“How sick is she?” Gage asked as he waved at Kelley, who waved from the porch, her cracked tiara back in place on her head, her princess dress drooping off one shoulder, magic wand circling the air.
Had Morgan’s heart not already been tilting in Gage’s direction, it would have tipped all the way over when he insisted that Kelley sign Stephen’s cabinet along with him. They’d dated it together, putting her mark, a crooked smiley face, beside his blocky script of initials. Now it seemed whenever she looked at Gage, her insides kick-started like a Harley Davidson after a year-long stall.
She set the overflowing bag of dinner rolls and fresh-baked bread Angela had insisted she take into the trunk beside Stephen’s gift. “Kelley was diagnosed with stage three leukemia, but her prognosis is good.” Anytime Morgan doubted the decisions she’d made, all she had to do was look into Kelley’s joyful eyes. Or Brandon’s. Or Lydia’s. Morgan closed her eyes and let the sadness pass over her like a silent fog.
“What happened to Kelley’s parents?”
“Gone,” Morgan said. “Her father was never in the picture and her mother brought her for her first treatment at the hospital, went out to get something to eat, and never came back.” Morgan saw Gage’s jaw tighten. “Part of me hates her for abandoning Kelley. But then I think if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t get to see that beautiful face every day or watch her thrive and explode into every morning she sees. We’ve all tried to get her to talk about it, asked if she misses her mom, but . . .” Morgan shrugged, wishing she had the resiliency of a child. “I think she’s handled the abandonment better than we have. Besides, chances are if she’d stayed with her mother, Kelley wouldn’t be alive.”
“I’ve seen my share of monsters on the job, but I can’t imagine anything worse than abandoning a child. Except maybe abandoning a sick child.”
It wasn’t until they were in the car that Morgan remembered. “I didn’t see a birthday card in the bags.”
Gage swore. “I forgot it at the office. Quick stop?”
“Sure.” She was already playing with fire; might as well walk into the inferno that was his office.
“What about the other kids?”
“Brandon survived stage two kidney cancer thanks to an experimental chemotherapy drug. Although if you ask me, the treatment was worse than the disease. His mother had drug issues, surrendered her parental rights when he was four, but his previous foster family couldn’t take on the burden of the medical expenses.”
“They all seem well adjusted.”
“Most of them, anyway.” She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d lit the fuse on time-bomb Drew this morning.
“And Lydia? I thought they’d made significant progress when it came to children with AIDS.”
“They have. She has a particularly voracious strain. Her mother was five months pregnant with Lydia before they found out Lydia’s father had contracted the disease from a blood transfusion when he was working overseas. But it’s not Lydia’s T-Cell count that’s the problem right now. It’s the tumor on her brain stem. Three months ago I couldn’t have kept up with her if I’d tried.” Morgan looked out the window as they headed into downtown, watched people strolling between cafés and stores. What it must be like, not to have to worry about, well, everything. “Her mother met with me and the Fiorellis and surrendered her parental rights before she died. Greatest gift she could have given us and, wow, doesn’t all this sound maudlin.” Morgan laughed then pressed her lips together when Gage covered her hand with his. “Kids constantly surprise you. As much bad as there is, it’s far outweighed by the good. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”
Gage nodded. “You love these kids as if they were your own. Anyone who spends any time with you can see that.”
“They are mine,” Morgan said without hesitation, grateful for the chance to make him understand why she did what she did, even if at this point he didn’t know why she had to. “They were given to us in one way or the other. When my brother Colin was sick, he had us, a support system, and while it didn’t make him better, it made his passing easier. At least that’s what I tell myself. Instead of parents having to worry about hospital bills or whether they’re going to lose their house or their jobs, they should be able to focus on their child. That’s why the center can’t get finished fast enough. Every day we go over schedule, we could lose another life.” The list of potential admissions was already overflowing and they didn’t even have the facility completed yet.
Gage pulled into a parking space outside the renovated office building.
“Where do your parents live?” she asked as she got out of the car and walked through the lobby door he held open for her.
