Legacy of the Highlands (17 page)

“Are we waging psychological warfare here?”
she asked Diego, amused by his preparation for battle.

“It can’t hurt. I want a chance to study him
before he puts on his public face. Don’t acknowledge him until he
reaches our table.”

Alex thought he’d seen too many spy movies,
but didn’t say anything. A few minutes later, Diego squeezed her
hand as John entered and began to scan the room. Alex automatically
began to lift a hand in greeting, but Diego held it down.

“Wait. Let him find us,” he hissed. His
breath was hot on her neck, yet she shivered. Diego’s tension was
contagious and it made her stomach lurch. Maybe it hadn’t been so
smart to bring him to this meeting. Then John spotted them and
plodded toward the table.

The change in his appearance was startling.
Maybe the man had a heart after all, Alex thought. Gone was the
fit, handsome man John had been at Will’s funeral three short
months ago. This person seemed devoid of energy. He was gaunt, the
collar of his shirt too big, and the first sign of sagging jowls
made him look suddenly old. His eyes no longer sparkled, but they
crinkled at the corners when he broke into a broad smile as he
spotted his daughter-in-law.

“Alex,” he said and extended both hands
toward her. “It’s been too long. You’re as beautiful as ever.” His
greeting was proper, but lacked warmth and she responded in kind.
Cancel previous thought. No heart, at least not for me, she told
herself. He walked around the table to Diego, who rose, and the men
stiffly shook hands. No hugs or slaps on the back for these
two.

“It’s wonderful to see you, son.”

“Sir,” said Diego stiffly, but he seemed
oblivious to John’s use of that particular word or more likely
chose to ignore it. Alex couldn’t and her heart leapt into her
throat. Son. Until John uttered that word, she’d never considered
that Diego was seated across the table from his biological father.
She wondered if John even remembered screwing Giovanna Navarro
thirty-four years ago and whether he ever gave any thought to the
paternity of the two boys born nine months later.

“So nice of you to join us,” John said in
response to Diego’s formal greeting.

Alex saw Diego’s eyes harden and his jaw
tense as the hand that had been holding hers clenched into a fist
under the table. She knew him well enough to realize that he would
resent how John was attempting to turn this get-together into his
party, his idea, yet he was able to smoothly respond, “Thank you,
sir. I’m glad to be here, too.”

“You’ve known me long enough to drop the
‘sir,’ young man. Call me John. And why aren’t you two drinking?
Where’s our waiter?” John was clearly usurping Diego’s role as host
again. She gently pried his closed fist open and felt him
relax.

“Alex and I waited for you to arrive, of
course. And now that you’re here…” Diego gave an imperceptible nod
to the waiter who appeared at his elbow as if by magic. Score one
for the charming Argentine.

It was fascinating to watch these two bulls
snorting and pawing the earth as they each sized up their opponent
to determine a strategy before locking horns in battle. The level
of testosterone was so potent it was palpable. Alex hoped the
hostility wouldn’t escalate beyond an occasional snarl. She needed
a drink badly and turned to the waiter.

“Madam?” he asked.

“I’ll have a cobalt cosmopolitan, heavy on
the vodka please.”

“Cobalt?” asked Diego conversationally, the
hard edge momentarily gone from his voice.

“Yeah. They add blue Curaçao to the standard
cosmo so it’s a beautiful azure. And you know I’m a sucker for
drinks in stemmed glasses.”

The waiter then turned to John. “And for you,
sir?”

“No fancy drinks for me. Double vodka on the
rocks. Make it Grey Goose. What are you drinking Navarro?” he
asked, a little too loudly.

“In memory of Will,” Diego said pointedly as
his eyes bored into John’s, “I’ll have Macallan, the 18-year-old if
you have it, or else the 12 will do. Neat, water on the side,
please. And you can put this on my account.”

“Of course, Mr. Navarro. Will there be
anything else?” asked the waiter. No one answered, so he turned
toward the bar to put in the order.

John’s gaze swept the room while they waited
silently for their drinks. When he turned his attention back to
their table, the defiant glare Diego had aimed at him instantly
shifted into a more amiable expression.

