The Forgiven Page 11

  Naomi’s throat tightened when Taryn spoke of her mother. “She must have looked very beautiful.”

  “I guess, but I don’t really remember her.” Taryn became absorbed in her reflection all of a sudden, as if she could conjure Aubree’s image in the mirror. After a moment she said in a strange, subdued tone, “Have you ever had anything terrible happen to you? Something really tragic?”

  Naomi was taken aback by the question. “I lost two children, one at birth and one ten years ago. My daughter, Sadie, disappeared without a trace from a school playground. I never knew what happened to her.”

  Something that might have been pity flickered in Taryn’s brown eyes. “My mother died ten years ago. I guess we have something in common.”

  Naomi’s heart gave a funny little twist as she stared at her daughter. “Yes, I guess we do.”

  Taryn turned to face Naomi on the stool, her gaze very direct. “Do you want to know why I can’t remember my mother?”

  Naomi wasn’t sure that she did. “You were very young when she died.”

  Taryn shook her head. Her eyes were dark and piercing, very dramatic behind the layers of liner and mascara. “I’ve always been told that I was away with my nanny when my mother was killed, but I don’t believe it. I think I was in the house that night. I think I saw the murderer, and I think it was someone I knew. That’s why I blocked all those memories.”

  Naomi gasped slightly. Her hand reached out automatically to grasp Taryn’s wrist. Surprisingly enough, the girl didn’t pull away. “You shouldn’t be telling me this.”

  The dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Why not?”

  “You shouldn’t be telling anyone this,” Naomi said urgently.

  Comprehension flickered across Taryn’s face. Her gaze, if possible, darkened even more. “Because he’s still out there, you mean. The killer.”

  Naomi said nothing, but her mouth went dry with fear. Could it be true? Could the identity of Aubree DeWitt’s killer reside somewhere deep in Taryn’s subconscious?

  If so, she could be in terrible danger.

  “Promise me you won’t say anything about this to anyone else,” Naomi whispered.

  That seemed to snap Taryn’s trance, and she pulled her hand away from Naomi’s grasp, her brown gaze growing cold and resentful. “I’m not going to make you that promise.”

  “Taryn, please...”

  “I don’t even know you,” she snapped. “And besides, I’ve got someone helping me.”

  “Helping you do what?”

  Taryn turned back to gaze into the mirror. “I’m going to find out who killed my mother, no matter what I have to do.”

  * * *

  BOTH NAOMI AND TARYN WERE subdued, their expressions taut, when they returned from the ladies’ room. Something had happened, Alex decided, watching the almost identical expressions on their faces. Words had been exchanged, but neither of them showed any inclination toward enlightening him. They merely lapsed into silence, and the meal progressed at an agonizingly slow pace. He was relieved when Taryn and Naomi both declined dessert, and after paying the check, all three left the restaurant to linger in another uncomfortable silence on the street.

  Alex glanced around. “Taryn and I can give you a lift back to your hotel.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Naomi said hastily, as if she, too, were anxious to part ways. “Thanks, but it’s still early and it isn’t that far.”

  “It’ll only take us a minute—”

  “No, really,” she cut in. “I like to walk.”

  The French Quarter wasn’t a place for a woman to go wandering about alone, but Alex could hardly force her to accept a ride. It was early, and the streets were crowded. As long as she stayed to the main areas, she’d be okay.

  She headed up St. Ann, and he and Taryn continued down Decatur to where he’d left his car. But after he’d pulled away, he kept worrying about Naomi, so much so that he very nearly turned the car around and headed back.

  But that would have been a mistake. Whatever had happened between her and Taryn had obviously been distressing to both of them, and that could work to his advantage. Maybe Naomi would become disillusioned. Maybe she’d come to the conclusion that Taryn wasn’t her daughter after all. Or, at the very least, that it would be too damaging to Taryn’s psyche to make such a claim.

