Sins That Haunt (29 page)

“What about the file?” she asked, tugging the jacket he'd given her to wear over the dress closer.

“Turns out she and your father had been having a long affair, but when she gambled their latest cut from Santos, he was ending it. It's why we suspect she's Cecilia's mother. She admits knowing about the file and was afraid you'd go public with it.”

“Why would I do that? He must have told her I was using it to shut him up.”

“I don't know. You think she's lying?” He had his own doubts. And if there was a way to get her to do more time, Noah was all for it. For starters the bitch had nearly gotten Shannon killed.

Shannon got the feeling they were missing something. “It's an awful big risk to take on the off chance I would make that file public after JJ was dead. She didn't want to be linked to him. Why?”

Agent Diaz came around the corner and handed Noah a piece of paper. “Nice to see you made it through all right,” he said to her. “Lover boy here was aiming to do some serious damage otherwise.” He gave Noah's shoulder a friendly nudge with his elbow. “Forensics thinks this might be of interest to you. So I brought it over right away.”

Noah's eyes widened as he read. “Diaz, can you set up a lineup while I make a call?”

“Sure, who for?”

“Shannon. I want to see if you can ID Mrs. Hyatt. Then,” he said to Shannon, “you're going home with Maggie.”

“But if she worked for your father wouldn't you know what she looked like?” Diaz asked Shannon.

“I remember what she looks like,” Shannon agreed, her voice sounding worse.

“Humor me. Riley,” he shouted to a man talking to Officer Stinson two desks over. “Can you take Ms. Joyce to lineup? I don't want her out here when we move Shelley Hyatt.”

“Sure.” He came over. “Ma'am, if you'll follow me.”

Shannon stood. “Is this necessary?”

“Yes, I think it is. Go with Riley. I don't want anyone to say we didn't do this by the book. Maybe he can fetch you a tea with honey while you wait for us to set it up?”

“Whatever the lady wants,” he assured Noah.

She went with Riley, more to make Noah happy than anything else.

In a room with yet another two-way mirror, Shannon accepted the tea. She didn't need to add a caffeine buzz to her already frazzled nerves, which continued to fray with every passing second she had to sit there, but the honey helped her throat. It took twenty minutes before Damon and Lieutenant Cooper joined them. Then Noah came in, curiously looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.

“Something happen with the case,” she asked.

“Yes . . . no. Something else. Come on,” he said, taking her by the arm and putting her in the right position. “Let's get this started.”

“Shannon, you should know, Maggie's outside waiting to take you home,” Horace told her.

“Thanks.” She wanted to go home with Noah, but this was his job and he'd have to stay. Problem was, where was home? It wasn't Maggie's house, and yet returning to her condo—a condo she loved—felt empty. Maybe it had always felt that way. She'd called it home, but wasn't that a word everyone tossed around? If you were staying at a hotel, how many times would you refer to it as home when returning to it? She'd refused to think of Tweedsmuir as home because it wasn't. But a home meant much more than a bed to sleep in, and wasn't that all her condo was? Or had ever been?

Noah gave her a soft kiss on her cheek, then pressed the monitor button beside the large viewing mirror. “Okay, send them in.”

Eight women filed in and turned to face forward. They all looked relatively alike, except three were blondes, the others redheads. They turned to their right and then their left when asked. Of varying heights but similar weights, all were pretty in their own way, all mid-to late-forties. What they weren't was Shelley Hyatt. Were they trying to trick her?

“She isn't there.”

“Are you sure? Take a closer look.” Noah urged her forward. “Ignore hair color. That can change.”

Shannon looked at each one separately, doing her best to block out the other women. When it came to the last one, she struck her as familiar, but it wasn't Shelley. “I think I've seen her before.” Maybe she was a cop. It wasn't uncommon to throw one in a lineup. “Is she on the force? 'Cause it's going to bug me until I figure it out.”

“No, she's not.”

“Damn. Okay, then, she's the only one that's vaguely familiar.”

“Well, it was worth a shot,” Noah said.

“Wait. I have an idea.” Damon left and returned a few minutes later. “Shannon, I want you to close your eyes and listen.”

“Sure, but I have to sit or I'm going to fall down. Balance isn't my thing.”

Noah pulled a chair for her and she sat, closing her eyes.

One by one, each woman said, “I'd rather be anywhere than here. Can I please go?” On the fifth woman Shannon said, “Stop. That's her.”

