The Lost (Echoes from the Past Book 9)

by Irina Shapiro

  Quinn experienced a sudden chill as she tried in vain not let Daisy see her shock. Her pulse was galloping, and her breath came in short gasps. Daisy was biologically related to Jo, and to Seth, through whose line the psychic ability had been passed, although it had skipped his generation. Daisy had the gift.

  “What did you see, Daisy?” Quinn finally asked, overwhelmed with sympathy for the girl. It must have been shocking, to say the least.

  “I saw Jo and my dad,” Daisy said, her voice barely audible. “I saw them…you know.”

  Quinn nodded but didn’t interrupt.

  “I saw, and felt,” she added vehemently, “what Jo had felt. She was Quentin then. Quentin Crawford,” Daisy spat out with disgust. “My dad’s sister and my mother,” she cried, tears spilling down her cheeks. “My biological mother, who gave me up without even looking at me, without ever asking what had become of me.”

  Daisy’s eyes flashed with anger, and a shiver of recognition surged through Quinn. At that moment, Daisy was her mother’s daughter. “Dad never told me,” Daisy spat out. “He’d lied to me my whole life.”

  “Daisy, he was only trying to spare you pain,” Quinn said. “Had you known, you might have hoped for a relationship with your mother, but Jo wasn’t interested, at least not then.”

  Grabbing a napkin, Daisy furiously blew her nose and buried her face in her mug of tea, taking several sips in an effort to calm down. She set the mug down and took a shuddering breath before trying again.

  “I saw it all, Quinn. I saw her whole life play out before my eyes. I hate her. I hate her so much.” The tears began to flow again, but this time Daisy angrily wiped them away with the back of her hand. “She was horrible. Cruel. Selfish. Indifferent to the feelings of others.”

  “I’m so sorry, Daisy. It must have been an awful shock,” Quinn said, her sympathy inadequate in the face of Daisy’s suffering.

  “That’s the understatement of the year,” Daisy scoffed. She sniffled loudly, then gasped for air, as if she’d forgotten to breathe and only now remembered she needed oxygen. She exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself. “But then I saw you,” she said at last, and her expression brightened somewhat. “She cared for you, even loved you, I think,” Daisy said.

  “She had a strange way of showing it,” Quinn said archly, and wished she hadn’t.

  “She feared you. You had forced her to take a long, hard look at herself and she hadn’t liked what she’d seen. She wanted to punish you,” Daisy explained. “She wanted to hurt you because she was hurting.”

  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” Quinn said again for lack of anything more insightful to offer.

  “But there were nice moments too,” Daisy said, her face taking on a wistful expression. “There was your reunion in Germany, and the time you took turns with that gold amulet. Hamsa, you called it. And when she told you about me.”

  “She regretted what she’d done.”

  “Yeah, for like five minutes,” Daisy replied, curling her lip in derision.

  “She wanted to find you, to get to know you. She had no idea you’d been there all along, living with your dad.”

  “She had known,” Daisy said, shocking Quinn into silence. “Granddad had written her a letter. He’d known she’d come looking sooner or later. He was a clever man. I miss him.”

  “How long had she known?” Quinn asked, wondering if the whole quest to find her daughter had been some sort of a ruse. But no, it couldn’t have been. It wasn’t until the lawyer, Mr. Richardson, had passed on a letter from her father that Jo had suddenly changed her mind about continuing with the search. Of course, now it all made sense, including Jo’s sudden flight from the country. She’d known Daisy was her daughter at the time of her death, but she’d never shared that knowledge with Quinn, or anyone else.

  “She was ashamed,” Daisy said, as if replying to something Quinn had said. “She didn’t want you to know.”

  “Had she contacted you?” Quinn asked.

  Daisy shrugged. “She sent me a friend request on Facebook, and I accepted, thinking my aunt finally took an interest in me. She must have been stalking me on social media, like a peeping Tom. I feel gross just thinking about it.”

  “Do your parents know you know?” Quinn asked, wondering what Michael Crawford would make of this new development.

