Inevitable Discovery Read online

  Inevitable Discovery

  BY USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  Melissa F. Miller

  Brown Street Books

  Copyright © 2020 by Melissa F. Miller

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  eBook ISBN 978-1-940759-54-8

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Thank You!

  Author’s Note

  Also by Melissa F. Miller

  About the Author

  “Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble.”

  Representative John Lewis

  (1940-2020)

  * * *

  “Fight for the things that you care about, but do it in a way that will lead others to join you.”

  Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg

  (1933-2020)

  * * *

  “Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak whispers the o’er-fraught heart, and bids it break.”

  William Shakespeare,

  Macbeth, Act IV, Scene 3, ll. 209-10

  1

  Saturday, November 20, 1999

  5:40 A.M.

  Georgetown University Campus

  Washington, D.C.

  * * *

  The shrill ring of the telephone was muffled, but not muffled enough. On the top bunk, Sasha rolled onto her stomach and pressed her pillow down over her head to wait for the ringing to stop.

  The ringing continued.

  “Sasha, phone,” Allie moaned from the lower bunk.

  Sasha ignored the phone and her roommate.

  The ringing continued, as did the groaning from the bottom bunk.

  “Please. I feel sick.”

  Sasha bit back the words that rushed to her lips and pushed off her comforter, untangling it from her feet.

  Of course, Allie felt sick. She’d probably spent most of the night drinking grain alcohol punch at some friend of a friend’s house party. At least, Sasha assumed so. She hadn’t shown up at the library for their Friday cram session. So Sasha had sat alone in the carrel they’d reserved, rereading her notes on Beowulf for the eighth time and pretending not to notice the library emptying out as the sun set and the weekend started.

  She stumbled down the ladder and walked blindly toward the cordless phone’s base. Empty. As usual. She turned in a slow circle, searching for the source of the high-pitched ring. After a moment, she pinpointed the sound and yanked the handset out from under Allie’s quilted jacket.

  “Why is your jacket on the floor?”

  “Why is the phone on the floor?” Allie shot back, before flinging her arm over her eyes and rolling toward the wall.

  Sasha fumbled with the button. “Hello?”

  “Sasha, were you sleeping?”

  She squinted at the alarm clock. “Mom, it’s not even six o’clock in the morning. What do you think?”

  “I’m sorry, honey.” Her mother’s voice cracked on the words, and Sasha’s irritation turned to worry.

  Valentina McCandless never apologized.

  “Is something wrong?” Her heart clenched. “Is it Nana?”

  In the periphery of her vision, she saw Allie roll slowly toward her and stare out at her with wide, blue eyes.

  “No. It’s … your brother.”

  Before Sasha could ask which brother, her mom broke into loud, wordless sobbing.

  “Mom? Mom?”

  Her mother’s cries faded and her dad’s voice sounded in her ear. “Hi, kiddo.” He sounded tired. No, more than tired. Drained, lifeless.

  “Dad? What’s going on? Who’s in trouble? Wait, let me guess—Ryan.”

  “Patrick’s dead.”

  Dead? Patrick?

  He couldn’t be. Her heart roared in her ears and she gripped the phone as if it was keeping her upright. Maybe it was.

  After a million years, she choked out a jumble of words. “I don’t … no. No. Patrick’s not dead! What are you talking about?”

  She felt rather than saw Allie bolt up from the bed and race across the room to hover behind her.

  “He is, honey.”

  The heaviness in the words landed on her, and she curved herself forward, bending and wrapping her free hand around her waist. Allie rubbed her back while she gulped for air.

  “What happened—a car accident?” She finally managed to ask.

  A long pause. She heard his breath hitch.

  “Dad?”

  “He was shot, Sasha.”

  “Shot?” She echoed numbly.

  “The Atlantic City police called. All we know now is that he was dead on the scene. Mom and I have to leave. We’re driving up there to … to claim his body.”

  Nothing he said made sense. For a moment, it was a relief. Maybe Patrick wasn’t dead. Maybe her dad had suffered a stroke. Why would Patrick be in New Jersey? She straightened and turned around to flash Allie a weak ‘I’m okay’ smile. Allie studied her with grave eyes.

  Then she remembered. Patrick and his buddies had gone to AC for a guys’ weekend to celebrate his thirtieth birthday. Her heart hit her stomach with a lurch.

  “Dad, you know Patrick’s friends. Maybe this is a really sick joke?” She reached for the idea, ridiculous as it was.

