{"product_id":"the-cove-isbn-9780515118650","title":"The Cove","description":"\u003cb\u003eA picturesque town. A woman on the run. An undercover agent.   The first riveting novel in Catherine Coulter's #1 \u003ci\u003eNew   York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling FBI Thriller series.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sally Brainerd can't remember what happened the   night her father was murdered. Maybe she did it. Or maybe it was her poor,   traumatized mother. Either way, the   safest place for her is far away from Washington, D.C.. But while her aunt's   home in The Cove should be a quiet refuge, Sally can't shake the feeling that   there's something not quite right about the postcard perfect little   town.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Despite his target's checkered past and convenient memory loss, FBI Special   Agent James Quinlan isn't convinced she's the killer—but maybe she knows who   is. As he uses his cover to get close   to Sally and unearth the memories her mind has hidden away, James can't deny   his connection to the troubled woman. But as their lies and passions   intertwine, Sally and James soon learn they aren't the only ones keeping   deadly secrets in The Cove...\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eThe Cove\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Coulter...delivers a fast-paced, solidly structured read.”—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Fantastic...Action-packed...Spine-tingling.”—Affaire De Coeur\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eMore Praise for Catherine Coulter’s FBI Thrillers\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Fast-paced.”—\u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “This terrific thriller will drag you into its chilling web of terror and not let go until the last paragraph…A ripping good read.”—\u003ci\u003eThe San Francisco Examiner\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A good storyteller...Coulter always keeps the pace brisk.”—\u003ci\u003eFort Worth Star-Telegram\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “With possible blackmail, intra-judiciary rivalries and personal peccadilloes, there’s more than enough intrigue—and suspects—for full court standing in this snappy page-turner…A zesty read.”—\u003ci\u003eBook Page\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Twisted villains...intriguing escapism...The latest in the series featuring likable married FBI agents Lacey Sherlock and Dillon Savich.”—\u003ci\u003eLansing \u003c\/i\u003e(MI)\u003ci\u003e State Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Coulter takes readers on a chilling and suspenseful ride...taut, fast-paced, hard to put down.”—\u003ci\u003eCedar Rapids Gazette\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “The perfect suspense thriller, loaded with plenty of action.”—The Best Reviews\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The newest installment in Coulter’s FBI series delivers...a fast-moving investigation, a mind-bending mystery.”—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Fast-paced, romantic...Coulter gets better and more cinematic with each of her suspenseful FBI adventures.”—\u003ci\u003eBooklist \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eCatherine Coulter\u003c\/b\u003e is the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of the FBI Thrillers featuring husband and wife team Dillon Savich and Lacey Sherlock. She is also the author—with J. T. Ellison—of the Brit in the FBI series. She lives in Sausalito, California.SOMEONE WAS WATCHING her. She tugged on the black\u003cp\u003ewig, flattening it against her ears, and quickly put on another\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecoat of deep-red lipstick, holding the mirror up so\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshe could see behind her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe young Marine saw her face in the mirror and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egrinned at her. She jumped as if she’d been shot. Just stop\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eit. He’s harmless, he’s just flirting. He couldn’t be more\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethan eighteen, his head all shaved, his cheeks as smooth\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eas hers. She tilted the mirror to see more. The woman\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esitting beside him was reading a Dick Francis novel. In\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe seat behind them a young couple were leaning into\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeach other, asleep.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe seat in front of her was empty. The Greyhound\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edriver was whistling Eric Clapton’s ‘‘Tears in Heaven,’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea song that always twisted up her insides. The only one\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewho seemed to notice her was that young Marine, who’d\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egotten on at the last stop in Portland. He was probably\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egoing home to see his eighteen-year-old girlfriend. He\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewasn’t after her, surely, but someone was. She wouldn’t\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebe fooled again. They’d taught her so much. No, she’d\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enever be fooled again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe put the mirror back into her purse and fastened the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eflap. She stared at her fingers, at the white line where the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewedding ring had been until three days ago. She’d tried\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto pull it off for the past six months but hadn’t managed\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto do it. She had been too out of it even to fasten the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eVelcro on her sneakers—when they allowed her sneakers—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emuch less work off a tight ring.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSoon, she thought, soon she would be safe. Her mother\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewould be safe too. Oh, God, Noelle—sobbing in the middle\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof the night when she didn’t know anyone could hear\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher. But without her there, they couldn’t do a thing to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNoelle. Odd how she rarely thought of Noelle as her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emother anymore, not like she had ten years before, when\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNoelle had listened to all her teenage problems, taken her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshopping, driven her to her soccer games. So much they’d\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edone together. Before. Yes, before that night when she’d\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eseen her father slam his fist into her mother’s chest and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshe’d heard the cracking of at least two ribs.