"What exactly do you do for the government?" Julia asked.
Alex watched Daniel closely, wondering how he'd react to such a pointed question.
Daniel simply smiled and said, "That's classified, I'm afraid." He slipped his license back into his wallet, then into his pocket.
"If you can't answer that question, maybe you can answer this one," Julia continued. "Am I that girl in the photograph?"
"I can see why you might think so," Daniel replied. "But even if you believe you're that girl, you must say you're not. You must call the newspaper and tell them they're mistaken. Any other reporters you speak to must get the same comment."
"Why?" Alex asked sharply. "Why should she lie?"
"For her own safety." Daniel's expression turned somber. "The photograph revealed something that was supposed to be hidden, but your father didn't know that. He made a mistake. He paid for it."
Alex felt his heart stop. Stan had implied that his father's accident had been a result of the photograph, but he wanted to hear Daniel Brady say it. "Are you telling me my father was killed because of that picture?"
Daniel hesitated for a long moment, then said, "His accident was highly suspicious. The only reason I'm telling you that is because Charles was my friend, and you're his son, and he wouldn't want the same thing to happen to you."
"That's not good enough. Who killed my father? Who ran him off the road? Tell me, dammit." Alex took a step closer to Daniel. He wanted to grab Brady by the collar and shake him until the truth came out. "I'm tired of vague innuendos. I want the facts. And I want them now."
"I've told you all I can tell you, Alex, without putting you in danger."
"To hell with that. I can take care of myself."
"And Miss DeMarco? Do you want to risk her life as well as your own?"
"I can take care of myself, too," Julia replied. She shot Alex a look that told him to keep going and not back down. He intended to do just that.
"If you won't tell me about my father's death, then tell me about the picture," Alex demanded. "What do you know about it that I don't?"
Daniel glanced around, as if he was worried about being overheard, but they'd moved a hundred yards away from the restaurant, and there was no one in this part of the parking lot. "I want to help you, Alex, but I'm caught between a rock and a hard place. I don't know if you know this, but your father saved my life once. I was a young agent. I got into some trouble in Germany. Your father came to my rescue. I owed him. And the day after that photograph was published in the magazine, he contacted me. He said he was calling in my debt. He wanted me to protect you. I promised him I would."
"In case you haven't noticed, I'm a grown man. Whatever promise you made ended a long time ago."
"I don't think so."
"Look, Julia's picture has been printed in the newspaper. This story is coming out whether any of us want it to. If you know something, you need to tell us, so that we're not stumbling around in the dark. I think my father would appreciate the need for you to be honest with me."
Daniel thought for a moment. He looked away from them, gazing out at the ocean. Alex wondered if he was thinking about Charles having met his end in that same ocean, just a few miles away. The sea was waiting for an answer, and so were they.
Finally Daniel looked back at them, his jaw tense, his eyes wary. "All right. I'll tell you this much. I believe Julia is the girl in the photograph."
Alex's heart fell to his stomach. He'd suspected that was the case ever since Julia had knocked on his door, but now someone was actually saying it out loud. He glanced at Julia and saw shock and fear on her face.
"Are you saying my mother was there?" Julia demanded. "Did you know her, Mr. Brady? Did you know my mother?"
"Yes, I knew her a long time ago," he admitted. "Sarah was in Russia with the theater group. She worked behind the scenes as a costumer."
"Oh, my God. She was there." Julia turned to Alex. "My mother was there. You did see her. I didn't want to believe you, but you were right."
Alex was surprised that Brady had told them about Sarah. "So Sarah's identity and the reason why she was in Russia aren't classified?" he challenged.
Brady shrugged. "I barely knew the woman. She was friends with Charles and Stan. Stan helped her get into the theater group."
"She must have taken me with her," Julia said. "I must have gotten a Russian visa or whatever as part of the tour, just like you did, Alex. And she must have put me in the orphanage so someone would watch me while she was meeting with your dad."
