by Brenda Novak
“I did a little research while you were gone yesterday. Incidents of incest are woefully underreported. There have to be others—many others—who are in your situation. It’s just not something anyone wants to talk about.”
“Including me,” he grumbled.
“I’m saying you’re not alone. A baby doesn’t result in every case, but I’m sure pregnancy occurs far more than it should.”
“It should never happen.”
“You know what I mean.”
When she let him go, he got up to shower and dress—but heard his phone buzz from where he’d left it in the pocket of his pants. He almost ignored it. Because he’d learned the circumstances of his birth, he was afraid others were finding out, too, and this might be the first reporter. For all he knew, Cort Matisson had been so angry when he left, he’d contacted a journalist first thing and blabbed it all. Hudson wasn’t going to check it. But as soon as he shut the bathroom door, he opened it again and went to get his phone.
Caller ID indicated it wasn’t a reporter. “It’s the PI,” he said to Ellie, who was watching him with a concerned expression on her face.
He answered but didn’t give Samuel Jones the chance to say hello. “Thanks a lot,” he snapped. “You gave that douchebag Cort Matisson your card.”
“I didn’t tell him I worked for you.”
“You didn’t need to! Who else would hire a private investigator to go snooping around in his life? He figured out I was looking for my parents and showed up on my doorstep yesterday.”
“I’m sorry,” Jones said.
“I told you not to let anyone know what I was doing—least of all the people I was trying to find. You said you’d be discreet.”
“I was afraid he’d call the police.”
“Why would that matter? You would’ve been long gone by the time they showed up.”
“He could’ve given them my license plate number, in which case they could easily identify me.”
“Were you doing anything wrong?”
“Not really—”
“So if the police came calling, you could’ve explained that you were working a case. They barely put rapists and murderers in prison these days. What could be the penalty for going through someone’s trash?”
There was a long pause before he said, “You’re right. I got what I needed, a beer bottle for DNA evidence. After that, I should’ve walked away without responding. I wasn’t thinking.”
Jones had seemed clever, had managed to do what even the police could not. That he’d been so obtuse at Matisson’s house didn’t make sense. “Why are you calling now?”
“I have what might be considered good news.”
Hudson heard the emphasis Jones put on the word might, so he wasn’t optimistic. “I’m listening.”
“Cort Matisson just called me.”
“He called you.”
“Yes. He was upset that you threw him out when he tried to talk to you, but he said he’ll give you one more chance.”
Hudson felt his muscles tense. As far as he was concerned, Matisson had gotten off easy. “One more chance to do what?”
“Help his daughter. If you wire a million bucks into his bank account, he’ll never contact you again. He won’t say anything to the press about being your father, either. The manner of your birth and the details of your abandonment will remain a mystery, at least to the rest of the world.”
Hudson felt his jaw drop. “He’s blackmailing me?”
Jones cleared his throat. “He’s...asking to be paid off.”
How was that any different? “He can’t come forward,” Hudson said. “Not without risking criminal charges, maybe even attempted murder, for leaving me out to die.”
“He’s willing to risk it for his daughter’s sake.”
Tightening his grip on the phone, Hudson almost told Jones to tell Cort he could go to hell. Although Hudson wasn’t unwilling to help Julia, he refused to be forced into anything.
The words were on the tip of his tongue when a flicker of hope stole some of the fire from his anger and made him think twice. Could he buy his way out of this? It was too late to escape the knowledge of his shameful conception. But it would be much easier to bear if only he and those who were closest to him—Ellie and Bruiser, whom he would’ve told even if Ellie hadn’t—were aware of how he’d come to be born. With the amount of money he made, he could afford the loss. He’d originally offered that much to Ellie in exchange for custody, hadn’t he?
“He’s threatening to talk to the press?” Ellie dragged the sheet with her as she got up on her knees.
Hudson covered the phone. “Matisson claims he’ll keep his mouth shut and go away—if I give him a significant amount of money to do so.”
She scowled in obvious outrage. “You’re not going to pay him, are you? Like you said, he can’t come forward, not without incriminating himself.”
“He claims it’s for his daughter.”
“What if she’s not even sick? So far, all we have is his word, and I don’t see him as reliable.”
Neither did Hudson. He just wanted the whole thing to go away as soon as possible, wanted to return to enjoying Ellie and preparing for the birth of their son without this dark cloud hanging over him, making him feel worthless whenever his mind wandered back to the encounter with Matisson in his living room.
He uncovered his phone so he could agree to Matisson’s terms. He’d be helping a dying woman, someone who had kids.
But after he wired the money, there’d be nothing to stop Matisson from selling his story to the press to get even more—or threatening to do it every time he needed a quick infusion of cash. Hudson would be a fool to believe someone like Cort—someone who could impregnate his own daughter and leave her newborn outside to die. If Hudson was going to help Julia, it had to be on his own terms.
