The Forgiven Page 9

  He wanted to go up and talk to Taryn, try to make things right between them, but he didn’t know how. Everything he said lately was the wrong thing, and each confrontation drove her a little farther away from him.

  He didn’t understand what had happened. Except for those first few months following her mother’s death, Taryn had been a happy child. Then, when he’d been transferred back to New Orleans, everything had changed. Taryn had never been especially curious about her mother, but suddenly, in the past few months, Aubree had become this beautiful, mysterious entity who seemed bent on destroying the fragile relationship Alex had worked so hard to build with their daughter.

  It wasn’t Aubree’s fault, of course, although sometimes Alex had the notion that if she could see them now, she’d be applauding her father’s efforts to turn Taryn against him. No, if anyone was at fault for Taryn’s current confusion, it was Alex. He had no one but himself to blame for the influence Joseph Bellamy had over her. It all came back to those first few years when Alex had been AWOL from his daughter’s life.

  He’d had a misguided sense of responsibility back then, and nothing he could do now would make up for those years. But he did love his daughter, more than anything in this world. He couldn’t lose her now. He couldn’t.

  A soft knock on his door drew his attention, and he turned his chair, hoping against hope it might be Taryn. That she would come running to him the way she had when she was little and throw her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to be bad. Please don’t be mad at me.”

  As if he ever could be, when she’d looked up at him with those big brown eyes set in that solemn little face.

  It seemed like forever since she’d called him Daddy.

  “Come in,” he called.

  The door opened, and Louise Wheeler stuck her head around the door. She was an older woman, well into her fifties, with a tall, whip-thin body she carried ramrod straight, and a stern countenance that was rarely softened by a smile. She was not an especially easy person to be around, but she had her good points. She adored Taryn, and that was really all that mattered to Alex.

  He remembered Aubree telling him once that Louise had had a difficult life before she’d come to live with the Bellamys. Her mother had died, her father had been in prison and she and her siblings had been left to the streets. She’d been in and out of trouble for years, and might have done some serious prison time herself if Joseph Bellamy hadn’t seen something in her that no one else had.

  He’d successfully defended her, pro bono, on a shoplifting charge, and then he’d taken her home, cleaned her up, given her a job and a place to live. She’d done odd jobs around the house at first, but then, after the first Mrs. Bellamy died, she’d become Aubree’s nanny. The two were devoted to each other, and Louise was the only person Alex knew that Aubree had ever felt a smidgen of loyalty to. When they’d moved into the house in Metairie, a cramped bungalow barely big enough for the two of them, Aubree had insisted that Louise come to work for them.

  “Are you crazy?” he’d asked her. “We can’t afford a housekeeper on my salary.”

  “You don’t expect me to leave her in that house with Gwen, do you? You know she can’t stand Louise. She’ll kick her out the moment my back’s turned, and Louise has nowhere else to go. She’s scared to death she’ll end up back on the streets.”

  That hadn’t happened, of course. Joseph had interceded on Aubree’s behalf, as he always did, and Louise had remained safely ensconced in the mansion on River Road until Aubree had left Metairie for the house off St. Charles.

  “Mr. DeWitt?” She said his name softly, calling him gently out of his reverie. She held a manila envelope in her hand. “This just came for you.”

  “This late?” Alex said in surprise.

  “It came by messenger service.” She walked across the room and placed the envelope on his desk, hesitating as if there was something else on her mind.

  Alex glanced up. “Something bothering you, Louise?”

  “I was wondering if I should take some dessert up to Taryn.”

  “She had a chance to eat earlier.”

  Louise’s thin lips almost disappeared in displeasure. “As you wish.” She turned to leave.

  “Louise?”

  “Yes?” She paused at door.

  Alex sat back in his chair and regarded the woman carefully. They seldom spoke of Aubree. It was the only topic he knew of that could elicit even a flicker of emotion in the woman’s stoic features. It was also a topic upon which Alex knew they disagreed. Louise had adored Aubree. Alex’s feelings toward his wife had been...much more complicated.

