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The Providence Trilogy Bundle: Providence; Requiem; Eden, страница 1


The Providence Trilogy Bundle: Providence; Requiem; Eden

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The Providence Trilogy Bundle: Providence; Requiem; Eden

  Also by Jamie McGuire

  Beautiful Disaster

  Walking Disaster

  Red Hill

  Providence Trilogy




  Jamie McGuire

  Providence Trilogy

  Jamie McGuire

  Kindle Edition


  Copyright © 2010 by Jamie McGuire


  Copyright © 2011 by Jamie McGuire


  Copyright © 2012 by Jamie McGuire

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Edited by Theresa Wegand

  Providence Trilogy Table of Contents




  About the Author


  For Beth, who gave Providence its wings, and for Mom, who provided the wind for it to fly.

  Providence (Book One) Table of Contents

  The following is the table of contents for Providence (Book One only).

  To return to main table of contents for the Providence Trilogy, click here.

  Chapter 1 Loss and Found

  Chapter 2 Invitation(s)

  Chapter 3 Suspicion(s)

  Chapter 4 The Ring

  Chapter 5 Disclosure

  Chapter 6 Truth(s)

  Chapter 7 Caught

  Chapter 8 Purgatory

  Chapter 9 Healing

  Chapter 10 Fate

  Chapter 11 The Hunt

  Chapter 12 Eli

  Chapter 13 Guilty

  Chapter 14 Five Days

  Chapter 15 The Last Supper

  Chapter 16 The Arrangement

  Chapter 17 Absolution

  Chapter 18 Shax

  Chapter 19 Saving Grace


  1. Loss and Found

  The average daughter respects her father. She might regard him as her hero, or she may place him so high on a pedestal that no object of her affection could ever compare. To me, my father deserved more than respect or loyalty or even love. I had a reverence for him. He was more than Superman; he was God.

  One of my earliest memories was of two men cowering in my father’s office as he spoke words I didn’t understand. His verdict was always final and never argued with. Not even death could touch him.

  When I answered my phone on December 14th, my reality came to an end.

  “Nina.” My mother sighed. “He doesn’t have much time. You should come now.”

  I set the phone beside me on the bed, careful to keep my hands from trembling so much that it would tumble to the floor. The past few weeks had been an alternate universe for me, as I had been faced with one horrible call after another. The first was from a nurse at the hospital, informing me of my father’s car accident. My number was the most recently dialed on his cell phone, leaving me with the horrifying task of being the one to break the news to my mother. In his last days, when reports of no improvement were replaced with gentle suggestions to prepare for the inevitable, I was thankful to be at the receiving end of the phone calls.

  It felt strange to walk across the room and grab my coat and keys. The tasks seemed too mundane to begin the journey to say good-bye to my father. I lamented the ordinary life that seemed so long ago as I walked out to my car and turned the ignition key.

  My father had risen to the top of the shipping industry by ruling with an iron fist, but I knew the gentle side of him, the man who left important meetings to take my trivial phone calls, kissed my scrapes, and rewrote fairytales so that the princess always saved the prince. Now he lay helpless in his bed, fading away in the vast bedroom he shared with my mother.

  Our housekeeper, Agatha, greeted me at the front door. “Your mother’s expecting you, love. You best get upstairs.”

  Agatha took my coat, and then I climbed the stairs, feeling the bile rise higher in my throat with every step.

  His private nurse brushed past me as I entered the room, and I winced at the sight of him. His face was sallow with a thin sheen of perspiration, and his usually clean-shaven jaw was darkened with whiskers that crowded his parched lips. My mother spoke soft comforting words to him as his chest heaved with every labored breath. The muted beeps and humming of the pumps and monitors were the background music to my worst nightmare.

  Like the other times I’d visited my father since his accident, my legs transformed into deep-seated roots that tunneled through my shoes and plunged into the wooden floor. I couldn’t go forward or retreat.

  My mother looked up with weary heartbreak in her eyes. “Nina,” she called. “Come, dear.”

  Her hand lifted to summon me forward, but my feet wouldn’t move. She sighed in understanding and walked toward me, her arm still reaching out in front of her. I couldn’t take my eyes off of my father’s feeble attempts to breathe as she cupped her fingers around each of my shoulders and eased me forward. After a few reluctant steps, I stopped again.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  Peeling my shoes from the floor, I let her guide me to his bedside. My first instinct was to help him, but the only thing left to do was to wait for his suffering to end.

  “Jack, darling,” my mother said in a soothing tone. “Nina’s here.”

  After watching him struggle for sufficient breath, I leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I’m here, Daddy.”

  His breath skipped a bit and he mumbled inaudibly.

  “Don’t try to talk. Just rest.” My shaking fingers reached out to his hand. “I’m going to stay with you.”

