"You say that now, but—"
"But what? You can't think that our relationship would ever change. It won't. You have to believe me," she said, determined to convince Liz of that fact.
"I don't know what to believe. I hate that this is happening. It's too much. Mom died just a few months ago. Why can't things be normal for a while?"
Julia had always tried to give Liz what she needed. That was her job as the big sister. And right now her sister needed her to back off from searching for her past. But she couldn't do it. She'd taken care of Liz all her life, and she'd spent the past two years watching over her mother. This time she needed to put herself first.
Liz picked up her sandals and slipped them on. "I'm going for a walk."
"I'll go with you."
"No, I need to think. I'll take my phone. Don't worry about me. You have enough to worry about."
The apartment was quiet after Liz left, too quiet. Julia paced around the room, too restless to return to the computer. Liz, who certainly hadn't wanted to see any resemblance between the girl in the photo and Julia, hadn't been able to look away from the picture. That simple fact made Julia even more determined to find the truth. But she couldn't do it alone. She needed help. And there was only one person she could ask.
"It sounds awful." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Why do you do it? After experiences like that, why do you go back for more?"
"I haven't gone back yet."
"But you will."
It wasn't a question but a statement, and he had no choice but to agree. "I will. I like what I do. It's challenging, and I run my own life. As a freelancer, I go where the stories are and sell my photos to the highest bidder."
"Do you ever get tired of the traveling, the conditions that you have to live in?"
"Sometimes—when I haven't seen a shower in a few days or had a decent meal. But I've always had itchy feet. I can't stay too long in one place. I get restless." He paused, more than a little curious about her, although his instincts told him that getting to know her better wasn't in his best interest. Still, he couldn't stop the questions from coming out. "What about you? Are you a traveler?"
"I'd like to be, but I haven't been anywhere yet." She played with her hands, twisting the diamond engagement ring on her third finger.
He wondered again where her fiance was and why he wasn't getting involved in her search for the truth. Not that Alex wanted him involved, but it seemed odd.
"I'm an armchair traveler," Julia continued. "I let the music sweep me around the world. But one day I'd like to go in person."
"What's stopping you from going right now?"
She shrugged. "I have responsibilities. Or I did, anyway. Every time I thought about going somewhere, there was always a reason why I couldn't. Especially during the last two years," she added. "My mom was sick for a long time. I didn't want to go far."
"And now?" he pressed her. "Do you have big honeymoon plans?"
"We haven't gotten that far, but Michael doesn't really like to travel. He's a homebody."
"He doesn't know what he's missing. There are places on this earth that you should definitely see."
"Like where?" she asked eagerly, leaning forward, her blue eyes lighting up with interest. "Tell me about some incredible place that you've been."
He thought for a moment. "The Iguazii Falls in South America are spectacular. They border Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay. The power and the roar of the water thunders through your body. It feels like the earth is opening up." He saw the falls in his mind, but his memory didn't do them justice. His camera hadn't been able to capture their beauty, either. Maybe some things couldn't be frozen in time.
"They sound amazing," Julia said. "Where do you go next, Alex? Do you know?"
"Not yet. I just got back from a six-week trip through South America. It was long and hot, not to mention painfully sickening in…" His voice trailed away as he realized how much he was sharing with her. The more involved they got, the more complicated everything would become. And he preferred to keep his relationships simple.
"What do you mean, painfully sickening?" she asked, obviously not willing to let the conversation go.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You can't just stop in the middle of a sentence."
"Sure I can. It's not pretty, Julia. It's not something a woman like you needs to hear about."
She stiffened at that. "What do you mean, a woman like me?"
"Beautiful, innocent, untouched by the grim reality of life."
"You're wrong, Alex. I just faced a very grim reality. I watched my mother die. Don't talk to me about being untouched by terrible pain."
"I'm sorry." He paused. "It's just that the poverty and violence some people in the world endure are beyond inhumane. Lately, I've begun to wonder what the hell good I'm doing taking someone's picture right before their head gets blown off."
He saw her shock and was glad. Maybe now she'd let the subject drop.
She didn't. "Did that really happen to you?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Last year."
"How did you deal with it?" she asked.
He had a hard time resisting the compassion in her eyes, and for the first time ever he found himself wanting to tell someone about one of the worst hours of his life. "I tell myself that at least I got the picture. At least her story will be told. Her death won't be hidden away like so many others, because I was there. Hell of a rationalization, but it keeps me sane."
She stared at him for a long moment, and he sensed she was reading his mind or maybe his heart. "But it doesn't make the pain go away, does it? Who was she?"
"Just a woman who wanted my help." He drew in a long, shaky breath as memories of that night filled his head. "Her eyes were black as midnight and absolutely terrified. She knew her husband was coming after her. He'd accused her of committing adultery. But she'd been raped by a man in the village." Alex shook his head, wanting to rid himself of the image that was printed indelibly on his brain. "I should have done something. I should have seen him coming, but I was looking at her, aiming my camera, and the next thing I knew, she'd been shot through the head. It was so clean, one small hole in her forehead, almost like a beauty mark. Her eyes were still open when she hit the ground. She was still looking at me, begging for my help, but it was too late." His stomach churned, and he battled back a wave of nausea. "But at least I got the picture, right?"
