Keeping Her Safe

by Sherry Lewis

  She didn’t care who Larry Galloway was, what he wanted, when he’d met her mother or where he’d come from. She just wanted him gone. Pivoting away, she started up the steps toward the front door.

  But Galloway called after her again. “All right. I guess I don’t blame you for not believing me. It’s a shock. I understand that. Hell, I’m shocked to find out you don’t even know who I am.” He fell silent for a moment, then went on. “Do yourself one favor, Devon. Ask your mother for the truth. Or ask Laura. You might be surprised by what they tell you.”

  She tried in vain to block out the sound of his voice, but she could hear Adam mumble something and Larry respond. And then silence.

  “I’ve written down a phone number and given it to your friend, here,” Larry said at last. “If you change your mind, give me a call.” And then, blessedly, his footsteps retreated and followed the driveway to the sidewalk before they finally faded away.

  She tried to take a deep breath, but her lungs failed her. She tried walking up the remaining steps to the front porch, but her knees refused to hold her. She tried to focus on the house in front of her, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

  She dashed them away with the back of her hand, but they came again and forced her to give up the effort to look in control. Sinking to the steps, she let herself cry as she hadn’t cried in years.

  Adam climbed the steps and stood beside her. “Is there any chance he’s telling the truth?”

  “No. It can’t be true.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I don’t care how many documents he forges or how many old photographs he produces, I refuse to believe him.”

  He dropped to the step beside her. “You’ll ask your mother?”

  “Of course I will. And when she denies his story, I’ll call the police and press charges. He gave you a phone number?”

  Adam nodded and offered her a scrap of paper, but she didn’t want to touch it yet. Doing so might make Larry Galloway and his ugly story real somehow.

  She closed her eyes and tried to pull herself together, but the suddenly too-sweet scent of roses hung heavy in the air, and this time the fragrance made her want to retch.

  Adam shot her a sideways glance full of genuine concern. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she lied. She could hear the anger in her voice, and she tried to push it away. She had no right to be angry with Adam. He’d played no part in this nightmare other than to hand her the picture and falsified birth certificate. Irrationally, she resented even that, as if Larry Galloway and his cruel joke would have evaporated without Adam to give them substance.

  When he looked as if he might speak again, she stood quickly and turned away. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to listen. Her mind raced, alternating between shock and disbelief. Just now, she didn’t want to see Adam or hear his voice. She wanted only to be alone.

  ADAM PACED THE length of his bedroom, debating whether to leave the house long enough to call Chuck from a pay phone or to stay here in case DJ came out of her bedroom. He cursed under his breath and battied the urge to slam his fist into the wall out of sheer frustration.

  He knew that birth certificate and photograph were genuine as surely as he knew his own name. And no matter how vehemently DJ denied it, he suspected she knew, too. Why else had she grown so pale and shaken? Why had she locked herself away in her bedroom all day with Marissa?

  Somewhere along the line, Christina Prescott had changed her name, and DJ’s. But why? Christina must have taken her new name after the divorce. He could understand her reasons. He’d met men like Galloway over the years. Cold. Ruthless. Capable of almost anything. Galloway might be able to control himself for a little while, but one of these days he’d slip. He’d step out of line—even hurt someone. And Adam hated the thought of a man like that disturbing DJ’s life and hanging around Marissa.

  Wheeling away from the wall, he began to pace again. Now that he’d met Galloway, now that he’d looked into his eyes and seen the barely suppressed anger there, Adam wouldn’t hesitate to act when the need arose.

  He cursed aloud—once for the rotten luck that had landed him on this assignment, once because he had to work for a woman capable of lying to her daughter about something so critical, and once more just for the hell of it. He hated this assignment. He hated listening to DJ pace the floor overhead. He hated knowing how much she hurt. And he hated caring.

  He wasn’t supposed to care. He was supposed to remain detached. Professional. But he couldn’t forget the look on DJ’s face when Galloway had hit her with that bombshell—even Adam had felt as if the man had gut-punched him.

  So what would DJ do now? Would she call her mother and try to discover the truth? Would Christina Prescott verify it if DJ asked? She had gone to great lengths to keep that truth from DJ.

  Dropping to the foot of his bed, he propped his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands. For now, he supposed, nothing had changed.

  After a moment, he lifted his chin and listened to the silence of the house around him. DJ had finally stopped pacing. She must have gone to sleep. Good. She needed to rest.

  Adam stood slowly and smoothed the legs of his jeans. He might as well make a quick sweep of the property before he turned in. He wouldn’t be able to sleep until he knew DJ and Marissa were safe—at least for tonight.

  DJ LEANED HER CHIN on the back of the couch and watched the shadows of the trees dance across the lawn in the moonlight. Marissa had been in bed for hours, but DJ’s mood had dipped so low she hadn’t accomplished any of her usual late-night tasks.

  Larry Galloway’s story had haunted her all day. She didn’t believe it, of course, but she couldn’t put it out of her mind. Why would anybody make up a story like that? What did he hope to accomplish? What did he want?

