Intimate Betrayal (21 page)

R
eese's relative silence was blatantly evident during the first leg of the drive toward Maxwell's house in San Diego, he noted. There was no longer a reason to delay their arrival since he'd told her as much as he knew. Everything except what was in the note. The words came back to him now, rippling through him like a stone skimming over water. He pushed them aside.

“What's on your mind, Reese?” he asked. “It's not like you not to talk.”

She took a long breath and turned her gaze away from him. “I know you said you wanted me to find the answers no matter what the costs.” She turned to face his profile. “I'm not so much afraid of what I'll discover, but what will happen to us when I do.”

He nodded in understanding, having asked himself the same question more times than he cared to admit. “I wish I
had the answers. But I don't. All I can say is that we'll have to find a way to deal with it. If it's what we want.”

Reese pressed her lips together in thought. “I know from experience how I've been viewed from the perspective of the person I've interviewed when I uncover elements of their lives that they'd prefer to keep under wraps.”

“And?”

“Things invariably change. I become the bad guy. The one who was out to get them.”

“So you think I'll feel the same way?”

Slowly she nodded. “You already came into this with preconceived notions. You thought the worst of me before we even met. And somehow I feel that because of the attraction between us you've put those feelings aside. But they're still there, just beneath the surface.” Her soft amber eyes searched his face, silently praying that he would emphatically refute her statement.

“I've tried to put that out of my mind. I've tried to allow myself to be objective and I admit, getting involved with you provides no objectivity. But—” he paused, gauging his words “—you're right. Much of my ambivalence still remains. The difference is that I'm learning to trust again. And that trust began with you. I trust you to do the right thing—for everyone.”

“I can't ask for more than that,” she said.

“And neither can I.”

They pulled into the driveway of Maxwell's home just as Larry stepped out of the front door. He walked up to the parked car and leaned down to meet Maxwell at eye level. Maxwell lowered the window. His gaze held the question.

Larry nodded. His dark brown eyes somber. “The house was loaded. No less than one in every room. Your office as well.”

“Damn!” Maxwell slapped his hand against the steering
wheel. The horn blared causing Reese to jump. “How could they have gotten in? The house is alarmed and no one but staff can get beyond reception and into my office.”

“At this point, there's nothing we can do about it. But from here on out, we take extra precautions. Understood?”

“Yeah.”

“When are you two headed out?”

“I'm waiting on a call from Carmen. It'll either be tomorrow or the day after at the latest.”

“Good. The sooner the better. I'll be making my arrangements as soon as I leave here. I'll be in Tokyo as soon as I can. In the meantime, we need a contingency plan in place.”

“I'm way ahead of you. Chris is already in Tokyo. He's in a tournament. I plan to contact him tonight.”

Larry smiled for the first time. “I can't think of anyone better.” He patted Maxwell solidly on the shoulder. “Everything's going to work out,” he assured. “You know, Max, we can put a quick end to this by just backing off from this interview. It would be safer for everyone.”

“No way in hell,” Reese spouted definitively. She'd sat by in silence listening to these two men decide on what was best without any input from her. That had to stop. “No one is going to scare me away from a story. There's obviously something that they want to keep hidden. Which gives me all the more reason to find out what it is.”

Larry looked at her and saw the same determination in her eyes that had been in her father's the day he faced down Frank Murphy and told him he was going to the Senate SubCommittee with his findings—knowing full well the risks to himself and his career. His decision had ultimately sparked a series of events that still reverberated fifteen years later. His decision had cost him his life. Would Reese's decision cost her life as well? He didn't want to envision the possibility
and blinked back the memories. “I'll be in touch.” He turned, walked toward his car and drove away.

Reese pressed her hands to her face. “They're really serious, aren't they?” she asked from between her fingers.

“Yeah,” Maxwell expelled. “They're serious.” He popped the lock on the door. “Come on, let's go inside and get settled.”

Maxwell slid his arm around Reese's waist as they walked toward the house, pulling her close to his side. He bent his head, speaking low in her ear, “Everything is going to be fine. I swear to you, I won't let anything happen to you.”

Reese leaned into his embrace, struggling to ward off the pain in her head which had begun as a dull throb back at Maxwell's office. She thought she could fight it off, but she couldn't. Briefly she shut her eyes and missed a step.

