A Surprise Second Chance
Autorzy
Anna J. Stewart
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15,7K
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13
CHAPTER ONE
“UA HALA ‘OE, REMY.” You are missed.
Daphne Mercer crouched at the ocean’s edge and dropped the small ring of flowers she’d made while drinking her morning coffee on her front porch. The damp sand coated her thin-soled sneakers, the post-sunrise chill brushing over her bare legs with a familiarity that warmed her from the inside.
Waves lapped up and over the plumeria petals, which gave the faintest hint of the tropics, and she breathed it in. She pressed her hand into the sand, let the water coat her skin as the floral ring drifted out into the ocean. This was where, only a few months ago, Remy’s friends and family had gathered to bid farewell and scatter his ashes among the waves he’d spent his entire life riding. He’d been one of the best friends she’d ever had. He’d helped her begin a new life here in Nalani, Hawai’i, when her old one had come crashing down.
Days like this, perfect days filled with so much promise, she could feel his presence, and the pain over losing him wasn’t quite as acute as it once was. That was the magic of Nalani; here, the days that came before faded gently into the past and the future opened its arms wide for every possibility. It was a magic she would never take for granted.
The perfectly quaint small town boasted a luxurious yet affordable resort, dozens of small stores and businesses, and a population that welcomed each and every visitor and newcomer with warmth and kindness. Not so long ago she’d been convinced it would be impossible to mend her broken heart, but Nalani, Remy and the people here, the new friends she’d made, proved that belief wrong.
“Some mornings are harder than others, aren’t they?”
Still crouched low, Daphne turned and found Tehani Iokepa standing behind her, her suntanned arms crossed over a stomach that was gently rounded with the child she carried. Remy’s child. “Aloha kakahiaka, Tehani.” Good morning. Daphne pushed herself up, brushed her palms against the back of her shorts.
She made her way to her friend’s side, but rather than leading the other woman away, Daphne wrapped both her arms around one of Tehani’s and they watched Daphne’s offering of flowers make its way out over the ocean waves.
“Haven’t seen you up this early in a long time,” Daphne finally said when she felt some of the tension in Tehani’s body lessen.
“Morning sickness has officially loosened its grip.” Tehani touched a finger to her throat where, until her pregnancy, she’d worn a solitary flower charm on a chain. “For the most part. The little man’s moved from rejecting what I eat to wanting me to gobble up everything in sight.”
“Aw, Remy Junior, shame on you.” Daphne bent down and spoke to Tehani’s rounded stomach. “Give your mom a break. She’s taking good care of you.”
Tehani laughed, a sound that had become familiar again since her initial grief over losing the love of her life began to lift. Her long black hair was as smooth and shiny as the obsidian created by an island lava flow and reached well past the base of her spine. The blousy thin-strapped tank tops she’d been wearing over her usual khaki shorts no longer hid her baby bump. Losing Remy shortly after discovering she was pregnant had been a particularly sharp wound Tehani had to endure, but she hadn’t done it alone.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be joining us this morning,” Daphne said.
“And miss breakfast at the Hut-Hut?” Tehani looked a bit disbelieving. “I don’t think so. This kid’s wanting some Loco Moco and we need to brainstorm about those marketing ideas Marella’s got cooking.” She looked back up the beach. “Besides, we only have one tour scheduled later this morning. I can leave the office for a bit.”
“And, since that would be my tour of the university botanical gardens—” Daphne tugged on Tehani’s arm as they walked down the beach “—I absolutely can promise neither one of us will be late to gather up our charges.”
July mornings in Nalani carried their own special magic. The warmth, the stillness, apart from the soft rush of the waves lapping at the shore, the bold sun rising in the sky. And the promise of heat, humidity and afternoon showers that would soon follow. Around them, joggers made their way up and down the beach while families, keen to get an early spot on the beach for the day, started to arrive.
Dogs leaped and raced in and out of the surf, playing catch with their humans. Beyond them, Jordan Adair, the latest addition to Ohana Odyssey’s team of tour guides and water instructors, ran her early morning surfing exercises atop the waves, coasting as effortlessly across the water as a dolphin leaping in the tide. Training for a season of surfing competitions was not easy, especially given the 6:00 a.m. start times.
