Worth Dying For

by Beverly Barton

  Moran nodded. “Yes, sir, she did mention it.”

  “If that’s what Tessa wants, then it’s what I want.” G.W. understood that the best way to deal with Moran was to be straightforward. “It doesn’t matter to me what agent handles the case, but Tessa seems to trust you and she expects you to head up the investigation. Will that be a problem?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?”

  Narrowing his gaze, Moran focused directly on G.W. “If you’d prefer another agent—”

  “No, no.” G.W. waved his hand. “It’s just that I’d rather not dredge up the past. During your investigation, I’d appreciate it if you’d run everything you find out by me first. That way I can protect my daughter and granddaughter as much as possible. Do you have any objections to that?”

  “No, sir. You hired the Dundee agency, so for all intents and purposes, you and you alone are our client.”

  “Good. Good. That’s all I needed to hear.”

  “Then I take it that we’re officially hired for the investigation.”

  “Definitely.”

  “I’ll contact my superior, Sawyer McNamara, and make arrangements. In order to expedite the investigation, I plan to ask for Lucie Evans and Dom Shea to remain as part of the investigative team. You’ll be paying for three agents instead of one.”

  “Money is no object. You should know that.”

  “Yes, sir, but I had to get your okay.”

  “You’ve got it. Use all the agents you need. Three or ten. Just do the job right.”

  “We always do.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you do.”

  “I need some information and I believe you’d rather I get it from you than from your daughter.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “All right then.” Moran concentrated his gaze on G.W., a man-to-man exchange. “Tessa—Ms. Westbrook told me that only you, your sister and she knew that Eddie Jay Nealy was Leslie Anne’s biological father. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your wife didn’t know?”

  “My wife had terminal cancer when our daughter was kidnapped,” G.W. said. “I thought it best for her to never know the truth about what happened to Tessa. Until the day Anne died, she believed Tessa had been in a terrible car wreck and that the child she gave birth to was Charlie Sentell’s daughter.”

  “Have you ever told anyone about—”

  “No! Never.”

  “What about your sister? Do you think she would have—”

  “Absolutely not. She would never do anything to harm Tessa or Leslie Anne.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that your sister might have sent those clippings. I only meant do you think it’s possible she shared this secret with anyone? A close friend? A lover?”

  “No.” Could he be certain Sharon didn’t tell someone? Yes, of course he could. His sister would never betray such an important confidence.

  “Other people must have known at the time,” Moran said. “The lawmen—police or sheriff’s department—where Tessa was found. The doctors and nurses at the hospital—”

  “They might have suspected, but they didn’t know for sure. After all, Tessa was eighteen and as far as they knew she’d been sexually active before—” G.W. gulped. “The child could have been her boyfriend’s.”

  “And that’s what you chose to tell everyone?”

  “She hadn’t been dating anyone except Charlie, of course, for over six months. The baby could have been his.” G.W. closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts and fortifying his courage. He’d told so many lies that sometimes it was difficult to keep them all straight.

  “Could have been Charlie’s, but wasn’t? How could you be sure?”

  G.W. took a deep breath. “When Charlie came to the hospital to see Tessa, I fed him the same story I’d told everyone else about Tessa being in a car wreck. I told him she was pregnant—only a few weeks along. Charlie had been away at college for over six weeks before…. He told me himself that he and Tessa hadn’t…not in a couple of months. When I told him I had no idea who had fathered Tessa’s baby, he offered to accept responsibility, to marry her and claim her child as his.”

  “If that’s the case then why—”

  “Tessa refused to marry him and wouldn’t allow him to claim her baby, but she did agree that we’d tell her mother the child was Charlie’s.” To this day, G.W. couldn’t think about Anne without hurting deep inside. She’d been the love of his life. He would have done anything—absolutely anything—for her. And that included protecting her from the truth.

  “You and Tessa have told a great many lies over the years,” Moran said. “It’s possible that somewhere along the way, somebody put two and two together and came up with four. If we’re going to unearth this person who sent Leslie Anne those newspaper clippings, I need for you to be honest with me. I need to know all the lies you’ve told and I need to know the truth. Start with Tessa being kidnapped.”

