Don't Say a Word

by Barbara Freethy

  Enough," Alex said, breaking off the kiss. He jumped off the bed, running a hand through his wavy brown hair.

  Julia blinked, dazed by the last few minutes of passion and desire. "What?"

  "This is…" He waved his hand in the air as if he couldn't come up with the word. "A mistake," he said finally. "I don't poach on another man's turf. What the hell am I doing? And what the hell were you doing—kissing me like that? How can you say you're going to marry a man, then kiss someone else like your heart is up for grabs—or at least your body."

  She bristled at his accusatory tone. "You're the one who pushed me into a kiss. This wasn't my idea. You started it."

  "You weren't fighting it. You were kissing me back."

  "You took me by surprise."

  "Yeah, well, the surprise ended more than a few minutes ago."

  She stared at him, then sighed. "You're right. I kissed you back. I couldn't stop myself. I'm a terrible person."

  "Why don't you break up with this guy, Julia?"

  "Because it's complicated. Michael stood by me through the worst months of my life. He held my hand while I watched my mother die. He comforted me. He did whatever I asked. He was a rock."

  "So you say, 'Thank you.' You don't say, 'I do."

  "My mother loved him. She was so happy the day we got engaged. She told me Michael was everything she'd always wanted for me. It was the first time she seemed proud of me. She didn't encourage my love of music. In fact, she discouraged it. She thought the radio station job was silly. She wanted me to get married, have kids, build a family of my own."

  "So you said yes because of your mother?" he asked in amazement. "I still haven't heard a good reason. Do you love the guy at all?"

  "Of course I love him. I just said that, didn't I?"

  "Actually, you didn't. You said you owed him and it made your mother happy."

  "I do love him. Michael is wonderful. He's probably too good for me."

  He stared at her for a long minute. "So what's this about? You have a fling with the bad guy, then you marry the good guy, and everything works out great for you? What happens when you get tired of the good guy—are you going to have an affair?"

  "I would never do that," she said, jumping to her feet in anger. "What kind of woman do you think I am?"

  "I don't know. More importantly, I don't think you know. You are probably the most confused person I have ever met."

  "You're the one who confused me because you took my damn picture twenty-five years ago." It felt good to yell at him, to let off some steam.

  "And I am sorrier than I can ever say."

  She sighed as he began to pace around the room. "What are we doing, Alex? We're both exhausted. We're not thinking rationally. We should call it a night and get some sleep."

  "I'm not going to sleep. I'm too wired, even more now than I was before," he said. "You have a way of doing that to me, Julia."

  She knew the feeling. She felt edgy and her stomach was churning. "Let's turn on the radio."

  "Why?"

  "Because there's probably some good music on. It always helps me relax." She knew she was probably about to make another mistake, but it seemed to be a night for mistakes. "I don't really want to be alone. Would you stay? Just hang out with me, no touching, no kissing."

  His hesitation was obvious.

  "It's a big bed." She sat down on one side of the bed and placed two pillows in the middle, building a little barrier. "I'll stay on my side. You stay on yours."

  "You trust me to do that?"

  She didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

  He debated for another second. "Fine. I'll stay."

  "Good." She turned on the radio, running through the stations until she heard a violin and viola playing Mozart's Duo in B-flat Major. "Isn't this beautiful?" she asked, leaning back against the bed. Already she was feeling better.

  Alex stretched out on his side, resting his head on his elbow. He listened for a moment, then said, "It's nice."

  "Nice? That's a lukewarm word. There's a perfect harmony between the two instruments, a pure, splendid tone. It's so powerful I can feel the music within me."

  "It's nice," he said again with a small smile. "I prefer a saxophone or a trumpet, something announcing its entrance into the piece."

  "I could find something else."

  "No, this is fine. You like it. That's good enough for me."

  She stared up at the ceiling, letting the music take the tension out of her shoulders, her neck, her entire body. She tried not to think about everything that had happened that day. There was too much to absorb, too many revelations to analyze.

