by B. J Daniels
“Not just a doctor. But his young...what would he have tried to pass off Sarah Hamilton as? Maybe his wife.”
He shot her a look. “You think he took her with him.”
“Why not? It could certainly explain why you haven’t been able to find anything on her for the past twenty-two years. What language do they speak there?”
“Portuguese, but English has replaced French for their second language.”
“So she wouldn’t have had to learn Portuguese,” Lynette said.
“We don’t know that they stayed there. Or even if Sarah was along. It won’t be easy to prove either, but on the chance that Dr. Venable is still there...”
“You’re going to try to find him.”
Frank knew that if he kept investigating Sarah, it would eventually get back to the senator.
“I’ll help you,” his wife said and held up her hand before he could tell her all the reasons it was a bad idea. “I’ll just make a few calls to the hospital and clinics there. What can it hurt?”
* * *
KAT FELT BETTER the next morning, her head much clearer. She’d awakened early and was already up when Max came out of the master bedroom.
“Good morning,” he said, sounding surprised to find her standing at the wall of windows overlooking the sea. She was drinking a cup of the coffee she’d made.
“This beach house? It doesn’t belong to a friend of yours, does it?” When he didn’t answer, she turned to look at him.
He looked only mildly guilty. “It’s mine.”
She nodded. “And the convertible that just happened to be waiting at the airport?”
He shifted his gaze away for a moment before coming back to hers. “Mine.”
Kat sighed. “Why do you want everyone to believe you don’t know where your next meal is coming from? Sleeping in the back of your pickup?” She shook her head. “Who are you?”
He shrugged. “Essentially, what you see is what you get.”
“What I see this morning is a man with an expensive beach house who has an expensive convertible parked outside. So who is the destitute-looking cowboy who wears worn boots and jeans and sleeps in the back of his truck?”
“They’re both me,” he said as he stepped into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She wasn’t that surprised to see that someone had stocked it.
“Really?”
“This place? It’s my childhood on the beach.” He glanced over at her as she joined him in the space between the kitchen island and the long counter. “I’m sentimental. When my cousin’s family put the beach house on the market, I bought it because I wanted to hang on to those memories. The convertible? My cousin and I used to dream about owning one like that. I bought it for...us.”
She heard the emotion in the last word and looked more closely at him. Her heart sank. “Your cousin...”
“Luke died before I could afford to buy the convertible for us.” There was so much regret in his voice.
“But if his family had money, why sell the beach house, why didn’t Luke buy the car for himself?”
“His father made some bad investments. They’d fallen on to hard times. I couldn’t help them, I was just starting out...”
“But your father—”
“My father had washed his hands of both his brother and me.” He shook his head. “I was barely able to buy the beach house. It needed a lot of work, but I held on to it until I could make the necessary repairs. As for my pickup, it runs good. It’s the first one I ever bought, so...” He shrugged again. “We’re like old friends.” He grinned. “Same with my boots.”
“And the camera you lost.”
He nodded. “Yep. I wasn’t joking about it having sentimental value and being lucky for me.” There was pride in his voice. She couldn’t help but admire him. “I hang on to things that I’m fond of, and I like being my own man and living life on my own terms.”
Kat understood that. Max didn’t discard things when they got worn or old. He cherished them. So what had happened with the wife he was married to for two years? she wondered.
“It’s not that easy for some of us to live like that.”
He cocked his head as he considered her. “Why not?”
“I live life on my own terms as much as I can. But I grew up as one of ‘the Hamilton girls.’”
“The Hamilton girls?”
Kat knew he would have heard the expression, but she didn’t call him on it. “You know, six spoiled, entitled senator’s brats. Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not.”
He looked captivated. “Is it true?”
“Somewhat,” she admitted. “Growing up, we got pretty much everything we ever asked for.”
“But not necessarily everything you wanted or needed,” he said.
She nodded, surprised that he understood so easily. “Dad was gone a lot.”
“And with your mother gone, as well...”
“Ainsley was like a mother to us,” she said, smiling at the memory. “She still is. We didn’t suffer.”
Max didn’t look convinced.
“What I wanted was to be my own person.”
“Let me guess,” he said, smiling. “You were the rebellious one.”
“That’s a polite way of putting it, yes. My family would use more colorful terms.” Her mother in particular, she thought.
“There is nothing wrong with rebellion.”
Kat raised an eyebrow. “That’s probably what the man said who recruited my mother into the Prophecy, huh. If Red is my mother.”
* * *
MAX REFILLED KAT’S coffee cup and began making them breakfast. He pulled out chorizo, eggs, potatoes, onions, peppers and tortillas.
“Max,” she said, seeing what he was doing. “I don’t—”
“You do this morning. You’ve never had my huevos rancheros. You, my sweet, are in for a treat.”
She sighed and pulled up a stool at the breakfast bar as if knowing it was a waste of breath to argue with him.
“We should talk about the next step.”