Maxwell tightened his hold, steadying her. “Are you all right?”

She turned her amber gaze upward to meet his and he instantly knew she wasn't. His dark eyes narrowed in concern. “Why didn't you tell me?” He opened the door, swept her up his arms and proceeded up the stairs to the bedroom.

By the time Maxwell placed Reese on the bed she was moaning softly, squeezing her eyes shut to fight the pain.

He crossed the room in swift strides and turned the wand on the vertical blinds, blocking out the light.

Maxwell came to the bed and placed her head in the cushion of his lap. “Try to relax, baby,” he cooed, placing his thumbs at her temples. He began the slow rotation, the gentle pressure, the soothing words that, had in the past, brought her relief. He worked with her for fifteen minutes.

Reese braced her body, anticipating the moment when freedom from pain would flow freely through her body. But it didn't come. Unbidden, tears of pain squeezed from her
shut eyes. “I need m-my medicine,” she moaned. “It's not working, Max. I can't s-stand it anymore.”

“Where?”

“In the top drawer of t-the dresser,” she mumbled.

Maxwell brought her the medicine and a glass of water. He lifted her head while she took the medication, then slowly eased her head back on the pillow. He knew from experience that the potent medication would soon begin to do its job. At all costs, Maxwell strove to stay away from any chemical substances which altered the way the body naturally worked. It was why he studied and mastered the art of
Tai chi.
He knew all too well the long-term effects of chemical dependency, having seen so many promising brothers and sisters fall by the wayside.

He gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb her. Already, her breathing had slowed, the tight knit across her forehead was beginning to ease. Her eyes weren't squeezed shut, but merely closed. In this state between asleep and awake she would be more receptive to letting her mind flow freely. Perhaps she'd be able to give some clue as to what precipitated this attack.

“Reese,” he called softly.

“Hmm?”

“Do you have any idea what brought on the pain?”

“No,” she replied in a thready whisper. “Not really. It started at the office.”

“Can you remember when, sweetheart—what was happening?”

“I—I think it started when Larry passed us in the hallway.”

Maxwell let that piece of information settle. What reason could there be for Larry to act as a catalyst for her headache? What was his connection to Reese? What hidden part of her memory did he occupy? It was becoming apparent that the
reasons for her headaches stemmed from people who entered her life that somehow resurrected memories of her forgotten past.

He placed a light kiss on her brow. “Try to get some rest,” he said in a gentle whisper. “By the time you wake up, you'll be feeling better and we can talk some more over dinner.”

 

Maxwell knew he had at least two hours before Reese would awaken. He headed downstairs and used the phone in the den.

After several false starts he was finally able to connect to Chris's room.

“Hey, man,” Chris greeted. “You just caught me. I was on my way out. Don't tell me you're already in town.”

“No. Not yet. But I'll be there sooner than scheduled.”

Chris was instantly alert to the tension in Maxwell's voice. “What's up and what can I do to help?”

 

James made the return trip home after his meeting with Frank Murphy. He gripped the wheel to keep his hands from shaking.

Frank told him in no uncertain terms that if Maxwell continued to cooperate with Reese Delaware, he'd do whatever was necessary to stop him
and
her. James had one last chance to convince his son to back off. Frank also intimated that there'd been two warnings sent. James didn't want there to be a third.

He had to get in touch with Maxwell and convince him to give up this story.

 

No sooner had Maxwell hung up from speaking with Chris than his phone rang. Anticipating the caller to be Carmen, he was more than surprised to hear his father's voice.

“More problems?” he greeted, the disdain plain apparent
in his voice. “Larry's already been here, if that's why you're calling.”

James took a steadying breath. “You've got to back off from this interview, Max. Now.”

“The time for you to tell me what to do is long gone, Dad.” His nostrils flared in anger. His voice dropped to a threatening low. “Unlike you, I'm my own man. The only orders I follow are the ones that I set up for myself. I don't know what your role in all of this is, but I won't be a party to helping you keep it a secret, directly or indirectly.”

As James listened to his son's angry dismissal of him, he knew how right he was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd made an independent decision, and when he did, it resulted in the birth of his son and completely changed the very fabric of his marriage and nearly destroyed his wife. He knew he couldn't change the past. He only hoped that he could somehow make up for what he'd done by trying everything in his power to protect his son. A son whom he'd never forged a relationship with. A son who could not forgive him for that.