“Are you sure?” Noah asked.

“I know that whine. Can I open my eyes?”

“Should we make her hear the rest?” Damon asked.

“Shannon, are you sure?” Noah repeated.

“Have her say it again if it makes you happy.” She was curious to see how she'd missed her. Had she changed that much?

The phrase was repeated and again she confirmed it was Shelley Albinson. “Now can I open my eyes?”

“Go ahead. Number five, step forward,” Noah said into the microphone.

It was the same one she'd found familiar. “Damn, it doesn't look like her.”

“It wouldn't.” Damon opened the manila envelope he held in his hands and while he spread its contents on the table, Shannon focused on number five.

Double damn. “I guess I was too busy ignoring her bitchy whining, but that's the woman who sat next to me on the plane.”

“Bingo,” Noah said, as if that's what he'd been waiting for.

She swung her head in his direction. “What are you not telling me? Why does the woman who sat beside me talk like Shelley?”

“Because she is Shelley,” Damon answered. “Come see.” He waved her over.

“Lieutenant, can you deal with them?” Noah indicated the lineup.

“Leave it with me,” he said and left.

Shannon stared at the pictures Damon had laid out. The first was of Shelley as she remembered her: thin lips, mousy brown hair, nose a little crooked, canines a vampire would envy. Then every photo after showed a consecutive change to her face. “She had plastic surgery. She changed her appearance.” Shannon laughed. “Go figure; I always knew she was a fake.”

“A fake and a murderer,” Noah said.

“Who'd she kill?” Shannon asked.

“Your father.”

S
hannon stood back and watched as Shelley Albinson . . . Hyatt, was taken away in handcuffs, formally charged, among other things, with the murder of JJ Lewis. The search warrant had turned up a Glock 19 and then of course, with the help of Monty's fast fingers, they'd been able to place her in Boston the night JJ was killed. Not only had she flown out, she'd flown back on the same flight as Shannon, seated right next to her.

“So why did she shoot him?” Maggie asked.

“I don't know. Noah hasn't come out and told me anything. She sure did look different. New nose, fake lips, cheek implants, I hear she had a boob job too.”

“No wonder you didn't recognize her.”

“And why she'd been so desperate not to sit beside me. Here I thought I'd gone and forgotten to wear deodorant. I kept smelling myself.”

Maggie laughed. “You didn't?”

“Kinda. Wish I knew why she killed him.”

“Does it matter? He won't be bothering you anymore,” she said, draping an arm over her shoulder. “Let's get out of here.”

“Okay, but let me find Noah first.” She spotted him standing in Horace's office. He was hanging up the phone and speaking to Damon, who clapped him on the back as the two shook hands. Job well done?

“How much longer is he in town for?”

“Don't know. Not long, I think.” Every inch of her ached at the thought of him leaving, just as she knew it would. She watched as Horace also shook Noah's hand. Something was up.

“Maybe,” Maggie whispered in her ear, “he'll stay. Put in for a transfer?”

“And the house? Your old house?” Vegas wasn't his home. And even if it wasn't hers, Tweedsmuir wasn't either. Too many bad memories, one too many sins to be forgiven for.

The men came out of the office, Noah craning his neck, searching for her. And when their eyes met and he smiled, everyone else disappeared. It was just her and Noah. She wanted to crawl into his arms and never leave. And as he approached, looking tired and very sexy, she wondered whether they could make this work. He had said he'd consider moving closer to Vegas. After they'd spent some time getting to know each other again, and if their feelings for each other stayed the same, would it be so selfish of her to let him?

“Why are you two so happy?” she asked.

“Noah here,” Damon said, giving him a slap on the back, “just got promoted. You're looking at the new assistant special agent in charge. Won't be long now before he's a director.”

“It's not that big a deal,” Noah said, as if embarrassed by Damon's praise. Embarrassed? Or didn't want her to think it
was
that big a deal?

“Sure it is. I'll have to call you
sir
from now on.”

“That's great, Noah. Congratulations,” Maggie said, hooking her arm through Shannon's.

“Yes, congratulations,” Shannon agreed, trying hard to sound pleased. And she was. He deserved a promotion. A case he'd worked on was finally over. They may not have gotten Santos, but she'd overheard twenty-five arrests had been made: four in Madrid, sixteen in Miami, five in Vegas. So she was happy for him . . . just terribly sad for herself. Long-distance relationships didn't work. And from the troubled expression Noah was trying to hide, he knew it too.

