Beyond Eden (36 page)

It was so difficult to speak. She could barely open her mouth with the bandages heavy around her head and beneath her chin. “Will I look horrible?”

“No. You'll probably look just like you did
before. As I said to Mr. Taylor here, you were very lucky. The damage was to the bones, not to your skin, which means little scarring. You were very lucky. You'll be beautiful again. Please don't worry.”

“Thank you.”

Taylor saw Dr. Perry in the hall. The doctor smiled. “I wasn't lying. She'll be fine. As for her beauty, I know she's a model and her face is her living. I think you should prepare her for a change in careers. It might not be necessary, but I can't be certain. It's nearly impossible to predict the exact result. It just seems wise that you get her thinking along alternative lines. The surgery went very well, I'm not lying to you, but still, one never really knows.”

Taylor wanted to tell him that Lindsay wasn't a model because of any great desire to be so, but he didn't because he really didn't know how strongly she felt about it. He wanted to get back to her. He thanked the doctor and watched him walk away down the corridor. He said to officer Jay Fogel, who was sitting by Lindsay's door, a
People
magazine on his lap, “See anyone suspicious?”

Fogel shook his head, profoundly regretful. “Not even a pretty nurse.” Fogel studied the man for a moment, then added, “Besides, Mr. Taylor, you're here. What maniac in his right mind would try to get to her with you here?”

Taylor just shook his head. Fogel was short, wiry, with a baby face that made all women, regardless of their ages, want to mother him. Fogel, from what Taylor had heard, usually took instant and shameless advantage.

“Just keep alert,” Taylor said, and went back inside.

He sat beside Lindsay and immediately covered her forearm with his fingers. He stroked the soft flesh. He felt her ease.

“I know,” she said, the words difficult to understand because she couldn't open her mouth very wide.

“You know it wasn't an accident?”

“Yes.”

“Any ideas?”

He sounded so matter-of-fact, so completely neutral, that she blinked at him.

He smiled at her, seeing that she'd accepted it, that she'd drawn back from hysteria. She was firmly in control. He admired her greatly in that moment. “I want you to think back to the shoot. Go very slowly. Ah, look whose timing is next to perfection. Lindsay, love, this is Sergeant Barry Kinsley of the NYPD. He and I go back a long way, probably too long a way. He looks like a wrestler and he is, but he does have a brain. He's here to find out who tried to hurt you.”

Barry looked into her eyes and knew then why Taylor or any man for that matter could fall like a ton of bricks for the lady. They were deep blue and filled with shadows and mysteries, so deep, he thought, and soft and incredibly sexy. Since she looked like a conehead, all swathed around the head in that white bandage, he hadn't thought much about her looks, even though she was a successful model. Now he wanted to see some professional photos of her.

“Hello, Miss Foxe,” he said.

Lindsay nodded, then jerked.
Foxe!
She turned to Taylor, her eyes stricken with the knowledge that he knew and she hadn't been the one to tell him.

Taylor said mildly, forestalling anything she
would say, “Lindsay Foxe is a nice name, sweetheart, but I think, personally, that Lindsay Taylor is a much nicer one. What do you say?”

She didn't say anything. She was crying with relief, with shame, with regret. She felt him dab away the tears. What was wrong with her? The crying—she'd never cried so much in her life. There was no control, none at all, and now this.

“Shush, sweetheart. It's all right. We'll talk later about it. It's not important. Please believe me, Lindsay. It's not important. Now, poor Barry here wants to ask you some questions. I want you to go real slow and think about everything. Tell us each and every little detail, no matter how silly, even crazy impressions, don't leave out even the bathroom breaks—tell us everything about yesterday morning.”

She did, speaking slowly. She forgot things, then remembered. Taylor asked questions and she remembered more. Barry asked questions with a different slant, and more came back to her. It went slowly. “. . . Then I was standing by that stupid fake ski lift and Edie started screaming. I looked at her, because I didn't understand, then I looked up, following her eyes, and then things started raining down on me. I wasn't fast enough.”

Barry said slowly, “Then you didn't see anyone who shouldn't have been there? You didn't have any questions about anyone at all?”