Greetings and waves were exchanged as they walked, then briefly stopped at a sight unique to Nalani.
“Kahlua’s getting pretty good on that surfboard,” Tehani said.
“Before I lived here,” Daphne told her friend, “I could never have imagined a surfing pig. And yet, behold.” She pointed to the very porky porcine wobbling back to shore on a unique, wide board that had been custom built by her owner and devoted master, Benji.
“Howzit, Benj?” Tehani called to the older man who stooped, and risked being blown possibly all the way to his one-story bungalow across town should the trade winds kick in.
Benji turned his sun-kissed, almost eighty-year-old face toward them, his smile of pride obvious.
“Tehani. Daphne.” Benji clicked his tongue in a way that had Kahlua abandoning the board and trotting over in their direction. “There’s a photographer coming by this week to take pictures of us.” His eyes glistened with pride. “People all over the islands will hear about this story. I bet we get people coming out here to Nalani just to get a closer look at her.”
“A closer look at both of you.” Daphne crouched once more to get a handful of piggy face. “You are simply stunning this morning, Kahlua.” Daphne heaped on praise and earned herself a number of enthusiastic oinks. “Love today’s choice of shirt,” she added. “Quite stylish, Benji.”
Benji beamed, accentuating every single wrinkle of his weathered face.
While Kahlua was known for her aquatic antics and fine attempts at surfing immortality, the pair of them had earned their dual reputation for fashion forwardness by always wearing matching patterned shirts. Today’s choice featured fluorescent jellyfish against a dark blue background, which made them both look like walking aquariums.
“Don’t know if my girl will ever be as good as that one.” Benji pointed back to the water where championship swimmer and now co-owner of Ohana Odysseys Tours Keane Harper arced and danced his way over the waves only yards away from his student, Jordan.
Even after years on the island, Daphne still marveled at the interplay of human and water, especially where Keane was concerned. It was as if the water simply waited to be told what to do when he was around. Even on an off day, he was better on a board than anyone else she’d ever watched. These days, more than a month after his surprise wedding to Marella Benoit—a woman most adverse to anything related to water—he seemed to have found an entirely different connection whenever he paddled out to catch a wave.
It was also—Daphne and Tehani glanced at each other and laughed when Keane caught sight of them and wiped out spectacularly—beyond entertaining when the tide literally turned.
“It is a wonder any of us get our work done around here,” Tehani said. Together she and Daphne stepped back as Keane, board tucked firmly under one arm, made his sopping way over to them. He waited—as he often did—to give himself and his trademark long, dark blond hair a good shake, sprinkling everyone in sight with a good dose of perfect Hawaiian ocean.
“I thought Marella was going to start surfing with you in the mornings,” Daphne teased. It was a running joke among the Ohana Odyssey family that Keane’s new wife had actually requested surfing lessons as a wedding gift.
“Besides her work for Ohana, she has her hands full looking for the perfect house for us to live in.” Keane plowed his board into the sand and swooped his hair away from his face in one elegant motion. “At least that’s the excuse she’s been using.”
“You guys outgrowing the beach cottage already?” Tehani asked.
“Nah.” Keane’s smile was both genuine and affectionate. “If it were up to the two of us, we’d make Sydney an offer and buy it outright. No, we’re having to deal with requests for comfort and convenience from Marella’s family, which is fair enough. I don’t think Pippy will be happy camping out on the couch when she comes back for a visit.”
“Pippy could always stay with me,” Benji offered with a wide-eyed stare. “Got plenty of space. She doesn’t take up a lot of room.”
Daphne bit the inside of her cheek and did her best not to laugh. The idea of Marella’s eightysomething grandmother moving in with Nalani’s one-man pig show was almost too much to stand.
“I’ll run that idea by Pippy the next time we Zoom,” Keane said almost a bit too seriously. “Just be prepared when you two have breakfast,” he warned Daphne. “Marella is going to ask your opinion about the future house.”
“And what should my opinion be?” Daphne asked with far too much innocence.
“In-law quarters would be nice. Not only for Pippy, but for Marella’s folks. With Marella working remotely for Benoit & Associates, I anticipate her soon-to-retire father will be coming out for frequent visits and meetings. Meetings. Yeah, meeting space would be good.”
