Lucy was furious. How dare she … hadn’t anything that Lucy or Sean said sunk in? Lucy thought Sean had made it perfectly clear that they would tolerate no prying into their personal lives. None.
Lucy didn’t want her past dragged through the media. What happened when she was kidnapped. That she’d been raped repeatedly. That her rapes had been aired over the Internet. That she’d killed her rapist while he was unarmed. In cold blood. Because if she didn’t, he would still be out there. Maybe in prison, but he would be walking the earth and he didn’t deserve it. He would have killed her if her brothers hadn’t found her.…
She took a deep breath. Yes, she was angry, but she didn’t see Max doing anything about it, even if she knew the truth. Which she’d never get—not the whole truth, at any rate. It was Max’s nature to seek answers. And Lucy had deliberately avoided conversations about herself and her past. No wonder Max was curious—Lucy would be if the roles were reversed.
What did make her tick? Her past as a victim? Her need to stop people from hurting each other? Her ability to get into the heads of psychopaths?
She may never know. Maybe a combination of the above. All she knew was that she couldn’t see herself doing anything but what she did. She’d long ago given up hope of being normal, but that was okay. Sean had taught her she had value outside of what she did. That she could love and be loved like everyone else.
She walked out of Max’s suite and while in the elevator sent Sean a text message: I love you.
It made her feel good, to let him know she loved him just because.
But what made her feel even better was when Sean responded immediately: What’s not to love? and a wink emoji.
He knew how to make her smile.
Chapter Twenty-eight
It was late, so late Saturday that it was probably already Sunday morning, but Danielle didn’t care what time it was, she had proof. The final piece of evidence she needed.
She poured the rest of the red wine into her water glass and sipped. She had the photos now, boy, did she have the photos. Tony Fieldstone and Nina Fieldstone.
Sex was obviously more important to both of them than their own son.
It was only a matter of time before they abandoned him to screw around with their respective lovers.
Danielle Sharpe had never been so angry as she was right now. She almost confronted Nina this morning when she ran into her at the gym.
Yes, it was on purpose. She had to look at her, see her, talk to her.
Find out what her plans were.
Find out what day her life would end as she knew it.
It was only a matter of days.
It might be only a matter of hours.…
Chapter Twenty-nine
SUNDAY
Lucy didn’t go to church as often as she used to, but being back in San Diego where she grew up, she felt a need to reconnect with a part of her life that had always been clear. Even through tragedy—Justin’s murder, then when she was raped at the age of eighteen—she’d found a peace within the walls of God’s house. It wasn’t something Sean shared with her, and that was okay—her prayerful life was as private as she wanted to keep her personal life.
She went to the earliest Mass, knowing that her mom always went to a later Mass. She didn’t want to see her family. Not yet. She wasn’t certain Nelia would be able to change their minds about what Lucy was doing, but that the one person she thought would hate her for her actions actually thanked her meant more to her than anything else. She and Nelia would never be close—but for the first time Lucy felt a true connection to her oldest sister.
She sat in the last pew and left as soon as the priest gave the final blessing. She’d seen several people she recognized from her parents’ circles—it was hard to walk into a church you attended most of your life and not recognize people. The last thing she wanted was small talk. As soon as she turned her phone back on, she had a text message from Max.
My staff came through. Come upstairs ASAP.
Lucy called Max as she drove back to the hotel. “I got your message.”
“Sleeping in?”
“I was at church.”
Max didn’t speak. Odd, Max had a comment about everything. Lucy almost laughed that she’d stumped her.
“Okay. Well, I have news. Danielle Sharpe—and you were right, Sharpe is her maiden name—was married to Richard Collins. They had a son, Matthew Collins, a year after their marriage. When he was eight, he disappeared from his bedroom—while his father was with his mistress, Danielle at work, and a babysitter watching him. Both parents were interviewed extensively but ultimately cleared by police. At least according to the press reports. A week later Matthew’s remains were found in an open field—police arrested a known sex offender, who ultimately pled guilty in exchange for a reduced sentence.”
Lucy felt ill and angry. “How reduced?”
“Twenty-five to life.”
“It’s a special circumstances homicide—you said sex offender—why would they do that? He could have been eligible for the death penalty.”
“I don’t have the case files, all I have are press reports. His name was Paul Borell and he died in federal prison. You could probably get the details faster than I can. Danielle filed for divorce shortly after Matthew’s funeral. Uncontested.”
“Do you have the autopsy report?” Lucy asked.
“No, everything I learned about Matthew’s disappearance and murder was in a couple of articles and two newscasts my staff dug up from the era—not easy, by the way, because it was a small affiliate outside of major media markets.”
“Your staff is obviously good.”
“They are the best,” Max concurred. “I learned that Danielle worked for the city attorney in Tallahassee.”
“And she was working late at night?”
“She was a legal secretary for the city attorney but going to law school part-time at night. She had classes that night, they got out at nine thirty. She went to the library to study until it closed at midnight, then she went home and found her son was missing.”
“I assume the police verified her alibi.”
“We can assume, but in my line of work, I never make an assumption like that. Still, they arrested Borell and he pled.”
“And the father?”
“A businessman. Some sort of high-end insurance broker.”
“Was Matthew’s body found close to the house?”
“About five miles.”
“Why did it take them a week to find the body?”
“I don’t know, the press reports were vague on the details, likely because there was a sexual component to the crime. My guess is that maybe Borell kept the boy prisoner for a while. Again, it’s a guess, and not something I’m going to run with until I get it confirmed.”
“I’ll see if I can track down the autopsy report,” Lucy said.
“Is it important?”