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe’d run in, screaming at him to leave her mother\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ealone, and jumped on his back. He was so surprised, so\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshocked, that he didn’t strike her. He shook her off,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eturned, and shouted down at her, ‘‘Mind your own business,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSusan! This doesn’t concern you.’’ She stared at\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehim, all the fear and hatred she felt for him at that moment\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eclear on her face.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Doesn’t concern me? She’s my mother, you bastard.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDon’t you dare hit her again!’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe looked calm, but she wasn’t fooled; she saw the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epulse pounding madly in his neck. ‘‘It was her fault, Susan.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMind your own damned business. Do you hear me?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was her fault.’’ He took a step toward her mother, his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efist raised. She picked up the Waterford carafe off his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edesk, yelling, ‘‘Touch her and I’ll bash your head in.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was panting now, turning swiftly to face her again,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eno more calm expression to fool her. His face was distorted\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewith rage. ‘‘Bitch! Damned interfering little bitch!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’ll make you pay for this, Susan. No one goes against\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eme, particularly a spoiled little girl who’s never done a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ething in her life except spend her father’s money.’’ He\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edidn’t hit Noelle again. He looked at both of them with\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enaked fury, then strode out of the house, slamming the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edoor behind him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e ‘‘Yeah, right,’’ she said and very carefully and slowly\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eset the Waterford carafe down before she dropped it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe wanted to call an ambulance but her mother\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewouldn’t allow it. ‘‘You can’t,’’ she said, her voice as\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecracked as her ribs. ‘‘You can’t, Sally. Your father would\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebe ruined, if anyone believed us. I can’t allow that to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehappen.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘He deserves to be ruined,’’ Sally said, but she obeyed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe was only sixteen years old, home for the weekend\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efrom her private girls’ school in Laurelberg, Virginia.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhy wouldn’t they be believed?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘No, dearest,’’ her mother whispered, the pain bowing\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher in on herself. ‘‘No. Get me that blue bottle of pills in\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe medicine cabinet. Hurry, Sally. The blue bottle.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs she watched her mother swallow three of the pills,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egroaning as she did so, she realized the pills were there\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebecause her father had struck her mother before. Deep\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edown, Sally had known it. She hated herself because she’d\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enever asked, never said a word.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat night her mother became Noelle, and the next\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eweek Sally left her girls’ school and moved back to her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eparents’ home in Washington, D.C., in hopes of protecting\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher mother. She read everything she could find on abuse—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enot that it helped.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat was ten years ago, though sometimes it seemed\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elike last week. Noelle had stayed with her husband, refusing\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto seek counseling, refusing to read any of the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebooks Sally brought her. It made no sense to Sally, but\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshe’d stayed as close as possible, until she’d met Scott\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBrainerd at the Whistler exhibition at the National Gallery\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof Art and married him two months later.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe didn’t want to think about Scott or about her father\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enow. Despite her vigilance, she knew her father had hit\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNoelle whenever she happened to be gone from the house.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe’d seen the bruises her mother had tried to hide from\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher, seen her walking carefully, like an old woman. Once\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehe broke her mother’s arm, but Noelle refused to go to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe hospital, to the doctor, and ordered Susan to keep\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003equiet. Her father just looked at her, daring her, and she\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edid nothing. Nothing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer fingers rubbed unconsciously over the white line\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhere the ring had been. She could remember the past so\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eclearly—her first day at school, when she was on the seesaw\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand a little boy pointed, laughing that he saw her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epanties.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was just the past week that was a near blank in her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emind. The week her father had been killed. The whole\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eweek was like a very long dream that had almost dissolved\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003einto nothing more than an occasional wisp of memory\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewith the coming of the morning.