Fidelity (Infidelity #5)

I sat closest to Adelaide. “Amore mio, stay strong. You always have been too strong, too unwilling to let me help you. Now, I will help. It’s not too late. I refuse to allow that.”

My heart ached at memories of Angelina. Perhaps it was what Deloris had said, but I recalled her illness and my helplessness. There was no price I wouldn’t have paid to make her well again. God had other plans. As I held Adelaide’s petite hand, I prayed that this time God’s plans would be different.

The plane began to move as Dr. Rossi turned off her phone.

“Talk to me.”

“I won’t know until I run a few tests.”

“Know what?”

She took a deep breath. “The medication, the Versed, is a benzodiazepine. It’s relatively safe when used as intended but it isn’t meant for repeated use, especially not in a patient who is suffering from alcohol and opioid withdrawal. Repeated use of the drug is a lot for a healthy body to take. If that body is compromised, it’s more difficult.”

“Tell me what you’re worried about.”

“I didn’t say I was worried.”

I brought my lips together and stared.

“Her breathing is irregular. The sedative can cause respiratory depression. From what I’ve seen, she hasn’t been on oxygen. Lack of oxygen can cause irreversible damage.”

“Damage?”

“To the brain, to the heart. We won’t know for sure until she fully wakes. I know the doctors at the clinic were preventing her from waking—the chart said the order was to help her through her DTs, but I advise that she be eased off of all medications. If it becomes too difficult for her to endure, there are less potent pain suppressants to take off the edge. Without blood tests we don’t know the level of toxicity in her system.”

“But she’ll be all right.” It wasn’t a question.

“Sir, I’ll do all I can.”

We both looked to Adelaide as the plane lifted off the ground.

“I wish we had oxygen on board, but an FAA regulation requires that the crew and aircraft on private flights be certified.”

I looked around. “But what about the masks. Isn’t that oxygen?”

“Yes, an emergency supply. Let’s hope we don’t need to try to access that.”





PANDEMONIUM PREVAILED AS my heart beat faster. The world around me was falling apart, and I was again powerless. I’d said I didn’t want to leave the mansion. I’d protested, but here I was, being ushered, forcibly, toward the front of the house. Though I couldn’t see the guests, their voices were audible over the sharp click of our heels as Suzanna and I stepped upon the marble floor.

“Dear, you’ll need to fix your makeup.”

I joined the others in ignoring Suzanna as panic bubbled in the depths of my stomach, creating a sour concoction. I needed to get away—not go with them. I’d done all I could to stall, slowing my steps, claiming I needed to go up to my room, anything. Each moment I searched for aid, for Patrick, for Jane, or for anyone who could offer me a lifeline. Even Judge Townsend had disappeared. Now as we made our way to the front door, the corridors and foyer were exactly how Alton had ordered them to be—empty.

With each step, memories flashed in front of my eyes of my recent return to Montague Manor. Nine days ago as I walked these same hallways, the walls had been lined with Alton’s soldiers—his show of power. Their absence was the same display. Alton Fitzgerald could make people appear and disappear. Maybe I’d been wrong about my stepfather’s ability to entertain. He wasn’t a singer or dancer. He was a magician.

There wasn’t even a staff member present to open the front door as we approached. They’d all slipped into the secret dimension that only they could access. For a moment I wondered if they could see us and then I realized they couldn’t. Nor could they hear. They were paid too well for that.

Suzanna reached for the large handle and pulled the massive door inward. As we stepped onto the porch, the cool night air blew wisps of my hair about my face. My skin prickled with goose bumps as a chill raced through me.

“I need a coat,” I tried.

“Nonsense. The car is warm,” Alton said as a limousine pulled up the drive.

A sense of déjà vu filled me with the same doom I’d felt at Magnolia Woods.

I tugged my arm free from Alton’s grasp as the autumn leaves danced, creating a trail in the car’s wake. I wanted to push Alton for answers, but weighed my words. Over the last few minutes, his panicked sense of urgency had turned into a quiet resolve. The new demeanor gave me no sense of security.

As much as I despised the thought, I missed Bryce.

The realization of his arrest had yet to register fully. Instead, the knowledge that I was again alone at Alton’s mercy was gnawing at me. Despite Bryce’s bipolar psychotic episodes, he had protected me from my stepfather more than once.