A Family For Christmas

From what she understood from Edward’s nephew, Hunter, Edward had hoped the business was legitimate, that Cara was healthy and happy. Cara hadn’t contacted him in years—or responded to any of his efforts to contact her. When Shawn Amos had warned Edward to leave Cara alone, he’d said that Edward did nothing but make her unhappy. And apparently Edward had begun to take all of the blame for the breakdown between them upon himself. He’d been too distant—too involved in his career for most of her childhood—was all he’d said to Lila.

“I was so certain that Shawn was the biggest problem between Cara and I,” the man said now. “She was young, grieving, lashing out and was far too vulnerable. I should never have moved her to the beach.”

“If she was as rebellious as you say, she’d have found some other way to put distance between you...”

“I tried to tell Cara that there were things about Amos that weren’t quite right. He was too controlling, for one thing. She had to text him every time she got home from somewhere. And every night before she went to sleep. And he refused to come to our house for dinner. Or hang out with any of Cara’s friends. But any time I said anything that could be even slightly construed as a criticism of Shawn, Cara shut down on me.”

Lila understood his need to talk. To confide in someone. What she didn’t understand was the strong urge she had to take his head to her breast and run her fingers through that short, graying hair.

“What happened today when you saw him?” That was the real question now. Neither of them had touched the food. Or their wine after the initial sip.

“I only saw the back of him. He was in an orange jumpsuit with his hands cuffed behind his back. He never turned around. Was in and out in less than a minute. He was indicted on charges of first-degree murder and kidnapping. Pleaded not guilty, said that he would be hiring an attorney to replace his court-appointed one, was remanded and held without bail, and they led him away.”

About the best-case scenario, given the current circumstances. But Edward’s frown, his fingers rubbing across his palm over and over, indicated otherwise.

Lila’s stomach tightened. “Did Chantel speak with him?”

Something had happened. That much was for sure. And Edward had internalized it, whatever it was. He’d dealt with it by staying close to the granddaughter who, like her mother, didn’t give any sign of returning his affection. One might think that Cara had soured her daughter against Edward, except that Joy had not known, until she’d been told several weeks ago, that he’d even existed.

“He agreed to speak with Chantel,” Edward said now, his fingers still busy against his palm. When Lila barely caught herself before reaching out to take that hand in her own, she slid her hands under her thighs.

“The first thing he did was ask Chantel if anyone had found his wife. Chantel was convinced that he was honestly worried about Cara. That he has no idea where she is. She said he had tears in his eyes when she told him that no one had reported seeing her.”

“So...if Shawn didn’t kill her, this means she’s probably still alive.” Lila tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. She was relied upon to instill calm.

Edward merely shrugged. “If he didn’t kill her, where is she? And why hasn’t she contacted anyone? By all accounts, my daughter doted on her daughter. From everything we’ve heard, Cara would die before she’d abandon Joy.”

“Maybe she thinks Joy is safe with Mary.”

He shook his head. “It’s been all over the news in both Nevada and California that Shawn is in jail—partially due to the alert put out about Cara’s abduction and the vehicle they were in.”

“Maybe she’s in the hospital someplace with amnesia...” She was grasping. But she had this strong urge to ease his pain. To give him hope.

When she knew that her responsibility was to help him accept what was and find a way to move forward.

Hope was the basis of all healing. But relying on false hope meant avoiding that healing. She, of all people, knew that.

“There’s more.” He sounded the same as he had all along. But she was sitting close enough to see the nuances on his face, the tightening of the cords in his neck as though he was struggling to hold back tears.

It was then that Lila knew Edward needed a friend that night. And that she was going to have to get whatever was going on with her under control, because she couldn’t turn her back on a family member in need.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“SHAWN CLAIMS THAT he didn’t hurt Mary. He admits that he and Cara were fighting. Mary grabbed Joy and was taking her away so that she wouldn’t witness the altercation between her parents. He says that Cara lunged after her, to keep Joy with her, and that she tripped, knocking into Mary who lost her balance and fell face-first down their front steps.”

“Mary’s injuries were consistent with being hit. They weren’t consistent with a fall.”

Edward nodded. “When Chantel asked him to explain why there weren’t scrapes or bruises on her legs or back or shoulders, he says that Cara, in an attempt to save Mary, fell with her and took the brunt of the impact.”

“An explanation for the injuries to her when she’s found.”

Jutting his chin, Edward said, “He’s either a psychopath—and, if so, I fear for my daughter more than ever—or he’s telling the truth, according to Chantel. She said that when they initially told him his sister was dead, tears rolled down his face. He’d have to be a damned good actor to cry on cue like that.”

Lila took a sip of wine because she simply didn’t know what else to do. Nothing felt right. “So, you think now that he didn’t hurt Cara? That she’s gone of her own accord for some reason?”