Alex still wasn't sure he bought Julia's scenario, but he looked to Brady for the answer. "Is that true? Did Sarah leave Julia at the orphanage for some reason?"
Brady hesitated. "That sounds right."
He was lying. Alex's gut instinct told him the man was lying. "Then why would anyone care that Julia's picture was taken? She was an American girl."
"She wasn't supposed to be there. Certain places were off-limits to foreigners. No one wanted to acknowledge that there were orphans in the Soviet Union, and they certainly didn't want photographs taken of such venues. That's why the government denied all knowledge of the girl." He paused. "Now, will you let this go? There's nothing more to know."
"Of course there is," Alex said harshly. "No one killed my father because there weren't supposed to be orphans in Moscow. What was the real reason? And who did it?"
"I don't know who did it. Whoever took him out was a pro."
"I don't understand," Julia said, interrupting them. "Why would anyone kill Alex's father after the picture was printed? What could they possibly gain from that? The deed was already done. What was revealed was revealed."
"That's an excellent point," Alex said slowly. "Why would anyone have gone after him then?"
"It was punishment. Payback. They'd given him access to their country. He'd abused their trust."
"Who the hell is they?"
"I've told you everything I can. Drop this line of inquiry, Alex, before someone else gets hurt."
"What about my mother?" Julia asked. "She was in Moscow, too, and if I was the girl in that photo, and she was connected to me, then she should have been in danger, too. But no one came after her. Did they?"
A pulse jumped in Brady's throat. "I don't know. She was lucky, I guess."
"Lucky?" Alex echoed. "That's your answer?"
"Sarah went into hiding after that picture was published. Her cover was good."
"Her cover was good?" Julia repeated, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You're talking about my life, my stepfather, my little sister, the past twenty-five years we lived with my mother, with Sarah. It was a cover?"
"It sounds like you had a good life, Miss DeMarco. Maybe you should leave it at that."
"I can't. Not until I know who my mother really was."
Brady glanced down at his watch. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."
"You can't leave yet," Julia protested. "I have more questions."
"They'll have to wait," he replied.
"What if we need to talk to you again? How do we get ahold of you?" Alex asked.
"Call Stan. He knows where to find me."
"How does he know?" Alex asked suspiciously. "How are you and Stan friends? Was Stan involved in whatever went on in Moscow, too? You said that he got Sarah into the theater group. What exactly was his role?"
"Stan was your father's editor."
"I know that, but what did he have to do with setting up cultural exchanges in Moscow?"
"Stan is a patron of the arts," Brady said with a secretive smile. "He worked behind the scenes of many cultural exchanges in Russia and other countries. Why don't you ask him about it?"
"I think I will," Alex said slowly. He thought back to his conversation with Stan and knew that the other man had definitely not shared any of his own involvement in that Russia trip. Why? Was he hiding something else?
"I do need to go," Brady said. "If you want to reach me, call Stan. I'll get back
to you as soon as I can. I want to be of help to you and Julia—whatever you need. The most important thing is that you both back out of this, get rid of the press, and go on with your lives." That said, he turned and walked to the car.
"What do you think?" Julia asked when they were alone.
"He was lying at least some of the time."
"I agree, but which part of the time? The time when he was talking about my mother or your father... or about Stan?"
"Hell if I know." Alex dug his hands into his pockets and stared out at the ocean. "My father was murdered. That's what I know for sure."
"I'm sorry, Alex," she said quietly. "But it still wasn't your fault."
"It was someone's fault."
"Let's take a walk on the beach," Julia said. She kicked off her high-heeled sandals and rolled up the cuffs of her blue jeans.
"I don't want to walk on the beach. It's foggy, it's cold. And we should be doing something." Although he couldn't quite think of what that something was.
"It's not as cold as Buffalo. The sand will feel good between your toes. And we need to think before we act. Come on, Alex."
