Intimate Betrayal (17 page)

M
axwell gathered Reese's trembling body tightly against his. His own racing heart matching hers beat for beat. “Shh. It's all right. It's over, baby. It's over.” Gently, he rocked her back and forth.

“My head,” she said weakly, the pain in her temples building in intensity. Tears squeezed from her eyes. “My head,” she whispered again.

“Okay. Just relax. Take it easy. We'll make it all right. I promise. Lean against me.” He adjusted his position allowing Reese to lean her back against his chest. “That's it. Now close your eyes and breathe deeply through your mouth just like we did it before.”

With infinite tenderness he began the ritual of massaging her temples, while evoking soothing images of beaches, sailing ships and soft summer breezes. By degrees he felt the tension in her body begin to relent. The trembling had ceased.
Her rapid breathing was slowing to near normal. He continued the soft pressure with his thumbs against the pain.

He placed a featherlike kiss against her brow. “That's it, just relax,” he crooned. He continued his ministrations until he heard her soft sigh.

“It's gone,” she whispered. Her eyes fluttered open, trying to focus. She struggled to a sitting position, resting her head on her bent knees.

Maxwell massaged her shoulders. “Are you sure you're all right?”

She nodded.

“Do you want to talk about it? Do you remember anything?”

Reese swallowed, desperately wanting the memories to return from whence they came. “Unfortunately, I do,” she said slowly, twisting her body to face him. His heart thudded with trepidation.

Maxwell listened with a mounting sense of foreboding as Reese painstakingly recounted her nightmare. The implications of her dream went much deeper than the scenes depicted. A young girl had overheard her father accused of infidelity with her mother's sister. She'd seen a man who apparently looked like him near the family car the night before they were killed. How did it all tie in together? And what role, if any, did his father play?

“Reese,” he said softly, moments after she'd finished. “What date—was the accident?” He held his breath, waiting for the answer that he possibly didn't want to hear.

“June 28, 1995,” she answered in a monotone, the one memory forever etched in her mind.

Maxwell's pulse began to race. Two days later, his family had left their home in Maryland and moved to the West Coast. Coincidence? His fear of the worst mounted, but he kept his own counsel.

“Come on, let's try to get some sleep.” He eased her down on the bed and drew the sheet up her body. “We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Too tired and drained to do more, Reese merely nodded in agreement. All she wanted to do was sleep. And as she drifted off to a dreamless slumber, curled in the protectiveness of Max's arms, she finally understood her aunt Celeste's resentment of her. The realization carved out a painful place in her heart. A silent tear of regret slipped down her cheek.

 

The drive the following morning back into Los Angeles was done in relative silence. Images of Reese's past continued to haunt her in the light of day. Could she truly rely on what she'd dreamed? she repeatedly asked herself. Did she want to remember so desperately that she'd begun to fabricate the missing pieces of her past? She sighed deeply and looked to Maxwell from the corner of her eyes. She didn't want to believe that his father had anything to do with the deaths of her parents. The thought chilled her to the marrow of her bones. Where would that leave them?

“I've been trying to avoid thinking about all the things you said last night,” Maxwell began, as if reading her thoughts. “The idea that my father may be involved in some way—” he hesitated, then turned briefly toward her “—I just don't want to believe that.” He shook his head in denial. “I can't believe that.”

“But why was he there, Max? Why, the very night before my parents were killed and half my life was erased, was he near the car?”

“You're not even sure it was my father,” he snapped in defense, even as his own thoughts traveled in the same dangerous direction. “It could have been anyone,” he added with less conviction.

Reese slowly shook her head, a part of her certitude
weakening. She knew he was right; how could she be sure? Yet, a part of her, a deep instinct, told her that she was right on target, and she also understood that an invisible line had been drawn between her and Maxwell.

 

“I'll get R.J. to come over and get you set up,” Maxwell said offhandedly when they arrived at his office. “Carmen will set you up with an office space so you can have some privacy.” He finally looked at her and his stomach knotted. “Is there anything else you think you'll need?”

“No,” she said softly. “That sounds like everything.”

“Good. I have two meetings to attend and some loose ends to tie up today.” He paused, purposely avoiding her steady gaze. “I'll probably be unavailable for the rest of the day.”

Reese raised her chin. “No problem, Max. I'm sure I'll have plenty to keep me busy,” she added, her tone of challenge unmistakable.