“He says that when Cara saw how badly Mary was hurt she panicked. She begged him to take her away like he did when they left Florida. He said that he went a little nuts himself at that point, leaving his sister like that and running off with his wife. He says that he didn’t want to lose Cara and that’s why he took his friend’s van. He says he can’t imagine life without Cara. Chantel believed he meant it.”

Lila didn’t want to believe any part of the scenario was possible. Not for Edward or for Joy.

“How does he explain being alone in the van when he was found?”

“He says they’d pulled off to the side of the road to get some sleep, and when he woke up she was gone. Vanished. He has no idea what happened to her, but suggested that maybe she’d gotten out of the van to relieve herself. He says he looked all over the area but never found her.”

“And what about Joy’s account? What about the monster she talked about hurting her mommy? She said the monster’s name was Daddy.”

Edward nodded. Shrugged.

Could they convict a man solely on the testimony of a seven-year-old girl? By the time Mary had shown up with Joy at the neighbors’, Mary had been bleeding profusely and starting to slur her words. They hadn’t been able to get much out of her. Who was to say that Cara and Shawn hadn’t run off, as Shawn claimed? Mary had died before she could tell anyone what really happened that morning in the Amos home.

“Surely the authorities believe he killed his sister or they wouldn’t have indicted him.”

“There was enough evidence for a grand jury to indict. That doesn’t mean a prosecutor will be able to prove enough to get a conviction. Not unless we find Cara. Or Joy can lead us to more clues. There were no medical or other records to establish a pattern of abuse. If the case proceeds, it could come down to watching the defense tear apart Joy’s testimony.”

“They wouldn’t put her on the stand. Most particularly not to testify against her father.”

Edward shook his head. “They’d tape a session with her. She wouldn’t know it was for court or to get her father in trouble.”

And that clearly wasn’t what was bothering Edward.

“Did Chantel indicate to you what she believes about all of this?”

“She said she didn’t honestly know. That since she’s never met Cara, and since I’ve had virtually no contact with her for the past ten years, we have no way of knowing what she’s like now. What she’s capable of doing. Or could have done.”

“But...”

He shook his head, his look intense as he met her gaze. “She has shown a history of turning her back on family, on me, her father, without looking back.”

“I understand that,” Lila said, knowing exactly what to say now. “But look at Joy, Edward. That little girl is sweet and precious. She didn’t just get that way. She’s a product of your daughter’s love and care.”

“What if Mary was the one who raised her?”

Lila shook her head. “Joy very clearly said that her mama told Mary to take her.”

“She’s seven. She could easily have confused or transposed the situation in her mind, making it what she needed it to be.”

He was a man of science. She wasn’t going to help ease his torment with her current line of thought.

“What do you feel inside, Edward? Do you think Cara stumbled into Mary, rolled with her down the stairs and left her to run off with her husband?”

Edward continued to meet her gaze. His eyes looked...weary now. And moist.

“Why would she do that?” she asked him. “Why would she run off and leave the successful business they’d built?”

“They left his school in Florida. Just up and left.”

“To get away from you, it sounds like. So, why now?”

“Because they could see how badly Mary was hurt and they were frightened. Didn’t know if Cara would be sent to jail.”

“Why leave Joy?”

“They’d be harder to trace without a child.”

“So why, after Shawn left with her, would Cara suddenly leave him?”

“She wouldn’t.”

“So, where is she?”

He didn’t answer. And didn’t look like he felt any better, either.

Lila could only give him what she had. “Do you believe she did this, Edward?”

“No. But...”

Lila shook her head. “No buts right now. If you believe Joy over Shawn, then you need to focus on that. Focus on helping Joy. On finding Cara. And keeping Shawn behind bars.”

Because that was what Edward needed. Focus. He nodded. Took a sip of wine. And, eventually, gave her a long slow smile that scared her to death.

Prospector, Nevada

CARA WOKE UP Saturday morning with a sense of purpose. Feeling a thousand times better than she could remember, more rested and alert than she’d felt in a while, with energy pulsing through her veins. She’d...

Nothing. Lying inert, on the verge of wakefulness, she hadn’t known any better. All it took was a move of her sore wrist, a touch to her face, and she was fully awake.

There was no longer a purpose to her life. She was in a life she had no right to continue living.

Because of what she’d done.

So maybe she was physically better. That strength, while wasted, gave her the ability to look beyond the immediate pain. To think clearly.

To face the horrible truth.

With a pre-dawn grayness shining in from the window across from her bed, she couldn’t keep her mind at bay any longer. She’d committed murder. If Shawn found her, she either had to go on living with him, putting up with the more and more frequent blasts of violent anger, tiptoeing around so she didn’t inadvertently set off an attack...

Or he’d turn her in.

It all came pouring back to her. He’d given her the option in the van that last afternoon they were together. However long ago that had been now. She wasn’t sure anymore. Had lost track of time and days sometime during her weeks of captivity with Shawn. He’d told her that as long as she stayed with him, she’d be safe. He’d keep her safe. And if she tried to leave, he’d turn her in...

