Battery Wharf Hotel

Boston Waterfront

Monday, March 30th

9:00 AM

Callie

When they left Belmont, Elin had asked Callie where she wanted to spend the night.

“I don’t care,” she’d replied. “As long as it’s some place by the sea.”

Standing on Battery Wharf with a coffee in her hand, she regretted that choice. The bleak Boston weather certainly wasn’t brightening her mood. Twenty-four hours had passed since Elin stormed into her room to break the terrible news. Since then, shock had given way to anger, then gloom as the depth of the betrayal sank in. Someone at Belmont had sold her private information to those Prime Dirt vultures. But who?

Certainly not Sophie Choi. That uptight Girl Scout would never violate patient-doctor confidentiality, no matter what the temptation, and Doctor Grieves seemed as incorruptible as the Pope.  

But what about Ethan?

He had his demons, but Callie couldn’t imagine him stabbing her in the back like that. Not after the things they’d shared. He’d bared his soul to her, and in return, she’d opened up to him, pouring out her most intimate thoughts and memories.

What if that was his plan all along? To get me to lower my guard by pretending to lower his first?

No. She couldn’t afford to think that way.  Maybe Ethan didn’t care about her the way she cared about him, but that didn’t make him a scheming sociopath. Someone else must have done it. Some random nurse who snuck into her file, or maybe a hacker.

She tossed her coffee cup into the trash and leaned over the railing. Boston Harbor stretched out before her like shark’s skin, mirroring the low, gray clouds. The water looked so cold. So dark and deep. She imagined what it would feel like to sink beneath the surface, limbs numb and heavy. She thought of Ethan’s sister Abbie, standing at the water’s edge and contemplating oblivion.

She must have felt like this. Terrified by the thought of jumping. More terrified by the thought of turning back.

A gust of wind whipped off the water, making her shiver.

“Are you cold, Miss Perrin?”

She turned to her chauffeur, who was holding a plaid blanket. “Here ya go,” he said in a thick Southie accent.

“Thanks, Mister Sullivan.” She sniffed and wrapped the blanket over her shoulders like a shawl.

“You’re welcome. And the name’s Jim. Mister Sullivan’s my dad, may he rest in peace.” With a brawny build and pale, weathered skin, he looked like someone whose ancestors probably hunted whales along the raw New England coastline.

She checked her watch. “Did my mother say how long she’d be?”

“Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes, Miss.” He tilted his chin to the stretch-limousine. “Would you like to wait inside? I could turn on the heat.”

“That’s okay. I’m enjoying the fresh air.” She faced the water again, letting the cold wind tousle her hair. It felt like she was standing on the prow of a ship. A nearby flag flapped furiously in the gale, metal rings pinging against its pole. She raised her voice to be heard above the noise. “Are you from Boston, Jim?”

“Yup.” He stood beside her. “Born and raised. See Old Ironsides docked over there in the Charlestown Navy Yahd.” He pointed across the bay to a wooden-hulled frigate.

‘Hey!” Callie grinned, recognizing the three masts and cobweb of rigging. “That’s the USS Constitution, right?”

“You got it. See the Bunker Hill Monument in the background? It’s kinda lost in the mist, but you can still see it peeking through.”

She squinted until she could make out a slim, gray obelisk. “Yeah. I see it.”

“That’s Charlestown. Where five generations of Sullivans were born and raised.”

“Cool. Wish I had more time here. There’s so much to explore.”

Jim chuckled. “Then you should come back.”

She surveyed the bay, eyes following a water taxi as it sped across the harbor. A handful of sailboats bobbed in its wake, which rippled toward them and splashed against the sea wall.

“Miss Perrin?”

She turned, already knowing what Jim was going to ask. “Yes? And please, call me Callie.”

The limo driver shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I’m not supposed to do this, but… you see, my daughter’s a big fan. She’s a bit too young to watch your show, but she loves your art. Got this picture you drew of Boston Garden hanging up over her bed. It would mean the world to her if I brought home an autograph. That is, if you…” He trailed off.

“Sure.” She smiled. “Got a pen and paper?”

As Jim fumbled though the glove compartment of his limo, Elin exited the hotel with an entourage of valets in tow. She carried nothing, while they struggled to push three carts stacked with luggage.

Freaking diva. How many outfits do you need for a long weekend?

“Here you go.” Jim handed her a pen and sheet of paper. “Thanks a million. My pumpkin’ll be so excited.”

