Читать книгу My Secret Valentine - Marilyn Pappano - Страница 9

Justin felt like hell when he left the house Sunday morning. His night had been restless—dreams of Fiona interrupted by nightmares of explosions and a crying, bloodied, dark-haired child. He’d seen kids injured far worse than Katy before, had helped dig tiny broken bodies out of the rubble after a bombing. It was the toughest aspect of his job. He hated it and hoped each time would be the last time.

But those kids had been strangers. He hadn’t made love to their mothers, hadn’t planned a future or kids with them, or imagined himself in love with them. Maybe Katy’s injuries weren’t serious, but the fact that she was Fiona’s daughter—that, if he’d been a braver man, she might have been his daughter—made them seem deadly serious.

And he wanted Patrick Watkins to pay for them.

After a fast-food breakfast and a stop at the hospital gift shop, he took the elevator to Katy’s floor and went down the hall to her room. The door was open a few inches. He tapped on it before pushing it wider and stepping inside.

The room was brightly lit, and flowers, balloon bouquets and gifts covered most of the flat surfaces. Counting a half-dozen stuffed animals, he looked wryly at the polar bear he’d bought. Looked like he could have saved his money and the gesture.

Katy was sitting up in bed, pillows behind her back, and Fiona sat facing her, coaxing her to eat her breakfast. He knew from the photos in Golda’s house that she was fair-skinned, but she looked even paler today with the bruises and the lines of stitches across her cheek and jaw. With her dark gaze locked on him, she opened her mouth automatically for a bite of eggs, chewed, then opened it again for more. She showed no interest in him, no recognition, no curiosity at all.

After taking one last bite, she refused to open her mouth again, no matter how Fiona prodded. With a sigh, Fiona pushed the tray away and brushed Katy’s hair back, then turned to see what had caught her attention.

Her clothes were rumpled, her hair mussed, her face free of makeup. There were shadows under her eyes and a tight set to her mouth, along with an overall tension that gave her a brittle air. She looked tired, worried, worn down…and beautiful. No matter what had changed between them, that hadn’t. He’d always thought she was one of the most beautiful women he’d seen, and he still did.

Beautiful, and not happy to see him. Surprise, surprise.

Justin moved closer to the bed. “Hi, Katy. How do you feel this morning?”

After a moment in which the girl continued to treat him to that steady stare, Fiona replied with some strain in her voice, “She doesn’t feel like talking yet.”

“Is that—” Not normal. That would raise her hackles. Though, hell, his merely being there raised her hackles. “—expected?”

“The doctor said to give her a few days. She was traumatized by the blast. She just needs a little time. You don’t have to question her, do you?”

He shook his head. If he hadn’t been watching from the kitchen window, he might need to hear whatever Katy could tell him, but he had been watching, and it was doubtful she could add anything to what he already knew.

“Then…not to sound rude, but…why are you here?”

“I brought her this—” he held up the bear “—and I thought you might need a ride home. They said last night she would be released around ten, barring any complications. Is not talking a complication?”

“Not enough of one to keep her here.” She didn’t say anything about the ride home—didn’t point out that she had family and friends in town willing to provide more rides than she could possibly accept. No doubt, someone was already on his way over, someone she’d be happy to see. “Have you found out anything?”

“An agent came in from Denver to pick up the evidence we’d collected. It’ll be sent to our lab in Maryland for examination. The stolen property that was in the can is locked up at the local police station. It will eventually be returned to its owners.”

“And you don’t have a clue who’s responsible?”

Justin’s fingers tightened in the bear’s fur. “Actually I do. I told you last night, it’s my case. I’ve been after this guy for years.”

She stared at him as if she was having trouble understanding. “Someone you were already investigating before you came here buried that can with blasting caps and it wound up in my yard?”

“Quite a coincidence, huh?” His smile felt sickly, and it faded quickly. “His name is Patrick Watkins, and he has a fondness for exquisite jewels, adrenaline highs and explosives, though not necessarily in that order. To date, he’s responsible for twenty-four jewel thefts, along with twenty-four bombings. He’s a thrill-seeker. He steals the gems to prove he can, and he sets off the bombs afterward as…” He shrugged. “A signature. And a celebratory thing. Like spiking a football in the end zone after a touchdown.”

“A celebratory thing? He sets off bombs for fun? My daughter could have been—” Realizing that Katy was listening, she clamped her jaw shut, but that didn’t stop a shudder of revulsion from rippling through her.

