Breaking Josephine (29 page)

“Because by the
time we’re through here, it’ll be you that’s laying in a heap broken, my dear
sister Josephine, broken and beyond saving,” he said. He pushed himself off the
door frame and pulled his hand out of his jacket, revealing a small caliber
handgun in his right hand. As he raised the gun and pointed it at my head, a maniacal
smile spread across his face. As I looked at Colin and looked at the gun in his
hand, I recognized that I’d completely underestimated and misread him these
past few weeks. He didn’t just dislike me, and wasn’t just obsessed with his
father’s money. He hated me, hated that I was his sister, hated that I was to
share in his father’s estate. He hated me enough for my presence to make him
reckless, make him dangerous. He wanted me to leave Cannon Beach no matter
what, and leave his family alone, even if it meant killing me to do it.

I forced myself to
breathe and said, “I thought you had left for Los Angeles,” thinking if I could
engage him in conversation, maybe I could stall long enough to come up with a
plan.

“What, and miss this
family reunion? I’d never,” he said, laughing and walking closer to the front
of the desk.

I stood up, my legs
quivering as I shoved the will and the letter into my bag.

“I don’t think you
quite understand the nature of this situation, Josephine,” Colin continued. “There’s
nowhere for you to run to, nowhere for you to go.”

I looked around
the room and saw Colin was right. I was already pressed up against the back
wall, and the large bank of windows facing the side yard were covered in
plantation shutters and impossible to open.

“So when did you
find out I was your long, lost sister? Obviously long before I did. I’m dying
to know,” I said, forcing a smile on my face, hoping I could goad him into
talking enough to become distracted.

He laughed again,
rolling his eyes. “You know, Josephine, apparently facing death brings out the
best in you. I’ve always thought you were just annoying townie trash, but here
you are being amusing. Maybe you do have a bit of our father in you after all.”
He paused, walking toward the desk and sitting on the edge. He lowered the gun
and folded his arms in front of him, keeping his finger on the trigger as
continued his story, “I had read the will and the letter of course years ago
when father died. I was enraged when I read it. That father would put some no
good waitress’s bastard daughter ahead of his two sons was incomprehensible to
me. And that I’d have to wait three years for my share, my full, rightful share
of father’s estate, was even more insulting.

“It appeared that
father had done his own research into your existence, but found nothing. So I
assumed you either were dead or couldn’t be found. It was only when Dex freaked
out on you at the Daugherty’s ridiculous party that I realized why you looked
so familiar. I’d stared for hours at a picture of your mother—her hair
and dress nearly the same as yours—that my father had kept, trying to
memorize her face in case you were ever found. You look just like your mother,
you know. Even with that weak attempt at changing your hair,” he said, pointing
at me again with the gun, “you’re still recognizable to someone paying
attention.”

I had spent the
entire time he was talking trying to think of a way out, but I’d come up with
nothing. If I could somehow distract him enough to get by, or knock the gun out
of his hand, I’d have a chance, but that seemed incredibly unlikely. I wrung my
hands in my lap and looked at the shuttered windows and the open front doors.

“Josephine,” he
said, sounding impatient, “am I boring you?” I jerked my head back to look at
him.

“No, I’m sorry,” I
said, “please go on.” I smiled again, trying to calm him down.

“I suppose I can
forgive you, since these are your final moments on this earth anyway. Now,
where was I?” he asked, waiving the gun around and looking at the ceiling. “Oh
yes, so I thought you must be her daughter when Dex freaked out on you at the
social, and asked you who you really were. But when you answered, and gave your
name as Sinclair, I realized you must not know.”

“I hate to
interrupt, Colin,” trying to engage him and keep the story going, “but how did
you know about Dex’s connection to my mother?”

“Well, aren’t you
curious,” Colin said, amused. “But you give me too much credit. I didn’t know
of any connection, not at first, anyway. After the social, I hired private
investigators to dig into Declan Hartley’s death, and that’s when I discovered
your mother had died in the same accident as Dex’s father. I figured Dex must
have known that, and had paid the police to keep it quiet all those years ago. Like
mother, like daughter, huh? Your mother went after Dex’s father and now you’re
going after Dex? How pathetic.” Colin sneered at me.

