FALSE PRETENSES

by Catherine Coulter

  He saw the pain in her eyes and shook her shoulders. “And that’s why you married him?”

  “Yes, but first Timothy had the man beaten to a pulp. He returned to Italy the moment he was out of the hospital. Then Timothy asked me to marry him. I did. And I lost the baby two months later. Everyone believed it was Timothy’s, of course. Before I lost the baby, Timothy would just grin when we talked about it, and say he wanted it. He said he could beat any viciousness out of the child if need be, but just think of the talent the child would have. He was in his music-appreciation and musical-philanthropy phase at that time.”

  Jonathan drew her into his arms. “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth. So sorry.” That damned bastard. He’d have had him castrated. He’d have done it himself. And he’d have married her, just as Timothy Carleton had done. It was hard to hate a man, an old man, who’d behaved honorably, who’d done just what he, Jonathan, would have done.

  “It’s been over a long time. Such a long time. Timothy literally saved me. Although I didn’t love him, I did care a great deal for him. I felt safe and like I finally belonged. I would have done anything he wished.”

  He held her, saying nothing. He was afraid that his own rage would burst out if he did speak, and she didn’t need that.

  She said after a moment, “Life goes on, you know. And I went on until Timothy decided I was too confining. He didn’t want me to perform anymore, but the reason he’d been drawn to me in the first place was because of my talent. There were other women, even younger women who had talent, just as I had, but not musical talent. He’d gone on to another phase. The last woman, one that Rod Samuels managed to keep out of the trial, was an artist, about the same age I had been when Timothy first became interested in me.

  “Timothy wasn’t a bad man, Jonathan, truly. He was a man who didn’t want to admit he was getting old, that he was mortal. It got to the point that I just wanted out. I didn’t want any of his money. I didn’t need it, after all. I could earn my own way. All I was going to do was leave him, and that’s why I didn’t have an alibi the night he was murdered. I was out wandering around instead of going to that benefit. Somehow Christian must have known about the party and that I was going to be there, safe with five hundred people who could swear I was nowhere near the house when Timothy was murdered. Then he stuck that exquisite silver ice pick into Timothy’s chest.”

  “For you,” Jonathan said slowly. “He murdered Timothy for you.”

  “Not really for me,” Elizabeth said, her brow wrinkling. “For someone he’d created in his mind. But she wasn’t me.”

  “No, how could she be? He didn’t know you and you didn’t know him. Why, I wonder, didn’t he just manage to meet you, get to know you? If you divorced your husband, he could have asked you out. Why murder, for God’s sake? Certainly not to marry a wealthy widow. He’s got loads of money.”

  “His mind . . . I don’t understand it either. If he cares for me—or cared, I should say now—his feelings weren’t normal.”

  “No, more an obsession, I’d say. And now you’re a threat to him.”

  She wrapped her arms around his back and burrowed against him. “You’re the first man who’s wanted me for me, and not someone you believe I am—some kind of fantasy woman different from other women.”

  “You’re different, all right,” he said, grinning at her. “You think I’d fall in love with some ordinary woman? I love your talent, Lizzie. Perhaps someday I’ll let you out of bed and have you play the piano for me.”

  She tried to smile, but it was a failed attempt. “When will it be over, Jonathan?”

  He didn’t have an answer to that, so he loved her instead, making her forget, for a time. And himself.

  He even forgot about the twenty-two automatic in the desk drawer, and the bullets he’d slipped into it.

  Catherine faced Brad from across her grandmother’s desk. Odd how comfortable, how right, it felt sitting here. She felt strong. She felt in control. “When are you going to cancel it out with Jenny?”

  “It’s already been started, by her father. The senator called me. I told him. I would come down to Washington this afternoon. He wants Jenny on a plane to England by tonight. He’s already got her plane tickets.”

  “Thank God. Then what, Brad?”

  “California. A new start. I’m going to try to talk Trent into coming back here, just like you suggested.”

  “It sounds like the children are plotting behind the adults’ backs.”

