“Jane. Oh, thank god, Jane.”
I hesitate just over the threshold, hoping that Colin can’t see the way I’m shaking. I can still taste bile in my throat, and for a moment I’m afraid that I’m going to vomit all over again.
I don’t turn around, but I know Dallas is behind me. I can practically feel the intensity of his eyes on my back, and I’m certain that if I show even the slightest sign of weakness he will come to my side, take my arm, and yank me out of this room.
Part of me wants him to do just that—to give me an excuse to turn around and not confront this man I once trusted.
But that’s the cowardly part of me, and I don’t want to be a coward. Not about this. Not anymore.
Right now, I need the truth as desperately as I need air and food and water. And so I straighten my posture, lift my chin, and walk across the room toward Colin.
Behind me, I hear the door click shut, and for just the briefest moment, I hesitate. Then I continue across the room, pull out a chair, and sit across from my birth father.
I fold my hands in front of me so that I’m sitting much like he is. Except that my wrists aren’t attached to the table with iron. My fingers are twined together, and I’m clenching them more tightly than is comfortable. I hope I look casual. As if this whole experience isn’t killing me. As if I don’t feel like I am trapped in a nightmare.
“Jane,” he says.
“Why?” I say at exactly the same time.
Colin shakes his head. His eyes gleam as harsh lights reflect off his tears. “No,” he says. “No, baby, you have to believe me. What they say I did—I swear to you. I didn’t.”
His words squeeze my heart, and I wish I could believe. But I’ve heard too much.
I push away from the table and stand up. Then I turn my back on him and head toward the door, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
As my hand closes over the knob, his cry of “Jane!” stops me. I hesitate, and then I turn. I say nothing, though. Just look at him expectantly.
“Don’t go. Please, please don’t go.”
I shift back toward the door. “I’m not interested in lies, Colin. I came for answers. If you’re not going to give them to me, then I’m just wasting my time.” I grasp the knob again, and this time I turn it. I give it a tug, and it swings open a fraction of an inch.
“I didn’t want to! Oh, god, Jane, I made a mistake. The most horrible mistake!”
His words slice through my heart, and I squeeze my eyes closed. I will not cry. I will not cry.
What I want to do is race from this room and into Dallas’s arms. What I do instead is close the door, slowly turn around, and walk back to the table. I keep my eyes on the ground, though. I’m not prepared to look at him. Not yet, anyway.
Once I’m seated, I blink and swallow as I take a mental inventory. I don’t want him to see on my face how much his sideways confession has hurt me. I don’t want this man to see me cry. “All right.” I lift my head. “Tell me.”
“Ortega approached me,” he begins.
“How did you know him?”
“I didn’t. I’d never met the man. But I’d heard of him. Through, well, some of my other business connections.”
I raise my brows at the word “business,” but say nothing.
“He—well, he was connected. Intimidating. He—he had his fingers in a lot of things. We overlapped on the smuggling, and he got my name somehow. Said I was on his radar. I don’t know why. He didn’t say.” He raises his hand as if he is going to reach for his face, but the motion is aborted by the cuff and chain that keep him attached to the table. Irritation flashes in his eyes, and I get the impression that he’s lost his stride.
I wait.
Colin fidgets, then continues. “He said that he’d been watching me, and that led him to watching Eli. And Eli’s bank account. He said that he learned about what your mother did, and Eli. About how they took you away from me.” His voice cracks with emotion. “I was wrecked then—I tried not to show it to you, but losing you just about destroyed me. I was hurt. Angry. Everything. I lost my way, sweetheart.” A fat tear spills from his eye. “Totally lost my way. And then Ortega said he’d had his eye on Eli as a mark—that he wanted to snatch Dallas and hold him for ransom. I was horrified—I was!—but then Ortega said that he wanted my help. That taking Dallas would be a way to punish Eli. To punish Lisa. To twist the knife in them the way they’d twisted it in me.”
I’m fighting not to cry—I can’t believe that he would even think about doing that, much less go through with it.
“I was angry. Hurt. I wanted to get back at her. At Eli. I wanted to punish them, and I shouldn’t have. Oh, god, I shouldn’t have.” He dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.
“How did you help?” My words are hard. Cold.
Slowly, he raises his head. “I—I told him where Dallas went to school. I answered questions when he planned and hired the men. But that was all. I swear, that was all. And I needed the money—you remember how bad off I was—I needed the money and he said that just for that information I’d get half.”
“They—they took me, too.” I hate the way my voice cracks. I don’t want to show emotion. I don’t want him to see just how much he hurt me.
“I know.” His tears come in earnest now, and he has to bend his head down almost to the table to wipe them. There is a box of tissues on the far side of the room, but I don’t get up to bring them to him. “He told me afterward, and I flew into a rage. You weren’t supposed to have been there, and I begged him to let you go. But he said it was a perk. More money. And when I told him he could have my share of Dallas’s ransom if he just set you free, he laughed and told me I was a fool. Jane, Jane, sweetheart, you have to know I would never do that to you.”
But I don’t know that. I don’t know anything anymore.
“Were you there? In the cell with us?”
“No! No, I went to London because Ortega told me I had to. He told me how to do it so that nobody would know. But I just stayed in a flat he’d rented for me.”
“And the Woman?”
“Who?”
I hug myself, suddenly cold. “There was a woman. She—she was vile.”
“No.” He shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “No, the whole team was made up of men. There wasn’t—”
“Bullshit,” I say as I push my chair back and stand. I yank out my phone and pull up the picture of me on the ground. I shove the picture in front of him, then point to my face, where the bruises still linger. “She did that to me. And she did worse—so much worse—when we were teens.”
He’s shaking his head. “No, no. There was no woman. There wasn’t.”
I turn around and head for the door.
“Jane, wait! Don’t leave. Please don’t leave me.”
I round on him in sudden fury. “Then tell me the truth, goddammit. For once in your life just tell me the fucking truth!”
“I am! I swear! How can you believe I would do this? I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t know why you won’t believe me. I’ve told you I was involved. I was an idiot—it was stupid and horrible and you’re right to hate me. But, sweetheart, there’s nothing left to tell.”
“There was a woman,” I insist. “Tell me about her or I walk out that door.”
“Yes, yes, okay, yes, there was a woman. She was Ortega’s girlfriend, and I know she brought your food, but I barely knew her. She’s dead now. She’s been dead for over a decade.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true. It’s true.” Tears track a path down his face. “Jane, sweetheart, please. I love you. I love Dallas.”
A wild fury rises inside me, culminating in the explosion of a single word—“Don’t.” I draw in a breath, forcing myself back to some level of calm. “Don’t say that. And don’t you dare say his name again. You gave up that privilege seventeen years ago.”
“What are they going to do to me? What are you going to let them do to me?”
“I don’t know,” I say, then deliberately turn my back on him and step toward the door. “Honestly, I really don’t care.”