  You can do this, G.W. told himself. Tell him everything, except…“When Tessa first disappeared, we assumed she’d been kidnapped for ransom, considering our vast wealth. I made up a lie to protect my wife. I told her Tessa was off on a trip with Sharon. My sister was always jaunting all over the place.”

  “And that was the first lie?”

  “Yes.” The first of many. So many, G.W. wasn’t sure if he could actually remember them all. Odd how, after all these years, the lies seemed more like the truth than the actual truth.

  “How long was Tessa missing?” Moran asked.

  “How long?”

  “Yes, how long?”

  “Uh, nearly two weeks.”

  “Tessa told me that she was found off Interstate 20 in Louisiana. Is that right?”

  G.W. nodded.

  “Who notified you?”

  “The Richland Parish sheriff,” G.W. said. No need to lie to Moran. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to find out that bit of information since G.W. hadn’t been able to arrange for all of the evidence to be destroyed. The hospital records, though confidential, still existed. “A motorist who’d stopped to take a leak just off the highway had found her body and thought she was dead. When the sheriff arrived, he discovered she was still alive. Just barely. They rushed her to the hospital. She’d been raped and brutally beaten, then left for dead.”

  “Eddie Jay Nealy’s M.O.”

  “Yes.” G.W. clenched his jaw. As long as he lived, he would never forget that day. His beautiful daughter had been battered unmercifully and the sight of her lying there motionless had devastated him.

  “You went to Louisiana and found Tessa in the hospital, right?”

  “Right. As soon as she was stable—ten days later—I had her transferred to Fairport. It was a couple of weeks after that when the doctors told me Tessa was pregnant. Simple calculations indicated that she’d been impregnated on or around the time she’d been raped.”

  “You told your wife and everyone in Fairport that Tessa had been in a terrible car wreck. But the doctors treating her would have known that wasn’t true.”

  “Dr. Harlan was Tessa’s doctor. He knew, of course, but he kept quiet. He never lied about Tessa’s condition to anyone, but he didn’t confirm any suspicions.

  “You do realize that the doctors and nurses who treated Tessa in Louisiana and here in Fairport knew she’d been raped and beaten. So when Nealy was captured and put on trial and that news hit the front pages of every newspaper in the South, someone could have remembered that Tessa fit the description of Nealy’s victims. A young, pretty blonde who’d been raped, beaten and left for dead.”

  “If you suspect one of the doctors or nurses, can you explain why he or she would have waited all these years to contact Leslie Anne or what on earth they’d have to gain by telling her about Nealy?

  “If someone wanted money, they would have sent the clippings to you or Tessa and blackmailed you,” Moran said. “Whoever we’re looking for has a d
ifferent motive. He or she targeted Leslie Anne. If we knew why, we’d have a better idea of who.”

  “If I could get my hands on that person, I’d—”

  “Let me handle this, Mr. Westbrook.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Let’s start with a list of people closest to Leslie Anne. I’m not saying they’re suspects, and I’m not ruling out someone from the past—a doctor or nurse or even a lawman. But my experience tells me that the man or woman we’re looking for has a personal motive.”

  “I refuse to believe that anyone close to the family would have done such a thing, even if one of them might have figured out the truth.”

  “Your sister Sharon has always known the truth, but you’re certain of her loyalty. What about your sister-in-law and her daughter? What about your current girlfriend and her son? And what about Charlie Sentell?”

  “My God, man, you can’t think one of them would—”

  “I’m not ruling out anyone. Not even the servants. There’s Hal Carpenter and Eustacia Bonner. Servants have a way of knowing a lot more about their employers than they let on.”

  “Hal and Eustacia have been with the family for ages. I trust both of them implicitly. They’re completely loyal.”

  “Someone is guilty,” Moran told G.W. “And it’s highly likely the guilty party is someone you know. It’s just a matter of figuring out which of these trustworthy people sent Leslie Anne the newspaper clippings and told her that her father was a serial killer.”