“No.”

Barry said, “One thing bothers me, Miss Foxe. You were the only one standing against the ski lift when it exploded. No one else was close. Why were you there at just that moment and all alone?”

She closed her eyes. Why? “Oh, no,” she said. “Oh, no.”

“Tell us,” Taylor said. “What do you see? What do you remember?” She heard the urgency in his voice, but his fingers on her forearm remained in their gentle slow rhythm.

“One of the set men came over to me. I was watching a chess game. He said they wanted to do some lineup shots and would I please go stand against the ski lift.”

“Ah,” Barry said. “Think now, Miss Foxe. Was the man one of the crew? Did you recognize him?”

“No.”

“Okay, it's probably our guy. Picture him in your mind. Describe him as completely as you can.”

Lindsay placed him in her mind, saw him as clearly as she did Sergeant Kinsley, and said, “He was five-foot-nine or ten. Not more. He was medium-complexioned, light brown eyes, light brown hair and eyebrows, thick eyebrows, and straight. His hair was on the long side, and oily. I know the color because he wore it long and it showed longer than the red wool cap he was wearing.” She continued, covering each inch of the man.

Barry was amazed.

Taylor couldn't believe it. He didn't know what he expected, but not this nearly photographic recreation.

“I'm going to get a police artist over here, Miss Foxe. Would you work with him?”

“Yes.”

“And mug books, but we'll do that later.” Barry said to Taylor, “It sounds to me like this guy was hired to do the job. The explosives weren't professional, but neither were they amateur. He knew what he was doing but he isn't the kind to have this crazy kind of pride in his work. He knew how to keep himself from buying anything traceable.
Yeah, chances are he was hired. Miss Foxe, I don't want to frighten you, but this is important. Who can you think of who would want you out of the way?”

“You mean dead,” Lindsay said, no emotion in her voice.

“That's right,” Barry said. It was that same matter-of-fact voice Taylor had used. It was calming. She almost smiled at both of their tactics, but the pain had been inching back into her consciousness and she just couldn't.

“No one,” she said.

Taylor watched her press the button for more painkiller. He didn't say anything. He drew Barry's attention away from her until she could regain her control. He knew it was important to her. It would have been just as important to him.

“Sydney di Contini, Lindsay's half-sister, is supposed to come visiting in a little while. You want to stay around and meet the lady?”

“Who wouldn't want to meet a real-live princess?”

 

Sydney wasn't alone. Judge Royce Foxe and his wife, Holly Foxe, were with her. Taylor stood when she entered. His eyes went to the patrician older man who stood just behind her. My God, he thought, staring. Lindsay had his eyes. Just his eyes, nothing more. Well, perhaps his height as well. But the eyes, it was like looking into her eyes, until Foxe said, “What is going on here?”

Cold and flat and hard, Taylor thought. No, his eyes weren't anything like his daughter's. There was no warmth, just ice, hot and hard.

Barry introduced himself, then turned to Taylor. “And this, of course, is your daughter's fiancé, S. C. Taylor.”

Royce Foxe stared at the man who, Sydney had
assured him over and over, was engaged to Lindsay. He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this sort of man. This man was tough. He'd been around. He'd seen things a lot of men never saw. He was good-looking, Royce supposed, but he looked dangerous, possibly cruel. Certainly ruthless. This man was engaged to Lindsay? He shook his head. It made no sense. He was inclined to think it was all a lie.

He nodded toward Taylor. Holly was introduced. Taylor wanted to beat the living hell out of Royce Foxe, but he knew it wouldn't be smart. Not here, not now. He said easily, “It's rather crowded in here. Lindsay's sleeping right now and I don't want her awakened. Why don't we all go to the waiting room?”

Royce glanced over at his daughter. She looked pathetic, absurd really, with her head wrapped up like an imaginary invalid in a bad comedy. He grimaced, then turned on his heel. Barry looked over at Taylor, saw that he was white-faced with rage.

