Shattered (38 page)

It occurred to her then that Barty might have been involved in the Garcias' disappearance.
No,
she corrected herself fiercely as the idea took terrible root,
in their murder.
Scott was reluctant to investigate the case further because he was afraid of implicating someone in her life, someone close to her. She didn't know why the other shoe hadn't dropped before, but now she saw it: The person Scott was afraid was involved had to be Barty.

Lisa felt as though a giant hand was slowly squeezing her insides.

Picking up her phone, she sent a text to Scott:
I need to talk to you
.
Are you coming by the hospital later?

She spent the next couple of minutes tightly clutching her phone as she waited for his reply to come through. Instead the door to his office opened, and Scott emerged. He was alone, and she surmised she must have missed the exit of the two ADAs. She watched in growing surprise as he said something to Sally Adams, then headed her way.

"Hey," he said when he reached her. His eyes took on a glint of appreciation as they moved over her, not that there was anything very special to see. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she was wearing a short-sleeved black blouse tucked into white slacks, along with tall black pumps. Her black jacket hung over the back of her chair. "You wanted to see me?"

Lisa didn't say anything for a moment. Given the circumstances, what reply could she possibly make to that? Standing there in the entrance of her cubicle, he looked big and tough and so handsome he stole her breath. She hadn't spoken to him all day, hadn't seen him except for that brief glimpse just a little while earlier, and her heartbeat speeded up just because he was there. Her first impulse was to stand up and walk into his arms. Which she didn't do, of course. She was too conscious of the listening eyes and ears of her pretending-to-be-oblivious colleagues.

The speaking look she gave him was meant to remind him of their presence.

"It's after five," he said without bothering to even so much as lower his voice. "I'm going to have to come back and finish up some things, but I need a break. What do you say we go get a quick dinner?"

29

"I thought we were going to try
to be discreet about this?" Lisa's protest came as they ran through the pouring rain for the Jaguar and she pressed the remote button to unlock its doors. Scott had an arm around her to keep her close as he held her umbrella over both their heads. Their feet splashed in the inches of running water that sluiced over the pavement. The plan was that they would go in her car to Joe Bologna's, a casual Italian restaurant not far from the office. Then he would ride with her to the hospital and catch a lift back to the office from Andy, who was watching over Martha and would be leaving when she arrived.

"To hell with it." Scott practically had to yell to be heard over the roar of the rain. The sky was overcast and dark, and thunder rumbled in the distance. "It is what it is, and I'm not planning to tie myself in knots trying to hide it. Like I said, as long as you don't go jumping my bones at the office we should be fine."

Lisa was sliding in out of the rain by that time. It was only after he closed the door behind her that she realized she was in the passenger seat of her own car. A slight smile touched her lips as she watched him run around the hood toward the driver's side. She'd known he wasn't the kind of man who liked being driven. He just happened to be smart enough not to push the point when he couldn't win.

"Remember the whole 'my car, I drive' thing?" she asked drily as he got behind the wheel and tossed the umbrella into the backseat.

Blue eyes met brown ones. "You want to drive?"

There he had her. "No."

He held out his hand for the keys, which she handed over. "Anytime you want to, you just let me know. I'm happy to be a passenger, baby."

"You are such a liar." Fastening her seat belt, she settled back in the seat as he started the car and headed out of the lot.

He grinned at her. "Only when I need to be."

They reached the street, and he braked to wait for the light to change. Then he leaned over to kiss her. It was a quick kiss, a nothing kiss, really, just another kind of hello, but still heat shot clear down to her toes.

The light changed and he straightened, pulling out into traffic that was moving slowly because of the rain.

"So, what did you need to talk to me about?" he asked.

Lisa took a deep breath. All the warmth his presence and that kiss had engendered in her fled. She was wet and cold, and felt about as gloomy as the day.

"It's Barty, isn't it? He's responsible for what happened to the Garcias. You figured it out, and that's why you started backpedaling and telling me that maybe I should just leave the whole thing alone."

