“Marissa,” Elizabeth called. Her icy fingers wrapped around Marissa’s elbow. “Come. There is someone I’d like to introduce you to.”
Marissa gazed outside into the dark night. Two or three minutes alone were all she needed, but she had no choice. She followed Elizabeth across the crowded ballroom.
Elizabeth stopped next to a tall man in his midsixties. He had a thick gray head of hair and sharp, aristocratic features. Next to Elizabeth’s gaunt frame, he looked the picture of health.
He reached for Elizabeth’s hand and stepped toward her. His lips brushed her lined cheek.
“You look lovely tonight, Lizzie,” he said in a voice so low Marissa almost missed it.
Lizzie. Marissa’s ears pricked up at the casual use of the name. The only other person she knew who called Elizabeth that was Evan.
“Marissa, allow me to introduce Alistair Wright.”
She knew the name. Alistair Wright. Lawyer. Philanthropist.
“Ah, Ms. Rooney, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”
“You too, sir.”
His grip was firm and sure.
“You know each other?” Elizabeth asked, surprise evident in the arch of her brows.
“I had other plans this evening, but Ms. Rooney called me personally. I could hardly refuse. She can be quite persuasive.”
“You mean persistent,” Marissa said with a quick grin.
“Just so.” He nodded.
“Alistair and I went to law school together. He was the editor of the law review. Graduated near the top of his class.”
“Second only to Lizzie,” he said.
Alistair’s warm gaze lingered on Elizabeth’s face, and Lizzie fingered the necklace around her throat. A look passed between them. Something private. Something she was not meant to see, and Marissa averted her gaze, catching Evan’s eye.
Looking thoughtful, Evan sipped champagne from his glass.
“I was sorry to hear about your daughter,” Alistair said, turning toward Marissa. “I hope for everyone’s sake she is found soon.”
“Thank you.”
“As a parent, I can only imagine how you must feel.” He stretched an arm around the shoulders of a pretty young woman at his side. “This is my daughter, Alicia.”
“Hello,” Marissa said, extending her hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rooney.”
The ring on Alicia’s finger turned, catching the light.
“Good lord, what a beautiful ring,” Elizabeth said, grasping Alicia’s outstretched hand.
“Alicia just announced her engagement.” Alistair smiled wide.
“Well, aren’t you the proud papa?”
“Indeed I am.”
“Congratulations,” Marissa said.
Watching Alistair with his beautiful daughter, Marissa thought about her own daughters. She didn’t know if they would find Brooke. Each day stretched into the next like some form of torture. She didn’t know if her family would ever be whole again. As if sensing her thoughts, Evan placed his hand lightly on Marissa’s shoulder. She looked up into his concerned gaze. A wave of gratitude washed through her as the conversation flowed around them.
“Wonderful news, Alistair. Where is the lucky young man?”
Alistair shot Alicia a questioning look.
“Oh, Drew? He’s outside making a call. Something about work. He should be back soon.”
Alicia threaded her arm through her father’s, and Marissa’s heart weighed like an anchor inside her chest. Excusing herself from the group, she made for the door, knowing this might be her last chance for some air before the speeches started.
The doors parted and she breathed in the night air. It felt cold and fresh in her lungs. Stepping outside, she accidentally brushed the arm of another woman who was on her way in.
“Excuse me,” Marissa said.
“Ms. Rooney.”
Marissa stopped. She searched the woman’s face. It couldn’t be.
“Dr. Frank?”
“I’ve been thinking about you ever since you left my office, and well, here I am.”
“I’m so happy you came. Come, let me introduce you to Ms. Holt.”
The doors closed behind Marissa, and she led Dr. Frank into the ballroom. Once she’d found Elizabeth in the crowd, she made the introductions.
The two women shook hands, and Marissa could tell by the shift in Elizabeth’s expression that she recognized the name. Elizabeth gave Marissa an approving smile, and she realized that now she had fully accomplished the mission Elizabeth had set for her. Three influential donors were here at the benefit because of her.
