city. I’m going to be royally pissed if you run your truck off a cliff trying to get to them. They’re safe enough under police protection until you get there.” Jack turned and ran to his Jeep. “I’ll call you the moment we’ve got him,” he called over his shoulder. “Stay in touch!”
They both jumped into their vehicles and began the most nerve-wracking trip down the mountain Patrick had ever experienced.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Watching Amanda sleep, Rachel sniffed back a tear of thanksgiving. She was happy when the doctors told her they were cautiously optimistic her little girl had received no further damage to her spleen. They still wanted her to remain in the hospital for a couple of days, but Rachel could live with that.
She was thrilled Amanda continued to talk after the trauma of her father’s….
No, Greg’s attack and arrest. Amanda had a long way to go to be called a chatterbox, but she’d uttered a few single words in answer to Rachel’s questions, called her “mama”. Rachel had hope the therapist Sam found for her would make progress, helping Amanda become the happy little girl she’d lost.
It would take time. Rachel now knew what had put the shadows in her baby’s eyes. At least some of them. Greg’s last threat had revealed the sickening truth. He’d killed Amanda’s puppy, not a rogue coyote as he’d claimed, and the four-year-old had witnessed it.
She hadn’t stopped talking until the night he’d beaten Rachel though. Rachel didn’t know for sure—it was something the therapist could help uncover—but she had a feeling he’d used that brutality to traumatize Amanda into silence about the doll, “pwomising” not to hurt Rachel if she didn’t let it out of her sight or tell anyone about it. He knew he was going to jail and would do whatever was necessary to protect the information inside the doll. Amanda’s odd attachment to the thing finally made sense.
Of course it was all conjecture. Knowing Greg, Rachel wouldn’t be surprised he’d done that and more. Thank God, he was now cooling his heels in jail. For the first time in years she didn’t have to worry that he’d hurt her or Amanda. This time he wasn’t getting out of jail on a technicality.
The FBI caught everything he said on the wire she’d worn under her blouse. His taunt about blowing up the clinic, his attempt to murder Simon. His admission that he’d killed the family pet. He’d kidnapped and endangered Amanda, and at least ten agents witnessed his attack on Rachel. Her ex-husband was going to prison for a long time. To top it all off, the FBI had located the money he’d conned. They’d already frozen his accounts in Dubais and begun the process of getting the funds transferred back to the States. Everyone was happy.
Well, almost everyone. Another tear ran down her face as she rubbed her hand in circles over her flat stomach. Her thoughts weren’t on the scars there, but the life she carried deep inside her. Patrick’s baby might never know his real father, and that broke her heart.
What was she going to do if Jack didn’t find him or, worse, he didn’t want to come back? There were no guarantees Patrick’s mother and brother were right. They both seemed certain he cared for her. She wished she were as confident.
“Are you okay, Rachel?” Evelyn spoke up from the other chair ne
stled next to Amanda’s bed. Ross was fast asleep on the chair that pulled out into a bed, the pills he’d taken for his damaged knee dragging him under more than an hour ago.
“I’m fine.”
Evelyn didn’t look like she believed her. “Everything will work out when Patrick comes home and you two talk.”
“I hope so,” she said with a wan smile.
She still didn’t know what she’d say to the man. She’d known it would be difficult to tell him about the baby. She didn’t want to force Patrick into marriage for the sake of the child. She was certain, if he felt responsible, he’d be marrying her so fast her head would spin.
At least, she’d been certain until he’d left her behind at the zoo…like he didn’t care. She wanted him, but she didn’t want him if he didn’t love her. What a mess!
A commotion in the corridor beyond the closed door dragged her away from her worry. Using her crutch to push out of the chair, she crossed the room and opened the door a crack to see the policeman stationed outside stiffen belligerently in front of Patrick’s brother-in-law.
“Skip!” she said, slipping from the room. “It’s okay,” she said to the policeman. “Skip’s family.”
The man relaxed a bit, but not much. “He’s not on the approved list of visitors, Ms. James.”
Skip shrugged affably. “No problem, Rachel. Patrick wasn’t expecting me to stop in so it wasn’t necessary to put me on the list. Can I talk to you for a minute though?”
“What about?” She glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. “Amanda might wake up and I don’t want her to find me gone.”
He shrugged and glanced pointedly at the policeman listening to their conversation. “Um, it’s family business. Could we talk in private? Just for a few minutes. The waiting room down the hall is empty.” He smiled crookedly. “I’ll make it quick. I promise.”
If it had been anyone else, she might have put him off. But this was Skip, the man who’d saved Patrick. Surely, she could spare a few minutes to talk to him. She opened her daughter’s door and called to Evelyn. “Skip’s here. Can you hold down the fort for a few minutes?”
