Unintended Witness Read online

  “Hi, Chloe,” he said hesitantly, almost as if afraid of her response.

  “Hi, Reese,” she replied evenly. She used his first name like a shield, refusing to resort to anything more familiar. She just couldn’t.

  “You came.” He remained there, unmoving, one shoulder still behind the door that filled the space between them. Nervousness emanated from him, his face pinched in uncertainty as he blinked. Concern creased his forehead, along with something like…sadness.

  She had not expected that. Not sadness. Not nerves. Cold, aloof, unaffected…she had expected those things. But this emotion…it set her off balance and she found herself almost feeling sorry for him.

  Almost.

  Fully intending to speak, she started to answer him, but instead only managed to nod. Her voice didn’t seem to be working properly.

  He spoke up instead. “I can’t believe it. You look just like—”

  “Don’t say my mother.”

  He pressed his mouth shut to stop himself from finishing the sentence, and they stared at each other for a few moments, both apparently at a loss for how to continue.

  She noticed that his face was oval-shaped, like hers, though his complexion was much darker than the fair one she and Tate had inherited from their mother. His face was also worn, lined by time or stress or maybe both. And his eyes seemed tired. From his direction, the strong scent of something woodsy floated out to her on the breeze.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted.

  “You want…you want to come in?” He stepped aside and gestured towards the foyer. She could see walls painted bone white and a high ceiling with a rustic chandelier hanging from its center.

  “Could we maybe just stay out here for a minute?” she asked, nodding her head towards two thick-cushioned chairs on the porch.

  “Sure,” he replied, following her over. As they lowered themselves onto the deep-red upholstery, a loud rumbling, something not quite like thunder, sounded from somewhere in the distance.

  She turned her head towards the noise. “What was that?”

  “Probably construction. Downtown. So…you found it all right?” he asked, rubbing his hand on his chin nervously.

  “Yeah.” She swallowed uncomfortably.

  “Thanks for coming. I wasn’t—”

  “It’s a work trip. I’m doing an article on the town. So I had to be here anyway. It just worked out.” It wasn’t a lie. As a photojournalist for the online travel magazine, Terra Traveler, it was her job to create compelling articles on desirable travel locales. Franklin was a Civil War town that had morphed into a charming Southern vacation destination and would easily make a great article. She had reasoned that, by making the next few days about something more than just a personal trip down bad memory lane, she would have a built-in reason to have to stay if she started to chicken out. Since her editor, Izzie Morales, was also her best friend, Chloe had not had to work very hard to convince her to let her do the piece.

  “Oh. Okay,” he fumbled. “Um, and…how are you? And Jack?”

  “Good. We’re good. He’s in California now, on a movie shoot.”

  “The consultant thing,” Reese said, seeming to recall the fact from their prior text conversations.

  She sighed. Was this his plan? Small talk? They finally lay eyes on each other for the first time since she was eight, and this was the best he could do? Growing annoyance sent heat rippling across her skin.

  His eyes smiled weakly, as he apparently noticed her discomfort. “Sorry. I’m not very good at this.” At that moment, his cell vibrated vigorously from the pocket of his tailored khakis, but he ignored it.

  “Well, it’s been a while,” she said, unable to keep the disappointment from her tone.

  “I made a mess of things, I know,” he said, diving in as the words seemed to come more quickly. “There’s so much to say…I don’t even know where to start. I’ve been practicing this for months and I still can’t get it right. But, I know I need to start with…I’m sorry.”

  I’m sorry. Even though he spoke the words with what seemed to be genuine regret, right now they felt like the two most insufficient words in the entire English language. She was about to tell him so when his phone vibrated again.

  “Do you need to get that?” she asked him.

  “No.” He licked his lower lip nervously. “I mean it, Chloe. I’m sorry. For all of it. I wish I could tell you—” A xylophone-like ring tone interrupted him and surprise highlighted the lines on his face.

  “Um, I am so sorry, but I actually do have to get this. Just one minute, please,” he apologized, pulling the phone out and rising to step a few feet away as he answered.

  Chloe could hear his end of the conversation from where she sat. “You okay?” he asked quietly, then paused, listening. His body went rigid. “Stay there. Stay right there,” he said in alarm. “I’m coming down there.” Whoever was on the other end must have argued the point because his voice rose, his tone commanding. “I’m not kidding. Stay. Right. There. I’ll be there in two minutes.” He turned back towards Chloe, shoving the phone in his pocket as he backpedaled toward the driveway.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, moving toward the Lexus. “I have to go. Just…just stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Go inside. Make yourself comfortable,” he urged, moving to the driver’s side door.

  “Wait—you’re leaving me?” Chloe asked in disbelief.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice panicky as he ripped open the door. “My daughter’s just been in an explosion.”

  FOUR

  He has a daughter. Another daughter.

  When he had first spoken the words, shock had coursed through her, disabling her from being anything but numb. Part of her had wanted to head right back to I-65 and set a course for home. She could be in her own bed by one or one thirty a.m., pick Jonah up from Izzie in the morning, and forget this ever happened. Who could blame her?

