EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE (2 page)

The sound of dripping water woke Hollin with a start. She shivered, realizing she was soaking wet. She shot off the bed and found the wall switch. Once her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she saw the problem. A leak directly above her bed.

And it wasn’t a small leak. The rainwater was coming down in a steady stream. The dark stains on the ceiling indicated it wasn’t the first time the roof had failed. As was the case with Brad’s old room down the hall, Rachel had informed her.

“Great,” she mumbled, barely awake, barely coherent. Outside the lightning flashed and the thunder clapped with a deafening boom. She nearly jumped at the sound.

She shuffled into the adjoining bathroom to wash her face, hoping to wake up. In the mirror, she noticed the worry lines on her face and the tenseness of her shoulders. She shivered again, goose bumps snaking up and down her arms and legs.

Griffin’s presence at the cemetery had terrified her. Wanting to forget about the past, that horrible night in particular, she’d taken one of her mother’s sleeping pills and climbed into bed when they’d returned home after the funeral yesterday afternoon. She’d passed out shortly thereafter and had been asleep for nearly twelve hours, according to the clock that ticked annoyingly on the antique bedside table. It read four A.M.

Half asleep, Hollin fell into the green velveteen wingback and drew her knees to her chest. She took in the details of her old bedroom. The shades of burgundy and olive that had once given the room a rich flavor had faded with time, although the furniture that used to belong to her grandparents had been well cared for and polished over the years.

She sighed and listened to the rain pour. Sitting here, wishing it would stop, wasn’t going to make it happen.

After changing into dry clothes--an old T-shirt and boxers--she went downstairs in search of a bucket. She didn’t bother to turn on the light in the hallway. Having lived in the old house--that was now falling apart at the seams--until she was fifteen, she knew her way around blindfolded.

The steps creaked with her weight, sounding as if the burden and stress were all too much for the old mahogany staircase. The windows rattled and the radiator hissed in the darkness. Padding barefoot through the hall’s hardwood floor, she made her way to the kitchen before turning on a light.

Everything in the kitchen needed updated, and she wondered why her mother and stepfather hadn’t bothered to have it remodeled. Then again, why hadn’t they had the aging roof fixed? Her mother loved this old house. It had once belonged to her parents, and her grandparents before them.

Over the years, the expensive paintings had been replaced with cheap replicas. Even the Chippendale furniture that had once graced the living room, had been sold a few years back. The room now sat empty. She’d questioned John about it, but he’d always said he and Angela planned to restore the family home soon. Now she wondered why they hadn’t done anything to improve the place.

Hollin opened the door to the utility closet and pulled on the chain. The single light bulb illuminated the four-by-six walk-in. Plenty of canning supplies lined the shelved wall, along with at least three dozen Mason jars, and a ton of cleaning supplies. An assortment of brooms and three vacuum cleaners lined the opposite wall. But there wasn’t a single bucket in sight.

Sighing, she turned off the light and shut the door. From the kitchen window she saw the guest cottage and beyond that the pool shed. She was certain there would be a bucket or two in the shed.

Hollin opened the door and peered out into the dark night. Lightning streaked across the black sky in the way off distance. But the rain seemed to have lifted some, and she decided to make a run for it. Her bare feet hit the cool, wet pavement as she sprinted past the pool, past the guest cottage with its peeling paint, and burst through the door of the pool shed.

The horrible musty smell made her nostrils flare with disgust. Fumbling in the dark for the light switch, she found it, flicked it on and smiled with satisfaction. In the far corner sat several buckets. She had her choice of metal or plastic as well as several sizes. She grabbed two plastic ones, turned off the light and stepped outside.

A tiny light flickered in the distance. Perhaps a cigarette lighter, or a match. She told herself she had probably imagined it when the flicker didn’t reappear, but then a bolt of lightning made it possible to see. Someone stood at the bottom of the hill near the boathouse.

Hollin ran back to the house and bolted the back door behind her. Her breath caught and her heart raced. A terrifying realization washed over her. What if the figure she’d seen by the boathouse was Griffin? And what if he planned to hurt her again?