She took a sip of her coffee, then frowned as if she thought she must have missed something. “Next step?”
“We have to find out if your mother really was Red. The simplest approach is to just ask her.”
Kat almost spilled her coffee. “I am not going to accuse my mother of being this...terrorist from the picture.”
“Because you’re afraid that she’ll admit it.”
“No, because...I still don’t believe it.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “If you’re that convinced—”
The smell of frying chorizo filled the kitchen, making her stomach growl. “Save the reverse psychology.”
“I would think you’d be even more anxious than me to have her confirm that she isn’t Red.”
She cut her eyes to him. “Really? Come on, what’s the point of asking her? You don’t believe she’ll admit it, do you? You said these people are still wanted by the law. So, even if she was this Red woman, she will lie.”
He shrugged. “So, what harm would it do, then? The options are pretty simple. She will either not have a clue what we’re talking about, she’ll break down and confess all or she’ll lie through her teeth. No harm. No foul.”
Kat narrowed her eyes. “I know what you’re up to. You think you know people so well that you’ll be able to tell by her reaction to the photo. But if my mother is that much of a...psychopath, terrorist killer, then I would assume she can beat a lie detector test—let alone the Max Malone test.”
He grinned. “I’m a hundred times better than a polygraph.”
“Humble, as well. You are so...irritating. Fine. But it won’t prove anything.”
He cracked three eggs expertly into
the skillet along with the peppers, onions and chorizo. “It will to me.”
She shook her head, surprised that the man seemed to know how to cook.
“And it could ease your mind.”
“Or not.” The wonderful smell coming from the skillet was making her salivate.
“Come on, you know you won’t be able to live with yourself if you don’t find out the truth.”
“I could surprise you.” A part of her wanted confirmation for what she felt in her heart. But who wanted to believe their mother capable of the things the group had done?
His grin broadened as he glanced over at her. “You just might at that, but not about this. You would always be looking at your mother, wondering...”
“What do you think I’m going to be doing now?” she demanded as he pulled the skillet from the stove, then set about getting them plates and silverware before joining her.
“Another reason we have to find out the truth,” he said as he took a tortilla, rolled it up full of filling and held it out for her to take a bite. “Taste this. I promise you won’t be sorry.”
“I’ll be sorry when I weigh twenty pounds more than the day I met you,” she mumbled under her breath before relenting and taking a bite. He took one, as well.
“It’s time you stopped denying yourself. I think I’d like another twenty pounds on you.” He grinned. Their eyes met for a moment, both of them now more than aware of the intimacy of his actions.
It was beyond delicious, so there was no hiding the fact from Max. “Oh, my gosh,” she groaned. “Max, this is amazing.”
He beamed. “That one’s for you. I’ll make another for myself. I made enough for seconds.”
They ate contentedly looking out at the ocean. Kat could feel the salty breeze coming in an open window and wished they had time to swim again. She quickly dispelled the thought, remembering the kiss and the way that swimsuit had made her feel. If Max hadn’t been a gentleman...
She put down part of a second tortilla, stuffed and shocked by her last thought. Max was a gentleman. She had kissed him more than willingly. If that wave hadn’t come down on them just then... But even later, he hadn’t tried to take advantage of the mood she’d been in at the ocean. If he’d come after her when she’d left the water, if he’d caught her and kissed her again...
Kat had a sudden flash of the two of them making love on the secluded beach.
“Too hot for you?” Max asked.
She frowned at him, confused.
“The burrito. You were fanning yourself.”
She knew she must have blushed to the roots of her hair, but, fortunately, Max didn’t notice. He’d gotten up to get her a glass of iced water. She gulped it down, needing to cool off, and a cold shower was out of the question since they had to get to the airport.
“When?” she asked as Max began to pick up their dishes and load them into the dishwasher. She’d offered to help, but he’d insisted she was his guest. “When do you want to go see my mother?”
“I’ve found sooner is always better than later.”
“I’m sure.” She sighed. “If we do this, then there have to be some ground rules,” she said, holding up a finger. “No interview. No photos. Nothing is on the record.”
He couldn’t help being amused. “Agreed, except we are going to need just one photo—one of you and your mother.”
“What?”
“Look, I agree with everything you’ve said. We probably won’t get a lot from your mother. That is why we need the photo for when I go to the prison where her former cohorts have been housed for the past forty years. I’ll need the photo of the two of you, since I doubt you’re going to want to go to the prison with me.”
“There is no way I’m going to the prison to confront...terrorists.”
“That’s what I thought you would say.” He grinned. “Thus the photo I’m going to need.”
“Wait. Why would you need my photo?”
“Because you look like your mother when she was college age.”
“You do realize this isn’t going to work. Once you tell her you’re a reporter—”
“You could tell her we are dating, but,” he rushed on before she could interrupt, “I doubt she will believe that.”
“Wait, why wouldn’t she believe we’re together?” She regretted the question the moment it was out of her mouth.
