Beyond Eden

by Catherine Coulter

  He pounded the elevator button with frustration. “Doesn’t the guy have any relatives? Maybe someone we can contact who would know who hired him?”

  Barry shook his head and stabbed at the elevator button, outdoing Taylor. “Not a single merry soul, more’s the pity. I checked on that right away. Jesus, Taylor, back to square one.”

  “I’m getting slow in my retirement. What are we going to do now, Barry?”

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do about him croaking, not a bloody thing. Now, you said you had some other ideas. Let’s get back to Lindsay.”

  When they reached Lindsay’s hospital-room door, there was Sydney, arguing with Officer Dempsey. He was refusing to let her in. Taylor could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was about ready to take his head off. He could tell by the set of Officer Dempsey’s shoulders that he wanted to let her do whatever she pleased, but he was holding firm.

  “No, ma’am,” Dempsey repeated, looking more miserable by the word. “I’m sorry, but no one gets in here. Not God, not any of his angels. Sorry, ma’am, really I am, but those are my orders. Taylor would have my guts pulled out and stuffed up my nose if I let anyone in.”

  Barry raised an eyebrow at that.

  Before Sydney could blast him, Barry called out, “We’ll keep an eye on her, lad.” He smiled at Sydney and pushed open the door. “Good lad,” he added to the officer as he passed him. Taylor said nothing until they were inside.

  Lindsay was asleep, the bruised, swelled side of her face up. She looked like she’d been in a war, which she had been.

  He immediately lowered his voice to a whisper, asking Sydney, “The judge is gone?”

  “Yes, I waited until I actually saw him onto the plane. I even waited until the plane took off.” Sydney looked toward her half-sister. “God, she looks like bloody hell. She’ll be all right this time?”

  “Yes. She tells me she wants combat pay.”

  “I’m here to cut a deal.” She looked toward Sergeant Kinsley. “I don’t want him around. This is just between us, Taylor. Once you hear what I’ve got to say, I don’t think you’ll want Lindsay involved.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What kind of deal?” Before she answered, she looked pointedly at Barry. Taylor said, “Can you wait outside for a bit, Barry? This really shouldn’t take long.”

  “No, it shouldn’t,” Sydney said.

  She said nothing more until the door closed.

  She moved away from him, a good twelve feet away, he saw. “Well?”

  “It’s about my father. I imagine you’ve been wondering why he hates her so much. Well, I’m here to tell you why.”

  Taylor made certain Lindsay was asleep, then said, “All right, but keep your voice down.”

  “Mind you, I didn’t know any of this until after Grandmother’s death, after the reading of the will, after Lindsay had already left to come back to New York.

  “Grayson Delmartin, Grandmother’s lawyer, came back to the mansion after he’d dropped Lindsay off at the airport. My father started in on him immediately, telling him he was going to sue, yelling that Lindsay would never get away with it, and he’d tell every newspaper in the state, he didn’t care, and the world be damned. The Foxe name would go down the tubes, no doubt about that. He was going to tell, he was going to make a press announcement the following morning, and he was going to get all the money.

  “I didn’t know what he was talking about. Neither did Holly.”

  “Dammit, Sydney, get to the point.”

  “He said that Lindsay wasn’t his daughter. He said that he’d found out the truth some eleven years ago and told his mother. She already knew, he said. She knew, and she wasn’t displeased. She told him to keep his mouth shut, that she wouldn’t tolerate him telling anyone about it. He agreed, oh yes, he said he’d keep quiet, but only if she promised to leave him all the Foxe money.”

  “The judge isn’t her father—” Taylor shook his head. “That’s crazy. I’ve seen both of them. She’s got his eyes—they’re identical—that dark blue, mysterious, so deep it’s scary. And the shape, completely the same. Identical. Is the man blind? Or are we talking about a long-lost twin brother?”

  “He screamed at Delmartin that his first cousin, Robert, was Lindsay’s father and he could prove it.”

  “Cousin?” Taylor said blankly. “Lindsay never said anything about a cousin who looks like her, she’s never said a word about other relatives.”

