Page 131 of Our Little Secret

She found herself sobbing as she reached her health club.

Pull yourself together!

She swiped at her eyes.

She forced her jaw to keep from chattering.

She told herself to be mentally tough.

And then she noticed the blood.

Her blood.

Smeared on the driver’s seat.

But she wasn’t wounded. No bullet had struck her.

She remembered the rending, not just of her body but of her soul.

The baby.

Shivering, Brooke threw on her coat and made her way into the locker room of the club, signing in as usual, ignoring the concerned look of the girl of about eighteen who watched her from behind the desk.

Then she half ran to the showers, where she peeled off her wet clothes. As she stripped off her water-soaked jeans, she located the source of the blood, a thick red river running down her legs.

She stifled tears in the shower, the noise of the spray muffling her sobs, the hot water needle-sharp against her skin and steam rising around her in a cloud. Deep inside she felt a loss and an unexpected despair. Fighting the heartache, she’d closed her eyes, reminding herself that this was for the best. With a steely resolve, she rinsed off the seawater, lathered off the blood, and washed Gideon Ross from her life forever.

Driving home later, she’d been surprised at the pang of bereavement she experienced for a baby who’d barely been conceived. How many years had she wanted another child? But not this way. Still, there was some sorrow—even grief—for the baby that never was. She carried the thought of that loss with her in the next few days, when she drove past the marina and noticed that theMedusawas no longer moored in her berth. She called the marina and was told that the owner of the sailboat had left in the middle of the night, the woman on the other end of the connection irritated because there was money owed.

But when she inquired if there was a forwarding address for Gideon Ross, the woman seemed confused for a second, asking, “Who?” Then, before Brooke could explain further, the woman had clammed up, muttering something about privacy before disconnecting.

Brooke had double-checked with the local hospitals, asking if he’d been admitted for care. The answer had always been the same:We have no patient registered under the name of Gideon Ross.

Hadn’t he been wounded?

Surely all that blood in the water hadn’t been from her miscarriage. . .

But he hadn’t been admitted to a hospital, nor had there been any mention of Gideon Ross or some unidentified man in the newspapers.

And so she’d let it go.

Told herself that he’d somehow survived to sail out of Elliott Bay and her life.

“Brooke?” Neal’s voice broke into her thoughts. “A little help?” He had dropped the second cooler onto the counter and was staring at her.

“Oh, right.”

“You looked a million miles away.”

“I was just thinking about Nana and Mom,” she said, which wasn’t a total lie. “How we used to come here at Christmas.” She began unloading the coolers.

“With Leah,” he reminded her.

“Right. With Leah.” She ignored the concern in his eyes. That she and her sister were still estranged wasn’t a surprise.

“Maybe you should do something about that.”

“Maybe I will.”