“Ms. Rooney said you were pulling together a set of professional services as part of your foundation. She convinced me to donate some of my time. I’ve taken the liberty of speaking with some colleagues who also expressed an interest in helping out.”
“Thank you, Dr. Frank. You’re too kind.”
“I will have my office contact Ms. Rooney, and we’ll work out the arrangements.”
“Excellent.”
Marissa left the two women talking animatedly about Elizabeth’s vision for the foundation. Leaving the crowd behind, she pushed open the door and walked outside into the dark night. A thick blanket of charcoal clouds hung low over the city. Shadows and light fell in a checkerboard pattern across the cracked asphalt. Marissa shivered.
She slipped between the buildings, her high heels clicking down the alleyway. Despite the cold, it felt wonderful to be out of the crowd. With all those people around, she could hardly breathe. Everyone was looking at her, pitying her.
The sight of Kim Covey’s parents had driven her thoughts down a very dark path. All this time she’d imagined Brooke out there somewhere, waiting to be found, waiting to come home. That day in the morgue had forced her to consider the unthinkable. Brooke might never come home again—they might not even find her body.
A strangled cry escaped Marissa’s lips. She pressed her palm against her lips, stifling the sound. Pain pulsed through her chest, and she slumped, her shoulder pressed up against the building beside her.
She’d always believed that knowing would be better than not knowing, and while part of her knew that was true, another part of her couldn’t stand the idea of losing hope. Without hope she was lost. Without hope she’d be forced to face a life without Brooke, without her baby. A chilling cold seeped into her bones. Inky blackness pooled around Marissa.
In the dark she heard a sound, like footsteps approaching behind her. She swung away from the wall and peered down the alley. All she could see was darkness and shadows.
“Hello?” she called, her voice echoing down the alley.
No one answered. Cars buzzed in the distance. She strained her ears to hear something else. But there was nothing.
Goose bumps prickled her arms. Fear tingled along her nerve endings. Something wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be out here. She should probably get back. Elizabeth would be looking for her.
She took one last look down the alley. A dark figure swung around the corner of the building, coming toward her. His footsteps rang on the concrete.
“Hello?” she said again.
He didn’t respond. With each long stride, he drew closer. He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black. His face was cloaked in shadow.
Marissa spun on her heel and hurried down the alley, away from the man. She heard him approaching, his pace faster now. Her heart raced. The sidewalk was still ten yards away. She slipped; her ankle twisted. She stumbled, then righted herself and kept going.
Five yards now. Four. She glanced behind her. He was still there. Closer. His chin was down; she couldn’t see his face.
“Marissa?”
Seth appeared on the sidewalk. She jumped. Craning her head around, she looked down the alley. It was empty.
Chapter 46
After the chilly night air, the crowded ballroom felt like a sauna. Drew headed straight for the bar. He needed a drink if he was to have any prayer
of making it through the speeches.
Marissa sat at the head table, surrounded by Seattle’s elite. He was impressed by the transformation she’d undergone since leaving his father, her beauty refined over the years. It wasn’t just the dress; she looked as if she belonged here. But then, that shouldn’t surprise him.
When had Rick ever brought the best out in anyone? Sure as hell Drew wasn’t the same boy who had lived in his father’s house. And like Marissa’s, his changes ran far deeper than the clothes on his back, the expensive car he drove, and the beautiful fiancée by his side.
The line moved and Drew glanced up at the ponytailed bartender.
“Glenlivet?” the bartender asked the suit in front of him.
“Tonic water.”
“On duty tonight, Detective Crawford?”
Drew stiffened. Detective? He shifted his position to get a better look at the guy. And Christ, what a face. Not one you could easily forget, with those huge scars running from his eye down to his jawline.
“Jesse Morgan. You pop up more often than a character in a Stephen King Castle Rock novel. Surely you’re not the only bartender in this city,” the cop said.
“I get around,” Jesse said, pouring tonic water over ice cubes and squeezing in a lime.
“I’ve heard that about you.”
