Dangerous Love (24 page)

Aunt Viv. What was she doing at Falasha?

The chauffer opened the back door and her aunt, in her signature Dior suit, stepped out, then he proceeded to walk her to the store entrance, held the door open, and waited until her aunt entered before closing it behind her. As though no one was supposed to enter the store, he crossed his arms and stood smack in front of the doors. That wasn’t a good sign.

Faith’s attention moved to her aunt, who was gently tugging off her gloves. She always complained of cold hands even when the weather was warm. “Aunt Viv, what a surprise.”

“Hello, my dear.” The smile and the endearment were perfunctory. “I came to see the work Jordan did. Lex told me he worked tirelessly to get the place done in under a week.”

“They did a wonderful job replacing everything.”

“That comes from knowing the right people,” Aunt Viv said as she walked farther into the room and studied the gowns on the mannequins.

Faith followed her, trying to see Falasha store through her aunt’s eyes. Some of the shelves were bare since she decided not to carry Deidre’s jewelry. Faith had been tempted to continue selling whatever she had left and send the money to Molly’s parents to help cover part of her hospital bills, but decided against it. It wasn’t in her to be that vindictive.

“I read the article they did on you. It was well done and about time you got some recognition.”

Faith wasn’t sure where that came from. “Thank you, Aunt Viv.”

“You and Sean make a wonderful team. I always knew you would.”

“I was not at the show with Sean, Aunt Viv. We just happened to bump into each other.”

Aunt Viv chuckled. “I hardly call attending a show Sean hosted and sitting by his side a bump.”

Faith’s hand tightened around the strap of her purse. She couldn’t very tell her aunt why she’d gone to the show hosted by a man she claimed to dislike. “There’s nothing between us, Aunt Viv. Not anymore. This was merely a fashion event and our paths crossed.”

Her aunt smiled. “Whatever you say, dear. How’s the preparation for Fashion Week?”

 
“Okay. I’ve had a few bumps, but everything will be okay.”

 
“A few bumps?” Aunt Viv asked with a gleam in her eyes.

Faith lost it. “What is it you want to hear, Aunt Viv? That someone stole my designs and sold them to Sean? That the timing of the vandalism in here had something to do with it? Or that Sean called my sponsor and spread lies about me, forcing them to drop me?”

“There’s no need to raise your voice or blame your problems on other people. As a Fitzgerald, you must accept responsibility for your actions.”

“That’s too bad—”

“I’m not done, young lady. You made the mistake of going into business with a female sociopath, who stole your designs then hired thugs to destroy your business. When you told her she couldn’t use her jewelry during Fashion Week, she called your sponsor and destroyed all your chances of making it to New York.”

Shock rendered Faith speechless.

“And when she got caught, she looked for a scapegoat and found one in a man from your past.”

Faith laughed though mirth was the last thing she felt. If she didn’t know the truth, everything her aunt just said would have made sense. “Is that Sean’s version of the events? He’s lying to you, Aunt Viv. How does he explain the gown Mrs. VanderMarck wore on Friday in the show? It is exactly like his.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Aunt Viv said, her hand coming to rest on Faith’s shoulder. “How often do you peruse past and present styles before you sit down and start sketching? You know that designers are influence by other designers, and students tend to follow their mentors, consciously or subconsciously. So of course there’s similarity between your style and Sean’s—”

“Similarities?” Faith shrugged off her aunt’s hand. “It was an exact replica down to lace placement and buttons. You’re so blinded by Sean, Aunt Viv, you can’t see what’s obvious. He’s a thief and a liar.”

Aunt Viv crossed her arms in front of her and sighed. “He cares about you and only wants what’s best for you. Even after that sick woman spread lies about him, he still wants to work with you.”

Faith shook her head. “He needs help, Aunt Viv. Did he explain how he knows so much about Deidre?”

“The police went to see him to return the gowns that woman stole. Do you know he offered to use her jewelry in his showroom as a favor to you? She told him the two of you were friends and she was struggling to make ends meet.”

Faith closed her eyes, so frustrated she wanted to scream at her aunt. What hold did Sean have over her? “We have proof—videos of him removing those clothes from his vault and half-an-hour later, walking into Deidre’s building, talking to her.”

Aunt Viv wore a bewildered look. “Proof?”

“Solid evidence he can’t deny,” Faith said with glee.

“How did you get them?”