  “Do you have any idea what Aubree was doing in Eden, Mississippi, the night Taryn was born?”

  She blinked, as if she couldn’t comprehend his question.

  “I know she was driving from New Orleans to Memphis,” Alex explained. “I know she was supposedly going to visit a friend of hers in Germantown. But why did she leave so suddenly? Why did she decide to take a road trip when she knew the baby could come at any time? I’ve wondered about that for years. You were closer to her than anyone, Louise. Can you explain it?”

  She opened her mouth, but at first nothing came out. Then she said in a hushed tone, “I’m not one to repeat things I see and hear. Not in the house where I work.”

  Alex nodded. “I appreciate that. And I understand why you still feel a sense of loyalty to Aubree. She was good to you. She probably treated you better than she treated anyone in the world, other than Taryn.”

  A look of pain flashed across Louise’s stern features, and she glanced away.

  “I’m not asking you to betray her memory,” Alex persisted. “I just want to know why she was in Eden, Mississippi, that night. It’s...important.”

  Louise’s gaze came back to settle on him. She seemed calm now, in control of her emotions. “I can’t say why she was in Eden, but I can tell you why she left New Orleans. It was Mrs. Bellamy’s doing.”

  “Gwen?”

  Louise nodded. “They had a bad fight. I never heard such screaming. Mrs. Bellamy said she’d found out some terrible things about Aubree, and as soon as she told Mr. Bellamy, he’d see that she wasn’t the angel he’d always thought her. Aubree couldn’t stand the thought of her father turning against her. She had to get away because she couldn’t face him. I tried to stop her, but you remember how she was when she set her mind to something.”

  Alex remembered only too well. He also remembered the lingering animosity between Aubree and her stepmother. The two of them were always at each other’s throats about something, but then, Aubree had inspired strong sentiments in a lot of people.

  “Do you have any idea what Gwen was threatening her with?”

  “No,” Louise said coolly, in a voice that seemed to hint she wouldn’t tell him if she did. “Will there be anything else?”

  “No, that’s all.” But when Louise would have turned toward the door again, Alex once more called her back. “Go ahead and take Taryn up a piece of that red velvet cake you made for dinner. I know it’s her favorite.”

  Louise nodded, but her expression never changed. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything? More coffee?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “I’ll say good-night, then.”

  “Good night, Louise.” After she’d left, Alex glanced down at the envelope on his desk, certain someone burning the midnight oil at Ventura had decided some matter of extreme urgency couldn’t wait until morning. But there was no return address on the envelope, which was curious.

  If it hadn’t originated at Ventura, Alex couldn’t imagine who would go to the trouble and expense to have a letter delivered to his home this time of night.

  Suddenly he was filled with a terrible dread. Could these be legal papers served by the Bellamys? A summons to appear in court?

  With grim resolve, he sliced open the flap with a letter opener and extracted the contents.

  For the longest moment, he st
ared at the picture of the little girl, recognizing every feature, right down to the tiny dimple at the right corner of her mouth. The photograph was very much like the one of Taryn at five years old that he carried in his wallet. It could have been Taryn except for the caption at the bottom that asked the terrible question: Have you seen this child?

  This was a picture of a child who had been missing for ten years. A little girl who looked enough like Taryn to be her identical twin. There were differences, of course, but the similarities were striking.

  This was a picture of Sadie Cross, Naomi’s long-lost daughter.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Like the lobby of the Spencer, the bathroom in Naomi’s suite reminded her of another era, and after a long, tiring—not to mention traumatic—day, she was anxious to try out the huge claw-footed bathtub. Adding a generous dollop of lavender bath oil supplied, along with a host of other toiletries, by the hotel, she tested the water with her toe. She was just getting ready to climb in when the phone rang. Turning off the taps, she went out into the bedroom to answer it.

  “This is Alex DeWitt,” the deep voice informed her.

