"Your mother, Walsh. For God's sake, keep up."
"She's okay. I haven't been back much lately."
"I noticed. Nothing's ever kept you from Rivermont in the past. Something you avoiding down there?"
"Avoiding?" Walsh's voice was sharp enough to slice through his succulent steak. "I've been working hard on Merrist, Dad. There's nothing to avoid in Rivermont, but now that you mention it, I'm actually concerned about Mom."
"Why? Something wrong?" Martin went still and glanced up from his plate.
"She's lost some weight. Tired. Not feeling her best."
And Jo hadn't given up any information on the ride to the airport, though he'd sensed she'd wanted to.
"What'd the doctor say?"
"She hasn't been to see her doctor," Walsh said, his mouth an exasperated line. "Jo and I have been trying to get her to go."
His father threw his napkin over his plate and drummed his fingers on the linen-covered table.
"That woman never took care of herself."
"Maybe you should have," Walsh said, as shocked to hear the words aloud as his father obviously was.
"What did you say?"
Walsh forged ahead, never one to back down from a challenge like the one he saw in his father's eyes. "I said maybe you should have taken care of her."
"You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know the whole story. You never did."
"Why did you marry her, Dad?" Walsh asked the question he'd held all these years. "Was she your meal ticket?"
Something violent flared unmistakably in his father's eyes, firing a warning shot across the table.
"I loved your mother." The words barely passed through his father's clenched teeth. "Don't ever forget that. Don't ever question it. It's actually none of your damned business."
"You're right."
Walsh softened his tone, prepared to abandon the topic, even though he wanted to dig deeper and excavate answers to the questions that had plagued his mind since he was thirteen years old.
Martin's phone vibrated on the table, drawing his attention and a subsequent scowl.
"I have to take this. Call Pierce and ask him to bring the car around so we can get back to the office."
He sounded like he actually regretted having to cut the conversation short.
Chapter Twenty-Two
After a long day at the shop, Kerris went into their home office and grabbed her sketchpad. She always seemed to have the energy to create, no matter how tired she was. Her fingers were tracing a pattern of intricate scrollwork on a necklace when the aroma of her favorite Earl Grey tea wafted in. Cam bowed at the waist, offering the delicate cup and saucer.
"Jo wanted to stop through and hang out. Is that okay?"
"Sure, of course." Kerris accepted the tea and Cam's kiss on her hair.
Jo was a regular at the cottage, always popping in. She and Cam often talked even after Kerris went to bed. Kerris couldn't resent the closeness they'd shared for so long.
"Good, since she's bringing Tony's pizza with her." A pleased grin split his face.
"So you get out of cooking again. No credit, mister."
"Do I need credit?" He slid his arms around her and brushed her lips with a tender kiss. "You're mine, right, Kerris? Only mine?"
She pulled back with a frown. She had never broached the Kenya trip or the gift Walsh had sent that Cam never delivered, even though she knew she should. That was a can of worms she didn't want to get anywhere near.
"Why do you always ask that? Have I done anything to make you doubt me?"
"No, of course not." Cam tightened his grip around her waist. "I just … I don't know what I'd do without you now."
"You won't ever have to figure that out, baby." She wished she could chase away the lingering shadows in his beautiful eyes.
"Promise me," he said with swift urgency, pressing her closer still.
"I promise." She didn't even blink, making sure he saw the resolve in her unwavering stare.
He seemed to slump a little, satisfied at what he saw in her face. He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead, making his way over to his desk and opening his laptop.
"I can get a few things done on this design for our new client before the pizza gets here." Cam turned on the small lamp Kerris had found for his desk.
"Me, too." She returned her attention to the pad in front of her.
They both tuned inward, Kerris humming softly under her breath, and Cam slipping in his earphones and bobbing his head to a Tupac classic. He raised his head when the doorbell rang, slipping the buds from his ears and striding to the living room to let Jo in with their pizza. Their laughter drifted back, making Kerris smile. She continued sketching a few more minutes before gathering her tea to head inside. Their laughter tapered off when Jo answered the strident ring of her cell phone.
"Hi, Aunt Kris." The residue of their laughter still colored Jo's voice. "Slow down. I can't understand you. What's wrong with Walsh?"
Kerris couldn't will herself to move. Every fiber strained toward Jo's conversation with Kristeene Bennett.
"But how? Okay, okay. We're on our way." Jo jangled her keys and Kerris heard the door open again.
"What is it?" Kerris heard Cam ask the question, his anxiety clear.
"It's Walsh," Jo said, her tone clipped and strained, tears lubricating the words that cleaved Kerris's heart. "He's been kidnapped."
The crash was probably small, but every shard of the teacup seemed to hit the ground, making Kerris jump. She looked down at the shattered cup at her feet, unsure of when it had slipped from her numb fingers. Her knees buckled, leaving her in a heap on the floor in the midst of the broken pieces. Her heart rattled against her chest. Fear wrapped around her, making every breath short and painful.
Cam walked in, his eyes roving the devastation of Kerris's face.
"You okay, Ker?"
She picked up a few pieces of shattered porcelain, laying them in her palm.
"Be careful." He rushed to the corner for the dustpan she often used to sweep in the office. "You heard?"
"Yeah, I heard," she said, lips barely moving. "What do we know?"
"Only that he was taken in Haiti. We're heading over to Ms. Kris's now," he said, his voice breaking. "I know you're tired. You don't have to come. I can update you later."
Kerris shot a sharp look at her husband. She rose, slowly wiping the last drops of spilled tea from her hands, running her palms down her denim skirt.
"I'm coming, too."
Her flinted tone left no room for challenge. If Cam thought he could keep her away from the Bennett house, she would have to disappoint him.
"Come on then." He ran a finger down the side of her face, wiping away the tear she didn't realize had streaked its way down her cheek.
* * *
Kristeene Bennett was pacing when they walked in, clenching her fists against the flatness of her stomach. She ran a trembling hand to smooth her hair in its already-perfect chignon. She sat down on the leather-covered stool at the kitchen counter.
Kerris trailed Jo and Cam into the kitchen, her face frozen into a mask that hid her thoughts.
"What have we heard?" Jo faced Kristeene, their profiles like two sides of the same coin.
"It's not good." Kristeene walked over to the refrigerator. "Water, lemonade, anything?"
Kerris realized the small rituals of hospitality occupied Kristeene, grounded her in some reality other than this nightmare. No one was playing along, though. Everyone refused refreshment. Kristeene sighed, turning to prepare jasmine orange tea for herself.
"He was kidnapped yesterday, we think." She steeped her bag in the steamy water. "Locals. Thugs who knew he was American, and they've requested a ransom. Martin should be here soon to tell us what he knows. He called from the air."
"How are you holding up, Aunt Kris?" Jo kept her eyes on Kristeene's thinner-than-usual face. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm fine." Kristeene diced up the words, narrowing her eyes at Jo. "Don't fuss. It's Walsh we need to worry about now."
"But Aunt Kris-"
"I said stop it." Kristeene hurled the words through the air like a knife. "I'm sorry, Jo. Just … we'll talk about … other things later. I'm worried about Walsh and won't rest until he's home."
"Neither will I," a deep male voice commented from the kitchen doorway.
The man looked so much like Walsh, Kerris almost rubbed her eyes. This had to be Martin Bennett, and he was so much a picture of what Walsh would be in twenty years, Kerris wanted to lift her hand to trace his features, reaching through time to touch Walsh.