“My—our mother?” Claire cried. She could not quite believe him, but certain memories—the signs—had been there.
“Yes, yes, I loved her. She had you, your father’s daughter, then. But from our union—our love—Darcy. God forgive me for not telling Darcy and you before, but I am Darcy’s father. And when your father learned of our love, it was the excuse he needed and wanted to leave your mother—for good. Well, I thought it was good, that I would make my fortune abroad, then return to the US and marry her, raise both of you with her.”
Claire stared at him. She had to get this straight, make herself believe and accept it all. “You are Darcy’s father, but not mine? But you left her, left them?”
“I had a deal to go to Japan to make a lot of money, importing and selling rare butterflies there, some legal, some not. I promised to come back, but she told me not to, since I wanted to go—it was my big chance to make money, so we’d be well-off. She—she was so doubly wounded in her head and heart that she turned against me and turned to her books even more. I should have realized that, if I left, her depression, her...loneliness and agoraphobia would isolate her even more—from me, too. As much as I loved books, for a while, I hated them because they were her crutch, her barrier from the world and then even from me. When I came back, I could not win her back, and she turned to her fantasy world and against me.”
“She buried herself in them, sometimes buried us in them, too. She never told me—never told Darcy—about you.”
“I figured that out later when I came back. She died shortly after I returned. I grieved, blamed myself for chances lost with Miranda and Darcy. Later Jilly was lost to me, Drew, too, of course. I wanted to tell Darcy everything, but I was afraid to, afraid she’d blame me for desertion the way both of you had your father—that is, the man Darcy thought was her father. So I did what I could, became close to Darcy, adored my grandchildren from afar, and then closer when you and Darcy brought your girls to story time.”
“I saw the way you looked at Jilly when we left the house. What about the painting?”
“It really is of my grandmother, but Darcy is her mirror image. Give her the painting, Claire. Tell her all this, that I love her and Jilly and always will—little Drew, too, of course, but he never liked story time or me, I could tell. I never had a chance to know him, to win him over, only see him, talk to him once or twice. But I can’t stay here now. So tell Darcy all this and let her decide if she wants to tell her children someday.”
“You did all this tracking down and ruining Ralston for her?”
He nodded wildly. “But it might not be understood by the authorities, or even by Darcy and Steve since he got snagged in all this. I did visit Larry Ralston to force some information from him, and now, with kidnapping Clint and Jedi bleeding in there, if either of them die, I may be culpable, but tell them that Steve did not kill Larry Ralston.” He handed her a letter. “That’s a signed confession to police. I fought with Ralston, and he fell in. I swear it was an accident, and I tried to save him... But it was too late. Then I panicked. I faked the suicide note on his phone. I never thought Steve would be blamed for his death—that I could’ve taken Jilly and Drew’s father away from them with my actions. I can’t bear to think I’ve hurt Darcy’s family like this.”
She took the letter with numb fingers. “Where will you go?”
“I’ve said enough. The storyteller in me just wants you all to have a happy-ever-after ending. As for me, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison. Not being able to see Darcy or my grandchildren is punishment enough. If I can, over time, over the years, I’ll contact Darcy, or at least send things—money for Jilly and Drew. Please ask Steve to forgive me, too, to take good care of my girl.”
“I—yes, of course I will.”
“I’ve visited her grave many times, you know—Miranda’s, your mother’s. I released beautiful butterflies there. I did love her, Claire, but I’ve said it all now and must go. I’ll call the police from the car, and they’ll be here soon. Nick, too, I’m certain.”
He kissed her on the cheek and ran on unsteady legs through the buffeting wind to his car. She moved out from under the shelter of the entry, clinging to a pillar, sobbing, unsure if Will was a liar and a murderer, but she believed him about being Darcy’s father. How would she tell her? She was only Darcy’s half sister now, but that had to be enough.
Her legs went weak, and she slid down a pillar to sit on the doorstep of Onward while the rain poured down and lightning forked to the ground nearby and thunder shook the sky.
