Her Galahad (8 page)

The light went out of her eyes so fast he thought she was going to faint. She dropped a white, ravaged face in her hands and whispered, "My God. We have to find her fast."

"And we have to get ammo on them. It's the only way," he went on when she looked up, her eyes dark with pain and denial. "If they're chasing their tails trying to cover up their little perjuries, they won't have time to think of getting to Emily. And any evidence of Emily's whereabouts now is more likely to come through them than the official channels."

Her face lifted to his, her eyes filled with suffering, with guilt—and complete, pain-filled understanding. "You want me to spy on my father—to get evidence that could put him in prison."

"It's the only way," he said again. God, how he hated pulling her strings when she was already in shock, but he couldn't afford the luxury of time or compassion when their daughter's life was at risk. "If he's innocent, we'll find nothing."

"If not, you'll put my whole family away."

"But you'll have Emily," he reminded her, hoping to God it would be enough to make her agree.

She looked away, chewing her lip. He waited in silence, allowing her time to think it through.

After a long stretch of quiet, she said, "I want my child."

"So do I." Watching her carefully, he said, "But I have to protect myself. I need you to come to my lawyer, and to the cops. To back up my story so the cops won't suspect me for perjury on the death certificates. Then if Beller or Duncan try their tricks, I'll have an unimpeachable witness to state where I've been at all times. As
Duncan
's sister and Beller's supposed wife, you can give me the alibi no one else could—and they couldn't afford to expose our history."

She tilted her chin. "Show me
Duncan
was part of the plot to adopt Emily and put you inside, and I'll do whatever it takes."

From his wallet he pulled out another piece of paper, and tossed it into her lap. "Here you go. Put yours down and we have a matching pair of death certificates, three or so years apart."

She looked at the death certificate, marked September 20, two and a half years before. She shook her head, but didn't speak

"Not good enough? Didn't your brother give you yours?" He sighed. "Go to the cops. Ask who the star witnesses were in my case. Show 'em your ID, and you should get access. You'll see
Duncan
knew I was alive when you married Beller." He threw another piece paper in front of her. "Here's my parole papers, date marked—same day as my second 'death.' I was in the cells at the City of
Sydney Police
when I supposedly died the first time."

She licked her lip, then bit down hard. Her fingers gripped the papers hard enough to rip them to shreds.

"Still not enough? What about the adoption papers? The parole papers
tell
you where I was when you had Emily," he challenged. "The adoption paper's dated. I didn't have the freedom to create it! And if I had, would I give up my own child? You know how I feel about kids." When she remained silent, he got to his feet and paced the room. "Come on, princess, do the sum!" he flung at her. "
Duncan
gave you the death certificate. He was there when Emily was born. How could I have got the adoption papers, since I'm not named as Emily's father? How could I have myself declared dead the day I got out of lockup, a penniless ex-con? It doesn't make sense—unless you put legal eagles with money and connections in the equation. You know what they're capable of—"

"All right."

"—and yet with all this evidence—" He wheeled around to face her when the words penetrated his consciousness. "What?"

"I said all right." She met his eyes; hers were dull gold, filled with the darkness of inner torment. "I'll help you find your evidence or whatever you want, if you help me find Emily."

He blew out a sigh of relief. He'd done it. She'd come with him. That was the only
whatever
he wanted from her.

Liar. You want her like hell already. Five hours with her and she's already got you inside out. Stay five days with her and you'll be her puppet again … and she'll knot your strings just like she did seven years ago.

"I don't need anything on Duncan or Beller," he said, playing it safe. "But if your dad's involved, we need to know, to hamstring any tricks he might try. Only you can do that."

She started like a nervous doe, the wide-eyed, haunted look back. "You can do most of this yourself. You could find another respectable witness, and get search warrants. Why do you really need me? There's something you're not telling me."

Yeah, she was smart, all right, even in shock. "Only you can access Emily's files, talk to the hospital staff where you gave birth, and put your name down with the relevant organizations to find her." With unthinking bitterness he added, "I have no power to search for my daughter, or ask about her as things are—and only you, her mother, can give me those rights."

After a quiet moment she said softly, "I wanted to keep her, Jirrah. I would have put your name on the birth certificate."

"Gee, thanks, princess." He gave her a wry look. "But right now, 'would have' don't count a hill of beans. She's my daughter—my flesh and blood—and I'm 'father unknown.'" He tried to stare her down, but she held his gaze, her lissome body taut with defiance; and he hated the ache building in him just watching her. "I want that wiped from the record. I want my name on her birth certificate. I want to claim my daughter."

"Yeah, well, you're not alone in that. She's my child, too!" Her momentary gentleness was gone: she was flashing fire, a streak of lightning in a dark sky—the woman of blazing passion beneath her shy cover. The girl he'd always known in bed. "I'll try to give Emily your name, or mine, if we can find her—if she wants it—but don't expect too much help if Cameron or Duncan block it. I had therapy after I lost Emily. I talked of killing myself, and was labeled depressive and suicidal. No sane woman would want to escape Cameron, so of course I'm nuts. If they get wind of what we're doing, I'm as sunk as you are! You might go back to prison, but I'll be in a mental institution!"

