Notorious

by Carey Baldwin

  Cynthia Langhorne could’ve easily afforded one with a silver cover from Tiffany’s, but she’d chosen to store her secrets here, in this childlike book, instead. She’d grown up devastatingly poor. Her family had been homeless for a time, and even as an adult, her life had been tarnished with scandal and shame. She tapped the book against her heart, wondering if the choice of this girlish journal represented Cindy’s longing for a more innocent life.

  She looked from Dutch to Spense. “I know this is evidence. Or at least we assume it will become evidence. But now that Heather Cambridge has confessed, I’m not sure . . .”

  “Heather Cambridge was apparently willing to kill for what was written inside, and Jim thinks he can still use it for leverage to get her to admit she hired the hit men. There’s still a paid killer out there somewhere.” Spense didn’t seem the least bit moved by the sentiment Caitlin felt oozing from the diary’s pores.

  “What you’re really saying is we think Heather was willing to kill for what we assume she believed was written inside. That’s a lot of uncertainty. And to me, this book seems like a place a young girl would hide her secret thoughts. We don’t know how far back it dates . . . what if Cindy’s been keeping it since she was in her teens?”

  “We can’t withhold it from the police.”

  She sighed. “It’s not like they have a warrant for it.”

  “Like you didn’t have a warrant for the lipstick?”

  “I’m only suggesting that since this is such a personal possession, we owe it to Cindy to open it first before handing it over. If it contains any evidence not already documented, anything at all that could be used for leverage, we’ll turn it in.” She heard stubbornness creeping into her voice, but she wasn’t going to back down. “Otherwise . . . I don’t see the need to violate her any further. She’s been humiliated enough.”

  Spense looked from her to his brother, and she could see in his eyes that he was wavering. He knew the degradation Cindy had suffered, just as Caitlin did. “It’s Dutch’s decision,” Spense said at last.

  “You should open it,” Caitlin said to Dutch. “Some part of her must’ve wanted you to find it eventually . . . and read it.”

  He turned away. “I can’t. It’s going to list her affairs, her dissatisfaction with our marriage. All the ways I let her down. I don’t want to read about the other men she’s been with. The way they put their hands on her, and the way they made her feel—­the way I didn’t make her feel. You open it, Caitlin. Someone has to read it, but it isn’t going to be me.”

  Caitlin came around to face him. “Remember what you said before, about how you wish you hadn’t turned away from the issues in your marriage? Well, you can’t keep running forever. Cindy was your wife. Because you loved her, this falls on you. You’re the one who has to open it.”

  He nodded, and she placed the delicate volume in his hand. He dumped a container of paper clips onto his desk, and then held his palm high over the pile, as if there were an electrified field repelling his hand. Caitlin held her breath. Several beats passed. At last Dutch swooped down, selected a paper clip, inserted it into the lock and before another heartbeat passed, the diary sprang open.

  Dutch sent Caitlin an expression that seemed to be begging for mercy. But there’s no reprieve from the truth. She met his eyes, not bothering to hide her worry. Perhaps the diary contained details of many more affairs than he suspected. It was possible that what he read there would scar him for life. But she wouldn’t allow pity for him to overrule her judgment. There could be important evidence in the journal, and it wasn’t anyone’s place but his to find out. “Go ahead, Dutch. We’re right here if you need us.”

  His bottom lip quivered, but only for a moment. “Where to begin?” With his finger, he parted the diary in the middle and began to read aloud:

  “My dearest Alex.”

  He smiled wistfully, and Caitlin realized for the first time she’d never heard anyone call Dutch by his Chris­tian name, other than his mother. Even this small thing seemed such an intimate detail between husband and wife. But Dutch clearly wanted them present.

  “Tonight, sitting beside you at the ambassador’s dinner, I felt so lucky to belong to you. Your hair is cut far too short, as always. You know how I loathe that aspect of your government job, but even a shaved head could not take away from your natural good looks. When you spoke of your work with the orphans of Guatemala there was such a fire in your eyes. My heart was bursting with pride, and I wanted to shout from the rooftops, or at least from the dinner table, that I was married to the smartest, kindest man on earth. If only that stuffy, diplomatic crowd knew the real you . . . like I do.”

