Intimate Betrayal (26 page)

So far she'd included quotes from dozens of people she'd interviewed, interspersed with facts and figures about M.K. Enterprises. Little by little, the elusive Maxwell Knight was becoming three-dimensional. But Reese knew she needed more, and she believed she'd find the missing pieces to the M.K. puzzle here in Tokyo.

Much of what made him who he was rested in the part of him that was Japanese. From his father and stepmother he'd learned, to a degree, who he was as an African-American. He'd experienced through societal prejudice what it was like to be a black man in America. But the other half of who he was, which he manifested through martial arts, mastering the language, the culture, and the genius that make the Japanese giants in technology, ran through his veins as well. But he never had that other half to relate to.

Even knowing these things and living both lives, he never knew where he belonged. She imagined that's a dilemma that many biracial children faced. To embrace the culture of one parent was almost to negate that of the other. And even more difficult for those who never had the chance to make a choice and live in a society that remained bigoted about mixed-race children. Where do they belong? And Reese knew that Max compensated for the void in his life by becoming an overachiever, which allowed him to transcend culture and ethnicity but left him in his own purgatory.

Reese leaned back in her seat and squeezed the bridge of her nose between the tips of her fingers.

How would she find the words to express the complexities of Maxwell Knight—the man?

She saved her information and pressed the power button, shutting off the computer. With a flick of her finger she closed the lightweight top and pushed it toward the back of the desk.

Standing, she rotated her stiff shoulders and stretched her arms over her head, pushing her palms toward the ceiling, punctuating it all with a soft groan of relief. She walked out of the small alcove that she would use as her office and stepped down into the main living area of the suite.

Their living quarters for the next few weeks were actually two adjoining suites which occupied the Penthouse level of the Hyatt Regency. How Carmen was able to pull off such a coupe in that short space of time, was nothing short of a miracle, Reese marveled, running her hand through her hair.

Thinking about Carmen brought a smile to Reese's mouth along with remembering why they were in Japan weeks early.

Walking barefoot across the white-carpeted living room floor, she pushed open the polished oak sliding doors that led to the bedroom. Immediately upon entering the lavish rooms,
decorated with eighteenth-century furnishings, her gaze fell upon the suitcase and travel bags.

Reese groaned, remembering her promise to Maxwell to put their things away. Pushing down her reluctance with a long breath, she padded across the vanilla-tinted room and began unpacking the suitcases and garment bags.

Rhythmically, she moved between the bed and the double closet. A half hour later, she'd finished putting away the last of Maxwell's shirts. Hands on hips, she slowly turned in a circle, surveying the room. She pursed her lips and shook her head. Max had carelessly tossed the jacket, slacks and shirt he'd worn earlier across the back of the armchair. She crossed the room in a huff and snatched up the discarded clothing, sucking her teeth in annoyance. He kept his home spotless. She hoped this wasn't an indication of how he intended to keep their hotel room.

She shook out the jacket as she approached the closet in search of one more hanger, when a half-folded letter fell out and floated to the floor at her feet.

Bending down from the knee, Reese picked up the paper intent on sticking it back in his pocket when the bold signature of
Victoria Davenport
caught and held her eye. Reese felt the pulse in her temple begin to throb. A swift surge jolted her stomach. Briefly she closed her eyes, the ethical part of her wanting to put the letter back, the female side needing to know its contents.

She swallowed hard as a hot flush of guilt pulsed through her veins. Taking the letter she sat down at the small desk. She stared at the pages, knowing that she had crossed the line of trust the instant she did not promptly return the letter when it had fallen.

The beat of her heart thudded wildly as if she were being pursued. Maybe she was—by her conscience, she thought as shaky fingers unfolded the sheets of soft pink paper.

For the first time since she began reading, Reese allowed herself to breathe. “Thank God,” she whispered in a gush. She squeezed her eyes shut in relief. But when she opened them again, they fell on the words that were just as mind-blowing.

