"Who's Stan?"
"He used to work at World News Magazine. He was my father's editor, but more importantly, he was one of his best friends. And I know that friendship dated back before my parents got married. Maybe he can tell us more about Sarah."
"Can you call him now?"
"Absolutely." He reached for the phone. A few minutes later he had an invitation from Stan to come by the house. "We can go now."
"We're really going to do this, aren't we?" Julia asked, her expression tense and uncertain.
"Second thoughts again?"
"I'm a little afraid of what we'll find out," she said, her beautiful blue eyes reflecting her every emotion. She would never be difficult to read. Everything she felt could be seen on her face.
"I'm more afraid of living the rest of my life not knowing why that photo was important to my father," he countered. "But I can go on my own."
"No, I said we were in this together, and that's the way it's going to be." She slipped her hand into his, and his entire body stiffened.
He had the irresistible urge to seal her promise with a kiss. How crazy was that?
Julia slipped into the passenger seat of Alex's car, her heart pounding and her stomach doing flip-flops. There had been a moment back there in Alex's apartment when she'd actually thought he was going to kiss her. The look in his eyes... She could see it now, that glitter of desire, want, need. Something inside of her had responded to that look. She'd started to lean forward; then Alex had stepped away, grabbing his keys, calling out orders to go into the hall while he turned out the lights and locked his apartment. He'd obviously thought better of whatever impulse had made him look at her like that. It was just as well. She was engaged. And they were just... She didn't know what their relationship was, but it certainly wasn't close enough to involve kissing.
She cast him a sideways glance. He seemed tense. She didn't know if he was thinking about what had passed between them or worrying about what would come next. And she certainly didn't feel brave enough to ask the question.
A few minutes later Alex drove into Presidio Heights, where stately homes and high-rent apartment buildings lined the ridge above Cow Hollow and bordered the historic Presidio Park. "Your father's friend certainly lives well," Julia commented. "These homes are beautiful."
"Stan moved here a couple of years after my father died. His wife had also passed on. I don't know if he inherited some money or what, but this house is quite a step up from the condo he used to live in. He's the kind of man who enjoys being surrounded by beauty, whether it be art, antique furniture, the perfect gold cuff link, or a woman."
"He didn't remarry?"
Alex shook his head. "He said he never would. I'm sure he has his reasons. Here we are."
Stan's home was located at the top of a very steep hill, a renovated Victorian at least three stories tall. It was impressive and a bit off-putting, Julia thought. She couldn't imagine why a single man, who had to be nearing sixty, would want to live alone in such a large house. Then again, she didn't understand why her own father had sold their spacious, comfortable family home and moved into a small apartment. To each his own, she supposed.
They were halfway down the walk when the front door opened. Stan must have been watching for them. He greeted them with a warm smile. "Hello, Alex."
"Thanks for agreeing to see us," Alex replied.
"No problem. You know you're always welcome."
"This is Julia DeMarco."
"Hello," Julia said, comforted by Stan's friendly handshake. He seemed like a nice man and hopefully was someone who could help them. She paused inside the house, struck by the spotless, sparkling beauty of the hardwood floor in the entry, the ornately carved staircase that led to the second floor, and the tall arched doorways leading into the living room and dining room. "Your home is stunning," she murmured.
"Thank you. Why don't we go into my study? It's more comfortable there. I've got a fire going. It's a bit chilly out tonight, and my old bones get colder these days."
Stan didn't appear old. He was very tall and thin, and dressed in well-tailored slacks and a black cashmere sweater. He was obviously a man who liked to dress well as much as he liked to live well. His study was just as impressive as the rest of the house, with dark red leather couches, a thick throw rug in front of the stone fireplace, and an antique desk and chair by a large bay window. She imagined he had an incredible view in the daytime. She sat down on the couch next to Stan while Alex took a chair across from them.
"Now, what can I do for you?" Stan asked.
Alex leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "I need some information about someone my father used to know. Her name was Sarah. I don't know her last name, but I'm hoping you do."
Surprise flashed through Stan's eyes. "I thought you wanted to talk to me about the photo of the Russian girl." As he finished speaking, his gaze moved to Julia's face.
She wondered what he saw when he looked at her, but his expression was difficult to read. "We'll get to that," Alex replied. "Right now, I'm more interested in Sarah. Do you know who I'm talking about?"
Stan sat back against the couch. "Your father had a friend named Sarah. Someone he went to school with at Northwestern. Is that who you mean?"
"What was her last name?" Julia asked sharply.
"It was Davis, I believe," Stan replied. "Sarah Davis. Why do you ask?"
"My mother's name was Sarah," Julia answered, the words spilling out in excitement. "But her maiden name was Gregory, or it might have been Davidson. Are you sure it was Davis, not Davidson?"
"I think so. Why?"
"Julia's mother also went to Northwestern," Alex interrupted. "We wondered if our parents knew each other."
"Why don't you ask your mother?" Stan inquired, directing his gaze toward Julia.
"She passed away six months ago."
