Intimate Betrayal (24 page)

Reese thought about it for a moment and nodded. “I guess you're right, especially since we don't know how deep this goes.”

“Agreed.”

When she tried to speak again, her voice wavered. “And whatever my father found out, Frank Murphy doesn't want resurrected at any cost,” she said almost to herself. A slight shiver vibrated through her body. “What could my father have known that was so devastating people would kill to keep it quiet?”

“I don't know, baby. But I think it would be in our best interests to find out. That's our only edge.”

“How?”

He turned to her, his gaze dark and direct. “That's your department. Go for it.”

They drove for several more moments, each of them caught
in the vortex of their private thoughts, when suddenly Reese's husky voice filled the silence between them.

“My mother wasn't going to go with my father to the hearings that morning,” she said in a faraway voice, as the images came into focus. “My father begged her. He said he needed her support. He promised that they would work things out between them. My mother was so hurt and angry about what she'd discovered about him and my aunt, she said she didn't want to be near him.” Reese sighed heavily. “Somehow my father finally convinced her to go and she insisted that I go as well.” Her voice cracked. “If only she hadn't…I would have…still had my mother.” A single tear trickled down her cheek. She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “And my life.

“I'm so afraid, Max,” she confessed, her breath coming in short panting gasps as she fought to forestall the tumult of tears.

Maxwell checked the rearview mirror and pulled over off the road. He unsnapped his seat belt and then hers. Gently, he gathered her in his arms and whispered soothing words of comfort in her ear. “It's all right, baby, get it all out. It's all right. I'm here.”

“The more I remember…the more it hurts. It just hurts so bad. As long as I couldn't see their faces or recall their voices, I couldn't feel anything except…this inexplicable emptiness. And now, little by little, the emptiness is being filled with emotions that I haven't had to deal with.” Her body shook with the force of her sobs, escalated by the gentleness of Maxwell's tender touch.

“I never mourned them, Max. I…never grieved because I didn't feel anything. I couldn't remember them. They were just two people who had died. Two faceless people who were supposed to mean something to me and they didn't. Oh, God,” she cried, the agony of recollection impaling her heart.

At that moment, Maxwell's rage was so intense he felt that
he could take his two hands and wring the truth from his father. The thought that his own flesh and blood was responsible for the psychological and emotional agony and torment of the woman he loved went beyond his comprehension. He ached for her, mourned with her. He wanted to somehow absorb her pain, but he knew he could not. As painful as it was to watch, and experience, he knew that she needed this catharsis. All he could do was everything in his power to see to it that whomever was responsible was brought to their knees.

“I'm…sorry,” Reese said weakly, easing away from his hold. “I…didn't mean to put all of that on you.”

He wiped the tears away from her cheeks with his thumb, then swept back her hair from her face, tilting up her chin in the process.

“We're in this together. No matter that my father is involved. I know that I've said all this before, but there was still that part of me that fought not to believe it. Not anymore. I swear that to you.”

Reese nodded and tried to smile. “We'll miss our flight if we keep sitting here,” she sniffed, drawing back the last of her sorrow.

“The hell with the flight. My first concern is you. Are you all right?”

“I will be,” she answered, her voice a bit stronger.

“That's what I want to hear.” He put the car in gear and pulled back onto the highway. “Everything will work out and we'll get through this—together.” And even as he uttered the words he thought of the hole in his own life and wondered if it, too, would ever be filled. Day by day, Reese was putting together the lost fragments of her life, which compelled him to take a look at his own. Her determination spurred him. Perhaps he would dare to do what he'd avoided for most of his life, find out what he could about the woman who was his natural mother. And maybe Reese would help him.

 

Maxwell kept Reese close by his side as they weaved around the throng of travelers at LAX airport. All of his senses were on alert to everything and everyone swirling around them. The airport would be the perfect location for an “accident” to happen.

He wrapped his arm tighter around Reese's waist as they approached the waiting area where they were to meet Carmen. His dark eyes continued to sweep the crowds—ever sharp and vigilant.