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSally knew she’d been at her parents’ house that night,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebut she couldn’t remember anything more, at least nothing\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshe could grasp—just vague shadows that blurred, then\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efaded in and out. But they didn’t know that. They wanted\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher badly, she’d realized that soon enough. If they\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecouldn’t use her to prove that Noelle had killed her husband,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhy, then they’d take her and prove that she’d\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ekilled her father. Why not? Other children had murdered\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etheir fathers. Although there were plenty of times she’d\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewanted to, she didn’t believe she’d killed him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOn the other hand, she just didn’t know. It was all a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eblank, locked tightly away in her brain. She knew she was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecapable of killing that bastard, but had she? There were\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emany people who could have wanted her father dead. Perhaps\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethey’d found out she’d been there after all. Yes, that\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewas it. She’d been a witness and they knew it. She probably\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad been. She just didn’t remember.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe had to stay focused on the present. She looked out\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe Greyhound window at the small town the bus was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egoing through. Ugly gray exhaust spewed out the back of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe bus. She bet the locals loved that.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey were driving along Highway 101 southwest. Just\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eanother half hour, she thought, just thirty more minutes,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand she wouldn’t have to worry anymore, at least for a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhile. She would take any safe time she could get. Soon\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshe wouldn’t have to be afraid of anyone who chanced to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elook at her. No one knew about her aunt, no one.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe was terrified that the young Marine would get off\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eafter her when she stepped down from the bus at the junction\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof Highways 101 and 101A. But he didn’t. No one\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edid. She stood there with her one small bag, staring at the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyoung Marine, who’d turned around in his seat and was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elooking back at her. She tamped down on her fear. He\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ejust wanted to flirt, not hurt her. She thought he had lousy\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etaste in women. She watched for cars, but none were coming\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efrom either direction.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe walked west along Highway 101A to The Cove.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHighway 101A didn’t go east.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Yes?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe stared at the woman she’d seen once in her life\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhen she was no more than seven years old. She looked\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elike a hippie, a colorful scarf wrapped around her long,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecurling, dark hair, huge gold hoops dangling from her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eears, her skirt ankle-length and painted all in dark blues\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand browns. She was wearing blue sneakers. Her face was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003estrong, her cheekbones high and prominent, her chin\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esharp, her eyes dark and intelligent. Actually, she was the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emost beautiful woman Sally had ever seen.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Aunt Amabel?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘What did you say?’’ Amabel stared at the young\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewoman who stood on her front doorstep, a young woman\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewho didn’t look cheap with all that makeup she’d piled\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eon her face, just exhausted and sickly pale. And frightened.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen, of course, she knew. She had known deep\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edown that she would come. Yes, she’d known, but it still\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshook her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I’m Sally,’’ she said and pulled off the black wig and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etook out half a dozen hairpins. Thick, waving dark-blond\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehair tumbled down to her shoulders. ‘‘Maybe you called\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eme Susan? Not many people do anymore.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e6 Catherine Coulter\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe woman was shaking her head back and forth, those\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edazzling earrings slapping against her neck. ‘‘My God,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eit’s really you, Sally?’’ She rocked back on her heels.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Yes, Aunt.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Oh, my,’’ Amabel said and quickly pulled her niece\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eagainst her, hugged her tightly, then pushed her back to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elook at her. ‘‘Oh, my goodness. I’ve been so worried. I\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efinally heard the news about your papa, but I didn’t know\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eif I should call Noelle. You know how she is. I was going\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto call her tonight when the rates go down, but you’re\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehere, Sally. I guess I hoped you’d come to me. What’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehappened? Is your mama all right?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Noelle is fine, I think,’’ Sally said. ‘‘I didn’t know\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhere else to go, so I came here. Can I stay here, Aunt\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmabel, just for a little while? Just until I can think of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esomething, make some plans?