“Fallen Oak Lane.”
“Then you’ll still surprise your mother by being early.”
“I bet we give her a heart attack.” Once they stepped out on the second floor, Gage gestured to the corner of the loft. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Morgan strolled around the spacious loft, her soft-soled sandals silent against the hardwood floor. The office space was welcoming. Neat, tidy, streamlined, and comfortable. A good environment to be productive in. Lots of light thanks to the giant-paned windows inside the conference room. She braced her hand on the doorframe, leaned inside, and saw the lineup of file folders, laptops, and smatterings of notes. The whiteboards displayed photos and lists.
Morgan took a tentative step inside, as if she might trigger an alarm. This must be what it felt like to walk into the Bat Cave. Some secret sanctum she shouldn’t be trespassing in.
Each of Nemesis’ victims up to the most recent, the Cunninghams, had their own section of whiteboard with dedicated bullet points and pinned photos. A list of what had been taken from them, another notation in red below each of the dated report of the burglary: charges withdrawn.
The reality of seeing all the information in one place, like a snapshot of Nemesis’ action plan, wedged like a stone in the bottom of her gut. She’d known the names, even the people involved, but it was easy to forget lives had been affected by what Nemesis—and by extension what she—had done.
There was nothing romantic about stealing. There wasn’t anything romantic about accepting money from a thief. It didn’t matter that the money had been put to good use. Morgan wasn’t a character in a fairy tale searching for a happy ending. That stack of Nemesis cash hiding in the bottom drawer of her desk didn’t just feel tainted—it felt poisoned.
She hadn’t just skirted the edge of the law. She’d crossed it months ago.
But what else could she have done? Turned away those patients who needed the money for treatment? Sure, she’d taken the money she’d set aside to pay off the balance of the property payment, but it had just been sitting there, waiting while children died.
Even with the evidence staring her in the face, she knew she wouldn’t have made a different choice. The kids she’d helped were leading healthy or healthier lives. Most important, they were alive. But there were always more kids, more diagnoses. More demands on her for help, and she couldn’t say no.
“Finally found where I put the card.” Gage joined her in the conference room, followed her gaze. “If you see something we’ve missed, let me know.”
“I wouldn’t know what to look for,” she whispered.
“Neither do we, otherwise I’d have Nemesis locked up by now. Hey.” Gage caught her chin between his fingers, turned her face toward his. “You okay? What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.” Morgan wrapped her hand around his wrist. “I shouldn’t be in here.”
“You’re welcome to stop by any time. Ready to head into the lion’s den?”
Morgan smiled. “I don’t think your mother would appreciate you calling her home the lion’s den.” Besides, it couldn’t be more dangerous than where she was already standing. “Let’s go.”
***
The pristine manicured lawn and giant oak tree sheltering the front walk of the Juliano home were dotted with late spring color.
An unruly garden hose wound around the front of the two-story brick house while a comical stone cat stretched a curious paw toward a smattering of violet and pink pansies. A happy birthday sign placed like a for-sale sign peeked out of the hedges, blue and white balloons sagging in the breeze.
“You have a tire swing.” Morgan pressed her fingers against the car window.
“Dad’s been trying to take that down but Mom won’t let him.” When she didn’t respond, Gage touched her shoulder. “Want a ride?”
“Are you kidding?”
“It’s not there for decoration. Go ahead.”
Morgan headed up the walk and dropped her purse on the thick grass. She walked over and ran her fingers down the length of the aged rope as it swayed against her touch. She smiled, grabbed on, and hoisted her feet up and through the tire, situating her butt on the edge. She leaned back as far as she could, closed her eyes, and pushed off with her feet, spinning and swinging, feet dangling in the air until her shoes dropped off.
A moment of perfect, of nothing. Everything. The wind rushed against her ears, clearing her mind, invigorating, bracing. Wondrous.
The tire froze.
