He'd never be immune to her. He'd want her until the day he died. But loving her almost killed him once. Losing Tess ripped the soul from him and shredded his heart, leaving him locked in a cage—physically and emotionally. He'd never let it happen again.
But he swore he'd set her free from Beller's obsession with her if it killed him … and he'd make Beller and Duncan Earldon pay for what they'd done. He owed Tessa that much, at least.
"I've been looking for the baby—Emily—for a long time," he admitted. "But it was harder for me to get anywhere. I couldn't claim parentage to get the birth certificate. I tried, but they put father unknown on it."
The torment in her eyes hurt his soul. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for caring about our daughter."
He couldn't answer her; he'd spent the past two and a half years hating her for not caring about Emily. What a fool he'd been to believe them! "My family left the city today. So we can look for Emily without worrying about them … but we'd better pray Earldon and Beller don't already know where she is."
She sat down abruptly on a chair at the old, rickety dining table he'd picked up at a roadside throw. "You knew before today? You knew I'd want to look for her?"
"No." He had to be upfront now, or he'd lose her later. She already knew he had a hidden agenda—he had nothing to lose. "I need you to help me find her. You can go where I can't. You can ask questions at the birth registry, of your dad and brother. You're far more likely to get answers out of them."
Her gaze turned cool, challenging. "Only about Emily? Is that all the information you want?"
Darkness filled his heart. "You know that's not all."
"You want me to spy on them." It wasn't a question; she knew the answer. "You want me to help you get your revenge."
"Yeah, all right, I do!" he snapped.
She lifted a brow, not letting him off the hook. "And?"
"I need you to see what they've done to you, to me, to our child. I want you to believe what I'm saying is the truth," he replied bluntly. "I want you to want justice like I do."
She stared at him for a long moment. "You want me to find evidence against my own family. You want me to help you put my brother—maybe even my sixty-eight-year-old father—in prison."
"I never said that," he shot back.
"You just thought it," she said softly.
He turned away from her. "Okay, can we at least find evidence to hold over them, so they don't start any more plots?"
She looked at him, her golden eyes boring into his, filling him with the old, uncanny feeling that she could see right past his barriers and into his soul. Back then, her love filled him with a happiness so rare and incredible he hadn't cared that she knew him inside and out. Now it just made him uncomfortable.
Damn her for still seeing into his heart so clearly! Could she see what he couldn't afford to let her know?
He crossed the room to squat before her. "If they know where Emily is, she's in constant danger," he rasped, full of passionate conviction. "If Beller works out we're together on this—and he probably already has—we've got a week at most to find her. He's got the resources to get to her quicker than we can through the official channels. If he gets to her first—or Duncan," he added, hating the need to be so ruthless, "they'll hold her safety over our heads to keep us quiet, and for Beller to take you back."
The light went out of her eyes so fast he thought she was going to faint. She dropped a white, ravaged face in her hands and whispered, "My God. We have to find her fast."
"And we have to get ammo on them. It's the only way," he went on when she looked up, her eyes dark with pain and denial. "If they're chasing their tails trying to cover up their little perjuries, they won't have time to think of getting to Emily. And any evidence of Emily's whereabouts now is more likely to come through them than the official channels."
Her face lifted to his, her eyes filled with suffering, with guilt—and complete, pain-filled understanding. "You want me to spy on my father—to get evidence that could put him in prison."
"It's the only way," he said again. God, how he hated pulling her strings when she was already in shock, but he couldn't afford the luxury of time or compassion when their daughter's life was at risk. "If he's innocent, we'll find nothing."
"If not, you'll put my whole family away."
"But you'll have Emily," he reminded her, hoping to God it would be enough to make her agree.
She looked away, chewing her lip. He waited in silence, allowing her time to think it through.
After a long stretch of quiet, she said, "I want my child."
