Читать книгу The Unknown Daughter - Anna DeStefano - Страница 8

ERIC’S GAZE skipped from Carrinne’s guilty expression to his father’s plaque behind her. It must be inconceivable to her that he’d turned out exactly the way his by-the-book father had wanted.

Responsible. Stable. Dependable.

Some days, Eric barely believed it himself.

Leaning against the door frame, he crossed his arms and marveled at the almost two decades that had passed since he’d last been alone with this woman.

“Eric, I…I can explain.” She brushed at her eyes. She’d been crying, and he’d bet a week’s salary that didn’t happen often.

“We already tried that, remember?” The impulse to reassure her almost got the best of him. Glancing once more at his father’s picture, he moved into the room. “It’s probably a good time for you to start doing some serious listening instead.”

He inched closer, and she skirted around the side of the desk. He stared as she inched a few more steps away.

“What’s the matter with you? You’re acting like I’m going to attack you or something.”

Her chin shot up. “Just say whatever it is you have to say. I’d like to settle things and get out of here.”

“Well, you see, that’s the problem.” He removed his sidearm and locked it in the top drawer of his desk. Settling into his beaten-up leather chair, he motioned for her to take a seat. She didn’t budge. “I’m afraid it won’t be that easy.”

She hugged her arms close, like someone who’d forgotten her jacket on a windy day. “Was it Brimsley you were talking to? What did he tell you?”

“What should he have told me?” The chair’s wooden frame creaked as he leaned back and stared.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. The shape of that mouth had him remembering things that would only make his job more difficult.

Focus, Rivers. You’re the only thing standing between her and a night in jail.

“You’ll have to talk eventually,” he continued. “Brimsley’s out for blood. He doesn’t know anything about you contacting Oliver for a visit, and he wants you booked for the break-in.”

“Oh.” Carrinne’s hands slipped to her side, her pinched expression relaxing. “Is that all?”

Eric blinked at her reaction. “I’ve tried to talk him out of pressing charges, but he won’t agree to anything until he’s met with you himself.”

She stumbled toward the guest chair and slid into it.

“What’s going on, Carrinne?”

The controlled way she straightened was a decent attempt at nonchalance. A knock jerked their attention to the open door.

Tony stepped in, juggling a can of juice and a handful of snacks.

“What?” Eric barked.

“I offered to get Ms. Wilmington something to eat. She still wasn’t feeling well when we got out of the car.”

Eric waited for Tony to lay his bounty on the table. “Go see if Wilmington’s lawyer needs anything,” he said. He’d left Clifford Brimsley cooling his heels down the hall.

Tony hovered at Carrinne’s shoulder, glancing between Eric and their suspect, who had already pounced on a packet of crackers as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

Putting all his impatience into a glare, Eric waited until Tony looked back his way.

“Um, right.” Tony backpedaled out of the room. “I’ll go check on Brimsley.”

The door shut, leaving them alone. Carrinne struggled to open the juice, her fingers shaking.

Resigned, Eric took the can, popped it, and returned it to the desk with a thump. “Let me know when you’re done with your picnic.”

Carrinne gave him a narrow look as she took a long sip. She polished off the last of the crackers in silence, color creeping into her cheeks with each bite. When she sat back and folded her hands in her lap, confidence swam in her expressive eyes. “What now?”

Any other time, any other place, any other woman, and he might enjoy puzzling out why she was challenging him at every turn. The possibilities were downright intriguing. Only with this woman, he’d be messing with dynamite.

The Carrinne of his youth had tunneled her way into his teenage heart, getting close enough for it to hurt like hell when he’d walked away. And he’d deserved the pain. He’d learned from an early age not to trust, but somehow he’d convinced himself he deserved to keep the soft-hearted angel Carrinne had been back then. He’d let himself believe she was a little piece of good in the world, created just for him.

But the tough package sitting across from him now was no longer the sheltered girl who’d begged him to show her how to live. Puzzling out anything about this woman would be an open invitation for disaster.

“Ready to face the music?” he asked both himself and Carrinne as he stood. “Brimsley’s waiting.”

“SO, YOU SEE? I meant no harm. I just wanted my mother’s diary.” Carrinne smiled at the scowling lawyer sitting on the other side of the interview room, forcing herself to ignore Eric hovering somewhere behind her.

Her game face firmly in place, she was playing the role of unconcerned innocent. The diary story was a convincing enough reason for what she’d done. She’d have to tell her grandfather more, but she could only deal with one unpleasant reality at a time.

“And breaking in was your solution to getting my client to cooperate with your needs?” Clifford Brimsley was just as creepy and unapproachable as ever.