“You have no idea what
you’re talking about Colin,” I quipped. “My mother and Dex’s father were never
involved. He regretted helping your father get rid of my mother all those years
ago, and agreed to help her fix the mess he created. That’s all,” I said,
crossing my arms in front of me, mad he would disgrace my mother that way.

“Well, if you say
so, Josephine,” Colin said. “Anyway, once I discovered your mother’s sordid
past with Declan Hartley, I thought Dex finding out the truth would end his
fascination with you for sure. Here you were, the daughter of the woman who got
his father killed. But it didn’t. I was convinced I’d have to get rid of you
myself when Macy told me you and Dex broke up. I figured it would be a matter
of days before you left and went back to Portland. Only that didn’t work either.
And here you are. I’ll give you credit, you’re more tenacious than your mother.
You don’t cut and run when things get difficult.”

“Stop talking
about my mother,” I said, feeling my anger rising despite the situation.

“Touchy, touchy. But
okay, Josephine, have it your way. I don’t want to talk about that home wrecker
anyway. Which, I guess, brings us to the end of the road, well … of your road
at least. Any parting words? Any last thoughts you’d like me to forward on to
Dex?” Colin laughed as he aimed the gun at my head.

Tears started to
well up in my eyes as I stared at Colin’s bemused face and the barrel of the
gun pointed at my head. I opened my mouth to tell him to shove it, prepared for
the worst, when movement behind Colin caught my eye. Dex had crept up behind
Colin while both of us were lost in the moment, a golf club held firmly in his
hand. Dex motioned to me, making a circular motion with his free hand, trying
to tell me to keep talking, to keep being a distraction.

“Y-y-yes,” I
stammered quickly, before Colin could shoot and before the shock could register
on my face. I snapped my eyes back to Colin’s, a huge smile of relief filling
my face, and said, “Can you tell him that I have never been more thankful to
see someone in my entire life?”

As Colin spun
around to look behind him, Dex swung the golf club with brutal force and the
face of it collided with Colin’s skull. I heard a sickening crunch and saw
Colin collapse to the floor, blood oozing from his head and matting his hair.

Dex looked at
Colin laying in a heap on the ground between us and pulled his phone out of his
pocket, calling 911. I stood there shaking, unable to control my body, unable
to process what was happening.
I felt Dex’s arms wrap protectively around me, smelled his rich
amber scent, and closed my eyes, burying my face in his chest. He reached up
and stroked my head with his fingers, running his hand over my hair, my ear, my
cheek. Feeling his skin touch mine reminded me I was alive, and Colin hadn’t
pulled the trigger. I looked down and saw Colin’s body, still crumpled on the
floor and choked back a sob.

“It’s okay Jo,” Dex
said, squeezing me to him, holding my cheek in his hand. “I’m here and you’re
safe and I won’t let Colin or anyone hurt you, not ever again.” I nodded into
his chest and let him hold me there as tears poured down my face and soaked his
shirt until the police arrived.

I woke up hours
later in a hospital bed, Dex holding my hand.

“Hey there
beautiful,” he said, smiling at me.

“Hey,” I managed
to croak out, sitting up. “What happened?”

“Well, you pretty
much went into shock,” Dex said, squeezing my hand. “You passed out just after
the paramedics arrived. They injected you with some sort of sedative so you
would stay asleep and took you to the hospital. That’s where you are now.”

I closed my eyes
and rubbed my temples with my fingers. “What time is it?” I asked.

“About five in the
morning.”

“Sorry. I guess it
all got to be a bit overwhelming.” I paused, thinking back over the previous
night, and looked at Dex. He seemed fine, happy even. The barely noticeable
stubble on his cheek the only indication he hadn’t been home all night. I
looked in his eyes and saw compassion, and love, and relief looking back at me.
I smiled weakly back at him, grateful for his presence and grateful he’d saved
my life. “So how did you find me?”

