Page 118 of Strangers She Knows

Yes, she had, marked by the fight, marked by the torture, marked by Luna’s loss. Her hand had required extensive repair, she’d needed minor surgery to remove a piece of the bicycle’s spoke and, once again, she had lost most of her hair, singed away from the fire that had blasted out of the F-100.

But she didn’t care. She was healing, Max and Rae had survived their harrowing trip across the storm-tossed ocean, Rae had recovered—and Mara was dead. Completely, DNA tested and certified dead.

“Mother, there.” Max pointed. “There’s the house.”

“It’s a mansion. Out here,” Verona marveled.

Seeing it with her fresh eyes made Kellen reassess it, and marvel, too. That ostentatious French chateau sat alone in the middle of the Isla Paraíso wilderness, out of place with its painted tones of blue and brown and scarlet accents.

“Grandma, wait until you meet Ruby!” Rae said. “She’s so cool.”

“I think you should call her Miss Morgade,” Verona said.

“Why? She’s not old,” Rae protested. “She’s Ruby!”

Kellen turned back to look at Rae. Of course, Rae had met Ruby Morgade through her journal, and to Rae, she was a young woman who had won her admiration.

“Sweetheart,” Verona said gently, “she has to be almost one hundred.”

Rae blinked at her grandmother. “That’s right. She’s like your age!”

“Oops,” Max said softly.

Verona glared at the back of his head. “I’m not quite one hundred years old yet.”

“But Daddy said—”

Max put the helicopter down on the lawn a little too quickly. “Here we are!” he opened the door and leaped out. “Come on, girls!”

Rae jumped into his arms. “I can’t wait until I meet Ruby!”

Verona followed more slowly. “I know she must be anxious to properly meet you, too.” She put her hand on Rae’s arm. “But remember, she’s not the young lady you read about, so you’ve got be gentle.”

“I know, Grandma. I will, Grandma.” Rae was stiff, proud and angry. “I’m not stupid!” She took off running across the lawn, up onto the porch, past the waiting nurse and into the house.

Verona sighed. “Do you think that drug permanently harmed her?”

“The medical staff assured us there would be no lingering effects. We have to believe that.” Max offered his hands to Kellen.

She put her hands on his shoulders and let him lift her out. He was gentle; she had bruises and burns and bandages everywhere, and she winced at the twinge that went through her ribs where the stitches had been placed. He held her for a minute, his cheek resting on the top of her head. He frequently liked to reassure himself that she was still with him.

She frequently liked to let him.

Finally he let her go, and she planted her feet firmly under her. She looked around. She’d been gone four days. She had changed. Max had changed. Rae had changed.

Morgade Hall hadn’t changed. It was still tall, eccentric, and crumbling. The storm had wreaked havoc on the aging structure.

They started toward the house.

“Rae’s a little…testy,” Verona said.

“I think,” Kellen said, “it’s a combination of Rae knowing she did a foolish thing that caused much harm, and the ongoing crisis of adolescence. I did try to talk to her, but she would have nothing of it.”

“Mothers and daughters. They’re either best angel friends or hell’s demons incarnate, and there’s nothing in between.” Max repeated Kellen’s maxim back to her.

“Rae’s never been one to let something fester,” Verona said. “She’ll come to you sooner or later, Kellen.”

Max reached for Kellen’s uninjured hand and squeezed it.

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