Laurel coughed. Further investigation was the last thing they needed. She winced when Veronica shot her a look that could have shriveled a blooming rose. “Sorry,” Laurel choked and reached for her water. “Swallowed wrong. Go on.”
“Should TransUnited follow through,” Veronica continued, “The case will be handled as a joint investigation between the San Francisco authorities and those here in Lantano Valley.”
“I don’t understand,” Cal said as he skimmed through the papers and looked at his employee. “You said you had irrefutable proof—”
“I said my source had proof.” Madeline set her file down and shifted in her chair. She could have looked a tad more contrite to Laurel’s eyes.
“You didn’t write your story without requesting an update from the police on the investigations, did you?” Veronica tsked. “My goodness but it’s disappointing they don’t hold journalists up to very high standards anymore.”
Laurel shifted her eyes toward one of the glass partitions looking out into the restaurant. The crowd in the bar was growing, as was the line at the reservation desk. Where was Alastair? What had she missed? She wanted him here to witness the frame fall apart, to know he couldn’t do anything to hurt Jackson and the Tremaynes without exposing his own connection to the crown. How had she underestimated . . .
Or had he anticipated this move? Her hands twisted together, fighting off the nerves. Had he seen through this veil of vengeance long enough to realize they’d been enticing him to Lantano Valley in the hopes of exposing him as the one responsible for the theft of the crown?
“Given this new information,” Commissioner Granger said. “I think it’s safe to say that the Lantano Valley Police Department will not be filing any charges against Mr. Tremayne in either case.”
“I should hope not,” Sheila said.
“But that doesn’t settle the Nemesis matter,” Madeline insisted. Laurel tensed. The young reporter might be reckless, but she didn’t give up easily.
“Ah, yes. The Nemesis matter.” Veronica sighed. “You make it sound like a science fiction film. There is no Nemesis matter. Not in regards to my client. But if you meant to continue down this ridiculous path that claims Mr. Tremayne is somehow connected to or responsible for the crimes perpetrated by this Nemesis character—”
“Actually, he’s the one who said it,” Evan reminded the table.
“And we’ve provided medical reasons for that misjudgment on his part. Have you any actual evidence against him that contradicts these witness statements?”
“Of course not,” Evan said, but Laurel caught a sliver of confusion on the D.A.’s face even as relief washed over her like a cleansing tide.
Finally. She reached over and slipped her hand into Nathan’s and breathed easy when he squeezed her fingers.
Evan’s phone rang, quickly followed by the commissioner’s. Even through the closed door into the restaurant, the echoes of cell phones erupted.
“Well, that can’t be good,” Cal said as he looked around the room then caught sight of one of the TVs in the bar on the other side of the glass. The breaking story logo erupted on the screen. “What the—”
“What’s going on?” Sheila asked in an innocent enough tone she could have won an Oscar. “Dad?”
“No idea.” Jackson looked to Evan and the commissioner as they glanced uneasily at each other. “Evan?”
Evan lowered his phone. “It seems as if Nemesis has paid a few residents a visit this evening.” He looked out the side door into the night sky. “Fast worker tonight. Looks like he’s hit at least four homes in the last two hours. Making up for lost time.”
“He’s slipping,” Commissioner Granger added. “Set off at least two alarms.”
“We’re going to have to cut this evening short,” Evan said. “We need to get ahead of this with the media—” He shot a warning look at Cal and Natalie as Jackson pulled open the door and stepped into the restaurant, followed quickly by Nathan, Sheila, and Malcolm, Veronica right on their heels. Laurel stayed back, standing by the door so she could watch the final part of her plan unfold.
The tables around the bar had emptied of the dozens of TV, print, and Internet reporters, who alternated between yelling into their phones and pointing at the large screen TV over the back of the bar. Text message alerts blared. A reporter on-screen remained silent as the sound had been muted, but the chyron flitting under him clearly noted the fact that Nemesis had struck again. Not once, not twice, but four times in various locations around Lantano Valley.
