am here . . .” She squared her shoulders. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Always good.”
“Yeah, well. I’ve been thinking a lot. I decided I owe you an apology. I got your texts—”
“And didn’t respond.”
“Right. And I didn’t pick up your calls, because I just wasn’t ready. I had a lot of things to work out . . . because of Megan and . . . well, everything that happened, but when I finally got my head together, I thought I should say I’m sorry for leaving as I did. I only stuck around long enough to be stitched up and to hear that you were out of the woods—going to be okay. And I didn’t want to call or text. Not after everything that had happened. Even when you contacted me. Didn’t seem right somehow. Didn’t seem personal enough.”
He eyed her. “So you drove all the way from Seattle?”
“Yeah.” She was nodding.
“You don’t owe me an—”
“Just let me do this, okay?” she said and gathered herself. “I blamed you for everything, from messing up my life, to messing up Megan’s and somehow being involved in her disappearance. I just . . . I just wanted to make you out as the bad guy, and I did.”
He waited.
“Then, you know, I came here, and I found out differently, but I just couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe that you weren’t involved. I needed you to be the bad guy, and I thought you needed to know that I was . . . I was wrong about you.” She cleared her throat. “I was wrong.”
“I think that makes two of us.” His jaw slid to the side, and he glanced over at the dog for a second. “I wasn’t exactly a white knight, or even a knight at all.” He couldn’t begin to explain all the guilt he’d suffered. He rubbed the back of his neck and, for once in his life, was tongue-tied around a woman. This woman.
A breeze skittered through the yard, and a few brittle leaves, left over from last autumn’s shedding, danced and swirled.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted Ralph, who had been sleeping up in the office, hurrying down the stairs. The shepherd bounded out of the building to circle the tree and whine as if he could scare up a nonexistent squirrel in its bare branches.
Rebecca’s gaze followed the dog’s path, then returned to James. “Okay, well, I just thought you should know.” She jangled the keys in her pocket.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah. Job and life back in Seattle. A safer place, one where I’m less likely to get shot.” She was teasing, a light shining in her eyes.
“But . . .” He eyed her. “A long way to come for a ten-minute conversation.”
“Five,” she corrected.
He laughed. “Fine. But let me buy you dinner.”
“Not a good idea.”
“Then a drink?”
“An even worse idea,” she said, but at least she smiled.
“You know,” he said, gauging her reaction, “maybe you and I, we should try again. I messed up the first time.”
“Really messed up,” she reminded him.
“Yeah. So . . . maybe I should give it another go.”
She actually laughed. “Oh, James, no. I think that ship has sailed.” And before he could say another word, she got into her car and started the engine. She didn’t even wave as she drove off, but as he watched her leave, the little Subaru skimming down the rutted lane, he thought that sailing ships often come back to port. If he played his cards right, he could probably find a way to change her mind.
After all, James Cahill liked nothing better than a challenge.
And he was sure as hell that Rebecca Travers knew it.
Things might just be looking up. He walked back to the shop, where he found Bobby standing, arms over his chest, gaze moving from the now-empty lane to James.
“Don’t even think about it,” Bobby warned, adjusting his baseball cap on his head. “After what you’ve been through? No woman is worth it.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” James told him as he walked inside and pulled his hammer from his tool belt, his thoughts on Rebecca’s smile. “Some women are worth just about every damned thing.”
The Otter Creek Women’s Correctional Facility
February
Sophia lay on the examination table in the prison, a skinny female doctor with a graying Afro administering an ultrasound. The gel was cold against her bare skin, the wand moving slowly, the whooshing sound of the baby’s heartbeat audible in this tiny, overheated room.
Sophia closed her eyes, thankful that the baby had survived, and trying to find something good to hang on to.
But how could she?
She thought of James, how she’d loved him, would have done anything for him, given her heart to him—and now? Now all she felt was a deep-seated rage, burning bright, feeding on the dreams she’d once clung to.
He was the reason she was locked inside these thick concrete walls.
He was the reason that she no longer had the sister she’d so recently found.
He was the reason she was so totally and utterly alone.
She had sacrificed everything for him, including Julia, and now she had nothing.
Nothing but the baby . . .
She’d lied to him, to all of them that night at the tiny house. Afraid the baby might be killed, or that James would try to claim it, she’d forced out the lie that she wasn’t pregnant. And because of privacy laws, he still didn’t know that he was soon to be a father.
As the doctor continued the ultrasound, Sophia thought of the money, all of the Amhurst fortune.
Not only did she deserve her share, but her baby should inherit it all.
She’d made certain James didn’t know, that he wouldn’t come with a bevy of lawyers demanding she give him the child or any sort of parental rights whatsoever.
Not now.
Not until the timing was right.
She wasn’t certain exactly what her maternal rights were as she was in prison, but she was going to work the system to make certain she was a part of her baby’s life.
Forever.
She opened her eyes, and lying on her back, Sophia watched a bug crawling across the ceiling tile and noticed a spiderweb directly in its path in the corner.
Stupid, wretched insect.
As the doctor stared at the ultrasound screen, Sophia noticed the bug reach the web, disturbing the intricate strands, and the spider quickly scuttle out of its hiding spot in the corner, pouncing, biting, and paralyzing its unsuspecting prey before wrapping it up for savoring later.
Sophia connected with the spider, intent on survival.
Suddenly, the wand over her belly stopped moving.
“Is something wrong?” Sophia asked, worried. She’d been told that the bullet that had hit her had gone through and through, nicking her spleen and her stomach, but sparing all other organs, including her uterus.
“No.” The doctor shook her head, and the wand began moving slowly again and the doctor, glancing at the screen, began to smile. “Nothing at all. Except, hear that other noise, fainter, but steady?”
She did. Barely audible. An echoing, whooshing sound.
Oh. My.
“And look at this . . .” The doctor pointed to the screen, and Sophia looked at the monitor. “Two,” the doctor said, nodding slowly. “You’re carrying twins.” A broad smile cracked her face. “How about that?”
“Twins?” Sophia whispered, hardly believing.
She thought to the future.
About James.
About the Cahill and Amhurst fortunes.
About not one, but two heirs.
The vengeful rage within her burned a little hotter as she thought of the twins, joined together for life. One would be named Amhurst, the other Cahill, or variations thereof.
“Amy” or “Hurst” and “Cassie” or “Cade.” Depending on their sexes.
She glanced again at the spider on the ceiling and saw that it was now looming over the trapped insect and appeared to be feeding on the bug, sucking out its blood, while the insect could do nothing but accept its horrid, deadly fate.
She thought then of James, and the vengeance in her heart turned ice-cold.
She would have to be patient.
She would have to wait.
But here, within these thick prison walls, she had all the time in the world.
Eventually, she knew, running a hand over her slightly swollen belly and seeing her future crystalize before her eyes, she would get even.
Just you wait.