Catarina turned her eyes toward Kelsey and leaned forward. “I don’t know what people have told you about Vivienne, dear, but most of the rumors you’ve read in the tabloids just aren’t true. Hollywood is a nasty place, and the paparazzi are vile creatures. Vivienne was a free spirit who lived her life without rules and without caring what most people thought of her. For that, I always admired her. The only things you should believe are her own words. She wrote in her biography how much she regretted giving you up. That was all true. She desperately wanted to find you.”
“Then why didn’t she?” A lump formed in Kelsey’s throat, followed by a good dose of resentment she didn’t like feeling. “Forgive me, but I really don’t think she looked all that hard. Her biography was published five years ago. If she was so intent on finding me, she could have hired a private investigator to track me down. I found her within a day of looking.”
Catarina’s face fell. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” Sighing, she leaned back against the seat cushions once more. “She probably could have found you if she’d looked. I don’t know why she didn’t, except that I think she was scared. The fantasy was easier to live with than the reality that she might be rejected. Regardless of how free-spirited Vivienne was, deep down, she was always afraid she wouldn’t be enough for you. It’s easier to play the role of a mother than to be a mother, you know? Or so I’m told. I don’t have any children of my own.”
That was the first thing anyone had said about Vivienne Armstrong that Kelsey could relate to. A little of the animosity inside her eased.
“Regardless,” Catarina said, “I’m glad you’re here now. And I’m glad you found Charles and David so we can all find out if you really are Vivienne’s daughter. It will be nice to have this whole nasty mess behind us.”
She pushed to her feet. “I’m sorry to end our discussion, but I have a dinner party I need to get ready for.” When Kelsey and Hunt both stood, she said, “If you have any other questions about Vivienne, feel free to contact me through Vivienne’s attorneys.”
Kelsey shook her hand, feeling marginally better than she had when they’d first entered the house. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
She and Hunt moved toward the steps that led to the entryway.
“Oh, one more thing,” Hunt said, turning to look back. “You wouldn’t happen to know who the father of Vivienne’s child was, would you?”
Catarina Brunelli flinched. It was the first time she’d look rattled. She glanced warily toward Kelsey. “Yes, I do.”
Kelsey and Hunt both waited for an answer.
“But I’m sorry, I can’t tell you. You have to understand, he’s a very wealthy man with a family of his own. Vivienne never wanted news of their brief affair to destroy his reputation. I promised Vivienne I would never reveal his identity.”
“Not even to her daughter?” Hunt asked.
She considered a moment. “When the test results come back and we have confirmation she is Vivienne’s daughter, then you can ask me that question again. Until then, I’m bound by an oath.”
Kelsey could respect that. She nodded and looked toward Hunt with raised brows. “That’s doable.”
He didn’t seem so convinced, but he thanked Catarina Brunelli one last time and followed Kelsey toward the massive double front doors.
Outside, the sun was heading toward the ocean. Hunt slipped on his sunglasses as he placed a hand at the base of Kelsey’s spine and guided her down the steep steps toward their car parked out on the street in the ritzy neighborhood. “Well? What did you think?”
“I think she’s a loyal friend who’s not afraid to say what’s on her mind.”
“I agree.” He pulled the car door open for her. “What did you think of what she had to say about Foster?”
“It wasn’t anything we didn’t already know.” Kelsey smirked as she slid into the passenger seat. “Except the part about dogs being more loyal than men.”
He frowned and moved to close her door. “Very funny.”
Her mood was a whole lot lighter than it had been before. And as he slid behind the wheel, she wanted him to know that. She reached for his hand and brought it to her lips for a kiss.
He glanced sideways at her. “What was that for?”
“Just for being you. Thanks for bringing me here.”
Something in his eyes softened. “You’re welcome. Not as bad as you thought, huh?”
She chuckled and released his hand so he could start the ignition. “No. It wasn’t.”