  Michael Carleton stood in the doorway. He looked like an old man with saggy jowls, Catherine thought, staring at him, not the high-powered man who was always at her grandmother’s right hand. He even looked like he was wearing another man’s clothes, at least one size too big for him. He had shrunk.

  “No, Uncle Michael,” Catherine said slowly, amazed at her control and calm, “we’re not plotting, we’re simply taking over our own lives. People should live their own lives, you know, make their own decisions.”

  “That will last only until your grandmother is on her feet again.” He sounded querulous. Another surprise, another shock.

  “Maybe your life, Uncle,” Catherine said. “Not ours.” She rose, noticing for the first time how the light from the huge windows was at her back, and in Brad and Michael’s faces. The power position. Wherever had she heard that?

  “Brad will marry Jennifer Henkle, just as your grandmother wants,” Michael said, his eyes narrowed.

  “No way.”

  “The photos—”

  “No more, Uncle Michael,” Brad said. “I’ll be leaving for Washington, as I guess you overheard, then I’m off to California.”

  “Your grandmother will bring you back in short order.”

  “I found the negatives of the photos, Uncle Michael,” Catherine said. “Brad and I destroyed the lot of them, as well as the photos Grandmother had locked in this desk.”

  Michael looked from one to the other. Ungrateful little bastards. He would speak to Laurette. She would know what to do about this mess. “You’ll see, both of you,” he said, and stomped out of the room.

  “What are you going to do, Cathy?”

  Her eyes lit up. “I’m going to Boston, then . . . well, we’ll see.” She came around the desk, looked up at her brother, then hugged him. “Good luck, Brad. And call me when things get sorted out.”

  “You got it, kid.”

  “I love you, Brad, and don’t forget, we do have control now. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  He watched her walk from the room, and found himself shaking his head. He remembered some old photos of Laurette he’d seen years ago in a long-for-gotten album. If his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, Cathy had the look of her. The future, he thought, was going to prove interesting.

  “Where is Elizabeth Carleton?”

  Lieutenant Draper looked up to see Moretti standing in his office doorway. “You got me. Took off, and I can’t say I blame her. Why? Who cares?”

  “I can’t get that damned watch out of my mind, that’s why.”

  “It was all a lie, you know that, she—”

  “You haven’t broken Hunter’s alibi?” Moretti interrupted. He was beginning to think Draper was an ass.

  “No, that nurse of his backs him up to the hilt. I mean, we haven’t really questioned her all that much, she’s credible—”

  “Yeah, just like Dr. Christian Hunter was credible.”

  “Look, it was probably a hit-and-run. A guy hit her, realized he was in deep shit, and got the hell out.”

  “You know something, Draper?” Moretti said, turning to look out the dirty window. “It’s a bummer when you think you might be wrong about someone, particularly when you staked everything on being right. Put out some feelers for Elizabeth Carleton. I want to talk to her.”

  Draper watched Moretti, the pompous idiot, walk out of his office. He was getting soft.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Jonathan?”

  She sounded nervous, and
he hugged her to his side.

  “Yep. What about you, Lizzie?”

  She poked him in the stomach. “That’s an awful nickname.”

  “I don’t know about that. We can go from Lizzie to lizard to laziness to lippy broad.”

  “We don’t know each other all that well.”

  “I know how to make you come in an average of five minutes. That ain’t so bad.”

  “You won’t be serious about this, will you? This is for life, Jonathan.”

  “You’d better believe it.” He struck the palm of his hand against his forehead. “My God, you’re right. Where are we going to live, anyway?”

  “Judge Columbus is ready for you now.”

  Elizabeth thought her eyes would cross with apprehension. Married. And everything was such a mess. And she knew, knew all the way to her innards, that Christian Hunter wouldn’t just disappear. Oh, no, he was out there. Waiting.

  “You ready, sweetheart?”

  She looked up at him, saw the understanding and tenderness in his eyes, and slowly nodded.

  Mrs. Everett led them into the judge’s chambers. He’d put on his robe and looked as dignified as a bishop.

