A Man of Secrets Page 10
“Yes, you have,” Natalie corrected him. “When you were only a year old. You fell off the dining-room table. How you managed to get up there, I never quite figured out.”
Her mother laughed. “I remember you writing to me about that. And then there was the time when he was three, and your father and I were home that one summer. Dad took him to a company softball game. Poor little thing got hit right in the eye with a foul ball. Dad felt terrible.”
“How come I don’t remember any of this?” Kyle demanded.
“Because you were too small,” Natalie said.
“So why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know it was something you’d want to know. Silly me, I didn’t realize black eyes were so important.”
“Sure, they are,” Spence said. “Just like bikes without training wheels and real baseball bats, not plastic ones, and really gross skinned knees. Right?”
Kyle nodded, terribly pleased that someone understood him, and that that someone was a man. Male bonding was a concept Natalie tried not to think about too much. She was a single mother raising her son the best way she knew how. Surely she couldn’t be faulted for that.
But Kyle missed having a man in his life. Natalie had always known that, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. Anthony hadn’t been in the picture until a few weeks before he died, and even then, only at his own convenience. Natalie’s father had been out of the country off and on for the last seven years or so, and there hadn’t been any other men in her life to speak of. No wonder Kyle seemed so taken with Spence.
Or at least, that was what Natalie told herself. She couldn’t let herself believe it was anything more—that Kyle and Spence shared any kind of bond, other than a last name and a somewhat vague physical resemblance. They both had the Bishop eyes. But then, so had Anthony.
Natalie glanced down at her son, who was contentedly playing with his bear. Spence and her mother had moved away from the bed and were talking in low tones. Natalie heard her mother say, “…needs to get out of here for a while. Would you mind taking her out to dinner?”
Natalie was horrified. Her mother was arranging for her to spend time with a Bishop. Spencer Bishop. She was actually asking him to take her poor, pitiful daughter out to dinner.
Heat crept up her neck and spread across her face. What was her mother thinking? But, of course, she knew nothing of Spence and Natalie’s background, their brief interlude. She only knew that he was Anthony’s brother and that he had bailed her daughter out of jail. Because of the latter, Joy seemed perfectly willing to overlook the former.
But Natalie wasn’t.
She said, “I’m fine, Mom. I don’t want to leave right now.”
But her mother had that look on her face—the one that clearly said, I’m your mother. I know best, so don’t argue.
“You’ve been cooped up in this hospital room all afternoon and evening, and this morning you were cooped up at home. Before that you were in that awful place—” She stopped herself, staring down at Kyle’s wide green eyes, bright and alert and taking in her every word. “All I’m saying is that a little fresh air and a hot meal would do you a world of good.”
Before Natalie could offer another protest, Spence said, “She’s right. It would do you good to get out for a while.”
Natalie had no desire to spend the evening with Spencer Bishop, but unfortunately, everyone seemed to be conspiring against her. Even her own son. “I don’t mind, Mom. Honest. Gram can tell me a story while you’re gone.”
“Ah, yes,” his grandmother said, coming to stand beside Kyle’s bed. “I believe we did leave our starship captain stranded on that dismal little planet in the Chymmyrian galaxy, didn’t we?”
Kyle nodded eagerly. “He lost his phaser.”
“And his communicator,” his grandmother said. “Well, things did, indeed, look dire for Captain Killian….”
Out in the hall, Natalie hesitated, gazing up at Spence. “Look…you really don’t have to be railroaded into doing this. I can just go down to the cafeteria and grab a bite to eat.”
“I’d really like to take you to dinner.”
“Why? So you can grill me some more?” She had no delusions about his intentions.
His eyes darkened for a moment at her deliberate provocation. Then he shrugged and said, “No. So we can talk. That’s something you and I have never done much of, is it, Natalie?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Natalie’s trepidation steadily mounted as Spence headed downtown, found a public parking area, and pulled his car into a space. He cut the engine and turned to her, his arm resting lightly along the back of her seat. Natalie didn’t know why, but she was acutely aware of his hand so close to her hair, of having his face mere inches from hers in the small confines of the car.
In the light from the street, she could see his eyes—dark and shadowy—studying her intently and she grew even more nervous. He said something, and the movement of his lips drew her gaze like a moth to flame, irresistibly attracted to danger.
“So you don’t mind?” he was saying.
“Mind?” Reluctantly she lifted her gaze to meet his questioning eyes.
“That I brought you here.”
She shrugged. “Why should I mind? I love the Riverwalk. My shop’s located here.”
“I know.”
“But how—”
“I was there the night Anthony was murdered,” he said and got out of the car.
Natalie had no choice but to follow. She joined him at the top of the steps, and together they descended to the river level. It was still fairly early and the stores were buzzing with shoppers, the restaurants and bistros spilling over with music and laughter.
Luminarias glowed softly along the sidewalks, while thousands and thousands of colored lights hung in streamers from the huge trees lining the river. Against the dark green surface of the water, the glistening lights sparkled like jewels.