  “No, but they’ll have to tell me eventually. Jo left everything to me in her will. I heard them talking about it. They decided to invest the money and tell me the truth once I turn twenty-one. I don’t want her money,” Daisy said defiantly. “I don’t want anything of hers. I don’t even want that bloody camera now. Not like I can touch it without connecting with her,” she said angrily. “I’m going to sell it on eBay. Just because I know she would have hated that.”

  Daisy picked up the sandwich again, but her hands were trembling as she took a bite. She chewed slowly, her mind elsewhere. She replaced the half-eaten sandwich on her plate and fixed her gaze on Quinn.

  “Would you have forgiven her for what she’d done?” Daisy asked, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. It must have been mortifying to see her mother’s attempts to seduce Gabe. Jo hadn’t been shy in her efforts. The video evidence Gabe had sent to Quinn had been graphic and brutally honest, the pain of Jo’s betrayal still sharp enough to take her breath away when she allowed herself to dwell on it.

  “I don’t think so,” Quinn replied truthfully. “I like to think I’m a forgiving person, but what Jo did was beyond the pale. She’d set out to destroy my marriage, my family. She didn’t deserve forgiveness.”

  “I wouldn’t have forgiven her either,” Daisy said. The blush had faded, leaving her looking pale and scared. “Am I like her?” she asked. “Am I going to be just like her?”

  The pleading look in Daisy’s eyes nearly undid Quinn. She wanted to take Daisy in her arms, to comfort and reassure her, but she didn’t think Daisy would appreciate that. She wanted an answer, not Quinn’s pity or charity.

  “Do you think you’re like her now?” Quinn asked instead, pinning Daisy with her gaze.

  “No.”

  “Then it’s not very likely you will become like her later on. You are you, Daisy. You are the product of your DNA, but you’ve also been molded by your environment and upbringing, which I think was very positive,” Quinn suggested, hoping she was right.

  Daisy nodded in agreement as she considered Quinn’s reply. “My dad is great. And I love my stepmum. She’s amazing. I’ve always thought so. She loves me way more than that bitch ever did.”

  “My adoptive mother loves me with her whole being. She’s the one I think of as my mum, not Sylvia.”

  Daisy thought about that for a moment. “Yes, I saw Sylvia in the visions. She’s a piece of work.”

  “That she is,” Quinn agreed.

  “Do you keep in touch with her?”

  “We see each other from time to time, but our relationship is very casual. I no longer blame her for giving me away; she had her reasons, but I can’t find it in my heart to love her.”

  “Do you think she loves you?”

  “I think she loves me as much as she’s able to, which is not saying much. She’s just not a very giving woman.”

  “Does she love her sons?” Daisy asked.

  “She does, but she raised them from babyhood. She’s invested in them in a way she can never be with me.”

  “Jo didn’t like her much, probably because she saw so much of Sylvia in herself,” Daisy pointed out astutely. “I think they would have forged a bond had Jo lived.”

  “Perhaps, although I’m not sure that Jo could forge a lasting bond with anyone.”

  “No, probably not. Sylvia’s my grandmother, though,” Daisy said, her nose wrinkling with something like distaste.

  “Would you like to meet her, judge for yourself?” Quinn asked. “You can meet your grandfather too. He’s really cool,” Quinn said, meaning it. She’d come to love Seth and appreciate his involvement in her life. “A
nd his wife Kathy is very nice.”

  Daisy went silent, staring at her sandwich again. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I’m just not ready.”

  “You don’t have to make any decisions now. Just know that it’s an option you can exercise at any time.”

  “Any time?”

  “Any time. You can meet Logan and Jude as well,” Quinn added.

  Daisy instantly brightened. “I liked them.”

  “I like them too. They’re not at all what I would have wished for in my brothers before meeting them, but I love them both, and I’m glad to have them in my life.”

  Daisy nodded, but her mind seemed to be on something else. She pushed away her plate and clasped her hands together, almost as if in prayer. Her young face suddenly looked determined, and a little scared.

  “Quinn, there’s something else. I wasn’t sure if I should tell you, but I really think I should.”

  Quinn felt a moment of apprehension, her pulse quickening again. This was it. This was what had brought Daisy to her, she realized with a jolt. Everything else had been a buildup to what Daisy had come to share with her.

