by Joleen James
"It's cold," Clea said, stating the obvious. She didn't want to be totally alone with him, not when he'd been drinking. There were too many old hurts between them, and she couldn't forget Robert's anger when she'd broken their engagement. He'd been enraged, and he hadn't had a drop of alcohol then.
"You asked for privacy." Robert slipped his coat on. "Besides, the boathouse is heated." He walked past her, leaving Clea no choice but to follow if she wanted to talk to him.
Once inside the boathouse, he flipped on the light. While the boathouse did have an attached garage to house the boats, the part they stood in was more of a beach house, a place to change into swimsuits and host lakeside barbecues. Wicker furniture with plump floral cushions filled the room, giving it an inviting, homey feel.
"Why are you here?" Robert asked. "Let me guess. You've come to your senses and come to beg my forgiveness." A wry smile twisted his lips as he shrugged out of his coat, tossing the garment on a nearby chair.
The light of hope had left his eyes, and in its place Clea now saw a meanness that sparked her fear. "How drunk are you? Maybe I should come back later."
He laughed, the sound brittle and angry. "I plan to stay drunk for a while, Clea. Maybe days."
"Oh, Boomer." She hated seeing him this way, hated knowing she'd caused his pain.
He reached for her, hauling her roughly against him. "Did you come here to torment me? God, I can smell your perfume."
"Let me go." Clea twisted out of his grasp. "I came here because I have questions."
"Well, I have questions, too," Robert said, his eyes filled with agony. "I want to know why you always choose him."
"I love Nick." She'd never said those words out loud, even to Nick, and it felt right to say them now. Suddenly, her life zoomed into sharp focus. She did love Nick, no matter his past. But to really be free, she wanted to know the truth about that night, a truth she suspected only Robert knew. "Let's go back to the house." She turned to leave.
"Not so fast." Robert caught her by the arm. "You'll leave when I say you can leave."
"What?" She tried to yank her arm free, but he held tight. "You're drunk, Robert. Let me go. It was a mistake for me to come here." A wild look entered his eyes, sending panic through Clea.
"You're not going to call the shots this time." Robert hooked an arm around her waist, dragging her body up against his.
The smell of Scotch filled her nostrils, sickening her. Clea turned her head to the side to avoid his breath. "This is crazy. Let go of me."
"Lombard is right about one thing. You are a princess," Robert sneered, his breath hot on her cheek. "I could have made you my queen."
His lips grazed the side of her face. Clea yanked her head back, struggling to be free of him, but he held on tight.
"I love you," he said. "I've always loved you. Everything I've ever done, I did for you."
"What do you mean?" Clea asked. "What have you done for me, Robert?" She forced herself to look into his eyes, eyes filled with pain and something else? Anger? Remorse? Revenge?
"I have secrets, Clea," Robert said thickly. One of his hands twisted in her hair. "I can't share my secrets with anyone and it's killing me."
"What kind of secrets?" Clea asked, keeping her tone calm. "Tell me your secrets, Robert."
"Why should I?" he said. "You'll just tell Lombard."
"Do your secrets have something to do with Nick?"
"I hate him," Robert said with enough heat to wither a spring leaf. He closed his eyes, a tortured expression on his face. "He's taken everything away from me."
A deep pity for him filled Clea. "Not everything," Clea said in a small voice.
"He took my brother. He took you and John. And he took…"
"What? What did he take, Robert?" Clea asked, frustrated. Robert's hand moved painfully in her hair. She cried out.
"He has no right," Robert said. "He's not a Bloomfield. He's just white trash. He ruined everything. You belong to me, Clea."
"Robert, you're hurting me," Clea gasped. It had been a mistake to talk to him alone. For the first time she understood the depth of his feelings for her.
Robert's mouth crashed down over hers. Clea twisted her head, and bringing her knee up, she kicked Robert between his legs. Then she was free. She turned to run, but Robert caught her ankle, bringing her to the ground with him. Bigger and stronger, he pinned her under him.
Clea screamed.
* * *
Nick rounded the corner at sixty miles per hour. The Boss roared under him, as angry and charged up as he was. Every part of him rebelled against the possibility of Senator Bloomfield being his father. He didn't want to believe it, and wouldn't until he heard it from the man himself.