“There's more than just me to consider. I know you don't have much regard for our relationship. I know that I'm the last person who can tell you what to do. I'm not asking you to take my concerns into consideration.” He paused, taking a short breath. “If you aren't concerned with your own safety, at least consider Reese's.”

“Reese has made her decision, Dad. All I can do is stand by her.”

James let out a long sigh, laden with sadness. “Just be careful, son.”

Maxwell's heart pinched at the word
son.
For a brief instant his stand faltered. “I will be.”

T
he house was quiet. Claudia had apparently gone out, James concluded. Wearily he made his way down the short foyer to his den. He'd truly believed that he'd been given an opportunity to, somehow, be the father of Maxwell that he had not been for thirty-three years: protector—counselor—friend.

For several long moments, he sat in his favorite chair recalling the caustic, detached tone of his son. And, yes, he deserved it. He deserved the animosity, the isolation. James sighed with regret, pressing his fists against his temples.

Maxwell made it very clear that he was his own man, and faced with the unknown, he was still capable of taking care of himself. Even as the object of all of Max's ambivalence, James felt the surge of pride. His son was a better man than he'd ever hoped to be. Perhaps by some macabre twist of fate, his life as a slave to others' directives had in some way been responsible for Maxwell being just the opposite.

James pushed himself up from his chair and slowly stood.
There was no doubt that years in the service of his country had left its mark indelibly ingrained in him. But whether his son wanted to accept or believe it, his love for him was far greater than his obligation to his country. This one time he could not follow orders. Even at the risk of his career and possibly his own life, he would protect his son. Although he felt he would never be able to confess his role to Max, he would do everything in his power to see that he had the tools necessary to uncover the truth. It was time.

James reached for the phone and was just about to dial when he heard Claudia's soft voice in deep conversation. Surprised that she'd returned without him hearing her, he started to hang up until he caught the voice of the person on the other end. For the briefest instant, his heart seemed to freeze in his chest.
Larry Templeton.

 

Victoria sat unmoving in the plush gray armchair in her bedroom. Her slender hands folded in her lap. A thin shaft of light peeked through the drawn pale pink drapes. For the past few hours she'd contemplated what she was about to do. She no longer had anything to lose, and she'd be damned if she let anyone else gain any more satisfaction in their life.

Her day had been filled with lies and deceit. She'd listened to the most outlandish story she'd ever heard. And then less than two hours later, her uncle's story was refuted. She was still at odds with what she'd been told. Both Celeste and Frank had reasons for misleading her.

She stared sightlessly across the room, her mind a jumble of tormented thoughts, her spirit raw and beaten. She sighed heavily. It didn't matter anymore, she decided. Today would be her day of retribution. Everyone who'd hurt her would pay. And then, finally, she would feel relief from the constant emptiness that had carved out a hole in her spirit. Soon it would be filled with revenge.

 

The pain was more intense now. Celeste winced as it sliced through her body. This was her penance. Her payment for all the hurt she'd caused. The lies she'd told. But she'd rather bear the pain than reveal what she'd done. To do so would shred the fabric of her existence. She squeezed her eyes shut and took long, shaky breaths until the agony subsided.

In measured steps, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. With each footfall, the vibrations of the truth shot through her limbs, reverberating outward to her limbs.

With great effort, she made it across the mauve-colored carpet to her bed. She could have told Victoria the truth, she realized, laying her pain-racked body across the floral quilt. But to do so would have been to admit truths that were too painful. The truth of her own beginnings, the truth about her feelings for her sister Sharlene. The truth about her involvement with Hamilton and the truth about Victoria.

The truth would have imploded the very foundation upon which she'd built her life. The lie that she'd constructed so that she could live. It was the one entity that allowed her to go on day by day.

Celeste closed her eyes against the waning sunshine that slid across the room. The sheer chiffon curtains fanned soundlessly in and out of the open window. A sudden pang of remembrance made her heart race. This day was so similar to the afternoon that Hamilton was killed, and all of her hopes for a life with him died in a rubble of twisted metal. All that was left was Reese. Reese who was almost identical to her mother, Sharlene. The one who'd come into her perfect world and destroyed it.

