Behind the Shadows (6 page)

And why did he have to be so incredibly fine-looking?

She tried to move away, but bumped against the sink. His arms were still around her. Good thing. Her legs were suddenly rubbery.

She forced herself to meet the man's gaze. She felt like a thief, and that was exactly what she was. She had purposely broken an expensive piece of china and …

Dammit, she planned to steal even more while here. She just hoped guilt didn't radiate from her eyes.

“Well?” he asked.

“I'm Kira Douglas,” she said, trying desperately to sound professional. “I'm here to do a story on Ms. Howard.”

“A story?”

“I'm with the
Atlanta Observer.”

His brows drew together and he frowned. She realized instantly his opinion of the press wasn't good.

“It's about the horse show,” she said as if that explained everything.

He dropped his hands from her waist. He stepped back, regarding her with sharp green eyes. “Kira Douglas? Don't you cover the city government?”

Her surprise must have been evident.

“I read the paper,” he said wryly, “and the name is unique.”

She shrugged. She hoped it looked careless. “I write other things, too. I was available.”

His eyes didn't change expression, yet his silence spoke volumes. He didn't believe her.

Then his glance went to the broken china on the sink and to her stained slacks.

She told her legs to behave. She couldn't let him see her nervousness. Or guilt.

“I broke a teacup,” she confessed. “And spilled tea on the carpet as well as myself. Clumsy of me, I know, but I can be a klutz at times. I came in, looking for the housekeeper,” she continued, rattling on like an idiot.

A humiliating confession but better than the truthful alternative. He raised one of his dark eyebrows but said nothing.

A superb technique to get someone to say something she didn't intend to say. She'd used it herself.
Who was he?

“Where's Leigh?” he asked after the pregnant silence.

“She's changing clothes for a photo,” she replied, her voice a little unsteady.

He looked startled. “Leigh?”

“You sound surprised.”

“She doesn't usually like the press.”

“You don't, either,” she said.

“Now why do you say that?” His green eyes were like a truth laser drilling through her.

“Something in your face when I mentioned it.”

“I don't like or dislike,” he said. “I'm just wary. So is Leigh. Usually.”

The familiar use of Leigh's name sent a shock of reality through her. “She chairs a charity horse show. The position usually brings publicity.”

“It brings money,” he corrected wryly.

“You don't approve?”

“I neither approve nor disapprove. In any event, it's not my business.”

“What
is
your business?” she asked. The question just popped out, but then her professional life evolved around questions. Still, she realized that this one was personal as well as professional.

“I'm an attorney,” he said as a gleam appeared in his eyes. He seemed amused at the question.

She waited for him to continue. He appeared very much at home in Leigh Howard's kitchen.

“Mr. Payton?” came a voice from the door.

The housekeeper entered and didn't seem surprised to see either one of them in the kitchen.

“I was looking for Leigh,” the attorney said. “And ran into this young lady, who has a confession to make.”

The housekeeper looked directly at Kira.

Stunned, Kira wondered whether he'd been able to see within her head. Then she remembered her cover story. “I'm afraid I was very clumsy,” she said. “I leaned over the table to get cream and knocked over the teacup. I'm afraid it broke. I came out here to tell you and ran into Mr.… Payton.”

His gaze met hers. “I didn't have a chance to introduce myself. I'm Max Payton. Ms. Howard's attorney.”

That explained the familiarity. Maybe. Did most family attorneys make themselves at home in the kitchen?

He didn't look like a family attorney. Of course, she hadn't had much experience with family attorneys. But in the films they were always elderly and smoked a pipe. They certainly weren't eye candy and named Max.

The man standing next to her looked as if he ran five miles every morning and played racquetball every afternoon. Because he was in such good shape, she couldn't quite determine his age. His hair was dark and thick, styled short enough to keep what looked like unruly tendrils in check. Inexplicably, she wanted to reach out and run her fingers through it to see how it felt. A bubble of heat formed in the pit of her stomach.

She tried to tamp it down, but still she couldn't stop studying him. He wore a dark suit that was obviously tailored. His face was lean, all interesting angles, and his mouth had a twist on the left side as if he were laughing at the world.

And his eyes. God save her from green eyes that seemed to look through her. She was sure her lies were visible to him.

She turned back to Mrs. Baker. “I'll pay for a new cup, of course,” she said.

“I don't think that will be necessary,” Max Payton said in a slow drawl that made her wonder how natural it was. It didn't go with the sharp eyes, the edgy quality underneath a very definite charm. The latter had faded only briefly when she said she was a reporter.

He glanced at his watch. “I have to go. Mrs. Baker, tell Leigh I'm negotiating a lease for the horse she wants.”

“Yes, sir.”

He shook his head. “I just can't break you of that ‘sir' thing, can I?” Then he turned back to Kira. “A pleasure, Ms. Douglas.”

He strode to the door with the grace of a professional athlete. He was polished and well dressed and yet … there was something elemental about him that intrigued her. Intrigued, hell. Attracted. Like, big time.

Out of your league, kiddo
. Her brain told her that, but she could dream.

Some other time
. Why was she even wasting precious time on him?

She turned her attention to the housekeeper. “I picked up the pieces of the cup and placed them on the counter.”

Mrs. Baker's neutral expression didn't break. “We have a lot of teacups,” she said.

“There's also a spill on the carpet. I really am sorry.”

And she was. Guilt was getting heavier inside her. She would rather someone shout at her. Swear, even.

Leigh chose that moment to walk in.

She was striking in tan riding pants, boots, and a vivid blue silk blouse. Her blond hair was now tied back with a matching blue ribbon. She was really quite beautiful. Kira felt a little like an ugly stepsister next to her. God, what was their relationship if Leigh
was
her mother's daughter?

“You look great,” Kira said truthfully. She went through her explanation about the teacup.

