Tall, Dark and Damaged (Damaged Heroes #1)

by Sarah Andre

  “I did you a favor, Father.”

  He spun toward his sister’s voice across the hall. Over his father’s shoulder, he had a clear view of Frannie, squeezed into the far corner of the room, knees up. She held the trembling Glock to her temple. In two strides, he was behind his father, and a second later, the cop was jostling him out of the way. Devon held firm and glared out a challenge.

  “We can deal with the situation from here, sir,” the detective said in his soft accent. “Y’all step back, please.”

  “Everyone stay where you are,” Harrison commanded. A few seconds of tense silence followed, but the cop stopped jostling. “Frannie. Put down the gun.”

  Frannie didn’t obey, but she also didn’t react when Harrison stepped farther into the room, waving the cops off without turning.

  “I did you a favor. Honey didn’t love you.” She trembled visibly in her soaking clothes, but her voice was steady, almost conversational. “I had to kill her, don’t you see? She was about to take everything.”

  “What do you mean you had to kill her?” Devon asked harshly. “Outside you said it was an accident.”

  “She wasn’t referring to Honey,” Harrison said, without taking his eyes off his daughter.

  “What she did to Hannah was definitely no accident. You were there!”

  “She’s not talking about Hannah either, are you, baby girl?”

  Devon’s world tilted. His sister wept silently, rocking and hugging herself, the gun now loose and angled toward the floor. Devon was too thunderstruck to reach beyond his father and slip it from her grasp. He couldn’t think straight.

  “We were eating breakfast and arguing,” she said, her voice high like a little girl’s. “Devon wanted to water-ski, but I wanted to play tag. Mom said we’d water-ski first because the lake was like glass, and to hurry up and finish my breakfast.” She sniffled and shivered, the brightness in her eyes feverish. “She always chose what Devon wanted. He laughed and ran upstairs to put on his swimsuit, and Mom went outside. Why wouldn’t she wait until I finished my toast? I saw her walk to the cliff. Devon wasn’t down yet, so we could play tag. Just Mom and me.”

  Tears streamed down his father’s face. The lump in Devon’s throat pulsed like a heartbeat.

  “I ran to her,” she whispered. “She didn’t hear me coming—just stood there, looking out at the lake. I tagged her and yelled, ‘You’re it!’ But she didn’t turn around. Didn’t say anything. She just…fell.” Frannie blinked and glanced around like she’d just awoken to find herself in this room. She wiped her eyes as she gazed up at Harrison. “It was an accident. I just wanted to play tag… No one would play with me.”

  Harrison nodded and held out his arms. The gun clattered to the floor, and she launched herself at him, sobbing pitifully. Immediately the cop swept up the gun, and the detective positioned himself to take her into custody, although he made no move to touch her under Harrison’s glare.

  Weak as a newborn, Devon sank onto the dusty bed and stared up at the old man patting his sister’s back.

  The detective got up enough courage to clear his throat. “Sir, we need to take her now.”

  “I want her in dry clothes and with dry hair. You’re not to question her until my lawyer and I arrive.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Frannie was gently led away, her soaked sweatpants dripping in the dust. Once the outer door screeched closed and silence descended, Harrison faced him, eyes hollowed and haunted.

  There was only one reason he would look like that. “You knew.” Devon’s voice scraped like sandpaper. “You’ve known this whole time.”

  His father nodded, lips pressed tight. “The forensics team informed me of a trace stain on the back of your mother’s shirt. It was clearly a child’s first two fingers and part of a palm.”

  Devon frowned. All the brutal years of living with his father’s hatred. How he couldn’t meet the old man’s standards or find a way to earn his love. “Wait,” he sputtered, “you thought that I…?”

  “No, Devon.” His father spoke in that gentle voice he’d used with Frannie. As if Devon were deranged. “The stains were strawberry jam.”

  “But…” He couldn’t wrap his mind around this. “She could’ve touched Mom anytime that morning and transferred the jam.”

