Secret Sisters (10 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Abe drove slowly through the heart of Cooper Cove. Daphne sat, stiff and tense, in the passenger seat. She studied the shops and galleries that lined the main street.

“Look familiar?” he asked.

She knew he was trying to make casual conversation, trying to ease her growing tension.

“Yes and no,” she said. “A lot of the art and souvenir shops are new. The whole town is a little bigger than it was eighteen years ago. But the overall feel of the place is the same.”

“Seaside towns that survive largely on weekend and summer tourism usually have a similar vibe,” he said. “They go quiet and dark in the winter and brighten up in the summer.”

“But they're small towns, and all small towns seem to be really good at hiding secrets.”

“Guess small communities are like families and marriages in that respect.” Abe's hands tightened a little on the wheel. “Outsiders never really know for sure what's going on under the surface.”

She looked at him, no longer surprised by his occasional,
disconcertingly astute observations on human nature. They had known each other for less than twenty-four hours, but in that time she had discovered that Abe was a good deal more complicated than he had appeared at first glance.

She'd had a flash of uncertainty last night when they had checked into connecting rooms at the airport hotel after landing at Sea-Tac. She was certain that Madeline had employed a reputable, first-class security firm; nevertheless, Abe was still very much a stranger. But he had gone about the business of checking locks and making sure the windows were secure with a calm, professional competence that had reassured her.

For the first time in a very long time she had fallen asleep almost immediately after climbing into bed. She had not awakened until Abe knocked on the door that morning. It was the first time she had slept through the night without being troubled by restless dreams and sudden awakenings since Brandon's funeral.

“You're married?” she asked before she could stop to consider the wisdom of such a personal question.

“I was for two years,” he said.

“Divorced?”

“Yep. She wanted out.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. By the time she left, all I felt was a sense of relief. I knew I was never going to be the man she thought she had married.”

“What kind of man did she think she had married?”

A wry smile tugged at the corners of Abe's mouth. “A very rich one.”

“I see.”

“We were both working at a promising start-up when we met. Most start-ups never get off the ground, but when one does take flight, the payoffs can be big. Our company looked like it would be one of the lucky ones. So on impulse, Alice and I got married.”

“But you didn't get rich?”

“Sadly, no.”

“What went wrong?”

“The two dudes who founded the start-up had gotten a very good lawyer to draw up the employment contracts. When the big tech firm bought our little operation, the only people who cashed out with the big money were the two guys at the top. The rest of us were let go. The stress undermined the marriage. Alice wanted me to come up with an idea for my own start-up. I decided that what I really wanted to do was security work. Alice concluded that I lacked ambition.”

“So she left.”

“It worked out well for both of us. Last I heard she married a venture capitalist. He's ambitious and rich. Everyone is happy.”

“Including you?”

“I like what I do,” Abe said.

“You're fortunate. Not everyone is that lucky.”

He glanced at her, his eyes unreadable behind the lenses of his dark glasses. “Don't you like your interior design work?”

She thought about it. “I used to like it—I loved it, actually. I got a lot of pleasure out of creating a living space that came together the way I had envisioned.”

“But not anymore?”

“I've just been a little . . . distracted lately.”

Abe nodded. “How long did you and your mother live here on the island?”

“Nearly three years. We moved here after my father left us. Mom had some notion that small towns were good places to raise kids. Safe.”

“Which only goes to show that bad people can turn up anywhere.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Here we go,” Abe said. “The Cove View B-and-B.” He turned in to the parking lot. “This must be the place where Jack and Ms. Chase are staying.”

The low-grade tension that had been coiling around Daphne ever since she and Abe had left Seattle that morning tightened like a vise. She finally realized what the problem was. For reasons she could not explain she was suddenly, unaccountably anxious about meeting Madeline again. It made no sense, but there it was.

They were forever bonded by the events of a dark night, but their lives had gone in very different directions. She was a modestly successful interior designer. Madeline had just inherited a successful hotel chain. They were not the same two people they had been when they had forged a friendship. So many things had changed for both of them.

