Nancy Warren - Aftershocks

He pulled her to him in a half headlock, half hug. “Okay. I owe you big time.”

“Back off, Shannon,” John said. “If Patrick wants to tell you, he will.”

Shannon merely shot him a mischievous look and went right back to grilling her brother.

“When she ran out of there like the place was on fire, I thought it was a no go.”

“Well, it would have been, but your suave and persuasive older brother-that would be me-drove over to her place and convinced her that a date with me was a good thing.”

“Date? Is that what they call it?”

He squeezed a little tighter. “That’s what we’re calling it.”

She pulled away, laughing. “Okay, okay. From the look on your face, the ‘date’ was spectacular.”

He allowed a little of the smugness he felt this morning to wash over him. “Oh, yeah. It was spectacular all right.”

She nodded. “Are you worried about people talking? I mean, because she works in your office?”

“First off, no one knows except you. So if any of this leaks out, I’ll know who to kill. Got that?”

She threw up her hands. “Hey, I’m the good guy, remember? I took your kids for a sleepover so you could enjoy a night of luv.” She held her clasped hands at her chest and gazed up at the ceiling.

He ignored her immature antics and answered her question. “Briana’s going to put in for a transfer to a different job. Until that’s done, obviously, she and I have to keep things under wraps. I’m not happy about this, of course. Of all women to fall for…” He shook his head.

“Hey, you can’t help who you fall for.” She rolled her eyes. “Look at me!”

Patrick laughed out loud. “You and John couldn’t be better suited or more in luv, so give it up, kid.”

“So,” Shannon said, “you’re going to play it cool until she gets this transfer?”

“That’s right.”

Shannon snorted. “You give it up, kid. You’re crazy in love with the woman. You’re never going to be able to stay away from her.”

Patrick was secretly worried that his sister was right. Even though he’d only been apart from Briana for less than an hour, he missed her. He wanted to call her, just to hear her voice, to see what she was doing. He’d forgotten to ask what she was up to today.

Once the kids had washed up and collected their night gear, he packed them straight off to Dylan’s Little League practice, and once that was over, treated them to lunch at a family restaurant. He chose the location because it was pretty close to Briana’s place. He figured this was still the weekend, so she wasn’t officially his employee again until tomorrow.

Knowing he was stretching his own ethics, he called her on his cell phone anyway, deciding a spur-of-the-minute invitation to lunch when they were right in her neighborhood was perfectly appropriate. They’d be well-chaperoned by his children. But Briana wasn’t there.

He felt a little disappointed, but figured she’d gone out to exercise or shop or something.

Later in the afternoon, he called again to see if she wanted to come over for a family supper, and once more got her voice mail. He hadn’t left a message the first time, not wanting to appear too eager, but this time he did.

“Hi,” he said to the machine. “It’s Patrick. The kids and I wanted to invite you for dinner, but I guess you’re not there. Call me back when you get in. Bye.”

It was strange that she’d been out all day, but he didn’t own the woman. They’d spent the night together-that didn’t give him the right to know her every movement. Still, he’d feel better when she called back.

BRIANA WAS FURIOUS. Her uncle had used her and betrayed her, but underneath her anger, she was heartbroken. She’d believed in Cecil Thomson. He’d been almost like a father to her. She’d trusted him. Loved him and her aunt. And he’d used her.

Manipulated her.

Lied to her.

And all so that she would manipulate and lie to the decent wonderful man she’d fallen in love with.

As the miles between Acadia Springs and Courage Bay disappeared, she grew angrier. And what about her poor Aunt Irene? How would she react when she found out the vile truth?

The first thing she did when she arrived home was to call Joe Carlton’s daughter. Before she confronted her uncle, Briana wanted to be absolutely certain that Joe Carlton’s story was true. Right away she explained who she was, and Joan said, “Yes, I know. Dad told me you’d be calling.”

“I’m really sorry to bother you on a Sunday night, but could I see that photograph?”

“I don’t see why not. You can’t take it with you, though. I don’t trust that Cecil Thomson not to try and destroy it if he finds out where it is.”

“No. I won’t take it anywhere.”

There was a message on her voice mail from Patrick, but right now Briana didn’t feel able to talk to him without sobbing her heart out and telling him the whole story.

Except she didn’t yet have the whole story. Not the final chapter anyway. Or, she supposed, it was really the first chapter she needed in this sordid tale.

She found Joan’s house without difficulty and was invited in to a cozy kitchen where the smell of lasagna permeated the air.

Joan had a file folder sitting on the kitchen table already. Briana’s hands shook slightly as she opened it. Inside was a copy of the arrest report, mug shots of her uncle, looking younger and more disheveled than she’d ever seen him, and his companion.

The hooker was a blowsy woman with long bleached hair and too much lipstick, as though she’d reapplied it for her mug shot.

But the third photo was the one she’d really come to see. It was still a little blurry, but there was no doubt that the startled-looking man was her uncle, and the woman peering up from his lap was the blond hooker.

“You’re sure this is all…accurate?” she asked Joan’s husband, Tom.

“Believe me, we’re very careful about libel at the Sentinel, especially when a public figure’s involved. My paper wouldn’t have run that story if we weren’t certain it was true. And while there were a few letters to the editor from Councilman Thomson, lambasting the paper for its scurrilous reporting, he never sued for libel. Never even threatened it, because he knows the story is true.”

“But we keep this file well hidden, just in case,” Joan added.

Briana felt the last of her hope that her uncle might still prove to be innocent fall away.

“You seem awfully interested in this story about the councilor,” Tom said, gazing at her with the sharp speculation of a reporter whose newshound nose is twitching. “Any particular reason why Mayor Patrick O’Shea’s assistant is researching Cecil Thomson? The same Cecil Thomson who’s blocked the mayor’s efforts for more funding?”

Darn it. She’d been so all-fired determined to get to the truth that she’d forgotten to be discreet. Thinking up a good reason for her interest was not an easy task.

She shook her head. “This has nothing to do with the funding crisis. I’m working on a…” What? “Well, an ad hoc ethics committee. I wanted to research recent scandals involving local politicians.”

“Interesting timing, looking for dirt on Councilman Thomson right when he and your boss are pitted against each other.”

“The two things are not related,” she insisted. “Please, I need you to keep this meeting off the record.”

“Any reason why I should?”

What could she offer him in return for his silence? Nothing he’d care about.

Her gaze fell on Joan, who was watching with interest. “I can’t explain right now, but what I’m doing will probably mean the end of Cecil Thomson’s career,” she said, her voice shaking a little at the knowledge that this was true. “It’s personal.”