Naked Hope

by Rebecca E. Grant

  “Because I know what it’s like to be separated from the only thing that makes you feel alive. You’ve wondered more than once why I kept Adrienne around, nuisance that she sometimes is.”

  Jill kept her back to him, her feet rooted to the floor. Her blood pounded faster. “You’re bringing Adrienne into this? Now?”

  “Please, Jillian, hear me out. The first time I met Adrienne, we were ten. She was wild and outrageous even then—frightened of nothing. Her parents barely knew she existed. Most of the time, she was raised by one au pair or another because her parents traveled so much. Contrast that to my life, which was tightly controlled by my father who dreamed I’d take over the family business. One day, I was at Adrienne’s—I’d just turned twelve—fooling around at the piano and she said she thought I should have piano lessons. Without realizing it, she’d discovered what I secretly longed for, but I knew Dad wouldn’t approve, so I never pursued it. Still, Adrienne kept at me until I managed to convince Mother. I took piano lessons for about five months. They were the best five months I’d ever had, and then Dad got angry because I never wanted to go to his office, or the shipping yard, or the docks anymore. All I wanted was to play the piano. So he stopped the lessons and got rid of our piano.”

  Despite her anger, Jill couldn’t keep from turning toward him.

  “He meant well. His brother had died young, broke, alone and sick, having spent his adult life playing piano bars for tips. Dad wouldn’t let that happen to me. But Adrienne insisted I continue—she understood I couldn’t stand to be separated from music. So she took her enormous allowance and got her au pair to hire a music tutor from the university. He came to her house twice a week to work with me in secret. Six months later, when my teacher found out my parents weren’t coming to my recital, he called Mother and told her that not only did they need to come to the recital, they needed to get me to New York without delay. That I’d gotten a late start and if I was to become a concert pianist, I needed to study at a music conservatory.”

  Gavin slumped into one of the side chairs. “Mother had suspected about the piano lessons, but she didn’t realize how much I needed music. Without telling me, she tricked Dad into coming to the recital. After that, they both gave me their full support, and we moved to New York.”

  Jill sat on the edge of the bed and clasped her hands together, fighting the urge to exclaim, why am I just learning about this now?

  Gavin drew a chair close. “The people who loved me most forcibly removed me from music, because they thought they had my best interests at heart and denied me my identity. They told me I had to be someone else because who I was born to be was somehow wrong. Separated from music, I didn’t want to live. If Adrienne hadn’t helped me, I don’t know whether I’d even be alive today.”

  He gripped her hands forcing them apart. “That’s why I’ve been so driven. If there was any chance Liv could have her music back, I was willing to take it.”

  Jill removed her hands from his, her throat so dry it stuck. “Your parents were well-intentioned, but uninformed. The situation with Olivia is very different. You’re fully informed—you know what the medical evidence indicates.”

  “But if there was a chance…” He searched her eyes.

  Jill moved to the window, her stomach lurching uneasily like a sinking ship. “Why couldn’t you have told me about this before? I might have better understood what was driving your hope. I might have helped.”

  “I’ve always been embarrassed about not standing up to my dad. That I took someone else’s money—Adrienne’s money. My parents paid her back”

  “And she gets a healthy chunk of your residuals,” Jill pointed out.

  “Of course,” he agreed. “Or, she did. I fired her last week.”

  Jill’s lips were so stiff she could hardly form her words. “Real friends help each other, whether it’s money, emotional support, whatever. Accepting money from Adrienne was a way of allowing her to be the kind of friend she wanted to be. Accepting Adrienne’s help that way doesn’t indebt you. I assume you compensated her at a fair rate for serving as your agent.”

  “Yes, she was, but I fired her. We don’t share the same vision.”

  Jill leaned against the window frame. “A wise move, I’m sure, but Adrienne is not the issue here. Olivia has been put at risk because you decided not to honor the commitment you made.” She closed her eyes and steeled herself for what she had to say next. “I’ll be in touch about whether the institute has anything to offer Olivia. There are many things to consider before I make that decision. But you and I, we’re over. I can’t trust you. You haven’t just hurt Olivia, you broke us.”

