Witness (23 page)

Deborah looked at Ashe then and saw the mixed emotions bombarding him. “Daddy gave me two choices. I could give my child up for adoption or I could allow him to be raised as my brother.”

You could have come to me! he wanted to shout. She should have come to him and told him. He would have taken care of her and their child. “You had a third choice,” Ashe said.

“No, I didn't. You left town. You never called or wrote. You didn't give a damn what happened to me. You never asked yourself whether or not you might have gotten me pregnant.”

Ashe grabbed her by the shoulders, jerking her up out of her chair as he stood. “Maybe you didn't feel that you could come to me when you first discovered you were pregnant. I guess I halfway understand your reasoning. But later… Mama Mattie always knew how to get in touch with me. All you had to do was ask her for my phone number, my address. Ten years, Deborah. Ten years!”

“I didn't know how you'd feel about being a father, about our child. You didn't love me. You'd made that perfectly clear.” She sucked in her cheeks in a effort not to cry, not to fall apart in his arms. Somehow she knew he was in no frame of mind to comfort her. Not now. Not when he was in so much pain himself.

He shook her once, twice, then stopped abruptly and dropped his hands from her shoulders. Glaring at her, he knotted his hands into fists. God, how he wanted to smash his fist against the wall. He wanted to shout his anger, vent his rage.

“Is that why you kept Allen a secret from me?” He ached with the bitterness building inside him. “You were trying to punish me because I'd told you I didn't love you?”

“Of course not!” Seeing the hatred and distrust in his eyes, Deborah knew her worst fears were coming true. “Allen has a good life, surrounded by people who love him.”

“Allen's life is a lie,” Ashe said, his eyes wild with the hot fury burning inside him. “He thinks Miss Carol is his mother. Hell, he thinks Wallace Vaughn was his father.”

“I did what I thought was best.” Deborah wanted to touch Ashe, to lay her hand on his chest, to plead for his understanding. But she didn't dare. “I was seventeen years old. My father
gave me two choices. Telling you wasn't an option. If I'd thought it was, then I might have—”

“What about later? After your father died? I know Miss Carol wouldn't have tried to prevent you from contacting me.”

“After Daddy died, bringing you back into my life was not a consideration. I had to take over my father's business. I had to support Mother and Allen. Besides, you were halfway around the world most of the time.”

“Miss Carol wanted me to know, didn't she? Allen was one of the reasons she hired me to protect you.”

“Mother has the foolish idea that you once actually cared about me and that if she could get you back into our lives, you wouldn't leave us this time.”

Ashe lifted his clenched fists into the air, willing himself to control his rage. He glared at Deborah, at the one woman he thought he could trust. Suddenly, he grabbed her again, barely suppressing the desire to shake her. “I did not
leave
you eleven years ago. Your father ran me out of town. Do you honestly think that anything or anyone could have forced me to leave you if I'd known you were pregnant?”

“Are you saying that you'd have married me for the baby's sake?” Deborah pulled away from him, tears swelling in her eyes. “I didn't want you under those conditions then and I don't want you under those conditions now. I wanted you to love me. Me!” She slapped her hand against her chest. “I wanted you to want me, not marry me because of Allen.”

“You've kept my son away from me all his life because of what you wanted? Didn't you ever think about what Allen might want or need? Or even what I wanted or needed?”

Ashe clenched his fists so tightly that his nails bit into the palms of his hands. Pain shot through his head. He couldn't think straight. He needed to escape, to get away from Deborah before he said or did something he would regret. But he couldn't leave her. He was her bodyguard.

“You mustn't tell Allen,” she said. “Not now. He's not old
enough to understand. That's one of the reasons—the main reason—I haven't told you the truth before now. I was afraid you'd want Allen to know you're his father. I just don't think he could handle the truth as young as he is.”

“I won't do anything to hurt Allen.”
My son.
Allen Vaughn was his child. He'd looked at the boy and all he'd seen was Deborah. That blond hair, those blue eyes. But Roarke had seen what Ashe had been too blind to see.