Stan swallowed hard and a pulse jumped in his throat. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Can you tell me about the Sarah you knew? What did she look like? Did she and Alex's father have some sort of romantic relationship? Did you know both of them?" Julia asked.
"Whoa, slow down," he said, putting up a hand in defense. "I'm not sure I have the right to discuss Charles's personal business."
"He's not here to protest," Alex said. "And I can't see why he'd care, unless you know something about him and Sarah that we don't?"
Stan thought for a moment, then said, "I met Sarah twice. She was a brunette, average height, dark brown eyes, very pretty, and quiet. She let Charles do the talking. Their friendship lasted after they graduated from college. He once told me that they had a lot in common."
"Like what?" Julia asked.
"He didn't say."
"Mom thinks he was having an affair with Sarah," Alex interjected. He saw Julia start and knew he'd taken her by surprise as well.
"You never told me that," she said.
"I didn't know the person my mother was referring to was your mother—although we still don't know that for sure since the last names are confusing." A sudden thought occurred to Alex. He was surprised it hadn't occurred to him before. "You don't happen to have a picture of Sarah, do you, Julia?"
"Actually, I think I do." She reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. She flipped past the pictures of Liz and some other girlfriends. "This was taken at my college graduation." She handed Stan the photo. "Is she the woman you knew?"
"Yes, that's her," Stan said. "That's Sarah Davis."
"Damn," Alex swore.
"What?" Julia asked. She saw a new light in his eyes. "What did you just remember?"
Chapter Seven
Alex took the photograph from Stan and gave it a long, careful look. He finally had the proof they were looking for. But Julia wasn't going to like it.
"What is it?" Julia asked again, her eyes worried. "Tell me."
Alex pointed to the woman in the photograph. "I think I saw this woman talking to my father in Red Square that day in Moscow."
Julia started shaking her head even before he finished speaking. "My mother never went to Moscow. She didn't travel. She was afraid to fly. We never went anywhere that we couldn't get to by car. You're wrong. You have to be wrong."
"I don't think I am," he said gently.
She stared at him with pain and confusion. "But you don't know for sure, do you? You were just a little boy."
"That's true. It's possible that I'm mistaken." He didn't think he was wrong, but something inside of him wanted to get that look of betrayal out of her eyes.
Julia turned to Stan. "Do you know if my mother—if Sarah—was in Moscow when that photograph was taken?"
"I don't know," Stan replied. "Alex was there. I wasn't."
"What do you know about that trip?" Alex asked. "Was there some hidden agenda that I was unaware of?"
"You need to let this go, Alex," Stan said abruptly.
"Give me a reason to let it go."
"It could be dangerous to you, to your mother, maybe even to Julia."
"Be more specific."
Stan's gaze darted away in an evasive manner. Alex was surprised and disappointed. He'd always counted on Stan to be up front with him, tell him the truth no matter what it was. Now he had the distinct feeling that Stan was about to lie to him.
"Your father made several trips to Russia in the two years before he died," Stan said finally. "He was fascinated with the country and the people. He took any opportunity he could to get an assignment over there. He even got you into that theater group, so he could take you with him. He wanted you to see that part of the world, and he wanted you with him. I told him it was a mistake. I believed that Charles was sticking his camera into places where it didn't belong. He had a few run-ins with the government, but we were usually able to smooth things over. I wasn't sure that would always be the case. So I told him to be careful, to follow the rules and not take photographs of anything he wasn't cleared to shoot."
"Like the photo of the girl in the orphanage," Alex said. "What was in that picture that no one was supposed to see?"
"I don't know. Charles wouldn't tell me, but he was upset that the photo had been published. He hadn't realized it was on the roll he sent to the magazine."
Alex knew why, because he'd taken the photo. "What else did Dad say?"
"He asked me to look out for you and your mother if anything happened to him."
Alex felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up at those strangely prophetic words. "My mother doesn't think Dad's death was an accident. Is that what you're saying, too?"
Stan's eyes filled with regret and guilt. "There were a lot of unexplained details. They couldn't find another car or your father's body. And—"
"They didn't find your father's body?" Julia interrupted, her blue eyes wide with shock. "You never told me that, Alex."
He swallowed hard. "I don't like to think about it." He paused, knowing that he had to explain, even though it made him sick to his stomach to go back to those memories. "They found his car, but everything inside of the car was ripped and washed away, the seat cushions, the steering wheel, the spare tire... It was a twisted shell of metal. I saw it when they pulled it up the side of the cliff. They were still trying to find my dad..." He drew in a much-needed breath. "They searched all the next day. Mom and I waited at the edge of the bluff. I thought I'd see him again. I thought they'd find him swimming or floating the way he'd taught me to float on my back when I got tired."
"Oh, Alex, I'm so sorry," she whispered.
Her words brought him back from the past, and he was grateful. Clearing his throat, he said, "Yeah, well, it's over. Or at least I thought it was over." He shot Stan an angry look. "I didn't know at the time there were so many unanswered questions. Why didn't you get those answers, Stan? You were one of my father's best friends. You should have raised hell if you had doubts. You should have made those detectives work overtime to get to the truth."
