Cold Target (41 page)

“She kept me from my daughter all these years,” he said roughly. His hands trembled slightly.

“I don't know why. I don't even know how,” Meredith said. “I wish I did. I wish I could tell you more.” She realized that her own sense of loss in not knowing her sister must be magnified a hundred times in him. He had lost a daughter.

“What exactly did she say?”

Meredith tried to remember. “First she said ‘You have a sister.' Then that she had been seventeen. Pregnant. Her parents were furious. I think she used the word ‘mortified.' That ‘Daddy' thought it would ruin his career. She asked me to find her. She said she was leaving her trust fund to me. And to her.”

She remembered the shock she'd felt, the words that had beggared understanding. They were still vivid in her mind. “I asked her, ‘How?' and she said, ‘Memphis. I was sent to Memphis.' Then she asked me to promise again to find her. I did and asked whether my father knew. She didn't answer. She simply said …”

“What?” Dominic demanded. “What did she say?”

“She apologized and said she was sorry for not being a good mother. She said she ‘didn't have anything left after …' Then she lapsed into a coma. She never regained consciousness.”

A muscle worked in his face. “That's everything?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing about me? About the father?” It was more a plea than a question.

“I'm sorry,” she said gently. “I wish I could help more.”

He seemed to collapse within. She ached for him. Heartbreak was in every gesture. Heartbreak and anger.

Gage returned with three beers, distributed them and took one of the chairs. He looked from her to Dominic and back again.

“I can go away.”

Meredith shook her head, then looked at Dom.

“Stay,” he said. “You're a part of this.”

Gage visibly relaxed.

Dominic turned his gaze back to her. “Tell me everything that's happened. Gage told me some but I would like you to fill it out.”

She'd wanted to ask him about her mother. Not only wanted to. Needed to. Yet he had the greater right. He'd lost a daughter as well as the girl he'd obviously loved.

“Did you go and see her?” she asked suddenly.

He nodded.

“The nurse told me she'd seen someone in the room when she went out to the desk for a moment.”

“I'd read she was in the hospital when your father was killed.” His face hardened. She saw the effort it took to control his fury. “I wanted to see her.”

“There was only a shell left,” she said.

He nodded.

“Lulu Starnes had a photo of her. Gage probably told you about it. I never saw her smile like that. She and my father … well I never saw an affectionate gesture between them. It was almost as if a wall had been constructed between them.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he said after a long moment. “I really am. I loved her. I didn't want to see her unhappy.”

Meredith reached out and touched him. “I am so sorry.”

“What did you do then?”

“I confronted my father about what my mother said. He knew she'd had a daughter, but he wouldn't tell me anything else. I think he knew it all. He just kept telling me to leave it alone, that I didn't know what I was doing by opening the past.

“Right after that someone tried to run me down in the hospital garage. My house was trashed. I thought it had something to do with one of my cases—I specialize in domestic cases. But then I started to go through my mother's yearbook, looking for her old friends. I hoped someone would know who the father might be, and that he might know something.”

“Gage told me about Lulu,” he said. “I remember her. She was shy and quiet but I liked her.”

“I decided then the attacks had something to do with my mother and my search for my sister. Particularly when there was a dead end everywhere I turned. No birth certificate. No record of any kind. Then my father's death.

“When my mother mentioned Memphis, I immediately thought she must have stayed with my great-aunt, but that was also a dead end. She died in a robbery years ago. It seems every trail ended in violence.”

She looked at him. “I'm reluctant now to bring anyone into it.”

“It's my daughter,” he said. “I want to find out as much as you do.”

“Tell me what happened with you and my mother.”

She listened intently as he told his story. His face rarely changed expression but his voice shifted from a gentle tone into a more angry one as he went from falling in love to being arrested.

“I know my mother didn't love my father,” she said. “They even had separate rooms. I could never understand why they stayed married.

“My father told me a few days ago that she had never loved him. His voice was sad. Regretful. It was one of the first times I ever heard him say anything about the marriage. They just treated each other like strangers who didn't particularly like each other.”

“That must have been hard for you.”

“I thought it was normal when I was a child, that everyone lived that way. Many of my friends had divorced parents and some of the divorces were pretty ugly. I supposed I counted myself lucky that at least they didn't fight.”

“Have you had time to go through your father's papers?”

“Which specific ton of them? He's an attorney.” Then she caught herself.
Was
. Was an attorney. When was everything going to sink in? She knew from other people that there was a numbness, a disbelief at first. She still felt it.

She looked away. And into Gage's eyes. She saw understanding there. The empathy that had developed between them continued to fluster her. She'd always been suspicious of love. She certainly wasn't a believer in marriage.

But the heat of sexual attraction had forged something more than that. She enjoyed looking at him. She enjoyed just being with him. She loved watching him make coffee and the way he took her hand. She liked the feeling that puddled in the stomach when
he
looked at
her
. She had no doubt that he saw something no one else had. To him, she
was
beautiful, and that made her beautiful.

She was suddenly aware of the lengthening silence.

“Where do we go from here?” she asked.

Dom stood and paced the room.

Gage continued to sit. “Perhaps we've been going about it from the wrong direction.”

Dom stopped. She stilled.

“We start here and now instead of in the past,” he continued. “Who had something to lose? Something so important that they would risk killing someone of your father's prominence? And he wasn't the only one. I think Prescott's death is connected in some way.”

He looked at Dom. “I want to know everything that happened thirty-three years ago. And I want Meredith to hear it. Then I want Meredith to tell you everything she knows from the time of Prescott's murder. Maybe we can find a common denominator.”