  He stopped abruptly. Looked up in disbelief. “This is an old entry,” he said. As if to dismiss what he’d read. “She didn’t mean it.”

  Caitlin arched a brow. “You think she’s lying to her own diary?”

  He cleared his throat. “Let’s move forward in time. That entry followed the year I’d returned from a long stint in Central America. She must’ve been lonely and glad for my return.”

  “She didn’t say you made her lonely. She said you made her proud.”

  He flipped through more pages, both forward and back, blinking rapidly. “It appears these are all . . .”

  He was clearly overcome with emotion. Spense looked at her, the concern for his brother apparent on his face. Her mind flew back to the night she’d found Dutch holding a pistol to his head. What if the details of Cindy’s affairs were too much for him? She reached out her hand, for the diary, suddenly thinking she’d been very wrong to insist he be the one to read it.

  He brushed a hand across his eyes. “These are all love letters.”

  Caitlin caught her breath. Cindy had written to her lovers via her diary.

  Tears began to stream down Dutch’s face. “To me. These are meant for me. I don’t see anything at all here about Matt Cambridge, or any of her affairs.”

  He flipped to another page:

  “My darling Alex,

  This morning, we breakfasted on the balcony and as you reached for the teapot, your hand brushed the back of mine, then you smiled at me before going back to your paper. Small moments like these make me recall the way you entwined your fingers with mine, the first time we made love. I cherish every moment we spend together. My heart is bursting with the need to tell you how dearly I love you. If only I had the courage.”

  Tears pricked Caitlin’s eyes, and her throat closed. Her heart began to beat faster in her chest.

  Dutch turned more pages, skimming, running his fingers across the words on the pages. Abruptly, he closed the book. “There’s nothing in here of any use to the police.” Then his knees seemed to give way. Spense buoyed him up with an arm around his back.

  Dutch shook his head. “Don’t look at me that way, brother. Do. Not. Feel sorry for me. I loved my wife, and she loved me.” Then his eyes darted back and forth between them. “I’m keeping this diary. It’s mine.” His voice rang with sorrow for his loss, but more than that, with joy. “God in heaven. She loved me.”

  Clutching the journal to his chest, he strode across the room and threw open the door. “I need to be alone, now.” Then he looked pointedly at Spense. “And you . . . my dear brother, I think you have something you’d better say to Caitlin.”

  The door closed behind him.

  Spense’s shoulders dropped, and he lunged for the door. She could see a faint tremor sweep his body.

  “Wait.” She went to him and rested her hand on his shoulder.

  “I should go to him.” He kept his back turned. “I know he said he wanted to be alone, but I should be there for him. This is one time I’m going to be the brother he deserves.”

  Her heart was in her throat, and tears were in her eyes. “You are that brother. You always have been.”

  “No. No. No. I turned away from him when h
e needed me. I can’t help thinking that maybe somewhere deep down I knew the truth, but I just didn’t want to believe it. And if I didn’t know, I should’ve figured it out.”

  “You’re not that good a profiler, Spense. He pushed you away, for his own reasons, and you reacted as anyone would. You can’t blame yourself. Both of you are responsible for how you treated each other, but you have the rest of your lives ahead to be brothers. To build a real relationship.”

  He whirled to face her. “What about us? What do we have ahead of us?”

  She raised her chin, choosing her words carefully. Dutch’s voice echoed in her head: Dear, God. She loved me.

  If only Dutch had known the truth while Cindy lived . . .

  She wet her lips. What she wanted to say to him had been on the tip of her tongue for so very long. Why hadn’t she told him she loved him? “Spense, I—­”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders. “I love you, Caity Cassidy,” his voice was harsh, almost angry. “And by God, I’m not going to wait until I’m dead and gone to tell you in a letter.”

