"I'll see how it goes. The Holmans want everything finished by the Fourth of July, which is only five weeks away, so I need to get cracking as soon as possible. There is a lot to do."
"And you're more than up for it." Approval showed in his gaze. "You hooked a big fish, Cassidy."
"Now, I have to deliver."
"You'll deliver. You're an artist when it comes to gardens."
"I've never done anything this complex for anyone with as much money or power or reputation as the Holmans. They'll be hosting parties in that garden. Think of the referrals we could get if I do a good job."
"And that's what you'll do. You're not getting nervous, are you? Because you shouldn't waste a second feeling like you can't do this. The way you mix plants and trees with water features, iron, glass, and rocks—it's like you're a magician. You put things together that shouldn't work and yet they do."
She flushed at his compliment. "I learned from the best."
"I know you're talking about Mary, not me." George perched on the chair in front of her desk. "You look good sitting there."
"It still doesn't quite feel right." Her gaze moved to the photograph of the white-haired woman with the sparkling blue eyes who'd sat at this desk for over thirty years—George's wife and soulmate, Mary.
"When you came on board, Mary knew she'd found the perfect person to take over the business. You were the daughter she never had."
"And she was truly a second mother." She felt a wave of pain—not just for the loss of Mary, who had passed away eight months earlier, but also for the loss of her real mother, Carolyn, who had died when she was thirteen.
The years in between her mom's death and meeting Mary had truly been the most harrowing, frightening, horrible years of her life. Mary and George had saved her, and she was going to do everything she could to maintain and grow the business they had created so many years earlier. "I want to make both of you proud. You took a chance on me, and I appreciate that so much."
"You've already made me proud. But you have to pace yourself."
"I love my work."
"You should love other things, too. Maybe even find yourself a man."
She smiled at that comment. "You're not going to give me dating advice, are you?"
"Lordy, no." He got up quickly, an uncomfortable expression on his face. "That's the last thing I'd ever do. I just don't want you to work too hard. Did you even have lunch today?"
"I'll get to that; it's only noon."
"Cassidy?"
She looked past George to see Felicia Michaels standing in the doorway. A twenty-year-old college student, Felicia worked part-time at the nursery, answering calls and waiting on customers.
"What's up?" she asked.
"I just got a weird call from a Detective Max Harrison at the San Francisco Police Department."
Her stomach took a sudden nosedive, as she instinctively jumped to her feet. "What do you mean?" She tried to keep the panic out of her voice, but judging by the narrowing of George's gaze, she wasn't quite succeeding.
"He asked for Cassidy Ellison. I said there was a Cassidy Morgan here, but not a Cassidy Ellison."
Her heart turned over. Of course, Felicia would have said that. "Did he say what he wanted?"
"He wanted to speak to you. I got a weird feeling, so I said you were out. I don't really know why. But he left his number."
Felicia walked forward and handed her a piece of note paper with the name and number scrawled across it.
She drew in a long breath, her pulse racing. Why on earth would the police be looking for Cassidy Ellison now?
"Did I do the right thing?" Felicia asked.
"Yes, it's fine. I'll take care of it." She didn’t think she'd ever met a Detective Harrison before, but the fact that he was looking for Cassidy Ellison did not bode well for her. She probably should have changed her first name, but it had been the one link to her parents that she hadn't wanted to lose. "How's everything going in the store? Is it busy? Do you need help?"
"It's fine. Jodi and I have things under control," Felicia said, referring to one of their other clerks.
"Good. You can get back to it."
"What's that about?" George asked, as Felicia left the office.
She met his worried gaze. "I don't know."
"Ellison—does that name mean something to you?"
George and Mary had never asked very many questions back when they'd first hired her as a nineteen-year-old in desperate need of a job and a place to stay. They'd gone off a gut instinct that she was a good person who needed help. Not only had they given her a job at the nursery, they'd also let her sleep in the small studio apartment upstairs, where she'd lived for the past eleven years.
She didn't want to lie to George, but she also didn't want to get him involved in her past. "Don't worry about this. I'll take care of it."
"Can't help worrying about you. Wish Mary was here. She'd know what to do."
"I know what to do. It's fine."
"There was trouble in your past. We never wanted to pry, but we could see the shadows in your eyes. We knew you'd been hurt. But you never wanted to talk about it."
"Whatever happened to me was a long, long time ago. I'm sure this is nothing. Anyway, I have to run out for a bit. I have some errands to do."
"Better get those done before the storm comes."
"That's what I was thinking."
She grabbed her navy-blue cardigan sweater off the back of her chair and put it on over her T-shirt and jeans. Then she picked up her car keys and headed out of her office and through the retail shop. Felicia was helping an older woman at the cash register while Freddie, one of their gardeners, was watering plants and rearranging displays. The store and office filled the bottom floor of the two-story building, while her one-bedroom apartment and a storage room occupied the second floor.
Adjacent to the building were two large greenhouses filled with plants and beyond that, fields of flowers and vegetables, which they often sold from a roadside stand along Highway 1, which was at the bottom of the hill, and was the main highway running up and down the coast.
