One Last Breath by Lisa Jackson (1)

Chapter 1

Portland, Oregon
Five years later . . .

 

Most every window of the storefronts on the street level had been smashed or broken and the ones recently installed to the apartments above, still sporting their manufacturing stickers, weren’t in much better shape. Though intact, all save for one were starred and cracked, possibly from the small piece of concrete at Liam’s feet.

Derek ripped off his hard hat and threw it on the ground. “This keeps happening, we’ll go broke!”

The sound of an electric saw buzzing on an upper floor was a steady noise he had to shout over. Liam yelled, “Put that back on.”

“I don’t give a damn what falls on my head.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“What should I be, huh? Calm and frozen like you? This has been going on too long and I know who’s behind it.”

“Random vandalism,” Liam said.

“Everett Stemple,” Derek spat back. “Blames you for his sister’s death. Blames all of us.”

“Stepsister. And she’s not dead, she’s MIA,” Liam corrected, as he always did when dealing with Derek’s insistence that Rory was deceased. It was easier for Derek to act like Rory was dead, because he wanted to blame all the Stemples all the time, including Rory.

Maybe she was dead. Maybe that’s why no one had found a trace of her, apart from a bloodstained wedding dress. Not Rory’s blood. Someone else’s, a male’s, still unidentified. Not that the Seattle police were actively looking for Rory anymore. She was on the back burner, a footnote to the shooting at the hotel by a man who had been traced to an abandoned vehicle, the fuzzy photograph from a faraway street camera was little help in identifying him. The once hot trail was now covered in ice, though Seattle PD had never closed the case, and Detective Mickelson, a heavyset older man with a world-weary face, hadn’t given up believing he’d be the one to close it. According to him, he never would, and though now retired from the force and working in private investigation, he periodically checked in with Liam to let him know he was still committed to working the case. It appeared to be the man’s Great White Whale, and if his obsession turned up Rory, so much the better, though no concrete leads to her whereabouts had panned out thus far. The shooter’s identity was still in question as well, though Mickelson had his theories.

In the beginning, Rory’s disappearance had seemed connected to the shooting, yet there was no evidence to support that argument. But something had happened in her hotel room. A knife fight of some kind, as one knife was found with the same blood that was on the dress discovered during the search in a parking garage garbage can. The knife was believed to have come from the cheese-and-fruit tray whose contents had been scattered over the floor. Liam had been desperate to find her, but as time passed the investigation led in a different direction, and finding Rory became an adjunct to the main crime: an ambush by a male shooter who’d mowed down Aaron Stemple, killing him, and injuring several other wedding attendees. Liam’s father, now confined to a wheelchair, had been among the wounded, as was Liam himself. His injuries had healed, but occasionally, when his mind drifted to that day, phantom pains emanated from the bullet scars.

Detective Mickelson believed the shooter was either dead or incarcerated for some other crime, since the trail just seemed to end. The authorities had gone through thousands of interviews, trying to ascertain a motive. There had been a flurry of interest in Harold Stemple, whose prison friends had ties to released criminals who could have been involved. But Stemple had lost his youngest son in the debacle, and he was still married to Darlene, the last Liam had checked, so it seemed unlikely he would risk their lives. The man had been convicted of home invasion and attempted robbery, but he’d been in prison at the time of the shooting, and there appeared to be no credible connection.

There was the thought that a disgruntled ex-employee or subcontractor who’d worked for Bastian-Flavel might be responsible. The authorities had even scrutinized Liam’s father’s ex–business partner, James Flavel, a man in his late seventies who was retired and living in Arizona and had declined the invitation to the wedding. Flavel had been entirely cooperative, and though he and Liam’s father had suffered a falling-out years earlier, they still considered each other a friend, and there was no serious animosity. Flavel had moved on with his life and was having a romantic renaissance, of a sort. He was the most eligible single male in the retirement community where he resided, and he spent most of his time either golfing or dating some of the women in the complex, which created ongoing tensions amongst the female residents but appeared to have no bearing on the shooting.

Liam was sick to the back teeth of the whole thing. From being desperate to find Rory, yearning for answers, yearning for her, he’d slowly grown cold and remote, the memory of their love turning from a pulsing ember to a diamond-hard stone. The fact that Derek seemed determined to keep bringing up Everett Stemple as the vandal who was harassing their projects pissed him off. Stemple still lived in Seattle, the last Liam had checked, and it wasn’t feasible that he would drive three or four hours each way to commit crimes against the Bastians. Sure, Everett had been crazed with grief and fury in the beginning. His brother was dead and Rory was missing and he somehow thought Liam was responsible. But that was a mad reaction, and even Everett had eventually recognized that that scenario made no sense.

