by Skye Warren
Her eyes go wide. The very first day I met Jane Mendoza, I was casual about my power over her. You’re locked in for a year. I’m not. I can fire you anytime I want. She must be remembering it now. It’s still true. According to the terms of our contract, Jane is an at-will employee. The agency contract is designed in everyone’s favor but hers. I only have to gesture at dissatisfaction to fire her. They don’t even require a written explanation.
All it takes is one email. I tap it out and hit send.
“Your flight is booked. I’ve notified the agency that your employment has been terminated effective immediately. I’m wiring the full payment now.”
Jane lifts one hand from Paige’s small back and brushes away the tears from her cheeks. “Maybe this is your chance.”
“For what?” This isn’t my chance to do anything except keep drawing in breath after painful breath. This is the last thing I ever wanted to say to her. The last goddamn thing.
“At Emily,” she says, shrugging one shoulder in a way that’s so nonchalant it crushes the air out of my lungs. “If she’s still alive, you could be with the woman you wanted all along.”
“Jane.”
She ignores me. Jane eases herself out from under Paige, who turns to face the back of the couch and keeps sleeping. She’ll be awake soon, and I’ll have to explain why Jane’s leaving. Jane runs a hand along her shoulder, then straightens up and faces me. “I don’t have anything to take with me. Everything burned in the fire.”
Christ. “Take your clothes. And your phone. I’m not sending you away empty-handed.”
Jane looks down at herself like she’s seeing the clothes for the first time. She lets out a laugh that sounds almost bitter. My chest squeezes. That bitterness is a painfully unfamiliar sound. “I’m sure I’ll fit right in at home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jane Mendoza
The Houston airport teems with kids on spring break. Some of them, older groups, heading to beaches. Others with small children, already decked out in Disney gear.
A small girl races into her mother’s arms, and my chest pangs. I miss Paige. It’s only been hours since I gave her a hug goodbye, but it hurts. She refused to move. Or speak. Or acknowledge what I was telling her. It feels awful having surprised her with the news.
I’ll never see her again.
Kitten wriggled away from my hug, not understanding why I was holding her so tight or why my eyes were leaking. I’ll never see her again either.
Sunglasses disguise my puffy, red eyes. No one questions why I’m wearing them indoors. I head away from the gate with my luggage trailing behind me. Outside there are people hugging and exclaiming as they meet their loved ones. I’m looking for a red Nissan Versa according to the app, but the map says it’s still fifteen minutes away.
“Jane.”
I glance up to see Noah walking toward me. “What are you doing here?”
“You sent me your flight number. I couldn’t wait to see you.”
He wraps me in a warm, familiar embrace, and I shudder out a breath. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to talk about it without breaking down in tears. Public scenes are not exactly my thing. I don’t want to cry in front of all these strangers. I don’t even want to cry in front of Noah.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks, his words soft.
We’ve been through a lot together, but I don’t even know where to begin with this. I want to rail and scream and sob—but most of all, I don’t want to hurt him. Noah. The one guy who has been with me for all this time. He doesn’t need to know that I slept with Beau. “I got fired.”
“Good,” he says. “It wasn’t safe there for you.”
Beau’s words ring in my head. My love is dangerous. I didn’t believe him at first, but by the end I did. Maine isn’t safe for me. Is it safe for him? For Paige? I’m not there to protect them anymore. It hits me like a knife in the chest. “Right.”
He taps the side of my sunglasses. “These hiding something?”
I glance over his shoulder to where his ancient truck waits against the curb. “I still don’t understand how you’re here. Don’t you have to work right now?”
“I traded shifts, and no, you’re not going to change the subject.”
A shaky exhale. “They still don’t know who set the fire, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not there anymore. And I really, really—” My voice breaks. “Really care about that little girl. I screwed up. I got too close. You told me not to, but I did it anyway.”
“He touched you.”
