Bed of Lies (25 page)

“
It'll be okay
,” he mouthed.

She nodded, though she still looked nervous.

“Hello?” a man answered. Booming music played in the background.

When Evan heard Brad's voice, his jaw tightened. He hadn't spoken to Brad in years, not since he was engaged to Leila. Whenever she had conversations with her ex-husband, which often would devolve into arguments, Evan would make it a habit to be out of the room. He didn't want to talk or listen to what that man had to say. He had never liked him, from the moment Leila had introduced him during a summer break from college. Time hadn't lessened Evan's dislike for Bradley Hawkins at all.

“Hey, Lee,” Brad said, shouting over the music, “I'm driving and traffic is a real bitch. Can you call me back later?”

“No, Brad, I can't call you back,” Leila said. “I need to talk to you
now.
”

“If this is about your child support, I told you my check is going to be a little late this month since I'm short on cash. It's not like you need the fucking money anyway!” A car horn suddenly blared, making Evan wince. “Hey, watch it! Did you get your goddamn driver's license yesterday?” Brad yelled.

“This isn't about the check!” she shouted with annoyance, then closed her eyes. “Look, there's no easy way to say this. But . . . but Izzy is missing.”

The music faded a little like Brad had turned down the volume. “She's missing, huh?”

Evan squinted, confused by Brad's tone. The man didn't sound alarmed or the least bit surprised to hear the news.

“What do you mean, she's missing?” Brad asked, finally sounding like a real father whose child had disappeared.

“I mean exactly what I said. Izzy . . . well, she went to school and didn't come home. They can't find her and we can't, either. She just . . . just disappeared. And we need your—”

“Oh, good job, Lee! Were you so busy sucking your sugar daddy's dick that you couldn't be bothered with watching over our daughter?”

The deputy, who had been scribbling onto a notepad, suddenly stopped mid–pen stroke. His eyes widened in astonishment. Diane sat upright in her chair, looking furious. Evan's fist clenched in barely controlled rage. Meanwhile Leila bit down hard on her bottom lip and pushed back her shoulders, putting on the mask of calm.

“Please don't start with me, Brad. I just called you to see if you could help us find Izzy, not to be abused.”

“Abused?
Oh Lee, baby, as far as I'm concerned, I'm going easy on you! You lost our goddamn daughter, you dumb b—”

“The police are here,” she said quickly, trying to cut him off before he started another embarrassing tirade. “They're listening to our conversation, Brad. Please . . . we need your help. Did Izzy say anything to you the last time you spoke to her? Did she mention anything about running away?”

“Yeah, in fact, she mentioned that she hated you and hated living with you,” Brad said. “She said, ‘Come and get me, Daddy! I don't like it here.' I told her I couldn't take her because her mom railroaded me out of my rights as a daddy. She dragged my child thousands of miles away so she can live in some big house with a big shot while I have to live off of baked beans and tuna!”

Evan tensed in his chair. He clamped his mouth shut, forcing himself to remain silent. He didn't want to ruin the chance of them getting information from Brad that would help find Isabel, but it took all his control not to shout at Brad, not to want to reach through the phone and punch him in the face.

“Please,” Leila said softly. Her eyes welled with tears again. “Please, just . . . just tell us if she said something. I don't—”

“Fuck you! You
stole
her from me and now you want my help in finding her because you lost her? Why don't you ask your sugar daddy for help, huh?”

Evan gazed at Leila as she dropped her head and started to cry openly.

He wanted her to scream at Brad, to tell him to go to hell. He wanted her to remind Brad of the years he had cheated on her with other women . . . of how he had gambled away their livelihood and well-being with illegal pyramid schemes that landed him criminal charges . . . how his selfishness had driven Leila away. Brad's egotistical behavior had forced her to put herself and her daughter first. That's why she had left him! That's why she had moved clear across the country and taken their daughter with her. She hadn't done it out of selfishness, but
selflessness.

But Leila didn't say any of that; she didn't defend herself. She sat there silently and accepted his insults and yelling like it was her penance, like she deserved this flagellation because she had done something wrong. And what had she done wrong? She had the audacity to want to be happy. She wanted to be loved by someone who truly loved her back. She wanted to get married and have a baby in a stable home with a man who adored her. How dare she!

