Page 1 of The Unforgiven
PROLOGUE
Narrow shafts of summer sunshine pierced the leafy canopy and lit the murky green water, which sparkled playfully as it lapped against the shore. The world seemed to stand still, nature awaiting the outcome of the human drama playing out on its barren shore. She stared into the barrel of the pistol, unable to believe it was real and had been there all along, ready to be used by the hand of the person who’d harbored such malice for so long. She’d never seen death up close, but it had been her constant companion these past few years. It was death that had led her to this moment, this impasse. Or had it been life?
She took a shuddering breath and met her enemy’s gaze, hoping she didn’t look as scared as she felt. But she was scared. Terrified, in fact, because everything that had happened had been her fault and she wouldn’t allow the person she loved best in this world to take the fall. Could this really be it? Was her life to be cut short when it had only just begun, when she had finally come to understand what it meant to love and want, not as a child, but as a woman? Would this person who was meant to love and care for her be the instrument of her destruction?
When the pistol wavered for just a moment, she thought the danger might be past, but she was mistaken. She lunged for the gun just as the bullet erupted from the pistol’s toy-sized barrel, the loud crack startling a flock of cranes. She crumpled to the porch, as if in slow motion, as searing pain tore through her chest. She watched in amazement as a bloody flower bloomed on her camisole, the petals unfolding with unnatural speed. She heard the cry of a child, a sharp intake of breath from her executioner, and then the muted cadence of words, spoken harshly and with great purpose. But most of all, she heard her own ragged breathing and the pounding in her veins, loud in her ears as the lifeblood began to drain from her onto the rough boards.
She lay on her back, her gaze fixed on a gossamer shred of cloud that lazily floated across the sun, momentarily shielding her gaze from the glaring sun. Her heartbeat began to slow as she felt atrickle of blood ooze from the side of her mouth and onto her shoulder. She used the last of her strength to reach out and clasp the hand of the one she’d been trying to save, and then let go. The final thought that passed through her muddled mind just before darkness descended was that she’d never been meant to live in the first place because her very existence had been an affront to God.
ONE
APRIL 2014
New Orleans, Louisiana
Quinn stepped out onto the wrought iron balcony of her hotel room and was instantly enveloped in the warm embrace of the Louisiana afternoon. Moisture permeated the air, making it feel thick and lush. She’d spent time in hot places before, but this was not the dry, merciless heat of the Middle East or the shimmering haze of the Caribbean. This warmth was fecund and fragrant, and made her feel heavy-limbed and drowsy. It was hard to believe she’d been wearing a winter coat and scarf only that morning when she’d boarded her flight at Heathrow. Both were now stowed in her case and wouldn’t be needed until she returned to cold, rainy England. She did feel tired. It was around eight o’clock in London, and she’d woken up at an ungodly hour to get to the airport on time. Perhaps she could lie down for a bit.
The cool breath of the room’s air-conditioning made a welcome change from the heat outside. Quinn kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the double bed, but her guilty conscience wasn’t about to let her off the hook and allow her to rest. She’d argued with Gabe last night, and the fight weighed heavily on her, making her wish they’d parted on better terms. Gabe had driven her to the airport and helped her with her luggage, but had been cool and distant, even when he kissed her goodbye, still smarting from the night before. He had a right to be cross; Quinn knew that, but she still hoped he’d understand her point of view.
“Quinn, we are getting married next month,” Gabe had fumed, willing her to change her mind about going to New Orleans. “Emma is finally settling into her new routine. Your parents are coming from Spain in just over a fortnight. You have Sylvia and your newfound brothers to deal with,andyou’re pregnant. Why must you do this now?” he had demanded. “I promise you, we’ll go together in the summer. I’ll be able to take time off from work and Emma will be on summer holidays, so she can come with us. What’s the bleeding rush?”
But Quinn wouldn’t be deterred. She knew Gabe’s argument made perfect sense, and he had every right to question her sanity, but she had to do this, and it had to be now. She couldn’t get on with her life and plan her future until she put this last piece of the puzzle in its rightful place. She’d found her birth mother after all these years, and now knew the story of her birth and the reason for her abandonment, but somehow, finding Sylvia had generated more questions than answers.
