The Secret Sister (20 page)

“That's why you think I should let this go. You're afraid of what we'll find.”

“You should be, too! We need to destroy these pictures right away. No one puts a child's photographs in a wall and then plasters over them without good reason. I'm guessing Dad was supposed to get rid of them and couldn't bear to do it. So he hid them instead, saved them for the sake of his own memories and the love he felt for her. Maybe he even took them out occasionally and looked through them.”

That image—of her father secretly coming to the bungalow and getting out the box of photographs—nearly broke Maisey's heart. “He would've gone to the police,” she insisted.

Jaw hard, hands curled into fists, Keith stepped up to her. The anger that flared from somewhere inside him could come at unexpected moments, or with little provocation, but he'd never frightened her—until now. “Damn it, you've gotta listen to me!”

“You're high,” she said as the truth dawned on her. “You never act so...aggressive unless you're on something.”

“Oh, fuck off.” An irritated grimace punctuated those words. “I don't have to answer to you.” Whirling around he went to the fireplace, shoved in one of the Pres-to-Logs she'd purchased at the store and pulled a lighter from his pocket.

She grabbed the stack of pictures. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think? I'm going to burn them.”

“No!” Maybe he was right. Maybe they
should
be destroyed. But she wasn't prepared to do it tonight. First, she needed to determine whether or not she could live with herself if she made that choice. “I—I'll do it later. If I decide to.”

“This isn't entirely up to you,” he cried. “I have a say, too!”

She wished she hadn't told him about the pictures. She'd never dreamed he'd be so difficult. She'd just needed to know if he remembered anything. And he had... It was
his
memories that gave meaning to the photographs.

The log crackled as it began to burn, and she backed away, putting the couch between them. “We should agree before we do anything...drastic.”

“Don't be stupid! We have to!”

“No, we don't!”

He circled the couch, coming after her, and she slid around the other way to avoid him. “Keith, stop! You're scaring me. I don't like it when you're high. You're not yourself. And this is...this is something that's going to require more thought.”

“Sending our mother to prison won't bring Annabelle back, Maisey. If she's dead, it was an accident.”

“Child abuse is an accident?”

He continued to advance on her. “It is if Mom didn't mean to kill her.”

She hurried around the chair as he drew closer. “Do you know more than you're saying, Keith? Do you know what really happened?”

“No! How many times are you going to ask me that?”

“Then why are you suddenly so ready to protect Mom?”

“You'd rather ruin her?”

“Of course not! But what about Annabelle? Don't we have some obligation to our sister?”

“You didn't even know her. You were just a baby.”

“
You
knew her. Maybe it's time we figured out exactly what happened. Then we could make an informed decision. There could be something in those letters I brought home. We haven't even looked through them.”

“We shouldn't look through them. We should give our poor father some privacy.” He knocked over the chair and ran into the table trying to reach her, but she darted back behind the couch.

“No. I'm not ready for this, not yet. I might never be.”

“You don't get it,” he said.

She wanted to cover her ears, run out of the house, maybe even go back to New York. “Get
what
?”

“Nothing you dig up will be good. It can only hurt us—all of us. We're Coldirons. We have a reputation to protect.”

“Being Coldirons doesn't put us above the law, Keith. This is getting out of control. Calm down.”

“
Calm down?
I'll calm down after you give me that damn box!” He shoved one side of the couch at Maisey, pinning her against the wall. “And I'll take the letters, too.”

* * *

Rafe heard breaking glass. At first he thought someone was busting into his house. Then he realized the sound wasn't close enough. And someone was screaming.

No, he could hear two people—a man, cursing like crazy, and a woman, pleading with him to stop.

Maisey! Had she gotten into an argument with her brother? Or had her ex shown up?

Grateful that Laney was in town with his mother, Rafe got out of bed, yanked on a pair of jeans and shoes without bothering to fasten either and charged out of the house. “What's going on?” he yelled, catching a glimpse of white clothing as someone ran past the bushes in front of his house.

Rafe took off after whoever it was—and nearly collided with Keith.

“Bitch!” Keith yelled at the person he'd been chasing—Rafe could only assume it was Maisey—and wiped at a trickle of blood running from his left temple.

“What's wrong?” Rafe asked.

Keith had no patience with being stopped. He tried to go around, but Rafe cut him off.

“I said, what's wrong?”

“Get out of my way!” Keith shouted. “She hit me with a damn box, that's what's wrong. But this is between me and my sister. It's none of your business.”

When Rafe heard movement behind him, he glanced back to see Maisey clutching what looked like a handful of letters. “What's the problem?”

“Call the police,” she said, breathing hard. “We have to call the police.”

Rafe didn't want to go that far, but he wasn't about to let Keith harm her. He held out one hand in a placating manner, making an effort to get Keith to settle down. “Let's just...take a deep breath,” he said. “You don't want to hurt anyone, Keith. Especially your sister.”

