When Shadows Fall (Callaways #7)

by Barbara Freethy

"Even if he did, I doubt he'll admit it."

  "I think we'll be able to tell by his reaction to our questions." He let out a heavy breath. "I hate the thought of someone breaking into your room, Olivia."

  "I almost threw up when I realized what had happened. To think someone was looking through my things…" She shuddered at the thought. "I don't know if I can sleep there tonight."

  "You can stay with me."

  The invitation came fast and easily because that's the kind of man Colton was, but he obviously hadn't thought it through. A a frown quickly followed the offer.

  "I can always go to another hotel," she said.

  His frown deepened. "Olivia, this isn't the time to get into a long discussion, but I didn't like the way things ended this morning. We got off track."

  "We just got back to reality. Maybe it was a good thing, a reminder that one night is probably all we're going to have."

  "Maybe not. You haven't left San Francisco yet."

  She shivered a little as he cast his sexy blue gaze in her direction. "That's true, but—"

  "But you don't want to sleep with me again," he finished, an odd note in his voice.

  She thought about his question for far too long. Then she gave him a rueful smile. "That's the problem, Colton. I do want to sleep with you again, I just don't think I should."

  "Why not?"

  "A lot of reasons."

  "Give me one."

  She knew just the one to shut him up. "I'm afraid I'll fall in love with you."

  His eyes sparkled at her words, as if the idea wasn't all that repulsive, and for a moment, just a moment, she thought he might reciprocate the words.

  Then a horn honked.

  "It's our turn to go," she said.

  He swore under his breath and then turned his attention back to the road. Whatever he'd been about to say remained unsaid.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ten minutes later Colton pulled into an underground parking garage and handed the valet his keys. As they waited for the elevator to take them up to Peter's office, Colton gave her a serious look. "Olivia, I want you to know that I heard what you said."

  "And?" she couldn't help asking.

  "And I can see why you might be worried about that."

  She was a little taken aback by his cocky words. "Oh, because you're used to women falling in love with you?"

  "No, that's not what I meant," he said with a frown.

  "Then what did you mean?"

  The elevator doors opened, and they stepped back to let a couple off. Then they got inside, and Colton pressed the button for the lobby. "I meant that things got intense between us last night, and I wasn't exactly expecting that."

  "Okay," she said, still a little confused. "What are you trying to say, Colton?"

  Before he could answer, they'd arrived at the lobby, and as they stepped off and walked across the hall to another bank of elevators, they were caught up in a swarm of people. There was no opportunity for private conversation on their way to the forty-fifth floor.

  Olivia could feel Colton's gaze on her, but she was afraid to look at him. His last few comments had only served to make her feel more unsettled. For a guy who was outgoing and seemed to be able to speak to anyone, he'd certainly had trouble putting a couple of coherent sentences together. She'd like to think that was because he was dealing with emotions he wasn't used to dealing with, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

  When they got off the elevator, she could see that Peter Harper's firm took up the entire floor. They stepped out onto plush carpeting and walked through a beautifully decorated and sophisticated reception area. A woman wearing a black sheath dress gave them a smile as they approached the glass counter.

  "I'm here to see Peter Harper," she said. "I'm Olivia Bennett and this is Colton Callaway."

  "One moment." The woman picked up the phone. "Mr. Harper, your one o'clock appointment is here." She paused. "Yes, of course."

  She hung up the phone. "He'll be with you in one moment. Please have a seat."

  "Thanks." Olivia moved away from the desk but didn't take advantage of any of the white leather couches. She felt far too restless to sit.

  Colton put a hand on her shoulder. "Breathe," he said.

  Sometimes she thought he could read her mind. "I am nervous," she admitted. "It's not that he intimidates me, although he does do that. It's because of who he is—who I might be to him. That's the scary part."

  "Just take it one step at a time."

  "I'm going to try."

  His hand slipped down her shoulder and arm, his fingers lacing with hers. "About what I said before—"

  "I can't have that conversation right now."

  "I understand, but I just want you to know that just because I haven't been able to get the right words out doesn't mean I don't care about you. I do care, Olivia, probably a little too much."

  Her nerves tightened, not just at his words, but at the look in his eyes. He'd told her before he didn't lie, and she didn't think he was lying now. But what it all meant was still beyond her.

  "Miss Bennett?" the receptionist said, interrupting their conversation. "Mr. Harper will see you now. I'll take you to his office."

  "Great." She took as many deep breaths as she could on her way down the hall. She wanted to be as calm as possible when she asked Peter Harper about the terribly disturbing photos of his mother.

  * * *

  Peter stood up when they entered his office. He had his suit coat off. The sleeves of a white button-down shirt were rolled up to the elbows, and his expensive tie hung loosely around his neck. He looked exhausted, and Olivia couldn't help wondering if it was the toll his mother's condition was taking on him, or if there was more going on.

  "You're back," he said with a resigned sigh. "Somehow I didn't think I'd seen the last of you." His gaze turned to Colton. "And you brought a friend—wonderful."

  "This is Colton Callaway," she said.