  TESSA KEPT PACE with Leslie Anne’s long-legged stride as they headed for the stables. She’d tried her best to dissuade her daughter from leaving the house, knowing that Dr. Barrett should be arriving shortly. But once Leslie Anne decided on something, it was practically impossible to talk her out of it.

  “We can go riding this afternoon,” Tessa said.

  “You don’t have to come with me, if you don’t want to. I didn’t invite you.” Leslie Anne raced on ahead, waving at Luther Osborn, who cared for the small stable of four horses and oversaw the grounds of the five-hundred-acre estate. Luther had come to work for them three years ago, after old Toby Chapman had retired.

  “Morning, Luther,” Leslie Anne said. “How’s Passion Flower this morning?”

  “She’s fine as a fiddle, missy. You come to ride her?” Pie-faced, bug-eyed, short and squat, the twentysomething young man had a troll-like appearance. But he was sweet and mannerly and did his job well.

  “I most certainly did,” Leslie Anne replied.

  Catching up with her daughter, Tessa smiled at Luther.

  “Morning, Miss Tessa. You riding, too?”

  “Yes, Luther, I am. Would you please saddle our horses?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Luther headed into the stables.

  Leslie Anne whirled around, planted her hand on her hip and glared at Tessa. “What if I want to be alone to think?”

  “You’re in no state of mind to go off riding by yourself.”

  “I’m not going to do anything stupid, like kill myself or anything.”

  “I never thought you were.” Oh, God, had the thought of suicide actually entered her child’s head? Please, God, no!

  “You know that riding helps me think. It’s been that way ever since I was a kid. But I’m not a kid anymore and I really don’t need you to tag along.”

  “I can appreciate your wanting some time alone, but not today. Not until we’ve talked more and you understand why your grandfather and I have lied to you all these years.”

  “I understand. You didn’t want me to know my father was a serial killer who raped you.”

  “Lower your voice. Do you want Luther to hear you?”

  “What difference does it make who knows? I know. I know that I’m the devil’s child, that I have bad blood running through my veins.”

  Tessa grabbed her daughter’s shoulders and shook her. “Don’t ever say such a thing. Not ever again. Do you hear me?”

  Leslie Anne jerked away from her mother. The lost and confused look in her eyes frightened Tessa. She knew what it was like to feel helpless and hopeless, to wonder if it was worth the effort to keep on living. How could she protect her child from such damaging emotions?

  “Here we are,” Luther said as he led two beautiful Arabian horses from the stables.

  Without glancing back at Tessa, Leslie Anne mounted Passion Flower and urged the mare into a gallop.

  “Is she all right?” Luther asked, sincere concern in his voice. “I’m glad she’s home now and safe.”

  Tessa smiled at Luther and nodded. “She’ll be okay. She’s sixteen going on thirty.” The less anyone knew about the reason Leslie Anne had run away, the better.

  Luther returned Tessa’s smile. “Yes, ma’am, I know how that is. My mama’s having a time with my two sisters. One’s fifteen and the other’s seventeen.”

  He led the horse to Tessa and dropped the reins. She mounted Mr. Wonderful, a now eight-year-old gelding that she’d chosen for herself several years ago, after the mare she’d ridden since childhood died at the ripe old age of twenty-five. Learning to ride again had been one of the many things she’d had to relearn following her recovery from the “accident.” After using that term—the accident—for the past seventeen years, the word came to mind as easily as the lie rolled off her tongue. She had discovered that if you told a lie often enough, it soon began to seem like the truth.

  But she had also discovered that the old adage was true—once you told a lie, you had to continue lying, backing up the initial lie with more and more lies. Sometimes it seemed as if she could no longer tell the truth from fiction.

  But there was one fact she could never change—no matter how much she wanted to or how many stories she and her father fabricated—Leslie Anne’s biological father was Eddie Jay Nealy. The man who had tried to kill her. The man who had probably murdered Dante Moran’s fiancée.