To hell with this shit
, Evan thought.

Leila shouldn't have to apologize for falling in love and wanting to start a new life. And neither should Evan. They had served their time in abysmal relationships.

“Why don't you write a check and buy a new kid?” Brad continued with maniacal glee. “Or hey, how about this? How about you give her name to the bastard baby you're having with him? So whenever the hell you guys find her bloody, mangled body somewhere, you can—”

“Enough,” Evan said, reaching over to hang up the phone, cutting off Brad. “That's fucking enough.” He turned to look at her, regretting that he was the one who had suggested she call Brad for help. He had given that sorry son of a bitch too much credit. “I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry.”

She dropped her face into her hands and Evan held her as the dial tone echoed in the study and she wept on his shoulder.

Chapter 23

C. J.

C
. J. knew something was wrong the instant she heard his voice. They hadn't been together long, but she knew him well enough that she could detect when he was antsy, angry, or worried and she heard all of that now in his simple greeting of “What's up, babe?” Her hold tightened on her cell phone and she grimaced, nervousness suddenly making the muscles in her stomach tighten.

“What happened?” C. J. asked, unable to keep her own alarm out of her voice.

“Oh, nothing,” Terrence replied dryly. “Just the whole damn world has gone to hell.”

She narrowed her eyes.
“What?
What does that mean?”

“My sister is giving birth to her baby . . . a baby I didn't even know existed since she decided to tell no one that she was pregnant. And my brother called about an hour ago to tell me that every deputy in the county is looking for his fiancée's daughter. The poor kid ran away or got kidnapped or . . .” His voice trailed off. “Hell, I don't know. I have no fucking clue what's going on anymore!”

C. J. fell into one of her kitchen dinette chairs in shock. “All of this happened
today?
”

“Pretty much. I'm starting to wonder whether it's Friday the thirteenth and no one told me.”

She couldn't help but smile. “You're safe. It's still Thursday.”

“Yeah, that's what I thought.” Terrence sighed. “Well, needless to say, I don't think we'll be able to meet up tonight. I'm sorry, babe.”

C. J. winced. She had expected him to say as much, but part of her hoped he might still want her to come over to his condo for a romantic evening and a repeat of the first night they had spent together. She ran her fingertip along the brown surface of the oak table, envisioning running it along his brown broad chest and rippled abs. She took a deep breath and clenched her legs together tightly.

Focus, C. J. Focus
, she told herself.
His world is falling apart around him and you're thinking about having sex with him again.

“Don't apologize, Terry. Really, it's . . . it's okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely! You saved me from having to get all dolled up,” she lied before glancing down at the clingy black dress she was wearing. She shifted in her chair and adjusted the lace thong beneath her dress. It was far from comfortable, but she had worn it just for Terrence—a surprise gift she knew he would enjoy. Now he wouldn't get to see it. “You did me a favor. I can just lounge around in my pj's!”

“Well, don't act that damn excited not to see me! Way to make a brotha feel important!”

“Oh, stop! You big baby,” she said with a laugh. “Go deal with your family stuff. I'll be fine. Just get back to me when everything settles down.”

“Don't worry. I will.”

“I guess I'll talk to you later, then,” she said.

“Yeah, guess so. 'Bye, babe. Love you,” he said, then hung up, not giving her a chance to respond.

He said the last part so quickly that she wondered if she had really heard it.
Love you.

She smiled and hung up her cell phone, lowering it to the kitchen table, feeling warm all over.

Terrence Murdoch said he loved her and he had said it
twice!
Part of her wanted to break out into girlish giggles, but she resisted the urge. Instead she rose to her feet and began to lower the zipper on the side of her dress, preparing herself for a quiet evening at home alone.

 

Twenty minutes later, C. J. was removing a bag of popcorn from the microwave, carefully tugging open the seams of the bag so as to not burn her fingertips.