His hair was cut short in the same style, complete now with a receding hairline. And as far as she could tell, he’d worn the exact same mortician-drab suit since the first day he’d started working for Oliver almost thirty years ago.

“Your client’s never stooped to cooperating with anyone, counselor.” She clenched her hands in her lap. She’d negotiated fees with uptown Manhattan businessmen who, one and all, thought choosing a small, private firm meant bargain-basement rates. She could handle one past-his-prime country attorney. “Let’s just say I preempted the inevitable argument and tried to save everyone a lot of time.”

“Let’s just say you were breaking and entering and trespassing, and move on to discussing whether or not you should be charged with a misdemeanor or a felony.”

“Now, Cliff,” Eric spoke up for the first time since leading her into the room. While she scrambled to think of a way to finesse felony into something less disturbing, he stepped away from his post at the door and relaxed into the vinyl chair beside hers. “There was minimal property damage. You’d be lucky to make a misdemeanor stick. Do you really think Oliver would want to waste his time and money taking this to court?”

“She knowingly and willingly broke the law, defacing Mr. Wilmington’s property in the process,” Brimsley argued.

“She was avoiding contact with an old man who we all know makes Frank Capra’s Mr. Potter look like Captain Kangaroo. At worst, she made a stupid choice.”

“Stupid!” A part of Carrinne knew she should let Eric handle this. Just not the part that itched to tell him exactly where he could shove his colorful observations.

“It’s a safe bet,” Eric continued as if she’d never spoken, “that any jury from Oakwood would be full of people who’ve been burned at one time or another by old man Wilmington. Either them or someone in their family. The only reason the town still does business with him is because he has more money and influence than God. You’ll be hard-pressed to find anyone willing to put his granddaughter in jail for breaking a windowsill so she could avoid confronting the old goat. This is a family matter between Carrinne and her grandfather.”

“I—” she began.

“My job is to protect my client’s best interests in this situation,” Brimsley said over her. “Don’t think just because she’s Mr. Wilmington’s granddaughter, or because you two had some kind of teenage fling, that you can talk me into dropping the charges.”

“I—” she tried again.

“Your client’s interests would be better served in this situation,” Eric cut in, “if we settled everything here tonight, instead of dragging things out.”

“I am not a situation,” Carrinne bit out. “And I’m right here, in case either of you is interested.”

Two stunned pairs of eyes swung in her direction.

“Ms. Wilmington.” Brimsley’s gaze shifted to Eric then back to her. “These are very serious charges. Before I’ll consider dropping them, I’ll need some assurances on my client’s behalf.”

“Such as?” She gave Eric a look to keep him quiet, which induced a bemused smile.

“Such as you paying to repair the damage to the solarium window. And you’ll have to agree to meet with your grandfather in the morning as soon as he’s able. He’ll be beside himself when he hears about this. Plus, I’ll need to know what you were really doing at the house.” He pointed an accusing finger. “I don’t believe for a second you’re back after all this time for some silly old journal.”

“Nothing about my mother or anything that belonged to her is silly, Mr. Brimsley. I’ll thank you to remember that.”

Dead silence choked the momentum out of whatever the man had been about to say next.

So much for her people skills.

“Spit it out, Cliff.” Eric’s voice sliced through the silence, efficient and calm in an unfair way. “You said you were willing to drop the charges. What else is it going to take to get us out of here? It’s after two in the morning, and we’ve all had a long night.”

“Well…I…” Brimsley made a production out of straightening his tie. “I’d settle for an explanation of why she wants this diary.”

“I’m looking for my father, all right?” Carrinne kept her voice level as she fed them one more detail she’d hoped to keep to herself. They’d know by morning anyway, once she’d met with Oliver. In a town as small as Oakwood, privacy had gone out the window with the arrival of the first telephone. “I came back to find my father, and I’m looking for my mother’s final diary, hoping there will be some clue to point me in the right direction.”

“Why the hell are you looking for your old man after all these years?” Eric’s stunned question gave Carrinne a jolt of satisfaction. She’d finally ruffled his composure. But when she turned, she found his control replaced with something worse—concern. Disbelief and concern.

“Because I need to find him. And the sooner I do—” horrified by the uneven break in her voice, she cleared her throat “—the sooner I can put this town and every memory I have of it behind me once and for all.”

“Cliff?” Eric continued to study Carrinne. His face was a mask of calm again, except for a muscle twitching along his jaw.

“Will she meet with her grandfather in the morning?” Brimsley asked.

