Читать книгу Wife By Deception - Donna Sterling - Страница 9

Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana

July 4

THE CALL CAME during the Fourth of July crawfish boil in his parents’ front yard on the bayou. The cell phone in his shirt pocket rang, and Mitch’s heart paused.

No one but the detective would call him on this phone. The captains and crew members of his shrimp boats didn’t know the number; they always contacted him by the radio he wore on his belt. So did his neighbors on the swamp. It had to be Chuck Arceneaux, the investigator he’d hired. And if the call wasn’t urgent, Chuck would have left a message on his home answering machine.

The adults at the long picnic table fell silent, their gazes shifting to Mitch. They knew the significance of that ringing cell phone. His brawny, apron-clad father turned from the simmering crawfish kettle to watch him in sober expectation. His mother froze in the act of ladling jambalaya from a huge serving bowl, her eyes widening with hope and fear. The children seemed to sense the sudden tension, and all but the youngest of his nieces, nephews and cousins quieted. Even the hot Louisiana breeze seemed to halt its sighing through the willows and moss-draped cypress trees.

Mitch drew the phone from his pocket and answered it.

The investigator’s flat, nasal voice greeted him. “All the dough you’ve been shelling out for those mailers finally paid off, Mitch. We got a possible lead.”

A possible lead. Mitch shut his eyes and clenched his jaw, overcome with relief that the news hadn’t been bad. Immediately following that relief came disappointment that the news hadn’t been better. He’d been praying so damn long for the words I’ve found your daughter. She’s okay. “What kind of lead, Chuck?”

“A man in Florida said he recognized a neighbor from the photos on a mailer. Said she goes by the name Kate Jones. He doesn’t know much more than that about her. I’ve been staked out in front of the house, and a few minutes ago, a blonde stepped out onto the porch. She looks a lot like your wife.”

Mitch grimaced at the term. He’d have preferred “ex-wife,” although it wasn’t technically correct. Camryn had taken off before they’d corrected major glitches in their divorce proceedings. Legally, they were still married—a situation he would remedy the moment he got his daughter back from her and knew that he’d be awarded custody. Full custody, this time. “Does she have a baby with her?”

“Haven’t seen one yet, but I noticed a stroller in the garage.”

Mitch’s blood roared in his ears with a fierce surge of hope. Please, God, let it be Camryn. And let Arianne be with her, safe and sound. “Watch her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“This gal ain’t going nowhere without me on her tail.”

“Where are you in Florida?” Mitch demanded, rising from the bench at the picnic table. He couldn’t waste a moment. He had to get there before Camryn ran again.

“Tallahassee. But don’t go off half-cocked. Think about how you want to handle this. You and I know she ran illegally with your kid, but you can’t be sure how another state will deal with custody disputes. The law at home might be on your side, but you don’t have any guarantees outside of Louisiana.”

“That’s why I’m bringing her back. And I’m not about to call the cops, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Mitch knew better than to rely on anyone except himself. Camryn would flash her pretty smile and have the cops falling all over themselves to do her favors before he had a chance to show his joint custody papers. They’d probably arrest him and let her go free—to run with Arianne again.

If she still had Arianne. Mitch refused to put too much stock in the stroller the detective had noticed. Camryn could be staying with someone who had a baby. During her six months on the run, she might have left Arianne with a baby-sitter, or forgotten her outside a casino, or…

Mitch refused to think about the possibilities. The woman had a warped maternal instinct and absolutely no sense of responsibility. He believed she’d taken Arianne from him out of spite for what she considered his “interference” in her life. She’d resented the restraints imposed on her by marriage—as brief as their marriage had been—and even more, the demands of motherhood. She lived for fun and thrills. The risks she took in search of those thrills made Mitch’s muscles clench. What a sap he was! As furious as she made him, he couldn’t keep from worrying about Camryn as well as their daughter.

Their sweet baby daughter. Arianne. He hadn’t seen her in six months. She’d be nine months old by now. Did Camryn still have her? If so, was she taking decent care of her? He couldn’t imagine her taking care of anyone for that long, let alone fulfilling the constant needs of a baby.

