Worth Dying For

by Beverly Barton

  “I agree you need to find out this person’s identity and there’s no agency better than Dundee’s to do the job, but I may be the wrong man for this assignment.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I want to stay on this case. I want to help you. But I have my own agenda. A very personal reason for being interested.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s something you have a right to know,” Dante said. “You may not want me involved once I tell—”

  “What is it?” Without even realizing she was leaning toward him, her body language told him she needed his touch.

  He took both of her hands into his and held them, then looked into her eyes. “Years ago, the girl I loved—my fiancée—disappeared one night from Colby, Texas. She was waiting for me to pick her up after work, but when I got there, she was gone. She became a missing person who has never been found.”

  Tessa maneuvered her hands so that she could grasp one of his. “Oh, Dante, I’m so sorry. How terrible that must have been for you.”

  After taking a deep breath, he caressed her cheek. A shiver of pleasure rippled through her, a feeling like none she could ever remember.

  “I don’t know for sure what happened to her, but I’ve done some digging over the years and…” He gazed into Tessa’s eyes.

  “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “Amy was a blue-eyed blonde. About your size. There’s even a slight resemblance between the two of you.”

  He’s attracted to you because you remind him of her. Disappointment surged up from deep inside her. She wanted Dante to like her for herself, not because of some vague resemblance to his lost love.

  “I remind you of her.”

  “Yes, you do. And so does Leslie Anne, who’s closer to the age Amy was when she disappeared.”

  “How old was she when—?”

  “Seventeen.”

  Tessa knew then what he was going to tell her. Oh, God, she knew. Don’t cry, she told herself. Don’t cry. She was strong enough to talk about what had happened to her all those years ago without falling apart.

  “You think Eddie Jay Nealy killed your Amy, don’t you?”

  Dante swallowed. “Nealy kidnapped, raped, tortured and killed women in several connecting states, including Texas and Mississippi. When he was finally captured, stood trial and was convicted, he admitted that he’d killed dozens of pretty young blondes, but he would never tell the police where the missing bodies could be found.”

  Tears misted her eyes, drops gathering in the corners. “I vaguely remember being told how lucky I was to be alive. My memories of that time aren’t clear, but I think it was a police officer or maybe a doctor who told me that my attacker’s other victim hadn’t survived. Or maybe he said other victims.”

  “You were the only one of Nealy’s victims who survived until Helene Marshall,” Dante said. “She’s the young woman whose testimony, along with some overwhelming evidence, sent Nealy to death row.”

  “I didn’t keep track of his trial,” Tessa confessed. “Daddy told me when the man was captured, when he was convicted and when he was executed. Other than that, I didn’t want to know any details. I couldn’t bear to think about him. About what—” Her voice cracked.

  Dante moved away, putting some distance between them. “Tell me something—why isn’t your name listed as one of Nealy’s victims? I’ve studied his records backward and forward. There’s no mention of Tessa Westbrook.”

  “When your father is G. W. Westbrook, he can handle things so that you aren’t involved, so that any mention of you or what happened to you can be erased from the records.”

  “Nothing like having local law enforcement in your daddy’s hip pocket.”

  “That’s true enough,” she said. “But I wasn’t attacked in Fairport. At least that’s not where I was found.”

  “Where were you found?”

  “I was lying in a ditch off Interstate 20, over in Louisiana somewhere.”

  Scowling, pain etched on every feature, Dante clenched his teeth and his eyes darkened to pitch-black. “Interstate 20 cuts straight across Louisiana and into Texas. Colby is about forty-five miles southwest of where that highway goes through Abilene. All the reports on Nealy stated that almost all of his victims were found near Interstate 20. I found out through my personal investigation after I joined the FBI that only a few days after Amy disappeared, a silver hair barrette with the initial A was found just off Interstate 20, along with a pair of white tennis shoes. The authorities figured they might have belonged to one of Nealy’s victims, but they never found a body.”

  Tessa held her breath, knowing what he was going to say next.