“We’re going to stop him.” It sounded lame, small comfort to any mother who’d been through what she had in the last twenty-four hours, but it was all he had to offer. Beyond that, he didn’t know what else to say, whether he should repeat the offer of a ride or just leave. Before he could decide, he became aware of tentative touches brushing his fingers where they burrowed into the bear’s fur. Looking down, he saw Katy stroking the fur. “It’s soft, isn’t it?”

Her only response was a wide-eyed look.

“Do you like polar bears?”

Nothing but the same look.

“I see you’ve got a lot of stuffed animals here, but maybe you can find room for him, too. Do you think so?”

For a long time she remained motionless, but when he offered her the bear, she took it, wrapping her arm around its neck and holding it close. She was a pretty little girl, with her mother’s delicate bone structure, with the same fragile air that belied the strength underneath. He would guess she was about four, though he would find out for sure before he filed his report.

He would also find out who her father was, if for no other reason than to satisfy his own curiosity.

He was about to make an excuse and leave when a nurse came in, followed by an aide pushing a wheelchair. “Are you ready to get out of here, Katy-bug?” she asked cheerfully, pretending not to notice that the girl didn’t answer. “Fiona, do you have some clothes for her?”

“No. I—I didn’t think…”

“That’s okay. She can go home in her gown and take a blanket. We’ll trust you to return them,” the nurse said with a wink. “You’ve signed all the paperwork, haven’t you?”

Fiona nodded.

“So all you need is your ride. Do you have your car here?”

“No. I…” She looked at Justin, silently asking if the offer still stood.

He didn’t renege. “I’m taking them home.”

“You’re Golda’s nephew, aren’t you? I’m sorry about her death.” The nurse gave him an appraising look that turned into an appreciative smile. “We all thought she exaggerated about her nephew the ATF agent. Now I see she didn’t tell the half of it.”

Justin made a weak gesture that he hoped resembled a smile, then turned to Fiona. “I’ll get the car and meet you at the front entrance.”

He left the room and, too impatient to wait for the elevator, took the stairs to the lobby. It was cold outside, the air fresher, sweeter, than it ever smelled in D.C. He filled his lungs, replacing the hospital smells, as he crossed the lot to his rental.

By the time Fiona approached the entrance with Katy in her arms, he was parked out front and leaning against the car. The nurse had ditched the aide and the wheelchair and instead pushed a cart filled with flowers, balloons and gifts. “I offered them both a ride in the wheelchair,” she said as Justin opened the car door, “but they turned me down. Maybe I could interest you instead.”

Justin caught the mocking look that stole across Fiona’s face as she bent to slide Katy into the middle of the back seat, and tried to ignore the heat that crept into his own face. “Not right now, I’m afraid. Sorry.”

With a good-natured laugh, the woman picked up an armful of the cart’s contents. “Want these in back with you, Katy-bug?”

Fiona tried to straighten, but with a wail, Katy grabbed hold tightly. “I’m going to sit beside you, babe,” she assured her, “but I can’t get in if you don’t let go.”

Hiding a vague disappointment, Justin circled to the driver’s side. Over the roof of the car, the nurse grinned and gave him a sly wink. “Guess all the cuddly creatures get to ride up front with you. That would certainly be my first choice.”

Smiling weakly, he slid inside and helped her arrange flowers, plants and stuffed animals in the seat and floor-board. In back, Fiona fastened her seat belt, then wrapped her arms around Katy. Immediately the wails quieted, and the girl settled contentedly against her.

And no wonder. He knew from past experience that in Fiona’s arms was a damned sweet place to be.

Not that he was likely to ever be there again.

“Do you need to stop anywhere? Grocery store? Pharmacy?” he asked as he pulled away.

“No. We just want to go home.” In a voice not intended for his ears, he suspected, she added, “We should have gone to Denver.”

“You had plans to be in Denver this weekend?”

“No. But I thought about it at the church Friday—about picking up Katy from the baby-sitter and going off to the city until—”

Until he was gone, he silently finished for her. Then Katy wouldn’t have been digging in the yard and he never would have known that Watkins had been in the area. It would have been too bad if he’d never known, but it certainly wasn’t worth Katy getting hurt.

She didn’t say anything else, and neither did he. Within minutes he was pulling into Golda’s driveway. Fiona got out with Katy and started for her door. He filled his arms with flowers and animals and followed. By the time she’d juggled daughter and purse to find her keys, he’d joined them on the porch. He waited until she’d opened the door, then set everything on the hall table before returning to the car for more.

When he brought the last load in, they were standing in the living-room doorway, watching. Katy reached out as he passed, snatching the polar bear and making her mother’s jaw tighten. Did she hate him so much that she couldn’t bear to see her daughter with the toy he’d bought?