  Harrison nodded patiently, sitting on the other twin mattress. The mannerisms he’d shown in the office, stooped posture and fatigued expression, were back. Why did he only show this weak side around Devon? “I argued that exact point to shut the investigation down. But Joseph witnessed the accident. He ran into the house and called nine-one-one, so he never saw you heading across the lawn. You were the first to find her.” His father waited a beat. “I’ve always been sorry about that.”

  Devon shook his head, still confused. “All these years…you and Joseph—”

  “Have done everything in our power to protect my daughter.” Although Harrison’s familiar harsh tone returned, the loose skin around his jowls quivered. “I battled, bribed, or burned anyone in my way to shut that investigation down and keep it shut. I’d lost my wife. I would not lose my daughter.”

  “But if you knew, all this time…” His voice cracked. His spine spasmed, and he leaned his arms on his knees. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you?” Harrison scoffed. “Have you suddenly forgotten the hate you’ve harbored since that awful day? What a bitter man you’ve become, believing I killed her? Do you think for one minute I’d want your wrath turned upon little Frannie?”

  “But to keep insisting it was suicide—”

  Harrison shook his head impatiently. His color was returning, and his stature grew more commanding the more he spoke.

  Devon envied him his certainty as he struggled to comprehend the magnitude of his sister’s mistake. Or his father’s decisions.

  “It was better for everyone if her death was labeled a suicide. Life could eventually go back to normal.”

  Devon inhaled a shaky breath, and a half laugh escaped. “Life was never normal after that.”

  “It was as normal as I could make it.”

  Devon gazed at his clutched hands. His lifelong perceptions of so many events had detonated in minutes. His father wasn’t a murderer; he was a protector. He hadn’t locked himself in his office for weeks afterward out of callousness; he’d been scrambling to stymie the investigation. His cloying overprotectiveness toward Frannie was completely understandable, given her childhood secret and her early history of depression. And Harrison’s hatred toward an enraged son was to cloak fear—fear of Devon finding out the truth. It was too much. His brain was numb. “Frannie should’ve seen a psychiatrist,” he said through stiff lips. “Look what holding it all in did to her.”

  “I couldn’t take that chance. There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”

  Devon looked up. “Murder? It was an accident.” He spoke succinctly. “She was seven.”

  “Murder, accident—it makes no difference!” Harrison scowled and swept out a hand. “She’s a Wickham. Imagine what the investigation and the press would have done to her at seven. I was not going to have my baby stigmatized. Think of how this one second in her life would’ve defined her, followed her like a frenzied whisper everywhere she went for the rest of her life.”

  But that one second had defined her. “Did you and Joseph tell her you knew?”

  “No.”

  And there it was. The ultimate mistake in a father’s need to protect his child. Devon shook his head in wonder. “So you let a seven-year-old grow up with a secret she could never share or talk about, and you let her believe she was the only one carrying that burden. You let her rot away inside her head—”

  “I did what I thought was best!”

  Devon stood abruptly. His back quivered in protest, and he felt slightly nauseated, but the urge to get as far from his father as possible propelled him toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  He paused. “I chos
e my family’s welfare over Hannah’s half an hour ago. It’s a mistake I don’t plan to make again.”

  “The restoration girl? She’ll be fine. You stick by me. I need a united family front to deal with this.”

  “You’ve never had a united family. That died with Mother as well.”

  “But we still have to discuss Ashby Enterprises and plan for the SEC tomorrow.”

  Weariness crept into Devon’s limbs, and he almost sagged against the wall. “You know, Father, at this particular moment, I couldn’t give a fuck about my company.”

  Chapter 32

  Halfway to Evanston Hospital and impatient to be there, Devon grudgingly pulled over on the stormy, empty street, flicked on his hazards, and grabbed the ringing cell phone. Eric. His throat thickened with the effort to speak. “They’re onto you.”

  “Who?”

  “Turns out my father’s reason is as old as time—trying to make up for the guilt of being a shitty parent. He tendered the offer to cover up your fraud.” The silence was as complete as if the call had dropped. He almost didn’t care. Hannah was waiting.