She had traded her slinky black dress for a baggy T-shirt and sweatpants. Her hair was piled into a crudely crafted bun atop her head. She set the steaming popcorn bag aside and walked to the other end of her counter to sample the bottle of merlot she had picked up at the Chesterton supermarket a few days ago. She uncorked it and poured some wine into a coffee mug before carrying the mug and popcorn to her living room. The opening credits to
Imitation of Life
—one of her favorite old movies—appeared on-screen. She set the popcorn bag and mug on the coffee table before plopping onto her sofa. Just as she stuck her hand inside the bag and pulled out a fistful of popcorn kernels, she heard a knock at her apartment door. She raised her brows in surprise. Besides Terrence, she hadn't expected any visitors this evening.

C. J. shoved the buttery popcorn into her mouth, chewing it as she slowly walked to her front door. “Who is it?” she called out between chews.

C. J. stood on the balls of her feet and peered through the peephole. When she saw who was standing on the welcome mat in her hallway, she stumbled back in shock. Her hand flew to her chest, where her heart was beating so fast that she thought it might seize up and she'd die of a heart attack.

This can't be possible
, she thought, absolutely stunned.

She threw open the deadbolt and unlocked the bottom lock before cracking open the door and peering into the hall, to prove to herself that she wasn't daydreaming.

“D-d-daddy?” she stuttered, barely above a whisper.

Her father gazed at her, looking staid and regal like an Ethiopian king. His face revealed no hint of emotion. He nodded curtly. “Courtney, how have you been?”

A tidal wave of emotions swept over C. J. She hadn't seen her father in
years
and when she had last spoken to him she had been at an emotional low. She had been in tears, sobbing and telling him that there was no way possible she could marry Shaun Clancy.

“I can't do it, Daddy!” she had remembered crying to him on the eve of her wedding, speaking with him in his private study. “I don't love him! I can't marry a guy I don't love!”

“You can and you
will
,” her father had said firmly, when all attempts to rationalize and cajole her had failed. “My children obey me. It is what you owe me as your father. ‘Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord.' Colossians, chapter 3, verse 20.”

C. J. had never forgiven him for how callous he had been, for quoting Bible verses and refusing to budge when she had poured her heart out to him. And how could he possibly quote Bible verses to her when she knew what he did behind closed doors, when she knew the double life he led?

But as she gazed at him now, she realized that even though she was hurt by her father and angry at him, she still missed him. A part of her still yearned for the man who had once called her his “precious jewel,” who had once been the center of her universe.

She pushed the door opened farther. Now she could see that the esteemed Reverend Pete Aston was not alone. Her mother and her brother, Victor, stood to the side. They both looked solemn.

“What . . . what are you guys doing here?” she asked, still stunned that her family was standing in her hallway. She wanted to reach out to touch her father and mother to assure herself that they were really there, but she fought back the impulse.

“We need your help, sweetheart,” her mother said with her head bowed and her hands clasped in front of her plump frame.

She had gained weight since C. J. had last seen her. She looked like she had put on about thirty pounds. Her hair also had more gray strands than C. J. remembered. Her wheat-colored face had several more wrinkles.

C. J. shifted her gaze to her mother. “What do you mean?”

“Look, can we come in, Court?” Victor asked, stepping forward. The dour expression didn't leave his face. “We've been driving for hours. I think Mom and Dad would like to sit down.”

She instantly nodded and gestured for them to come inside her home. Her family silently walked through the doorway, her father taking the lead. After they stepped over the threshold, they peered around her apartment—staring at the space and the décor. The look of disdain that crossed all of their faces didn't surprise C. J. Her humble abode was nothing like her father's four-thousand-square-foot home back in North Carolina with its high ceilings, expensive knickknacks and artwork, and stately furniture. But she made no apologies for her plain existence. However, she did stiffen when her mother leaned down and scooped up C. J.'s half-filled coffee mug from the coffee table and sniffed its contents. The older woman raised her brows. Her heavy frown deepened even further, making C. J.'s cheeks warm with embarrassment.

“You're drinking liquor now?” her mother asked, turning to her, looking distraught. “Has the devil ensnared you in his evil ways?”

C. J. didn't answer her. What could she say?
“Yes, Mama, I drink now. I also haven't gone to church in years. And I had premarital sex and liked it. I hope to do it again as soon as I can. Maybe the devil has ensnared me, but compared to what Daddy and Victor do on the regular, I think I still have a long way to go on the grand scale of sinning!”