Not that she didn’t have good reason to hate him.

He set down the last of the vases, then shoved his hands into his pockets. “About…what happened before…” Bitterness flared in her eyes, and he felt a corresponding surge of guilt. “I—I’m sorry. I never meant…”

“A word you said.” Her smile was cold, a world apart from the sweet, sexy smiles she’d once given him, and it was edged with hurt. “I figured that out.”

That wasn’t true. When he’d talked about marrying her, he’d really wanted to. When he’d told her he loved her, he’d meant it with all his heart. Unfortunately, back at work, in the real world and too far from her, it hadn’t seemed such a sure thing. Reality had set in. Doubt. Fear.

“I handled things badly—”

“No kidding.”

“—and I’m sorry. You deserved better than that.”

“And I still do.” She moved past him to open the door, then pointedly waited for him to leave.

He had no choice but to go. But he felt empty as he walked out the door. As if he might have lost more all those years ago than he could afford to lose.

Fiona awakened Monday morning with the weight of the world on her chest. Breathing was difficult, and there was a distinct pain in her ribs. But when she opened her eyes, her first response was a smile. It wasn’t the weight of the world. It was merely Katy, stretched out on top of her, head tucked under her chin, knee pressing against her ribs. She freed one arm from the covers, then stroked her daughter’s silky hair. She had crawled up in the tree-house bed with her last night, had told her stories, sung her songs and held her until she was sound asleep. She’d hoped Katy would stay there, sleeping through the night, but obviously not.

As she eased out from under her daughter, the doorbell rang. A glance at the clock showed that it was barely daytime—only seven thirty-five—and far too early for visitors, which meant it was probably her mother. Delores had a key and would ring only once before letting herself in. If it was anyone else, they could wait until a decent hour, and if it was Justin… When hell froze over sounded reasonable.

The front door creaked, then footsteps sounded on the stairs. A moment later, Delores came through the door. “Hey, sleepyhead. How’s my baby?”

“She’s okay.” Fiona scooted up to lean against the head-board, then dragged her fingers through her hair. “What are you doing out and about so early?”

“Roger Markham called. He didn’t want to call here in case you and Katy were resting. He’s rescheduled the reading of Golda’s will for ten o’clock this morning, and he’d like you to be there.”

Fiona had been more than willing to go Saturday, but today it just didn’t seem important. She’d rather spend the day in her pajamas and in bed with Katy, watching TV, eating junk food and sleeping whenever the urge hit. She didn’t want to take a shower, comb her hair or put on clothes, especially since she hadn’t yet managed to take three steps without Katy right behind her.

And the biggest reason—she didn’t want to be in the same state as Justin, much less the same room.

I’m sorry, he’d said yesterday, as if that would make everything all right. He’d deceived her, betrayed her, abandoned her. He’d broken her heart and left her with little trust and no faith. He had emotionally devastated her, and that was nothing compared to what his abandonment of Katy had done to her. And he thought I’m sorry could make a difference?

“Come on, darlin’, you have less than two and a half hours to pull yourself together.” Delores gave her an assessing look and bluntly added, “And you’re going to need every minute. You jump in the shower, and I’ll wait here in case Katy-bug wakes up.”

“I don’t want to go, Mom. I’m really tired, and it’s not as if my presence is necessary, and I’d just rather stay here—”

“Now you listen to me, darlin’. You are not going to start shirking your responsibilities just because Justin Reed is in town. You’ve never been a coward before. You didn’t crawl into bed and pull the covers over your head when he left, and you’re not going to do it now just because he’s come back.”

“Actually,” Fiona pointed out, “that’s exactly what I did once I realized that he hadn’t left only Grand Springs—he’d left me. I stayed in bed for two days.” And when she’d found out she was pregnant, she’d spent another two days there, and when she’d finally accepted that it was over, she’d thought she just might curl up there and die.

“Well, if I’d known, I would have hauled you out by your hair. No daughter of mine is going to take to her bed and get all weepy over a man, of all things.”

“I’m not weepy,” Fiona said crossly. “And this isn’t about Justin. I’ve just had the worst weekend of my life. I’m recuperating.”

“You’re hiding. You’re letting him make your decisions for you, and no daughter of mine does that, either.” Delores leaned across to pull back the covers. “Go on. Get in the shower.”

She went only because she did happen to need a shower, and she didn’t want to tackle shampooing her hair and shaving her legs with Katy hanging on for dear life. But she wasn’t going to Roger Markham’s office, wasn’t dealing with a single problem outside her bedroom for the rest of the day.