“They can always use Ohana’s offices,” Tehani said. “Marella’s got her own desk there now anyway since she’s taking over our advertising and promotion.”
“Offloading your responsibilities ahead of baby time, huh, T?” Daphne asked.
Something flashed across Tehani’s face. Something Daphne couldn’t quite identify.
“It’s been good getting a new perspective on things,” was all Tehani said. “You coming to breakfast?” she asked Keane.
“Gonna check in with Jordan then head home and take a shower. Have to give the roomies their breakfast before they cop an attitude with me.”
“Noodles and his girlfriend, Zilla, are geckos, not roomies,” Tehani reminded him.
Keane snorted. “Yeah, you try telling them that. I swear they end up eating every mango we buy. You guys have fun. Tell Marella I’ll check in with her about lunch. Thanks.” He grabbed his board and strode off the beach in the other direction.
“Did you ever think, did you ever imagine,” Tehani said in a somewhat dazed tone, “that confirmed bachelor Keane Harper would be married, house-hunting and talking about his gecko roommates?”
Having gone to college with him, none of that would have ever crossed Daphne’s mind. “One thing I’ve learned in my thirty-one years is that life is one big surprise after another.” Surprises that often included heartbreak, disappointment and regret.
As she and Tehani approached the beachside restaurant and the half-filled patio of customers gobbling down platefuls of the Loco Moco and fresh fruit, she reminded herself to be grateful for the past. And the pain. Without either, she wouldn’t be where she was today, where her heart had healed and she’d been able to trust again.
She had a different life now. A better one. A healed heart was far better than a broken, distrustful one.
Even if that heart felt incredibly lonely at times.
GRIFFIN TOWNSEND FLIPPED open his leather-bound refillable pocket-size notebook, the one he’d been using since his early days as a photojournalist, and set it on the small square metal table.
His expectations of hearing the rattling of keys and the slamming of cell doors, as well as smelling the overwhelming odor of distress, regret and anger, went unfulfilled. This wasn’t the cold, bare visitors’ room of a maximum penitentiary. Nor was it the posh seating area of a country club pseudo-prison that offered coffee or tea while one waited to speak with one of the incarcerated.
No, the plain old regular federal jail located a few miles north of Portland, Oregon, was a sobering albeit surprisingly decent middle ground. The facility even boasted a large rehabilitation success rate, despite the number of inmates who would never again experience life on the other side of the fence.
Griff was already jotting down notes, tiny observations of the sunny visitors room, the long hall leading to a door that needed a paint job. It was here he’d meet with Richard Mercer, a man convicted a little more than three years ago on charges of fraud and embezzlement. He’d robbed thousands of people, most of them elderly, of their life savings.
Had justice been served? Were there answers to the still many unanswered questions the trial raised? A lot of people believed Richard Mercer’s never seeing the light of day was more than deserved.
There were some involved who believed Mercer’s claims of ignorance as to what his financial investment firm was doing with its clients’ money. Everyone in the country it seemed had an opinion about Richard Mercer, a man who had refused all media requests for an interview since his arrest five years ago. Now, Mercer was the one making the request.
And for some unfathomable reason, Griff had gotten the call.
Interviewing Richard Mercer was a journalist’s get of the decade, at least in Griffin’s circles. Griff had made a name for himself after college as an internationally based reporter. He’d been bitten by the journalism bug while working at his college paper, where he’d exposed a slanted admissions policy giving preferential consideration not only to legacy applicants, but to parents willing to “buy” their kid a spot at the school. Illegal? Not necessarily. Unethical? Well, posing that question had earned Griff the opportunity to travel around the country. From there he went around the world as a freelancer for some of the biggest newspapers, putting his lifelong fascination for photography and the written word to good use. The fact that he was now back where he started as a freelancer for the Portland Beat definitely felt like a full-circle moment.
He was one of the lucky ones. He’d been able to walk away from the worst of the circus before he’d become too jaded or burnt out from witnessing the cruelty humans were capable of inflicting upon one another. The choice to leave had been his own. Mostly.