Scott didn't say anything for a moment. He just drove, frowning out at the rain splashing down on cars and buildings and pavement, letting the steady swish of the windshield wipers and the hum of the defroster fill the silence while she watched him and waited.

"I won't deny that the evidence seems to be pointing that way," he said finally. "But I don't know that he's involved for sure. Except for the break-in, I have no proof of a link between him and the Garcias. I certainly don't have enough to even think about charging him at this point."

"But you think you can get it, which is why you were hesitating about going any further." Lisa thought about Katrina. The link to Marisa Garcia was not clear. As Scott had pointed out, the doll resembled her, too. Except that she hadn't been born when it was ordered. And she didn't have blue eyes. Nor did she have, at least as far as she knew, a childhood outfit that exactly matched the doll's.

She had a terrible feeling that if Katrina's origins were probed as thoroughly as they probably needed to be, Scott might have the evidence of a link that he needed.

By then they had reached the restaurant. He parked, killed the ignition, and looked at her.

"He's your father."

Lisa felt that terrible internal squeezing sensation again. "I know." Scott reached in back for the umbrella. "Sit there. I'll come around for you."

Lisa nodded. Then, as he got out of the car and walked through the downpour toward the passenger door, she opened it, ready to get out as he reached it. She did, and they rushed through the rain into the restaurant.

Usually Lisa loved Joe Bologna's, with its homey decor and robust Italian smells, but today she was barely aware of their surroundings as the hostess led them to a table. With the waitress coming and going with menus and drinks and salads and breadsticks, the conversation stayed light and general. Then, when the waitress left them to eat their salads in peace, Scott looked at Lisa steadily.

"Some of the medical records I sent for came today. Your father's, Miss Martha's, and yours. I'm still going through them, but I already found something you should probably know about."

Lisa hated to ask. In fact, she hated to ask so much that she put down the breadstick she'd been about to bite into before it even touched her mouth. And she loved Joe Bologna's breadsticks. "Like what?"

"Eat your salad." He made sure she obeyed before continuing. "To begin with, you have the same blood type as your father. That's nothing definitive, but it means that we can't rule out that you are your parents' biological child."

"Okay." She waited, watching him eat. Knowing Scott as well as she did, she knew there was more.

"Apparently, you were one sick little girl when you were born."

Lisa frowned. "I was?"

"You didn't know?"

She shook her head. "No one's ever said anything to me about it."

"You were premature--a seven-month baby. Barely five pounds."

"I knew that." She remembered the pictures she had seen of her tiny, wizened-looking newborn self being cradled by Martha and, yes, Barty in the hospital immediately after her birth.

"And according to your medical records, you were born with ARPKD--autosomal recessive polycystic kidney disease." He recited the name as though he'd spent some time memorizing it.

"I take it that's bad."

He nodded. "Seventy-five percent of babies born with it die before their first birthday."

"Really." Lisa quit eating to frown at him. "I've always been perfectly healthy. At least, as far back as I can remember."

The waitress came to replace the salads with their entrees. Lisa inhaled the aroma of the lasagna she'd ordered and knew she wasn't going to be able to eat much of it. There was a knot in her stomach.

"You must be one of the lucky twenty-five percent." Scott tucked into his own spaghetti and meatballs with no difficulty that she could see. He'd clearly been hungry, and despite the tension she was feeling, she smiled at the rate at which his meal was disappearing.

"I've never heard of--what did you call it?"

"It's called ARPKD. Eat your lasagna."

"I'm not really hungry." But because he was watching her instead of eating himself, she took a bite. "They must have gotten it taken care of when I was little, because I don't remember ever being treated for anything like that. In fact, the only time I remember being sick is when I had chicken pox when I was six."

"A lot of the children who survive have lingering symptoms."

Lisa shook her head, and with his eyes on her ate some more. "I've always been perfectly healthy."

"Yeah, I know. At least, I thought so."

"I'll ask my mother."

"You do that. I'll be interested to hear what she has to say."

Lisa hesitated. He must have sensed something, because he looked at her questioningly. "I found out what the mark on my doll meant." Until the words came out of her mouth, she hadn't been sure she meant to tell him. She continued almost reluctantly. "You know, the MBF surrounded by a heart."