So how was it that, a few minutes before ten, she carried a silent Katy into Markham’s conference room while her mother left to open the shop?

The lawyer sat at the head of the long oval table. The pastor from Golda’s church sat at the opposite end, and Golda’s weekly card group sat two on his left, two on his right. The college boy who’d helped her around the house was present, as well as the director of the homeless shelter and the president of the local animal aid group.

And, of course, Justin. He sat on the lawyer’s right. The only empty chairs were beside him and across from him. She opted for distance and sat across from him.

Once everyone expressed their concern for Katy, Mr. Markham got down to business. He explained that his father, also a lawyer, had prepared Golda’s will and that the elder Markham had reviewed it with her only a week before her death. His father, unfortunately, was out of town and Roger was handling it in his place.

Somewhere along there, Fiona stopped listening and let her attention wander—and despite her best efforts, where it wandered was Justin. He sat with his hands folded at the edge of the tabletop, his gaze directed at a point somewhere between them. His suit was the same gray one he’d worn to the funeral, this time with a white shirt and burgundy tie, and he wore the same impassive expression. He was incredibly handsome in an unfeeling-statue sort of way.

What had happened? When she’d met him, he’d been full of passion. Had he really become so cold and emotionless, or was this a mask to hide his true feelings from the world?

She preferred to think it was a mask. If he’d ever loved anyone, surely it was Golda. Maybe he hadn’t been as attentive as he could have been, but Golda had understood. He’d done his best, she’d said, and considering that he was a Reed, it had been pretty darn good. Neither she nor Justin had held the rest of their family in high esteem. Not being close to family was, for Fiona, unimaginable. She talked to her mother virtually every day, saw her sisters multiple times each week and joined them all at their parents’ house for dinner practically every Sunday. Golda had once told her that she hadn’t seen Justin’s father in over ten years. Amazing.

Unexpectedly Justin looked up, and in the moment it took Fiona to gather her wits, her gaze locked with his. Was there a slight softening in his dark blue eyes? A hint of regret? The memory of better times and more tender feelings? Or was she merely seeing what she wanted to see?

She didn’t have time to decide as Mr. Markham discreetly coughed. “Just a few minutes more, folks,” he said. “We’re down to the last three bequests. ‘To my dear friend Fiona Lake, I leave the mission style chairs in my attic and the Gustav Stickley table, chairs and sideboard in my dining room. And to her daughter, Kathleen Hope, my grand—’”

Fiona’s gaze jerked to the lawyer’s face. His eyes were wide with surprise, leaving no doubt in her mind what Golda had written. My grandniece. Everyone knew Katy had called her Aunt Golda, but they’d assumed it was merely a title of respect. No one had known that Golda called Katy grandniece—as in great, wonderful, positively grand, she’d always added.

Markham gave Fiona a disbelieving look, and she tried her best to warn him, plead with him, with nothing more than her own look. She wasn’t sure he’d gotten the message until he cleared his throat and went on.

“‘And to her daughter, Kathleen Hope, my grand…little friend, I leave all the jewelry I’ve accumulated over the years. I hope she’ll think of me when she wears it.’”

Fiona darted a look around the table. Golda’s fondness for jewels had led to quite a valuable collection, and everyone seemed to think giving such a gift to a five-year-old tomboy who was nothing more than a neighbor’s child was the reason for the lawyer’s surprise. Please, she silently prayed, let them continue to think it.

“‘The remainder of my estate, I leave to my nephew Justin, the only other Reed to ever amount to anything. I also leave my dearest wish for him—that he learn these lessons well—mistakes can be set right, forgiveness is vital, and love is possible. Forget our disreputable family and trust yourself. Trust your heart. I know you have one.’”

Fiona smiled faintly. Golda had had an endless supply of faith. That last line proved it.

Mr. Markham looked up from the pages and shrugged. “That’s it. Any questions?” When no one spoke, he gestured to Justin. “Mr. Reed will be in town indefinitely, staying at Golda’s house. Those of you whose bequests are property—teapots, jewelry and so forth—can make arrangements with him to pick them up. And that takes care of it. Thank you for coming.”

Fiona tried to lower Katy to the floor, but the child refused to go. With a deep sigh, she settled her on her hip as she stood and left the office before anyone could delay them. When they reached the top of the stairs, she shifted Katy to her other hip. “How about a deal, sweet pea? I’ll carry you down the stairs, and then you can carry me to the door. Sound fair?”

Katy’s only response was to lay her head on Fiona’s shoulder. The only verbal response came from behind them.

“Maybe she’ll let me carry her,” Justin said. “Hi, Katy. Remember me? I’m Justin.”

