Chapter 5 — What Lauren Knew About James
Chapter 5 — What Lauren Knew About James
The first thing James did after the call ended was check every window.
Then the doors.
Then the cameras.
Only after he was satisfied that nobody was outside did he come back to me.
“Tell me exactly what she said.”
I repeated the conversation.
He listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he asked:
“Did she say Lauren's name before you did?”
“Yes.”
His expression tightened.
“That matters.”
“Why?”
“Because she wasn't guessing.”
I looked toward Emma's crib.
“She knew about my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“She said Lauren knows she's alive.”
“Yes.”
“And now Lauren knows we know.”
James nodded.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
“What if she comes here?”
“She won't.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she doesn't know what we have.”
I looked at him.
“We have a cassette.”
“We have evidence.”
“And my father admitted the baby was alive.”
“On a recording.”
He sat beside me.
“That's why we don't tell Lauren anything.”
I nodded.
But something bothered me.
The caller hadn't sounded like someone trying to help us.
She had sounded terrified.
And she had known James's name.
I turned toward him.
“There's something else.”
“What?”
“She knew you.”
James's expression changed.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing directly.”
“But?”
“She said Lauren would kill her.”
He thought for a moment.
“That's not about me.”
“No.”
I swallowed.
“She mentioned you before the call ended.”
He stared at me.
“What exactly?”
“She said, ‘He wasn't supposed to come back.’”
James went completely still.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“What does that mean?”
He didn't answer.
“James?”
He looked at me.
“I don't know.”
But for the first time since I'd known him, I wasn't sure he was telling the truth.
The next morning, I woke to find James already dressed.
He stood in the kitchen, staring at his phone.
“What's wrong?”
He looked up.
“Nothing.”
“You're lying.”
He gave me a tired smile.
“I learned from your family.”
I didn't smile.
“What happened?”
He hesitated.
Then he placed his phone on the counter.
“There was a message.”
“From who?”
“Unknown number.”
“What did it say?”
He turned the screen toward me.
You should have stayed away from the Whitmores.
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you receive messages like this before?”
He didn't answer.
“James.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“Then why did you hesitate?”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Because I have received something similar.”
“When?”
“Before Christmas.”
I felt something inside me drop.
“You didn't tell me?”
“I didn't think it was connected.”
“What was it?”
“A warning.”
“About what?”
“You.”
I stared at him.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
He looked away.
“It said I should leave you before your family's problems became mine.”
I felt cold.
“Who sent it?”
“I don't know.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't want you scared.”
“You had no right to make that decision for me.”
“I know.”
He stepped closer.
“I was wrong.”
I shook my head.
“Why would someone warn you about me?”
“Not you.”
He looked at me.
“Your family.”
That afternoon, we went to see Aunt Margaret.
She had barely slept.
The police had taken photographs of the house, but whoever had entered had left almost nothing behind.
Except one thing.
A small white envelope.
It was sitting on the kitchen table.
My name was written across it.
I stared at it.
“Where did you find this?”
Margaret pointed.
“It wasn't there yesterday.”
James immediately stepped between me and the table.
“Don't touch it.”
“I wasn't going to.”
He put on gloves.
Then carefully opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
James looked at it first.
Then he stopped.
“What?”
He handed it to me.
My heart nearly stopped.
It was James.
Years younger.
Standing beside a military vehicle.
Beside him was another man.
I recognized him instantly.
Richard Bell.
The lawyer my father claimed had died seven years ago.
I looked at James.
“You knew him.”
James didn't speak.
“You knew Richard.”
“Yes.”
My voice became quiet.
“How?”
He sat down.
“I met him during my first deployment.”
“Why?”
“Because he was involved in an investigation.”
“What investigation?”
James looked at Margaret.
Then at me.
“The Whitmore family.”
My stomach twisted.
“You knew my family before you met me?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I was assigned to a security detail connected to Richard.”
“For what?”
James took a breath.
“Your father had received threats.”
I stared at him.
“What kind?”
“Financial.”
“From whom?”
“Richard never told me everything.”
“But you knew something.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
He looked at me.
“Enough to know that your family was not what it appeared to be.”
I stood.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“And you married me anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His eyes softened.
“Because I loved you.”
I wanted to believe him.
But there was something else.
Something I couldn't ignore.
“How long have you known about my daughter?”
James looked down.
“I didn't know she was alive.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
He was silent.
“James.”
“I knew there had been a child.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“Before we met.”
“How?”
“Richard told me.”
I felt dizzy.
“And you never told me?”
“I didn't know whether it was true.”
“You knew enough to ask.”
“I did.”
“Then why didn't you?”
“Because every time I tried to investigate, the trail disappeared.”
“Because of my parents?”
“Probably.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Why were you with Richard?”
James hesitated.
“Because he asked me to protect someone.”
“Who?”
He looked at me.
“You.”
I couldn't speak.
The photograph had been taken fifteen years earlier.
I hadn't even met James.
He had been twenty-four.
I had been sixteen.
Richard Bell had apparently known who I was.
My family had been under investigation.
And somehow James had been standing in the middle of it.
I looked at him.
“Why didn't you tell me any of this when we met?”
“Because I was afraid you'd think I married you because of your family.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Were you assigned to watch me?”
“No.”
“Were you?”
James's jaw tightened.
“Not after Richard died.”
“That's not an answer.”
He sighed.
“Before I met you, I was asked to keep an eye on the Whitmore family.”
“And me?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“So our entire relationship began with someone watching me.”
“Not like that.”