“Happy to do it. How old is she?”

“Just turned eight.” He pulled out his cell. “Here’s a photo.”

Callie looked at the girl on his screensaver. She was hugging a massive Bernese mountain dog, her head tilted toward the camera. Curly, copper hair. Freckles. Happy eyes and the kind of dimply grin that belonged in a Disney World commercial. She looked so happy it made Callie’s heart ache.

“She’s beautiful, Jim.” She glanced at Elin, who was blowing toward them like a storm cloud. “What’s her name?”

“Clara,” he answered proudly. “And that’s our pooch, Big Papi.”

“Cute.” She handed back the cell. “Keep her smiling like that.”

“That’s what I live for.”

Elin reached them and pursed her lips, like she’d just sucked on a lemon. “Be careful with those bags,” she ordered as Jim popped open the trunk. When Callie lifted one of the suitcases to help, Elin pulled her away.

“That’s their job,” she said under her breath. “And what was that about? Was that lowlife bothering you for an autograph?”

“Jeez. Lighten up. Don’t be such a bitch.”

Elin removed her oversized sunglasses to glare at her. “That’s some way to speak to your mother.”

“You’re right. Sorry I called you a bitch.” Callie waited for Jim to be within earshot before adding, “That’s an insult to female dogs.”

The driver’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he opened the passenger’s side door. Callie thanked him and hopped in, scooting across the plush leather seat until she was as far away from Elin as possible. The lavish interior resembled the cabin of a private jet. She could stretch out her legs without touching the driver’s partition. A fully stocked wet bar jutted out between a refrigerator and flat-screen television, tuned to ESPN.

“Sports.” Elin crinkled her nose. “I bet that driver was sitting back here. I can smell his cheap cigarettes. He’s got some nerve. And harassing you for an autograph!” She huffed. “I’m reporting him to the limo company.”

“No you’re not. And you’re not going to trash him on Yelp either.” She tapped her cell phone. “I already gave him five stars.”

“Hmm. Nice mood, Cal.” Elin drummed her fingernails on the seat. “Is it the psych meds or PMS? Tell you what. Why don’t we ask your new friend to stop at a pharmacy on the way to the airport so you can pick up some pads?”

Just ignore her. Callie flattened the sheet of paper on an armrest and started doodling. Can’t out-bitch the queen of all bitches.

“You ladies got everything you need back there?” Jim asked from the driver’s seat.

“Yes,” Elin deadpanned. “Except for our privacy. Raise the partition, please.”

Callie met Jim’s gaze and mouthed “Sorry.” He nodded as if to say he was the sorry one.

“Traffic’s average for Monday morning.” He turned on the ignition and the engine purred. “With a bit of Irish luck, we’ll get to Logan in half an hour. ‘Til then, enjoy the ride and let me know if you need anything.”

He faced forward and raised the plexiglass partition before pulling away from the curb.

Elin picked up the remote and channel-surfed until she found Bravo TV. Amusingly, The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills was playing.

Right up your alley, E.P-B.

“You know, you’re a lot like your father. I mean, in addition to the whole mental illness and melodrama thing.” Elin tilted her chin toward the driver. “He also had this thing for strays.”

Callie shook her head in disgust.

“Noah used to give out hundred-dollar bills to all the winos on Sunset Boulevard. He was so awkward around cultured society. Used to squirm at cocktail parties but put him in a seedy bar with white trash” – she picked up a chilled bottle of chardonnay and unscrewed the cap to pour herself a glass – “and he was in his element.”

Callie grabbed the rest of the bottle and took a swig. To survive this ride, she was going to need it. “Money doesn’t equal class,” she muttered. “You’re proof of that.”

Elin regarded her with a frown. “Just like Noah. He thought he was so witty too. Well, where is he now, Cal?”

Callie winced, more from Elin’s use of the nickname “Cal” than from her hurtful words. Dad used to call her that. One more thing for Elin to ruin.

“Here dear.” Elin took the bottle from her hands and poured another glass. “We’re not savages.”

Callie downed the wine like a tequila shot. The limo inched its way through the North End, turning onto Commercial Street. Up ahead, she saw the exit for Route IA / Logan Airport, blocked by bumper-to-bumper traffic. Car horns blared in frustration. With any luck, they’d miss their flight to LA.

