Читать книгу The Scandalous Heiress - Kathryn Taylor, Kathryn Taylor - Страница 9

Two

Clayton instructed the driver to wait in front of the run-down building. Had Mikki given him the wrong address? Broken beer bottles littered the street. An old man huddled against a lamppost, trembling like a lost child. He held out a coffee mug, jingling the change inside.

Clayton paused on the landing and rapped his knuckles against the door. While he waited, he felt the need to constantly check over his shoulder. He expelled an immense sigh of relief when Mikki answered.

“You’re early,” she said and held the door for him.

“Your house?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It’s a boarding house. Or maybe you thought that working at the diner would afford me a suite at the Marquis.”

A stab of guilt cut through him. “I apologize.”

“No need.” She shrugged and led him down the narrow corridor.

Her room, smaller than the size of his closet, contained a twin bed and nightstand. A lightbulb in the ceiling provided the only illumination in the windowless alcove.

One suitcase rested against the wall. “Did you pack everything you own?” he asked, noting the empty closet.

“Better than returning home to find I’ve been robbed,” she replied as if the answer should have been obvious.

He wasn’t sure which bothered him more—the dangerous neighborhood she lived in, or the knowledge that everything she owned fitted into one suitcase. Whichever the reason, the knot in the pit of his stomach clenched tighter.

She ran a comb through her hair and checked the mirror. The simple black skirt and cream-colored blouse, although vintage, gave her an air of quiet dignity. She was probably wearing the best outfit she owned, he thought. Could she really be a Hawthorne? There did seem to be a familial resemblance. Or was he merely seeing what he wanted to see for his own reasons?

“We’d better get going if we want to catch the plane,” he said.

“Plane? You didn’t say anything about a plane.” Her olive complexion paled to white.

“Why, is there a problem?”

As if to gather her courage, she inhaled deeply. “No. Of course not.”

But Clayton didn’t believe her for one moment.

Only when she was settled in the car outside Logan International Airport did Mikki’s queasiness subside. She stretched her arms to relieve the tightness. Flying was highly overrated, she decided. She glanced toward her amused traveling companion.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“She speaks. Oh, speak again, bright angel.”

“Big deal. You can quote Shakespeare.” Maybe her conversation had been lacking during the short flight, but neither had he been Mr. Eloquent.

“You’ve never flown before.” His voice was pitched as if the very idea were inconceivable.

“Gee, did you just figure that out, Sherlock?”

His grin faded to a frown. “I’m sorry if that sounded condescending.”

“It did, and you are.” Or perhaps she was overreacting. Nothing he said or did seemed intentional, but Clayton had a way of making her feel defensive by his polished presence.

“Then you’d better learn from a master, because if you turn out to be Richard’s daughter, you’ll need all the arrogance you can muster to survive in that family.”

She arched an eyebrow at the harshness in his tone. “You sound as if you know them well.”

“I should. Richard is married to my Aunt Alicia.”

Aunt Alicia. Why did that name cause her nerve endings to stand at attention? She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t put a face to the distant memory.

“Are you all right?”

“year.” She glanced out the window as the car started to move. “I thought you were his lawyer or something.”

“I work for him, but I’m not a lawyer.”

“Oh,” she mumbled and waited for him to elaborate. Silence lingered. “How long a drive do we have?”

“About an hour. Put on your seat belt and enjoy the scenery.”

Once they left the city of Boston, there were miles of beautiful scenery to enjoy. Seven years in New York had dimmed her memories of lush green foliage. She thought about Kansas and better times, before her mother married Max. Before.... No! She would not dwell on a past she couldn’t change. The wrongs she’d committed had been done to protect the only mother she’d ever known.

How much of her past did Clayton know? Apparently he had been very thorough in his investigation, but juvenile records were sealed. That he had brought her this far meant he couldn’t disprove the information he had received.

She felt, rather than saw, his curious stare. His scrutiny unnerved her. She slumped deeper in the soft leather seat and did her best to ignore him. She failed miserably.

Outwardly Clayton was a flawless example of the male species. Tall and lean, he personified every fantasy she’d dared to imagine, and a few she hadn’t thought of yet. He had invoked a sexual awakening in her that was better left in a dormant state.

