The Secret Sister (15 page)

Purposely misinterpreting that, he gestured for her to get up. “Great. Let's go.”

No response.

“Maisey?”

She didn't answer him. She just stood and started peeling off her clothes, which gave him the feeling he'd all but dared her to do it.

“Come on,” he said. “You don't have to prove anything to me. I'm not
trying
to stick my nose in where it doesn't belong. Can't you feel the wind? The change in the weather? The water won't be the same as it was the other night.”

“You know I went swimming the other night?”

“I was going to hit the water myself, when I saw you.”

Nothing.

“Think about it,” he said. “Why get wet? You're already cold.”

He thought he'd spoken rationally, but she didn't listen. As soon as she'd stripped down to her bra and a tiny pair of white bikini underwear, she marched to the shore.

Frustrated, he went after her. “You're not going in there.”

“It's got nothing to do with you!” she retorted, obviously shocked that he'd try to interfere.

“You wanted to be friends, right? A friend wouldn't let you do this. Neither would a neighbor.”

“Go to bed, Rafe. I'm not your concern.” She sounded tired, far too tired to even be considering a dip. He got the impression she almost hoped she
would
drown—or at least didn't care much if she did—which was what really made him nervous.

“Sorry, but you're not swimming tonight,” he said.

“Get out of my way!”

When she tried to circumvent him, he picked her up and heaved her over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” she screamed.

“Will you stay away from the ocean if I do?” He carried her up the beach without even bothering to bring his sweatshirt or the other clothes she'd removed. He figured they could get that stuff in the morning.

“I'll do what I want!”

“Then I'm not letting you go.”

“This is ridiculous.” She began to fight him in earnest—to the point that he was afraid he might drop her. So he set her down but used the weight of his body to pin her against one of the pilings for the first bungalow.

“Maisey, listen to me,” he said. “What you're doing isn't fair. I don't want to lie awake fearing that I'll find your body washed up on shore come morning. The fact that you insisted on going in the water over my objections won't be any consolation to me or anyone else. And I sure as hell don't feel you should make me stand out here so I can watch over you. You're my neighbor, not my daughter.”

She still fought to free herself. When she couldn't manage it, she stopped resisting and glared up at him. But he didn't get the tongue-lashing he expected. Tears filled her eyes and began rolling down her cheeks.

“Whoa, it's okay,” he murmured, easing the pressure. “Why don't you tell me what's wrong instead of doing something reckless?”

He could sense that she was horrified by her own display of emotion. She was fighting those tears for all she was worth. Keeping herself rigid, she clenched her jaw. But the harder she tried to regain control, the more overwhelmed she became. It was like seeing a trickle of water break through a dam before the entire thing burst. A second later, she was sobbing and shivering and holding him tightly, as if he was all she had to cling to.

“Hey.” He shifted so she could fit more comfortably against him. “Whatever's going on, it can't be that bad. Why don't you tell me about it? I'll help if I can.”

He wasn't sure why he'd made that offer. If this had to do with her ex-husband or her divorce or even her family, there was probably nothing he could do. But he
wanted
to protect her.

Determined to carry her own burden, she didn't open up, didn't tell him a thing. She just laid her face on his chest. At least, that was how it started. A second later, she was sucking and nipping at his neck, and the memory of what it had been like to bury himself inside her immediately made him hard.

He unfastened her bra. As his hands came around and cupped the soft flesh of her breasts, Rafe told himself he was a fool. Maisey was running from whatever she felt, trying to combat negative emotions with physical pleasure. It wasn't
him
she wanted.

The truth was so obvious that, after grappling with his own desire for several seconds, he moved his hands up to her shoulders. “Maisey, stop.”

He pressed her against the piling again and lifted her chin, hoping he could finally get her to talk to him. But she rose up on her toes to reach his mouth, to kiss him with one of those hot, wet kisses that had nearly driven him out of his mind the last time, and he let her do it.

Their tongues met, and fresh intensity gripped them both. She was squirming against him, making it plain that she wanted to be even closer.

He considered getting rid of her panties. They were the only scrap of fabric still on her body. He wanted to take her right here, on the beach with that moonlight bouncing off the sea. He knew where this was leading, just as he knew he wouldn't have the strength to refuse that impulse if he let her kiss him much longer.

