Endless Night (22 page)

Standing up and running a hand through her hair, Megan hopelessly tried to assemble herself. “I better go get the door.”

Mouth agape, he watched her disappear through the kitchen doorway.

“Sheriff Juenger.” He heard her husky voice and noticed that strength had returned to it. “Harriet got the call? Thank God she sits by that radio. Yes, it’s been a harrowing night…” a slight pause, “…we’re okay, but…”

Jake heard her relay the tale, her voice faltering when delivering the worst of the news, but he could tell that she sensed his presence behind her. The moment he stepped into range, her spine straightened with confidence. “No, I wasn’t hurt. Jake needs to get to a hospital though—and I need to check on Serge.”

“I don’t need the hospital. Go check on Serge,” he injected, nodding to the men congregated on the front doorstep.

If the officers entertained the idea of foul play, they never voiced it. Megan had been here long enough to be considered a citizen of Victory Cove. She was one of them. But there was regulation. There was paperwork. There was a dead man to account for.

Sheriff Juenger ushered her toward the car to use the radio and take Harriet’s anxious call. Jake followed them out onto the porch awaiting his interrogation. Before Megan ducked inside the mud-spattered vehicle she looked up at him. With a smile, her mouth formed the word
yes.

“I admire you for doing this.” Megan looped her arm through Jake’s as they stepped up onto the curb. “You have no responsibility to her.”

Jake looked up at the lattice and found that it didn’t look so inhospitable under the sun. As a matter of fact, Victory Cove seemed to have undergone a rebirth. Granted, it was just sunlight on a crisp January day, but façades that had once seemed faded under overcast skies, now offered a bevy of colors. Each shop bore its own distinct veneer, and the combined effect made them look like flowers planted along the ocean’s edge.

“She’s still my grandmother.”

“But what she did to you.” Megan balked. “She sent you away.”

Jake could feel her arm constrict. Good ole Megan. Ready to take on his foes. Maybe some things didn’t change.

“It was so long ago,” he said. “What she felt or didn’t feel isn’t the point. I had parents who would have loved me. And I
have
parents who love me. That makes me feel good. Good enough to take care of Estelle.”

Megan smiled up at him. “You have a fiancée who loves you too.”

“And one who’s going to support me through this.” He grinned, enjoying the vibrancy in her eyes.

Megan would heal. She had already begun. Combined with her paperwork, and documents the FBI eventually located, and of course the testimony of Serge Baskov and his father, the matter was still under investigation, but the FBI indicated that Gordon Fortran would be posthumously convicted a murderer. Serge would go back to Uglich, but was pardoned of any wrong-doings. He spoke to Megan before he left and said he was happy to be going home, and that he and his father had a strong relationship from this and would prosper no matter where they were.

Jake still had to return to Boston to finish his final project, but each morning he walked out onto the wraparound veranda of Wakefield House and felt a sense of belonging. An indigo ocean reflected off a pristine sky, as far as the eye could see. In the spring he could lower the porch swing and repair it. He could imagine sitting on it with his arm around Megan, talking about everything and nothing, and feeling totally at home. No more college kids at the bar across the street to keep him up. No more five o’clock alarms. Just peace, and this gorgeous woman who loved him.

Megan was the first to point out that Gabrielle’s will had been read by a lawyer and that the house legally belonged to him upon Estelle’s death. Jake didn’t want to talk about that, he just wanted to know if Megan could live there. Could she stand on those cliffs and see past that night, into the beauty the Atlantic offered?

Seagulls spiraled under puffy white clouds, and the frozen grass nearly looked green with the promise of a spring that would surely come.

“Can you stay here?” he whispered with his arm around her.

She nudged into his chest, and he found he’d never grow tired of that trusting gesture.

“Yes. If you’re here.” She looked up at him. “I’ve actually been looking into jobs in Bangor, or maybe our own Victory Cove can use a paralegal.”

“Perfect! I could use a lawyer in the family to cut through the contractual red tape I constantly get tangled up in.”

Megan pinched his biceps. “You need a construction law attorney, not me. But I’ll be able to tell you when they’re giving you a line of—”

Jake laughed. “I knew I was going to like having you around.”

“What about you?” Megan turned to look him full-on. “Can you leave the hectic life back in Boston?”

“Oh heck yeah.” He grinned. “Besides, there are plenty of towns within an hour’s drive that are growing. New shopping centers, hotels, there’s plenty of stuff for me to wire. I can start my own business.”

“How about home security?” Her voice was muffled against his jacket.

“Now there’s a thought.” He chuckled.

“You know, Meg,” he began softly, “I came to Victory Cove, looking for my heritage, and I found you.” Emotion made his voice husky. “I found my family.”

“You,” Estelle spat.

Cataracts didn’t seem to render Estelle Wakefield blind, nor did Alzheimer’s tamper with her memory this morning.

