Page 4 of Rain Washed

“Yes, I did.” Nico pummeled the pillow and propped himself up slightly, and Lacey followed, resting her head on his shoulder, settling in to hear his news. Nico had been keeping Lacey updated on how his search had been going while he’d been away, but because of early flight times and her shift yesterday, he hadn’t been able to talk to her for nearly two days. A lot had happened in that time.

“I met with Marco and Priscilla at their place for dinner two nights ago,” he said. Lacey tensed beside him, but kept quiet, waiting for him to go on. “They showed me the original photo they took. The one they told my mother about.” He hesitated, not wanting to say the words out loud. That it was definitely his father in that photo. It was still too raw, his feelings a labyrinth of emotions too knotted to untangle.

Six months ago, he’d engaged a private investigator, Patrick McTernan, to look into the supposed sighting of his father. McTernan had already interviewed the Normandys and sent him a digital copy of the photo. But Nico had needed to hold it in his own hands to believe it was real.

“Marco seemed completely genuine about his recollection of meeting my fa—Serge.” He couldn’t bring himself to call that man his father. He might have the man’s blood running through his veins, much to his disgust, but Serge had never been a real father to Nico. “I believed him,” he finally said. Nico had wanted to look into Marco’s eyes to ascertain the truth. His job as a police detective entailed reading the small signs that someone was fabricating a lie and he knew doing it face-to-face would give him the answers he needed. A small part of him had still hoped Marco might’ve got it wrong. Or falsified the image as some sort of sick joke. Neither was the case.

“So even without the results from the forensic pathologist, you think it’s highly likely your father is actually alive?” Lacey asked quietly.

The private detective had said the very same words in the email he’d sent to Nico five months ago. But Nico didn’t want to believe it. So, he’d paid McTernan, thanked him for his thoroughness, and tried to push the whole thing to the back of his mind. But the combined forces of his mother and less aggressive, but equally compelling, Lacey, had convinced him he couldn’t let this problem lie unsolved. He’d finally agreed to start his own investigation, and had convinced Shadbolt to give him a week’s unpaid leave to take care of this business once and for all. Except his trip had opened more doors and asked more questions than it’d answered.

“I got the results from the DNA test this morning,” Nico said with a grunt.

Lacey sat bolt upright. “You did? That was quick.”

“Yes. Drummond pushed it through for me. I think he wanted to know if they’d buried the wrong man as much as I did.” Mike Drummond was now the chief forensic pathologist in Canberra. He’d taken over when Dr. John Stillman—the man who’d originally examined Serge’s body—had retired three years ago. Drummond was young and proactive, and just as keen as Nico to make sure his predecessor hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

Nico had requested his father’s coronial files from the Chief Magistrate in charge of the ACT Coroner’s Court a few months ago. They’d substantiated that the body found in the burnt-out-wreck was assumed beyond doubt to be that of Serge Favreau, and so no DNA test was applied. The body had been so badly burned in the ensuing fire that it was unrecognizable, but the coroner on the case could’ve requested dental records, or even looked for X-ray or other medical records that might identify him. Back then, DNA testing was expensive, and the coroner found no reason to think it might not have been Serge in that car. So, an inquest into Serge’s death had never been held. It’d been deemed accidental death by incineration.

Armed with this information, Nico had gone ahead with proceedings to exhume his father’s body, giving the reason that new intelligence had come to light that suggested Serge Favreau might still be alive. The request had to go through the coronial courts and it’d taken up until last week to finally get the go-ahead to dig up the grave.

“And?” Lacey queried when he still hesitated.

“It’s not him,” Nico replied, releasing his breath on a gust of air. “The body found in the car is now considered unidentified, which means Serge must be alive.”

“Oh, God.” Lacey encircled him with her arms, pulling him in tight. He buried his face in her neck, drawing in her warmth and comfort. When he’d received the phone call this morning, right before he’d boarded the plane, his mind had gone numb. Even though he’d been expecting the news after talking to the Normandys, it still struck him with the weight of a thousand tons of cement. How could his father still be alive? How could he have faked his own death? They were two questions he found impossible to answer.

“I haven’t told Mum yet,” he mumbled into her hair.

“Your poor mum. Your poor brother and sister. How do you think they’ll take the news?”

“Probably much the same as me. We discussed it at length while we were waiting for the body to be exhumed.” Nico had stayed at his mother’s house in Canberra for a few days while they waited for the last small details to be finalized and the local police chief to organize a day and time for a couple of officers to attend the grave site. Nico was happy to see his mother, Catarina, hadn’t lost any of her renowned poise and style because of this unwanted stress in her life. She was still smartly dressed in one of the pantsuits she loved to wear, her blonde hair done up in a loose chignon. There were a few more grays showing through, but on the whole, his mother hadn’t let this news change her at all.

The man his mother had been dating for the past five years, Andy Katsulis, was there by her side, supporting her with his solid presence, but not interfering in the Favreau family business. It was heartening to see how good they were together. He never talked down to Catarina; instead, lifting her up with his positive air and unruffled demeanor. Andy was dependable, generous, and charming. The exact opposite of Serge Favreau.

