Thursday, October 17
2:25 A.M.
Preston Hollow, Texas
CAITLIN’S CHIN SNAPPED back like Dutch had dealt her a physical blow. It wasn’t that it was such a surprise. It was more that she’d been desperately hoping, for Spense’s sake, that Dutch would say cousin. In her heart, though, she’d already known. Spense and Dutch were too much alike to be semidistant relations. She’d never seen cousins with matching birthmarks—that was rare enough in siblings, or parent and child. And their height, their builds, their iron wills . . . even their facial features, minus the coloring, were practically identical.
Dutch wheeled his chair back from the desk. “I’ll get you your own glass. I’m sure you could use another drink, and forgive me, but I’m tired of sharing.”
Since she didn’t have to drive him to the ER at this point . . . “Why the hell not?” She forced a smile, and he left the room.
She didn’t want to think about the impact this revelation was going to have on Spense. His father had died suddenly when he was only eight years old, and he’d idolized his dad—tried to emulate him every way he could. From his obsession with Rubik’s cubes right down to the Old Spice aftershave he wore, Spense was all about trying to follow in his father’s footsteps. Trying to become the man his father would want him to be. To compose herself, she organized her thoughts and turned her attention to the mechanics of what she’d just learned. How could Dutch be Spense’s older brother?
Dutch returned, filled both their glasses almost to the top with straight whiskey, then resumed his place across from her at the desk.
She held the glass of amber liquid up to the lamp, gazing through it, as though it were a crystal ball, wondering how Spense would take the news. She should go easy with this stuff. The world had just tilted on its axis, and the last thing she needed was for her head to start spinning, too. Gingerly, she took a sip, and the potion went down smoothly, relaxing the muscles in her tight throat and warming her cheeks. She resisted the temptation to gulp the rest. “I’ve been doing the math.”
“And.”
“You and Spense are three months apart, so obviously, you’re his half brother. Your red hair and blue eyes, and your last name, all came from your mother. She’s the Dutch one?”
“Yolanda immigrated from Holland when she was sixteen.”
“So your father, Jack Spenser . . .”
“Began an affair with her about one year before I was born. She said he was going through some kind of rough patch in his marriage at the time—he told her he planned to leave his wife. I knew something was wrong from a young age—but it wasn’t until around first grade that I started asking the tough questions—like why didn’t my dad live with us? Why didn’t we ever go to the park, or out to dinner when he was around? And the one I asked the most: Who was that other little boy who got to go fishing with my father? Jack’s wallet was loaded with photos of him and his son—his legitimate son.”
“That must’ve been incredibly hard on you.” But her mind was already turning back to Spense and to how hard it was about to be on him.
“It was how I grew up, so it seemed normal at first. But once I started school and began hanging around at other kids’ houses, I found my own home life confusing. That’s when Mom decided to break things off with Jack. They split up for a few months. He even packed up his real family and left the state. He never moved back to Dallas, but the split didn’t last. They continued to see each other long-distance, until he had the heart attack—probably the strain of living a double life that killed him.” He tossed back more booze. “My mother didn’t dare go to his funeral. She’s the one who had it rough. I might’ve been saddled with a Jack-ass for a father”—he smirked as if pleased with his pun—“but at least I had a loving mother.”
The whiskey was calling her name. With effort, she ignored its pull. “I think we should table the rest of this discussion until Spense can be in on it. I don’t feel right hearing the details before he does. In fact, I think the two of you should talk privately. I feel like I’m intruding on a very personal moment.”
“You didn’t mind intruding on a very personal moment when I had a gun to my head.” Dutch slapped his tumbler on the desk, and the whiskey sloshed out, sending a sticky-sweet smell into the air. “And I’m not going to tell Spense.”
Pondering the best approach to take, she dipped her finger into her glass, then let a drop of honeyed liquor fall onto her tongue. Like Spense, Dutch was hardheaded. Maybe she could circumvent his defenses by changing the subject and bring him back on point later. Lull him into believing she’d go along with his plan, wait for him to let his guard down, then tell him no way in hell. She wasn’t keeping any secrets from Spense. “Like I said earlier, you seem like you don’t want me and Spense around.”
“No offense, but you got that right.”
“So why ask us to come out here in the first place?”
“At the time, I wasn’t thinking clearly. Jim—”
“Jim Edison?”
“Yeah. Jim said he thought I should have someone on my side when the cops started in on me. And I wasn’t playing out all the possible scenarios in my head then, like I’m doing now. I was confused, so I said okay.”
“But why ask for us?”
“I wish to God that I hadn’t. Jim thought it was a terrible idea to bring Spense into this. He was adamant I choose someone else. In fact, he offered to step in as my advocate himself, in addition to his duties as SAC.”