"So do I." Watching her carefully, he said, "But I have to protect myself. I need you to come to my lawyer, and to the cops. To back up my story so the cops won't suspect me for perjury on the death certificates. Then if Beller or Duncan try their tricks, I'll have an unimpeachable witness to state where I've been at all times. As Duncan's sister and Beller's supposed wife, you can give me the alibi no one else could—and they couldn't afford to expose our history."
She tilted her chin. "Show me Duncan was part of the plot to adopt Emily and put you inside, and I'll do whatever it takes."
From his wallet he pulled out another piece of paper, and tossed it into her lap. "Here you go. Put yours down and we have a matching pair of death certificates, three or so years apart."
She looked at the death certificate, marked September 20, two and a half years before. She shook her head, but didn't speak
"Not good enough? Didn't your brother give you yours?" He sighed. "Go to the cops. Ask who the star witnesses were in my case. Show 'em your ID, and you should get access. You'll see Duncan knew I was alive when you married Beller." He threw another piece paper in front of her. "Here's my parole papers, date marked—same day as my second 'death.' I was in the cells at the City of Sydney Police when I supposedly died the first time."
She licked her lip, then bit down hard. Her fingers gripped the papers hard enough to rip them to shreds.
"Still not enough? What about the adoption papers? The parole papers tell you where I was when you had Emily," he challenged. "The adoption paper's dated. I didn't have the freedom to create it! And if I had, would I give up my own child? You know how I feel about kids." When she remained silent, he got to his feet and paced the room. "Come on, princess, do the sum!" he flung at her. "Duncan gave you the death certificate. He was there when Emily was born. How could I have got the adoption papers, since I'm not named as Emily's father? How could I have myself declared dead the day I got out of lockup, a penniless ex-con? It doesn't make sense—unless you put legal eagles with money and connections in the equation. You know what they're capable of—"
"All right."
"—and yet with all this evidence—" He wheeled around to face her when the words penetrated his consciousness. "What?"
"I said all right." She met his eyes; hers were dull gold, filled with the darkness of inner torment. "I'll help you find your evidence or whatever you want, if you help me find Emily."
He blew out a sigh of relief. He'd done it. She'd come with him. That was the only whatever he wanted from her.
Liar. You want her like hell already. Five hours with her and she's already got you inside out. Stay five days with her and you'll be her puppet again … and she'll knot your strings just like she did seven years ago.
"I don't need anything on Duncan or Beller," he said, playing it safe. "But if your dad's involved, we need to know, to hamstring any tricks he might try. Only you can do that."
She started like a nervous doe, the wide-eyed, haunted look back. "You can do most of this yourself. You could find another respectable witness, and get search warrants. Why do you really need me? There's something you're not telling me."
Yeah, she was smart, all right, even in shock. "Only you can access Emily's files, talk to the hospital staff where you gave birth, and put your name down with the relevant organizations to find her." With unthinking bitterness he added, "I have no power
to search for my daughter, or ask about her as things are—and only you, her mother, can give me those rights."
After a quiet moment she said softly, "I wanted to keep her, Jirrah. I would have put your name on the birth certificate."
"Gee, thanks, princess." He gave her a wry look. "But right now, 'would have' don't count a hill of beans. She's my daughter—my flesh and blood—and I'm 'father unknown.'" He tried to stare her down, but she held his gaze, her lissome body taut with defiance; and he hated the ache building in him just watching her. "I want that wiped from the record. I want my name on her birth certificate. I want to claim my daughter."
"Yeah, well, you're not alone in that. She's my child, too!" Her momentary gentleness was gone: she was flashing fire, a streak of lightning in a dark sky—the woman of blazing passion beneath her shy cover. The girl he'd always known in bed. "I'll try to give Emily your name, or mine, if we can find her—if she wants it—but don't expect too much help if Cameron or Duncan block it. I had therapy after I lost Emily. I talked of killing myself, and was labeled depressive and suicidal. No sane woman would want to escape Cameron, so of course I'm nuts. If they get wind of what we're doing, I'm as sunk as you are! You might go back to prison, but I'll be in a mental institution!"
