Yes, I believe she is.
But how would she have learned the truth?
Last but not least was Charles Sentell. She couldn’t imagine him doing anything so unkind, not when he’d begged Tessa to marry him and allow him to adopt Leslie Anne. He’d always had a soft spot in his heart for Tessa’s little girl, a child he’d said, more than once, might have been his had circumstances been different.
But as with the others, even if Charlie was capable of doing such a thing, how could he have found out about Eddie Jay Nealy?
“You’re awfully quiet this evening.” Celia zeroed in on Tessa. “But finding out that you aren’t the perfect mother must be worrying you terribly.”
“Why, Celia, what an unpleasant thing to say.” Myrle frowned at her daughter.
“Was it, Mommie?” Celia feigned ignorance. “I do apologize if my innocent little comment seemed unkind. I certainly didn’t mean it that way.” Celia offered Tessa a wide, toothy smile, one that was as fake as a three-dollar bill.
“I think you’d better get that kid some help.” Tad injected his opinion into the conversation, startling everyone into complete silence. “I talked to her earlier today and she was acting weird, like she might do something to herself.”
“What!” Sharon’s voice joined Tessa’s and G.W.’s simultaneously.
“Tad, whatever are you talking about?” Olivia asked.
Tad shrugged. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but I think y’all shouldn’t buy her story of running away because somebody dared her to. There’s something else going on with her.”
“Are you implying that Leslie Anne might actually harm herself?” Charlie narrowed his gaze and glared pensively at Tad.
“I’m not implying anything,” Tad said. “I’m just saying something’s up with the kid.”
Fear cut straight through Tessa, hitting first her heart and then her gut, the pain physical as well as emotional. Surely to goodness, Leslie Anne wasn’t suicidal. Not her beautiful, smart, levelheaded child.
Yes, Leslie Anne was all those things, but she was also a young girl who had learned her mother and grandfather had been lying to her all her life. She had been forced to accept the fact that her mother had been raped and she was the result of that heinous act. Who knew how such knowledge would affect even the most stable person.
Don’t ever forget that there was a time when you thought about suicide, when you longed to die, Tessa reminded herself.
But she hadn’t picked up on anything from Leslie Anne that indicated the thought of killing herself had even crossed her mind. Didn’t she know her child better than anyone? If her daughter’s mental state was that fragile…
Hal Carpenter appeared in the doorway of the dining room, cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Tessa, but there’s a Dundee agent here to see you. She says it’s rather important.”
“She?” Sharon asked.
“Yes, ma’am. A Ms. Lucie Evans.” He paused, then said, “And Eustacia asked if she should take Miss Leslie Anne’s dinner up to her on a tray?”
“You go speak to Ms. Evans,” Sharon told Tessa, then looked across the room to Hal. “Tell Eustacia that I’ll take a tray up to Leslie Anne.”
Tessa and Sharon rose from the table in practically synchronized movements. Sharon didn’t bother to excuse herself, but followed Hal out of the dining room.
“If y’all will pardon me,” Tessa said. “Ms. Evans is probably here to tie up some loose ends.”
“Do you need me to go with you?” G.W. asked.
“No, Daddy, please stay here and enjoy dinner with our friends and family. I’ll try not to be long.”
Tessa found Lucie waiting in the foyer, a small floral suitcase resting on the marble floor only a few inches from her feet.
The minute she saw Tessa, she said, “Dante sent me.”
“He told you everything?”
A strange expression crossed Lucie’s face. “Yes. Everything.”
Tessa eyed the suitcase. “I assume you’ll be staying here.”
Lucie nodded.
“We’ll have to think of a reason for your remaining here in Fairport and why, since Leslie Anne is home safe and sound, we need a Dundee agent on the payroll.”
“Perhaps the best excuse is to say that until you’re sure Leslie Anne won’t pull another childish stunt, you and her grandfather thought she needed a bodyguard. Of course, you’ll need to run that excuse by your daughter before we start using it.”