“Yes.” Carrinne gave the lawyer her full attention. Looking at Eric made breathing hurt. He was every reason she’d never trust her heart to any man again.

“Then I have no problem with dropping the charges,” Brimsley said. “For now.”

“CAN I GET YOU anything, Ms. Wilmington?” Tony asked from the door of the interview room.

Carrinne was resting her head on her crossed arms. Pushing away from the table, she tried to stretch the kinks out of her neck. Eric had left with a disgruntled but marginally more cooperative Brimsley over half an hour ago.

“You used to call me Carrinne, Tony.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, realizing too late that she was smearing what was left of the mascara she’d applied almost twenty hours before. She wiped away the residue on her hands, then rubbed at what she knew must have collected beneath her eyes. “Is Ms. Wilmington your way of pointing out how much older I am now?”

“Oh, no, ma’am.” His laugh was pure good-ol’-boy charm. “I was just being polite.”

She stood, massaging muscles in her lower back that were threatening never to straighten again. “Well, I guess Ms. and ma’am just aren’t my style anymore.”

“No, ma’am.” Tony gave her body and her form-fitting city clothes an appreciative once-over. “I don’t suppose they are.”

“Am I intruding?” Eric appeared behind his brother.

“Just trying to make myself useful while you finished working over that crotchety old lawyer,” Tony replied with unabashed innocence.

“You’ve been useful enough for one night.” Eric jerked his head in the direction of the squad room. “Don’t you have some call reports to file?”

“Right.” Tony smiled, raising that eyebrow again. “It was nice to run into you, Carrinne. Enjoy your visit to Oakwood, and try to stay out of trouble.”

He’d disappeared around the corner before Eric spoke. “So, it’s Carrinne now?”

“That’s my name.” She ignored the urge to sink back into the uncomfortable chair. Lord, she was tired. “I don’t have much use for Southern formality these days.”

“I guess in a place like New York, manners might make you an easy target.”

“I’ve learned to take care of myself—” She stopped short. “How did you know I live in New York?”

“We ran the plates on your rental car. The leasing company faxed a copy of your agreement. It says you’re a corporate accountant. Must have been hard to get away from a high-pressure job like that.”

“I’ve set aside a few days of vacation.” Tiny hairs stood on end up and down her arms. A man in Eric’s position could get his hands on whatever information he wanted. “If the charges are dropped, I’d like to go.”

Eric’s respect for how far Carrinne had come grew as he watched her swallow her fear and stare him down. He liked this gutsy new version of the girl he’d known.

“You know—” he intentionally closed the distance between them “—you’d be rid of me a lot quicker if you just came right out and owned up to the truth, whatever it is. What are you doing back in Oakwood?”

She held her ground, her features a blank canvas of New York confidence. “I told you why I’m back.”

“You want to find your father.”

“Yes.”

“After all these years.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

“Yes.” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s important to me.”

“Why would you care? You’ve clearly managed to build a good life for yourself.” He studied her outfit with the same thoroughness he’d seen Tony enjoy. Her jeans were no doubt from some high-end New York boutique. And he’d felt the softness of silk when his hands had brushed her top as he’d revived her at the Wilmington place. “Digging up old wounds after all this time, I’d think that would be the last thing you’d want. I know there’s nothing short of a bullet that would get me to hunt down my lousy excuse for a mother.”

And just that easily, a part of the past he never thought of anymore slipped into the present.

The topic of his mother had been off-limits for him from the moment she’d abandoned his family a year after Tony was born. Off-limits, that was, until he’d met Carrinne, and she’d seen straight through the rebellious hatred that had ruled his life back then.

He’d told himself he didn’t need family or friends. That he wanted nothing more to do with anyone saying that they loved him. Love meant pain and loss, and he was determined to live without it. By the time Carrinne came into the picture, he’d done a good enough job of being a hard-ass that most everyone in Oakwood, except his father, had written him off. But Carrinne’s sweetness had wormed through his anger, straight to the pain he was fighting to forget. She hadn’t been afraid of the darkness driving him to hurt himself and everyone who cared about him.

An orphan raised by a cold-hearted old man, she’d survived her own version of rejection and emotional abandonment. And she’d been determined that Eric would, too. She hadn’t left him alone until he’d opened up about his mother and shared what he’d never discussed before or since, not even with his brother. He’d begun to trust that the future could be different than the past, that not everyone who loved him was going to leave him.

Then his dad had died, abandoning Eric all over again. And the shaky belief in love that Carrinne had helped him build hadn’t stood a chance. Eighteen, alone, and saddled with the responsibility of raising Tony, the last thing he’d been able to handle was Carrinne’s unshakable hope that tomorrow would be better. He’d needed to be angry until he’d burned out the rage and no longer felt any of the pain.