It was a fairyland, a place of enchantment, and Natalie suddenly felt as though she had stepped through a wardrobe into a world where everything might not be as it seemed. Where danger and darkness might well be disguised by the beauty and magic of the moment.
Spence took her elbow and guided her through the maze of tables hugging the banks of the river, and the throng of tourists and revelers strolling along the sidewalk. Finally he stopped in front of her own building, and Natalie’s eyes were drawn upward.
On the top level, light shone from Blanche’s windows proclaiming her shop open for business, while on the bottom level, Delmontico’s drew a brisk dinner crowd. But in between, on the second level, the windows of Silver Bells remained ominously dark, and although she couldn’t see it, Natalie knew the yellow police tape stamped “Crime Scene” would still be barricading her door. She turned away, saddened by the sight and the memories.
“I’ve heard good things about this restaurant,” Spence said. “But if you don’t want to stay, we can go somewhere else.”
“No, it’s fine.” Natalie gazed around, looking everywhere but at the second story. She couldn’t avoid it forever, though. This moment was bound to happen, and she might as well get it over with.
Sooner or later, she would have to come back here and reopen her shop. She would have to find a way to deal with the memories of that night and move on, because she still had a business to run, she still had a child to support, and she still had a life to live. She couldn’t hide in Narnia forever.
Frank Delmontico saw them and wove his way through the tables. He was not a tall man—five seven or so, only a couple of inches taller than Natalie. But he was toughly built, his arms and shoulders powerful looking beneath the loose white shirt he wore. His black hair was slicked straight back, highlighting his dark, fathomless eyes and his swarthy complexion.
When Natalie introduced him to Spence, something flashed in those dark eyes, a wariness that vanished almost instantly. Then he turned on his heel and led them to a candlelit table near the river.
“Would you rather eat inside?” Spence asked.
“No, I like it out here. I love looking at all the lights. It’s so beautiful. I never get tired of this place. Every season brings its own magic.”
“I’ve missed San Antonio,” Spence said unexpectedly, after a waiter had come by to take their drink order. “When I left Washington, it was bitterly cold and pouring rain. Very depressing.”
“No snow?”
“Not yet, but there were predictions for Christmas.”
Natalie’s gaze scanned the water, fastened on a barge outlined in lights carrying a group of loud tourists downriver. “As much as I love this warm weather, sometimes I think it would be nice to have snow for the holidays. I’ve never had a white Christmas.”
“In San Antonio that would take a miracle.”
“I’m not sure I believe in miracles anymore,” Natalie said softly, her voice full of regret.
“I don’t think I ever did. Miracles are for fairy tales and dreams. In the real world, if you want something badly enough, you have to make it happen. You can’t just sit around waiting for it to snow.”
She glanced up sharply. His eyes, dark and seductive, stared back at her, and Natalie felt something tremble inside her. “But some things are beyond our control.”
“And some things aren’t.” He leaned toward her across the table. Candlelight flashed in his eyes. “Do you want to find out what really happened to Anthony?”
She looked at him in shock. “Of course, I do. But I thought you were convinced…of my guilt.”
“Do you really think I would have bailed you out of jail if I thought you killed my brother?”
The breeze picked up and the candle flickered wildly between them. His eyes deepened mysteriously. What was he really saying? Natalie wondered. Did he really believe in her innocence? Or, as before, years ago, was he merely telling her what he knew she wanted to hear? Was he playing on her emotions to get what he wanted?
The question was, what exactly did he want this time?
“What did you have in mind?” Natalie asked suspiciously.
“I’d like to help you get to the bottom of this mystery. I’d like to help you find the real killer.”
“I never said I was looking for the killer,” she said quickly, her heart bouncing off the wall of her chest. She wasn’t a detective, for God’s sake.
Spence sat back in his chair and studied the candle flame. “I’ve had some experience in dealing with local law enforcement. Once they have their suspect in custody, their investigation is pretty much over.”
“Are you saying that since they believe I’m guilty, they won’t even look for anyone else?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Natalie.”
“Then I could go to jail,” she whispered in horror. “I could be convicted of a crime I didn’t commit.”
“It’s possible. A lot of innocent people are in prison. More than you imagine.”
Images flashed through her mind. Dark, dreary cells. Endless hours crawling by. And the loneliness, the sheer helplessness…
Natalie suddenly felt sick at her stomach. “Why would you want to help me?”
Spence lifted the drink the waiter put in front of him. “Anthony was my brother. We had our differences, but he was still my brother. My own flesh and blood. And somewhere out there, his killer roams free. Anthony may not be his last victim.”
Cooperate, and no one else has to get hurt.
“How do you know it’s a man?” Natalie asked. “Anthony had a lot of enemies. Many of them were probably women.” She was thinking of one in particular. He’d been about to divorce Melinda and not give her a cent. Texas was a community-property state, but Natalie knew her ex-husband had been expert in finding ways around the law when it suited him.
“Who, specifically, are you talking about?”
“Kyle overheard Anthony telling Melinda he wanted a divorce. He was going to cut her off without a penny.”