“Sound!” Laurel yelled over the din of the crowd. “What’s he saying?”
When the volume was raised, the reporter continued, “ . . . recent claims that longtime Lantano Valley businessman and philanthropist Jackson Tremayne is the nefarious thief remain uncorroborated at this time, but . . .”
A blast of silence erupted in the bar as everyone turned to look at Jackson. The ensuing laughter was deafening and lightened Laurel’s heart before the throng of reporters converged, cell phones outstretched, diving for Jackson as he stood in the midst of the restaurant clientele prepared for the erroneous claim that he was the notorious thief.
Laurel wedged herself into the back corner, tears burning her throat as she covered her mouth, a relieved smile stretching her lips. Between the fingerprint evidence, the witness statements Veronica had collected, and the fact that he was having dinner with the D.A. and commissioner, not to mention being dead center of a crowd of witnesses, minutes after Nemesis’s latest excursion was exposed, no one would ever believe Jackson Tremayne—or any of the Tremaynes—were responsible.
An icy chill raced up her arms as an odd charge sparked the air. She looked around, her eyes glazing over at the sight of the dark-suited, silver-haired figure standing at the reservation podium. Steeled dead eyes locked onto hers before Alastair Manville’s gaze skittered to Jackson, to the television, and back to her.
Laurel looked down at the briefcase in Alastair’s hand. Her heart skipped. His knuckles went white around the handle, but before she could look him in the face again, he stepped back.
And disappeared into the crowd.
Chapter Twenty-two
“I can’t believe it’s over.” Nathan pulled his SUV to a stop in front of Morgan’s house, killing the engine with a relieved sigh, and sank back in his seat. “I feel like I can breathe for the first time in weeks.”
“He was there.”
Nathan barely heard her. “Who? Alastair?” He rested his arm on the steering wheel and looked at her, loving the way the moonlight streamed through the sunroof and caught the highlights in her hair.
“At the end, when the newscast was running, I saw him.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I know I should have said something before, but”—she indicated the house—“it didn’t seem important.”
“Of all times to be late,” Nathan said, pushing aside the irritation that once again, she’d kept something from him. Except she was right. He couldn’t care. Not when his father had been publicly exonerated, not when the D.A. had issued a public statement of support, and not when Nathan watched the lines of worry ease from his father’s face. “He doesn’t have anything left to use against us. Joey is safe in Tahoe along with Poppy. Wherever Alastair is, he’s probably licking his wounds. We’ll worry about it tomorrow.” He couldn’t bring himself to care right now. Not with Lydia and not when all he wanted to do was take hold of Laurel’s hand and hold her, to stroke the frown from her lips and convince her everything was going to be all right. “I don’t want you to go, Laurel.”
She sighed and closed her eyes.
“But you’re going to anyway, aren’t you?”
“I’m not this admirable person you think I am, Nathan.”
He didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone sound so incredibly sad. “Isn’t it up to me to decide what’s admirable? Because
I think you are.”
She turned her face toward him. She looked so lost, so confused, and while everything inside him screamed at him to push through those barriers she’d built up, even if he managed to get her to stay, he’d always wonder if she’d done so because she wanted to or because surrendering would be easier. He wanted her to stay, but what’s more? He wanted her to fight.
“How about we get through tonight before either of us makes any life-altering decisions.” He succumbed to the desire to touch her and captured her fingers, bringing them to his lips so he could kiss them.
“You’re not angry with me anymore?”
The hope in her eyes flared through him as realization struck. “Just because I’m angry doesn’t mean I stopped loving you, Laurel. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Lord, but life had done a number on her. “No, it doesn’t. And any woman who would do what you’ve done for my family these last few weeks is more than worthy of being a Tremayne. Nope!” He tapped a finger against her lips when she opened her mouth. “We’ll talk later. We’re being summoned.” He pointed at the front door where Kelley and the twins stood under the porch light.
Heart in his throat, Nathan climbed out of the car, silently taking Laurel’s hand as they walked toward the house. There was so much life behind that door, so much laughter and love, he couldn’t fathom how it continued to thrive when so much had been—so much was going to be—lost.