So he’d pushed her away. And when she’d left, she’d taken her sweetness and his last taste of love with her.

Eric blinked back to the present. Carrinne’s puzzled expression shimmered into focus. He made himself step away.

Carrinne’s eyes, pools of green that still haunted his dreams, softened with the very empathy he’d run from. “It’s easier for me not to hate my father the way you do your mom. I never knew him.”

“Lucky you.” His lips wouldn’t smile, so he gave up trying. “But I still don’t buy it.”

“What?”

“The break-in. I backed you up with Lurch.” He caught her smirk at his use of the nickname they’d shared for Brimsley. “But his suspicions were dead on. Maybe if you’d called first and the old man had refused to cooperate, it might make more sense.”

She crossed her arms. “Are you having a good time?”

“Trying to get you to come clean?”

“Playing detective because there’s nothing better to do in this backwater town than butt in where you don’t belong.”

“I want to help.”

“I stopped needing anyone’s help forever ago.”

“Well, unless you’re itching to end up in jail, I suggest you find a more legal means of going after whatever you’re really looking for.”

“Thanks for the advice, but I figured that one out on my own.”

Eric bit back his next retort and ran a hand through his hair. This wasn’t getting them anywhere. “You can go. But don’t do anything I can’t get you out of, Carrinne. I’d hate to have you arrested, but I’ll do what I have to do.”

“Haven’t you always?” Her eyes were suddenly moist. She pushed past him to leave.

Stricken by the hint of weakness beneath all that grit, he grabbed her arm. “Wait. I’m just trying to be a friend.”

“Let me go.” She yanked away, her hand rubbing where he’d touched her. “You’re not my friend, and I don’t want your help. I don’t want anything from you.”

“If this is about how I ended things when we were teenagers—”

“This is about me being dead on my feet and needing some sleep,” she said calmly. Sparks still smoldered in her eyes. “You were very helpful with Brimsley. Thank you. And I’ll sort things out with Oliver in the morning. I can handle the rest on my own.”

Eric scrubbed his hand across his face. The idea that she might still carry scars from their breakup made him feel like the class-A jerk he’d been to her. He had no idea if he could help her with whatever she was up to, but he was sure as hell going to try. She was in trouble, and it would take a lot more than a handful of uncomfortable memories to turn him away. He had to make sure she was okay.

Besides, she’d pegged his life right on the nose. It wasn’t like he had much else but paperwork and small-town bureaucracy pressing for his attention these days.

“I’ll have Tony meet you out front,” he finally said. “He’ll drive you back to your car.”

“Thanks.” She turned with a sigh and headed toward the front of the building.

Tomorrow, he promised himself as he went to search for Tony. Tomorrow was soon enough to help the last person in Oakwood who wanted his help.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN I can’t go in?” Carrinne asked the elderly woman dressed in starched pink cotton.

It was early Saturday afternoon. She’d meant to get to the hospital hours ago. But after collapsing into bed around four that morning, thoughts of Eric and Maggie had kept her tossing and turning for hours. Once she’d nodded off, she’d slept like the dead until after eleven.

Nurse Able, according to her name badge, stepped around the nurses’ station and attempted to lead Carrinne into the visitors’ lounge. “I’m sorry, Ms. Wilmington, but we only allow one visitor at a time. If you’ll just wait over here.”

“But I’m his granddaughter.” Carrinne evaded the nurse’s grasp.

“Oh, I know who you are, dear.” The nurse clasped her hands in front of her and smiled. “I’m sure you don’t remember, but I used to change your diapers every Sunday when I worked in the church nursery. You’re just as beautiful now as you were then.”

Carrinne fought to keep her eyes from rolling heavenward. Hadn’t anyone else moved away from this place in the last seventeen years?

First, the clerk at the motel had been one of the varsity football players all the cheerleaders had fawned over back in high school. Then the volunteer at the welcome desk downstairs had turned out to be the lunch-room lady who’d sneaked Carrinne extra pudding in elementary school. Now Nurse Able.

“When can I see my grandfather?” She tried to smile, she really did.

“Oh, call me Glinda. It sure has been a long—”

“It’s really important that I see him as soon as possible.” Carrinne let her voice roughen, shamelessly harnessing the emotion swimming ever closer to the surface of what used to be her composure. “It’s been so long, I don’t want to waste another moment.”

“Of course you don’t,” Glinda replied. She took Carrinne’s hand. “Tragedy brings us together in the most difficult way.”

