Dangerous Ladies (71 page)

Osgood waited . . . waited.

The wheels struck the pavement. The ride smoothed out.

And the ambulance slammed to a stop.

Before Sam had finished coming to his feet, the back doors whipped open. Two men stood pointing Uzis into the back.

Ah, it was good to have a contingency plan, as well as a contact with the local police who set that plan in motion.

Osgood freed himself from the restraints. He lifted himself up onto his elbows.

Sam looked to the front. The assistant driver had a pistol pointed at the driver.

The EMT on the other side of Osgood held a pistol on Sam, too, and handed Osgood a bottle of water—and the antidote.

Slowly Sam sat back, put his pistol down, and lifted his hands.

“Very wise, Mr. Mallery.” Osgood swallowed the pill. He allowed
the EMT to give him a hand onto the road. He dusted off his jacket, nodded to Sam, and walked to the waiting black car. Just before his men shut the door behind him, he heard the sound of the pistol as it fired.

He hoped it was one of his men killing the driver or Sam.

But he didn’t really care.

When Devlin reentered the house, he saw Meadow.

Her tears had dried up. She held the phone as if it were a grenade. She was pale, but perfectly composed. She flicked a glance at Devlin, a glance that observed and dismissed him. She walked into the library.

Devlin followed.

Grace stood looking out the window.

Bradley Benjamin still sat in the chair, staring into space. He’d just been revealed as a fool, betrayed for years . . . by his old friend.

Meadow wobbled as she stood there, but her gaze steadied on Bradley Benjamin. “I talked to my father. My mother’s back in the Hutchison Cancer Institute in Seattle.”

Devlin put his arm around her, supporting her.

She didn’t notice. All her attention was on Bradley. “She needs a bone-marrow transplant. I’ve already been tested. I don’t match enough markers. But you might.”

Bradley Benjamin stood. He looked around. “Me? Why would I match?”

“Because you’re her father.” Her tone was flat, no-nonsense.

“I am not her father.” His faded eyes flashed. “In case you never heard the story—”

“
I
heard the real story.” Meadow tapped her chest. “I know the truth. When I was eight and my grandmother got sick, she told me.”

“That sounds just like Isabelle. Regale an eight-year-old with the story of her affairs, like they were something to be proud of.” Bradley’s voice shook with scorn.

“She didn’t tell me about her affairs. She told me about
you.
” And obviously Isabelle had been none too kind. “She told me she loved you, but you made her miserable with your rules and your functions.”

“She was inappropriate,” Bradley said, as if that were a crime.

“She was real. When she had my mom, you and your dictates got worse—she was supposed to give up her art and become the right wife and the right kind of mother, as defined by
you.
” Meadow’s scorn was as lively as Bradley’s. “When you came to her and accused her of infidelity, she couldn’t believe you would think such a thing.”

“Her affairs were legion.” Bradley’s teeth barely separated, and his lips were stiff.

“
After
you divorced her!” Meadow took a breath, and with all the conviction in her slight body, said, “She was faithful to you. You’re my grandfather. My biological grandfather. My mother is your daughter.”

“Whoa,” Devlin whispered. He had never imagined this.

Meadow swiveled. She looked him in the eye. “It’s true.”

“I don’t doubt that for a minute, my love.” How could he? The evidence stood before his eyes.

Meadow was a blend of grandmother and grandfather, mother and father, and an essence all her own.

Bradley trembled like a leaf in a gale. “That’s twaddle. Isabelle told me she’d slept with that artist.”

“No.” Meadow walked to the couch. She bent, dug among the cushions, and pulled out a silver key, one to match the key that opened the secret garden. She lifted it, showed it to Bradley on her outstretched palm. “You had the garden cleaned up for her. You loved her. You’d had a child with her. She thought you trusted her. Then you accused her of sleeping with Bjorn Kelly. She agreed because she didn’t want to live with a man who knew and valued her so little.”

Bradley stood straight, his hands lax at his sides.

Devlin could see the thoughts racing across his mind, the incredulity, the possibility. . . . Devlin was willing to bet the old guy refused
to believe Meadow, because if he did, his whole, bitter life was a waste.

Apparently Meadow thought the same thing, because she closed her hand over the key. She made a fist. “Look. It’s a simple test. You provide a little DNA and you find out I’m telling the truth. Then you go to Seattle, donate the bone marrow, and save your daughter’s life.”

Bradley still didn’t speak.

“You don’t have to. But this is my mother we’re talking about, so let me tell you what I’m willing to do to make you comply. I’ll drag up the old scandal about Grandmother and you, and how you threw her and her child out without a dime. I’ll sue you for what remains of your fortune, and I’ll ruin what remains of your life.” Meadow sounded cold. Meadow sounded ruthless. Meadow sounded like . . . Bradley.

“My God,” Grace whispered. She looked between Bradley and Meadow. “My God.”

“The alternative is a simple operation to harvest your bone marrow,” Meadow said. “You’ll be saving a life. Your daughter’s life.”

At last Bradley reacted. He staggered backward, fell into the chair.

“He’s having a heart attack.”
Two in one night!
Devlin leaped toward him.