  Naomi immediately drew the fluffy white bathrobe more tightly around her. “I...wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

  He paused for such a long time that Naomi wondered if he’d hung up on her. Then he said in a toneless voice, “We need to talk.”

  Naomi clutched the lapels of her bathrobe. “When? Where?”

  “As soon as possible. Tonight.”

  She glanced around nervously. Not here in her suite, she thought. As it was, his powerful presence from the night before seemed to linger in the sitting room, on the balcony. The first thing on Naomi’s mind when she’d awakened that morning was the way he’d looked at her before he left. The darkness of his eyes. The way his voice seemed to vibrate with warning.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think. “There’s a small restaurant across the street from my hotel. I don’t remember the name, but it’s never very crowded.”

  “I’ll find it. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”

  After hanging up, Naomi went into the bathroom and pulled the plug on her bathwater. She barely had time for a quick shower, but she wasn’t about to show up for her meeting with Alex DeWitt looking bedraggled and at her worst. She stood under the shower for several long minutes, letting the hot water brace her, and then, after she climbed out, she even took the time to dry her short hair and apply a little makeup. By the time she’d dressed in jeans, sandals and a cotton shirt, Naomi felt a little better. After all, what did she have to fear from Alex DeWitt? He was the one who had her child. He was the one who should be afraid of her!

  Still, as she walked the short distance to the restaurant, Naomi knew her courage was false, and that she was badly deluding herself if she didn’t admit that Alex still had the upper hand. Without a DNA test, she couldn’t prove Taryn was her daughter, and without evidence that her baby had been stolen from the hospital fifteen years ago, she would have a hard time convincing a judge to compel such a test.

  But Taryn was her daughter. Naomi never doubted that for a moment. If anything, her encounter with Joseph Bellamy this afternoon had convinced her even more. A man in his position didn’t make threats unless he was worried.

  Had he been the one who’d convinced Willa Banks to take Naomi’s baby? Had he been so concerned about creating a Bellamy dynasty that he’d been willing to steal another woman’s child? Or had his motive been less selfish than that? Had he wanted to save his daughter the heartbreak and grief of losing her baby?

  Of course, there was no proof that Joseph Bellamy had even been in Eden that night. Just like there was no real proof that Naomi’s baby had been stolen. But she knew the truth, just the same.

  Alex was waiting for her when she arrived at the restaurant. He’d been pacing up and down the sidewalk in front, but the moment he spotted her, he stopped, his dark gaze marking her progress as she approached him.

  “Thanks for agreeing to meet me,” he said.

  She nodded. “We have a lot to discuss.”

  Anger flickered in his eyes and he opened his mouth as if to deny her claim, but instead, he tore his gaze away, scanning the street for a moment before he said, “Let’s go inside and get a table. I could use a drink.”

  He asked the hostess to seat them on the patio, a tiny, shadowy area protected from the street by weathered brick walls. A fountain trickled somewhere nearby, and the air smelled lush and heavy with jasmine. The garden was a tiny, lovely oasis, one of dozens of such hidden places in the Quarter.

  Even though the night was warm and balmy, only one other couple occupied the terrace, but they were engrossed in each other, taking no notice as Alex and Naomi were seated at a candlelit table nearby.

  A waiter hovered, anxious to take their drink orders. Naomi’s hair stirred in a mild breeze, and she carelessly shoved it behind her ears. “I’ll have an iced tea,” she told the waiter.

  “Bourbon,” Alex said. After the waiter left, he leaned slightly toward Naomi, his dark eyes intense in the candlelight. “Why did you send me that picture?”

  “Because I didn’t know how else to convince you. I don’t know what Taryn looked like at five years old, but I’m willing to bet she resembled the picture I sent you a great deal.”

  His expression hardened, but he waited until their drinks were placed on the table before he spoke again. “What is it you expect to come of all this, Naomi?”

  It was the first time he’d used her first name, and a thrill shot through her. The way he said it, with the flicker of candlelight reflected in his eyes...

