"But—"
"And," he said, "I didn't know you. Not yet."
On this, he was right. At the time, we'd known each other for less than a day. So of course he wouldn't be sharing such personal details. Still I was curious. "But why didn't you tell me later on, after we knew each other better?"
"Because you didn't ask."
Logical or not, this was probably the worst thing he could've said. "Yeah," I replied. "And you wanna know why? It's because you hated me asking questions."
"And yet it never stopped you."
I started to object, but then stopped myself. He was right. Sort of. In the end, I could only say, "Well, I didn't ask nearly as many as I wanted."
"And I answered more than I should've." An edge crept into his voice. "So let's call it even."
That was easy for him to say. He held all the cards. And now, I wasn't even sure that I'd ever see him again. Did I want to see him again?
My heart said yes, but my brain said no.
I was still dwelling on this unsettling question when he said, "On the trip, don't forget to take notes."
And with that, he hung up.
Well, that was nice.
Chapter 69
Becka
I stared at my sister. "Do you want to say that again?"
She bit her lip. "From the look on your face, I'm not sure I should."
When my only reply was a sullen look, Anna persisted. "I'm just saying, maybe he had a perfectly good reason for sending you here."
Hearing her say this the first time had been bad enough. But hearing it a second time? It was maddening to the core.
We'd just landed in Romania and were on our way to our first hotel, courtesy of a town car that had been waiting at the airport.
I wasn't even sure who arranged it – Flynn or Jack. And honestly, I was almost afraid to ask.
Even by private jet, the flight had been too long and way too turbulent, just like my own emotions. During the twelve hours we'd spent in the air, I'd resisted the urge to tell my sister everything that had happened during the past week.
And why? It was because I still wasn't quite sure what was going on and hated the thought of worrying her for nothing. Already, I was worried enough for the both of us.
So in the end, I decided to hold off until I did some research – not only into castles, but into Jack's activities during the past several months.
In the meantime, I vowed, I'd try to be a better sport.
During the latest leg of our flight, I'd vowed this at least a dozen times, only to break that vow repeatedly by sulking like a petulant child.
No more.
If there was one thing I'd learned from growing up in a dysfunctional home, it was that bad moods were contagious. Already I'd contaminated Anna more than enough with my sorry attitude.
I needed to do better, starting now. In reply to her last statement, I summoned up a smile. "Maybe you're right. Either way, there's nothing we can do about it now, huh?"
But soon, my smile faltered. "I probably should've asked this hours ago, but how did you get suckered into this?"
"I wasn't 'suckered'," she said. "I wanted to come."
"Why?"
She laughed. "Because I missed you. Is that so hard to believe?"
Given my current mood, I couldn’t imagine anyone missing me.
Still, I appreciated the sentiment. "I missed you, too." And I meant it. Even though my time with Jack had been amazing, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I'd been longing to spend more time with Anna.
And now I smiled for real. "Thanks for coming along, seriously."
"Don't thank me," she said. "It was Flynn's idea."
"More like Jack's idea." I tried to laugh. "I'm pretty sure you're my baby-sitter."
She grinned. "It wouldn’t be the first time."
This much was true. But that was a long time ago, and I wasn't a kid anymore. I didn't need a babysitter even if selfishly, it was really nice to have Anna along.
I said, "Hey, can I ask you something? How much do you know about Jack?"
She laughed. "Not much as you do."
I wasn't so sure. After all, she was engaged to someone who'd known Jack for a lot longer than I had. "How about Flynn? What does he know?"
"More than he's saying, that's for sure."
I perked up. "Really? What makes you say that?"
"All right, get this," she said. "On the way to the airport, Flynn asked me to keep him updated on how you're doing."
I smiled. "Awwww—"
"Daily." As she said it, she gave me a significant look. "Gee, I wonder who that's for."
Something squeezed at my heart. "So you think the updates are really for Jack?"
"Definitely," she said. "Not that Flynn doesn't care about you. I'm just saying, he was very specific."
"Yeah, but even if your theory's right, does it really matter? I mean, it's probably just a pity thing." Or, he wanted to make sure that I didn't "blab."
"Oh, please," she said. "According to Flynn, Jack's crazy about you."
"Seriously?"
Anna nodded.
With a trembling laugh, I said, "And you just thought to mention this?"
"Oh come on," she said. "You knew it already. Why would you need me to tell you?"
"Maybe I knew it then," I said. "But I don't know anything now. Even about those daily updates, if Jack really wanted to know how I was doing, why wouldn't he just talk to me himself? Or ask me to give him updates?"
"I don't know," Anna said. "But I'm sure he's thinking about you."
That was Anna, the eternal optimist. But me? I wasn't so sure. Regardless, I was definitely thinking about him.
In fact, I thought about Jack non-stop, even as I toured the castles on my list. I was taking plenty of notes, too. But all of this was during the day.
Meanwhile, every night, I was doing other research, which in the end, proved to be even more interesting.
Chapter 70
Becka
My jaw dropped as I stared at the image on my computer screen. It was a mug shot of a heavy-set man in his sixties.