  “Cynthia?” My father’s attorney and friend, Thomas Rosen, called to my mother from the back corner of the room. With a pained expression, she glanced at my father, clutched me to her chest for a moment, and then quietly walked to Thomas’ side. Their voices became a stream of humming no louder than the machines attached to my father.

  He sucked in another breath while I tenderly swept his salt and pepper hair away from his moist brow. “Neen . . .” He swallowed. “Nina.”

  My eyes wandered to my mother, who was in silent conversation, searching her face one last time for a sign of hope. Seeing the sorrow in her eyes, I looked back to my father and prepared to say good-bye.

  “Daddy,” I began, but words failed me. My eyes closed as the urge to ease his suffering grew insistent. A faltering breath escaped from my chest and I started again. “I should tell you that it’s okay, that you don’t have to stay for me, but I can’t.”

  His breathing slowed. He was listening to me.

  “I don’t want be the one to let you go, Daddy. I want you to get better, but I know that you’re tired. So if you want to sleep, I’ll be okay.” The corners of his mouth shook as they attempted to turn up.

  My mouth smiled as my face crumpled around it. “I’ll miss you, Daddy. I’m going to miss youso much.” I sucked in another breath, and he did the same, but his was different this time. He had no more fi
ght left in him.

  I glanced back to my mother, who watched me with heavy, wet eyes. He took in another deep breath and slowly exhaled. His life slipped away as the last bit of oxygen left his lungs. The sound reminded me of a tire losing air, slow and level until there was nothing left. His body relaxed, and his eyes became vacant and unfocused.

  The nurse silenced the solid tone of the heart monitor while I scanned his peaceful face. The realization that my father was gone washed over me in waves. My insides wrenched, and my arms and legs felt foreign, as if they no longer belonged to me. I nodded and smiled, ignoring the tears that spilled over my cheeks. He trusted my words, and so he let go.

  Thomas touched my shoulder and moved to the head of the bed. He reached over to place his hands over my father’s eyes and whispered something beautiful in Hebrew. I leaned over my father’s chest and hugged him. For the first time in my life, he didn’t hug me back.


  Looking down into my hands, I scanned the obituary from the funeral. Separated by a dash, the dates of my father’s birth and death were displayed in elegant font on the front cover. I grimaced with the recognition that such a short line of ink was meant to signify his life.

  The paper fit snugly in the inside pocket of my coat just as the wet sloshing of bus tires approached, slowing to a stop in front of me.

  The door opened, but I didn’t look up. The sounds of commuters stepping out onto the sidewalk never came. My neighbors had little need for public transportation, specifically so late in the evening. Those who used it at all were the hired service employees who worked in the colossal residences nearby.


  The bus driver cleared his throat to get my attention, and when I failed to acknowledge him, the door swept shut. The air breaks released, and the bus slowly pulled away from the curb. I tried not to think about the day that had just taken place, but my memory became saturated with it.

  Just as I did in childhood, I rocked back and forth to comfort myself. The warm peach hue had long since left my fingers, reminding me of my father’s folded hands as he lay in his coffin.

  A frigid breath of air flooded my lungs, and my chest heaved, giving way to the sob that had been clawing its way to the surface. I had thought moments before that my eyes couldn’t cry anymore, and I wondered how much more I would have to endure before my body would finally be too exhausted to continue.

  “Cold night, huh?”

  I sniffed and shot an annoyed glance at the man settling into the space next to me. I hadn’t heard him approach. He breathed on his hands, rubbed them together, and then offered a reassuring grin.

  “I guess,” I answered.

  He looked down at his watch and sighed. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. “Guess we missed the last bus.”

  He pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his black motorcycle jacket and dialed. He greeted someone and then requested a taxi.

  “Do you want to share a cab?” he asked.

  I peered over at him, immediately suspicious. His blue-gray eyes narrowed as he raised one eyebrow at my expression. I must have looked like a maniac, and he was reconsidering his offer.

  I folded my arms, suddenly feeling the discomfort of winter breaking through my coat, seeping into my skin, piercing through to my bones. I had to get back to school; I still had a paper to write.

  “Yes. Thank you,” I said with a shaky voice.

  After an awkward moment of silence, the man spoke again. “You work around here?”

  “No.” I hesitated to continue the conversation but found myself curious. “You?”


  How odd. He didn’t look like hired help. I glanced at his watch out of the corner of my eye. He was definitely not help.

  “What do you do?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “I’m involved in the home security sector.” He nodded, seeming to agree with himself.

  “I’m a student,” I offered, trying to clear the ridiculous quivering in my voice.

  He stared at me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher and then looked forward again. He was older than I, though not by more than five or six years. I wondered if he knew who I was. There was a glimmer of familiarity in his eyes, though I couldn’t quite place it.

  His cell phone vibrated, and he opened it to read a text message. He attempted to hide an emotion, snapped the phone closed without replying, and didn’t speak again until the cab arrived.

  He opened the door for me, and I scooted over to the farthest end of the seat while he slid in behind the driver.