  Daisy lifted her face slowly, her gaze resolute. “Quinn, I saw Jo’s killer. It was Brett Besson.”

  Chapter 24

  Quinn huddled in the corner of the sofa after Daisy had rushed off to catch the train back to Leicester. Her head ached and she was trembling, but her eyes were bone dry, her mind spinning like a centrifuge. Daisy’s revelation had been shocking but made a twisted kind of sense. Brett had come to London after his release from prison to make amends. He’d said he’d make it up to Quinn, whatever it took, and had been there when Quinn had received the video of Jo trying to seduce Gabe. Brett had been privy to one of the most private, hurtful, and all-around earth-shattering moments of her life, had watched as the carpet of security was yanked from under her feet, and had witnessed the unmasking of the sister she had come to love in all her mind-blowing naivete.

  Brett had seen her distress, had felt the depth of her shock. Any other person would have offered sympathy and comfort, but Brett was not just any person. Years ago, when she’d finally found her biological father and met the brother she hadn’t known she had, Brett had locked her in a cemetery vault when she’d unwittingly threatened his way of life by revealing a truth he’d tried to hide not only from those around him but also from himself. He’d been willing to sacrifice both Quinn and her unborn child, to walk away without a second thought, his conscience untroubled by the knowledge that she would die a slow, agonizing death in a place where no one would ever find her.

  He’d begged for her forgiveness afterward, had sworn he was a changed man, but people didn’t change. Not really. Brett may have proclaimed his devotion when he’d come to see her, but he’d simply shifted his focus from Quinn to Jo. He’d made amends to Quinn by killing the woman who’d threatened her marriage, then blithely boarded a flight to the States the next day, certain that no one would ever connect the hit-and-run accident that killed Jo Turing to him. He’d got away with it, too. He’d been living his life, attending college, going out with his friends, and spending time with his parents without ever giving himself away.

  He’d committed the perfect crime, and even though Quinn now knew the truth, there was precious little she could do about it. She could hardly walk into a police station and announce that her niece, who shared her psychic ability, had seen the face of the man who’d mowed her mother down two and a half years before. Quinn would be laughed out of the station. Worse yet, her professional name would be dragged through the mud. She could just see the headlines: TV Host Fancies Herself a Psychic Crime Fighter, or something equally vicious.

  Quinn’s initial instinct had been to tell Gabe what she’d learned. She’d almost called him at work after Daisy left, but something had stopped her. How could she tell him? Gabe had been the innocent victim of Quinn’s quest to find her birth family, the events that had threatened his family not easily forgotten.

  Now, after more than two years, things had finally calmed down. Gabe had come to accept Quinn’s family. He tolerated Sylvia and was friendly with Seth, Logan, and even Jude, who’d managed to earn his grudging respect. He still thought Brett belonged in prison, but as long as there was no immediate threat to his family, Gabe was willing, if not happy, to live with the fact that Brett had been freed on a technicality and would never serve his time for what he’d done to Quinn.

  Using every ounce of will, Quinn left the sofa and trudged into the kitchen to start on dinner. She took out several potatoes, fished a peeler out of a drawer, and went at the potatoes as if they were in some way responsible for her dilemma. She didn’t want to bring this up with Gabe; she could only imagine his reaction, but she had to. They had no secrets from each other, and this newfound knowledge was like a hand grenade that had lain dormant for years until Daisy pulled out the pin. An explosion was inevitable, and the only thing Quinn could do was try to minimize the carnage, if such a thing were even possible.

  She’d talk to Gabe tonight, she decided, once they were alone and she could speak freely without any danger of being overheard by Emma, who seemed to have a radar for private adult conversations. Once finished with the potatoes, Quinn put them in a bowl of water, dropped the peeler and splayed her hands on the worktop, bowing her head as the magnitude of what she’d learned hit her like a two-ton truck. Once she told Gabe, there’d be no going back, no pretending that Jo’s death had been an accident. Once again, she was thrust into an impossible position, all because of the damn psychic ability that Seth had unwittingly passed on to his children, and Jo had passed on to hers.