Spense had told her that Jim Edison had been his father’s best friend, and that he’d recruited both Spense and Dutch into the Bureau. Her jaw went slack. Understanding struck lightning fast and probably would’ve knocked her to the ground had she not been sitting safely in a chair. “Jim Edison knows you’re brothers, doesn’t he?”
“After our father died, he vowed to take care of both Spense and me. He was there for me when I needed him . . . I got into a tight spot with the Bureau awhile back, but we needn’t go into that here. The point is he has my back, and Spense’s, too.”
Dutch must be referring to that dark history she’d overheard Spense discussing with Edison on the phone, before they arrived in Dallas. Her curiosity was more than piqued by this mysterious incident that no one wanted to talk about. But she didn’t press the matter.
“If Jim thought it was such a terrible idea, why did you insist that Spense and I be the ones to act as your advocates?”
“First of all, I figured if anyone would give me the benefit of the doubt, it would be you. Because of your father, I knew you wouldn’t rush to judgment.”
He’d figured right. She couldn’t help drawing the comparison between his circumstance and her father’s, no matter how hard she tried not to. Her dreams were still filled with desperate images of her father being led into the death chamber in shackles. Sometimes she still woke with her sheets drenched in sweat and her face streaked with tears. In her heart, she believed in Dutch’s innocence. The idea of his being tried for Cindy’s murder, in Texas, where the death penalty was no empty threat, knocked the wind out of her.
“Okay, I see why you’d request my help. But why Spense? You two don’t exactly get along, and you say Jim, your mentor, was dead set against it.”
Dutch picked up the framed photo that rested facedown and turned it over. It was of Cindy in a white sundress, her auburn hair flowing in the wind, a basket of flowers on her arm, and a wide, happy smile on her face. Must’ve been taken early on in their marriage.
He turned the picture facedown on the desk again. “I have no one left, except my mother, and I don’t want to drag her into this. She’s been through enough in her life.” His gaze fell on the pistol.
Caitlin had almost forgotten that the gun was still there on the desk. Her pulse quickened in her throat. She understood what it was like to be in a dark place. Her mind went back to her eighteenth birthday—the day her father was executed. She remembered, in a very visceral way, not wanting to wake up the next morning.
“After my father died, I didn’t know how to get through even one more day without him.” She drew in a long breath. “I’ve never told anyone this before, but I had a revolver. My mother bought it during my father’s trial for protection. A lot of people hated my family back then.”
Dutch’s hand was inching for the pistol.
She forced herself to continue. “I took the gun into my bedroom, and I locked the door. I turned it over and over in my hands, wanting to make the pain go away. Finally, I raised it up, but just as I brought it near my head, I heard my father’s voice in my ear whispering hold tight, Caity.” She reached out and covered Dutch’s hand with her own. “I couldn’t do it. Not when I knew my father would’ve given anything for the chance to see one more sunrise.”
Dutch tugged his hand away. It seemed hard for him to accept even a small kindness. Maybe he thought he didn’t deserve it.
“Hold tight, Dutch. And don’t forget, you have a brother.”
“Half brother.” He looked up. “One who can hardly stand to be in the same room with me. Jim was right. I should’ve never dragged Spense into this.” His voice cracked midsentence. “It’s just that for one crazy second, I thought maybe he and I could be . . .”
“A family?”
He ripped his gaze away from hers. “We may be blood relations, but Spense and I are hardly family.”
“You haven’t given him a chance. And no matter what, you have to tell him the truth.” She swept her hand over her eyes, not wanting any tears to fall. She needed her strength at a moment like this.
“No. We can’t tell him.”
“I won’t keep it from him. It’s not right.”
After scrutinizing her forever, he said. “You’ll keep this secret.” Resting his elbows on the desk, he pressed closer, searching her face. “Because you care too much about Spense not to. Don’t try to pretend you don’t have a thing for him. You never would’ve noticed the similarities between us if you weren’t so attuned to my little brother. You’re a connoisseur of everything Spense, and your detective work tonight proves it.”
“I’m not going to make you a false promise, Dutch. I need you to trust me, and I need to be able to trust you. Whatever my feelings for Spense may or may not be, I won’t keep secrets from him. He and I have an understanding—that we’ll tell each other the truth. If I lie to him about something this important, he might never trust me again.”
“That’s a chance you’ll take, and you know it.”
“I don’t know anything of the kind. I realize it’s not going to be easy for you. We can tell him together if you want.”
He shook his head. “You do understand that he worships Jack.” His voice dropped lower. “And Jack worshipped him. Spense’s whole world is based on a lie. He believes his father was a good man, a great one even.”
