CHAPTER 1
Sixteen Years Later
Everyone deserves a second chance.
As many times as she had gotten such chances, Belle McBain had never believed she rightfully deserved them. She had received more second chances than most. There had been a time when she was ungrateful, downright resentful, of those who intervened in her path of self-destruction just so she could give life another go. But like yesterday, and hopefully tomorrow, today she was glad for the people who had stopped her from giving up on herself and had given her the millionth second chance to pull herself together and learn to cope with life's issues she had been dealt.
On the third floor of her Victorian home, as a high morning light poured into the master bedroom's window, Belle dressed, slipping into a white T-shirt, khaki slacks, and one-inch black ankle boots. She pulled her long, chestnut-brown hair into a ponytail as she walked over to the cherrywood dresser. She picked up the plated sobriety medallion and managed a smile as her thumb caressed the topside, silently saying the serenity prayer. She then slid the medallion into her slacks pocket.
It was still hard to believe she was yet another day clean and sober, off cocaine and booze. Especially when the urges remained frequent and sometimes unbearable. The urges never go away, her sobriety sponsor would matter-of-factly tell her.
Harder yet it was for her to wrap her head around the fact that the days had turned into three years since her life stopped spiraling out of control. Three years since she drove her car off the road and into the ravine.
Strange how things had a way of working out. Her gaze drifted to the empty five-by-eleven manila envelope on top of the dresser. This time she couldn't help but smile. She picked up the packet, feeling a little of the unexpected rush of pride and excitement that had pumped through her blood when she first received the licensure on Friday. That kind of passion was something she hadn't felt in years, not even when she'd graduated from law school and passed the bar exam. She felt it now, though. Pride that she finally was making something of her life. Pride that she hadn't given up, circling back into the deepening abyss from which she thought she could never escape.
In a slow process, while some days still remained harder to manage and struggle through than others, she had broken away from her destructive cycle. Gradually, she had detached herself from the past, from the shadows of her father, becoming her own person with her own identity. She was tired and wanted to stop being driven by the past, allowing it to control her. The past was dead. The past was gone. Time to live in the here and now.
"Belle?"
The page came from the ground floor. She smiled inside. Yes, indeed. Letting go of the past and getting clean gave her a sense of clarity and a feeling for an unknown purpose yet to be discovered. She was living in the present and moving forward in a new and healthy direction. Her life was turning out okay ... good, in fact.
On top of her game, the last thing she wanted right now was any more reflections on the past. She rounded the oak railing on the third floor and hurried down the stairs, her boots clapping against the hardwood. Midlevel, she slowed her pace. Her live-in boyfriend waited at the base, arms filled with a morning surprise. Her lips parted into a sheepish grin.
Dr. Mark Stratton stood five ten with dark, wavy hair, broad shoulders, and a lean physique with washboard abs. Playing daily racquetball and sweating out five hundred crunches each morning did him right. An overstuffed backpack hung off a shoulder while a hand clutched a large wicker picnic basket as a devilish look resonated in his sparkling sapphire eyes.
Through her sheepish grin, Belle asked, "What's all this? I thought we were going out for breakfast."
"We are," Mark said. "To the park." He held out the picnic basket and padded the backpack. "Got all the goods. Minus the crowd of people and interruptions."
She stood in front of him and banded her arms across her chest. "Anyone tell you you're a selfish person?"
Mark paused a moment. "Honestly, I can't say anyone has." Then he hiked his shoulders. "Don't care if I am ... not when it comes to you ... to us." He smiled. "And I promise I'm going to remain selfish for a few days since we haven't had much time together. Me with work, you with the apprenticeship. I promise to take up all your spare time before things start getting busy again."
She chuckled sweetly. "You promise to be selfish."
Mark nodded. "Yep. And you can hold me to it." He grabbed her around the waist and planted his lips on hers. After a long moment, he pulled away, their faces only inches apart. "I'm proud of you. You've come a long way, babe."
Tears filled her eyes. She tightened her jaw, hoping to keep her emotions at bay. She gave a wan smile as she nodded slightly.
He pulled her in again, held her tightly. "McBain and Banks Investigation," he whispered softly in her ear. "I like the sound of it."
Mark knew exactly how far she had come. When the EMS had brought her into the ER at Jersey City Medical Center after her near-death experience in the ravine three years ago, he had been one of the doctors on duty. After assessing her and viewing her toxicology report, he made a referral for the hospital case manager to do a complete intake on her, and after five days of mending on a medical floor with suicide precautions, it was brought to her attention that if she didn't seek help on her own, the hospital would have her involuntarily committed to an inpatient drug-treatment facility. She agreed to the terms and, upon discharge from the hospital, committed herself and spent eight months in rehab.
She withdrew from his arms and stepped past him. "Let's get this picnic started."
He tapped her ass. "Hoping to get me some of that tonight."
At the sleek table in the foyer, she dug around inside her messenger bag for her lip gloss. "Why wait? I know a few secluded spots in the park." She looked over her shoulder and gave him a wink.
"You're a naughty girl," he said excitedly.
She turned back around, and as she uncapped the tube of lip gloss, she glanced toward the room to her right. Its interior French doors were wide open. Hanging on the wall across the room was the framed private investigator license. Almost three years and six thousand hours of apprenticeship later, she definitely had something to smile about.
She turned around and faced Mark, who watched her intently apply the applicator of lip gloss, a light shade of pink, seductively to her lips.
He shook his head as he let out a long and heavy sigh. "Woman, you're killing me. We better go before I throw you down right here."
Belle laughed as she shouldered her messenger bag. Just then the doorbell rang.
Not expecting anyone, she walked over to the entry way's window to sneak a peek before opening the door. It was nine thirty on Monday morning. She pulled down a sliver of the blind. A man, about six foot or better with a shiny scalp, stood there in a dark suit and red tie.
She looked behind her at Mark and shrugged. She opened the door, her body half hidden from view. "Yes?" The man had a slim build; shoulders were firm and tight, suggesting high-ranking authority.
"Ms. Annabelle McBain?" His tone was stern.
"Yes ... and you are?"
The man raised a hand...