Now, Derek was talking to their foreman, Les Steele, gesticulating toward the broken windows, his dark hair flying in the wind. The saw was still buzzing, making every word a shout, so Steele merely pointed to Derek’s discarded hard hat. Liam bent down to pick it up. No need to get a citation about unsafe practices just because Derek was angry, frustrated, and stubborn.

Liam met up with Steele and Derek.

“We need more security,” Steele said loudly, above the racket.

“We’re like bleeding money,” Derek moaned.

“I’ll order it,” Liam stated firmly.

Steele nodded and pointed to where he was needed in a confab with a couple of other workers who were talking with a crane operator. Liam elbowed Derek, whose gaze was following Les, and once he got his attention, Liam gestured to the parking lot and Derek’s beat-up, green Ford F1 truck, the vehicle they had driven to the site in as they’d been at the company office together when they’d learned of the sabotage.

Derek swept off his protective headgear again as soon as they were away from the hard-hat area. “It’s our building that keeps getting hit. It’s not Barlow’s.” He pointed to an apartment building going up several blocks away in the same Sellwood district. It was new from the ground up, whereas the Bastians’ Hallifax building was a complete gut job. Maintaining the building’s original walls and façade, keeping its beautiful architecture and neighborhood flavor, the project was looked on as a model for the area.

“They should be hit, not us. Barlow razed that thing to the ground. We’re trying to make everybody happy here. Keep the original design.”

“You like the original design,” Liam reminded him.

“Yeah, I do, and so does everybody else! Well, most people around here anyway . . . that’s why this destructive shithead should be going after Barlow, not us! We’re doing this the right way.”

Though Liam saw Derek’s point, agreed with it, even, he didn’t say anything. Their father had wanted to blast the building to smithereens and go modern, just like Barlow Construction, and it had been Liam and Derek who’d talked him into hanging on to the old, citing the antique shops and general feel of the area. They’d believed, and Liam still believed, that their project would be welcomed by the neighborhood residents and shop owners, and that seemed to be the case . . . at least at first.

As for their father, he was far too embittered to care about a design that was organic to the community. Geoff Bastian was infuriated that he’d lost the use of his legs and had never become comfortable with the wheelchair. He still tried to run his company, but he relied on his two sons to be his legs because he refused to show up at the work site being wheeled around. In some ways this made it easier for Liam; he could see for himself what needed to be done and tell his father about it later rather than have Geoff second-guess him over every decision, no matter how small. Of course, Geoff always wanted a full accounting, but Liam, with Derek’s help, kept to the basics. The less said, the better.

If Derek felt slighted by the fact that Geoff put his younger son in charge, he didn’t say so. Maybe he understood that his own mercurial temperament, so much like Geoff’s, was the very reason he’d been passed over. Liam, with his icy control, a learned behavior that had been honed to an even finer point by Rory’s defection, was better at running the show.

“What are you doing tonight?” Derek asked once he was behind the wheel and Liam was in the passenger seat. By mutual unsaid agreement, they were heading back to the Bastian-Flavel corporate offices along Portland’s South Waterfront.

“Meeting Beth for dinner.”

“Where?”

“Why?” Liam hedged.

“Where are you going to dinner? Is it a state secret?”

“We don’t know yet. I’m going to text her.”

“Bullshit. You just don’t want me to know because you’re embarrassed. She’s talked you into another expensive restaurant where you’ll order foie gras and lobster and a bottle of wine that would cover my rent for a month.”

“You’re not poor,” Liam reminded his brother, hiding his anger because Derek had hit a nerve. Bethany Van Horne was used to living high on the hog. She was a good partner, great lover, but she had an expectation about money and finances that was the one reason Liam hadn’t asked her to marry him. Well, that, and the fact that he was still wedded to Rory Abernathy, a situation his whole family and his would-be fiancée wanted him to rectify. And he should, he knew. It was time to get on with his life. Make a plan. Everyone thought Bethany was better suited for him. Everyone assumed that Liam and Beth were about to take the plunge. Everyone knew it was Liam who was dragging his feet. None of it was fair to Beth.

“I might not be poor, but I’m not engaged to a Van Horne,” Derek pointed out. “Although I’ve heard rumblings that things aren’t quite as rosy as they were, financially speaking.”