One more curve and he'd be there. The Mustang slid into the curve. The car fishtailed. Taking the next left, he floored it, barreling down the hill to the Bloomfields'. When he hit the driveway he slammed on the brakes, leaving black tire marks down the center of the senator's pristine driveway. Before he climbed out of the car the senator and his wife were at the front door.
Nick fixated on the senator. Grabbing the bankbook from the passenger seat, he exited the car, slamming the door.
"What's going on here?" Senator Bloomfield called from the porch. His mouth set in a grim line, he walked to meet Nick. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing driving like that?"
"You tell me." Nick tossed him the bankbook. He stared at the senator hard, looking for some resemblance between them, but other than their height, he didn't see anything. Nick's coloring came from his mother. The senator was blond, while Nick's hair was jet black. The senator's eyes were green, where Nick's were blue. Could this all be some mistake, some cruel joke?
The senator opened the book and scanned the contents. When he looked at Nick again, his skin had lost some of its color, and Nick knew this was no joke. This was real.
"Go inside," Senator Bloomfield said to his wife.
"What's this about, James?" Mrs. Bloomfield asked. When he didn't reply, she sent a fearful glance Nick's way.
Nick locked his sight on the senator, issuing a silent dare for his father to tell his wife the truth.
"Go inside, Ellen," Senator Bloomfield said calmly, but Nick didn't miss the beads of sweat on the old man's forehead.
"I'm calling the sheriff." She whirled away, heading back to the house, leaving the two men in the driveway.
Nick glared at the senator, too upset to speak.
"I'm sorry," Senator Bloomfield said.
The hardness left the senator's eyes, and in its place was a regret that stirred up every bitter memory Nick had of growing up fatherless. "You're sorry?" Nick asked, incredulous. "That's it?"
"I don't know what you want me to say." He held the
bankbook out to Nick. "This belongs to you."
"I don't want your money." Years of frustration and heartache festered inside Nick. He wanted to lash out, but his body refused to move, to react.
"I wanted to do right by you," the senator said, "but you have to understand what it was like for me. I had a family. What your mother and I had was a one-night stand. I was at the lake, alone, lonely. I went to the tavern to have a drink and I met Maude. She was such a beauty. I drank too much, and the rest is history. It was a night of bad judgment on my part. I've always regretted it, and I'm sorry you had to pay for my mistake."
"I'm sorry, too," Nick said unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "Sorry I had to be your dirty little secret."
Senator Bloomfield grimaced, his hand coming up to rub his arm. "I want you to know something, Nick. Your mother loved you. She came to me months ago when you were up for parole. I think she knew she was sick and didn't have much time. She threatened to expose our connection if I didn't manage to keep Robert away from the parole hearing. I did as she asked, even though you took the life of my firstborn son. I owed you that much, if nothing else."
Nick couldn't begin to digest everything he'd just been told. His mother h
ad helped him? John had been right. Why now, after all this time? The senator had done as Maude had asked, even while believing Nick to be Danny's murderer. Somewhere deep inside did he give a damn for Nick, the son he could never acknowledge? What a web of lies the senator had become tangled in. How did the man live with himself day after day?
"What do you want?" Senator Bloomfield glanced toward the house. "I've given you a considerable amount of money. You could rebuild your life, or use the money to set up a trust for my grandson. Or is it my career you want to ruin?"
Nick didn't care about any of those things. He didn't want justice. He didn't want to profit from the information. He just wanted peace and he couldn't have that until he knew the truth about that night ten years ago. "What about Robert?" Nick asked. "Does he know about me?"
"No, of course not. I've never spoken about my time with Maude to anyone, even my wife."
"Maybe you weren't as careful at covering up your secret as you thought you were," Nick said.
The senator frowned. "What do you mean?"
A scream came from the yard. Nick looked past the senator toward the direction of the scream and he saw Mitzi's car. In his haze of anger he hadn't noticed the Audi parked behind Boomer's BMW. "Is Clea here?" he asked, knowing Clea had been using Mitzi's car while her Honda was in the shop.
"She's in the boathouse with Robert."
