Girl of Vengeance (33 page)

A flash of memory.

George-Phillip, twenty-one years old. A baby, younger than three of her daughters were now. He’d swept her up in his arms. They’d been stupidly reckless, stupidly open.

The Cherry Blossom Festival, spring of 1984. She’d worn a scarf over her hair and he’d worn sunglasses, but neither of them took any other steps to hide their identity. In a haze of drugged love they’d walked around the tidal basin near the Jefferson Memorial, hand in hand as the beautiful white and pink petals rained down around them. He’d pinned a flower in her hair, and they stood looking out to the water.

In her dream they lay down in the grass and he ran his fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes, a shiver of goose bumps running down the back of her neck as he kissed her.

Oblivious.
Stupid.

Because it was an outing like that which had brought the attention of Oz.

George-Phillip was swept away, and she was walking barefoot along the cracked sidewalk in Bethesda, the condominium she’d hated so much towering above her. Her prison. The place she’d given in to despair. She walked up the stairs of the building, her feet moving through sludge and dirt, until she reached the penthouse floor. Walking down the hall, her footsteps left thick black footprints on the carpet.

The front door was open, and she walked into the condo like it was the gateway to hell. Julia was on the floor, two years old, her curly brown hair hanging in her eyes, wailing, and her face red. Above her, pinned to the wall with a steak knife, a note.

I told you to stay away from him!

Without transition she was in the formal dining room of the San Francisco home. Julia was older now, standing across from Adelina, her face twisted in rage, her teeth visible.

Yes, you do! You’ve treated me like dirt for the last eight years!
Her shout was a dagger.
When I came home from that hideous abortion clinic in Beijing, you never even asked me what was wrong or where I’d been! Didn’t you notice all the blood on the sheets, Mom? Didn’t you notice how sick I got? I needed a mother and all I had was…

Adelina wanted to cry,
I didn’t know! I didn’t know!

Her eldest daughter, her first love, shook her head.
Nothing. Not once were you there when I needed you. When Lana sent that picture out, you didn’t offer to help. You didn’t hug me, and tell me it was going to get better. Someone in Bethesda Chevy Chase made copies and stuffed them in people’s lockers at school. They tortured me, Mother. To the point where I couldn’t see any way out but suicide. And what I’ve never understood, to this day, was why? Why wouldn’t you help me? Why weren’t you there when I needed you?

Every word felt like another punch through her heart. Adelina stared at her daughter in shock.
Suicide?
She’d known all along that Julia was hurting, was isolated, but every time Adelina reached out to her, she jerked back. Her little girl had tried to commit suicide! Because of her. Because she was a failure. Because as hard as she’d tried to protect her daughters, she’d failed every single one of them.

Adelina started to cry.
I …
she whispered.
I didn’t know it was so bad for you. You’re my daughter. I just wanted … I wanted you to be better.

Bitterly, Julia had replied,
You wanted to protect yourself.

Adelina shook her head, clutching her hand to her chest, trying to soothe the pain that was radiating from her sternum. She couldn’t tell Julia the truth. Richard would—no … she couldn’t even think of what he might do. What he might say. How he might hurt Adelina or one of the children. She remembered his horrible voice.

I’ll take Carrie and sell her to the highest bidder.

Would you kill this baby to save that one?

She scrambled for words that would express part of the truth, but would protect the awful secrets at the heart of their marriage.
No … that’s not it at all. Your father and I
…
we went through a really rough time in Belgium and in China. We thought … we’d fallen out of love. And he had an affair in Belgium. And … yes. I did in China.

Julia’s face twisted in disgust and contempt, and Adelina swayed on her feet.
So you were just too preoccupied.

Julia … what happened in China?

Then her daughter told the awful story, of getting involved with Harry Easton, the British Ambassador’s son. That she’d been pushed into sex far too early, that she’d gotten pregnant. That the awful night she came home hours late, covered in snow, had been after an abortion. That the illness Adelina had believed was the flu had been the effects of too much bleeding. Adelina had kept her own secrets, and her daughter had learned to do the same.

It was hell, that they both could say so many words and at the same time obscure the real meaning behind them.