"So get a second opinion, or a third," he retorted, thrown by the fact that she had as much to lose as he did—thrown that the vivid passion of her fury only turned him on more. "And could any institution be worse than the cage you're in now? For God's sake, look at yourself. You might have left him, but you're still in a cage! You have to live beyond running from him. You have to start trusting people again."
"And who do you trust, David-Jirrah?" she said softly, her eyes still glittering with the fierce passion hidden deep inside her. The incandescent glow from a once loving heart that, even locked deep inside her, illuminated her from within, making her unique, radiant, so alive she made others want to be with her, to experience that soul-stirring intensity in living. "The police? Your family? Your many friends? Your wife?"
The heat of need she'd engendered in him silenced him as much as her home questions. His luminous Tess…
As if she'd read his thoughts—or seen what she'd done to his body—she pressed her lips together. "I'm tired." She got to her feet. "Thank you," she said simply. "I realize what you did for me today. You didn't have to save me. But you did."
"I'd never have got this far without you." Knowing she'd left something unsaid. Some indefinable emotion filled her heart, dousing the flame inside her. Tess was hiding something.
And you're not?
She shrugged. "Just a car." She finally dropped the blanket and walked to the bedroom door. There she turned, standing in the shadow of the flickering firelight. Her hair, half-spilling from its roped plait, glowed ebony; her proud face warmed in the golden light. Light and shadow, past and present, goddess and woman, her quiet dignity and inner beauty evident in her simple shorts and knit top—and she left his throat dry and his chest a bal of pain. "He stole your life and our child, yet you left me with him, knowing how I feel about the sanctity of marriage. You left me thinking I was married to him, that I had to stay."
He had to tell her the truth now or lose her help in finding his long-delayed justice. "You'd left by the time I made parole. I asked the neighbors. You left him four weeks before I got out." When there was no response, he added, "You saw the parole papers. You left him late August I was paroled September 20."
Her voice drifted to him through the warm, flickering darkness. "Did you keep looking for me?"
He nodded. "I remembered your dream of teaching kids in the Outback. I found out where you were a while back, and kept a few feelers out. When I heard Beller was sniffing around I came to Lynch Hill to make sure you were safe. That's all."
She said softly, "You hated me, but still looked out for me?"
He shrugged, unable to understand his own motivations, or to explain how he felt about her. Only one thing came to mind, and he stated it simply. "You're the mother of my child."
Her eyes darkened in the play of firelight and shadow. An ancient goddess: Athena in bronze. Diana in marble.
He felt like a fool standing in her presence, almost like he should kneel before her. Seven years from his first sight of her, and Tess still stunned him, still left him speechless.
When she slanted him the smile so uniquely hers, lighting her one dimple, warming her glowing amber eyes with molten honey, her whimsical face came as close to beauty as it ever would. But to him, she'd always be so damn beautiful it hurt—and never more so than at this moment. He could see the metamorphosis happening before his eyes. The woman of fire and passion had begun her slow, reluctant emergence from her frozen chrysalis.
It started a chain reaction inside him, as well. He could feel it happening—the vaguest hint of warming around the outer layer of thick, encrusted walls of ice he'd been building around his heart since the day he was put in lockup.
Damn it, he couldn't do this. The one thing he didn't want—the thing he could least afford to happen. But when he was near Tess, choices weren't something he had in his armory. One look from those amazing eyes, and he was on his knees before her.
Damn you. Tess, for always doing this to me!
She reached out, almost touching his face for a brief moment. He held his breath, waiting, half-hoping—
Then her hand fell, and the gentle memory of the forgotten caress lingered only in his damaged heart. "Thank you for helping me today. Thank you for telling me about Emily. I'm glad you're alive." Her smile was gone, leaving him so cold it sent a shiver down his spine. "I wish I felt happier about it. I wish I could forgive you for what you want to do to my family—what you want me to do for you. I wish I knew it was right, even for Emily's sake. But I can't—and I can't forgive you, either. I just can't."
