A Secret in Salem (9 page)

J
ACK
D
EVERAUX WAS STARING OUT HIS OFFICE WINDOW ON THE
tenth floor of Eight Canada Square in the Wapping area of London, when his phone rang.

He was watching the activity at the building across the street so intently that he didn’t hear it. It was One Canary Wharf Tower, and he could see people carrying things out of Financial Gaines Group.

The door to his massive office was shoved open as Jennifer, his beautiful blonde wife, entered. Although now in her forties, she still had the luminescence of the guileless young woman he’d fallen in love with.

“Jack, that’s Abby!” she said, recognizing their daughter’s ringtone.

Jack snapped out of his reverie. “What are you doing back?”

Jennifer worked only part-time at the paper while she raised their son J. J., With the newspaper business in the toilet, the
Spectator
had been having such a difficult time that she was pitching in when she could to cut costs. When Jack called and told her he’d
be late, she left J. J. with the nanny and decided to bring him a late dinner. Fortunately for them both.

“Jack! Get that!”

“Ohh!” He answered, “Abs.”

“Dad, I know you’ve just closed the presses, but—” Abby said.

Jack interrupted, “In fact, we’re holding them. There was late-breaking news about that designer Olivia Gaines and an accident in Monte Carlo. But there’s been a media blackout and a lot of activity over at her husband’s building today. I tried to reach you—”

“I couldn’t use my phone! Then the reception was terrible. But you’re not going to believe what I have,” she rattled on.

From the tone of her voice, Jack knew it was huge.

“You got into the party?” he asked, expecting that she had a celebrity scoop for her site online.

“Oh yeah. But this is much bigger than that, Dad. I’m sending you photos in a few seconds.”

Abby’s heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s. She was back in her Monaco hotel room at her laptop. Chelsea’s Nikon was connected and downloading the unfathomable.

“You can have them all; I have plenty of dirt for Spectator.com.”

She quickly typed in Jack’s email address and hit Send. “I’m forwarding them small, but I have them all in high-res.”

By now, Jennifer was at Jack’s side. She had been both a television and newspaper reporter for years and knew how to smell a scoop if there was one.

“What is it?” Jennifer pleaded with her husband, who was an amazing publisher but could be a bit of a goof.

“Let’s see…they’re coming in now,” he said as he indicated for Jennifer to sit in front of the computer.

“Holy shit,” they both said in unison.

Jack hit a button on the phone on the desk. “Print room, we’ve got something.”

Jennifer grabbed the cell phone from Jack’s hand. “Sweetie, it’s Mom. Where, how?” She stopped. “Wait! Is that Shawn with Chelsea?”

“And they got the whole thing, Mom. But there’s more, so very much more. Keep looking.”

Jack was still on the line with the print room. “Make room on page 1,” he said, then added, “Jennifer and Abby’ll write the copy.”

Jennifer was nearly weak with shock. “Jack?”

Jack took another look and saw Richard Gaines in handcuffs.

“Richard Gaines, Mom?”

“Was he driving?” Jennifer asked, totally confused.

“Nope. Arrested at the hospital for securities fraud, investment fraud, and money laundering. We were there when it happened.”

“Another Madoff?” Jennifer said incongruously.

The couple stared at one another, and Jack lit up for the first time in months.

“Get us what you’ve got ASAP, Abs,” Jack said.

“I’m madly typing.”

Abby hung up, leaving her parents stunned.

“Woo-hoo!” Jack yelped and started a silly dance. Even though he was tall, lean, and handsome, Jack was always unpredictable in the best ways.

“I don’t know what to say,” Jennifer said, shaking her head.

“How’d she do it?”

“She learned from the best,” he said as he pulled Jennifer to her feet and kissed her. “But I’d say the
Spectator
’s troubles may be over.”

Jennifer tried to match his enthusiasm, but it was hard for her to put her emotions on hold. While she relished the idea of eviscerating a financial piranha, from what she saw in the photos, Richie’s wife was dead, and their daughter seriously injured.

“I think we’d better call Bo,” she said. “And Hope,” she added. “Before they read about all this in the paper.”

