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Rich said, “Here I thought I knew your grandfather—your father. He probably would have told you, but he didn’t have the chance to, sweetheart. The strokes, the coma.”
“He had enough years to tell me before the series of strokes.”
She’d spoken sharply, anger beneath her words.
He gentled his voice. “You were too young to understand. He would have told you when you’d gotten older, you know that.”
He was right, of course. She had to try to get it together, get over her anger at her father’s charade. Rebekah tried for a smile and was vaguely surprised when a real one appeared. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be angry at him. He did his best by me. But what’s wonderful about all this is none of that vicious old witch’s blood flows in my veins. I’m free of her now, no more wondering why she always seemed to hate me, no more feeling guilty because I wondered what I’d done wrong.
“But Rich, how do I reconcile having a father who wouldn’t claim me as his own child?” She shook her head. “I’m getting angry at him again. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry, Rebekah. This is a tremendous shock to you. It is to me, too. Did Gemma tell you who your real mother is?”
“No, I still don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, I had a wonderful mother. Caitlin loved me always. I never doubted it. What she did, when she was still so young, it was a sacrifice for me. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for her to suddenly be her sister’s mother, to raise me all those years as her child without ever telling me. I thought about calling her in Spain right away, but I wanted to get my head together before I spoke with her. It’s late there now, but I’ll call her in the morning.” Rebekah sighed. “We have a great deal to talk about, honestly now, for the first time as who we really are—sisters.”
“I think it would be best if we kept this between us, not even tell my sons, particularly not my sons. Can you imagine what would happen if the media got hold of it? Beck might post it on Twitter, and even if Tucker kept his mouth shut, Celeste would trumpet it to the world.”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead. You’re right, of course.”
“You haven’t eaten much,” Rich said, eyeing her plate. “And no wonder. Tell you what, if you’re through, let’s take our coffee in the living room. We can talk it all out.”
She rose as Rich walked to her. He looked down at her a moment, then pulled her close and kissed her hair. “We’ll figure our way through all this, don’t worry. I want to know everything that happened today with Gemma. I only hope the new girlfriend doesn’t boot Beck out early.”
The living room draperies were closed against the night, the room warm and cozy. Rich built up the fire and walked back to sit beside her on the sofa. He kissed her, lightly ran his fingers down her smooth cheek. “I thought about you all afternoon, wishing I could call you.” He studied her face. “Tell me what else Gemma had to say. Did she admit to anything?”
Rebekah couldn’t settle. She stood, walked to the fireplace, stared down at the flames a moment, turned back, and told Rich everything. “And Agent Savich called me, told me Duvall really doesn’t want to go down for this, wants to tell him who hired him, but he doesn’t know. It was all done over the phone and in cash. Man, woman? He didn’t know, only that it was a scratchy, low voice. He wanted Savich to cut him a break for his honesty. So as it stands now, there isn’t enough proof Gemma was involved, and she, of course, knows it.”
Rich rose, took her hands, lightly stroked her fingers. “You know, Rebekah, I feel I’ve been of very little help to you so far. I’ve been busy, I know, but it’s more than that. You’ve been shutting me out. I want to be a bigger part of helping you find your way through all this.”
She felt a wave of guilt. “I never meant to shut you out, Rich. Everything’s happened so fast. Zoltan, the attempted kidnapping, the showdown with Gemma, and you said you’d be comfortable leaving things to the FBI. And it’s true, you have been busy.”
He shook his head. “No, don’t let me off the hook. I should have been beside you more through all of this. I sure didn’t help when I came home to find you and Agent Hammersmith alone in the bedroom reading your grandfather’s letters. That threw me, something I’m not proud of. I’m still embarrassed about the way I acted. But, Rebekah, you never even mentioned you had letters from your grandfather, and we’ve talked about him quite a bit. I knew him, too, not in the same way you did, of course, but still, in a way, he was part of what brought us together at first. I guess you could say he was our common root. I know how very important he was to you, so please, don’t cut me out any longer. Let me help. Talk to me about your father.”
She looked into the eyes of the man she’d fallen in love with, her husband of six months now, her life partner. She said slowly, “I never intended to cut you out, Rich. But you see, there were things my father asked me to keep secret, and I kept those secrets for over twenty years.” She smiled up at him. “It seems silly not to tell you all about it now, about the poem. I already told it to Agent Savich.” She didn’t add in Agent Sherlock or Kit. He wouldn’t understand.
“Poem? What poem?”
“A poem my father had me memorize when I was young, made me swear never to tell anyone else. It’s part of the Big Take story I told you about after those men attacked me, the one Zoltan wanted me to talk about, the story she thought was real.” She looked at him and said in a flat, singsong voice:
Don’t let them know it’s hidden inside
The key to what I wish to hide
It’s in my head, already there
And no one else will guess or care
Remember these words when at last I sleep
And the Big Take will be yours to keep.
His hands tightened around hers. “In his head? The key is what he wants to hide? But it doesn’t really say much of anything. Do you know what it means, Rebekah?”
“Nope. I haven’t got a clue, and believe me, I’ve thought and thought about what that ridiculous poem could possibly mean. So it never really mattered that I didn’t tell Zoltan or that Gemma never heard it.”
He pulled away from her and began to pace. He paused, turned back, fanned his hands. “The poem says you know everything you need to find the Big Take even though the poem itself doesn’t seem to be of any help at all.”
“I told you, Rich, even if I knew where Father hid the Big Take, I wouldn’t want it. I have no intention of becoming a criminal, no intention of letting the world find out what Grandfather—Father—and Nate may have done.”
He searched her face a moment. “I tell you, Rebekah, this whole situation keeps escalating. There have been shootings now, violence, and I want to help put a stop to it, to protect you. And to be honest, protect myself. If the press were to get a whiff of what’s happened already, my career could be in danger. I’m happy you trusted me and told me the poem. I wish you’d told me about it sooner, but I understand. It’s a pity you don’t know what it means. Maybe we can figure it out in time, and you’ll change your mind about that money. Is there anything else important you’ve kept from me?”
Change her mind? She knew she shouldn’t say the words, but they marched right out of her mouth. “After all that’s happened, it’s your career you’re worried about, Rich? And finding the Big Take?”
He stopped cold, searched her face. He said slowly, “Why would you ask me that? Shouldn’t my career concern you as well, Rebekah? I mean, we live in this fishbowl together. As for the Big Take, you can do with it as you wish if we find it.”
The doorbell rang.
He gave her a long look. “Stay here, Rebekah. I’ll see who that is. And then you and I need to get this straightened out.”