The very last thing she wanted was for Spense to lose his image of his father. If Jack Spenser had been standing in front of her, she might’ve punched him in the face. She wanted to stomp the ground and scream at him for the pain he’d caused his sons. But she forced herself to stay rational. “I’m sure Jack was a good man in many ways. One mistake doesn’t define his entire life. None of us are perfect.”
“One mistake? Jack Spenser was living a secret life, and his wife and son knew nothing about it. I may not have had a perfect father, but Spense did. And now you want to take that away from him for no good reason.”
“I’m not robbing him of his perfect father. It’s Jack who’s doing that.” Her nails dug into her palms. “Spense has a brother, and he deserves to know.”
“Even if it kills him?” Dutch dropped his head into his hands and tugged at his hair. He was drunk.
And she was half-sideways herself. It took a few seconds to process what she’d just heard. Dutch obviously thought he was protecting Spense. But from whom?
“Cindy may have had enemies. I’m not saying she didn’t. But over the years, I’ve made far more. The men I’ve crossed are ruthless, capable of murder and much, much more. Surely it’s occurred to you that whoever did this to Cindy might’ve been trying to get back at me.”
“That’s one theory, certainly. But so far the investigation suggests—”
“That I did it.” He sighed heavily. “If I were Sheridan, I’d probably think the same damn thing. But I didn’t kill my wife, and if someone’s looking to take revenge on me by targeting my family . . .”
Her head was throbbing, from lack of sleep, from liquor, and from confusion. “You think if word got out that Spense is your brother, it would put him in danger.”
“I might have put you both in danger already. I just don’t know yet if this was directed at me, or if Cindy was in fact the real target. But yeah, my worry is that things could heat up fast. Until I figure out who did this, and why, I don’t want anyone to know Spense is my brother. Especially not Spense.”
The idea of lying to Spense turned her stomach. But what if Dutch was right? No matter how angry Spense might be when he found out, she couldn’t risk his life. She took a drink, then another. The issue wasn’t coming into clear focus. “We’ll tell Spense, then tell him not to tell anyone about it for his own safety.”
Dutch arched an eyebrow. “Say that again. The part about instructing Spense not to tell anyone we’re brothers—for his own safety.”
The lining of her stomach was on fire. She’d had too much whiskey. “Oh, Lord. I see your point.” Not half an hour before, she’d been thinking about the fact that Spense was just the type to run toward trouble instead of away from it.
“No one can tell Spense what to do. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he decided to test the theory that someone was after my family by setting himself up as bait. Or suppose he decides his mother deserves to know the truth? Fears for his own safety won’t keep him from telling her if he feels it’s his duty. Then suppose she tells a friend . . .”
Caitlin nodded. She was beginning to see the wisdom of waiting. The more people who knew, the more likely the word could get out, and maybe Spense’s life really would be endangered, all because she didn’t have the will to keep a secret a short while. Jim Edison had kept the secret over thirty years. She at least needed to take time to think through the consequences.
“We have to tell him, Caitlin. But we don’t have to tell him tonight, or tomorrow, or before it’s prudent to do so.”
She swallowed hard, then nodded. “Okay. For now.”
“Good enough. So here’s what I need you to do. You have to convince Spense to leave Dallas. Just go with him to Tahiti, like you planned. Bringing you both here was a terrible mistake. I can take care of things on my own. This is my problem, not yours.”
That wouldn’t work. “Spense may forgive me, eventually, for keeping this secret—I hope. But if I ask him to walk away from you now, when he finds out he abandoned his own brother, he’ll never forgive me. And worse, he’ll never forgive himself.” She shook her head. “As long as no one knows that he’s your brother, he’s not a target. And if you really are in danger, you need us now more than ever. The police certainly aren’t going to watch over you.”
He leaned forward, listening intently.
“I think we should compromise,” she said.
“What do you have in mind?”
“You promise not to hold anything back from either Spense or me about the case, and I won’t tell Spense about Jack until we have a handle on the killer’s motivation.”
“I guess that’s the best deal I’m going to get.”
“It’s the only one I can offer. And the minute we know it’s safe to do so, we tell him the truth about his father.”
Dutch grunted.
“I’ll take that as a yes. And you need to hold up your end of the bargain, starting right now.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Did Cindy keep a diary? You told Sheridan you had no idea, but frankly, I don’t believe you. I think you’d know if she kept a journal.”
“Yes. My wife kept a diary—she has ever since I’ve known her. I have no idea where it is.” He turned his empty tumbler upside down and set it on the desk with a thunk. “But if I could get my hands on it, I sure as hell wouldn’t turn it over to Detective Monroe Sheridan.”