Liam didn’t respond. He’d heard the rumblings about old man Van Horne’s business losses, too. Profits down in their lumber company. A possible leak of sensitive company dealings that may have squelched a potential sale. Bethany hadn’t said anything about it, but she may not be completely aware, as she was only peripherally involved in her father’s company.

“I’m not engaged to a Van Horne, either,” Liam said as he pulled into the lot.

“You should be married to her.”

“Yeah, well, a few hurdles to jump first.”

“Annul that marriage, bro. I mean, c’mon. A month or two of wedded un-bliss and then she scoots out?”

“I know your feelings about Rory, Derek.”

“Well, know this, too. This isn’t the first time she’s run out on a guy. She was engaged once before, but took off before that walk down the aisle.”

“I know, Derek,” Liam said evenly. “She was scared of him. She ran because she didn’t know what else to do.”

“She told you?” He didn’t bother to wait for Liam to reply. “What I heard was she ran because she figured out he was a loser who was never going to make enough money for her.”

“Who told you that?”

“I’ve known it for years. It was all over the wedding. But nobody could talk to you about her. Still can’t. I’m surprised we’re even having this conversation. Maybe you’re finally getting over her.”

“I’ve been over her for years,” Liam stated. “I just don’t like talking about her and the wedding and Dad being in that wheelchair. It’s turned him into a mean, frustrated old guy.”

Derek made a face and looked past Liam. “He’s always been a mean and frustrated old guy.”

Liam heard something in Derek’s tone, a wistfulness, maybe sadness. Derek had always been the “screw up.” Except for his out-of-character marriage to Rory, Liam had been the more dutiful son.

For some reason that thought ate at him.

Derek climbed out of the truck and Liam followed suit. They headed back toward the corporate offices together, but as Liam punched the elevator call button, Derek hesitated. “Go eat fucking goose liver and fish eggs or whatever. I’m going to have a beer and ribs down at McCallum’s.”

“Now? It’s three o’clock.”

“Yeah, well, tell the old man I’m done for the day. I want to talk to some guys. See if anybody knows anything about what’s going on down at the job site.”

McCallum’s was a favorite haunt down by the Willamette River. While it seemed like every establishment with a water view was an upscale, trendy hot spot, McCallum’s stubbornly remained true to its workingman roots. A lot of the guys who were working on the Sellwood project ended up at McCallum’s.

“Let me know if you learn anything.”

Derek waved him away as he headed outside to his truck. The green Ford might be beat-up, but it had every bell, whistle, and electronic device available. Derek might needle him about Beth and money, but he was used to having nice things himself. He just wasn’t great with finances, and his relationships with women ran along the same lines.

Liam took the elevator up to the tenth-floor offices of Bastian-Flavel Construction. Di, the receptionist, smiled at him and said, “Your fiancée’s here.”

He opened his mouth to correct her, but then stopped himself. Why bother. She might not be his fiancée yet, but he was on an inevitable track, one he’d willingly stepped onto, so there was no reason to jump off and deny it existed. Instead he gave her a small wave of acknowledgment and headed to his office.

Bethany was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the river, a small smile of pleasure on her face. She wore a taupe linen straight sheath and matching pumps, and her smooth tresses, once blond and now reddish, an affectation she’d adopted over the last few years, were pulled back and clipped at her nape by a dull, silvery hair clasp. A faint scent of something gingery and citrus wafted his way. She looked and smelled like money.

Liam had an instant flashback to Rory. Her wild red locks, holey jeans—from use rather than design—the flip-flops or slip-on sneakers, her array of colorful T-shirts that shrank after a good washing, ones she was always tugging down to hide the peekaboo line of smooth skin they offered up, her favorite fish-skeleton earrings that were more nickel than silver, the smell of coffee surrounding her as they’d met in one of the coffee shops of the company she’d worked for.

“Hi, there,” Beth said, turning to meet his gaze, her smile widening.

Liam shook off the memory. How had he ever thought Rory would fit into his world? They’d been from totally different social strata, different economic levels, different everything. Those kinds of relationships only worked in fairy tales. He was lucky she’d taken off for God knew where. Lucky.

“Thought we were meeting at the restaurant.” He headed toward his desk, but she intercepted him and gave him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek.

“I didn’t know where you wanted to go, so I thought we could pick out a place together. Am I bothering you? Do you have a lot left to do?”