Belle was awakened when she felt the boat rock as Shawn returned from his emotionally exhausting evening. She heard him climb down the stairs and inched herself off the queen-size platform bed in the front cabin.

Shawn was washing his face in the galley as she opened the hand-carved teak door and watched him a moment.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Sorry I woke you,” Shawn answered.

“You and Chelsea have a good time?”

“There was an accident,” he started carefully.

“Up in the hills? I saw something going on through the binoculars,” she said, then realized he was wearing a shirt she’d never seen before. “Whose shirt are you wearing?”

“One of the hospital interns’.”

“Are you all right?” she asked, alarmed.

“Physically, oh yeah, I’m fine. We both are,” he said. “And
we weren’t in the accident actually…but there’s something you should know.”

Shawn’s phone vibrated. It was late, and he hesitated but saw it was Bo, calling from Salem.

“Dad,” Shawn said, heaving a sigh of relief. It was good to hear from him.

“I know it’s late there, but your mom and I each got a call from Jack.”

“Leave it to Abby,” Shawn said, shaking his head.

Belle was totally confused.

“They said you’re a hero.”

“Hero? I only did what I knew you’d do,” Shawn said.

“You’re your own man, Son,” Bo replied.

This was a big moment between the two, and both of them knew it.

“Chelsea was great too,” Shawn said, deflecting too much emotion. “If they didn’t call her mom, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

“Dad, I hope this doesn’t become a big deal,” Shawn said. “Keep it on the down low around Salem, okay?”

“I get it,” Bo said. He was never one for wanting to be the center of attention either. “I will if I can. Give my love to Belle and the little one. I really am proud of you, Shawn.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Shawn said, clearing his voice as it began to crack.

Belle was full of questions when Shawn hung up the phone, and although Shawn was totally drained from the events of this evening, he knew he had to give her the details. Most important to her was the fact that Olivia Gaines, Belle’s icon
and the woman she had hoped to meet in the next few days, was dead.

“I know meeting her was important to you,” Shawn said.

“Shawn, that’s the last thing to worry about. But thank you.”

“Your dreams are important to me.”

“You’re all that’s important to me. You and Claire,” she answered. “And you really were a hero.”

“And women all love heroes, don’t you?” Shawn answered.

“What do you mean?” she said with a twinge of guilt.

Shawn realized he’d hit a sore spot totally unintentionally.

“Nothing, truly,” Shawn replied and meant it. “The past is the past.”

Philip, who Belle’d once not only loved, but also briefly married, had been a war hero in Iraq. It was one thing Shawn could never compete with.

Until now.

“I need some sleep,” he said, gently changing the subject.

“Maybe we can just hang out on the boat tomorrow.” She sighed. “Really take it easy.”

“I want to be back at the hospital by eight.”

“Why?” Belle asked.

“Charley Gaines should be conscious by then,” he answered. “She doesn’t know that she lost her mother and that her father’s been arrested. I was there for it all. Do you understand?”

“Sure,” Belle replied.

Shawn took her in his arms and held her a long moment. Then he gave her a peck on the forehead and headed back to their cabin.

Belle stood silently for a moment, her hand going to her stomach. The only noise was coming from the partyers still reveling in the wee hours.

I understand,
she thought.
But will you?

W
HEN COPIES OF THE
S
pectator
HIT THE STANDS, THEY CAUSED
an international uproar. “ILL-GOTTEN GAINES LOSES” was the headline splashed across the front page.

Photos taken by Chelsea’s camera covered the top half of the paper: Shawn and Chelsea in the foreground with the Aston Martin hitting the ground behind them, and Richard Gaines being handcuffed by the ISA agents at the hospital.

Jennifer Horton Deveraux’s byline accompanied the heartbreaking story of Olivia’s accident, while Abby’s detail of Richie’s scandalous arrest had her name firmly under the subhead.

Media from around the globe were outside Princess Grace Hospital.

“There he is,” screamed a producer from Argentina as Shawn was dropped by taxi at the front door.

Police were quick to surround him as he entered the building with reporters shouting questions to him in various languages.