  “Amy was wearing white tennis shoes when she disappeared,” Dante said. “And—” he took a deep breath “—and I’d given her a silver hair barrette with her initial on it for her seventeenth birthday.” He glared at Tessa, as if wondering why she’d been the one girl who had survived. Why her and not his Amy? “Who did G.W. know in Louisiana powerful enough to bury any records of your being one of Nealy’s victims?”

  “Daddy and the then governor of the state were fraternity brothers.”

  Dante chuckled humorlessly. “Figures.”

  “What difference does it make to you that Daddy protected me by using his influence?” That wasn’t what was bothering Dante. It was something else. But what?

  “You’re right. It doesn’t really matter to me.”

  “Then what is it? Suspecting your Amy was one of that monster’s victims, just as I was, should make you the ideal candidate to investigate who sent Leslie Anne—” Oh, God, that was it. The truth hit her like a bolt from the blue. Dante’s reluctance to be a part of the investigative team had nothing to do with her and everything to do with her daughter. “It’s Leslie Anne, isn’t it?”

  Dante turned from her, that move and his silence speaking for him.

  “Learning that he is Leslie Anne’s biological father changed the way you feel about her, didn’t it?”

  Silence.

  Tessa felt as if she’d been abandoned. Strange as it might seem, she had come to rely on Dante, as her daughter had. Men like Dante inspired confidence on short acquaintance.

  What could she say to him now? What was there left to say? God only knew that if she could alter the circumstances of her little girl’s conception, she would. And not for Dante Moran’s sake!

  “I’d like to hear the answer to that question,” a small, quivering voice said.

  Crying out faintly when she recognized that sweet voice, Tessa looked toward the partially open pocket doors. Leslie Anne stood there, a stricken expression on her face.

  “I was hoping you’d sleep late,” Tessa said, unable to think of something more profound to say. “I had planned to bring you breakfast in bed.”

  Ignoring her mother entirely, Leslie Anne entered the room and walked directly to Dante, who had turned to face her. Heaven help him, he looked like a condemned man on the verge of being hanged.

  “You hate me now, don’t you?” Leslie Anne looked Dante right in the eyes. “You can’t even stand to look at me because I’m that awful man’s child.”

  “No, honey, no,” Tessa cried. “Mr. Moran doesn’t—”

  “I’m talking to him, Mama, not you.”

  Tessa said a silent prayer, pleading with God to bless Dante with wisdom and humanity so he could give Leslie Anne the answer she so desperately needed.

  “I don’t hate you,” Dante said. “No one could hate such a sweet, lovely, young woman.”

  “You’re lying. Someone hates me. Whoever sent me those newspaper clippings about my father—” She glared at Dante. “Eddie Jay Nealy was my biological father, wasn’t he?”

  “No one should be judged by who their biological parents are,” Dante said. “My old man was no prize. He was a half-Italian, half-Irish hood from Chicago. He did a stint in the army, then came back home to a life of crime. He got sho
t in the back of the head when a drug deal went bad. But I had a great mom who took me home to Texas when I was twelve and surrounded me with her big, loving family. I’ve spent my entire adult life on the right side of the law. I’m not my father’s son. And you—” he grasped Leslie Anne’s shoulders “—are not your father’s daughter.”

  Tears streamed down Leslie Anne’s cheeks. “Oh, God, it is true, isn’t it? He is my father!”

  Tessa rushed to her daughter, but before she reached her, Dante opened his arms and pulled Leslie Anne into a comforting embrace. His big, dark hand stroked Leslie Anne’s back. The diamond centered in the onyx ring he wore caught the morning sunlight coming through the windows.

  While Dante held Leslie Anne and allowed her to cry until she was spent, he glanced at Tessa and they exchanged a knowing look. Tessa understood that despite the fact Dante had concerns about her daughter having been fathered by the man who had probably murdered his fiancée, he was not the type of person who would blame the innocent for another’s crimes.