“How?”
“I was trying to keep you safe.”
“You didn't even know me.”
“I knew enough.”
“What did you know?”
“That your parents were hiding something.”
“And Lauren?”
He looked at me.
“Lauren was the problem.”
My heart sank.
“What did she do?”
“I don't know everything.”
“Tell me what you know.”
He hesitated.
“She knew about Richard.”
“So?”
“She knew what he was doing.”
“Which was?”
“Trying to get your daughter back.”
My breathing stopped.
“What?”
James nodded.
“Richard wanted to undo what your parents had done.”
“Then why didn't he?”
“He was killed before he could.”
“By whom?”
“We never proved it.”
I stared at him.
“But you suspect someone.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
James looked directly at me.
“Your sister.”
I couldn't speak.
Lauren.
Again.
Every road led back to her.
“She killed Richard?”
“We don't know.”
“But you suspect her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard was about to expose her.”
“Expose what?”
James looked at the photograph.
“The identity of the man who fathered her child.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with my daughter?”
“Everything.”
“How?”
James took a breath.
“The man Lauren was involved with wasn't just dangerous.”
“Who was he?”
“He was connected to the Whitmore family's business.”
I felt sick.
“Someone my father worked with?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
James shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“Then how do you know all this?”
“Because Richard told me.”
“Before he died?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell the police?”
“We tried.”
“What do you mean?”
“Richard had evidence.”
“Where?”
“We never found it.”
My heart raced.
“What evidence?”
“Financial records. Medical records. Adoption documents.”
I stared at him.
“Adoption?”
“Yes.”
“My daughter was adopted?”
“That's what Richard believed.”
I sank into a chair.
The room seemed to tilt.
“So my parents didn't just lie about her death.”
“No.”
“They gave her away.”
“We don't know who took her.”
“Richard was trying to find her.”
“Yes.”
“And Lauren knew.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she was the reason the adoption happened.”
I closed my eyes.
“How?”
James didn't answer.
I opened them.
“Tell me.”
“She wanted to use your child to solve her own problem.”
My blood ran cold.
“What problem?”
James looked at me.
“Her child's father wanted a child.”
“But Lauren had one.”
“He didn't want Lauren's baby.”
“Then whose?”
James's voice was barely audible.
“Yours.”
I felt physically sick.
I stood and walked toward the window.
The world outside continued as if nothing had changed.
People walked their dogs.
Cars moved through the street.
A woman pushed a stroller along the sidewalk.
Normal life.
My life was no longer normal.
“Why?”
James came behind me.
“I don't know.”
“Why would a man want my baby?”
“We need to find him.”
“Is he still alive?”
“I don't know.”
“Does Lauren know where my daughter is?”
“She may.”
“Then why hasn't she told us?”
“Because whatever she knows could destroy her.”
I turned.
“Destroy her how?”
James looked at me.
“Maybe because your daughter knows something.”
I stared at him.
“She was a baby.”
“Yes.”
“Babies don't know secrets.”
“Not then.”
I felt a chill.
“What are you saying?”
“I'm saying she's older now.”
My breath caught.
“How old would she be?”
James answered quietly.
“Fourteen.”
Fourteen.
My daughter would be fourteen.
A girl.
A teenager.
Living somewhere.
Growing up without knowing me.
Maybe wondering who her mother was.
Maybe believing I had abandoned her.
I pressed my hands against my face.
“Fourteen years.”
James wrapped his arms around me.
“I know.”
“I missed everything.”
“I know.”
“Her first word.”
“I know.”
“Her first steps.”
“I know.”
“Every birthday.”
He held me tighter.
“I know.”
I cried against his chest.
Then something occurred to me.
“If Lauren knew where she was…”
James pulled back.
“Yes?”
“Why would she suddenly care now?”
He looked at me.
“Because she knows we are getting close.”
“Close to what?”
“The truth.”
That evening, Lauren called.
I almost didn't answer.
But I did.
“Hello.”
Her voice was cheerful.
Too cheerful.
“Hey.”
“What do you want?”
“Why are you being like this?”
“Like what?”
“Cold.”
I laughed.
“You hit my baby.”
“I apologized.”
“No, you didn't.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“You said it was a tap.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Silence.
Then Lauren sighed.
“Are you really going to let James turn you against your family?”
“He didn't.”
“Of course he did.”
“You don't know anything about my marriage.”
“I know more than you think.”
My blood went cold.
“What does that mean?”
“I know what James has been hiding.”
I didn't answer.
She laughed softly.
“You should ask him.”
“What?”
“Ask him about Richard.”
I froze.
She knew.
“Why are you talking about Richard?”
“Because James knew him.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then Lauren said:
“You don't know everything.”
“What don't I know?”
“Ask your husband what happened the night Richard died.”
My heart began pounding.
“What happened?”
“You really don't know.”
“Tell me.”
Lauren's voice became colder.
“James was there.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
James was standing across the room.
He had heard everything.
“What happened the night Richard died?”
He looked at me.
“I wasn't there.”
Lauren's words echoed in my head.
“You're lying.”
He shook his head.
“I didn't kill Richard.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Then tell me where you were.”
He looked away.
“I can't.”
My heart broke.
“Why?”
“Because if I tell you, you're going to hate me.”
I stared at my husband.
The man who had stood between my sister and my baby.
The man who had promised to protect us.
The man I had trusted more than anyone.
And for the first time since we met...
May you like
I wondered whether he had been protecting me from my family.
Or protecting me from the truth about himself.