A single tear threaded its way down Reese's arched cheek falling on the ink-blue words, making them shimmer and merge on the page. Her heart clenched, thudded, then settled down to a steady rhythm.

Slowly she refolded the sheets of pink paper and returned them to Max's jacket pocket.

A sister, and the possibility that it was Victoria…
The idea was so… Her thoughts were shattered by the ringing phone. Reese quickly crossed the room and picked up the phone.

“Yes. Hello? Oh, yes, send him up.” She wiped her eyes, dashed in the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.

 

“Max told me a great deal about you,” Chris Lewis, Max's friend said, taking a seat on the sofa. “I'm glad to finally meet you.”

Reese smiled. “Thank you. I'm happy to say the same.” She sat down opposite him on the love seat and crossed her long legs. “I'm hoping Max will be back shortly. He's been gone about three hours.”

“Well, if every rumor I've ever heard about Mioshi Tasaka is true, he'll be a while.” Chris grinned, flashing a pair of perfect dimples in his saffron-colored face, set off by startling gray eyes and dark brown close-cropped hair.

Reese chuckled and nodded. “Max told me you're in a tournament.”

Chris nodded. “It's an international tournament to raise money for the hungry children around the world. Our next stop is Korea.”

“Sounds wonderful and it's definitely needed. But it must be hectic, too.”

“It can be, but I enjoy what I do, so it never seems like work.”

“That's how it is for me when I'm on assignment,” Reese said, feeling totally at ease with Chris. “It's truly a joy when you can find pleasure in your work.”

“Absolutely.”

“Can I order something from room service for you?”

“No. Thanks. As a matter of fact,” he breathed, standing up, “I'm gonna shove off. I thought I'd catch Max. Just let him know I stopped by and I'll be in touch tomorrow.”

Reese followed him to the door, taking note of the way his broad, muscular shoulders moved beneath his fitted gray knit shirt. Chris wasn't much taller than she. He must be just under six feet, she concluded. But he gave the illusion of height from his proud gait and long, fluid strides.

He turned toward her, framed by the doorway. He kissed her cheek. “Lock the door,” he instructed softly, his meaning clear.

Her heart knocked against her chest as the reality of her situation rose to the surface. Reese bit down on her lip and nodded, swallowing down her fears.

With that, Chris headed off down the corridor to the elevator. Reese slowly pushed the door closed and turned both locks. She turned away and headed back toward the bedroom where she was faced once again with the issue of Victoria Davenport.

How long had Maxwell known? she wondered, sitting down on the edge of the bed. How did he feel about it and why hadn't he said anything to her? Or did he plan to?

The turning of the locks drew her attention away from the disturbing thoughts. Quickly she got up and was standing in the living area as Maxwell stepped through the doorway.

“Hi,” he greeted and instantly knew that something was wrong from the lack of sparkle in her eyes and the stiff set of her shoulders.

Reese swallowed, looked down at her clenched hands then across at Max. “Tell me it won't make a difference between us,” she whispered in a shaky voice. “I don't think I could stand it if it did.”

She'd found the letter.
Maxwell briefly shut his eyes and felt his heart surge and shift in his chest. Slowly he walked toward her and took her in his arms, holding her as tightly as humanly possible. He felt her body shudder and heave with the sobs she tried to contain. And he realized at that moment that he could not let anyone or anything come between them.

“We'll work it out, baby. I swear we will,” he uttered in a ragged voice.

M
ioshi slowly stuck his arm out of the car door allowing Keno, his driver, to assist him to his feet. Rising to his full height Mioshi brushed the folds out of his pearl gray suit and looked up at the House of Tasaka. The elegant four-story establishment was regarded throughout the Tokyo elite as the most lavish of its kind. It was located in the central business district in Akasanka, the playground for the rich and influential. Everyone in Japan was aware that many of the behind-the-scenes political maneuvers and big business transactions took place right in the dining rooms of Tasaka.

