Secrets, Lies & Loves

by Judy Duarte

Mr. Ross.

  That, Brooke thought as she rose to her feet, was going to take some getting used to.

  Giving her father an encouraging smile, she hooked her arm through his. “Okay then, let’s go, Dad. ‘Second star to the right, straight on until morning.’”

  Derek smiled. “I always did favor Peter Pan.”

  Robert Jackson, the tall imposing D.A., dominated the small office the same way he did a courtroom, but Brooke’s eyes were immediately drawn to the six-foot, dark-haired man sitting beside him.

  The latter had the exact same coloring as she did, the same black hair, the same green eyes. He could have easily been her brother.

  Or her cousin.

  Which was exactly what he was, she quickly learned once the introductions were made.

  Nothing could have pleased her more.

  “You know,” she confided as she shook his hand with her free one, “until this moment, I thought there was just my father and me. I always wanted to be part of a large family.”

  “Then,” Tyler told her with a smile, “are you in for a treat.” He glanced toward Jackson. “Okay if I show the others in?”

  “Others?” Brooke asked as the D.A. nodded.

  Rather than answer her, Tyler opened the door to an adjoining room. “Come on in,” he said to his siblings, “it’s time to let Brooke and Uncle Derek know what they’re in for.”

  Stunned, Brooke exchanged looks with her father as four people entered the room, three in the front and one lagging slightly behind. The one male in the group looked like an exact carbon copy of the man she’d just been told was her cousin.

  Tyler put his arm around the other man’s shoulders. “This is Conrad, my twin brother. And these two lovely ladies—” he nodded at the two who had entered first “—are my sisters, Sara and Kathleen.”

  Brooke’s attention was completely riveted to the latter. She instantly recognized the woman’s face from the dust jacket of the book that was lying on her nightstand. “Kathleen,” she echoed.

  Kathleen, the oldest of the four, was the only one whose hair was blond and whose eyes were blue. It set her apart from the others as did, she felt, her talent. She couldn’t help the slightly superior smile that nudged at her lips. “Yes.”

  “Kathleen Carlton,” Brooke repeated, still unable to believe what her eyes were telling her. “Like the mystery writer.”

  It was obvious to everyone that this was one of the things Kathleen loved best about what she did—the recognition. “I am the mystery writer.”

  Brooke’s eyes were wide and sparkling. “I love your work.”

  Kathleen’s smile grew larger. “I like her already,” she told the woman at her side, the one who had yet to be introduced. Realizing the oversight, Kathleen magnanimously did the honors. She moved the tall, willowy redhead forward. “Oh, this is my friend, Carla Baker, librarian by day, scholar par excellence by night,” she teased with uncustomary affection.

  In deference to the moment, and to what he hoped to gain in the immediate future—fodder for his case—Jackson had stood by quietly much longer than usual. But it was obviously time to move things along.

  He put one arm around Kathleen’s waist and one around Sara’s, ushering them toward the open door. “Why don’t you all get to know each other while Mr. Ross tells me exactly how I can finally further my case against Walter Parks?” he suggested. He glanced over his shoulder at Derek. “You wouldn’t know anything about this rumor about gem smuggling, would you?”

  “Actually, yes, I do.”

  Derek saw the D.A.’s face light up. The smuggling had been something Marla had once confided to him. Something she’d said that Jeremy had on Walter. The same something that had brought about his brother-in-law’s death. It was time to get this off his chest and finally begin living his life again, Derek thought. Perhaps, when all this came to its conclusion and was wrapped up, he could even discover what had really happened to Anna.

  It gave him hope.

  He watched his daughter disappear into the next room with the other young people, then settled back to tell Robert Jackson and Tyler Carlton his story. From the beginning.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’m afraid I made a mess of it,” Brooke concluded, finishing up an abbreviated version of her aborted romance with Mark.