Morgan lifted her head, opened her eyes, and found Gage holding the tire still, an odd look in his eyes. “What?” She sat up as his hands covered hers, and he moved closer as she leaned up. “Gage?”
He kissed her, soft, slow, his hand moving to cup the back of her neck as she smiled against his lips. The shade of the oak embraced them, the early-afternoon breeze bathing them in spring warmth, and the world dropped away. She clutched his wrist, felt his pulse beneath her fingers, heavy and strong. When he lifted his mouth, he pressed his forehead against hers, and her doubts, her fears, melted beneath his touch.
“Told your father we weren’t done with that swing.” Morgan felt rather than saw the heat rise in Gage’s face as she caught sight of a petite dark-haired woman walking barefoot from the back gate toward the front door, a box of soda cans in her arms. “When the two of you are done, I could use some help in the kitchen.”
Morgan laughed and couldn’t resist. She kissed Gage again before ducking free of the swing and grabbing her shoes.
“Precious, isn’t she?” Gage muttered as he retrieved the bags he’d set down by her purse.
“Actually, she’s pretty much what I expected.” Morgan loved how easily his mother flustered him. “I’m going to want another go at the swing,” she told him as they headed in the front door.
“I don’t anticipate a problem with that. Geez, Mom. We need to put a bell around your neck.”
His mother popped around the door the second they pushed it open and Morgan locked gazes with the older woman. Her round face was open and warm and she stood a few inches shorter than Morgan. A stained apron was draped over her jeans and T-shirt, and her jet black hair was pulled into a snug ponytail.
“Morgan, my mother, Theresa Juliano. Mom, as you requested, Morgan Tremayne.”
Morgan hefted her purse up on her shoulder and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Juliano. I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t want to arrive empty handed. Compliments of Nico and Angela Fiorelli.” Morgan gestured to the second bag in Gage’s arms.
“It’s Theresa, please.” She returned the greeting. “No one calls me Mrs. Juliano unless one of my kids is in trouble.”
“Something tells me you were called a lot over this one.” Morgan gave Gage a wink. “Did you say something about needing help in the kitchen?”
Theresa tucked the dishtowel she’d been holding through the apron string around her waist. “I knew I’d like you. My son is rarely on time, let alone early. Come inside.” She linked her arm through Morgan’s and led her into the home that welcomed her with the aroma of tomatoes, basil, and onions.
The Juliano home was part showplace, part comfort and practicality. Magazines and photo albums lay scattered on the enormous coffee table situated between two large upholstered sofas. Two recliners sat nearby, angled toward the flat-screen television against the far wall. The walls were painted a soft gold, giving a feel of old-world charm mixed with modern comfort. The paintings made Morgan think of driving through the endless golden fields and blue skies of the Italian countryside.
A large staircase curved off to the upper floor. Morgan peered into the dining room that housed a table which could no doubt fit up to sixteen people. The scene looked as if it had been drawn from the pages of Kitchen Design magazine, an observation Morgan confirmed once she saw the amazing kitchen that lay beyond.
“You must be a serious cook.” Morgan marveled at the pots and pans and the six-burner gas range situated beneath a copper hood. The cabinet space alone promised to feed an army, which, with six children, was no doubt what Theresa had done most of her life.
“My husband let me design the kitchen of my dreams for our thirtieth anniversary,” Theresa said. “I’ve always believed this to be the heart of the home.”
“And here I thought it was the stomach.” Gage set his brother’s gift on the counter, along with the bag from the Fiorellis.
Theresa waved her hand. “Ignore him and put that present in the living room with the others. Do you cook, Morgan?”
“I zap a mean microwave dinner.” She ran fingertips along the gold-speckled marble counter top. “I loved helping Ella. She was my parent’s housekeeper when I was growing up. I would spend hours helping her knead dough and chop vegetables. Half the time I’d end up covered in flour and spices.”
“I’d have paid to see that,” Gage said when he returned and earned an appreciative look from his mother. Morgan took a deep breath. Damn it. Encouraging his mother, making Theresa think there was more than today, that there could be more between her and Gage, felt deceptive and somehow cruel.