“It would really mean a lot if you could get me in to see him now.”

“I’m sure you have a lot to talk about.” She squeezed Carrinne’s fingers. “Let me go see what’s keeping Mr. Brimsley.”

“Brimsley?”

“Why, yes. He usually stops by on his lunch break. He has your grandfather’s power of attorney, you know. Sometimes they meet for hours, going over all kinds of paperwork and whatnot. I can’t tell you how many times the doctors have warned your grandfather to slow down, but he says he wants to stay up-to-date—”

“You said you could check on what was keeping Mr. Brimsley?” Every minute that man was with her grandfather was a minute too long.

“Of course, dear. Let me see what I can do.”

Carrinne watched her go, clenching her fists and trying not to stomp with impatience as she stared down the brightly lit hallway. The reality of her surroundings seeped through her frustration. The antiseptic smell. The beige and green tiles on the floor. The hum of hushed voices and whirring medical equipment. This could just as easily be a hallway at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York, her home away from home for the last few months.

Her need for Oliver’s assistance was the only thing short of a medical emergency that could have coaxed her into yet another hospital. And running into Eric had red-lined the necessity to get what she’d come for and get the heck out of Oakwood. She needed her grandfather’s help now. Whatever it took.

Glinda returned, her affronted scowl dampening what Carrinne had assumed was chronic perkiness. “That man! He—”

“I’ll take it from here, nurse.” Brimsley appeared behind Glinda, his stern frown directed at Carrinne.

“You let me know if you need anything,” Glinda said to Carrinne as she marched to her station. Her eyes shot daggers at Brimsley the entire way.

“You do have a way with people, don’t you?” Carrinne’s skin crawled as the lawyer sized her up. He could still make her feel like the six-year-old he’d once caught doodling all over some important business contracts he’d laid out for Oliver.

“I want to know what you’re going to say to him.” Brimsley pointed a finger for emphasis. “Your grandfather’s a very sick man, and he doesn’t need you unsettling things even more.”

“Unsettling things? This meeting was your idea.”

“Because I want whatever you’ve got to say out of the way with the least amount of stress to Oliver. The first thing he heard when he woke this morning was that you were back in town. He was in a frenzy when I got here, demanding that I track you down and bring you over. Though why he cares after all these years, I can’t imagine.”

Oh, but she could. It was too much to ask that her grandfather would dismiss her out of hand as Brimsley had. A cold, disinterested Oliver Wilmington would have been so much easier to handle. But true to form, as soon as he’d heard she was in town, he’d expected her to present herself upon demand.

And here she was.

“What I have to say won’t take long.” She reined in the urge to run and moved to pass Brimsley. “So if you don’t mind—”

He grabbed her arm. “Why are you back?”

Yanking away, she looked him up and down. “Maybe I’m here to remind myself why I fled this insufferable place and everything connected to it. Maybe I needed a good dose of Southern bad manners to remind me how good I have it up north.”

A giggle to her right caught Carrinne’s attention. Glinda smothered another laugh as she straightened the files scattered across the station counter. With a wink to Carrinne, the nurse answered the phone that never seemed to stop ringing.

Carrinne turned on her heels and headed down the hall, mentally pulling herself together. Her steps slowed as she neared her grandfather’s room. She’d left Oliver Wilmington’s warped brand of control and manipulation behind years ago. Since then, she’d proven that she had the nerve and the brains to succeed when he’d been so sure she would fail without him. She was successful and sophisticated, where she’d once been painfully timid and shy. She’d earned the right to face him with confidence.

Instead, she felt only dread.

She needed Oliver’s help. And that gave him far more leverage than good sense told her was wise.

“I WANT TO SEE my great-grandchild,” Carrinne’s grandfather repeated from his hospital bed.

In the five minutes since she’d stepped into his room, Oliver Wilmington had refused to talk about anything else. His imperious tone was everything she remembered, though time and illness had done their dirty work on his diminished frame. He struggled for every breath.

“And I’ve already told you,” she repeated. “That’s not possible.”

“I’m an old man. I’m paralyzed down one side, and my heart’s giving out. I’m dying.” He pushed himself up and yanked at the sheet, as impatient with his infirmities as he’d always been with anything he couldn’t bend to his will. “I think I’m entitled to meet my only great-grandchild before I go.”

“Well, I’m thirty-three, and I’m dying.” She threw her purse into the guest chair, watching her revelation sink in as she played the only ace up her sleeve. Oliver lapsed into silence for the first time since she’d gotten there. “Does that mean I win?”