She missed him. Even as remote as he’d been, he’d imbued a sense of security—made her feel protected. Now she felt vulnerable. Afraid. She shook her head and sighed. Must be hormones, she reasoned. Either that or she was going completely nuts, as she’d been to think she could ignore the life burgeoning within her.
Tears pricked at her eyelids as Holly hung her head. She was a useless overemotional wreck. Her feet were swollen, her figure nonexistent, even her moods swung as wildly as the New Zealand flag atop of the Auckland Harbour Bridge. She was about as attractive as an overblown blimp. No wonder Connor didn’t want her. Although why he still insisted on sleeping with her she couldn’t understand. Maybe she’d move her things into the nanny’s bedroom while he was away, she thought, then cast the idea out of hand. She no more wanted to sleep without Connor’s solid presence behind her in the bed than she suspected he’d let her indulge in her fit of pique.
The constant ring of the telephone downstairs interrupted her miserable soliloquy. She waited for Thompson to answer it but obviously he was busy elsewhere in the house. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now. But what if it was Connor? She reached out again and lifted the receiver, at the same time hearing a breathless Thompson pick up from downstairs. She knew she should hang up, but when she heard the caller identify himself as the private investigator she’d engaged, she stayed on the line waiting for him to ask for her.
A flash of hope lit inside her at the sound of his voice. Finally he had some information. The investigation had remained at a frustrating stalemate for far too long, with little more information available other than what she’d grown up knowing. How someone could give birth and raise a child for three years then disappear should have been impossible in a country the size of New Zealand, but somehow, her mother had managed it.
When Holly replaced the receiver a few minutes later she was shaking. The call hadn’t been for her. It had been for Connor—to let him know a final report was on its way by boat and, more important, that it held urgent information that Connor had been waiting for.
Holly drew in short sharp breaths through her nose, feeling her chest rise and fall with each intake and exhalation and willed herself to calm down. Had Connor had her investigated as he’d investigated Carla, his ex-wife? Why? And since when?
Anger lit within her, burning with a steady glow. It stood to reason that he’d want to know some background for his baby’s lineage. But to order an investigation behind her back? And all along the investigator had been working for both of them—had even deliberately been stonewalling her own repeated requests for more information.
She felt invaded. Violated. And fiercely determined to get to the report before he did. For the first time in days she was glad Connor wasn’t around. In fact, right now she wondered if she ever wanted to see him again.
Later, instead of taking her usual afternoon nap, Holly anxiously watched and waited from the master suite’s sitting room as Thompson met the courier at the end of the private jetty and accepted a large white envelope. Her heart plummeted. It wasn’t very thick. It didn’t seem right that something that possibly held the key to her past—her life—could be so insignificant as that single large envelope.
As Thompson made his way back to the house, she shot silently down the back stairs that led to the informal sitting room. Beyond that lay Connor’s office. She hid, poised behind the open door, and listened as Thompson came back inside. He went straight into Connor’s office where she heard the telltale snick of a key in a lock and the faint slide of wood as he opened then closed a drawer.
That was it? She listened carefully as Thompson left the office again. She replayed the sounds she’d just heard in her head. There’d been no sound of a key being turned in the lock to secure the drawer. Connor would have to beef up his home security if he thought one little drawer would keep her from finding out what secrets lay inside that envelope. A new and more startling thought occurred to her. Had he even planned to share his findings with her? She seriously doubted it.
For an infinitesimal moment she wondered how different her life would be now if she hadn’t made love with Connor that night and, even if they had, if she hadn’t fallen pregnant? She’d still be at her desk, doing her job better than anyone else could. Still being his trusted right-hand person, instead of someone he now endured only for as long as completely necessary. Holly sighed and pushed her hand against the ache in the small of her back. All the what-ifs in the world wouldn’t change anything. She wasn’t good enough for Connor Knight. She never would be.
The sound of the French doors being pushed closed caught her attention. Thompson was stepping out for his afternoon walk—a trip she knew would take him at least thirty minutes. Now was her opportunity.
Her heart pounded as she retraced Thompson’s steps. If he came back sooner than expected, she’d be clearly visible through the French doors. Holly’s hands trembled as she opened the drawer. To her surprise, there was not one, but two identically addressed envelopes. She frowned as she tried to remember exactly what she’d seen from the window upstairs. No, there was nothing wrong with her eyesight. Thompson had definitely received only one. That could only mean one thing—Connor already had a report on her. Holly swiftly removed both envelopes and jammed them under her loose, long-sleeved shirt before heading for the stairs.
On the day bed in the baby’s room, she slid her finger under the flap of the already open envelope. Now she had it in her hands, she almost dreaded what the news would disclose, but she had to know. Her hands shook uncontrollably and her heart thundered in her chest, filling her ears with the cacophony, as she tipped the papers from the envelope where they fanned haphazardly onto the lemon-coloured bedcover. She gathered up the loose-leaf typewritten sheets.
The report dated back to just after Christmas and listed, in minute detail, her financial dealings including the regular payments she’d made to the hospital for Andrea. How dare he? He’d obviously requested this information before they even knew she was pregnant. What had he been playing at? She wanted to scream and rant and hit something. Preferably Connor Knight. Holly threw the information back down on the bed in disgust.