A single hot tear trickled down her cheek. How different would things have been if Sharlene had never been born? She, Celeste, would have been the only one, the one whom her parents loved and cherished. After all, she was the one who'd
lost everything and everyone. She'd put all of her childlike faith and hope into her new family, and they'd promised to love her.

But when Sharlene came along, everything changed. They forgot her. They forgot their promise. Sharlene became the little princess.

Celeste tried to remember the moment the resentment began.

If she thought about it hard enough, not only could she conjure up crystal-clear imagery, she could reincarnate the pull in her chest and the sinking sensation in her stomach.

It was Sharlene's fifth birthday. Celeste was eight. Their parents had gone all out to celebrate Sharlene's birthday.

The huge backyard was filled with brilliant colored balloons and matching streamers. There was a clown performing tricks for the innumerable neighborhood children and the brood of relatives. There was even a riding pony complete with a cowboy.

Sharlene wore a pink dress with a full skirt lifted by a crinoline slip and decorated with white satin ribbons, which matched those in her hair.

“My dress is so pretty,” Sharlene announced, looking up at Celeste for confirmation. Her large dark eyes trailed up and down Celeste's body. “It's prettier than yours,” she taunted.

“So what,” Celeste snapped, pursing her slim pink lips and fluffing her Shirley Temple curls.

“My dress is prettier because I'm the princess. Daddy said so.”

“You are not. I'm Daddy's princess. You're just a little black nothing,” she spat. “I have the long straight hair and pretty skin. Everybody loves me the most.”

Sharlene glared at her. Her large amber eyes shimmering with burning tears. “You don't even look like us,” she tossed back, her voice wobbly with emotion.

“Sharlene, sweetheart,” April Winston, her mother called.

“Come on over here, baby. There's someone I want you to meet,” her father Paul added.

Her spirit buoyed by her father's endearment, Sharlene sniffed back her tears and skipped over to where her parents stood beneath the tree. Celeste followed close behind her.

The two girls positioned themselves on either side of their father. Celeste slipped her hand in his and grinned up at him.

Then suddenly Celeste felt as if the world had begun to move in slow motion and she was witnessing the entire scene through a clouded lens. The moment would be etched forever in her head.

She felt her father release her hand as he turned and picked up Sharlene, holding her proudly in his arms. The man, woman, and little boy who stood across from them smiled effusively while Paul made the introductions.

“This is her,” Paul announced with pride. “Our little princess.” He placed a kiss on Sharlene's cheek while April tightened the ribbons on Sharlene's two thick ponytails.

Sharlene grinned, unabashed at the love pouring from her parents, directed only at her.

Celeste felt herself slowly disappearing, separated from everyone by a thin mist of indifference. They were all talking and laughing at once. All the attention was directed at Sharlene. The noise was becoming deafening to Celeste. Her heart began to race erratically. Her skin grew clammy with perspiration. She tugged on her father's arm to gain his attention. When he looked down, she smiled up at him.

“Not now, Celeste. Why don't you go on over there and play with the children,” he added, pointing to a cluster of frolicking, squealing boys and girls. “Go on now and be a good girl.” Paul turned his attention back to the couple.

In her chest a rock settled, stifling her breathing. It seemed to push the air in her lungs upward, filling her throat and her eyes with a burning sensation. Through tear-filled eyes she looked up at her sister who was beaming in the adoration. It was at that moment that the seed of jealousy was firmly planted.

Over the years it grew, drawing in strength, threading its way through every fiber of Celeste's being. She dedicated herself to besting Sharlene at everything. In Celeste's mind, Sharlene had taken away and captured the love of the two most important people in her life. Celeste vowed to take away everything that would ever be important to Sharlene. Celeste had no intention of ever losing anything ever again. No matter what it took. And when opportunity presented itself she took it and the lie took root. How ironic it was, Celeste thought, that even the memory of Sharlene was lost to her own daughter.

Celeste opened her eyes, casting the memories backward into her subconscious. For a moment, twinges of guilt pricked at her heart. Perhaps there were innocent victims in all this: Victoria and Reese and even Frank. And at odd, melancholy moments she had flashes when she wanted to exorcise herself of her guilt. Like this morning with Victoria. The truth had hung on the corners of her mouth like cookie crumbs, but she swallowed them back and repeated the tale she'd told for so many years. It was all that she had left.