She’d survived him once. But she had no intention of letting him touch her ever again. She’d kill him before she’d let him violate her a second time. The only problem was she had no way of defending herself. She didn’t own a gun, didn’t know if she’d have the nerve to use it if she did happen to own one.

She could always run. Go back to Boston as soon as daylight set in.

But her family was counting on her to stick around, at least another week or two. And she’d promised her mother.

Thirteen years ago, after the trial, Angela had sent her away to a private girls’ school. After graduation, Hollin went on to college and then moved to Boston where she now worked for an antiques dealer. Other than a few brief visits over the years, she hadn’t spent any time in Whisper Lake.

How could she? Griffin had only served three years for what he’d done to her. And rather than fade away in a hole somewhere, he’d come back to a town that didn’t want him.

It hadn’t stopped him though. Instead, he’d gotten a job with a local construction company and eventually started his own construction business.

Rachel had told her the man had purchased an abundance of property around town and planned to single-handedly turn Whisper Lake into a resort area. Not that Hollin cared. After a week or two, she’d be out of here. The thought saddened her.

Although she now considered Boston her home, she missed the lake, this old house, Brad and Rachel. She barely knew Chelsea, and the child was already six years old.

Sighing, she wrapped her arms around her middle. When would she stop being so afraid? When would she stop running away?

She shivered with cold and fear. Griffin may have taken her virginity, but she wasn’t going to let him control her life any longer.

She made her way up the stairs and down the hall to her room. Placing one of the buckets on the bed, directly under the leak, she curled up in the wingback chair by the window.

She would figure it out in the morning. Somehow, she would figure out how to be free of Griffin Wells, once and for all. In the meantime, she planned to keep her gaze glued to the window. No matter how tired she was, there was no way she’d be able to sleep, knowing someone was out there.

#

Hollin had barely touched any of her breakfast even though she was starving. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, and yet nothing Josephine had put on her plate looked appealing.

It could be she’d lost her appetite due to her headache. The house smelled like a funeral parlor, covering the smell of dust and old wood. The floral arrangements from John’s gravesite had all been delivered to their home at her mother’s direction. With every breath, Hollin smelled lilies, and she detested the scent of lilies.

Angela Hollinsworth-MacDougal sat adjacent from her daughter in the formal dining room, dressed in a pastel, pink suit, her dark blond hair swirled into an old fashioned twist. She had a proud, regal look about her that morning, no matter that her husband had been buried only yesterday. The small silver bell she carried with her everywhere sat on the edge of the table. This way Angela could ring for her private nurse, Claudia, whenever the moment suited her.

“Sit up straight, Hollin. I didn’t teach you to slouch at the table.”

Hollin set her fork aside and sat up tall. “Yes, Mother.” Always the dutiful daughter. She was named after the Hollinsworths, and it was a name that deserved the utmost respect. Which meant Hollin had always been afraid of disappointing her mother while growing up.

Rachel was the outcast, defying Angela and John at every opportunity. While Hollin and Brad had always aimed to please. In school, Rachel didn’t care about her grades. Hollin and Brad were straight A students. Rachel broke curfew, snuck out of the house, drank and smoked. Hollin had only drank on one occasion, and look where that had gotten her. She shuddered, remembering the party at Griffin’s trailer.

“I don’t know why your sister has to sleep so late,” Angela said, interrupting Hollin’s thoughts. She picked up the white, cloth napkin from her lap and blotted the corners of her mouth. “Rachel knows Ed is supposed to be here shortly, and he wanted you kids present while he talks with me.” She scowled. “I have no idea why. John and I prepared our wills together. He left everything to me.”

“I’m sure Mr. Townsend will explain when he gets here,” Hollin said reassuringly, staring at a strip of wallpaper that had come loose.

But it wasn’t the peeling wallpaper that bothered her. She suddenly felt agitated that Chelsea had gone off to school while her mother was still in bed. Rachel hadn’t bothered to get up and see her daughter off. Josephine had handled that task, as well as dressing the little girl and making sure she finished her breakfast before the bus came.

“Child, what’s wrong?” Josephine asked, bustling toward them from the kitchen. “Don’t you like my cooking anymore?”