“If you squeeze me any tighter, you're going to cut off my circulation,” Reese said lightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled keeping his eyes trained on the crowds, but he didn't slacken his hold. “There's Carmen on that bank of chairs,” Maxwell said, angling his chin toward the left, before ushering Reese toward the waiting area.

Reese squinted in the general direction and couldn't discern Carmen from anyone else. She looked up at Maxwell in amazement.

Carmen rose from her seat as the duo approached. Her warm smile embraced them both.

Reese lowered her head and pecked Carmen's cheek. “Good to see you, Carmen.”

“You, too, Reese. All ready for your trip?” she asked, noticing the slight redness in her eyes but opting not to mention it.

“As ready as I can be,” Reese offered with a smile.

“I'm sure everything will be fine,” Carmen replied sagely. A look of quiet understanding passed between the two women. Carmen turned toward Maxwell. “Everything you need is here,” she said nodding toward the heavy leather briefcase that sat near her feet. “I put the mail in there as well.”

Maxwell reached down and took the case with his initials
embossed in gold lettering across the front. “Thanks for everything, Carmen.”

She smiled. “Be safe,” she said, looking from one to the other, her soft brown eyes filled with concern.

Those were the same words Lynnette had spoken to her the night before from her hospital bed, Reese recalled. She suddenly felt chilled and knew it had nothing to do with the air-conditioning.

 

They were both settled in their seats with a dinner tray of sirloin steak, Caesar salad, and baked potato with sour cream and chives in front of them.

“Humph, I never knew they served this kind of food on airplanes,” Reese mumbled over a piece of the succulent steak. The juice from the meat trickled over her lips which she licked away with a swipe of her tongue. “I'm used to peanuts and a half can of soda over ice.”

Maxwell tossed his head back and laughed. “You've simply been in the wrong section of the plane,” he teased.

“Very funny. But all of us working stiffs can't afford first class,” she volleyed, adding a hard glare for good measure.

“Stick with me,” he said, leaning over and placing a kiss on her forehead. “I'll have you spoiled rotten.” His sensual smile did a slow dance up and down her body. “It's first class for you all the way.”

“And don't you forget it,” she grinned.

“I'm sure
you
won't let me.”

 

Stan Tilden sat behind his desk at the
Washington Post
reviewing his notes and tapes from his interview with Victoria. He had no doubt that everything she'd said was true. In his ten years as a journalist, he'd learned that the United States government, the military in particular, was capable of anything. But this? He shook his head in amazement.

He would certainly have to corroborate what Victoria'd told him. There was no way he would go forward with the story otherwise. He also knew that no one would be willing to admit that the military paid one of its own to steal computer information and then tout it as their own. But that wasn't the meat of the story. It was the very idea that the stolen programming allowed the Air Force to advance their radar technology to such a degree that their successes in the Gulf War were inevitable. The designer of the program would experience wealth beyond his imagination if he were to be paid for what he'd created. And the military knew that.

He'd always envied those guys Woodward and Bernstein who blew open the “Watergate” scandal. He'd prayed for the same opportunity to put his own name in lights. His gut told him this was his chance.

He frowned, contemplating his options. He knew he had to be careful, the far-reaching ramifications…well, he didn't even want to think about it. But he had to start somewhere; and what better place than the source?
Frank Murphy.

C
laudia sat on the couch next to her husband feeling momentarily secure beneath the weight of his arm draped across her shoulder. She struggled to remember the last time they'd really shared a quiet moment together.

The past few weeks had taken its toll on both of them. But for the first time in years she felt the burden of the emotions she'd carried lifted from her spirit. She knew it was far from over, and every instinct told her that there was much more that James had not revealed to her. And it was probably best that she didn't know. There were aspects of her husband's life that she could never and would never be made privy to.

“Claudia,” James uttered softly, pulling her away from her musings. “I want you to be prepared.”

Her heart knocked in her chest. “For what?”

