Secrets of the Riverview Inn

by Molly O'Keefe

  I can’t do it. I can’t keep everyone safe.

  “Jos?” Jared asked, mildly mocking. “Who the hell are you calling my daughter nicknames?”

  “He’s Max,” Josie murmured.

  “Max?” Jared smiled, a wolf bearing his teeth, and a chill swept down Max’s spine. This guy was bad news. “You’re Max Mitchell? The cop who shot that teenager?” He shook his head, tsking his tongue. “Not good for business, man,” he said. “It’s a good thing you left the force. We don’t need men like you in the brotherhood.”

  Two days ago Jared’s words would have wounded Max. Would have made his hand tremble and his head second-guess.

  But Delia grabbed his hand where he held her shirt and that touch, strong, steady and fierce, cleared the room, banished the demons and lent steadiness where he needed it.

  She needed him and he wouldn’t let her down.

  “You’re not my brother,” Max muttered.

  “He’s my friend,” Josie said, her little fingers stretching out to him.

  Oh, Jos, he thought. You’re my friend, too.

  “No.” Jared jerked Josie back, a little too violently for a loving father and the dangerous unpredictability escalated. A weapon had not materialized, but Max was sure it would when Jared was provoked enough. “He’s not your friend, Josie.”

  Delia pulled away again, but Max kept her close. If there were going to be bullets, he needed to know he could get her out of the way.

  And he would. He’d die protecting these girls.

  “I found our little girl in the hallway eavesdropping,” Jared said.

  Delia’s skin crawled. Her head buzzed with fear and she couldn’t make sense of what was happening. How could Jared be here? How could he be touching Josie that way?

  “She’s picked up some bad habits on this little mother-daughter vacation of yours.”

  “Jared, there are a lot of cops on their way with a warrant for your arrest,” Max said, and his voice was so calm it allowed Delia to think. It allowed her to trust him. Everything was going to be okay. Max was here.

  “Let them come,” Jared said expansively, his brown eyes glowing with a scary kind of insanity that Delia had never seen before.

  “The investigator you hired hasn’t got anything,” Jared said.

  He had to be lying. Please, God, let him be lying. There has to be a way out of this.

  “Just a vanload of dead bodies, Jared. You can’t hide—”

  “What do you want, Jared?” Max asked.

  “I want my daughter!” Jared yelled, edging ever closer to some breaking point. He gripped Josie’s shoulder hard enough that she cried out and Delia reached for her, straining past Max, wanting her little girl safe in her arms. “She belongs with me.”

  “Over my dead—” Delia cried.

  “That’s not going to happen, Jared,” Max interrupted.

  “Oh no?” He crouched down, stroking Josie’s shoulders, clearly impervious to how much he was scaring her. Delia’s own skin crawled when he touched Josie. “Do you want to go home, sweetie?” he asked. “Do you want to come home with me?”

  Delia sucked in a breath and felt the world spin. She clutched Max for support, no longer trying to get past him.

  What if Josie said yes?

  Even with all that had happened, despite her efforts to be a good mother, the right kind of mother, Josie could still choose her father. Time stopped and Delia felt the weight of Josie’s decision in every single fiber of her muscle. Tears rolled down her face and she prayed incoherently, her heart breaking with every second and still Josie said nothing.

  Josie looked at her father, her young eyes searching the devils in Jared’s and finally Delia could not take it another moment. She put her head down on Max’s shoulder.

  “Baby,” she whispered. “My baby. I’m so sorry.”

  “Mom?” Josie cried. Delia’s head came up.

  “Josie?”

  “Mom!”

  Jared wrapped an arm around his daughter’s waist and lifted her, kicking and screaming, into the air.

  “I want my mom!”

  “You can’t have her,” Jared said, and pulled a gun from his waistband.

  “Josie!” Delia screamed.

  Max crouched, holding his gun with one hand and Delia with the other. “Drop the weapon,” he demanded. “You don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.”

