Grace drew back and brushed away a tear. The sisters looked very much alike, with the same blond hair and green eyes and body shape, except Grace wore her hair pulled back while Caroline’s was usually loose. Their personalities were so different, though, that people often said they didn’t resemble each other.
Caroline was soft and giving, but had an inner strength. Grace was studious, career driven and very much like their father, whom she spent most of her life trying to please. Caroline was just the opposite—needing to be on her own, needing to be her own person.
“My,” Grace said, “look at you. You have scratches on your face and arms, and the doctor said your hands and feet have bad lacerations.”
“They’ll heal.”
Grace frowned. “Couldn’t that Texas Ranger who found you have done more to keep you from getting hurt?”
“I’m alive,” Caroline stressed. “I’m alive. If not for him, I’d be dead.”
Grace shivered and ran her hands up her arms. “Don’t say that. We’ve been so worried and I—”
“Where’s Mom and Dad?” Caroline asked, before they both started bawling like babies.
“You know them. Dad’s giving a news conference and Mom is right beside him, as always. It makes good politics—gets the sympathy of the voters, and that’s top priority—the voter.”
Caroline heard the bitterness in her voice. “Do you think we’ll ever get past the resentment of not having normal parents?”
“Probably not.” Grace sat on the bed beside her. “But, you’re thirty and I’m twenty-nine so we should probably try.”
“Yeah,” Caroline answered quietly.
Grace rubbed Caroline’s arm. “Are you okay?”
She smiled at her sister. “Yes. I’m a little shaken still, but I’ll be fine.” She glanced at the door. “Where’s Colin? I thought he’d be here waiting for me. I’m anxious to see him.”
Grace looked away.
“Grace, where’s Colin?”
“He should be here soon.”
Grace was trying not to tell her something.
“Why isn’t he here now?”
“You know he had that new store opening in Houston.”
“Yes.”
“The opening was today.”
“And he went!” Caroline knew the answer before Grace spoke.
“Yes. We’d been waiting for days, and like I said, we were so worried. I think he just needed to do something. The wait was getting to all of us. Mom called him and he’s on his way back.”
“Oh. I guess that makes it all right then.” She couldn’t keep the anger out of her voice.
“Caro, please don’t—”
“I’m so tired.” Caroline cut her off. “I want to go to sleep, but I’m afraid to close my eyes. They kept me in a cellar with nothing but bread and water. There was no light.” She had to take a deep breath as the suffocating memory filled her. “I think I went insane for a while. I sang hymns and I want to start singing again. That way I can stay awake. I feel as if I’m losing it. I can’t…”
“Shh,” Grace murmured, stretching out beside her. “Remember when we were kids and I was afraid of the dark and I’d sneak past the nanny to sleep with you?”
“Yes.”
“Now I will protect you from the dark.” She snuggled against her. “Just close your eyes and go to sleep. I’ll be right here and I’ll leave all the lights on.”
“I don’t think I can sleep. I can still feel the terror of that room—of him.”
“Caroline, try to put it out of your mind.”
“I can’t. He picked me to be his seventh wife—to bear his seventh son. If he had touched me in that way, I would have died. I couldn’t have lived through that.”
“It’s over. Try to think of something pleasant.”
Eli was pleasant and nice and…
“Shut your eyes,” Grace coaxed. “I’ll be right here.”
“Sisters first,” Caroline mumbled, remembering a pact they’d made when they were nine and eight years old. Her eyes closed.
“Sisters first—always,” Grace echoed, as Caroline let go and drifted into a restless sleep.
She didn’t know how long she’d slept, but she woke up screaming. Grace quickly calmed her. “It’s all right. You’re in a hospital. It’s all right.”
“Oh, God,” Caroline whimpered, feeling the remnants of the nightmare about Amos Buford. “I could see him so clearly, as if he was in this room with me.”
“He’s not. I’m the only one here.”
Caroline scooted up in bed. “I can’t sleep. I just can’t.”
“Okay.” Grace pushed up beside her. “Then we’ll talk. There’s a new chick flick out—the mushy, happily ever after stuff that you love. We can go see it as soon as you feel up to it.”
“Okay,” Caroline mumbled.
“And, oh, there’s a new suit at that little dress shop we love. It’s a light mint-green with a lacy camisole. Absolutely fetching. I love it, but its kind of bright and I wanted to get your opinion. Tell you what, I’ll buy the suit and you pick out something equally charming and we’ll dress up and go out to a movie and dinner.”
Caroline rested her head on Grace’s shoulder, relaxing at her easy, nonsensical chatter. “Keep talking.”
“I was thinking about joining one of the fitness places for women. I don’t get much exercise and at my age I should start thinking about that. I hate getting all sweaty, though, and I haven’t figured out a way around that. Maybe you could join me and we…”
The thought of Grace exercising was hilarious—Caroline couldn’t even picture it. She’d join just to get a glimpse of her sister working out. Grace’s voice drummed on and Caroline smiled, letting go of the fear and easing into sleep once more.
CAROLINE AWOKE TO VOICES, familiar voices, and saw that her mother and father were in the room. Joanna was sitting in a chair talking on a cell phone and Stephen was pacing back and forth, talking on his own cell phone. Grace sat by Caroline’s bedside, holding her bandaged hand.
“You’re awake,” Grace said. “Feeling better?”
Caroline didn’t get a chance to answer as her mother jumped up and ran to her. “My baby, my baby,” she cooed, brushing back Caroline’s hair. “Don’t worry about a thing. You’re going to be fine. I’m making arrangements to fly you to Washington to a private clinic, where you’ll get special attention and a qualified therapist to help you deal with this.”
What was her mother talking about? She wasn’t going anywhere.
“Caroline.” Her father came to the bed. “You look much better. Agent Caufield is outside waiting to speak with you. You can handle it, right?”
He didn’t ask how she was, or if she was up to facing anyone. He wanted her to do it because he expected her to. Stephen Whitten’s daughters always did what was expected of them.
She pushed herself into a sitting position and winced.
“Stephen, I don’t think she can do this right now.” Her mother spoke up.
“Yes,