  Sensing his gaze on her, Taryn turned briefly, scowled, then went back to staring out the window.

  “So what did you think?” Alex asked carefully.

  “About what?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know, Taryn. About dinner? About the weather? About Naomi Cross? I’m just trying to make conversation here.”

  Taryn shrugged. “Dinner was lame. The weather is hot and humid, and Naomi Cross is really weird.”

  “Weird?” That wouldn’t have been the adjective he would have used to describe Naomi. But then, he had a feeling she tapped into very different emotions for him than she did for Taryn. “In what way?”

  “I don’t know, just weird. Where did you meet her anyway?”

  Alex paused. “We have a mutual acquaintance.” Technically not a lie, if you considered Taryn.

  She gave him a sidelong stare. “Uncle Foley, right?”

  Alex shot her a surprised look. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because I can see them going for each other. She’s gorgeous, and Uncle Foley’s really hot. Haven’t you ever noticed?”

  Alex scowled at the road. “No, I can’t say as I have.”

  “Well, he is.” Taryn let her head fall back against the seat and sighed. “Too bad he’s so much older than me.”

  “Old enough to be your father,” Alex pointed out.

  “I know, he’s ancient,” she agreed, yawning. “But you have to admit, Naomi is definitely his type.”

  Alex wasn’t about to admit any such thing. Naomi was not at all Foley’s type, and the thought of them together irritated him a great deal more than it should have.

  After a few moments of silence, in which Alex tried to dispel the image of Foley Boudrieux and Naomi Cross that Taryn had injected into his conscious, she said, “Maybe I should warn you about something, Dad.”

  “What?” he asked, more crossly than he meant to.

  “I have a science test tomorrow,” she said in a rush. “And I didn’t get a chance to study before we left. So if my grade goes south this semester, don’t blame me, okay? You’re the one who dragged me out to dinner on a school night.”

  Her grades had been going south ever since they’d moved back to New Orleans, and she’d once been a straight A student. Not for the first time, Alex wondered if he’d done the right thing in bringing her back here. She’d never been so outspoken before, never dressed so outrageously. He was afraid she’d fallen in with a bad crowd, and he wasn’t sure he knew how to put a stop to it, how to get his daughter back.

  “You need to keep your grades up if you’re going to get into a decent college,” he said sternly.

  “I’m not going to Tulane.” She folded her arms over her chest in defiance.

  “Tulane happens to have an excellent premed school.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t think I want to be a doctor anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  She turned to stare out the window. “I’ve been thinking I might want to go to law school instead.”

  That was her grandfather talking, Alex thought as a wave of anger washed over him. Joseph Bellamy had always wanted Aubree to follow in his footsteps, and when she’d dropped out of law school to get married, he’d never forgiven Alex. After Taryn was born, he’d turned his ambition on her, but in London, all Taryn had talked about was being a doctor. Now that had changed. So many things about his daughter had changed.

  Alex sighed wearily as he pulled into their driveway and parked. He and Taryn didn’t say another word as they let themselves in the front door, and Taryn climbed the stairs to her room.

  “Taryn,” he called, when she’d almost reached t
he top.

  She stopped and glanced down at him.

  “Good night, honey.”

  “Good night, Dad.” Then, as if an afterthought, she added, “Dinner was...interesting.”

  He grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “It was at that, wasn’t it?”

  * * *

  THE STREETS WERE STILL CROWDED as Naomi walked back to her hotel, and even a lot of the souvenir shops remained open, selling everything from Mardi Gras masks to visors with plastic crawfish attached. Her hotel was only a short distance away, and as she neared Royal Street, she suddenly remembered the feeling two nights ago of being followed. The back of her neck prickled in fear, but tonight she wasn’t afraid for herself. She was afraid for Taryn. What if she really had seen her mother’s killer?

  A chill swept over Naomi. Aubree DeWitt had been murdered ten years ago. Her killer was never found. Was he still out there somewhere? Was he someone close to Aubree’s family, someone who would know if Taryn started asking the wrong questions?

