Private Entrance (The Butterfly Trilogy) (36 page)

     When Francesca was fifteen she ran away. She had seen the pile of new toys in the corner of his office, for her upcoming birthday—dolls and tea sets, even a rocking horse. He was so involved in his casino and getting rich that he hadn't noticed that Francesca was growing up. And so she had told herself she ran away because her father didn't care and wouldn't notice. But that wasn't it. It had taken Francesca a long time to come to terms with the guilt she had carried within her since she was old enough to know her mother had died giving birth to her. When his men brought her back to Vegas, Fallon had not punished her, had only asked
why.
He gave her everything. Francesca had never needed for anything in her life. She was his princess. That was when she had broken down and sobbed that she didn't want to live with her mother's death on her head.

     She would never forget the shocked look on his face when she shouted at him: "You ignore me! It's because I remind you of Mama."

     He had stammered, "I don't ignore you, Francesca. I love you. Don't I give you everything you want?"

     "Things!" she had cried. "You surround me with strangers and give me things! I never see you. And I know why. You think I killed Mama!"

     He had pulled her into his arms and they had cried together, and then everything changed. No more bodyguards and chaperones. No more tutors and strict hours and rules. No more sitting in the penthouse with strangers while her father was downstairs running the casino. They became close after that, father and daughter doing things together, going places. He took her on a cruise around the world and then a three-month tour of Italy where she learned about her roots. He assured her over and over that she was not responsible for her mother's death. That it was in God's hands, that sometimes nature worked that way and it wasn't up to us to question.

     Francesca had accepted it, but sometimes, late at night, such as this night, she would stand on her balcony and look over the sea of colored lights, look beyond them to the black and silent desert and wonder...

     "Honey?"

     She turned. Stephen was sitting up in bed, his hair tousled in a boyish way, his eyes dreamy.

     "Go back to sleep," she said softly, and pushed away a memory that had a habit of surfacing at moments like this. Erik. The skydiver she had loved so desperately and deeply six years ago. She had thought she would never get over his death. And for a long time she had been consumed with the idea of seeking revenge. Erik had been careful about packing his own parachute, someone had deliberately cut the strings. But who? Speculation was that it was a competitor, or an old rival from his past. After a while, Francesca saw the futility in avenging Erik's death and in the end, she accepted that there was no evidence that he had not simply been sloppy with his chute and it was just one of those unfortunate accidents in a risky sport.

     Stephen did not go out for sports. He was a cerebral man. And she loved him. But did she love him enough? she wondered again as the lights of Las Vegas flashed behind her. How did you know when you wanted to spend the rest of your life with someone? Her father had said he fell in love with Gayane at first sight. He hadn't even known who she was, hadn't known that she was Gregory Simonian's daughter. And when he found out he had been afraid Gayane's father would not approve. But Simonian had welcomed Michael Fallon with open arms. Francesca wished she could have been there to see it, to know her mother and grandfather. She always loved it when her father told her stories of those days, and what a shock it had been when Gregory was killed in the freak helicopter accident, how it had devastated her father and it had taken him months to recover.

     That was when he had built the Atlantis. "I was grieving so hard over your grandfather's death that I plunged into my work. It was what saved me. That, and you."

     In all her life, Francesca and her father had clashed on only one issue: flying.

     The first time she rode in his private jet, in the cockpit because she was the boss's daughter, Francesca had fallen in love with the freedom of the sky. She was too young at the time to know that her new passion for flying stemmed from the constricted life she lived, a life of constant vigilance from an over-protective father who worried every minute of his life that
his daughter might get kidnapped. While other little girls collected dolls, Francesca collected model airplanes. She glued them together and hung them from her bedroom ceiling. Mike Fallon periodically took them down, saying little girls shouldn't be doing such things. But no matter how many frilly toys, dollhouses, plastic babies and teddy bears he gave her, Francesca secretly smuggled airplane kits into her room and glued together tiny Beechcraft Bonanzas and little Grumman Wildcats.

     But her true desire had been to fly an airplane of her own.

     She got her way when she was fifteen and had terrified her father when she ran away. He promised her flying lessons as soon as she turned sixteen, and for her eighteenth birthday he gave her her own Piper Cub. After that, during college and law school years, Francesca filled her spare time with logging hours in the air. It was the only time she felt truly free and at peace.

     "I can't sleep," she said to Stephen.

     He got out of bed, handsomely naked, and came to her, slipping his arms around her waist. "It's just pre-wedding jitters."

     She closed her eyes and pressed her face to his chest so he wouldn't see her tears.

     "You're trembling."

     "I'm cold."
I'm frightened.

     Had she agreed to marry Stephen because he had said that children were not a priority for him? That he didn't mind if they never had children, since their two careers came first? Had he spoken words that her terrified mind needed to hear? Because Francesca's secret fear was that what happened to her mother might happen to her. The thought of having children made her heart stop, even though a doctor had told her she was perfectly healthy. Hadn't Gayane been perfectly healthy, too?

     "Stephen" she said impulsively. "Let's elope."

     "What?"

     "Let's go away, right now, to Mexico, or Canada. Let's find a parson in a small town no one has heard of and let it just be you and me." As she spoke, the words tumbling from her mouth, surprising even her, Francesca saw a whole new life for the two of them, living in a mountain community with a small business practice that left time for flying and traveling...

     He drew her to him and held her tight. "And what would your father say?" he asked with a soft laugh.

     And just like that, her dream vanished.

I
DON'T LIKE THIS WIND
," Z
EB SAID AS HE GRIPPED THE
steering wheel. The wind, moaning and buffeting the SUV, had an ominous feel to it. If it should develop into a sandstorm, they would never find Ophelia Kaplan.

