Читать книгу Protecting the Innocent - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 11

“This is what Jeremy wanted.” Claudette Bouchard spoke in her usual authoritative tone.

“I know, Mother.” Anya Bouchard Parrish stared down at her hands, folded calmly in her lap as if her heart weren’t racing.

“These were your husband’s instructions.”

Her mother paced in the executive office at the Legate mansion on her birdlike legs. Claudette was a petite, tidy woman—utterly organized, from her color-coordinated pumps to her French twist hairdo.

Next to her mother, Anya always felt like a clumsy giantess though she was only five feet eight inches tall. She pushed a messy wing of blond hair away from her cheek.

Claudette snapped, “Why are you hesitating?”

Because Anya still couldn’t believe that her loving, sensitive husband had made these provisions in his will without mentioning his plans to her. Why? Why hadn’t they discussed this?

Her gaze lifted, and she stared across the marble desktop toward Fredrick Slater, the founder and CEO of the Legate Corporation. Beneath his steel-gray mane, Slater’s craggy features softened as he regarded her with sympathy—an expression that had become all too familiar. Anya was a thirty-two-year-old widow with a five-year-old son. Everyone felt sorry for her; none could assuage her grief.

“Anya,” her mother said impatiently. “We’re all trying to do the right thing. For Charlie’s sake.”

The right thing? A bitter sigh died in her throat. Nothing had been “right” since Jeremy was killed eight months ago in Building Fourteen on these very grounds. She might have blamed Slater for the tragedy that claimed the lives of four scientists and two maintenance people, but the explosion was investigated and deemed an accident. While Building Fourteen was in the process of being closed down, the gas main was supposed to be disconnected. But there was a leak. And then…

Without wanting to, she imagined the burst of flame, the shattering force of utter annihilation—a vision that haunted her nightmares. Roman’s description had been too vivid, but she’d asked him to tell her about it. She needed to know the details, to somehow understand this horrifying, incomprehensible disaster.

The stillborn sigh escaped her lips. Sometimes, her loss weighed like an anchor, dragging her down. Anya didn’t know how she would have made it this far without Roman’s unflagging support.

Eight months ago, he accompanied the casket with Jeremy’s charred remains back to Denver for the funeral. Though she knew Roman was a busy executive, he took time off from Legate and stayed in Denver for weeks, entertaining Charlie and offering his shoulder for her to cry upon. She’d drawn from his strength.

More than anyone else, he shared her sorrow. After he returned to Legate, his e-mails and phone calls were always a comfort, seeming to come at those moments when she missed Jeremy the most.

She thought it odd that Roman hadn’t contacted her when she and Charlie arrived last night. Their plane was met at the Oakland Airport by a Legate limo.

She looked toward Slater and asked, “Where’s Roman?”

“Out of town,” he said. “We had an emergency in L.A. that required his immediate attention.”

“Will he be back today?”

“Most likely.” Leaning forward on his desktop, Slater laced his fingers together. Though he wasn’t a big man, his hands were large with fingers so long, he was probably capable of playing Rachmaninoff. “Do you have specific questions, Anya?”

“A few.” She rose from the leather chair facing his desk and went to the arched, second-story window overlooking the Legate grounds. The October grass had faded, and the live oak and elm had begun to turn. Though she couldn’t see the waters of the bay beyond the forested landscaping, moisture hung in the air, creating an idyllic mist.

Directly below the window was a hedge maze, and she spotted Charlie. Her small son dragged the woman who had been assigned to keep an eye on him through the twisting pathways toward a marble fountain in the center. Charlie paused for only a second at each turn, calculating the probabilities that led to the correct route. He made few mistakes and never once retraced an error.

A fond smile touched Anya’s lips, and her heart swelled with pride. Her son was exceptionally bright with an IQ at the genius level. Not that his high intelligence was a surprise. Jeremy had been brilliant. Anya’s mother had an M.D. and Ph.D., and her father was a physicist—as brilliant as he was irresponsible, having abandoned her and her mother before Anya’s third birthday.

Claudette fluttered up behind her. “Stop wasting time. You need to sign these documents.”