Except Shawn hadn’t kept her safe. Not for years and years.

Maybe not ever.

No one had kept Cara safe. Not since Mom got sick. And then Mom hadn’t been kept safe, either...

Which was why she’d promised herself she’d always keep Joy safe.

And then Shawn had started hitting Cara harder.

Another memory flashed. When she’d first awoken in that van, her entire body hurting, she’d been looking for Joy, inconsolable in her panic. That was when Shawn had told her that they’d lost Joy forever because of her, because of what she’d done. She’d wanted to die right then and there, but he wouldn’t let her. He’d kept telling her how much he needed her. He’d held her as she’d sobbed...

“Cara? You awake?”

Still reeling, Cara turned her head toward the door. If she pretended to be asleep would he go away? Or come in and wake her?

“Yes.”

“It’s time for your antibiotic.” For a while there he’d been waking her to take her pills. The day before, she’d been up to use the restroom before the pill was due. And now he stood outside the door and called to her?

What had changed?

“I’ll be out in a minute,” she told him, throwing off the covers and grabbing...nothing. She’d left her clothes outside the door to be washed the night before. Was wearing the makeshift gown he’d crafted for her.

“I left your clothes just outside the door for you,” he said, almost as though he could read her mind. Who knew what she might have told him when she’d been out of her head with pain?

She didn’t think she’d said anything. She hadn’t been out of her head. She’d been beaten to a pulp and exhausted. “Thank you,” she called back and, giving him a second to retreat, went to reach her arm around the door for her clothes.

The underwear was there, the bra and jeans, and three shirts. Hers and two others. T-shirts, both of them. A purple and a blue. From different years for the same Heart-Run. They’d be too big for her.

But better than the bloodstained T-shirt of Shawn’s she’d had on under her sweater jacket.

She chose the purple one. Because, in the color world, purple was known for bringing spiritual peace. For assisting in honest, deep, true thought. She’d lost any hope of good Karma having her back. She was well and truly on her own now.

She had to be able to count on her own mind.

As she pulled the shirt down over her torso, she suffered a stab of guilt. Purple was a healing color. Violet vibrated at the highest frequency and, as such, healers believed it to be a potent tool. Cara might have an aversion to doctors, but she’d done a lot of reading. Studying. Learning.

For Joy’s sake and for her own, too.

Joy.

Her heart caught, her throat tightened. Tears sprang to her eyes. And her mind closed in.

No. She’d lost any right she’d had to think of...

She had no business healing. So the purple shirt was the wrong one.

Taking it off, she replaced it with her own. Bloodstains were her style now. She couldn’t pretend otherwise.

With a last look around the room that had offered solace to a criminal, she went out to face the doctor. To convince him that she was just fine and could be on her way that morning.

As soon as she got back out on the mountain, she’d figure out what that way would be.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE FIRST THING Simon noticed when Cara came out of the bedroom was that she’d foregone his clean shirts for her washed but bloodstained one.

She wasn’t settling in.

He took her message in stride.

Other than the one cheek, her face looked better. So much so that he could begin to make out natural features. Her expression remained bland, giving the same nothing away he’d been getting since he brought her inside, but he figured the pain of facial movement alone would explain some of that.

In his usual jeans and flannel shirt, Simon handed her two pills—an antibiotic and a pain reducer. She took the antibiotic.

“In exchange for putting drops in your eye,” she told him, waiting, apparently, for his acquiescence.

“I’ve already done them this morning.” Six tries. Not good, but not bad, either.

Her nod didn’t give away anything of what she was really thinking. Now that she was up and about, her reticence bothered him.

Made him curious.

Probably because he’d made his life so damned small she was consuming it. That would explain why he’d lain awake the night before trying to figure out how to keep her from leaving and either returning to the bastard who’d hurt her and left her for dead or being found by him.

“I made oatmeal and toast,” he said, taking two bowls from the counter and bringing them to the table, then going back to retrieve the plate of buttered toast.

She’d used neither milk—probably because it was reconstituted from powder and pretty crappy—nor brown sugar the last time he’d served the dish, so he didn’t bother with either.

Mouth open, as though she was going to argue, Cara looked away, pulled out the seat by the kitchen and sat. Ahead of her now, he’d set the opposite side for himself. Because everything about the morning was planned.

“I know you’re anxious to be on your way,” he started, more nervous than the conversation warranted. He was a grown man with a mission—one that he’d been neglecting for the five days she’d been there—not a schoolboy lacking confidence.

Her nod was directed more toward her bowl than him.

“I’d advise against you doing anything as strenuous as hiking out of here,” he told her. “With that facial fracture, slight though it is, something as little as a branch to your face could cause serious, permanent and possibly life-threatening damage.”

He wasn’t her jailer. She was a free adult.

And so was he. An adult with a troubled conscience with which it was already hard to live.

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