"Fine." Alex slipped off his tennis shoes and socks and followed her onto the sandy beach. For a while they just walked, absorbing the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore, the seagulls squealing as they dipped in and out of the water, and the low drone of a small airplane cruising along the coast. As the minutes passed, the fog began to lift, rays of sunshine peeking through. By afternoon it would probably be completely sunny, but for now Alex appreciated the fog. It mirrored the way he felt inside. There were sparks of light in his brain, but still a thick curtain wouldn't let him see all the way to the truth.
The cool, moist sand felt good beneath his feet. The sensation brought him back to reality, grounding him in the present, taking him away from the past. He couldn't remember the last time he'd walked on a beach. He'd always been too busy for such simple, time-wasting pleasures.
He paused as Julia bent over to pick up a shell. Her long, thick, wavy blond hair blew loosely about her shoulders, and he itched to put his hands through her hair again, the way he had the night before, trapping her face to his kiss. His gut tightened at the memory. Julia was a beautiful woman. It was no wonder he was attracted to her. Unfortunately, it wasn't just her body he found immensely appealing; it was her personality, her willing-to-try attitude, her determination to know the truth even if it hurt, her curiosity in the outside world, and her kindness, her compassion, her softness—a softness that would probably get her into trouble if she trusted the wrong people. He would have to make sure she didn't do that. He would have to protect her.
But first he had to figure out who the wrong people were. He walked down to the water's edge, thinking once again that the sea held the answers. His father had died in this ocean, his hopes and dreams for the future lost in the waves. All because of a photograph. How could he ever forgive himself? His father's death was all his fault. And there was no way to change any of it.
A sharp wind picked up off the ocean, spraying his face with water. For a split second he wondered if his father was trying to tell him something. Was he wrong? Was he buying into a story that someone was trying to sell him? Why should he believe Daniel Brady or Stan or even his mother? None of them had given him one ounce of proof.
"Help me," he muttered. "Help me figure out what to do next. Should I talk to Brady? Should I talk to Stan? Is there someone I'm not thinking about?"
A large wave took shape, growing in size and power as it rolled toward the beach. It crashed against the sand just a few feet away, the water coming all the way up to him, washing his feet and the bottom of his jeans in water. Was it some sort of answer?
"A little cold for wading, isn't it?" Julia asked, as she came over to him.
"I didn't move fast enough."
"You didn't move at all. What are you thinking, Alex?"
"Nothing."
"I don't believe you. I know you're hurting inside, and you're not the kind of man who admits that. You like to be big and strong and invincible. And you hate it when you're not."
She had that right. He hated feeling weak, powerless, the way he did right now. The hatred had begun a long time ago when his parents had told him that they were separating, that his father wouldn't live with them anymore, that he'd only see him occasionally. And those powerless feelings had grown after his dad died, after the funeral, after he was left alone. So he'd created a life for himself in which he was in control. He worked for himself. He called his own shots. He decided when to go and when to stay. Everything had worked fine... until now.
"It's hard to lose a parent," Julia continued. "When my mom died, I felt as if I'd lost my right arm. I didn't think I would ever feel whole again. I can't imagine what that would have felt like if I'd been a child, as you were when your dad died, especially since your mother isn't the warm and fuzzy type."
"I hated her," Alex admitted. "For a long time I wouldn't even talk to her. I blamed her for keeping me away from my dad, for the year I'd lost while they were battling for a divorce. I even thought she'd driven him out that night, on that wet, rain-slicked road. I believed they'd had a fight and he was driving too fast. I guess I was wrong."
"You don't sound sure."
He turned to her. "I'm not sure. Everyone lied before. Who's to say they're not lying now?"
She shook her head, understanding in her eyes. "I don't know. Do you think Brady was lying about my mother being in Russia?"
He knew she wanted a different answer than the one he could give, but he had to tell the truth, at least the way he saw it. "No, Julia. I'm sorry, but I think your mother was in Russia."
