Colby Conspiracy. Debra Webb
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LONG SOAK in the tub had done Emily a world of good after the exhausting afternoon.
She curled up on her father’s well-worn sofa and sipped her tea, glad the worst was behind her.
Last night, she’d lain in his bed and considered the time that had passed since she’d lived here, before she fell into a restless sleep.
It wasn’t as if they’d been close the past fourteen years, but that didn’t prevent her from feeling sad that he was gone. He had been her father. And though she’d only spent the first twelve years of her life under the same roof with him, those few years were brimming with good memories. Well, all but that last year. When her brother had died, everything had changed.
Before climbing into the tub to relax her tense muscles, she had combed through her father’s things yet again. The only pictures he had were those taken when their family had been together.
What kind of life had he lived since then? Had he found any sort of relationship with another woman? Her mother had married barely one year after the divorce, had lived happily since then. Had her father been able to find happiness again?
There certainly was no indication anywhere in his home. All that Emily found were a few articles he’d cut from newspapers about work. A couple of awards he’d received for going above and beyond the call of duty—something he’d always done. But there was nothing of a personal nature, other than clothing and hygiene products.
Not a single item that indicated any hobbies he might have enjoyed or friends he might have had.
Emily remembered her mother arguing that he was nothing but a workaholic. But that hadn’t been entirely true, at least not when she’d been a child. She recalled vividly doing lots of family things with her father—ball games, picnics, even camping trips.
She knew that anything her mother said had to be taken with a grain of salt. Her mother felt intense bitterness and resentment toward that time in her life, but Emily felt certain those harsh feelings had more to do with the loss of her son than the divorce.
She thought about the woman she’d met at the service today, Victoria Colby-Camp. Emily’s gaze drifted to the bundle of letters lying on the table near the door.
Maybe she should have thrown them away. Or maybe she should have looked to see what they were about before she passed them on.
No. They weren’t addressed to her or her father. She had no business looking at them.
Tomorrow morning, first thing, she would have a courier deliver them to the woman named Victoria at the Colby Agency. There was no need for Emily to go there personally. She already had enough to do tomorrow, and she didn’t want to feel that awkward tension again.
A heavy sigh escaped her lips. She just wanted to get her father’s business affairs resolved, to do right by him when the woman he’d loved and had children with refused. It was the least Emily could do.
He had been her father, even if he hadn’t been a part of her everyday life.
And she would miss him.
CHAPTER NINE
FRIDAY MORNING, Victoria was glad to have Lucas back in Chicago. She’d stayed home an extra thirty minutes just to have a cup of coffee with him.
As the elevator opened into the lobby of the Colby Agency, she had to smile. They had been married almost a year now and she still refused to take a single day for granted. When they were apart due to his work in Washington, he called several times to simply say hello and that he missed her.
Warmth spread through her. It felt so good to have the man she loved in her life.
Victoria greeted Elaine, the receptionist who had taken Amy’s place when Amy had moved into the investigative side of the business, as well as several of her investigators as she made her way to her office. Lucas wouldn’t come in until later, after he’d made the final arrangements for the conference call with the specialist who’d evaluated the brainwashing technique used on Jim.
Inside her office, Victoria closed the door and leaned against it for a moment. She was glad Mildred hadn’t been at her desk so she could escape to the privacy of her office without having to answer too many questions this morning.
Jim had finally showed up at his and Tasha’s home last night. He had looked slightly worse for the wear, but he was all in one piece and that was the most important thing. Victoria had called off the massive man-hunt for her son, but her relief was short-lived.
Jim remembered nothing about the past four days. His only blip of memory was of the intense encounter with Tasha. Nothing about the time since—not where he’d stayed, not what he’d done.
At least he was safe. That was something. Tasha would take him to the clinic today where he would be fully evaluated by the team of doctors who had been working with him for the past year. Perhaps they would find some reason for his abrupt regression.
Victoria’s gaze lit on the package on her desk as she crossed the room.
She shrugged off her coat, hung it up and moved behind her desk to see the sender’s name.
Emily Hastings.
A chill went through her, but she shook it off. She couldn’t say what it was about the idea that bothered her, but she’d felt that same sensation of foreboding at the service yesterday when Emily had first mentioned the letters.
Victoria couldn’t imagine what Carter Hastings had been keeping related to the Colby name. Perhaps this was something from the cases he’d worked all those years ago—first her missing son, then James’s murder.
But why would he have kept anything at his residence? And Emily had said letters. What sort of letters?
Victoria sat down and reached for the package. Every instinct warned that she should prepare for the worst, though she couldn’t understand why.
As she opened the package, she considered that she had seen Carter from time to time since those dark, painful days of so long ago, but she hadn’t seen him often. She remembered vividly fourteen years ago when his son had died and then the divorce that had followed. Like hers, Carter’s life had not always been pleasant. But, also like her, the fine detective had been a survivor. She’d noted in the Tribune the numerous times he’d received one commendation or another. Just another thing they’d had in common—when life took a wrong turn, they had thrown themselves into their work.
Victoria withdrew the bundle of envelopes and her heart stumbled as she read her husband’s name penned across the first one. The handwriting was bold but feminine, long, even strokes. The postmark indicated a date six months after her son had gone missing.
Her fingers shaking, she turned over the envelope and withdrew the letter tucked inside.
Dearest James…
Victoria’s heart pounded hard once, then sank low in her chest. But she didn’t stop. She kept reading no matter that the words tore her apart inside.
…cannot help myself…will always love you…
…I live for those moments we spend together…
Victoria moved through letter after letter until she could not bear to read another. She stared at the woman’s name, signed lovingly at the end of each, before allowing the letters to fall from her fingers as her heart shattered into a dozen shards of anguish.
Madelyn Rutland.
How could this be?
How could the man she had loved and trusted…have cheated on her?
One letter had even been addressed to Victoria, but the sender had obviously opted not to go through with mailing it. In the letter, she had warned Victoria that she could not turn her back on her love for James. That Victoria could not expect to keep him…
“Victoria?”
She jumped at