The man is a chameleon, Alex thought,
observing Diego with fascination. She knew he could be tender or
even show vulnerability, but he was also able to mask his emotions
well enough to scare her. The smile he turned toward John Cameron
betrayed none of the rage that seethed below the surface, but she
could feel it as his fingers found hers. His hand felt familiar —
like Will’s, she realized — but Diego’s grasp was much stronger and
lacked Will’s gentleness. She wiggled her fingers to loosen his
grip and saw a look of surprise on his face as he let go. She
guessed he hadn’t even realized his hand, conveniently hidden by
the tablecloth, had sought hers as if seeking an anchor.

Will’s father seemed oblivious to the tension
at their table or maybe he was already too loaded to notice. He
downed the double vodka like water, then signaled the waiter for
another. It only took a few minutes to run out of polite small
talk.

“I’m curious about something, John,” Alex
said in an abrupt segue from questions about the health of Diego’s
parents, her stay in Miami and the Red Sox. “Why were you so
anxious to find me? What was so urgent that you had to leave
messages for me with Francie?”

“Frankly, Alex, I’m surprised that you didn’t
return my calls. That was rude, and you’ve always had good
manners,” he said curtly.

“I had other things on my mind,” she
bristled. “What did you want from me?”

“Anne and I were simply concerned about our
son’s wife, especially when you disappeared so suddenly. I don’t
see anything unusual about that,” he replied in all innocence.

“Let’s be honest, John. We both know that you
and Anne never approved of our marriage. We all played our parts
because of Will. But he’s gone. Why would you care about me now? I
don’t buy it.”

“You’re wrong, Alex. Anne and I love you like
a daughter…”

“Oh, cut the crap!” she snapped as anger
overcame her determination to be civil. She leaned toward him. “I
said we don’t have to be polite anymore and I meant it so you can
turn off the charm. I’ll ask you again and I’d like an honest
answer this time. What was so important that you had to track me
down?”

Diego was pleased by the apparent return of
Alex’s spirit, but he jumped in anyway. “Tell her, Cameron,” he
ordered in a tone used by a man who expects to be obeyed.

The older man fixed his eyes on the table and
swirled the ice in his glass with his index finger. The confident
bearing that was as much a part of him as his patrician nose
collapsed bit by bit into slumped surrender.

“All right...all right. There’s a lot to
explain, but not here. Not in a public place.” His speech was
slurred.

“Fine.” Diego pushed back his chair and rose
to his feet. “We can continue this upstairs in my suite. And don’t
worry,” he added snidely, as he put a hand on John’s arm to steady
him, “it has a bar.”

The elevator whisked them to the fifteenth floor and
Diego led the way to his spacious corner suite. The room’s mahogany
tables, brass accessories and tasseled yellow silk drapes were
better suited to an older person, but the hotel was near Alex’s
house and met Diego’s needs if not his taste.

John stood at the large windows, apparently
transfixed by the view of the Public Garden until his eyes shifted
left toward Beacon Hill and home. “I’ve lived in Boston all my life
and this is the first time I’ve been in one of this hotel’s rooms,”
he mused.

Alex was about to ask which hotels he’d
frequented with his lady friends, but controlled the impulse to
taunt him. She didn’t like the nasty woman who’d occupied her body
the minute she’d spotted John. She even felt a little sorry for him
because of the obvious pleasure Diego took in playing cat to John’s
mouse.

“Make yourselves at home,” said Diego,
extending his arm toward a yellow damask sofa. “Can I get anyone a
drink? Something to eat?”

“No, thanks. I’ve had more than enough
already, although coffee might be good,” John said as he rubbed his
face briskly with his hands.

“I’ll ring for it. You too, Alex?” Diego
asked, quirking an eyebrow in her direction.

“Sure, why not?” She was relieved that both
men seemed less combative for the moment and that they’d chosen
coffee. More alcohol would have amped up the hostility again.

Less than two minutes later there was a knock
at the door and a white-gloved, uniformed butler entered.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Navarro,” he said.

“Hello, Henry,” replied Diego.

The man placed the coffee service on the
parlor table, then quickly moved to the room’s bar to set out ice
and a variety of soft drinks.

“Shall I pour?” he asked.