All his concern for her when Andrea had died suddenly rang unbelievably false. All along he’d been playing her for a fool. There was only one thing on his mind and that was the baby. Right now, she hated him more than she could have believed, and deep inside, her heart splintered into bleeding shards. Holly’s anger drove her to snatch the sealed envelope from the bed. What other secrets had been exposed? Her eyes scanned disappointedly through the first few pages. It was nothing she didn’t already know. Summaries of social workers’ reports detailed how difficult she’d been to place in a foster home after the incident with the Mitchells’ son. Was this all he’d been able to find out?
Holly turned to the next page and instantly her heart shuddered erratically in her chest as she saw the faxed copy of a Police report, dated the twenty-seventh of December nearly twenty-four years ago. Three days after she’d been abandoned.
She sank to the bed, her throat choked with trepidation, and forced herself to continue to read the investigating officer’s coldly clinical description of the discovery of a teenage girl’s body, dead from a suspected drug overdose, under a motorway overpass. She’d been found wrapped in a bunch of newspapers. A low-resolution copy of the crime scene photo brought a cold metallic taste to Holly’s mouth. The dead girl couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen. What a waste of a life.
Apparently she’d been found wearing a locket which, when the photo inside was publicised, lead the police back to her family. A family she’d run away from three and a half years earlier.
Fingers shaking, Holly flicked to the report. It was believed the dead girl was Holly’s mother—the clue lying in the newspapers that had surrounded the body, many of which shouted the headlines of Holly’s abandonment on Christmas Eve in the downtown shopping complex.
Holly pored over
the photo again. She could faintly distinguish the headlines he referred to. A gaping sense of loss penetrated her chest and with it a sense of hopelessness. She would never know her mother—could never ask her the million and one questions that had plagued her as a child.
This bereavement felt different from when Andrea had died. This time her sorrow was threaded with frustration and anger at the young woman who’d taken her life and left Holly to a future no one could have known. And yet, the young woman’s desolation was painted clear and strong in the picture. Alone and wrapped in the evidence of what had probably been the hardest thing she’d ever done. What could have driven her to such a lonely death? She must have used support services when Holly was born—why hadn’t she called for help when she could no longer cope on her own? How had she slipped through the cracks?
No matter what the answers, it was all too late now.
Holly swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. She would not cry. Not again. She’d shed a lifetime of tears for her mother already.
She continued to read, damming all emotion behind an invisible wall, until finally she reached the end and put the papers back into the envelope. Hope flickered like a timid ember in her mind. A woman named Queenie Fleming lived at a coastal holiday spot, about half an hour north of Whangarei. If the investigator’s deductions were correct, she could be Holly’s grandmother. Her sole surviving relative.
How long would Connor have kept this information from her, Holly wondered. Would he ever have told her?
She had to meet Queenie Fleming, although she knew Connor would never sanction such a meeting. Finally, she thought with grim realization, fate was on her side. With Connor away she’d have no difficulty slipping away after her obstetric appointment tomorrow. She could withdraw the money that had been accumulating in her account over the past few months and pay untraceable cash for a rental car. A quiver of excitement ran up her back. Tomorrow she had a date with her past.
“You look tired this morning, miss. Didn’t you sleep well?”
“A bit unsettled,” she admitted, stifling a yawn.
With forced steadiness, she reluctantly accepted the cup of tea Thompson had poured for her, taking it over to the bay window to look out on the early spring morning. Last night she’d been too excited to sleep, fearful with every creak of the house that Connor had returned. By the time the sun breached the horizon, she’d already been up and dressed and made a last-minute check on the few toiletries and personal items she’d stowed in her bag.
While she’d waited for the next hour to tick past on the bedside clock, she wondered how Connor would react. He’d be livid. By leaving him she was effectively kidnapping his baby. He’d be after her as soon as he could, which was why she had the reports rolled up and secured in the bottom of her bag. Once he discovered she had them, he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. He couldn’t force her back here if he tried, and with luck she’d gain a head start of at least a few days.
She didn’t doubt he’d come after her, well the baby at least. He loved the baby already with a single-minded intensity she envied. How could he be so certain that he wasn’t opening himself up to heartache?
Holly put the cup on the breakfast table and stretched her lower back. She’d been so achy these past couple of days and the baby felt as though it sat lower than before. She’d have to watch her fluid intake today or she’d be forever stopping at restrooms on the way up north. She had to be as invisible as possible. Every stop would leave another imprint of where she’d been and make her easier to find. She’d go light on the liquids.
“The usual toast today?” Thompson asked.
“Yes, please, but I feel like something a bit more substantial. Some scrambled eggs would be lovely.” Who knew when she’d next stop to eat?
Thompson hid his surprise well. Since the early days of her pregnancy when she’d suffered with all-day morning sickness so violently, she’d barely stomached anything heavier than a slice of toast or some fresh fruit for breakfast. But instead of questioning her, he only smiled.
“Coming right up. The helicopter will be here at nine to collect us for your appointment. Mr. Knight will be sorry he missed it.”