“I hired a private investigator when I learned someone was stealing my designs. Sean can spin a tale about everything that’s happened the last several weeks, but he can’t deny what we have on him.”

Aunt Viv picked up her gloves and wiggled her fingers through one. “I’d like to see them. These videos you claim you have.”

 
Claim? Even now her aunt doubted her. That hurt. An inner voice told her to let it go, but a gate had opened and there was no stopping the ugliness from coming out. “I’m your niece, your brother’s daughter. Why is it so easy for you to believe him, an outsider, and not me?”

“This is not about who you are or—”

“Isn’t it? Who am I, Aunt Viv? Your brother’s daughter? Or the daughter of a woman with questionable morals who used her beauty to snare your brother into marriage?”

Aunt Viv’s eyes widened. “Faith Fitzgerald! What’s gotten into you? What are you talking about?”
        

“I overheard you, Aunt Marge, and Aunt Cathleen that first Thanksgiving in Sonoma. You said terrible things about…” her voice shook, “my mother, about me. Did Dad ever perform a paternity test to prove I was his?”

“Child that was years ago. Have you been carrying this burden all these years? Doubting who you are? Is this why you’re always pushing people away? Never asking for help even when you need it?”

Anger and pain gripped Faith’s throat, making it hard to speak. She never pushed people, not really. She just protected herself, so she wouldn’t get hurt again. The doubts weren’t a burden, just pesky thoughts that crept in when she was vulnerable.

She took deep calming breaths. “It doesn’t matter, Aunt Viv. Believe Sean if you like. I know the truth and that’s what matters.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Aunt Viv took a step toward Faith.

Faith stepped back, her chin lifting. “I’d like you to leave now.”

“Faith—”

“Please,” Faith ground out, tears threatening to flow.

“You’re an impossible child to have a conversation with. If you need a spons—”

“No, thanks, I’ll pass.”

Her aunt humphed, grabbed her remaining glove, and stomped out the door. Faith flinched when the door closed behind her. She sagged against the counter and took deep calming breaths. She and her temper finally did it. No one had ever stood up to her aunt.

***

“Irene’s darling child is all grown up,” Gemma Frost muttered.

Kenny sipped his coffee, his gaze on the woman seated across from him. She had to be in her mid-fifties but looked ten years older. Tracking her down hadn’t been easy. Two days of legwork had led him to a boutique that designed and sold showgirl costumes. It was owned by Gemma and her daughter.

Gemma looked up from the computer screen, where she’s been studying photographs of Faith from the Saturday article. Associated Press had picked it up and ran with it. It was all over the internet.

“She’s even more beautiful than her mother, and that’s saying a lot,” Gemma said. “I guess it’s those unusual Fitzgerald eyes.”

Funny he hadn’t noticed any Fitzgerald with Faith’s blue eyes. “She’s really the commander’s daughter.”

Gemma laughed. “Of course. The older brother, uh, I can’t remember his name now, had DNA proof before he came to see Irene. I don’t know how their investigator got a sample of Faith’s DNA, but I guess you private investigators are good at that sort of thing.”

Kenny’s cheeks warmed up. He had no comeback. Gemma was blunt and direct, and hadn’t held anything back ever since he walked into her boutique and introduced himself as a P.I. and Faith’s friend.

“You know, I always believed they would have taken Faith away from Irene if she hadn’t agreed to their terms.”

Kenny frowned. “Terms?”

“They offered her a place to stay in L.A., and a monthly stipend, so Faith could be raised properly. Properly.” She scoffed. “Irene may not have had much money, but she raised that child right. She didn’t sleep around like other girls and always carried herself like a lady. But above all, Faith was her first priority.”

Kenny lost interest in his pie, but his admiration for Faith’s mother kept rising. It couldn’t have been easy being a single mother, raising a child in her line of business.

“She was scared and powerless after the Fitzgeralds talked to her. She came to me in tears. She didn’t want to lose her daughter, but she didn’t believe in depending on others to feed and clothe her. It was a dilemma. Dancing was all she knew. At the same time, she wanted what was best for Faith.” Gemma signaled the waitress and asked for more coffee. “Do you want a fresh cup, Mr. Lambert?”

“No, thanks.” The pastry shop had amazing pies but their coffee was terrible.