When she paused again his eyes narrowed at her. "You going to tell me the rest, or am I supposed to guess?"

Again she hesitated, because she now saw the information as one more step on the slippery slope she was no longer so certain she wished to tread. But in the end she did tell him, and by the time she had finished they were on their way out of the restaurant. The rain had stopped, she was glad to see, but clouds hung ominously low and dark overhead. Puddles lay everywhere, sparkling in the streetlights that were already coming on. The heat was so thick that it was like walking through a steam room. It was only about six-thirty, early for a summer night, but it seemed more like full twilight.

"I don't want to do this," she said as he got into the car beside her. He was driving again, an automatic thing on his part, it seemed, and one she wasn't in the mood to dispute. He didn't reply, just started the car and pulled out onto the street while she stared blindly at the oncoming traffic.

"Did you hear me?" She turned her head to look at him. "I don't want to do this. Continue with the investigation, I mean. I want to stop it right now. I want to walk away."

"I heard you." Most of the cars had their headlights on, and bright yellow beams slashed across the front seat. He was looking grim. "All in all, I think it's probably a wise choice."

Lisa didn't say anything more for a moment as an image of the Garcias took center stage in her mind's eye. It was the picture, of course, the one from the file, the one in which Angela Garcia looked enough like her to be her double. Her heart ached for them. Her conscience smote her. Her need to know what had become of them would live inside her forever, she knew. But there were other ties, closer ties, ultimately unbreakable ties, to consider, and those, she knew without a shadow of a doubt, had to take precedence.

"It's Barty," she burst out, clasping her hands tightly together. "I can't do it. He's my father."

The words sounded as though they had been wrenched out of her.

"I know." Scott's voice was quiet. She knew he
did
know, and the knowledge provided some small degree of solace.

"I despise him. He deserted my mother and me. He's ignored me practically all my life." She laughed, a tremulous, angry sound with nothing of amusement in it. "I called him this afternoon to ask about the doll. He didn't pick up. He didn't call back. Where I'm concerned, he just doesn't want to know." She took a deep breath. "But I can't stand the thought that he might be arrested for murder, much less tried and convicted. Even if he got off, the scandal would ruin him, professionally and probably financially. Then there's his family--his
other
family. I don't know why I care that it would tear them apart, but I do." The look she shot him was full of naked anguish. "How stupid is that?"

"It isn't stupid. It's human. Hell, I'm still telling myself that somewhere deep inside, my father is a decent human being." His twisted smile spoke volumes. Her eyes just touched on the scrape on his cheek before meeting his. "Truth is, families are a bitch."

They had reached the hospital now, and he was parking not too far from the entrance. "I had a feeling you were going to react this way, once you figured out where this thing was headed."

"It's wrong. I know it's wrong to just turn our backs on this. What happened to the Garcias needs to be uncovered. They deserve justice." She broke off, took a deep breath. "But he's my damned
father.
"

She could feel the unwelcome sting of tears, and angrily blinked them back.

He turned off the ignition, then unbuckled his seat belt and her own.

"I know," he said again. Then he leaned over and kissed her. And she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back and clung to him like he was the only solid thing in her world.

Later,
when she was in her mother's hospital room and Scott had left with Andy, her mother smiled at her.

"So, Annalisa, when were you going to tell me--about Scott?"

Lisa looked at her mother in surprise. Martha was sitting in her wheelchair--the nurses now made it a point to keep her out of bed for a good portion of the day--and Lisa was curled in the chair beside her, feeding Martha her evening meal, which rested on the small table between them. In her opinion, Martha looked better than she had since arriving in the hospital. All the tubes and monitors had been removed, and she used oxygen only at night, as she had for months. She was dressed, she had a hint of color in her cheeks, and her eyes were bright. It was difficult to accept that she was actually getting worse. Lisa felt her stomach churn at the thought and tried to banish it. Along with the knowledge that soon, probably as soon as her mother had finished her supper, she was going to have to tell her about tomorrow's planned move to a nursing home.