Dom broke in. “You think whoever killed Prescott also killed Charles Rawson?”

“And Lulu Starnes. Perhaps even Meredith's great-aunt. Loose ends. That's if we're right in thinking that Marguerite Thibadeau stayed there during her pregnancy.”

“But why?” Meredith asked. “What secret could be so important?”

“It was Prescott who framed Dom. Your mother's father was probably involved and possibly your father. Perhaps Prescott became a danger. The investigative reports said he was known as a heavy drinker. Perhaps he tried blackmail or said something he shouldn't have.”

“But why would an adoption become so deadly?”

“There's no records. That means it was probably a black-market baby. Or an informal adoption. One friend to another. For some reason that friend may not want the world to know that his, or her, daughter isn't really a biological child.”

“But why would someone kill for that?”

“That's what we need to find out.”

Meredith was already beginning to think along new lines. Which one of her grandfather's friends had a daughter who was born in February 1970?

“It's a long shot,” Gage said.

Dom looked at Meredith, then at Gage. “But it appears to be the only shot we have.”

twenty-six

N
EW
O
RLEANS

Gage accompanied Meredith to her mother's service and sat next to her. His presence was a lifeline.

He took her hand in his and held it tight. She didn't dare look at him. The sympathy in his eyes would reduce her to tears.

She didn't want to shed any today.

The church was filled even more so than for her father's funeral. The mayor was sitting behind her, along with a number of other local politicians. Justice Samuel Matthews, who had sent flowers to her mother in the hospital, was present, as were Judges Haywood and Johnston, who sat together with their wives. She mentally filed the names of each of them. She would go over them later with Gage and Dom.

There would be the guest book, as well, but not everyone might sign it.

She knew that Dominic Cross was somewhere in the crowd. She wondered whether his presence would interest anyone. They had discussed the possibility of him sitting with them, but it was best to keep the bad guys guessing.

They had also discussed the probability that if someone believed that she and Gage knew Dom's connection to her mother, all three of them would become targets.

A cold target. She had heard that expression somewhere. That's exactly the way she felt at the moment.

She knew that the only way she could reduce the danger was to give up her search. Both Gage and Dom had suggested that possibility.

But she didn't intend to do that.

Someone had killed her father. Someone had killed a friend of her mother's. Her great-aunt might well have been murdered. There was no way she could continue to live under that shadow. Nor would she give up her search for her sister or the truth about what had destroyed her mother's happiness.

She still had avenues to explore. Her father's records, for one. He kept meticulous notes on everything. She wanted to go through each of his files at the office. There was still the attorney in Memphis. And now they had one more piece of the puzzle: Dom's arrest. It placed Prescott's murder right in the middle of that puzzle.

Meredith was conscious of all the eyes on her. Sympathetic eyes. Curious eyes. Malevolent eyes?

The minister referred to her mother's many charitable endeavors, calling her the heart of the city. Meredith had chosen the music, distressed that she didn't even know what her mother's favorite hymns might be. She had selected her own.

She felt numb as the last prayer was said and the pallbearers escorted the coffin out. There would be a brief graveside service, then the reception at her parents' home. The second in a week.

Caterers were already there, along with Sarah and Becky, who had volunteered again to stay during the service and supervise. Gage had also sent his detective friend Mack to ensure their safety. The private detective had been mortified at losing her when she'd gone to Memphis. He had been told to stay with her whether she wanted his protection or not.

He wanted to make amends.

And then?

There were a million things to do. Both her father's and mother's wills would have to be probated. She would have to make decisions about their estates, particularly the house.

More importantly, there was a killer—or killers—to be found.

There was, of course, the matter of survival as well.

She accepted condolences from those who wouldn't attend the graveside service, then rode with Gage in the limousine to the cemetery. She wondered whether she could get through the next few hours. Her heart cried, even if her eyes didn't. She still couldn't quite comprehend everything that had happened and the impact it would have on her life.

Gage said little, but his hand had been at the small of her back as they left the church. It was protective, proprietary and evident. They had discussed the wisdom of his appearing as an escort, but he had ended the discussion abruptly by saying he was going to be there … by her side.

Thank God. She felt wrapped in his warmth. It helped fill the emptiness that continued to haunt her. In the limousine, he'd recaptured her hand, entwining his fingers with hers.

“Do you think he was there?” she asked. She didn't have to say who. The killer. Or killers.

“I would bet my last dollar on it.”

“The cream of New Orleans society,” she said bitterly.

“Not all of them, love. Just one.”

“Or two. Or three,” she amended. “How many lives have they destroyed? And for what reason? Everything comes back to that.”

He put an arm around her and pulled her close to him. They rode in silence the rest of the way.

They would discuss murder later. Now was the time to mourn.

Gage watched as the last person left the Rawson home.

Meredith had thanked Sarah and Becky for their help and sent Mrs. Edwards home. Then Meredith, looking exhausted, collapsed on a sofa.

She looked vulnerable, but he knew that wasn't true. She had a core of pure steel. His admiration had grown steadily in the past two weeks.

She gave him a wan smile. “I survived.”

“With flying colors. I don't know if I could have done it.”

She gave him a long look. “I have no doubts you could.”

He liked that vote of confidence. He'd experienced any number of emotions today. One of them, he realize with dismay, that he was falling in love.

Dammit. He didn't want those feelings. She was emotionally vulnerable now.

No amount of practicality or reason could have kept him from her side today.

As for increasing the danger to Meredith, he didn't think it could become any more intense than it already was. Someone was determined to stop at any cost inquiries into events of three years ago. Each succeeding death only added to the desperate need to protect one particular secret.