Normally, just walking through the store, inhaling the beautiful scents, feeling the new life all around her made her feel better, but today her mind was not on flowers or plants. It was on the past, and not the happy past that featured her mom. Her memories now were much darker.
As she hit the parking lot, she didn't really know where she was going. She could barely remember what errands she had planned to do today. All she knew was that she felt a desperate need to escape, to get away before the police arrived, although what they could want with her now was unclear. But it had to have something to do with her lost years, the ones she'd locked away in the deepest part of her heart.
She couldn't go back to those years. She'd barely managed to survive the first time.
Not that it had all been bad…
There had been one bright spot, one wonderful person, who'd made her smile and laugh, who'd made her believe for a few minutes that maybe life could be better. But she'd left him; she'd hurt him. It hadn't been fair, but it had been necessary.
As she neared her vehicle, a green van emblazoned with the Wild Garden logo, a car came speeding up the single-lane road, churning up loose dirt and pebbles in its wake.
Thankfully, it wasn't a police car, but a black Jeep Wrangler. Instead of turning into one of the open spots, the Jeep came to a screeching halt in front of her, and a man jumped out.
She was about to tell him he couldn't leave his car there when she saw his face—when she saw his eyes—his stunning blue eyes.
Her heart stopped.
"Cassidy?" he asked in disbelief, as if he couldn't really believe it was her.
She couldn't really believe it was him. "Hunter."
She'd imagined running into him a thousand times. She'd thought about what she would say, what he would say. But now she couldn't get one more word out of her mouth.
All she could do was st
are at him with her mind spinning, her palms sweating, her nerves on every last jagged edge.
She'd met Hunter when she was sixteen, when she was desperately lonely, terribly unhappy, but he'd changed all that.
They'd run into each other—literally. Hunter had come around a corner of the school hallway and barreled straight into her. He'd been moving fast—the way he always did—a crowd of boys and girls following behind him, eager to be near one of the most popular boys in the school. Hunter was the star baseball player, the star basketball player. He was funny and handsome and friendly.
When she'd stumbled and dropped her books, Hunter had held out his hand, and she'd stared at it in bemusement, feeling like a complete idiot. She'd been at the high school for a month and until that moment, she'd made a habit of staying in the shadows, spectating, not participating, trying not to be the new kid, who often became the target of bullies and mean girls.
But at that moment, Hunter had put her into the spotlight. And when she'd slid her hand into his, she'd felt a shocking and unexpected heat.
He'd helped her to her feet and when he'd looked into her eyes and given her that lazy, crooked smile that drove all the girls crazy, she'd known her life was never going to be the same.
But she still hadn't expected that Hunter would actually seek her out again, that he would ask her to hang out, that she would become one of those girls by his side. Her classmates hadn't liked that she was by his side, but Hunter hadn't seemed to care that she wasn't part of the popular crowd. And she'd been surprised at how easy he was to talk to, how generous he was, how he opened up her very closed world.
And then there had been the mad attraction between them.
Every time their eyes met, tingles had run down her spine. Hunter's thick, wavy, always mussed brown hair, had made her want to run her fingers through it. His reckless, daring eyes, and his sexy mouth had turned kissing into an out-of-this-world experience. Oh, the things he'd made her want to do, and the things they'd done. When she was with him, she'd been able to be someone else. He'd brought the fun back into her life, made her smile, teased out a laugh even when she'd promised herself she wouldn't get caught up in whatever crazy idea he'd come up with.
And then it had all ended. Her problems at home caught up with the magical relationship she had with Hunter.
She'd had to run. She'd had to hurt him.
He probably didn't think she'd hurt herself at the same time, but she had.
"Hunter," she said again, feeling as if all the thick, protective layers she'd covered herself in were falling apart. He'd grown up since she'd known him. He had a scruffy beard now. His shoulders were broader. His frame was stockier. He was a man, not a boy—an impatient, angry man, who clearly had a problem with her. "What are you doing here?" She had the terrible feeling that the phone call from the police and Hunter's sudden appearance were tied together.
"Looking for you," he bit out.
"Why?"
"You don't know? The police didn't call you?"
"I haven’t spoken to the police." A gust of wind lifted her blonde hair and blew it across her face, sending another chill through her. "Why would they want to talk to me? And why are you here?"
"I'm a firefighter."
"Okay." She wasn't sure why that was relevant. "I figured you would probably follow in your dad's footsteps. But what does that have to do—"
"There was a fire yesterday—at the Faulkners' house."
His words drove the breath from her chest.
"I was inside your old home," he continued. "I was in your bedroom."
"I don't want to hear this." She was quite certain whatever was coming next was going to be bad.
As she turned away, he grabbed her arm. "You don't have a choice." His fingers tightened in a hard, punishing grip.
"Let go of me, Hunter."
He ignored her demand, his gaze demanding she look at him. "You have to listen. When I was in the garage, venting the walls, looking for fire, I found a body hidden behind the sheetrock."