Nick didn't wait to hear any more. He charged past the senator. His heart hammered in his ears as he ran, his thoughts on Clea. Throwing the door open, he skidded to a stop. Boomer lay on Clea, covering her body from Nick's view.
"Let her go you son of a bitch," Nick ground out.
"Nick," Clea cried, her voice muffled.
"I said let her go." Nick's hands closed over Robert's arm and pant leg. He yanked the man from Clea, tossing him in the air as if he weighed no more than a feather. The sound of splintering wood filled the room as Robert landed on one of the wicker chairs, sending it toppling over backwards.
Nick followed Robert, lifting him off the floor by the front of his shirt. The smell of Scotch on Robert's breath repulsed him. "I've had just about enough of you," Nick said through gritted teeth.
"Stop it," Senator Bloomfield yelled from the doorway. "That's enough!"
"I want the truth about the night Danny was killed and I want it now, brother."
Nick heard Clea gasp. He hadn't meant to blurt it out that way, but bitterness and resentment had dulled his thinking.
"For God's sake," Senator Bloomfield said. "He doesn't know."
"Nick," Clea said from behind him. "Please. Robert's drunk. He doesn't know what he's doing."
"When are you going to quit defending him, and see him for the conniving son of a bitch he is?" Nick said to her.
"Stop this," the senator cried.
"Tell me." Nick shook Robert. "You knew we shared a father, didn't you? You knew that night."
"You can't be my brother," Robert mumbled. A lock of hair fell over his eyes and he seemed to have trouble focusing. "Danny told me, but I didn't believe him."
"Danny? Did he tell you that night? How long did he know? Is that why he hounded me?" Nick asked, his fingers tightening on Robert's shirtfront.
"I went to Danny," Robert spat out, tossing his head back to get the hair out of his eyes. "I saw some canceled checks with Maude's name on them. I tried to call you," Robert said to the senator, his eyes filled with accusations, "but you didn't return my calls."
"Dear God," Senator Bloomfield said.
The fight left Robert's body. He slumped against Nick. Tears filled Robert's eyes. Suddenly, Nick didn't want to go on with the conversation. So many lies. So many people hurt. He let go of Robert and he slid to the floor, a pitiful heap of wounded man.
"I don't understand," Clea said, coming to stand beside Nick. "What does this mean?"
Nick searched her face for signs of injury, but didn't see anything. "It means that Boomer and I are half-brothers."
"What!" Clea exclaimed. "No. Oh, Nick."
Robert's head jerked up. "It's always been poor Nick, hasn't it? I've never understood it. He has nothing. His mother was the town whore, but you loved him in spite of everything. He's always had everything I ever wanted. And when I found out he even had a part of my father…"
"What?" Senator Bloomfield asked, coming forward. "What did you do, Robert?"
"I told Danny, but he already knew. He'd known about Nick for years; that's why he hated him so much." Robert laughed, the sound demented and sad. "Danny was the only person who understood me."
The senator turned away, bringing his hands up to his temples as if to press away the pain, the grief, the sorrow.
Nick closed his eyes. He felt Clea's touch on his arm, could hear the gentle intake of her breath. "And that night. Why did Danny come after me?"
"I saw you with Nick," Robert said brokenly, his eyes on Clea. "At Lookout Point. You were in his car, wrapped all over him. Seeing you with him made me vomit. I went home and got drunk, and when Danny came home, I told him Nick raped you. Something inside Danny snapped. He went crazy." Robert turned to Nick. "He said he would take care of you once and for all. Danny already hated you. He knew the combination to the gun safe. He took a pistol and we went after you."
"You were there that night," Nick said.
"Oh, Robert." Clea's hand tightened on Nick's arm. "You knew it wasn't rape. You set Nick up."
"I wanted to kill you myself, Lombard." Robert pushed his hands into his hair. "But I was too drunk."
"That's when Danny ran my car off the road," Nick said, his voice strangely devoid of emotion. A numbing, disconnected feeling settled over him. A movement near the door caught Nick's eye. He glanced over. Billy and Sheriff Kincade stood in the open doorway. How much had the Sheriff heard?