“I can't stop Max from pursuing his course. He's determined and I don't blame him,” he continued, staring off across the room. He shifted his position so that he could face her. “I
haven't told you everything, Claudia, for your own protection. The less you know, the better. But when everything comes out, and I'm certain that it will, I'll probably spend the rest of my life behind bars. I want you to be there for Max. He's going to need you.”

Claudia felt as if the world had suddenly shifted beneath her feet. A surge of heat shot through her, clouding her thoughts. Her stomach somersaulted and she felt sick. “No,” she whispered in a tiny voice of denial, digging her nails into his muscled arm.

James cupped her smooth caramel-colored face in his hands, and his own heart constricted at seeing the well of tears rimming her eyes. “There's no way to avoid it.” He stroked her soft brown curls.

“I can't lose you. Not now. There has to be something you can do, James. There has to be.”

Slowly he shook his head. “I should have done it a long time ago, Claudia,” he said with regret. “I should have said, no.”

 

Victoria returned to her car after meeting with Stan Tilden from the
Post
with a new feeling of purpose. The dismal sense of hopelessness that had permeated her life had slowly begun to lift. She was taking charge of her life—such that it was.

She had been someone's pawn as far back as she could recall, bending and jumping to someone else's will. Everyone in her life had found a way to use her for their own personal goals, never caring how it would all affect her. The only person who'd allowed her to just be herself had been Maxwell, and she'd ruined that relationship by using him. How painfully ironic. But now she had the opportunity to make amends.

After the fallout from the
Post
article, perhaps Maxwell would see that she was trying to make things right and consider taking her back. Especially after he found out the
truth about Reese. She had a momentary pang of guilt about how her recent act would affect Reese. But just as quickly, the unnatural feeling passed. She had no affinity to Reese Delaware, she told herself.

She slowed at the red light then made the right turn. Her next stop was her aunt Celeste's house. “Or is it mother?” she asked herself aloud, the vileness of the word burning her throat like bile. She threw her head back and began to laugh, the sound piercing, almost hysterical. Unbidden, tears mixed with the unleashed laughter and Victoria stepped harder on the accelerator.

 

The house was still. Shadows paraded across the floor with the play of waning light that peeked in through the blinds. The sheer curtains mated erotically with the breeze, fanning in and out in a slow, sensuous dance.

Then, the shrill ringing of the doorbell pierced the tomblike silence, slicing through Celeste like a jolt of electricity. Yet she couldn't seem to move.

Since her confrontation with Victoria she'd battled with her conscience as well as her physical pain. At moments, she didn't know which was more intense. Several times she'd picked up the phone to call Victoria—tell her the truth. But she didn't. She couldn't. The lie was so ingrained, so deeply rooted into her being, even she struggled to separate fact from fantasy.

The bell pealed again. Was it more insistent this time? she wondered idly. Whoever it was would get tired soon enough and go away, she rationalized. Besides, she couldn't imagine who would be coming to see her. She had no friends and her only family was Victoria.

She ran her index finger across the spot-free glass that covered Hamilton Delaware's photograph. He was so handsome, she sighed with a winsome smile. Tall and
muscular with skin the color of milk chocolate. “Like Reese,” she muttered, her irrational resentment evident in the venom of her tone. And Reese was a physical reincarnation of Sharlene, from the delicate bone structure to the lure of those damned amber eyes.

She frowned in confusion. How could everything have turned out so badly? She'd planned everything and it would have worked. She and Hamilton would have been together. If only…

The bell rang again, but this time the ringing was followed by what sounded like keys being inserted into the lock. Her spirits suddenly lifted. Victoria had come back.

Painfully, Celeste pulled herself up from her seat, and returned the framed photo to the nightstand in concert with the slamming of the front door.

By the time she reached the top of the landing, Victoria stared up at her from below. Celeste's smile of greeting was quickly erased when she saw the loathing floating in Victoria's green gaze.

“There are a few things I want to say to you,
Aunt
Celeste, or whoever you are. You can either stand there and I'll shout it loud enough for all your neighbors to hear, or you can come downstairs. Your choice.”

