Secrets and Sins: Raphael: A Secrets and Sins novel (Entangled Ignite) (4 page)

His mouth hardened, his eyes transforming into chips of dark-blue ice. Slowly, he lowered his arm, and an aloof mask dropped over his face. Hurting, sickened, she turned away and allowed Detective Marshall to guide her farther down the hall, out of the busy bullpen, and into the waiting area. Ethan shot to his feet as soon as he spotted them and dragged her into his arms.

Tiny fissures zigzagged over the wall shielding her emotions, which threatened to crack and collapse.
Not yet. It’s not over yet. Hold on a little while longer
.

“Honey, are you okay?” Ethan asked, pressing his lips to her forehead.

No. I’m not
.
I’m not sure I will be for a long time
. “Yes, I’m fine.”

Ethan gripped her shoulders, steadied her. “Reporters are still outside.” He peered into her eyes, silently letting her know leaving would be as rough as coming in had been. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, her mouth an arid wasteland. The alternative was remaining in this station where she was viewed as a murderer. Traversing the gauntlet of avaricious media seemed the lesser evil.

Until she stepped into hell.

Flashes blinded her. Invasive camera lenses stalked her. Yelling voices assaulted her.

“Why’d you do it, Greer?”

“Have you been charged with murder?”

“Did you kill Gavin because he cheated on you?”

“Did your father pay to have you released, Greer?”

She detested how they used her first name as if they were friends, confidants. As if she would be more open to responding to their verbal jabs because they called her by her given name. The gross familiarity was another violation.

Ethan sheltered her as best he could, but they still had to battle their way through the throng pushing in on them from both sides. Finally, he ushered her into his car, shutting the door firmly. Not that it stopped the reporters from rapping on the window, hoping she would look up and inadvertently offer them a photo op. Or maybe slip and give them a sound bite they could play over and over again on the six and eleven o’clock news.

“Damn vultures,” Ethan growled, jamming the key in the ignition. He accelerated at a slow but steady speed, granting the reporters and camera operators seconds to move out of the way or have a meet-and-greet with his front bumper. Within seconds, they left the grasping crowd behind. A fine shiver overtook her body. Ice slithered through her veins, freezing her from the inside out until she felt like a human Popsicle.
Shock
, her mind supplied.
Temporary delayed reaction
.

The rational explanation didn’t stop her from shaking as if she’d come down with a fever. Nor did it prevent panic from creeping through her like an insidious invader.

“It’s okay, Greer.”

She jerked a nod. “Okay.”

A little while later, she and Ethan climbed the steps to their parents’ home. Staring up at the elegant but imposing brick facade of the brownstone, she hesitated.

“Ethan, I don’t think—”

“Shh,” he soothed, placing a hand to the middle of her back. “They have their faults, Greer, but they would want to know you’re okay, as well as the latest developments of the case.”

She murmured her acquiescence, but a hollow pit remained in the bottom of her stomach. Last time she’d seen her father, he’d been so angry and disgusted because of her refusal to call Gavin and apologize for ending the engagement. Now Gavin was dead—and she was the top suspect. Somehow she couldn’t see her father welcoming her with open arms now.

Ethan knocked on the door, and a housekeeper answered. They’d barely taken five steps into the foyer before her parents appeared. Ethan Addison II presented a powerful, distinguished figure with his tall, trim frame clothed in an immaculate suit and salt-and-pepper hair gleaming. Petite, slender, and perfectly styled, Celeste Addison presented a stunning complement to her husband. A united, beautiful front. Against their daughter.

“What are you doing here, Greer?” her father demanded.

She parted her lips to speak, but nothing emerged.

“I brought her by so you could see she was all right. The police let her go.”

“For now,” Ethan II sneered. “Not that it matters. Do you know the shame you’ve brought to this family, Greer? Karen Wells has been constantly calling your mother, crying and screaming about you killing her son. It’s ridiculous.”

“That’s what I keep telling Greer, Dad. That anyone could possibly believe Greer could hurt, much less murder Gavin—”

Her father sliced his hand through the air. “I’m not talking about your sister’s guilt. For all I know, she could’ve done it. What’s ridiculous is that woman incessantly ringing here thinking we can do anything about her son. We can’t bring him back. She needs to call Greer, convince her to confess if that’ll give her some peace and if it will stop her from calling here. Damn it,” he hissed, glaring at Greer. “Do you have any idea what this sordid mess will do to our reputation? My business?”

“Dad,” she pleaded.

“I hope you didn’t think you were staying here.” He laughed, the sound hard, mocking. “I can’t have anyone believing I condone your actions.”