  She didn’t hear him leave, yet despite the fire that hissed and spit in the fireplace, the room suddenly grew so cold, she knew he was gone.

  Nearly finished packing, Edith sought her out. “Don’t be too hard on him, dear. He’s been harder on himself all these months than anyone else ever could be.”

  “Perhaps. Yet, he wouldn’t listen to anyone, and look what happened.”

  Edith folded her hands. “In fairness, she did respond to Steven at first. And then, she didn’t. Her clarity disappeared as quickly as it had come.”

  “Ghost memory.”

  “What?”

  Jill jerked up the pull bar on her travel case. “Ghost memory is a colloquialism for the shadow memory that apparently she accessed for a few days when she first started working with Steven.”

  Edith narrowed her gaze and met Jill’s eyes. “Then you understand that he didn’t plan to deceive you.”

  Jill straightened. “Are you making excuses for your son, Edith?” Her mouth felt strangely uncooperative. As if her words passed through it unbidden.

  The older woman shook her head. “No. But you can see how it crept up on him. Olivia responded to Steven in so many ways, and then one day, she actually played a little music. Gavin thought Steven was on to something—we all did. And Olivia wanted to keep trying.”

  “And the result wasis disastrous.”

  Edith bowed her head much like her son had earlier.

  Jill reached for her purse. “Thank you for having me, Edith.”

  Edith blocked the door. “Just a moment. My son was a very lonely man until one day he decided to live again. Do you know when that was? The day after he met you.” She pointed to Jill’s throat. “That heart he gave you is a family heirloom. He asked me for it before he went to New York two months ago so he could take it to Tiffany’s to have the settings cleaned and checked. ”

  Jill’s hand flew to the heart at her throat. Her own heart sank as she slowly reached around and worked open the clasp. “I can’t keep this. Please give it back.”

  “He’s in love with you, Jillian. If you want to give back the necklace, you’ll have to do that yourself. And now, if you’re ready, Baines will take you home.”

  They hadn’t reached the freeway yet when Baines caught Jill’s gaze in the rear view mirror. “Will Miss Olivia be all right?”

  Jill frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “It was like an avalanche.”

  Jill frowned at Baines in the review mirror. Through stiff lips, she asked, “Will you make excuses for him, too?”

  “No. But the maestro will never sacrifice his pride and tell you how it all happened.” He wagged his head. “A bloody avalanche. Miss Olivia responded to Steven in a way she hasn’t responded to anyone since the accident. Not even you.”

  “Yes, it’s called a crush,” Jill said, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into her voice.

  The butler nodded. “Which proves just how powerful love is.”

  “You’re equating a crush to love?”

  “At that age, yes. Suddenly, she could do things with Steven that she hadn’t done since that terrible night. There was no intention, just momentum.”

  “I’m really not interested, Baines.” Jill sank further back into the sumptuous leather seat, but it offered none of its usual comfort.


  “The little miss played. She even wrote a few notes and talked as if she understood what she was doing.” He shook his head.

  Snow fell, laying a delicate cover of white over everything by the time Baines stopped the Bentley in front of her loft. “Thank you for bringing me home, Baines. You asked if she’ll be all right. Emotionally, she’ll only recover if she can feel as loved without her music as she was with her music. You people must stop expecting Olivia to put right everything that needs righting in this family. Good night.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Gavin hung in the doorway. “I understand now.”

  He spoke with almost no emotion and looked as if he couldn’t make himself step even a foot into her office.

  Yet, she could feel his desperation. Her body churned and she longed to comfort him.

  His eyes darkened. “Liv’s in torment. What do I do?”

  Jill stood and walked around to the front of her desk. She perched on the edge and studied him. Ashen-faced, wrinkled T-shirt, slack-jawed, he might have passed her by unrecognized.