  Jared trained his weapon on Delia. The sound of a chamber loading filled the room and Delia looked down the barrel of that gun, knowing sanity had left the building.

  Max will keep me safe, she thought, paralyzed, repeating it like a mantra.

  “Josie,” Max said, cocking the weapon. “Close your eyes.”

  Josie clenched her eyes shut tight and Max pulled the trigger.

  Jared fell, screaming, the gun falling from his hand. Delia charged up the stairs and grabbed her daughter, whirling her away from the blood and Jared’s screams of pain.

  Josie buried her face in Delia’s neck and her whole body sobbed in relief. “I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you,” she said, holding her as tight as she could.

  “Don’t let me go,” Josie whimpered.

  “Never,” Delia vowed, and ran to their room.

  Jared made a grab for the gun, but Max kicked it out of reach and stepped on Jared’s hand with his boot heel. Jared’s screams hit a new pitch of pain.

  Max wanted to break every bone in Jared’s body. Break every finger that had brought pain and violence to Delia’s life. But he contented himself by mashing that hand deeper into the carpet.

  With his good hand, Jared gripped his shattered knee to his chest, blood oozing through his fingers, cartiledge littering the carpet under him.

  Gabe was not going to be happy about that, Max thought, putting the gun back in the waist of his pants, feeling the cop in him return.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Jared gasped. “I’m a cop.”

  “No,” Max shook his head. “You’re not.”

  The man he used to be slowly returned, filling his skin and his muscles with his old sense of duty. Of obligation. Of right and wrong.

  “I’m a cop,” he said.

  Ten minutes after the shooting and Josie still trembled. Delia stroked her hair, and her back. She cooed and whispered as much comfort as she could into her daughter’s ear, but the trembling didn’t stop. She didn’t think it ever would.

  “It’s over, Josie,” she murmured.

  “Is Dad dead?”

  “No, honey. Max shot him in the knee. You were so brave to do what he asked and keep your eyes shut.”

  “He scared me, Mom.”

  Delia sighed. “I know, honey, but Max was just trying to keep—”

  “Not Max.” Josie lifted her head. Her face was red and swollen, her eyes puffy. “Dad scared me.”

  Delia pulled her back against her shoulder, holding her as tight as possible. “Well, he can’t anymore,” she said.

  There was a knock at the door and, instead of getting up or moving her daughter from her arms, she just yelled, “Come in.”

  Max entered, white-faced and serious.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. She could tell, because she knew him so well, that he was consumed with worry that he’d hurt Josie. That he’d sent her further into her tailspin.

  “We’re okay,” Delia said.

  “Max?” Josie lifted her head, the tears starting fresh. “Max—” She reached for him and Max’s austere face crumpled, his eyes flooded with moisture and he was on his knees in front of them, hugging them both.

  “So brave,” he said, pushing Josie’s hair from her face. “You’re such a brave little girl.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead then turned to look at Delia. “I know you were scared and you didn’t know what you were saying before Jared showed up.” He gripped her leg. “But I’m taking you at your word,” he said. “You want to stay.”

  She looked at Josie and saw her small nod against Max’s shoulder.


  They were all slowly mending those broken spots inside themselves and promises now would be foolish. But she wanted to stay. She wanted to see where this would go.

  There was uncertainty in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. Feelings that echoed her own.

  What happens next?

  Is this real?

  “One day at a time,” she told him, pressing a kiss to his neck, just beneath his scar. “Let’s take it one day at a time.”

  17

  “None of my other friends have to go to counseling,” Josie groused, staring out the passenger-door window.

  She was nine going on thirty and Delia could only hold her breath and pray that somehow she would just skip the teenage years.

  “Well, I doubt your friends have gone through what you’ve had to go through,” she said, turning off the highway onto the gravel road that led to the front door of the Riverview Inn.

  The gravel road that led them home.

  Seven months at the Riverview and it was more home, the Mitchells more family, than either she or Josie had ever experienced.

  “You like it here?” she asked Josie, and her daughter predictably rolled her eyes.

