Without a Trace (26 page)

Enormously pleased with herself, Gillian sat in the rented car as they drove away from the Los Angeles airport. “You gave me your word we could go anywhere I wanted after things were settled again. And where I wanted to go was your sister’s wedding.”

“A shabby trick, Doc, after I saved your life.”

It was precisely because of that, that she was determined to save his, or at least a small part of it. “A man’s word is his bond,” she said solemnly, then laughed when he swore at her. “Oh, Trace, don’t be cranky. It’s a beautiful day, and I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my life. Did you see how wonderful Flynn and Caitlin looked when we left them? I can hardly believe it’s all over, really over.”

He relented enough to put a hand over hers. “It’s over. Your brother and the kid can go back to Ireland and put all this behind them. With Husad and Kendesa gone and Hammer’s headquarters destroyed, they’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Addison wasn’t pleased about the Horizon project being destroyed, or Flynn’s refusal to try to duplicate it.”

Trace gave a short laugh. Maybe he’d been wrong about scientists—or at least some of them. Fitzpatrick had stood toe-to-toe with Addison, turning aside offers, pleas, bribes and threats. Gillian had taken the same stand, saying nothing about her memory and leaving Addison and the ISS with a handful of doctored notes. For
better or worse, Horizon was finished.

“Addison wasn’t pleased about much. He grumbled for an hour over losing a crate of weapons, including a TS-35.”

“I think he was more displeased to be losing one of his best agents.”

Trace lifted a brow. “I don’t think he’d put it that way.”

“But he did, to me.” She ran a hand down the skirt of her dress. She’d fallen in love with the rich green silk. It was a bit more elaborate than her usual style, but, after all, this was Chantel O’Hurley’s wedding. “He was hoping I could convince you to stay ‘on board,’ as he put it.”

It was hard not to feel a nasty little streak of satisfaction at that. “What did you tell him?”

“That he was mad as a hatter. Oh, look how tall the palms are. In New York it’s probably cold and sleeting.”

“I guess you miss it?”

“Miss what?” She turned to look at him. “New York? Oh, I haven’t really thought about it. I suppose everyone at Random-Frye thinks I’ve dropped off the edge of the earth.” She sighed, content. “In some ways I think I have.”

“I guess Arthur Steward wonders.”

“Dear old Arthur,” Gillian said with a smile. “I suppose he might, at the odd moment.” It didn’t surprise or even annoy her that he knew about Arthur. After all, she knew about his squashed beetle. “I’ll have to send him a postcard.”

“You’ll be back in a couple of days.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t decided.” She wasn’t going back to New York, or anywhere else, without him. He just didn’t know it yet. “What about you? Are you winging straight off to the islands?”

Why was it she could make him so uncomfortable when she smiled that way? It was as if she could see what he was thinking. Or trying not to think. “I’ve got some business to take care of in Chicago first.” He paused for a moment, because he hadn’t taken it all in yet. “For some reason, Charlie left me his house.”

“I see.” She smiled again, brilliantly. “So it seems you have a home after all.”

“I don’t know anything about real estate,” he mumbled. They were in Beverly Hills now with its mansions and trimmed hedges. This was the kind of place his father had always dreamed of. The O’Hurleys had come up in the world, Trace thought. Or some of them had. He yanked at his tie again. “Listen, Doc, this is a dumb idea. We can head back to the airport, take a flight to New Zealand. It’s beautiful there.”

And at the other end of the world. Gillian resisted the urge to lecture or comfort. “A promise is a promise,” she said simply.

“I don’t want to spoil this for Chantel, or the rest of them.”

“Of course you don’t. That’s why you’re going.”

“You don’t understand, Gillian.” And he’d never been able to bring himself to explain it before. “My father’s never forgiven me for leaving. He never understood why I had to. He wanted—I guess he needed for me to be a part of the dream he had. The O’Hurley Family, in big, bold lights. Broadway, Vegas, Carnegie Hall.”

She was silent for a long moment. Then she spoke quietly, without looking at him. “My father never forgave me, never understood me. He wanted me to be one thing, and I was always another. Did your father love you, Trace?”

“Sure he did, it was just—”

“My father never loved me.”

“Gillian—”

“No, listen to me. There’s a difference between love and obligation, between true affection and expectation. He didn’t love me, and I can accept that. But what I can’t accept is that I never made peace with him. Now it’s too late.” She looked at him now, and though her eyes were dry, they shone with emotion. “Don’t make that same mistake, Trace. I promise you, you’ll regret it.”

