Rebecca could still remember the day her mother had been released from police custody. Her mom’s picture, taken coming out of the police station, had been splashed all over the newspapers. A big smile on her face, she’d been waving to the gathered crowd as if she was enjoying all the commotion and attention.
Even now, Rebecca clearly remembered how excited and happy she’d been, certain that her mother was coming to get her and their life would get back to normal again.
But her mother never came.
Social Services had taken Rebecca into custody and sent her to a “group home” in another town. Group home was a more politically correct term for an orphanage. Because her picture had been splashed all over the papers, everyone recognized her—the “bastard” child of a suspected kidnapper. Rebecca could still remember the taunts she’d endured from the other children at the home and at school. So she changed her name as soon as she left the orphanage.
It took years for her to accept that her mother wasn’t coming for her.
She had abandoned her.
For whatever reason, her mother no longer wanted her.
And it broke Rebecca’s battered heart just a little more.
That was when she began withdrawing, erecting a shield to protect herself from the pain that at seven years old she didn’t know how to handle. It was the only way she knew how to survive. She simply stopped feeling and caring. She’d vowed never again to care about anyone enough to let them hurt her.
And so she’d grown up in self-imposed solitude, learning to be self-sufficient and independent, learning never to need or want anything or anyone.
She’d thrown herself into her studies, soaking up knowledge like a sponge, excelling first in grade school, then in high school, and finally earning a full-tuition scholarship to college from a generous benefactor.
She also changed her last name, and in doing so, erased her past and the pain she’d carried like a heavy knapsack for most of her young life.
And through it all, she valued her privacy, kept to herself and refused to allow anyone entrance beyond the self-imposed walls she’d erected around her heart, her life and her emotions.
Until now.
She glanced at Jake. When she’d received the anonymous letter telling her of her mother’s death, she hadn’t realized how much emotion she still carried, how deeply she’d buried it. Perhaps that’s why she was having such a hard time handling her feelings now. They were alien, unexpected, and as much of a stranger to her as the mother she’d buried just a few days ago.
But Rebecca, better than anyone, knew from experience how important privacy was; knew, too, how important the truth was. That’s why she’d grown up so adamant about it, why she was so persistent in her quest for it, going to any lengths to find it.
No matter what the cost.
But she didn’t know if she could ever get Jake to understand that, not without telling him of her own painful past, something she could never do.
“So tell me, Rebecca, how the hell do you reconcile what you do for a living with your supposed ‘respect’ for other people’s privacy?”
“I believe in what I’m doing, Jake, because I firmly believe in the truth.” She hesitated, gathering her thoughts, trying to put some strength into her suddenly shaky voice. Turning to him, she rested her head against the back of the seat, lifting a hand to rub at her suddenly throbbing temple.
“The truth?” He snorted in disgust again. “Please, you’re a reporter. Truth is the furthest thing from your mind.”
“On the contrary, Jake. In spite of what you may think of me, I have never willingly or knowingly printed anything untrue, nor have I ever done anything or printed anything that I knew would deliberately hurt someone. Not for a story, not for any reason.” Her chin lifted. “I consider that highly unethical.”
One dark brow rose skeptically. “An ethical reporter?” He laughed, but the sound was bitter. “That’s an oxymoron, isn’t it?”
“I do what I do because I firmly believe in the truth. But sometimes in order to get to the truth, you have to dig for information, information that perhaps some people would rather not have come to light.”
“And you don’t consider that an invasion of privacy?” They’d entered town now, and he maneuvered the car through the afternoon traffic.
Rebecca shook her head, dislodging several more strands of hair, which blew around her face. She scooped them back behind her ear. “No, not really. I use the information I obtain to try to help people.”
“Nice try, Rebecca. But in my experience, someone generally ends up getting hurt in a reporter’s quest to get to the truth—even if it’s intended to ‘help’ someone.”
It was another accusation, she realized, knowing he was thinking of his own situation, while she was thinking of hers. Perhaps they weren’t all that different.
“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “That’s true, sometimes people do get hurt, but that doesn’t mean we should stop searching for the truth.” Aware that he was listening intently, she shrugged. “I firmly believe that the truth is worth whatever price you have to pay. Sometimes in getting to the truth, someone unintentionally gets hurt. It’s unfortunate, but there are times it simply can’t be helped. But it’s never deliberate, or done for sensationalism.”
“So you think that makes it acceptable? Regardless of the motive, the end justifies the means?” Disgusted, he shook his head. “Like it or not, Rebecca, people get hurt when you dig into private places you’ve got no business digging in. It’s a fact you can’t escape.”
“Jake, I can’t conceive of a situation when I’d deliberately hurt someone, but I guess that’s what I’m trying to explain. Sometimes the truth is not pretty, and sometimes people get hurt when the reality of a situation comes out. But if you’re asking me if I’ll dig for something or print something just to hurt someone, or to sensationalize a story, then the answer is no. I wouldn’t consider it.”
“And you expect me to believe you always print the truth?” he demanded, causing her to gape at him, genuinely appalled.