Stubbornly, Anya continued to stare through the window. This was an important decision, and she wouldn’t be rushed. “Please don’t think I’m ungrateful, Mr. Slater. Your offer is generous and, I’m sure, well-intentioned.”

“Not completely unselfish,” he admitted. “If Charlie is educated here, under the tutelage of Legate instructors, I believe your son will evolve into one of the finest minds of this century.”

“But will he have the chance to be a kid?”

Her mother scoffed. Claudette never put much stock in the everyday pleasures of childhood. “That’s such nonsense.”

“But important to me.” Anya turned away from the window to face her mother. “Kids need to be able to spend an afternoon lying in the grass and staring up at the clouds. Getting dirty. Playing baseball. Maybe even being a pole vaulter like his dad.”

“We have facilities for extracurricular activity,” Slater said. “You’ve already seen the stables and the swimming pool.”

“Right.”

“And if you want Charlie to spend time cloud-gazing, that’s fine. You’re in charge of his free time. You’re still his mother.”

“What about playtime with other children?” Anya asked.

“As you know,” Slater said, “we have five other children in the program.”

Anya knew that the five other kids ranged in age from four to seven. All had been carefully screened before being accepted into the Legate program. All had IQs at the genius level.

“I can’t imagine why you’re hesitating,” her mother said. “If you stayed in Denver, you’d likely have to go back to work, and Charlie would be wasting his time in a day-care center. Think of your son, Anya. My grandson. He deserves the chance to develop his full potential.”

But this arrangement seemed unnatural. Even though Anya would retain her guardianship of Charlie, Legate would take care of everything else. They’d educate him and provide a home for both of them. Anya would even be paid a stipend. For what? For being his mother? She hated that idea.

“What about my life?” she said. “What if I decide to get married again?”

“Didn’t you read the contract?” her mother asked. “You aren’t indentured. Any time you wish to withdraw from this arrangement, you simply repay Legate’s expenses and leave.”

“I know,” Anya said. She’d studied that clause and had checked it out with a lawyer who didn’t anticipate a problem. Anya’s payout from her husband’s life insurance policies had left her with a substantial savings account to pay off any debts incurred to Legate.

In contrast to her mother, Slater was gently persuasive. “Last night, you stayed at the cottage where you and Charlie will live. I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s large enough to accommodate a husband. In fact, Jeremy picked it out himself.”

It was obvious that Jeremy wanted this opportunity for their son. How could Anya say no?

Slater continued. “If you marry and have other children, we’ll make arrangements for a larger house.”

The likelihood of Anya reproducing again was slim. She never would have gotten pregnant without the experimental fertilization procedures developed by Legate.

Her mother was right. Why waste time worrying about an improbable future? The important thing—right now—was to provide the very best for Charlie.

She walked to the desk and picked up the pen. Her gaze scanned the tightly written pages. She’d read them so many times that the words were memorized. Why was she so reluctant to sign this contract?

“Perhaps,” Slater said, “you’re worried about how you’ll spend your time while Charlie is in school.”

The thought had crossed her mind. “I thought I might find a teaching position in the area.”

“Allow me to make you an offer,” he said with a wide, benevolent smile. “I’m familiar with your credentials in linguistics.”

Anya had conversational skills in dozens of dialects and had taught high school Spanish, French and Japanese as well as doing translations. “So you have a job for me?”

“Legate is an international operation. We have a regular need for translators. Full-time and part-time.”

“I accept.”

She’d have employment. Charlie would have playmates and a fantastic education. The facilities here were outstanding. The cottage was charming. It seemed too good to be true.

Anya lowered the pen to the paper and signed all three copies of the contract.

AT THE CIRCULAR DRIVEWAY in front of the Legate mansion, Roman guided his silver Mercedes-Benz into his parking space near the entrance. The drive from the airport had done nothing to lessen his frustration. He charged across the flagstones. It was no coincidence that a supposed emergency occurred in Los Angeles at the same moment Anya and Charlie arrived in San Francisco. Slater had manufactured that excuse; he meant to keep Roman away from Anya.