  “Yes, Mom. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “Just checking.”

  They hit the bump in the road, turned the corner and there was the inn.

  “You think Chef Tim made shish kebabs?” Josie asked.

  “Ah, yeah,” Delia joked. “He makes them every Tuesday. Just for you.”

  Josie grinned and watched the world outside the window.

  Finally, Delia parked the car and Max came out the back door, grinning. Oh, he was a handsome man when he smiled.

  And while a juvenile parole officer didn’t wear a uniform, she imagined he would be back in uniform when Joe retired next year.

  She had to admit, she looked forward to seeing her handsome man in uniform.

  “Hey, Max!” Josie yelled out the window, all of her preteen attitude gone at his arrival.

  “Hey, kid,” he said, opening the driver door and helping Delia out of the car. “Hey, lady,” he whispered, and gave her a warm, full kiss.

  “Hello, Officer,” she breathed back.

  He wrapped his arm around her and shut the car door. “Follow me,” he said, leading her toward the trail leading back to his old shed.

  “Me, too?” Josie asked.

  “Especially you,” he said, and like the nine-year-old she was, she ran on ahead.

  “What are you doing?” Delia asked, loving the twinkle in his eye. The strength of his arm around her waist.

  “You’ll see.”

  Josie stood at the edge of the clearing, staring at the shed.

  “What’d you do?” she asked, looking back at Max.

  “I finished it,” he said. “Finally.”

  “But are you going to put lawn mowers in that?” Josie asked. “It’s so pretty.”

  Delia looked around Josie and saw that not only was the shed finished, but it was painted purple. Bright purple. With a red door.

  And he’d cut windows in his shed.

  “Go check it out,” he said, nudging Josie. “There’s some stuff inside.”

  Josie ran off and Delia turned to face him, astonished and in love. Deeply in love. She stood there, a new woman, with all her love for him.

  “It’s just some art stuff,” he said, watching the shed and smiling when they heard Josie whoop. “You said the counselor believed that the art therapy was working. And—” he laughed “—a CD player so I don’t have to listen to Justin Timberlake anymore. A couple of sudoku puzzles. A little surprise for—”

  “Marry me,” she said, interrupting. She wasn’t joking—it wasn’t something they joked about.

  He smiled, slow and sweet, and her whole body quivered with desire and affection. “You have to make an honest woman out of me,” she said.

  “I’ve been trying,” he told her. “But you put up quite a fight.”

  “I thought you liked that,” she murmured, twining her arms around his neck. He reached under the hem of her shirt and stroked her back.

  “Mom!” Josie screamed, and came tearing out the door holding a blue box. “You have got to see this!”

  Josie hurled herself against them and pressed the blue box—the blue ring box—into her hand.

  Delia blinked up at the love of her life and joy washed over her like a river. Unending. Consuming.

  “You beat me to the punch,” he murmured.

  Delia tipped her head back and laughed. She laughed until tears ran down her cheeks and Max joined her, his chuckle startling birds from trees.

  “Are we getting married?” Josie asked, hugging their waists tight. Max reached down and cupped Josie’s head, smiling at her as though he could never love her more.

  “You bet we are,” Delia said, holding tight to her man worth keeping.

  * * *

  Thank you so much for picking Secrets of Riverview Inn! I hope you enjoyed it! Please consider leaving a review - they are always appreciated. The conclusion to the Riverview Inn series is HOME TO RIVERVIEW INN. Keep reading to meet Jonah, the secret son.

  * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jonah Closky stared out the window and thought of money.

  Great heaps of it.

  He barely listened to Gary Murphy, his business partner, read over the contract. Most days he barely listened to Gary, but today Jonah was mentally counting the profit they’d make once Gary stopped reading and everyone got to the signing part.

  The answer, of course, was a fortune. Plenty, for anyone else. But, for Jonah, for his plans, for Haven House, it wasn’t quite enough.

  It was never quite enough.

  “Rick Ornus, seller, agrees to pay the cost of soil removal in the northwest corner of the property,” Gary read from the sheath of papers in front of him.