Abe pulled into a parking slot and shut down the engine. He looked at her.

“Don't worry,” he said. “My boss and I are good at what we do.”

“That's not it.” She unclipped her seat belt. “Well, maybe that's part of it. I'm just thinking that under normal circumstances Madeline and I would never have met again. And now we're getting together because of something really bad that happened in the past. It's . . . awkward. We might not even recognize each other.”

“Yeah?”

“Eighteen years is a long time.” She floundered. “My hair is different now.” Okay, that sounded weak.

He eyed her hair. “I like your hair.”

She was suddenly acutely conscious of her short, honey-brown hair. In the months following Brandon's death she had made a lot of changes in her life in an attempt to sever her ties with the past. In addition to selling the home she and Brandon had lived in and buying a new condo, she had cut her hair. The stylist had assured her that the look was sassy and arty, but she had a few doubts.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“Want my professional detective advice?”

She smiled faintly. “Sure.”

“Try not to overthink this reunion thing.”

Abe cracked open his door and got out. He started around to the passenger side, but she jumped out before he could get to her door. He was a security agent, not a chauffeur or a boyfriend, she thought. Opening car doors for her was not in his job description.

The snapping breeze off the water whipped at the hem of her trench coat. There was a storm moving in. It was midmorning but the sky was darkening quickly. In the old days she and Madeline had loved the energy of an approaching storm, but today it felt ominous.

Abe took her rolling suitcase and his backpack out of the trunk of the car. She seized the handle of her suitcase. He shrugged but did not contest the matter.

Together they walked toward the front door of the B&B.

“I never even sent Maddie a note of condolence when her grandmother died,” Daphne said.

She'd been so wrapped up in her own emotions this past year that she hadn't even bothered to do the socially correct thing for an old acquaintance.

“You're doing it again,” Abe said.

“Overthinking the situation?”

“Yeah.”

He opened the door for her.

She told herself that sort of door opening was okay—just good manners.

Stifling a small sigh, she rolled her suitcase through the entrance. Abe was right about one thing—she was definitely doing too much thinking. A disinterested observer might say she was probably obsessing on the small stuff so that she didn't have to contemplate other, much larger things—things like the possibility that two people she had once known well might have been murdered.

She took in the cozy lobby of the Cove View B&B with a designer's eye. The hardwood floors, open-beam ceiling, and cheerfully blazing fireplace were complemented by comfortably weathered furniture and a lot of warm, earthy colors. The fragrance of warm pastries and hot coffee drifted through the French doors that separated the lobby area from the small breakfast room and tearoom.

It was nearly eleven o'clock and the little restaurant was empty except for two people drinking coffee at one of the tables near a window. Even sitting down the man looked big compared to the woman who sat across from him. She was petite and there was a lot of tension in the stiff line of her shoulders. Her companion looked calm and relaxed, but Daphne knew intuitively that the casual air was deceptive because he was watching the doorway the way a cop or a soldier might watch it.

Abe nodded once to the man at the table and then went toward the front desk.

So that was Jack Rayner, Daphne thought. That meant the tense woman sitting with him was Madeline.

My secret sister.

Jack put down his coffee and got to his feet. There was a small clatter of china as his companion set her cup on a delicate saucer, jumped to her feet, and turned toward the door. For the first time Daphne got a look at the woman's face.

And just like that, the years fell away. Time had wrought changes, but there was something about Madeline's eyes. She knew that Madeline recognized her in that same instant.

“Daphne.”

Madeline started across the room, walking quickly at first, and then she was running.

Daphne dropped the suitcase and rushed to meet her. “Maddie. Oh, my gosh, Maddie. I can't believe it.”

They hugged fiercely, breathless with the wonder of the reunion. Joyous.

Some things never changed, Daphne thought. She would know the sister of her heart anywhere, anytime.

Madeline took a step back and smiled. “Love what you've done with your hair.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

He had not handled the scene in the Crab Shack well. He had come close to losing control, just like in the old days. He absolutely had to be more careful. There was too much at stake.

