A Secret in Salem (15 page)

“T
HANK
G
OD THEY’RE NOT HERE
,” C
HARLEY SAID AS SHE
walked out of Princess Grace Hospital on Chance’s arm.

There were no paparazzi outside when Chance picked up his sister. The city was buzzing with even more celebrities than ever, after Dalita Kasagian’s embarrassing, overblown bash and Olivia’s upcoming funeral. “Your accident is already old news,” he said.

“To everyone but us,” she said sadly.

Chance opened the door of his silver ice Maserati and helped her in. Charley had always been the bright light of the family. She was the one who cheered everyone up when they were down and who had an inner strength they admired. For him to see her so emotionless was especially painful.

“Right now that’s probably best,” he said. “The last thing we need is someone following our every move.”

“Is the autopsy—” she said, faltering.

“It’s done,” Chance said. “Now we just have to wait.” Chance punched the Start button, the engine hummed, and they headed to the villa.

When Chance turned left instead of right, Charley gave him a look.

“Thought we’d go the back way,” Chance offered.

“No,” Charley said. “It’ll take forever. I’m okay, really.”

Hoping she was telling him the truth, Chance flipped a U-turn and headed back up the road Charley and Olivia had been on when the accident happened.

Chance turned up the volume on the sound system. Listening to Katy Perry always cheered her up, and “California Gurls” was Charley’s favorite song. Well, before the accident, that is. He hoped it would distract her.

It didn’t.

The turn where they had had the accident was coming up, and Chance didn’t know if he should ignore it. There was still caution tape across the broken rail, and yellow candles and flowers similar to the ones in front of the boutique.

“If that guy on the bicycle hadn’t been there, maybe I could have done something,” she said and softly began to cry.

Chance took her hand and opted not to question her.

There were indeed paparazzi in front of the gates to the villa. A few stragglers were fascinated with the investment scandal.

Chance activated the remote, and the gates opened.

“We’re going to lose the villa, aren’t we?” Charley asked.

“My guess is yes,” Chance offered. “Dad screwed over the investors to the tune of 1 billion euros.”

Charley flinched. She knew it was bad, but not that bad.

“We always liked camping,” he said, trying to lighten the moment.

The front door opened as they drove in. Richie was in the doorway, and the paps got a shot or two of the man reviled for his actions.

Charley was a mess. Not only had she lost her mother, but her father was a felon. Truth was, she loved him anyway. She just no longer trusted him.

Chance got Charley’s belongings out of the car as Richie took her in his arms. It was a long and awkward hug.

“You look good,” Richie said, brushing back her hair. The bandage on her neck was more evident.

They moved into the house.

“I have to check with the doctors tomorrow,” she said.

“The funeral’s at five,” Richie said. “And if you’re not up to going…”

“I have to be there—”

Charley stopped again. She wanted to call him Dad but couldn’t. “I need to go up to my room,” she added.

Charley made her way through the home she loved, up the stairs to her bedroom, which had a panoramic view of the sea in the distance.

“We have a court date next Tuesday,” Chance told his father.

The proceedings were all going as planned.

“You really should plead innocent,” Chance advised.

“I’m guilty as sin, Chance,” Richie replied. “Why drag this out?”

“To buy us some time,” Chance said.

“After Madoff, it’s all pretty cut-and-dried,” Richie said as he poured himself a scotch from the bar. “Anything?” he added, motioning to the bar.

“Still recovering,” Chance said.

“I heard you come in at five a.m.,” Richie said, raising his glass.

“We’re still in Monte Carlo,” Chance answered. It helped that he was in his midtwenties.

“You should take three aspirin when you hit the sack,” Richie said. “Never a hangover.”

“What about those pills Mom got into?” Chance asked.

Richie’s stare softened. “None left.”

Richie didn’t even look for them.

Suddenly, a buzzer went off.

“If it’s another of those damn reporters…” Richie scowled.

“Yes?” Chance said, looking at the security monitor.

“This is Shawn Brady.” Shawn was at the gate with Marlena in the passenger seat.

“Charley’s expecting me,” he said. “I just spoke with her.”

“Give me a minute,” Chance said.

He checked with his sister, and yes, she had spoken with Shawn and wanted to see him and Marlena.

Richie wasn’t sure this was a good idea. He loved his daughter and knew she’d been hit hard by the accident and the incredible shame he’d brought to the family, but he had no idea who this woman was who would be talking to his daughter.

“She trusts this guy for whatever reason, Dad,” Chance said. “Maybe because she has his blood flowing through her veins.”

