Found Wanting (24 page)

Whatever the answers, what was happening now was just as confusing. The FBI agent prowling the hotel room -- red hair, freckles, black trench coat -- hadn't left her side since he'd arrived at Aunt Rita's. He'd introduced himself as Assistant Director Norman Potter of the FBI. From there, he'd escorted her in a dark sedan with tinted windows to the Madison airport, where they'd boarded a small jet that flew only them to Washington Dulles International Airport. During the flight, Alaina had drilled Potter with questions, few of which he had answered.

She knew only that Rachel had been transported to an FBI safe house and would remain there until it was determined that she was in no danger.

Potter asked his share of questions as well, some of them about the man she had killed in self-defense in Emma's kitchen. She'd told him the truth, and he'd listened intently, taking notes. When she asked whether she would be arrested, Potter had said, "Not at this time."

Now, to her bewilderment, they were in a D.C. hotel. It wasn't a cheap one, either. It had a king-size bed with a thick, green comforter and multiple pillows in gold and wine. The entertainment center, armoire, dresser and desk were constructed of heavy, expensive oak. From the one large window, framed by wine-colored curtains, Alaina took in the Kennedy Center and the Jefferson and Lincoln memorials. Cherry blossoms were in bloom all around the Tidal Basin, making the trees look like they were covered with soft pink snowballs.

Behind her, Potter roamed the room. Clearly, there was something else he wanted to be doing, or perhaps being there, waiting for whomever they were waiting for had him agitated.

Alaina turned from the window. "Please tell me why we're here."

Picking up a room service menu, he studied it. "You'll see soon enough, Ms. Chancellor." His cellphone chirped, and he turned his back to answer it.

"Fine," he said. "Room 916." Flipping the phone closed, he slipped it back into his inside jacket pocket.

"Who's coming up?" Alaina asked.

"Just sit tight."

A few minutes later, a knock came at the door. Potter when to it and, gun drawn, checked the peephole. When he eased the door open, and Alaina saw who stood there, she couldn't breathe.

* * *

Addison stepped into the hotel room, ignoring Norm Potter and seeking her sister. Alaina stood with the window at her back, the afternoon light behind her casting her face in shadow. But Addison saw her stiffen, and her pulse took off at a trot. She'd known this would be hard, but she hadn't anticipated how unsteady she'd feel.

"Hello, Alaina."

Alaina took a step toward her. "Is Jonah with you?"

The quaver in her voice broke Addison's heart. "No."

Her shoulders sagging, Alaina strode past her to where Norm hovered near the door. Addison watched her, noting that in new blue jeans and a white long-sleeved T-shirt, Alaina looked trim, with the same graceful curves that Addison had envied when they were younger.

"I didn't agree to this," Alaina said to Norm.

"I requested it," Addison said. The light hit her sister full in the face now, and Addison registered Alaina's thinner, more mature features. Even so, she still looked far too young to have a teenage child. Her dark hair was longer than it had been the last time Addison had seen her, its color rich with subtle auburn tones that no hair dye could imitate. Her gray-green eyes, still her most striking feature, seemed to have aged thirty years in fourteen.

Those haunting eyes brimmed with mistrust. "You requested this meeting?" Alaina asked. "Why would you do that?"

Norm said, "I'll wait in the hall."

But Alaina grasped his arm a little too desperately. "No."

When Norm cast a glance at Addison, she nodded for him to leave them alone.

Alaina watched him go, her back to Addison. After a long moment, she faced her sister, her gaze veiled. "So I take it you're in charge here."

Addison clasped her hands, at a loss. This wasn't going well, and yet, she hadn't expected it to. It was just something she had to do. "Mr. Potter is humoring me, yes."

"Humoring you. That's an interesting way of putting it. He's humoring your desire to look me in the eye and tell me you and Layton have finally won?"

Her sister's animosity was a little too much for Addison, and she glanced away, her gaze catching on the minibar. She crossed to it, set her purse aside and helped herself to a single-serve bottle of merlot. "Drink?"

Alaina laughed, and the sound carried no humor. "Are you kidding me?"

Addison didn't respond, willing her hand to steady as she poured the wine into a glass. She drank without tasting it, then lowered the glass. "Don't you want to know how he is?"

Silence answered her, and Addison turned to see Alaina grasping the back of a wing-backed chair so hard the tips of her fingers had turned white. "Don't taunt me."

Addison's heart squeezed, and she gulped down a generous amount of merlot. She was realizing how severely unprepared she was for this. It would take more than one impromptu meeting to heal more than a decade of damage. "He saw a man get shot," she said.

"Oh, God." Alaina edged around the chair and sank onto it. Rocking forward, she wrapped an arm around her midsection as if she might be sick. "No."

The sorrow in that one word tore at Addison, and she grappled for something to say. "He wanted you to know that he's fine."