“No!” he said against her lips, and this time he forced himself to put some conviction behind it when he pulled away.

Unrepentant, she narrowed her eyes. She seemed to be asking him why he'd reject something he'd so obviously enjoyed before, especially when she was making it free and easy.

But it wasn't free
or
easy. Given how complicated she was, he doubted she'd even speak to him after.

Still, he wanted to rise to the challenge in those stormy eyes, to pretend he'd be able to walk away afterward. But he knew it would be a mistake. He wasn't the reckless, take-what-you-can-get young man he'd once been. These days, he was a father, and he was looking for more than a quick lay.

They stood, their eyes locked, both of them breathing hard. Then she shoved at his chest, as if she intended to go around him. But he didn't trust her not to head right back to the ocean, just to show him that she could. So he threw her over his shoulder again and carried her to her bungalow, where he deposited her on the doorstep before returning to his own place.

If she went for a swim after that, he couldn't stop her, he told himself. Because if he had any more contact with her, he'd rip off what little was left of her clothes and give her exactly what she'd been asking him for.

15

M
aisey sat in the middle of the cold floor, hugging herself and rocking back and forth in her underwear, too upset to get dressed or even go into her bedroom and crawl beneath the covers. The discomfort she was inflicting on herself somehow seemed...not deserved exactly, but appropriate to her sense of tragedy and loss.

She glanced at her phone, which was lying on the coffee table. Maybe she should call Jack. He knew her better than anyone, knew her family, too. Despite what had happened between them in recent years, he'd been her mainstay for almost a decade. He was the person who'd rescued her from Fairham the first time. Until Ellie's death, she'd been more or less happy with him.

But she didn't want talking to him to weaken her resolve. Reconciling to escape what she might have discovered about her family would not create a firm foundation for getting back together. Their marriage had fallen to shreds, and she wasn't any more capable of weaving it together now than when it had first started unraveling. The last thing she could endure was another painful breakup.

If she told Jack about those pictures, what good would it do, anyway?

I wouldn't put it past your mother to have buried a child and never said a word about it
, he'd say. But even he probably wouldn't guess her deepest fear, what made her sick inside. He'd call her morbid for considering the possibility that...maybe...if the child was dead...

No! Surely her mother would not have murdered her own daughter. But...say she'd flown into a rage and started beating the girl in those photographs. Malcolm, their father, would never have allowed her to go that far, would he? He wouldn't have helped cover up the death of one of his children, either—even if it was an accidental death.

Or could she really trust that? There were instances when Malcolm
had
allowed Josephine to go too far with Keith, weren't there? She'd never forget Keith's cries and the screaming. Besides, the last time she'd seen her father, she was ten. What did she know about his life and the secrets he might have kept?

You must remember something...

Jack would say that, too. And right there was the worst of the problem. Since Maisey had begun asking herself if there was
any
possible way she could've had an older sister, several hazy images had emerged—images of the child she'd seen in those pictures standing in the yard, her blond hair shining in the sun. Or banging on the kitchen table in some kind of patty-cake game. Or trying to pick Maisey up...

That was the memory that upset Maisey the most because the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that Keith hadn't always been the oldest in their family, despite the fact that her parents had never referred to another child. Which raised the ugly question: What had happened to their firstborn? And why didn't anyone acknowledge that there'd been
three
Lazarow children?

She had to be wrong, she told herself, regardless of what those pictures suggested and what she seemed to be remembering. It was fear that had caused her brain to conjure up those “memories.” Keith was older than she was by two years. If there'd been someone else in the family, he would've mentioned it at some point. Wouldn't he?

That was who she'd call—and, damn him, he'd better pick up...

Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she got up and crossed to her phone.

Keith didn't answer. That came as a disappointment but no surprise. She left him another message.

“Listen, it's important that I talk to you. Please... Call me as soon as you can. Tonight, okay?”

Dropping her phone back on the table before she could break down and call Jack next, she sank onto the couch. Who else could convince her that what she saw in those pictures wasn't what she feared?