  “I never meant for it to go this far,” Eric finally said. “The more I tried to make things right, the more it snowballed. I could’ve fixed everything, but Tucker began liquidating massive amounts for your wedding deposits. I even had to sell my shares to cover it.”

  “Did you not connect the dots that if you told him I was disinherited he’d take his bat and go home?”

  “No, Devon. He’s a greedy motherfucker. He’d make sure you weren’t his son-in-law, but he’d stay in an insanely profitable company.”

  “Profitable?”

  Silence.

  Devon stared at the wipers swishing rapidly, never clearing the windshield for long. Eric stumbled through more reasoning. The legitimate attempt at the currency market. The Chinese yuan promptly tanking. His margin called.

  A traffic light in the distance changed from red to green to yellow to red. Repeat. Life just went on.

  When the rain slowed, Devon tapped the speakerphone icon, stuck the phone in the cup holder, and shifted into gear. His spirits lifted in anticipation. He’d be at the hospital in minutes.

  “I never meant for it to go this far,” Eric finished. “You believe that, right?”

  Days ago he’d have said no, burned bridges, and never looked back. Nicole had taught him how to elevate it to a fine art. Or maybe it was his genetic makeup. He’d done it when he was eighteen. Frannie, Hannah, and Rick had all compared him to Harrison, but he wasn’t, not deep inside. Harrison wasted time with his glorified mind games. Devon would be straightforward and honest, no matter how hard that was. “Yeah, I believe you. I’d love nothing better than to smash your face right now, but I believe you.”

  “Will you be back tomorrow? Help me face the SEC complaint?”

  “No.”

  “Come on, Renegade.”

  “Don’t call me that.” The side of him that worshiped money, status, and power above all else had died. He had to figure out the emotional wreckage inside before he made any promises to either Eric or his father about business going forward. He had to sift through everything with his sister, and the revelation of how fucked up she really was. And even if Hannah was able to do backflips off her ER bed when he got there, he wouldn’t be leaving her anytime soon. Business wasn’t everything. Besides, he was starting over again, probably penniless. Why not in Chicago this time?

  “Don’t worry,” Eric said hastily, “I’ll totally fall on my sword. I just need your support, man. Look at all the things I did for you when you came to me in trouble.”

  The lights of the hospital appeared ahead. “I gotta go. We can talk about it more in the morning.”

  The conversation had been surprisingly reasonable. His company was done, his inheritance was gone, Rogers Park would probably be auctioned to repay the fraud, and both he and Eric faced arrest and an extensive investigation. Tomorrow, he’d problem-solve what he could salvage, what he could partner with his father on, and how to live up to the bargain he’d made with O’Callaghan two days ago.

  But Hannah’s health and well-being took precedence, then untangling the depth of his sister’s mental health issues and Joseph’s unholy motivation for attempted murder. It was past time to put family first.

  “Miss Moore, your brother is here to see you.”

  Hannah spied a broad shoulder and a bit of dark, damp hair towering behind the nurse technician. Before she could refuse him, the woman parted the privacy curtain, and Devon slipped by, walking gingerly. The navy sweatshirt he’d borrowed glared neon words: I’m Not Speeding, I’m Qualifying. His face looked pinched and pale, and although he was smiling, exhaustion seeped from him.

  When the curtain swished closed, she croaked, “Please. Don’t come any closer.” Each word pulled on her puffed-up lips and bruised facial muscles. He froze, his brow creasing. She had to do this before she lost her nerve. “I’ve loved you for so long, Devon. I probably always will. But I deserve someone who puts me first.” The words she’d practiced since the ambulance ride came out stilted, slurred. But she’d said them. Confronted conflict. She’d have passed the bravery off on the morphine drip, but her emotions were intact. Her heart ached at the devastation on his face.

  He spread his palms. “You do come first. I’m sorry it took twelve years to figure that out.” Those long-lashed, deep-blue eyes were filled with such tenderness that tears filled hers.

  God, how she wanted that to be true.

