Jake's Return

by Liana Laverentz

  Jake stared, unable to believe what he was hearing.

  Sutter shook his head wryly. “A real prince, Delgado. Still, he admitted to doing Sanders while you slept in the front room.” Stunning Jake, Sutter then smiled. “We got your boot knife, too."

  Jake blinked. Things were coming at him too hard and fast.

  "The boys just brought it in,” Sutter was saying. “We're going to need it a little longer, though, for evidence."

  "Where's Dillenger?"

  "Upstairs, being booked for attempted murder."

  So where did that leave him? It hadn't escaped Jake that he was still standing in a cell.

  "My guess is he's going to be too busy to worry about pressing charges against you,” Sutter said, as if reading Jake's mind.

  "So I'm a free man?"

  "Not yet, but give me a couple of hours and I'll see what I can do. Paperwork. Here.” He handed over the ivory embossed envelope.

  Jake looked down at it, feeling more hopeful than he had in a long, long time. Looking up again, he met Sutter's eyes. “Thanks."

  "I didn't have anything to do with it. I'm just glad to be the one giving you the news. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a suspect to interrogate.” Sutter turned to leave.

  "Rebecca was right about you,” Jake heard himself say.

  Sutter looked pleasantly surprised. “Seems she was right about you, too. Turns out your grandmother's been trying to prove your innocence for years. Unfortunately, most of the PI's she hired were more interested in milking her for money. But this last one had been tailing Delgado for months. He was practically on the scene when Delgado was arrested, and from what I understand, she hired the lawyer that got your release pushed through so quickly."

  * * * *

  "You're a lucky man, Donovan,” Sutter announced less than two hours later, as he strode into the room with a fat set of keys. “Dillenger agreed to drop all charges against you in exchange for a lesser charge against himself, but from the looks of it, it won't do the slimy bastard any good,” he said, and opened the door to Jake's cell. “Ever since word got out that we brought him in, my phone hasn't stopped ringing with calls from parents with a story to tell about him. No telling what's true and what's simply spite, but I'm sure there will be enough to send him away, especially if we can get him to crack on attempted murder. My brake cables,” Sutter added almost cheerfully.

  "Thanks,” Jake said, and stepped out to freedom.

  Sutter smiled. “You're welcome. Thought I'd let you go before we bring him down here. Unless you want to stick around for the show?"

  Amazingly, Jake felt himself smiling back at the man he'd once considered his enemy—and rival for Rebecca. “Hell, no. I've got better things to do with my time."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  His house was pitch dark, and silent as a tomb. Jake knew he had no one to blame but himself. He'd deliberately driven Rebecca away, and now he'd have to live with that choice.

  Still, it hurt like hell when he stepped into his kitchen and saw she'd taken the oak table and chairs. The logical part of his brain understood she'd taken them because they were hers, but his heart ripped open at the sight of the room without them anyway.

  The dining room was empty, too, but she'd left Mickey's old Zenith console, easy chair and couch in the living room. He forced himself to climb the stairs, and wondered why he bothered. He knew he'd be sleeping on the couch tonight.

  As expected, both upstairs bedrooms had been cleaned out, and the bathroom. Not a pink bottle in sight. He stared at the empty sink and shelves, and felt like everything he and Rebecca and Katie had shared in the past month had been a figment of his imagination. But it hadn't, and the cold reality of their absence cut deep.

  He braced himself and turned toward his room. The door was closed, which, in his dark mood, struck Jake as having a wealth of symbolism. He'd hurt her once too often, and now she'd closed the door on their relationship. Eighteen years of chances she'd given him, and he'd blown them all.

  He reached out with a hand that shook, opened the door—and was shocked to see she'd left the antique rosewood bedroom set.

  Maybe it hadn't fit in the truck, and she was coming back to get it. His heart skipped a beat when he spotted the note propped against the dresser mirror. If he was lucky, he'd get another chance to see her before he left town.