  Dante was a good man. Of that, she had no doubts. He wouldn’t leave them, not now when they needed him. She knew she could count on him to help them find out who had sent those newspaper clippings. Whoever he or she was, they had wanted Leslie Anne to know the truth and they hadn’t cared how deeply they would hurt her. But what reason would anyone have to want to hurt Leslie Anne? What did anyone have to gain by exposing a long-buried secret?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN you’ve asked Moran to stay on?” G.W. bristled. His cheeks reddened and his brow wrinkled as he frowned.

  “Don’t get upset, Daddy. I thought you’d want him to stay on and help us find out who sent Leslie Anne those newspaper clippings about…” Pausing, she took a steadying breath. “Eddie Jay Nealy.” There, she’d said the man’s name. And it hadn’t been as difficult as she’d thought it would be. Not once in all these years had she said his name aloud, even though it had echoed inside her mind way too many times. And today she’d said it twice!

  “What difference does it make who sent them? The damage has been done.” G.W. reached out and clasped Tessa’s hands. “We can still lie to her, somehow convince her that John Allen—”

  “No!” Tessa jerked her hands from his grasp. “It’s too late for that. You’re right—the damage has been done and my daughter has been emotionally shattered. All we can do now is try to pick up the pieces and put her back together.”

  “We don’t need Moran for that.”

  “I think maybe we do. She’s formed an attachment to him. She trusts him.”

  “And you? Have you formed an attachment to the man?” G.W. eyed her speculatively.

  “Don’t be silly. I hardly know him.”

  “Then send him on his way. We have Leslie Anne back safe and sound—”

  “Safe, but hardly sound. She’s not going to stop asking questions. She wants answers, and I’m going to give them to her.” When her father didn’t reply, simply looked at her with great sorrow in his eyes, Tessa put her arms around his waist and hugged him. “I don’t want to argue with you about this. I want us to form a united front. For Leslie Anne’s sake. Agreed?”

  Huffing loudly and blinking the tears from his eyes, G.W. nodded. “If we’re going to do it, then we should do it now. Get it over with and deal with the consequences.”

  “I’ve already telephoned Dr. Barrett. He’ll be here at eleven.”

  “You called Arthur?”

  “Yes. I thought the therapist who helped me come to terms with what had happened to me was the ideal person to help Leslie Anne now. After all, Dr. Barrett already knows the whole story.”

  “Yes, yes, he knows the whole story.”

  Tessa picked up on something odd in her father’s voice.

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes?”

  “What is it? What’s wrong? What aren’t you saying?”

  He patted her on the arm affectionately. “I hate to dredge up the past. It was such a painful time for all of us. You, me…and your mother.”

  “I’d rather not dig up the past, either, but we must. For Leslie Anne’s sake. And we have to find a way to convince her that just because he was her biological father doesn’t mean she’s his daughter in any sense of the word.”

  “If only you had married Charlie….”

  “How could I have married Charlie? I didn’t even know him. I didn’t remember him at all. And I knew I was carrying another man’s child.”

  “I wish we’d never told you the baby wasn’t his. If I’d been thinking straight, I’d have lied to you, just as I lied to your mother. Charlie would have married you. He loved you. And he would have backed us up in whatever story we chose to tell the world. No one would have ever known he wasn’t Leslie Anne’s father.”

  “You would have known.”

  “It doesn’t matter now anyway, does it?” G.W. lifted his hand to Tessa’s face and caressed her cheek. “You gave Anne so much joy in those final years of her life. You and Leslie Anne. And no man could have asked for a better daughter. I’m so very lucky. I thank the good Lord every day for you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Oh, Daddy, you old softie, you. I’m the lucky one. What would I have done without you? If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have given up after…after the rape. Without being able to draw on your strength, I wouldn’t have made it. You forced me to keep on living when I wanted to die.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, young lady. You’re the strongest, bravest person I’ve ever known. I’m proud to be your father.”