So much for keeping secrets. Apparently even wearing dark sunglasses and wrapped in a large sweater, I’m an open book. “I’m sorry, Noah.”
“Don’t be fucking sorry. He took advantage of his position.”
“I can’t listen to another rant about rich people right now. It’s not… me. It’s not my life. I got confused there for a minute, I got caught up in something, but it’s over now. I’m back where I belong.”
He studies me. “You never did fit in with us, Jane.”
“Don’t.” I never fit in anywhere. I never had a family, and probably never will.
“I thought you were gone for good.”
“Bad luck for you.”
He slings his arm around my head, pulling me in for a kiss on the cheek. “No, babe. It’s good luck for me, shit luck for you, but the world has never played fair, has it?”
There’s shouting around us as people argue about where they can stop their car. There’s a jam of vehicles, a mixture of people picking up their loved ones and Uber drivers. A couple of traffic cops wearing bright orange vests wave people angrily to move on.
There are “no stopping” signs posted everywhere, though how people will pick up passengers without stopping, I don’t know.
It’s a broken system.
I remember Noah saying something to me once. If the only punishment is a fine, then the rule only exists for poor people. I shrugged at the time, but now I understand better, now that I’ve lived under Beau Rochester’s roof for six months.
He would have ignored the signs about stopping. They probably wouldn’t ticket a Porsche SUV, but if they did, losing a few hundred dollars means nothing to him.
They would, however, fine a scratched-up old truck.
I could pay the fine with the money Basset Agency deposited into my bank account this morning. I stared at it for a solid five minutes before I could move. I’ve never seen that many commas in my balance. He paid the full amount even though I didn’t work the entire year under the terms of the contract. It doesn’t make me feel any better. If anything, I feel worse.
The money feels dirty now.
“Let’s go,” I say, linking my arm in Noah’s.
We need to move along. I need to move along, too. Get over Beau Rochester. Forget about Paige. I won’t ever see Kitten again, either.
Tears roll down my cheeks.
The smell of exhaust floods my mouth. I’m not sure it’s possible for me to move on. We climb in and slam the doors shut, but the shouting continues. Someone in a BMW is arguing with someone in a Ford. They are both waving their hands wildly.
Noah turns the key. The truck rumbles to life. We drive past them and ease into the flow of traffic, entering the heart of Houston, but my soul is still in Maine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Beau Rochester
The minute Jane’s car pulls away, Paige goes silent.
Her face turns red. She stands at the sidewalk, watching the taillights until it turns out of sight. Her shoulders sag. Her teeth click together, but her chin doesn’t wobble. All the color drains from her face except two red splotches high on her cheeks.
She stands there, staring at the empty turn of the road.
“Paige, it’s time to go inside.”
She ignores me.
I ask her. I coax her. I command her. None of it works.
She stands there like an angry, grieving statue. At first I attempt to talk her down. W
hen that doesn’t work I sit on the steps of the front porch. If she needs time, I’ll give her time.
Fifteen minutes turns into thirty.
Thirty minutes turns into forty five.
At an hour I consider picking her up bodily and putting her inside the house. I’ve never put my hands on her in anger, and I don’t feel angry now, only a deep concern for her well being. I know what’s happening isn’t good. It isn’t right, but I also don’t know the best way to handle it. What if she needs this time to process?
Technically she isn’t harming herself.
It’s a beautiful windy day. Seagulls call from the ocean. There’s a shout of someone on the beach. The faint rumble of the ocean underlies all of it.
An hour and twenty minutes. That’s how long it takes Paige to break.
She does get her stubbornness from the Rochester side of the family, after all.
She whirls to face me, her hands balled into fists at her side. “She said she wasn’t leaving. She promised, she promised, she promised.”
She levels the accusation at me, and she’s right to do it. I’m the one who made this happen. I’m the one who made Jane leave. “Sometimes plans have to change, sweetheart.”
Her blue eyes stay on mine as she processes what I’ve said.