Celeste took a deep, pain-filled breath and began her descent. She stopped two steps above where Victoria stood, gripping the banister for support. Celeste held her breath, fearing the worst while her heart banged out an unnatural rhythm in her chest.

Victoria lashed out at her in an icy high octave. “It doesn't matter anymore if what you and Frank told me is the truth or a lie. At first I thought it did. I needed to believe someone—something. But then I realized,
Celeste,
” she spat the name, “that the only person I could believe in was myself. And for my entire life, at least until the past few hours, I've never
been able to do that.” She gave Celeste a long, cold look of contempt, edged with pity. Her voice grew calmer, but continued in the same chilling tone.

“I intend to rebuild by life, my own way. Maybe then I'll find some peace. But everyone who has ever hurt me, lied to me, used me, will pay. That much I can guarantee. And that includes you.”

Victoria momentarily turned away and began to pace back and forth in front of the stairs. “I thought long and hard about what I could do that would remotely inflict the type of pain on you that you have on me. It was a struggle.” She laughed, the sound haunting in its maliciousness. “What does she have that I can take and destroy?” She stopped her frenetic pacing and looked curiously up at Celeste as if half expecting a response. “And you know what I realized? You have nothing!” She threw her strawberry blond head back and laughed, so long and hard that Celeste began to tremble.

“Victoria, please…”

Victoria spun around, her pale face flushed with rage. “Shut up! Don't you say a word,” she ordered pointing her finger at Celeste. Her icy green stare seemed to root Celeste to her spot on the staircase. “The only thing you have is me. I'm your only family, your only friend. The only one you've ever turned to. I suppose I should be grateful that you thought so much of me to include me in your perfect little world.” Her eyes flashed. “But I'm not.” She took several heaving breaths. “So, I decided I'd take myself away. Out of your life. Permanently. You'll never have to tell me another lie, you'll never have to pretend to care.”

Celeste felt herself crumbling. She gripped the banister tighter. She opened her mouth but no words would come out.

“You'll never have to see my face again to remind you of everything you couldn't have. So now, Celeste, we're finally
even. I have nothing and neither do you. My only consolation is that I have plans for the rest of my life and you've never had a life to plan.”

With that she turned on her heel and slammed out of the door.

 

Frank stared at the phone. He could feel his pulse beat in his ears. How could the papers have ever known about the computer program? How could they have ever traced it back to him? A trickle of perspiration ran down the hollow of his spine. His mouth was dry. He needed water but his throat felt so tight he'd never be able to swallow. He wrung his hands together. He had to do something. But what? That bastard reporter had given him forty-eight hours to decide. Frank's green eyes searched frantically around the room as if some corner of his office held the answer to his dilemma. Why now, when everything else was caving in on him?

And then everything came together in one word…
Victoria.

 

Maxwell looked over at Reese and smiled. She was fast asleep, curled up beneath her blanket. So far so good. He silently prayed that her nightmares would not pursue her across the skies.

Depressing the silver button on his left, he released his seat and let it slip back into a reclining position. He took his briefcase from between his feet and opened it searching for the mail that Carmen said she'd included. Sifting through the mail he sorted it into piles of “immediate attention” and “can wait.” Near the bottom of the pile he pulled up a plain white envelope, postmarked the day before from Maryland. His pulse quickened with annoyance. The handwriting was all too familiar. He started to toss the letter that he knew was written
by Victoria, but curiosity stopped him. He slit the envelope open and began scanning the letter-perfect scrawl.

Midway through the second paragraph, his stomach muscles tightened. A hot flush exploded in his head. He shook his head and reread the words because they couldn't be right. Yet there was a corner of his mind that knew every word was true. He began to feel sick as a wave of nausea tumbled in his gut.

Seemingly in slow motion he turned toward Reese's sleeping form and felt as if his world had come to a sudden end. How would he ever be able to hold her and love her again, knowing that doing so went against every iota of ethics that he possessed?