For the most part, obligation had brought him back. Obligation and the promise to take care of the parents who had always, always put him first. He just hadn’t imagined the past two years being quite so...gut-wrenching.
His marriage breaking up, his father’s rapid decline in health, gaining primary custody of his kids, eight-year-old Noah and six-year-old Cammie. Plus, juggling his ex-wife’s frequent disregard of her visitation schedule after the divorce. All of that meant making major changes in his life and, fortunately for him, a return to the paper that had given him his start in the business.
He’d assumed his slide into journalistic oblivion would be just that. A slide into the unknown, where he’d be forgotten and his career would shift to one of predictability and safety.
Which made the message he’d received from Richard Mercer all the more confusing. Especially given their history.
Griff glanced up as the door across the room opened and Richard Mercer stepped through.
His prison garb wasn’t the typical bright orange jumpsuit. He wore simple beige slacks and a shirt, and generic white sneakers one could purchase in any discount store. He was older than Griff remembered, but beneath the years he saw the man who had been responsible for Griff’s first—and biggest—heartbreak.
The years he’d spent in prison had not been kind. Gone was the foreboding figure who stood tall and straight with an ever-present gleam of semi-superiority in his money-colored green eyes. The attitude had been tempered. The arrogance, as well. The taut, trimmed physique was quite a bit rounded now, as his circumstances had overtaken him.
Griff remained seated, watching as a man who once intimidated Griff to the point of speechlessness made his way around the other tables toward him.
Griff waited for the fear to descend. To feel his confidence slip and the teenager he’d been the last time he’d seen Richard Mercer in person emerge. But none of that happened. He didn’t feel anything now beyond mild disgust. And pity.
“Good to see you, Griffin.” Richard held out his hand. “I wasn’t entirely sure you’d show up.”
“Yes, you were.” It was as if the last fourteen years hadn’t happened. Not because Griffin still felt like the cowering kid who had been on the receiving end of a despicable ultimatum. No. It was because, Mercer’s conviction and scandal aside, Griff saw absolutely no hint of regret in the other man’s expression. No remorse or apology or even grief over his lack of freedom. Contrite probably didn’t even register in the man’s vocabulary. His self-importance still seemed very much in place.
“You’re right, of course.” Richard’s tone lightened. “I knew you’d come. I’ve followed your work for years. It’s clear you’ve never been able to resist a byline.”
“And it’s clear you still don’t know the first thing about me.” He’d never cared one iota about getting credit, only that the truth was exposed. “I’m not some teenager you can intimidate now. Your lawyer said you wanted to talk, so talk.”
“Not talk so much as make you an offer.” Richard claimed a chair, folded his hands on top of the table and acted as if he was back in the head seat at his investment firm. “I only wish I could do so in a more private arena.”
Griff flipped his notebook closed, slipping it into his pocket. He’d known this was going to be a wasted effort. “The last time you asked to speak to me in private you threatened to call in a favor and have my father fired if I didn’t stop seeing your daughter, so forgive me if I’m not anxious for a repeat of the past.” It didn’t take much to accentuate his words with ice.
“What about Daphne?” Richard’s voice was as smooth as the cement floor beneath his sneakered feet. “I’m betting you still have some interest in her.”
It took every ounce of control Griffin possessed not to react, but he wasn’t going to give Mercer the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper.
But inside himself? Oh, inside he could feel the past churning up like a hurricane in the Pacific. He’d spent a good portion of his adult life trying to forget Daphne Mercer, attempting to move past not only what he’d lost, but how things had ended between them.
She’d been Griff’s first crush. His first love. There were days he’d argued she’d been his only love, which explained why his marriage to Lydia had faltered almost from the moment he’d said “I do.” Griff had imagined a future with Daphne; at least whatever future a teenager could foresee. But her father had other plans for Daphne and none of them had included her marrying the son of a factory machinist and a schoolteacher.
“Is Daphne okay?” It was the only question Griff could think to ask that wouldn’t open an additional floodgate of emotion.
“Couldn’t really tell you.” Richard sounded almost dismissive. “I haven’t seen or heard from her in years. She left Oregon shortly after my conviction.”