The blackness swept over Adelina. It swallowed everything, every thought and emotion and even her sight. Because Julia was right. No one had helped her. No one had been there for her. Her sociopath father had so effectively isolated Adelina from her own daughters that they
hated
her.

That was confirmed when Carrie, the daughter Adelina had always depended on, the one she knew she could count on no matter what, dismissively looked away from her.

Carrie murmured to Julia, “You’ve got family now. You’ve got me.”

And that was right. Because, after all, it was Carrie who took care of Adelina’s daughters. The grief she felt at that moment was greater than she’d ever felt before. Greater than the loss of her father. Greater than the loss of her own life when Richard so carelessly enslaved her. Because what she’d lost wasn’t a
thing,
it was
her daughters.
The pain was so bad that she knew if she didn’t get away
right then
she was never going to stop screaming.

So she ran. Adelina ran from her daughters because she could no longer face them. She ran into her room and locked the door and buried her face in a pillow and screamed her rage and pain and loss at God. God didn’t answer. She’d lost the ability to feel Him, and even
that
loss didn’t compare with the pain of losing her daughters.

In the dream, Richard somehow came
into her room,
he stood there above her, his face bright, his lips curled up in cruel amusement, as he said,
You see? None of them will ever believe you. You think they do, but they’re mine. Just as you are.

In the strange way dreams do, her room grew and lengthened. It became the ballroom at the Embassy in Beijing. Richard stood in front of her, hate and contempt in his eyes. Julia and Carrie were behind him, and they were tied up in a web of spit and lies, while George-Phillip pleaded with her.
Leave him, Adelina.

Leave him!

I can’t!
Her daughters were behind Richard, and he would do anything to keep her enslaved, he would do anything to win. He turned to Julia and Carrie and began to whisper and croon in their ears, even as his hand behind his back crept forward, a wicked curved knife curling from his palm.

He was the devil. She was married to the devil. And she would never be free.

The violence of her screaming shook the walls and windows of the tiny motel in Abbotsford and awakened all three of her daughters. Jessica moved sluggishly, bringing her knees to her chest, her eyes wide as Adelina thrashed, terror in her eyes, as she scrambled back to the head of the bed, eyes searching everywhere for Richard.

It was Sarah who ran to her, followed shortly by Andrea. Then all three of them had their arms around her, and her screaming subsided into unfettered sobs.

When Bear arrived at the house in suburban Virginia, he was, as always, startled by how neat the landscaping was, how precise the rows of flowers and rock beds were, how neatly the mulch surrounded the trees. Bear had never been suited for a life in the suburbs, and when he and Leah had lived together, their yard always had the ragged look of a bad haircut too many weeks in the past. Now, she lived in a home where the Kentucky bluegrass lawn was cut precisely two and a quarter inches long, where the flowers were nourished into a parade of colors.

It was days like this when Bear hated the man who had married his ex-wife.

He walked up the steps (which had obviously been swept that morning) and knocked on the door.

Gary Simpson answered. Of course. He looked much better than he had the last time they saw each other, a few hours after Leah was shot.

“Bear,” Gary said.

“Gary. How is she?”

Gary said, “Come on in. The kids have been asking for you.” He moved into the house, his huge frame surprisingly delicate.

Before Bear even made it in the door, a flash of brown hair and blue eyes raced to him, and then his daughter Rebecca’s arms were around him. He lifted her up; arms wrapped around her, and breathed in the scent of her hair.

“Daddy,” she whispered.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are things?”

He set her down. A few feet away, Jimmy, her fourteen-year-old younger brother, eyed Bear with a wary expression.

“I missed you,” Rebecca said.

“Missed you too,” Bear said. He blinked his eyes and rubbed them. Damn allergies. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s getting better,” Jimmy said in a serious tone. “Have you caught the people who shot her?”

Bear walked in and sat down on the couch. “I’m working on it. Getting closer.”

Jimmy frowned. “Why are you here, then?”

Bear sighed.

“Leave him alone, Jimmy.” Rebecca’s tone was contemptuous. “He came to check on us. And Mom.”

“Shut up.” Jimmy’s tone was curt.