My head pounds. I’m not sure what started the headache in the first place. Paige’s screaming this morning? Or did it begin yesterday, when we were waiting for Joe Causey to show up to the inn? Or did it start well before that, when I was pinned under a collapsed beam in my own house, looking into Jane’s eyes and pleading with her to live?
I have no goddamn idea. I’ve lost track.
“She said she wasn’t leaving?” Now it’s more of a question.
I didn’t think my heart could be reduced to more ash. I was wrong. And now I’m wishing Jane was here. She’d know what to say to Paige, whose distress comes off her in waves.
The sight of her brokenhearted and wailing is bad enough.
This stoic silence is worse.
“I know.” What the hell kinds of things did Jane say to soothe her? I can’t retreat to the old habits I had before. Not now that I have better methods. But I don’t have time to study now. The test is here already. “You wanted her to stay, but she had to go. It’s the only way she could be safe, and we want her to be safe, don’t we?”
Paige narrows her eyes. To my endless shame, I wasn’t always like this with her. The two of us were caught in the same storm on different boats. If she called me out on it now, I’d deserve it. “Why couldn’t we keep her safe here?”
It’s too much to explain. Too much to explain the dark, terrible history that makes her mere presence in Maine a risk. How can I tell her that her uncle Joe wants to lock Jane up? “It’s a grown-up problem, Paige. I know it’s hard to accept, but I need you to trust me.”
Her chin quivers, but Paige keeps her teeth clenched tight together. I would feel less better if she punched and screamed and cried. If she raged against me.
Light flashes off a car’s side mirror at the corner, and both of us turn toward it.
If it’s Mateo bringing Jane back, then I’ll accept it. I’m not sure I’d have the strength to send her away again. I would have to keep my body between her and whatever threat comes to us. I’ll stand in front of Paige and Jane for the rest of my goddamn life if that’s what it takes.
The car comes fully into view.
It’s not Mateo’s. Disappointment beats in my chest, even as I know it’s for the best.
It’s a black detective’s car with Joe Causey in the driver’s seat.
I’m going to kill him. Maim him at the very least.
The front door of the inn opens. Marjorie must have seen the car. She looks worried. “Paige? Would you like something to drink? Some cookies, maybe?”
She looks vaguely interested at the mention of cookies, but her frown doesn’t budge. I think it’ll be there for a long time. At least as long as Jane lived with us. Maybe longer.
The car pulls into the inn’s drive. Of course it does. After the way Jane’s interview went, he won’t be coming here unless it’s to bother me. Well, he can’t touch her anymore.
“Go in and have some cookies,” I tell Paige. “I’ll be right there. Okay?”
She takes a deep, shaky breath. “Do you promise?”
Jane made similar promises to her, and I forced her not to keep them. If I were a better man, I’d be honest with Paige. No one can guarantee they’ll stay in your life. No one can really promise you forever. “I promise.”
Paige runs past me into the house.
The only relief I feel is at the sound of the door closing behind me. Joe pulls his car onto the inn’s driveway. He climbs out of the car and heads straight for me.
“You’ve done enough, don’t you think?” The acid tone probably isn’t right for a cop, but I don’t care. Jane’s absence is like an open wound. My fucked-up leg throbs. My head aches. “You want another interview, then I need advance warning.”
“I don’t need to talk to Paige or Jane. I need to talk to you.”
“I’ve answered your questions.”
He comes to a stop in front of me on the sidewalk, and I get my first good look at him. Pale and sweaty. Not the cocky bastard who came to sit across the table during the interviews. He rubs at the back of his neck, looking uncertain, shell shocked.
What the hell is happening right now? Is this some kind of trick?
“Tell me why you’re here before I help you get the hell out of my sight.” I need to go somewhere alone, if only for a few minutes. I feel like I’m having a goddamn heart attack.
“I’ve got proof,” Joe says, almost to himself.
