Page 81 of The Vanished

Colin’s declaration made her feel even sadder for her brother. He had forsaken the one person who truly loved him, but if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have Max. So she supposed he had exchanged one love for another, and Max meant everything to him.

Quinn felt so dispirited, she picked up a stone and hurled it into the lake, and watched with satisfaction as ripples spread outward from the point of impact. She was so angry. What was Logan playing at? Surely he realized she was frantic and that Max would be missing him and asking endless questions. What was she supposed to say when she had no idea what was going on or if Logan would ever come back?

And how was she meant to keep Max safe and also remain emotionally present for her own children?

FORTY-EIGHT

Quinn breathed a sigh of relief when the car finally pulled up and kids spilled from within. When Gabe got out, he looked like he’d been wrestling alligators and lost. Their children hurried into the house, already arguing about who would get the TV and who could have the last bag of crisps, but Max made a beeline for Quinn and wrapped his arms around her legs. She lifted the little boy into her arms and held him close until he calmed down.

“Well, I’m never doing that again,” Gabe said over Max’s head. “The place was absolute chaos, and even with Emma’s help, to keep all of them in my line of sight at all times would have required four heads.”

“Did you have fun?” Quinn asked Max, who was now looking at her, his eyes pleading for attention.

He nodded, but he didn’t look like a child who’d had a good day. “I want to go home,” he whispered. “Please.”

Quinn’s heart broke for him. He was so small and vulnerable and confused. And she had no idea what to tell him. She ran a gentle hand over his black locks, so like Logan’s, and looked into his eyes. He needed to know that she had heard him and she understood and respected his feelings.

“We’ll go home soon. I promise.”

“My home,” Max said. “Where’s my dad?” he cried. “I want to speak to him.”

“So do I, sweet pea. So do I,” Quinn muttered.

“Mum, we’re hungry,” Emma called out from the doorway. “And Mia and Alex are fighting over the TV.”

“Are you hungry?” Quinn asked Max, and he shrugged.

“I’m tired,” he said, and his eyes filled with tears. Quinn knew he wasn’t just physically tired. He was emotionally overwrought, and, although he was too young to effectively verbalize his feeling, he probably thought that the adults in his life were letting him down.

“I know you are,” Quinn said. “You can go to bed right after dinner if you like.”

“No bath?”

“Not unless you want one.”

Max shook his head, then buried his face in Quinn’s shoulder, and his suffering brought tears to her own eyes. She met Gabe’s gaze and saw the misery reflected in his face. They were failing Max, but they were powerless to help him. And what would happen if Logan didn’t come back? The answer was obvious—they would take Max in and raise him as one of their own—but the lack of understanding and closure would haunt him for the rest of his life, and the search for answers could take him to dangerous places.

Quinn set Max down and took him by the hand. His fingers felt tiny and fragile, and his skin was clammy and warm. He walked alongside her as if he were being marched to the gallows. Gabe grabbed his wallet and phone from the car and followed them.

It was just as they walked into the house that they heard Alex scream.

FORTY-NINE

DECEMBER 1923

Ravenglass

After her conversation with her father, all the pleasure had drained from the day, and Geneva found herself walking towards the sea. The slate-colored water was capped with white, the mudflats stretching before her, their damp surface rippled and uneven. A gusty wind tore at her hat and scarf, scouring her face with grains of sand, but she pressed on. She needed time to think—and to rage.

She was so angry, she could have kicked something, but instead she screamed into the wind, the sound of her fury ripped from her mouth the instant it escaped. At present, there were three men in her life, and every one of them was trying to manage her. Her father was determined to force her into a marriage of convenience. Rory was asking her to abandon everything and everyone she loved and move halfway across the world, on the vague promise that he might, or might not, buy into his cousin’s business venture. And Jesse was perfectly willing to marry her—or Honor, should she refuse—simply to smooth his passage into society. Did he not have a life in New York to return to? Surely he had left someone behind, someone who missed him and thought he was coming back.

And then there was her aunt, conspiring with her brother, eager to corner Geneva because she too stood to gain. Clarissa’s connection to the Earl and Countess of Gosforth was not to be underestimated, particularly with a daughter soon to be of marriageable age. With so many young men lost to the war, finding a suitable match for Rose would be harder than ever. She was sweet enough but inclined to fade into the background, and her fortune was hardly substantial enough to lure some impoverished aristocrat.

Geneva hated herself for thinking in such terms, but she knew how her aunt’s mind worked. In her own way, Clarissa wanted what was best for Rose, just as her father believed he wanted what was best for Geneva and Honor. Yet the manner in which their elders went about arranging their lives felt nothing short of medieval. Geneva shivered in the chill wind, and, despite her gloves and leather ankle boots, her extremities were numb, and her feet were cold and damp. She had no choice but to turn back, but as she set off towards the house she spotted Jesse hurrying towards her, his hand on his hat to keep it from flying away. He called out to her, but his words were stolen by the wind, and he had to wait to try again until the two of them were almost face-to-face.

“Genny, are you all right?” he asked. He looked so concerned, Geneva could almost believe he really cared.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she replied haughtily.