Caught in the Act (The Davenports) (18 page)

Thomas was saying that he’d slept with Brody’s fiancée to protect him? Bullshit.

He’d slept with Devan because he was just like their father. He’d wanted to prove that he could. Because people like that did things for the pure power of it.

“She was livid to find out she’d barked up the wrong tree yet again,” Thomas told him.

Brody did get some slight satisfaction from that. “Yet she’s made her way to where she wanted to be,” he pointed out. “She always wanted the White House.”

“She also slept with many people to get herself there.”

Disgust had Brody moving to the railing. He let the wood press into his lower stomach as he leaned over the edging, wanting to vomit up the fact that he’d ever cared about someone who’d cared so little for him. She’d been conniving from the start. And he’d been a blind sap to ever think it was love.

Then it occurred to him what else Thomas was saying. Brody stood up straight.

“She slept with Arthur?” he asked.

“Still does from what I gather. An occasional thing.”

“But didn’t he remarry last year?” To some woman who was less than half his age, if Brody remembered correctly.

“Marriage has never kept our father’s pants zipped,” Thomas pointed out.

“What about you?” he asked.

“What about me?”

“Do you have a problem keeping it in your pants?” Thomas had gotten married two years before. Brody had been invited to the wedding. He hadn’t gone.

“My marriage is very happy,” Thomas stated.

Brody noticed his brother didn’t say monogamous. He simply couldn’t imagine living that kind of lifestyle. “I need to go,” he said abruptly. No possible good could come from this conversation.

“Can you at least tell me—”

“No.” He had no idea what Thomas intended to ask. But no, he wouldn’t tell his brother anything. Ever. “And don’t ask me to again.”

“Okay.” Thomas accepted defeat. “But the latest gossip wasn’t the only reason I called. I wanted to check on you.”

“Why?”

“You once told me about her,” Thomas said, his words coming out cautiously. “The summer we first met.”

Brody closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the sky. He
had
told Thomas about Cat. He’d been staying at the Harrison house in DC for a few weeks, having just learned who his father was—and still believing it mattered—when he’d seen the paper with the picture of Cat and Joseph Carlton in it. Thomas had caught him staring at the photo as if wanting the man to step out of the picture so Brody could rip his throat from his body.

“You were in love with her.”

“Lust,” Brody corrected. “We were kids.”

“You’re not kids now.”

He gripped the railing in his hand, taking note of two additional vehicles pulling up behind the line of cars already parked at the road. He could barely make them out through the trees, but they were there. All lining up, waiting to pounce. “What’s your point?”

“You back with her?”

Brody shot a glance at his back door as it opened. Cat stepped out dressed in jeans, tennis shoes, and his hoodie. It completely covered her blonde hair and hung to midthigh. Her gaze landed on him.

Did she want him to tell her it was okay for her to go?

He wouldn’t do it. It was not okay for her to run back to Atlanta just because her mother told her to. There was more to life than living it for someone else.

He turned his back to her and closed his eyes against the sound of her feet heading down his deck stairs.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘back,’ ” he finally muttered into the phone.

At four o’clock that afternoon, Brody was sitting in his cramped office at St. Mary’s, the small television that was attached to the wall in the corner tuned to a national news station. He was still steaming from his argument with Cat.

He couldn’t believe she’d walked out.

He couldn’t believe he’d thought she might change.

But she had left. And she hadn’t changed.

An hour after she’d crossed their yards, he’d watched her car back out of her garage. She’d still been wearing his hoodie. And every single vehicle parked on the street had pulled out after her.

Irritation with himself had him muting the TV in his office. He needed to put her out of his mind. Probably he should have left the school hours ago. Found something else to do. Maybe someone else to do. He certainly didn’t need to continue sitting there, waiting to see what Cat’s family planned to say. Or to see Cat standing there with them.

He needed to accept that the two of them were over.

Because if she came back . . . and if he took her back . . . it truly would be just for the sex.

He picked up his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts. He needed to call Clyde. Make sure Cat hadn’t forgotten to let him know she was gone. Laura would have to step into the lead role tonight, which meant Laura’s role would now be left empty.

He and Clyde had talked about that potential, and Clyde’s wife was a possible backup. The woman usually took part in the plays but had decided to sit this one out. She’d wanted to spend the summer at the beach with the grandkids instead of at the playhouse with her husband. But she
was
the director’s wife. She’d step in during their time of need.

Brody only hoped that Laura was ready for her new role. Because this poor play had stood about all the ups and downs it could take.

Such as his latest rejection. He’d sent an updated copy to his dream agent earlier in the week, but it had failed to impress. The man had passed.

Additionally, there had been no further word from Ben Searcy. No matter what Cat had said, Brody hadn’t wanted to use her name to entice the man up here. Looked like that had been a wise decision, given that she’d left town.

He gritted his teeth.

When the full-screen view of the reporter pulled away to allow a picture to appear in the top corner of the television, Brody turned the volume back up. Cameras were positioned in front of a stately front porch where a podium and microphone were set up. The on-air reporter was making small talk about the Davenport home as she waited for the press conference to begin.

He found Clyde’s number and hit the button to make the call.

“And joining us from Portland, Maine . . .”

Brody whipped his gaze back to the television. Cat was on the screen now, her public face in place as she nodded politely to the camera. She was in another inset box, this one in the lower corner.

“She’s still in Maine,” he muttered.

“Hello?” Clyde said on the other end of the phone. “Brody? Who’s still in Maine?”

Brody realized his call had connected. “I’m sorry. I’ll, uh . . .”—he couldn’t take his eyes off the TV—“call you back.”

