Ethan's Daughter. Rachel Brimble
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were not Daisy’s. They were his...as was his seemingly endless anger and resentment. Having Leah Dixon sweep through his house like a tornado made him realize that he had to change the reclusiveness he’d created, for Daisy’s sake, if not his own. How long did he think she would accept his word on everything? Forever? Of course she wouldn’t. He might be nudging toward his midthirties, but he still remembered teenage rebellion well enough.
Sliding his phone onto the table, Ethan leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
Over breakfast that morning, he’d raised Daisy’s disappearance the night before with his daughter. Her explanation hadn’t been one he’d expected. What a fool he was. She’d gone looking for some friends to play with, saying the only ones she had she saw at school or the occasional birthday party. To his shame, felt more acutely since yesterday, he hadn’t allowed her to have friends over, no matter how many times she’d asked. Their home was their haven. He didn’t need friends, but now he saw that Daisy did.
He’d brought that loneliness to her.
His phone rang and Ethan sat bolt upright, as though whoever was on the line knew of his complete lack of good parenting and had called to pass sentence. Caller ID unknown.
He pressed Talk. “Ethan James speaking.”
“Ethan, it’s me.”
He closed his eyes. “Anna.”
“You have to help me. I don’t have anyone else to go to with this. You know that.”
“How do I know that?” He gripped the phone. “I don’t know anything about you. Not anymore.”
“So? You could still help me.”
He snapped his eyes open. “No. I’m not getting involved in whatever this is. Call the police if you’re scared. I don’t want you around Daisy.”
“Daisy, Daisy, Daisy. Life isn’t always about her, you know. If I call the police everything will be worse.”
“For who?”
“All of us.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m just saying—”
“That you thought the best course of action would be to come to my home, your daughter’s home, brandishing a knife. Was that the safer option?” Anger simmered deep inside. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I didn’t have a choice. If Harry finds me—”
“Your boss, right? The man you are so scared of you saw fit to attempt stabbing me to illustrate your point.”
“I didn’t stab you. You grabbed the damn knife.”
Ethan tightened his grip on the phone. “Why do you want this money? To get away from this guy and his cronies?”
“Yes. He’ll kill me if I don’t, Ethan. I’m serious.”
Thoughts of what Anna’s death could mean to Daisy in the future, what it would mean to his guilt, slithered through his conscience. “Run everything by me again. I might be more receptive to what you have to say without you holding a knife while our daughter is upstairs.” He grimaced. Or more like when Daisy was alone at the beach or with Leah Dixon.
“Okay. Well, Harry isn’t only my boss. He’s my boyfriend and the head of a gang here in Bristol.”
“What sort of a gang? I assume the guy’s at least past his twenties?”
“Of course he is. What do you take me for?”
Not trusting himself to answer, Ethan held up his hand to check the bandage. Dots of blood showed through the material and he forced himself to relax. “Go on.”
“He’s the head of a group of heavies. I knew he was involved in paid protection, some extortion, that sort of thing...”
Her tone was unbelievably blasé. “Oh, that’s all right, then. Just petty stuff, huh? Jesus, Anna.”
“But then I witnessed him dealing drugs. He told me he had nothing to do with them, and now I’m doubting anything he tells me.”
“You don’t say?”
“Ethan, please. I’m in serious trouble here. I told him I’d go to the police with what I knew unless he set me free and gave me some cash to start over. He refused, telling me to keep my mouth shut or he’d shut it for me.”
Everything had grown incredibly dark inside Ethan. He leaned forward and put his elbow on the table, pressing the phone hard to his ear. “So, what, you’re this guy’s property? Is that what he’s saying?”
“It wasn’t always like this between us. At least, not in the beginning. Harry gave me everything I dreamed of. A place to dance, some small acting jobs. I thought he could get me to where I want to be, but now everything’s gone wrong. I don’t want to die, Ethan. No matter what you might think of me, surely you don’t want that, either. I’m Daisy’s mother, after all.”
Her whimpering tone was like a spark off a flint, and Ethan shoved himself to his feet, the chair teetering to the floor behind him. “Don’t. Don’t you dare go there, Anna. I thought it was bad enough you didn’t mention Daisy last night, but now that I hear you say her name, it makes me angrier than ever. You’re no mother to her. What if this guy would’ve had you followed? Or came here himself?”
“Ethan, I’m sorry.” She sniffed as though holding back tears. “I don’t know what else to do to make you listen to me. You have to help me.”
“Why? Wasn’t it you who said there was nothing to me? No backbone? No personality? No guts? Wasn’t that why you walked away from Daisy and me five years ago, and haven’t bothered with as much as a birthday card for her since?” He paced back and forth. “You’re not playing us this way, Anna. You’re clearly hedging your bets between me and this asshole, Harry. Whoever pays up first is fine by you, right? Are you still with him?”
“Yes, but—”
“And you’ll stay there until you’re certain which way the wind’s going to blow, right?”
“Ethan, please—”
“No. I’m not listening to any more of this. Don’t call or come near Daisy or me again. Ever.”
He shut the phone off and tossed it onto the table, concentrating on keeping his head together. When he looked at his injured hand, the dots of the blood had spread across his palm.
LEAH PULLED HER car to a stop in the Coast Inn’s parking lot and killed the engine. Her shift at the hospital had been manic and stressful, and now she needed to buy a certain something to use as armor when she stepped into Ethan’s house for the second time in two nights.
There was nothing like a glass or two of crisp pinot grigio to protect a person’s emotional instability. Okay, so many people, including her sensible self, might argue the plausibility of that sentiment, but still, wine was her chosen chain mail for tonight.
She pushed open the bar door.
The place was as busy as she’d expected at nine o’clock on a Friday night.
That afternoon—somewhere between suturing a guy’s knee and extracting a splinter the size of a small missile from a teenager’s hand—she’d decided that affecting a breezy attitude with Ethan was the name of the game. She might have a whole lot of uncertainty with regards to how to deal with him, but the important thing was to gain his trust so he’d see the right thing—the only thing—to do was to at least take the police into his confidence in case anything else should happen. Even if he wouldn’t press charges against his ex after her attack, the police being aware of any potential danger made absolute