“No, we’ll take care of it. Thank you,
Henry.”

“Ring if you or your guests require anything
else, Mr. Navarro,” he said as he left the suite.

“Your own butler. I’m impressed,” Alex
commented.

“Comes with the room,” replied Diego with a
shrug. It was obvious that he took such amenities for granted. He
poured coffee into two delicate cups and served each of them before
filling his own.

She liked watching Diego play the perfect
host because she knew that the ruthless side of his personality
would return before long, especially if it turned out that John was
somehow connected to Will’s death. The way Diego was behaving made
her believe that Serge must have told him something that implicated
John and she was irritated that he’d decided not to confide in
her.

No one spoke until John slowly raised his
head and fixed his bloodshot eyes directly on Alex. He struggled to
take a deep breath and ran a trembling hand through his
salt-and-pepper hair. His right eyelid twitched and he rubbed it
irritably.

“Alex, you know that I loved Will more than
words can say,” he paused, waiting for a response.

“Of course.”

“You know that I’d never do anything to hurt
him, right?” Another pause.

“Yes,” she finally replied softly, afraid of
what was coming next. She waited patiently for him to continue. So
did Diego, showing remarkable restraint — for him. It was obvious
that what John was about to tell them was important, something that
couldn’t be taken back once it was uttered.

He fidgeted nervously with the alligator
strap of his wristwatch then jingled the change in his pocket.
Diego and Alex remained silent. Tears filled John’s eyes and ran
down his face as he shook his head from side to side and moaned
softly.

“Act like a man, you pathetic son of a
bitch!” Diego shouted as he abruptly rose from his chair and
stalked around the room like a caged animal before turning to face
John. “I have no more patience for you, old man. Do you know
anything about Will’s murder? Do you?” He grabbed John by the
lapels and pulled him to his feet. He didn’t resist and was like a
rag doll in the younger man’s grip. Their faces were mere inches
apart.

“Tell me Cameron. Now!” Diego’s voice carried
enough menace to raise goose bumps on Alex’s arms. After another
minute of silence John’s lips moved, but no sound emerged.

“What? What did you say?” Alex asked.

“Yes! Whatever you’re thinking is right! Yes!
He’s dead because of me! I killed my son!” he shouted before his
knees buckled and he collapsed onto the couch. “It should have been
me. I was the one who betrayed them, why didn’t they kill me?” he
whimpered.

His words triggered an earthquake in the
precarious wall Alex had begun to assemble around her sorrow. As it
tumbled brick by brick, her strength dissolved like ice in a blast
furnace.

Diego didn’t move. He only nodded as if
John’s admission confirmed something he already knew. He looked
from John to Alex and back again. His arm pulsed with the need to
smash John’s face, but Alex looked like she’d been sucker punched
in the stomach. One glance at her made his choice simple — she
needed him and he’d vowed to take care of her. He pressed her
trembling body to his as if a human tourniquet could staunch her
pain and mend the jagged hole that had reopened in her heart.

“I can’t stand that you’re hurting again,” he
murmured as he kissed her hair and stroked her back. His body
infused her with warmth, but scant comfort. In addition to the
shock of John’s admission, she was furious with the man who was
holding her for not preparing her for what he seemed to know was
coming.

John continued to ramble and Alex tried to
listen through a scrim that shifted from solid to transparent and
back again, so that only a word here or there made its way to her
ears. How was she supposed to deal with this? The urge to escape
that had hit her the day of Will’s funeral returned full force, but
she was too drained to move.

“It’s my fault. Anne was right. She hates me
and wants me dead and so should you. I never should have…why did
I…oh, Christ,” he babbled.

Diego let go of Alex and walked purposefully
to the bar where he poured whiskey into two glasses. He handed one
to her and kept one for himself.

“Drink it, Alessandra.”

“I don’t like whiskey.”

“Drink it!” he said in a ‘don’t argue with
me’ tone that she recognized although he’d never directed it toward
her before. He strode to the bedroom and returned with a down
comforter that he wrapped around her. Her silk blouse provided
little warmth and Diego was too agitated to stay still, so the
blanket and Scotch would have to supply the heat his body had given
her a minute ago.