  Rick, who sat at the corner of the boardroom table, put up his hand, interrupting Gary. “About that,” Rick said.

  Jonah tuned in to the conversation with his whole body. The terms of this contract had already been hashed and rehashed. There should be no “about that’s.”

  “Is that really necessary?” Rick asked. “That soil thing?”

  “Well.” Gary laid the papers down on the table, keeping his cool when Jonah knew his partner had to be having a heart attack. Gary wasn’t much for “about that’s,” either.

  “Considering the amount of arsenic in it, yes,” Gary said. “It is. We will treat the rest of the property and retest, but that northwest corner needs to be dug out and all that soil replaced.”

  Rick looked over at Jonah and smiled. “Jonah,” he said, holding out his hands, as though they were coconspirators. “Come on. Between us. You know that with the right amount of money Barringer will overlook that—”

  “I don’t bribe city officials,” Jonah said. “And I don’t build on dirty land.”

  “What about your current site?” Rick asked. “I heard you were about to start building and the city just shut you down for poisoned soil.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” Gary asked and Jonah nearly hung his head at his partner’s transparency. It was no wonder Gary couldn’t play cards—a ten-year-old child had a better poker face.

  “Everyone knows,” Rick said. “Yesterday, I must have gotten seven calls from people telling me about it. It’ll be all over the papers in no time.”

  Gary’s worried gaze flicked to Jonah and Jonah held up a hand, trying to get his business partner to relax, to not fly off the handle like some freaked-out howler monkey.

  “So,” Rick continued, his eyes gleaming with a certain smug satisfaction. “Why don’t you guys cut the righteous environmental act—”

  “Act?” Gary nearly squealed and Jonah rolled his eyes.

  “Yeah, and we can get down to business,” Rick said. “You guys have a good racket going pretending to clean up all this bad land, but obviously—”

  Well, crap, Jonah t
hought. Now I’m offended.

  And the estimated revenue from this project that he’d just totaled in his head went back to zero.

  “There will be no business,” Jonah said, leaning forward.

  “What do you mean?” Rick asked. “We’re ready to sign the papers—” Rick looked at Gary, who had seen this kind of scenario enough to know the ending. Gary simply leaned back and tossed the unsigned contract in the garbage.

  “What are you doing?” Rick cried.

  A long time ago Jonah had made the promise that he’d do whatever he had to do to get the job done, but he wouldn’t explain himself and he wouldn’t beg. And while he might have to do business with rats like Rick, he’d make sure the rats always knew he wasn’t one of them.

  “I’m not sure what the problem is here, gentlemen,” Rick said, looking far less smug and a little more sweaty. “You need the land, I can sell it to you. And we can all make a bunch of money if you just forget this soil problem. It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”

  “We’re done,” Jonah said, standing so fast the chair spun backward and hit the floor-to-ceiling windows of his boardroom. “Get out.”

  “Come on, Jonah. I’m sure we can—”

  “We can’t,” Jonah said, striding to the door, opening it and nodding to Katie, who sat at the front desk. “Notify security,” he told her.

  “You know—” Rick’s face became bitter and Jonah crossed his arms over his chest and waited for the guy to hammer the nails in his own coffin “—you’re getting a pretty nasty reputation, Jonah. Between the number of real estate agents ready to stab you in the back and that failed soil test on your current site, pretty soon no one is going to be willing to sit down with you.”

  A week ago, Rat-faced Rick had been so relieved that Jonah wanted to buy the land with the arsenic problem, that Rick had agreed to Jonah’s terms, including the soil removal.

  But then they’d failed that soil test—and apparently the whole world knew about it, and Jonah’s delicate balancing act was in jeopardy.

  “Let me tell you what you’ve just done, Rick,” Jonah said. “Not only is our deal over, but I am going to make sure that you will be unable to sell that disgusting property you’re lying to everyone about. And you won’t be able to make a land sale in New Jersey ever again.”