  It had hit her with the speed of a lightning bolt when her father had told her that Mark was watching over them, to keep them safe from possibly another one of Walter Parks’s hit men. Mark really did care about her. And, no matter what she’d tried to tell herself, she still loved him. Would always love him.

  As for her pouring out her heart to Carla Baker in the room adjoining the D.A.’s office, there had been no incubation period. She had taken to these people—her cousins—immediately, especially to Kathleen and her friend, Carla.

  She had always been crazy about the writer’s books and was more than a little in awe of the woman.

  Her reaction to Carla was more of a case of finding a kindred soul. Carla was the same age as she was and embodied a combination of eagerness and shyness that Brooke felt defined her own approach to life. With very little encouragement, she found herself pouring out her heart to Carla, telling her all about Mark and the way she’d treated him once she’d discovered his deception.

  She was having second thoughts, now that she had finally calmed down and started to think things through. Second thoughts about her reaction and second thoughts about what that reaction had cost her. When she’d discovered what he’d done, she’d honestly thought that Mark didn’t care, that it had all been an act, because he hadn’t attempted to make her change her mind.

  But now that her father had told her Mark was keeping to the shadows, watching over them after the way she’d treated him, well, didn’t that indicate something? Didn’t that mean that maybe he really did have feelings for her? At least a little? She could go very far on just a little—but she’d destroyed everything by refusing to listen to him, by telling him to go away.

  She didn’t know how to make amends for that.

  She looked at Carla, suddenly fighting back tears. “I was such an idiot. I’ve lost the one man I was meant to be with.”

  Granted, the words did come off a little dramatic, but Carla suspected that was because, as Brooke had confided in her, books had always been her best friends, always on call whenever she needed them, twenty-four/seven.

  The pert redhead glanced around Brooke’s head toward the other room, an idea beginning to form. “Don’t be so sure.”

  Hope sprang up in the middle of a field of widening despair. Brooke placed her hand over Carla’s, as if to tap into the other woman’s idea. “Why?”

  Carla grinned. “Because I think I might have an idea—offbeat for some, perfect for you—that I think just might do the trick.”

  Brooke knew she was willing to do practically anything to get another chance with Mark. “Don’t just leave me hanging…”

  Carla rose to her feet. By the expression on her face, the plan was clearly taking shape and gaining substance. “We’re going to need help,” Carla tossed over her shoulder as she went to see about recruiting Tyler to help his newfound cousin.

  “This should cover it.” Tyler tore the check out of his checkbook, holding it out to Mark. It was the fee they had agreed upon, plus a little more because Mark had done his job so swiftly. “Best money I ever spent.”

  Taking it, Mark didn’t bother looking at the amount. He felt certain that Tyler had written down what they had agreed to. Tyler wasn’t the kind of man to renege or cut corners. But what Mark didn’t quite get was why Tyler had insisted on his coming to the D.A.’s house in order to give him the money when they could have just as easily met anywhere.

  He folded the check and placed it in his pocket. The restlessness that had been part of his life for so long, that had only abated those short periods of time when he had been with Brooke, was urging him to move on. “Well, I’d better get going.”

 
But as he turned to leave, Tyler hooked his arm through Mark’s, stopping him.

  “What’s your hurry? Have a drink with us to celebrate.” Tyler nodded toward the small bar that Robert kept behind his desk. Robert was already on his feet, getting three glasses and a bottle of champagne he’d kept on ice. Tyler grinned as the other man poured. “After the testimony my newfound uncle gave our illustrious D.A. here, I’d say we’re well on our way to taking down the man who destroyed my mother’s life.”

  Mark really didn’t feel like celebrating, but he couldn’t very well walk away, not when it was put that way. Not when he had been instrumental, in his own small way, in bringing this all about.

  So he nodded at Tyler and accepted the glass that Jackson handed him.

  “To the future,” Jackson held his flute aloft. Tyler and then Mark raised theirs to form a small, bubbling circle. “And to the end of Walter Parks’s rein as gem czar and smuggler.”