“Well,” Dex began,
leaning back and running his hand through his hair, “I woke up, totally hungover,
and found the letter from my father to Henry Blackstone, that I’d basically
passed out on, missing. I thought maybe I’d let it fall to the floor in a
drunken stupor, but I looked everywhere in the study and couldn’t find it. Then
I noticed my glass was missing too. So I went downstairs and saw it sitting on
the kitchen counter. I decided someone must have been there. And the only
person I knew who could break in and not be noticed would be you.” Dex paused,
rubbing his neck with his hand and looking at me.

“You know you left
the door open, right? Anyone could have walked in,” I said.

“Really?” Dex
asked, rolling his eyes at his own foolishness. “I was in such a state these
past few days, Jo, I don’t think I would have noticed if I’d left my car
running, the door open, and the water turned on.” He leaned forward, his
forearms resting on his thighs, and continued, “I’d been through all of my
father’s files at the house, and almost all of his records I’d retrieved from
Hartley Industries, and I’d almost given up when I found the letter. When I
found it Friday morning, I came to your apartment, but you weren’t there. I
asked Eileen, but she hadn’t seen you. So I went back home and called you. I
called and called, but you never answered. Eventually I rummaged through the
kitchen and found the scotch, taking it back up to the study, where I stared at
the letter from my father and drank till I passed out.” Dex bent his head, his
eyes closed, remembering how he felt just a day before. Then he raised his head
and looked at me, his face a mixture of pain and relief.

“Once I decided
you must have taken the letter, I thought about you and what you would do if
you had it. I figured you might go straight to the Blackstones’ beach house to
confront them. I tore down the street to their house, and saw Colin’s car in
the driveway. Knowing you’d be in trouble if you were inside, I looked in his
car for something I could use as a weapon and saw his golf clubs. I grabbed one,
and thankfully he’d left the front door unlocked, so I walked right in. That’s
when I saw the light and heard you both in the office … and you know the rest.”

“Thank you Dex,” I
said, leaning over and grabbing his hands and holding them tightly, “thank you
for saving my life. If you hadn’t come in when you did, Colin would have killed
me. I know it.”

“I know it too,”
he said.

“You have a knack
for being there exactly when I need you the most, it seems,” I said, squeezing
his hands.

“Apparently so,”
he said, smiling. “I knew Colin wasn’t trustworthy, and not a good guy, but I
had no idea until last night how much of a monster he really was. I’m sorry Jo,
I’m sorry I put you through that, that my father put you through that.” Dex
looked down at our hands, still intertwined.

“What are you
talking about?” I asked.

Dex looked up at
me and answered, “If my father hadn’t helped your mother hide and hadn’t lied
to Henry Blackstone about you, then you would have always known your father,
and you wouldn’t have grown up in an orphanage. And if my father hadn’t
insisted on driving that night, then your mother would be alive and none of
this would have happened.”

“Stop. Stop it
Dex,” I said, yanking on his hands and making him look at me. “None of this is
your fault and none of this is your father’s fault. My mother chose to run away
when Henry told her about his other family. It was her choice. She chose to run
and hide instead of face the lies and the disappointment. And you have no idea
whose choice it was to drive to Cannon Beach that night, for all you know it
could have been my mother’s. So stop blaming yourself and your father,” I finished,
still squeezing his hands.

“How do you know
your mother left?” Dex asked, confused. “From that letter I read, it sounded
like my father helped Henry make her disappear.”

“Do you have my
bag?” I asked, as Dex nodded and turned around to pick it up off the floor. He
handed it to me and I pulled out the will and the letter. “Here,” I said,
handing them over to Dex, “read these.”

As Dex read first
the will and then the letter, I saw the same shock and surprise that I had felt
the night before come over his face. When was done, he looked up at me, looking
a bit bewildered. “Wow. I … I don’t know what to say, Jo.”