His younger sister, Gaëlle, also lived in Canberra; she’d chosen to live close by their mother. And his older brother, Brice, had driven down for the night from Sydney to be there when the coffin was pulled from the earth. It was good to catch up with them all, even if it was under strained circumstances. Having the family united under one roof didn’t happen nearly often enough, and it rankled that it was because of their no-good father they were drawn together. It was a pity Lacey couldn’t be there with him to meet everyone in person but she hadn’t been able to get any extended leave after only a few months on the job. Everyone had talked to her via a video link on his computer, however. Afterward, his mother had been over the moon to hear he’d finally foundthe one. He’d held up his hands and told her to slow down, that he and Lacey had only known each other for six months. But he couldn’t object to her enthusiasm, as it gave her something else to focus on in those few awful days of waiting. Then watching the coffin rise from out of the crumbling earth. And somewhere deep inside, he knew Catarina was right. Lacey wasthe one.

“She’s a lot more philosophical about it now,” he said. After his mother’s almost hysterical reaction six months ago at hearing that her dead husband wasn’t really dead, she’d calmed down as the news slowly sank in. Nico guessed it had a lot to do with Gaëlle’s calming influence. “My sister keeps telling Mum that if Serge went to such lengths to fake his own death and leave his family to grieve for him without any feelings of remorse, then he clearly never planned on coming back.”

“It’s good she has your sister near,” Lacey murmured.

“Yes,” he agreed, feeling a small stab of guilt that he couldn’t be there as well in her time of need. But he’d chosen to move to Tasmania to pursue his career and he couldn’t regret that now. Catarina had confided in them all that her main fear was Serge would somehow want to reclaim his family. Start back up where he’d left off. Catarina was adamant that could never happen. She had a good life now, with a good man, and she would rather die than take her husband back. Nico understood where she was coming from, as Serge had been a bully and a bastard to them all. Using words to cut his wife to the bone, often beating his sons if they didn’t conform to his standards. They were all better off without Serge in their lives. Nico was thankful that Gaëlle was able to convince Catarina if Serge had stayed away for this long—fifteen years—there was no reason he’d want to come home now. And if he did do the unthinkable, then she, Nico, and Brice were prepared to protect her. To tell him to go back to whatever hole he’d crawled out of and never come out again.

“And now this Drummond guy has the unenviable task of trying to identify whoever it was they really buried in that grave,” Lacey said in a low voice.

“Yes. I don’t envy him,” Nico replied, wondering not for the first time who had taken the place of his father. Had Serge killed an innocent man to continue his lie? Drummond had already requested the case be reopened, and police would now be going through the lists of missing persons from around the same time, as well as looking into other unsolved crimes or similar cases of people dying in fiery car crashes from fifteen years ago to see if they could find a link.

“No, but I think you have an equally hard job. This can’t be easy for you. What are you going to do with this news?” she asked, rubbing soothing circles on his chest with the palm of her hand. “I know you’ve had a while to digest the idea that he might still be alive. But it must still come as a shock to hear it’s actually true. That your father did indeed fake his own death and then left his family without a word to cope by themselves. It’s a cruel thing to do to anyone. I know if it were me in your situation, I’d be an emotional wreck.” She tilted her head up so she could look directly into his eyes. “I want you to know that I’m here for you. Anything you need. If you need to talk about it. Yell about it. Hide under the covers for days. I’ll understand. Well, I know you wouldn’t hide under the covers, because you don’t hide from anything. But you know what I mean,” she qualified.

“Yes, I do.” He smiled softly. “And thank you.” Even though he knew Lacey would be there for him, it was nice to hear the words said aloud. She was correct; his mind had been a swirling cesspool of dark thoughts all morning. One thing had been for certain, he’d be throwing all his resources into finding information on a man called Reginald Smith, the false name his father had adopted. Wouldn’t rest until he found him. But upon his return to Tasmania, the discovery of a dead body in a reserve had replaced his anger and resentment with something more urgent and concrete to focus on. He wouldn’t give up looking for his father. But for now, it’d have to go on the back burner.

He pulled Lacey in closer, needing to feel her lithe body next to his. Her soft skin was a soothing balm on his soul, as always. Lacey was the one who showed compassion. She felt everything so deeply, while he was always more cool and logical. He loved that she was so sensitive; it made her good at her job, because she had empathy for the victims, and didn’t just treat them as one more case to be solved. It was also the reason she was good for him. She was able to draw him out of that protective outer shell he kept around himself, forced him to make sense of feelings he often wanted to bury deep. She kept him from becoming bitter, like the hardened cop they often portrayed in those crime books she loved to read.

From the very first moment he’d met Lacey, offering her a place to park her broken-down Kombi van, he’d known she was an intriguing woman. One with definite goals and ideals. A determined woman, who could also protect herself using her well-honed judo skills. Her sharp mind sometimes saw things that even he missed. She was his equal in every way that mattered. Some men might be scared away by a strong woman, but not him. He liked the idea that Lacey didn’t need him; she didn’t need any man. She could cope perfectly well on her own. But she wantedhim. Wanted him in her life and in her bed. And that was the exciting part. He loved the fact they could talk over ideas, discuss cases and crime scenes, spar over who was right and who was wrong, then afterward, they could stand side by side preparing dinner together, or make love until the wee hours of the morning and be genuinely in unison. A perfect partnership. It was something he’d never encountered before. In the beginning, that’d scared him, and he’d almost lost her when she decided to return to Melbourne. But he knew he couldn’t live without Lacey in his life, and he was glad every day that he’d jumped on that ferry to stop her.

He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tipped her head back so he could stare into her eyes. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.” She looked at him with such open adoration and trust. Right in that moment, he knew she was the most beautiful woman within a thousand miles. No, that was wrong. Anywhere. Ever. She was the most beautiful woman in the world.

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