Had she signed the contract? There was no way Roman had been able to warn her of the dangers—not without blowing his cover and jeopardizing his investigation.

In the lavish foyer of the mansion, he approached the antique desk that was headquarters for Jane Coopersmith—possibly the only receptionist in the world with a photographic memory.

“Good afternoon, Jane.”

Peering up at him through goggle-size eyeglasses, she gave a curt nod. “Roman.”

She presented him with several little message notes, held between her thumb and forefinger. On top was one from Dr. Neville, head of the Legate psychiatric division, marked “Urgent” and underlined three times. Too bad. Neville would have to wait.

“Where can I find Mrs. Parrish and her son?”

Without consulting notes, she said, “Stables.”

Not a conversationalist, Jane observed and recorded information more efficiently than any computer. But Roman didn’t make the mistake of treating her like a machine. His smile was warm enough to melt butter. “You’ve always got the answer, Jane. What would this place be without you?”

“Chaos,” she said with a slight thaw.

He exited through the rear of the mansion, passing the employee dining area where the remains of a catered buffet lunch were being cleared.

Whenever Roman was on the grounds, he assumed he was under surveillance. Like everyone else, his phones were bugged and his computer was monitored. The Legate security system made the Pentagon seem lax. Of course, precautions were necessary; Legate dealt with a lot of top secret projects for the U.S. government and other regimes worldwide. However, the intensity of the surveillance was due to Slater’s need to control every detail. Anything and everything was reported to him. Nobody sneezed without Slater receiving an alert.

When Roman was here, his guard was up. It was vital that he maintain the illusion of being a loyal administrator. But it made life damned inconvenient.

Though he’d contacted Anya, he hadn’t been able to honestly discuss the proposed contract with her. Even if they had been able to talk on a secure basis, he couldn’t provide factual evidence that Legate was up to no good. To all appearances, the contract was a great opportunity for Charlie. But Roman’s instincts told him it was wrong for her to be here.

He hurried past the maze toward the stables. Then he saw her. Astride a dappled mare, Anya rode at the edge of the trees. Her long, silky blond hair swirled in the breeze, and she was laughing—more carefree than he’d seen her since Jeremy’s death.

Riding at a gentle pace, she held Charlie in front of her on the saddle. The mother and son were beautiful together. The boy’s hair was a darker blond and his eyes were gray, but he was clearly a part of her. Roman felt an aching need to gather them both in his arms and carry them away from here, away from all these damned intrigues.

She saw him and waved, guiding the horse expertly toward him. As they approached, Charlie bounced in the saddle, talking a blue streak. “Hi, Roman. We’re here, and I’m going to learn how to ride all by myself. This horse is Peggy for Pegasus, but she doesn’t really know how to fly.”

Anya reined the mare to a stop beside him. The smallish palomino was well trained and groomed to perfection. Everything at Legate was first-class.

Charlie dived off the saddle into Roman’s arms. “Make me a helicopter,” Charlie demanded.

Roman lifted him high and twirled him around in circles before placing him on the ground.

With a giggle, Charlie shook off his dizziness and said, “We’re going to live here.”

“Are you?”

“I’m going to learn how to build my own helicopter and other stuff, too. And then…”

As Charlie continued to chatter, Roman looked up at Anya. Silhouetted against the sky, her eyes were a breathtaking blue. The exertion of their horseback ride flushed her cheeks. Erect in the saddle, she was tall, long-legged and fantastic.

Gracefully, she dismounted. Holding the bridle, she gave Roman a one-armed hug that was altogether unsatisfying. He wanted to feel her body molded against his, to stroke her slender shoulders and the curve of her waist.

“I decided,” she said. “I signed the contract.”

He nodded, wishing he could tell her she’d done the right thing. “There wasn’t any other choice.”

“And I’m going to be working here as a translator. I guess that means you’re my boss.”

An interesting twist. Slater must have realized that Anya would be bored without employment. Plus, if she worked here, Legate had even more control of her life. “I should warn you that I’m very demanding.”

“No problem.” Her nose crinkled as she grinned. “I’m very good.”

