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She stared at him. “But how do you know that?”
He told her then about the mysterious clippings that had arrived in the mail. “At first I thought it was just a matter of someone wanting money—that was when I started taking steps to protect my assets. But when no demand came, and things started happening, I realized it wasn’t cash they wanted. It was revenge.”
“But you did the family a favor by keeping your friend Jeff out of prison,” she said.
“I thought so at the time—not that Jeff was my friend after that. We never spoke to each other again.”
“Could it be Jeff who wants you out of the picture, to protect himself? How many people knew the truth about the accident?”
“Besides me, only Chase and Jeff. And it doesn’t make sense that either one would share the story. They both had too much to lose.”
“So where are they now?”
“Both dead. Chase died of cancer while I was in prison.
Jeff got his law degree, married, and had a son. Then things fell apart. He started drinking heavily, lost his family, and finally committed suicide—shot himself on a boat and fell into the water. His body was never found, but he left plenty of evidence behind. I read about it after it happened.”
“What about Jeff’s wife? Maybe he told her.”
“Evidently she left him. I was told by an old acquaintance that she was dead, but that’s all I know.”
“And the son?”
“He went to live with a relative. Again, that’s all I know. But why would anybody who knew the truth want to track me down and harm me? I took the blame for Jeff’s mistake. I made it possible for him to get on with his life. What happened to him afterward was his doing, not mine.”
“Maybe Jeff faked his death. Maybe he wants to silence the last person who knows that he was guilty.”
“You’ve been watching too many TV crime shows, lady.” Brock stirred, suddenly restless. Telling Tess his story had forced him to relive everything that had happened on that awful night and afterward. Worse, the story had lent her a degree of power that he’d never given to anyone else—power over his very life.
What had made him believe he could trust her with that power? What if he had just made a very foolish mistake?
He pushed to his feet. “I’m going back into the plane to take another look at the radio,” he said. “Who knows, maybe I can get something to work. If you see or hear a search plane, fire the flare gun.”
“I’ll do that,” she said. “But before you go, I have one last question for you. We talked about people who might have known the truth about you. What about the people whodidn’tknow the truth—the ones who believed the lie, and still believe it to this day?”
The question struck Brock like a kick in the ribs. Tess had raised a valid point—something he should have thought of himself. But it cast a net of suspicion over the whole community of Ridgewood—all the people who had known, and might have loved, Mia Carpenter.
Mia had been a beautiful young girl, just coming into the full bloom of womanhood. Brock—as Ben—had been aware that Jeff’s sister had a schoolgirl crush on him. He’d been flattered, but he’d known enough to keep his distance. Maybe some other boy—or man—had loved her and carried his grief all these years—and even saved the clippings related to the accident. Maybe, not long ago, they’d recognized Brock from a newspaper or magazine photo and decided to act.
The idea made sense. But if it was correct, he was back to square one. He had no idea who was trying to destroy his life. He only knew that somehow they had to be stopped.
* * *
Val walked out of the hospital room, her knees shaking with relief. Lexie was awake and smiling. And young Jackson, after a harrowing birth by C-section, was wailing at the top of his lungs. He was small—barely six pounds—but healthy and beautiful, sporting an unruly thatch of dark hair.
Too emotional to walk steadily, Val leaned against a wall. Her eyes stung with bitter tears. She’d been frightened and worried during the procedure, and relieved when it was over. But what tore at her heart was the moment when the nurse had placed the baby in Lexie’s arms. The memory had come crashing in on her—holding the tiny, red-haired boy for the few moments she was allowed, then sobbing into her pillow after he was taken away forever.
She thought of Casey, searching for the son he’d never known. How could she blame him for yearning to find that missing part of himself? How could she judge him when, right now, all she wanted to do was call and tell him that she’d been wrong—that she understood and supported him.
Impulsively, she found her phone and scrolled to his number, then paused. This was no time for a rash decision. She was too emotional about the baby and too worried about Tess. Calling Casey would have to wait until she knew her own mind.
Shane was in the room with his new family. He and Val had agreed not to tell Lexie that Tess’s plane was overdue. That could wait until she was stronger. Maybe by then there’d be good news.
But when it came to good news, Val was skeptical. She’d had too much bad news in her life to be a bubbling optimist. She would hope for the best but brace for the worst. It was all she could do.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE SUNSET HAD DEEPENED INTO TWILIGHT.STILL THERE WAS NOsign of rescue. Tess and Brock had spent much of the afternoon gathering dry wood to make a fire. Bending over in the hot sun, picking up prickly cactus and dead brush with their bare hands, had left them both sore and tired, but they’d kept at it until the light faded and the air turned chill. By then they had a three-foot stack of kindling piled at a safe distance from the airplane.