Mioshi smiled. Even at this late hour, customers were still milling in and out, walking along the deck toward the water. Some of the most beautiful and talented geishas in all of Japan worked here. But none were more beautiful or artistically brilliant than his sister.

 

Maxwell held her until her sobs subsided into soft sniffles. “I'm sorry,” she mumbled against his damp shirt. “I really didn't mean to fall apart like that.”

He stroked her back in a soothing up and down motion. “I felt like doing the same thing when I read the letter.”

Reese giggled softly and hiccuped. They both began to laugh, slowly at first until it built, spilling over to ease their souls.

“When will it all end, Max?” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I wish I knew.” He heaved a deep sigh, blowing out air through pursed lips. He shook his head in frustration. “It seems that every time we get over one hurdle, another is thrown at us.” He sat down on the edge of the brocade couch, resting his forearms on his muscled thighs. He stared at the white carpeted floor as if by some miracle the answer rested in the layers of thick nylon and wool.

He looked up into her melancholy eyes and reached for her hands. “I didn't mean for you to find the letter. You didn't need to find out that way. Not like that.” He squeezed her hands.

Her smile was tentative as she spoke. “Max, in the time that I've known you, I've come to understand, realize and accept certain things about you. One thing is irrefutable: you are not a careless man. Everything you do, every move you make is carefully thought out and planned. Your life is like a master chess game.” Her gaze held no admonishment, it remained gentle yet contemplative. “You wanted me to find the letter, Max,” she said, her throaty voice heavy with conviction when she saw his jaw clench in denial. “Maybe not intentionally, but you did. Since day one, you've had trouble telling me the things I needed to know.” She removed her
hands from his grasp and gently smoothed away the frown forming between his sleek black brows. “Your subconscious found a way to let you off the hook.” She brushed her thumb across his lips.

His voice was tender, almost a murmur. “How did you get to know so much?”

Reese lowered her gaze and grinned. “I've been analyzed enough times to open my own office, remember? Besides, I've helped Lynnette with more psychology reports than I care to count. That's the only reason why I understand my own illness. What I suffer from is called repression. The doctors said it would take a strong stimulus, something related to the accident, to trigger my memory. They could never determine what that something was without traumatizing me further.” She looked into his eyes. “Strangely enough it was you, because you look so much like your father. That began what's called the ‘cascade effect,' which has resulted in the dreams and the return of the headaches.” She laughed halfheartedly. “I should have gotten a psychology degree in abstentia.”

Maxwell hugged her to him. “You're not angry?”

“I should be. But my biggest concern is how much of what Victoria said is true? It would explain so much. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that it must be true. My father had an affair with my mother's sister. Somehow, my mother found out. My God, Max, she found this out just before she died. Did she know about Victoria also? What must that have done to her if she died thinking that my father was Victoria's father as well?”

“You can't torture yourself with thoughts like that, Reese. The reality is, we may never know and even if we did, there's nothing that we can do to change it.”

Slowly Reese nodded, silently agreeing to Max's logic. She frowned, sinking deep in thought. “Maybe the guy from the
Post
is just the ammunition we need to get Frank Murphy off of our backs,” she said suddenly.

Maxwell's eyes brightened. He sat up straighter. “If Murphy has his hands filled with an impending investigation about the computer chip theft, he may not be able to concentrate on us.”

“It would certainly give me the time I need to get the rest of the information. I'm going to have to talk with my aunt, Victoria, Larry…and your father,” she added gently.

“Do whatever you have to, Reese. You have my support and anything else that I can put at your disposal. You know that.”

“Max,” she said with steady awakening, “do you realize what all this will mean for your career when what the government did to you is uncovered? You're going to be a very wealthy man.”

“I already have more money than I could ever spend. I wish that's all there was to it.” He paused. “I'm just worried that Stan may never get to tell his story either.”

She leaned forward, her eyes burning with passion. “Then we have to make sure that he does.”