Josephine was the obvious answer. But Maisey couldn't go to her. She wasn't sure she could believe what her mother might tell her. She didn't even want her to know she had these pictures. Not yet. Not until she had some idea of what they meant.

A parade of housekeepers marched through her mind. As a younger woman, Josephine had been even more demanding than she was now; she'd gone through quite a few household employees. Although no one had dared to call child services, some disagreed with the way she treated her children and left because of that. Some disagreed with the way she treated her employees and left because of
that
. And some tried to become the mother Josephine wasn't. Those were the ones who were fired even though they were good employees. They made Josephine feel diminished, and feeling diminished was one thing she'd
never
tolerate.

If their mother had had two daughters, some of those housekeepers would have known the eldest, or known about her. Would they speak up if Maisey contacted them? Where should she start? Was that child gone before her parents moved to Fairham? There'd been a few years when Grandpa Coldiron was still alive, still living on the island, and Josephine had lived on the mainland. Like Keith, Maisey had been born in Charleston.

Had Josephine had another child in Charleston? One before Keith?

Her phone rang, causing Maisey to jump. She was almost afraid to pick it up in case it was Jack. She knew all the anger and doubt she felt toward her mother would come pouring out the second she heard his voice.

The number shown on call display had a local area code. It wasn't Keith's. But she'd left him a desperate message, so she thought—hoped—it was him. He could be using someone else's phone, perhaps Nancy's. It was even possible that he'd returned and hadn't let her know. At least he was getting back to her.

“Hello?”

No response.

“Keith?” She gripped her phone that much tighter.

“It's me. I've been worried about you. Are you okay?”

Rafe. “How—how'd you get my number?”

“Nancy from the flower shop gave it to me.”

“You know Nancy?”

“She's in the phone book.”

“She was still awake?”

“Said she was.”

“I see. I—I'm fine. Thank you for checking on me. I'm sorry about how I behaved...”

“Don't apologize. I just wanted to tell you that I put your clothes on the porch.”

“Okay. But...can I just say I'm not as crazy as I must seem? My life's out of control right now, that's all.”

“I'm getting a hint of that. So...why don't you tell me what's going on?”

How could she tell anyone the dark suspicions that were creeping to the forefront of her brain? Or that she couldn't shake various memories of the terrible beatings her brother had received at the hands of her mother? Those beatings had taken on added significance the moment she realized the girl in those pictures must have been part of her immediate family.

She couldn't say any of that. What she feared was too vile. She'd been shaking inside since she'd pried the lid off that metal box.

And what if she raised the question in someone else's mind, and she was wrong? How could she do that to her own mother?

She squeezed her eyes shut. “It's...nothing.”

“It's not nothing,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “It has to do with those pictures or you wouldn't have come over here, asking about them. Why have they upset you so much?”

Her heart started to pound. She could hear each thud in her ears. She could hear her own breathing, too.
Tell him. And let him tell you that what you're afraid of could never have occurred. Nightmares like that only happen to other people.

Except she wasn't exempt from anything. Expecting him to convince her would be futile. He would have no way of really knowing. He didn't understand what her mother was truly like. Few people did. They saw the physical perfection of Josephine's face and figure, and the “I've got it all” front she put on and assumed it was real. Even most extended family members would be shocked to learn how Keith had been treated.

“They haven't. I—I was trying to figure out how my—” she swallowed, trying to get enough moisture in her mouth to say the only thing she could to suggest nothing had happened tonight “—my baby pictures ended up in that wall.”

She covered her eyes with her free hand, hoping he hadn't looked through them
too
carefully...

“I've been thinking about that,” he said. “Maybe your father left them in his truck and whatever contractor he was working with stole them to...who can say? Get back at him for something. It could be a matter of simple jealousy. Someone who had to work hard for a living resenting someone who didn't—that sort of thing.”

She relaxed a little; Rafe didn't doubt that those pictures were of her. “Yeah, that must be it. I—I can't come up with a better explanation.”

“So...you're okay?”

“Yes, of course.” It was kind of him to call, to offer her some solace. After the way she'd treated him, it would've been perfectly understandable if he'd left her to deal with her own problems. She'd been so inconsistent.