Sylvia wasn’t at all what Quinn had expected or hoped for, nor was her explanation of what had led her to leave her newborn in a church pew foolproof, raising the convoluted question of Quinn’s paternity. Perhaps she would never truly know if Sylvia had been raped by three men, as she claimed, or had been a willing participant in a drunken Christmas Eve romp that had resulted in Quinn’s birth. There had been a fourth candidate as well, a married man Sylvia had enjoyed a brief fling with just before that fateful evening, but he’d proved to be sterile, and had been crossed off the list of possible dads, leaving Quinn with one last candidate, an American—Seth Besson—who had to be responsible for the burden of her strange gift. Quinn’s ability to see into the past and step into the lives of people who were long dead had to come from his family, since it hadn’t come from Sylvia. Quinn needed to put her questions and fears to rest before she welcomed her child into the world, since her baby might be weighed down with the same ability, if it was genetic.
Quinn sighed and turned onto her side, pulling in her knees and curling into a shrimp-like position. She wished Gabe wouldcall. She couldn’t bear that he was angry with her. He knew how important this was to her, but she couldn’t feel good about pursuing her birth father without his blessing. She reached over to the nightstand and checked her mobile. There was a text from her mother, one from her cousin and best friend Jill, and several from Phoebe Russell, commander-in-chief of the upcoming wedding. Gabe’s mother had embraced her role with relish, planning the ceremony and the reception afterward down to every minor detail. Quinn didn’t mind. The only aspect of the wedding planning she’d really enjoyed was choosing her dress. It had to be special, and it had to be unique. She’d visited several bridal boutiques but hadn’t found what she was looking for, until she got a call from Jill.
“Quinn, I got it,” Jill had cried into the phone. “It’s perfect. Exactly what you wanted. Come and see.”
Jill’s shop now carried more new and trendy merchandise, since she couldn’t make a living only from vintage stock, but she still kept a large section of the shop devoted only to vintage pieces, and from time to time she came across a real gem. Jill had been right. The gown was exquisite. It was made of ivory silk and embellished with delicate embroidery picked out in gold and silver thread. The pattern circled the waist and crisscrossed in front before tracing the outline of the deep V-neck and coming down the back, crisscrossing once more before rejoining the embroidery at the waist. The silk fell in delicate folds, giving the gown a Grecian look and conveniently camouflaging Quinn’s tiny belly. The baby would probably be moving by the time she actually got to wear the frock, but for now it was still slumbering peacefully inside her womb, its steady heartbeat on the scan the only proof that it was doing well. Quinn splayed her hand on her belly. This was her first pregnancy, and she alternated between delight and uncertainty, devouring pregnancy manuals and reading up on every new symptom as it came up.
“I’m doing this for you,” she whispered. “For both of us.” She hoped that was true. Finding the source of the gift didn’t mean she could do anything to turn it off. It wasn’t a tap or a light switch, and she wouldn’t know for years to come if her childwould be able to see into the past like its mother. Quinn hadn’t known about her ability until she was nearly ten. But she had to try. At the very least, finding out would appease her deep curiosity about the origin of this strange legacy.
The mobile trilled just as she was beginning to doze off. Gabe.
“Hello,” Quinn said, unsure what his mood would be like.
“Sorry I didn’t ring earlier. I was stuck in a meeting. Did you get in all right?” Gabe asked, sounding contrite.
“Yes. It’s so warm here,” she complained. “I should have brought lighter clothes.”
“Hopefully, you won’t be there long enough to need them. Quinn, just get this done and come home. I’m really not comfortable with you being there alone.”
“Gabe, we’ve been over this. I’ll meet the man, ask him for a DNA sample, question him about his family history, and leave. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.”
“Right. Nothing to worry about,” Gabe repeated.
“You’re practically oozing sarcasm,” Quinn replied with a smile, relieved that he was no longer angry with her.
“Am I? Well, I’m a bit concerned about you walking into some man’s office, announcing to him that you are his long-lost daughter, demanding physical proof, and then interrogating him about his psychic relatives. There are some who might not take kindly to that.”
“You know, you are becoming a real worrywart, Gabriel Russell. I’ve never known you to be so overprotective.”
“I’ve never loved anyone this much before,” he replied, a catch in his voice. “I’m just worried about you and the baby.”
“No need to be. How’s Emma? Is she in bed?”
“I just read her a story, tucked her in with Mr. Rabbit, and snuck out before she had a chance to trick me into reading her something the length of theIliad. You know how she hates going to sleep. She keeps asking when you’ll be back. She misses you.”