“Oh-kay.” Clyde sounded as confused as Brody felt, but Brody didn’t give himself time to worry about it. He disconnected and once again grabbed the remote.

At the noticeably higher volume, the department receptionist leaned back in her desk chair and stared into his office. Her head was tilted down so she could see over her bifocals, and she wore a seriously perturbed expression. He got up and shut the door.

Then he walked backward to his desk, never taking his eyes off the TV.

Emma and JP Davenport stepped out onto the porch, followed immediately by JP’s wife. The screen switched so the Davenports filled the space. Cat remained in her own box.

She wasn’t with them.

Brody’s heart raced as he wondered what that might mean.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had on a green dress that complemented her blonde hair flawlessly, and she looked softer than he’d ever seen her. She still wore her Davenport air, but she somehow seemed more like the girl he’d known nineteen years ago. Not the daughter of Senator Emma Davenport.

She looked more solid in herself. As if she finally had a foot stuck firmly outside those lines that gave her so much trouble, instead of both being planted directly within her mother’s reach.

The three in Atlanta stood quietly as cameras in the audience flashed, then the crowd hushed. Emma Davenport stepped to the podium. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. And thank you all for being here. We’ll make this brief. There have been allegations about my late husband that have been brought forward in the past week, and it pains me to say that unfortunately, we now believe some of these allegations to be true. Jackson Senior
was
involved in a brief relationship during his last campaign. He was riddled with cancer, and it was very poor judgment on his part, but that did not change the stalwart man that he was. The man who did decades of good for this country.”

Brody tuned her out. He didn’t care to hear her words, because that’s all they were. Words. What he was interested in was Cat. And knowing why she was in Maine.

She looked amazing.

“Since we’ve learned of the child,” Emma said, her voice droning into his brain once again, “we’ve done everything for him and his mother that we can. My son has set up a trust for the boy’s education.”

“It’s lies.”

Brody jerked his gaze to the door. Cat stood there. In the same green dress she wore on TV.

“What’s lies?” he asked. He could barely speak from the adrenaline roaring through him.

“Everything she’s saying.”

Of course it was. He could have told her that much. He rose from his seat but stayed behind his desk.

Cat glanced at the receptionist—who was, no doubt, leaning an ear in their direction—then quietly closed the door. They stood looking at each other from across the room.

“Not about the school,” she continued. “JP
is
paying for that. The kid has severe dyslexia. JP suffered from the same so he understands the need for specialized tutors and the right schools. I would have helped, myself, if he’d bothered to tell me about Daniel when he first found out.”

“When did he find out?”

“Last year.” She moved farther into the room, a tiny scowl creasing the spot between her eyes as she edged a heeled foot around a pile of books on his floor. “Actually,
JP
found out last year. My mother has known about Daniel since before my dad died.”

Brody was floored by both the pronouncement and the fact that Cat was sharing it with him. “Your mother knew the woman was pregnant?”

“Girl. Woman.” Cat nodded. “Whatever you want to call her.”

Oh God, he couldn’t be hearing this. He was the enemy.

Only he wasn’t.

He was Cat’s lover.

He was the man who wanted to be a whole lot more than a lover.

“When did
you
find out?” he asked.

She reached the spot directly in front of his desk and her solid gaze landed on his. “Right before I came to Maine.”

He was beginning to understand why she was staying in a rental house instead of the family home. She may not be ready to admit it, but she was distancing herself. She was trying to break free.

His chest burst with renewed hope.

“She also wrote a fat check,” Cat added. “Eight years ago. With the instructions that Lexi was to stay quiet. Forever.”

“Ah, shit.”

“Right.” She smirked. “Just wait until that one comes out.”

“Hopefully it won’t.”

Her eyes held pain. “I’m not sure I even care if it does.”

That was a change. And he wasn’t sure he believed her. But she
was
here. That had to mean something.

The voice on the TV changed to Cat’s, and Brody shifted his gaze to watch her make her statement. She was saying all the right words, but he knew her better now. Whereas before he would have thought she believed everything she was spouting, he now saw deeper. He saw that she was hurting inside. She hadn’t wanted to say those things. She didn’t believe them.

“Why are you here, Cat?” He could feel his pulse pounding in his neck.

“I prerecorded my statement earlier in Portland. That way I didn’t have to be at the station live.”

He nodded. Not the question he was asking. “Why are you
here
? In Maine. Why did you change your mind about going home?”

“Oh,” she whispered. She looked away then, her eyes seeming to focus on something that wasn’t in the room, before they cleared and returned to him. She pulled her shoulders back. “I couldn’t do it,” she stated bluntly. “I got back to the house, and everything you’d told me out on the deck kept running through my head. Yeah, it was in the past, but that’s who my mother is. That’s who she’s always been. And, I suppose, that’s who I thought I was. Do whatever it takes to protect the family.”

“You don’t think that now?”

“I think I don’t
want
to be that person. Not to the extent of hurting people, lying to them. I’m not sure who I am anymore, but I don’t want decisions made solely due to public opinion to be what my kids witness for the rest of their lives. It’s not what I want them doing themselves. Plus, I didn’t want to go home. I’m on vacation. And I have a play I have to be in tonight.”

He circled his desk and gathered her in his arms. “I am so proud of you.”

“Me too.”

He kissed her then, hoping it would be okay, because he couldn’t wait any longer. He hadn’t lost her. Not yet. And maybe he wouldn’t have to. He
would
tell her who his father was, though. The air needed to be cleared between them before they could figure out what came next.