Beautiful Lies (14 page)

Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow:
He who would search for pearls must dive below.

John Dryden
—All for Love, Prologue

San Francisco—Present Day

“O
f course you had to let him go, Liana. He's the heir to a fortune, but he needed to see his father.”

Liana didn't face her stepbrother. Instead she stared out Graham's study window at San Francisco sloping gently to the bay. A century ago her grandfather, Tom Robeson, might have stared at the same body of water from nearly the same place. When she was eight, her father, also named Thomas, had taken her to the former site of the Robeson mansion on Van Ness Avenue for a brief history lesson.

He had stood with his arms crossed, his face devoid of emotion. “This is where my father was born. But not in this building. Oh no, once there was a house on that site, larger and finer than anything you'll see today.”

Liana had waited until she was certain he was finished. She had spent her early childhood away from Thomas. Since her mother's death several months before, she had
learned never to interrupt this man, this giant stranger who claimed to be her father.

“Why isn't it there anymore?” She narrowed her eyes to peer at the apartment building, which was pale and plain.

“There was an earthquake in 1906. I was only a boy, on a ship that sailed into the bay that morning. I was coming to live with my grandparents. The waves were so high I fell and hit my head on the deck, and when I came to, the woman who had been caring for me was gone. Later they dynamited this street to stop fires raging through the city. We heard the explosion at the harbor. Blew up all the houses. Boom!”

She jumped when Thomas shouted the final word. She wanted to cry at the death of all those beautiful houses, but she had learned not to do that, too. “Was your father killed?”

“No, he was already dead, murdered in a place called Australia by his best friend. That's what happens when you trust people, Liana. Never, never trust anyone. That's the lesson I learned that day.”

She had nodded, as if she understood. But now she didn't nod. She was grown and much wiser, and her father was dead.

“Cullen insists on his month with Matthew. Legally, I couldn't refuse him if I wanted to.” She continued to stare out the window of the house she had lived in with Thomas, the house Graham continued to live in with only a small staff for company. At his request, she had made this detour after filing a missing persons report at the police station.

“No one expected this. I didn't dream…” She couldn't continue. She could hardly think, much less argue. Her son was missing. Matthew was
missing.
The truth of it seemed to elude her. Why hadn't her heart stopped beating at the moment of his disappearance?

“You couldn't have known.”

“I'm second-guessing
everything.
” She pushed a lock of hair over her ears, wondering when it had come loose from the clip.

“Tell me everything. Exactly what did the police say?”

“They're checking into it. They're contacting the airlines, the authorities in Denver. They say they'll phone as soon as they know something. But they warned me he might have run away.”

“Run away?”

“That's right. I told them Matthew has no reason to run, but they blew me off. Usually they don't respond to this sort of thing too quickly. Most teenagers come home on their own in a day or two.”

Liana had conducted an agonizing debate with herself over whether to tell her stepbrother or anyone else about Matthew's disappearance. What she knew of kidnappings she had learned from bad television movies, but in the hours since Matthew had boarded the airplane, there had been no warning phone calls, no whispered messages or instructions. Still, she had told Graham, who, with Pacific International's resources behind him, could be an enormous asset to the search.

But so far Liana herself was the only person who knew about the missing pearl.

She turned away from the window. “I know we're going to find him. He's almost fifteen, and big for his age. And he's smart. He's so smart. We know he got on the plane. I saw him. He wouldn't have gone off with strangers after he landed.”

Graham motioned her to a pew salvaged from a church on Geary, just before demolition. Liana's father had been a confirmed atheist, but it had pleased him to have bits and
pieces of the city's historic churches adorning his home. The devil, masquerading in ecclesiastical garb. “How are you?”

Liana wasn't sure. She was a kite without a tail, soaring on winds that threatened to destroy her. She had no equilibrium and no control.

When she didn't answer, Graham continued. “I told Stanford not to spare any expense.” Stanford Brown was the head of Pacific's security division. He had come to the company directly from the FBI, and his contacts were legion. Graham had arranged to have Stanford drop everything else and work on finding Matthew. “He'll do his job.”

“Where could he be, Graham? Do you know how hard every mother works to be sure her children won't go off with strangers? Well, I worked harder!” She took a breath and let it out slowly. She could not fall apart, not until Matthew was on his way home.

“I know you don't want to hear this, but maybe he really did take off on his own. Maybe…” He shrugged.

“Don't stop there.”

“Maybe he feels a little smothered.” He patted her shoulder, as if to take the sting from his words, but he dropped his hand when she glared at him.

“Who smothers him? He goes to private school, but he gets there on public transportation. He visits friends all over the Bay Area, even in places
I
don't feel safe. I don't wrap him in cotton.”

“No, you don't.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“He's a kid, Liana. Kids need to try their wings. Matthew knows if he's one minute late, you'll have Stanford and his team out looking for him. He's the Robeson heir. No matter what he does, somebody's always watching him.”

“He has never complained. Never. He's happy. He's not on drugs. He has more friends than I can count.”

“Is someone checking with Matthew's friends?”

“Of course. That's the first thing Stanford asked for. I keep a list and update it, just in…” Her voice trailed off.

Graham grimaced. “That's the kind of thing I mean.”

“Where would I be right now if I hadn't?”

She rose, and they left the study to start down the hallway. Graham was silent until they had descended the stairs into the wide foyer with its Waterford chandelier. “Are you going to tell anyone else?”

So far, only a handful of people knew, and they had been sworn to secrecy, but she realized that was going to change before long. “Not right away, but other people will have to know eventually. Stanford will want to question them.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I'm going home to wait. Stanford may be there already. He thinks I should stay by the phone, in case Matthew or—” She cleared her throat. “Or someone else calls.”