“That would be around the time her mother died.” Griff had been in Afghanistan, covering the war. Richard’s wife’s death had made every paper in the US, which meant it was in just about every social media feed in existence. “Billionaire Fraudster’s Wife Dies of Broken Heart.” While the headlines had been tragic, in his mind Griff could still see those images of Daphne trying to get by the media to her mother’s side before it was too late.
Griff had hated Richard Mercer well before that day, but after seeing that story? After reading about the fallout Daphne and her mother had been subjected to because of Mercer’s criminal and self-serving actions? There wasn’t a word strong enough to describe Griff’s animosity. “Is that what this meeting between us is about? Walking down memory lane? It’ll be a short walk. I haven’t seen your daughter since the night I graduated high school.”
“Yes, I know.” Richard opened his hands, inclined his head. “You were a man of your word, even then. That brings me back to the deal I want to offer you, Griff.”
“Your deals put people out of their homes. Your deals left families destroyed. People died because of what you did to them.” Griff stood up, shoved his chair back. The sound of the feet scraping against the floor echoed in the empty, windowless room. “I’m not interested.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.” There were very few things he was certain about these days. Making a deal with Richard Mercer? Yeah, he could walk away from that. Which is exactly what he did.
“What if I told you that I was willing to give you an exclusive interview,” Mercer called to him when his hand clutched the knob of the door. “I’ll give you my entire life story, all the way to today. The crimes, the trial, the sentencing. My time in here. Every single detail. You want a confession? You want to be the one to share it with the world? To bring all those people a modicum of understanding and closure? That’s what I’ll give you. Headlines galore.”
Griff’s hands fisted. He did not want to turn around. He did not want to give this man the satisfaction of knowing he was right about Griff. Not about the byline, but about the opportunity to expose the truth once and for all. He would not turn around. He would not...
He turned around.
“In exchange for what?” Griff asked. “You aren’t capable of altruism or, heaven forbid, compassion. This offer isn’t about closure for strangers. So, this must all be about you.”
“Let me throw your words back at you. You don’t know a single thing about me.” Mercer’s eyes sharpened. “I’m right, aren’t I? You are interested.”
“Depends. What’s the price?”
“Daphne. I want to see my daughter.”
“Good luck with that.” If Daphne had disappeared, it meant she wanted to stay that way, and Griff could not, would not ever, blame her for it.
“That is where you come in.” Richard sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “I want you to convince Daphne to come and see me. I need to see her. To—”
“To what?”
Mercer’s head dipped, but not before Griff caught what he could only describe as grief cross his face. But that wasn’t possible, was it? “I need to see my little girl again, Griffin. And I think you asking her might be the gentlest way to bring her here.”
Griff shook his head. “Even if I knew where to start looking—”
“I said I didn’t know how she was. Where is another issue,” Mercer said. “Besides, you’ve tracked bad guys and good guys in Afghanistan and Ukraine, for instance. I believe in you. I have no doubt you could find my daughter with minimum effort.”
“Maybe.” Griff returned to the table, but he didn’t sit. It felt good, standing over this man, looking down on him. Something his younger self never ever would have thought possible. “But what I wouldn’t do is bring her back for you to play games with her. If she wanted you in her life, you’d be there.”
They’d both hurt Daphne enough for one lifetime. Griff wasn’t going to re-inflict her father on her.
“You always had a connection with her that I never understood,” Mercer said. “She listened to you. Trusted you in a way I could never interfere with.”
“And yet you did interfere.” And broke both our hearts. Otherwise it wouldn’t have been fourteen years since Griff had seen or spoken to Daphne Mercer.
“How much is that nice care facility your parents are living in now, Griff?” Mercer asked. “That has to be costing you a pretty big chunk of change every month, especially with your recent pay cut and your father’s condition. I can’t imagine his pension covers all of it. And taking care of two children full-time can’t be cheap. Have you started eating into their college fund yet? How’s that mortgage treating you?”
Anger, slow and simmering, bubbled in Griff’s belly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you hadn’t learned your lesson about bribing people.” He planted his hands on the table and leaned in. “We both know your money’s gone. There’s nothing you have that can tempt me to take this deal.”
