“They got to the site and it was already crawling with every emergency medical technician or cop who could make it there in a reasonable space of time.” Cassie sighed and shrugged. “What happened next is sort of messed up, and the accounts differ a little. But, Annabelle said that her father’s friends came to the house all at once.”
“To tell them…” Dylan’s voice trailed off.
“To tell her mother that both her husband and her son had been lost in the accident.”
“How?” Dylan asked, not understanding. And, sort of not wanting to.
Cassie took another deep breath and let it out in another long sigh. “Daniel must have seen something that got to him. Maybe a face in a window. There were kids on the plane.”
“And he went in to save them.”
Cassie nodded. “And his dad went in after him. The plane pulled them both down along with it.”
Sam felt the phone buzz in his front pocket and pulled it out to glance at the number. He grinned and then looked up to see Reid and Anderson make their way back into the room. It was obvious that she’d told him Annabelle’s secret, because the kid was white as a sheet.
Sam looked back down at the phone, popped it open, and put it to his ear. The others around him were just finishing up with cleaning away the remains of their lunch; tossing the pizza boxes and paper plates and dumping what was left of their Cokes and melted ice. Now they turned to watch and listen as he spoke into the receiver.
“Hi darlin’,” he said, well aware that he had an audience. He ignored them and turned to look at the door through which Jack and Annabelle had disappeared earlier. “Yep, he sure is.” His grin broadened and his eyes shone merrily. “Uh-huh.” He chuckled. “Sure, come on over. We’re in number seven.” He paused again and tore his eyes away from the door to glance over the eager faces of the others. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, smiling ear to ear. “I think it’s about time, darlin’. Don’t you?” He laughed again and closed the phone, re-pocketing it.
“What the hell was that all about?” Cassie asked.
“Who’s coming over?” Craig asked next. His trepidation level had just escalated. And for good reason. There were some powerful and persistent people who wanted him dead.
“Nothin’ for you to worry about, son,” Sam said, his low, casual drawl a dead-ringer for the shit-eating nonchalance of actor Sam Elliot, whom everyone in the room agreed that he resembled to a nearly baffling degree.
“Sam, wha’ ‘ave you brought upon us?” Beatrice asked, her tone gentler than that of Craig or Cassie before her.
Sam turned to look at her and bowed his head slightly in her direction. “Now, don’t worry, Bee. You’ll get as much a kick out of this as I will.” He grinned again and winked.
When Annabelle and Jack finally emerged from the room they’d claimed for an entire afternoon, it was to find everyone in the room seated on the two couches and love seats and staring at them with wide eyes. Jack’s hands found her upper arms and gripped gently.
“What?” Annabelle asked, rubbing her eyes and blushing furiously. “We fell asleep, okay?” She insisted. From the puffiness around her eyes, it was clear she was telling the truth, but everyone in the room knew that sleeping wasn’t all the two had been doing.
“Give me a break,” Annabelle muttered. But their eyes didn’t un-widen, and so far, no one had said anything. “It’s my birthday! I’m entitled to a little… sleep.” Annabelle blushed some more and looked from one of them to the other, until she met Cassie’s eyes. Cassie’s expression was incredibly meaningful as she gave a very slight jerk of her head to the right.
“Happy birthday, Miss Drake.”
Annabelle’s gaze flew across the room to the red-haired woman standing beside the fire place. Jack’s grip on her arms tightened.
“Oh, holy fuck…” Annabelle’s voice trailed off, just as the blood drained from her face and the world dropped out from under her feet. Married…
Omigod… How could she have forgotten that Jack was married?
Married…
She stared at Sherry Thane as if the woman were wearing a black holocaust cloak and carrying a scythe. And maybe sprouting gazelle horns and muttering dark incantations in Homer Simpson’s voice.
“They always say ‘doh’…”
“Sh-Sherry…” Annabelle found herself stumbling over her speech. But, strangely enough, as she stood there watching the incredibly built woman, she noticed that Sherry was smiling. And it wasn’t a cruel, “I caught you red-handed” smile. It was friendly. Sympathetic, even.
Was Annabelle dreaming? Maybe she’d already fainted.
“Miss Drake, please. Sit down. It’s high time you learned what’s going on here.”
“Wh-what?” Annabelle muttered some more. Jack’s grip on her arms hadn’t let up. And now she felt his breath across her ear as he spoke to her softly.
“Bella, sit down. We do need to talk.”
In the corner, Sam smiled away, clearly enjoying the exchange he’d been so looking forward to observing.
“I’m ashamed of you, Jackie. This is uncalled for.” Beatrice was glaring at Jack, her arms crossed over her chest where she sat beside Clara, who was looking from her father to Annabelle to Sherry, an air of distinct discomfort about her. This situation was a little too personal – and a little too adult for her tastes.
“Really, Thane.” Sherry came forward from where she was standing, and shook her head reprimandingly. “You’ve behaved unforgivably,” she said softly.
Annabelle’s eyes widened further as she watched the Homer holocaust demon come closer. What had she just said? Had she just called her own husband by his last name?
But Jack didn’t say anything and, when Sherry gently took Annabelle’s arm out of his grip, he grudgingly let go.
No. Don’t let her get me…
“Come on, sweetie. Let’s go talk.”
But Annabelle couldn’t move. Her new riding boots were glued to the floor beneath her.
She just managed to shake her head when Beatrice stood up and walked over to them as well, taking Annabelle’s other arm. Annabelle glanced over her shoulder at Jack. His expression was helpless.
At last, she found her feet moving and the four of them left the room together to walk down the hall toward another of the mansion’s many renovated rooms. All she could think about was the way Sherry’s hand felt on her arm. It was strong. The woman was a brute. She was going to rip Annabelle’s head completely off of her shoulders.
And Jack was just following along, not doing anything to protect her!
Some birthday.
When they’d shut the door behind them, Sherry and Beatrice let go of Annabelle and Sherry moved away from her to take a seat on the bed. Beatrice leaned up against the dresser by the wall, once more crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Jack, who, for his part, remained standing beside Annabelle.
As if he was afraid she would run at any second.
Which she just might.
“Annabelle, relax,” Sherry sighed from where she sat on the bed, crossing one leg over the other. “Jesus, Thane, you could have at least given her a drink or something. Soften the blow a little.”
“I didn’t know you were going to be here this afternoon, Sherry,” Jack replied, grinding the words out through clenched teeth. “Would have softened the bloody blow a little had you warned me of that fact.”