Tessa sighed. “I suppose it’s as good an excuse as we’ll come up with, so we might as well tell Leslie Anne now and hope she’ll cooperate.”
“It could wait until after y’all have finished dinner.”
“Leslie Anne didn’t come down to dinner tonight. She’s in her room, so why don’t we go on up and talk to her?” Tessa eyed Lucie’s suitcase. “Bring your bag and after we talk to Leslie Anne, I’ll show you to your room.”
Lucie followed her upstairs, straight to Leslie Anne’s suite. The blare of loud rock music drifted down the hall, the sound bouncing off the walls and ceiling, all but shaking the old mansion to the ground. Tessa knocked on the closed door. No response. She knocked again. Louder. Harder. Still no response. She tried the door. Locked.
Leslie Anne never locked her door.
Lucie set her suitcase on the floor, pulled her bag from her shoulder and unzipped a front pouch. After removing a small leather case, she pulled a shiny tool from the case and inserted it in the door lock. After replacing the tool and returning the case to her bag, Lucie turned the doorknob and, voilà, the door opened.
Tessa lifted her eyebrows in a well-done comment, then walked into her daughter’s room, preparing herself for a possible confrontation. Lucie came in behind her, but waited just over the threshold. Tessa found Leslie Anne sprawled out across her rumpled bed. She wore a pair of hot pink cotton knit sweats and her eyes were puffy and red from crying.
My poor baby. Tessa longed to pull her child into her arms.
Apparently sensing she was no longer alone, Leslie Anne looked up and gasped. “How’d you get in here?”
Lucie walked over to the entertainment center and turned off the deafening rumble of the hard rock CD. “I picked the lock.”
Leslie Anne jerked around and glared at Lucie. “What are you doing here? Where’s Dante?”
“Don’t be rude,” Tessa said. “Lucie is here to—”
Leslie Anne jumped off the bed and stood to face her mother. “Where is Dante?”
“Mr. Moran is going to head up the investigation.” Tessa sensed her daughter’s agitation and prayed she could soothe her and make her see reason. “Lucie is here to work with us—”
“I want Dante.” Leslie Anne slammed her hands on her hips in a defiant stance.
“Mr. Moran felt he should take over in the field,” Tessa tried again to explain.
“Does that mean he won’t be back?”
“It means we won’t see him for a while.”
“What did you do?” Leslie Anne cried. “Or was it Granddaddy? Who made Dante go away? I thought you liked him. I thought you understood how much I need him.”
“Leslie Anne, sweetheart, please—”
“Leave me alone.” Leslie Anne stormed out of the bedroom, into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.
Tessa looked at Lucie, who said, “I can pick that lock, too, but what’s the point? She’s in no mood to listen to anything either of us has to say right now.”
“What’s happened?” Sharon called from where she stood in the open doorway, Leslie Anne’s supper tray in her hands.
“Bring the tray on in and put it down,” Tessa said. “Aunt Sharon, I’d like for you to stay here while Lucie picks the lock on the bathroom door, which she’ll do in a little while. Once Leslie Anne comes out, tell her that I’ve gone to talk to Dante Moran.”
“Are you sure you should cave in to her demands that way?” Lucie asked.
�
�What demands?” Sharon glanced from Lucie to Tessa.
“My daughter could well be on the verge of a nervous breakdown,” Tessa looked from Lucie to Sharon and back to Lucie. “Tad Sizemore said that Leslie Anne gave him the impression she was suicidal earlier today. I believe he’s wrong about that, but if bringing Dante back here to talk to her soothes her in any way, then that’s what I’m going to do—bring him back.”
“You shouldn’t listen to Tad. He tends to be overly dramatic, even melodramatic sometimes,” Sharon said.
“I realize that, but…” Tessa heaved a deep sigh. “I think Leslie Anne has built up some sort of fantasy about Mr. Moran. She sees him as her protector, as a father figure of a sort. If receiving some kind of reassurance from him can help her, then by God, that’s what she’ll get. I’ll make Dante understand that he’s needed here.”
