“Not kidding. Uh-uh. I’m pregnant, James.” The hard edges of her face cracked, and tears came to her eyes, her voice softening, her smile now tremulous. “I know it’s a shock,” she said, her voice sounding as if it came from a long distance away, “but it’s true.” As if she had anticipated his reaction, she reached into the purse she’d slung onto the floor and extracted a stick, an implement he recognized as being a part of a pregnancy kit.
Holy shit, she wasn’t kidding. His heart thudded, resounding in his ears. This couldn’t be happening! Couldn’t!
“Go ahead,” she encouraged and reached over to snap on a light.
His eyes adjusting, he focused on the little bit of plastic. Every moment of his life had ended up here.
He swallowed hard.
Picked up the stick.
Read the indicator.
True to Sophia’s words, it read POSITIVE.
The floor seemed to buckle.
“I know this is hard to take in, but trust me,” Sophia said, a tremulous smile on her lips. “This is a good thing. Trust me. The best! You, James Cahill, are going to be a daddy.”
CHAPTER 45
December 10
Rebecca tossed and turned, sleep eluding her.
Hours passed, the digital clock mocking her as her thoughts swirled with images of her sister.
1:18—Megan at seven, riding her bike and crashing, her pigtails askew, her knees and palms scraped and bleeding.
2:33—Megan, twelve, sobbing and clinging to Rebecca when she’d found out she’d been cut from the junior high play.
3:07—Megan, her hair freshly streaked at sixteen, returning home and upset, as she’d been fired from her first job at the Burger Hut because she’d been found smoking weed in the parking lot with an older boy. “It’s just not fair,” she’d complained over and over.
3:42—Megan, an adult, crying wretchedly and begging Rebecca to take her in as her boyfriend had taken all their money and the rent was due on their expensive town house.
4:11—Megan, just this year, a gleam in her eye, admitting she was “in love” with James Cahill and was moving to Riggs Crossing to be with him. She hadn’t meant to hurt Rebecca, not really, it had “just happened.”
Rebecca had hated her sister then.
Had sworn she’d never help her again.
And now—Megan might be dead. Rebecca had to face that damning fact. Ever since learning about Megan’s car being found abandoned in a mountain cabin, the deep-seated fear that Megan was no longer alive had been gnawing at her, chasing away any chance of sleep.
“Enough!” Rebecca said aloud, sitting upright and flinging off the covers. She threw herself out of bed and felt a lump the size of Montana in her throat, her eyes stinging as tears threatened.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d believed that Megan would be found alive, possibly injured, but alive! Now, though, with the discovery of Megan’s abandoned car, it seemed as if Megan was truly gone, as if she were dead.
Don’t give up hope. You don’t know that!
Until they find her body.
Oh. God.
She had to do something.
She couldn’t just sit in this hotel room and wait for news, cling onto a little thread of hope and pray that the police would locate her sister.
What if Megan were still alive? There was still a chance, right? If so, Rebecca had to find her.
She stalked to the small bathroom, used the toilet, and twisted on the shower. She thought of the two women who lived here and had been found murdered. Had the same fate happened to Megan?
Don’t go there!
Angrily, she threw off her oversized T-shirt and kicked off her underpants. Then she stepped under the shower’s hot spray and closed her eyes, the water stinging against her skin before washing over her. The pressure from her mother was unrelenting. She’d have to do some detecting on her own because she was the one who understood her sister better than anyone else. She thought about the last time she’d tried to snoop and how James had caught her in his house. She’d have to be more careful, just find out something—anything—to point the police in the right direction.
As she lathered her body, she wondered, who had the most to gain with Megan out of the way?
The simple answer was: Sophia Russo.
Because she wanted James, who hadn’t been able to break up with Megan.
So maybe Sophia had taken matters into her own hands.
That seemed pretty rash, but Rebecca had seen enough true-crime mysteries on late-night TV to know that truth was stranger than fiction. She would just have to be careful.
* * *
Sweat pouring down his face, Rivers ran on the treadmill located in the second, or spare, bedroom of his condo. He never had overnight company, so he’d converted the room into an office/gym. He’d pushed a desk into one corner, while a set of weights, the treadmill, and a stationary bike were all aimed at a television mounted high on the wall opposite his filing cabinets, the equipment dominating the room. Currently it was 4:00 A.M., and the news of the day was breaking on the East Coast. Not that he was paying attention.
He hadn’t been able to sleep, his thoughts chasing one after the other about the ongoing investigations that had stalled over the last week. The loose ends kept running through his mind: Why had Charity Spritz been killed? What had she learned? Did it have anything to do with Megan Travers, who had grown up in San Francisco? Who was the mystery woman related to James? Why was Megan Travers’s car located at that out-of-the-way mountain cabin? Where was she? How was Jennifer Korpi involved? Did it have to do with her brother, Gus Jardine? And what about Sophia Russo, the woman who had caught James Cahill’s attention while he was still involved with Megan Travers?
He kept running and swiped at the sweat on his forehead with the towel that hung