And as they pulled out onto the street, she knew why. Because Vivienne Armstrong was a real person to her now, not just some Hollywood starlet who’d abandoned her daughter for fame and glory. Catarina Brunelli had brought Vivienne to life for Kelsey by simply revealing Vivienne’s fear about finding her daughter. And in that one moment, Kelsey found her reason to let go of twenty-seven years’ worth of resentment.
Hunt glanced up at Kelsey as he crossed the trendy Palm Desert coffee shop with their drinks and headed toward the table he’d already scoped out for her in the back of the restaurant, relieved she seemed more relaxed this evening than she’d been this morning. He had to admit, he’d been worried before their meeting with Armstrong’s attorneys. She’d looked ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
Out the wide windows, the sun sank low over the mountains, fading into the dim light of dusk, and as the last rays of sunshine drifted over her face, she smiled and reached for one of the drinks in his hands. “Thanks.”
“I hope I got that right.” He moved around the table and pulled out a chair at her side, back against the wall so he could scan the restaurant for any kind of threat. Too bad all he really wanted to do was look at her.
Man, she was beautiful. He knew he needed to be focused on this investigation and what was going on around them, but he’d rather spend all day focused on her. To him, she didn’t look like some famous movie star. She would always be the girl he’d been crushing on most of his adult life.
“Even if you didn’t, any kind of caffeine will work.” She took a sip from the iced latte and sighed. “Yep, you got it right.”
He sipped his own iced coffee, relieved she wasn’t upset with him. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed her to meet with Brunelli, but he was glad now that he had. There was a calmness about her that hadn’t been there before, and he knew it was a direct result of something the actress had said. “You were pretty quiet on the drive back here.”
“Processing.”
He nodded and took another sip of his drink. “It’s been a busy day.”
“It has.”
“You okay meeting Foster’s son now?”
“Yes. I’m anxious to find out what we need to so we can go home.”
He knew she was anxious to get home. Anxious to see her family. He was too, in a way. But another part of him liked the privacy they had down here. Once they returned to Oregon, real life would be upon them too soon.
He glanced around the coffee shop. Nothing seemed out of order. “So, I’m not sure if you heard the attorneys talking to me when you were giving your DNA sample, but Vivienne Armstrong was pretty loaded.”
“I figured. Catarina mentioned a villa in Italy. Just how loaded are we talking, though?”
“Very. She’s worth over two hundred and fifty million. She’s got property in Beverly Hills, on Cliffside Drive in Malibu overlooking the Pacific, a spread on Columbus Circle with a view of Central Park, and the modest villa in Naples on the edge of the Mediterranean. That’s a lot of reasons for Foster to want to kill her. Especially if she didn’t have any intention of sharing any of it with him.”
“Assuming he did kill her, do you think that’s why? Because of her money? You heard her attorneys. They don’t think the courts will rule in his favor. Their marriage wasn’t legal because she was underage.”
“It could be. If there’s no heir, he might think he has a chance. He had to know her attorneys are searching for her daughter.”
; “Which gives him a reason to come after me. Yeah, I get the logic. I just don’t understand why he would set off a bomb. There are easier ways to get rid of me. Planting a bomb is sociopathic.”
Hunt reached for her hand, closing his fingers around her cold ones. “Fits with what we know of his recluse reputation. Who knows why he chose a bomb? Maybe he wanted to send a message while making your death look like an accident? Bottom line is he made a mistake.” He squeezed her hand. “A guy like that can’t hide forever.”
She nodded, then looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “So tell me, Mr. O’Donnell, is that your latest theory? That Foster set that bomb? Twenty-four hours ago you were convinced Julian was the big bad guy.”
He frowned. “Benedict is a bad guy. I’ve not ruled him out completely. But Occam’s Razor says—”
“That the simplest explanation is usually the right one. Yeah, I’ve heard the philosopher’s problem-solving theory.” She tipped her head and smiled as she flipped her hand over and twined her fingers with his. “It just seems like such an optimistic theory for you.”
