You Betrayed Me (The Cahills #3) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,74
Charity was going to elaborate that it was just her, but held her tongue, signed in, and got the key for a room on the second floor that turned out to be just what she expected: two beds with garish spreads, matching curtains, a desk on which a small flat-screen TV was mounted, and a closet without a door. The bathroom was tiny, but clean enough. And there was Wi-Fi, which she didn’t trust, but she didn’t have to. She’d brought her own hot spot with her.
Weary as she was, she spent the next half hour unpacking, setting up her laptop, and creating a work area.
Satisfied, she thought about tumbling into bed, but her stomach was rumbling, so she went downstairs, out the front door, and across four lanes of traffic to a diner that advertised “fresh made” pies and an “all you can eat” buffet 24/7. It wasn’t much and basically gourmet-negative, but it would have to do. She grabbed a breakfast sandwich to go, brought it back to the hotel room, scarfed it down, then took a quick shower and tumbled into one of the sagging double beds to catch up on a few hours of sleep, after which she would start her investigation. She’d spent most of the trip south thinking about how to tackle the Cahill family and had decided to start by visiting Cahill House, the home for pregnant teens, then drive to the family estate. Once she’d cased the place, she would try to contact friends and acquaintances who knew James. After that, it was Megan’s turn. The missing woman’s mother still lived in the area.
So far, Lenora Travers hadn’t returned her calls.
No worries about that. Thanks to the Internet and Charity’s well-honed detective skills, she knew exactly where the woman lived. If Lenora didn’t return Charity’s phone message, then Charity would make certain they met face-to-face, which would probably be a lot better anyway. Emotions could be hidden in texts and on the phone, but it was much harder to conceal reactions when looking someone directly in the eye. And Charity considered herself a master at reading people.
But why and how would Megan’s mother be involved in her daughter’s disappearance?
It’s true it was not likely.
Still, she might be able to provide answers about the people Megan knew, the places she might hide, about ex-boyfriends and who would want to do Megan harm, a little insight into the missing woman. Maybe something to break the case wide open, courtesy of Charity Spritz. Oh, yes.
CHAPTER 25
December 6
What the hell was she still doing here?
It had been over a day since she’d had the interview with the police, and Rebecca had yet to leave Riggs Crossing. She’d spent a sleepless night staring at the clock, punching the pillow and wishing she could sleep, but memories of her sister kept creeping into her brain: Megan crying on the first day of kindergarten. Megan falling off her bike and scraping a knee. Megan getting caught smoking cigarettes in junior high. Megan’s first heartbreak when some kid in eighth grade dumped her, and then the incredible highs and deep lows of her high school years, the high drama that was forever a part of her life.
And then, of course, the betrayal of James Cahill.
Leave.
Everyone knows you’re trying to find Megan: The police. James. Even the stupid press. So let it go. Just leave. You’ve made your point and done all you need to do, all you can do.
So get the hell out.
You can’t help Megan.
God knows, you’ve tried.
Over and over again.
To what end?
So that she could hurt you? Backstab you? Then come running back for you to solve her problems?
Face it, Rebecca: You can’t fix her. No one can.
And she doesn’t want to be fixed.
No matter where she is; no matter what’s happened to her.
Rebecca’s heart ached for a second, but she forced that pain backward just as she had all her life.
As she had when her biological father had left.
As she had when her adoptive father, Donald, had divorced Lenora.
As she had when Megan had stolen James.
But she couldn’t give up.
Not yet.
She had to make a public statement, begging for Megan’s release if she were being held against her will, even though as yet no ransom request had come through. Sometimes women were kidnapped for other reasons, used by their captors. Her skin crawled at the thought of the sex slaves she’d read about, or the people drawn into cults.