You Don't Know Me (25 page)

He should have listened to his gut and brought Annalise with him, regardless of what Nathan said. “Welcome to northern Minnesota. Garcia could already be in Deep Haven; Annalise and her entire family might be dead—”

“Sorry.”

No more than Frank was. He’d wanted to hit something when he walked into the coroner’s office and took a look at the victim, the so-called Luis Garcia.

Only, not Garcia. He heard his own words echo back to him. “This is Ramos Steele, Garcia’s right-hand man,” he’d said quietly. “Garcia must have picked him up in California. We’ve never been able to capture him.” Until now.

Until Ramos had somehow helped Garcia give the Canadian police and Frank’s own team the slip.

“I’ll try Nathan again,” Boyd said, picking up the phone.

“I told him to find his wife, to hide her someplace safe. I didn’t really think he’d listen to me.” Frank touched the brakes as he rounded a curve. So maybe they didn’t have to die en route to Deep Haven. But a lot could happen in two hours. Or four.

He couldn’t erase the image of Helen walking into a trap in her living room. Garcia waiting for her in the darkness.

Never mind the thought of what he’d do to Annalise. To Colleen. How Nathan might die trying to protect his family. How his sons would perish with him.

Frank gritted his jaw as he came up too fast on a car, surged around it. “I should have moved them all that first day. Why didn’t I listen to my gut?”

“We weren’t even sure if they were in danger—”

“I knew it!” Frank slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “I knew it.” He glanced at Boyd. “I’ve been doing this a long time. If they die, it’s on me.”

Oh, God.
If he ever felt like praying, it was now. But he didn’t even know where to start. How long had it been since he had a one-on-one with the Almighty? Maybe at his wife’s grave. Yes, they’d had words then. Mostly Frank apologizing, but a few accusations thrown too. And some private resolutions made. The kind he’d broken over and over and over this week as he let Annalise and her family pull him farther into their lives.

Uncle Frank.

He should have stopped those words before they ever left his mouth. And as for meeting Helen . . .

He rubbed his chest. It tightened under his hand.

He shouldn’t have betrayed her. No wonder she’d hung up on him—he’d turned into her husband. And by now, she knew that he’d lied to her.

Just what did he think would happen?

He could admit that he’d hoped she’d forgive him. That he’d be able to tell her on his own terms. That . . . that she’d let him stick around and be the guy she needed. He’d already been trying to figure out how to take a leave of absence, maybe even—

“Pull over, Frank. I’m driving.”

He glanced at Boyd.

“Seriously. Pull over. You’re upset and driving like a maniac, and getting us killed isn’t going to help anyone.”

Frank ground his molars together but pulled off at the scenic overlook.

Boyd got out, marched in front of the car, and yanked open the door. “Now.”

How he wanted to throw a punch at him. But the kid had some sense. Frank climbed out, retreated to the passenger side, and buckled in. “Try to stay on the road.”

“You try to get ahold of someone.” Boyd pulled out onto the highway.

Okay, Frank did feel a little better with Boyd driving. At least then he could dial the phone without swerving.

Helen’s phone went again to voice mail. “Helen, please call me. I’m so sorry—but this is an emergency. Annalise is in trouble—you’re all in trouble.”

He held the phone to his forehead, adding a prayer to his message. Maybe desperation made it a bit easier to pray. No matter what his history with God, for this moment he could pretend the Almighty was on his side.

“I know about Gina Sullivan.”

Frank shot his partner a look.

Boyd kept his face forward. “I was talking with some of the other agents and they told me what happened.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“You placed Annalise right about the time you placed Gina. I think it’s haunting you.”

“
You’re
haunting me. Drive faster.”

“You’re a legend in the agency, boss. No one hides people like you do. But you can’t protect everyone. I know you wanted to save that girl . . . and that your wife dying nearly killed you, but you aren’t in charge of everyone and you can’t bear that burden.”

“I promised them they’d be safe.”

“That’s not your promise to make.”

Frank looked away. “I can try.”

“And when you fail, it destroys you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Frank, you care about the people we place more than anyone. I know this isn’t the first time you’ve been to Deep Haven since you placed Annalise.”

“They have some great fishing in northern Minnesota.”

“It doesn’t work to act like you don’t care, like it won’t affect you, because it does.”

Frank stared out the window, to the sun falling behind the trees, the darkening sky. “It’s just a job.”

“No, it’s not. I know your story, Frank. I know your wife died. I’ve been your partner long enough to know that you’re lonely.”

“That’s not true. I don’t need anyone.”

“Really, Uncle Frank?”

He glanced at Boyd. “Watch yourself.”

“You know what? I think you didn’t move Annalise because you became part of the family. You kept telling yourself that it was pretend, but in your heart it felt real. Very real.”

He’d request a new partner after this was over. “I’m not stupid. I know it’s not real.”

“But why can’t it be? Make it real.”

Frank frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re tired, Frank. You’re tired of this business. Tired of sleeping in different towns, of dismantling people’s lives and reinventing them all over. You’ve let it get inside you, turn you angry.”

He wasn’t angry, was he?

Maybe he was. Maybe he was angry at the injustice and the horrors and the pain, furious that he had to be the one who made it worse.

He was angry that too many people had to pay for the crimes of others. That too many mothers wondered where their children were. Like Annalise’s mother, Claire O’Reilly.

He might never get her face out of his head.

“Frank, I have news for you. We’re the good guys. And it’s time for you to do what you do best.”

“What’s that?”

“Reinvent yourself. Give yourself a new identity. Be Uncle Frank—not the guy with the devastating news but the one who takes the grandkids fishing.”

“I can’t be Uncle Frank—”

“You already are, boss.”