  “Thank heavens for that.” She tiptoed up and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, then kissed her way up to his ear, and whispered, “I love you, Atticus Spenser. And I’m not going to scribble it in my diary hoping you find it one day. I’m going to tell you right here and now. And then I’m going to tell you again tomorrow. And every day after that.”

  His hands came around her waist, pressing her body to his, so tightly she could barely breathe. “I was a fool to wait so long. First, I was trying to give you the space you needed.”

  “And then you were mad as hell . . . and you had every right to be. I should’ve come to your room that very night. I should’ve woken you up and told you everything Dutch told me about your father. But I was afraid to put you in harm’s way, and . . . the truth is, I couldn’t bear to see you hurt. But I know now, by keeping secrets from you, I only caused you more pain.” She cradled his face in her hands. “Forgive me.”

  Then he kissed her.

  A long, hard, demanding kiss.

  There was heat in the way his tongue thrust into her mouth, an obvious need in the way he crushed his body into hers, but there was something more than passion. There was a promise in the way he touched her—­a promise that took her breath away. She wanted nothing more than to stand right here and kiss this man until the very moment her heart stopped beating.

  But he broke apart.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” he rasped. “You made a mistake, but, baby, I’ve made them, too. No matter how badly I was hurting, I should’ve given you a chance to explain. I should’ve tried to see things from your side instead of shutting you out. I’m so sorry I let this come between us. I realize now we can’t expect perfection, from each other or from ourselves. When Dutch was reading those letters from Cindy, all I could think about was how I never want that to be us. I don’t want to hide my feelings from you anymore. Even if those feelings seem dark or dangerous.”

  She took his hand and placed it over her pounding heart. “I promise never to keep secrets from you again. I promise to trust that we can figure things out together. Because I love you, and I’m tired of pretending that I don’t.”

  His lips were on her eyelids, then wandered down to her cheek and finally, reached her mouth. “You taste so sweet, Caity. I want you so badly, right now, I don’t think I can wait another second.”

  She opened her mouth and his tongue swept over hers with an urgency that set her entire body on fire. She gasped, and pulled his head down for more. They kissed until her head felt so light she thought she’d faint. And with every stroke of his tongue, with every feathered touch of his fingers along her jaw, she heard his words echoing in her heart. I love you, Caity Cassidy.

  Dizzy, she pulled back to look him in the eyes. She was so grateful to be alive and to have the chance to tell him. “I love you. I love you.”

  “About time we cleared that up.” Dutch appeared as if from nowhere, and she all but jumped out of her skin.

  Heat rose to her face. She fanned herself with her hand, then stepped a respectable distance away from Spense. No telling how long Dutch had been standing there, watching them. “You might’ve let us know you were here.”

  “I did . . . eventually. Maybe I was enjoying seeing the two of you enjoying each other.”

  Spense idly picked up a magazine and shifted it in front of his waist.

  “Don’t bother.” Dutch said. “We’re all grown-­ups here, and what I’ve got to say will lower your flag soon enough.”

  Spense shrugged and tossed the magazine on the couch, revealing an impressive fullness in his pants. “Your timing sucks.”

  “I consider it my brotherly duty to interrupt you at the most inconvenient moments from here on out. I need to make up for not having had the chance to spoil your fun when we were growing up.” In spite of his tone, his face seemed serious. “Anyway, I just finished reading Cindy’s diary, and here’s the thing—­I don’t believe it.”

  Spense threw up his hands. “What do you mean you don’t believe it? Is your sense of self-­worth so low you’re back to thinking she lied to herself—­in her own diary?”

  “I don’t believe she had an affair with Matt Cambridge, or . . . let me rephrase.” He waved one hand in the air excitedly. “I’m not making myself clear. I think she did have an affair with Matt—­after all he admitted it.”

  Caitlin heard a but at the end of that sentence and waited for it.