Jesse handed Crawford his drink and turned his gaze on Drew.
“Grey Goose martini, dry and dirty, right?”
Drew stared at the bartender. Sweat dampened his palms as he sized the guy up, trying to place him.
Shit. The Chapel. He remembered the bartender there flashing a photo of Brooke on his phone. The cop eyed Drew with a curious look.
“Damn, you’re good,” he said, making light of the moment.
“I never forget a drink. Did your girl say yes?”
“What?”
“Your girl. You were at Maximilien’s the other night, right?”
“Yeah. Oh, yeah. She said yes.”
“Congratulations. Drink’s on the house.”
“Aren’t they all?” Drew joked feebly.
Heart pounding like a jackrabbit’s, Drew saluted Jesse with his glass and beelined it to his table. It was time to leave. That last brush at the bar had unnerved him. Alicia would raise holy hell if he tried to leave before the speeches, though, so he had no choice. He’d sit through those and then he was out of here.
Shifting his chair, he positioned himself behind Alicia and gulped his martini.
Elizabeth Holt opened up the night by droning on about the foundation and its mission to help families whose lives had been torn apart by kidnapping, rape, blah, blah, blah.
The speech was as captivating as a calculus lecture, and Holt had all the sex appeal of one of the wizened tribal women with leathery tits on the cover of National Geographic. When was the last time she’d gotten laid? Eighteen seventy? Fucking her would be almost as much fun as dry-humping a fence post.
Feigning polite interest, he sipped his drink. In the middle of her closing remarks, Holt started coughing. Hunched over a cocktail napkin, she waved off some douche who hovered close by and pointed a bony finger toward Marissa.
Marissa rose like Aphrodite reborn and intoned, “Thank you for coming tonight and showing your support for the Holt Foundation. As many of you know, my daughter Brooke went missing . . .”
Riveted by the pain he saw in Marissa’s eyes, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Each day Brooke was missing, she died a little more. Suddenly he was glad he hadn’t left before the speeches. He would have missed this.
Marissa’s voice faded from his mind and a memory surfaced. He was seventeen, and Rick was drunk again. Marissa was arguing with him, pleading with him to stop drinking and take his pills. Idiot. Tears wouldn’t convince the old man to do anything. He was too cold. Too hard. Too far gone to care about anything.
Drew had hung back in the shadows of the living room, watching. Waiting. He knew what would happen next. God knew he’d been on the receiving end long enough to recognize the old man’s tells. He’d never seen it from this perspective before though.
Marissa shouted something, and Rick’s shoulders tensed. That was it. That was the moment when you stepped out of range. She missed it. Rick’s hand shot out, quick as lightning. The bloodstone ring flashed in the light, and he drilled Marissa square in the face. Her head snapped back. Blood ran down her swollen lips. Scarlet drops stained her white T-shirt.
Anger flashed in her eyes. She fled down the hall to the bedroom. Rick didn’t follow. He wiped his fist off on his jeans and slumped back into the chair. He grabbed the bottle and poured himself another drink, like nothing had happened.
Silent as a ghost, Drew crept down the hall.
The bedroom door was slightly ajar. Just an inch or two. A crack. Just enough to catch a glimpse of Marissa stripping off her T-shirt. Her full, round breasts filled the lacy cups of her bra. She swiped the blood from her mouth with the T-shirt and tossed it on the bed.
Drew moved closer to the door. Aroused. Wanting to taste the salty blood on her lips. Wanting to savor the warm smell of her skin. Her hair. Explore the smooth curves of her body beneath his hands. Lick the tears from her face. She had never looked more beautiful to him than she did in that moment.
Drew heard his father’s drunken footsteps staggering from the kitchen. Marissa slammed the door. Drew slipped into the shadows out of view just as his father reached the hallway.
He’d fantasized about her, about that night more times than he could count, reenacted part of this scene down in the cabins with Kim Covey and the other girls. After all, Marissa was the reason he chose blue-eyed, blonde beauties for his nocturnal games.
