Found Wanting (14 page)

Chapter 12

Addison Keller stood at the sink, staring at herself in the dark window as she sipped her third glass of pinot noir and wondered what the hell she would do with her life when the feds hauled Layton away in cuffs. Imagining the sight, she smirked at her reflection, even giggled a little. Take that, you lying son of a bitch.

Realizing that she'd had too much wine, she set the glass aside. She could have finished the bottle for all that it mattered. Layton had slipped out an hour ago without telling her where he was going or when he would be back. Not that she cared. The longer he was away, the less she had to pretend she still cared.

Sixteen years. Wasted. She was almost forty years old. She had devoted her life to being a corporate wife. She sat on all the appropriate community boards. The YWCA. The public library. The women's club. The community college. Schools for mentally handicapped children. She organized fund-raising events for single moms. Chaired a drive to collect toys for underprivileged kids during the holidays. Headed a literacy program for families on welfare. Her days were packed with activities that kept her in the public eye and polished to a golden sheen the images of her husband and family. Just like her mother had.

"Addy? Where are you?"

She turned from the window, surprised at the excitement in her husband's voice. Smoothing the wrinkles in the front of her blouse, she walked through the dining room and into the living room, where she stopped in mid-step and stared.

Standing beside Layton was a disheveled, exhausted teenager with messy blond hair in need of a haircut, piercing blue eyes and the same angle-cut features that age had softened on her husband. He was on his way to being as tall as Layton and wore grungy-looking blue jeans with holes in the knees, black athletic shoes that had seen better days and an incongruous "Welcome to Washington" T-shirt sporting an artist's rendition of the nation's Capitol. One wrist bore a sports watch, the other a loose bracelet woven out of black and red material. One ear was pierced, a diamond stud winking in the light.

Her sister's son took her breath away.

Layton, beaming, gave Jonah a nudge toward Addison. "Addy, this is Jonah. Jonah, your Aunt Addy."

Speechless, Addison tried to smile, feeling as if a stranger had control of her facial muscles. Dammit, too much wine. "How do you do, Jonah?"

He met her gaze briefly before his blue eyes -- so like his father's -- darted away.

"He's tired," Layton said. "He needs a good night's sleep." He slapped the boy on the shoulder, pal-like. "Don't you, kiddo?"

Jonah cast his gaze down at the floor, clearly shell-shocked. Addison looked at Layton. "How did --"

"I'll explain everything once Jonah here is settled. He's had a long day."

She studied her husband's face, alarm growing at his triumphant glow. Oh God, what have you done? Her stomach churning, she turned her attention to her nephew. "I'll show you to a guest room, Jonah --"

"His room," Layton interrupted. "It'll be his room."

Addison forced a smile. "Right." She led the teen up the stairs. "We have several guest rooms, but you can have the biggest one," she said, unable to stop herself from babbling. That damn wine. "In the morning, you'll see that it has a fantastic view of the Potomac."

She flicked on the bedroom light. The décor was all wrong for a teenage boy -- from the white down comforter to the gauzy black shears that fell to the floor. She indicated a closed door along one wall. "There's a full bathroom with clean towels and a selection of toiletries. Use whatever you want." Facing him, she clasped her trembling hands before her and tried to think of something to say. "Is that a new shirt?"

He sank onto the bed, his gaze fastened on her face. "You look like my mother."

Her chest tightened with dread. "How is she?"

He looked down at the hands tangled in his lap. "I don't know. She'll be worried."

If he thought that, then perhaps Alaina was okay. She clung to that. Considering anything else was too distressing. "When did you see her last?"

"This morning before school," he said, rubbing at his right eye as if it itched.

She sat beside him, careful not to crowd him. "Can you tell me what happened?"

He turned his head to look at her. Even though his eyes were Layton's blue, she saw in them what she remembered most from Alaina's. Mistrust. Dejection. Anger.

"I want to help," she said softly, gripping his forearm. "I'm going to help you."

"He says he's my father."

She nodded, giving him a sympathetic smile. "He's very happy to finally meet you." She squeezed his arm. "So am I. The last time we saw you, you were a tiny baby."

"She told me she didn't know my father, that he was a one-night stand."

Addison's heart twisted. Alaina couldn't have told him the truth, but how it must have tormented her to present her son such an unsavory image of herself. "She was protecting you."

Rage leapt like fire into his eyes. "From what?"

"It's very complicated --"

"No kidding." Pushing himself up, he crossed to the window and peered at the darkness outside. There was nothing to see, but he concentrated as if he could see every blade of grass.

Addison stayed on the bed, allowing him the space he sought. "Jonah," she said. "Tell me what happened today."

His shoulders squared, then sagged, the weight of the day too heavy for bravado. He leaned his forehead against the window as if the contact would cool a raging fever. "I was at Lucas'." He stopped, and when he spoke again, his voice shook. "They shot his dad."

Addison flinched, as much at his words as at the pitiful catch in his voice. "Who shot him?" she asked.