“Dad,” she tried again. “I’m innocent. I didn’t kill Gavin.”

“You might as well have from the reporters that have been hounding us. I can’t afford for my life and business to be tainted with this circus you’ve brought to my front door.” His mouth twisted, his revulsion obvious. “Now get out. Before some stupid photographer catches his photo op of a lifetime with the Addison family reunion.”

“Mother?” Ethan rasped, anger and pain roughening his voice to a hoarse whisper. But Celeste didn’t move from behind her husband. And as stupid as the hopeful expectation was, Greer waited, her breath in her throat, for her mother to speak, to champion her. But both Greer and Ethan waited in vain, as they always had. Celeste didn’t speak. Didn’t move from her husband’s shadow where she’d existed all these years—the place she preferred.

Without another word, Greer turned and exited the brownstone that she’d grown up in but that had never truly been a safe haven—a home.

“It’s okay, Greer.” Ethan repeated the same assurance from earlier, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close into his side. “
You’re
going to be okay.”

She didn’t respond. But deep inside, a tiny voice whispered that nothing would ever be the same again.

Chapter Five

Four months later

Greer groaned, clutching the sides of the toilet as her stomach convulsed for what she prayed was the last time. Not that she had anything left to heave up. Her gut twisted like a wrung-out dish towel, her only warning before she arched over the bowl once more.

Several moments later, she sank to the bathroom floor, her back pressed to the tub. Her head pulsed with a low-grade throb while her back, belly, and thighs ached as if someone had taken a stick to them. And of course her mouth tasted as though a furry animal had crawled inside and died. Above her, the central heating kicked in, and the warm stream of air was heaven over her clammy skin. She tugged her T-shirt away from her chest, frowning at the damp sweat splotches. God, she needed a shower.

With a long, drawn-out moan, she shoved to her feet, the movements stiff and slow as if she were one hundred and six instead of twenty-six. She twisted the shower knobs, and hot water streamed from the head. Steam curled in the room. Satisfied, she stripped and climbed in.

God, whoever had coined the phrase “morning sickness” should have their picture plastered next to the word “misnomer” in the dictionary. The nausea didn’t confine itself to morning; it showed up whenever it damn well pleased. Which for her meant early morning and very late at night. And the occasional nooner.

Being pregnant was definitely not glamorous.

Pregnant. Jesus
. She closed her eyes as she rubbed the soapy washcloth over her stomach that had yet to swell. It was still hard to accept. Hard for her to believe a person—a baby—grew inside her even at this moment. A person she would be responsible for raising. And loving.

Damn, that thought was terrifying.

She tilted her head back and allowed the water to stream over her face and into her hair.

“Greer.” The knock on the bathroom door snatched her from her dark thoughts. “Honey, are you okay?”

With a twist of her wrist, she shut off the shower. “Yes,” she called out to her brother. “I’m fine. I’ll be right out.”

Quickly, she dried off, wrapped the towel around her, and snatched up her soiled clothes. Once in the guest room she’d called hers since the day Ethan had brought her home from the police station, she drew on fresh clothes and boots, then followed the scent of percolating coffee to the kitchen. Ethan leaned against the counter, a cup held to his lips.

“Here you go,” he said, passing her a cup of hot water and a green tea bag. “How’re you feeling?”

Accepting the drink, she shrugged. “Fine. Well, as fine as I can be considering my guts are now floating in the sewer system.” She’d always been under the belief the nausea only lasted the first trimester. But some of the motherhood magazines she’d picked up assured her that for some women it lingered longer. Apparently she was one of those “some women.” Yay.

“I know the morning sickness has been rough on you, but I was asking about your head.”

On reflex, she lifted her palm to her forehead. “It’s better. Nothing like last night.”

Ethan nodded, but worry lingered in his green eyes. “I think my nerves wouldn’t feel like a cheese grater was taken to them if you had stayed the night at the hospital.”

Four months had passed since Gavin’s murder, and in the first few months afterward, she’d been dreamless—and left with a huge, gaping hole in her memory. But as much as she wanted to regain her memories of that night, part of her didn’t. If it was something so horrific her mind had shut down, maybe it was safer not to remember. That sounded so cowardly, especially if what she recalled could bring Gavin’s murderer to justice. But in the end, her wishes didn’t matter. The flashes, the terrifying images of a faceless torn and bloody body, had started coming two weeks ago, disturbing her sleep, relentless in their nightly visitations. She didn’t need a psychiatrist or doctor to inform her what was happening. Her mind was healing, and the door the memories had hidden behind was slowly unlocking. One day it would be thrown wide open.

