Unfortunately Griff’s appearance had probably exacerbated the situation. All that discussion of murder and mystery had planted an idea in a brain that was already receptive to the notion of violent solutions.
Detective Patrick apologetically explained it all to Griff. Apologetic because Pierce had already shared his anticipation of the results of Griff’s DNA test with law enforcement, and Griff—Brian—was being treated with kid gloves. Yes, everyone was being very careful with Griff. In fact, they were handling him like a time bomb that was ready to go off any second.
The weird part was that as angry as Griff was with Pierce—with his highhandedness, with his arrogance, with his interfering—what really hurt was that Pierce didn’t come when he needed him.
He didn’t come during all the time that Griff talked to the police. Hours. Hours of talking to the police. Of telling them everything he knew. Not just about his investigation into Brian’s disappearance, which now seemed pitifully, ridiculously little. He talked about his mother, about growing up in Janesville, he talked until his voice was so hoarse he was whispering.
Where was Pierce?
Why didn’t Pierce come to him?
Griff listened to Detective Patrick explain everything. About how in the end it was really just about money. Just like his mother—no, Amy Truscott—had said. Ring had wanted, needed Brian dead because Brian stood in the way of financial salvation.
They all needed money.
No. Not true. Muriel didn’t need money. But she wanted it. She felt the estate was due her because she was Jarrett’s oldest child. It wasn’t just that though. She wanted back the child she had given away because, unlike her sister, she didn’t have the nerve to have a baby out of wedlock. She wanted her son back and she wanted to be paid for the time she had done without him.
Marcus needed money. But Marcus didn’t really care about money. Marcus hadn’t really cared about money or anything else since his brother and sister-in-law had gone down in a Whitewater Yacht ten years ago.
Michaela needed money too, but she hadn’t realized it. Hadn’t realized her husband was siphoning off her trust fund to keep his restaurants afloat. And she didn’t care. Now she needed money for Ring’s bail. And with Jarrett out of commission that was ultimately up to Pierce.
Pierce, who wasn’t answering phone calls from the Arlingtons. Any of the Arlingtons. Who still didn’t show up even after Griff went to the hospital to see Jarrett.
That was the only good part of the day—not counting the early morning when he had woken in Pierce’s arms and felt Pierce’s smile against his mouth, felt Pierce’s arms locked around him as though Pierce would never let him go.
There were tears in Jarrett’s eyes, but there was a new spark of life too. “I knew it,” he whispered. “I knew it the minute I saw you.” His skin was warm and he gripped Griff’s hand with increased energy.
Griff nodded. But of course Jarrett hadn’t known. Jarrett had threatened to destroy him on behalf of Leland. He had done it in the nicest possible way, but he had done it nonetheless.
But maybe Griff was being too harsh. Maybe Griff wasn’t giving enough credence to guilt, to family loyalty, to the need to make amends. He was fond of Jarrett. There was a part of him that wanted to believe Jarrett. He gripped the old man’s hands and smiled at him, and when Jarrett pulled him down, he hugged him, careful of the wires and the hardware and the IVs.
Jarrett whispered, “Welcome home, my boy,” and Griff had to close his eyes tight because yes, he wanted to believe that.
Badly.
When he left the hospital, he got in his car and started driving. He got as far as Roslyn Heights. And then he pulled into the driveway of a Persian restaurant and spent the next half hour counting the raindrops on his windshield. Not the best weather for a long drive. Especially when he was this tired and distracted.
It was already after four o’clock in the afternoon. The day was...he really couldn’t think about the day he’d had.
He didn’t know where to go. Should he get a room in a hotel? Should he just keep driving?
He felt so...disconnected.
His phone rang a couple of times and he ignored it. Then he realized that it might be Pierce. He found his phone and it rang again. Pierce’s number flashed up.
“Hello?” he said cautiously.
“Where are you?” Pierce sounded so normal, so ordinary, that Griff found himself clutching the phone like a lifeline. “Griff?”
Griff peered through his rain-spattered windshield and read the name of the restaurant sign to Pierce.
“Okay. I’m coming to get you,” Pierce said.
He sounded perfectly calm, and something panicked and angry inside Griff quieted. He said, “I’m going to go inside and have something to eat.”
“That’s a good idea,” Pierce said. And then, “I’m on my way.”
I’m on my way. Pierce had said that to him once before. When Griff had woken in the middle of nowhere—which was a bit how he felt now.
He went inside the restaurant and had soup. It was hot and spicy with flat noodles, and he felt a lot better after the first few swallows. He ordered a beer called Pars Persian Style, which was all right. An amber lager with a hint of bitterness. He was swallowing the last mouthful when Pierce walked in the door.
Griff’s heart jumped. Was there ever a time his heart would not leap at the sight of Pierce? It was really just sad, wasn’t it? Could you really fall in love with someone at first sight?
Pierce, tall and handsome in his rain-spotted trench coat, made his way across the mostly empty restaurant and sat down across the linen-covered table. He carried the scent of the rain and that familiar spicy cologne. His eyes were the shade of bitter ale in his very pale face.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Sure.”
Pierce’s eyes flickered. He said, “You talked to Jarrett?”
“Yeah.”
Of course Pierce already knew that. Pierce knew everything. No need for Pierce to look that way, so worried and grave. Like he’d failed to adequately prepare his case for trial. “He’s going to recover. He’s still good for years.”
“That’s great.” Griff added, “I don’t want him changing his will. I don’t want that money.”
“Nobody will do anything you don’t want.”
Griff snorted. “Really? That will be a first.”
Pierce winced. “Bri—”
“Don’t.” Griff shook his head. “I can’t—I’m not ready to be Brian yet.”
“All right.” Pierce was using that gentle tone again. His gaze was intent, never leaving Griff’s face.
“It’s too much all at once.”
“I know.”
“No,” Griff said. “You don’t.”
Pierce let out a breath. “No, I don’t. But I understand that it’s a lot to work through. I understand that it’s going to take you some time. And that’s okay. You’ve got time.”
“I feel like there’s this pressure for me to be Brian, and I don’t even know who Brian is.”
“That’s going to be up to you.”
“Yeah.” Griff nodded, not looking at Pierce. He said, “I’m going to go back to Wisconsin.” He did look at Pierce then, waiting to see how Pierce took it.
A muscle moved in Pierce’s cheek. He said, “Griff, the only thing people really want is for you to be happy.”
Well, that was a nice thought, but they both knew that wasn’t exactly true. Partly true, sure.
“I think that money should be split up like Jarrett planned and then eventually the house can be opened to the public or turned into a library or something.”
Pierce nodded. He seemed to consider and discard a number of replies before he said neutrally, “You better wait to break that news to Jarrett.”
Griff nodded too.