Love Lies Beneath (34 page)

My waltz-around-Eli moratorium proves nearly impossible. For one thing, he's home a lot. And when he is, he spends an inordinate amount of time in my vicinity. Don't all teenagers want to waste their off-hours playing video games or watching porn or something? I expected he would hang out in his room, harboring resentment, like when he was here before I moved in. Instead, he volunteers to help in the kitchen, or make lists of things to accomplish before the wedding. What I can't tell is if he's trying to be useful so we'll let him stay in public school, or just wants to irritate me.

I'm also vaguely uncomfortable about the way he so obviously ogles me. The weather is warming, so I've taken to wearing shorts or simple thigh-length shifts. Both show off the accomplishment of my regular workouts. Other than my knee, which is still slightly swollen and wears the scars of the incisions, my legs are toned and pretty. I'm hoping a little sun will help conceal the flaws, so I spend some time every day outside on a lawn chair. Too often I glance toward the house to find Eli spying.

Today when I get home from the gym, his Hummer is parked on the street, so I know he's back from school. When I go inside, however, the house is eerily quiet. Usually I can hear the bass from his stereo up here on the second floor. As I start down the hall toward the bedroom, I notice the door to Cavin's study is open. “Eli?”

“In here,” he calls.

I poke my head inside the room. Eli's sitting in the big office chair, and on the desk in front of him are two things: my laptop, which appears to be on but sleeping; and an open file. With Eli here I've been using the study to work. I might have left my laptop open; I often do. But the rest of the desk was clear when I left. I'm positive about that. “What are you doing?”

“Rereading some of this stuff.” He looks up at me and grins. “Your history is fascinating.”

My temper flares. Cavin was supposed to dispose of that. “Really? Like what part?”

“I never would have guessed you were from Hicksville. I don't see much Idaho in you.”

“We moved to Vegas when I was a kid. I barely even remember Idaho.”

It's a lie, and he must know it.

“No mention of your father anywhere. Do you even know who he was?”

“That's a personal question, one I'm not required to answer. But I have a question for you. Why are you doing this?”

His shoulders twitch. “I was bored, so I decided I want to get to know you better. In fact, I want to know
all
about you.”

I point toward the desk. “That isn't the way to do it.”

“Maybe not. But what if it's the only way to get to the truth?”

“As I told you, I prefer honesty to deception, except in certain circumstances. You can always try the direct approach first.”

“Would you tell me what your net worth is, if I asked?”

“Probably not. But why would you care about that?”

“Just looking out for my own interests.”

“You're safe.”

“I know. In fact, I think you're the one who needs to be careful.”

“What do you mean?” Again, the game ages quickly.

“I'd suggest a prenup, and a carefully worded prenup, at that.”

Okay, I'll bite. “Why?”

“Did you happen to notice the date on this report?” He swings the file so it faces me, pushes it to the edge of the desk.

I have no choice but to take a look. December 31. “And?”

“If memory serves, I first met you a few days before Christmas. We shared crème brûlée after your date with my dad. The two of you had just met, right?”

“That's correct.”

“So why did he put Caldwell on you then? He couldn't have been serious about you yet. Could his sudden interest have had anything to do with your money?”

“What are you talking about, Eli? Your dad doesn't need my money.”

“If you say so.”

He retrieves the folder. Closes it. Puts it away.

The little shit, planting seeds of doubt where none need to be sown. But now that he's done it, they've sprouted already. The timeline is, in fact, suspicious. I turn on one heel, go into the bedroom I so happily share with Cavin, lie down, and close my eyes to think.

I did not shut the door and I hear Eli pause on the far side of the threshold.

“Whatever Dad's reasons, I'm glad you're here.” Off he goes.

Whatever reasons. And what was my reason for not doing a background check on Cavin, even though I promised myself I would? Love. Yeah, that's it. How many women have been screwed over in the name of love?

Now my thoughts ping-pong.

Cavin's a surgeon, with a thriving practice.

How much is malpractice insurance again?

He's got two beautiful houses.

With dual mortgages, and hefty property taxes.

Speaking of taxes, is he current with the IRS?

According to the prenup, any tax debt belongs solely to the one of us who owes it. Ditto any other debts.

Will the prenup stand up in court?

Yes, says my attorney. Yes, says his attorney.

What about my insurance policies? Do I name him beneficiary?

Who else is there, other than Mel?

Besides,
someone's
got to bury you.

Besides, besides. After you're dead, who cares, anyway?

By the time Cavin gets home, my head is pounding. When he comes to check on me, I do my level best to hold the anger and confusion inside. Instead of shooting off like a geyser, they leak out like steam.

“Hey, lady,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You okay?”

“Headache,” I manage. “How was your day?”

“Same ol'. Broken tibias. Meniscus tears. Arthritic knuckles.”

“Sounds lucrative.”

“People might assume so.”

What does that mean? He reaches out to stroke my hair back from my forehead and I flinch without meaning to.

“What's wrong, Tara? It's something more than a headache.”

Honesty. Honesty. Honesty. Why try to make this work if I can't be honest with him? I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the mattress. Cavin slides a hand along my upper leg. I don't push it away. “Okay, look. Eli pointed out something, and it's bothering me.”

“Yes?”

“Dirk Caldwell's report—”

“Wait. Eli had the file?”

“He was in your study reading it when I got home.”

“Goddamn it. I meant to shred it. I'm sorry.”

“Doesn't matter. Apparently, he'd seen it before. He mentioned it when he stayed with me in San Francisco. Testing me, I guess.”

“Get used to it.”

“I am. Anyway, today he mentioned the date on the report—December thirty-first, which is before we went to Carmel.”

“Right.”

“But you told me you hired the PI once you decided you wanted to marry me, which had to have been after that.”