  Suddenly Elizabeth grabbed Jonathan’s hand and jerked it. “Listen to me,” she said as quietly as she could. “If we marry, you’ll be a target, just as I am. I can’t allow it. It’s too dangerous. Christian Hunter won’t forget, I know it.”

  He let her run herself out.

  Her hand was sweaty and her fingernails dug into his palm.

  “You done?”

  “You’re not thinking clearly, Jonathan.”

  “You’re not done.” He sighed and waited.

  “Mr. Harley?” Mrs. Everett didn’t like the looks of this. Judge Columbus was a busy man, and here these two were dithering. It wasn’t as if they were children, for heaven’s sake.

  “Just a moment,” Jonathan said smoothly. “My fiancée is concerned about the disposition of her assets.”

  “I’m going to beat your socks off. Stop patronizing me. I’m not being a silly woman and you aren’t Superman.”

  “Let’s get married, Elizabeth. Now.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Listen to me. I’m already a target. If Hunter is after you, he’ll know about me already. The man’s crazy. Don’t you see, it doesn’t matter. We cannot,” Jonathan said, looking her square in the eyes, “I repeat, we cannot let him control our lives.”

  She felt tears in her eyes and her nose started to run. She sniffed.

  He pulled her against him. “I’m scared too, sweetheart. I don’t want to be scared alone.”

  She cursed against his shoulder, very explicitly, and he smiled over her head. Mrs. Everett hadn’t changed expressions, so he supposed she hadn’t heard.

  “Oh, damn you, all right.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Jonathan and Elizabeth Harley walked out of the courthouse in Newcastle. Neither Mrs. Everett nor Judge Columbus had recognized Elizabeth. Thank God for small favors. Jonathan dreaded the day the press found out about their marriage, but they’d face it when it happened.

  Jonathan felt great. Relieved. During the brief ceremony he’d forgotten entirely about Christian Hunter. He was afraid to ask if Elizabeth had. He tried for a leer.

  “Do I have to feed you first or can I take you back to the cabin and revert to my horny self?”

  “Why not? I have this feeling that it’s going to be a lifetime habit.”

  An hour later they were lying in front of the fireplace. He moved up to her mouth and gave her more staccato kisses that were dotted with sex words.

  And when he brought her to orgasm, he thought as he watched her face: She is my wife. He came into her deep, and deeper still, and she watched his face as he spilled himself into her.

  “Goodness,” she said, feeling him slide off her. “We’re both sweaty as pigs.”

  “Sweat is manly,” he said, and nibbled on her earlobe.

  “I never thought I’d have two husbands,” Elizabeth said a moment later, quietly, testing the reality out loud. He said nothing, so she wondered if he were asleep, his leg over her thighs.

  “I never thought I’d have two wives,” he said, sliding his hand about her waist. “We both lucked out.”

  “The real world’s out there.”

  “Yeah, but this is our honeymoon. What is it the French call a special orgasm? Oh, yes, the little death. Well, this is our little honeymoon. We’ll think about the real world tomorrow, as Scarlett said.”

  But he was thinking again about his twenty-two automatic and Christian Hunter, and somewhere deep down, Jonathan wanted him to come. He wanted the bastard to find them. He wanted to destroy him so Elizabeth would never be afraid again.

  So he’d never be afraid again either. Unfortunately, he knew very well that he wasn’t Superman.

  They were asleep on a blanket set between two big boulders near the edge of the ocean. The sun was bright overhead, it was incredibly warm for December, in the high fifties, and the wine had done its job.

  Jonathan’s hand was on her bottom and she was lying with her head against his shoulder.

  It was a moment between dream and reality, the sun blotted out suddenly by shadows. Chilly. He pulled Elizabeth closer. Then his eyes flew open.

  He stared into the barrel of a black automatic. He followed it upward to a man’s face. The man looked haggard, drawn, as if he hadn’t slept for a week.

  The man was Christian Hunter.

  Jonathan jerked upward.

  “Don’t even think it, Harley.”