“Try to buy some time,” Ellie whispered. “If Julia’s as sick as he says, you might want to help, anyway. And if she’s not...”
“If she’s not, this guy’s the parasite he appears to be, and I can’t let him get his hooks into me.”
“That’s the way I see it, too,” she said.
He returned to his conversation with Jones. “I’ll consider it on two conditions.”
“I’m not sure you should mess around with this guy, Hudson,” the PI said. “Imagine what your life will be like if he goes to the press.”
“His will be worse, since he’ll probably go to prison,” Hudson countered. “Tell him I’d like to meet Julia, speak to her myself—and get her medical records to verify his story. Then we’ll talk about money.”
There was a long pause. “He doesn’t want her to know who you are, what he did with her child. And you shouldn’t want that, either. Then there’ll be one more person who knows the truth and might let it out.”
“He’ll have to make up a story, then. Tell her he submitted her name to some charity where celebrities and sports figures help deserving people, and I’m coming out to meet her. Something like that.”
After another pause, Jones said, “Okay.”
Hudson could feel Ellie watching him as he disconnected. “What do you think?” she asked.
He tossed his phone on the bed. “I think I should’ve been satisfied with being rich and famous.”
She chuckled, but he could tell she knew he wasn’t entirely joking.
24
Ellie rode over to the courier’s with Hudson to mail the DNA test to Samuel Jones, who said he wanted to collect a fresh sample from Cort Matisson—rather than use the beer bottle he’d found in Matisson’s trash. They had breakfast afterward at a little restaurant in town. She could feel the envious stares of the waitresses and the interest of the other diners, who kept glancing over because they were so excited to see Hudson
eating in the same restaurant.
Hudson pretended not to notice the attention, but smiled and nodded at anyone who looked up as they walked out—which was pretty much everyone.
“You handle your fame well,” Ellie told him as they reached the street.
He took her hand. “Believe it or not, I’m grateful for it.”
“Grateful? I thought you resented the loss of privacy.”
“Sometimes I do, but the only thing worse than being wanted too much is not being wanted at all,” he said as he opened her side of the car.
She found it hard to imagine him in that kind of situation; there was so much about him to love. But of course, she knew his childhood had not been easy.
As soon as they got home and parked in the garage, Ellie asked him to pull out the original police file from when he was abandoned so she could read it.
“Why waste your time?” he asked.
“I know so little about what happened the day you were born and what was done to find the person who abandoned you. Who the police talked to, what those people had to say. I don’t like being uninformed about anything I’m dealing with, especially something that has me frustrated, fearful or upset.”
“But what’s in the file doesn’t matter anymore. It’s down to DNA. Either my DNA matches Matisson’s or it doesn’t. There’s nothing that’ll change my fate, not if we’re a match.”
He sounded so fatalistic. “What if you’re not a match?”
After letting them in, he tossed his keys on the kitchen table. “What are the chances of that? Jones went through every document in that file. You’ll just be redoing work he’s already done.”
“I don’t have anything better to do at the moment, and we might have a wait ahead of us. Who can say how long it’ll take Jones to meet with Matisson, get a new sample and send it in? He’s got to fly there, do the test, add your sample when it arrives, mail them both in and wait for the results. I’m guessing we’ve got a week to ten days, and that’s if he moves fast. I don’t see any reason not to put that time to good use.”
Hudson looked as if he’d continue to argue, so she slid her arms around his neck and pecked him on the lips. “Please? Jones did what he did so he’d get paid. I’m sure he’ll charge you more for jumping in and helping now—even though he’s the one who caused all this by giving Matisson his card. I’m doing it because I care about you. Which of us do you think will be more dedicated to protecting your interests?”
He sighed as he locked his hands at her lower back, keeping her against him. “Fine. I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t see the file. But I can’t bring myself to read through it again.”
She understood. He was too restless, too troubled. Watching him was like watching a caged panther pace the length of a small cage, golden eyes staring out with anger and resentment—and the promise that things would not go well for whoever dared challenge him. Coping with such strong emotions was especially hard for him because he wasn’t playing football right now, couldn’t turn that anger and resentment into energy and unleash it. There were moments she felt he was coming to terms with what he’d learned. But more often, she felt him pushing it away, doing anything to avoid thinking about it.
“You don’t have to,” she told him. “You were talking about going to LA for a team meeting.”
“I have to be there early Monday, so I’ll have to leave tomorrow night.”
“I’ll study the file while you’re gone. It’ll give me a way to distract myself.”
He tucked her hair behind her ears. “I was hoping you’d go to LA with me.”
She could tell he’d been afraid to let himself lean on her. This showed that he was gaining trust. But she couldn’t join him. “Unfortunately, I have a doctor’s appointment here on Monday, remember?”
He frowned. “I guess I’ll be going alone, then.”