Then again, Camryn could do or be anything she set her mind to, at least for a while. She was a chameleon, changing colors to suit her mood or to get her wherever she wanted to go. He hoped her current whims included mothering Arianne.

If only he’d known Camryn before he’d gotten involved with her! But he’d been pretty damn irresponsible himself. He, too, had taken foolhardy risks in search of excitement. Like sleeping with a gorgeous stranger.

But he had to admit, it had been more for him than just thrill seeking. He’d been poleaxed by the sight of her. In that first blinding flash of reaction, he’d been sure she was the woman of his dreams. Her face, her eyes, her voice. Her body. Everything about her seemed so damn right…as if she’d stepped directly from his fantasies, custom-made for him alone. He’d honestly felt that fate had brought him to this one golden moment in time so that he could meet his soul mate. Never before had he been overcome by such a powerful certainty.

And never since.

Her beauty, vivaciousness and fun-loving spirit had kept him flying high through the first couple of weeks of their relationship. But gradually he realized that the deeper, more profound qualities he craved in a life partner simply weren’t there.

She was like flauteau—the lush stretches of Louisiana grass and greenery that looked as solid as earth but were actually nothing more than vegetation floating on the surface of a swamp. A man foolish enough to step onto flauteau would sink beneath the dense foliage into stagnant, muddy water without leaving so much as a trace.

All flash was Camryn, without an inch of solid ground. And now he was drowning in his own foolishness over her.

When she told him she was going to have his baby, he insisted that she marry him. Old-fashioned of him, maybe, but he’d wanted at least the appearance of love for their child’s sake, once she was old enough to understand things like parenthood and marriage.

It turned out that Camryn herself didn’t know much about those things. She carried on a fairly convincing charade of wife and mother for as long as she could, but her true nature soon got the best of her. She craved fun and thrills and self-gratification, and when the conflict with him became too much for her, she filed for divorce. And then left town…before that divorce had been properly finalized…with Arianne. She’d barely been three months old.

And now, as he tried to track Camryn down, he was amazed at how little he knew about her. According to information gleaned from Arianne’s birth certificate, Camryn had been born in Pennsylvania, but his search there proved fruitless. She’d said her parents were dead; he didn’t know if she had any surviving family members. Her maiden name of “Jones” didn’t help much in a computer search; every state in the country had thousands of them.

He hoped to God that he’d finally found her.

Mitch finished his conversation with the detective and returned his cell phone to his pocket, his mind whirling and his heart pounding. He had strategies to plan and preparations to make.

“Mon Dieu! Have they found our Arianne?” His mother’s breathless question and anxious expression jarred him from his thoughts. Every pair of eyes around the table reflected the same deep-seated concern.

“Maybe. I’m about to go find out.” His throat nearly closed with emotion. “I might be bringing her home.”

The prospect awed him. He’d missed her so damn much—holding her, feeding her, making her smile. Watching her bloom into the prettiest little thing he’d ever seen. His daughter. Had she needed him? Had she wondered where he was? Could she possibly even remember him?

His eldest sister whispered a prayer in French and made the sign of the cross. His younger sister hugged him. His father gripped his shoulder in silent support. His brother-in-law insisted on going with him, and everyone else chimed in with offers of help.

A small hand tugged on his shirt. Mitch glanced down at his four-year-old nephew, who stood on the picnic bench, his dark eyes wide with concern. In incredulous tones, he asked, “Are you cwying, Uncle Mitch?”

Mitch blinked back the sheen that had blurred his vision and swallowed against the swelling in his throat. “Nah. Too much hot sauce on my crawfish, that’s all.” He caught the boy to him in a playful hold and scrubbed his knuckles across his head, tousling the dark curls. “You didn’t sprinkle more hot sauce in my jambalaya while I wasn’t looking, did you, Claude?”

Claude giggled and swore that he hadn’t.

Sensing a potential for roughhousing, the little boy’s older cousins sprang from their seats. “I did it, Uncle Mitch! I put more hot sauce in your jambalaya!”