  Peter's gaze narrowed. "Callaway? Are you related to Eleanor?"

  "I'm her grandson, Jack's son," Colton added. "I think you knew him when you were a kid."

  "I knew his brother Michael. So what do you want? You mentioned something about pictures of my mother and sister?"

  "Your mother," Olivia said, pulling the photos out of her handbag. Peter hadn't asked them to sit down, and she wanted to face him at eye level, so all three of them remained on their feet.

  Peter's jaw tightened as he looked down at the photos. He flipped through them silently, then set them down on the large cherry wood desk that separated them. "Where did you get those?"

  "From Molly's home."

  "You broke into my mother's house? I should have you arrested."

  "Olivia isn't a villain. My grandmother gave her a key," Colton cut in. "There's also a good chance she's your niece, so maybe you should change your attitude."

  As Peter's silent glare continued, Olivia didn't think he cared one bit about whether or not they might be related.

  "My relationship to your mother aside," she said, breaking the tense silence, "what can you tell me about the photos? Was your father hitting your mother?"

  "On occasion," Peter admitted. "But it never seemed as bad as what those photos would indicate."

  "Are you saying that the photos might have been doctored?"

  "How the hell would I know? I'm not even sure they're of my mother. She used to hang out with a lot of abused women. Domestic abuse became her cause in life."

  She couldn't ignore the bitter note in his voice. "You sound angry about it."

  "I was angry about it. My mother turned her back on the family to help strangers when she should have been helping her own daughter."

  "Francine was being abused?"

  "No. But she was struggling to survive after my father died. While my mother was focused on others, Francine was killing herself with drugs and alcohol. By the time my mother turned her attention back to her daughter, Francine was too far gone to be saved."
/>
  "Why didn't you save her?" Colton cut in.

  Peter's gaze swung to Colton. "I tried—many, many times. But when the substance abuse first began, I was in college, then I went into the Navy. I didn't know what was going on. I was counting on my mother to actually be a mother."

  Olivia could see that Peter held his mother responsible for all of Francine's problems. Whether that was fair or not, she couldn't say. "We're getting a little off the point," she said, drawing his attention back to her. "You're angry with your mother, obviously, but don't you feel any compassion for what she went through at the hands of your father?"

  "Like I said, it wasn't that bad," he replied. "Yeah, he drank too much, and he'd get pissed off really easily. He slapped her now and then, gave her a shove, tossed her dinner in the trash, but that wasn't all the time. He could be a good guy, too. He'd buy her presents, take her on trips, and he supported her and us. He had a stressful job, and it was wrong what he did, but she didn't have to—" Peter stopped abruptly.

  "She didn't have to do what?" Olivia prodded.

  He stared back at her for a long moment, the pulse in his neck beating hard and fast. "It doesn't matter."

  "It does matter," she said in frustration. She kept getting close and then someone slammed a door in her face. "What did Molly do?"

  "Fine. You want to know, I'll tell you. She killed him," Peter said flatly. "She killed my father. She stole him from Francine and me."

  She put a hand to her mouth, feeling shocked and a little sickened by his words. "I don't understand. There was a fire—"

  "A fire she started when he was too passed out to save himself."

  Olivia swallowed a knot in her throat and glanced over at Colton, wondering what he thought of Peter's statement.

  Colton's expression was grim as he gazed back at her, then he turned to Peter. "That's not what the official report says. It stated that you, Francine and your mother were at my grandmother's house when the fire broke out. Your mother got worried when your dad didn't answer the phone and sent my grandfather to look for him."

  "All bullshit," Peter said. "My parents were fighting in the kitchen. Eleanor showed up in the middle of it. She took Francine and me out of the house and sent us around the corner to her house. She and my mom showed up about fifteen minutes later. Then we heard the sirens. I thought they sounded really close, but I didn't know until the next day that those fire engines were racing to my house, that my father was dead."

  Silence followed his words. She didn't know what to say.

  Finally, she murmured, "I'm sorry."

  "I don't need your sympathy," he said. "Are we done now?"

  "Not quite," she said quickly, sensing he was about to end their conversation. "Why do you think the report was filled with lies?"

  "Because the Callaways wanted to protect my mother from going to jail. Maybe they thought it was for the best. My father was dead, and my mother was the only person we had left. I was a kid when it all went down. I didn't know all the ins and outs of it. It wasn't until much later when I started piecing things together that I realized the truth."

  "Your father was a cop," Colton interjected. "Why wouldn't the police have investigated his death and discovered the truth?"

  Peter shrugged. "I have no idea. Maybe my mother played the sympathy card."

  "You mean maybe she told someone your father was abusing her?" Olivia asked, unable to understand why Peter was so determined to sweep that part of the story under the rug.

  "I don't know what she did."

  "You've never asked her? In all the years since then, the subject never came up?" she challenged.

  "Not once. I think my mother felt guilty at what she'd done. I, frankly, don't know how she sat through the funeral services. My father's fellow officers spoke of him as a hero. They told the world of all the good he'd done. And my mother just sat there silently. She didn't even cry."

