Zane resisted rolling his eyes. "I've got it, Pattie. Lead the way."
With a perfectly ridiculous sniff, she led the way across the street.
Zane shook his head. Why was it so hard for her to accept the smallest favor? Most of the time, she couldn't even take a held hand or a hug. That's when he'd wonder... No, no. He didn't want to go down the path of despair.
One behind the other, they trudged up a dusty set of stairs. A door opened off the second-floor walkway and a tall, thin man stepped out.
"Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" A wide smile spread across his face. "Such a big box. Oh, that's terrific!"
This, apparently, was Norman. And he was way too pleased about the box. Zane and Pattie had gone through it the night before. Savannah's signature locket was not inside. But Pattie had decided she'd better give Norman the box anyway, so he wouldn't think she was always blowing him off.
Zane decided to take Pattie's word for it that it mattered if Norman Debbert thought she was blowing him off.
Norman opened the door further and Zane followed Pattie inside. The apartment was dark and filled with scattered newspapers and magazines. A laptop lay open on a table in a tiny dining area off the kitchen.
"Holy shit, this is great!" Norman looked ready to burst with happiness. "A whole box of Savannah's things! Pattie, you are the best." He hopped around a coffee table to toss magazines off a skinny sofa. "Sit down, sit down. Let me get you something to eat, to drink."
"No, Norman, thanks. We're fine." Pattie pulled her purse strap over her shoulder. "We only wanted to drop off—"
"No way." Norman dumped a ragged paperback novel onto the floor. "You're giving me such a big box, I have to give you something, too." He abruptly straightened, an alert, emotionally throbbing beanpole. "I know just the thing. Wait right here."
"No, really, Norman—"
But it was too late. The beanpole had loped down the hall.
"I thought you said he was depressed, practically suicidal," Zane murmured to Pattie. He set their box on the floor beside the coffee table.
"He was." Pattie frowned in the direction of Norman's hallway.
"Is he on something?"
Pattie bit her lower lip. "I wouldn't have thought so... But this is definitely not like him."
A very good argument that drugs could be involved. It made an unfortunate link in Zane's brain to the fact that Pattie's sister had died of a drug overdose. There could be no connection, of course, and Norman might not even be on drugs, but—
Before Zane could formulate his thoughts any further, Norman returned. He carried a cardboard box of his own and the same, unnaturally wide smile.
"You gotta look through this, Pattie, you just gotta." He put down the box and his gaze finally hit Zane, as if only then noticing his existence.
"Oh, right," Pattie said. "Norman, this is Zane Kincaid. He's...a friend."
Zane nearly choked. A friend? After the way he and Pattie burned the sheets every night, this was how she referred to him? A friend?
"Great!" Norman tugged on Pattie's sleeve. "You can both look, then. Sit, sit. These are some of the more obscure articles. You may never have seen them, yourself, Pattie. Truly rare."
"I— Well, okay." Pattie lowered onto Norman's threadbare sofa. At the same time, she caught Zane's eye.
He knew what she was thinking. It was easier to give in than to argue. Just a glance, and they communicated.
They were so together. Couldn't she see it?
"Just wait'll you see what's inside," Norman urged, twitching with excitement.
Complying, Pattie opened Norman's box.
Pointedly, Zane sat right next to her. They were at least friends. As he looked over, he could see the box was filled with newspaper and magazine clippings. They all appeared to pertain to Savannah Bowen. As Zane watched the photographs file through Pattie's fingers, he had to admit Savannah had been physically attractive. He could understand how a socially handicapped man like Norman might weave some fantasies around a face of such familiar aloofness.
But Pattie had known Savannah in reality and not fantasy. Surely all these highly edited images of her sister must be difficult to take, but Pattie's face wasn't giving away anything.
Then, abruptly, she halted. Her expression went even more unreadable.
Zane looked down. In Pattie's fingers was a two-page article, stapled at the top. It featured the usual glamour shots of Savannah, nothing noteworthy. Then Zane noticed the name in the subtitle of the article.