“He’s been busy. I’m sure he’d have been back by now if he could have.”
“For certain,” Thompson agreed vigorously. “He’s so looking forward to the baby.”
The enormity of what she was about to do today shafted through her. She couldn’t wait until after she’d had the baby, even though she’d given her word to stay until after the birth. In doing what she was about to, she was not only burning her bridges, she was systematically destroying all the roads that led to them, too. Roads that could never be rebuilt at any price. He would never trust her again.
It was a price she was prepared to pay.
Thirteen
Holly swung the car gently around yet another winding curve, her knuckles white, her fingers clenched around the steering wheel.
It had been years since she’d driven, and this road was certainly taking it out of her. Her shoulders sagged in relief as she reached a short straight stretch of road. To the right, a general-goods and fast-food store perched on the corner of an intersection. That must be her turn. She forced her fingers to relax and turned off to the right. As she wound down the hillside, she left banks of green bush behind her as the manuka and native ferns gave way to pasture and the occasional house.
Her back was killing her from sitting so long, but she’d been too scared to pull off the road and take a walk. Driving straight through had been the most sensible thing to do, if not the most comfortable. It had taken three hours by the time she’d deciphered the map and had had to turn back a few times, but finally she was here.
Butterflies buffeted at her stomach as she drove down the main road and straight towards the beach. The road curved to the left, and a tall stand of ancient pohutukawa trees guarded a reserve on the right-hand side. Holly grimaced as a cramp started in her calf muscles. She had to stop and stretch it out before she crippled herself. Thankfully, there were plenty of places to park.
Despite the sunny day, a cool wind blew in off the ocean. Unintentionally she compared the strand of beach, stretching from left to right for a couple of miles, with Connor’s secluded private beach on the island. They were nothing alike.
Just as she and Connor were nothing alike, she reminded herself forcefully.
The cramp was getting worse. Holly climbed out of the car and turned to lean against it, stretching out the aggrieved muscles. Despite his aloofness, Connor had taken to massaging her lower legs before bed when he’d realised it helped to prevent the painful cramps that sometimes had her shooting out of bed at night.
She missed him.
God, where had that thought come from? She needed her head read and her mind shrunk. They were poles apart and always would be. She was the daughter of a drug-addicted street kid; he was used to wealth and privilege. Once the baby was born he’d cast her off as easily as he would a shirt with a frayed cuff, although probably with a better reference. There, that felt better. She was angry again.
But her anger didn’t last. Holly looked around the reserve and the beach that bordered it. Breakers rolled in, big and fat and just perfect for body surfing. Even at this time of year the place was a miniparadise. In summer it would be magnificent. Why had her mother left? She could only have been a child herself—certainly no more than fifteen.
A group of teenagers burst from the takeaway store across the road, laughing and fooling as they crossed to the reserve and settled at a table where they eagerly started into fresh fish and chips wrapped in newspaper.
Had her mother done this with her friends? Would Holly have done the very same thing if she’d been allowed to grow up here? It was so unfair. She’d been cheated of so many things—a carefree childhood, happy memories, a sense of belonging.
She’d thought she was done with empty questions, but now, here where her mother had been born and raised,
she felt them peck at her mind like seagulls picking at a sandwich on the beach.
The reality of actually being here, of walking on a path that her mother had trod was suddenly more overwhelming than Holly had ever imagined—and more frightening. Another flurry of questions, like the swirling sand lifted and cast around by the on-shore breeze, battered at her brain. What if she found her grandmother, and the woman wanted nothing to do with her? What if her mother had had good reason to flee her family and home?
What if she was just setting herself up for rejection again?
A part of her was tempted to get straight back in the rental car and drive flat-out back to Auckland. But she couldn’t run away now. She needed to know, for her own sake.
A walk, she needed a walk to clear her head and put some distance between herself and the car that would tempt her to take the easy way out. Besides, a walk would give her a few more minutes to pull her ragged nerves together. Finding her grandmother’s house wouldn’t be difficult. To the right there weren’t more than twenty houses along the beachfront, and the house photo in the report was quite distinctive. She felt sure she’d recognise it from the waterside just as easily as from the road that ran parallel to the beach.
Holly lifted her bag from the front seat, swiped her keys from the ignition and locked the car. At the edge of the beach she kicked off her runners and, balancing against a large park bench, she slipped off her socks and shoved them into her bag. The sand felt cool and soft beneath her feet and she sank a little in the loose granules before she reached the firmer base where the outgoing tide had left its mark scattered with seaweed and pieces of driftwood.
With the setting sun at her back, she headed off down the beach, peering intently at each of the houses she drew level with. The houses were an eclectic collection in various states of size and repair. At a glance it looked as if the traditional Kiwi baches, or holiday homes as they were becoming more widely known, were being superseded by palatial homes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in some of Auckland’s highly sought-after eastern suburbs. Each one built to face the sea. Holly easily identified her grandmother’s tidy cottage from the photo in the report and fought to stem the rush of adrenaline that flooded her body and propelled her up the sand to the wide grass berm that separated the houses from the beach.
Boss's Christmas Seduction Page 14