  Turning abruptly, Quinn yanked open the fridge and took out a half-finished bottle of wine. If ever there was an occasion to drink alone, this was it. Once she felt a little calmer, she fetched the ring from her bedroom, and turned on the baby monitor. Getting out of her head for a little while might help her get through the rest of the day. Dinner would just have to wait.

  Chapter 25

  November 1777

  Long Island

  “Alice! Alice, it’s all right. You’re safe.” Ben’s voice was soothing and warm, his embrace comforting as he pulled her close. Jocelyn buried her face in his chest. Her heart was still pounding, her breath coming in short gasps.

  “What’s wrong?” Hannah came rushing into the room, her candle shining a light on the pitch-black corners of Jocelyn’s mind.

  “Nothing, Ma. Alice had a nightmare is all. She’s all right now. Aren’t you?” Ben held her away from him for a moment, studying her tear-stained face. “Were you dreaming about the shipwreck?” he asked, throwing her a rope she was happy to grab hold of. She nodded.

  “Is it coming back to you, then?” Hannah asked. Her face looked harsh in the eerie glow of the candle, her plait snaking over her shoulder.

  “Not all of it,” Jocelyn replied truthfully. “Just the terror of it.”

  Hannah nodded. “I can’t imagine how frightened you must have been, but God has chosen you for some purpose known only to himself,” Hannah said.

  I wish I knew what it was, Jocelyn thought.

  Ben gazed into her face, his eyes warm with concern. “Would you like me to stay with you until you go back to sleep? I’ll sit by the door,” he added when Hannah glared at him.

  “There’s talk enough already,” she snapped. “Off with you. I’ll stay with her for a while.”

  “What sort of talk?” Jocelyn asked once Ben had been shooed from the room.

  “Just the usual kind,” Hannah said as she settled at the foot of the bed. “Young woman, two unmarried men. You know the sort of thing people say.”

  “I haven’t—” Jocelyn began.

  “I know you haven’t done anything wrong. But people will talk.” Hannah sighed. “It’s high time the boys were married. I worry about them, Alice. Ben lost his intended a year ago, and Derek fancies Lydia Blackwell, Lord knows why. I think she might have her sights set on someone who c
an offer her more than the life of a farmer’s wife. Got ambition, that one. Why, I wager she’d gladly marry that homely Lieutenant Reynolds if he’d have her. I hear he comes from money and will inherit a sizable estate in Hertfordshire, or Oxfordshire, or some such once his father is gone. I don’t want to see Derek hurt. Or Ben.” Hannah sighed, giving Jocelyn a meaningful look. “Well, if you’re all right, I’ll go to my bed now,” she said, rising to her feet. “I don’t mean to burden you with my problems. You’ve got your own to contend with. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” Jocelyn muttered, glad to be left alone.

  The room was plunged into darkness once again, leaving Jocelyn to reconstruct the dream that had terrified her. She gingerly touched the healing bruise on her head. She could still feel the blinding pain and the sheer terror of hurtling overboard into the nearly black waters of the roiling sea, but there had been something else, something before that. She couldn’t conjure up the details or the context, only the terror that had left her shaking and helpless.

  She was running, her footsteps unbearably loud in the eerie silence of the night. Someone was after her, someone who terrified her. She could almost taste her panic and fear and feel the erratic beating of her heart. She couldn’t see him, but knew he was gaining on her, the thudding of his boots getting closer. There was no getting away, and nowhere to hide. A hand closed over her arm, yanking her back forcibly and dragging her back the way she’d come. All is lost, her mind screamed. No one could help her now. Tomorrow she would hang.

  Jocelyn wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth in her distress. Her mouth was dry, her heart racing as if she were still trapped in the dream, running for her life. Had it been a random dream or a memory of something that had happened before she’d boarded the ship? Had her mind dredged up a terrifying reality from the murky depths of her damaged memory?

  Jocelyn rested her forehead on her knees, wrapped her arms around her legs, and screwed her eyes tightly shut, but the images raced across her mind, the panic making her breath come in choking gasps. The fear was real, and it was raw, and she instinctively knew that the threat was still out there, only, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what it was.