  “She never met him, never even knew he existed, as far as I know. Why should she? Her mother, the poor bitch, wouldn’t tell her, you can bank on that. This cousin was evidently there only a short time and then he was gone, and he never came back. He’s dead. He died in the late eighties, in a skiing accident in the Alps. Mind you, this all came from my father while he was screaming at Delmartin.”

  “Weren’t there any photos of this Robert character? Didn’t your grandmother ever say a word?”

  “Not a photo, not a clue.”

  “What the hell kind of family is this? Oh, I forgot, you’re a big part of it. Go on, Sydney, finish this. I’ve already got an inkling about your punch line.”

  “My price goes up every time you’re a shit, Taylor. This Robert was the son of my grandmother’s younger brother, and evidently the spitting image of him. The eyes, I found out, are hereditary. Of course, I never went sorting through any of my grandmother’s things either before or after she died. I remember wondering why Father couldn’t stand Lindsay. Of course, I never paid her any attention at all, although I remember thinking that something had changed, but I can’t be sure of the time because I was always in and out, usually out of the state. He started cutting her down whenever she came anywhere near him. Of course, he’s always adored me—a large part of that was because of my mother. I look like her, he says. He loved my mother more than anything in this world. So, through her, he gave me all his love, all his attention.”

  “And you followed in his footsteps and became a real bitch to your half-sister.”

  Sydney shrugged. “She was a pain, always in the way, and besides, she’s barely related to me.”

  “All right, Sydney. I’ll bite. You’ve dropped one shoe. Where’s the other? How are you planning on keeping your father from screaming the truth to the media?”

  Sydney smiled then. “I phoned Mr. Delmartin before coming back here to the hospital and told him what father had said and threatened. He laughed, said that Grandmother had foreseen his threats and had taken steps to see that he’d be disappointed—her word.”

  “What are the steps?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Taylor said, “Probably some kind of legal adoption, I’d imagine, done between Lindsay’s mother and grandmother.”

  “That sounds like the old lady,” Sydney said. “The miserable old biddy and—”

  “Get on with it, Sydney.”

  “All right. For five million dollars I’ll keep quiet about this; Lindsay will never find out the truth.” He raised his eyebrow and she said, “All right, let me spell it out, lover boy, for five million she won’t find out that her dear mother was a slut and she’s a bastard.”

  Taylor laughed. “What makes you think her ex-father won’t be here yelling the truth at her just for revenge?”

  “He can and will bargain with you himself, don’t doubt it. Once he calms down and realizes the potential of what he now knows, he’ll be right back here, ready to cut a deal.”

  Taylor didn’t say anything for a very long time. Sydney, an excellent lawyer, knew not to move, not to fidget.

  “All right,” he said.

  “Just like that? You’ll come through with the five million just like that?”

  “Oh, no, not a bloody dime.”

  “Don’t you realize what this would do to your precious wife? Your precious very, very rich wife?”

  “She’ll never know, at least from you. As to her father, he’s something of a wild card. I’ll just have to deal with him when and if he
shows up.”

  “You’ll deal with me!”

  “No.”

  “All right, let’s just wake up Lindsay and tell her!”

  Taylor grabbed her arm as she tried to push by him. “Keep your voice down, Sydney. You won’t wake her up. You’ll listen to what I have to say to you. You see, I want to cut a deal with you.”

  “You don’t have anything,” she said, but she was wary now, he saw it in her eyes.

  “Your wonderful mother,” he said very quietly. “The woman your father adored, the woman who died, and all the women who came after her were just dull copies of this perfect woman. You’re just like her and that’s why your father treats you so well, why he worships you.”

  “What about my mother?”

  He heard the fear in her voice, low, masked, but still there. She was good, she really was.

  “Would you like to have her address, Sydney?”

  She reeled away from him as if he’d struck her.

  “You’re lying!”

  “Keep your voice down or I’ll drag you into the corridor.”

  He didn’t have to drag her anywhere. She raced past him and was out of the room in an instant. Taylor followed. He wasn’t smiling, but it had to be done and he would be the one to do it. He would be the one to end it.