She hid her face, then peeked at him.

“You’re the shy type, huh? Cat got your tongue?”

After another quick look, she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Kathleen Hope,” Fiona admonished. “Get that tongue back inside your mouth.”

“She’s just showing me that she’s still got it,” he said, his manner easier than she would have thought possible. “Aren’t you?” He lifted Katy’s chin with one finger—a surprise—and she let him—another surprise.

As they started down the stairs, he asked, “How is she?”

“Still clinging. Still not talking.”

“Any problems sleeping?”

“I put her to bed in her room last night and woke up this morning with her snuggled on top of me. If she had a bad dream, it didn’t wake me, but obviously something woke her.”

“I wish this hadn’t happened.”

Fiona looked sidelong at him. His expression was grim, the set of his features hard. For six years, she’d believed he was coldhearted, but not even she could think he would wish harm to a child, even if it did give him another chance to catch the man he’d been investigating for years.

In the lobby, she stopped at the bench that flanked the door to help Katy into her coat. It wasn’t easy when she refused to stand on her own feet and clutched Fiona’s hands tightly in her own.

“How did you manage to drive over here with her?”

“I didn’t. My mother brought us. She’s at the shop. We’re meeting her there.”

“Want a ride?”

She glanced out the glass door. It was bright, chilly, sunshiny—a good day to be out. “No, thanks. We’ll walk.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

Yes, she minded. She minded tremendously. But she didn’t say so, maybe because he’d given her that regretful look in Mr. Markham’s office. Maybe because Golda had loved him, and she’d loved Golda. Maybe because he was a part of the daughter she also loved.

With a shrug for an answer, she picked up Katy again and waited for him to open the door.

“Whenever you’re ready to take Golda’s jewelry, let me know.” He spoke casually, as if they weren’t discussing a small fortune in gems, some that were family heirlooms, others that he’d given Golda himself. She knew people who would fight over a loved one’s prize ring, and yet he didn’t seem to care about these family diamonds at all.

“You don’t mind her leaving it to Katy?”

“It was her jewelry. She was free to leave it to anyone she chose.”

“Will the rest of your family see it that way?”

“The rest of my family will think you exerted undue influence on Golda in her doddering old age, but she never cared what the rest of them thought. As far as she was concerned, they could go to he—” With a glance at Katy, he bit off the word and substituted a shrug instead. “I have no doubt she made certain her will was airtight, just for their benefit.”

“I was sorry she couldn’t be closer to her family.”

He gave her a wry look as they waited for a car to pass before crossing the street. “You don’t get close to that bunch. Trust me, she was better off without us.”

“You…” Fiona drew a quick breath that smelled of Katy’s baby shampoo and warned herself that getting personal wasn’t a good idea. With Golda dead and her decision whether to tell him about Katy still unmade, the only connection between them was his investigation. It was purely professional, and she’d be a fool to change that in any way.

But she’d been a fool before. “You never talked about your family much.” He’d mentioned that his father lived in New York at the time, his mother in Monaco, that he rarely saw either of them and was an only child. He’d never actually admitted they were wealthy, but she knew from other things he’d talked about—prep schools, summer homes, winter homes, drivers and servants. She’d learned from Golda that his parents were self-centered and not fit to be parents, that the only fights they’d had over Justin weren’t to decide who got to have him but rather who had to take him. Other than a few disparaging comments about the family, as if neither of them were a part, they’d ignored them.

“They’re not exactly people you point to with pride and say, ‘That’s my mom and dad.’ Between them, my parents have been married eleven times and had plans to marry another dozen or so times. All my life one of them has been leaving someone or looking for someone else to eventually leave. My mother is currently married to an earl in London, though that could change any day. He’s about twice her age, rich as God and with any luck, she can force herself to stick around until he dies, leaving her with enough money to attract husband number seven. My father is living in Paris with his latest wife, Monique. She’s twenty-two, she eats nothing but lettuce, and when he brought her to the States on their honeymoon last fall, I went home from work one night and found her naked in my bed. She wanted to be ‘close’ to her stepson.”

Fiona couldn’t resist a smile at his very dry tone of voice, but it faded quickly. With the example his parents had set for him, the wonder wasn’t that he’d gotten cold feet about his relationship with her as soon as he’d left town, but that he’d been able to have a relationship with her at all. She tried to imagine stepparents coming and going with great regularity, or parents who took marriage vows so lightly, or fell in and out of love so easily. Her own parents had been married nearly forty years, and they were still deeply, passionately in love. They were committed to each other, their marriage and their family, and they’d passed on that same sense of commitment to their daughters.