  But she hadn’t headed back to I-65. Instead, when he had slammed on the brakes before driving away, and asked if she wanted to go with him, she had slipped in the passenger side of his Lexus. She still wasn’t sure why.

  A daughter, she thought. A daughter he has somehow neglected to mention.

  Racing well over the thirty-five-miles-per-hour limit, Reese hurtled his car across a small bridge to the next traffic light, headed down Main Street towards the center of town. He pumped the brakes as they met with a line of cars moving increasingly slower, passing old brick buildings that housed quaint shops, including a bookstore, historical society, and a Baskin Robbins. Sirens pierced the air as they finally reached the entrance to the two-lane roundabout encircling the town square, where traffic had slowed to a standstill.

  “Come on!” Reese barked at the cars, the first thing either of them had said since leaving the house. Annoyed, he honked his horn uselessly, as a minute ticked by with no movement, leaving them facing the roundabout, but unable to enter it. The town square inside the roundabout consisted of a large, grassy plot with a towering Confederate statue at its center, flanked by Civil War-era cannons in field carriages on each of the square’s corners. Looking out across the square, directly opposite of where they were boxed in, Chloe could see the length of Main Street that continued out the other side of the roundabout. A few blocks further down that same road, heavy, black smoke billowed hundreds of feet into the sky.

  “This isn’t going to work,” he snapped, gripping the wheel tightly. “We can’t even exit to a side street.”

  “Reese…was that your daughter on the phone?”

  “We—what? Um, yeah,” he answered, distracted. “That was her.”

  “So she’s okay?”

  “I don’t—hey, hold on,” he warned just before jerking the wheel hard to the right and pulling the car halfway up onto a small open space on the sidewalk. The rear of the Lexus jutted out into the street, but there was arguably enough room for others to get around, if traffic ever started moving again
. Reese yanked the keys out of the ignition and darted out the door.

  “Come on!” he yelled, weaving through the traffic, making a beeline for the continuation of Main Street across the square. Chloe raced after him, her numbness ebbing as concern for the girl, mingled with shades of jealousy, grew. Reese had never been this concerned about her. Never. But then a pang of shame struck her. The girl was probably scared, and might even be hurt. Visions of a small, elementary-aged girl cowering against a building materialized in Chloe’s mind and she turned on the speed to catch up.

  But by that time, Reese, already a dozen yards ahead, wasn’t that easy to spot and Chloe lost sight of him several times as they ran down the wide sidewalk lining the two blocks that comprised the west portion of Main Street. People packed the way, apparently coming out of the multitude of shops to see what was happening. It was like an obstacle course, trying to avoid crashing full speed into one of the bystanders.

  “Reese!” she yelled, but he was barreling towards the towering black cloud without regard to whether she was keeping up. They crossed through another intersection and down another row of shops, including a soap store blowing tiny bubbles over the walk where a distracted mother frantically pushed a stroller right in front of Chloe. She dodged hard to the left to avoid knocking the stroller and the child inside onto the concrete, nearly colliding with an iron lamppost. Regaining her balance, she chased Reese to the end of Main Street, where it fed into a five-street intersection completely blocked by a crowd several rows deep. Every face was taking in the spectacle across the way where a fire blazed on the second and third stories of a partially constructed structure.

  More sirens wailed as another fire engine joined an engine and fire truck already parked at the site, their firefighters aggressively deploying equipment in the direction of the building. Crushing jets of water from high-powered hoses attacked the flames and doused the areas of the site not already burning. Multiple police cars lined the streets on either side of the site, their blue and red lights flashing out of sync in a disorienting fashion. Standing on her tiptoes, Chloe swiveled back and forth until she spotted Reese on the street corner across from her in front of a frozen yogurt shop. He was arguing with a teenage girl dressed in black, who was gesturing animatedly with her hands. Chloe pushed through the sardined crowd to get to them. As she drew closer, she could make out bits and pieces of their exchange.

  “. . . told you I was fine! You didn’t have to run up here like a maniac!” the girl was shouting.

  “You said you were in an explosion, Emma! What was I supposed—”

  “Was an explosion. I said there was an explosion. Not in an explosion, Dad.”

  Just a few feet from them, Chloe slowed her steps, unsure how to make her presence known, or even if she should. The girl, Emma, looked to be in her mid-teens, with straight, ebony hair that fell to her shoulders and bangs that slanted across her forehead. She had a couple of extra earrings in her left ear and her black skinny jeans were tucked into her dark gray suede boots. She must have noticed Chloe eyeing her, because she paused mid-shout to turn towards Chloe and bark, “Can I help you?”

  “Oh,” Chloe mumbled, “sorry. I just…I—”

  “This is Chloe,” Reese announced matter-of-factly.

  “Who?” Emma squawked, her face scrunched up in apathy until something clicked for her, and her forehead rose. “Wait. Chloe…” She spoke the name as if trying to remember something. “Not the Chloe. Not my long-lost sister, Chloe.” Her words had a bite to them, sharp edges meant to cut.

  “Emma,” Reese snapped. “Don’t.”

  Emma spun back to him. “So this is why you told me you needed the house today? You said you had a business meeting you couldn’t handle at the office. Has Tyler met her yet?”