“No, I did!”

“I did.”

Their impish grins and teasing claims eased some of the tightness in Mitch’s throat. Allowing himself the luxury of a moment, he captured as many kids as he could at one time, tickling each one he caught. They shrieked with laughter, scurried around him and mounted their own attack, some leaping onto his back from behind.

Mitch swore to himself that he’d bring his daughter home to join in the fun with her cousins. To dance to her uncle Mazoo’s fiddle. Eat her grand-mère’s jambalaya. Wrap her papa around her little finger.

He’d bring Camryn back here, too—to resolve the legal glitches in their divorce proceedings, and to face the judge who had granted them joint custody. Despite the failed divorce, they were legally separated, and that custody agreement was legal and binding. She’d had no right to leave the state of Louisiana, or to keep his daughter away from him.

Yes, indeed, she would face the judge and pay whatever price he set for violating a court order. Maybe that would stop her from running away with Arianne again.

LATE FRIDAY AFTERNOON, KATE rolled the stroller up to the gate of the clubhouse area just in time to watch parents clamber out of the swimming pool with infants and toddlers in their arms, rivulets of water trickling from matted hair, slick swimsuits and sagging diapers. As everyone headed toward lounge chairs and beach towels, the instructor called out reminders of next week’s class.

Drat. Kate had been hoping to watch at least some of this afternoon’s swim class in session. The walk through the two adjacent subdivisions had taken longer than she’d expected, though. There’d been so many distractions along the way—flowers to sniff, kitties to pet, neighbors to enchant with Arianne’s sunny, drool-shiny smile. And then there was Arianne’s fondness for flinging her toys out of the stroller, just for the fun of having Kate retrieve them. The walk had taken considerably longer than expected.

Which was fine with Kate. It seemed to her that the journey itself was just as important as the destination—and they’d had a lovely journey. Maybe they would watch the swim class next week. At the neighborhood Fourth of July party yesterday, the lifeguard in her own subdivision had recommended this particular instructor for infant swimming lessons. Kate wanted to see for herself what methods the woman used.

She peered at the parents trudging past her toward the parking lot. A few moms and dads were talking and smiling. Others looked exhausted and harried. And…frustrated? Not a good sign.

Kate approached one young mother who had emerged from the pool area with a towel-wrapped infant huddled against her shoulder. Smiling at both the baby and his mother, Kate introduced herself as a resident from the neighboring subdivision. “I’m thinking of enrolling my nine-month-old for swim lessons. Are you happy with the classes so far?”

“Oh, absolutely.” The deeply tanned brunette, who smelled of chlorine and suntan lotion, lovingly towel-dried her son’s reddish, downy-fine curls. “Davey has learned so much in just two months. He can already hold his breath underwater. And he’s only ten months old.” She fairly beamed with pride.

“That’s great. Does he enjoy the lessons?”

“Enjoy them?” She sounded surprised at the question. “Well, actually, he’d rather just play around in the pool with his toys than do what the teacher says. I suppose that’s only to be expected.” A flicker of frustration disrupted her smile. “And for some reason, he resists floating on his back.”

Warning bells sounded in Kate’s head. If any amount of coercion was involved in teaching a baby to swim, the instructor was probably teaching at her pace rather than the baby’s. And, from the articles Kate had read on the subject, she’d learned that back floating was a skill to be explored later in a baby’s progression.

No, she wouldn’t subject Arianne to the stress of these particular lessons. She wanted her to enjoy learning, not shy away from it. She wanted the lessons to be a happy, peaceful time. An opportunity for physical and spiritual enrichment. A chance for her and Arianne to grow closer.

Maybe she should look into mother-baby yoga lessons, instead. “Thanks for the information,” Kate said. “I think I’ll wait another month or so before I sign Arianne up for swim lessons, though. You know, I’ve read some highly informative articles about infant swim lessons on the Internet.”

“Really?”

