Love to Believe: Fireflies ~ Book 2 (23 page)

--And again.

--And again.

By midnight she had said everything she needed to say in at least twenty different ways. She had yelled and screamed and pleaded and cried and bitched and whined and offered witty observations and blistering insults, all in writing. Her heart bled onto the pages in blue ink.

Exhausted, she stared at the mess. What now?

Inspiration struck, and she gathered all the balled up pieces of paper and carried them to the fireplace. She tossed them in, struck a match, and knelt before the hearth where she and Sean had made love while the ice storm ravaged the world outside. She sparked flame to paper, watched it catch and burn, stared as the fire consumed its hosts and nothing lingered but the blackened remains.

As far as identifying and delivering into action a metaphor for her relationship with Sean, she figured she’d never do better than that.

She shuffled down the hall to the bedroom. After hours of draining her mind and heart with pen to paper, in the end the note she tucked into the envelope with the key to be returned to Sean contained only two sentences.

Her heart battered her chest, and the nausea that had become a normal part of her waking life since they stopped seeing each other sickened her belly, but she felt more in control of herself and her emotions now.

She put the key and note in the envelope and put the envelope, unsealed, in her purse. She’d return it in the morning.

***

Rebecca woke with a start when her cell phone rang. She reached her hand to the nightstand and fumbled for the phone.

“Mm. Hello?”

“Hey, little britches. Everything okay?”

Rebecca yawned and stretched. “Hi, Daddy. Everything’s fine. What’s--”

“Well, Christ on a cracker, girl, you scared the holy hell out of me. You know what time it is?”

“I--”

“It’s nine o’clock in the a.m. That’s what time it is. You’re always here by seven-thirty.” His accusatory tone caused Rebecca’s eyes to roll back in her head. “Last time you were this late--well, hell. You’ve never been this late. You sure you’re okay? You sick or something?”

“No, Daddy. I just overslept, that’s all.”

“You’re always here by seven-thirty,” he said again.

Rebecca’s laugh snorted through her nose. “Geez. Okay, listen. I have to shower and I’ve got a quick stop to make on my way in. I’ll be there by ten-thirty.”

His labored breathing filled a few seconds of airtime before he said, “You have a man there?”

“Oh, my god.” Rebecca’s laughter filled the room. “You’re killing me, Daddy. No. I’m all alone. I overslept. I’ll see you in an hour-and-a-half.”

Big Will’s sigh of relief almost deafened her. “Okay. See you soon.”

Still laughing, Rebecca clicked off the call. What would he have done if she had told him yes, she did have a man in her bed? The thought kept her amused for some time.

By nine-forty-five she was turning her car onto Dogwood Street. She slowed the Civic when she neared Sean’s house, her heartbeat threatening to punch a hole through her chest. She parked on the street and stared at the house, a blue Victorian with a white picket fence and an explosion of colorful flora in the yard. Edie’s handiwork expressed itself in abundance, and this just the first week of March. The place would probably look like a botanical garden in another month.

Sean’s Silverado sat in the driveway. The garage door was closed so she couldn’t check for the Shelby. Even if the Mustang was parked in there, he might have walked to work, and this late in the morning he was unlikely to be home. She’d let herself into the house and take her chances. She’d seal the key in the envelope with the note and leave it on his kitchen counter by the coffeemaker. He’d be sure to see it there. Neat and sweet, over in a flash.

She stepped into the house and paused in the entryway, every nerve stretched taut as she listened to reassure herself that Sean wasn’t home. She glanced up the stairs, to the dining room off to the left, around the staircase in front of her and down the hallway to the kitchen and den.

Quiet as a tomb.

She looked into the room on her right. Intended as a living room, Sean had turned it into a home office. The first time she came to the house, she suggested he build out the wide doorway and install French doors. He’d liked the idea, and she’d offered to do the work free of charge. He’d pay for materials, of course. He’d laughed until he realized she was serious and more than capable of doing the job herself.

She wiped her sweaty hands on her denim-clad thighs, glanced up the stairs again and moved on quiet feet across the gleaming hardwoods into the office. She’d never be in his house again after this, unless for some family thing. He probably wouldn’t mind if she took a quick look around--not to pry, just to get a better feel for what made him tick.