“
You
shut up.”

Bear grimaced, then reached out and grabbed both of his surviving children and pulled them into a rough hug. “
Both
of you shut up. You don’t need to fight.”

Jimmy struggled for a moment, but Bear didn’t relent. Finally the boy sighed and let his arms down. Only then did Bear let him go. He stood and said, “All right. Let me talk to your mother.”

“She’s in the back,” Rebecca said. “I’ll show you.”

Bear felt distinctly uncomfortable as his daughter led him down the hall to the bedroom Leah shared with Gary. He didn’t especially want to see the room. But he wanted to know she was okay.
Ex-
wife or not, he wanted her to be okay. It’s not like they had parted in a wave of recrimination and rage. Their marriage just died, right alongside Leanna, their eldest daughter.

Rebecca knocked on the door and opened it at Leah’s prompt.

Leah was sitting up on the bed, a pile of pillows propping her up. She had a book laying face down on the bed next to her, and a copy of
Guns and Ammo
was on the nightstand on her side of the bed.

“Hey, Leah. You’ve looked better.”

She snorted. “I looked worse a few days ago. They let me out of the hospital yesterday. But it still doesn’t feel good to have a hole in my side.”

“When are you gonna be back at work?”

“Doctors say thirty days at least. I might have to do physical therapy. So light duty for the next few months.”

Bear’s face fixed on a large painting on the wall. It was three feet by four feet. Oil on stretched canvas. A mostly tan background, cloudy, as if up in the sky. Or in
heaven.
Because stretched across the canvas in a joyous pose was an angel, wings swept back. The angel bore the face of Leanne.

He choked a little and felt his eyes tear up. He looked away from the painting, then back to it. “Ahhh,
crap
,” he muttered. “Where did that come from?”

Leah said in a near whisper, “Rebecca painted it for me. Sometimes it helps. You know. To remember she’s happy now.”

“Shit,” Bear whispered. Then he did something no self-respecting lawman did. He choked back a sob. Suddenly he felt his younger daughter’s arms around him.

“We miss her too, Dad,” she whispered.

“You painted that?” he asked.

She nodded, her face sober. “Last year.”

“Well.” He took a deep breath, trying to get a hold of himself. He wiped the back of a fist against his eye, smashing the tear before it had a chance to roll down. He looked at Leah. “You know it’s not too late to leave that scrawny accountant and come back.”

Leah gave him a sad smile. “You know it is, Bear. Don’t start that again.”

He nodded. “Yeah I know. Joking.”

“How’s the case going?” she asked.

He shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe it. You been watching the news?”

“A little. I watch it, but I don’t understand it. Someone shot down Prince George-Phillip’s plane last night? Fox News is going insane, they’re talking about bombing Syria.”

“Keep watching. And check the
Post
. Anthony Walker. I think the whole story’s going to be out there soon. But I’ll tell you this. It’s nothing like we thought it was when that girl was kidnapped two weeks ago. And it sure isn’t what the news thinks it is.”

“You’ll solve it if anyone can.”

“I’ve got some help,” he said. His voice was steadier now that they were talking work and cases. “Look … I just wanted to check on you. I’m gonna get the sons of bitches who did this. I promise.”

Her reply was a whisper. “Thanks.”

He stood. Then awkwardly, he rested a hand on hers for a second. Then he jerked back. Rebecca was still near the door.

He said, “All right, kiddo, I’ll catch you later. You take good care of your mom. And your brother.”

“I always do,” Rebecca said, her lips curling up in a grin.

Their goodbyes were brief and awkward, as always. Then he got back on the road, headed into the city. He still had a lot of work to do. But emblazoned on the back of his mind was the painting Rebecca had created, showing her older sister in heaven.

The hearings had adjourned for a couple of days, though they were due to resume on Monday, with Leslie Collins testifying. In the meantime, Richard Thompson received a call from the White House, requesting his presence at a meeting at the State Department.

The White House Chief of Staff, Denis McCullough, had said to him, “Given the sensitivity of the situation, we’d like you to come in the back entrance at the loading dock. Be there at eleven and you’ll be met.”