“Anyway, I told her to demand to see Faith’s father, to deal with him instead his brother and their lawyers. He was in Okinawa at the time. They flew him home.” Gemma sipped her coffee. “Just like that. One phone call and he was home. Now that’s power. As soon as the dear man learned about Faith, he decided to court our Irene instead. And what a courtship.” She fanned her face with her hand. “Phew. He was also not very happy with his brother for the high-handed way he’d treated Irene, which redeemed him in my eyes. But the way he doted on Faith is what won Irene over.” She laughed and leaned back. “Now that’s one heck of a love story. What do you think?”

Kenny chuckled. “I think you should tell Faith that story sometime.”

“I’d love that. Is she happy?”

Images of Faith flashed in his head. Faith wearing his shirt, teasing him. Faith seated across the table under the candlelight, sharing a meal she’s prepared just for the two of them. Faith asleep in his arms. Then there was Faith fighting tears as Sean delivered another blow to her plans, blue eyes flashing when she was angry or frustrated.

“Yes, she is happy and looking forward to Fashion Week.”

“I would love to be there.” Gemma sighed. “Maybe one day.”

“She told me she wished you could be there.”

Gemma shook her head. “No, I don’t want to impose.”

“I don’t want to be rude, Ms. Stone, but what if I bought you a ticket to the show? Would you go?”

Gemma chuckled. “Oh, aren’t you a sweetheart. These shows are by invitation only and I’m sure everyone who’s who in the fashion world already accepted her invitation. It is best for her business to pack her show with editors and buyers, celebrities and journalists, not old friends.” She patted his arm. “But thanks for thinking about me.”

Kenny frowned. “I don’t know how these things work, but I know having you there would mean a lot to Faith, which is why I came to find you. She told me how much you influenced her, how she tried to find you before with little result.”

“Don’t worry about me, dear.” She patted his hand. “If my godchild wants me there, I’ll find a way.” She signaled the waitress and asked for the check.

“I’ll take care of that, Ms. Stone.”

“Thank you.” She leaned forward and studied Kenny intently. “So? How serious are you about Faith?”

Kenny laughed. Her bluntness was disconcerting. “Who said anything about—”

“My dearest boy, why else would you come searching for me if not to show your devotion to her? You love her. I see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice whenever you say her name.”

Kenny smiled. “Yes, I love her.”

CHAPTER 19

Faith was in the middle of removing her dinner from a plastic bag when her cell phone rang. Ken. A zing shot through her. He’d left her place Sunday morning after breakfast and she hadn’t heard from him since. She picked up the phone. “Hey, stranger.”

“Hey, baby. Are you at home or still at work?” he asked.

“Home. Just got in. Where have you been?”

“Missed me?” he teased.

“Was that your intention?”

He chuckled. “No. I had some business in Vegas, which involved visiting all sorts of unsavory places.”

Faith frowned. Most of the work he’d done while on her case involved surveillance by high-tech gadgets. She’d forgotten he did other types of P.I. work too. “Where are you now?”

“On my way home.”

“Do you need a ride from the airport?”

“No, no, sweetheart. I’m going home to San Diego to see my parents. I will be back in L.A. on Wednesday morning.”

The day before they left for Sonoma. The confrontation with her aunt flashed in Faith’s head. How she wished they weren’t going. But running away wasn’t her thing. No matter how terrible the visit might turn out, she was going. She and Sean needed to have their showdown.

“You still there?” Ken asked.

“Yeah. Just thinking. I had one of those days that started off great and ended up in a disaster.”

“That doesn’t sound good. What happened?”

Faith sat back and sighed. Where to start? “My aunt stopped by the store and I told her off. Sean told her lies and half-truths, and she believed him. I told her we had evidence to bury him.” She frowned. “That’s okay, right? I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

“It’s fine. What did she say?”

“She didn’t believe me. Things escalated from there and she stormed off. The funniest thing is the day started off great and I have you to thank for that.”

He chuckled. “Really? What did I do?”

“You invited me to be a decoy at the relief show and work with my Hollywood guardian angels. That article did more to market my business than years of local shows. I’d sent invitations to who-is-who in the fashion world and gotten some responses. I wasn’t too worried because I knew GGC advertised the events they sponsor too, but today, wow, you’d think a dam broke open. I got a lot of confirmations from fashion journalists, editors, stylists, and bloggers. At this rate, I’ll have all seats taken by end of the week.”

“Is that very important?”

Faith laughed. “Do you know what a designer’s nightmare is?”

“What?”

“Low attendance. During Fashion Week, you want bloggers writing about your collection, editors making appointments with you to feature your clothes, stylists ordering gowns for their celebrities to wear to the Oscars or the Grammys…buyers, big and small, vying to place orders. A show can either make or break a designer.”