Elin didn’t seem too worried. “The thing about your father,” she continued, “is that he had the street smarts of a two-year-old. Every con artist and grifter had his number.”

Callie covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. You should know.

“Looks like you inherited that baggage from him too. Take our driver.” She waved a hand toward Jim’s back. “What do you think he’s going to do with that cute little cartoon you’re drawing for him?”

“It’s for his daughter,” Callie said, signing the sketch and then folding it into her pocket. “And I don’t really care what he does with it.”

“You should. That’s your brand you’re cheapening. He’ll be selling it on eBay tonight. Either that or trading it in for a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.”

Callie sighed. “It must be exhausting to be you, Elin. All that negative energy. You’re like… dark matter. We should drop you off at MIT so they can study what you’re made of.”

“Cute.” Elin flicked a wrist, bangles jingling. “You know what isn’t so cute? How you keep putting your trust in the wrong people. That’s another thing you have in common with Noah. Clueless should’ve been the blurb thingy written on his tombstone.”

“It’s called an epitaph.” Callie narrowed her eyes. “And what the hell are you talking about?”

Elin reached into her Louis Vuitton carry-on to retrieve an iPad. “See for yourself.”

Callie snatched the tablet from her hands. She immediately recognized the obnoxious banner graphic for Prime Dirt, with cartoon eyeballs dotting each “I.” By now, the photo of Ethan holding her hand was familiar too.

But the headline was something new.

MORE HEARTACHE FOR CALLIE: BACKSTABBING MED STUDENT

SELLS HER OUT IN SHOCKING BETRAYAL

Her heart raced as she read the lead paragraph.

According to a reliable source inside Belmont, medical student Ethan Chase transferred Callahan Perrin’s Protected Health Information to his e-mail account, then auctioned it off to the highest bidder. “Chase left a clear digital trail,” the source said. “He will be held accountable.”

“No!” She gripped the iPad so hard her knuckles turned white. “This is fake. They’re making it all up.”

But as she read on, each new detail hit her like a kick in the stomach.

In the latest twist, Prime Dirt just learned that Chase went on a spending spree in the SoHo Gallery this weekend, where he purchased a painting for a cool quarter of a million dollars. The artist? None other than Callahan Perrin.

When she’d finished reading, she dropped the iPad like it was radioactive.

“Why?” Tears flooded her eyes. “Why is this happening?”

“I’m so sorry, Cal,” Elin said with a duck-lipped pout.

“No you’re not! Why did you show me this?”

“Because you need to know the truth.”

“No. No, no, no.” Callie buried her head in her hands. “This can’t be happening.”

“I know it hurts.” Elin rubbed her shoulder, making little circles. “I’ve talked to our legal team. We’ll sue that snake for everything he’s got, and we’ll go after Belmont too. Everything’s already in motion. We’re going to make them pay.”

“What?” Callie jerked away from her. “Who said you could do that? I’m not suing Ethan!”

The shouting drew Jim’s attention. He lowered the partition. “Everything okay back there?”

“Just keep driving,” Elin snapped.

He shook his head and faced forward.

Callie looked at her mother. At the smug curl of her lips. The bitch was gloating. “I don’t care what that piece of shit article says. Ethan didn’t do it.”

“What makes you so sure?” Elin arched a brow. “You’ve known him for what? Less than a week? That bastard betrayed you. It’s all there in the article.”

“It’s Prime Dirt! They make shit up all the time.”

“Not something this big. Ethan stole your personal information and sold it. Why do you think they named him? There must be proof. Otherwise, legal would’ve never cleared the story. You know how it works.”

Callie opened her mouth, but no words came out. She did know how it worked. Her lawyers had sued enough unscrupulous gossip rags over the years. The big players like Prime Dirt pedaled smutty innuendo, but they only named names when there was hard evidence to back up the story.

“I don’t care! Ethan” – her throat spasmed, words coming out in painful hiccups – “would… never… do… that.” Suddenly, she couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t breathe. It felt like she was suffocating.

“Calm down,” Elin said, stroking her back. “You’re hyperventilating.”

“Stop! Jim!” Callie banged on the plexiglass partition. “Pull over!”

Jim lowered the barrier, his weathered brow pinched with concern. “Are you all right, Miss?”

“Does it look like she’s all right?” Elin shouted.

He looked past her to Callie. “Miss?”