“It’s fine. I’m pretty much done here.” For a moment he considered telling her about the continued vandalism at the site, but that kind of information seemed to eat at her far more than it did him. He didn’t like the vandalism. It completely pissed him off, even while he recognized some of that kind of thing happened during construction. Overall, the neighborhood was happy with the building’s renovation, but there was always a faction against change, or maybe it was just random, like he’d told Derek. No matter what the root cause, Bethany wasn’t the one to talk with about it. Bad things happening at his business made her uncomfortable and anxious, a product of her father’s topsy-turvy years in business, he suspected. Beth had never felt safe. Whenever Liam mentioned any kind of problem, he had the sense she wanted to clap her hands over her ears and shake her head. She needed to believe everything was fine and good. Smooth. Easy. Perfect. She would always change the subject from business as soon as she could. Her interests lay elsewhere, and Liam had learned over the last few years to tell her as little as possible about his work.

“Then let’s go early and have a drink,” she suggested. “How about the Portland Grill?”

For a wild moment he thought about suggesting McCallum’s. Instead, he pulled himself back and said, “Sounds good.”

She linked her arm through his. “You have somewhere else in mind, I can tell.”

He shrugged. “There’s a sushi place in Sellwood, not far from the construction site. It’s a hole in the wall, but it’s supposed to have great food. There’s always a line.”

“A line?” She lifted the toe of one taupe pump. “I can’t stand too long in these.”

“Ah.”

“Sorry.” She looked at him beseechingly.

“No problem. You’re right. We’ll go to the Portland Grill.”

* * *

An hour later Liam pushed aside his plate, a delicious salmon meal that he couldn’t do justice, and reached for his wineglass.

“Something wrong?” Beth asked.

“No.”

“I swear I ate more than you did.” She, too, had ordered the salmon and was nearly finished with it, and had made a dent in the accompanying risotto. Now she put down her fork and looked around, as if she couldn’t bear to be seen out-eating him.

He wasn’t really hungry. He was . . . dissatisfied. With life, at some level, he recognized, draining the glass of cabernet. It felt like he’d been holding his breath, waiting for something to happen, ever since Rory took off from their wedding and a gunman rained bullets upon his friends and family.

“I have something I want to talk about,” she said, sliding her hands across the table and lifting her fingers, wanting him to entwine his with hers. He set down his glass and indulged her, though it sort of bugged him.

“What is it?”

“Well, you know we’re going to Napa next weekend.”

Liam nodded. He didn’t want to go. He should. He’d promised. But the friends they were meeting were hers, and he always found himself watching the clock when they were together, which wasn’t often, as he tended to find ways to beg off.

“I just thought maybe . . . well . . .” She flushed. “I know this is unorthodox, but you kind of like the unorthodox, so I thought, what the hell.”

Her fingers had clenched around his, surprisingly strong. He thought he knew what was coming and his heart started beating hard. No. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he wasn’t ready.

“Liam Bastian, would you—”

“Uh, no, Beth. Wait. Time isn’t right. I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a bastard, but—”

“—be my boyfriend?”

Her face suffused with color as she let go of his fingers and reached into her purse, pulling out a small blue velvet ring case, opening it to reveal a green ring with Yoda’s image stamped into the plastic.

“I saw it at a novelty shop and just thought . . . Oh, I don’t know. It’s dumb.” She snapped the case closed and shoved it back in her purse.

“No, it’s great. I’m sorry,” he said lamely.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I know it’s not. I’m not trying to be a bastard, you know. I’m just trying to figure stuff out.”

“I know. I also know you’re still not over her.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” She lifted her chin.

“I’m not over what happened at the wedding,” he said. “But I’m over her.”

“Really? Then why did you ask Brian Jacoby to find her?” she asked.

“How did you know?” he burst out, unable to hide his surprise. Jacoby was a private investigator who’d done some work for Beth’s father, and yes, he’d put the man on a retainer a while back and asked him to see if he could learn anything more. But as before, there was no trail. Rory had disappeared into thin air.

“I wish it wasn’t true, but you’re still in love with her, no matter what you say. Your actions prove it. I thought you would forget her. That time would erase her from your memory, but every year, I swear to God, it’s worse! You and I are moving further apart and it’s because of her.”

“No, no . . .” Liam searched for a defense, uncomfortable hearing his own thoughts coming out of her mouth. “But I am still married to her. I’d like to get that settled.”

“You could have your marriage annulled just like that if you tried!” She snapped her fingers. Her angry eyes glittered with unshed tears. “You just don’t want to. You’d rather chase after her to the ends of the earth than marry me.”

“That’s not true, Beth.”

“Isn’t it? What did you think? That I was going to propose to you? I have some pride left, you know.”

“Let’s not fight.”