“So ordinary people can’t buy tickets and watch you shine?”

He had a way with words. “Is that your way of asking if you can attend my show?”

Ken laughed softly. “Can I?”

“Of course. I haven’t started charting the seating arrangement yet because…well, I didn’t know who’d be attending. You know, other than my family and friends. So how many tickets would you like?”

“Can you swing two?”

“Two it is.”

“Great. Thanks. Anything on the funding front?”

“Not yet, but I have a few appointments in the next two days.” She hated discussing money matters with Ken. His offer to help was starting to look tempting, but she couldn’t dare. “I should know where I stand by next week.”

“Good. We’re boarding. Do you want the videos of Sean to show your aunt?”

“No…yes…I don’t know.” Her doorbell rang. “I’ll let you know. Someone’s leaning on my door ringer.” She got up.

“Shouldn’t the security guards notify you if you have a guest?” He sounded worried.

“It’s probably one of my cousins. The guards know them and often let them through. Let’s talk later, okay.”

She hurried to the door as soon as she put her cell phone down. Eddie stood on the other side of the doorway, a scowl on his face.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, you?”

He only scowled harder.

“I mean, you were leaning on my doorbell like hellhounds were at your heel.” She stepped back. “Come inside. I was just about to have dinner if you want to join me.”

“What are you having?”

“Sub sandwich. I got a foot long, so you can have half.”

Eddie made a face. “That’s your dinner?”

“I saw that, Mr. Judgmental.” She retrieved a can of beer from the fridge and threw it to him. He popped it open and took a long sip, then leaned against the counter.

“I can hear the wheel turning in your head, Eddie. Come out and say whatever is on your mind.”

“We caught the two guys who vandalized your store.”

Something in his voice had Faith searching his face. “That’s great…right?”

“They gave the description of the person who hired them and it wasn’t Sean. Deidre Jamison hired them.”

Aunt Viv’s words flashed in my head. What if Sean wasn’t guilty? “Are they telling the truth?”

He nodded. “They know her as Charlene Butler, a regular at the neighborhood bar not far from her old place. She asked them if they were interested in making extra cash. They said she was flashing a lot of money, like she’d hit the lotto or something. The car they used was stolen not far from the bar, but dumped on the other side of town.”

“Any word on her yet?”

He shook his head. “No, but we’re following a few leads. I think she worked with Sean.”

And he was going to get away with it. Faith pushed away her sandwich. Her appetite was gone. “How much?”

Eddie cocked a brow. “What?”

“How much did destroying my store and beating up Molly cost?”

“Five,” he said reluctantly.

“Thousand?”

“Hundred.”

Faith clenched her fist. “There must be a way you can connect a withdrawal from Sean’s bank to a deposit in Deidre’s account.”

“Five hundred is too small to raise a red flag. However, we’re trying to see if there was a large withdrawal from his account around the time she put down payment on her condo. He won’t get away with this.”

“He will. Do you know what he told Aunt Viv?” By the time she finished talking, Eddie was pacing.

“I’ll get the tapes from Lambert and show her,” Eddie said. “Maybe she’ll finally see him for the slime ball that he is.”

“No.”

He scowled. “Do you want me to talk to her?”

Faith shook her head. “She should have believed me when I talked to her. We’re not showing her anything.” Faith pressed a finger on her temple. “I need to focus on finishing my collection and getting funds for the show, not chasing my tail because of Sean.”

“What do you mean ‘getting funds for the show?’ I thought you had some big corporation throwing money at you.”

“I’m talking about a different show,” she lied smoothly and hoped Eddie didn’t notice her warming cheeks. “Is Lori home yet?”

He nodded though he still watched her curiously. “Yeah. Why?”

“With Molly gone, I’m minus a salesgirl.”

Eddie grinned. “Good. She can help out at the store while I show her new friend L.A. from a squad car.”

“Another boyfriend?”

“A ‘friend,’ she insists. An exchange student from Dublin she decided to bring home for Thanksgiving. He’s a bit too friendly for my liking.”

Faith often found the dynamics of the relationship between Eddie and his much younger sister amusing, but not this time. Of all the college-age Fitzgerald girls, Lori understood fashion and often helped out at Falasha store during the holidays. She even modeled the clothes for Falasha’s website.

She’d ask her first before trying the other cousins.