Keith's eyes took on a glittery quality that made Rafe fear he
did
want to hurt somebody. Rafe had seen that look before; it almost always coincided with violence. He raised his fists in case he had to protect himself, watching warily to see whether Keith would throw a punch.

Keith didn't take the swing promised by that fierce look. He gritted his teeth as he spoke to Maisey, said she didn't “fucking understand” what she was doing and stalked off, back in the direction of her bungalow.

A minute later, he came tearing down the road in the car that had been parked a few yards beyond the entrance to Maisey's drive.

“He—he's messed up. He shouldn't be driving.” She made an attempt to get in front of him—hoping to stop him—but Rafe jerked her out of the way.

“Watch it,” he said.

Keith paid no attention to them. Rafe got the impression that he would've hit Maisey had she still been standing in the road. While they both watched, he bounced over the potholes, taking them far too fast as he tore out of the development.

Once he was gone, Maisey seemed stunned. Then she began to tremble—a reaction to the adrenaline.

“Do you want to tell me what's going on?” Rafe asked.

She lifted her hands as if she was shocked to see she still had the letters. “No. I—I'm sorry for disturbing you,” she started. “I...”

Stepping closer, he clasped her by the shoulders and made her look at him. “Maisey, stop. Quit trying to face whatever it is alone. Tell me. Trust me.”

He could see the pain in her eyes despite the darkness. Something terrible was going on—something that ran deep.

“I can't trust anybody,” she said. “Not with this.”

19

R
afe insisted she come inside his bungalow. Maisey could hear him in the kitchen about ten steps away. She wanted to confide in him, tell him what his find in the wall of Unit 1 could mean, if only to have him convince her she was wrong. He seemed steady these days, the voice of reason. She felt she needed that perspective.

But what if he wasn't as trustable and dependable as she wanted to believe? What if, like Jack, he'd ultimately let her down? At least with her husband, when he was her husband, she'd had plenty of reason to expect him to stand by her. Rafe owed her nothing. It wasn't as if they'd built a relationship over years or even months. They were just getting to know each other—now that her confidence in others, and herself, was at an all-time low. She couldn't assume he'd act in her best interest, not when it really mattered. Besides, what kind of daughter would cast suspicion on her own mother? Especially for something as heinous as the death or disappearance of a sibling?

Maisey could easily imagine how fast word of a missing Coldiron-Lazarow would spread here on the island. Once
that
ugly specter had been raised, there'd be no burying it again. The mere suggestion would do irreparable harm. That was why Keith had reacted the way he had. He was high, which shattered his self-control and amplified his negative emotions or he wouldn't have gotten so mean. But beneath the effect of the drugs, he was acting out of the loyalty he felt to Josephine, despite his ongoing battles with her. The fact that Maisey wanted to keep digging, to reach the truth, could ruin Josephine's good name—maybe a lot more—and he wasn't willing to take that risk.

Maisey didn't want to hurt their family any more than he did. She wasn't out to destroy anyone. But she'd meant what she'd said when she asked her brother that question about their older sister. Didn't Annabelle deserve a champion? A voice? When they were children, she and Keith had stuck together. They'd sympathized with each other and done whatever they could to protect each other. Although their father had tried to stay neutral, even he had attempted to run interference for them. What if Keith had been the one to go missing? Wouldn't he want her to stand up and fight for him? For the life he could've had but didn't?

“Maisey?”

She hadn't realized Rafe had come back in the room. She'd been too deeply mired in her own thoughts.

“Here you go.” He tried to hand her a cup of tea, but she was too jittery to accept it. When she hesitated, he set it on the side table and came to sit down beside her.

“Take a few sips whenever you're ready. It might help you feel better.”

The warmth of his thigh pressed against hers was far more soothing than anything else could be. “Thank you.”

He watched her from beneath those thick eyelashes of his. “So...out with it. What happened tonight?”

Maisey tried to avoid his gaze, which demanded that she level with him. She couldn't—although she found it next to impossible not to respond to his earnestness. “We got into an argument, and Keith threw a—a paperweight that was a gift from my editor through the front window. That's all.” She was still sort of surprised he hadn't thrown it at her, since she'd just broken his grip and started to escape the cabin with her father's letters.

“That's
all
? He said you hit him with something.”

The metal box. It was the only way she'd been able to break away from him once he'd pinned her behind the couch. “We had a little scuffle.”

“Over what? What were you arguing about?”

“Nothing.”

He seemed disappointed that she wouldn't open up. “Why are you being so secretive?”

“It's...family business.”

He frowned as she leaned over and managed to swallow a mouthful of the tea he'd prepared. She didn't really want it, but she didn't want him to feel he'd gone to the effort of making it for nothing—her mother's training kicking in despite her distress.