“He's a wonderful boy,” Deborah said. “The joy of my life.”

“Do you know me so little that you think I'd do anything to jeopardize Allen's happiness, his security? I thought you and I had something special between us years ago. I thought you were my best friend. But you didn't trust me enough to come to me and tell me you were pregnant. And now, when I thought we might have a future together, you still couldn't trust me enough to put Allen's life in my hands.”

“I do trust you, Ashe. I've put all our lives in your hands. I know I should have told you weeks ago, but… I was afraid.”

“How am I going to be able to face Allen and not want to pull him into my arms and tell him I'm his father? God, Deborah do you have any idea how I feel?”

Someone just outside the chapel door cleared their throat. Ashe and Deborah glanced toward the white uniformed young woman.

“Ms. Vaughn, I thought you'd want to know that your mother is out of surgery and the doctor is ready to speak to you.”

“How is Mother?”

“She's in recovery. She came through the surgery just fine, but I'm afraid that's all I can tell you,” the nurse said.

 

T
HE NEXT FEW
hours seemed endless to Deborah. She alternated between the desire to scream and the desire to cry. Silent and brooding, Ashe stayed by her side. The barrier of tension between them grew stronger with each passing minute.

Now, when she needed him most, he was as remote, as far removed from her as if he were a million miles away. He would not leave her unguarded, his sense of honor would never allow him to desert her and put her life at risk. But he could not bring himself to look at her or speak to her.

Ashe was afraid of his feelings, of allowing the bitter anger free rein. More than anything, he needed to get away from Deborah, to go off by himself and think.

The doctor's news had been good. In his opinion, they had been lucky once again. They would have to wait a few days on the final test results, but the preliminary findings were positive, giving them every hope that Carol Vaughn would fully recover.

Neither Deborah nor Ashe had gone for lunch. They had paced around the waiting room, avoiding each other, not speaking, not even looking at each other. Their being together had become an agony for her and she had no doubt it had been as difficult for Ashe. She knew he wanted to get away from her, but he couldn't. He was bound by his honor to protect her.

When Miss Carol was returned to her private room, Ashe went in and said a brief hello. Not wanting to say or do anything that might upset Deborah's mother, he made a quick exit, telling Deborah he would remain outside in the hallway and that she should stay with her mother for as long as she wanted to.

“Did you tell him?” Carol Vaughn asked.

“Yes, Mother, I told him.”

“And?”

“And everything is going to be all right,” Deborah lied. “He understands.”

Carol Vaughn smiled. “I knew he would. He'll take good care of you and Allen.”

When her mother fell asleep shortly before five in the afternoon, Deborah kissed her pale cheek and walked out into the hallway.

Ashe stood, leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets. “Is she all right?” he asked.

“She's sleeping.” Deborah glanced at Ashe, but when she saw the coldness in his eyes, she looked away. “I'd like to go home now.”

He escorted her downstairs to the parking lot, not touching her, not saying another word. The drive home was an exercise in torture. For Deborah. And for Ashe.

Suddenly her life seemed void of hope. Where she had felt the joy of being in love, the resurgence of dreams she'd thought long dead, now she felt only loss. Had she lost Ashe again? Or as in the past, had he never truly been hers?

Deborah glanced out the side window of Ashe's rental car, knowing that nothing she could say or do at this point would change the way he felt. When she heard him dialing his cellular phone, she glanced at him.

Quickly he returned his gaze to the road ahead. “Roarke?”

“How's Miss Carol?” Roarke asked. “Ever since Deborah called Allen with the good news, he's been wanting to talk to his mother.”

“Miss Carol is doing real good. We left her sleeping.” Ashe paused for a second. “I'm bringing Deborah home, but something's come up and I need to go out. Alone.”

“No problem. Want to tell me what's wrong?”

“You were right about Allen.”