Charlie bounced up beside them. “Put me back on Peggy. I want to ride some more.”

“Whoa, Charlie,” Anya chided. “Even cowboys are polite.”

“Please, Roman,” he said. “I want to ride more.”

He lifted the boy into the saddle. “It’s hard to keep your balance so you hold on to this thing right here. It’s called a pommel.”

“Got it,” Charlie said. “Let’s go, cowpoke.”

Roman brought the reins around to the front to lead the mare back toward the stable. He glanced back over his shoulder toward the microwave dishes installed above an outbuilding. Every word of their conversation could be picked up. Surveillance cameras from three different angles might be watching.

Anya strolled beside him. “This arrangement is going to be perfect. I don’t know why I hesitated so long before signing the contract.”

“It’s a big change, moving from your home in Denver.”

“I’ve moved before. Often. I went to four, no, five different high schools. We had to go where Mother’s consulting work took us.”

“How is Claudette?” Roman didn’t like Anya’s mother. She was as cold as an ice cube, the very opposite of her emotion-driven daughter.

“Mother rented a house across the bay. I guess she’s planning to stay in San Francisco for a while.”

“To be close to you and Charlie.”

“Seems odd.” She gave a tight laugh. “Claudette isn’t exactly the doting type.”

“Not a cookie-baking grandma?”

“No way. I don’t think she’s ever even read a fairy tale, much less believed in one.”

“But you do.”

“Yup.” She tossed her head, sending a ripple though her hair. The sunlight picked out strands of pure platinum. “I believe in fairy tales. No matter what else happens, there’s got to be a happy ending.”

Though her words sounded simplistic, he heard determination in her voice. She was willing to fight for her happily-ever-after.

“Maybe here,” she said. “Maybe Legate is what I’ve been looking for all my life.”

He didn’t want to encourage that fragile hope. There were too many signs to the contrary. In fairy-tale terms, Legate was the evil kingdom, ruled by an ogre named Slater. “I understand that you’ll have a cottage on the premises.”

“It’s adorable. All furnished.” Anya glanced up at him, looking for answers he couldn’t give. “I keep thinking it was weird that Jeremy never mentioned this plan to me. He had all these details in his will.”

Roman wasn’t even sure Jeremy’s will was valid; it had been prepared by the Legate legal staff. “He never discussed it with me, either.”

“Weird,” she repeated. “I mean, Jeremy and I spent two weeks talking about what kind of sofa we should get. Then he makes this huge, life-altering plan without a blink in my direction.”

“It’s not totally out of character,” he reminded her. “Once, Jeremy bought a car without even a test drive.”

“Because he liked the hood ornament.”

“He was capable of snap judgments.”

“That’s true,” she said. “The new will was dated only a few weeks before his death, and he probably meant to discuss it when he came back to Denver.”

When she talked about Jeremy, the blue of her eyes grew dim. Her shoulders caved slightly. She was still grieving, and it troubled Roman to see her suffer. Her husband shouldn’t have died. If Roman had been smarter, he might have prevented the tragedy.

He believed that the explosion at Building Fourteen had been rigged, but he still didn’t know why. Why would Slater kill four scientists who worked for him? They were good employees—productive and nonconfrontational. Why did they have to die? After eight months of digging into the various global projects these scientists were working on, Roman still didn’t have the answer.

“It’s good to see you,” Anya said.

“And you,” he said. “You’ve put on weight.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s a compliment.” After Jeremy’s death, she’d been skinny as a rail, unable to eat. “You look healthy.”

“Healthy? Like a prize cow?” Her eyebrows arched. “If that’s your standard pick-up line, you’re going to be a bachelor forever.”

“That wasn’t even close to a pick-up line.”

“And why not? We might be friends, but I’m still a single female. According to your reputation, you should be charming me off my feet.”

“You’re not an ordinary female.” She was another man’s wife. Even now, with Jeremy dead, she was still married to his memory.

From atop the horse, Charlie called out, “Mommy, look. I’m riding with no hands.”

“Hold on to the pommel,” she said. “Or you’re getting off, mister.”