He saw the tears on Kelley’s face first and all he could think to do was drop down and hold out his arms as she ran to him, tiny arms locking around his neck so hard he couldn’t breathe. He looked at Cedric and Aiden as they sat on the bottom step, an oddly silent Dory sitting patiently at the door. Lower lips trembled as tears pooled in boys’ big dark eyes. He glanced to Laurel for help, but he needn’t have asked. A moment later she was between them, hugging them close as they burrowed into her.
“Nathan?” Jackson’s voice echoed in the night.
“We’re okay,” Nathan said, keeping Kelley close as he got to his feet. “Laurel, why don’t you go ahead? I think Kelley and I are going to stay out here for a few minutes.”
“Sure. Boys?”
“Can’t you fix her?” Cedric asked Laurel. “You helped before, you protected us. Can’t you—”
“I can’t fix this, sweet boy.” Laurel pressed her lips to the top of his head and looked at Nathan. “There are some things none of us can fix. Sometimes people are just too . . . broken.”
***
“I think Angela is making some cocoa in the kitchen.” Jackson walked down the porch stairs and held out his hands, the fatherly concern on his face brushing against Laurel’s heart as he took charge of his new grandsons. “Let’s go make you some. Laurel, if you want to see her—”
“Yeah.” Laurel smiled through her tears as she got to her feet. “Would you boys save me some cocoa?”
Voices, more muted than normal, echoed from the kitchen as she headed for Lydia’s room.
“Hey, Laurel.” Malcolm came around the corner. “Thanks for everything you did tonight.” He brushed a kiss on her cheek as she headed for the stairs. “I wish we’d had time to celebrate.”
“Me, too.” Laurel glanced up the staircase to the second floor. “Jackson said it would be okay if I looked in on her?” To say good-bye. But she couldn’t bring herself to voice it.
“Of course. Morgan’s up there with her. She’ll be glad to see you. You want some coffee? It’s going to be a long night.”
“The boys are going to make me some cocoa.” She climbed the stairs, her heart in her throat. She took a moment to take a breath, fingers pressed lightly against the mishmash of Hello Kitty and princess stickers on the door to Lydia’s and Kelley’s room. How did they do this? How did they risk their hearts knowing every day what they could lose? Shame flooded through her. This family had such courage, such conviction, and here she was running from everything she’d always wanted because she was what? Scared?
Anger she didn’t expect, anger at herself, at her choices and her weakness, battled inside her heart. She couldn’t do this. Not now. Not when . . .
Laurel took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door before she pushed it open. “Morgan?” She peered into the room glowing in the softness of the dim bedside bulb.
“Yeah?” Morgan sniffled and wiped a hand under her eyes, her blond curls tousled from restless, nervous fingers. “Oh, Laurel. Hi. Lydia, look. Laurel came by to see you.” Morgan took hold of Lydia’s hand while reaching out to Laurel with the other. Kitty lifted her head from where she was curled around Lydia’s feet, but it was seeing Lydia, eyes closed, the paleness of her skin and the too-slow movement of her chest as she breathed that sliced Laurel in two.
“I’m so sorry,” Laurel whispered around a too tight throat. “I can’t begin to imagine—”
“You don’t want to,” Morgan said with a conviction that humbled Laurel. “I heard everything went well tonight. I don’t think we’ll ever be able to thank you for what you’ve done.” Morgan stood. “It terrifies me to think what might have happened to my family if you’d never come to Lantano Valley.” She pulled Laurel into a hug. “Nathan is so lucky to have you. We all are.” Laurel felt the sob shake Morgan’s entire body. “I can’t wait to meet your little girl.”
“Me, too,” Laurel choked as the clouds of doubt cleared her mind. “I’ll send Nathan up, okay?” She patted Morgan on the back, but before she left the room, she bent over Lydia and brushed a kiss over her thin hair. “Sleep well, angel.”