  Maybe he wanted money. DJ had none, but her mother had enough to tempt someone. Maybe he was a crazed fan of Christina Prescott’s. Maybe he was a relative DJ knew nothing about. She’d come up with a dozen explanations throughout the day, but she couldn’t prove any of them. And the only person who could was in London, England.

  She’d agonized all day over whether to call her mother. Christina always overreacted. If DJ told her about Larry Galloway, she would get upset. She’d want to ignore her commitments and abandon her vacation plans and come rushing home. But what could she do here? Nothing DJ couldn’t do as well.

  On the other hand, Christina might know Larry Galloway. She might be able.to set DJ’s mind at ease, which would be a good thing. DJ didn’t think she’d be able to eat, sleep, concentrate on work or give Marissa the attention she deserved until she had some resolution to the day’s episode.

  Standing quickly, she started from the room, but a sound near the back of the house caught her attention. She took a step backward, deeper into the shadows, and watched as Adam appeared on the rear landing.

  He unlocked the door silently, glanced over his shoulder once and slipped outside. She heard the door shut and the key turn in the lock. A second later, she saw the bobbing light of a flashlight as he walked away.

  What on earth was he doing?

  She hurried to the front windows again and waited for the light to appear. Seconds later, she caught sight of it sweeping the trees across the street. She could barely make out Adam’s shadow by the corner of the house, and she watched, breathless, as he made his way across the front yard and flashed the light through the bushes and across her windows.

  At the far corner, he turned toward the rear of the house. DJ rushed into her bedroom and watched, fascinated, as he repeated the process through the rose garden and along the back of her yard. A few seconds later, he let himself into the house and crept downstairs to bed.

  She sat on the edge of her bed and pushed her fingers through her hair, oddly comforted by his concern but at the same time confused. Living alone on this street didn’t usually bother her, but tonight she felt exposed and defenseless. Much as she h
ated to admit it, she liked knowing Adam was only a few feet away, that he cared enough about their safety to check the house and yard before he went to sleep. She might not be ready to talk to him about Larry Galloway, but she liked knowing she wasn’t alone.

  She closed her bedroom door, checked the sliding-glass door and pulled the curtains so she wouldn’t feel so exposed. She dug through her nightstand and finally found her mother’s itinerary buried inside the drawer. Dragging in a steadying breath, she dialed the number for the conference hotel and asked for her mother’s room.

  She counted rings while the phone whirred in her ear and prayed that her mother would answer. A second later a familiar voice came over the line. “Yes?”

  Her mother’s voice sounded solid, familiar and comforting. DJ had to blink away tears of relief. “Mom?”

  “DJ? Sweetheart, is that you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s happened? Is something wrong?”

  DJ might have been eight years old again, for all the strength she had. “I don’t know, Mom. I need you to tell me.”

  “What is it? What’s happened? Is Marissa all right?”

  “Marissa’s fine. I just need you to clear something up for me.”

  “What?”

  “I had a visitor today. A man named Larry Galloway. Do you know him?”

  “Larry Galloway?” Her mother’s voice grew sharp. Tense. “Yes, I know him. He came to see you? What did he say? What did he want?”

  “He tried to tell me he’s my father.”

  Her mother responded with uncustomary silence that lasted so long, DJ’s heart began to thud in her chest. “Well, he’s not, but he’s also not someone you want around.”

  Relief rushed through her, and common sense told her to let the matter drop there. But she couldn’t. “He had a picture of us together, Mom. And a birth certificate.”

  “A what?”

  “He has a birth certificate with my name on it. Only I’m listed as Devon Jo Galloway, not Prescott, and Dad’s name isn’t on there, Larry Galloway’s is.”

  Another pause, this one even longer. When her mother finally spoke, her voice sounded far away. “Dammit! Where did he get hold of that?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just do me a favor, sweetheart. Stay away from him. I’ll come home right away and explain everything.”

  DJ shook her head rapidly, as if her mother could see through the telephone lines. “You can’t cancel your speech at the last minute. They’re counting on you.”

  “They’ll understand if I explain it’s a family emergency.”

  “But it’s not an emergency. You don’t need to come home. Just tell me now.”

  “Not over the telephone.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “All you have to do is tell me it isn’t true,” DJ insisted. “Tell me Larry Galloway’s not my father. He’s not, is he?”

  “Sweetheart—”

  DJ’s heart pounded with dread. It wasn’t like her mother to skirt an issue or refuse to answer such a direct question. “Who is he, Mom?”

  “I’ll explain everything when I get there.”

  “Is he my father or not? That’s all I’m asking. If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll find someone who will. I’ve still got friends at Jeffs old firm. I’ll hire someone to trace that birth certificate—”

  “That birth certificate was supposed to be sealed—” Christina broke off suddenly and sucked in a sharp breath.

  “What?” DJ’s heart seemed to stop beating. She gripped the bedside table and closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning, but she couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t feel her fingers on the receiver. “It’s true? He’s my father?”

  “Technically, yes,” Christina said. “He’s your biological father. But DJ, sweetheart, I really don’t want to go into all this on the phone. This isn’t fair—”

  “Fair?” DJ exploded. “You’ve lied to me for thirty-two years, and you’re complaining that I’m asking you something that isn’t fair?”