  “Amen to that,” Tyler agreed. Taking a sip, he slid a covert glance at Mark. “Good company, good wine, but I have this feeling that something’s still missing.” He struggled to keep his expression innocent. Especially when Jackson had just rolled his eyes before turning away. “Oh, yes, good music. Or, in lieu of that, poetry.” Setting down his glass on Jackson’s desk, he looked at Mark. “How do you feel about poetry, Mark?” he asked as he stepped to the closed doors on the opposite side of the room.

  The champagne he’d just swallowed went down the wrong pipe. Mark coughed, holding his hand up to temporarily pause the conversation. Clearing his throat, he could only ask, “What?”

  “Poetry,” Tyler repeated throwing open the doors to the next room.

  The room was a library, with shelves lining three of the four walls. It reminded Mark a little of Brooke’s bookstore.

  Then, before he could ask his brother’s best friend what the hell had come over him, he heard her.

  Heard just her voice.

  His heart quickened.

  Brooke.

  Looking around, he didn’t see her. There were other people in the adjoining room. Tyler’s brother and sisters and some woman he didn’t recognize.

  And her voice floating to him.

  There was a wing chair facing a window on the far wall. Her voice was coming from there. He moved toward it.

  “He has blue eyes,

  This man who’s won my heart.

  I said some cruel words

  That tore us both apart.

  If he could forgive them,

  I promise that I would be

  Everything he ever hoped for

  If he would only return to me.”

  Her heart pounding in her throat, Brooke finished the small peace offering she had composed. She was almost afraid to look up, afraid that the presence she sensed wasn’t his.

  But when she did look up, she saw him standing there. Looking at her. Her eyes stung. She wanted to throw herself into his arms. Wanted to cry.

  Like someone in a dream, Brooke slowly rose to her feet. Suddenly her mind was filled with words, words that all rushed together, trying to charge out of her mouth. She selected the only ones that were truly pertinent.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Unable to believe that she was real, Mark cupped her face between his hands. He never thought he’d be this close to her again. “No, I’m sorry.”

  Carla came forward, relieved that her plan had worked. “Okay, you’re each one sorrier than the other. Now kiss and make up so we can move on with this.”

  Tyler decided that a measure of privacy was called for, and he came to the couple’s rescue. “Moving on sounds like a good idea.” With a wide wave of his arms, he ushered everyone else toward the open double doors. “Why don’t we all move back into the study and let these two have some privacy?”

  Brooke smiled her gratitude, but her eyes remained on Mark. “That’s my cousin.”

  His hands still framing her face, Mark laughed softly. “Yes, I know.”

  She needed to apologize, really apologize before they could move on in what was hopefully still a relationship. “But I wouldn’t know, if it hadn’t been for you.” She placed her hands on his shirt, absorbing the warmth she felt from his chest. So very happy to be here with him like this. She was never going to be able to repay Carla and Tyler. “I didn’t mean what I said to you.”

  He didn’t need her apology. Having her here like this was all he’d ever needed.

  “You had every right to be angry.” He looked into her eyes. “I never meant to hurt you or your father.”

  “I know.” And she did. There wasn’t a mean-spirited bone in the man’s body. “This is a good thing you did.” She wanted him to know that, know what a difference he’d made in her father’s life in such a short time. “My father seems happier, freer, lighter than he has in years. And now we’ve found this big family—it means the world to him.” And to her, but this wasn’t about her, it was about her father. And Mark. “And it’s all because of you. I’ll always be grateful.”

  Mark shrugged off the thanks. Unlike Dana, he had never been comfortable assuming center stage. “I was just the middle man, Brooke. It was Tyler who initiated the search.”

  She laughed, shaking her head. She’d never known anyone like him. The man was unbelievably modest. All the other men she’d fancied herself in love with had egos higher than Mt. Everest, but Mark was entirely without one. Maybe that was why she loved him the way she did. He was real and he didn’t need to feed on any outside reinforcements.

  She touched his cheek. “Stop it, I’m trying to thank you.”