An equal number of rabid reporters were outside the Monte Carlo Police Department as Jackson and Chance Gaines headed into the station. Their father had been arrested on securities fraud, and they were his business partners. They had not been arrested, however, as authorities quickly believed they had no knowledge of their father’s despicable crimes.

Led to Richard Gaines’s cell, the boys were stoic, but devastated by the revelations. Their glorious, larger-than-life mother had also just been stolen from them in a horrific crash that nearly has taken their sister. And if the charges were true, they had been lied to for years by the father they adored.

Chance, the twenty-six-year-old graduate of Harvard Law, was representing his father. Prematurely silver-haired with piercing gray eyes, he had often been compared to Anderson Cooper, for more reasons than one.

When his sons arrived, Richie was lying on a cot, his right arm covering his eyes.

A guard opened the cell.

“Dad,” Chance said simply.

“It’s all true,” was Richie’s equally simple reply. “All lies all these years.”

“We’ve posted your bail,” Jackson said. “Five million euros.”

“The house in London as collateral,” Chance added.

“Let’s get out of here.” Richie sighed heavily.

“There is a stipulation,” Chance told him.

“You’re released on bail, but under house arrest at the villa.”

“Could be worse,” Richie said blankly. “Can we see Charley first?”

“We’ll check with the court,” Chance said.

The atmosphere was cold, clinical, and distant. Chance nodded to a guard outside the cell, and he entered.

“What’s this?” Richie asked as the guard asked him to pull up the cuff of his thousand-euro slacks. It became immediately clear as the guard pulled an ankle monitor from a small case.

“Sorry,” Chance said, steadying his father as the ankle bracelet was strapped on.

“Jules plea-bargained a deal,” Jackson added matter-of-factly. In certain ways, he was so much like his father.

“Pity,” Richie said. “I guess our dicks are what did us in.”

“Our?” Jackson blanched. He should have known she was one of Richie’s girls all along.

The ankle bracelet was locked into place.

“When they’re that hot and smart, you’ve gotta be extra careful,” Richie warned. “I always told you that.”

“Guess I just didn’t listen.”

“As if any of that matters now,” Chance said, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Richie took a long beat. “I am sorry, guys.”

Chance and Jackson just nodded. No way they could forgive him right now.

Jackson led the way as the three headed out together, Richie fully aware of the monitoring device that would be a part of him for who-knew-how-long.

None of them mentioned the devastating loss of the boys’ mother.

John had been watching CNN on the plasma flat-screen in his room as the remarkable events of the last twelve hours unfolded.

John had been through the tortures of the damned over the last few years, and his paralysis wasn’t the worst of it. His mind had been wiped clean, and he spent over a year as an emotionless robot.

Time and experimental underground treatments had returned his memories. His mind was functioning again, with the intelligence that allowed him to be a human chameleon.

During the months and months of grueling physical therapy, his only salvation was television and his computer. He refused to let his brain and imagination die, especially if that’s all he would have left.

“You’re watching it too,” Marlena said as she quickly entered in her silk robe.

John was so focused on the screen that he didn’t hear her enter.

“What are you doing here?” he said, startled.

“It’s just unbelievably sad,” she answered. “I didn’t think to knock. I’m sorry.”

She truly was sorry. They had agreed she would never enter without knocking.

If he knew that I’d climbed into his bed the other night, he wouldn’t be happy,
Marlena thought. No, she knew.

If she climbs into my bed like she did the other night, I may have to make love to her,
John thought. It’s why he made the rule about knocking. He had to steel himself from her touch, her smile, and her smell. He could not make love to her yet. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Another Princess Grace tragedy and Bernie Madoff debacle,” she said to avoid more discussion. “To one family, all in less than an hour.”

“Is that Shawn?” she asked as her son-in-law’s face splashed across the TV screen.

“You haven’t been watching,” John mocked.

Marlena shook her head and watched in disbelief as the story unfolded as a CNN field reporter from France was in front of Princess Grace Hospital thrusting a mic in front of Shawn’s face.