  “Where to?” the cabbie asked in a throaty voice.

  “Brown University,” I instructed. “Please.”

  “Uh huh. One stop?”

  “No,” my unanticipated companion said.

  I noted that he was careful not to mention his address, and that struck me as odd. Maybe it wasn’t odd at all; maybe I was more curious about him than I would have liked to admit. I was surprised that I had noticed anything at the moment and found myself grateful to this stranger for the diversion he’d inadvertently created for me.

  “I’m Jared by the way,” he grinned, holding his hand out to take mine.


  “Wow, your hands are freezing!” he said, clasping his other hand over mine.

  I pulled my hand away, noting his exceptionally warm grip. I watched him for a moment, listening to any inner voices that might have sensed danger, but the only feeling that stood out was curiosity.

  With the realization of his offense, he apologized with a small smile. I tucked my hair behind my ears and stared out the window. The wind whipped around outside, blowing the collecting flakes across the road like white snakes slithering ahead. I shivered at the image and pulled my coat tighter around me.

  “Brown, huh?” Jared asked. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, and he flipped it open once again.

  I nodded. “Brown.” He continued to look at me, so I offered more. “Business major.”

  The residual frustration from the unwanted caller melted away once our eyes met. It seemed as if he’d just noticed I’d been crying.

  “Are you all right?”

  I looked down, picking at my nails. “We buried my father today.” It occurred to me that I had no idea why I was sharing such personal information with a stranger.

  “You were close,” Jared said. It was more of a statement than a question.

  I waited for the expected pity in his eyes, but there was none. My relief caused me to smile, which in turn made a grin turn up one side of his mouth. I noticed then that he had a nice face. It was more than nice, now that it had come to my attention. He was quite attractive, really.

  “Where’s your place?” The cabbie squawked.

  I peeled my eyes from Jared and pointed in the direction of my dorm. “East Andrews Hall.”

  The cab pulled in, and Jared automatically stepped out. As soon as his door had shut, mine opened.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “It was nice to meet you, Nina.” There was an edge to his words. It went beyond politeness or even sincerity. He spoke the words with conviction.

  I nodded and sidestepped toward my dorm. He paused before getting into the cab to smile at me once more, and for the first time in weeks, I felt something other than hollow. I watched the cab pull away and then turned against the wind to walk toward Andrews.

  Once inside my room, I noticed my appearance in the mirror and gasped. Good God, it was no wonder that Jared felt compelled to come to my aid! I looked like a homeless, desperate crack addict overdue for my next fix! My brush ripped through my blond bob, and I pulled my bangs straight back, pinning them away from my face. I went to the sink and scrubbed away the smeared mascara and streaky foundation.

  With a frown, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and pressed the speed dial to call my mother.

  “Nina?” she answered.

  “Back in my room, Mom.”

  She s
ighed. “Good. You know I don’t like it when you take the bus. Robert could have driven you. Take two of those pills I gave you today, all right? They’ll help you sleep.”

  I rolled my eyes. My mother: the frequent flier of Providence drug stores.

  “I’ll probably fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.” It wasn’t the pure truth, but it would do to keep my personal pharmacist at bay.

  “Okay, darling, sleep well.”

  My dorm room seemed smaller. The white walls were pitifully empty on my side. Feeling I was being watched, I peeked across the room at my roommate. Her side of the room was covered in posters of teddy bears and team colors. My decor consisted of an ornamental frame on my night table, displaying a picture of my parents and me at high school graduation just a few months before.

  “How’s your mom?” Beth asked from under her baby pink comforter.

  “She’s . . . sad.”

  “How are you?”

  “The same.” I sighed. My conclusive tone seemed to relax Beth, and while I changed into my pajamas, I noticed her breathing even out.

  I sat on my bed and pulled myself against the pillows. My thoughts effortlessly moved toward the last hour. Jared’s grin kept my mind occupied for a while, but before long, my thoughts brought me back to the funeral. I rolled onto my side and curled into a ball, trying to cry quietly. Relief finally replaced the crushing grief as I slipped out of consciousness.


  I turned to the side and my eyes blinked as I noted the large, red numbers on the clock. Five a.m. had come quickly. My eyes felt swollen and scratchy. It was then that I realized my dreams had been cruel. There would be no miracles, and my father was still gone.

  The finale of the worst experience of my life hadn’t ended with closure.

  I clambered from my bed and opened my laptop, determined to finish my term paper by eight. The screen lit up, and I peered over at Beth, her head buried under her pillow. My fingers tapped out the next cross-reference and soon began a muted symphony of clicking against the keyboard.

  The paragraphs formed swiftly, and I finished by a quarter after seven. With a click of the mouse, the printer lurched and buzzed with its new task. I looked over at Beth, knowing a newspaper press wouldn’t wake her. I gathered my toiletries to make my daily commute down the hall to the showers.

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