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Her letters had been an attempt to terrorize me and Cameron, and she knew enough about me to tell Valerie where I worked. If they were written by a teenager in Inverness, how the hell had she known that, or how to write to Cameron, to threaten us, after the break-in at Cameron’s house?
And then there was the man who was technically my father.
The man who’d murdered my mother.
He’d obviously gotten out of prison and married again.
What kind of person married someone who’d murdered their last spouse?
And Genny had been caught up in that?
Fuck.
No wonder the girl was messed up if she was sending a stranger (technically, stepbrother) creepy threatening love notes.
As we parked and approached the large one-story building on the southern outskirts of Inverness, I knew I was probably gripping Cameron’s hand too tightly. She was a lifeline, keeping me steady as we pressed the intercom button.
When I asked for Valerie and said who I was, the door buzzed open.
A squat woman with broad shoulders approached us as we entered a large reception area. It was almost like a doctor’s surgery, but there were children’s drawings and artwork displayed in frames all over the walls. Like they’d taken the time to preserve the art to show the kids their drawings meant something to the staff here.
The woman held out a hand, her expression obviously wary. “Mr. Dallas, I’m Valerie Smith.”
I shook it, trying to soften my countenance to ease her anxiety. “Call me Forde. This is my girlfriend, Cameron.”
Cameron shook her hand and Valerie offered a small smile. “I recognize you both from your pictures.”
I stiffened. “Pictures?”
Valerie shifted uncomfortably, and I noted the bloke behind reception stand slowly. He was tall, older than me by about fifteen years, and he was giving me Don’t fuck with her looks. “Genny … well, your dad left Genny some things and there are photos of you both in those belongings.”
“Of us both?” How on earth did my sperm donor have photos of Cameron?
“Genny’s therapist has insisted it might set Genny back in her sessions if she were to know about your visit. She’s out this morning so … I’ll show you the photographs. As long as you agree you’re not calling the police?”
“Agreed,” I bit out. I’d already made the decision the compromise was worth it to understand the situation.
She seemed reluctant, but Valerie turned on her heel, and Cameron and I fell into step behind her.
Cameron squeezed my hand in comfort.
The building was built in a square around an inner courtyard. Walls of glass revealed a landscaped courtyard where several residents and staff hung out. Some were working on raised beds of soil of a small vegetable garden, while others read or played on the opposite side of the courtyard. The children varied in ages from very young to older teens. Inside, we passed what looked like a large common room with TVs and sofas.
Then we turned down a corridor and passed door after door. Some were open with music filtering out; in another we heard two children arguing, and Valerie paused to pop her head in and gently reprimand them.
I watched her shoulders stiffen when we carried on and heard the argument start up again.
But she didn’t go back. Instead, she stopped outside a door, hesitated for a second, and then pushed it open. Curiosity propelled me forward and I took in the small room.
It had a window overlooking the street we’d parked on. A single bed with a bedside table and lamp. A tallboy and a wardrobe. There were photos pinned to the wall above the bed.
“Genny has a single to herself. We try to give the older teens their privacy if we can.”
There was a teddy bear that had seen better days sitting on her pillow. My eyes moved to the photos as Cameron and I stepped closer.
I sucked in a breath.
There were photos of me as a boy. Photos I’d never seen before. Even a photo of me and Mum. My eyes stung as my gaze swung over them. There were also photos of a small brunette child with a dark-haired woman I didn’t recognize. But even though he was older and fuller in the face, I recognized the man in the photos with them.