  “Emma!” Reese said sharply. “Stop—”

  “Who’s Tyler?” Chloe interrupted.

  Emma’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?” She turned on Reese. “You didn’t tell her about her little brother?”

  A little brother. The fact swept over Chloe like an unexpected wave taking out a surfer. First a sister she didn’t know about, and now a brother. Was there anyone else? What other secrets had Reese thought she didn’t need to know? Why not tell her about these half-siblings before she came? At least then she could have been prepared. But now…more secrets. More lies.

  “McConnaughey!” All three of them turned toward the voice calling from the direction of the construction site, where a balding man in his late fifties or early sixties forcefully shoved his way to them through the crowd. He had leathery, excessively tanned skin and an expensive suit with the shoes to match. A younger, harried-looking man followed him, working to keep up. He was tall and also sported a high-end suit, though he wore his much better. His wavy, loose hair, the color of rich mocha, had clearly been styled to look as if it had just “happened” like that, and was paired with a well-trimmed, slight beard that wasn’t much more than a sculpted five o’clock shadow.

  “You need to get your client under control!” the balding man barked at Reese, getting right up in his face. He slung his right hand back, pointing in the direction of a couple of police officers closer to the site gathered around a middle-aged man in baggy jeans, with shaggy, brown hair and a full-on beard, holding a cardboard picket sign at his side.

  “Mr. Donner—” Reese started.

  “That idiot actually did it this time! He bombed my building!” he gesticulated wildly again in the same direction. “I’m at home, two blocks away, when—BOOM!” He threw his arms in the air, miming an explosion. “I get a call from my foreman that my construction project is in flames! Flames! This one,” he said, casting the dark-haired man beside him a contemptuous glance, “says he’s got it under control, but clearly that’s not the case. Three weeks ago Sims trespasses on my site and attacks me—”

  “His picketing sign accidentally hit you,” the younger, dark-haired man disagreed.

  “—and now this,” Donner continued. “He’s gone too far. Those cops are carting him away. Tonight!”

  “Mr. Donner, you need to back off. Now,” Reese spoke sternly, and Chloe noticed that at some point he had protectively inserted himself between Emma and Donner. “As soon as I’m done dealing with my daughter—”

  Emma’s eyes rolled. “I don’t need you to deal with me. I told you I’m fine. I was just calling to tell you what happened!”

  “I mean it, McConnaughey,” growled Donner. “This is the kind of client you’re representing! You think this,” he swiveled to gesture at the burning building, “is good for the town? I want to bring business into it and he wants to blow it up! Sims is done!”

  “Umm,” Chloe interrupted, “look, I think I should go. She’s okay,” she said, nodding at Emma, “and you clearly have things to do.”

  “Wait, Chloe, please—” Reese said, taking her arm, but dropping his hand quickly when she glared at him.

  “This is ridiculous,” growled Donner, and he stormed off towards the picketer, who was still engaged with the officers.

  Reese turned his attention to the dark-haired man. “How did you get here?”

  He shook his head, his eyes betraying his exasperation. “I’d just left the office and was only a block away when Sims called my cell. For some reason,” he said with a slight, sarcastic smirk, thumbing at the building behind him, “he thought they might assume he was the one responsible for this. He was picketing out front again when it blew.” He clasped Reese’s shoulder. “We’d better get over there. It’ll take us both to rein Sims in before he says something stupid.” He turned to look in the direction of the picketer, who now seemed to be engaged in a shouting match with Donner.

  “Fine,” Reese replied in surrender. “But, Chloe,” he said, turning imploringly to her, “please, just don’t go. Okay? Just head back to the house and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

  “Yeah. Sure,” she said dispassionately, backing away from the group.

 
“Wait, how will you get—”

  “I’ll call Uber or something. It’s fine.” She thought he might argue, but instead he nodded, turning to quickly follow after the dark-haired man, already pushing through the throngs of bystanders.

  She watched him go and then started walking in the opposite direction. She wasn’t going to wait for him at the house. All of this was a sign that her coming here had clearly been a huge mistake. He wasn’t ready to reconcile, to own up to his failures. He wasn’t even ready to tell her he had other children. That I’ve got other siblings, she thought, a coldness gripping her heart. No. This was over. She would just forget about doing the piece on Franklin, and have Izzie assign it to someone else for another issue.

  She was going home.

  FIVE

  But first, coffee.

  Directly across the street from the frozen yogurt place was a Starbucks. Chloe moved towards it slowly, edging her way through the gathered crowd who were standing shoulder-to-shoulder with their cell phones raised, taking video of the fire.

  As she opened the door, rich, roasted scents wafted past Chloe, a relief from the heavy, singular smell of acrid smoke outside. The place was nearly empty. The patrons that remained lined the broad front windows, looking out at the fire. Two baristas stood behind the counter chattering excitedly with one another, one gesturing urgently at the burning building.

  “You guys still taking orders?” Chloe asked.

  The nearest barista nodded, abandoning her conversation with her cohort to take Chloe’s order for an Earl Grey Latte. Chloe was turning to find a seat to wait in when she heard her name called from the direction of the door.