  She was standing outside the room, leaning against the wall, her head back, her eyes closed. She didn’t open them, just said very quietly, “You’re lying.”

  “Ask your precious father.”

  “She’s dead. She died when I was six years old. He came and got me at school and told me she was in heaven. He cried and held me. She’s dead. I hated Jennifer when he brought her home. She proved what she was, didn’t she? A slut, and she had Lindsay, a bastard. She wasn’t married to my father for more than a year or so before she was screwing around on him. Damn you, my mother’s dead!”

  “No she isn’t.” He wanted to tell her that most likely her mother had walked out on him for his infidelity, that she’d also walked out on her daughter, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

  Then, in the space of an instant, her eyes grew as cold as her voice. “So, what deal, Taylor? What you’re saying could be true, but who cares? There’s no real value to it, none.”

  “Your father would probably care, for one. He lied to you. I doubt he’d appreciate being confronted not only with his lie but also with the woman herself. Who knows? Since you believed he loved her so much, maybe when he sees her again he can convince her to divorce her current husband and come back to him.”

  “She’s dead!”

  “Maybe she could even fly to New York and you could introduce her to all your hotshot friends. Maybe she’d really like to see her granddaughter in Milan. What do you think, Sydney?”

  “You’re a lying bastard!”

  “I wonder how many little stepbrothers and stepsisters you have now? Do you think they’re all as smart, beautiful, and charming as you are?”

  She struck him hard, with the palm of her hand. His head snapped back. Very calmly Taylor grabbed both her hands in his and held them in front of her.

  “I must say I’m delighted you’re not my sister-in-law. You probably have some good points, most folk do, maybe even the Son of Sam. However, enough of all this garbage. You won’t say a bloody word to Lindsay about her mother. You’ll fly home to daddy and tell him that if he opens his mouth, his dead ex-wife will be on his doorstep. If he wants scandal, he’ll get it. Do you understand, Sydney?”

  “I hope she leaves you.”

  He laughed. “We’re not even on our honeymoon yet. Do you intend to go right out and buy a voodoo doll?”

  “She’s so screwed up, you’ll leave her!”

  His laughter died, but his smile didn’t. “There is something I’m very grateful to your father for. He never told you about Lindsay. I can just imagine you tormenting both Lindsay and her mother for ten years. Now, go away, Sydney. Go away and keep away.”

  He released her wrists. She rubbed them. Then, very slowly, she walked away. She never turned back.

  Taylor sighed. Jesus, he hoped he’d done the right thing. Actually, it didn’t matter what Sydney or her father did. He would tell Lindsay about her mother and real father when the time was right. It seemed to him that taking Royce Foxe out of the father picture should, in the long run, make her feel quite good.

  He wondered if Sydney’s mother was really still alive.

  Thirty minutes later, Lindsay was awake and Barry and Taylor were seated by the bed.

  “Okay, Lindsay,” Barry said, “we’ve pretty well knocked any and all of your family out of the running. What Taylor said seems the direction to go.”

  “Somebody is after him.”

  “Yeah. They’re getting at him through you. Revenge, most likely.”

  Lindsay felt the dull thudding of her heart, felt the helplessness of ignorance. She looked at Taylor. “Please tell me you have some ideas.”

  “Yes, several, in fact. Unfortunately—” He drew a deep breath, then forced it out. “Oswald is dead. But don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll figure this out, and very soon now.”

  Lindsay wanted to cry. She wanted to howl. It wasn’t fair, dammit. She felt so vulnerable her skin crawled. Taylor understood how she felt, the helplessness of it. Very calmly he pulled his .38 from its holster, handed it to her, and said, “Keep it in the bedside drawer. The safety’s on, see? If a baddie comes near you, don’t hesitate. Flip the safety off, aim, and pull the trigger. Okay?”

  Barry wanted to mention that there was a uniformed officer outside her door, but he didn’t. The uniformed officer hadn’t helped her last time. He patted Lindsay’s shoulder and said good night.