“We’ll take care of Leslie Anne. If you’d like, part of my job here can be to act as your daughter’s bodyguard, so you can rest easy about her. You go on and talk to Dante,” Lucie told her. “He’s at the Fairport Inn, Room Seven.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE HELICOPTER would pick Dante up at nine-thirty tonight and transport him directly to the John H. Hooks Jr. airport in Rayville, Richland Parish’s county seat, where a rental car would be waiting for him. He’d already booked a room at the Ramada Inn and first thing in the morning he would begin his investigation. His first stop would be the sheriff’s department. Sheriff Earl Summers had been a deputy seventeen years ago, so Dante assumed he would remember any rumors within the department back then about a pretty blond girl being found out near the Interstate. Unless Summers had been in on the cover-up.
Don’t go jumping to conclusions.
Hopefully the person Dundee’s had working inside the medical center, where Tessa had been a patient, would be able to find and photocopy Tessa’s medical records.
And what if those records tell you nothing you don’t already know?
There had to be somebody in Richland Parish who knew something about Tessa. If not the guy who was now the sheriff, then perhaps another former deputy. Or maybe someone who’d been a hospital employee at the time. A naked girl—raped, brutalized and left for dead—found just off the side of the highway would had to have made the news, even if her name and details of her condition hadn’t been released to the press. Maybe before he saw the sheriff or checked with their hospital spy, he should go by the local library and search through the old newspapers, which were probably on microfilm.
Rubbing his hand over his face, Dante grunted. He needed a shave. His heavy black beard grew like weeds, creating a permanent five o’clock shadow. If he wanted a smooth face in the evenings, he had to shave a second time. After lifting his vinyl bag onto the foot of the bed, he undid it, then removed his shaving kit and carried it into the bathroom. He took off his tie and button-down, draped them over the hook on the back of the bathroom door, and then yanked his T-shirt over his head.
Just as he turned on the hot water to fill the sink, he heard a loud knock at his motel room door. Who the hell? Probably Dom or Vic. But what would either of them want? They’d gone over the game plan at dinner. What else was there to say? It wasn’t as if he was buddy-buddy with either guy, even though he figured that on longer acquaintance he’d probably become friends with both.
The knocking grew louder and more intense.
“Hold your horses, will you? I’m coming,” Dante called as he hurried to the door, not bothering to put his shirt back on.
Always a cautious man, he peered through the peephole. Holy hell, it was Tessa! What was she doing here? He yanked open the door.
“I took a chance that you would still be here. I have to talk to you.” Her gaze moved from his face to his naked chest.
“Sure, come on in.” He stepped back to allow her entrance.
She hesitated for a couple of seconds, then walked into his room. He closed the door; she turned to face him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“It’s Leslie Anne.”
He gave her an inquisitive look.
“When Lucie showed up at the house a while ago, Leslie Anne threw a fit. A regular temper tantrum. And believe me, Leslie Anne hasn’t acted like that since she was three.”
“Why did she throw a fit? I thought she liked Lucie.”
“She does, but she got upset because she thought Daddy or I had done something to run you off.” Obviously exasperated, Tessa huffed softly. “She told me that she thought I understood how much she needs you. Then she locked herself in the bathroom. When I left, Lucie was planning to pick the lock and she and Aunt Sharon were going to try to reason with Leslie Anne.”
“Damn!” Dante grunted. “Under normal circumstances, I’d say Leslie Anne needs discipline, not catering to by anyone. But considering what she’s been through these past few days—”
“Tad Sizemore told us at dinner tonight that Leslie Anne implied to him earlier today that she was thinking about…about harming herself.”
“What?”
“Tad Sizemore, Olivia’s son, said he thinks Leslie Anne is suicidal.”
“I didn’t see any evidence of it, did you? Did Dr. Barrett say anything about—”
“No, no, he didn’t say a word about it, and I don’t get a sense that Leslie Anne wants to harm herself. She’s angry and confused, but I think she’d rather stomp all over everyone around her rather than hurt herself.”