“Hate to change the subject, but what's the scoop on Shelley?” Maggie asked. “Did she admit to shooting him?”

“After we told her the bartender identified her with JJ, she did, but she claims she left him alive.”

“He did? That was fast work,” Shannon said, her mind still on Noah's good news.

“No,” he grinned, “but the locals will go out there tomorrow.”

“So what does this mean?” Maggie asked. “She shot him, he died, end of story. Put her behind bars and throw away the key.”

“I'd love to, but the local police investigating the murder has this one. She'll stand trial twice. It's been a long few days. Why don't we get out of here? It's past everyone's bedtime.”

“Are you coming over?” Maggie asked him, giving Shannon a nudge Shannon hoped he didn't see.

“If that's okay? My stuff is still at your place.”

“Sure. You can meet us there,” she said, dragging Shannon out of the station, barely giving her a chance to wave good-bye.

Outside, Shannon tugged her hand free. “What's up with that?”

“Girl talk can't happen in front of boys. Walk and talk or he'll catch up.”

“It's past midnight. You want to chat. I want to sleep.”

“You say that now,” she said, opening Shannon's door and practically shoving her inside. She circled around to her side and got in. “But this might be your last night together. Who're you kidding with the sleep?”

“Wow, you've been married what? All of thirty seconds and suddenly you think everyone's as horny as you?”

“I hate that word.”

“It's just a word.” One she'd used knowing Maggie hated it.

“So is
ma'am
, but use it and see what happens.” Maggie started the car and, before even pulling into traffic, the girl talk began. “Do you love him?”

“Wow, stop beating around the bush why don't you.”

“No time for games. I know you, Shannon. You're going to let that man slip through your fingers because you're dumb enough to think he's too good for you.”

“I am
not
dumb,” she said with as much indignation as she could muster.

“Uh-huh. Don't think I didn't notice you didn't disagree with me.” She turned down the music. Not a good sign. She was serious.

“What do you want from me?”

“Tell me you don't think he's too good for you.”

Shannon didn't answer. When not wishing to lie one said nothing.

“Okay, tell me you don't love him.”

Damn, the woman was sneaky.

“That's what I thought. You are insane.”

Going well above the speed limit, Maggie jumped onto the highway—literally. “Hey, are you trying to kill me?”

“Now you speak? And look at the time,” she reasoned. “There's barely anyone on the road.”

“Good excuse to break speed records. Sheesh.”

“
Sheesh
? Who are you and where is my friend? You know, the one who curses like a sailor?”

“Not all sailors curse,” she muttered under her breath.

“Don't change the subject.”

“What subject? I'm completely lost. And scared for my life.” She clung to the door handle.

“Shake out that blonde, Shannon. You know exactly what subject. How's your neck, by the way?”

“Sore, and the paramedics said I shouldn't strain my voice talking for the next few days.” Anything not to have this conversation.

“Yes, I know, and I feel completely horrible about this, but if we don't deal with it now, that boy will pack his bags and head back to Tweedsmuir and you, stupid girl, will let him go—again.”

“Well, that's just it, isn't it? He's not that boy and I'm not that stupid girl, not anymore. We can't go back and pick up where we left off.”

“Then stop acting like he's that boy and you're that girl. Those kids grew up.”

“Would you
please
slow down?” She glanced at the speedometer and cringed.

“Listen,” she said, without slowing down, “we do all kinds of things when we're young that we regret later. That's life. But he's not the same boy you left behind. He was
married
. And some silly woman let him go. Can you believe that?”

“Yeah, I know about his failed marriage.”

“And you probably blame yourself for that too. Cut it out, Shannon. You aren't responsible for every bad decision that man made. You keep looking for excuses to punish yourself.”

“How am I punishing myself ?” Shannon spotted flashing lights in the darkness ahead. “Cops!”

It was the wrong thing to say. Maggie quickly slowed down, but she'd been going so fast it propelled Shannon forward. The seat belt caught her and slammed her into the seat, right onto her bruised back.

“Ow. Maggie, I swear . . .”

“Sorry, but if I get another ticket, Christian will kill me.” She drove by the cop, doing the speed limit. “I love you. You're my best friend. I don't want you moving to Tweedsmuir, but I want you happy.”

“Moving to Tweedsmuir? Are
you
insane?”

