Now You See Her Page 0,84

Jagger directing someone to get off his cloud, laughter, coughing, a girl’s voice rising above everything else: “Jax, are you out here?”

“Comin’, luv,” he answered immediately.

Marcy heard heavy footsteps descending the steps.

“I was worried about you. Is everything all right?” Shannon asked as the door closed behind them.

Marcy immediately extricated her purse from her sweater and her cell phone from her purse. But it had stopped ringing. She tossed the phone back into her purse, deciding it had likely been Liam calling to check up on her. Should she call him back? And tell him what? That instead of staying put and ordering room service as he’d wisely suggested, she’d spent the night going from one disaster to another? That her amateur sleuthing had almost gotten her raped? That she’d come this close to spending another night in a garda station? That she’d stumbled upon Jax with Shannon in a notorious after-hours club? That she may or may not have uncovered some possibly nefarious plot that may or may not involve her daughter?

Shielding her head from a fresh onslaught of raindrops, she began the long walk back to her hotel.

TWENTY-THREE

SHE DREAMED OF CAKE. Double-layer vanilla cake with rich vanilla icing and lots of gooey red flowers. The kind of cake that Devon always requested for her birthday. “She has such a sweet tooth,” Marcy explained to the smattering of guests around the long dining room table.

“Sweets for the sweet,” Shannon said, blushing the same color as the roses on the cake and adjusting the party hat on her head.

“Sugar and spice and everything nice,” Judith added. She was dressed all in black. Her well-toned arms were covered with tattoos.

“That’s what little girls are made of,” Jax said, entering the room, a crying baby in his arms.

“Oh, let me see,” Devon gushed, running toward them.

“Take her.” Jax transferred the baby to Devon’s eager arms. “She weighs a right ton.”

“She’s so cute.”

“If you like babies,” Jax said dismissively.

And suddenly Marcy and Liam were strolling down the cobbled roads of Youghal. “Where are we going?” she asked him.

“Haven’t you heard? Claire and Audrey have opened a bakery. They make the best cakes in all of Ireland.”

“What’s their secret?” Marcy asked.

“Cranbabies,” Liam said.

Somewhere in the distance, a baby started crying.

“Please, can’t somebody do something about that incessant racket?” Vic Sorvino asked, walking quickly past, clearly in a hurry.

“Vic?” Marcy called after him. “Wait. Where are you going?”

“Kinsale,” he answered. “I have a date with Devon.”

“But you’re too old for Devon.” Marcy glanced toward the ground, watching the cobblestones at her feet become autumn leaves as a cool wind pushed at her back. She entered a clearing, seeing Georgian Bay stretched out before her, an empty canoe drifting aimlessly in the middle of its rough waters. Devon was sitting on a blood-splattered, gray cashmere blanket at the water’s edge, Shannon beside her, a baby crying in her arms.

“Did you bring the cake?” Shannon asked.

Marcy held out a large wicker picnic basket.

Devon stood up, took the shrieking infant from Shannon, and walked toward Marcy, her mouth twisting into a cruel smile. “Here’s the girl you’ve always wanted,” she said. Then she opened her arms and let the baby fall.

Marcy bolted upright in her bed, frantically grabbing for the child before she hit the cold earth. “No!” she cried, the sound of her protest piercing her subconscious like a pin through a balloon. She woke up, gasping for air, her hands pulling helplessly at her sheets. “Damn it,” she said with a sigh, coming fully awake and flopping back down on her pillow. Pushing her hair away from her face with her still trembling fingers, she glanced at her bedside clock, amazed to see it was almost eight a.m. She was so exhausted from the events of last night, she probably would have slept ’til noon had her nightmare not jolted her awake. “Stupid dream,” she muttered as its details began to fade and break up, like a bad telephone connection. Cakes and babies, she thought, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it all.

Babycakes.

“Operation Babycakes,” she remembered Jax saying jokingly. Marcy’s brain suddenly scrambled to retrieve the few fragments of her dream that remained in an effort to corral them and bring them into sharper focus. She saw Devon walking toward her, a demonic smile on her lips, a howling baby in her arms.

The O’Connor baby, Marcy realized, finding it difficult to breathe. “Caitlin,” she whispered, sitting up again, her whole body growing ice-cold.

What was she