Legacy (Steel Brothers Saga #14) - Helen Hardt Page 0,66

in Snow Creek?”

“One way to find out.” She picked up the phone book that sat next to the phone on the end table in the family room. She leafed through it. “Here we go. Maryann Masters, family therapist.”

“I don’t need a family therapist. I need a psychologist.”

“Okay. Here’s one. Devin Pelletier. He sees patients at Maryann Masters’s office once a week in Snow Creek. Looks like he’s based in Grand Junction, though he has an office in Denver too.”

“Devin Pelletier? What are his qualifications?”

“He’s a psychiatrist, which means he has an MD. Also he’s licensed as a clinical psychologist.”

“That sounds a lot like Dr. Payne.”

“He’s in tomorrow. Should we call and make you an appointment?”

“What will he charge me?”

“I have no idea. Probably a hundred bucks an hour. But Daphne, money is not a concern for you anymore.”

Oh, yeah. I forgot that a lot of the time, which didn’t make sense, since I lived in this mansion.

“I’ll call his office.” My mother began dialing the phone.

“Mom…wait.”

She looked up. “What?”

“I need to talk to you first.”

She replaced the receiver. “What about?”

“The…bullies. The bullies who sent me into such horrible depression that I had to be hospitalized for a year, Mom. The bullies who happened to have all moved away by the time I went back to school. None of it makes sense, and I don’t remember any of it.”

“I know that, honey. It’s normal. You had a concussion, and you lost your memory of that time. We’ve explained all this to you a hundred times.”

“There’s something else,” I said.

Mom whitened again and swallowed audibly. “There’s nothing else, Daphne.”

I sighed. “Fine. I’ll need to call Dr. Payne and get my records transferred. I want this new doctor to have all my relevant information so he can best help me.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Brad

I’d called Larry every hour since I’d reviewed Jonathan’s file. He wasn’t answering. Why didn’t he have one of those newfangled answering machines? All I needed to know was whether he’d funded his half sister’s psychiatric treatment.

Because if he hadn’t, Jonathan had gotten the money somewhere.

I’d read through Daphne’s file. All her medical records were there, including the account of what had happened to her that horrible night. I’d retched while reading it but had managed not to puke all over my desk. Dry heaves only, thank God. Her friend Sage’s records were in Daphne’s file as well. I found myself thanking the universe that Daphne hadn’t been harmed as badly.

Still, Daphne had been harmed.

Violated by three different men. She had been beaten so badly that the eyelid on her right eye had puffed up and turned inside out.

And yes, there were photos.

Of all of it.

Thank God for her concussion.

The rest of the file was thick—records from her year-long hospitalization, no doubt. I couldn’t look anymore. I just couldn’t. She didn’t remember any of it anyway. I didn’t want those memories plaguing me any more than they already were.

I gathered all the medical records, including Sage’s, tucked them into my briefcase, and left my office.

Daphne and her mother were in the family room, talking.

“Hey, baby,” I said from the top of the small staircase. “I’m going out for a while.”

“Okay. Where?”

“The north quadrant.”

“Dressed like that?”

I looked down at my suit and tie. “Uh…yeah. Meeting with one of the veterinarians. He’s looking at some stock.”

“You should change into jeans and your boots,” Daphne said.

“No time,” I said. “I’ll be back soon.”

I left the house and got into my truck. My father’s trusty lighter rested in my pocket. I turned the key in the ignition and drove for a few miles until I found a desolate spot on the property.

I got out, taking the file, and gathered some dead brush. I built a small fire, and then, one by one, I tossed in Daphne’s and Sage’s medical records.

The horrors of that night went up in smoke.

It was the only way I could protect the woman I loved.

Back in my office, my father’s personal line—now my personal line—rang.

“Hello, this is Brad Steel,” I said into the phone.

A throat cleared. “Mr. Steel, this is Dr. Devin Pelletier.”

Dr. Pelletier. I’d read his file, but I’d only met him once…when my father pulled a gun on him.

“Dr. Pelletier,” I said, “what can I do for you?”

Silence.

“Doctor, I’d like to thank you for helping my father and me deal with the…uh…Wendy Madigan situation…and also, I want to apolo—”

Another throat clear. “Mr. Steel, that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Oh…then what?”

“My secretary scheduled an appointment for me at my Snow Creek office tomorrow.