  "Julia?"

  She turned her head to look at Alex. "Yes?"

  "Beautiful."

  "That's a better adjective for the music than nice."

  "I wasn't talking about the music," he said, with a dangerous look in his eyes. "I was talking about you."?

  Oh, God. She had a feeling those pillows between them weren't going to be enough to keep them apart. She drew in a deep breath, then closed her eyes, conflicted over whether she wanted Alex to make a move or not. She heard him shift on the bed. Her body tensed, and then she realized he'd turned away from her. Was he angry? Should she say something?

  "Relax, Julia," he said a moment later. "We don't have to figure out everything tonight. There's always tomorrow."

  After an almost six-hour flight, they landed in San Francisco just after eleven o'clock Tuesday morning. Alex was used to traveling and sleeping very little, but he had to admit he was tired. They'd only had a few hours of sleep the night before. And that sleep had been more than a little restless. Lying next to Julia with just a few pillows between them had been quite a test of his self-control. It wasn't the right time—for either of them. He should never have kissed her, never given in to that impulse. But the more he got to know her, the more he liked her, and the more he found her irresistible.

  At least their trip had been a success. Julia had found her grandmother. They'd learned quite a bit about Sarah's past. Now they had to concentrate on unraveling the rest of the secrets.

  His cell phone rang as they were walking out to the parking lot, and he didn't recognize the number. "Hello?" he asked warily, not sure whom to expect.

  "Alex Manning?" a man asked.

  "Yes."

  "This is Daniel Brady, Alex. I saw the photo in the newspaper, and I spoke to Stan Harding. I think we need to talk."

  "We certainly do."

  "Can you meet me at the Cliff House in a half hour? I'll buy you a drink."

  "All right. I'll be bringing Julia with me."

  "I wouldn't have it any other way. See you then."

  "Who was that?" Julia asked as he ended the call.

  "Daniel Brady. He wants to meet us in thirty minutes."

  Her eyes lit up. "That's great news. Finally, everything is clicking into place."

  "Let's hope so."

  A layer of fog hung over Ocean Beach, painting the sky a dull gray. Alex parked in the lot next to the Cliff House, a historic three-story restaurant overlooking the Pacific Ocean and Seal Rocks, where the sea lions came to play. Set at the most western edge of San Francisco, the Cliff House also offered a view of the large ships about to sail under the Golden Gate Bridge, into the harbor of San Francisco. Alex had visited the restaurant once before when he was a child. His father had told him stories about the restaurant and its once-famous neighbor, the Sutro Baths, an extravagant public bathhouse built in the 1800s that was later turned into a seaside amusement park. The baths and the amusement park were long gone, but the restaurant remained.

  As soon as they got out of the car, an older man stepped from a charcoal gray sedan parked across from them. Dressed in casual tan slacks and a long sleeve brown shirt, he appeared to be in his sixties. His light brown hair was thin on the top and cut short. His stomach had a bit of a paunch to it. He had a cigarette in his mouth, which he quickly stubbed out as he approached them.

  "Alex,
you look well."

  He didn't know why he was surprised or unsettled by the fact that the other man had recognized him. "Daniel Brady?" he asked.

  "That's me." Brady offered Alex a smile and removed the dark glasses that covered his brown eyes. "And you must be Julia. I saw your picture in the paper. It didn't do you justice." He paused. "I know I offered to buy you a drink, but something has come up, and I won't be able to stay. Why don't we take a walk and talk for a few minutes?"

  Alex fell into step alongside Brady, with Julia following a step behind. "Why have I never heard of you?" he asked. "Stan said you were a good friend of my father's, but I don't recall your name ever being mentioned. And I know we've never met before."

  "Your father and I saw each other when we were both on assignment, usually in another country."

  "So you do work for the government?" Alex asked. "Do you happen to have any identification?"

  Brady chuckled at that question. "I've got a driver's license. Will that do?" He paused and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. "You're not as trusting as your father."