Heat rushed through his belly. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t look at me in that coy way.”
Her smile widened. “Why not?”
He leaned toward her and in a low voice said, “Because it makes me want to have my way with you right here.”
She leaned forward and met his lips across the table. “I absolutely would not mind that.”
She was toying with him, and, holy hell, he liked it. Wrapping one hand around her nape, he tugged her in for a hot, wet, scorching kiss he felt everywhere.
Someone cleared their throat.
Kelsey drew back from Hunt’s lips way before he was ready to let her go. Above them, a male voice said, “Sorry to interrupt.”
Shit. There he went being completely distracted by her when he shouldn’t be. Hunt immediately released her and pushed to his feet. A thirtysomething man dressed in jeans and a wrinkled polo stood beside their table.
The man ran his fingers through his dark hair. “I’m not sure I have the right couple. Are you Hunter O’Donnell?”
Hunt glanced past the man and scanned the coffee shop again. No threats, no signs of trouble or anything even watching them. He looked back at the man. “Trey Foster?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for meeting us. This is Kelsey McClane.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Trey Foster pulled out the third chair and sat.
He looked wrecked. It was Hunt’s first impression as he sat back. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair disheveled, and there was one, maybe two days’ worth of stubble on his chin that told him he hadn’t shaved recently.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Hunt asked.
“No. Thanks. I’ve had enough coffee for an entire week. I swear the stuff at the station was straight caffeine.”
“You were with the police?” Kelsey asked.
“Yeah. Trying to help out as much as I can. I’m still having trouble believing my dad was involved in that bombing up in Portland.”
Hunt wasn’t sure what to say in response to that. “Are you close?”
He shook his head. “Not particularly. My dad can be . . . difficult. ‘My way or the highway,’ you know? We rarely see each other these days. He’s always been opinionated, but the older he gets, the harder it is to talk to him about anything, really. Everyone’s out to get him, especially the government.”
That coincided with what they’d been told by the police. “When was the last time you saw your father?” Hunt asked.
Trey Foster blew out a breath. “Gosh, probably Thanksgiving. I spent a couple hours with him that day, but that was it.” He looked up. “The cops told me you were both caught in that building in Portland.”
“We were.” Hunt glanced at Kelsey, remembering the screams and chaos before the building had come down around them and everything had gone dark and silent. And how relieved he’d been when he’d seen her dust-covered face emerge from that rubble. “A lot of people were. Some weren’t as lucky as us.”
Trey nodded and looked down at the table. “I heard the death toll’s still rising.”
“Stands at four, from what I heard this morning,” Hunt answered, watching the man closely. “With many more still in the hospital.”
Trey shook his head. “So awful.” With a nervous look, he glanced at Hunt and then at Kelsey. “Did you know any of the victims?”
Odd question. “Not me personally,” Hunt answered with narrowed eyes.
“Me either,” Kelsey said. “Though one of the hosts and a production assistant I worked with that morning are both still in the hospital recovering.”
Foster looked back down at the table. “Hopefully they’re both going to be okay.”
“Yeah,” Kelsey said quietly. “I hope so as well.”
Hunt wasn’t sure how to read the man. He sounded overwhelmed, but Hunt couldn’t tell if he was fishing for information or just plain curious.
“Damn.” Trey Foster sighed. “I’m really sorry it happened. And I’m really sorry those people were hurt, especially the ones who were killed. I’ve tried to convince myself for a long time that he wasn’t violent. A kid just doesn’t want to think that about his father, you know? But . . .” He stared at a spot on the table and shook his head in a way that left him looking dazed. His voice wobbled when he added, “I should have seen this coming.”
“Why do you say that?” Kelsey asked softly.
He cleared his throat. “Because he’s bipolar.” Running a hand through his hair, he shifted in his seat, and added in a stronger voice, “Whenever he goes off medication, he’s prone to manic episodes and unpredictable behavior. I’ve been dealing with this kind of shit for years, though not to the extreme of the last few days.”