  Under other circumstances, the tiny garden, the candlelight, the cozy table, could have been a very romantic setting. But these were not ordinary circumstances, and Alex DeWitt was certainly no ordinary man. He was the legal father of the child Naomi had given birth to. He was a man whose past seemed to linger in the shadowy depths of his eyes, in the stubborn set of his mouth and chin. He was a man who, some thought, might have killed his wife, and whether he had or not, the question remained as to why people who knew him had been willing to believe him capable of murder.

  Naomi shuddered as the breeze picked up. “I told you last night. I want a DNA test.”

  “And then?”

  She frowned. When she said nothing, he leaned toward her, the candlelight dancing wildly in his eyes. “What then, Naomi? You said you had no intention of trying to take my daughter away from me, but what if the DNA test proves you gave birth to her? Do you really think you could just walk away from her?”

  “You asked me that last night.”

  “And you didn’t answer. Tell me now. If you were to learn, without a doubt, that you gave birth to Taryn, could you walk away from her?”

  Naomi closed her eyes briefly. “No,” she whispered. “I couldn’t.”

  Alex sat back in his chair, his gaze dark and brooding. “I thought not. So we’re back to my original question. What is it you want from me?”

  “I don’t know,” she said almost angrily. “I don’t have all the answers. All I know is that I had to come here. I had to find her. After that—”

  “You could destroy her,” he said with devastating simplicity.

  “Taryn is all that I have left of Aubree. If you try to take that away from me, I will destroy you.”

  The memory sent a shiver coursing through Naomi. “I would never hurt her. You have to know that.”

  “Not on purpose. I believe that.” Alex paused, taking a long sip of his drink.

  It might have been her imagination, but Naomi thought his hand trembled slightly in the candlelight.

  “Taryn’s at a difficult stage in her life. She’s had a hard time adjusting to being back in the States, back in New Orleans. Her grandfather—”

  He broke off, his voice turning bitter, and Naomi glanced up quickly. “What about her grandfather?”

  A mask came over his expression, as if to
hide his true feelings. “He’s exerting an influence over Taryn that I’m not convinced is healthy.”

  “But she is her mother’s daughter, and someday she’ll fulfill the destiny that Aubree never got the chance to fulfill.” Naomi’s frown deepened. “What kind of influence?”

  Alex took another long drink of his bourbon, as if he needed to fortify his resolve. “Taryn’s mother and I were estranged when she died. I worked overseas when Taryn was young, and she didn’t really know me when I came back to New Orleans. She was traumatized after Aubree’s death, and I was very worried about her when I took her back to London with me. But with the help of a very good child therapist, she got through the worst of it, and her nightmares gradually faded. We were eventually able to forge a strong bond, but it took a long time and a lot of work. I don’t think it would have been possible at all if we’d stayed here. Joseph Bellamy wanted to raise her himself. For numerous reasons, I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

  Thank goodness, Naomi thought. She couldn’t imagine a more miserable childhood than to be burdened by the zealous expectations of an overbearing father. Or in Taryn’s case, grandfather. She couldn’t imagine a worse role model than Joseph Bellamy.

  A chill slipped over her as their gazes met. For a moment, it seemed as if they were perfectly attuned to each other’s thoughts and that, in this one instance, they shared a common goal—to protect Taryn from Joseph Bellamy’s ambition.

  “Those years in London were the happiest of my life, and I think, for the most part, Taryn was happy as well. But then I was transferred back to New Orleans, and everything changed.”

  “Her grandfather still wants her.”

  Alex’s gaze on her narrowed suspiciously. “How did you know that?”

  Naomi hesitated. “Because I met Joseph Bellamy this afternoon.”

  His shocked gaze met hers over the candle flame. “What? Where?”

  Naomi hesitated again, not certain she wanted to admit to Alex that she’d been waiting outside Taryn’s school to catch a glimpse of her. She shrugged. “I think he might have been following me. I have no idea how he even knew about me, but he...well, let’s just say, he forced a meeting.”