Ellie didn’t mind being left behind. She wanted to dive into the file while he was busy doing other things.
She’d assumed she’d have to wait until he left to start on that. While he was home, he wanted her to play pool with him and swim and make love. But his agent called the next day, as they were having breakfast, and he went into his office to discuss his upcoming contract, which gave Ellie the opportunity to open the file a bit earlier.
She carried it, along with her laptop, into the dining room and was deep in a statement from the pizza deliveryman who’d saved the newborn when Hudson came to find her.
“You bored yet?” he asked, bending down behind her to nuzzle her neck.
“No.”
“Once you’ve gone through it, you’ll see how impressive it is that Jones figured it out. There’s not a lot in there to indicate Matisson was involved. As many times as I read that file, I never thought twice about him.”
Hudson had been on the phone for almost two hours, long enough for her to take a cursory glance at most of the documents. So far, all she’d found about Matisson was a one-paragraph statement that contained no information she considered particularly interesting. “So how did Samuel Jones connect him to your abandonment?”
Hudson took the chair next to her. “He made a list of all the people who were in the area that day and researched each one. Started with those who were viewed as persons of interest by the police—the neighbor down the street whose daughter had already had two abortions and the dog walker who’d gotten a woman pregnant and tried to run her over so his wife wouldn’t find out. But those came to nothing, just like they had for the investigating detective. So he moved on to other people, even the obscure ones. Tried to figure out what had happened to every person who’d ever been contacted about the case.”
“That’s a lot of work.”
“I paid a lot for it.”
“How long did it take him?”
“Three, four months.”
She picked up Matisson’s statement. “So once he stumbled on Cort, who was in the neighborhood that day, he did a background check?”
“Basically. Told me he ran across a newspaper article indicating there was a guy connected to my case who stood trial about the time I started at New Horizons for sexually abusing his daughter when she was only a teenager.”
“And he figured a guy like that might be the type of person who’d abandon a baby.”
“He told me that’s what made him dig deeper.”
Ellie brought her laptop close. Sure enough, when she typed Cort Matisson’s name into a search engine and sifted through the links that corresponded to people with a similar name on Facebook, she found a newspaper article from The Arizona Republic. The article covered Julia’s complaints against her father and included a quote in which she mentioned her stillborn baby.
“Nice work.” She couldn’t help being impressed with Samuel Jones. The link was fairly obscure and yet he’d connected Cort to the neighborhood and an unwanted child.
But then Ellie read Julia’s quote more carefully.
I had a baby when I was only sixteen. The baby was his, no question. I’d never been with anyone else. He was freaky jealous of any boy who showed any interest in me. Anyway, all the police have to do is find where he buried my child, and DNA will do the rest. Doesn’t matter that it’s been fifteen years. You can get DNA from bones, you know. I’ve seen it on TV.
At first, Ellie was so wrapped up in the tragedy of those words and what Julia had been through that she didn’t realize the dates were off. But just before she clicked on to the next article, it occurred to her. The article had been published fifteen years ago in November. If Julia had her baby fifteen years before that, the child would be thirty now. Hudson was thirty-two.
Could Julia have been speaking in general terms?
It wasn’t as if she’d mentioned a date...
“What’s wrong?” Hudson asked.
Ell
ie blinked and straightened to ease her aching back. “Nothing.” Surely Julia wasn’t being specific when she made that statement...
“Are you ready to give up yet?” Hudson waved at all the documents she’d spread out on the table.
“No. This is important.”
“The only thing that’s important is the DNA test.”
“Julia needs to take one, too. Maybe she isn’t really Cort’s daughter. Or you’re not really her son. Have you heard back from Jones? Will Matisson respect your demands?”
“Hasn’t called yet.” He stretched his neck in one direction, then the other. “For all we know, Cort’s already talking to People magazine, trying to sell his story for more than a million.”
The knot of worry that sat beneath Ellie’s breastbone grew tighter. She hoped that wasn’t the case. “Even though he’ll go to prison if he admits he left a baby to die?”
“With that kind of money, life inside would probably be better than what he’s known on the outside.”
“Would you rather just pay him off?”
He scratched his head. “If it meant I’d never hear from him again.”
“But...”
“I’m afraid he’d only be back on my doorstep after he blows through it.”
She let her breath seep out. “That’s what I’m afraid of, too. It’s hard to wait, but I don’t think we have any other choice.”
He nodded as he stood. “There’s no easy way out.”
* * *
During the next few hours, until Hudson left to have dinner with Bruiser in LA, Ellie couldn’t stop thinking about Julia’s statement in that newspaper article. Fifteen was a nice round number; it could’ve been a quick approximation. A lot of people talked in round numbers. But wouldn’t a grieving mother know exactly how long it’d been since she lost her child?
Ellie felt most mothers would’ve used terms more like “Seventeen years, two months and thirteen days ago, I had a child...”