Another wave of shock ran through her. "What—what are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about a skeleton. It had been there a long time—probably fourteen years," he said, a hard note in his voice.
She couldn't breathe. She couldn't swallow. And if he hadn't been holding onto her, she thought she might have passed out.
"Don't you want to know who it was?" He gave her a little shake. "Because for twenty-four long hours, I thought it might be you."
"Me?" She barely managed to get the word out between her tight, tense lips. "Why did you think it might be me?"
"Because of the way you left. It was unexpected. It didn't make sense. You never answered your phone when I tried to call you back."
"You tried to call me?"
"Of course I did. What the hell did you think I was going to do when I got your text three hours before I was supposed to pick you up for the prom?"
"I don't know…" Her voice trailed away as she tried to keep up with everything he was saying. There had been a fire. He'd found human remains in the garage, hidden in the walls. How was that possible? "Who—who was found in the garage?" she asked, certain she really didn't want to know, but the truth was coming whether she was ready for it or not.
"You know, don't you?"
She wanted to shake her head, but a terrible truth was rocketing through her, the answer to a question she had had for a very long time.
"It was Tommy Lucas," Hunter continued. "The guy you allegedly ran away with. The one you chose over me. The one who needed you more than I did."
Tommy! "No. That's not possible. Tommy isn't dead."
"Unfortunately, he is dead."
Thinking about her friend, her heart broke for his lost soul, his lost life. "Oh, God!"
"That's all you have to say?"
He'd never been so rough with her, so bullying, but she could see the pain in his eyes, and she knew he was as caught up in the past as she was.
"Are you sure it was Tommy?"
"The police identified the body this morning."
"I can't believe it."
"You didn't run away with him, did you?"
"No. He was supposed to meet me at the bus station, but he didn't come. I got a text saying it would be better if we split up. We'd be less easy to find. He told me to go without him, to be safe, and not to look back. I wasn't sure what to do, but I had the ticket in my hand." She could still remember that terrible moment of indecision. Did she go back to the Faulkners, or did she go forward and save herself?
"So, you left anyway."
"I had to. I believed what he'd said, that it would be less easy to find us if we weren't together." A horrific thought ran through her head. "They killed him, didn't they?"
"Who?"
She stared into his eyes. "The Faulkners."
Four
"You're accusing your foster parents of murder?" Hunter asked.
"Yes, and you're hurting me, Hunter."
He abruptly let go of her arm, and guilt flashed through his eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."
She rubbed her arm, her mind still spinning.
Tommy hadn't abandoned her. He'd been killed.
And she knew who had murdered him—those horrible people who'd fooled everyone but her and Tommy.
Tommy! Her already bruised and battered heart took another hard hit. Poor Tommy. He'd barely had a life. He'd deserved so much more.
She put a hand to her mouth as a wave of nausea ran through her. "I think I'm going to be sick."
"Maybe you should sit down."
It was a good idea. Her legs felt weak. Her world was tilting. Fortunately, there was a bench across the parking lot with a view of the ocean, and she managed to stumble her way over there, not wanting to have this conversation anywhere inside the building. George and her coworkers would have too many questions. None of them knew about her past, and she preferred to keep it that way. Trusting in anyone had never been good for her
.
It felt good to have something solid beneath her, but the view, which normally calmed and inspired her, couldn't begin to cut through the turmoil swirling around inside of her. She didn't know what she'd expected when she'd first heard that the police were looking for her, but it certainly had not been this.
Hunter took a seat next to her, his gaze on her and not the ocean.
She turned her head to look at him, seeing a lot of different emotions moving through his eyes as well. "You said that you found the body? That's surreal."
"That's one word for it," he said shortly.
"When did this happen?"
"Yesterday morning. It took them a day to ID the remains."
"I still can't believe it. There's no doubt?"
"It didn't sound like it to me, but you can ask the cops when you talk to them."
The last thing she wanted to do was speak to the police. Their questions were going to rip open all the old scars. "How did you find me?"
"My cousin Emma's husband, Max Harrison, is a homicide detective with the SFPD. He's working the case. I told him about you and Tommy, what little I knew about your living situation back then. He wants to talk to everyone who was living in the house at the time when the murder might have occurred. I told him I didn't know where you were, but he called me a half hour ago and said they found a Cassidy Morgan in Pacifica at a landscape nursery, and I knew instantly it was you, even if you had changed your last name. You were obsessed with flowers and gardens. It was all you talked about, all you ever wanted to do. I jumped in my Jeep and came down here. I'm sure the police will soon be here as well."
"They just called. They were looking for Cassidy Ellison, but—"
"But you know that they'll quickly figure out that Cassidy Morgan and Cassidy Ellison are the same person." His gaze narrowed suspiciously. "Is that why you were in the parking lot? Were you running away again?"
"I don't honestly know where I was going, but I did feel the need to escape. Everything has been going so well. I should have known it couldn't last."
"Are you married, Cassidy?"
"No. I changed my name when I was eighteen. I wanted to put some distance between myself and the past. Start over, be someone else."
Secrets We Keep GO PL Page 3