“I'll come with you, if you'd like.”

“Thanks, but I don't think so. I won't be much company.”

“I wasn't expecting a party.”

She tried to smile and couldn't. “I know. But until I sort this out a little, I'd rather be alone. I'm sorry.”

“I'll stay home tonight, in case you need me. I'll be a phone call away.” He put his hand on the doorknob. “Liana, what about Cullen?”

“What about him?”

“Could he have anything to do with this?”

“No. He loves Matthew.”

“What if Cullen's using his so-called disappearance as a cover so he can take him out of the country?”

“That just doesn't make sense. Cullen has Matthew for
the next month, anyway. If he was going to take him to Australia, he'd have plenty of time to do it without making up this story and involving the authorities. Besides, Matthew knows full well he can't go to Australia with Cullen. He's promised he never will.”

“You know what your father said before he died. There are two things your ex wants that he'll never be able to have. One is his son. The other is the Pearl of Great Price.”

At the mention of the pearl, Liana's heart squeezed painfully. “Yes, and Thomas was certain Cullen spent his days scheming to get them both.”

“And you aren't certain?”

Liana didn't know what to think. Who but Cullen would risk everything to have them?

Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. “If Matthew's with Cullen, then he's perfectly safe. The terrible thing about this is that of all the alternatives, Cullen kidnapping his own son is one of the best.”

 

The Robeson family home, where Graham lived, was by all standards a mansion. Constructed with red Arizona sandstone and quiet Georgian lines, the house, built immediately after the earthquake, had none of the flirtatious frills of the city's painted ladies. It was a massive house, extensively remodeled throughout its history to integrate developing technology while retaining its considerable dignity. Thomas, not a man with soft spots or sentiment, had chosen to remain there after the death of his grandparents because a business rival had expressed an interest in acquiring it.

The house was somber both inside and out. The interior of dark wood, heavy drapes and massive leather furniture suggested a men's club. The exterior, with towering trees
and geometrical shrubs extending halfway up narrow windows, was largely hidden from view by a brick fence that diminished the remaining light. As children, Liana and Graham had only been allowed to play in a side yard where a fountain divided the narrow space. At play, as in every other facet of their lives, Thomas had encouraged them to choose different sides.

In contrast to the Robeson house, Liana's apartment near Lafayette Park was designed to let in sunshine. She had the penthouse of an eight-story building constructed in art deco style, with intriguing, quirky spaces and dozens of windows. Additionally, glass doors opened out to a roof garden with views of Nob Hill and the financial district. She had combined contemporary decor with warm woods and subtle, elegant fabrics. The apartment was her haven, and Matthew's, too. Nothing in it was off-limits to him; nothing was too precious for him to handle or play with.

Matthew was her only truly precious possession.

That morning, when she had left the apartment to take Matthew to the airport, she had realized how silent it would seem when she returned that evening, even though she wouldn't be alone. She and Matthew had a live-in housekeeper, Sue Lo, who drifted quietly through their lives. Sue was not a friend but never a servant. She was more than both, a piece of their lives, a wise middle-aged woman with little education, who gave her opinion and kept her counsel, each when it was required. But with Matthew gone, Sue would disappear into her private life more fully, leaving Liana to live her own.

Liana had dreaded opening the door to see a month of evenings, looming before her, without her son. Now she opened it and saw a lifetime of them.

“Miss Liana?” Sue, her broad, square face no study of
her feelings, came into the hallway. She took the briefcase that Liana wasn't even aware she was carrying and set it on a table, then helped with her coat. “Mr. Brown's in Matthew's room.”

“Thank you. Have there been any calls?”

There was a break in Sue's serene mask, a quick glimpse of her misery. “No. I wish.”

“Has Stanford asked you any questions?”

“Just a few. He wanted to know if I had any ideas where Matty might have gone.”

Sue was the only person who was still allowed to call Matthew “Matty.” The name brought tears to Liana's eyes, but she stubbornly blinked them away.

“I told Mr. Brown the names of some of Matty's friends. But he says you gave him those.”

“Keep thinking. Maybe you'll remember something.”

“I won't be thinking of anything else.”

Liana squeezed Sue's hand and got a gentle squeeze in return. “I'm going to talk to Stanford.”

She wound through the hallway, past walls filled with photographs of Matthew as a baby, then Matthew as a toddler. Her son grew older as she walked, until just before his bedroom the photographs showed a handsome, grinning teenager in a soccer uniform, a boy, all legs and arms, poised on the brink of adulthood. The photos stopped there. The hallway beyond was adorned with Japanese scrolls until Matthew grew older.

If Matthew grew older.

“Stanford?”

Stanford Brown, whose legal first name was easily forgotten, was a dark-skinned, wide-shouldered African-American who had been Stanford University's prize linebacker before heading off for the FBI Academy. He
faced her, his hands filled with papers from Matthew's desk. “I wanted to get started as quickly as possible. I knew you wouldn't mind.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Just school papers. I was looking for topics that might give us a clue. When they're upset, some kids use class assignments as a signal.”

“Did he?”

“Not unless he left home because he was worried about the ozone layer or the effects of the 1906 earthquake on the city's Chinese community.”

“I don't think he
left
home, Stanford. I would have known if he was unhappy. We're close, too close for him to hide something like that.”

“He's almost fifteen. I was that age once. And I can guarantee a boy doesn't share everything he's thinking with his mother.”

She pressed her lips together to keep from protesting.

Stanford looked down at the papers in his hands. “First thing in the morning, I'll track down the teachers he had this year. He might have kept a journal at school. Do you know?”

“Not that he told me about. And no one mentioned a journal during conferences.”

“This is a pretty sophisticated computer.” Stanford gestured to the one at Matthew's desk. “Does everything but cook supper.”