Instead she gestured toward the sofa and armchairs. “Please have a seat.”

Her mother slowly lowered herself onto the sofa, placing the cup back on the coffee table and shoving it away like it was arsenic, not red wine. Her father took a seat beside her. Victor sat in one of the armchairs and C. J. took the other. The living room fell into awkward silence. She could practically hear Victor's Movado watch ticking on his wrist.

“So,” C. J. said when she couldn't take the silence anymore, “what brings you all here?”

Victor opened his mouth, then paused. He glanced at his father. The older man nodded his dark head, giving him approval to speak.

“We have a . . . a bit of a problem at Aston Ministries,” Victor began.

“What problem?” C. J. asked.
And what does it have to do with me?

“We've got wind of an impending lawsuit by a former employee. One of Dad's previous assistants—”

“The low-down hussy,” C. J.'s mother spat. “I knew it the minute I laid eyes on her that she would be nothing but trouble! I could see it in her eyes. I heard the voice of the Lord whispering in my head telling me,
Watch out for that one, Sarah. She is the wolf in sheep's clothing
,” her mother ranted. “She is the—”

Her mother immediately fell silent when her father placed his hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze that looked affectionate at first glance, but C. J. knew it meant more than that.

Be quiet, Sarah,
the squeeze said.

“Well, anyway,” Victor continued, “she's making unsubstantiated allegations that could taint Dad's reputation, as well as the reputation of Aston Ministries. Her lawyer says he's going to go to the press with it if Dad doesn't agree to settle for a substantial sum. And it's coming at a very,
very
delicate time when Dad is seriously considering a run for office.”

C. J. turned to her father. “What allegations?”

“She says he's the father of her bastard child!” her mother suddenly burst out, leaning forward on the sofa.

C. J. cringed.

“Can you believe that?” her mother yelled. “That hussy sinned and rutted with who knows what, and now she's trying to tarnish your daddy with this! She's trying to force him to take a DNA test after the baby is born. She should be ashamed of herself!”

“Sarah,” her father began softly.

“No, Pete! You were nothing but kind to that gal—helping her pay her way through college and giving her a good wage to take care of the child she
already had
out of wedlock. You took her under your wing! And this is how she repays you?”

C. J. gazed at her father, feeling a mix of disillusionment and disgust. Though her mother was sure that her father was innocent, C. J. wasn't so certain. But the older woman had subsisted for decades on a buffet of denial and willful ignorance; C. J. couldn't stand to live on a similar diet. She knew about her father's dalliances and had even stumbled upon him in a heated embrace with one of his female parishioners back when she was nineteen years old. But he had never gotten any of his girlfriends pregnant before. Could he really have been so careless?
So stupid?

“So what exactly do you expect
me
to do?” she asked, unable to hide her anger or distaste.

“We need to show a united front, Court.” Victor leaned forward with his elbows perched on his knees. “I know you agreed before not to do any on-camera interviews—”

“And I still won't,” she said firmly.

“But we plan to hold a press conference,” Victor continued. “Dad wants to fight this lawsuit. And it will look strange if you're not there!”

“I don't care! No, I can't do it. I
won't
do it. I explained that to you in the beginning when you asked for my help . . . no, when you
bullied
me into helping the first time! I have a life here! A new life that I just won't toss aside because—”

“So you would let that woman send your daddy down the river because you want to keep your privacy?” her mother asked, looking horrified. “When did you get so selfish, girl?”

“Selfish?
Selfish?
” C. J. screeched, feeling decades' worth of anger suddenly erupt to the surface.

“Watch the volume and watch your tone,” Victor ordered tightly, pointing his finger at her.

“No, Victor, I won't do that. And I won't keep silent anymore, either. I've been silent long enough.” She turned back to her mother, feeling emboldened. “Mama, for twenty-one years I did everything . . .
everything
that you and Daddy told me to do! I was almost willing to marry a man I had no interest in marrying just to make you happy. But it was never good enough. Was it? You always wanted more and more and more and more!”