"That photo was important," Julia said slowly and deliberately. "You made her life and her death matter. Your work throws a spotlight on injustice in the world. That's a noble calling."
"Don't try to make me into some hero," he said harshly. "I was thinking only of myself. I should have helped her, not photographed her. I'll never forgive myself for making that choice. It made me realize how often I don't see the person, only the shot, only the award-winning photographic record."
"So she changed the way you think."
"Yeah, and I wish she hadn't. It was easier the other way." He rose. "I need a beer. Do you want one?"
"Sure," she said.
He used his time in the kitchen to regain his control. He was pissed off at himself for telling Julia so much, but in an odd way, it was a relief to share it with someone. He pulled two beers out of the refrigerator, popped the tops, and took the bottles back to the living room. Julia was on her feet, gazing at some of the framed photographs on his walls.
"This is your work, too?" she asked, taking a beer from his hand.
"Yes. Why do you sound surprised?"
She waved her hand toward the colorful garden landscape. "I didn't take you for a flower guy."
"I have my moments," he said with a smile. "I took those shots when I was in college. I was just figuring out how to use my cameras. When I moved in here, I needed to put something on the walls, and I figured the women I brought home would like 'em."
She smiled back at him, and the somber mood between them lighten
ed. "So you ask women if they want to come home with you and see your pretty pictures?"
"I don't phrase it quite like that."
"I'll bet."
He took a swig of his beer. "Why don't we get back to you, Julia. Tell me again what happened with the reporter who came to your door."
"She wants to interview me. She's very persistent. I told her I have nothing to say, but I think I'm going to have to tell her something. The question is what?"
"What do you want to say?"
"I'm not sure. But I'm even more concerned about what I want to do next. I don't suppose you have any brilliant ideas?"
"Find out who you are. Before someone else does." He looked her straight in the eye. "I told you when we first met that you couldn't back out until this was over, and you can't. Not because I say so, but because when you came to me you set things in motion, and with a little help from my mother they're still in motion."
"You're right. I spoke to my father earlier. He gave me a few tips that I took to the Internet. It's a long shot, but I may have a lead on my grandmother."
"Really?"
She nodded, then swallowed. "The names are slightly different, but she may live in Buffalo, New York, where my mother said she was born. My father also told me my mother went to Northwestern, but I don't know—"
"Your mother went to Northwestern," he cut in. "My dad also went to Northwestern." Alex's nerves began to tingle the way they always did when his instincts told him he was on to something.
Her gaze filled with uncertainty. "It's a big school. Do you think there's a connection between them?"
"We did find that envelope with the name Sarah on it. How old was your mother?"
"She turned fifty-eight right before she died."
"And my father would be fifty-nine if he'd lived, so they would have been in college at the same time. My mother told me that a woman named Sarah used to call my dad late at night. He said she was an old friend." Alex thought for a moment, wondering where they could take this lead. "Old friends," he repeated. "That's it. I need to talk to Stan."
"Who's Stan?"
"He used to work at World News Magazine. He was my father's editor, but more importantly, he was one of his best friends. And I know that friendship dated back before my parents got married. Maybe he can tell us more about Sarah."
"Can you call him now?"
"Absolutely." He reached for the phone. A few minutes later he had an invitation from Stan to come by the house. "We can go now."
"We're really going to do this, aren't we?" Julia asked, her expression tense and uncertain.
"Second thoughts again?"
"I'm a little afraid of what we'll find out," she said, her beautiful blue eyes reflecting her every emotion. She would never be difficult to read. Everything she felt could be seen on her face.
"I'm more afraid of living the rest of my life not knowing why that photo was important to my father," he countered. "But I can go on my own."
"No, I said we were in this together, and that's the way it's going to be." She slipped her hand into his, and his entire body stiffened.
He had the irresistible urge to seal her promise with a kiss. How crazy was that?
Julia slipped into the passenger seat of Alex's car, her heart pounding and her stomach doing flip-flops. There had been a moment back there in Alex's apartment when she'd actually thought he was going to kiss her. The look in his eyes… She could see it now, that glitter of desire, want, need. Something inside of her had responded to that look. She'd started to lean forward; then Alex had stepped away, grabbing his keys, calling out orders to go into the hall while he turned out the lights and locked his apartment. He'd obviously thought better of whatever impulse had made him look at her like that. It was just as well. She was engaged. And they were just… She didn't know what their relationship was, but it certainly wasn't close enough to involve kissing.
She cast him a sideways glance. He seemed tense. She didn't know if he was thinking about what had passed between them or worrying about what would come next. And she certainly didn't feel brave enough to ask the question.
A few minutes later Alex drove into Presidio Heights, where stately homes and high-rent apartment buildings lined the ridge above Cow Hollow and bordered the historic Presidio Park. "Your father's friend certainly lives well," Julia commented. "These homes are beautiful."