He could think of nothing to say, no argument to give. He was here because he’d promised, but more, because he’d wanted to come. The ideas, or maybe he should call them dreams, that had begun to form couldn’t be brought to fruition until he’d resolved his life. He couldn’t do that until he’d closed the rift with his family. With his father.

“This could be the biggest mistake you’ve ever made,” he said as he pulled up to the gates guarding Chantel’s estate.

“I’ll risk it.”

“You’re a stubborn woman, Doc.”

“I know.” She touched his face. “I’ve got as much on the line as you do.”

He wanted to ask her to explain, but a guard knocked smartly on his window. “You’re early, sir,” he said when Trace rolled down the window. “May I see your invitation?”

She hadn’t thought of that, Gillian realized with a start. Before she could speak, Trace pulled out a badge. “McAllister, Special Security.”

The ID looked official, because it was. The guard studied it, compared the laminated photo to Trace, then nodded. “Go right in, sir,” he said, nearly snapping a salute.

Trace tooled through the gates and started up the long drive.

“McAllister?”

Trace slipped the ID back in his pocket. “Old habits die hard. Good God, what a place.” The house was huge and white and elegant. The grounds were trimmed and rolling. He thought of the crowded hotel rooms they’d shared, the meals his father had cooked on hot plates, the airless dressing rooms, the audiences that snarled as often as they applauded. And the laughter. And the music.

“It’s beautiful,” Gillian murmured. “Like a picture.”

“She always said she’d do it.” The pride came through, deeper than he’d expected. “The little brat pulled it off.”

“Spoken like a true brother,” Gillian said with a laugh. She was helped from the car by a man in uniform, and was suddenly every bit as nervous as Trace. Maybe she should have made him come alone. She was hardly prepared to meet royalty, even the Hollywood variety. And his family might resent … As he came to her, she reached out a hand. “Trace, maybe I shouldn’t.”

The front door burst open and nearly cracked on its hinges. A woman with a wild mop of red curls and an
exquisite dress of sapphire blue raced down the stairs. With something close to a war cry, she launched herself into Trace’s arms.

“You’re here! You’re really here!” With her arms in a stranglehold around his neck and her mouth smothering his, Trace could do little more than absorb the scent and feel. “I knew you’d come. I didn’t believe it, but I knew. And here you are.”

“Maddy.” Because he needed to catch his breath as much as he wanted to look at her, Trace drew her back by the shoulders. There were tears streaming down her face, but she was grinning. And the grin was exactly as he remembered. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself.” She pulled the handkerchief out of his pocket, blew her nose hard, then laughed. “Chantel will kill me if my nose is red.” She blew again. “How do I look?”

“Terrible, but there’s so little you can do with that face.” With the laughter, they were close again. He held her and wished he could believe it would be so easy with everyone. “Maddy, I love you.”

“I know, you jerk.” Her breath hitched on a sob. “Stay this time?”

“Yeah.” He brushed his cheek against her hair. “I’ll stay this time.” Looking over her head, he watched Gillian.

“I can’t wait to show you off.” Maddy drew back beaming, then glanced at Gillian. “Hi.”

“Maddy, this is Gillian Fitzpatrick.”

Still sniffling, Maddy turned. “I’m so glad to meet you.” Gillian found herself enclosed in the same exuberant hug. “In fact, I’m thrilled.” She drew away far enough to wink, then squeezed Gillian again. “You look wonderful, both of you, just wonderful.” She slipped an arm around each of them and started up the stairs. “I can’t wait for you to meet Reed. Oh, here he is now.”

Coming down the hall was a leanly built man with hair shades darker than Trace’s and more conservatively cut. He looked as if he’d been born in the tux. So this was Reed Valentine of Valentine Records. Rich, well-bred and straight-laced. Thinking of his free-spirited, unconventional sister, Trace decided he could have come up with no one less suited to her.

“Reed, it’s Trace.” Maddy gave Trace another quick kiss, then dashed to her husband. “I told you he’d be here.”

“So you did.” Reed slipped a protective arm around Maddy and sized up the brother even as the brother sized up the husband. “Maddy’s been looking forward to seeing you again.” With his arm still around Maddy, he offered a hand. Trace took it. It wasn’t as smooth as he’d expected.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t be stuffy, Reed. We have to kill the fatted calf, at least.”