  “But I don’t believe she was cheating on me. Not really.” He looked imploringly at Caitlin. “I’ve read most of those entries in her diary and skimmed the rest. And I am absolutely convinced that my wife loved me. I don’t think she would’ve had an affair just for the fun of it. She had to have had some compelling reason.”

  Caitlin’s hand went to her heart. She’d had that feeling for so long now, that if only Cindy could speak to them through her diary, the mystery would be solved. Then Dutch had showed them the journal was filled with nothing but love letters, and though happy for him, she’d been disappointed it hadn’t provided the answers they desperately needed. But she was wrong. The diary laid it all out in front of them. They only had to open their eyes to the truth.

  Cindy loved Dutch.

  That was the key to everything!

  She squeezed her eyes shut. They had the key; now they just had to find the right door, and open it.

  Spense sat down and crossed his legs. “I’m sorry. I understand how you’d want to believe she didn’t willingly have an affair with Cambridge. But to me, it’s consistent with her past behavior. She had affairs early in the marriage, and the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior.”

  “You’re talking like a profiler, Spense.” Caitlin’s voice shook with excitement.

  He turned his palms up.

  “Speaking as a woman . . . and a psychiatrist,” she continued, “I’m going to have to agree with Dutch. Those early affairs were an attempt to get Dutch’s attention. They weren’t affairs for the sake of affairs.”

  “Why wouldn’t that same reason—­a cry for attention—­apply to her relationship with Matt Cambridge?” Spense asked.

  “Because it doesn’t. The marriage had moved past that stage. Cindy no longer believed Dutch cared if she slept around. She’d tried that tactic to make him jealous in the past, and she knew it would never work.”

  The look on Dutch’s face was like a knife in her heart, but she forged ahead. “Dutch was there anything at all in that diary to suggest why Cindy would sleep with Cambridge?”

  “No. It didn’t mention him at all. It’s all about how much she loves me. About how much joy she took from the few moments I gave her of my time.” He let out a long breath. “But . . . the most recent entries, those made just before her death seemed strange. She kept talking about how she’d do anyt
hing to protect me. As I was reading them, I kept wondering why she would think I needed protection.”

  Spense bolted to his feet. His hands jittered at his sides. Many times, she’d watched his expression while he struggled to organize the chaos in his head, and she knew exactly what he needed to help him focus. She dipped into her purse and handed him a miniature Rubik’s cube. He hadn’t pulled one out of his pocket in days—­not since he’d learned the truth about his dad. The cubes were a poignant reminder of his father—­and now, perhaps . . . his father’s betrayal. “I noticed you haven’t been carrying your cubes, so I snuck one out of your suitcase. I was afraid you’d throw them all away, then later regret it.”

  He looked at her a long moment, grinned, and accepted it. “Smart lady. Thank you. I did throw the rest out, and I haven’t been able to think straight since.” He scrambled it and unscrambled it—­twice. “Blackmail!” He tossed his cube in the air and caught it. “Remember our early theory that Cindy was involved in a blackmail scheme? At the time I thought it seemed half-­right. What if Cindy wasn’t the one doing the blackmailing? What if Cindy was the victim?”

  Dutch steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. “You’re saying someone blackmailed Cindy into having an affair with Matt Cambridge. That would definitely be a compelling reason . . . but what would they be holding over her head . . . and why?”

  “Caity, make a list.” The cube was back, and Spense was on a roll.

  “Hang on, let me get the board.” She quickly located the whiteboard and markers and set to work while Spense dictated:

  “Cindy had an affair with Matt Cambridge. Matt Cambridge was the frontrunner for the Democratic nomination for the presidency, and the only candidate who was at all likely to beat a sitting Republican president. An illicit affair could—­and will—­force Cambridge to withdraw from the race.”

  “So following that line of reasoning, the plan would’ve been to get Cindy to have an affair with Cambridge, then reveal it at just the right moment to destroy his presidential hopes,” Dutch said. “Who would do that, and how would they convince her to go along with a plan that would devastate her best friend, not to mention betray me?”