Page 7 of Our Little Secret
Fingers trembling slightly, she tried to send a text to the number.
That didn’t work either.
“Awesome,” she said to the empty car. “Just freakin’ awesome.” She’d given out the burner phone’s number to no one but Gideon. But someone had it. Someone, she assumed, who knew it belonged to her.
Frustrated all over again, she leaned back in the driver’s seat, the accidents ever-more horrifying what-if scenes playing through her mind. She was at fault for the accident with the Porsche. No doubt about it. And the whole situation could have ended up so much worse. As it was, no one was injured, unless she counted her own pride. That definitely took a hit and was bruised black and blue.
Maybe it was a sign, she thought, watching Marilee dismount and converse with her coach before approaching the balance beam.
Brooke told herself she didn’t really believe in omens or curses or signs from a higher power, but sometimes she sensed there was more going on than met the eye. She and her sister were brought up in a strict Catholic household. Her grandmother was always reminding her that the devil was lurking just over her shoulder, that God was expecting her to sin and ready to mete out his painful punishment.
Their summer cabin on the island, passed for generations in Brooke’s mother’s family, had once been filled with Nana’s religious artifacts. Jesus statues adorned the mantel. Candles, most decorated with the Sacred Heart of Jesus, were placed on the hearth. Pictures of the Madonna graced the walls. Rosaries were draped over bedposts and crucifixes were nailed over doorways, inside and out. When Brooke was a kid the cabin was a shrine to Christ. Over the years, after Nana’s passing, most of the candles, crucifixes, and rosaries were packed away.
Despite her own teenage rebellion, some of the beliefs and teachings of the Church had rubbed off on Brooke. Her grandmother had always looked for signs that God was talking to her. So maybe, today, He was turning his attention to Mary O’Hara’s granddaughter. The accident a warning of her sins.
“Yeah right.”
Either way, it was time to end the affair. She’d even thought about doing it earlier that afternoon when she’d been with Gideon but had lost her nerve.
She glanced at her watch. Marilee’s lesson would be over in ten minutes. More than enough time. She glanced around and saw no one nearby, but she turned on the engine again, rolled up the window, and with the AC blasting dialed Gideon’s number on her burner phone.
He picked up on the third ring. “Hey, babe.”
His voice caused the breath to catch in her lungs. Jesus. Even though she hated him referring to her as “babe.” Even though she was mad as hell at him.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Who did you give this number to?” she demanded, her voice edgy.
“What? No one.”
“You’re sure?”
He laughed. “Of course I’m sure. Why would I tell anyone? That’s what makes it special, you and me, right? Just our little secret.”
She plunged on. “So then why did I get this weird call, like some kind of warning? From an anonymous caller.”
“A warning?”
“Yes.”
“About what?” he demanded.
“Us—or, more specifically, about you.”
“Me?” he said, the timbre of his voice changing slightly, the laughter having drained away.
“Yeah. They said, ‘He’s not who you think he is.’”
“And they were talking about me?”
“Who else?”
“Anyone. Neal, to begin with.” He was getting defensive. “Who was it? Who called?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“You didn’t recognize the voice?”