Last night it’d felt as though the door had slammed against her skull. She’d woken with a migraine splitting her head open. Her brother had been in a panic as he’d carried her from the house to the car and then into the hospital emergency room. Headaches had been frequent in the past couple of weeks, but that one had edged into brain aneurysm territory. The pain had almost cleaved her in half.

The doctor had thrown around PTSD, stress. Emotional strain. He couldn’t give her a definite diagnosis for the reason behind the debilitating migraine. Yet he stated that it—and the previous milder headaches—weren’t unheard of after a head injury. They were mostly likely due to a combination of the head injury, possible residual brain swelling, stress, and emotional strain from the amnesia. Amnesia. Police investigation. Dodging voracious and insatiable reporters. Unplanned pregnancy. Take a pick which contributed to her stress and emotional strain.

He’d written a prescription for a very mild sedative, but she hadn’t filled it yet. Hadn’t decided if she would. Not only did she cringe from taking anything while just out of her first trimester, but she needed the nightmares. Not wanted, but needed. As crazy as it sounded, they were the only signal that her memories of that night were returning. She had to know what happened with Gavin.

“There was no need to stay overnight.” She offered him a reassuring smile. “Ethan, I’m fine. Really. After a few hours the pain was more than bearable. As long as the baby was okay. That’s what—who—I was most worried about.” Unconsciously, she lifted her hand over her stomach. Once the shock had worn off, the wonder had crept in. Then the joy. No, the pregnancy hadn’t been planned, but she wanted this baby with a fierceness that surprised even her.

Ethan set his mug down in the sink and turned to her, smoothing a hand down his already-immaculate tie. She narrowed her eyes on the gesture—his tell. Something was up, and he wasn’t saying.

“What’s wrong?”

His head snapped up, guilt flashing through his eyes before he hid the emotion behind an unreadable mask. Just like their father. “Greer,” he said, then sighed when she crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. “Fine,” he muttered. “Last night. I was so worried something was seriously wrong I—” He hesitated, and his gaze flickered to the ceiling—a dead giveaway she wouldn’t like his next words. “I called Mom and let her know you were in the hospital. And…about the baby.”

The air whooshed from her lungs. She sagged against the kitchen wall. “Ethan,” she breathed, the sour tang of betrayal washing out the tepid flavor of the tea.

“Please, honey,” he pleaded softly, approaching her with his arms outstretched. He tugged her into his embrace, and she allowed it only because she was too stunned to fight him.
How could he?
“I’ve never seen you like that before. It was different—so much worse than the other headaches. I believed she’d want to know if you were in trouble. And that she was going to be a grandmother.”

“Why?” she snarled, the hurt and bitterness that always accompanied thoughts of her parents barreling into her. “When I actually was in trouble, they abandoned me, threw me to the wolves. What makes you assume they would give a damn now?”

“Greer,” Ethan whispered. “You know Mom is just weak. She doesn’t really agree with Dad.”

“But she did nothing while he denounced me. And she didn’t privately reach out to me.” She wriggled, hoisting her arms up between their bodies and shoving out of his embrace. “Even now that I’ve been somewhat cleared, neither one of them has apologized or supported me. They don’t deserve to know what’s going on in my life, with me, and especially this baby. You had no right.”

He sighed, dragged his palms down his face. “I know. Now. And let me just get all of it out. I gave her your new number. She’ll probably call you, and I didn’t want you to be caught unaware. Honey, I’m sorry,” he hurriedly apologized. “I was just…scared.” And he’d reached for the woman who should’ve offered him comfort when he’d faced the possibility of losing his baby sister. His mother.
Damn
. She couldn’t blame Ethan for his need to connect with Celeste Addison. Too bad she didn’t possess the maternal instinct that made the word more than a title or circumstance of birth.

“It’s okay, Ethan.” She patted his arm before leaving the kitchen, leaving her half-finished tea on the counter. “I understand.”

In some ways Greer was tougher than her brother—she’d had to be. Unlike his sexuality, her imperfection hadn’t been as easy to hide from their father and his ridicule. Diagnosed with dyslexia as a child, she’d been the family secret and embarrassment until Ethan had announced his homosexuality. And whenever he’d lashed out at them for their fatal flaws, their mother had silently stood by, wringing her jeweled fingers as Ethan II verbally abused her children.

A quick knock rapped against the front door. Ethan brushed a hand over her shoulder as he strode down the hallway toward the foyer.