“Of what?” I spit back at him. “Proof about Jane? Too late. I sent her away. You don’t get to harass her anymore. No more messages on the front porch. Leave us the fuck alone.”
He blinks at me. “What are you talking about?”
Something’s wrong. He’s not just pale with a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His pale blue eyes have taken on a gray cast in the daylight, like a ghost walked through them and stole the color. He looks haunted. “I’m talking about Jane. I’m talking about everything you’ve done to scare her. To intimidate her. An innocent goddamn woman.”
Joe shakes his head. It’s like he hasn’t heard a word I’ve said. “No. Not about Jane. I’m talking about Emily. She’s alive, damn it.”
My stomach drops. “Don’t play this fucking game with me.”
“I can show you.”
I’m already shaking my head. “Have you gone insane? I don’t even know whether you believe what you’re saying. I know you loved your sister, but you’ve got to let her go.”
“Here.” Joe looks me in the eye. Cold fear drops over me like a sheet of frigid ocean water. He could arrest me on suspicion of murder if they found a body. He’s suspicious enough to do it right here on the sidewalk. What that would do to Paige—“They found her here, Beau. Alive.”
He seems serious. Either that or he’s batshit crazy.
Or he’s telling the truth.
All this time there was this uneasy possibility of a ghost. As if she’s returned from the dead to haunt us. Impossible, of course. I don’t believe in ghosts. “Where?” I find myself asking.
“Here in Eben Cape. Downtown.” A hollow laugh. “She’s been right under my nose the entire time. I’m not sure I’d have believed it if I hadn’t seen the video myself.”
A part of me thought it would be easier if they’d found a body. We would have more closure. Paige would have more closure, even if the answer hurt like a motherfucker. It’s going to hurt anyway. Because someday I’m going to have to tell Paige what happened to her mother. That she faked her own death, apparently. It still seems impossible.
“How did they find her?” I blink my way back to looking him in the eye. The sun feels too hot on my skin now. Burning, like a house fire. “And what do you mean, proof?”
Joe
takes his phone out of his pocket, swipes across the screen a few times, and hands it to me. “This footage was taken by a security camera in one of the shops early this morning. The owner followed the case when we were actively searching for her. He called the tip line because he remembered our original request for sightings of women matching Emily’s description.”
At first there’s no one on the screen. Just a wide-angle view of the front window of the bakery downtown. The footage is from early in the morning, according to the time stamp. About ten seconds in, the front door opens and the baker comes through. He walks past the counter and disappears from view.
And then a lady strolls in front of the window from the left side of the screen.
It’s her.
I know it instantly from her profile and the way she walks. Emily wears a long white dress with small straps. She walks in front of the bakery’s second window and pauses.
My vision blanks out. All this time, I’ve been wondering. Entertaining the possibilities. Trying to decide which one would be less earth-shattering to discover. This one’s it.
My lips have gone numb. She didn’t die in the boating accident.
If Joe has proof she’s alive, she’s been alive all this time.
Why hasn’t she come for her already? If Emily is alive, why hasn’t she come for Paige?
Emily could never resist a bakery. She loved cinnamon rolls and doughnuts and these little pastries with custard inside. The Emily in the security film leans into the window and cups her hands around her eyes to see through. It gives the camera a perfect shot of her face.
It’s her. It’s her. It’s her.
I shove the phone back into Joe’s hand. “Where has she been all this time?”
“I don’t know.” I never thought I’d see Joe like this again after the funeral. He looks lost. Bereft. “We have an APB out for her, but this all happened so fast.”
“Goddamn it, she’s not a ghost. If this video is real, she’s a real woman walking around Eben Cape. Find her.” It’s not fair to snarl at Joe for this, but for all the other things he’s done—he deserves it. But it doesn’t register with him. He doesn’t bristle or tell me to shut the hell up or threaten me with jail time. He just stares off through the side lawn and out over the ocean.