  Because now that she'd left him, he had no choice but to leave. This was Rebecca's town. He refused to stick around as a reminder of what she was moving on from. He'd hurt her and Katie enough already.

  He picked up the note, and prayed it would give him some kind of opening, any kind of opening, to see them again.

  But all it was, was another note from his grandmother.

  * * * *

  "Jacob. I wasn't expecting you so soon."

  Jake looked past the maid who'd opened the front door, to the startled woman coming down the carpeted white marble staircase in her navy blue silk robe and slippers, and felt a twinge of guilt for surprising her this way. “I know your invitation was for tea, Mrs. Dillenger, but I didn't want to wait any longer. Sheriff Sutter told me about your efforts to prove my innocence, and I wanted to thank you for that, and for everything else you've done for me over the years."

  Her eyes softened and she flushed, but recovered quickly, clearly used to hiding her emotions. They had something in common, then. “You're quite welcome, Jacob. Won't you come in?"

  Jake took in the quiet elegance of his surroundings and felt like a bull in a china shop, but nodded politely. “I'd like that. I have some questions to ask, if you don't mind."

  "Not at all. I expected as much. Have you had breakfast?” she asked, as if he hadn't barged in on her in her pajamas, as if he hadn't ignored every attempt she'd made to communicate with him over the past eight years.

  "Yes, thank you,” he lied. “Really, I didn't plan to stay long."

  "Why not? We have quite a bit of catching up to do."

  This, from the woman he'd spent his entire life believing she wanted nothing to do with him. Not for the first time in the past two days Jake wondered what might have happened had he bothered to open the letters she'd written to him so many years ago.

  Regrets. It seemed he had nothing but.

  "We'll take coffee in the dining room, Clarice,” his grandmother said quietly, dismissing the maid who had opened the front door. Smiling at Jake, Margaret Mary Dillenger took his arm. “This way, Jacob."

  Jake swallowed, desperately wishing Rebecca were with him, if only to keep him from making a fool of himself. He didn't know how to act in a place like this.

  But Rebecca had left him, and he was where he'd always claimed he wanted to be—on his own.

  As they settled into a pair of flowered chairs that flanked a dark, richly polished oval coffee table, Jake noticed the furniture matched the heavy floor to ceiling drapes. He looked at his grandmother, elegant even in her robe and slippers, and smiled. “I never expected to see the inside of this house."

  "If your grandfather had had his way, you wouldn't have."

  "So he was the one who didn't want me."

  "Not after your father slandered him so horribly the night of your mother's funeral. He remained bitter about that to his grave. Forbade me to even mention the subject."

  She doesn't know, Jake realized. She had no idea about what had happened to his cousin. Or was Dillenger lying again?

  "So you wrote to me after he died."

  "Immediately,” she said, as if there had never been any doubt that she would.

  "I'm sorry. I never read your letters. Never even opened them."

  "I understand. I'm just grateful you're here now."

  The coffee arrived. His grandmother dismissed the maid and poured them each a cup with graceful hands. As he settled back in his seat, she opened with, “You said you had some questions?"

  "Yes. I'd like to know about my mother. What she was like as a girl—if it's not too painful."

  She hes
itated, then smiled wearily. “Painful it will always be, but you deserve to know the truth. Especially if you plan to have children of your own some day."

  Jake stared into his coffee and thought of Katie. Another secret in a family with far too many.

  His grandmother rang for Clarice and asked her to bring the family photo albums, then informed the maid she was not to be interrupted as long as her grandson was there. Jake looked up, startled by the reference, then was charmed by his grandmother's warm smile and whispered, “Get used to it, Jacob."

  They moved to a loveseat to sit side by side, and went through the photo albums. Pictures of Conrad Dillenger were few and far between, which allowed Jake to focus on the shots of his mother. He saw Eileen winning tennis and horseback riding trophies, Eileen performing at piano recitals, Eileen sailing on the bay, skiing in Aspen, and spending her summers at Lake Banff.