“Of course I do. I wouldn’t dream of fabricating facts, or exaggerating them—”
“Or simply make something up to sell newspapers and build a name for yourself?” His tone of voice indicated that he clearly thought she was capable of such a thing. It didn’t anger her, only saddened her.
She shook her head, sorely tempted to tell him that she no longer had to worry about making a name for herself. She was pretty well known and well respected in Reno, where she’d built a solid reputation and professional life based on the integrity of her work.
“Jake, I know you and your family haven’t had an easy time.” Rebecca deliberately avoided mentioning his brother Jesse. “I understand you’ve had some bad experiences with the press in the past, and that’s unfortunate. I’m sorry for it—I truly am. I’m not saying all reporters are ethical or even care about the truth. They don’t. But like every profession, there are some good people and some not so good.” She shrugged. “No matter what you think of reporters, no matter what your own personal experiences have been, I can assure you that I take what I do very seriously. Honesty is my stock-in-trade, something I pride myself on, as well as the fact that what I do for the most part helps people, sometimes people who’ve given up hope of ever being helped.” Rebecca was thoughtful for a moment. “When I was a senior in college, I did an internship at the Reno Sun. I—”
“Is that where you’re from? Reno?”
“Yes,” she said with an absent nod, her mind on the story she was telling. Confiding in someone, sharing a part of herself with them, was uncomfortable for Rebecca. Now that she’d started, she wanted to continue. “Anyway, as an intern, I was assigned to do a short human interest piece about this little girl who was basically a medical oddity. It was supposed to be one of those feel-good Sunday inspirational pieces about this plucky kid from a single-parent home who’d survived terrific odds and yet still kept going because o
f her indomitable spirit.”
“Okay, so what’s the catch?”
“No catch, Jake. But it brought up a lot more than either me or my editor bargained for. At eight, this little girl had been hospitalized for most of her life, with all kinds of different ailments. She’d had numerous surgeries, emergencies, illnesses—you name it, this poor kid had had it. I did my homework on this, Jake, as I have with every story since, and I learned that this poor kid had suffered a great deal in her young life, and yet the doctors could never find any tangible reason why this little girl kept getting all these very strange and serious illnesses.”
“That’s weird,” he said with a frown, interested now in spite of himself.
“It gets weirder,” she admitted with a slow smile, feeling more relaxed now that they weren’t sniping at each other. “Her mother was a widow who’d lost her husband three years before, and the little girl was all she had left. It was clear she loved her daughter very much.”
“But?” He heard the note of reserve in her voice and glanced at her, one brow lifted in question. Absently, he reached out and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, causing Rebecca to shiver at his unexpected touch.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to ignore the fact that he’d just touched her again and set off another riot in her pulse. “I just had a feeling, call it a gut instinct if you will, that something wasn’t right between this mother and child.”
Jake pulled into the parking lot of the Saddle Falls Hotel and turned off the engine, then turned to look at her with a frown. “What on earth would make you think that?”
She shook her head. “I honestly don’t know, Jake. I think it’s what the media call a ‘reporter’s nose.’ People think that’s just an expression, but it’s not.” Her voice calmed as she explained. “It’s when you know something isn’t quite right, but you just can’t put your finger on exactly what’s wrong.”
“So you dig and dig until you find the truth?” he asked, not certain if she was telling this to him to calm his fears or arouse them.
“Yeah, something like that.” She watched as he adjusted his long legs more comfortably in the confined space. “Well, my editor wasn’t particularly interested in some college kid’s theories. All he wanted was five hundred words to fill the white space in the Sunday Lifestyle section.” She smiled in remembrance, aware that Jake had turned toward her and was watching her intently. It was a bit disconcerting to be the sole focus of his attention. “But I wasn’t ready to give up. I felt like I had a responsibility to get to the truth. To find out what was bothering me about this little girl and her mother.”
“And did you?” he asked, realizing he probably knew the answer before she even spoke. He’d already seen her sadness, but now, watching her, he saw beyond the sadness to something else—the passion.
She was obviously passionate about her work, and in spite of the fact that he didn’t like what she did, he had to admire her dedication to her craft.
Heat and passion, he thought, letting his gaze roam over that beautiful face. It was a helluva combination, making him wonder if she’d be that passionate, or use that heat, for anything other than her career. If she wasn’t a reporter, it might be interesting to find out.
“It took me three months, and almost cost me my graduation because I cut so many classes, but I couldn’t give it up, Jake. I had to find out what was wrong in this situation. I had to get to the truth. There was something there, something that just didn’t add up.” Lost in the story, he watched her face become animated, losing some of its haunting sadness. “On the surface, the kid’s mother seemed totally devoted to her, attentive, loving, caring. She baked her daughter’s favorite cookies almost every day and brought them to the hospital, along with at least one of her daughter’s favorite meals, either spaghetti and meat-balls or chicken soup.” Rebecca shrugged. “Every kid’s dream of the perfect mother,” she added quietly, sadly, thinking of her own poor excuse for a parent.