"So get a second opinion, or a third," he retorted, thrown by the fact that she had as much to lose as he did—thrown that the vivid passion of her fury only turned him on more. "And could any institution be worse than the cage you're in now? For God's sake, look at yourself. You might have left him, but you're still in a cage! You have to live beyond running from him. You have to start trusting people again."

"And who do you trust, David-Jirrah?" she said softly, her eyes still glittering with the fierce passion hidden deep inside her. The incandescent glow from a once loving heart that, even locked deep inside her, illuminated her from within, making her unique, radiant, so
alive
she made others want to be with her, to experience that soul-stirring intensity in living. "The police? Your family? Your many friends? Your wife?"

The heat of need she'd engendered in him silenced him as much as her home questions. His luminous Tess…

As if she'd read his thoughts—or seen what she'd done to his body—she pressed her lips together. "I'm tired." She got to her feet. "Thank you," she said simply. "I realize what you did for me today. You didn't have to save me. But you did."

"I'd never have got this far without you." Knowing she'd left something unsaid. Some indefinable emotion filled her heart, dousing the flame inside her. Tess was hiding something.

And you're not?

She shrugged. "Just a car." She finally dropped the blanket and walked to the bedroom door. There she turned, standing in the shadow of the flickering firelight. Her hair, half-spilling from its roped plait, glowed ebony; her proud face warmed in the golden light. Light and shadow, past and present, goddess and woman, her quiet dignity and inner beauty evident in her simple shorts and knit top—and she left his throat dry and his chest a bal of pain. "He stole your life and our child, yet you left me with him, knowing how I feel about the sanctity of marriage. You left me thinking I was married to him, that I had to stay."

He had to tell her the truth now or lose her help in finding his long-delayed justice. "You'd left by the time I made parole. I asked the neighbors. You left him four weeks before I got out." When there was no response, he added, "You saw the parole papers. You left him late August I was paroled September 20."

Her voice drifted to him through the warm, flickering darkness. "Did you keep looking for me?"

He nodded. "I remembered your dream of teaching kids in the Outback. I found out where you were a while back, and kept a few feelers out. When I heard Beller was sniffing around I came to Lynch Hill to make sure you were safe. That's all."

She said softly, "You hated me, but still looked out for me?"

He shrugged, unable to understand his own motivations, or to explain how he felt about her. Only one thing came to mind, and he stated it simply. "You're the mother of my child."

Her eyes darkened in the play of firelight and shadow. An ancient goddess: Athena in bronze. Diana in marble.

He felt like a fool standing in her presence, almost like he should kneel before her. Seven years from his first sight of her, and Tess still stunned him, still left him speechless.

When she slanted him the smile so uniquely hers, lighting her one dimple, warming her glowing amber eyes with molten honey, her whimsical face came as close to beauty as it ever would. But to him, she'd always be so damn beautiful it hurt—and never more so than at this moment. He could see the metamorphosis happening before his eyes. The woman of fire and passion had begun her slow, reluctant emergence from her frozen chrysalis.

It started a chain reaction inside him, as well. He could feel it happening—the vaguest hint of warming around the outer layer of thick, encrusted walls of ice he'd been building around his heart since the day he was put in lockup.

Damn it, he couldn't do this. The one thing he didn't want—the thing he could least afford to happen. But when he was near Tess, choices weren't something he had in his armory. One look from those amazing eyes, and he was on his knees before her.

Damn you. Tess, for always doing this to me!

She reached out, almost touching his face for a brief moment. He held his breath, waiting, half-hoping—

Then her hand fell, and the gentle memory of the forgotten caress lingered only in his damaged heart. "Thank you for helping me today. Thank you for telling me about Emily. I'm glad you're alive." Her smile was gone, leaving him so cold it sent a shiver down his spine. "I wish I felt happier about it. I wish I could forgive you for what you want to do to my family—what you want me to do for you. I wish I knew it was right, even for Emily's sake. But I can't—and I can't forgive you, either. I just can't."

She vanished into his room, closing the door, and he ached with the void she'd left behind.

Chapter 5

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H
e lay in a fevered sweat on the lounge, in thrall at the visions of his mind. Faces. Illogical faces from the palette of Picasso. Black faces, brown faces, white faces. The accusing faces of his parents, Matt and Annie Oliveri. The baffled fury and terrible fear of Keith and Duncan Earldon. The thwarted lust and warped love in the handsome yet repellent face of Cameron Beller. His brothers, sisters and cousins, unsure yet willing to believe the worst. The face of his lover as she lay dying a year before. The faces of the children who had suffered, would continue to suffer until he could clear his name. The leering faces of his fellow prisoners, men he hated yet were the only ones who understood his bond, his cage.

And every face chanted words, the litany that burned in his brain for seven long years.
You're not good enough for her, and she's no good for you…