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Rebecca

T he landline at the beach house rang, and Rebecca struggled to get it.

She didn’t want the baby to wake up, not after she hadn’t wanted to get to sleep last night.

Rebecca shook her head. This child was her mother’s daughter.

Her teen years would be epic, much like her mother’s. Rebecca was already worried.

She had been sleeping on the couch, which was convenient when Emily was napping in one of the downstairs bedrooms. The noisy phone was just a nasty interruption.

She wanted to yell at the person on the other end of the line, but she was pretty sure it would be her mother, whose life Rebecca had made a living hell in the last year.

At least Rebecca had a new sympathy for her parents.

“Hello,” she answered, trying to keep her anger in check.

“I’m coming to see you next week,” her mother announced.

Not this again. There wasn’t even a polite, “Is that okay?” No, now her mother just appeared. There was no asking, no taking no for an answer.

“Mom, I’m fine. You don’t need to.” Seriously, her mother just wanted to come and hold the baby. And maybe suggest that Rebecca get her hair styled.

In truth, Victoria was very worried about her daughter, and with good reason.

Rebecca had something a little worse than postpartum depression.

Since Emily’s birth, she felt like she had lost Mitch all over again.

She couldn’t stop crying. She cried every day, and no one was fooled. She was struggling.

Mitch would be so angry with her for not pulling it together.

He would want her to get on with life. It had been eleven months.

She was trying to accept what was unacceptable.

She couldn’t if people kept reminding her of the worst thing that had ever happened.

It’s too bad she was the people in that scenario.

She could not stop thinking about him. Everything reminded her of Mitch.

She wondered what he’d think of her now.

Bex no longer existed. She was no longer the confident woman who had boldly told him that she wanted to watch him shower or told him what to do to her when they made love.

No, she didn’t recognize herself, not this emotional puddle.

She no longer looked sexy. She looked like a lactating mother.

Their baby, their precious, sweet little girl, represented the best of their life together. Rebecca had lost Mitch, but she had Emily, and that was amazing.

“I’m just sorry that I couldn’t stay with you for longer after Emily’s birth.”

Her mother had stayed for three weeks. That was enough. Then she visited again less than two weeks later.

“It’s fine. We are fine.” Well, as fine as she could be. She might never be okay again.

“Well, I haven’t seen you or Emily for three weeks. I need to see you both with my own eyes.”

Accept what you cannot change. Hadn’t that become her mantra in the last few weeks? Her mother had wanted to come two weeks ago, but Rebecca had come up with an excuse, which was lame because it was her parents’ house, and really, they could visit whenever they wanted. They had keys and stuff.

“Is Dad coming with you?” Rebecca asked.

“Yes, if that is okay,” her mother said.

Well, that would all depend on how long they stayed.

“Is Alex coming?” Alex had become much more important to her since Mitch’s death. Through their shared grief, he had become her closest friend.

In one of their evening phone chats, he had mentioned he was between girlfriends at the moment.

Ironically, his last steady was the granddaughter of the woman who bought him at the auction in April.

Rebecca didn’t know the details, but knowing her brother, well, she just shook her head.

Someday, someone would mess with him in a way that he could not ignore.

She would mess with his world. Rebecca couldn’t wait to see that play out and meet the person responsible.

He might have the persona of a playboy, but she knew the sweet person behind the facade.

“Yes, but he is coming in a separate car because he is only staying for a couple of days. Daddy needs him to go to Singapore.”

“Okay, what should I get from the store?” Rebecca asked. This was their ritual.

“Don’t worry, we will bring everything we need,” her mother said. “Is there anything I can bring you from town?”

“I’m about out of lipstick. I was going to go online, but if you could get me something reddish from Nordstrom, I’d appreciate it.”

“What brand?” her mother asked.

“Whatever you think will look good. I don’t really care, but most days, I only slather on some random color and call it good.”

Rebecca could hear her mother sigh at the other end of the line.

“I’ll get you a few things and maybe a few things for the baby. Do you have any facial cleanser? Moisturizer? Powder? Eyeshadow? Blush? Mascara?”

“Um…well…don’t go crazy,” Rebecca said.

“Don’t worry, you know how much I like this kind of thing. I’ll see you in a few days. I’ll call tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” Rebecca said with no enthusiasm.

Five minutes later, the phone rang again. “What now, Mom?”

“Mrs. Wilder?” the man asked.

“I’m sorry. Yes, this is Mrs. Wilder,” she confirmed.

There had been a lot going on with paperwork regarding Mitch’s death.

Heck, Donovan’s insurance company had yet to pay.

Rebecca didn’t need the money. It would all go into a trust for Emily, but she thought of the other families and wondered what it would take to get it finished.

“This is Matt Jones with the United States State Department in Washington, D.C.”

He had her full attention.

“We’ve been picking up on some chatter that may concern the helicopter crash that killed Mr. Wilder last fall.”

“What have you heard?” Rebecca asked, her heart beating through her chest.

“Have you talked directly to Lucien Donovan? I see you were employed by his company.”

“I talked to him after Mitch died, after I’d quit the company,” she said.

“We would just like to have you take us through your last conversation with Lucien Donovan. Do you happen to remember the date of that interaction?”

She told him everything she knew.

“Is there a chance my husband is alive?” she said, thinking they might be the most important words she’d ever spoken.

“No, I’m sorry, Mrs. Wilder.”

She wanted to ask more, but after a few basic platitudes, Matt Jones ended the call.

***Mitch***

Two Days Earlier

Mitch ran for his life. He hated Lucien Donovan, but damn, the taekwondo had come in handy.

He’d been practicing in his cell, keeping what little muscle tone he had left, waiting for an opportunity.

Then one presented. He felt bad. He didn’t want to think of what he’d done.

But when it was kill or be killed, sometimes you had to make the hard decisions.

No doubt, they’d found the guard’s body by now.

He was closer to a town than he’d thought possible. He wondered if it was friendly or hostile? Now it was just a matter of finding a way out. Hell, he’d escaped. Wasn’t the hard part over? And now he was cowering behind some random building.

He heard the shot, felt the pain, and then saw the blood. So much for easy.