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Of course you can. Look at that black wig and all that\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emakeup on your face. Why, baby?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe endearment undid her. She’d not cried, not once,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003euntil now, until this woman she didn’t really know called\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher ‘‘baby.’’ Her aunt’s hands were stroking her back, her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003evoice was low and soothing. ‘‘It’s all right, lovey. I promise\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou, everything will be all right now. Come in, Sally,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand I’ll take care of you. That’s what I told your mama\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhen I first saw you. You were the cutest little thing, so\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eskinny, your arms and legs wobbly like a colt’s, and the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebiggest smile I’d ever seen. I wanted to take care of you\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethen. You’ll be safe here. Come on, baby.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe damnable tears wouldn’t stop. They just kept dripping\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edown her face, ruining the god-awful thick black\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emascara. She even tasted it, and when she swiped her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehand over her face it came away with black streaks.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I look like a circus clown,’’ she said, swallowing hard\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto stop the tears, to smile, to make herself smile. She took\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eout the green-colored contacts. With the crying, they hurt.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘No, you look like a little girl trying on her mama’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emakeup. That’s right, take out those ugly contacts. Ah,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enow you’ve got your pretty blue eyes again. Come to the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ekitchen and I’ll make you some tea. I always put a drop\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof brandy in mine. It wouldn’t hurt you one little bit. How\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eold are you now, Sally?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Twenty-six, I think.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘What do you mean, you think?’’ her aunt said, cocking\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher head to one side, making the gold hoop earring\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehang straight down almost to her shoulder.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSally couldn’t tell her that though she thought her birthday\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad come and gone in that place, she couldn’t seem\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto see the day in her mind, couldn’t dredge up anyone\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esaying anything to her, not that she could imagine it anyway.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe couldn’t even remember if her father had been\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethere. She prayed he hadn’t. She couldn’t tell Amabel\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eabout that, she just couldn’t. She shook her head, smiled,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand said, not lying well, ‘‘It was just a way of speaking,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAunt Amabel. I’d love some tea and a drop of brandy.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmabel sat her niece down in the kitchen at her old\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epine table that had three magazines under one leg to keep\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eit steady. At least she’d made cushions for the wooden\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eseats, so they were comfortable. She put the kettle on the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egas burner and turned it on. ‘‘There,’’ she said. ‘‘That\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewon’t take too long.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSally watched her put a Lipton tea bag into each cup\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand pour in the brandy. Amabel said, ‘‘I always pour the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebrandy in first. It soaks into the tea bag and makes the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eflavor stronger. Brandy’s expensive and I’ve got to make\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eit last. This bottle’’—she lifted the Christian Brothers—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘is going on its third month. Not bad. You’ll see, you’ll\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elike it.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘No one followed me, Aunt Amabel. I was really careful.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI imagine you know that everyone is after me. But I\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emanaged to get away. As far as I know, no one knows\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eabout you. Noelle never told a soul. Only Father knew\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eabout you, and he’s dead.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmabel just nodded. Sally sat quietly, watching Amabel\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emove around her small kitchen, each action smooth\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e8 Catherine Coulter\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand efficient. She was graceful, this aunt of hers in her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehippie clothes. She looked at those strong hands, the long\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efingers, the short, buffed nails painted an awesome bright\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ered. Amabel was an artist, she remembered that now. She\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecouldn’t see any resemblance at all to Noelle, Amabel’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyounger sister. Amabel was dark as a gypsy, while Noelle\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewas blond and fair-complexioned, blue-eyed and soft as\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea pillow.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLike me, Sally thought. But Sally wasn’t soft anymore.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe was hard as a brick.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe waited, expecting Amabel to whip out a deck of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecards and tell her fortune. She wondered why none of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNoelle’s family ever spoke of Amabel. What had she done\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat was so terrible?