Stan's mouth drew into a hard line. "I was going to do just that, but I got a call from a man named Daniel Brady. He was a close friend of your father's, too. He worked for some government agency; I was never sure which one. He was very cagey about who he was and what he did. After your father's accident, Brady told me to back off. He said you and your mother would be in danger if there was further investigation."
"That's bullshit," Alex said, jumping to his feet. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Stan had suspected that his father had been killed and hadn't done anything about it? That was completely out of character.
"Alex, calm down," Stan said, putting out a placating hand.
"The hell I will. You turned a blind eye because someone told you to? I don't buy it. And you shouldn't have bought it, either. What aren't you telling me, Stan? Because there has to be more."
Stan slowly stood up, so they were looking directly into each other's eyes. "I don't know any more. Frankly, I never wanted to know more. I wasn't like your father. I didn't care about people trapped by a government half a world away. He wanted to help them, but he couldn't, because he was only supposed to photograph them. He was frustrated. I think he decided to take some action that he shouldn't have taken. When Brady told me to mind my own business, I didn't see any point in going against him. I couldn't bring your father back, but I could do what he asked—I could look after you and your mother. And that's what I did."
"My father didn't take that picture. It was me. I took it." Alex paused, seeing surprise in Stan's eyes. "He never told you that?"
"No, he didn't."
Alex paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. Stan's comments raised so many questions in his mind. Even if his father had wanted to take action, he wouldn't have gotten involved in another country's politics... Or maybe he would have. Alex had certainly had similar thoughts in the past year—that taking a picture wasn't enough. There were times when he'd been able to get into places and see things he wasn't supposed to see because he had a press pass and a camera. Had the same thing happened to his dad? Had he seen an opportunity to help and taken it? Had he died because of it?
Or had he died because Alex had taken that picture?
God, how could he live with himself if that were the case? Knowing that he might be responsible for his father's death made his chest tighten and his breath come short and quick. He felt dizzy and had to sit down. Julia was suddenly beside him, her hand on his thigh.
"It's not your fault," she said urgently.
He looked into her blue eyes and saw that little girl again. Maybe it wasn't his fault. Maybe it was hers. He'd been drawn to her then, and he was certainly drawn to her now. If he'd walked away before, none of this would have happened.
"She's right," Stan said. "We don't know if your father's death had anything to do with that photograph."
"It's a hell of a coincidence then," Alex replied. "Let's examine the sequence of events. The photograph is published. My dad comes to me in a panic, making me swear not to tell anyone, and the next day he's dead. Some government agent tells you to back off. Even my mother thinks the accident is suspicious. We're developing a pretty clear picture of what went down. Now we need to figure out why. What was in that damn photo that was so disturbing? Do you have the negative? I asked Joe, and he couldn't find it in the magazine files."
"I assume your mother has it."
"She doesn't."
"Then it must have been destroyed." Stan paused. "It's not important, Alex. It all happened a long time ago. There's nothing to be gained by traveling back to the past. You won't be able to change anything that happened. You can't bring your father back. Sometimes you just have to let go."
"Like you did? You let go too damn fast," Alex said, fixing Stan with a hard glare. He saw Stan's face pale and knew he'd struck a nerve, but he didn't care. The man who'd been like a father to him for most of his life now seemed like a stranger. How could he have failed to push for an investigation into his best friend's death? It was unthinkable, inexcusable. "Tell me something, Sta
n," he continued when the older man remained silent. "Why did you encourage my mother to put my father's photos in the exhibit, especially the picture of the little girl?"
Stan shrugged. "It's been twenty-five years. There was so much publicity at the time of the photo—people searching for the girl, wanting to adopt her—I didn't think there was anything more to come of it now than had come of it before."
"What happened back then?" Julia interrupted. "When people were searching for the girl, what did they find out?"
"There were inquiries to adoption agencies," Stan answered, "about how the child might be adopted. Someone in the government contacted the orphanage and was told it had no record of the girl. We printed that in the magazine a few weeks later. Eventually the interest died down."
"Someone in the government?" Alex echoed. "Let me guess: Daniel Brady?" Stan didn't have to answer. The truth was written across his face. "Where is this Daniel Brady now?"
"I have no idea."
The answer was smooth, but Alex didn't buy it. "That's funny, because I would have thought that you might have called him as soon as I told you that Julia came knocking on my door last Friday."
A nerve twitched in Stan's neck, and his lips tightened. "What will it take to convince you to drop this search, Alex? The last thing your father would want is for you to keep digging into his personal matters. He wanted to protect you."
"I'm not a child. I don't need protection." He looked at Julia. She hadn't said much during their conversation, but he was sure she had taken in every word. "What do you think?"
"I think we should find out what happened," she replied in a firm, determined voice.
"I agree." Alex got to his feet. "I want to talk to Daniel Brady."
"I'll have him get in touch with you," Stan replied.
"Why don't you give me his number?" Alex countered.
"You can trust me, Alex. I'll let him know you want to talk to him." Stan took a breath. "Is there any way I can ask you not to involve your mother?"
Summer Reads Box Set: Volume 1 Page 77