Xavier made his way down the cliff path to the beach. He needed to think. He needed breathing room, a little time to calm the rage that burned inside him. The storm was moving in fast. The waves slashed at the sand and rocks. The gusty winds howled. The energy sparking in the atmosphere resonated with something inside him.

He reached the foot of the steep path, shoved his fists into the pockets of his jacket, and started walking toward the far end of the beach. He was on fire with his fury, as charged as the storm. He wanted to scream his defiance of his fate into the teeth of the oncoming gale, but he did not dare take the risk. The noise of the fierce gusts and crashing waves would probably muffle the sound, but beach winds were tricky. There was a chance they would carry his roar of fury up the cliffs—all the way to the dark house at the top. The last thing he wanted was to have people come searching for him. He needed to be alone.

He walked faster, trying to burn off some of the anger.

It was Rayner's fault that he had come close to losing it last night. The humiliating fall in the restaurant had not been an accident. Rayner had done something swift and subtle with his foot. Martial arts, maybe. The bastard's expression when he'd extended his hand in that phony offer of assistance had said it all. Rayner hadn't mocked him—mockery was something Xavier understood intuitively because he practiced it often. But there had been no humiliating amusement in the bastard's cold, dark eyes—just a chilling promise.

In that shattering moment he had understood that Rayner knew him for what he was. Rayner could not be charmed or bullied or frightened off. That made him the most dangerous piece on the playing board.

Xavier walked faster. He had learned a lot at the Institute, where they had filled him with drugs and subjected him to their stupid therapies. It had taken him a while to realize the truth: The fools actually believed—or maybe simply hoped—that they could fix him. They yearned to make him look normal because it validated everything they wanted to believe about themselves.

Yes, Mrs. Webster, of course we can teach little Xavier impulse control.

The problem, Mrs. Webster, is that Xavier is so much smarter than the people around him. He does not understand or empathize with normal people, so he becomes impatient with them. That, in turn, leads to socially unacceptable outbursts.

I'm sure we can help your son, Mrs. Webster. With our cutting-edge therapies we can provide him with the social skills and medications that will enable him to gain emotional balance and self-control.

It hadn't been easy at first, especially when he was a kid, but once he had finally realized that the only way to regain his freedom was to adopt the mask of normalcy, he had buckled down and studied hard.
He had become a brilliant, polished actor who gave an award-worthy performance every time he went onstage.

Oh, yeah, he had learned a lot at the Institute.

Acting was stressful, of course. There were times when he simply had to relax, let down his guard, and allow his true nature to emerge for a while. He'd discovered a hobby that worked much better than the meds. Once or twice a year he went on vacation to someplace in the world where lovely young women were bought and sold like cheap jewelry. He purchased one and indulged in the pure luxury of a physical and emotional catharsis achieved through sex and violence. There was nothing else like it to make him feel normal again.

The fires always explained the deaths while simultaneously destroying all the evidence. Fire was so wonderfully cleansing.

The therapeutic vacations calmed him and allowed him to return to the main stage.

But lately the vacations had not proven as therapeutic as they once had. He found himself getting restless more frequently. It was increasingly stressful to put on the mask. The truly worrisome thing was that he was pretty sure his family was no longer buying his performance.

It had taken a while but he had finally begun to suspect that Travis didn't really trust him to handle the campaign's media outreach. No, Travis wanted to keep an eye on him.

He sensed that he was making the whole damn family nervous. They were all on high alert and probably plotting against him because this was supposed to be Travis's moment. Travis, after all, was the
normal
one, the one who was now supposed to become the heir to the Egan Webster throne. But Travis was weak. Soft.

Do you really think I'm going to stand by and let you steal my destiny, you little shit? I'm the golden boy, not you.

In some ways it was very amusing to see them all so scared, but it made for a riskier scenario. He had to be very careful.

It was raining now. Xavier broke into a run. And as he ran into the storm he asked himself a question.

Why would a hotel consultant be an expert in martial arts?