Ted Cranston.
Pattie's eyes flicked over to meet his.
Zane felt the thrill of a hunter closing in on his prey. Leaning closer, he read.
The article was about Spring Beauty, a cosmetics company based in Beverly Hills. The owner of the company, none other than Ted Cranston, attributed their recent boost in sales to the ad campaign featuring former actress Savannah Bowen.
"I remember this, dimly," Pattie murmured. She turned the page, where a photograph of Savannah slinking over a beach chair attempted to sell a Spring Beauty facial cream. "It was her last 'shoot'-type gig."
"You mean she stopped acting?"
Pattie's mouth curved in a wry smile. "She was starting to get cast as a mother. So she quit acting and started the Rattler." Pattie's fingers smoothed over the photo. "Except for this."
"That might be the last paid photo Savannah ever took," Norman put in, hovering above them. "Rare. Totally priceless." He barely paused. "You can have it."
The offer, clearly made under delusions about the magazine photograph's value, was too quick. Stilling, Zane kept his eyes on the article. Norman's behavior was even more off than when they'd first arrived.
"Is it really all right for me to take it?" Pattie twisted to look up at Norman. "Because we have to leave now. We've got a— Well, someone's waiting for us to pick him up." Holding the article, Pattie stood.
Zane let out his breath and stood too, grateful she'd suggested leaving. Norman made his back itch.
"Oh! But you only got here," Norman protested.
"I just planned to drop off the memorabilia box," Pattie explained, with more patience than Zane would have been able to muster. "Like I said, someone's waiting for us."
"Oh, all right." Norman sighed gustily. "As long as you leave the box."
Thrilled, Zane moved toward the door. Not only was he happy to get away from weird Norman, but he also wanted to take a closer look at that article, get on the Internet.
What connections had Ted Cranston had with Savannah, beside employing her as a model? The obvious guess was a lover. But why would he need to pay blackmail to hush that up?
They were close to some answers. Very close.
"You can keep the box as long as you like," Pattie told Norman. She paused before adding, "Maybe you'll find something you want even more than the locket."
Norman shook his head vigorously. "No. There's nothing I'd ever want more than that locket. No way."
With a wry glance toward Zane, Pattie gave a tiny lift to her shoulders. Can't say I didn't try. Meanwhile, her eyes were bright as she went to join him at the door.
She also understood they'd made a huge step forward in their investigation. For this part of things, she didn't mind including Zane.
But for the more personal side of things, not so much. For example, she jumped when he put a hand on her back to guide her through Norman's front door. It was as though she were surprised Zane would touch her.
To her credit, she didn't squirm away when he stubbornly kept his arm on her back. She put up with the contact as Zane closed the door and then all the way down the second-floor walkway. But Zane thought it was a struggle for her. For some reason, this simple tender gesture freaked her out. On the other hand, she clearly sensed it was important to him that she allow it.
Inwardly, Zane sighed. She was a tough nut, but she'd crack. Of course she would. She'd cracked on letting him into her investigation, she'd crack on letting him gain her emotional t
rust. There was no reason to lose hope here.
It was only a matter of time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
All the way down the rickety stairs of Norman's apartment building, Pattie tightly clutched the article he'd given her. It was too amazing. Just like that, they now knew who Ted Cranston was—with a photo! She was jazzed.
All the way down the stairs, Zane kept his hand, firm and possessive, on her back. He switched to holding her free hand as they crossed the street.
For a week now, he'd been doing things like this, little claiming gestures, subtle affectionate moves. Pattie suspected he was trying to establish a connection that went beyond simple bed partnership. Heck, even in bed Zane made it clear the exercise was more than physical satisfaction.
He was hammering out a message. As far as he was concerned, this was a bona fide relationship. The real deal.
At the car, Pattie handed Zane the article. "Here, why don't you hold this while I drive?"
"Sure." Zane took the article, letting go of her hand as he did so.