  Naomi didn’t like this. Not one bit. She’d come to New Orleans to find her daughter, to make sure she was being taken care of. She’d been afraid that Taryn might need her. At worst, that she might be neglected. But Naomi had never once considered that ten years later, Aubree DeWitt’s killer might pose a threat to Taryn.

  Alex had asked her last night what her plans were concerning Taryn. If a DNA test proved that Taryn was her daughter, would she be able to walk away? The answer to his question was more clear to Naomi now than it had ever been. She would never leave New Orleans knowing her daughter could be in danger.

  The phone was ringing when Naomi let herself into her hotel room. She didn’t bother turning on a light. The drapes were open, and moonlight flooded through the sheer curtains into the room. She moved to the phone, and just as she reached out to pick it up, she froze.

  Something was different in the room.

  A subtle change...

  She glanced around, her heart thudding, her breath catching in her throat. Then she realized what was wrong. The room was warm and humid, and at first, Naomi thought the maid must have shut off the air conditioner when she’d come in to turn down the bed. But a faint hum indicated the unit was working. So why was the room so warm?

  Naomi’s gaze lit on the French door that opened onto the balcony. It was ajar, letting in the hot night air. Had she left it open earlier?

  Her throat tightened with fear. What if someone had been in her room while she was out?

  Her gaze darted to the bedroom. An intruder could be hiding anywhere. In the closet, under the bed, behind the shower curtain in the bathroom.

  Run! a voice inside her screamed, but Naomi forced herself to stay calm. Instinct told her that she was alone in the room, and common sense told her that she’d probably left the door open herself.

  A humid breeze blew in, riffling the papers on the cherry-wood desk. Naomi knelt, picking up a picture of Sadie that had fallen to the floor.

  Setting the picture aside, she moved to the French door, peering out onto the balcony before she stepped outside. Then she glanced over the edge. She was five stories up, but it was possible, she supposed, for someone to scale the wall to her balcony. Her room overlooked the street, however, so a prowler would be exposed to any passersby while climbing up to her room.

  Could someone have entered her suite through the front door, and then left by way of the balcony when he heard her come in? Naomi knew that she hadn’t been so careless as to leave the door to the hallway unlocked, but she also knew that even a petty thief could be inside a locked hotel room in a matter of seconds.

  This is ridiculous, she told herself sternly. She was letting her imagination run away with her, just as she had the other night when she’d thought someone was following her.

  Shivering, Naomi walked back inside the room and closed the door. But when she tried to lock the door, the latch seemed to catch on something. That must have been what happened, Naomi thought in relief. She had closed the door earlier, but the lock hadn’t caught and the breeze had blown it ajar.

  As if to prove her point, the door edged open in the breeze, and the picture of Sadie lifted off the desk and fell to the floor once again. It almost seemed symbolic somehow, Naomi thought with a shiver.

  The phone had stopped ringing some time ago, but now it started again, and the strident sound caused Naomi to jump. She hesitated for a moment before walking over to the desk and lifting the receiver to her ear.

  “Naomi? Are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” she said breathlessly, recognizing Alex’s deep voice.

  “Are you okay? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I’m sorry. I...just got in.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he insisted. “You sound...strange.”

  Her gaze fell on Sadie’s picture, and she clutched the receiver tighter. “I’m fine.”

  There was a slight hesitation, then Alex said in an odd voice, “I need to see you.”

  The urgency in his tone made Naomi’s blood go cold. “Is it Taryn? Has something happened—”

  “Taryn’s fine,” he cut in. “She’s home, hopefully in bed. I need to talk to you.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes. I’m five minutes from your hotel.”

  Her gaze darted to the French door. Was it possible...?