  Except for the ache in his eyes.

  “There’s no point in putting Olivia back in the program.”

  His body tightened. “My God, don’t say that. I’ve seen what pursuing music has cost her. I’ll do anything you say.”

  She crossed her arms. “You’ve abandoned all hope?”

  He lowered his head. “I’m saying I care more about her happiness than anything else. And I understand that right now, music won’t make her happy.”

  Jill let out her breath. “I’m placing Olivia in a specialized program for the next three weeks where she’ll undergo intensive work with her current team. If she does well, you can consider yourself very fortunate, and we’ll return her to the program. If she doesn’t, she’s out.”

  Gavin sagged against the door frame. “What does that mean?”

  Jill turned away. “I might not be able to help her. The pressure of unrealistic expectations has forced her into a place so dark, she may not distinguish that pressure from the positive focus and activity we’ll provide over the next three weeks. If that’s the case, then the program will only damage her further. I have no idea how to predict this, Gavin.”

  She couldn’t meet his gaze. Back still turned, she continued, “Steven must go.”

  “He’s gone.”

  She heard him change positions.

  “Left for Dundee last night.”

  Jill picked up a stack of reports and stood them on end before she dropped them back onto her desk. Then she turned to face him. “What was Olivia’s reaction to his departure?”

  He shrugged, his eyes hooded. “As you would expect.”

  “She’s angry?”

  His jaw ticked. “Heartbroken.”

  Jill handed him the treatment plan she’d prepared. “You’ll need to familiarize yourself with this. It’s a copy of Olivia’s plan and should be self-explanatory, but I want to call your attention to her three-week assessment on January nineteenth. Please let me know now if that date or time doesn’t work for you. No rescheduling will occur unless you tell me now. I’m joining her team of therapists for the next three weeks. That way, I can know without delay, how things are progressing.”

  His shoulders rounded as if devastation collided with relief. “The date is fine. Thank you, Jillian. You getting directly involved is more than I deserve.”

  “No, but Olivia does.” She leaned back against her desk and studied him. “She has this one chance, Gavin” Jill forced herself to stop. No amount of lecture could change the state of things. “You know how to reach me if you have any questions about Olivia.”

  Gavin turned to go.

  “Gavin.”

  He pivoted, hope reflected in his wide, blue-gray eyes.

  Jill almost lost her follow-through. “I can’t keep this.” She held out the velvet box containing his Christmas gift.

  Gavin made no move to take the box.

  She stepped forward just enough to tuck the box into his hand. “Your mother told me it’s a family heirloom.” Her voice cracked. “It doesn’t belong to me.”

  ****

  Ross tipped back and clasped his hands behind his neck. “You’re sure about this?”

  His office felt cold, and close. Jill crossed her arms and shivered. “Yes.”

  He squinted over the top of his readers. “Well, this is your call, Jill. But let’s be clear about something. You didn’t want to take the girl because you knew the father was risky. We overrode your decision. Now, the situation has reversed itself, and surprisingly, so have you. If it were me, even if she manages a strong progression through the next three weeks, I wouldn’t keep her in the program. The risk that she won’t do well, or that he’ll flake out on you again, remains high.”

  Jill dug her heel into the carpet. “Taking her out would affect the trial. I’ll have to report one of the participants couldn’t complete the program. If she can make it through the next three weeks and we can keep her in, the trial won’t be affected.”

  Ross drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk. “I see your logic, but in or out, none of this releases you from co-chairing the gala with Edith Fairfield.”

  Jill blew out a soft breath. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Most of my part is already done.”

  Two weeks later, Jill ran her hand over Wonder’s fur, deep in thought. Olivia had made almost no measurable progress. Next week would tell the story.

  Her cell phone vibrated. Gage’s photo popped up.

  Jill picked up the call.

  “I’ve made some of that pasta you like so much. Why don’t you come on over. There’s something I want to show you.”