She knew she could never face Victoria with the truth. She realized that the moment the words of accusation spewed from Victoria's lips. She would never forgive her. Not now. Not after all of this time.

If there was anyone left in her life whom she was capable of loving and having it returned, it was Victoria. And when faced with the crucial possibility of losing that, she knew she could not bear it. She knew at the moment that their eyes
met that whatever thoughts she'd had about finally revealing the truth about what she'd done, they were eradicated. She wouldn't lose Victoria's love.

 

As James descended the stairs, myriad thoughts raced through his head.
Larry and Claudia.
He didn't want to believe it. But they sounded so intimate, so personal, even though their conversation seemed innocent. It wasn't the chit-chatty tone of conversation shared between friends—especially friends of your husband. Rather it was the tone of two people who knew each other well.

How could this have happened? But even as he formulated the question, he knew the answer. He'd been responsible for opening the doorway long ago. For a moment he halted on the staircase and shut his eyes. He gripped the banister with all of his strength. Anger and outrage coursed through his solid body. He wanted to blame her somehow, to make it be her fault—Larry's fault.

He opened his eyes, his heart laden with remorse and acceptance. He had no one to blame but himself.

James entered the kitchen, just as Claudia was hanging up the phone, unaware of his presence. He took this moment to quietly observe his wife; the flutter of her hands as she patted a stray strand of hair in place; her thoughtful movements around the kitchen fixing, straightening, wiping down the counters making sure everything was just so.
Perfect.
The perfect illusion to what lay beneath.

He took a long, thoughtful breath and stepped into the kitchen. Claudia turned at his approach, the dolorous look that brimmed in her eyes told him all that he needed to know and suddenly, his heart lifted with hope.

His gaze held hers as he crossed the room. Claudia looked at him with wonder, almost an awakening.

James took her hand in his, before he spoke. “Sometimes
we find ourselves in situations that prompt us to make life-altering decisions,” he began in deliberate, measured tones. “Some of us without thinking of the consequences, or the people that we may hurt as a result, make those decisions and take those chances.” His voice broke with raw emotion as he continued. “Unfortunately, I was one who made a wrong decision a lifetime ago.” He swallowed hard, his eyes running over her perfect, unlined face. “You had a choice, too.”

Claudia shielded her eyes behind her long lashes, her heart racing in trepidation with each word that he spoke; afraid of what he would say, and more so of what he would only imply.

“When I picked up the phone a few minutes ago and heard you talking with Larry, I thought my world had finally come crashing down around me. I heard the same joy and lightness in your voice that at one time was reserved for only me.”

“James, please, it's not…”

“Shh, please let me finish.” He took a breath and squared his shoulders. “In those moments, I realized that I deserved whatever you and Larry had done. I gave you every reason and opportunity to find comfort in another man's arms.”

With the pad of his thumb he wiped away the lone tear that trickled down Claudia's cheek. “I came down here to tell you that I didn't blame you, that I couldn't blame you, and that even though it would devastate me—” he swallowed back the knot of emotion that welled in his throat “—I would let you go.”

The tears rolled freely down her face, her vision of James clouded by them. She clamped her lips together to imprison the sob that struggled to burst free.

James tenderly caressed her face, cupping her damp cheek in his palm. “But when I saw you just now, and you turned to me with a look that spoke acceptance, I knew in that instance that you would have never gone to Larry. What I saw in your
eyes was the look of a woman who has accepted and lived within the foundation of her wedding vows for better or for worst, no matter what it may have cost her.”

Claudia blinked back her tears and swallowed hard. She moved away from him and turned toward the sink, gripping the edge for support. “So many times I wanted to hurt you for what you'd done,” she began, her voice trembling with emotion. “When you stayed in Japan and Larry was stationed here…we became close. He was the only one I could talk to.” She turned to face him. “My family had cut me off. I had no real friends.” She choked back a sob. “But Larry was always there and I think we grew to love each other in a way I'll always appreciate. He gave me strength, James, on those days when I thought I would go out of my mind with bitterness and hurt. On those days when Max would cry or need me, or the walls seemed to close in around me, he was there for me.” She wiped away the fresh flow of tears and took a shaky breath.