“How'd you find out?” Roarke asked.

“Deborah told me. Today. While Miss Carol was in surgery.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don't know.” Ashe clutched the steering wheel. “I can't see Allen right now. Keep him inside until I drop Deborah off. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Ashe closed his cellular phone and slipped it back into his coat pocket. “Roarke will take care of you.”

“Where are you going?” Deborah wished he'd look at her, but he didn't.

“I need to get away by myself for a few hours and do some serious thinking.”

“Ashe, please… You may not believe this now, but…I love you.”

Without replying, he drove up Montgomery Avenue, turned into the Vaughn driveway and waited for Deborah to get out. She hesitated for just a moment, hoping he would say something. He didn't. She jumped out of the car, slammed the car door and rushed up on the front porch where Roarke stood waiting. Ashe roared away, leaving Deborah alone, uncertain and miserable.

Ashe McLaughlin was good at that, she thought. Leaving. Maybe she had made a mistake, eleven years ago and more recently, too. But everything wasn't her fault. Surely when his temper cooled and he had time to think reasonably, he would see that he wasn't the only injured party in this situation.

She wasn't sure exactly what she had expected when she told him the truth, but somewhere deep inside her, she had hoped he would understand, that he would forgive her.

“Are you all right?” Roarke asked.

“I've been better,” she said.

“Allen's helping Mazie set the table for dinner. He's going to want to know why Ashe isn't with you.”

“I gather you suspected that Allen was Ashe's son.”

“I saw the similarities. I knew your and Ashe's background. He told me about you, one night when we'd both had a little too much to drink.”

“Ashe told you about me?”

“That surprises you?” Roarke opened the front door, placed his hand in the small of Deborah's back and followed her into the entrance hall.

“Why would Ashe tell you about me, about our… Ashe didn't love me. I don't understand.”

“Maybe he didn't love you,” Roarke said. “But he sure as hell never forgot you. He never got over the way he felt about you.”

“I was in love with him then, you know. I'm even more in love with him now.”

“Give him time to sort out his feelings.” Roarke laid his big hand on Deborah's shoulder. “He has a son he never knew about and he's found out that a woman he'd just learned to trust again has kept a secret from him for eleven years.”

Allen ran into the entrance hall, Huckleberry loping behind him. “How's Mother? When can I go see her?” Allen glanced around, then stared at the door. “Where's Ashe? Parking the car?”

Deborah took a deep breath. “Ashe had some business to take care of immediately. Mother is doing beautifully, and you can see her tomorrow after school.”

“Great. May I call her tonight?”

“Right after dinner,” Deborah said.

“Will Ashe be home in time to help me with my math homework?”

“I'm not sure how long his business will take.” She wanted to wrap Allen in her arms and keep him safe. For the millionth time in ten years, she wished she could tell him she was his mother. Dear God, how Ashe must feel. But he had no idea the price she had paid pretending to be Allen's sister. Both of them had lost so much not having the chance to be Allen's parents. Maybe it really was all her fault. Maybe Ashe had every right to hate her. If she'd had the strength to stand up to her father or the courage to have gone to Ashe with the truth long ago, things would be different now.

Deborah checked her watch as she followed Allen into the kitchen. Would Ashe return tonight? Tomorrow? Or would he leave town and never return? Oh, he would return, all right. He might leave her again, but he would never leave his son.

A
SHE SAT IN
his car, the window down, the crisp night air chilling him. He had to go home, home to Deborah. For the past several hours he had thought of nothing except what she'd told him about Allen. His son. Their son.

He'd stopped by a local lounge for a couple of drinks, then come down here by the river and parked. He hadn't wanted to be around anybody. He'd needed time alone to lick his wounds, to resolve his feelings for Deborah.