"Stan moved here a couple of years after my father died. His wife had also passed on. I don't know if he inherited some money or what, but this house is quite a step up from the condo he used to live in. He's the kind of man who enjoys being surrounded by beauty, whether it be art, antique furniture, the perfect gold cuff link, or a woman."
"He didn't remarry?"
Alex shook his head. "He said he never would. I'm sure he has his reasons. Here we are."
Stan's home was located at the top of a very steep hill, a renovated Victorian at least three stories tall. It was impressive and a bit off-putting, Julia thought. She couldn't imagine why a single man, who had to be nearing sixty, would want to live alone in such a large house. Then again, she didn't understand why her own father had sold their spacious, comfortable family home and moved into a small apartment. To each his own, she supposed.
They were halfway down the walk when the front door opened. Stan must have been watching for them. He greeted them with a warm smile. "Hello, Alex."
"Thanks for agreeing to see us," Alex replied.
"No problem. You know you're always welcome."
"This is Julia DeMarco."
"Hello," Julia said, comforted by Stan's friendly handshake. He seemed like a nice man and hopefully was someone who could help them. She paused inside the house, struck by the spotless, sparkling beauty of the hardwood floor in the entry, the ornately carved staircase that led to the second floor, and the tall arched doorways leading into the living room and dining room. "Your home is stunning," she murmured.
"Thank you. Why don't we go into my study. It's more comfortable there. I've got a fire going: It's a bit chilly out tonight, and my old bones get colder these days."
Stan didn't appear old. He was very tall and thin, and dressed in well-tailored slacks and a charcoal gray cashmere sweater. He was obviously a man who liked to dress well as much as he liked to live well. His study was just as impressive as the rest of the house, with dark red leather couches, a thick throw rug in front of the stone fireplace, and an antique desk and chair by a large bay window. She imagined he had an incredible view in the daytime. She sat down on the couch next to Stan while Alex took a chair across from them.
"Now, what can I do for you?" Stan asked.
Alex leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "I need some information about someone my father used to know. Her name was Sarah. I don't know her last name, but I'm hoping you do."
Surprise flashed through Stan's eyes. "I thought you wanted to talk to me about the photo of the Russian girl." As he finished speaking, his gaze moved to Julia's face.
She wondered what he saw when he looked at her, but his expression was difficult to read. "We'll get to that," Alex replied. "Right now, I'm more interested in Sarah. Do you know who I'm talking about?"
Stan sat back against the couch. "Your father had a friend named Sarah. Someone he went to school with at Northwestern. Is that who you mean?"
"What was her last name?" Julia asked sharply.
"It was Davis, I believe," Stan replied. "Sarah Davis. Why do you ask?"
"My mother's name was Sarah," Julia answered, the words spilling out in excitement. "But her maiden name was Gregory, or it might have been Davidson. Are you sure it was Davis, not Davidson?"
"I think so. Why?"
"Julia's mother also went to Northwestern," Alex interrupted. "We wondered if our parents knew each other."
"Why don't you ask your mother?" Stan inquired, directing his gaze toward Julia.
"She passed away six months ago."
Stan swallowed hard and a pulse jumped
in his throat. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Can you tell me about the Sarah you knew? What did she look like? Did she and Alex's father have some sort of romantic relationship? Did you know both of them?" Julia asked.
"Whoa, slow down," he said, putting up a hand in defense. "I'm not sure I have the right to discuss Charles's personal business."
"He's not here to protest," Alex said. "And I can't see why he'd care, unless you know something about him and Sarah that we don't?"
Stan thought for a moment, then said, "I met Sarah twice. She was a brunette, average height, dark brown eyes, very pretty, and quiet. She let Charles do the talking. Their friendship lasted after they graduated from college. He once told me that they had a lot in common."
"Like what?" Julia asked.
"He didn't say."
"Mom thinks he was having an affair with Sarah," Alex interjected. He saw Julia start and knew he'd taken her by surprise as well.
"You never told me that," she said.
"I didn't know the person my mother was referring to was your mother—although we still don't know that for sure since the last names are confusing." A sudden thought occurred to Alex. He was surprised it hadn't occurred to him before. "You don't happen to have a picture of Sarah, do you, Julia?"
"Actually, I think I do." She reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. She flipped past the pictures of Liz and some other girlfriends.' "This was taken at my college graduation." She handed Stan the photo. "Is she the woman you knew?"
"Yes, that's her," Stan said. "That's Sarah Davis."
"Damn," Alex swore.
"What?" Julia asked. She saw a new light in his eyes. "What did you just remember?"
Chapter 7
Alex took the photograph from Stan and gave it a long, careful look. He finally had the proof they were looking for. But Julia wasn't going to like it.
"What is it?" Julia asked again, her eyes worried. "Tell me."
Alex pointed to the woman in the photograph. "I think I saw this woman talking to my father in Red Square that day in Moscow."
Julia started shaking her head even before he finished speaking. "My mother never went to Moscow. She didn't travel. She was afraid to fly. We never went anywhere that we couldn't get to by car. You're wrong. You have to be wrong."
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