Lisa Gardner - Hide

"I know he felt very guilty for what your mother was going through. I know the few times I saw them together at functions, your father was hyperattentive, relentlessly cheerful. If he could smile broad enough, boom loud enough, then everything would be okay.

"Your mother loved you, Annabelle," Schuepp said quietly. "When the time came, she never hesitated.

"Russell came to my office at the end of October. Tommy was back, leaving gifts for Annabelle at your home, stalking her. It was all his fault, Russell insisted. He hadn't been thorough enough. Bank accounts, IRS records could be traced. It had only been a matter of time.

"This time Russell had purchased new identities for his family, made arrangements to trade your old car for a new vehicle. Everything else was to be left behind. Fast and light, he told me. That was the key. He wouldn't even tell me where you three would be going.

"When he left, I remember wondering if you would make it. Or if I'd simply catch the end of this story one night on the news. For two weeks, all seemed well. And then that young girl, your friend, disappeared. Minute I heard the street where she lived, I knew who'd done it. According to your father, Tommy had never taken disappointment well."

"Did my father know? About Dori?" Annabelle asked urgently "Did he talk to you?"

"He called me three days later," Schuepp supplied. "Said he'd heard on the national news. He didn't know what to do. On the one hand, he was sure it was Tommy. On the other hand, if he returned to talk to the police…"

"Tommy would be able to find him again," Bobby filled in. "What about you, sir? Did you contact the police?"

"I left an anonymous tip on the hotline number. Enough for my conscience to feel like I'd done something, and yet…"

"Not nearly enough to help Dori Petracelli." Bobby gave the man a look. "You knew a vital piece of information. If you'd come forward-"

"The police would've pursued Russell and Leslie," Schuepp stated matter-of-factly "They would have dragged them back here to Massachusetts, exposed them to Tommy. The Petracelli girl was likely dead. I focused on the life that could be saved-yours, Annabelle."

Bobby opened his mouth. Before he could argue, however, Annabelle beat him to the punch.

"Explain that to Mr. and Mrs. Petracelli. They were parents, too. They deserved better than to have their daughter written off, just so their neighbors could get on with their lives." She turned away bitterly.

Schuepp poured another shot of scotch, pushed it toward her.

She wouldn't take it, though. Instead, she pulled herself together, setting her face in that resolute look Bobby knew so well.

"One last question, Mr. Schuepp: Can you tell me my real name?"

M Y NAME IS Amy Marie Grayson. Amy Marie Grayson.

I sat in the passenger's seat of Bobby's Crown Vic, clinging to my parents' ashes, while trying out my real name again and again, waiting to see when it would roll naturally off my tongue. We were already back on Route 2. Driving somewhere. It hardly mattered to me.

Amy. Marie. Grayson. It still felt unnatural, stilted on my lips.

All of my life, I had considered myself two people: Annabelle Granger and Current Alias-whatever name I happened to have at the time. Now, according to Mr. Schuepp, I was actually three people: Amy Grayson, Annabelle Granger, and… well, et al.

The notion confused me. I rested my head against the cool glass of my window, and for a moment I saw my father again, sitting across from me at Giacomo's as we celebrated my twenty-first birthday, appearing content.

My father had won. I never understood, because he'd never let me be part of the war he was fighting. But that night, my birthday, must have felt like a victory to him. He had lost his mother. He had lost his wife. But his daughter… Me, at least, he had kept safe, though it had cost him so much along the way.

And I was amazed now, humbled in a way that brought tears to my eyes, that he had viewed my life as a victory. He had given up his career for me. He had given up neighbors, his home, his own sense of self. Ultimately, he had given up his wife.

I can picture my father remote. I can picture him relentless, hard, aggressive. But I can't remember him ever being bitter or mean-spirited. He always had his cause, his reason, even if his paranoia drove me crazy.

And knowing the whole story now, all I wanted to do was go back in time to tell him I was sorry, to give him a grateful hug, to tell him I finally understood. Then again, niceness was never what my father had wanted for me. We fought, constantly, incessantly, partly because my father had enjoyed a good battle. He'd raised a fighter. And he liked to test my skills.

Amy Marie Grayson. Amy Marie.

And just for a moment, I could almost hear it. My mother's voice, crooning softly, "There's my little angel… Good morning, Amy, bobamey mamey"

I was crying. I didn't want to. But the enormity of it hit me all at once. My mother's sacrifice. My father's loss. And I was sobbing hard and ugly, only vaguely aware of Bobby's hand upon my shoulder. Then the car was slowing down, pulling over. My seat belt retracted. He pulled me onto his lap, an awkward motion, given the hard intrusion of the steering wheel. But I didn't care. I buried my face against his shoulder. Clung to him like a child. And sobbed because my parents had given everything to save my life and I'd been furious at them for doing so.

"Shhhh," he was saying over and over again.

"Dori is dead because of me."

"Shhhhhhh."

"And my mother and father. And five other girls. And for what? What about me is so damn special? I can't even hold down a job and my only friend is a dog."

On cue, Bella whined anxiously from the backseat. I had forgotten about her. Now she bounded over the top of the seat to get to the front. I could feel her pawing at my leg. Bobby didn't push her away. He just murmured more low words of comfort. I could feel the strength of his arms around me. The hard band of his muscles.

It made me a little crazy. That he could feel so real, so strong, when I felt as if everything in my life was disintegrating, torn into shreds and drifting away like confetti. And I was grateful at that moment that we were in a car, parked along a busy freeway, because if we'd been at my apartment, I would've stripped him naked. I would've removed every piece of his clothing, bit by bit, just so I could touch his skin, run my tongue along the ridges of his stomach, taste the salt of my own tears upon his chest, because I needed so badly to outrun my own thoughts, to feel only the intensity of one frantic moment, to feel alive.

Amy Marie Grayson. Amy. Marie. Grayson.

Oh Dori, I am so sorry. Oh Dori.

Bobby kissed me. Tilted up my chin, covered my lips with his own. And it was so gentle, so giving, that it made me cry all over again, until I took his hand and pressed it against my breast, hard, because I didn't want to feel like glass and I didn't want him viewing me as someone who would break.

Amy Marie Grayson. Whose uncle had destroyed her entire family.

And found her again last night.

I pulled away, hitting my elbow on the steering wheel. Bella whined again. I slid from Bobby's lap, back onto the seat, and pulled Bella close.

Bobby didn't try to stop me. Didn't say a word. I could hear him breathing heavily.

I scrubbed at my cheeks. Bella helped with a few enthusiastic licks.

"I should get back to work," I said brusquely.

Bobby regarded me strangely. "Doing what?"

"I have a project due. Back Bay. My client is going to wonder."