“Stop embarrassing the girl, Gage,” his mother ordered. “Or I won’t make your favorite.”
“Would that be the eggplant parmesan he’s raved about? Can’t be any better than the lasagna you sell at J & J.” Morgan decided to pretend Gage wasn’t in the room as Theresa glowed.
“And since the parm is Stephen’s favorite, and he is the birthday boy, I’m safe,” Gage countered. “As I said, Mom makes the best.”
“Mothers usually do,” Theresa agreed, walking around the center island and opening a cabinet.
Not in Morgan’s experience. Her mother and the kitchen had been a frightening and smoke-alarm-triggering combination. But the memory made her smile without the usual pang of sorrow.
“Where is everyone?” Gage asked, heading over to the industrial-sized wood-encased refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of beer.
“I banished your father and the boys to the backyard until we’re ready to eat.”
Morgan glanced outside and caught sight of a man who was as tall and blond as Teresa was dark. She could see both mother and father reflected in the faces of their children.
“And the terrible two?” Gage’s question came with a slight grimace.
Morgan frowned at the reference.
“They’ll be down momentarily.”
The second the words left Theresa’s mouth, Morgan heard footsteps on the stairs that were soon drowned out by the sound of raised teenage voices.
“It’s a family party, for crying out loud, Liza. Nobody cares if your eyebrows are even.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t take advice from Sasquatch.”
“Bite me.”
“Not even if you paid me.”
Gage grinned at Morgan and shook his head as he took a long drink of beer. “Welcome to the show.”
“Girls, please fix the salad,” Theresa said as if she hadn’t heard a word of bickering between the two young women rounding the corner. “And cut up extra vegetables for a platter. I made the dip last night. It’s in the fridge.”
Judging from the conversation, the lithe blonde with razor-straight hair and outlined bright blue eyes had to be the eyebrow enthusiast. She was stunning and, despite the sharp sarcastic wit, greeted Morgan with a warm smile that mirrored her mother’s.
“Hi. You must be Morgan.” She held out her hand. “I’m Liza.”
“Nice to meet you.” Morgan’s gaze fell on the shorter, rounder young woman beside her. “Hello.”
“I’m Gina.” Shoulder-length chocolate brown curls framed her full face, which lit up as she greeted Morgan with a wave. “I can’t tell you how great it is to meet you. I’ve read all about you.”
“You have?” Surprised, Morgan looked to Gage, who straightened as if he’d heard a warning bell she’d missed.
“Gina,” he warned.
“What?” Gina cast him a quick dismissive glance. “I’ve been reading about the center and the foundation. I’ve applied to get on as a pediatric volunteer at Lantano Valley General, but they won’t take me until I’m eighteen.”
“They have certain guidelines, especially for young people,” Morgan explained. “Working with seriously and terminally ill children takes a certain mind-set. But I’d be happy to see if they might make an exception if you’re that interested.”
“Please don’t encourage her,” Liza pleaded. “She’s already insufferable.”
“Or you could hire me.” Gina flashed wide, excited eyes on Morgan.
Gage choked on his beer. Theresa gasped.
“Too late.” Liza rolled her eyes. “There she goes.”
“Gage told us about your foster kids and all the work you do with the foundation,” Gina plowed on, tucking unruly curls behind her ears. “I bet you can use an assistant, right? What?” Gina didn’t look apologetic in the least as she glanced at her horrified mother. “Didn’t you and Dad teach us to take advantage of every opportunity? Morgan being here today is a serious opportunity.” She pulled out a file folder she’d stuffed in the back waistband of her jeans. “My resume.” She tapped the top page. “I’ve also done some research on advances other pediatric medical centers have been making. I wrote up a report with some ideas you might want to consider that include some additional events I think would work in downtown Lantano Valley. Rich people are great, but they can only get you so far, right?”