I'd seen the guy before.
I was absolutely certain. Oh sure, in this picture, he was wearing clothes, and his sex-partner was nowhere in sight. But it was definitely the same guy.
Here in Romania, it was nearly midnight. For the past two hours, I'd been holed up in our latest hotel suite with my head buried in my notebook computer.
Anna was in her private bedroom talking to Flynn. On the other side of her closed door, I heard laughter and giggles – the kind that suggested I'd be smart to stay away.
Good.
The truth was, I didn't want to be interrupted either.
As far as the guy on my computer screen, I'd found his picture while scouring the local news sites within a two-hour radius of Worthington, New York – one of the last cities I'd visited with Jack.
In what couldn't be a coincidence, this also happened to be the city where I'd caught him with those naked pictures.
Now as I stared at the mug shot on my computer, I couldn't help but wonder what those lewd photos had to do with this latest development. They were definitely connected.
They had to be, right?
Above the guy's photo, the headline announced, "Local Judge Arrested in Corruption Probe."
When I read the news article, I learned that the guy had been caught accepting bribes for favorable outcomes. Allegedly, his customers included a whole slew of shady characters ranging from high-level drug dealers to a local businessman involved in some sort of human trafficking case.
The judge had been arrested just yesterday, which explained why I hadn't come across the story earlier. Until now, he'd apparently kept a fairly low profile.
It was no wonder.
Now as I stared at his mug shot, I racked my brain, trying to figure out Jack's role in all of this. He definitely had one. Of this, I was certain.
I read the article a second t
ime, and then a third. When it netted no new clues, I changed my focus to other stops along the book tour.
During our time together, Jack and I had visited over a hundred cities – double that if I accounted for the fact that we rarely stayed in the same city as the actual book-signing.
As I considered the vast quantity of locations, I frowned. And what about all those cities we'd driven through?
There were a lot.
Feeling almost light-headed now, I started from the beginning.
I found nothing of particular interest in Atlanta. Or more accurately, I found so much news that it was hard to zoom in on a single thing.
And then I remembered, Jack's public appearance in that city had only happened because he'd been substituting for Flynn.
Still, I couldn’t help but recall the time I'd spotted Jack in the hotel lobby at nearly four in the morning. He'd been carrying my stolen paperback.
How had he gotten it, anyway?
Was it the same way he'd gotten those lewd photos?
As far as the paperback itself, it had been months since Jack and I last discussed it. But I still had the book tucked into the inside pocket of my favorite suitcase.
Overcome by a wave of melancholy, I felt a sudden longing to see it. I wandered to the closet and dug it out. As I opened it to the signature page, I felt my eyes grow misty.
The original inscription was still there. To Becka – a trouble-maker of the highest order.
But underneath it, in a different color ink, was something new. I love you. Don't forget that. It was dated on the last day we'd seen each other.
As I stared at the new inscription, I blinked away more unshed tears. That was two whole weeks ago, and I hadn't heard from Jack since. No phone calls, no texts, no email messages. No nothing.
So much for love, huh?
Feeling more confused than ever, I returned to my computer with a renewed determination to solve the puzzle that was Jack Ward. This time, I focused only on the cities where I knew for sure that he'd slipped away during the middle of the night.
I found just a few items of interest – a few more bribery scandals, some drug deals gone bad, and some high-end robberies, but nothing I could tie to Jack for certain.
In the end, all I felt was exhausted and overwhelmed.
I didn't remember falling asleep, but as far as waking up, I remembered that perfectly.
I woke to the sound of my sister's voice, saying, "Hey, Becka – did you see the thing about Jack?"
Chapter 71
Becka
I sat up and rubbed at my eyes. "What?"
Anna stared down at me. "Why'd you sleep out here?"
I glanced around. Apparently, I'd fallen asleep on the sofa. On the coffee table in front of me was my notebook computer, still open. The screen was dark, but the room wasn't. Already, pale sunlight was filtering in through the suite's window blinds.
I asked, "What time is it?"
"Just past seven," she said. "But forget that. Did you see?"
I shook my head. "See what?"
"The thing about Jack." Her voice rose. "Did you see?"
"I, uh, don't think so." I squinted up at her. "What do you mean?"
She leaned forward. "Do you know who he is?"
It seemed an odd question. "Yeah. I mean, I think so." I was still trying to clear the cobwebs. "Sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about."
She pointed to my computer. "Go to the news."
Oh, no. Bracing myself, I asked, "What news?"
"Any news," she said. "It's all over the place."
My stomach lurched. Oh, my God.
He'd gotten caught.
Doing what, I didn't know. But it was beyond easy to guess where this was going.
I grabbed my computer and fired it up to the same Web browser I'd been using last night. On the screen was the last Web site I'd visited – the main news page of a Seattle TV station.
In front of me, I saw nothing new.
Was that good or bad? I looked to my sister.
"Hit refresh," she said.
I wasn't sure I wanted to. Stalling, I said, "But this is just a local site. I mean, it might not have anything."
