Known (25 page)

He wouldn’t trade
anything
in his past because that would mean he’d never have had his son.

It put a cork in all jealousy arguments.

He turned to look Violet directly in the eye as she tried not to scowl at Owen, and she gave him an embarrassed half smile. Chris suddenly realized that what he felt wasn’t envy toward his brother, it was simply a desire to get to know Gianna’s daughter better.

Owen held out his hand to Chris and did the usual gaze at and bounce away from his scars that always happened during introductions. “Thanks for looking out for Gianna. We were worried.”

Chris simply smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Owen glanced at Violet. “Hey, kid. Good to see you.” He turned and asked Saul about ordering dinner before Violet had a chance to reply. She met Chris’s gaze and rolled her eyes.

Saul handed Gianna two key cards. “I got you a smaller suite on the next floor down.” He frowned. “I tried to get something closer to me, but this is the best they could do on short notice. Are you sure you don’t want to stay here with me?”

“I’m sure,” she said. “And no one was told my name, correct?”

“That’s correct. Can you stay and eat with us?” Saul asked.

The man pleaded with his gaze, but Gianna still declined. “We’re beat. We might order some room service, but I plan to turn in as soon as possible. Brunch tomorrow?”

“That will do.”

Pleasantries were exchanged, and Chris was relieved to be out of the suite.

“Who is Owen Thomas to you?” he asked as they took the elevator down a floor.

“He’s a golfing buddy of my uncle’s. We dated for a while. It’s been over for months.” She gave him a pointed look.

“Thank God,” muttered Violet.

“Violet!”

“He’s a creep.”

Gianna was speechless. Chris looked from her open jaw to her daughter’s matter-of-fact expression. “I take it you didn’t know Violet’s opinion?” he asked.

“No.” Gianna stepped out of the elevator. “What was wrong with him?” she asked her daughter.

“He’s rude. Condescending. He just wanted the prestige of dating you.”

“Prestige?” Gianna wrinkled her nose.

“Yeah, because of Grandpa and who your dad was. And that you’re an ME. Everyone thinks that’s cool.” Violet had yet to look her mother in the face. “And because of the accident,” she added quietly.

“He said that to you?”

“No. I heard him talking about it with someone at Nana’s funeral. He acted like it was no big deal and that you’d told him all about it. But I knew you hadn’t, right?” Dark eyes turned toward her mother.

Gianna was quiet as she studied Violet. “You’re right. I told him I preferred not to discuss it.”

“I
knew
it. That asshole.”

“Language!” Gianna slid the key card in a slot and opened the door, then entered and began flipping on light switches.

“Smells old,” mumbled Violet as she tossed her bag on a bed.

“It is old.”

Chris took a peek in the closet and checked the bathroom of the suite. All clear. “Do you want to look at those photos again now?” He’d grabbed a spare laptop at his brother’s when they’d picked up Violet. He set it on the large desk and turned it on, then opened up the remote software he and Michael used. He remoted into his computer at home and accessed his private server, where Frisco’s pictures had been automatically backed up. He pulled up the photos.

Gianna walked up behind him as he sat in the desk chair and placed a hand on his shoulder as she leaned over it. “I need to get into my email, too. I noticed on my phone that one of Saul’s assistants sent me an attachment. It must be scans of the photos we asked for. Can we look at those first?”

He followed her instructions to access her email and downloaded the attachment, opening the photos in a viewer. Gianna gasped at the first one and leaned closer. He could smell her skin. If he turned his head, her chest would be inches away. He stared forward, not seeing the screen for a few moments as he got control of his thoughts.

Us alone in a hotel room.

Violet is here.

He waffled between being thankful for Violet’s presence and resenting it. He blinked and the photo in front of him came into focus. A huge Christmas tree with a small girl standing alone in front of it, her feet buried in ripped-open wrapping paper. She was dressed in a Winnie-the-Pooh nightgown and had a broad smile that showed missing front teeth. She wore a gold necklace that looked like it belonged on a rapper, not a child.

The original photo was quite old and had yellowed slightly. Chris enlarged the image.

Gianna laughed at what appeared. “I remember that necklace. I loved it.”

The gold necklace featured a Barbie head.

“Didn’t they look closely at the photos?” Chris asked.

“I think Saul told them to send any pictures of a large gold necklace. He wasn’t specific.”

Chris moved to the next and moved on after a quick glance. The next several photos showed Gianna or her mother wearing jewelry, but none were of the large pendant they wanted to see. Gianna stopped him on several photos, her dark gaze drinking in the pictures of her mother. More than once she commented that she didn’t remember a photo. Violet silently watched from the other side of Chris.

“Why did he keep these from you?” Chris asked. The photos were a wealth of history. Frozen moments of two people who’d been cruelly ripped from the world.

“I don’t think my uncle thought of it that way.” Gianna didn’t look away from an image in which her parents were dressed up, clearly about to head out for some important social event. Her mother had the long skinny curls and huge poofy bangs that were a fixture of eighties fashion. Gianna’s father wore a skinny tie and looked like a younger version of Saul. “I think he was worried I’d be overwhelmed by all these pictures if he’d given them to me when I was a child.”

“You didn’t ask for them later?”

She grimaced and a shot of pain flashed in her eyes. “I did. He told me where they were stored, but I never made the effort to go look. It’s my own fault.”

“Are there other things that belonged to your parents stored away?”

“I think so. I don’t know what exactly. I should go sort through them. Seeing these photos makes me excited to do it.” She smiled at the screen, and he understood her need to connect to her past.

“Your dad looks a lot like your uncle. What’s the age difference?”

“Two years.”

“I wonder if resemblance made it harder or easier for you to adapt to him in your life,” Chris mused out loud.