He glanced up at them. “I know you both talked to Vivienne Armstrong’s attorneys today. About six months ago, right after she died, he stopped taking his meds. He was completely distraught after her death. I tried to get him to start taking them again, but he refused. I tried to get him to see his psychiatrist, but he refused that too. In the past, whenever he went through one of these episodes, he’d try to contact Vivienne, and it usually resulted in his harassing her or being picked up by the cops or me having to sweep in and smooth things over with her attorneys. This time, though . . .” He shook his head. “This time I’m afraid his obsession with her got the best of him.”
“There were pictures of me all over his office,” Kelsey said. “Has he ever mentioned me to you?”
“No. And I’m really sorry you’ve been sucked into this. Before yesterday, I had no idea who you even were. He doesn’t talk to me about anything related to Vivienne because he knows how I feel about his obsession. The best I can figure is he saw your pictures in the news recently and convinced himself you’re her daughter. You have to understand, my father wasn’t just in love with Vivienne, he was convinced she was his soul mate. When she left him to make it big in Hollywood, it completely gutted him. Everything after that day was torture to him. Every movie she made, every other man she dated, every story about how her life went on without him. This missing daughter is pretty much the epitome of her life without him.”
“The attorneys told us he’s petitioned the state for half of Armstrong’s estate,” Hunt said.
“Yeah.” Trey sighed. “I learned that yesterday as well. I had no idea he’d done that.”
“That gives him a motive to try to go after Kelsey. Especially if he’s convinced she’s Armstrong’s daughter.”
“I agree. Which only worries me more.” A buzz sounded, and Trey said, “Sorry. I have to check this.” He pulled his cell phone out, read the text, then punched a few buttons and returned it to his pocket. “That was my attorney. I have to meet with him after this.” Sighing, he looked at Kelsey. “I know people are going to tell you he’s doing all this because of the money, but I’m not convinced that’s
what’s really going on.”
“What makes you say that?” Kelsey asked.
“Because my dad never really cared about the money. You saw where he lives. His place is a dump, yet he’s not destitute. He’s got cash in the bank, a nice retirement to live off; he’s just not spending it the way most people do. The cops told me they’ve been going through all his records and that they’ve found numerous receipts for private investigators he’s paid over the years to try to find Armstrong’s daughter.”
“So he was looking for her to get rid of her,” Hunt said.
Trey frowned. “If you’d have asked me that six months ago, I’d have said no. I’d have guessed he was looking for her so he could present her identity like a gift to Vivienne. The one thing no one else has ever been able to get for her. But now . . .”
Kelsey tensed, and Hunt already knew what she was thinking. Now it looked like he just wanted to eliminate any evidence she’d ever existed.
“Do you have any idea where he might be?” Hunt asked.
“I don’t, unfortunately. He hasn’t contacted me. I gave the cops some locations he’s escaped to before—a place up near Tahoe he likes to camp at, and a fishing village down in Mexico where he sometimes goes to get away. This is going to hit the news tonight or tomorrow morning, and when it does, his face is going to be plastered everywhere. If he’s still in Oregon, he’s not going to be able to hide out there much longer.”
That was the only consolation in this whole gigantic mess that Hunt could see.
“Do you know Vivienne’s friend Catarina Brunelli?” Hunt asked.
“Not personally. Why?”
“She mentioned your father when we spoke to her today. Sounds like she helped Vivienne deal with your father over the years.”
“I’m glad for that. But I was never involved in any of that. I never had any contact with Vivienne or her friends. Anytime I had to intervene, I dealt with Vivienne’s attorneys only.”
“Are you married, Mr. Foster?” Kelsey asked.
Hunt glanced at her, wondering why she was asking.
“No.” He smirked Kelsey’s way. “Not unless you call being married to my job marriage.”
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