  He placed his hand over hers, bringing the palm of her hand to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the center. “There’s no need.”

  Brooke caught her breath as a thrill undulated through her. “There’s every need. I haven’t been the same since you left.”

  “I know what you mean,” he confessed. “I feel the same way.” Afraid she might misunderstand, he quickly explained, “I mean, I haven’t been the same, either.”

  He sounded about as suave as a chunk of cheese, he thought ruefully. This was his moment to make everything right and he was stumbling over his own tongue, having a hell of a hard time forming sentences. Nothing new there. But he needed to, needed to let her know exactly how he felt. And what he wanted.

  He tried again, looking into her eyes, hoping she could see into his soul—which belonged to her exclusively. “Did you mean what you said, in the poem? About my having your heart?”

  Brooke smiled, blinking back tears again. As if he had to ask. “Yes.”

  “That’s good. Because you have mine.” He knew his voice didn’t carry enough inflection and that he probably sounded as if he was reading a laundry list. “Damn it, Brooke, I’m not any good at this.” He took her hand in his. “I won’t be writing poems for you, or even reading them. That’s not my style.”

  “Okay,” she uttered breathlessly, every fiber in her being coaxing him on.

  “But I do love you.”

  Her heart was hammering so hard in her throat, she was surprised she could still squeeze out a word without having it squeak. “You do?”

  “Yes,” he told her solemnly. “You make me feel complete.” As he spoke, he explored the sensation for the first time, thinking out loud. “I never felt whole before. I always felt as if there was something not right, something missing. I didn’t think I was really capable of loving.” His parents’ violent death and the life that followed thereafter had left him feeling hollow. Even finding Dana hadn’t done anything to plug the hole. “Because, a person who’s really in love can sense when there’s something wrong, and I didn’t pick up on any of those vibrations with Dana.

  “But with you, it’s different.” And he meant that from the bottom of his heart. “It’s like there’s a single soul that’s both yours and mine.” He paused, wondering if she thought he was some kind of babbling lunatic. “Is any of this making any sense to you?”

  “Yes, oh,
yes.” It made sense, it made beautiful sense.

  “Ask her to marry you, already, or do I have to put it on a teleprompter?” Carla prodded impatiently from the other side of the door.

  Unable to help herself, an incurable romantic, Carla wanted to be sure everything had gone well. The others pretended not to be listening, but with the exception of Jackson, who had more than his fill of romance according to the tabloids, they were all milling around close to the vicinity of the double doors.

  Mark frowned at the doors. Taking her hand, he drew Brooke further to the other side of the room, away from prying ears.

  His courage flagging, he looked down at her. “Would you?” The very air had stopped moving. It took the rest of the room with it. “Would I what?” “You know.” Helpless, Mark nodded back toward the double doors.

  She wanted to jump to conclusions, wanted to shout “Yes,” but this time she was taking it slow. If only for a minute. “No, I don’t. You’re going to have to spell it out for me.”

  Mark took a breath. “All right, here goes. W-i-l-l y-o-u—”

  Laughing, she placed her fingertips against his lips. “What are you doing?”

  His eyes danced. “Spelling it out for you, like you asked.”

  Still laughing, Brooke punched his arm with her good fist. “I had no idea you had a sense of humor.”

  The blow surprised him. Admiration entered his eyes. “And I had no idea you had such a left hook. For a little thing, you do pack a wallop. But then, I guess I kind of suspected that.” He stopped rubbing where the blow had landed and took her in his arms, smiling into her eyes. Smiling with his whole soul. “All right, now the right way. Will you marry me?”

  She released the breath she was holding. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to marry you.”

  He didn’t want her entering into this with false illusions. “I’m no Prince Charming.”

  “That’s what you think.” She wrapped her one good arm around his neck, rising up on her toes. “You’ll always be my Prince Charming. Even if you don’t write me poetry.”

  His heart full, Mark brought his mouth down on hers to seal their bargain and their fate.