Gianna reached over and enlarged her father’s face. “Good question. I really don’t remember. I never thought they looked alike when I was a kid. I see it clearly now that I’m an adult.” She continued to stare at her father’s face.

“Ready?” Chris’s finger was poised over the touch pad.

Gianna nodded. He tapped.

“Ohhhh!” Violet and Gianna leaned closer.

“Is that your grandmother?” Chris asked. A regal-looking woman with a sixties hairdo held a very young Gianna close to her face. Broad smiles shone from both of them, and even with the large age difference, it was apparent that Gianna resembled her grandmother. A large medallion hung around Gianna’s neck.

“Yes,” she said simply.

“Mom, you look just like her!” Violet breathed. “I wonder how old she was in this picture.”

“There’s the necklace,” Gianna whispered. “I think this is when she gave it to me. I faintly remember seeing this picture before. Or maybe I just remember the occasion.”

Pride sparkled in the eyes of both figures in the photo.

“I miss her,” Gianna said softly. “I miss all of them. I can barely remember anything.” Violet put an arm around her mother and rested her head on her shoulder.

Chris watched their reflection in his computer screen. He was simultaneously happy and sad for them. He zoomed in on the necklace, but couldn’t make out any details. The size looked right, but the photo was too old and fuzzy to show the gentle swirls. “Let’s ask them to overnight the actual picture.”

A quick look through the other photos didn’t show any more views of the medallion. “Are you ready to look at Frisco’s photos again?” He hated to switch gears. Something about looking through Gianna’s history had brought a sweet and tender atmosphere to the room. He didn’t want it to end.

Gianna nodded.

“I’m done. I don’t want to see them,” Violet said. “Mind if I watch TV in the other room?”

“Go ahead,” Gianna told her.

“At least now you can look at those old pictures whenever you want,” Chris said, as he switched to a different folder on his screen.

As her daughter left the room, Gianna wiped at her tears with a shaking hand. She’d managed to hold it together while looking at the photos, but as soon as Violet was out of hearing, the dam had broken. Guilt swamped him.

“Sit down.” Chris stood and guided her into the desk chair. “I don’t know why I sat in the chair.”

She leaned back in the chair with a sigh. “You know part of the reason I moved was to get Violet away from some of the influences in New York, but most of all I simply wanted our connection back. It’s been just the two of us for a long time, and she’s the other half of my heart. I’ve desperately missed her. Since the fire, I’ve felt her slowly crawling back to me. I hate that it took something so drastic to bring her back, but I’ll take it.”

“She’s a great kid.”

“The exhaustion crept up on me. I think I’ve been running on adrenaline and suddenly I hit a wall. But it was so wonderful to see those pictures. I’ve forgotten so much.”

“I bet the police lab can do something with the actual photo to get a better look at the medallion,” Chris said.

“It won’t be a priority. Proving the pendant is the same as one as I had as a child doesn’t get them any closer to finding out who murdered Frisco and the other two men.”

“Assuming it is the same one, why was he wearing it?”

“I’ve asked the same question over and over.” She pressed her hands against her eyes. “I’m done for today. Can we look at them tomorrow? I just want to crawl in bed.”

Chris closed the lid to the laptop. “Absolutely. Reach out to me in the morning.”

She moved her hands. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and her exhaustion filled the room. A loud television laugh track sounded from the bedroom, and Gianna gave him a weak smile.

If Violet weren’t here
. . .

Tension hummed between them. The good kind. The kind where his body ached to touch her. He lifted a hand to touch her hair, knowing that Violet’s presence would keep him in line. Her hair was pulled back tight in a ponytail, but small wisps hung around her face. They were soft to the touch, and she closed her eyes as his fingertips touched the skin of her cheek. He ran a finger over the wet track from the corner of her eye and pulled back.

“I should go.”

Her eyes opened and she said nothing. Her gaze told him she was fully aware of what could have happened if they’d been alone.

“Tomorrow,” she said softly.

He nodded, bent to kiss her lightly on the lips, and left the hotel room.

Her single word raced through his brain.

In the dark of the hotel room, Violet studied the tiny screen of her phone. Ever since Jamie had shared bits and pieces about Chris’s past, Violet had wanted to find out more. In the other bed in the room, her mother breathed steadily in sleep. After Chris had left, her mom had kissed her good night and fallen asleep almost instantly. Violet had read every article she could find about Chris Jacobs, and now she couldn’t sleep.

At the age of twelve, he’d been kidnapped along with a small group of other schoolchildren. They’d been held underground in a large tank of some sort by a sexual predator called the Ghostman.

Violet’s skin crawled.

Her best friend had been attacked by a man with his mind set on rape. If a passerby hadn’t intervened, Grace would have been violated and possibly killed. Her friend still had nightmares and refused to go anywhere alone. Violet suspected Grace’s attack had been part of Gianna’s abrupt decision to move. Part of her understood her mom’s fear, but couldn’t that happen anywhere?

Two years after Chris and the other children had vanished, Chris walked out of the forest half-dead, claiming no memory of what had happened to him.

Stunned, Violet set down her phone, remembering how Jamie had said that after he returned, Chris had spent most of his life pretending to be someone he was not . . . to protect the Brody family.

He was a boy at the time.

How did a child make and endure that choice? He’d purposefully stayed away from a family who loved him to keep a killer from seeking revenge. What had happened in that bunker that’d driven him to turn his back on his loved ones?

He was scared. Terrified.

Could she have sustained a lie like that? Chosen to no longer see her mother?

She shuddered.

Violet enlarged twelve-year-old Chris’s school photo on her phone. He looked eager and ready to take on the world. She had briefly seen that happiness when his brother had met them on the mountain. She had a hard time thinking of him as a scared child; he was the most fearless person she’d ever met. He was always calm, almost eerily so. When she and her mother had been worried and shaken, Chris had been a rock.