  But in none of the pictures did she look happy. The most disturbing of all were of Eileen's social debut.

  "She looks miserable,” Jake couldn't help but murmur, remembering the sad, introverted woman he'd known her to be.

  "She was a sad girl, Jacob. Brilliant, athletic and talented, but never really happy. I was frantic when she eloped with your father who—no offense meant—seemed quite unstable."

  "It's okay.” Jake knew exactly how unstable Mickey had been.

  "No one knows this except her doctors and I, but for most of her life, Eileen was on medication for depression. I was worried sick when I realized she'd left her pills behind when she eloped. I tried to give them to her when they returned from their honeymoon, but she refused to take them, insisting Mickey's love would save her."

  "Save her?” Something niggled at the back of Jake's brain. “That's what she said? Save her?"

  "Yes. Save her.” His grandmother looked away, then sighed softly. “Maybe it was enough, in the beginning. She loved him desperately, and he was so different from anyone she'd ever known. Wild and carefree and full of adventure. But somewhere along the road things changed."

  Unexpected tears welled in her eyes. She sniffed, then rummaged in her pocket for a lace-edged linen handkerchief. Not for the first or last time, Jake wished Rebecca was there. He had no idea how to handle a woman's tears. “I wish to God I'd known,” she whispered fiercely, then blew her nose discretely.

  "Known what?” Jake asked, feeling like he was heading into quicksand.

  "She came to me, Jacob. The morning before she...” She lowered her head and buried her face in her handkerchief. “I should have known something was wrong."

  "It wasn't your fault, Mrs. Dillenger,” Jake felt compelled to say, feeling more off-balance than he'd ever felt in his life.

  "But it was. It was my sleeping pills Eileen took. I had no idea they were missing until that night ... until it was too late."

  Feeling totally helpless, Jake gently gathered his grandmother into his arms. She was surprisingly fragile. As he held her while she cried, Jake finally understood his mother's suicide had not been his fault. She'd been sick from the start, and no matter how hard he'd tried, how good he'd tried to be, as long as she went without professional help, it wouldn't have made any difference. He couldn't have made her happy.

  He hadn't broken her, therefore he couldn't fix her.

  But who had broken her? Had it been Mickey? Her father? Or simply herself?

  Finally Jake understood why his mother had stayed in bed for days on end. Why she'd rarely smiled. Why she hadn't been the kind of mother to him—or wife to Mickey—they'd wanted and needed.

  Then Mickey, no saint to start with, had turned to the bottle in frustration and defeat.

  Compassion, relief, sadness, grief and anger rolled around inside of Jake. He took a deep breath, wanting to nip the anger in the bud. Both of his parents had let him down. Both were gone now. It would serve no purpose to continue to blame them for not being there for him when it was clear to him now that they'd both been very broken people. They'd probably done the best they could for him, but their illnesses had won in the end.

  He decided against delving any deeper into the ugly confrontation between Mickey and Conrad the night of Eileen's funeral. He would have to think of her as Eileen from now on, because if what he was beginning to suspect was true, he couldn't bear the thought of his own mother's pain. He'd loved his mother with all his heart, and just the thought of someone hurting her the way Avery Dillenger had planned to hurt Katie...

  If Jake's guess was right, apparently Michael Donovan had known what a monster Conrad Dillenger was, because it had ruined his marriage. Clearly his ‘unstable’ father had done what he'd done to make Jake as much of an embarrassment as possible to old man Dillenger, in order to keep them apart.

  The idea gave Jake a hell of a lot to think about.

  But not right now.

  Jake stayed for lunch and tea, but declined supper. He needed to go home and think, especially after his grandmother surprised him with his long lost leather jacket. Apparently her PI on the scene of Delgado's arrest had unearthed the jacket as well, wrapped in a property bag in the bowels of the Laramie County Courthouse.

  She'd even had it professionally cleaned.

  Four hours later, Jake rang the doorbell of the street-level door next to Barb's Antique Shop.