  “It’s not a joke. I just pray to the Lord that Sean is okay.”

  “Sean was with him?”

  “Yeah, he tagged along. Ry had to work. So he can pick you up at the train station when you get in. If you call the house and he’s not there, call Nana. You’ll probably get home before we do.”

  Logistical concerns started to break through the frozen cloud of disbelief and pain that covered her brain. She already had a ticket home for Thanksgiving break, but it was for Tuesday. Could she change it? Would there be a fee?

  She had money on her cafeteria card, but, unfortunately, Amtrak didn’t take Georgetown dining plan credits. Her next work study check wouldn’t come until the end of next week. She glanced at Allie. She hated to ask, but she might have to.

  “Okay, Dad. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, pumpkin. Be careful, okay? I have to go. Mom’s waiting in the car.”

  The line clicked off. She stared down at the phone, suddenly unable to remember what to do with it.

  Allie seemed to understand her problem and gently pried the handset out of Sasha’s clenched hand. She powered it off and returned it to the base to charge. Then she turned and searched Sasha’s face. “Your brother’s dead?�
��

  Sasha blinked and nodded.

  Allie wrapped her in a hug. Sasha fought back her tears and focused on the smell of Allie’s pear glacé body lotion. The familiar sweet scent was a lifeline.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “I need to change my train ticket. And pack. And I guess let the TAs know. And …”

  Allie cut her off. “One thing at a time. Start with the ticket.”

  “Do you know if there’s a change fee?”

  Allie shrugged. Right. She didn’t queue up at Union Station like the rest of them. She flew back and forth from school on her dad’s private jet. Why would she know?

  “Don’t worry about that.” She rifled through her desk drawer and pulled out a fistful of twenties. Sasha opened her mouth to object, but Allie was already pushing the money into her hand. “I get my allowance next week. Forget the train. Fly.”

  “I’ll pay you back.”

  “I know.”

  “Allie—“

  “Look, don’t thank me. I’m sure my dad made that money evicting widows and orphans or draining pensioners’ retirement accounts. Just get home to your family.” Her eyes brightened. “I know, I’ll come with you. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  Sure, Allie loved the loud, ragtag McCandless clan. She’d stayed with them for almost a month last summer while her parents were in Europe. But, seriously, she’d pass up Thanksgiving in Malibu to go to a funeral in Pittsburgh?

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  In response, she opened their shared closet and tugged her titanium suitcase and Sasha’s black duffel bag down from the top shelf. Allie’s kindness breached the dam, and the tears Sasha’d been holding at bay spilled over.

  “Thank you.” She smiled at her friend through wet eyes. She really didn’t want to have to do this alone. Thank God for Allie.

  She sank to her knees on the rough carpet and buried her face in her hands.

  Patrick was dead.

  2

  Wednesday, November 20, 2019

  3:27 A.M.

  Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

  * * *

  The metallic chirp of the cell phone jolted Sasha from sleep. She bolted upright, breathing hard. Beside her, Connelly stirred. She fumbled for the phone while her heart drummed fast against the thin fabric of her tank top.

  She grabbed it and answered without checking the caller ID on the display. “Sasha McCandless.”

  “I’m so sorry to bother you so late … I didn’t know who else to call.”

  Jordana Morgan’s voice was nearly unrecognizable—higher pitched and faster than usual, and dripping with urgency and fear.

  “It’s okay,” she soothed her legal intern in a whisper.

  She glanced at Connelly, who’d thrown an arm over his eyes. That wasn’t going to block out the conversation. She eased herself out of bed and headed for the walk-in closet. With any luck, from inside the closet, her voice wouldn’t carry across the hall and wake the twins. Or the pets.

  She closed the door behind her with a soft click and sank cross-legged into a pile of dry cleaning.

  “What’s going on?”

  She expected to hear that the girl had locked herself out of her apartment or run out of gas or even had trusted the wrong designated driver and needed a ride back to campus. She absolutely did not anticipate what she heard.

  “I’m at the police station.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been arrested. I mean, I guess? I got picked up at the protest … Sasha, I can’t make bail.”

  “Wait. Stop. Have you been Mirandized?”

  “Um, no? I don’t know.” Her voice rose in a wail, and Sasha could hear the tears right behind it, threatening to spill out.

  Did this kid not watch TV? “Has someone in a uniform read you your Miranda rights?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Which station? Five?”

  “No, I’m not in the city.”

  “Where are you then?”

  She heard muffled voices.

