The present
Four stately white columns stood like sentries before the two-story, brick mansion. Surrounded by a tall fence and immaculate grounds, the house appeared cold and austere. Even the exotic pineapple, the universally recognized symbol of hospitality, on the colorful nylon flag flapping in the breeze near the front door did not bring a sense of welcome to the place.
While Jake scrutinized the impressive Reardon home from inside his rental car, he recalled Angela’s disdain for her parents’ love of wealth and society. As a disenchanted young woman, she had left the lap of luxury in McLean, Virginia, to live in a duplex in LA and a condo in Coronado.
Already tired from the cross-country flight, he wasn’t entirely sure why he was here, and he sure as hell didn’t know what he was going to say. His business was with Maleena Reardon, not her parents. Perhaps he simply had a morbid need to meet Angela’s unsympathetic family, especially the parents who had turned their backs on a very special daughter.
He drove up the circular driveway and parked in front of the stairs leading to the front door. As he climbed the steps, he listened for signs of life but heard none. When he rang the doorbell, a smiling, impeccably dressed, middle-aged woman promptly answered.
“Good afternoon. May I help you?” she asked in a soft, polite voice.
“Good afternoon. I’m here to see Mr. and Mrs. Reardon.”
“Do you have an appointment, sir?”
“No. I just arrived from San Diego, and I was hoping to catch them at home.”
The woman slanted her head slightly. “Your name?”
“Jake Stone.”
Her smile faltered. “Have you found her?” She drew a deep breath and extended her hand. “Excuse my poor manners, Mr. Stone. I am Rosa Sanchez. We spoke on the phone several days ago.”
“Yes, I remember. Glad to meet you, Ms. Sanchez,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’m sorry, but Angela…hasn’t been found.”
Rosa nodded solemnly. She gestured for him to enter and shut the door behind him. Then she leaned close and spoke barely above a whisper, “Don’t give up, Mr. Stone. Don’t let them stop you. My angel would never commit suicide.” She straightened, her eyes glistening, beseeching.
“I won’t give up.”
“Good.” She sighed. “Mrs. Reardon is with Maleena at the wedding planner’s office, but Mr. Reardon is in his study. He prefers to have guests announced, but why don’t you just come with me, Mr. Stone.” She smiled as if they were coconspirators.
Following Rosa across the marble foyer and down a long hallway, Jake stole glances into several lavishly furnished rooms. The mansion’s interior reeked of gaudy affluence.
They stopped in front of double mahogany doors.
“Stay right behind me,” Rosa said.
She knocked once, swung the doors wide open, and walked into the room. Jake was her shadow.
Randall Reardon glanced up from the papers on his desk. His startled expression conveyed undeniable displeasure at Rosa’s violation of household protocol.
“Mr. Reardon, Jake Stone to see you.” She stepped around Jake and left the study, closing the doors behind her.
The two men stared at each other for several moments before Randall Reardon spoke.
Looking down at the paperwork, he said, “I’m very busy, Mr. Stone. I can spare you a few minutes, but if you need more of my time, I suggest you make an appointment.” His cool, aloof gaze returned to his uninvited, unwelcome guest.
“This won’t take long.” Without an invitation, Jake lowered himself into an armchair. He rested his forearms on his legs and clasped his hands in a pensive attitude.
Randall pushed his chair away from the desk, leaned back, and folded his hands on his chest. “I assume this is about Angela. We’ve heard nothing from Detective Smithson in several days, but I know Maleena has been monitoring the situation closely. Is there some news?”
Jake pasted on a rueful smile and began his charade. “I wish I had something positive to report, but I don’t. I’m actually in town on another matter and just wanted to take the opportunity to introduce myself to Angela’s family.” Randall didn’t respond so Jake continued. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. Although I knew Angela for only a short time, I was extremely fond of her. And now I miss her terribly. I can’t imagine how awful it must be for her parents and sister.”
Randall’s expression softened. “It’s been hard on all of us.”
“Maleena has indicated my investigation has caused your family a great deal of distress. Please understand that is not my intention. I only want to find the truth.” Jake waited, watching for a reaction.
The father’s gaze rose to the ceiling. He laced his fingers and bounced them softly against his lips. When his eyes returned to Jake’s, they shone with unshed tears.
“I’ve lost Angela twice, Mr. Stone. You have no idea how devastating that is. Four years ago, part of me died because I didn’t know how to reach out to my daughter after the…the rape. Other circumstances in my life made it impossible to drop everything and bring her under my wing. She never understood why I wasn’t there for her, and I lost her. I had always hoped someday, somehow, we could reconnect, find each other.”
Dumbfounded by the man’s emotional response, Jake could only listen.
Randall cleared his throat. “But then this happened. My hope was destroyed. I lost Angela again. This time for…for…forever.” He sighed heavily. “My marriage barely survived the first crisis. The jury’s still out on whether it will survive this one. Maleena and her mother have always been very close. But Angela, you see, was my favorite, my perfect angel.” He stared off into space. After a long, poignant moment, Randall coughed and returned to the present. “Regardless of what Maleena and my wife may say, Mr. Stone, I want to know the truth about Angela’s death. I loved her deeply. I’m just doing a very poor job of dealing with losing my daughter a second time.”
