Born To Die

.”

“Don’t forget married.”

Maribelle winced. “There were problems there, too. For one thing, I couldn’t get pregnant, not that I planned this, of course, but your father, er, Stanley and I. . Our marriage was pretty rocky at that time. I was taking classes and met a medical student who was. .” She let her voice drift off before finishing. “Well, he was everything Stanley wasn’t. We, um, became involved, and just when we decided to call things off, you were conceived.” She looked up at Kacey with tears glistening in her eyes. “I was so happy. I’d thought maybe I was barren, but I’d never been tested, nor had Stanley, and then there you were, a miracle baby!” She smiled a bit through her tears, lifted her hands. “It was a blessing. At least for me. Look at you. I wanted a baby so badly, and you were conceived!”

Kacey thought of the hardworking father she’d grown up with, the grandparents whose home she’d inherited, and everything seemed off, just half a step out of sync. “Dad will always be—”

“I know.” Maribelle snagged her glass and walked to her kitchen, where the bottle of pinot noir was breathing on the sleek granite counter she had installed just the year before. “Would you like a little?” she offered, rummaging in a cupboard for another glass.

Kacey shook her head. The last thing she needed was to think any less clearly than she already was. As Maribelle poured herself another drink, her hands trembling a bit, Kacey stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island. “So who is he, Mom?” Maribelle set the bottle aside. “I think I deserve to know.”

Her mother twisted the stem and watched the dark liquid swirl, then sniffed it before taking a sip. “I suppose you do,” she agreed finally. “I’ve often thought so, but I just couldn’t tell you.”

“You’d rather lie.”

“Avoid the truth. It got easier over time, harder to find a way to. . Oh, well, I finally decided it was best to let it all die.”

“I need to meet him.”

She was startled. “Oh, no! He’s past all this now, and I don’t want you bothering him or his wife.”

“Wife?” Kacey repeated.

“Yes. Wife. Of what? Oh, I guess about forty-five years now,” she said with more than a trace of bitterness.

“I’ll find out who he is whether you tell me or not.”

“Fine!” Maribelle was angry, but she saw that Kacey was dead serious. Taking a deep breath, she said, “His name is Gerald Johnson.” She glanced up, as if the name would mean something to Kacey. When Kacey didn’t react, she added, “He’s a renowned heart surgeon who helped develop a special kind of stent, and no, he doesn’t know about you. I decided it wouldn’t do any good to tell him. Soon after he left his practice, he moved his family to Missoula.” She shrugged. “It’s common knowledge. You can find that out in seconds on the Internet, so I’m not divulging any secrets there, but please don’t bother him. He wouldn’t appreciate it, and neither would Noreen and her brood.”

“Noreen being his wife, and his brood meaning his children?”

Half brothers and sisters. The missing piece. She, who had been raised an only child, had fantasized about a large family with enough siblings to play baseball or board games or cards, even another person for video games…. “How many does he have?”

“Children?” Maribelle looked up, met her daughter’s gaze. “Five, I think. No, there were twins, so six. Or, was it seven? I can’t remember!” She slid her gaze to the living room and the coffee table, where the pictures Kacey had brought were still strewn. “Well, I guess, maybe even more.”

That was the understatement of the year. “Maybe a lot more,” Kacey murmured, wondering.

Who was this guy? A doctor who didn’t practice birth control, never used a condom, and had a string of affairs? The women in the pictures were all around her age, give or take a few years. What kind of Montana Lothario was he? No, something wasn’t right.

And possibly women were being killed because of it?

“I need to meet him,” she said again.

“No!” Maribelle fumbled with her glass. It fell from her hands and shattered against the granite of the counter, splashing red wine onto her sweater and sending shards of glass skittering to the floor. “Oh, look what you’ve done! This sweater cost me a fortune,” she cried and raced off to the bedroom area. Kacey rotely began to clean up the mess.

A mess that was a whole lot deeper than the spilled wine and shattered crystal.

CHAPTER 23

He should have killed the mother.

That was where he’d made his mistake.

He knew it now as he sat in his truck just outside the gates of Rolling Hills Senior Estates. He’d trusted that Maribelle Collins would do anything to keep her secret locked away, but now, as he watched Acacia drive out through the gates, he wondered what she knew, what damage she could wreak.

Too much.

He should have expected this. Anticipated this move. Was it too late?

Probably.

But the old bat still needed to be silenced.

It shouldn’t be too hard; from what he understood, she had a heart problem, took nitroglycerin tablets….

He didn’t have time to deal with her now.

He had to find out what her damned daughter had learned. If she had found out the truth, he had to stop her before she did anything that would ruin everything. With a final glance over his shoulder toward the still open gates of Rolling Hills, he silently vowed to return.

He felt his scar pulse as he grabbed his ski mask and pulled it over his head. Then he started his truck and eased out of his parking slot.

He caught sight of the taillights of Acacia’s Ford far ahead, but he wasn’t worried about losing her. The magnetic, splash-proof GPS device he’d installed in her rear wheel well wouldn’t be discovered until she rotated her tires, and maybe not even then.

Which would be too late.

Switching on the tiny monitor, he saw that she’d turned onto the highway, heading west. Toward Grizzly Falls. As expected.

Relaxing slightly, he began to follow at a safe distance. Checking his rearview mirror, he noticed another vehicle pull out of an alley and turn on its headlights. A niggle of apprehension slithered through his brain.

It’s nothing! Another car, another driver, no big deal.

And yet he watched as the headlights behind him, of some kind of sports car, he thought, were steady. Other cars came between them, but for every turn, the sports car behind slowly followed, never catching up, not even at the one stoplight.

Someone going the same direction as you. Nothing more.

But he thought of all the times he’d felt he was being watched, as if he were the prey rather than the hunter.

Even if the car follows onto the main road, heading west, it’s just chance. Happenstance. Another driver going toward Missoula or beyond.

Relax!

But his fingers held the steering wheel in a death grip as he turned onto the highway and watched the traffic behind him. Yep, the gray sedan followed, but that wasn’t the vehicle he was watching…. No, the car he was worried about, a black sports car, maybe a BMW. . didn’t turn onto the highway.

Good.