  Jordana came back on the line. “The officer says I’m in Milltown at the station on Steel Avenue.”

  “Okay. Don’t talk to the officer again. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, but she’s really ni—“

  “Do not talk to her.”

  Jordana fell silent.

  “Don’t talk to anybody until I get there. Just hold tight. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

  “Thank you, Sasha. I couldn’t call my mom. She’d freak.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She reached for a pair of sweats and reconsidered. She trapped the phone between her ear and her neck and pulled a tailored dress from the nearest hanger.

  As she was wiggling into it, Jordana started yammering.

  “I can’t believe this is happening to me. We were just peacefully protesting. We marched from campus to the overpass where they shot Vaughn Tabor. I guess that’s outside the city limits, but we weren’t being disruptive. It was a silent vigil. And then the cops—”

  “Jordana! Quiet!” She used the tone the dog trainer had finally convinced her to take with Mocha to get her to stop barking. Remember, you’re not asking her, you’re telling her.

  It had mixed results with the dog, but it seemed to work a charm with the girl.

  “Sorry,” Jordana said meekly.

  “It’s okay. You can tell me all about it in the car. But, please, just zip it until I get there.”

  “It’s zipped.”

  “Good.”

  She ended the call and was struggling with her own zipper when the closet door opened to reveal Connelly. He smiled sleepily at her from beneath a mop of sleep-mussed hair.

  “Need a hand?”

  “Please.”

  She turned. He zipped up her dress, then handed her the matching suit coat. “Do I want to know?”

  She belted the long jacket and jammed her feet into a pair of high-heeled boots. “Jordana’s been arrested.”

  He blinked. “I’ll start the coffee while you brush your teeth and hair.”

  “Man, I love you.”

  “I know it.”

  She reached up and ruffled his hair. “You need a haircut.”

  He grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers. “Who’s Allie?”

  She froze. “What?”

  “You were talking in your sleep. You kept saying ‘Allie, Allie.’”

  She pulled her hand away and smoothed her jacket. “Um, Allie Peterman was my roommate my freshman and sophomore years.”

  “What happened?” He frowned at her. “I’ve never heard you mention her. She wasn’t at the wedding, was she?”

  “No.” She sidled past him and headed into the bathroom. He trailed her, unwilling to drop the topic.

  She searched the vanity for her glasses and answered without looking at him. “She didn’t come back to school after the winter break. We lost touch.”

  She could feel him watching her as she ran a brush through her tangle of hair.

  “You were close.”

  It wasn’t a question. She answered it anyway. “I thought we were, but I guess I was wrong. She ghosted me. I called her parents’ place a bunch of times, but … I never heard back from her.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged off his gentle invitation to talk about it and met his eyes. “That coffee’s not going to make itself.”

  He quirked his mouth but didn’t shift his gaze. “Message delivered. Allie from college is off-limits.” He dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. “You should wear your glasses more often. They make you look formidable.”

  “I can work with that.” She flashed him a smile as he edged through the doorway.

  She tried to remember her dream while she brushed her teeth, but it was gone, evaporated, chased away by the insistent ringing of the phone.

  She glanced down at the phone on the vanity to check the time and nearly swallowed a mouthful of minty toothpaste when she noted the date. November
20. Exactly twenty years since the early morning phone call that had turned her world upside down.

  She gave herself a fierce look in the mirror. “Think about Patrick later. Right now, you need to help Jordana.” She said the words formidably—she hoped.

  Sasha’s headlights washed over the concrete block police station building, lighting it up in the darkness, as she pulled into the closest available parking space. She sat in the warm car for a moment, enjoying the heat and savoring the last mouthful of coffee in her travel mug.

  Then she squared her shoulders, swiped her lips with the brownish-red lipstick that Naya promised suited her, and killed the engine. She dropped the lipstick tube into the center console and checked her handiwork in the visor mirror.

  Game time.

  She hurried out of the car and across the parking lot, steeling herself against the cold wind. Just in case anyone was watching from the lobby, she swung her briefcase in time with the crisp click of her heeled boots against the pavement as she marched toward the entrance. The bag was empty save for a legal pad, a pen, her wallet, and her cell phone, but only a fool rode into battle without her armor.

  She pulled open the heavy door and stepped inside, grateful for the blast of hot air that hit her in the face. A quick scan of the lobby revealed that her theatrics had been for an audience of no one. The wooden counter that anchored the space was unattended. A blinking computer monitor and the staticky buzz of a police radio were the only signs of life.