Alaina raised her head, and tears streamed down her cheeks. "He can't possibly be fine. Are you still so blind?"

Addison drained the wine and immediately wished for more. Resisting, she moved to sit in the chair across from her sister. "I made a deal with the FBI."

Alaina's reddened eyes narrowed. "To do what?"

"To spare you this." Spreading her hands, Addison gave a bitter laugh. "Like everything else in my life, it's fallen well short of my expectations."

"I don't understand. What kind of deal?"

"I asked the feds to protect you and Jonah, and in exchange, I'm helping them gather evidence for a case against Layton."

"Why would you do that?"

Addison yearned for more anesthetizing wine. Instead of satisfying that longing, she said, "I was wrong, Alaina."

* * *

Alaina stared at her sister, uncomprehending. "You were wrong?"

Addison's gray-streaked black hair fell into eyes that were gray and as lifeless, and she smoothed it back with a hand that trembled. "Yes."

Alaina pushed out of the chair. She didn't know where she was going, but she couldn't sit across from her sister any longer without lunging at her. At the window, she gazed out at the blossom-filled spring day. Fluffy white clouds crowded the sky, momentarily blocking the sun.

Bracing her hands on the window sill, she focused on taking deep, calming breaths. Confronting her sister had been the central theme in many a daydream over the years. Alaina had imagined telling Addison how stupid she was for being so easily tricked by a man, which led to Addison in a puddle of tears at her feet, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. But now that the opportunity to let it all out was here, words failed her.

She heard Addison get up, heard her twist the cap off a glass bottle and splash liquid into a glass. "I know there's nothing I can say ..." Addison trailed off. "God, this is tough."

Alaina turned. "Innocent people have been hurt because you were wrong."

Addison pressed a glass half-filled with red wine against her pale cheek, as if it offered a comforting chill. "I know."

The softly whispered words only infuriated Alaina more. Remorse was there, but it wasn't nearly enough. "Our mother is dead because you were wrong."

Addison lowered the glass, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Your husband killed her."

"Her car slid off a road in Colorado --"

"Where she had come to see me. Layton followed her. She finally saw him for what he is, and he had to keep her quiet."

Addison, her face growing paler by the minute, shook her head in disbelief. "No, it's not possible. She went to Colorado for a fundraising conference. She had a car accident."

The sharp edge of memory sliced through Alaina. She'd heard that line -- "it's not possible" -- before. Right after she'd told her sister that Layton had raped her. And again after she'd told her father. It astonished her how much it still hurt. After all this time. Frustration and betrayal raged anew, but Alaina blocked them out. There was no point revisiting what was said and done. It wouldn't help her get Jonah back.

She squared her shoulders. "Why are you here?"

Addison didn't respond for a long time, and Alaina watched myriad emotions flicker over her face -- anger, resentment, hurt and, finally, shame. Addison's chin quivered, and she pivoted away, draining the wine in one furious gulp. At the minibar, she slammed the glass down. When she spoke, her voice was low, controlled. "I'm here because he wants you dead, Alaina. Believe it or not, I want you to stay alive. You and Jonah are all the family I have left."

Alaina focused on her sister, noticing that lines in her face -- especially those etched like parentheses on either side of her too-generous mouth -- made her look years older than thirty-nine. She had the face and demeanor of a desperately unhappy woman.

Alaina realized that the recent death of their father had to have been especially hard on Addison. He and Addison had adored each other. On top of that, she'd also recently discovered the ugly truth about her husband. Moments before, she'd gotten the shock that her mother had fallen victim to her husband, too.

Alaina massaged her temples, where the roots of a headache were burrowing in. She didn't want to feel sorry for her sister. She didn't want to feel anything for her.

Ice clinked against glass, and a moment later, Addison stood beside her, offering a tumbler of amber liquid. Alaina's stomach turned at the thought of alcohol, and she shook her head. "It'll make you feel better," Addison said. "Trust me."

Alaina glanced up at her. "What does he want with my son, Addison?"

Addison chewed her bottom lip. "I think Layton has changed his mind about Jonah."

"In what way?"

"He never wanted him before, and now he does."

"What?" Alaina was sure she had heard her wrong.

Addison set the glass on the table beside Alaina and took the chair across from her. "After you took off with Jonah, Layton hired private detectives, but it was a ruse to make Daddy think people were looking for you. Layton paid the detectives to file fake reports about all the ways they tried to find you and couldn't."

Alaina absorbed that, tried to make sense of it. "But one of them did find me. He wanted me to pay him not to tell Layton where we were."

"He wasn't paid to find you, Alaina. He was paid to pretend to search."

Which meant the man she'd killed in Emma's kitchen probably had had no intention of telling Layton where she and Jonah were. And if he had, it wouldn't have mattered anyway because Layton hadn't wanted to know. Nausea twisted through her as she saw Emma on the floor, her eyes open and staring. She forced her brain away from the memory. "Have you known this all along?"