  His heart nearly stopped when Rebecca pulled it open, smiling and wiping her hands on an apron. “Forget something?” she asked cheerfully, then stilled, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her smile vanished. “Jake. You're out of jail."

  "Hello, Rebecca.” He eyed the steep staircase behind her that led to the apartment above the shop, and wondered how he was going to make it to the top.

  "I ... I thought you were one of the guys. Someone forgot his cell phone."

  Her moving crew, thanks to FX.

  Rebecca blinked and stared. “Jake? Isn't that your old leather jacket? Where did you find it?"

  He smiled, and wondered if she'd notice how much better it fit these days. It had been too big when she'd given it to him thirteen years ago, but he'd have died before refusing to wear it.

  "It's a long story. Can I come in?"

  "When did you get out?"

  "Yesterday evening. Dillenger dropped his charges and Christine's killer confessed. Thanks to my grandmother, I'm a free man."

  "Your grandmother?"

  "That envelope you had Sutter give me was an invitation to tea. One of many. I finally took her up on it."

  "Pardon? Did you say you're ... free?"

  Jake couldn't help but smile. “As a bird. Finally."

  He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't the tight mask of politeness that settled over her face. “Congratulations. I know it's what you've always wanted."

  They stood there, in the drafty doorway at the bottom of the steps. Rebecca had to be freezing, with no coat on.

  Jake finally realized she had no intention of letting him come in any farther. “Where's Katie?” he asked hopefully, looking past Rebecca's shoulder. Whatever got him through the door.

  "Sleeping. The move wore her out."

  "Oh.” Jake studied her face again and found only resoluteness. She wasn't wearing his silver necklace anymore, either. He hoped she hadn't thrown it away. “I'm sorry I missed her."

  "What do you want, Jake?"

  Haven't you hurt us enough? her expression seemed to say. Had it really been only yesterday morning that he'd told her he'd never wanted her? It seemed like a lifetime, considering everything that had happened to him since. “I'm sorry, Rebecca. I never meant to hurt you."

  "Been there, done that, Jake. It's getting old."

  "I mean it, Rebecca."

  "Right. And yesterday I offered you everything a woman can offer a man and you threw it back in my face, Jake. Deliberately. Tell me how you didn't expect that to hurt me."

  "I was wrong. And I'm more sorry for that than you can imagine."

  She studied him for a long moment, but still made no move to let him in. “Thank you
for that much, anyway. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

  Jake moved to block her way as she reached for the door. “Things have changed, Rebecca."

  She looked up at him, her eyes flashing fury. “Not for me, Jake. I've had it with being jerked around by you."

  "Marry me."

  She blinked, clearly shocked. “What did you say?"

  Jake swallowed, hard, and felt a strong appreciation for the courage Rebecca had shown yesterday outside his cell. If she'd felt even a fraction of the fear he was feeling now...

  "I asked you to marry me. Please."

  She stared at him for an endless, frozen moment, then drew a deep, shaky breath. “No."

  Jake's cheeks went hot with embarrassment as he stared at her, shaken to the core. Was she saying she didn't love him anymore?

  Rebecca closed her eyes and took another deep breath, apparently struggling with something. Jake's hopes lifted. If there was any chance at all that she still cared...

  She opened her eyes again, her expression sadder than any he'd ever seen on her, but completely resolute.

  "You don't love me,” she said with quiet dignity. “I deserve to be loved by the man I marry."

  Jake nearly dropped to his knees in relief. But he refused to tell her what she'd waited to hear for eighteen years at the bottom of some cold, dimly lit stairwell while she damn near froze to death from stubbornness.

  A stubbornness he actually liked. He smiled and touched her arm, “C'mon Becca, let's—"

  "Let's nothing,” she snapped, jerking away from his touch. “It's over, Jake. You have your life and I have mine. So please, just ... just leave us alone.” Her voice cracked at the end and she swore, then turned and ran up the stairs.