Meg O'Brien - Crimson Rain

“I don’t know why you think I’ve seen Angela,” he said in as steady a tone as he could manage, “but even if I had, I’m your father, Rachel. I don’t have to report to you.”

“Obviously not,” she said, “given the number of times I’ve heard from you since summer.”

He stared. “Is that what’s really bothering you? Rach, I thought you were just as busy as I’ve been. I didn’t think you’d miss hearing from me. I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Rachel said. “It’s not about the e-mail, Dad. It’s about all those years when you didn’t have time for me because you were so busy fawning over Angela. You think that didn’t hurt? You think kids don’t see those things, no matter how young they are?”

“Rachel, that was years ago. Why are you bringing it up now? I thought—God, all that time working with Victoria, and you’re still hurting about those things? What does it take for you to get over it?”

“Maybe not having it start all over again,” she snapped. “Maybe getting her out of our lives once and for all!”

“If you like Mary Higgins Clark, you’ll love Meg O’Brien!”

—Armchair Detective

Also available from MIRA Books and MEG O’BRIEN

GATHERING LIES

SACRED TRUST

CRASHING DOWN

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Many thanks to…

Cathy Landrum, for her valuable research, and to Al Wilding, retired Seattle police officer, for checking my police scenes for accuracy.

Immeasurable thanks and love to my family, who generously helped me to finish this book during a period of immobility by shopping for me, cleaning for me, running to the post office, keeping my computer going and even seeing to it that my birds in the garden got fed. Bless you all…Kevin, Robin, Kaiti, Greg, Darrell, Tiffany and Scott. Thanks also to Peggy, who makes me proud, and to her mom, Amy, who recently put herself through college and deserves huge huzzahs! Finally, a very special hug and kiss to Courtney and Jonathan, whose visits add light to our lives, and to Emily, the “Little One,” who helps by just being here and keeping me laughing!

It seems I thank my MIRA editors in every book, but that’s only because I love every one I’ve ever worked with. Many thanks to Dianne Moggy and Amy Moore-Benson, and this year in particular to Miranda Stecyk, my editor through the Crimson Rain revisions. Her insight, hard work and enthusiastic support for this book made the job of revising seem easy, at a time when I wondered if I’d ever be able to finish.

Finally, I extend my utmost gratitude to my many wonderful readers who have written such beautiful letters about my books, and whose support for my writing keeps me going. Please stay in touch. I value each letter and e-mail, and even if my writing schedule keeps me from answering each one, I will always treasure your kind words. You can reach me now in two ways: by e-mail (megobrien@earthlink.net) or through my Web site (www.megobrien.com).

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Seattle, Washington

Christmas Eve, sixteen years ago

Life, some say, is only an illusion—an illusion we create ourselves, in our own minds, then project onto the screen of our days. Paul Bradley would wonder, later, if he had indeed, by some strange quirk of mind, created the hellish thing that happened to his family that long-ago Christmas Eve. Until then, he and Gina had seemed to have so much going for them. How, in one devastating moment, could it all have fallen apart?

A miracle might have saved them. Miracles, some say, are another thing we create ourselves. By choice, they say, we abide in either heaven or hell.

Paul might have made different choices in the years to follow. Gina might have, too. Neither of them could possibly know, however, the evil that lay in wait for them. Nor did they know that by the simple matter of making different choices, they might have been spared.

The vicious act that brought everything to a head—though no one could say it was the “true beginning”—took place sixteen years ago on a night that was supposed to be holy, but into which crept the very soul of sin. Paul Bradley stood that night with Gina, his wife of six years, in the kitchen of their historic home on Queen Anne Hill. Larger and with more property than most on the hill, it had the kind of architectural appointments the Bradleys loved. Finding it on Queen Anne Hill, one of the oldest and most desirable areas in Seattle, had been a bonus. Though some referred to the hill these days as a queen in a faded petticoat, there was talk of future gentrification on Lower Queen Anne. New and luxurious homes, apartments and businesses were going up every day.

The Bradleys had chosen this particular house because it stood in a quiet area above the fray and had a fabulous view. On good days they could see the Sound and most of West Seattle. On foggy days, the top of the Space Needle seemed to float on the clouds, like a hovering spacecraft or a ship at sea.

Never had Paul felt so content with the way his life had turned out. He had his own business, selling antiques to millionaire software executives, and Gina was on her way to becoming a successful interior designer. The Life Plan they had put down on paper before they married was working out—albeit with a few glitches here and there.

One of those glitches was that Gina hadn’t been able to have children, something they had discovered shortly after they married. Since they both wanted a family, and the sooner the better, they saw no reason to wait before adopting. Rachel and Angela, fraternal twins, had come into their lives one warm August day when they were a year old, about the same time as Paul and Gina’s first wedding anniversary. It seemed the Bradley family was now complete.

To be honest, there had been a few rough moments in the past year with Angela, who had shown signs of anger and hostility that seemed unusual for a four-year-old. Paul and Gina had been warned by the psychiatrist at Saint Sympatica’s orphanage that the girls might have problems due to a lack of sufficient maternal bonding in their first months. They had been left on the steps of the orphanage nine months before the adoption, with nothing but a note saying that they were three months old and their names were Rachel and Angela. Nothing was known about their mother, the psychiatrist had told them.

Though the twins were not identical, they both had brown hair and clear hazel eyes that seemed to connect with Gina and Paul from the first time they held them. The Bradleys had fallen in love with them on sight, and readily agreed to provide them with all the professional care they might need.

Everything had seemed fine until, at the age of four, Angela had begun to exhibit symptoms of what Victoria Lessing—the Seattle psychiatrist they had taken her to—tentatively labeled as RAD: Reactive Attachment Disorder. Angela seemed to have no real feelings for people, and no remorse when she hurt someone, as children often did while playing. Victoria had continued to work with Angela, often including Paul, Gina and Rachel in the sessions. The therapy had seemed to be helping, and in recent months they had actually begun to relax with their child.