His grin broadened. “Because you look as if you’re going to jump out of your skin every time I touch you, and in order to be convincing as lovers we’d have to do more than touch. We might actually have to kiss again.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, not about to deny it. “You enjoy making me uncomfortable, don’t you?”
“Not really. I did enjoy kissing you, though. Maybe you should just tell your mother we’re friends. If she’s Red, then she’ll see through it right away anyway.”
“You make it sound as if she’s...clairvoyant or something.”
“No, just sharp, I would imagine. Oh, didn’t I mention? Your mother was the coleader of the group with that man you recognized. They were lovers.”
“Coleaders?”
“Yep. Of course, the authorities believe she really was the brains behind the Prophecy. But I’m betting her lover would argue that.”
Kat stared at him, too shocked to speak for a moment. Her mother, the brains of the Prophecy? Looking at the small, meek woman who’d come back from the dead, it was laughable. But she kept thinking about her birthday. Nor could she deny her own resemblance to Red. Or what Max had found out—or hadn’t found out—about her mother.
One thought struck home. If her mother was Red, the alleged brains behind the Prophecy, then not only could her father be in danger, but also her sisters and...the entire country if her father was elected president.
She had to know the truth. What galled her was that Max had been counting on that. Without looking at him, she moved to the window overlooking the ocean again and pulled out her cell phone. Her mother had given her the new cell phone number where she could be reached.
Kat keyed in the number, hoping she didn’t answer. Better yet, that she’d disappeared again for another twenty-two years.
Her mother answered on the second ring. “Hello.” Sarah sounded cheerful, indicating that she’d checked to see who was calling before she’d answered.
“It’s Kat,” she said unnecessarily.
“Yes, Kat, how are you?”
“Good.” Not quite true. “I wondered if we could come see you?”
“We? You and your sisters?”
She sounded so pleased that Kat hated to tell her differently. “Just me...and a friend.” She shot Max a look. He grinned. Friends, indeed.
“Of course,” her mother said, although sounding a little disappointed.
“Do you want to meet somewhere or—” Max was shaking his head. Clearly he thought her mother would react differently in a public place than a private one.
“Why don’t you come up here?” her mother suggested.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m tired of hiding out, and I think most of the media has lost interest in me.”
I wouldn’t bet on that, Kat thought as she saw how impatient Max was.
“How do we get there?” She listened as her mother gave her directions. “It won’t be until later this afternoon. Will you be around?” Her mother said she would. “Can we bring you anything?”
“No, Russell dropped off groceries earlier. I have something I need to tell you, but it can wait until you get here.”
“Okay.” Kat figured if the news was her engagement, she’d already heard. But with her mother, it could be anything. “Then we’ll see you soon.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WHEN NETTIE SAW the tiny box sitting i
n her post office box, she was almost afraid to touch it. Silly, she told herself as she pulled it out. She noted the return address. Just as she’d thought, it was the pendulum she’d ordered.
She knew what Frank would say if he found out. Complete foolishness. But what if, as the advertisement had said, she could tell the future with the darned thing? Now, wouldn’t that be something?
Tucking the box in her pocket, she headed for the Branding Iron. The waitress Callie Kincaid was working, but she said the café owner Kate French would be in shortly. Nettie took a seat, feeling anxious and excited and a little sick to her stomach. Callie brought her a coffee, and Nettie invited her to sit down. As she pulled out the box from her pocket, her fingers were shaking.
“Do you believe a pendulum can tell the future?” Nettie asked.
Callie looked from her to the box. “If it really could, are you sure you want to know the future?”
“Supposedly, the pendulum will also answer questions about other people. Like if they are lying or telling the truth.”
“I can tell you from experience, that isn’t a good thing,” Callie said, getting up as her boss, Kate, came in. “Be careful, Nettie. You might be opening up a Pandora’s box.”
Nettie had the heavy gold droplet of a pendulum out of the box by the time Kate joined her.
“What did you say to Callie that has her looking worried?” her friend said as she slid into the booth.
Nettie waved that off. “Where is your adorable daughter?”
“With her father. I needed to do a couple of things down here. Is that a...pendulum?”
She nodded sagely. She’d read how to hold it and now tried to still the movement of her hand and the pendulum as she held it a few inches over the tabletop. “I’m trying to solve a mystery.”
“The mystery is why you would spend good money on that...thing.” But Kate was watching with obvious interest as the pendulum suddenly came to a dead stop.
Nettie swallowed. “We’ll start with an easy question. Is Kate’s baby a girl or a boy?”
“We already know she’s a girl,” Kate argued.
“But does the pendulum know?” Nettie whispered. Nothing happened for a moment, and then the pendulum began to move in a small circle. “Whoa,” Nettie exclaimed. “Okay, it got that right. A girl,” she said as the pendulum stopped again. She lowered her voice, even though they were the only people in the café at the moment other than Callie and the cook, and they were in the back.