“Hello, Grandmother.” Jake wasn’t intending to be cruel. As a matter of fact, all his fervor faded at the sight of the unkempt woman who had once held an esteemed position with Victory Cove’s elite. She wore a faded pink robe and pink slippers, her white hair cut short but with a wave on top. Steely gray eyes were narrowed and focused on him over a nose that looked rather round and clownish and completely eliminated the pretense of severity that surrounded her.

“What do you want from me?” she hissed through thin lips. “Money?” Frail hands gripped the arms of her wheelchair as she struggled to stand.

Jake strode purposefully toward her and rested his hands atop her bony fingers. “I just came to visit. Actually, I wanted to try and understand.” He took a deep breath. “Was it because he was Native American? Is that really so beneath you? Couldn’t you have been happy that your daughter was in love? I want so much to know more about her.”

His head shook in frustration. “Maybe you don’t approve of me, but I know you cared about your daughter. Tell me about her. Tell me about Gabrielle. My mother.”

“Jake—” Megan touched his arm and tried to draw him back.

He looked at her and saw her nod toward Estelle. Jake followed her lead, only to find the woman staring at him—sightlessly. His head fell in defeat and he backed away.

“Gabby was too young.” Estelle’s voice cracked. “Too young for that baby. I wanted her to go to university—to leave the Cove and learn about life.”

Jake turned back. “She still had a chance.” He argued with someone who did not even acknowledge him. “Having a baby didn’t mean she couldn’t get an education.”

There was no indication from Estelle’s compressed lips or the now unfocused gray eyes that she even heard him, but something happened to her wrinkled face. Her chin shook, as did her head, in an uncontrollable dance until finally an extraordinary expression took over her. She smiled.

“He was a beautiful baby,” her raspy voice whispered.

She thought she was alone, Jake considered. Estelle thought it was safe to make that admission.

“Gold eyes. Even at birth.” The smile faded. “I’m sorry, Crow.”

Jake nearly tripped backward as her eyes jumped onto him as if the knob of the camera was turned and the focus was back on. There was no question that Estelle was staring at him right now.

“I understand,” he said. If she thought he was Crow Musgrave, who was he to confuse
her more?

Megan inched forward. She seemed to sense by the woman’s futile hand gestures that she wanted to move her wheelchair. Megan slipped in behind her and grabbed the handles. “Where to, Mrs. Wakefield?”

A skeletal hand waved toward a dresser in the corner of the small nursing-home room. Megan gently nudged the chair in that direction.

Perhaps the old woman’s hands seemed frail, but they moved industriously, just like her grandson’s. Estelle rifled through the drawer and turned in her seat to offer up an item wrapped in newspaper. She did not hold it toward Megan. She was jabbing it at Jake.

Jake hesitated and then stepped forward to take the thin slab covered in yellowed paper. Briefly, he noted the context of the articles, dating them back over three decades. He peeled the newspaper off and came away with a framed photograph.

He recognized Gabrielle. She might have looked forlorn later in life, but in this photo she glowed with love. About her shoulder was wrapped the arm of a man Jake recognized as Crow Musgrave. He too bore a content smile as he stared down at the infant nestled in Gabrielle’s arms.

“Jake.” Megan’s breath whisked in. “My God, you were beautiful.”

The child had a small hand wrapped around his mother’s index finger. He looked up at her, and though it was black-and-white, Jake could distinguish the golden eyes that mirrored those of the man staring down at him.

“I’m sorry, Crow.” Estelle talked to the picture.

Jake set the photo aside, and crouched down beside the wheelchair. He touched his grandmother’s hand and tried to make eye contact with her. “I know you are. It’s okay. Thank you for this.” He grabbed the picture again and looked at it long and hard until he felt his eyes moisten. “Thank you so much for this.”

On his shoulder he sensed Megan’s tender touch. “Look at them, Jake. Look at the picture,” she whispered. “They were so in love. You were born to a couple so in love.”

His eyes burned again. He turned his head and brushed her fingers with his lips and finally looked up at her. “Can we go to her grave now?”

He caught the brief bob of Megan’s throat as she smiled and whispered hoarsely, “Of course we can.”

Emotion ran strong through his blood as Jake voiced what was most on his mind. “I love you.”

Her smile brightened and her eyes shimmered. She made his whole world feel right.

Jake stood up. He touched the frail hand of his grandmother and turned to the young woman with the eyes of an October sky. It was time to go home.

A natural born writer, Maureen Miller was nonetheless taken down a different course by life. As a programmer in an industry that required constant travel, Maureen sought escape by making use of her laptop and writing exotic tales—escapism at its best. Listening to the airport speaker rattle off another flight delay, Maureen rattled off another romantic suspense novel.

Her first book,
Widow's Tale,
was nominated for a Golden Heart Award by the Romance Writers of America. A fan of gothic romance, Maureen enjoys the formula of danger, romance and inclement weather, although there is no accounting for her third novel,
Rogue Wave,
which basks in the Hawaiian sun.

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