Spence’s brows rose. “Kyle said this?”
Natalie nodded. “In fact, he recorded their conversation.”
This seemed to interest Spence a great deal. He leaned forward again. “Does he still have the tape?”
“I don’t know. He claims to have lost the recorder.”
“Claims?”
Natalie toyed with her own drink, a glass of red wine. “Kyle has a habit of hiding things—for safekeeping, he says—then forgetting where he put them.”
“I’d like to talk to him,” Spence said.
“Not now. He’s been through too much. Maybe in a few days—”
“In a few days, the trail will only grow colder. We have to move fast.”
He was moving fast. Too fast to suit Natalie. She hadn’t agreed to work with him. She still wasn’t sure she even trusted him.
“Kyle doesn’t know anything about the murder,” she said angrily. “He’s just a little boy.”
“I would never say or do anything to hurt him.”
Their eyes met over the candle flame. Natalie wanted to deny the quiver in her stomach, the shiver of nerves along her spine, but she couldn’t. Not with the way he was suddenly looking at her.
She forced her gaze away. “I thought we came here to eat,” she said. “So let’s order. I need to get back to the hospital.”
For the next several minutes, after they’d placed their orders and waited for their food to arrive, they turned their talk from murder. Natalie asked him about his work in Washington, and he asked her about her shop.
“A Christmas store,” he said. “That suits you.”
Natalie laughed softly. “You might even say it was inevitable, since I was born on Christmas Eve.”
“I didn’t know that.”
There were a lot of things about her he didn’t know. It was ironic, she thought. He’d been her lover, and yet he didn’t even know the date of her birth. He hadn’t even asked. Hadn’t cared enough, she realized now.
“My birthday’s in November,” he commented, making small talk.
“November 16th,” she said, before thinking.
“So you remembered.” His gaze met hers.
She tried to laugh lightly. “I remember that you’re a Scorpio. Dark, brooding, intense. And secretive,” she couldn’t resist adding. “Anthony was a Gemini. Dual personalities.”
“So what are you?”
“Capricorn. Impulsive. Easily fooled.”
“And Kyle?”
Natalie studied her wineglass. “A Leo. Powerful, commanding, kinglike. He loves that one.”
“When is his birthday?”
Natalie glanced up. “You…don’t know?”
“I never asked.”
Never cared enough to, she thought again. The knowledge hurt her, although she knew it shouldn’t. Spence hadn’t married his fiancée, the woman Anthony had shown her in the picture, and Natalie had never asked why. She liked to think it was because she hadn’t cared enough, either.
“I didn’t keep in touch with my family back then,” Spence was saying. “In fact, two days ago, when I went over to tell my mother that Anthony was dead, was the first time I’d talked to her in years.”
Just then, the waiter brought their dinners, and Natalie was saved from having to respond. She thought about Spence’s estrangement from his family. In the year that Anthony and Natalie had been married, she hadn’t been around Irene Bishop that much. The older woman’s open disapproval was like the thrust of a knife blade. Natalie had avoided her whenever possible, but even during the few brief audiences Irene had granted to her, Natalie had discerned very quickly that Anthony was the favorite, and that the worth of Irene’s other children was measured by their devotion to him.
In spite of herself, Natalie felt a stab of sympathy for Spence. Her own parents had adored her from the moment she was born, and they’d
let her know every day of her life how wonderful she was, what a precious gift she was to them.
Having been surrounded by their love, Natalie couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Spence, growing up in that cold mausoleum of a home with an even colder mother, a father who ignored him, and a sister and brother who despised him.
Unlike her own magical youth, Spence’s childhood had been a cold, barren wasteland—a place where it was always winter but never Christmas.
They finished eating in silence. While Spence settled the check, Natalie got up and walked to the water’s edge, staring at the dazzling reflection of lights. Sensing a presence behind her, she turned to find Frank Delmontico watching her.
Even though she and Blanche had eaten here often, Frank had always kept his distance, treating them as he would any other customers, always careful to foster nothing more than a nodding acquaintance. His intense scrutiny now made her uneasy. She wondered if he, like everyone else, was now looking at her in a new light, thinking that all these years he’d been located downstairs from a cold-blooded killer.
Rather than turning away when he saw that she’d caught him staring, he walked over to her. The full sleeves of his white shirt billowed softly in the breeze.
He came right to the point. “That man with you. He’s a cop, right?”
“FBI,” Natalie said, glancing back at their table.
Frank’s eyes darkened. “Why is a federal agent working on a simple murder case?”
Natalie had no idea why Frank Delmontico had taken such a sudden interest in her, but she saw no harm in answering him. She shrugged and said, “He’s not officially on the case. Anthony Bishop was his brother.”
Frank showed not the slightest hint of surprise. He turned and his gaze followed Natalie’s to their table, where Spence waited for his credit card to be returned. He looked up and his gaze met Natalie’s briefly before narrowing on Frank.
“I can see the resemblance,” Frank muttered. He shook his head, turning away. “Anthony Bishop’s brother an FBI agent. Who would have thought that?”