“Mom?” Olivia turns to her, her voice intentionally gentled. “I know Lily hurt you when she ran away, and I know you don’t want to ask Dad for Lily’s address because he’ll ask why, am I right? You want me to keep Josh safe. To do that, I need to know what happened to her. How they separated.” Charlotte’s lips purse. She looks down at the keys in her hand. “If you think of anything at all that’ll help me find her faster, call me, okay?”
“Of course, darling.”
CHAPTER 24
LUCAS
Lucas nurses his second draft beer, his attention on the lobby escalator and elevators. The five-star hotel is packed with vineyard managers, owners, and everyone who supplies them. Between the wine expo and another technology seminar downstairs, the place is buzzing, exactly the way Lucas needs it. He can fade into the background. Move with obscurity in case the baseball cap and reflective shades don’t cut it. But hey, this is SoCal, land of the famous and state of the rich. Anyone who is someone is trying to hide.
He shifts his weight on the firm barstool to ease the ache in his lower back. He’s not one to sit for long periods, or even hang in one place longer than necessary, and he’s already been here for almost three hours, waiting, watching. If he leaves now, he risks losing sight of Dwight. And his vantage point to the guest elevators is perfect.
He glances at his watch. It’s almost 6:00 p.m. The expo’s sessions end in a few minutes. Dwight should be making his way up the escalator at any moment. He’ll go straight to the elevator. He likes to freshen up before he hits the bar and on the women. He’s so predictable. And Lucas will be right behind him, dogging him to his room where they’ll have a brief chat. He’s no longer wanted at home. Find his own place or Lucas will tip off the police. Yes, Wes drowned. But he fell off the dock because he’d been running from Dwight. Lucas watched the entire confrontation between Dwight, Wes, and Lily from across the yard. Dwight found the boy in Lily’s bedroom. He was convinced he impregnated his daughter.
The woman seated beside him settles her check and gathers up her clutch and phone. “Nice not talking with you,” she says, sliding off the stool. Lucas grunts. She tried to engage him in a stimulating conversation about cannabis storage containers with automated locking systems and facial recognition. She even invited him upstairs to do a few lines of the hard stuff. As if he’d do anything that risks landing himself in jail. That’s one ride he’d never risk repeating. He doesn’t care how gorgeous she is, or how luscious her coral pink lips would look locked around him. Instead, he ignored her. So what? He isn’t here to socialize, over drinks or under the sheets.
He senses her walking away rather than turning to watch her, as hot as she looks in that fitted black pantsuit and sheer pink blouse. His gaze is sealed on the escalators. Where are you, old man? He drums his fingers on the bar top.
Someone takes the vacant stool beside him. Lucas can smell his stale body odor and the cheap cologne that fails to cover up the unpleasant stink before he catches a glimpse of the man from the corner of his eye. He’s middle-aged with thinning gray hair. His plaid shirt is wrinkled and beard untrimmed. He orders a shot of vodka in a gruff voice, then orders a second before he tosses back the first. The bartender serves him a glass of water with the third shot.
“You here for the conference?” the man asks after he empties the last shot and nudges the glass away. He elbows Lucas’s arm when he doesn’t respond.
Lucas grinds his teeth and gives the man a dark look. The man’s unfazed.
“Which conference?” he repeats with curious, weary eyes that have seen too much in a short time. Lucas recognizes the haunted look.
Lucas’s gaze narrows. He takes in more of the man’s appearance. The swollen skin around his eyes. The crumbs in his beard, leftovers from lunch or a snack. “None,” he answers.
The man nods. He puts out his hand. “Scott.”
Lucas gives him a short nod, ignoring the hand. He hails the bartender and orders a refill.
“I’ll have the same,” Scott says. “And two more shots. One for me and my buddy.” He jabs a thumb in Lucas’s direction. “Today was hell. Hoping to forget everything about it.”
Not Lucas. He needs to keep a level head. But Scott seems to have a different plan in mind.
“I just got back from the hospital. My mother . . .” Scott chokes up, then drains his water.
Lucas closes his eyes and calls on his patience. He’s not an ideal sounding board. He pushes away the shot the bartender leaves in front of him.
Scott puts down the empty glass dead center on the paper cocktail napkin. He absently spins the water glass as he talks. “My mother just died. She was sick for a long time. I was ready for this, I guess as much as anyone can be when you know you’re going to lose a parent.” He rubs his eyes.
Lucas thanks the bartender, paying her in cash, and drinks his beer. He turns his attention back to the escalator and bank of elevators, only half listening to Scott.
“Why do people make confessions on their deathbeds? They feel better. They want forgiveness. I get that. But what about us, the ones they’ve left behind?” He looks at Lucas in earnest. “We’re left feeling miserable, confused, and—” He gulps his beer. “Angry. I’m really, really mad. My mother, she was a trial. Whose mother isn’t? But she loved us, me and my two older sisters. There were four of us. We had a baby brother. Freddie. We called him Freddie. Cutest little kid. He died when he was two. That’s what our parents told us. We grew up believing he got sick and died. They took him to the hospital and never brought him back. But that’s not what happened. You know what they did? Do you know what my parents did to my little brother?”
Lucas doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to care. But he can’t help listening to his story. Parents could really do a number on their kids, and Scott’s wounds are making his feel more fresh. Lucas removes his sunglasses, pinches the inner corners of his eyes, and hears himself asking, “What did they do?”
“They sold him. They sold my little brother.” Scott’s eyes sheen and he looks away.
Well, damn.
“Your mom confessed that?” Lucas asks, appalled. Though his own dad has a laundry list of sins.
Scott nods. “They couldn’t afford four mouths to feed so they gave one of us up. One less mouth, she admitted. Tubes were coming out of her and she could barely breathe. But she got out that confession. They gave him up for six hundred bucks. I don’t know what to do.” He sounds miserable.
Movement near the escalator pulls Lucas’s attention to the lobby. People flow off the escalator and Dwight’s right in the middle of the pack.
Lucas swipes up his wallet and shades, downs the remainder of his beer. “Go find your brother, Scott. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t.” As he’s regretted not going after Lily. Lucas gets up and leaves. He doesn’t look back. By the time he reaches the bank of elevators, he’s already forgotten Scott and his dead mother’s confession.
Lucas stands a couple feet behind Dwight. The old man chats up wine nonsense with a colleague. Lucas thinks of what happened to him while he was in juvie and how Dwight blew it off when Lucas confided in him. Deal with it, son. Lucas has been dealing with it. The memories, the torment, and the shame. Burying fists in his jacket pockets, he lets the anger that’s been simmering below the surface flare.