Geez, yeah, okay, on second thought, he probably would mind
.

Too bad. Not her fault he wasn’t home.

A bookcase covered one whole wall. Rebecca perused the titles, wrinkled her nose.

Law books. Row after row of law books.
Really, Sean? Dry, dusty, law books? No fiction? No John Grisham?
Ah, there. Okay. A hardbound copy of
The Firm
. She smiled and shook her head. So predictable. She took it off the shelf and read the personal note signed by the author on the front page.

The credenza behind Sean’s desk drew her eye. She put the book back in its place and redirected her attention. Every available space on the credenza had a framed family photo on it.

She took her time studying the photographs. There were several photos of Edie and Papa Ron, one of Papa Ron and Jack, another of Edie and Brenna. She saw what she assumed was Brenna’s high school graduation photo, marveled at her friend’s beauty, and moved on to a photo of Jack and Sean looking so similar it was almost eerie. Rebecca lifted a frame holding a picture of Maddie and Jack--engagement photo, maybe?--both of them smiling wide, eyes bright and happy. And now Jack was gone, and Maddie was marrying Caleb.

Rebecca’s fingers touched the glass covering the photo. “Did you really give Maddie advice after you died?” she whispered to Jack. She set the photo back in its place and turned to leave.

Sean’s desk, though covered with stuff, appeared organized. A neat stack of file folders sat in front of his closed laptop. One lay askew, and she began to push it into alignment, but curiosity stayed her hand and she opened the folder instead. She expected legal documents, but found newspaper clippings and printed articles from the web.

Guilt trickled through her but she ignored it, choosing instead to peruse the contents of the folder. If Sean didn’t want anyone to read it he shouldn’t leave it sitting out. It took a few minutes of reading for her to understand the significance of the collection. The articles focused on three people whose lives were forever changed by a drunk driver. Georgio Manetti, the impaired driver, was behind the wheel because one month prior to the fatal accident his high-priced lawyer found a legal loophole that kept him out of jail for a similar crime. His lawyer was described by the New York Times as “superstar defense attorney, Sean P. Kinkaid, who continues to rake in the wins for the prestigious Manhattan law offices of Brunner, Houser, Mickelson, et al.”

She thumbed through the other folders, recognized the name of the victims from the clipped articles--Stanley Boyd, age forty-two, died in the head-on collision that injured his daughter, ten-year-old Hayley Boyd. Hayley would heal from her physical injuries, but she and her mother Bridget were left without a father and husband.

Rebecca’s CPA’s eyes scanned the documents. She blew out a low whistling breath. Sean had set up a blind trust for young Hayley Boyd and her mother, a fund that covered all of the girl’s medical expenses and more. Her college tuition was paid ten times over. Bridget Boyd would never worry about finding a job or how to pay bills.

She flipped through the pages, her brain calculating. Where had the money come from? Her eyes widened when the documents and accounts clicked into place.

“My god,” she breathed, staring at the bank statements and financial reports. Sean Kinkaid had more money than Croesus.

The other folders varied in scope, but most dealt with family law, and all, Rebecca saw, Sean had slated as pro bono. How did the man make so much money when it appeared he worked for free?

She gnawed her thumb and stared at the folders. It was wrong to keep poking through his stuff. None of this was any of her business. Looking through more of his personal documents would be nothing short of immoral. Unethical. So, so wrong.

Oh, who the hell was she kidding?

She dove in, inspecting the contents of the folders one by one. Most contained research information on startup companies and financial statements on various businesses. The man had made a fortune with investments. His instincts were golden. Literally.

A noise from upstairs jolted her, and all of her nerve endings tingled on high alert. She scrambled to stack the folders back the way she found them and scurried into the foyer. She listened at the foot of the stairs, heart pounding, but was met with silence. She blew out a breath and shook her head, amused at herself for being so paranoid.

Guilt will do that to you
, she decided, and headed to the kitchen to complete the task for which she had come.

She stood at the counter and dropped the key into the envelope with the note. She began sealing the envelope when a sleepy female voice called out.

“Sean? Is that you?”