Her gaze had grown cool and cloudy, and it was deliberate, Jake realized, so he couldn’t read her expression. Something about what she’d just told him had made her withdraw from him. What? he wondered. And more importantly, why?
Cocking his head, he thought about it, letting his gaze linger on that beautiful mouth of hers. It was definitely a mouth that begged to be kissed. “I hate to tell you this, Slick, but a mother who is devoted to her sick kid, and bakes and cooks the kid’s favorite foods—well hell, none of this sounds very suspicious to me.”
“No, on the surface, it doesn’t,” she admitted. “But there was something there. I could just feel it.”
“So you dug until you got to the truth.” His words sounded like an accusation again, and she had to quell her natural urge to get defensive.
“Exactly,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze and keep her voice neutral, even though her pulse leaped like an Olympic vaulter every time she looked into his glorious eyes. Those eyes, she thought, ought to carry a warning label. “Have you ever heard of Munchausen syndrome by proxy?”
“Munchausen syndrome?” She’d caught him off guard. He was still thinking about what it would be like to kiss her, and he frowned in thought. “I think so, but I’m not sure I know what it is.”
“It’s when a parent, in most cases the mother, deliberately makes a child sick because of the attention it focuses on the parent.”
His gaze narrowed dangerously. “Are you telling me that this kid’s mother was deliberately making her kid sick?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.” Shaking her head at the memory, Rebecca blew out a breath. “I knew there was something seriously wrong. Things didn’t add up. I kept digging until I found out the girl’s father had had a complete thyroidectomy and had to take daily medication until his death. I went to the doctors with my suspicions and at first they didn’t believe me until they did some additional tests and discovered the child had a thyroid drug in her system. The food the mother was bringing the child every day—the homemade cookies, the home-cooked meals—were laced with a wide assortment of various poisons, different things that were slowly causing the kid’s organs to shut down. The doctors knew something was poisoning the kid, but they thought it was something internal—you know, her own body turning on itself the way it does when, say, there is internal gangrene poisoning. They tested her, of course, for any number of things, but there was such a variety of poisons in the food, things that were virtually untraceable unless you specifically tested for that type of poison.”
“So how the hell did you—did they—catch her?” His look of horror, of disgust, was clear.
“I think it was just pure luck. The mother got either very bold or very careless. We’ll never know which. She began crushing up tablets used for people who have thyroid problems, or who have had their thyroid removed. In the correct dosage, when this drug is prescribed properly, it can be a lifesaver, doing the work of the damaged or missing thyroid. But in a child with a normal, healthy thyroid, the drug can be an overdosing agent and causes extreme cardiac distress, even coronary thrombosis—a severe heart attack in some cases. The kid developed severe arrhythmia—something not normally found in an eight-year-old child.”
“Damn!” Shaken, Jake dragged a hand through his hair. “You mean she could have died?” Shock sharpened his eyes, his voice.
“She almost did die,” Rebecca corrected softly, averting her gaze from his simply because looking directly at him was too disconcerting, especially when he was so close. She took a deep breath to gather her thoughts. “Fortunately, this drug is easily detected in the bloodstream. Doctors discovered the poisoning within a few days.” She dared a glance at him. He was still watching her intently, causing her heart to knock against her ribs in a staccato rhythm. “They knew the only way the kid could have gotten a prescription medication like that into her system was from something she ingested. Her medication was strictly monitored, as was her food. The mother was immediately suspect—she
was the only visitor the girl had other than the family priest, and he was ruled out since he’d only visited once, a week before this final incident.” Acutely aware of Jake in the close, warm confines of the car, Rebecca nervously pushed her hair off her neck. “From my background investigation, I learned that the kid’s father had had a complete thyroidectomy three years prior to his death. He’d been taking this drug daily from the time of his surgery until he died.”
“My God.” Jake shook his head. “She was giving the kid the father’s medication?” At Rebecca’s nod, he blew out a breath and shook his head. She could see his anger in the sudden tenseness of his shoulders. “What the hell kind of woman tries to kill her own kid?”
“She wasn’t trying to kill her, Jake,” she said softly. “That’s the point.”
“Well, she did one hell of an imitation.”
“Yes, but killing the child wasn’t the object, getting the attention she craved via her daughter’s numerous illnesses was.” Rebecca paused. “The mother was as sick emotionally as her child was physically. Munchausen is an emotional and psychological disease, very real and very dangerous. It’s basically a parental cry for attention.”
“So because this woman wanted attention, she poisoned her own kid?” He scowled, causing those glorious eyes to darken. “I can’t even conceive of anyone deliberately hurting their own child, or someone they love.” He shook his head again. “It’s inconceivable to me, and so foreign to everything I’ve been brought up to believe.” It was his turn to pause, and he turned to glance out the windshield as he struggled to get his emotions under control. “Family is sacred to me, Rebecca,” he finally said, his voice so quiet, so achingly sad it made her own heart ache, knowing how his family had suffered. “You love, cherish and protect your family at all costs.” He turned to her and she could see the pain etched in his face. It immediately softened her toward him. “At least that’s what the Ryans believe.”
With Family In Mind (Saddle Falls Book 1) Page 6