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked any questions about your family.”

“We haven’t established that they are my family,” she reminded him. He wasn’t convinced. Apparently the very fact that she worked in the diner was a strike against her.

“Well, your coloring is right.”

“Only five million people in New York have brown hair and brown eyes.”

He shook his head. “It’s different. Both William and Joseph have that same shade. Almost but not quite black.”

“How lucky for them,” she said drily.

“Not really. Judging by Richard, you’ll all go completely gray relatively early.”

“Are you going to clue me in as to who William and Joseph are, or do you assume I already know?”

His gaze remained on the long road ahead. She noticed a hint of a smirk. “Don’t tell me you can’t remember your beloved cousins.”

Her patience snapped. “I’m not sure which bothers you more—the fact that I might be Richard Hawthorne’s daughter or the thought that I’m not. Either way, I’m getting damned tired of your insinuations.”

Clayton groaned. She was so close to the truth, he marveled at her perception. He wasn’t sure which outcome he wanted more. As a child, he had witnessed the kidnapping of Megan Hawthorne. The memory still haunted him. Twenty years of false leads and outright cons had killed any hope he’d had for a favorable outcome. But twenty years of silently blaming himself had never allowed him to stop trying.

Every detail about Mikki fit. A little too well. Why had some anonymous person come forward now? Granted, anyone who had followed the case could have pieced together enough information to get his attention. That same person had to know that a DNA test would reveal a phony. So, why hadn’t he insisted that Mikki submit to one before bringing her to meet Richard?

“Stop,” Mikki shouted.

Instinctively he slammed the antilock brakes. His heart hammered in his chest. He scanned the area, expecting to find something in the road. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to stretch my legs.” She slipped out of the car before he could stop her.

Mikki sprinted across a baseball field with the exuberance of a child. Although numerous benches lined the local park’s trails, she plopped herself down in the middle of center field and turned her face up to the sun.

Once his pulse rate slowed, he stepped outside, too. How odd, he thought. He traveled this road every day and had never noticed the small park before.

He glanced at his watch, then shrugged. What difference would a few more minutes make? He closed the distance between them.

As he drew alongside of Mikki, she cupped her fingers around his ankle, halting his last step. For one moment he was reminded of the way Megan, the toddler, used to latch on to him when he had tried to leave a room. That little imp had been the only member of the Hawthorne family besides Richard who hadn’t treated him like a poor, orphaned charity case, and he’d failed them both when it counted.

“Be careful. You almost stepped on a flower,” she said.

He shook off the faded memory. Back in the present, the feel of her firm grip on his leg brought another image to mind. More sensual, but equally as disturbing. He willed his body to remain rigid. “What flower? That’s a common weed.”

She let go of his leg and plucked the yellow cap from the grass, tucking it behind her ear. “It’s a dandelion, but then anything common would probably be a weed to you—myself included.”

Common? No, Mikki was unique. She was three miles away from a meeting that might change her life forever, and she preferred to roll around in a field of grass.

“Take a load off your feet, Clayton. Or are you afraid of getting grass stains on your rear end?”

“We’re almost there.”

“Am I throwing you off schedule?”

He wouldn’t admit now that he had indeed made a schedule. His trip to New York had been treated like any other business trip. Only Mikki wasn’t a client or an employee, and he couldn’t make her conform to the strict timetable he had set for himself. “We have a few minutes, I suppose.”

Amusement flickered in her dark eyes. “Is there too much starch in your collar, or are you always this stuffy?”

He grinned and dropped down on the plush grass next to her. “It comes naturally.”

“I’ll bet it does.” A soft giggle bubbled over her full lips.

“I guess you’re nervous.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Is there a reason I should be?”

“I don’t know. There’s a chance that you are Richard’s daughter. How do you feel about that?”

A warm breeze rustled the leaves. She pushed back a strand of hair from her cheek and sighed. “I don’t know. I haven’t met the man yet.”

“But the idea of being rich must be appealing.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Is that a question or an accusation?”

“Question.”

“Are you rich?”

He lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. “I do all right.”

“And is your happiness based on your money?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?” She wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “Funny. I got the impression that this has everything to do with you. Otherwise, you would have sent a lawyer or private detective to find me instead of coming in person.”