     Vanessa was frantic with worry. Ophelia had been missing for hours. It was late. Night had fallen, casting the desert in darkness, and now the Santa Anas were sweeping down from the northeast, threatening to engulf the region in clouds of sand.

     On top of that, they had heard coyotes barking. Not the yelping that sounded like little girls laughing, or the howling that was almost musical. But the sharp, threatening bark of coyotes protecting their dens. Abby had ordered everyone to carry guns, just in case.

     Why had Ophelia left the resort? Her fiancé had said she was facing an important decision and had gone for a walk to clear her mind. Vanessa had noticed Dr. Kaplan's distracted manner since her arrival at the resort. Did it have something to do with the pregnancy?

     Vanessa's worry was mixed with excitement and hope. Not only had Abby found her child at last, but now there was the prospect of a grandchild! She wished there could be a real reunion, with Abby publicly claiming her daughter as her own. Unfortunately, if Ophelia didn't know she was adopted, and if she was happy, Abby had no intention of revealing the truth. Besides, Abby's future was laid out for her, in the packed suitcase and oneway airline ticket, plans that did not include a daughter. Or anyone else.

     Vanessa had seen how Abby looked at Jack Burns, how her cheeks flushed pink when she saw him. After years of denying herself the love of a man, here it was, practically dropping into her lap. Too late.

     Vanessa looked at Zeb, his profile tight as he scanned the dark desert for signs of Ophelia. He had been uncharacteristically quiet all day. Worrying about the lost guest? Or was it something else? Last night, when he had brought the last of the desert safari groups back to the resort, instead of unwinding over a drink as he always did, Zeb had offered Vanessa a cool "good night" and retired to his quarters. Did something happen while he was out with the guests? She wanted to ask, but she had never invaded his privacy before and she wasn't about to start now.

     "What's that?" Zeb said suddenly, pointing ahead.

     Vanessa squinted through the blowing sand. A flicker of light!

     Zeb turned the steering wheel and headed toward the frail beacon. As they neared, the headlights illuminated a cluster of boulders. "There!" Vanessa said. "Isn't that a person?"

     Zeb brought the vehicle to a jolting stop and was out and running before Vanessa even opened her door.

     "Thank God," Ophelia said weakly. "I saw your headlights..." She was shining a pen light on a key chain. Her clothes were dirty, her hair and face a mess. "I slipped and couldn't get free. I thought I was going to die out here."

     Zeb was immediately on his knees, inspecting Ophelia's foot pinned between the rocks. The wind whipped around them, churning up the sand, filling their eyes with grit. While Zeb levered the boulders apart with a crowbar from the SUV, Vanessa was on the walkie-talkie, informing security at the resort, and the search parties, that they had found Ophelia and were bringing her in. "She's injured," she said against the howling wind. "Inform the nurse."

     Zeb drove at top speed back to the resort where Abby and David met them. Ophelia was transferred into a guest cart and spirited away, with Zeb and Vanessa following.

     Abby sat anxiously at Ophelia's side, not wanting to leave. In her lap was a letter, written long ago. It was addressed to her daughter, and it spoke of love and devotion and promises. Abby had expected to read it to Coco, and then to Sissy. Now she knew it was meant for Ophelia.

     But the nurse was saying, "I need to tend to her, Ms. Tyler. I'll send for you when you can see her."

     Abby hesitated. After all these years, all her searching and sleepless nights—to be sent away now? She looked at the letter, the envelope yellowed with age, and another person came into her mind, someone in pain like herself, who needed healing.

     Leaving David to sit with Ophelia, Abby struck off in the direction of Jack Burns' quarters while Vanessa and Zeb, leaving the main building and stepping into the windy night, paused to look up at the treetops being whipped about.

     "I don't like the look of that," Zeb said. "We might be in for a blow. I'd better button down the aviary."

     "I'll help," Vanessa said.

     The aviary was a beehive-shaped structure built of wire and mesh to give the feel of being outdoors. It had been equipped with a tarpaulin that could be lowered in case of sandstorms or other inclement weather, to protect the birds. But when Zeb threw the switch, nothing happened. The mechanism was stuck.

     "I'll call maintenance," Vanessa said.

     But Zeb stopped her. "There isn't time," he shouted, squinting at the top of the cage where exotic birds flew frantically in the wind, batting their wings against the mesh. "They're frightened. They'll hurt themselves."

     He surveyed the structure and knew it was dangerous to climb in this wind, but the cover could only be released manually. "I'm going up!" he said, and Vanessa watched with her heart in her throat as Zeb scaled the enormous cage. He clung like a fly, scaling inch by inch as the birds shrieked and flapped their wings. Each time his foot slipped or he lost his grip, Vanessa pressed to her hands to her mouth in terror.

     It seemed to take forever, as the wind increased and Vanessa had to crane her neck to see, Zeb lost in the overhead darkness, the birds creating an unearthly cacophony that blended with the howling wind. And then suddenly: a loud crack and a rushing sound.

     Vanessa jumped back as the tarpaulin come rolling down. Inside the aviary, the birds grew quiet.

     Finally, Zeb was back, jumping to the ground.

     Vanessa rushed to him. "Are you all right?"

     He laughed. "I'll live."

     She was so flooded with relief that she impulsively threw her arms around him. "You are a hero!" And her mouth was on his before she even knew what she was doing.

     Zeb held her to him. It had been a long time since he felt like a hero. It was a good feeling.

     And then he drew back, suddenly serious. "Vanessa, there is something I have to tell you."