  Christian had stood watching them for a good ten minutes. It was as close as he’d gotten to them during the past two days. But he had looked—oh, yes, he’d looked through the windows at night and seen them making love, seen them laughing together.

  He’d wanted to wait. He’d wanted them to let their guard down.

  Elizabeth had given this man what she’d refused to give him. She’d refused him her love and her loyalty. And her body. He’d tried to remember if she’d ever laughed with him.

  The automatic jerked in his hand. No, no, calm down, he told himself. You’ve got the upper hand now. You’re in control.

  Elizabeth heard his voice, but thought it was the beginning of a nightmare. It was so clear, this nightmare. She felt a tightening on her arm. That was odd; a nightmare wasn’t supposed to be physical, not like this.

  “Jonathan . . .”

  “Wake up, dear Elizabeth.”

  That wasn’t Jonathan. It wasn’t . . .

  “Oh, no.”

  “Hello, Elizabeth. Were you dreaming about me, perhaps? Or were you thinking about this macho cretin you married? Oh, yes, I see the wedding ring.”

  “How did you find us?”

  Harley sounded awfully calm, but Christian wasn’t fooled, not the trained part of him that was the detached observer, the psychologist. The man was scared. And well he should be.

  “At least I waited until both of you had your clothes on. Sit up, Elizabeth, and join the party.”

  She’d known he would come, deep down, she’d known. “It’s all right, Lizzie,” Jonathan said, helping her sit up. She felt him squeeze her shoulder. For reassurance, but of course, nothing could reassure her.

  “Lizzie? It suits you, now that you’re with him.”

  “Christian . . .” Her mouth felt so dry.

  “How did you find us?” Jonathan repeated. He was gauging the distance between him and Hunter, and that gun. That damned gun. His twenty-two was in the cabin. Safe in a desk drawer. He hadn’t wanted Elizabeth to see it. He hadn’t wanted her to know. He’d played the macho protector sparing his woman, and look what it had gotten him.

  “It wasn’t hard, not really,” Christian said, and smiled down at them. He took a couple steps back and sat down on a boulder and crossed his legs at the ankles. “That attempt of yours, Elizabeth, to flee on the train to Philadelphia was rather silly. Of course I saw you get on the train. Then I phoned ahead to an inv
estigator I knew in Philadelphia. You were followed, naturally. When I found out the man’s name was Jonathan Harley, all I had to do was some checking. Not difficult at all. Deeds of ownership are public record, you know, even those for properties tucked out of the way in Maine.”

  “Why did you wait so long?” Was that her voice? So calm and detached?

  “The NYPD, Elizabeth. They were curious about Susan’s death. There were questions, and of course I wanted to make Lieutenant Draper happy. He left with a smile on his vacuous face. He really does hate you, you know. He thinks you’re a lying bitch. I would have agreed with him, but I didn’t think it too politic to do so. And my nurse is so guileless, you know. She trusts me, admires me even. She believed what I told her.”

  What did one say to a crazy man? But he seemed so uncrazy. Jonathan looked at him, really looked, and what he saw wasn’t at all chilling. He looked like an aristocratic Englishman with his thin, fine-boned face, his long, narrow hands, his tweed jacket and corduroy slacks. He found himself wondering briefly why Elizabeth hadn’t fallen for him. He was good-looking, smooth, and rich. But she hadn’t.

  “This is a primitive place, Harley, but if all you want to do is hide and screw around, I suppose it’s perfect. Why did you marry the deceitful bitch? For her money?”

  “I married her because she had the good sense to kiss you off.” He saw the long, slender fingers tighten about the gun, and tensed. He should have kept his mouth shut.

  “Christian, what do you want?”

  Christian looked directly at Elizabeth now and his look was tender and cold and deadly. “I want you to suffer, my dear. I want you to die.”

  The gun swung about to Jonathan. “No, Harley, don’t move! Don’t even think about it. You see, if you’re a good boy, I might let you die more quickly than Elizabeth.”

  Jonathan’s arms went around her and pulled her closer. The sun went behind a cloud. Elizabeth shivered.