Her palm felt a little cold where he'd let her go. She'd thought she hadn't liked him holding her hand...until he let go. It was the same with all the rest of it. She didn't really like the little gestures, but she put up with them because...maybe she did like them. Maybe they kind of made her feel connected. And maybe the whole thing scared the bejeesus out of her.
"I didn't get to the end of the article," Zane said, once they were both inside the car. "Did you?"
Pattie buckled her seat belt while trying to regain her sense of independence. "No, I didn't get past the first couple paragraphs. Why don't you read the rest while I drive?" If concentrating on Ted Cranston would get her mind off her confusing relationship with Zane, she was all for it.
"Okay." Zane held up the article and scanned it as Pattie pulled out of the parking space. "You know about the Beverly Hills bit, right? Company worth eighty million?"
"I got that far."
"Oh, boy." Zane let out a low whistle. "Here we go. 'Ted Cranston leads an active social life, together with his wife of twenty years—'"
"Oh, boy, is right," Pattie muttered.
Zane winced. "It gets worse. '...in between ferrying their four daughters from their exclusive private school to ballet, soccer, and French lessons.'"
"Four kids? Not just a wife, but four kids? So many people to hurt." Pattie shook her head. "To be with Savannah—what was he thinking?"
Zane threw her a wry look. "I doubt he was thinking. Which probably made him an excellent blackmail victim."
"True." Pattie chewed on her lower lip. "Still, a house in the Palisades... That's an awful lot of blackmail."
"To match the damage that could be done. A man in his position might lose even more than the blackmail amount in a fat divorce settlement, not to mention a costly child custody battle."
A sudden thought disturbed Pattie. "What kind of evidence do you think she had on him? Text messages?" She grimaced "Videos?"
"Whatever it was, it was good." Looking at her, Zane frowned. "What's wrong?"
"It's just...Savannah obviously had something on him. But where? I've been over and over her stuff, looking for this big story Savannah'd supposedly been working on right before she died. I'd have noticed if I'd seen incriminating evidence against Cranston."
"Maybe she had a secret cache somewhere. Bank box you didn't know about."
Pattie nodded grimly. "She obviously had it all planned out. God. I wonder if she laid eyes on Cranston, knowing about the wife and family, and planned it even from there. The affair, blackmail, and all."
Zane paused. "There's no reason to assume Savannah premeditated everything."
Pattie sighed. "But there are a lot of reasons to go ahead and assume." She shook her head. "Look, I'm well aware what a—a—disturbed individual Savannah was. My parents really did a number on her. 'Entitled' doesn't begin to describe it. She probably thought all her blackmail victims owed her money. I can imagine her taking one look at this wealthy businessman—with four daughters—and thinking he was going to owe her a lot."
Zane pursed his lips. "That's an interesting hypothesis." He paused. "Makes Savannah sound like the opposite of yourself."
Pattie was startled. "What?"
"You don't think anybody owes you anything...for any reason."
"Well...nobody does owe me anything."
Sucking in his lips, Zane didn't respond.
Uncomfortable now, Pattie laughed. "Come on. Who owes me anything?" This was different from the always-taking versus never-taking thing. Zane was talking about obligation.
But he shook his head. For some reason, he looked unhappy.
Pattie wondered about that. Why would Zane be unhappy with her? But as they picked up Tristan from his play date, then headed back for Pattie's apartment, she couldn't come up with an answer.
Surely it was right and good to avoid imposing obligations on the people around her. It was just as correct to avoid feeling obliged in return. Obligations implied dependence, and that could never be good. For example, it was one thing to enjoy Zane taking care of her, it was another to depend on it.
Zane had to understand that. Didn't he? But instead, he seemed...displeased.
By the time they walked into the courtyard of her apartment, she realized she didn't like Zane being displeased with her—and that worried her more than all the rest of it. She was grateful to find distraction in a full mailbox down on the ground floor.
"Heavy day." Zane indicated the flap of the mailbox propped open by a large number of envelopes.
"Yeah, that's good. I'm expecting a check." Pattie hurried over to pull the mail out of the box. At least she didn't have to question herself about her work. In this, she was still blessedly independent.