She thought of how gently he'd touched her breasts, her face, other places, when they were naked together. That experience had been nothing like the encounter she'd had with him eighteen years ago.

She wasn't interested in sex now that she'd calmed down. She just wished she could curl up beside him, if only to feel someone close, someone as self-assured as Rafe. She wanted to listen to him breathe.

That was a strange thought, considering that she still had feelings for Jack. But there it was. Yes, she was sexually aroused by her neighbor. She was also drawn to Rafe's strength—and the deep affection he felt for his little girl. He treated Laney like Maisey's father had treated her. That kind of love seemed to be the only safe haven life had to offer. No wonder she was attracted to it.

“I didn't mean to strong-arm you at the beach,” he said. “But swimming alone at night—it's dangerous. You understand, right?”

Her phone beeped, signaling another call. She was surprised to see that it was Keith, calling from his usual number.

“I understand,” she said quickly. “I'll let you get some sleep now.”

There was a slight pause. Then he said good-night and she switched over.

“Maisey, what's up?” Keith asked. “Are you hurt? Your message sounded distraught.”

So many responses went through her mind. If he could call her so easily now, why hadn't he done it before, to assure her of his safety at least? And how dare he strand her without furniture or a vehicle or anything else? She understood that he wasn't quite stable. But she wasn't in a great position herself. Couldn't he think of someone else, for a change?

No. He couldn't. Whether she had nature or nurture to blame, he'd never been as well-equipped to deal with life as she had. Trying to hold him to the same standards would only disappoint her and make him feel even less capable, driving a wedge between them.

She'd made this decision before, and she made it again now. She had to forgive Keith and work with whatever he was able to put into their relationship. “I'm...okay, I think. How are you?”

“I could be better. But then, that's usually the case.”

She'd always felt a little guilty for being happier than he was. She'd never fully grasped the kind of depression her brother faced—not until Ellie died and her marriage crumbled.
Then
she'd understood how hard life could be. “Where are you?”

“In Charleston.”

That close? It made sense, since he probably didn't have the money for a plane ticket. She was glad he hadn't gotten
that
much out of Nancy. “At a motel or...”

“Staying with a friend.”

Was that true? Most of the friends he'd had growing up had gotten married. Those who lived in or near Charleston led productive lives. They wouldn't want to hang out with a guy who was using, wouldn't want to become enablers by allowing him to stay with them for indefinite periods of time. Keith had complained about them turning their backs on him in the past.

Briefly, she wondered if Nancy was paying for his room. Maybe he was even on Fairham, living at Nancy's.

Maisey wanted to press him for the truth, find out if what he'd told her
was
the truth. She didn't think it was fair of him to take advantage of Nancy's infatuation. But Maisey knew bringing up that subject would only make him angry and probably wouldn't change his behavior, anyway.

“Are you planning on coming back anytime soon?” she asked.

“To Coldiron House? Not if I can avoid it.”

“Are you still...clean?” She knew better than to ask that, too, but it just slipped out.

“This is why I haven't called,” he snapped. “I don't want to hear about all the ways I'm letting you down.”

So he
was
using. She was tempted to point out that he was letting himself down more than anyone else. But that argument had proven futile in the past. He didn't seem to care what he did to himself.

Afraid the conversation would end in a fight, or that he'd simply hang up, she dropped it. “Keith, did we grow up with...someone else?”

“What are you talking about?”

The irritation she'd heard in his voice was gone; she'd captured his attention. “An older sister, maybe?”

There was a long silence.

“Keith? I realize it's an odd question. We couldn't have lost a sibling without knowing it, but...”

“This is about the blonde girl with the dimples.”

Maisey's stomach plummeted to her knees. “Yes! She was with us in the beginning, wasn't she?”

“God, how can
you
remember her? You were so young! I wasn't even sure
my
memories are right.”

Knocking the lid on that metal box, she withdrew the picture that had convinced her this girl could not be her. Keith was there as the smaller and younger of the two. “I'm not sure, to be honest. I seem to recall...brief glimpses of
someone
—a sister—if I can trust my own mind.” She wasn't ready to tell him about the pictures; she wanted to see what he remembered first.