“Really? National attention? A comeback? A spotlight on that ridiculous local paper you outgrew as a reporter almost as soon as you began working there?” Mercer mimicked him and leaned forward, the innocent expression on his face one that must have been responsible for the countless cons he’d run on unsuspecting and trusting clients. “You tell my story in your paper, you won’t have to worry about covering your expenses. You’ll be able to keep your parents where they are. You can keep living in that house your ex-wife couldn’t live without and your kids can continue taking swim lessons and going on summer vacations. You won’t have to spend another day worrying how you’ll possibly scrape up enough cash to take care of all the people you need to.” His brow arched even as his lips twitched. “Every paper in the country will be after you.”
Griff gripped the table so hard his fingers went numb. Even locked away, Mercer had the means to dig up detailed information on him. “Some people aren’t for sale.”
“Everyone has a price,” Mercer argued. “And even if you don’t, peace of mind is a whole other transaction. Like I said, think of Cammie and Noah. Your little ones—”
Griff slammed a fist on the table. He glanced up as one of the guards approached. “Sorry.” He stood up, held up his hands and took a step back. “Won’t happen again.”
“I am offering you an exclusive interview that any other reporter out there would sell their soul to get,” Mercer said, calmly looking up at him. “It’s a story that could change everything for you. And all it will cost you is the price of a plane ticket and a conversation with my daughter. I know people, Griffin. More importantly, I know you. You’re going to take this deal just like you took the last one I offered you. You’re going to talk to Daphne and convince her to come see me and then you’re going to bask in the rewards your story provides.”
“What is it you want to talk to her about exactly?” The protective streak he’d always felt for Daphne reared up even stronger than it had previously.
“That’s between me and my daughter,” Mercer said with a wince, the first crack in an otherwise cool facade. “Find her. Convince her, Griffin. Do that and I will answer every question you pose to me honestly. You have my word.”
Griff shook his head as temptation tingled. “You say that as if your word means something.”
“All right, then. I swear on Daphne’s life. You will have every answer you want.” Griff could almost hear a silent “or” and braced himself. He wanted to believe there was a place somewhere in the man’s heart that realized how lucky he was to have a daughter like Daphne. But Griff’s faith in humanity had been stretched pretty thin as of late. Especially when it came to people like Richard Mercer.
“What’s your plan B?” Griff asked.
“My plan—”
“What are you going to do if I say no?”
Mercer shrugged. “I don’t have a plan B. Yet.”
And that, at least in Griff’s experience with the man, might just be the most worrying thing he’d said yet. It wasn’t only temptation that slid through Griff, but concern. Was Richard Mercer the type to drop something that he really wanted? Even if Griff turned him down? This entire conversation was calculated thanks to Mercer’s meticulously attentive mind.
The convicted felon understood what made people tick and he was a master at exposing people’s weaknesses. Daphne was Griff’s. As was the promise of financial and professional stability. Mercer must have heard that the Portland Beat was in trouble and, as usual, he was using what knowledge he possessed to take full advantage. “I’d just have to talk to her,” Griff hedged. “Try to convince her—”
“Not try.” Mercer’s folded hands tightened to the point his knuckles went white. “I need to speak with her. Right here. In this place. You can do it, Griff. We both know it.”
Griff could feel his resistance crumbling. He was struggling, more than he cared to admit. “It’ll take me some time,” he said slowly. “I’ve got arrangements to make and find out exactly—”
“Nalani, Hawai’i.” Mercer’s smile was slow. “I have enough contact with the outside world to keep track of her. Most of the time. She works as a nature guide for a tour company. An outfit called Ohana Odysseys. Guess she never outgrew her interest in plants.”
What was that sound? Griff thought. Oh, right. The starting pistol of one of Richard Mercer’s little games.
“So?” Mercer prodded as he held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Griff looked down. His mind raced. The promises Mercer had made would be life-changing, not just for him but his family, too. It was tempting, so tempting. But Griff was focused on Daphne. One conversation between father and daughter... There was little else that could go wrong between them given the state of their relationship. And better the request come from a... Well, he could only hope he and Daphne were still friends.
Griff had to get on board and see where this would lead. “Yes.” He slapped his hand into Mercer’s. “We have a deal.”