“Hey, Noah.” She shook her head, smiling as Noah Granger’s voice reached her. Between her brother and her best friend, she was mother-henned to death.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, arching a brow as Noah walked down the hall, Ethan behind him.

“You have a doctor’s appointment this morning. You didn’t really think I’d let you go by yourself, did you?” Exaggerated outrage colored his voice. She grinned, probably as he’d intended.

Noah had been her best friend since third grade when he’d accidently knocked her down on the playground, and she’d sliced her chin open on a sharp rock. She absently rubbed the old scar on her chin in memory. Blood had poured from the cut, his eyes had rolled in the back of his head, and he’d fainted. From that day forward, they’d been inseparable. He used to help her memorize spelling words to pass tests and spent hours working with her on her homework. He’d pumped his fist with her when she’d made the A-B Honor Roll for the first time. He’d supported her—albeit reluctantly—when she’d become engaged to Gavin. And he’d held her while she cried when she’d discovered his betrayal.

Every important moment in her life, Noah had been right there, advising and encouraging. He hadn’t been thrilled when she’d told him about the pregnancy, but in true Noah fashion, he’d shrugged and said he always wanted to be an uncle. She loved him.

“You didn’t have to come all the way over here,” she scolded. His Charlestown apartment was about twenty minutes away from Ethan’s South End brownstone. “Ethan offered to go with me.”

Noah scoffed. “What does that mean? He doesn’t know the important things to ask. Like when will you feel the baby move? Can the baby really hear music through your womb? When can you have the epidural?”

She laughed. “Damn right.”

Ethan smirked. “He’s got me there. I definitely wouldn’t have thought of the epidural question. But.” He glared at Noah. “Forget it. I’m still going. You ready, Greer?”

“Let me get my coat.”

Moments later, Ethan locked up, and they descended the steps of his duplex together. She and Noah headed up the sidewalk toward her car, and Ethan climbed in his since he would leave for his office after the appointment. As they walked, she scanned the street for anyone who didn’t belong. For months, she’d hated leaving the house because of reporters swarming around her as soon as she stepped out of the door. Cameras shoved in her face for an accidental sound bite. In just the last three weeks or so, the frenzy had abated. The police had finally received the DNA evidence back. Her blood hadn’t been found at the scene. And neither her nor Gavin’s blood had been detected on her clothes. Yes, her fingerprints had been on the knife, but the head injury had supported her claim of entering the apartment and being knocked out. Add in her Raphael alibi—which thanks to a police leak to the press had caused another sensational flurry—and she’d been removed from prime suspect status.

She sucked in a hard breath.

Raphael.

He’d been on her mind ever since discovering she was pregnant—well, that made it seem as if he’d never left. Which he hadn’t. If she had a wish for every time she’d started to dial his office number, she would be as tall as Naomi Campbell and have Scarlett Johansson’s body and Oprah Winfrey’s money. And that would’ve just been the first day since she’d seen him last.

After her hospital stay, she’d hated dragging him into the mess her life had suddenly become. In the months that followed, her reasons for not contacting him hadn’t changed. Her life hadn’t become less tangled, but more. Pulling him into it more than necessary? No. So not happening.

But as of last week, it appeared she didn’t have a choice. This baby belonged to him as much as he or she did to Greer. To keep a child from him… No, she had to tell him. Her stomach rolled, tightened. It had nothing to do with morning sickness. And everything to do with the idea of having to see him again after months. Especially considering the last time had been in the police station as he saved her ass, and she’d said…nothing. Done nothing. Now she would show up on his doorstep—or office—and announce that he was her baby’s daddy.

She was so damn afraid.

Don’t go there. Don’t. You. Dare. Go. There…

“What’s wrong?” Noah glanced at her. “Are you okay? Any aftereffects from last night?” he asked, looping an arm around her shoulders. After Ethan had taken her to the hospital, he’d called Noah, and her friend had arrived soon after they did.

“Nope. I’m good to go.”

He nodded. “Good. Damn, Greer. You scared the hell out of me.”

“Me, too,” she murmured.

She inhaled a deep breath, slowly let it go. She didn’t want to dwell on her impending conversation with Raphael right now. Not when in thirty minutes she would be listening to her baby’s heartbeat. A warm glow pulsed in her chest and radiated outward. Anticipation and delight for the moment lent her feet speed. The newly green branches of a nearby tree cast shade over the front end and windshield. When the baby came in September, the leaves would be gold, red, and orange. She smiled. Her child would come during her favorite season…

“What the hell?” Noah barked, drawing to a hard stop, his arm dragging her close.