“Of course I do. You’re a wonderful cook. But with everything that’s happened, I’ve lost my appetite, that’s all.”

“Maybe you’re coming down with something, like young Chelsea. She had the sniffles for a few days, but this morning she insisted on going back to school.” The gray haired woman leaned close and placed the back of her chubby hand on Hollin’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm. Would you like me to make you something else?”

“No, thank you, Josephine. I’ll eat something later. I promise.”

Once the housekeeper had cleared their plates, her mother whispered, “That was rude, Hollin. Josephine works hard for her age. At least you can do is eat what she prepares.”

“I’m sorry.” And she truly was. She hadn’t meant to offend the woman who had been part of the household since Hollin could remember. Hollin slid her chair back a few inches. “Mother, have you any intentions of having the roof fixed?”

Angela smiled brightly. “As a matter of fact, it’s one of the things I’d like to discuss with Ed this morning. He’ll no doubt be dissolving the partnership he had with John, so I’m expecting a sizeable amount of cash soon. With that, and along with John’s life insurance, I’ll be able to restore this house to the grandiose state it once was in.”

Hollin forced a smile. Her mother sounded as if she cared more about money than losing her husband. She knew it wasn’t true. Angela had adored John. He’d spoiled her rotten. But when her mother didn’t want to face something, such as her husband’s death or her daughter’s brutal rape, she simply pretended the whole thing never happened.

Angela leaned over and patted Hollin’s knee. “Why don’t you go wake your sister. I don’t want to keep Ed waiting once he gets here.”

“What about Brad?” she asked, getting to her feet.

“I don’t have to worry about Brad. He should be here soon. He’s always on time.”

#

“What do you mean there isn’t any money?” The room grew silent as Angela grilled her husband’s business partner. “John was a lawyer, a fine lawyer. He made plenty of money. What are you trying to pull, Ed?”

“Angela, please.” Ed Townsend adjusted the wire rim glasses on his nose and ran a hand over his bald head.

“Angela’s right,” Brad chimed in. “My father made a decent living. Surely, there’s something left over.”

Hollin shifted her gaze from one person to the next. It all made sense now--the reason the house hadn’t been updated, the need to sell the paintings. John had been struggling to make ends meet.

Ed pushed some papers toward Angela, to the end of the dining room table. “Just look at these, would you?”

Angela lifted her chin. “I don’t have my reading glasses. Brad, would you mind?”

“Of course not.” Brad slid the papers his way and studied them. His forehead creased, his eyes grew intense, as he flipped through each of the pages. While he read, he unbuttoned the cuffs on his blue oxford and rolled them up his forearms. Finally, he set the papers aside. He looked up and smiled sadly at Hollin, then focused on Angela. “Mr. Townsend is right. Dad was broke.”

Swallowing hard, Angela looked directly at Ed. “Fine, but there is still the matter of the money from the partnership, and John’s life insurance policy. I couldn’t find his copy this morning. Perhaps he left it at the office.”

Ed cleared his throat. “Angela, there
is
no life insurance. John let the policy lapse over a year ago. He said he couldn’t afford the premiums anymore. Keeping up with the payments on this old house wasn’t easy for him.” He paused and softly added, “I don’t suppose he thought he would die at sixty years old.”

Neither had Hollin. Her mind reeled with confusion. Her stepfather had always seemed so healthy, full of energy. He ate well, didn’t drink, didn’t smoke. He’d even switched to decaf several years ago. Heart attacks were supposed to afflict the old, the overweight, the sick. It wasn’t fair, she thought, swiping a tear.

“And as far as any money due him from the partnership,” Ed went on, “it was John who owed me money.” He raised a hand in front of him when Angela went to open her mouth. “I don’t want the money. I lost my partner, my best friend. The money doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“I don’t understand,” Angela said, defeated. “He never said a word. I should have known there was something wrong. Every time I mentioned remodeling or having repairs done, he always made some excuse. Once he said the flaws gave the house character, strength.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

Brad laid a hand over Angela’s in comfort. “Don’t worry yourself. We’ll figure something out. The girls and I.”