âI came straight from the airport.â
Cassie continued, âWhat are you doing here?â She forbade herself a glance towards the car. Van would have to know sometime, but please God, not now. Not yet.
âThe house was a â we have to talk, Cass.â
âWhat are you talking about?â She reached past him for the door handle. Just then, the back door of her rental car opened, and a small voice called, âMummy.â
She turned and ran across the grass to snatch her daughter into her arms, holding on so tight Hope tried to wriggle free.
Van had followed, shock draining his face of colour.
Cassie shook her head, begging him not to say anything that might hurt Hope. Naturally, he wondered if she belonged to him. Despite five years and the certainty he hadnât wanted her or their marriage, Cassie feared answering his unspoken question.
At last he dragged his gaze away from Hope, moving his head as if his muscles were locked.
Cassie relented. âNo. Not yours.
CHAPTER ONE
THUNDER CREPT across the sky, building strength to rattle Van Haddonâs house. Rain and wind slapped at him so hard he hunched over as he climbed the wooden porch steps at the end of yet another business trip.
He used to love his job. For the past eleven months, heâd traveled at the drop of a hat, met with any financial client who seemed likely to sign on with him and all but begged for new business.
Getting into his house wasnât easy. He found the lock, despite the darkness of a storm-induced blackout, but another crack of thunder broke over his head. He jerked his hand, and the key came back out.
Faintly, he heard the telephoneâs insistent ring.
Van wiped rain off his face and tried again to get inside. Lightning flashed on the lock. He twisted the key and then kicked the front door open, shoving his carry-on out of the way as he grabbed the phone off a hall table. âHello?â
âVan, Tom Drake here.â The other man didnât have to add that he was the sheriff. Everyone who lived in the small town of Honesty, Virginia, knew who the sheriff was.
Van shouldered the door shut. âWhatâs up, Tom?â He kept his tone carefully neutral. After two days of explaining a portfolio to a possible client whoâd decided not to invest with him, heâd been grateful for the powerful December winds that had given the plane a boost all the way from San Diego. But as soon as heâd landed, all hell had broken loose. The storm had boiled over, and he couldnât forget last springâs disastrous lightning strike that had burned down his sisterâs fishing lodge.
âSomething wrong with Beth or her family?â
âBeth and Eli are fine. In fact, I even think her new husbandâs home this week. Iâm calling about Leo Warne.â
Static broke up the words between syllables, but at Leoâs name, Van let go of the strap on his laptop bag. It slid down his arm. He caught it and set the bag on the floor, shrugging out of his soaked coat at the same time.
âLeo?â Heâd been Vanâs mentor, then his father-in-law and finally a walking wake-up call to his conscience.
âHeâs out here on the Mecklin Road Bridge. And I do mean out here. Half-dressed in a ratty shirt and boxers, cowering against the guardrail, scared out of his wits. He wonât let us help him.â
âHelp him what?â Van loosened his tie and undid his top collar button. Five years ago, his ex-wife, Cassie, had left town, warning both her father and Van not to contact her again. Leo had soon suggested Van stay away from him, too.
Theyâd last seen each other a year ago in the canned vegetable aisle at Elljayâs Market. One glance and theyâd gone their separate ways.
Only family could be so cruel.
âIâm having no luck talking him into an ambulance,â Tom said. âHeâs asking for his wife. He called me a liar when I said she was dead.â
âI donât understand.â Victoria had died while being treated for pneumonia when Cassie was fifteen.
âItâs his mind, his memory. Somethingâs wrong. He hasnât asked for Cassie, but he finally remembered you. I tried to make him see youâd want us to help him, but he wonât move unless you come.â