Jake judged the man’s sincerity. Oddly, he believed Angela’s father. Was it because they shared the burden of remorse-filled hearts?
The older man’s unexpected, heartfelt reaction momentarily disconcerted Jake. Blackmailing Maleena would bring even more turmoil into the distraught father’s life. Well, that was just too damn bad.
Jake stood. “Thank you for your candor, Mr. Reardon. I’m not giving up. I feel I owe it to Angela. Thank you for your time.”
Randall came around the desk, shook his hand, and escorted him toward the doors. “I apologize for being so obnoxious when we spoke before. My defensive reaction as a father was that you had, perhaps, been involved with Angela for less than respectable reasons. Please forgive me.”
“No problem.”
Near the doors, they stopped at a large wooden table covered with framed pictures. Randall selected one of a smiling teenager. “This is my favorite picture of Angela. But, in all honesty, she only grew more beautiful, inside and out, as she got older.”
Jake spotted a familiar photograph: Angela wearing a red dress. He treasured the miniature of that picture, which was in his wallet. He carefully lifted the frame from the table and brought it closer.
“I like this one,” he said solemnly.
Randall cocked his head, a curious expression on his face. “But that’s Maleena.”
“What?”
“That’s Maleena. The photograph was taken about five months ago, shortly after she got engaged. I don’t believe she even knows Adrienne recently had a copy enlarged and framed.”
Maleena? Jake’s jaw dropped, and his eyes grew wide.
Randall chuckled. “You didn’t know Angela and Maleena were identical twins, did you? I’m not surprised Angela never told you.” He shook his head sadly.
Identical twins. A strange swirling sensation filled Jake’s head. Puzzle pieces spun, twisted, and landed, forming a heinous manifestation of hatred and betrayal.
“It was the weirdest thing. From birth, their personalities were completely different. Identical on the outside, opposite on the inside. The girls never got along, never liked each other. After Maleena moved back from LA, I don’t think they ever spoke to each another. And the fact that my wife preferred Maleena, and I favored Angela, practically destroyed our family.”
As Randall spoke, the floor shifted beneath Jake. Identical twins. Sweat formed on his upper lip and under his arms. Nausea gurgled in his gut. He thought he might pass out for the first time in his life. He grabbed for the table to steady himself.
Randall caught the frame as it slipped from Jake’s fingers and laid it on the table.
“Are you all right, Mr. Stone? You don’t look at all well,” he said, clutching Jake’s arm.
Dazed, Jake stared incredulously at the image of the woman in red. Maleena. Not Angela. Damn. Damn. Damn.
He yanked his arm free of Randall’s grasp. “I’ve got work to do.”
* * *
Jake’s phone call had struck like a bolt of lightning.
Detective Sean Burke sat stunned at his desk. Maleena and Angela weren’t just sisters; they were fucking identical twins. Why the hell had no one ever told him?
Every other breath was a gasp, as if his normal, reflexive breathing had been so disrupted that his lungs needed extra oxygen intermittently. His shirt clung to his damp skin, and rivulets of sweat streamed down his sides while his pulse raced frantically.
He stared at the screen of his cell phone, reassuring himself that he had not imagined the call. For despite all his body’s physical reactions, his brain seemed intent on viewing the past several minutes as an out-of-body experience.
He shook his head vigorously. His hand groped across the desk for the Styrofoam cup. He drained the potent dregs of afternoon coffee and gagged on the disgusting taste. After the choking subsided, he closed his eyes and drew deep breaths until he got a grip on his nerves.
Opening his eyes, he exhaled, long and hard. Time to move. He had a million things to do and so little time. His mind raced through a list of the first dozen tasks in a flash.
The Waterton homicide case. Shit. The Police Chief had been calling him all day with endless questions about the shooting. Damn it. He could lose his badge for disappearing in the middle of the investigation—especially considering his barely explicable presence at the crime scene. Well, that was just too fucking bad. Some things were more important than a job. Like his soul.
Bringing up his e-mail, he concocted a lie to tell his boss. He briefly considered giving Detective Olsen a precisely abridged version of the truth but quickly shelved the idea. The plot was almost unbelievable to him, and he’d been involved since the earliest chapters. A lie was better; it avoided the inevitable complications of reality.
Sean wrote a sickening description of the developing stomach flu that would probably keep him bedridden for a number of days. As always, he’d be available by cell phone and would field calls when and if his illness allowed. He sent the message, glad he’d decided to stick with the K-I-S-S principle.
In truth, he was nauseous. However, his malady was not caused by a microscopic virus, but by the recognition of the embodiment of evil.
After shutting down the computer, Sean jumped up from the chair and checked his gun before slipping on his shoulder holster. When he stopped by the equipment room for the other items he needed, he’d grab additional ammo. He snatched his sport coat from the hook on the wall and slung it over his shoulder.
His hand was on the doorknob when the desk phone rang. His first reaction was not to answer. He took a step into the hallway and then spun back. His stomach clenched. It was probably the Chief again. He could use this opportunity to complain about feeling ill. He reached across the desk and seized the phone on the fourth ring.
“Burke,” he said hurriedly.
“Sean?”