The fact that he cared deeply for her complicated his life considerably. If she hadn't come to mean so much to him, he could hate her. But he didn't hate her; and he didn't even blame her for what she'd done. How could he? Eleven years ago he'd taken her innocence and broken her heart. He'd tried to reject her gently, telling himself he was doing what was best for her. If he'd been a man instead of a thoughtless boy, he would have made sure he hadn't gotten her pregnant. That had been his fault. He'd been the one with experience, not her. And she'd loved him. He hadn't appreciated how much the love of a girl like Deborah meant. Now he did.

Why hadn't he, just once, considered the possibility that he'd gotten her pregnant and she'd kept it a secret from him? Hell, he knew the answer only too well. He couldn't have handled the guilt. He didn't blame her for not coming to him, after the way he'd treated her. Back then she hadn't known her father had run him out of town; she'd thought he'd deserted her.

He couldn't justify her keeping Allen's existence a secret after her father died, but he understood her reasoning. He had
hurt her badly. She had been afraid to trust her life and Allen's to him.

Things were different now. She did trust him. And she still loved him. That was the greatest miracle of all. Somehow, he'd find a way to make up all the lost years to Allen and to Deborah.

They needed to talk, to come to an agreement on the best way to handle the situation. He wanted Allen in his life, whether or not they ever told the boy he was his father. And he didn't want to lose Deborah, not again. All these years she had stayed alive inside him, her gentle beauty, her unconditional love.

He didn't know exactly how they'd work things, but they would find a way. He'd make Deborah see that no obstacle was too great for them to overcome—together. He wasn't going to lose his son or his son's mother.

Ashe started the car, turned around and headed toward Sheffield, all the while thinking about what he wanted to say to Deborah. When he turned into the driveway, he noticed every downstairs light was on. In the distance he heard sirens. A police siren and an ambulance siren. His heart raced, his nerves rioted. What if something had happened while he'd been off licking his wounds?

He flew to the front door and through the house, calling for Deborah, then he bellowed out Roarke's name. When he entered the kitchen he ran into Allen, who trembled and cried and spoke in incoherent phrases. Huckleberry stood at Allen's side, licking the child's hand.

Ashe grabbed his son by the shoulders. “Allen, what's wrong? What's happened? Where's Deborah? Where's Roarke?”

“Deborah's gone.” Allen sobbed, his big blue eyes wide with fear. “I don't know what happened. I heard Deborah scream.”

“When did you hear her scream?”

“Just a little while ago. Her scream woke—woke me and—and Huckleberry.”

“Where's Roarke?”

“Outside. In the—the backyard. I think he's dead!” Allen threw his arms around Ashe's waist, hugging him fiercely.

Ashe lifted his son in his arms, sat him down on top of the kitchen table and wiped the tears from his face with his fingers. “Are you all right, Allen?”

“Yes. But I can't find Deborah. Where is she? Did they get her?”

“Show me where Roarke is,” Ashe said.

“I called 911. Roarke told me to call, then he passed out.”

Ashe lifted Allen down from the table. Holding his son's hand, he followed the boy and his dog outside. Roarke's big body rested in a fallen heap on the patio. Huckleberry sniffed Roarke's semiautomatic, which he'd obviously dropped when he'd passed out. The gun now lay in a pool of fresh blood that had formed on the bricks.

Ashe leaned down, turning Roarke slightly. The man groaned, then opened his eyes.

“Hang in there. An ambulance is on its way,” Ashe said. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“She was restless.” Roarke spoke slowly, his breath ragged. “Worried about you. Thought she…heard your car parking in the back.”

“Where is she?”

“He took her.” Roarke tried to lift his head. “Told her not to go outside. Couldn't catch her. Couldn't stop her. She thought it was you.”

Ashe inspected Roarke's body and discovered he'd been shot several times. Dear God, why didn't that ambulance hurry? If Roarke lost much more blood, he'd be dead before the medics arrived.

“Take it easy,” Ashe said.

“I walked out—out the door.” Roarke coughed several times. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “The minute I stepped out… Shot me. Kept shooting.”

“Did you get a look at him?”