***

Ken picked up a rental from the airport and headed toward his parents’ place in La Jolla. He tried to think of how he’d explain to his father why he needed one hundred grand. When he pulled up outside the Cape Cod-style beach house his parents had called home for over twenty years, he was still refining the details.

He parked at the curb, hoisted his overnight bag over his shoulder, and headed for the side gate. A walk up the cobbled path brought back a rush of childhood memories. He and Misa spent many a morning indoors with their noses buried in books and afternoons toiling over piano and violin pieces, but their evenings were spent playing hide and seek behind the thick hedges. Unlike their neighbors’ continuous carpet of grass, their front lawn was a blend of traditional Japanese landscaping and modern architecture—patches of green walled in with flowing hedges or flowerbeds, stone lanterns with hidden meanings, a water fountain, even a fake bridge. The best parts were the benches, which his grandmother had strategically placed around the compound. She’d often sit out there and stare into space. Feeding her spirit, his mother had told Ken. He got in plenty of trouble for sneaking up on her to see what she ate to feed her spirit.

His father opened the door, his eyes lighting up.

“Son. This is a surprise.” He looked behind Ken as though searching for someone.

“Hi, Dad. I know I should have called first.”

“Why? This is your home.” His father stepped back to let him through, then placed his hand on Ken’s shoulder, the closest thing to a hug Ken had received from him in a while. “We didn’t know you were coming home for Thanksgiving.”

“I’m only here for a day, Dad. I made other plans for Thanksgiving.”

“Business?”

Ken was surprised again by the mild curiosity and lack of censorship in his father’s voice. “Pleasure.”

His father chuckled. “The fashion designer?”

His sister was so toast. Before Ken could respond, his mother called out from the den, “Who is it, honey?”

“Ken.” His father closed the door and walked with him.

His mother and grandmother were in the family room, watching something on TV. His father patted Ken’s shoulder. “Good to have you home, son. I’ll be in the den if you need to escape,” he added in a whisper.

While his father disappeared in the opposite direction, Ken put his bag down and hugged his petite mother. She returned the hug then slapped his arm. “Why didn’t you say you were coming home? I would have kept a plate warm for you.”

Ken grinned, seeing past the frown to the pleasure in her eyes. “Cold will do. Hi,
obaa-chan
,” he said, using the Japanese nickname for grandmother he often used.

“Don’t
obaa-chan
me.” His grandmother beckoned him over, gave him a hug and a pinch on his cheek. “Where is she?”

“Where’s who?” Ken asked, silently vowing to bury his sister in an unmarked grave.

“Your girlfriend, you naughty boy,” his grandmother admonished him. “Misa said you were bringing her home.”

A burial was too dignifying for what he planned to do to his sister. “Faith is preparing for Fashion Week, but I’m spending Thanksgiving with her and her family.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” his mother said, tugging his arm and indicating a chair. “Tell us more. Do you have a picture of her? Have you something decent to wear? You know how important first impressions are.”

“There’s nothing wrong with jeans and a T-shirt,” he teased.

His grandmother let out a string of condemnation. His mother’s eyes narrowed. “When are you going back?”

“Wednesday morning.”

“We’ll shop tomorrow,” his mother said firmly.

“Mother, I have—”

“I’ll get you something to eat.”

He should have known better than to argue with her. Once she made up her mind about something, there was no changing it. Left with his grandmother, Ken met her gaze and grinned.

“Don’t try to charm me with that smile, you naughty boy. Have you given her a ring yet?”

“No.”

“What are you waiting for?”

Ken sighed. He wasn’t prepared for this. “The right moment,
obaa-chan
.”

“What presents are you taking to her parents?”

His grandmother was very traditional. “This is a very informal occasion.”

She humphed. “Do you have pictures of her?”

“No.”

His grandmother cross her arms and narrowed her eyes. “How long have you known this girl?”

Ken recalled the moment he first saw Faith. His people were guarding her cousin Ashley at the time. Skinny jeans and a snug top that showed off her amazing body, face so exquisite he’d gawked, until she opened her mouth. He’d never met a bossier, know-it-all woman in his entire life.

“Answer your grandmother, sweetheart,” his mother said, a plate of sushi and sashimi in her hand. She sat on the armchair and sleeked back his hair.

“I’ve known Faith for over a year. I think I’ll join Dad now.” He got up to escape with his food, but his mother grabbed his arm and gently tugged him back to his seat.