When Chance opened the door, and Richie saw Marlena standing there, he changed his mind. Not only was she beautiful, but he sensed a warmth and kindness he’d never seen in Olivia. While Olivia had always pictured herself as the epitome of class, he realized Marlena had it in spades.

“Richard Gaines,” he said, extending his hand as Marlena entered with Shawn. “And I have no excuses for the chaos I’ve wrought.”

“I’m here to neither judge nor treat you, Mr. Gaines,” she said, not taking his hand. “Just here to see if I can help a friend of my son-in-law’s.”

“No harm, no foul.” Richie smiled.

My God, she’s beautiful,
he thought.
If only I weren’t such a scumbag and felon.

“Char said she’d meet you in the sunroom,” Chance interrupted. “Right this way.”

Charley was in one of the overstuffed chairs in the room that opened to the rose gardens and tennis court, and she was staring at a framed photo when Chance entered with Shawn and Marlena.

“Sugar?” Chance said.

“Oh, hi, Shawn,” she said softly. “And Dr. Evans?”

“Why don’t you call me Marlena?” Marlena said warmly. For some reason, she felt formality would have been totally inappropriate.

“I’m headed to meet Jackson about Mum’s funeral,” Chance explained. “Don’t you worry about a thing,” he added to his little sister.

“I trust you, Big Brother,” Charley said with a hint of sadness. “I always have.”

“Mind if I take a look around?” Shawn asked, wanting to give Charley some time alone with Marlena.

“There’s an incredible view just beyond the courts,” Charley told him. “You can see them readying for tomorrow’s race.”

The Palermo–Monte Carlo yacht races were all the next week. She knew that would fascinate Shawn, and it did.

“Thanks,” he said warmly.

Shawn headed out, and Marlena observed how Charley watched him. The two had a connection that was immediately comfortable and caring.

“He’s a great guy,” Charley said warmly.

“And a great son-in-law,” Marlena added.

Charley managed to smile. She was well aware he was married, and actually appreciated Marlena being protective of her daughter.

“I like you,” Charley said.

“Same back,” Marlena responded. “And I’m so sorry for what you must be feeling.”

“You have no idea,” Charley said, her shoulders sagging as she looked at the photo in her hand.

“Disneyland Paris,” she said, showing Marlena the image.

“I was five. The guys were just teenagers and wanted nothing to do with me.”

The photo was Charley with Olivia and Richie on either side of her. She was wearing a pink princess dress, and they were in front of Le Château de la Belle au Bois Dormant—Sleeping Beauty’s Castle. They were flanked by all the costumed princesses,
Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, and Pluto. She had been one spoiled little girl.

Charley chuckled sadly. “I never noticed before. Look how my…dad…was staring at Princess Aurora.”

Indeed, Richie’s eyes were glued to Aurora’s chest.

“Look at your mother, though. She obviously adored you,” Marlena said reassuringly.

Charley sighed. Silently, she rose from the chair and placed the framed photo amid a dozen or so elegantly framed family photos from their trips around the world.

“If you want to talk about her…”

After what seemed like an eternity, Charley said, “She wasn’t my mother.” The disbelief in her voice was palpable. “I’m not their daughter.”

Marlena could tell she wasn’t being flippant.

“Neither one had my blood type, and no one’s ever said a word about it,” she wailed.

She grabbed a beautiful photo of herself as a baby in Olivia’s arms and slammed it against the marble-topped credenza, the glass shattering in a thousand pieces.

“Who am I?” she wailed. “Who am I really?”

Charley started to sob.

Marlena wrapped her arms around the desolate creature and cradled her gently.

T
HE
I
NTERNATIONAL
S
ECURITY
A
LLIANCE OPERATED IN CONJUNCTION
with numerous branches of law enforcement throughout the world. While their main headquarters were in Washington, D.C., they also had bases in London, Rio, and Hong Kong. The UK headquarters for the ISA were located just down Vauxhall Cross from Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service.

John Black had been recruited through Washington because of his intelligence, physical prowess, and incredible charm. A major aspect of infiltrating dangerous and often-unpredictable situations was the ability to fit into most any environment from blue-collar to white-tie. John was exactly that man.

Until the paralysis that had felled him.

It had been nearly two years since that fateful moment when he had tried to save Marlena from a maniac and ended up taking the shot that had been meant for her. He had saved her and lost her in one fell swoop.

Though he’d been to hell and back with her over the years, he’d finally hit rock bottom. He wanted to believe that their love
could survive this seemingly insurmountable obstacle, but as time went on, he doubted it was possible.

