“This chat is over, Miranda,” he said, voice shaking. He stood and crossed to the door.
“Go ahead,” she dared. “Open it. I think everybody should hear this.”
As she had known he would, he stopped and turned back to her.
“Did you know about the lockbox? About Stark’s escape papers? Maybe you even helped him pull all the documents together.”
She pictured the contents, remembering the self-storage contract. “What was in the self-storage unit, Buddy?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Keys, she remembered. Of course. “It was a car, wasn’t it? Registered to Michael Weisman.”
“You’re losing it.”
“Tell me what happened, Buddy. Just between you and me. When I got away, young Mr. Stark freaked out, didn’t he? He called his daddy and his daddy called you. Is that the way it went down?”
When he didn’t respond, she went on, “What did he promise you? His undying loyalty and sponsorship for as long as you both shall live?”
“Do you have a recorder, Miranda? Is that what’s going on here? You trying to trap me? That’s never going to happen. Never.”
“It already has.” He blanched and she smiled grimly. “You were trapped fourteen years ago, the minute you agreed to lie for him.”
She stood and walked around him to the door. “You’re not the man I thought you were. You’re not even close.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
5:20 P.M.
Miranda managed to make it to her car. She managed to unlock it and slip inside, start it up, and even buckle her safety belt. She shifted into gear and backed out of the parking space, her only thought leaving the HPD behind. She turned onto the first side street she came to, pulled to the side, and cut the engine.
And broke down sobbing. For herself. Betrayed by someone she trusted. All his kindness, the fatherly advice, the camaraderie she felt they shared all these years—it was all a lie, a sham. His kindness, all of it, had been an act of guilt.
She sobbed for all the women Stark had assaulted. Over the years, how many had there been? Their lives altered forever, some shattered beyond repair?
The overwhelming weight of it was crushing.
She brought her hands to her eyes, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. Back then, had it seemed like nothing to Buddy? A little favor: help a rich, powerful man get his son out of hot water? After all, boys will be boys. She could hear Ian Stark, in that slightly nasal voice of is, saying, “He has his whole life ahead of him” and “Don’t let this little mistake ruin his life.”
Little mistake.
Fury replaced despair and she pounded her fists on the steering wheel. Bastards. Stark never should have gotten away with it. All the lives he ruined … her own life. The other girl’s.
Cathy. Her name was Cathy.
Miranda stilled, picturing the young woman in the front seat of the car, looking back at her. Laughing, full of excitement for the night—and what the future held.
Miranda frowned. She hardly ever thought of her as Cathy, always as “the other girl.” Why was that?
With the heels of her hands, Miranda wiped the tears from her cheeks. Because there had been two of them that night? Her and the other girl?
It seemed somehow disrespectful.
Is that the way Cathy had thought of her all these years—as the other girl? Or maybe she thought of her as “the girl who got away” or “the girl who left me behind.”
Like they were numbers. Girl one, girl two. This girl and that girl.
If they thought of each other that way, how did men like Ian Stark and Buddy Cadwell think of them? As objects? Just another piece of ass?
And whose fault was that?
The other girl had a name.
Cathy.
Miranda expelled a shuddering breath. She would never refer to Cathy by anything but her given name. Never again.
The car had grown cold, the evening dark. She shivered and started the engine, cranking on the heat. But still she felt chilled to the bone. Would she ever be warm again?
Jake could warm her. His arms. His belief in her. Just hearing his voice would chase the cold away.
She retrieved her phone, dialed his number—and got his voice mail. “Jake, hey, it’s me. I just wanted … I needed to … hear your voice. I just left Buddy.… I’ll tell you everything when we talk. He covered everything up. Fourteen years ago and now. I feel so betrayed. I guess I better … Jake, I—”
The message clicked off; she finished her thought anyway.
“—love you.”
For a moment she sat frozen in shock at her own words. She loved him? Where had that come from? The sentiment had sprung unbidden from her mouth, no forethought or planning. No … conscious recognition. Was it even true?
Yes. She loved him. It wasn’t the situation or the drama of the day; she was in love with him. When had it happened? How?
Truth was, she didn’t care when or how. The feeling was amazing, like a place inside her had just broken wide open and what was spilling out was bright and fresh, like a new day.
She had to tell him. Before she lost her nerve or rationalized herself out of it.
She hit redial. His voice mail kicked on. At his voice in her ear, his image filled her head. With it, sensory details—the way he smelled, crisp and clean, the feel of his skin beneath her palms, the way he always brushed his mouth lightly against hers before taking his kiss deeper.
“It’s me again,” she said, sounding breathless to her own ears, “I had to finish what I was about to say.… I love you, Jake. I’m in love with you. I just wanted … I needed you to know. Get home safe so I can show—”
Another call beeped through. Certain it was him, she clicked over. “Jake! I’m so glad you got my message—”
“It’s Summer.”
“Summer?” Miranda repeated, struggling to shift gears. “What’s … are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Dizzy and nauseous, but what else is new? Where are you? Can you come over?”
She didn’t sound right. Miranda frowned. “What’s going on?”
“A woman confided in me about Stark assaulting her.” She lowered her voice. “I got her to agree to talk to you.”
Miranda could hardly believe her luck. “You think she might be willing to step forward?”
“I think so. She’s really skittish, but I think I’ve convinced her she can trust you.”
This could be the break she’d been waiting for. Miranda worked to tamp down her excitement, reminding herself it could be another disappointment. “You’re at the bar?”
“No, home.”
Miranda shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb. “Don’t let her leave, Summer.”
“I won’t, I promise. But hurry, okay?”
Miranda made an illegal U-turn in the intersection, heading back toward Summer’s place. “I’m on my way.”
She made Summer’s condo in five minutes, and her friend met her at the door. She looked anxious.
“Where is she?” Miranda asked.
“The back bedroom, lying down. She’s pretty emotional.”
Miranda started down the hall, Summer right behind her. “But she knows I’m coming and is ready to talk to me?”