“Honest to God, Mom, please make her stop.” Gage plucked the file out of Morgan’s hands and slapped it against his sister’s T-shirt that stated “sarcasm is my gift to the world.” “Not the time.”
“Hey.” Gina frowned.
“Now, wait a minute.” Morgan pushed Gage aside and grabbed the folder before it fell. Granted, she couldn’t involve Gina with the center or the foundation, at least as far as working with her. She had enough trouble keeping details to herself as it was. But she’d be stupid to ignore someone as enthusiastic as Gina, for however long it might last. “It takes guts to do what she just did. I want to hear her out. What are your plans for college?”
Gina’s face lit up as if a flare gun had exploded in the room. “A business degree with a concentration in charity management. I’m working toward a scholarship at Lantano Valley U, like Jon got. I want to do something worthwhile, something good. You know, like him.” She stuck her thumb at Gage. “Even though he can be a dick—”
“Gina Marie Juliano!” Theresa grabbed a wooden spoon.
“—tator.” Gina finished in a rush.
“I’m touched.” Gage wiped invisible tears from his eyes. “Such sentiment.”
“I’ll tell you what.” Morgan chuckled as she flipped through the information Gina had compiled. Impressive was an understatement. This girl made Morgan look like a slacker. “Let me talk this over with my sister. She handles the social aspects of the foundation, decides on events, parties, and she’s been thinking about hiring an assistant. Is that something you’d be interested in?”
“I’ll take whatever I can get.” Gina bounced on her toes. “And it sounds amazing.”
“I’m not promising anything,” Morgan insisted. “But yeah, let me see what we can do. I’m keeping this.” She pushed the file into her purse, then remembering the reality of what she dealt with on a daily basis added, “You do know what you’re getting into, right, Gina? Emotionally speaking, it’s not easy. You’ll be dealing with serious issues, and you’ll meet kids who might not get better. They’ll die. No matter what we do.”
“They’re alive now, aren’t they?” The fact that there was no hesitation on her face or in her voice struck a familiar chord inside Morgan. “Isn’t that what matters? Making things better for them while they are here?” Morgan nodded. Gina squealed and launched herself at Morgan, hugging her tight. “Thank you.”
Morgan couldn’t help but notice the pride shining in Theresa’s eyes as she covered her mouth with the wood spoon. Morgan gave her a smile of approval and Theresa’s face lit up as bright as her daughter’s had moments ago. “Just make sure I have your cell number, okay?”
“You won’t be sorry. I promise.” Gina turned around and stuck her tongue out at her sister as if she’d regressed to the age of five. “Told you I could do it.”
Liza just shook her head. “Just promise me you’ll get some decent clothes for work.”
“The babies of the family are always the most entertaining.” Gage grabbed a stalk of celery from the pile.
“I don’t think one should be called a baby once one is old enough to have a baby.” Gina slapped his hand away.
Gage turned an odd shade of green. “That’s not funny.”
“It kind of is,” Morgan said, taking the apron Theresa handed her. One second she had the cream-colored fabric in her hands, and the next, Gage snatched it from her. He shook it out, opened it up and whipped it around her waist, pulling her against him as he pulled the strings tight.
Morgan closed her eyes even as she felt his mother and sisters looking on. His hands slid around her hips, dragging the string along. He took his time tying the bow, lowering his head to skim his lips against the side of her neck. He seemed particularly enamored of that part of her anatomy.
“Stop that.” She tried to dislodge his hands. “One and done.”
“We’re not done yet.” He nipped her ear before stepping away.
“Go play with your brothers,” Morgan ordered, brushing her hands down her body as she tried to shake off the effects of his touch. “Leave the beer.” She grabbed his bottle and took a giant swig. Because alcohol was going to help the situation. He tossed them one of his disarming grins as he headed to the sliding glass door. The second the door closed behind him, Liza and Gina collapsed in a fit of giggles.
Theresa turned around, hands on her hips, and pinned Morgan with a look that made her feel like an amoeba under a microscope. “I want grandchildren.”
Morgan set down the beer. “Before or after dinner?”