“Big guy. Ugly. Sandy hair. Jeans. Leather jacket.” Roarke lifted his hand, but the effort exerted too much of his strength and his hand fell to his side. “Failed. Sorry.”

“I'll find her,” Ashe said. “You just hang in there until—” Ashe realized Roarke had passed out again.

Four Sheffield policeman stormed the backyard, their guns drawn. Standing, Ashe placed his arm around Allen's shoulders. His son leaned against him.

“Come on, Allen. After we talk to the police and see Roarke off to the hospital, I'm taking you over to Mama Mattie's. I'll get Chief Burton to send one of his officers to stay with you until I find Deborah.”

“You'll find her, won't you, Ashe? You won't let anybody hurt her, will you? You love her, just like I do.”

“Yeah, son, you're right. I'll find her, and I'll never let anybody hurt her because I love her, too.”

Ashe barely contained the rage inside him, and the fear. Dear God, the nauseating fear! If anything happened to Deborah, it would be his fault. If he hadn't left her, deserted her again, then she wouldn't have been in such a tormented state of mind. She never would have rushed outside without thinking, disobeying Roarke's orders. If anything happened to her or if Roarke died, Ashe would have to face the fact that he could have prevented tonight's disastrous events.

 

A
SHE MARCHED INTO
the Sweet Nothings club like a storm trooper. Evie tried to grab his arm, but he threw her off and swept past the bouncer, making his way to Buck Stansell's office. If the man was responsible for Deborah's kidnapping, he'd kill him with his bare hands—after he found out where Deborah's abductor had taken her.

Ashe flung open the office door. Buck jumped up from behind his desk, like a scared rabbit dodging a hunter's bullet.

“Where is she?” Ashe demanded, as he advanced on Buck, not heeding Buck's bodyguard's warning.

Buck motioned for his bodyguard. Ashe turned on the burly man and, using several expedient thrusts with his hands and feet, brought the big man to his knees.

“Why are you here?” Buck asked.

Evie rushed into the office, bringing two bouncers with her. Ashe pulled his gun from the shoulder holster and aimed it at Buck.

“Call off your goons,” Ashe said.

“Take them back inside the club,” Buck ordered. “Go with them, sweetie. I can handle things in here.”

“Where is Deborah?” Ashe asked again.

“If she's missing, I don't have her,” Buck said. “I've been trying to tell you that I'm not behind the recent threats. I thought you were checking into other suspects.”

“I'm still checking.” With gun in hand, Ashe walked across the room, motioning for the bodyguard to sit. “Someone shot my partner at the Vaughns' home tonight and kidnapped Deborah. What do you know about it?”

Buck eased down in his big velvet chair behind his desk. “I didn't put a contract out on Deborah, but I know who did.”

“Keep your hands where I can see them.” Ashe stood in front of Buck's desk. “Tell me what you know.”

“I checked into the situation for you, just like I said I would.” Buck laid his hands flat atop his desk. “I found out that a prominent Sheffield citizen hired one of my former employees—Randy Perry—to kill Deborah. Randy just got out of the pen a couple of months ago and I didn't see fit to rehire him. He's a bad apple, that one.”

“Who hired him?”

“A relative of Deborah Vaughn's, one who had a twofold purpose in wanting her dead.”

“Who?”

“The man wanted revenge on his wife's former lover, the
one he's cried in his beer about here at Sweet Nothings on more than one occasion. Seems his wife has always compared him to this guy and he's always come up lacking.”

“Whitney's husband?” Ashe asked.

“Of course, getting back at you isn't his main reason. The inheritance is. Seems Jamison thinks that old Mrs. Vaughn hasn't got much longer to live, and with Deborah out of the way, his wife would be the logical one to oversee Deborah's estate and take custody of Allen.”

“My God! Is Whitney involved in this scheme?”

“Don't know. Wouldn't know what I do if Randy hadn't stayed buddies with some of my boys and if he wasn't the type to brag to the ladies.”