Unable to resist the chance to save Davey from distressful lessons that might negatively affect his attitude toward learning, Kate told the woman how to find the articles she’d read.

Arianne, meanwhile, dropped the teething ring she’d been gnawing on, emitted a joyous squeal and pointed a stubby little finger at the pool. “Fwim!” Shifting her bright brown eyes to Kate, she repeated, “Fwim?”

Kate smiled at her with all the pride, warmth and tenderness brimming in her heart. Only nine months old, and she could already say fwim. She clearly had genius potential. “No, sweetie. We can’t swim today. Tomorrow, maybe. In our own pool.”

Arianne returned a still-hopeful gaze to the pool. Kate pulled a small foil-wrapped pack from her purse, knelt beside the stroller and distracted the little brown-eyed blonde with a teething biscuit.

Davey’s mother shifted her towel-swathed son to her other hip and smiled at Arianne. To Kate, she said, “She’s adorable. And she looks so much like you. You couldn’t deny she’s yours even if you wanted to.”

Kate felt her smile falter. Couldn’t deny she’s yours. If only that were true. “Thanks. I…I guess I’d better head back home. It’s quite a walk.” After wishing the woman luck with Davey’s lessons, Kate wheeled the stroller toward the sidewalk.

And tried not to let the innocent remark hurt too much. Hard to do, though, when the wound was still so raw. Because regardless of the fact that Arianne resembled her—same honey-blond hair, same brown eyes, even the same little cleft in her chin—she wasn’t Kate’s. Not biologically, or even legally, as of yet.

Her real mother had been killed.

Camryn.

A bittersweet pang went through Kate, as it always did when she thought of her sister. Then the grief set in. She was gone—her glamorous, high-flying rebel of a twin who had vexed her, angered her, worried her sick, but always brought tales of wild urban adventures that made Kate’s own life seem boring in comparison. Camryn had been a dreamer, outrageously self-centered and as flighty as a kite in a high wind. She’d always gravitated toward the wrong crowd, set her sights on impractical goals and gone about reaching them in the hardest possible way. They’d argued more often than they’d laughed together, but her rare visits had added a certain zest to Kate’s workaday life. There would be no more surprise-packed visits from out of the blue.

After six months, the grief had only begun to mellow.

At least she still had Arianne. A simple glance at her niece filled her with warm, comforting love…as well as concern. It had taken Kate more than five months—until last Friday, to be exact—to ask a lawyer about adoption proceedings. Because Arianne’s father presented an unknown variable, she’d felt she had too much to risk by bringing Arianne to the attention of the courts.

Government bureaucracies always worried her. The Department of Family and Children Services had ruled her and Camryn’s lives from the age of five—when they lost their parents in an automobile accident—until the day they turned eighteen. As humiliating and dehumanizing as that experience had been, they’d actually fared better than many of the children trapped within that frightening system. At least Cam and she had had each other.

Now Kate hesitated to contact the authorities for fear that some obscure regulation would result in their taking Arianne away from her. She shuddered to think of her dear little niece at the mercy of the heartless court system. Kate swore that Arianne would be raised by her— not shuffled around between foster homes or dumped into an orphanage, as Camryn and she had been.

But Kate knew she couldn’t simply keep Arianne indefinitely. Too many questions would be asked—by doctors, school officials and the like. Kate believed in building a strong, unshakable foundation on which to base one’s life. That foundation was a person’s only real security. Arianne’s foundation would require the paperwork that made her a legal citizen of the United States and Kate’s legally-adopted daughter. Neither status was readily available without Arianne’s birth certificate.

Her lawyer had warned her, too, that an adoption would be difficult without permission from Arianne’s father. And Kate had no idea who he was or where he lived. She had no record of Arianne’s birth, where she was born or even what her legal last name was.

“Isn’t there a way around the red tape?” Kate had asked. “My sister told me Arianne’s father doesn’t want her. Even if we somehow learn his name, I doubt that we’ll find him. Knowing the kind of men my sister was involved with, he’s probably a drifter, or on the run from the law.”