  Taylor was sleeping here, on a cot. For convenience and for her protection. He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and take a shower. He came out in a few minutes wearing a robe she’d never seen before. She raised an eyebrow at him.

  “It’s new. I didn’t want to shock any nurses or doctors. I can’t very well wander around nude, the way you like to see me.”

  “Can’t you sleep with me instead?”

  Taylor sighed. He wanted to but he was afraid of hurting her.

  “Why don’t I hold you until you go to sleep? That sleeping pill should be kicking in soon.”

  He held her loosely, so carefully, and Lindsay sighed and said, “I can’t believe Oswald had the nerve to die.”

  “Me either, the little worm.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “It’s a matter of reviewing all the cases I was in charge of for, say, three years before I quit the force. It’ll take me a little time, but I’ll figure it out. You’re not to worry.” The admonition sounded hollow in his ears.

  “No, I won’t,” she said, and nestled closer.

  He was amazed that she was here and that she was his wife and that she loved him. He kissed her temple. “You are brave and tough and—”

  “The best lay you’ve ever had?”

  “Yeah. There’s a story I’d like to tell you, maybe I should have told you sooner, maybe not. It’s about this girl—”

  “One of your old girlfriends?”

  “No. Do you remember me telling you I was in Paris the same time you were?” She nodded, but he could feel her drawing back, trying to burrow back inside her armor, to hide, to defend herself. He quickened. “Yes, of course you do. I love France; I’ve told you that. In any case, I was riding my motorcycle in Paris and this damned Peugeot came roaring out of a side street and hit me. I was lucky. I got thrown into some bushes but my arm was broken, that was the main thing. The ambulance took me to St. Catherine’s Hospital, to the emergency room. I was waiting for treatment all alone in this curtained-off cubicle when they brought in this young girl who had been raped. She was in the curtained-off room right next to me.”

  “Taylor, no, damn you, no—”

  “Shush. I listened to her screams, her cries, heard what the doctors were
saying and how they didn’t really give a shit because the girl was a foreigner. I heard how the nurse tried to protect her, but in France, back then most of the doctors were men and the bosses and they were hassled because there’d been a big auto pileup. And finally I saw her wheeled out. When I was at De Gaulle airport ready to come home, I bought a newspaper and read a bit about this girl. Practically none of it rang true and I should know because I’d been there, in the emergency room. And I never forgot her name or her. Her name was Lindsay Foxe. I remember thinking that no one should have to bear such humiliation, such lies as the media were telling, and it changed me. I couldn’t believe much of what I read because I knew firsthand what had happened.”

  She was crying silently. He merely held her, his voice pitched low as he continued, saying, “Your rape changed something very fundamental in me, Lindsay. I’d never really been confronted on such a personal level with rape before. Yeah, I’d been called in a couple of times on rape reports, but I hadn’t realized the indignity of it, the utter humiliation of it, the hopelessness of it for a woman. In fact, one of the reasons I left the force was a rape, a little girl fourteen years old, raped by her damned uncle.

  “You were luckier than she was, Lindsay. She didn’t make it. You survived because you’re strong and you’ve got guts. And luckily for me, I found you and it’s us now and forever. Okay?”

  He felt miraculously purged of something he’d wanted to tell her. “Lindsay? It is over, sweetheart. All over, and very soon we’ll get this idiot and then it’s Connecticut and a white house and a dog and a half-dozen kids. How does that sound?”

  Silence.

  Then she said quietly, “There are so many things right here in Manhattan, Taylor. So many new experiences, things I’ve never done and always wanted to. Can we do them together? I love our apartment. I don’t want to leave our apartment.”

  “I’m easy. You got it.”

  Taylor and Barry were down at the station, Taylor reviewing old cases. He’d told Lindsay that he’d be back with folders for them to look through together. He’d be back soon now.

  Lindsay’s arm throbbed and she wanted to rub it, but she’d tried that and it had hurt like hell. Her face throbbed more than her arm, and every once in a while she raised her fingers to the strips of butterfly adhesive that covered the suture lines.