Summer Secrets - Barbara Freethy [7]
Tyler reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was a magazine cover from eight years ago. Three blond, sunburned girls stood on the deck of a sailboat, holding an enormous silver trophy in their hands, their proud, beaming father in the background. The McKennas had conquered the world's toughest oceans. But were there secrets behind those smiles? Was there another story of their trip, one that hadn't been printed? Tyler suspected the answer to both questions was yes.
In fact, if one looked closely at the picture, only Duncan looked really happy. The girls appeared shell-shocked. It was the only word he could think of to describe their expressions. Maybe he was reading more than was there. He'd spent most of his life living by the facts and only the facts, but this story was different. This story was personal.
Kate McKenna hadn't wanted to talk to him. As she said, it was an old story, so why the resistance? She was hiding something. A drunken father -- not the biggest secret in the world. There had to be something more. Tyler had a hunch he knew what that something was.
He folded the magazine cover, slipped it into his pocket, and took out his cell phone. He punched in a familiar number, then waited.
"Jamison residence." Shelly Thompson, Mark's private nurse, answered the phone in her no-nonsense voice.
"Shelly. It's Tyler. How's Mark doing today?"
"Not good. He tried to stand, but his legs couldn't support his weight. He's very depressed."
Tyler let out a sigh filled with frustration, helplessness, and anger, emotions that swamped him every time he thought about his younger brother who had once been such an accomplished athlete. "Can I talk to him?"
"He's asleep. Do you want me to wake him?"
"No. But when he gets up, tell him I found the McKenna sisters." Tyler ended the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket. The McKenna sisters might be good at keeping secrets, but he was even better at uncovering them.
Chapter Two
Ashley McKenna tapped her foot nervously on the dock that bobbed beneath her feet. The swells grew larger with each passing minute as storm clouds came in from the west. "We need to do this soon," she told the man on the deck of the boat she was about to photograph. "We're losing the light."
"We've got one more guy to get in the picture. He should be here any second. Hang on."
Hang on. Sure she could do that. As a photographer, she was used to waiting patiently for the right shot. But not when she was standing so close to the water, not when she could see the waves beginning to churn. She sent a longing look behind her. She'd much rather be on solid ground than standing out here in her impractical high heels with her skirt blowing up around her legs like a Marilyn Monroe photo. For the hundredth time she wished she'd had time to change, but she'd rushed from shooting the ribbon cutting of the new maritime museum to this assignment, photographing the crews and boats entered in the Castleton Invitational.
Water splashed over the side of the dock, and she took a hasty step backward. She felt small and vulnerable on this bobbing piece of wood with a storm blowing in. The sea had often made her feel that way. Her father had always told her to look the ocean right in the eye, never back down, never give up, never give in. There was a time when those brave, fighting words had given her courage. Then she'd learned through hard experience that