  THERE THEY GO, mother and daughter, riding off into the meadow like a couple of spoiled princesses, while I hide here in the bushes like some lowly serf. Seeing them together, so proud and regal, no one would ever guess the truth about either of the young Westbrook ladies. But I know the truth. And I intend to use that knowledge to gain everything that’s due me. Everything that should be mine.

  No one even suspects that I’m here watching and waiting for the right opportunity. I can’t keep putting off the inevitable. I have to act soon, need to stir the pot while it’s boiling. Once those Dundee agents clear out, I’ll form a plan and put it into action. Perhaps I should have acted sooner, but I kept hoping there would be some other way. I realize now that there’s only one way to get what I want.

  Leslie Anne Westbrook must die.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DANTE STOOD in the corner of the room, feeling damned uncomfortable being present for this family meeting. Yet he wanted to be here, needed to be here. And not simply because Leslie Anne had asked him to stay close by or because he had any perverse need to hear the details of Tessa’s personal tragedy directly from her. But if the same man who had kidnapped and tortured Tessa had done the same to Amy, he hoped that by learning everything about Tessa’s experience, it might help him learn the truth about the fate of the only woman he had ever loved.

  It seemed strange now that he’d once thought of Amy as a woman. Looking back, he realized she’d been a young girl, only a year older than Leslie Anne was now. Actually, he and Amy had both been a couple of kids. Young love. First love. Everybody had probably thought it wouldn’t last. But they’d have been wrong. He and Amy would have proved them wrong. They’d been in love, deeply and completely. In love for a lifetime.

  “You promise you’ll stay.” Leslie Anne walked over to Dante and stood in front of him, a pleading look in her dark brown eyes.

  “I promise,” he assured her.

  Tessa came up beside Leslie Anne and looked directly at Dante. “Daddy isn’t too happy about your being here, so if he says or does anything unfriendly, just ignore him. This
is a very sensitive subject for him and he tends to be overly protective of me.”

  “As he should be,” Dante said. “He’s your father. Being overly protective is a father’s job, isn’t it? I know if I had a daughter, I’d be a damn grizzly bear to anyone I even suspected might hurt her.”

  “If you had a daughter, she’d be the luckiest girl in the world,” Leslie Anne said.

  The way she looked at Dante broke his heart. Poor kid. How would she ever come to terms with knowing that a man like Eddie Jay Nealy was her father?

  If only he had picked up Amy on time all those years ago, how different Dante’s life would be now. He would be married and probably be a father. He and Amy might even have had a daughter not much younger than Leslie Anne. Maybe they would even have a couple of kids. A boy and a girl.

  Suddenly a viciously painful thought entered his mind. If Amy had been one of Nealy’s rape victims and had gotten pregnant, how would Amy and Dante have handled the situation? Would Amy have gotten an abortion? Would he have asked her to get rid of her rapist’s baby? How would they have known for sure that early on if the baby was Eddie Jay’s or Dante’s?

  God help him, he didn’t know what he would have done under those circumstances. What if you could have had Amy back only if you accepted the child she might have been carrying? he asked himself. He would have taken her back in a heartbeat. Amy and the child. He would have done anything, accepted anything, if Amy had come back to him.

  He would still do anything—pay any price—if he could find Amy alive somewhere.

  Shit! You’re an idiot, Moran. Do you hear yourself? You’re talking nonsense. Amy Smith died seventeen years ago and whether she might have been impregnated by Nealy was a moot point. Hell, Dante didn’t even know for sure Nealy had raped and killed Amy. He would prefer to believe she hadn’t suffered such a horrendous ordeal, but in all likelihood she had experienced the same inhuman treatment that Tessa Westbrook had somehow miraculously survived.

  Tessa laced her arm through her daughter’s and led the girl across the room toward one of the two floral sofas that faced each other in front of the fireplace. The main parlor of the old Leslie Plantation house possessed an elegance that only money and good taste could produce. And Dante had the oddest feeling that generations of Tessa’s family wouldn’t approve of some half-Italian, Yankee hoodlum’s kid even being here, let alone him having the hots for one of their own. And he did have the hots for Tessa Westbrook.