After She's Gone (West Coast 3)

“No . . . I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Then at least let me talk to Shane.”

“He’s not your biggest fan,” Cassie reminded him.

“I know, but let’s pull him in. He’s an ex-sheriff who still has major connections with the department. He can decide how much your mom can handle.”

She hesitated, but at least she knew she could trust her stepfather. Unlike Detective Nash, he didn’t think she was a suspect in her sister’s disappearance. “Deal.”

Trent smi

led and gave her a wink. His grin was infectious and despite the trauma of recent days, Cassie returned it even though the last place on earth she wanted to be was anywhere near the Portland Police Department, well, unless you counted Mercy Hospital. But he had a point. “Okay,” she acquiesced. “Fine. I’ll go to the hospital and we’ll talk to Carter, but I’d like to avoid dealing with Detective Nash as long as possible. That woman has it in for me.”

Before he could argue, she added, “Just give me time to walk through the shower and change. Fifteen minutes and then we’ll go.”

“That’s my girl,” he said automatically, then caught himself.

His words burned in her brain. As cozy as being here with him had been, as comfortable as the ride from California had turned out to be, she was definitely not his girl or woman.

But she was still his wife.

The pregnancy test was negative.

Again.

Sitting on the edge of her bathtub, Jenna Hughes decided she was done with the whole baby-making idea. Maybe God was telling her that she was too old, that she should be satisfied that she had healthy children who now were grown women. For a second she thought of Allie, still missing, and Cassie, who had so recently been a patient in a mental ward. She clenched her hands into fists, worried enough about them and probably didn’t need a new baby in the mix.

Still, it was hard to accept.

Yes, she was no longer a young woman. She’d passed forty a few years earlier, but it was hard to give up the dream of sharing a child with Shane. Now, glancing in the mirror, she saw a feathering of small lines near her eyes that hadn’t been there a few years earlier, and there was more than one silvery thread stubbornly showing in her black hair.

Jenna bit her lip, a new habit that had come with the strain and concern over her daughters.

Shane didn’t have children. Not biological. Not adopted. Just the stepchildren he’d inherited when they’d married. He hadn’t wanted children with his first wife, Carolyn, and it had been a deep fissure in that marriage. Once he and Jenna had married, he’d changed his mind. However, he’d never been as disappointed as she when she hadn’t gotten pregnant.

Obviously another baby wasn’t meant to be.

She could be okay with that.

Maybe.

If her daughters were safe. She thought of her previous pregnancies, the births, the joy of life and the sadness, of the mistakes she’d made, the guilt over decisions that hadn’t turned out well. God knew she hadn’t been a stellar mother, and more often than not she’d second-guessed herself. But being a parent meant making errors that sometimes came back to haunt her, one of many being that she’d hoped neither Cassie, nor Allie, would turn to Hollywood. She hadn’t wanted them to follow in their mother’s footsteps.

However, the bright lights of Hollywood had beckoned them, her daughters’ desires amplified by their father’s own dreams.

Rubbing the kinks from her neck, she reminded herself it was all part of being a parent: heartache and joy, happiness and pain. And always, inevitably, guilt.

God knew she had enough on her plate with the children she already had. She threw the test strip into the trash and told herself, “No more,” then checked her watch as she passed through the bedroom she shared with Shane. Cassie had called and said she’d be coming by.

The dog started making a ruckus, barking her fool head off. Jenna hurried down the stairs of this old ranch house with its log walls and paned windows. She’d bought it when she’d relocated from California and Shane had moved in as soon as they’d married, now nearly ten years ago.

She racewalked through the hallway, threw open the front door, and, with the dog galloping ahead of her, spied Cassie’s little Honda appearing over a slight rise in the lane to her house. “Thank God,” she murmured. She hadn’t bothered with a coat and rain was lashing from the sky. Jenna didn’t care as she ran across the wet grass and muddy puddles only to stop on the gravel drive at the spot where Cassie stopped her car and flung open the door. Relief washed over her at the sight of her daughter and damn, if a lump didn’t form in her throat when Cassie climbed from behind the wheel.

“Cassie!”

“Geez, Mom, you’re getting wet.”

Jenna threw her arms around her daughter and desperately tried not to cry. She’d been out of her mind with worry. Allie was still missing. Cassie had been distant, her mental health fragile. Jenna felt a gap widening between herself and her two children and she hated it. She clung to Cassie as if to life itself. “I’ve been so worried.”