"I don't remember much," Robert said, the words broken. "I stayed in the car, but everything was spinning and I had to lie down. I knew Danny had the gun. I wanted the pain to end. I covered my ears and shut my eyes, waiting for the gunshot, but it didn't come. I didn't look up until it was over and Danny was on the ground."
A small measure of relief filled Nick when he realized that Robert hadn't seen Billy hit Danny. Billy's secret was still safe. Robert had been too drunk, his head down.
"Then everything happened so fast," Robert continued. "You got in the car and drove off. Billy ran into the woods. I crept out of the car and went to Danny, but he wasn't breathing. That damn gun was lying there on the ground. My only thought was to protect Danny. I could hear the sirens. Before they arrived, I took the gun and ran."
"And the lakeside robberies?" Nick asked. "Were you responsible for those, too?"
"No, it was Danny. He wanted to set you up. I didn't have anything to do with those crimes."
Nick turned away. His stomach rebelled. He had expected to feel hatred for Robert, but instead he felt sorry for him. In his own way, Robert had suffered every bit as much as Nick or Billy had for that night. Robert's words to his brother had prompted the confrontation. They'd all been victims of something bigger than themselves. The true blame lay with the senator. His secrets had cost them all so much. His secret had ultimately taken the life of his firstborn.
"And your mother," Nick said, remembering Robert's alibi. "She covered for you, didn't she?"
"Yes, but she didn't know she did. I sneaked into the house, wiped the gun clean, and put it back in the safe. After that, I crawled into bed." Robert sobbed quietly, his own secret now set free. "Mother assumed I'd been home the entire time."
"There's just one thing wrong with the story," Billy said.
"No," Nick warned. "It's over. Let it go."
"I can't, Nick." Billy came toward him.
"Let the boy speak," Sheriff Kincade said.
"Don't you see what keeping the secret has done to me?" Billy glanced at the sheriff. "I've already told Sheriff Kincade that I'm the one who hit Danny." He walked to the senator. "I didn't mean to kill him. He was going to shoot Nick. I
had to stop him. It was an accident. Forgive me."
Senator Bloomfield clutched his chest. "Oh, dear God. What have I done?"
Nick could see the pain in Billy's eyes, hear the torment in his voice. He'd made a mistake. All this time he'd thought he'd been protecting Billy, giving him a better life, but instead Billy had been slowly dying inside. The truth was out, but would it set Billy free?
"You hit Danny?" Robert asked in a stunned whisper. He pointed an accusing finger at his father. "This is your fault. If you'd just kept your pants zipped, none of this would have happened. Billy might have swung the bat, but you killed Danny. Your secret killed him."
The senator recoiled, his skin a strange shade of gray. Sweat dotted his brow and neck, wetting his shirtfront. His hand clutched frantically at his chest. "I'm sorry," he said. "Please forgive me."
The senator's eyes closed. His knees buckled, and he pitched over, landing with a thump on the cold linoleum of the boathouse floor.
* * *
A cold March sun shone over the crowd of mourners at the Port Bliss Cemetery. Under their feet a carpet of freshly mowed spring grass scented the air. Overhead a seagull stretched its wings, a brilliant white against the indigo sky.
At the graveside of Senator Bloomfield, Clea sat with John next to her, Nick on his other side. Although John had thought of the senator as his grandfather, it had been a shock for John to learn the truth. Clea had explained Nick's parentage to John, but she knew John had questions, questions she'd hoped Nick would help answer, but he'd been upset and distant since the senator's death. She'd struggled over letting John attend the funeral, but he'd asked to come, and she hadn't wanted to deny him the chance to say good-bye.
Clea glanced over at Nick. His jaw was tensed. Clean-shaven and dressed in a black suit, he looked vulnerable, yet so hard and bitter. She longed to pull him into her arms and give him comfort, but she'd tried that when the senator had died; Nick had pulled away, leaving Clea heartbroken and confused all over again. Would the timing ever be right for them?
In the space of a few weeks Nick had lost his mother and his father, parents who were strangers to him. Clea knew their deaths were as painful for him as they would have been had they been close. He'd withdrawn from her since the boathouse. His rejection of the comfort she wanted to give him stung, but a part of her could understand it. He'd suffered a life altering shock when he'd learned that the senator was his father.