The memory still made him hard. Beneath the table Drew reached for Alicia’s thigh. His fingers snaked beneath the hemline of her skirt and slid up her smooth, bare skin. She tensed. Her fingers closed around his wrist and gently eased his hand down her leg toward her knee like a proper little daddy’s girl.
He looked up and his heart jolted. The cop with the scars was staring straight at him. Drew forced a benign smile and downed the last of his drink. Marissa was still talking. He’d tuned out long ago, but Alicia dabbed her eyes with the linen napkin. He could see the impact of Marissa’s speech on the faces all around him. He clapped along with the others, willing the night to be over.
At last Drew stood. He gripped Alicia’s hand and pulled her close. Bending down, he whispered into her ear, “Let’s get out of here.”
He swiped her hand across the front of his trousers, hard enough that she could feel his erection. Alicia laughed.
“You’re so bad. I want you to meet her before we go.”
“Who?”
Drew’s heartbeat quickened. His gaze locked on Marissa. He hadn’t seen her in years, but if Brooke had recognized him after all this time, she might too.
“Come on. Let’s go.”
“Easy, tiger. You’ll get what you want, but first indulge me.”
Fuck.
He’d made a huge mistake coming here. First the bartender from the Chapel had recognized him. Now Marissa loomed dead ahead. He needed to get the fuck out of here before everything came crashing down around him.
Alicia clutched his hand tight, dragging him through the crowd. They closed in on Marissa. Sweat dampened his palms and he yanked Alicia back.
“Let’s go. Now.”
Alicia shivered as his lips brushed her ear.
“Drew, it will only take a minute.”
Her grip on his hand tightened and she marched ahead. Five yards. Four. They were close enough now to hear Marissa’s voice.
Fuck.
He couldn’t risk her seeing him. Alicia was going to force his hand, and he was going to make a scene. All because she wanted to show him off.
Marissa turned. Drew’s breath caught. Their eyes met for a brief second before Drew averted his gaze. Alicia kept walking.
“Ms. Holt,” she called.
Holt’s curi
ous gaze swung toward them. She spied Alicia, and her expression softened into a welcoming smile.
“This must be your young man,” she said, extending her hand toward Drew.
He cleared his throat, his mouth bone-dry. “Drew Matthews. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Holt.”
Her grip was surprisingly firm, and he squeezed her swollen joints just hard enough to make her wince.
“I hear you’ll be joining the Wright clan.”
“That’s right,” he said, grinning at the pun.
Glancing over Holt’s shoulder, he saw the cop moving through the crowd toward them. Drew tensed, knowing it was time to get out of here, with or without Alicia.
Holt coughed. After excusing herself, she continued. “Well, I’ve got a story or two about Alistair you might want to hear if . . .”
She held up her hand and coughed harder this time. The color drained from Holt’s face. Alicia’s smile faded, and she leaned forward, gripping the old woman’s elbow.
“Are you all right, Ms. Holt?” she asked, her voice sharp with worry.
Holt’s mouth opened. Her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the floor like a rag doll.
The crowd gasped and closed ranks, forming a tight circle around Holt’s prone form.
“Lizzie,” a tall young man in a black suit shouted above the din, pushing his way to Holt’s side.
“Call 911,” Drew shouted to no one in particular as he jostled his way through the crowd, toward the exit.
Chapter 47
Marissa paced the waiting room of Harborview Medical Center, her bare feet aching. The golden sandals she’d been wearing hours before were stuffed into her purse. Seth’s tuxedo jacket was wrapped around her shoulders like a warm cloak.
The antiseptic smell of ammonia turned her stomach. She touched her fingers to her lips and ran her tongue across her scarred gums. Seth’s right knee vibrated like that of a teenager on Red Bull, and she knew he didn’t like hospitals any more than she did.
Marissa left the window and sank into the chair beside him.
“You don’t have to stay, you know.”
“I know,” he said.
“Hospitals always remind me of the night I left Rick.”
In the Dark Page 26