Frank saw himself playing Monopoly with Henry. And cheering at Colleen’s games.

And helping Helen make popcorn.

You already are.

“But it’s not real. Helen will never forgive me. Even if I tell her I want to stick around, you don’t understand—her ex-husband lied to her. He betrayed her. And now so did I.”

“So maybe you have to work at it. Prove to her that you’re not him. Make her see that you’re in this. That is, if you want to be.”

Oh, he wanted to be. He wanted to be the one who shoveled her porch and watched her make pie and took her dancing. And held her hand through whatever future lay ahead.

Helen had made him feel again—or want to.

She’d made him into Uncle Frank.

If she forgave him, maybe he would figure out how to stick around, all the way to the end.

“Faster, Boyd. Drive faster,” Frank said as he picked up the phone again.

Frank’s message boiled in Helen’s chest all day:
You probably know about Annalise and why we did what we did. . . . It was for her safety . . .

It had her thinking like some sort of spy movie—Annalise tangled up in trouble. Her daughter-in-law came home with Nathan shortly before Henry got off the late bus, and Helen couldn’t help but march over there.

Just in case Annalise felt like explaining herself.

You probably know about Annalise.

Annalise was in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for dinner. “I have a meat loaf in the oven.”

That’s all she had to say? Who had her son married? And what secrets did the woman harbor that justified a sentence like
It was for her safety . . . 
?

In the next room, Nathan was dismantling his shotgun. Not a word to her about where Frank might be.

She refused to ask.

“Keep an eye on the potatoes, will you, Helen?” Annalise said, flashing her a smile, then disappearing to straighten the entryway.

Oh, the whole thing could drive her to her last nerve. Fine, if they wanted to pretend like today never happened . . .

The sun remained only a simmer of fire on the far horizon, nearly snuffed out from the day. It got dark so early in Deep Haven this time of year.

Helen checked the meat loaf in the oven, then took the potatoes off the stove and dumped them into the colander in the sink. Steam rose, slurring the windowpanes. After returning the potatoes to the pot, she opened the fridge and found the milk, the butter. Fished out the masher from the crock.

Annalise came from the entryway and slid into a chair. “Helen, we need to talk.”

Helen poured in the milk and out of the corner of her eye saw Nathan appear. Nod. What, was he keeping secrets from her too?

She cut in butter and picked up the masher.

“Please, Mom. Sit down,” Nathan said.

“I’m fine here.” Helen leaned over the pot and began to mash the potatoes.

“Mom!”

Nathan’s tone made her drop the masher.

“We have to talk about the cancer.”

Oh. The cancer. So that’s what this was about. Now she felt foolish. She glanced at Nathan with a thin smile. “I don’t have cancer. They ran tests and think it might be something else, something treatable. I’m so sorry for the trouble I caused.”

Nathan folded his arms over his chest as if he were talking to a child. “Mom, really? You’re not just saying that to protect us?”

Helen swallowed the rock in her throat and tried to sound normal. “No. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I promise, I wouldn’t
lie
about something like cancer.” She picked up the masher and worked the potatoes into a fine puree and refused to listen to the accusing voices inside. She would have
eventually
told them.

“Helen . . . there’s more.”

It was the way Annalise said it, softly, with a tremor in her voice, that made Helen pause. Turn away from the potatoes.

Annalise twisted her hands together. “I don’t know how else to tell you this than to just say it. I’m not who I said I was.”

You probably know about Annalise . . .
Helen took a breath, felt it burn through her. “Go on.”

Annalise glanced at Nathan as if asking for permission.

The glance was a knife to Helen’s chest. Her son had lied to her too.

“My name is really Deidre O’Reilly. I moved to Deep Haven twenty years ago under the Witness Security Program.”

Helen stared at her, hearing the words but unable to unscramble them in her head.

“And Frank Harrison is my handler. Not my uncle.”

Not my uncle.

“Helen?”

Not her uncle. Helen wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling hollow. “So. That’s what the message today was about.”

Annalise frowned. “What message?”

“Frank left a message to apologize. Said he was only trying to protect you.” She studied Annalise, really looking at her. For a second, she saw the woman she’d met twenty years ago when Nathan brought her home for dinner. Blonde hair, a wan, almost-shaken look about her.

Helen reached for the chair and sat down. “Are you still in trouble? Is that why Frank was here? Why my son was sitting in the family room with his
shotgun
?”

She didn’t mean for the words to slide out with quite so much edge. Especially once Annalise put her hand to her mouth as if shaking away tears. But what kind of woman put her family in danger?

“No, Mom,” Nathan said quietly. “Not anymore. They put her here because she testified against a drug lord. He got out and tried to find her—which was why Frank was here. But they caught the guy.”

Helen met Annalise’s gaze, held it. “You came here because you were hiding?”

Annalise nodded.

“And . . . your family? Are they really dead?”

Annalise let out a shaky breath. “My parents are alive and living in St. Louis. I have a brother, Ben, and a sister, Kylie.”

“And do they know you’re alive?”

“My parents do.”

“Oh. Your poor mother.” Helen hadn’t meant for that to escape, but she couldn’t imagine letting go of Nathan, not knowing where he was.

She imagined it might be like living with the grief of a kidnapped child or an MIA soldier. Almost despising the hope that you couldn’t surrender.

She wanted to take Annalise’s hand. Instead she clasped her own in her lap.

“Frank left because his job here was finished,” Nathan said.

Annalise nodded. “I don’t think we’ll see him again, Helen.”

Just like that. Well. Okay.

Helen forced a smile. “It was nice meeting him.”

“Mom—”

She held up a hand to Nathan. “I don’t want to speak of him. It’s enough to know that you’re both okay.” She looked at Annalise. “Does this mean you’ll go back to your other life?”