“Mr. Brady, could we speak to you for a moment?” she asked. “CNN. We understand you were not only at the accident site, but in the room when Mr. Gaines was arrested.”

“Only speaking to the
Spectator,
sorry.” He tossed off as he passed. “You can read everything there.”

“He’s certainly matured,” Marlena said. “Where’s Belle?”

As if on cue, her phone rang. She pulled it from the pocket in her robe.

“We’re on the same wavelength, sweetie,” Marlena said.

“You’ve seen the news,” Belle stated.

“It’s everywhere,” Marlena answered. “How are you? How is Claire? I’m sure you know it’s all very confusing.”

“For all of us,” Belle said. “We’re fine, really. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

“We always do,” Marlena said. “From one mother to another, I’m sure you understand.”

Belle glanced at Claire. Yes, now she truly understood the bond of a mother and daughter.

John signaled for Marlena to let him talk to her.

“Dad wants to speak to you,” Marlena told her and held the phone up to his ear.

“Hey, baby girl,” John said.

“Hi, Daddy,” Belle said warmly. “Can’t wait to see you.”

“You too. When?”

“We were supposed to drive up there tomorrow,” she answered. “But now I don’t know. How are you, Dad?”

“A bit better than when we last saw you,” he answered. “Even though that was almost two years ago, don’t expect miracles.”

“I’m Mom’s daughter,” she replied. “I always do.”

“Keep us posted, and let us know when to expect you,” John said. “Kiss little Claire Black for me.”

Marlena stared at John. He caught her gaze.

“Sorry. I should have let you say good-bye,” he said and then turned back to the news.

“I’ll speak to her later,” Marlena replied. She couldn’t take her gaze off him. She had seen a glimpse of the man she loved when he was talking to their daughter.

Why couldn’t he respond like that to her?

“Can she have visitors?” Shawn asked the volunteer outside of Charley’s private room in the ICU. He could see a glimpse of her, hooked up to tubes and catheters, with electrodes monitoring her.

Charley had a large bandage covering her neck where Shawn had applied pressure to keep her from bleeding out. Her dark hair was pulled up behind her, and she was sleeping.

“Are you family?” the efficient but gentle woman asked.

“No, I’m—”

Before he could finish, Esther, the nurse who’d taken his blood donation, appeared from the other side of the nurses’ station.

“Mr. Brady,” she said.

“You remember.” Shawn smiled.

“He’s the gentleman who donated the B negative for Miss Gaines,” she told her co-worker, then addressed Shawn apologetically. “Are you here to give more?”

“How is she?” he asked.

“She’s been heavily medicated since the surgery,” she answered. “But she’s expected to make a full recovery.”

“Good.” Shawn sighed.

An alarm went off from the monitors, which had been steadily beeping softly. There was a flurry of activity as two nurses came from opposite directions and made a beeline into Charley’s room. Shawn jumped aside as one of the doctors rushed past him at a clip.

The volunteer strained to see inside, but they’d pulled the curtain closed.

“If you’d like to donate, the clinic is on the second floor,” she said to Shawn.

He hesitated, not wanting to leave.

Before he had to answer, the doctor emerged. “She’s awake and talking,” he reported.

“Great.” Shawn smiled.

“Could you call the chaplain?” the doctor asked the volunteer. “We need to inform her about her mother.”

The doctor moved behind the nurses’ station to complete his report, and one of the nurses got on the phone to the chaplain.

Shawn had spent a lot of time in and around the hospitals of Salem. His great-grandfather, Tom Horton, had been the chief of staff at one time, and hence, a number of his relatives had become
doctors or nurses. It still amazed him at how they could be so compassionate and clinical at the same time. His own parents, both cops, had also instilled in him the belief that life had to be fair and balanced. Sometimes he didn’t feel like either a Horton or a Brady.

His reverie was broken when the gentle nurse, Esther, emerged from Charley’s room.

“She’d like to see you,” Esther said.

“Now?” Shawn asked.

“She saw you out here and wanted to say thank you.”

Shawn moved into her room, and he was struck again by her natural beauty. She was a bit groggy, but her eyes widened when she saw him.