“He got past what happened thirteen years ago. What's between you now is new; it's better,” she said, again picking up her speed.

“Except his home is in Tweedsmuir. He likes living there. And now he got a major promotion. What are we supposed to do? Meet up once a month, every second weekend? How long will that work?”

“It won't work. Not in the long run.”

“Then what are you talking about?” She was never more grateful to see the speedometer drop.

“You need to think about moving back to Tweedsmuir. Not now, but perhaps in the near future.” Maggie sniffed, catching Shannon off guard.

“Are you crying? Why are you crying? Okay, speed if you want.” She hated it when her friend cried. People like Maggie should never be sad.

She wiped her cheek with the palm of her hand. “Shut up and listen. You need to be with your man. It will be you and me having the long-distance friendship. But that's okay,” she said, her voice cracking. “As long as I know you're happy.”

“Maybe you should let me drive. You're talking crazy.”

“We're almost there. And I am not.”

“Sure, with Mario Andretti driving why wouldn't we make a twenty-minute drive in two minutes? And why would I leave Vegas, leave my practice? And have you forgotten how much I hated that small town?” How much that town hated her?

“So many questions—with easy answers you refuse to see. Your partners are more than capable. If everything works out, you can start a new office in Boston and commute. And you had good reason to hate our town, but those reasons don't exist anymore. You have a better reason to love it—Noah.”

“Even if that were true . . . I can't go back.” Visiting Mrs. P was one thing; seeing her every day, living with yet another lie, was another.

“Mrs. Polanski. I get it, but you can fix that too.”

“I can't bring back her husband.”

“No, but one way to purge the sins that haunt us is telling the truth. So tell her. Give her a chance to forgive you.”

“You want me to admit what I did?” It was bad enough she knew what she'd done. To have Mrs. P know, to have her hate Shannon . . . She didn't think she could do that.

Maggie pulled up in front of her house and pressed the remote to open the gates. “Look, you've been punishing yourself for years. Doing penance for something a young girl had no control over. For the life of me, I could never figure out why you redid the kitchen in your condo when you never step foot in it. I assumed you had this inner Martha Stewart that was trying to get out. To have something you didn't have as a kid. But when you told me what happened with Mr. Polanski, it made sense. That kitchen is another way to punish yourself. It's a constant reminder of Mrs. P. You don't want to forget.” Maggie drove up the driveway and parked.

She said nothing. Maggie was right. Shannon just didn't know how to forget it, or deal with it.

“What do you want me to do?” How did she fix this?

“Do you love him?”

“I don't think I ever stopped loving him.” Even if he didn't know it, when she'd left she'd given him her heart. “As angry as I was when he arrested me, I was still happy to see him. I wanted to throw my arms around him and never let him go. How stupid is that?”

“It's not stupid. Stupid would be letting him go a second time without resolving this. Don't you want that?”

“I don't know. I mean I . . . I don't want to lose him again, and under normal circumstances—if this were any other town—I'd consider fighting for him. But I don't want to end up resenting him because of my baggage.”

“Then talk to Mrs. P. I think she'll tell you what we all have. His death wasn't your fault, but if for some reason she doesn't, it will no longer be the secret eating you up inside. Then maybe you can let Noah love you,” she said, covering Shannon's hand with her own. “The way you were meant to be loved.”

* * *

Shannon decided Maggie was right. And what she wasn't going to do was face Noah and promise all kinds of things she didn't know if she could keep. So she didn't. She went to her own room and locked the door. Thankfully, he'd only knocked once last night, when she'd let him believe she'd been too exhausted to stay awake. It was cruel, but she wouldn't mess this up. Giving him hope where they might not be any would be crueler.

She called Damon while Noah showered and learned he was to report back in the late afternoon. Then made her usual call to Horace to see if there was any news on her sister. There wasn't. It was like the kid had disappeared into thin air. If Shelley had lied and had been involved, Shannon would have to wait until the local police questioned the woman again. She'd shot JJ. It wasn't that far off to think she also had something to do with her sister's disappearance. But every day that passed made it one day harder to find the girl.

When the driver she arranged showed up, she tossed Noah's bag in the back with hers and waited for him to dress in the clothes she'd left him. She wrote him a vague note and told him to meet her out front. She leaned on the hood of the car and thought about asking Christian for handcuffs, then reconsidered. This wasn't payback. If things worked out, she had her own ideas for retribution, and they didn't involve slapping cuffs on him—not in public.