“Do you have any idea where he's taken Deborah?”

“I didn't even know he'd taken her tonight until you stormed in here. Why don't you pay a visit on Mr. Jamison?”

“That's exactly what I intend to do.” Slipping his gun back into the holster, Ashe nodded to the door. “Why don't you walk me out, Buck, old friend?”

Buck chuckled. “Still don't trust me completely? I don't blame you.”

Buck walked Ashe all the way outside to his car, then put his hand on Ashe's shoulder. “I'll find out what I can about where Randy's taken your woman. If I learn anything that can help you, I'll send Lee Roy to find you.”

Ashe didn't say anything, only nodded, got in his car and headed back to Sheffield, straight to the Jamison house on River Bluff.

 

T
HE
J
AMISON HOME
sat on the bluff overlooking the Tennessee River. Ashe parked his rental car behind George Jamison's Jaguar. The fury inside him had built to the “kill” stage. His common sense urged him to stay calm, telling him that he must remain in control in order to find Deborah before her kidnapper killed her.

The very thought of Deborah being harmed angered Ashe, and created a pain deep inside him. The hired assassin had been waiting for his chance to get Deborah, and Ashe had given him the perfect opportunity. If anything happened to her, he'd never forgive himself.

He rang the doorbell and waited, checking his gun. After endless minutes of keeping his finger pressed against the buzzer, Whitney Vaughn swung open the double doors and stood in the foyer smiling.

“Why, Ashe McLaughlin, whatever brings you to my house in the middle of the night?”

Ashe noticed she wore nothing but a thin, lavender nightgown, sheer and revealing. “Where's your husband?”

“Not in my bed.” She draped her arm around Ashe's neck. He pulled free, walking farther into the foyer. She closed the doors and followed him.

“You want to see George?” she asked. “At this time of night?”

“Where is he?” Ashe went from room to room, turning on lights as he went. “If he's not here, tell me where he is!”

“What the devil's the matter with you, Ashe?” Whitney planted her hand on her slender hip.

“Deborah's been kidnapped,” Ashe said. “And I have reason to believe that your husband put out a contract on her life.”

“George?” Whitney's large brown eyes widened, giving her an owlish look. “But George would never… What reason would he have?”

“You tell me. For all I know you could be in on it with him.”

“I'd never do anything to hurt Deborah. She's my cousin. I care deeply for her.”

“Where's your husband?” Grabbing Whitney by the shoulders, Ashe shook her soundly.

“He—he's upstairs in his room.”

“Show me.” Ashe jerked Whitney around, grasping her wrist. “I don't have any time to lose.”

Whitney ran up the stairs, Ashe beside her. Halting, she pointed to a closed door. “That's George's room.”

Ashe crashed through the door. George Jamison had one leg in his trousers, the other on the floor. Ashe grabbed him around the neck. When George swayed, Ashe steadied him by slamming him up against the wall. Whitney stepped inside, but stayed by the open door.

“Where did Randy Perry take Deborah?” Ashe tightened his hold on George's neck.

“I—I don't know what you're—you're talking about.” George pawed at Ashe's hand, trying unsuccessfully to loosen his hold around his neck.

“Don't play games with me, Jamison. You tell me what I want to know or I'll break your neck. Do you understand me?”

“For pity's sake, Whitney, call the police,” George said.

“I'm not doing anything.” Whitney glared at her husband. “If you hired someone to kill Deborah, you'd better tell Ashe what he wants to know.”

“Please, believe me. I don't know what he's talking about.”

With his right hand still pressed against George's windpipe, Ashe reached inside his jacket and retrieved his gun from the shoulder holster. He pointed his 9 mm directly at George's temple.

“If you have any doubts that I'd kill you, then you don't know me at all. Deborah Vaughn is the most important thing in this world to me. I'd lay down my life for her. Do you understand what I'm saying, Jamison?”

“Don't kill me,” George pleaded.