  Peter's words resonated deeply within her. She'd sat through the same kind of service when her father died, all the pageantry, all the stories of heroism. In her case, she'd never had reason to doubt those stories, but she'd taken a path different from Peter's. She hadn't revered her father in his death, she'd just been angry that he was gone. But she could see that Peter's adoration had only grown in the intervening years. He'd obviously convinced himself that his father was good and his mother was very, very bad.

  "Why do you go to see Molly—if you hate her so much?" she asked. "I've seen you at your mother's bedside twice."

  He didn't answer right away. "I don't know. Duty, I guess."

  "Did you ever consider that you might not know the whole story of your parents' marriage?"

  He shook his head. "I was there. If I didn't know it, who did?"

  "Your mother. And those photos paint a very different picture of your father than the one you've drawn for us. Those horrific bruises don't come from a few slaps and shoves. Are you telling me you never saw your mom in that condition?" She picked up the picture and held it up in front of his face. "Look at her. Look at how hurt she is. Was it really a hero who did that?"

  "I—I don't think that's her," he prevaricated.

  "Of course it's her." She met his gaze head on. "And you know that. You just don't want to let go of the lies you've told yourself all these years."

  "What do you know about it? You don't even know her."

  "I know what she wrote to me in her letter. I know that she felt silenced by the men in her life and that she had been too cowardly to tell her story. And I know that she was abused, because those pictures don't lie, unless you want them to."

  Silence fell between them. "I don't know what you want from me," Peter said. "My mother will probably be dead soon, and I doubt she'll ever regain consciousness. So even if I were inclined to speak to her about it, it's too late. My family is just about gone, Miss Bennett." He paused. "And even if you are Francine's daughter, there's nothing I can do for you."

  "I don't want you to do anything for me; I just want the truth." She took a breath, changing the subject. "Do you know who the father of Francine's baby was?"

  "I already told you I didn't."

  "Even if she didn't give you a name, she never told you anything about him?" Olivia asked, feeling like this was her last chance to get any information on who might be her father.

  "She said he was a musician and that she loved him, but he wasn't interested in being a father. As soon as I heard that, I got worried. She'd been doing pretty well for about a year. She hadn't been using and had been going to AA. I'd hoped that her life was on the upswing. She kept it together during the pregnancy, didn't do any drugs, took her vitamins, tried to be healthy. She kept hoping that the guy she was in love with would come back and they'd live happily ever after. That's the kind of girl Francine was; she was always living in a dream world."

  Olivia wasn't surprised. It sounded like Francine had had a lot of reasons to want to escape her life. "When did she decide to give her baby up?"

  "The day after her daughter was born. She'd been thinking about it for a while. When her baby daddy didn't show up at the hospital, reality set in. She called the social worker and told her she was going to do the right thing for the first time in her life and make sure her daughter had a good home."

  Olivia felt a wave of emotion rush through her. She still didn't know the DNA results, but she believed she was Francine's daughter and Molly's granddaughter. And she liked the idea that her biological mother had chosen to give her a better life than the one she had.

  "My sister was a good person," Peter continued. "She was just a lost soul after my father died. After I went to college, she got into all kinds of trouble. She needed someone to save her, but my mother wasn't up to the task. She encouraged Francine to give the baby up. She could have helped Francine instead, but she didn't make that offer."

  Olivia sighed, not knowing what to think about Molly. "Did Francine tell you anything about the adoptive parents?"

  He stared back
at her. "She told me that the father was a cop."

  A shiver ran down her spine. More evidence that she was Francine's daughter. "My father was a cop."

  "Was?" he queried.

  "He was killed on the job when I was in high school."

  Peter drew in a quick breath. "Well, I guess it's true that the good die young."

  "He was good." She wished she could say the same for his father—her biological grandfather, but she couldn't.

  "So that's it," Peter said. "That's all I know."

  "One last question," Colton interjected. "Why did you break into Olivia's hotel room and steal your mother's journals?"

  Peter's jaw dropped. "What the hell are you talking about? I don't even know where she's staying."

  "I told you I had your mother's journals," Olivia said. "And it probably wouldn't have been that difficult to track me down once you knew my name. This morning, someone broke into my hotel room and took the journals that Molly left behind for me to look through."

  "I don't know what you're talking about. I've been here in this office all morning."

  Peter didn't appear to be lying. And he'd been pretty forthcoming up to now, so she didn't know what to think. "Who else would be interested in your mother's memories?" she asked. "I can't think of anyone but you."

  Peter looked back at her. "I can't, either. I just know it wasn't me. You can take those pictures with you."

  "No," she said. "You keep them."

  "Fine, whatever." He glanced down at his watch. "I have another appointment. Are we done?"

  "For now," she said, unwilling to commit to forever, even if it was very clear that Peter hoped he would never have to see her again.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  "Are you okay?" Colton asked, as they waited for the valet to bring their car around.

  "I don't know," Olivia said with a helpless shrug.

  "Peter wasn't what I expected."

  "What did you expect?"

  "Someone who didn't hate his mother, for starters. I don't understand how he could blame her for the abuse or discount the pictures we showed him."