“I'll walk you over to R.J.'s office and get the ball rolling,” he offered, his voice losing its hard edge for the first time since they'd left San Diego. Reese's tummy curled with remembered warmth as she picked up her pace to match his long-legged stride.

Maxwell stopped abruptly outside R.J.'s office door. He turned toward Reese, a combination of apology and confusion swimming in his dark almond-shaped eyes. He lowered his gaze then looked directly at her. “Listen, about this morning…I'm sorry.” He took a breath and shook his head. “I just don't know if I'm ready to handle whatever it is that you may find out, Reese.” His low timbre seemed to shudder with the emotions that raged a war within him. “It's almost like taking sides.” He swallowed and clasped her shoulders, wanting instead to take her in his arms and push the world away. “My father and I may have never been close, but…I still don't want to believe the worst. I feel disloyal, as
if by helping you uncover whatever this is, I'll be turning on him…my own family. I'm not sure how to deal with that.” His gaze narrowed. “Can you understand that?”

Reese didn't care who was looking or what they thought when she reached out and stroked away the lines of worry from his forehead, letting her hand trail down his smooth bronze cheek. “Of course, I understand,” she uttered softly. “Do you think last night has been easy for me? I've been going through the same torture as you. I've asked all the what-ifs.” She moved closer to him, needing to be near him. “But we don't know anything for sure. At least not yet. I don't want this to come between us, Max. But I also have to be realistic. It might.” She pushed down the pain of that realization.

“And then what?” he asked looking deep into her eyes.

“We'll have to deal with it then. If what we have is worth fighting for, this will certainly be the test.”

Maxwell gave her a half-baked smile and his heart suddenly filled with an emotion so intense it left him momentarily without words. Even now, with all the unknown factors that lay ahead of them, she was still willing to give them a chance. She really cared—about him—about them. He felt his chest tighten. “It is worth fighting for, Reese,” he said slowly. “If I never realized it before, I realize it now.”

A slow smile of pure joy spread across her dark chocolate face. She squeezed his hand, took a quick look up and down the corridor, then put a soft kiss on his lips, just as R.J. opened his office door. They sprung quickly apart.

“Hey, folks,” he said in greeting, giving them a sly look and a grin. “Good to see you again, Reese.”

“You, too.” Reese smiled. “We still need to make time to talk before I leave.”

“You name the time.” He smiled expansively. “Comin' or goin'?” R.J. asked, turning his attention to Maxwell.

“Actually we were coming to see you,” Maxwell
answered, briskly pulling himself together. “Did you get my message?”

“Sure did. I can get Reese set up in about twenty minutes. Did you get office space?”

“Not yet.”

“Reese is free to use my office. You know I'm heading to San Francisco for a few days? I wanted to get up there and back before you left for Tokyo.”

Maxwell tapped his head with the heel of his palm. “I'd completely forgotten. Listen, R.J. I can take care of this myself. I'll make all of the connections and you get yourself together for the trip.”

“It's no problem,” he assured, needing to see just what it was Reese was attempting to do.

Maxwell clapped him heartily on the back. “Don't worry about it, man. You have enough to deal with for the moment.” And the more he considered it, the more he realized he shouldn't involve R.J. unnecessarily. He'd been so accustomed to R.J. taking care of situations at the L.A. offices, it was just second nature to secure his assistance. But prudence told him to follow the same advice he'd given Reese less than twenty-four hours earlier. “But I think I will take you up on your offer for the use of your space.”

“Mi casa es su casa,”
he chuckled, opening the door and waving them through. “Just make yourself at home Reese,” R.J. instructed as she walked in and took a look around at the orderly office. “I won't be back until the day after tomorrow, so it's all yours.”

She turned toward R.J. and smiled. “I'll keep it just the way it is,” she promised.

Maxwell checked his watch. “Maybe this would be a good time for you two to get better acquainted,” he offered. “I have a meeting in a half hour that I need to prepare for.” He looked to Reese.

“Fine with me,” she replied. “Do you have a few minutes, R.J.?”

“What man in his right mind would turn down a few minutes with you?” He grinned.

“Watch him,” Maxwell warned solicitously, pointing a finger at R.J. “He's not as innocent as he makes himself out to be.”

Reese laughed. “I think I can handle myself.”

“See you in the conference room, buddy. And thanks.”

“Don't mention it.”

Maxwell closed the office door behind him and R.J. moved to his seat behind the desk, while Reese took out her tape recorder and notebook, placing them both on the austere desk.

R.J. leaned back and watched Reese from beneath hooded lids. He folded his arms across his flat belly and waited.