  “You don’t understand how it was,” Christina argued. “He’s no good. I couldn’t let him ruin your life the way he did mine. And Laura’s.”

  DJ paced as far as the cord would let her. “I don’t believe this. He says Laura’s not even his daughter.”

  “That’s the point! I had to do what I did to protect you, DJ. There wasn’t any other way….”

  DJ shook her head. She couldn’t listen. For the first time in her life, she found the sound of her mother’s voice intolerable. “I’m hanging up.”

  “No!” her mother pleaded. “Don’t hang up, DJ. Talk to me. Let me explain.”

  But DJ couldn’t talk anymore, and she didn’t want to listen. Not right now. “I can’t, Mom.”

  “I’m coming home—”

  “Don’t!” DJ snapped. “Stay there. Give your speech.” Her voice caught, even on those simple words, and tears flooded her eyes. Without allowing her mother a chance to respond, she replaced the receiver long enough to be certain she’d disconnected, then took it off the hook and left it on the table.

  She sat back on the bed until she regained her equilibrium, her ears stopped ringing and her tears slowed a little. Then she walked through the darkened house back into the living room, dimly aware of the dial tone fading away in the distance.

  A thousand questions raced through her mind. A thousand answering emotions chased them. How many times had her mother soothed her when she’d cried for Peter Prescott, the man she’d believed to be her father? How many times had her mother lied? How could DJ ever trust her after this? How could she forgive?

  She hurt so deeply, she felt almost numb. Leaning her chin on the back of the couch, she let fresh tears spill onto her cheeks as she watched the shadows of the trees dance across the lawn in the moonlight. She didn’t want to cry anymore, but she couldn’t stop. In one afternoon, she’d lost everything—her father, her mother, her world as she knew it.

  She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. Crickets chirped in the moonlight and kept time with the throbbing in her head. Roses filled the air with their cloying fragrance, making it hard for her to breathe. And Larry Galloway’s image rose before her eyes, reaching for her, trying to pull her into his arms, trying to make her love him.

  After a moment, she got up again and closed the window. She could see light spilling across the side yard from Adam’s bedroom window. It looked warm, comforting; and it almost dared her to run down the stairs and hammer on his door. She wanted to cry and shout and scream, and she wanted him to wrap his arms around her and take away this pain. But he couldn’t. Nobody could.

  She stood by the window and stared into the night for what felt like forever. Trees swayed in the wind, leaves skittered across the driveway and the moon disappeared behind a cloud.

  A second later, Adam’s light blinked out and left the world nearly black. DJ leaned her head against the window and sighed softly into the silence. She didn’t even know herself anymore. She’d never felt so frightened.

  She’d never felt so alone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ADAM DRUMMED HIS fingers on the table and glared at the laptop computer. It blinked at him, almost daring him to type something. He scanned his one-page, handwritten set of instructions and pressed the Fl key. Instantly, the computer whirred to life and the screen changed before his eyes.

  Not so bad, he supposed. He pressed Fl again. The screen blanked, flashed a logo and changed colors. But there it stopped, and that annoying little dash blinked at him, waiting for attention like a cat expecting to be fed.

  Adam rubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin and scowled back down at his instructions. Maybe if he read them aloud they’d make more sense. “‘To call up the report form,’” he read, “‘hold down the control key, press the Alt key, then the 5.’”

  He wiped his palms on his pant legs and studied the. computer, trying to locate the keys he needed. He f
ound the “5” key almost immediately, but it took another few seconds to locate the other two. At this rate, he’d still be writing his first report at his retirement party.

  Following instructions, he pressed the keys in order. The computer whirred to life again and painted the report outline onto the screen. “So far, so good,” he muttered, and tried to make sense of the next step.

  Before he could figure out how to insert his name and rank into the appropriate slot, a soft knock sounded on his bedroom door. “Adam? Are you in there?”

  Brittany? What was she doing down here? He tossed his pillow over the instruction sheet and crossed the room to open the door. “What is it?”

  “You have a telephone call. She says it’s urgent.”

  “She?”

  Brittany nodded. “It’s DJ’s mom. Christina Prescott.”

  “Christina Prescott? Are you sure it’s for me?”

  “Positive.” Brittany wove her fingers through two of the beltloops on her jeans. “She, uh, doesn’t want DJ to know she called.”

  Abandoning the report and the computer, Adam pulled his door shut and followed Brittany up the stairs to the kitchen. She nodded toward the receiver she’d left on the counter and pretended to return her attention to a stack of books on the table, but he knew she would hang on every word.

  Great. No privacy. He snagged up the receiver. “Hello? Christina?” He tried to sound like an old friend.

  “Is this Adam McAllister?”

  “Yes. How are you?”

  “Not good. I’m told you know what happened there yesterday.” She sounded worried, and she had every right to be.

  “Yes.”

  “Tom Dodge assures me you know your business. I hope he’s right.”

  “I believe so.”

  She sighed. “Tell me what happened.”

  He flicked a glance at Brittany. “That’s a little difficult to do right now.”