“That’s the impression I got, too,” Dante assured Tessa.
“But I can’t take any chances. Surely you understand. So Lucie has agreed to keep close tabs on Leslie Anne.”
“Lucie’s a top-notch bodyguard. You don’t have to worry about Leslie Anne with Lucie on duty.”
“I’m her mother. I’ll worry regardless. It comes with the territory.”
He nodded.
“I need to ask you for a favor,” Tessa said. “For Leslie Anne.”
“Whatever you want, if I can do it, I will.”
“Come back to the house with me. Talk to her. Promise her that if she needs you, you’ll be there for her. I think she believes you’re the only person she can trust.”
Tessa looked at him pleadingly and it was all he could do not to pull her close and kiss the breath out of her. If it were up to him alone, he would steer clear of Tessa Westbrook for as long as possible, but what he knew was good for him and what he wanted were two different things. Even if he wasn’t obligated to help her because of his position as a Dundee agent, there was no way he would desert Tessa or permanently walk away from Leslie Anne. It was past time he admitted to himself that his fate was linked to this woman and her daughter because somehow, someway, they were connected to Amy Smith.
Ironic that the first woman since Amy who had brought to life more than just his lust was a woman whose daughter was Amy’s spitting image, a woman who had been brutalized by the same animal who had probably killed Amy. Were the omnipotent powers-that-be playing some cruel cosmic joke on him?
“I’m taking a helicopter to Rayville, Louisiana, tonight,” he told her. “I leave at nine-thirty.”
“You’re going to Richland Parish?”
He nodded.
“I wish you didn’t feel it necessary to go there, but…you’re the investigator. You know what’s best.” She held out her hand to him, then realized what she was doing and let her hand drop to her side. “Please, come by the house now and talk to Leslie Anne before you leave town.”
She kept staring at his naked chest, her eyes filled with what he recognized as desire. He’d known enough women to be well acquainted with the signs. But the crazy thing was, he didn’t think Tessa was aware of it herself.
He reached for her, all the while telling himself not to do it. Logic warned him that he was complicating an already ridiculously complicated situation. But when she came to him willingly, placed her trembling hand on his chest and looked up at him with those incredible blue eyes—eyes as blue as Amy’s�
��he knew he was fighting a losing battle. He wanted Tessa. But it wasn’t that plain and simple. He would want her regardless, but he realized that because his heart had her all mixed up with Amy, he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure that when he made love to her, he wouldn’t halfway be making love to Amy. Even though he knew she wasn’t Amy, he kept reacting to her as if she were.
He tensed, then released her. He couldn’t do this. Not to himself. Not to her. Since the day he’d lost Amy, he hadn’t had anything to give a woman other than his body. Tessa deserved better. She deserved more.
“I want…” She slid her hand up his chest and over his shoulder, grasping him, clinging fiercely. “I want to go with you…to Richland Parish.”
“What?” He moved away from her, raked his fingers through his hair and grimaced. “Why do you want to go with me? You don’t even know why I’m going to Rayville.”
“You’re going to find out what you can about what happened to me. And if there’s anyone in that parish who might know the whole truth about me, you want to learn whether or not they could have had a reason to send Leslie Anne those newspaper clippings.”
She had it partly right, but she knew only half of it. And he couldn’t tell her all the reasons he was going to pilfer through her past, searching for any tidbit of information that might explain a mystery that had him totally stumped. He could hardly say to her, “Your daughter looks enough like Amy Smith to be her, and I’ve got to find out why.”
“There’s no reason for you to go with me. You’re better off staying here,” he told her. “Leslie Anne needs you.”
“She needs both of us. You know that, don’t you?”
“Tessa, honey—” God, he wished she’d stop looking at him that way, as if he were the answer to her prayers. “I’ll do what I can to help you, to help your daughter, but you have to see how impossible it would be for anything—permanent—to happen between us.”
Worth Dying For Page 15