“I want to go faster. Please.”

“This is your first time on a horse,” she said. “Take it easy.”

“Okay, Mom.”

She returned her attention to Roman, picking up their conversation where it left off. “All right, Bachelor Number One, give me a real compliment. I need one.”

For years, he’d tried not to think of Anya as an eligible woman. But she’d asked for it.

His guard went down. The facade of civility slipped away. He allowed his unspoken desires to rise to the surface. These thoughts had been simmering at the back of his mind from the first day he met her.

With smoldering eyes, he gazed into her heart-shaped face. His voice lowered to a seductive murmur, and he said, “When I see you here in the sunlight, with the wind in your hair and your lips as soft as rose petals, I know what miracles are. This vision of you is precious. I’ll carry it with me forever.”

“Oh.” She gaped.

He relished the effect he had upon her, and he pressed his advantage, tenderly grasping her hand and lifting it to his lips to blow a light kiss across her knuckles. “You touch my heart.”

“Oh, my.”

“Anya, please. Let me touch you.”

“Wow! You’re good.” She grabbed her hand back from him and fanned her face with it. “No wonder you have thousands of babes swooning all over you.”

He looked away from her and started walking again. Though this flirting was a game, he’d meant every word. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her mouth, to make love to her.

They neared the stables where Anya’s mother and Fredrick Slater stood waiting. The sight of Slater had the effect of a cold shower on Roman. He sloughed off his sensuality, any sign of vulnerability. Instead, he visualized himself as forged steel.

“There they are,” Anya said. “Claudette and Slater. They almost look like a couple, don’t they?”

Well matched in ruthless intelligence and ambition, they could have been MacBeth and his lady. “Almost.”

“Roman, with this contract, am I doing the right thing?”

“It’ll all work out.” He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her or to Charlie.

At the stables, Slater wasted no time in pulling him to one side. “Did you handle the problem in Los Angeles?”

“It was nothing,” Roman said. “A simple miscommunication.”

“I suppose Anya told you that she and Charlie will be living here.”

“Yes.” He slipped on a pair of dark glasses, concerned that his eyes might betray his hostility.

“She seems a bit uncomfortable,” Slater said. “That’s not good for Charlie’s transition. He needs to feel that Legate is his home. It’s important for his mother to transmit that acceptance.”

“According to whom?”

“Dr. Neville, the psychiatrist.”

“I have an urgent message to contact him,” Roman said.

“Yes, I know.”

Slater’s hands were clasped behind his back. In his tweed suit with his neat gray hair, he looked like the lord of the manor, out for a stroll on his magnificent grounds.

Roman lengthened his stride. He was a good six inches taller and wanted to make Slater stretch to keep up with him.

But the old man sensed what he was doing and halted. When he looked up, he probed with his gaze, taking Roman’s measure with quick, stabbing glances. Slater wanted something. “You have a bond with Charlie’s mother.”

“I’ve known Anya for years.”

“She’s done a good job raising the boy. Neville said it was important to leave Charlie with his mother until he was five and had established a healthy bond.”

“Then what?”

“Education, of course. Expanding the child’s frame of reference.”

Slater’s analysis made it sound like he was talking about an experiment. Roman tried to match his detachment. “Exactly what are your goals with Charlie?”

“To nurture and develop his intelligence. At the same time, he must be a well-rounded individual. Too many of our geniuses are antisocial. Charlie will be high-functioning on many levels—theoretical, creative, even political. He might even become President of the United States.”

Did Slater really think he could build his own president? Throw together the proper genetics for intelligence, add training and stir? This plan sounded like the insane ravings of a twenty-first-century Frankenstein.

“That boy,” Slater said, “will be my legacy.”

His legacy? But Slater wasn’t the child’s father or grandfather.

“I need your help, Roman.”

“How?”

“While Charlie is settling into the program, I want his mother to be happy. I want her to feel she made the right decision in coming here. See to it.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“She needs a man,” Slater said.

Roman couldn’t believe his ears. This crafty old bastard was ordering him to do the very thing he had wanted for years. Slater wanted him to become Anya’s lover.