“I don't believe that's what I said, although I realize the explanation was embedded in the same conversation. Sweetheart, what reason could I have possibly had, other than I didn't want any negative surprises to derail our budding relationship? I needed to know there was no ulterior motive. I couldn't be certain until after I got the report. Then, to tell you the truth, I felt like an irrational fool.”

Sort of like I'm feeling now. Still, I make a mental note to conduct my own investigation, so I can be certain Cavin truly has nothing but the purest of motives himself. “Sorry. It's just, Eli can be quite convincing.”

“What have I been saying? But what was he trying to convince you
of
?”

I could tell him, but for what purpose? He already knows Eli's a troublemaker. And if I do, it will paint an inelegant portrait of me.

“Doesn't matter. You have successfully dispelled my discomfort.”

“Excellent. Now let's make out.”

He pulls me into his lap, kisses away any residual doubt.

Well, almost.

With the wedding only three weeks away, I've got some substantial decisions to make. Like what to do with my house, which has little real value to me, except it's mine. If I sell it, the proceeds minus capital gains belong to me. Should I reinvest them postmarriage, they become community property unless Cavin agrees in writing to keep the investment separate. It's a discussion I'd prefer not to have, but it's definitely on the horizon.

I also own three cars, which at this juncture seems excessive. Selling the Corvette makes the most sense. It's not really a mountain car, and it's silly to keep it garaged. Still, the idea of letting it go makes me sad. It was the best present I ever got from Jordan and reminds me of life in the fast lane. I've definitely slowed way, way down. But I'm not positive I don't want to accelerate again, especially in a very fast car.

I did hire a private investigator to dig up information on Cavin. For the most part, he's squeaky clean. Other than the mortgages, no major debt. No overdue taxes, though there was one bad audit a few years back, resolved. No alimony or child support to pay. Melissa's husband is quite well off, so the decision was made to simply split Eli's bills—tuition, insurance, college fund—down the middle. Thank God for reasonable divorces.

Some interesting facts turned up on his family. His mother's death was a suicide, something Cavin hasn't mentioned. His father, Andrew, now retired, was a pioneer researcher in antisense therapy—a gene-slicing technique that shows promise in treating conditions such as muscular dystrophy, arthritis, and certain cancers.

Cavin's brother, Paul, graduated from the Air Force Academy and currently holds the rank of major. He's married, with two children, and stationed at Edwards in California, where he's a test pilot. Their sister, Pamela, is still single at thirty-two and living the good life in Chicago.

I will meet all of them in twenty days.

Eli is out of school for summer vacation, which means he's even more underfoot than before. His getting a job sounds better and better, at least to me, and I corner him outside on the deck to advance the idea.

“Do you have any plans for the next few weeks?”

“No. Why? You inviting me along on the honeymoon?”

“Actually, I was thinking you might consider looking for work.”

“Work? Like, a job?”

“Exactly like that.”

“Uh, I don't think so.”

Okay, that went well. He didn't even bother to think about it. “Why not? Wouldn't you like to earn some spending money?”

A grimace crinkles his face, and the overall picture reminds me of a bored cat. “Tara, I don't suppose you've noticed, but I'm not exactly short on cash. My parents give me a large allowance, and I don't have any bills. Besides, what would I do? Flip burgers?”

“There are worse things.”

“Did you have a job at my age?”

“Of course. It was that or go hungry.” Oops. Said too much. Caldwell's report mentions where I was born and where I went to college, but a big slice of my childhood, including my teen years, is missing. Fortunately.

“Really? Huh. Was that in Las Vegas?”

“Yes. Not a good place to be hungry.”

“I thought everyone was hungry for something in Vegas.”

That inspires a small laugh. “True enough. But in my case, there was rarely enough food in the house for my sister and me. My mother was not the best provider.”

He turns that over for a moment or two. You can almost see his brain working through the lenses of his eyes. “So you married your first husband for money.”

“Security,” I correct. “Believe me, I worked for the money.”

His expression morphs into a sly smile. Okay, more like a leer.

“That's not what I meant. Look, Raul put me through college. I earned my degree. I also helped him run his businesses and learned the finer points of finance through firsthand experience. I'd say trial and error, but Raul taught me quite a bit.”

“And from there you just kept getting lucky.”

“There's an element of luck in all success stories.”

“Right. And sometimes it's someone else's
bad
luck. Like skiing into a tree.”

“Sometimes.”

This boy is wicked. Maybe even evil. I suspect the latter when he asks, “Did you love Raul?”

“I loved many things abou—”

“No. Were you
in
love with him?” Thrust.

Parry. “I don't think anyone that age really understands the meaning of being in love. He was in love with me. That's all that mattered.”

Thrust. “Except he died.”

“He died happy, which is more than a lot of people can say.” Parry.

“How about you? Will you die happy?” Thrust.

Feint right. “I suppose that depends on when I die.” Feint left. “But if I died today, I'd have to say yes. This truly is the happiest I've ever been.”

In for the kill. “Are you in love with my dad?”

“Absolutely.” Zero hesitation. Zero negative body language. Parry riposte.

“Good. Because if you can love my dad, you can love me, and it won't be so bad having me around next year.” He vacates the lounge chair, comes over and gives me a hug, and his voice is a low breeze in my ear. “We'll be, like, one happy, loving family. Won't that be nice?”

His hands linger, too long, and I extricate myself from his embrace. “I wasn't aware a decision had been made about next year yet.”

He smiles. “Sucks to be the last to know. You might even get me longer than that. I'm thinking about Sierra Nevada College in lieu of the Cordon Bleu. SNC is close, and they've got a great interdisciplinary studies program that combines outdoor adventures leadership with ski resort and business management.”

Eli full-time was not part of the deal, and why was I not included in this conversation? “Sounds like you've done some research. And what are your chances of admission?”