Reese flipped open her notebook to the page where she'd jotted down some information on R.J. She crossed her long legs, depressed the record button and began her interview. She was surprised to discover that R.J. had had his own company before starting with M.K. Enterprises. Unfortunately his company had folded just as Max's doors were opening. Maxwell had been more than happy to bring R.J. and his expertise on board and immediately had him head up operations on the West Coast when the offices opened. Yet, even with all of the high praises that R.J. sung about Maxwell, there was something in his look and intonation that bespoke something else.

On more than one occasion, R.J. had referred to Maxwell as being lucky, being in the right place at the right time. Only once, almost as an afterthought did he mention Max's talent or his vision. He focused on his own contributions to the expansion of the company and how important
he
was to M.K. Enterprises and to Maxwell. Reese found it all very
curious and a bit disturbing. There was an almost grudging resentment beneath the accolades.

Reese looked up from her notetaking and gave R.J. a pinched smile. “Well, I think that just about does it, R.J.” She snapped her notebook closed and turned off the tape recorder. “I really appreciate your time.”

R.J. stood up. “It was my pleasure. It's about time Max got his due.”

Reese tried to read the expression behind the statement, but all she saw was the open face of a rather handsome, middle-aged man. She cleared her throat. “I know you have to get ready for the meeting as well.” She hitched her thumb over her shoulder. “I'll just go and see Carmen for a few minutes. And thanks again, R.J. You've been a big help.” She extended her hand which he shook.

“Anytime.”

 

R.J. waited a few moments after Reese left and closed the door. Slowly he turned in his swivel seat and checked the wall clock. Phillip Hart should be in his office at
Visions.
He dialed the Chicago number from memory. Phillip picked up his private line on the third ring.

“Hart,” he boomed into the phone.

“I just had a little one-on-one with your crackerjack reporter.”

“And?”

“She doesn't have a clue about the company going public.”

“It doesn't matter, we do. I intend to make a lot of money out of this. Her article is just icing on the cake. If she's on schedule like she usually is, it gives me just enough time to get it out before the company hits the market.”

“I don't know if I like this, Phillip. People do big jail time
for inside trading. If this thing blows up, I'm the one going down.”

“You should have thought of that when you ran up a one hundred and fifty thousand gambling bill.” Phillip laughed uproariously. “You did your part by giving me the information so I could squeeze the Board. If anyone takes a fall it will be Ms. ‘Hotpants' Delaware. She won't even know what hit her.”

S
ince the meeting with her uncle, Victoria had been on edge. She'd had to force herself to concentrate on her work, force herself to concentrate on her lukewarm office romance, concentrate on just getting up in the morning.

For the past week, she'd done a great deal of reflecting on her life and the choices she'd made. Much of what she found herself embroiled in now, she'd brought on herself years ago. She could have decided to do the right thing and tell her uncle to just go to hell when he asked her to choose between her relationship with Maxwell and her entire future with the Air Force. Sure she'd gotten plenty out of the deal as a result. She had enough money to make her mother's last days beyond comfortable. She moved to the top of her profession with no one to rival her. But she'd lost so much more.

“Yes, Victoria Davenport, you have it all,” she said with resignation, staring at her reflection, her look pensive. “A stellar career, a beautiful home, more money than you could
ever spend, even a man to warm your bed at night when you need him.” She laughed, a hollow sound. “But
you
have no one. No one to love you, or for you to love in return.”

Victoria turned away from the damning reflection and picked up her purse. She squared her shoulders and walked toward the door. Today, the lies and deceit would end. She refused to spend the rest of her life indebted and under the thumb of a man who should care about her as a human being, not as a pawn in his game of life. Whatever happened from this moment forward would be of her own choosing.

She looked quickly around her, opened the door to her car and slipped in. She took one final look at her reflection in the rearview mirror. The light of determination sparkled in her green eyes and she knew she was making the right decision.

Victoria put the car in gear, backed out of her driveway, turned right, and headed in the direction of her uncle Frank's headquarters in Chevy Chase.

 

Frank Murphy sat behind his desk, his large tanned hands clasped beneath his chin. Since his visit with Celeste, he'd been unable to come to terms with her revelations and what the full implications were. For twenty-six years he'd been lied to, he'd been betrayed by his closest friend and the woman he loved. For the same twenty-six years he vented his hurt and frustration on the one person who didn't deserve it.