“Please pull over.” She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He turned on the hazard lights and eased the limo into a breakdown lane. As soon as the wheels stopped rolling, Callie jumped out and dropped to her knees on the side of the road. She curled into a ball and retched, tasting coffee and bile.

“Breathe,” a deep voice said into her ear. Calm. Soothing. Kind. “Just breathe, Miss Perrin. You’re okay. Try breathing through your nose, real slow.”

She did as she was told, smelling asphalt, rubber, and car exhaust.

“Good,” Jim said. “Now inhale, one, two, three… then exhale, one, two, three.”

After a minute, the spinning sensation slowed. She lifted her head and rocked back on her haunches. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer, but with each beat, she felt more in control. Less like she was about to die. Jim knelt by her side, waiting patiently. When she was ready, he helped her to her feet. His callused hands felt surprisingly gentle.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” She dried her eyes with the collar of her sweatshirt. “Thanks. Sorry I shouted at you like that.”

“No worries, Miss. As long as you’re okay.”

The passenger’s side window whirred down, and Elin stuck out her head. “Are we done with our panic attack?” she asked in a nasal voice.  “Or do we need a Valium before our flight?”

Callie looked up at her mother. At the disgust in her eyes. She may as well have been staring down at maggot-infested road kill.

That’s what I am to her. I’m road kill and she’s a vulture, pecking away at my flesh. It doesn’t matter if I’m alive or dead. She’ll keep pecking until there’s nothing left but bones.

Callie stood up straight and brushed the gravel off her knees. “I’m not going to LA.” She raised her voice to be heard above the traffic. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Elin’s mouth gaped open. “Excuse me?”

“Here’s what’s going to happen. Jim will drop you off at the airport. You’ll get on your plane, and I’ll never see you again.”

“Nonsense. They’ll sort you out at the Sunrise Retreat. You don’t have a choice in the matter, Cal. You’re going and that’s final.”

“No, I’m not.” Callie put her hands on her hips. “And if you force me to go, that’s called kidnapping. I don’t think our driver will be cool with that. Am I right, Jim?”

Jim crossed his arms behind her, muscles bulging. “That’s right, Miss.”

“So dramatic,” Elin said, “but you’re forgetting I’m your legal guardian. The court declared you unfit to make these decisions. I can have you committed.”

“But you won’t. Because you know I’ll destroy you if you try.”

Elin snorted. “Girl, maybe I was wrong about those psych meds. Clearly, you need them, because if you think –”

“I think…” Callie fired back, “you’ll do whatever I tell you to do. Because if you don’t, I’ll come after you. I’ll get my lawyers to go after every penny you’ve ever stolen from me. Then I’ll get them to look into how you screwed me out of my share of Dad’s estate.”

She moved closer to the window. “When I’m done with you, you’ll be the one selling shit on eBay.”

Elin glowered at her, looking like one of those Greek statues of Medusa.

Callie met her death gaze, smiling. Stare away, bitch. You’re not turning me into stone. You’ll never hurt me again.

She waited until Elin had raised the tinted window before looking away. A car whizzed past them, turning onto an exit ramp.

“Sometimes,” Jim said, adjusting his chauffer’s cap, “the apple falls a friggin’ mile from the tree.”

“Thanks.” She grinned at him. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me. Oh, before I forget…” She reached into her pocket to pull out the sketch of Jim’s daughter, hugging their dog. She’d addressed the drawing to Clara, signed with her name and a heart.

The chauffeur took the gift, beaming. “She’ll love it, Miss.”

“Does Clara draw and paint?”

“Every free minute she gets.”

“I was around her age when I started too.” She smiled, remembering how Izzy introduced her to color theory and perspective. “Next time I’m in town, maybe we can work on something together.”

“Seriously?” Jim’s eyes widened. “She’ll be over the moon.”

“Then consider it a date.”

He reached for the passenger’s side door, pausing before opening it. “Where to, Miss?”

“You mean after we drop off the garbage?” She thought for a moment. Too bad returning to Belmont wasn’t an option. Choi and Grieves were the first doctor team she ever felt had a chance to help her, and Ethan…

No. Don’t go there. She forced that dimply grin and those kind blue eyes out of her mind. He wasn’t the person he’d pretended to be. Dwelling on that could only lead to dark places.

LA was out, and so were New York City and Miami. The kind of friends she knew there would put her right back where she was a month ago.

That only left one destination.

She cleared her throat. “If you have the time, Jim, I’d love a ride to Providence.”

***

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