  He stepped closer, a cautious look on his face. When she said nothing, he closed the distance and groped for her bandaged hand, holding it lightly. “You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Until you leave for New York,” she whispered, and tried to shrug, but her torso muscles revolted. She flinched.

  He smoothed the rat’s nest of hair off her forehead. “I won’t lie to you, I have to go back for a while, but not by choice. I’ll have legal issues that’ll take time. But the second I’m free, I plan to super-glue myself to your side. We belong together.”

  “I’ve wanted that for so many years.” It came out a croak of a whisper. “I almost don’t believe this. Maybe I’m daydreaming again.”

  “You’re wide awake and in immense pain, sweetheart.” He grinned and braced his palms on either side of the mattress, lowering himself on sturdy biceps instead of engaging his spine, and gave her a feather-soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Let it be known throughout the universe,” he said lightly, “that I will always come back to you.”

  Her throat convulsed. “What happened with Frannie?” she whispered.

  A look flashed across his face, too fast for her drugged mind to catch. Anguish? Betrayal?

  “Do you remember anything about why…my sister…?”

  Hannah stopped nodding when the room spun.

  He pulled over a nearby chair and sat, grimacing. At her expression, he waved a hand. “I’ll let them take my temperature later. Tell me what happened after I left the library.” He leaned forward, touching her arm, smoothing her hair, cupping her face. The worry on his face warmed her more than the blankets.

  She tried to take a deep breath, but even her lungs seemed sore. “I was trying to feel my way…” She stopped and cleared her throat. “To the bathroom in the dark, and Frannie turned the corner.” The encounter was still starkly vivid. How had she missed the clear signs of mental breakdown after living with her mother’s highs and lows? Maybe if she’d figured it out sooner, she could have done something to prevent what happened.

  He pulled the top blanket closer to her chin. “If this is too much—”

  “It’s okay.” Stilted by her sluggish facial muscles, she recounted Frannie’s fury over Hannah reconnecting with Devon, the shattered teacups, the pendulum mood shifts and distorted reasoning. “When Joseph walked in, I could have cried with relief,” she said hoarsely. “I had a rolling pin, but his presence fooled me into letting go.” Oh, Frannie. What have you done? “I
heard you calling, and was so sure Joseph would deal with your sister that I began walking past them to the swinging doors. That’s all I remember.”

  “She hit you with a flashlight.” Devon’s brows furrowed. He described Frannie’s demeanor in the foyer, the blood smear on the light, and the split-second image of Hannah being dragged toward the cliff. “Here I was, immersed in my company’s problems while you were out there fighting for your life. It’s a moment I’ll never forget.” He closed his eyes, but not before she caught the guilt burning in them. “Why Joseph?” he murmured, shaking his head. “Why resort to murder?”

  She’d had time to wonder that too. “He’s always been there for you kids, even for your nephew with the fire. Once he realized Frannie killed Honey, and that I knew, he probably panicked when she knocked me out. How could he fix everything, and cover up her secret before I regained consciousness?”

  Devon frowned. “It’s not the only time he’s done that.” His voice breaking, he recounted Frannie’s confession, the horrible secret she’d held in since she was seven. Hannah gasped, and the heart monitor beeped out a faster tempo. He glanced up at it, brow creasing, and fell silent.

  “No. Tell me the rest. Talk to me.” She reached for his hand, burying the need to howl in pain. He hesitated, and she gently squeezed her fingers. “I’m bruised on the outside, Dev, but I can handle this.”

  He told her about Harrison’s control over the investigation, and the old man’s warped belief that his actions all these years had been in Frannie’s best interest.

  “So you were right,” she whispered. “Your mother never took her own life. And no one listened to you.” He nodded again, the desolation on his face so acute she quickly added, “Quick. Use a feeling word now.”

  He looked at her like she was speaking gibberish. “That doesn’t solve anything.”

  “It’s not about solving. It’s about sharing.”

  He scrubbed his face and sighed. “I’m fresh out of words. Can we do this later?”