Rebecca’s head swiveled toward the sound. The Nordic goddess swayed into view. She stopped short when she saw Rebecca, a startled sound escaping her lips. Her silky robe molded to her perky boobs like cellophane and stopped about a centimeter below her hoo-ha. Her stream of golden locks hung loose and tousled.

The two women stared at each other, shocked into silence.

Rebecca forced words through numb lips. “Um. Hi.” She held up the envelope and managed an obligatory smile for the goddess. “I’m just dropping this off. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here. I would have knocked.”

“I wouldn’t have heard you,” Emma said with an amiable shrug. “I sleep like the dead.” She ran her fingers through her hair, shook the tousled mass behind her. “I just woke up and came down for coffee. I heard you moving around and assumed Sean came home.”

“Yeah. Um, no. Just me.” Rebecca’s cheeks ached from the forced smile. “I’m Rebecca Walker. I’m--”

“Wait, I know you. I saw you that day with Sean’s sister. You were looking for your cat.”

“Yes. That’s right.”

Emma headed for the coffeemaker. “Coffee? It’s one of these quick gourmet dealios. Only takes a second or two to brew.”

“No, thanks.”

“I’m Emma, by the way.” She opened a cabinet--she knew just which one to open, Rebecca noted--and retrieved a coffee packet and mug. She set the machine to brew, then leaned back against the counter while she waited, long legs crossed at the ankles, her female parts in dangerous risk of exposure. The machine sputtered to life and the scent of coffee wafted into the air. “I’m a senior at North Georgia.” Emma’s lips curved in a rueful smile when she added, “Finally. I took a few years off to travel. Anyway, I’m prelaw, and Sean’s been really helpful.”

“I bet.” Rebecca’s stomach pitched, and she swallowed hard to keep bile from rising into her throat. It was surreal, standing in Sean’s kitchen making small talk with his new girlfriend, who had obviously spent the night. Ironic, Rebecca thought, since she had come to drop off the key that she only had because when she and Sean were together staying until morning was taboo. He’d made an exception for the beautiful Emma. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut.

“So you’re friends with Sean’s sister?”

“Yes. Um--my brother is marrying their sister-in-law, Maddie.”

“Oh, right. The chick who was married to their late brother, Jim.”

“Jack. His name is Jack.” Well. Perfect Emma with the ginormous boobs, teeth like Chicklets, and straight blonde hair didn’t know everything. Ha.

“That’s right. Jack.” Emma’s eyes, blue as a summer sky, rolled with her expression of self-deprecation. “I’m pretty sure I knew that.”

The coffeemaker gasped its last drop of filtered brew into the mug. Emma took creamer from the fridge, poured a fair amount into her coffee, and added enough sugar to shock her into a diabetic coma. She acted at home here in Sean’s house, and the knowledge bit at Rebecca’s composure like a hungry shark.

Emma took a healthy sip. “Okay, well, it was nice to meet you. I have to go shower and get ready for school. It’s, like, a forty-minute commute. Guess I’ll see you around.”

“Right. Yeah. See you around.” Rebecca willed her lips upward into a smile, wriggled her fingers in a wave, and tried not to shoot visual daggers into the young woman’s swaying backside.

Alone again, Rebecca surrendered to her trembling muscles, slid onto a stool at the breakfast bar, and held her head in her hands.

Man up, idiot.

She stared at the envelope. The note didn’t seem like such a great idea anymore. In fact, now that she thought about it, it was juvenile. Sophomoric. She was a thirty-year-old woman leaving a pathetic love letter to a man who had replaced her without a second thought.

She balled up the note and shoved it to the belly of her purse, then sealed the key inside the envelope and dropped it on the counter.

No strings, no drama, no questions. Just goodbye.

Rebecca straightened her spine and left the house without a backward glance.

Chapter 12

“Mr. Kinkaid.” Mrs. M tapped her hand on Sean’s desk.

Sean’s eyes flew open. “Hey. Mrs. M.” He cleared his throat and sat up in his chair, blinking to clear his vision. “Something wrong?”

“You’ve been snoring like a grizzly bear in here for the better part of an hour.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. Your conference call with Ferris Wernecki is in ten minutes.” She shook her head. “You think you can stay awake long enough to dial the phone?”