"I don't care," she said. "It'll be there."
With my heart in my throat, I did what she asked. And then I stared as relief coursed through me. It wasn't the kind of news I'd been expecting. Thank God.
He wasn't in jail or dead or any of the other awful scenarios I might've expected.
He was something else entirely.
Or more accurately, he was someone else entirely.
Right there on the screen in front of me was Jack's picture along with his name, or rather the name I'd always known him by. But according to the latest news, this wasn't his name at all.
With stunned disbelief, I read the headline out loud. "Jack Ward Revealed to be Only Son of Disgraced Senator Charles McBride."
Holy crap.
I knew who the senator was. Cripes, everyone knew. A few years earlier, he'd been busted in a huge corruption scheme involving a whole bunch of unsavory activities – bribery, extortion, prostitution, illegal gambling, and rumors of much worse.
He was still in prison.
As my heart raced, I skimmed the article in front of me. Jack's real name was Christopher. I said it out loud, "Christopher McBride?"
I looked to my sister. "Did you know?"
"No," she said. "Did you?"
I shook my head. "I didn't know anything."
Even to my own ears, the statement sounded truly unbelievable. I loved him. And he loved me. Or at least that's what he'd claimed.
Now I didn't know what to think about anything.
Hungry for more details, I devoured news story after news story until I had a better idea of what was going on.
Apparently, Jack had run away from home while still a teenager – even as the senator had told his friends and associates that his son was simply away at boarding school.
After that, the senator had stopped mentioning his son at all.
But I didn't care about the senator. I cared about Jack.
According to the news, the rest of Jack's official bio was surprisingly accurate. He'd worked construction during the day and wrote his novels by night, until they'd taken off like rockets, shattering sales records worldwide.
As the day progressed, I read countless news items from every source I could find. None of the articles contained any quotes from Jack whatsoever. Instead, they all included the same sort of generic statement. Jack Ward was unavailable for comment.
I almost scoffed out loud. Welcome to the club. As long as I'd known Jack, he'd been unavailable when it came to sharing personal details about his life.
Was that the reason?
If so, I guess I could see why. Still, I couldn't help but take it at least a little personally that he'd been so tight-lipped with me, the person he claimed to love.
And besides, I could keep a secret.
In spite of what Jack might think, I was no blabber. Even now, I hadn't said a single word about his strange behavior on the book tour – or the fact I'd seen those photos.
But now I was more curious than ever.
This afternoon, Anna and I were scheduled to tour yet another castle. Irresponsible or not, I couldn't see myself doing it. All I wanted to do was hunker down with my computer and read all about Jack.
In the end, I begged my sister to go without me and write up whatever she saw. Was I shirking? Maybe. But the truth was, I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, and I knew full well that I'd be crappy company, anyway.
Our Romanian research trip was scheduled to last for three weeks total. Two of those weeks were already gone, which meant that in just one week, I'd be seeing Jack again.
In theory, anyway.
Still, I couldn’t resist trying to call him, if for no other reason than to see how he was doing with all of the publicity. But when I did, the call went straight to voicemail.
As usual.
I shouldn't have been surprised.
Apparently, that whole "no comment" thing applied to me, too.
Go figure.
I spent the whole afternoon in the hotel suite, desperately searching for all the news I could find, until I could probably write a giant news story on my own – not that I ever would.
And besides, I was too emotionally exhausted to write anything.
Throughout the day, my thoughts and emotions had been bouncing around like crazy – going from self-righteous anger to an odd kind of gratitude. And why gratitude? It was because I'd come up with a new theory, and I was pretty sure I was right.
After all, it wasn't just news about Jack that I'd been researching. It was news about all those cities, where corrupt people were being outed left and right.
If Jack was somehow involved – and I was pretty sure he was – that meant he'd been treading on some very dangerous ground over the past few months.
And yet, he'd somehow managed to keep me out of it.
That couldn’t be an accident.
Finally at dinner time, I ventured down to the hotel lobby intending to dash out for a quick bite, only to stop in surprise at the sight of a familiar figure near the front desk.
It wasn't Jack.
It was Imogen, who sounded just as frustrated as I felt.
Chapter 72
Becka
The lobby was bustling with people coming and going. And yet, Imogen was talking so loudly that I noticed her the moment I got off the elevator.
She was standing near the front desk, hassling the concierge. At the sight of her, my steps faltered, and I stopped to stare. Her hair was coiled tightly atop her head, and she was wearing a long slinky dress and lots of jewelry.
Her face was flushed, and her stance was unsteady, as if she'd had way too much to drink or had just returned from a very long boat ride.
In that fake accent of hers, she announced, "But I'm quite certain that he's here."
I frowned. Even for Imogen, the accent sounded way off. Was she slurring? Between the accent itself and the chatter of the crowd, I couldn’t be sure either way.
As for the concierge, his reply was too hushed for me to make out. Still, the set of his jaw told me everything I needed to know. Whatever she was selling, he wasn't buying it.
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