His stomach knotted with guilt. Yet, even now he wasn't sure how to make things right or if he ever could. So many people had been hurt by a lie that began so long ago. He took a deep, sobering breath simultaneously with the knocking on his office door.

“Yes, come in.”

“Excuse me, sir, Ms. Davenport is here to see you.”

Frank's heart knocked hard in his chest. So much had changed since the last time he'd seen her. He paused. “Send her in. And I don't want to be disturbed.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

The moment Victoria stepped across the threshold, they both sensed that something was dramatically different between them—that this moment was the turning point in their relationship.

Victoria walked across the room and took a seat opposite Frank. “There are some things we need to discuss, Uncle Frank, and they have nothing to do with Maxwell Knight,” she qualified.

Frank looked at Victoria, really looked at her, through different eyes. Eyes of awakening and maybe even a sense of hope. He gave her a short smile of acquiescence and nodded. “I've been thinking the same thing, Victoria,” he said in a tone so gentle it was totally unfamiliar, even to his own ears.

His tense expression seemed to soften to Victoria and the realization was disturbing. She had the unsettling sensation that he looked at her as if he really cared. But, of course, that was impossible. Her Uncle Frank didn't care about anyone or anything unless he could get something out of it. And knowing that, made his revelation that much more unfathomable.

 

Victoria tried to contain the shudders that rippled up and down her spine. Eyes of disbelief stared at those almost identical, in color, to her own. She gazed down at her trembling hands, turning them over as though unsure of their use.

Frank reached across the desk to touch her and Victoria leaped back, turning over the chair in the process. Her heart raced and her pulse roared like a raging tide in her ears.

“Don't touch me,” she hissed. “Don't you dare touch me.” She pointed a finger off accusation at him. “You're nothing but a filthy liar. You'd do anything to hurt me.” Her voice rose, bordering on hysteria. “How can you expect me to believe you?”

“Victoria, please—you've got to believe me.” He came around his desk. Victoria backed away, stumbling over the upturned chair. “I've been deceived as well.” His voice pleaded with her to understand. “All these years, I never knew…”

Victoria snatched up her bag and spun away, unshed tears glimmering in her eyes. “I won't listen to you anymore.” She flung open the door and ran down the corridor.

Frank ran as far as the door. “Victoria!”

She kept running even as several office doors opened and the curious poked their heads out at the commotion.

“It's all right, everyone,” Frank assured, waving them away. “My niece,” he shrugged in explanation.

He returned to his office, shutting the door quietly behind him. For several moments he leaned against it, listening to his heavy breathing, reliving the turmoil of the past hour with Victoria.

He took a long, calming breath, then crossed the room to his desk and picked up the phone, dialing the number from memory.

The phone was answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“It's me, Frank. Victoria was just here. I told her—everything.”

“Oh, my God.”

“I think she's on her way to see you.”

“What can I say to her, Frank?”

“The truth. Finally the truth. She deserves that. We all
do.” Before hanging up the phone he added gently, “I'm here if you need me.”

Celeste stood rooted to the spot, the phone clutched against her breasts. She closed her eyes, and silently prayed she'd find the strength and the words to confront what lay ahead.

 

Victoria drove with a blind vengeance through the streets of Frederick, barely missing cars and darting pedestrians. Her thoughts were out of control. Her whole life had been a lie—one big grotesque lie. And the people whom she should have been able to trust, were the perpetrators of the lie. She felt as if her world were slipping from beneath her feet.

Even with all she'd been told, it was still too impossible to comprehend. Her thoughts were so disjointed she was unable to put the pieces of this bizarre and twisted puzzle together. How deep did Frank's and Celeste's betrayal truly go? Did it begin and end with the lie of her birth or was there even more that she was still unaware of?

Celeste,
her aunt, her… She shook her head and swatted away the tears that streamed down her face with the back of her hand, streaking black mascara across her cheeks. She would make Celeste Winston tell her the truth if she had to wring it out of her frail body.

 

Celeste nearly leaped out of her skin when the bell, compounded with the banging on the front door, shattered the silence of the house.

With deliberation, she pushed herself up from the recliner and crossed the room to the front door. Her hand hovered, with uncertainty, over the knob. The bell pealed again, seeming to shimmer down her spine like an icy finger. Briefly she shut her eyes before pulling the door open.

Her breath caught in her throat when she gazed upon the devastation etched across Victoria's pale face.

“Tell me it isn't true!” Victoria cried in a tortured voice, her body trembling with each breath she took. “Tell me that you aren't my mother! Tell me that Frank Murphy is not my father!”