Chapter 7 - THE HOUSE WHERE JUNIPER STILL LIVED
Gideon took Lena and Norah somewhere nobody had entered in three years.
His home.
Not the glass penthouse he used in Chicago.
The old Vale estate in Lake Forest.
Juniper’s house.
He had kept her bedroom locked.
Christmas decorations remained boxed in the attic because he could not bear seeing them.
Norah stepped through the entrance and stared at the enormous staircase.
“Do you live here alone?”
“Yes.”
“That’s silly.”
Gideon blinked.
“Why?”
“You could lose yourself.”
Lena laughed.
Gideon looked offended.
“I know where the rooms are.”
“All of them?”
“No.”
Norah nodded.
“See?”
Something changed inside the house.
For three years it had been a mausoleum.
Within twenty minutes, Norah’s boots were beside the fireplace.
Clover was on the sofa.
A half-finished mug of cocoa sat on Gideon’s antique table without a coaster.
He stared at it.
Lena noticed.
“I’ll move it.”
“No.”
He looked at the cocoa ring.
“Leave it.”
That evening, Norah discovered the piano.
“Can I play?”
“Do you know how?”
“No.”
“That has never stopped anyone.”
She produced six minutes of musical violence.
Lena laughed until her bruised ribs hurt.
Gideon found himself laughing too.
Then Norah opened the wrong door.
Juniper’s room.
Gideon heard the silence.
He reached the hallway.
Norah stood beneath painted stars.
A dinosaur lamp remained beside the bed.
Books lined the shelves.
Everything exactly where Juniper had left it.
Norah turned.
“Is this hers?”
Gideon could not speak.
Lena appeared behind him.
“Norah, come out.”
“It’s okay,” Gideon said.
But it was not.
Norah saw a stuffed triceratops.
“Can I—”
“No.”
The word came too sharply.
Norah flinched.
Gideon hated himself immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
She backed away.
“It’s okay.”
“No.”
He crouched.
“It isn’t. I shouldn’t have shouted.”
“You miss her.”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes Mama shouts when she misses Daddy.”
Lena looked embarrassed.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Norah considered the triceratops.
Then closed the door herself.
“You don’t have to share her things.”
Gideon’s eyes burned.
That kindness from a seven-year-old nearly broke him.
That night he could not sleep.
He found Lena in the kitchen.
She was wearing borrowed pajamas and making tea.
“You should be resting.”
“So should you.”
“I’m extremely wealthy. We outsource rest.”
“That explains a lot.”
He smiled.
Then silence.
Lena poured another cup.
“Norah likes you.”
“I like her.”
“I know.”
“She reminds me of Juniper.”
Lena’s expression softened.
“That scares you.”
“Yes.”
“Because?”
“Because everyone you love becomes leverage.”
Lena understood immediately.
Gideon looked toward the stairs.
“I spent three years believing that if I never cared that much again, nothing could hurt me that much again.”
“And then you found a child on a bench.”
“Yes.”
“That’s inconvenient.”
“Extremely.”
She smiled.
Their eyes met.
Something warm passed between them.
Neither acted on it.
Too much grief stood between them.
Then security alarms erupted.
Marcus entered.
“Basement breach.”
Gideon moved instantly.
“Norah.”
“Guards are upstairs.”
The lights died.
Lena froze.
A generator activated.
Then a voice came through the home intercom.
“Lena.”
She went white.
She knew that voice.
“Evan.”
Gideon looked at her.
The intercom crackled.
“I don’t have much time.”
Lena ran toward the panel.
“You bastard.”
Silence.
Then:
“That seems fair.”
“You’re alive.”
“Yes.”
“You let your daughter bury you!”
“I know.”
“She cried for you!”
“I know.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
Her voice broke.
“Where are you?”
“Inside.”
Gideon looked toward Marcus.
Impossible.
The estate was secured.
Then Evan appeared at the kitchen doorway.
Older.
Thinner.
Scar across his jaw.
Lena stared at the husband she had mourned for six years.
Then slapped him.
Hard.
Evan accepted it.
She slapped him again.
“That one was from Norah.”
“I deserved both.”
“You deserve twelve thousand more.”
“Probably.”
Gideon interrupted.
“Why are you here?”
Evan looked at him.
“Because Malcolm knows you have the drive.”
“Are you working with him?”
“I was.”
Lena laughed bitterly.
“Wonderful.”
“Not voluntarily.”
Evan explained.
Six years earlier, Malcolm discovered his investigation.
He threatened Lena and infant Norah.
Evan staged his death to protect them and infiltrated Malcolm’s financial network.
“For six years?”
“I needed proof.”
“You needed six years to send an email?” Lena demanded.
“Everyone I contacted died.”
That silenced her.
Evan turned toward Gideon.
“Malcolm isn’t the Benefactor.”
“Then who is?”
“I don’t know.”
Gideon stared.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Malcolm takes orders.”
“From whom?”
“A woman.”
“Name?”
“I’ve never met her.”
Evan produced a phone.
One photograph.
A woman entering a private clinic.
Gideon stared.
Silver hair.
Elegant posture.
Face partly turned.
Something familiar.
His chest tightened.
“No.”
The woman turned slightly in the next frame.
Gideon recognized her.
He had watched her coffin lowered into the ground eleven years earlier.
His mother.
May you like
Victoria Vale.
Alive.