“I should go,” she said. “I'm...keeping you up. I'm embarrassed that Keith and I...that we dragged you out of bed. You must be furious that I moved in. I told you I wouldn't be any trouble, and here...”

He caught her hand as she stood and pulled her back down, almost into his lap. “Tell me,” he insisted. “Something must've set Keith off to make him bust that window—and to make you feel desperate enough to hit him. What was it?”

She could use a friend more than ever now, and it felt as though Rafe was offering her that kind of support. But...

“Not really,” she said sadly. “He's bipolar and has a drug problem and...struggles from day to day.” She hoped he wouldn't go back to Nancy's and take his rage out on her, but she didn't think he would. This was about Annabelle, and Nancy had nothing to do with that.

He eyed the letters she'd put on his coffee table, the ones she'd kept Keith from burning when he'd destroyed most of the pictures. “Why was he trying to catch you?” He pointed. “He wanted those?”

The letters. She nodded.

“Why?”

“I don't know. I haven't read them.” She'd barely gotten them home before finding—and arguing with—her brother. Now she needed to decide if she should open them or destroy them as Keith had said. Maybe her brother was right and examining the past would only blow up in her face. Lord knew she wasn't in the best situation to tackle any more problems.

Chances were there was nothing in those letters, anyway. When she'd taken them, she'd thought her father must've kept them for a reason. It seemed odd that they were all written in the same shaky handwriting and had no return address. But that didn't mean they had any connection to Annabelle.

She pressed three fingers to her forehead. She'd come home to heal, not turn her life upside down all over again...

“Hey, I can't stand watching you suffer.” When Rafe slipped his arm around her, she couldn't help leaning into him. She wished she could absorb his strength, his warmth—let him yank her away from the emotional precipice she was teetering on.

“It—it's nothing,” she stammered, but she couldn't seem to get over that scene with Keith. He'd never turned on
her
before. He'd always acted as if he'd protect her.

But it was Rafe who'd come to her rescue, Rafe who was sitting with her now, offering comfort. “Are you sure?” he asked.

He ran his hand up and down her arm. She could have let him caress her all night. She allowed herself to lean a little closer, hoping he wouldn't notice or, if he did, that he wouldn't mind. “Yeah.”

“You don't think he'll come back?”

Did they have to talk? She just wanted him to hold her.

“Maisey? Are you going to answer me?”

She was clinging to him too tightly. She forced herself to sit up straight. “No, he won't come back.”

“I'm not convinced. Why does he want the letters?”

“He doesn't want me to read what could be in them.”

“And that is...”

She said nothing.

“Okay, you don't want to tell me. That's fine. But Keith
could
return, so you should think of that.”

“Even if he does, it's not like he'd ever hurt me.”

He must've heard the uncertainty in her voice, or he was going by what he'd observed earlier, because he gave her a funny look.

“He's my brother,” she said with more conviction, and tried to get up again, but Rafe tightened his grip.

“Whoa. Hang on. I'm not saying he
would
hurt you. I'm just saying people who are on drugs can be unpredictable.”

“I'll lock my doors.”

“That might not be enough. Not when we know he's high and still upset. Why don't you stay here for the night?”

She couldn't think when she was so close to Rafe. In some ways, he made her confusion greater; in others, he did the exact opposite. “But I—I can't! I need to let you get back to your life.”

“There's plenty of time for that. You can have my bed. I'll take Laney's.”

“No.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “I'd rather you stayed. So I know you're safe.”

What about the pictures? “Keith started a fire. It's in the grate, so it's not going to burn down the bungalow. But...I should put it out. And there's really no need to bother you when I have a place of my own.”

“Having you stay here won't be a problem. I'll go over, douse the fire and lock up.”

She imagined what he might see. Whatever was left of those photographs would be on the floor—the ones she'd managed to knock away from the flames. Would that give anything away?

Probably not. Her brother had destroyed the picture that revealed Annabelle's age in relation to his. That had been the first one to go. So even if Rafe looked more closely at the remaining photographs, he wasn't likely to see anything that would make him think they were more than he'd first assumed. Finding them scattered around wouldn't tell him anything—other than that she'd gotten in a fight with her brother, and her brother had tried to burn her baby pictures.

As conscious as she was of imposing on Rafe, she didn't have the energy to fight him. She was too tired. And what if Keith did come back? It'd been ten years since she'd had to cope with his emotional outbursts in person. They'd been daunting enough over the phone and when they were directed at someone else.

“Thanks.” She let Rafe persuade her to lie down so he could put a blanket over her before he left. “Will you bring back my pictures?” she asked.

“What pictures?”

“You'll see. They're on the floor.”

“Sure,” he said, and the next thing she knew he was back and carrying her down the hall.