Meadow followed. “He can’t die now!”

But the old man put his head in his hands and gave a rasping sob.

Devlin stopped. He backed up.

The old son of a bitch was crying.

Meadow halted. She stuck the silver key in her jeans pocket. She shuffled her feet and, at last, knelt in front of Bradley. She touched his arm. “Are you okay?”

He took a few long breaths, then lifted his head. His papery cheeks were wet, and he looked at the tears in his hands as if he didn’t know what they could be. Then he gazed at Meadow, and his eyes
filled again. “My granddaughter?” He touched her cheek. “You’re my granddaughter?”

“Yeah.”

“She didn’t betray me, then. When she said she slept with him, I just . . . just wanted to kill them both.”

Meadow caught his hand and squeezed. “I know.”

“Because I loved her. I loved her so much.”

“She knew that. She told me she knew that.”

“Did she? Did she really? Because I don’t want to imagine she died thinking I didn’t love her.”

Meadow nodded.

“I’ve got to go. I’ve got to get a plane ticket.” Bradley slapped at his pockets. “All right. I’ve got my wallet. All right.” He started to walk away, then made an abrupt turn and came back to Meadow. He bent and kissed her forehead. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Devlin sent his mother a speaking glance.

“I’ll show you to a phone.” Grace tucked her hand into Bradley’s arm, and together they exited the room.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Devlin said, “Meadow, we need to talk.”

Whatever compassion Meadow felt for Bradley Benjamin, she clearly didn’t feel for Devlin. She walked toward the door. “We’ve already said it all.”

“No, we haven’t. Please, Meadow. I don’t want you to go.”

She didn’t slow.

He went after her. “I want you to stay, to marry me.”

She headed for the stairway.

“You’re like her, and I’m like him, but we are not your grandparents.”

She climbed the first steps.

He held on to the newel post and looked up at her. “Meadow. I love you.”

She turned on him, her cheeks flushed, her blue eyes narrowed and furious. “You would say anything to win, wouldn’t you?”

Of all the reactions he’d imagined, he’d never envisioned this one. “You think I’m lying? I’ve never said that to another woman.”

“
Anything
to win,” she repeated.

“I’m not saying that to win. I’m saying that . . . because it’s true. I love you.” How could he articulate it so she believed him?

With Meadow, one way always worked.

He ran up the stairs. He pulled her into his arms. He tried to hug her, to kiss her.

She held herself stiffly. She dodged his lips. In a voice rife with irritation, she said, “Look. Yesterday I was feted as your wife. Last night I was knocked unconscious. Today I found out I was pregnant, that my mother has come out of remission, told my grandfather the truth—and got my heart broken. Let’s just drop this for right now, shall we?”

“No.” She was slipping away even while he held her. “I can’t let you leave me.”

She looked up at him and spoke slowly and clearly. “Listen to me. I won’t marry you.”

D
evlin let her go. “Before you leave, don’t you want to see how I recognized you?”

Meadow so badly wanted to walk away. But she couldn’t. The clever bastard had said exactly the right thing to keep her here. “You always knew who I was?”

“From the first moment you opened your eyes.”

Her heart took a hard thump. Her eyes. He’d recognized her eyes. “So tell me.”

“I have to show you.” He walked toward her, toward the door.

She stepped back. She didn’t want him touching her. She might say she didn’t want him, but that was only her mind and her good sense talking. Her body thought otherwise.

He didn’t look at her or acknowledge her caution, although she never doubted that he noticed. He noticed everything, so he could win—by any means. With Devlin, it was victory at any cost.

But he walked past her and down the corridor, not looking back to see if she followed him.

At first she didn’t. Stupid, but she suspected a trick.

“I found the proof in the attic,” he called back.

That made her start walking, although she kept a safe distance. “What attic?”

“Did you think a great house like this would not have an attic?” He pressed the up button on the elevator. The doors opened at once.

She stopped a few feet away.

“Would you rather take the stairs?” he asked, and to his credit he used no mockery.

She thought about it before she answered. She didn’t want to step into the small, confined space with him. She didn’t want the discomfort of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him, not speaking, pretending they were strangers while he sucked up all the oxygen. Or worse, having him talk to her about
whatever,
while she remembered the times, so numerous over the last weeks, when he’d taken a private moment in the elevator to kiss her silly.

“This is fine.” She stepped in.

Fine.
A tepid word indicating indifference—a false indifference, but he got the message. He didn’t like it—his hands clenched—but he kept his voice low and soothing. “When this house was new, the servants lived in tiny rooms under the eaves, and one huge attic room was used for storage. It still is.”

She’d seen the dormers sticking out of the roof, but . . . “There isn’t any access.”

He stared at her. “You looked.”

“Of course I looked. I even asked the maids. They said there wasn’t; they should know.”

“Not this time.”

The elevator doors opened on the third floor, and he led her down the corridor toward the blank outer wall paneled with dark wood. Leaning down, he reached into what looked like an outlet and popped a latch. He pressed on one side—and a five-foot section of wall swung on a pivot, revealing a dim, airless passage and, off to the left, narrow, steep stairs. He flicked on the light switch and gestured with an open hand. “You first.”