She staved off the tears until she closed the door. Her chest hurt. No, not her chest. She rubbed her fingers between her breasts and drew in a shivering breath. Her heart. It was breaking and there was only one person who could mend it.
She found him still in the front yard pushing Kelley in the tire swing. His voice warmed her, as sure as it comforted Kelley, whose tears had dried amidst the return of her dimmer than normal smile.
Laurel stood there for a long moment, hands twisting as she contemplated what to say, how to tell him—she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t walk away. Not when she’d fought so hard to get her life back, to find her life. Now wasn’t the time to run. Now was the time to take what—and who—she wanted. In the end, there was only one word to say.
“Nathan.”
He turned toward her, his brows knitting. Before he could speak, before she lost her nerve, she ran to him and, much like Kelley had moments ago, threw herself into his arms. “I don’t want to go,” she whispered.
He didn’t respond; he didn’t have to as his body eased and his arms closed around her, surrounded her. Protected her. For the first time in her life, Laurel understood what it felt like to be wanted. To be loved.
“Where are you going?” Kelley asked.
“She’s not going anywhere.” Nathan turned back around so he could muss her hair. “She’s staying right here with us.” He pulled back to look at her, kiss her. Smile down at her. “Where she belongs.”
“Nathan?” Gage called from the porch. Just like that, the spell broke. Reality descended again as Kelley dived off the swing and ran toward him.
“I have to go say good-bye,” Nathan whispered.
“I need to talk to Joey.” This new determination took over. This was her life. It was time to live it her way. “There’s too much going on here. My computer’s back at your place.” And honestly? She needed some time alone.
“Take the SUV.” He dug into his pocket and tossed her the keys. “Then come back to me.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to need you.” He brushed his mouth over hers. “We all will.”
“As soon as I can.” She watched him disappear into the house, the hope and happiness building inside her overtaking any doubt. She’d made the right decision and now she could see the future opening in front of her like a wi
de, empty road.
Well. Maybe not completely empty.
She ran to the SUV, anxious to talk to her daughter, excited to finally step foot into a real life, and pulled open the door. She started the car and looked out the windshield.
The cry that escaped her lips sounded as if it came from someone else. The stuffed monkey pinned under the wiper stared back at her.
“Burt.” She dived out of the car, nearly stumbling as she grabbed for Joey’s toy. A hand locked around her throat and she was yanked backwards.
She kicked out, tried to stab her heel into her attacker’s shin or foot, but the arm tightened, cutting off her voice. She dug her fingernails into the bare arm, scraped down as she tried to throw her weight into him, but he was too big. He hissed, swearing as she gouged his skin and felt blood trickle under her fingers. Laurel tried to call out, but she couldn’t take in enough air. Her head went light. The streetlamps seemed to blink as she felt herself falling. Her arms went numb. She fought to stay on her feet. Her knees gave out. As her body went lax, she felt herself wrenched to the side as a car appeared.
Doors opened and closed. She felt a light burn through her eyes as she was pitched forward and landed on something hard. She rolled, choking, gasping in a breath. Blinking open her eyes, she saw the familiar face of Alastair Manville looming over her. The trunk slammed shut.
The world went dark.
***
“Here.” Gage pried Nathan’s white knuckles from around the banister and shoved a steaming mug at him. “Drink.”
Nathan stared into the brown liquid, his head echoing with the memory of his sister’s tears and the ragged breathing of a struggling child. It wouldn’t be long now. “Is it . . . ?”
“Alcoholic? What do you think?” Gage asked and led the way back downstairs. “My mother’s in the kitchen doling out Irish coffee and hot chocolate by the bucket load. If you don’t drink it, she’ll blame me.”
Between his family and Gage’s, how such a full house could feel so empty escaped him. “I will never understand how Morgan does this.” The coffee soothed him, warmed him, but his hands remained chilled, as if understanding there was only one thing, one person, that would remove the cold. He stopped outside the dining room where Kelley and Cedric and Aiden had their hot chocolate and were fighting over who got the green Legos.
Trouble with Nathan Page 32