"I don't want to believe it."
"It makes sense that she was there. Think about it. She was friends with my father. Her grandmother was Russian. She was passionate about the country, fluent in the language. Of course she was there."
Julia frowned. "Then I must have been there, too."
"Yes."
She lifted her chin, a light of battle coming into her eyes. "Okay, then. She was there, and I was there. We have to find out why. What next?"
What to do next—that was a hell of a question. "You could do what Brady said—lie, tell everyone you were born and raised in Berkeley, and that you never left the country. Then you'll be free of this mess. You can marry your Michael and live happily ever after."
"With my past buried in a mystery? That's not me, Alex." She paused. "Actually, that was me. I never had the courage to look at myself in the mirror and question who I was. I let my mother die without asking her the questions I wanted to ask. I was too scared. And I'll tell you something: I'm still scared. But I'm not walking away this time. I'm going to follow this trail to the end of the road—even if that road leads me all the way to Russia."
Chapter Eleven
When Julia entered her apartment she found Liz sitting at their kitchen table with the sewing machine out and a pile of fabric all around her.
"Hey," Julia said tentatively as she set her bag on the floor. She wasn't sure what to expect from Liz. She'd received a dozen messages on her cell phone begging her to call, but she'd kept putting it off, wanting to talk to Liz in person. Now she wished she'd done it over the phone. Her sister's attention was focused on the material she was stitching, and Liz gave no indication that she'd even heard Julia come in. She was obviously angry.
"What are you working on?" Julia asked, stalling with trivial conversation. Although she was a bit curious about what Liz was planning to do with the yards of floral fabric spread out in front of her.
"A project," Liz muttered. She stopped sewing and glanced at Julia. "So you finally decided to come home. What's the occasion?"
Julia sighed at the tone of Lizzie's voice. She was tired from her trip, confused about everything she'd learned. She didn't want to fight with Liz, but she had a feeling it was inevitable. "I left you a message that I was staying with a friend," she said.
; "Does this friend have a name? Oh, wait, let me guess—Alex Manning."
"We were following a lead. In fact, I have some news to tell you."
"I'm not really interested, Julia. Since it's obvious you don't care what I'm doing, I don't care what you're doing."
Julia pulled out a chair and sat down across from her. "Don't be like that, Liz. Don't make this hard."
"Is that what I'm doing?" Liz asked, hurt in her big brown eyes. "How could I be making your life difficult when I haven't seen you in twenty-four hours? Did you ever consider that my life might have gotten harder when you disappeared and the press had no one to follow but me and Dad?" Liz began to pull the pins out of the fabric, her movements jerky and angry.
"Have they been bothering you?" Julia asked, feeling guilty. "I am sorry, Liz. I thought they'd wait until I surfaced again."
"Where did you go?"
"I went to Buffalo, New York."
Liz's jaw dropped. "You're kidding. You went all the way across the country yesterday and came back today?"
Julia nodded. "I found our grandmother."
Liz stabbed herself with a pin and yelped. She put her finger in her mouth, licking off the drop of blood.
"Are you okay?" Julia asked.
"What did you just say?"
"I found our grandmother, Susan Davidson, the woman I read about in the obituary."
Liz swallowed hard, then sat back in her chair, drawing in a deep breath of air. "I can't believe you went to see her without telling me."
"I wasn't sure you'd support me," Julia replied.
"You're right. I wouldn't have supported you. Dammit, Julia, it's one thing to screw up your own life.
Why do you have to mess up mine, too?" she asked. "I was finally feeling normal after a year of uncertainty, and now you're turning everything upside down."
Julia heard the pain in Liz's voice and wished she could make it better instead of worse. But there didn't seem to be any way to get to the truth about her own life without touching on Liz's life. She had to make Liz understand that there was a positive side. After all, they now had a grandmother they hadn't had before. That was something. She reached for her handbag and pulled out the photos Susan had sent back with her.
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