Not because he loved her any less; in fact, seeing the sacrifices she had made for him made him love her even more.

No, he believed in his heart that she deserved a whole man. A hero.

Men raised when he was were taught that men were the hunter-gatherers and providers. The protectors and confidants. Lovers and friends. It was not just enough for John to be there for Marlena and love her. He had to feel worthy of that love, and he hadn’t for some time.

In his eyes, he was no longer a man. Not worthy of Marlena or even worthy of the woman who accompanied him to London— Tara, the gentle soul with the strong hands and caring heart.

Tara had no idea what to expect when they arrived at ISA headquarters. The building was not as impressive as the behemoth M16 fortress, which had been nicknamed Legoland because of its massive stacked-brick architecture.

John brought Tara through the back entrance, where they were greeted by black-suited men and women who were cheerful and meticulously groomed.

“John Black, welcome.” The girl smiled.

“Laney,” John said. “And Mac, good to see you,” he added to the middle-aged mustachioed man who operated the phones next to her.

“Mr. Black,” Mac said. “Mr. Donovan’s waiting for you.”

“Second floor,” John remembered. He turned to see Shane getting off the steel-plated elevator.

“John,” Shane said warmly as he gave him a manly hug. “It is so good to see you.”

“Same here,” John said.

“You must be Tara,” Shane offered. “John’s told me a lot about you. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, thanks.” Tara smiled. The Dutch lilt in her voice was charming.

“You want to show her around?” Shane asked.

“It’s a pretty big place,” John answered. “And I’d like to get to this. That okay with you, Tara?”

“Absolutely,” she said, touching his arm. “This is all about you.”

“We’ve got formal gardens, if you’d like to take a stroll, and a museum with fine art from around the world,” Shane said. “We like our guys to be comfortable in any environment, so there’s plenty to do and see here. This is going to take a while.”

“I’m ready for that,” she said. “I’d like to stick close to John, if you don’t mind.”

“I like that,” Shane told her. “You’ve both eaten?”

“Breakfast at the hotel.”

“Then let’s get started,” Shane said, pushing the Down elevator button.

John was in for a grueling day, but he hoped it was worth it.

Over the years, John had periodically revisited both the ISA in
Washington and the headquarters in London. Like Don Corleone in
The Godfather
, somehow he was always pulled back in.

Today was different. He was not only going to take the psychological exams that would show his intelligence, judgment, and mental stability, but the grueling physical tests that would determine his viability.

Tara watched behind two-way mirrors as a panel of experts threw him current-events questions about Afghanistan, the Vancouver Olympics,
American Idol
, Barack Obama’s healthcare plan, the Madoff scandal.

His brain, it was obvious, was working just fine.

Tara joined him as he went up to Shane’s office, which over-looked the Thames.

“Passed that leg with flying colors, my friend,” Shane said in that mellifluous voice with the high British accent.

“You sure you want to do more today?” Tara asked, concerned as John rubbed his forehead.

“Gotta be today,” John said. “Gotta be ready.”

“We’re running the American army fitness test this afternoon,” Shane said.

“Hand to hand?” John asked, adding, “Defensive driving? Jump school?”

“John,” Shane replied, “if you can pass the fitness test, you’re ready for anything.”

The months of his incapacity had eaten away at John’s confidence. Today’s hours of intense scrutiny were changing all that.

Tara was pleased.

It was nearly 11 p.m. when John and Tara arrived at Cecconi’s in Mayfair. Although it was late, the place was buzzing. The classic Italian restaurant had once been owned by the manager of Cipriani in Venice and had been reinvented to become the hottest dining spot in London.

John and Tara opted to sit at a table rather than one of the coveted barreled high stools at the classic bar.

John ordered martinis and a rare steak for himself and grilled sea bass for Tara. They’d had a long, difficult day, and it was time to relax.

The drinks came perfectly iced, and John raised his glass to the woman who’d seen him through one of the most grueling days of his life.

“To me,” he said. His hand was a bit shaky, but with all he’d been through, it was to be expected.

“To you,” she responded as they clinked their crystal-stemmed martini glasses and sipped the cold, crisp Grey Goose with a lemon twist. “I’m ready,” he said.

“I’m glad,” she replied. “More than you know.”

“You knew it was only a matter of time, didn’t you?” he asked.

“You are one of the—no, let me correct that—you are the most perfect male specimen I’ve ever known.”

Tara looked at him with the admiration he used to get from Marlena.

He felt like a man again.