  “I don’t know, Gage.” Jill stalled. “The last thing I should be doing right now is eating pasta.”

  “The pasta’s optional. You’ll want to see this—door’s open. See you in a minute.”

  Jill tucked Wonder in next to Sydney on the bed, selected a rich bottle of cabernet, and ran out without bothering to put on a coat or boots. The cold stole away her breath. She burst into Gage’s kitchen. The tantalizing smell of garlic and cheese assaulted her, making her realize just how hungry she was. A heaping bowl waited.

  Gage pointed. “Good, you’re just in time.”

  Jill held up the bottle of wine. “I’ll trade you. Oh my God, Gage, this smells fabulous.”

  Gage chewed the inside of her lip as she poured the wine. “Well, eat up now,” she warned. “Because after you see the photos, you won’t have much of an appetite.”

  Jill sucked in her breath. “The accident report?”

  Gage nodded.

  “Damn, I knew it would be bad.”

  “You have no idea.” Gage shook her head. “This is beyond bad. Vivienne Fairfield was decapitated.”

  “No way.” Jill set down her bowl and took a gulp of wine.

  “After-the-fact,” Gage continued. “They couldn’t get the body out without severing her head from her neck.”

  Jill’s stomach flipped. “No.”

  Her friend swallowed a forkful of pasta. “Well, that’s what they first thought, and that’s what appeared in the original report. That, my friend, is what your boy Gavin’s been living with.” She stabbed another forkful. “They figure the only way Olivia survived that wreck is because she must have fallen asleep and somehow slid off the back seat onto the floor.”

  Jill pushed away the pasta and topped off her wine. “Do me a favor and start from the beginning.”

  Gage lifted her glass. “It’s easy for mistakes to be made at a crime scene like that—especially when no one realizes it’s a crime scene. At first, everyone thought it was just a terrible accident. But the truth is, a lot of sloppy, small town work took place—or in this case, didn’t take place.”

  Frowning, Jill said, “You’re losing me.”

  All scientist now, Gage nodded. “I always have to remind myself that as a forensic scientist, I see everything after the fact, and the pieces a
re generally a lot clearer than in the heat of the moment at a crime scene. In the Fairfield accident, lots of assumptions were made. Of course, there was so much publicity, everyone just wanted to be done with the investigation. Things that should have been investigated, weren’t.”

  “For instance?” Jill repressed a shudder. What things?

  “Like, two medical examiners were on the scene. Each thought the other one had given the release to have Vivienne’s body removed, and assumed the decapitation had been necessary to untangle her from the wreck.”

  “But it didn’t happen that way?”

  Gage shook her head. “I asked my colleague, Paul, to look into it after you asked me about the accident report. Turns out, the truth tells a very different story.”

  Gripping the counter, Jill asked, “Does Gavin know?”

  “No. They were still wrapping things up conclusively when Paul sent me his findings. They’ll want everything buttoned up before they release their findings.”

  Jill hopped off her stool, reached for one of the blue wool throws on Gage’s sofa, and wrapped it around her shoulders before returning to her stool. “What does all this mean?”

  “Paul said that everything Vivienne packed belonged to her. Nothing could even remotely be considered Olivia’s.”

  “So, whatever Vivienne was planning didn’t involve Olivia.”

  “Right,” Gage nodded. “But things were just tossed into bags with no apparent order or care.”

  “Gavin said she was in a state.”

  “Well, it’s more than that,” Gage said, shaking her head. “They think she bolted. They think she was being threatened.”

  Jill stared at the photos. Threatened? Yet another twist. “By whom?”

  Gage put on a pair of readers and pointed. “See this guy?”

  Several of the photos caught a man hulking in the background whose body language suggested curiosity, even elation.

  “They’re looking for that guy now.” Gage tapped a finger on the photo. “They’ve ID’d him as Linus Hawke, a grifter with a long history of preying on rich women—he’s suspected of murder.”