By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс
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typed a bit more. “Eighteen.”
Eighteen wasn’t bad. Eighteen could be just folks from town and some of the guests.
“I won’t do that again,” Shea said. “I didn’t realize you disliked having your picture taken. I apologize.”
All Annie had to do was nod, and that would be that. Shea wouldn’t pry or tell anyone, with the possible exception of Jesse. They’d chalk it up to Annie’s reclusive ways.
But this was Shea, who had given her time, her skills, her money and her friendship without any expectations. She never overstepped, respecting Annie’s privacy in every way. Which would make leaving her in the dark the easiest thing ever.
The ache in Annie’s chest was no reason to talk, to say aloud the secrets she’d been holding close for so long. In her old life, she’d been anything but an introvert. And she’d never met a camera she hadn’t liked. “I used to be a professional fundraiser,” she said, and those few words, that small admission, revved up her heart rate again. Made her flush with heat and fear and relief.
Shea went to the coffeepot and took out two mugs from the cupboard above.
Annie closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. By the time Shea put both cups of coffee down, Annie felt ready to begin. “I was good at it. I liked the work, even after the economy tanked. I made raising money for good causes my personal crusade. Not just because I was paid to do it, but because I knew that even in the worst of times, when people donated it made them feel better.”
“Your effectiveness hasn’t diminished at all,” Shea said. “I can’t believe how fearless you are in approaching everyone you see and how favorably most of them respond.”
“People want to help. Well, most people.” Annie briefly closed her eyes. “There are also those who understand the motives behind charitable giving, and use that information to steal and destroy people’s faith and good intentions.”
“What are you saying?” Shea looked at her plainly, expecting the truth. She wasn’t naive, although some people mistook her manner for innocence.
“I worked with a partner who turned out to be one of the bad guys. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize he’d been embezzling funds until it was far too late to do anything.”
“Oh, Annie,” Shea whispered, and Annie had to turn away so she wouldn’t tear up.
“I had to leave my home. My everything.”
“Surely no one would believe you were involved. That’s ridiculous.”
“Oh, but they could.” Annie thought the bitterness had left her, but it still simmered inside. “I found out secondhand that one of my clients felt something wasn’t right and approached my partner. He wanted to withdraw the money from the fund and invest it himself. My partner gave him the runaround and the client went to the district attorney.”
She set her cup aside, rubbed her hands together, then down her jeans. The cabin was so small, there was no room to pace, but she couldn’t sit still. She pulled herself up until her butt was on the edge of the sturdy table she used for everything from sewing to eating, then began to squeeze the beveled wood with her hands.
“The story hit the papers with the allegation that my partner was responsible but I might be involved after the fact. It was only a matter of days before I’d be subpoenaed by the state to tell them what I knew. Unfortunately, that amounted to nothing. I was as shocked as anyone when I saw that money was missing. All of the investment profits had been siphoned off. The seed money was still there. I went to an attorney, a good friend from college, and he flat out told me that I’d better have something on my partner. With charities involved, he felt certain someone would go down, and it could very easily be me.”
Annie flexed her hands and tried to relax her body along with her speeding thoughts. She’d never intended to tell Shea so much. Only, she’d been holding on to her silence for so long it was easy to keep talking, to spill everything. But the next part…
The next part was hard to think about, let alone say out loud. Besides, she wanted Shea to continue working with Safe Haven. To continue being a friend. “I’m not proud of what I did, but all I could think to do was run.”
Shea sipped her coffee, clearly in thinking-things-through mode. When she looked at Annie again, her blue-gray eyes showed only concern. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. It must be horribly difficult. Do you have a large family?”
“Mom, Dad, my younger sister. I left them a letter explaining so they wouldn’t think I was dead. But I can’t call.”
“You must miss them.”
Annie sighed. “Every day.” She jumped down from the table and looked Shea in the eye. “Please, you have to keep this between us.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” Annie maintained eye contact, hoping Shea understood that meant not telling Jesse. “And thanks for taking down the picture without even asking why.”
Shea, who wasn’t a toucher, put her hand on Annie’s arm. “Whatever I can do to help, all you need is to ask.”
Annie wanted to hug her, but just nodded and led the way outside, remembering in the nick of time to get the bag of equine medication. Despite the chance someone from her past had seen her on the internet, she felt lighter than she had in years.
“I INVITED HIM TO COME LIVE here,” Irene said, just before she sipped her bourbon and sweet tea.
Tucker put down his fork. “What did he say?”
She sighed. “No.”
He wasn’t surprised. “He’s got a life in New York. Friends.”
“But we’re family.” Irene’s voice had gone rough, which wasn’t unusual however much he wished she could accept the situation.
“Christian needs time, Mom. It hasn’t been long since he found out his father refused to let you see him. Most of his life he thought you didn’t want him.”
“You stopped being angry ages ago, and Rory Andrews stayed away from you out of spite.”
“I had Dad. And you. I was lucky. Christian only had Rory and whatever stories he made up.” Funny how Tucker never thought of Rory as being related, much less his biological father. His hazy memory of the man didn’t even seem real, more like a fictional character in a story Tucker had read as a kid.
“You know I wanted to keep both of you.” She took another drink, and this time it wasn’t a mere sip. Soon she’d ask him for a refill, and he’d give her one. The drinking wasn’t a problem, though it could head that way if she wasn’t careful.
But how could he blame her? Tucker’s own guilt weighed on him, and he’d been a child during the divorce. Was that the reason his desire to find Leanna Warner had become a borderline obsession? Why he’d been tempted to go early, to hell with his commitments?
No, he had to play it smart. He’d already baited the hook by suggesting the possibility of a large donation to Safe Haven. He’d put time between the email he sent and the day he was to arrive. She wouldn’t be suspicious because no one looking for her would give her that much time to run. She’d accept that he was exactly who he claimed to be—a rep for a benevolent foundation.
All he had to do was be patient, observant and ready to take her down.
WELL PAST MIDNIGHT, TUCKER stretched his neck before he looked again at the papers he’d spread over the desk in his bedroom. Every one of them related to Leanna Warner, and every one of them intrigued him in a way that was keeping him awake despite his exhaustion.
She didn’t quite add up. Her parents had been and continued to be social climbers. Joseph Warner was an attorney who’d worked for one of the most prestigious firms in New York, but he’d never made partner. His wife was an assistant manager at a design