“Oh, sure. Let’s not fight. I know, I know.” She lifted a hand to forestall anything he was about to say. “Fighting in public is not the Bastian or Van Horne way. And I agree. It’s just that I feel like fighting. I feel like screaming,” she said intensely in a lowered voice. “You don’t want to go to Napa. You just want to go to work and numb out in front of the television.”

“That’s not really true.”

“I want to start a life together, Liam. I want to buy a house together. We’ve talked about it. We’ve looked. Kind of. It doesn’t have to be today, but sometime. Can’t we take a few steps in the right direction? Something? You haven’t even asked me to move into the apartment with you!”

She was hammering him with words, logic, the length and breadth of her dreams. And she was right. He’d been stuck in idle for five years.

“Will you . . . move into my place with me?” he asked, feeling as if his chest was clamped in a vise. It pissed him off at himself. What’s wrong with you, you dick? This woman is everything you want. Why can’t you commit?

She laughed, shaking her head. Swiping at the tears in her eyes. “Sure. Yeah. Let’s do that.” Her voice was defeated.

He almost said he was sorry a third time, but managed to clench his teeth and keep the words from coming.

She heaved a sigh and looked around the restaurant. “As long as you’re looking for her, I don’t stand a chance.”

“Jacoby hasn’t found anything. I’ll call him off.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” she said bitterly.

“I’m sorry, Beth,” he said, unable to stop himself. “I mean that.”

The moment spun out but he couldn’t say the words. Couldn’t make himself.

She inhaled and exhaled, not looking at him. Finally, she slid him a look out of the corner of her eye. “You’ll really call Jacoby off?”

“Yes.”

She nodded.

Liam sensed the moment of crisis had passed, but he still felt like a complete heel. “Could I see that ring again?”

“Don’t, Liam.”

“Oh, come on. Please? I’m kind of a Spider-Man fan myself. Maybe I just didn’t give it the proper respect it deserved.”

“You like Spider-Man?” She finally turned fully toward him, swallowing hard, putting on a brave smile. “How come I didn’t know that?”

“I guess you don’t know everything about me.” Actually, he’d just made that up on the spot to make her feel better. He hadn’t seen a Spider-Man movie since Tobey Maguire played the lead.

“There was a red Spider-Man ring at the shop.”

“Yoda’s fine. I like Yoda. I could be a Jedi Master.”

She chuckled, though she shook her head some more. “God, Liam, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be impatient, but I am. I love you. You know I do, and I know you love me, too.”

“Yes,” he said. Even that was hard, but he did love her . . . just maybe not as deeply, romantically, as he’d loved Rory.

They managed to get through the rest of the evening without bringing up anything about their relationship, and when he dropped Bethany at her parents’ home, where she was staying since she’d released her apartment in the hope of moving in with Liam, he wrested the Yoda ring from her and put it on his little finger. He kissed her goodbye with more tenderness than his usual quick peck on the lips.

“Can’t wait for Napa,” she said.

“Me too.”

“Liar.” She smiled. “But I’ll take it. And we are going to have fun, Liam. And maybe we can start thinking about moving in together, like you said.”

He nodded.

“Maybe next month? Or September?”

“September,” he said, seeing her face shutter at the delay, though she threw him a quick smile of goodbye as she turned away.

That last exchange left him with a bad feeling about his condo, and he drove instead to his parents’ home in Portland’s West Hills, pulling into the drive and parking in one of the four garage bays, then heading back outside and walking along the stone pathway to the backyard and the illuminated outdoor pool, a crazy indulgence as Oregon’s weather made swimming a challenge except for the dead of summer. The surface of the turquoise water riffled in an evening breeze. Far below, Portland twinkled and pulsed in a million lights.

He stood there for a long time, drinking in the view, his thoughts churning. Finally he pulled out his cell phone and called Jacoby’s cell number, expecting the man’s voice mail. He was surprised when the gruff-voiced private investigator answered on the second ring, as if he’d been waiting for a call.

“Speak of the devil. I was just thinking about you,” Jacoby said.

“I’m giving up the search. Send me the final bill.”

“That right? You still got a little left on your retainer. Sure you want to give up?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, how about I use up the rest of the money and just see what I see.”

Liam smiled faintly. “Unless you’ve found her already, I think I’ll call it quits.” There was a studied silence on the other end of the line and the smile on Liam’s face slowly dissolved. “Jacoby?”

“I got a lead. That’s all I’m saying. Give me a week and maybe I’ll have a different answer for you.”

“Bullshit.” His heart was pounding again—deep, painful beats that nearly suffocated him.

“One week,” Jacoby said.