Again, he was amazed by her insight. Yes, he had a vested interest in finding Megan Hawthorne and a hell of a lot to lose if she turned out to be a brilliant con artist. Other than Richard, no member of the Hawthorne clan believed Megan was still alive.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“I thought it was rhetorical. Anybody who says they’ve never dreamed of being rich is already nch or a liar. I’m also realistic enough to know that dreams don’t come true and I had better not give up my day job.”

“And a gem of a job it is.” He cursed the thoughtless comment the second the words were out.

“It’s honest and I eat for free. And most customers leave tips for the service.”

Clayton bowed his head. “I guess that was directed at me.”

“You bought me a plane ticket. Put in perspective, it’s the biggest tip I ever got for a cup of coffee. However, I wasn’t your waitress. Annie was.”

He didn’t know what to make of her. In the world in which he had grown up, her work would seem a drudgery, yet she had no complaints. “You’re a strange woman, Michelle Finnley.”

“It’s part of my overwhelming charm.”

Behind the veil of sarcasm, she had a gentle smile and infectious laughter that inspired trust. She also stirred feelings he’d do well to deny. A con artist was only successful if she gained the confidence of her mark. Her stepfather had a long rap sheet of extortion and fraud, a career he might well have passed on to her. And she had picked his pocket with the light-fingered precision of the Artful Dodger.

“I imagine you can be quite charming when you put your mind to it,” he said.

“First, I’d have to find someone susceptible to my charms. I don’t think that’s you.”

He swallowed a cough. She had no idea. Then again, perhaps she did. “Why do you think that?”

“For one thing, you keep people at a distance. You don’t like to be touched.”

“That’s debatable.”

She crinkled her nose in exasperation. “I’m not talking about sex.”

“Then what’s the point?” he said and chuckled.

“That is my point.” She blew a wisp of bangs off her forehead with exaggerated frustration. “Every gesture you make has a specific purpose.”

He stretched out and propped his head on one hand. “You gathered all that from one meeting?”

“You learn a lot when you wait on people for a living.”

“What other things have you learned, Michelle?”

Mikki groaned. Again he had managed to make an innocent question sound like an accusation. Why did she bother trying to hold a serious conversation with him? He didn’t trust her. For the sake of her emotional well-being, she wanted to get the meeting with Richard Hawthorne over with and move on.

She stood and wrapped her arms around her waist. “We should get going.”

“All right,” he agreed, coming to his feet. “Richard is waiting.”

Could she expect the same wariness and skepticism from Richard as she had received from Clayton? Her heart thumped against her chest. She had tried not to set unreasonable expectations about her visit, but the part of her spirit that had always refused to accept the realities of the world still hoped for the fairy tale.

The remainder of the trip passed m silence. Her mind reeled with questions, but she didn’t voice a single one. She didn’t want to be accused of pumping him for information.

Colonial houses with manicured lawns lined the streets of the upper-class neighborhood. She gaped at the homes like a tourist seeing the sights of Beverly Hills. Unlike the pulsing city or quiet farmlands, suburbia had a delicate rhythm all its own. She blinked.

Toughen up, kid. You’re getting sappy and sentimental about a place where you will never belong.

Her resolve to block out her surroundings worked until Clayton brought the car to a halt on a dead-end street.

Mikki glanced at the house before her, set high on a hill. A numbness washed over her. Something about the massive Tudor mansion held her entranced. She had dreamed of a castle like this as a child. The only thing missing was the fire-breathing dragon. She glanced at Clayton. Well, maybe not. Judging by his heated stare, he looked about to breathe fire at any moment.

“What?”

“Rather impressive, isn’t it?” he asked, pointing toward the house.

“I guess.” She noticed a swimming pool and tennis court off to the side of the estate. “Is it some kind of private resort or a historical monument?”

“Neither.”

“Then why did you stop here?”

The wrought iron gate opened before them as if by magic. Then she noted the electronic device in Clayton’s hand.

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re here,” he said simply.

As he drove up the winding driveway, Mikki could do little more than gape. She felt an overwhelming urge to run. There had to be a mistake.

“Say something, Michelle.”

“Holy Jeez, Toto. We’re not in Kansas anymore.”