Although the attorney foresaw dozens of obstacles, he promised to delve into the matter as quickly and discreetly as possible.

For the umpteenth time, Kate fervently wished she’d gotten more details from Camryn about her ex-husband. Unfortunately, Camryn hadn’t wanted to talk about him. All she’d told her was that his name was Mitch, he didn’t want a wife or daughter and he’d been “mean.”

“Abusive?” Kate had asked, horrified.

“Very,” Camryn had confirmed in a choked whisper.

Kate had tried to pry more information from her, but to no avail. The very idea of a man abusing her sister and niece infuriated Kate. In order to get to sleep that night, she had to remind herself that in Camryn’s mind, “abusive” could cover anything from physical battery to a refusal to fly her to Tahiti. She had seemed extremely upset at the very mention of this man’s existence, though.

Then again, Camryn had closed the subject of her ex-husband with a sigh. “I don’t know why I married him in the first place. I guess I’m just a sucker for a big, strong male body and sexy golden-green eyes.” An odd wistfulness had crossed her face. “And he does have the sexiest eyes.”

Ah, Camryn! There’d been times when Kate had wanted to shake her.

If only she’d shaken some information loose from her that night. But Camryn had been too exhausted to chat for long. She fell asleep within an hour. Kate, on the other hand, spent half the night reeling from the news that her twin had married again, given birth and divorced since they’d last spoken. She mulled over those developments while walking the floor with Arianne, who’d been wretchedly suffering from teething woes.

Kate hadn’t handled a baby in years, but her vast experience from growing up in the Tallahassee Methodist Children’s Home came in handy that night…and ever since.

It had been so typical of Camryn, dropping in unexpectedly after eighteen months without contact and blindly assuming that Kate would baby-sit for weeks at a time. She’d also stolen her car, leaving nothing but a mechanically challenged convertible and a brief note that thanked Kate in advance for keeping Arianne while Camryn went to New York to get them roles in a soap opera.

Oh, Cam.

The call had come less than an hour after Kate had read the note. The highway patrol contacted her from the number listed on the car’s registration. Looking back, Kate was glad that Camryn had taken her car, or Kate might never have known what had become of her twin. Whatever identification papers she’d carried had gone up in flames. The head-on collision had rated only a brief mention on the evening news, without names or pictures of the deceased.

Grief, regret and a terrible sense of loss haunted Kate, especially in the oppressive silence of night. During the day, she kept herself busy tending her motherless niece. Despite the financial strain and interruption to her career, Kate had taken the spring and summer semesters off from teaching to spend time with Arianne during these formative months of her life.

Kate had lost her twin after failing her in some fundamental way long ago. She couldn’t remember a time she hadn’t felt vaguely guilty over Camryn’s emotional neediness. She should have tried harder to take her parents’ place in Camryn’s life; to supply more of the love she’d so clearly needed. Until the day she died in that fiery wreck, Camryn had been desperately searching for validation of her own worth…and always in the wrong places….

Kate swore she wouldn’t allow Arianne to travel the same path. Bright, beautiful Arianne would remain her top priority from now on.

Kate felt only pleasure at the prospect. The baby filled a void in her heart that she hadn’t known existed. She brought sweetness and warmth to her home and a deeper meaning to her life. Kate loved her more intensely with every passing day.

I’ll take good care of her, Cam. I won’t let you down again.

As she turned a corner into her own subdivision, clouds drifted across the late-afternoon sun, throwing the suburban Tallahassee street into momentary shade. She savored the respite from the July heat and pushed the stroller past neat lawns and brick homes toward her own modest ranch-style house.

By the time she reached the welcoming shadows inside her attached garage, Arianne was snoozing. Kate parked the stroller alongside the red Mustang convertible Camryn had left, ignoring the grief the sight of the car induced. Drawing the house key from a pocket of her khaki shorts, she turned to unlock the door.

A form loomed up from behind her. Before she could react, a hard hand came down over her mouth and jerked her backward against a large, solidly muscular body.

“Hello, Camryn,” a gruff voice rasped in her ear. “Long time no see.”