Reed saw the expression on Trace’s face and smiled. “I have a feeling Trace might prefer a drink.” He turned a smile of considerable charm on Gillian. “Hello.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Maddy began. “This is Gillian. She’s with Trace. We should go in and sit down, and I’ll find everyone. Things are a little confused.”

To prove it, two boys raced down the hall, one in oblivious and desperate pursuit of the other. “I’m going to tell Mom.”

“I’m going to tell her first.”

“Whoa!” Maddy grabbed an arm each before they could come to blows. “Slow down. You’ll have those cute little tuxedos filthy before we can start the wedding.”

“He said I looked like a geek,” the smaller of the two said.

“He kicked me,” the older said righteously.

“I
tried
to kick him, only I missed.” He looked across at his brother, hoping he’d have another chance.

“Kicking’s not allowed. And, Chris, you do not look like a geek. In fact, you look very handsome. Now, can you behave long enough to meet your uncle?”

“What uncle?” Ben, the oldest, looked up suspiciously.

“The only one you haven’t met. Trace, this is Ben, and this is Chris. Abby’s boys.”

Trace wasn’t sure whether he should shake hands, crouch down or wave from a distance. Before he could
make up his mind, Chris stepped forward to give him a good study.

“You’re the one who went away. Mom said you’ve been to Japan.”

So crouching down seemed natural. “Yeah, I’ve been there.”

“We studied about it in school. They eat raw fish there.”

“Sometimes.” Good God, he thought, he could see himself in the boy, just as he saw Abby’s solemn eyes in the brother.

“Did
you
?” Chris wanted to know.

“Sure I did.”

Chris made a face. He couldn’t have been more pleased. “That’s gross. Dad—that’s Dylan—took us fishing, but I wouldn’t clean them.”

“I did,” Ben said, tired of being left out. He shouldered Chris out of the way to get a good look for himself. “I liked the spaceship model you sent me. It was neat.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Trace wanted to ruffle the boy’s hair but figured it was too soon.

“He only lets me play with it if I beg and beg,” Chris put in.

“That’s because you’re a geek.”

“Am not!”

Ben started to launch into a full-scale exchange of insults, then clammed up when he recognized the sound of footsteps.

“Trouble?” Dylan said mildly as he stepped into the hall.

“Dad, we’ve got another uncle, and he’s here.” Delighted to be in charge, Chris grabbed Trace’s hand and dragged him forward. “This is Uncle Trace. This is my dad. We changed our name to Crosby and everything.”

So this was the brother no one knew very much about. Dylan’s writer’s instincts were humming. “Glad you could make it. Abby’s always showing the boys where you’ve been on Ben’s globe. You get around.”

“Some.” Trace was pleased enough to meet the brother-in-law, but he was wary of the journalist.

“He eats raw fish,” Chris supplied. “Hey, Mom, guess who’s here?”

Abby came from the direction of the kitchen, her dancer’s legs still graceful beneath the deep rose dress that draped over the child she carried. Her dark blond hair swung loosely at her shoulders. “The caterers want me to tell certain greedy little fingers to keep out of the canapés. I wonder who they might mean.” Her brow was lifted as she smiled at her husband. Then, looking past him, she saw Trace.

“Oh.” Her eyes, always expressive, filled as she opened her arms. “Oh, Trace.”

“Mom’s crying,” Ben murmured as he watched his mother being held by this man he’d only heard about.

“Because she’s happy,” Dylan told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Imagine if you didn’t see Chris for a long, long time.” Ben considered it, and a gleam came into his eyes. “Monster.” With a laugh, Dylan ruffled his hair.

“It’s such a surprise. Such a terrific surprise.”

Trace brushed a tear from her cheek. “Maddy already stole my handkerchief.”

“It doesn’t matter. How did you get here? Where did you come from? I’ve so many questions. Give me another hug.”

“This is Gillian,” Maddy announced, though Gillian had done her best to stay in the background. “She brought him.” At Trace’s lifted brow, Maddy grinned. “I mean, he brought her.”

“Whichever way, hello.” Though she sensed some intrigue, it could wait. Abby kissed both of Gillian’s cheeks. “I’m glad you’re here, both of you. And I can’t wait to see Chantel’s face.”