  "Since he's dead now, I'll take that as a compliment," Alex said sharply. There was something about Brady—maybe his smug smile, or his knowing manner, that irritated him. He took the license from Brady's hand and gave it a quick glance. The face was the same. The address was in Maryland. "You're a long way from home."

  "I always am."

  "What about a government ID?"

  "What I do doesn't require ID. I've been on the job for thirty-seven years now. I can get you a character reference if you feel you need one."

  "What exactly do you do for the government?" Julia asked.

  Alex watched Daniel closely, wondering how he'd react to such a pointed question.

  Daniel simply smiled and said, "That's classified, I'm afraid." He slipped his license back into his wallet, then into his pocket.

  "If you can't answer that question, maybe you can answer this one," Julia continued. "Am I that girl in the photograph?"

  "I can see why you might think so," Daniel replied. "But even if you believe you're that girl, you must say you're not. You must call the newspaper and tell them they're mistaken. Any other reporters you speak to must get the same comment."

  "Why?" Alex asked sharply. "Why should she lie?"

  "For her own safety." Daniel's expression turned somber. "The photograph revealed something that was supposed to be hidden, but your father didn't know that. He made a mistake. He paid for it."

  Alex felt his heart stop. Stan had implied that his father's accident had been a result of the photograph, but he wanted to hear Daniel Brady say it. "Are you telling me my father was killed because of that picture?"

  Daniel hesitated for a long moment, then said, "His accident was highly suspicious. The only reason I'm telling you that is because Charles was my friend, and you're his son, and he wouldn't want the same thing to happen to you."

  "That's not good enough. Who killed my father? Who ran him off the road? Tell me, dammit." Alex took a step closer to Daniel. He wanted to grab Brady by the collar and shake him until the truth came out. "I'm tired of vague innuendos. I want the facts. And I want them now."

  "I've told you all I can tell you, Alex, without putting you in danger."

  "To hell with that. I can take care of myself."

  "And Miss DeMarco? Do you want to risk her life as well as your own?"

  "I can take care of myself, too," Julia replied. She shot Alex a look that told him to keep going and not back down. He intended to do just that.

  "If you won't tell me about my father's death, then tell me about the picture," Alex demanded. "What do you know about it that I don't?"

  Daniel glanced around, as if he was worried about being overheard, but they'd moved a hundred yards away from the restaurant, and there was no one in this part of the parking lot. "I want to help you, Alex, but I'm caught between a rock and a hard place. I don't know if you know this, but your father saved my life once. I was a young agent. I got into some trouble in Germany. Your father came to my rescue. I owed him. And the day after that photograph was published in the magazine he contacted me. He said he was calling in my debt. He wanted me to protect you. I promised him I would."

  "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a grown man. Whatever promise you made ended a long time ago."

  "I don't think so."

  "Look, Julia's picture has been printed in the newspaper. This story is coming out whether any of us want it to. If you know something, you need to tell us, so that we're not stumbling around in the dark. I think my father would appreciate the need for you to be honest with me."

  Daniel thought for a moment. He looked away from them, gazing out at the ocean. Alex wondered if he was thinking about Charles having met his end in that same ocean, just a few miles away. The sea was waiting for an answer, and so were they.

  Finally Daniel looked back at them, his jaw tense, his eyes wary. "All right. I'll tell you this much. I believe Julia is the girl in the photograph."

  Alex's heart fell to his stomach. He'd suspected that was the case ever since Julia had knocked on his door, but now someone was actually saying it out loud. He glanced at Julia and saw shock and fear on her face.

  "Are you saying my mother was there?" Julia demanded. "Did you know her, Mr. Brady? Did you know my mother?"

  "Yes, I knew her a long time ago," he admitted. "Sarah was in Russia with the theater group. She worked behind the scenes as a costumer."

  "Oh, my God. She was there." Julia turned to Alex. "My mother was there. You did see her. I didn't want to believe you, but you were right."