"Two guys. They busted in, and when he tried to fight them, they shot him." Turning, he dug his fingers into the front of his shirt and pulled it away from his skin as if the feel of it chafed. "His blood splattered on my shirt."

He rubbed at his eyes again, and this time when he lowered his hand, they were bloodshot and watery. "I ran," he said. "I just took off, but one of the guys came after me." He swallowed hard, his gaze turning inward. "I hope they didn't hurt Lucas. He's my best friend."

"He's fine, Jonah. I promise."

"How do you know?"

"I just do." She paused. "Can you tell me what happened after the man caught you?"

Jonah focused on her. "He tied my hands. Made me get into the trunk of their car. They drove for a long time, and I could hear them talking, but they were doing it too quiet and I couldn't hear what they said. Then one of them called someone, and the connection must have been bad, because the guy on the phone started talking really loud. Said they had something that person wanted. I thought they called Mom. I started to yell, to tell her I was okay, but I didn't want to, you know, scare her. The guy asked for money. Fifty thousand dollars."

As he talked, the words began to spill out faster.

"They set up a meeting," he went on. "Said they'd turn me over, no harm done, for the money in small bills. I kept thinking there was no way Mom could pay them. We don't have that kind of money. And then I started thinking that they grabbed the wrong kid, that they'd meant to get Lucas. He's got rich grandparents down in Florida." He lowered himself to the other side of the bed. "After a while, they parked and opened the trunk, and I was trying to figure out if I should tell them they got the wrong kid, but I was afraid." His voice lost volume, and he paused, seemed to take a moment to regroup. "I was afraid they'd kill me if they realized I wasn't who they wanted. I saw we were in one of those big buildings at the airport where they park airplanes. A hangar. The car was parked next to one of those corporate planes. White. With a dolphin nose."

Addison recognized his description of what could have been the PCware Gulfstream.

"I started yelling for help, and the guys laughed at me. They told me no one was around to help me. This other guy walked up in a suit and tie. He had a bag that I guess had the money in it, because he handed it to one of the guys and told them to beat it. They took off, and the new guy ... he untied my hands, told me not to worry. He asked if I was okay. Maybe because he saw all the blood on my shirt. I told him he had the wrong kid. He looked at my face really hard and said, 'You Jonah?' When I said, 'Yeah,' he pushed me toward the steps that led up into the plane. Told me to get in, we were going on a trip. He closed the door to the cockpit, so I couldn't talk to him. We stayed on the runway a long time, I guess because it was storming. Then we finally took off. I was scared. I'd never flown before. But it was also kind of cool. I was beginning to think I was going to be okay." He gave a small shrug. "He could have left me tied up and all."

She tried for an encouraging smile. "What happened when you landed?"

"We taxied a long time, to a hangar like the one in Chicago. When the door was opened ... he was there."

Addison understood who "he" was. Layton. She waited.

"He gave me a clean shirt." Jonah looked at her. "Is he really my father?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"He told me you're my mom's sister. She's never mentioned you."

That stung, even though Addison knew she had no right to feel hurt. Straightening off the bed, she moved toward the door. "You're tired. Why don't we talk more tomorrow, after you've gotten some sleep?"

"I want to call Mom. She's going to be worried."

"I'll call her, okay?"

He hesitated, not happy with that suggestion but apparently unable to figure out how to insist. "Tell her I'm fine. They didn't hurt me."

"I will. Sleep well."

In the hallway outside the closed door, she met her husband's veiled gaze. He was leaning a shoulder against the wall, the tail of his white shirt out of his slacks, hands in his pockets. He offered no apology for eavesdropping, not that she expected him to.

"That's quite a story, isn't it?" he said.

She walked by him to their bedroom at the other end of the hall, conscious of him following, hands still in his pockets, that damn bounce in his step. Once in the bedroom, she shut the door and whirled on him. "What the hell happened, Layton?"

He spread his hands before him. "Why are you angry at me, Addy? What did I do?"

"That boy was kidnapped and delivered right to you. Forgive me for being a little suspicious about how that came about. Jesus, a man got shot."

Layton dragged a hand through his blond curls, and some of the happiness in his face fell away. "You're right, honey. It's terrible. I feel terrible."

She refused to believe that he felt anywhere near as contrite as he suddenly looked, and she had to fight the urge to throw something heavy and lethal at his head. "Tell me what happened."

He crossed to her, put his hands on her shoulders and gently squeezed. "Don't get so upset. All's well that end's well."

"How has this ended well? A man was shot. He could have been killed." She stopped, hitched in a breath, told herself to get a grip before she blew it. "Where is Alaina?"

His eyes hardened. "That's not our problem, Addison."

"She's his mother. The hell it's not our problem."

"Hey, if she can't keep track of the kid --"

"Layton, I'm begging you." She curled her fingers into his shirt front. "Tell me what happened."

Releasing her, he turned away, one hand going back into his pants pocket, the other massaging the back of his neck. She could see his features in the reflection of the full-length mirror in the corner. He looked genuinely distressed, and she wondered whether he knew she could see his face.