She must be hallucinating through the rain and her tears to see a vehicle with flashing bar lights pulling in. Already? Maybe Ralston or Jedi had called for an ambulance.
No, it was a police car. It stopped so close and—yes, she must be dreaming—Ken Jensen jumped out bareheaded in this rain, and Nick... Nick right behind him.
Ken started shouting questions, but all she could do was cling to Nick.
“What was that?” Jace asked Mitch as the plane jolted. The aircraft yawed left, and Jace struggled to get it back on even keel.
“You’re heading back to base through a wind and lightning storm and you ask what happened?” Mitch shot back, but his voice quavered.
Thank God, Jace thought, he could get the plane back on its radar heading toward Tampa, but it kept shuddering, listing left. And though they were flying through low clouds that were bumpy, he was certain they had actually hit something. Birds? Pelicans, maybe, brown bodies up this high, maybe trying to outrun the storm or getting sucked up into it—hit by the left engine propellers?
He held tight to his control wheel, while their little hanging mascot figure jerked wildly. He skimmed the readouts. The left engine was—was gone, dead.
He tried to restart it while Mitch opened the all-call to the crew. Jace could imagine them back there, glad their tangling with the worst of the hurricane above the gulf was over, but tense until they landed at MacDill. But with one engine and all that distance in rocky winds, MacDill and Tampa were too damn far to make it without going down into the drink.
“Come on, baby,” he muttered to the forty-nine-million-dollar plane, not to mention the valuable weather equipment and trained crew.
“It won’t restart?” Mitch asked.
“Tell everybody to sit tight,” Jace told him, ignoring the obvious answer. “I’m going to radio Naples Municipal because we’re wobbling, and even the Fort Myers Airport with its longer runways may be too far. Besides, I’m used to the approach in Naples, and no way we’d have room to land at our little Marco spot for Fly Safe. Damn,” he muttered, his voice low. “Fly Safe. Mitch, see if they can take us at Naples. Get me the radio reading for them.”
As Mitch explained to the crew to strap in and sit tight, that they were going to request an emergency landing in Naples, Jace concentrated on keeping the plane from dipping the left wing or starting to circle. He had to use a huge amount of rudder to keep the aircraft flying somewhat straight. They were just a little moving blip on the radar screen in a vast ocean of black. In a brutal storm. Worse than a desert dust storm in the Middle East.
Trained to respond with cool, objective thought and action, Jace fought picturing his loved ones. Brit. Lexi. Even Claire. He had to bring this big bird in, one that must have been damaged by birds in flight.
He talked as calmly as he could to the Naples control tower. “Affirmative,” he told them after they repeated his request. “Probably bird ingestion, left engine. Might not make it to Fort Myers. NOAA Hurricane WC-130 turboprop with twelve aboard. Yes, requesting emergency equipment to meet us.”
“Roger that. Crosswinds a problem,” the Naples controller said. “And we just heard from your NOAA headquarters that the storm will arrive here earlier than expected.”
Mitch whispered to Jace, “We were right about that.”
The airport controller went on. “Gusts to sixty miles per hour from southwest but swirling, but I’ll bet you know that. We had a jet land that got shoved off the north/south runway before we closed.”
“Roger that, but we have no choice.”
“Understand. We’ll talk you in. Heavy ponding on the runway surface makes for skidding, so do not overshoot your wheels down. Not certain you’ll be able to see the approach and runway lights until you’re very low. We will continue to give you readings.”
“Affirmative. Used to fly jets in dust storms but not with twelve aboard and Cat 4 blow.”
“We see you on our screen, but you’re still a ways out and over water. Runway all yours.”
In the sudden radio silence, Mitch said to Jace, “Hope they even have ER vehicles to send with that storm coming. Bet everybody’s trying to help evacs on the ground.”
Jace’s hands were steady but his legs shook from handling more and more rudder.
Mitch went on. “And we thought this assignment would be a piece of cake. But if anybody can put us down all right, it’s you, Jace.”
“Affirmative that, my friend. Semper Fi and comin’ in on a wing and a prayer.”