“Doesn't matter,” Leigh said. “We have a million around here.”

Kira's conscience grew heavier. Why couldn't Leigh be a witch? But she didn't want that, either. Not for her mother.

“Let's go outside,” Kira said. “Dan's probably picked his spots.”

Leigh didn't say anything. She just led the way outside. Dan was sitting on a fence, his cameras hung around his neck. He stepped down when he saw them.

“Looking good,” he said to Leigh. “Can you bring the horse out here where the light's good?”

“Rick's not inside?”

“Didn't see anyone. Just a horse and a donkey that tried to kick the shit out of me.”

“She's protective of Lady,” Leigh said. “I guess Rick's gone already. I told him I wouldn't be riding today.”

She went inside and several moments later appeared at the door with a fine-looking white mare.

Dan snapped a number of photos. Kira went over to him. “What about suggesting that she take the ribbon off and let her hair fall around her face?”

“Good idea.”

He went over to Leigh. She nodded after a few words.

“Here, let me,” Kira said. She moved over to Leigh before she could protest and undid the bow in back, pulling a strand of hair as she did. She tried to make sure she had a root. “Sorry,” she said as Leigh jerked. “Some hair was caught in the knot.”

She backed away, clutching several strands of hair in her closed fist. She felt like a criminal.

Think about Mom. A kidney. Nothing else
. Not the invasion of privacy she prized for herself.

As Dan posed Leigh next to the horse, Kira slipped the strands of hair into a second envelope, then into her purse. Two chances. Two possibilities. Chris would send the samples to a lab. An extra fee would speed the results.

“We're through,” Dan said ten minutes later. “I have some great shots.”

Kira went over to Leigh Howard. “Thanks for your time. If I have any more questions, I'll call.”

Leigh merely nodded. Cooperative but not friendly. The family attorney had indicated Ms. Douglas didn't overly care for the press. Kira wondered why.

She left with Dan, her hand clutching the purse. She prayed she had what she needed.

And wondered whether she'd just taken a few steps toward ruining a life or, at least, changing it forever.

Late for a scheduled meeting, Max ran a few yellow lights. He'd meant to run in and tell Leigh he'd negotiated a lease for the jumper she wanted. Then he became intrigued with the reporter.

The reporter crowded out all other concerns. He'd made it his business to understand the media. It had been important to Ed Westerfield to have good press, and Max tried to be thorough in whatever he did. He'd cultivated the business reporters at the paper and had invited editors and executives to Westerfield parties.

He knew how they worked, and he knew that the state house and city hall reporters took pride in their specialties and seldom did features, particularly on a comparatively small horse show.

Kira Douglas had also been uncomfortable. Even jittery. He might have attributed the nervousness to the broken cup, yet her smoky blue eyes hadn't quite met his. Unusual for reporters who usually had few qualms about peeking into private lives.

So why was she there?

Something about Westerfield Industries? About Leigh? Maybe Seth?

He would bet his sports car that it wasn't a horse show.

He intended to discover her real purpose. He moved it to the top of his mental priority list.

8

Kira finished her story and looked at the newsroom clock. Nearly noon.

She left the newsroom and went to the feature department. Although the Sunday paper wouldn't be on the stands until late Saturday afternoon, the feature section was printed early. It was available today. Friday.

There was a pile of them on the editor's desk, and she grabbed one and took it back to her desk. The photo of Leigh with the horse took up a quarter of the page. Leigh was stunning as she looked directly at the camera. Photogenic didn't say half of it.

She resembled the early photos of Katy Douglas. The eyes were similar, and the full mouth. So was the build.

But where Leigh's movements were all grace, Kira's mother's had been all energy.

Stop it!

She was probably seeing things that weren't there, like someone looking at a newborn and claiming it looked just like the mom or dad. To her, babies were yet unformed. They didn't look like anyone, only their own small selves.

When would the test results come in?
Chris had said it should be sometime today.

She had paid an exorbitant sum to have them expedited. A technician from a private lab Chris had recommended had taken a DNA sample from her mother under guise of just another test. The question was whether she—Kira—had obtained enough DNA from Leigh for a true test.

Her cell phone rang. She looked at the caller. Chris!

“You have a match,” Chris said without preamble. “Leigh Howard is your mother's biological daughter.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't breathe for a moment. She had thought Leigh Howard was probably her mother's daughter, but she hadn't
known
. Even though she'd wanted a match for her mother's sake, the truth was still like a kick in the ribs.

“Kira?”

“I'm here,” she said with a tremor in her voice. “There's no mistake?”

“No.” A pause. “What now?” he asked.

“I have to go to Leigh. It would probably be better if the feature had already been published, but every minute counts now.”

“Isn't it time to contact the hospital?”

She
could
go to the hospital. But how long would it take for hospital officials to act? They would go to their attorneys first. An investigation. Meanwhile, her mother's chances dropped every day. A matter of weeks, according the doctor. Maybe less. She felt the moments ticking away …

“Kira?” Chris's voice was full of concern. She'd told him about the visit, had given him her impression of Leigh Howard. Pleasant but with no real warmth. Plastic more than real. The only time she'd really come alive was when she talked about the horse camp for disabled kids. Maybe because of her own trauma years ago.

“I have to convince her to donate a kidney,” she said. Her one hope for a fast resolution was to contact Leigh Howard and make a personal appeal.

She remembered the morning earlier in the week when she discovered she might not be who she thought she was. Incredulity. Disbelief. Devastation. A loneliness that couldn't be defined. A life that was a lie.

But she'd
had
her mother. She had memories. She had the comfort of love and support all these years. Leigh had lost hers when she was very young. Would she long for one now, or would anger and doubt keep her from acknowledging the truth?

“Are you still there?” Chris's voice was worried.