  No, it couldn’t be. He’d had Taryn with him when they’d left the restaurant. He wouldn’t have had time to take her home and then drive back here, break into her hotel room and leave—all in the time it took her to walk back here. It wasn’t possible, and she wanted to believe he wasn’t capable. But the truth was, she had no idea what Alex might do if he felt desperate. Or threatened.

  Naomi said nervously, “It’s late, and I’m really tired.”

  “This won’t take long.” Another pause. “It’s important.”

  His voice was edged with an undercurrent that bothered Naomi, but she found herself agreeing to meet him in spite of her reservations. “All right,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  Naomi hung up, uneasiness gripping her again. Why did Alex want to see her so urgently? To get her out of her hotel room so that someone else could come back in and finish what they’d started earlier?

  She had nothing of value in the suite, and she’d been up-front with Alex about everything. If he’d hired someone to break into her room, then he was wasting his time and money.

  What about Joseph Bellamy?

  Possible, Naomi conceded, but his actions yesterday afternoon led her to believe that he was more inclined to the direct approach. But just to be on the safe side, Naomi carried a chair over to the French door and propped it beneath the handle. Not exactly a fail-safe maneuver, but hopefully it would do until she could get someone up here tomorrow to fix the lock.

  Before she left the room, Naomi took a moment to change out of the dress and heels she’d worn at dinner to black slacks, sandals and a soft pink top. Clothes that were not only more comfortable, but easier to run in, she thought wryly.

  Like the night before, Alex was already on the street, waiting for her when she walked outside.

  She pointed to the restaurant across the street. “Do you want to go have a drink?”

  He looked tall and mysterious in the moonlight. Very handsome and very masculine. His gaze slipped over her as easily and familiar as a caress. “Could we just walk for a while?”

  She nodded, and they started down the street. Though it was almost ten by now, there was still a group of tourists waiting to get into Brennan’s, and Alex took her elbow to steer her around the noisy throng.

  The contact sent a shiver up Naomi’s spine. As they walked along in silence, she became aware of his gaze on her from time to time. Naomi wondered why he’d been so desperate to see her, because he seemed in no hurry now to unburden himself. For the moment, he appeared content to stroll along beside her, stopping occasionally to look into the window of one of the elite shops
lining Royal Street.

  To passersby, they must have seemed like any other couple—like lovers, Naomi thought with a quickening of her pulse—out for an intimate stroll in one of the most romantic, mysterious cities in the world.

  The ambiance of the Quarter seemed to wrap around them, cocoon them. The narrow streets and overhanging balconies, trimmed with wrought-iron grillwork and lush trailing ferns, made it seem as if they were in some strange, exotic land. Behind lacy iron gates, Naomi could hear the trickle of fountains, the whisper of old secrets.

  “Why did you want to see me?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  They stopped in front of a shop, and Alex stared broodingly in the window, but Naomi didn’t think he was admiring the wares. “You seemed upset earlier at the restaurant. I wondered why.”

  She shrugged. “I wasn’t upset.”

  “Then why did you get up from the table so abruptly when I mentioned Taryn’s hobby? And when you both came back from the ladies’ room, I had a feeling something had happened.” He turned to stare at her. Light from the street flickered over his features, making him seem at once familiar and strange. “Was Taryn rude to you?”

  His question surprised her. “No. Why would you ask that?”

  His expression turned grim. “Like I told you last night, she’s going through a difficult time right now. She can sometimes be unpredictable.”

  “I’m going to find out who killed my mother, no matter what I have to do.”

  “She wasn’t rude to me, Alex. And anyway, even if she was, I could handle it.”

  One dark eyebrow lifted slightly. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. You’ve never had to deal with a moody teenager.”

  “Through no fault of my own.”

  He said abruptly, “Naomi, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  His dark gaze made her shiver, and she turned to stare into the shop window. Inside, an array of blue gemstones glittered against midnight velvet. Naomi glanced up at the wooden shingle over the doorway. Blue Heaven.

  “It’s amazing some of these places stay in business,” Alex murmured.