She vanished into his room, closing the door, and he ached with the void she'd left behind.
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
He lay in a fevered sweat on the lounge, in thrall at the visions of his mind. Faces. Illogical faces from the palette of Picasso. Black faces, brown faces, white faces. The accusing faces of his parents, Matt and Annie Oliveri. The baffled fury and terrible fear of Keith and Duncan Earldon. The thwarted lust and warped love in the handsome yet repellent face of Cameron Beller. His brothers, sisters and cousins, unsure yet willing to believe the worst. The face of his lover as she lay dying a year before. The faces of the children who had suffered, would continue to suffer until he could clear his name. The leering faces of his fellow prisoners, men he hated yet were the only ones who understood his bond, his cage.
And every face chanted words, the litany that burned in his brain for seven long years. You're not good enough for her, and she's no good for you…
And in the center of this bizarre tapestry of faces was the one they all warned him against. The unforgettable face, the haunting eyes, the threads of her midnight hair binding the anger and the sadness together.
And she gave him that smile: the lopsided smile that twisted his guts and made his heart turn over. "Jirrah," she breathed, as she had when they moved together in the act of love. The name she'd cried aloud in passion, whispered as she'd touched his body in wondrous desire, full of a woman's need. "Jirrah…"
He reached for her, pulling her down to him. "Mulgu." Ah, the beautiful totem name he'd given her years before:
Mulgu, the wild black swan. His quiet, dark-haired girl with the untamed spirit, always wanting to fly from the restrictive conventions of her family. The Earldons were always clipping her wings, threatened by the hit of inner wildness inside Tess: the legacy of the beautiful, free-spirited Native Canadian mother who died when she was four. But oh, how he loved her wildness, her passion for life … the single-minded passion for loving she only showed to him. "Ah, mulgu…" His mouth sought hers.
"Jirrah." The voice sounded almost real. He started to half-awareness, but didn't open his e
yes. Her face was his addiction, and if dreams were all he'd get, let him sleep. He held her long, lithe body against the whole length of his, his lips touching warm golden-brown skin. Ah, God, it felt good…
"Jirrah, wake up!" Something tickled his chest.
His eyes snapped open. It was real. She was here with him. Her glorious face filled his vision; her unbound hair trailed over his chest. Her small breasts, covered only by a thin calico nightdress, brushed his collarbones. They lay not quite hip-to-hip, the softness of her thighs covering his tight, hard heat. His lips roamed her throat—and she didn't look like she wanted to complain. "Tess," he murmured huskily, seeking her mouth.
"Let me go." Her voice wobbled, but her denial came across loud and clear, a thread of panic winding through.
He released her. She skittered back, her gaze tormented with the inseparable emotions of hidden desire, undeniable rejection and the utter and repellent lack of trust. "We have to go soon, and you said we need to talk about how we'll find Emily."
He rolled to a sitting position, knowing she must be aware, from their intimate position, just how hot and hard he was. "I was dreaming." About you, he added silently, cursing his continued weakness when it came to her.
She chewed her thumbnail in silence. If she thought the subject too dangerous to dwell on, she was dead right. "I made you coffee and toast," she offered.
"Thanks."
"I'd better get dressed." She bolted to the bedroom. His bedroom. Right now, she was probably sliding her ridiculous, old-fashioned, damn sexy nightgown up and over her lithe golden body…
He grabbed the toast, forcing himself to chew and swallow to clear his head of the thick fog of lust filling it, so aware of her he couldn't think. Wanting her with every breath he took.
Some things never changed.
He'd spent six years trying to put her memory behind him. He'd almost convinced himself he had, when he lived with Belinda—when she carried his child. But Belinda always knew part of him was always somewhere else—with someone else.
Her Galahad Page 5