  Alex was surprised that Brady had told them about Sarah. "So Sarah's identity and the reason why she was in Russia aren't classified?" he challenged.

  Brady shrugged. "I barely knew the woman. She was friends with Charles and Stan. Stan helped her get into the theater group."

  "She must have taken me with her," Julia said. "I must have gotten a Russian visa or whatever as part of the tour, just like you did, Alex. And she must have put me in the orphanage so someone would watch me while she was meeting with your dad."

  Alex still wasn't sure he bought Julia's scenario, but he looked to Brady for the answer. "Is that true? Did Sarah leave Julia at the orphanage for some reason?" Brady hesitated. "That sounds right."

  He was lying. Alex's gut instinct told him the man was lying. "Then why would anyone care that Julia's picture was taken? She was an American girl."

  "She wasn't supposed to be there. Certain places were off-limits to foreigners. No one wanted to acknowledge that there were orphans in the Soviet Union, and they certainly didn't want photographs taken of such venues. That's why the government denied all knowledge of the girl." He paused. "Now, will you let this go? There's nothing more to know."

  "Of course there is," Alex said harshly. "No one killed my father because there weren't supposed to be orphans in Moscow. What was the real reason? And who did it?"

  "I don't know who did it. Whoever took him out was a pro."

  "I don't understand," Julia said, interrupting them. "Why would anyone kill Alex's father after the picture was printed? What could they possibly gain from that? The deed was already done. What was revealed was revealed."

  "That's an excellent point," Alex said slowly. "Why would anyone have gone after him then?"

  "It was punishment. Payback. They'd given him access to their country. He'd abused their trust."

  "Who the hell is they?"

  "I've told you everything I can. Drop this line of inquiry, Alex, before someone else gets hurt."

  "What about my mother?" Julia asked. "She was in Moscow, too, and if I was the girl in that photo, and she was connected to me, then she should have been in danger, too. But no one came after her. Did they?"

  A pulse jumped in Brady's throat. "I don't know. She was lucky, I guess."

  "Lucky?" Alex echoed. "That's your answer?"

  "Sarah went into hiding after that pictur
e was published. Her cover was good."

  "Her cover was good?" Julia repeated, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You're talking about my life, my stepfather, my little sister, the past twenty-five years we lived with my mother, with Sarah. It was a cover?"

  "It sounds like you had a good life, Miss DeMarco. Maybe you should leave it at that."

  "I can't. Not until I know who my mother really was."

  Brady glanced down at his watch. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

  "You can't leave yet," Julia protested. "I have more questions."

  "They'll have to wait," he replied.

  "What if we need to talk to you again? How do we get ahold of you?" Alex asked.

  "Call Stan. He knows where to find me."

  "How does he know?" Alex asked suspiciously. "How are you and Stan friends? Was Stan involved in whatever went on in Moscow, too? You said that he got Sarah into the theater group. What exactly was his role?"

  "Stan was your father's editor."

  "I know that, but what did he have to do with setting up cultural exchanges in Moscow?"

  "Stan is a patron of the arts," Brady said with a secretive smile. "He worked behind the scenes of many cultural exchanges in Russia and other countries. Why don't you ask him about it?"

  "I think I will," Alex said slowly. He thought back to his conversation with Stan and knew that the other man had definitely not shared any of his own involvement in that Russia trip. Why? Was he hiding something else?

  "I do need to go," Brady said. "If you want to reach me, call Stan. I'll get back to you as soon as I can, I want to be of help to you and Julia—whatever you need. The most important thing is that you both back out of this, get rid of the press, and go on with your lives." That said, he turned and walked to the car.

  "What do you think?" Julia asked when they were alone.

  "He was lying at least some of the time."

  "I agree, but which part of the time? The time when he was talking about my mother or your father… or about Stan?"

  "Hell if I know." Alex dug his hands into his pockets and stared out at the ocean. "My father was murdered. That's what I know for sure."

  "I'm sorry, Alex," she said quietly. "But it still wasn't your fault."