"I wanna ride." Tristan turned to Zane and lifted his arms with a yawn.
Looking for her check and feeling in charge again, Pattie leafed through her mail. Her fingers stopped on an envelope from Best Testing Laboratory. A chill went through her.
The result of Nick's paternity test.
She'd thought it was lost. She'd assumed it was lost. Possibly, she'd even hoped it was lost.
Slowly, Pattie became aware that Zane was standing with Tristan in his arms, staring at her.
"What is it?" he asked.
Unable to speak, Pattie tugged the laboratory envelope from the rest and turned it toward him.
He took a step closer to read the outside. Then his gaze came back to hers.
He got it. Pattie didn't know how, but Zane understood. After spending three months trying to get Nick to take the damn paternity test, she now didn't want to look at the result.
Because this could change everything. Oh, Tristan...
"Wait here," Zane said. "I'll put Tristan down for his nap, then come back."
Pattie nodded. Even that motion, however, was difficult. She felt paralyzed.
Meanwhile Zane carried Tristan up the stairs. Chattering about his play date, the kid didn't seem to realize anything was amiss.
If Pattie thought about it, was anything amiss? Wasn't it proper to have evidence of Tristan's parentage? After all, he did belong with his closest blood relative: his father.
But— But—
Pattie still hadn't moved by the time Zane came back. Hearing him trot down the courtyard stairs made her feel better. Which was stupid. What could Zane do about the situation?
He came across the Mexican tiles toward her. "You haven't opened it."
"I...can't." Her voice was a hoarse croak.
His mouth quirked. "Kid's gotten to you, huh?"
Pattie did her best to open her throat. "I thought...he needed me." What a joke. She'd been the one needing him—a two-and-a-half-year old child!
Zane's smile faded. He looked down at the envelope, which was starting to get crumpled in Pattie's death grip. "We could toss the thing."
Lose it, yes. That's what Pattie had been counting on, deep in her mind. Nick hadn't
wanted the test. He didn't want custody. With the test 'lost,' the question might never come up. Tristan would simply stay with her...forever.
When this perverse resolve had crept up on her, Pattie didn't know, but she definitely wanted to keep Tristan.
"He might change his mind," Pattie whispered.
"Who?"
"Nick." She cleared his throat. "He might change his mind one day. Any day. He could decide he wanted to know. He might demand his own paternity test."
Zane twisted his lips to one side. "Unlikely."
"He might."
A long breath sighed out of Zane. "He might."
With difficulty, Pattie stifled a sob. "What am I going to do?"
Zane's gaze went to the envelope. "Looks like you'd better open it."
A bitter laugh escaped her. "You must be kidding."
Frowning, he looked back at her. "But you decided you had to know."
"Yes. But I...can't."
His frown deepened. He looked, briefly, confused. Then slowly, as if he couldn't believe he was asking, he held out his hand. "Do you...want me to do it for you?"
She slapped the envelope into his hand.
Zane blinked in surprise. Recovering quickly, he turned the envelope over and then ripped the back seal. He pulled out a folded piece of paper. After unfolding it, he scanned the sheet. His gaze halted abruptly at one point, then lifted over the paper to look at her.
"Here." He held the paper face out, so she could read.
Pattie had to blink away a pool of moisture that had gathered in her eyes. God, she was a mess. She could barely focus in order to make out the one, incredible word printed in the middle of the page.
Negative.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
"Negative," Pattie whispered.
Zane watched her stare at the piece of paper in his hands. She was clearly in shock. For the past three years she'd assumed her ex-boyfriend had fathered her sister's child. Now, here was scientific proof that was not the case.
"Negative," Pattie repeated again, louder. Frowning, she straightened, and then plucked the sheet of paper out of Zane's hands. Now holding it herself, she glared down at it. "Negative." Her scowl deepened, and then, abruptly, she laughed. "Nick isn't Tristan's father. I won't have to—" With another weak laugh, she put a hand to her forehead.
If I Loved You Page 21