  Tears clouded Tessa’s vision. “We’re both going to have to be strong and brave for Leslie Anne. She needs us now more than she ever has.”

  “We’ll be there for her,” G.W. said. “All of us. Her family. Sharon’s on her way home, you know. Myrle says she should be here no later than this afternoon.”

  “Good. I’ve missed her since she started spending so much time in Key West. Aunt Sharon and Leslie Anne adore each other. I just know she’ll be able to help Leslie Anne get through this nightmare.”

  G.W. put his arm around Tessa’s shoulders. “We don’t need outsiders involved in this, do we?”

  Tessa stiffened. “Daddy, why are you so opposed to letting the Dundee agency find out who sent Leslie Anne those newspaper clippings?”

  “That’s not it, not at all. I—I’m being foolish, aren’t I? Of course, we’ll want to find out who sent those clippings. But why don’t you let me handle it? You concentrate on Leslie Anne and I’ll deal with Mr. Moran and the Dundee Agency myself.”

  “All right, if you’d prefer it that way.” Her gut instincts warned her that her father was keeping something from her. But what? She’d thought they didn’t keep secrets from each other.

  G.W. DECIDED TO MEET with Dante Moran privately in the library. He’d made a couple of phone calls and had gotten the lowdown on this particular Dundee agent. Of course, the info he’d gotten just skimmed the surface, but it was enough for G.W. to form an opinion. Moran couldn’t be bought off or scared off. He liked that about the man, and under different circumstances, he might have tried to steal him away from the Dundee agency. Westbrook, Inc. could always use a talented go-getter like Moran. But in this particular situation, G.W. would have preferred an agent who could be bribed.

  When Leslie Anne had run away, all he’d thought about was hiring the best agency to search for her. And Dundee was the best. The agents were the cream of the crop, highly trained professionals. But the very thing that made them the best now proved a problem for G.W. If Moran—or any other Dundee agent—started digging around in the past and somehow dug a little too deep, G.W. wouldn’t be able to keep him quiet with a hefty payoff. What would he do if anyone found out the complete truth?

  That can’t happen, G.W. assured himself. Only three other people knew all the facts—the former Richland Parish sheriff, the coroner and one deputy. The coroner had died ten years ago at the age of seventy. Now sufferin
g from Alzheimer’s, Sheriff Wadkins was in a nursing home, his care paid for by G.W. And Deputy Summers was now the sheriff, his income supplemented by a monthly check from G.W. Summers wasn’t about to open his mouth.

  Let Moran dig as deep as he wants, G.W. thought. He won’t find out anything except the basic facts. My daughter was kidnapped, raped and left for dead seventeen years ago. She was one of two girls who survived Eddie Jay Nealy’s brutal attack. And my granddaughter is the result of that vicious rape.

  G.W. shivered. He didn’t usually allow himself to think about those heartbreaking days, about that black, evil deed that had almost destroyed his life. Without Tessa, his beloved Anne wouldn’t have survived as long as she had. If they had lost their daughter…

  As G.W. inspected his appearance in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors in his dressing room and made his way through the house and into the library, he dismissed his concerns about the secret buried deep in his heart. The present was what mattered—Leslie Anne—and finding out who had dared to send her those vile newspaper clippings about Eddie Jay Nealy.

  Only he, Tessa and Sharon knew the truth about Leslie Anne’s paternity. Even the doctors and nurses at all of the hospitals where Tessa had been treated hadn’t known for sure. He had backed up one lie with another, and then another, until the day came when he halfway believed all the lies himself.

  A knock sounded on the library door.

  “Yes?”

  “You asked to speak to me alone,” Dante Moran said through the closed doors.

  “Come in, please.”

  The pocket doors opened and Moran entered the library.

  “Close the doors,” G.W. said. “I don’t want anyone overhearing our conversation.”

  After Dante did as G.W. had requested, he turned and faced his client.

  “My daughter tells me that she wants to retain your agency to search for the person who sent Leslie Anne those newspaper clippings.”