He winked at Taylor. It made Taylor shake his head. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Barry wasted no time. When they were in the small private waiting room at the end of the corridor, he said to Judge Foxe, “I understand you're furious because your mother left all her money to Lindsay.”

“Not bad, Sergeant,” Royce Foxe said. “Not wonderful either, but you might improve with practice.”

Taylor winked at Barry. The man was something else.

“Well, weren't you pissed about it? Didn't you
try to get Lindsay to sign over her inheritance to you?”

“Certainly. It's only right. I am the only heir, the real heir, not her. My mother was old, she was losing it, quite badly really. I'm not yet certain how Lindsay got to her, but I will find out. Then she will lose all of the money. However, I wouldn't murder my own daughter.”

He laughed, a soft, mellow sound. “I've seen a lot of very strange fathers during my years on the bench, Sergeant, but as a federal judge, it simply wouldn't do for me to kill my daughter. For any reason.”

Holly said, pointing a beringed finger toward Taylor, “It's absurd! All of it! I'll just bet Lindsay got herself mixed up with
him
and now she doesn't want him anymore because she has money and he hasn't and he tried to kill her!”

“Her mind isn't polished,” Royce remarked to Barry, “but she does have rather pointed notions, does she not?”

Sydney said, “This is absurd, Sergeant. None of us would harm Lindsay. Don't you have any real leads? Perhaps it really was an accident after all.”

“No, it wasn't an accident,” Taylor said. “ Incidentally, the police will be getting financial statements on all of you. You talk a good game, Mr. Foxe—”

“Judge Foxe.”

“We'll have to see, won't we? I was a cop, and like you, I've seen a lot of strange fathers. I consider you one of the most remarkable and uncommon of any I've ever run into.”

“Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I was referring to Lindsay's rape by her
brother-in-law, and how you turned on her, how you dished your own daughter up to the press.”

Royce Foxe turned pale with anger. “So that's what she told you, is it! That damned little ingrate, that stupid slut, why I'll—” He broke off, as if realizing what he was doing, and in front of a cop.

Royce waved a negligent hand, back in control again. “My wife and I are staying at the Plaza. If you wish to speak further with us, Sergeant, we will, of course, oblige. We will remain in New York for only two days. No reason to stay longer if Lindsay is going to live.”

“Yeah, you can count out any funeral plans, Judge,” Taylor said. He watched, without moving, until Foxe was out of sight. “I want to do something very painful to him,” he said to Enoch.

“Me too, boyo.”

Later that afternoon when Lindsay awoke, Taylor said to her, “I've made a decision, Lindsay.”

He saw fear instantly leap into her eyes and wanted to kick himself.

“Just stop it, do you hear me? I don't give a rat's ass that you didn't tell me who you were. I even understand why you didn't. I know now, and I'd like to punch your father's lights out. He's a shit. Actually, he's one of the very biggest shits I've ever run into. You're not. I love you and I'll always love you. If it's okay with you, here's what I want to do—”

“No, stop,” she said. Lindsay closed her eyes, feeling the pain swamp her, trying to control it. She did, finally. “I believe you love me, Taylor. I think it's miraculous, but I believe that you'll always love me. You've never lied to me and you never would. You're just not made that way. You say who I am
doesn't matter to you. I believe you. I'm very grateful to you for that.

“Now, I honestly can't think of anyone who would want to hurt me, except my family.” She paused, looking over his left shoulder. Then her eyes met his and she said very quietly, “If it is my family, then there's a solution. Will you marry me now? As soon as possible? Then if my family is behind it for the money, they wouldn't have a motive anymore because you'd be my beneficiary.”

Taylor smiled. He had been on the point of asking her to marry him for the same reason. “You're pretty smart, you know that? How about tomorrow afternoon? You're a Protestant. I know a Presbyterian minister. Is that okay?”

She nodded, relief and happiness overcoming the pain.

Taylor tried to choose his words carefully, but he didn't entirely succeed. “Your father's behavior appears irrational to me. So is your half-sister's. As for your stepmother, she's practically off the deep end. If one of them—or both or all three—were behind the attempt on your life, then once we're married, I really do think you're right. They'll not forgive, but they will forget.”