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer fingers rubbed over the white band where the ring\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad been. She said as she looked around the old kitchen\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewith its ancient refrigerator and porcelain sink, ‘‘You\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edon’t mind that I’m here, Aunt Amabel?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Call me Amabel, honey, that’ll be just fine. I don’t\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emind at all. Both of us will protect your mama. As for\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou, why, I don’t think you could hurt that little bug that’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003escurrying across the kitchen floor.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSally shook her head, got out of her seat, and squashed\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe bug beneath her heel. She sat down again. ‘‘I just want\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou to see me as I really am,’’ she said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmabel only shrugged, turned back to the stove when\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe teakettle whistled, and poured the water into the teacups.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe said, not turning around, ‘‘Things happen to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epeople, change them. Take your mama. Everyone always\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eprotected your mama, including me. Why wouldn’t her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edaughter do the same? You are protecting her, aren’t you,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSally?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe handed Sally her cup of tea. She pulled the tea bag\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eback and forth, making the tea darker and darker. Finally,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshe lifted the bag and placed it carefully on the saucer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe’d swished that tea bag just the way her mother always\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad when she’d been young. She took a drink, held the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebrandied tea in her mouth a moment, then swallowed. The\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etea was wonderful, thick, rich, and sinful. She felt less on\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eedge almost immediately. That brandy was something.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSurely she’d be safe here. Surely Amabel would take her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein just for a little while until she figured out what to do.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe imagined her aunt wanted to hear everything, but\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshe wasn’t pushing. Sally was immensely grateful for that.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I’ve often wondered what kind of woman you’d become,’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmabel said. ‘‘Looks to me like you’ve become\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea fine one. This mess—and that’s what it is—it will pass.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEverything will be resolved, you’ll see.’’ She was silent\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea moment, remembering the affection she’d felt for the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elittle girl, that bone-deep desire to keep her close, to hug\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher until she squeaked. It surprised her that it was still\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethere. She didn’t like it, nor did she want it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Careful of leaning on that end of the table, Sally. Purn\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDavies wanted to fix it for me, but I wouldn’t let him.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe knew Sally wasn’t hearing her, but it didn’t matter,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmabel was just making noise until Sally got some of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat brandy in her belly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘This tea’s something else, Amabel. Strange, but\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egood.’’ She took another drink, then another. She felt\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewarmth pooling in her stomach. She realized she hadn’t\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efelt this warm in more than five days.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘You might as well tell me now, Sally. You came here\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eso you could protect your mama, didn’t you, baby?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSally took another big drink of the tea. What could she\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esay? She said nothing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Did your mama kill your papa?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSally set down her cup and stared into it, wishing she\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eknew the truth of things, but that night was as murky in\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher mind as the tea in the bottom of her cup. ‘‘I don’t\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eknow,’’ she said finally. ‘‘I just don’t know, but they think\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI do. They think I’m either protecting Noelle or running\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebecause I did it. They’re trying to find me. I didn’t want\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto take a chance, so that’s why I’m here.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWas she lying? Amabel didn’t say anything. She\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e10 Catherine Coulter\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emerely smiled at her niece, who looked exhausted, her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eface white and pinched, her lovely blue eyes as faded and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eworn as an old dress. She was too thin; her sweater and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eslacks hung on her. In that moment her niece looked very\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eold, as if she had seen too much of the wicked side of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elife. Well, it was too bad, but there was more wickedness\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein the world than anyone cared to admit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe said quietly as she stared down into her teacup, ‘‘If\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyour mama did kill her husband, I’ll bet the bastard deserved\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eit.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302767939813,"sku":"NP9780515118650","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780515118650.jpg?v=1767738865","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-cove-isbn-9780515118650","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}