 

Mioshi entered the house and was immediately attended to by a young
maiko
—or geisha in training.

“Will you be having dinner tonight, Tasaka-san?” the
maiko
asked in a lilting voice, bowing as she spoke.

He patted her lightly on the shoulder. “Not tonight. I need to have a private room. Is there one available?” Mioshi had no need for a private room, he simply wanted to establish his importance by having one made available for him.

“Oh, yes. For you, of course, Tasaka-san.” She smiled brightly and threaded her arm through his, leading him down the lavish sitting rooms that were occupied by the Tokyo elite.
All whom Mioshi encountered bowed in deference to him as he passed.

The
maiko
made light conversation, asking about his day and inquiring about his health.

In the entertainment room, about twenty men sat on huge silk patterned pillows watching an operatic performance by the geishas. In the center of the room, four geishas were engaged in a ceremonial dance accompanied by haunting music and song. Mioshi nodded in approval.

“Is my sister in her office?” he asked the
maiko.

“Yes. She is reviewing the night's receipts, Tasaka-san.”

“Then I will see her now. Tell her I am here.”

“Right away.” The
maiko
bowed and hurried off to find her mistress, leaving the soft scent of jasmine floating in her wake.

Mioshi decided to stand while he watched the performance, leaning on his cane of jade with the signature gold head of the dragon. Within moments his sister slid open the rice-paper door and stepped into the room.

She was just as stunning at fifty-one as she was thirty years ago when she'd become a full geisha. She had a regal bearing that rivaled the empress. Her skin, the color of pure honey, remained unlined and flawless. Her jet black hair, without a trace of gray, was fashioned in a single braid and wrapped intricately atop her head. This was the most powerful woman in Tokyo. In her ears had been whispered the secrets of the nation for nearly three decades. Even he sought out her wisdom and counsel.

She wore a full-length red and gold kimono with a lavish gold sash that cinched her tiny waist. Her petite feet encased in gold silk slippers moved soundlessly across the floor. She stood before him and bowed.

“Brother Mioshi,” she said in greeting.

Mioshi bowed in return. “Sukihara.”

 

“How did your meeting go with Tasaka?” Reese asked as she prepared for bed. She selected a soft yellow teddy from the dresser.

“Very interesting to say the least,” Maxwell replied, unbuttoning his shirt. “It's strange,” he said upon reflection, “but it was as if I knew him.”

Reese turned toward him and squinted her eyes in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“It's hard to explain,” he said struggling to find the right words. “He seems a lot like me.”

Reese chuckled. “You're kidding.”

“Not at all. Mioshi Tasaka plays by the same rules I do. He gives nothing away and has every intention of keeping me in the hot seat.”

“Sounds like you're going to have your hands full,” Reese added, sliding the teddy over her body.

“But there was something else, Reese,” he said as the thoughts formalized in his mind. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off his black Italian loafers. “I felt some sort of…” he frowned, “a kinship.”

Reese crossed the room and sat down beside him. “I don't know what you mean.”

Maxwell let out a long breath. “Neither do I,” he admitted. “But I just felt something, some connection. I can't put my finger on it. I just felt that I knew him and what's more eerie, that he knew me. And not because of anything he'd read or had been told. It was in his eyes.”

“What did you see?” she asked in a hushed voice of concern.

He turned to face her, his gaze unwavering. “Recognition.”

 

“So brother, what is he like, my son?” Suki asked once they were behind closed doors.

Mioshi gingerly sat on the lounge chair of silk brocade, rested his cane against its ornate oak frame, and leaned back against the plush cushion before speaking. “Will you not even offer your only brother a cup of sake before we discuss your illegitimate son?” he asked in a clear voice, all traces of his feigned infirmity gone.

Sukihara smiled and nodded in compliance. She crossed the heavily carpeted room and took a tiny porcelain teacup from the bar and filled it with the powerful drink.

Mioshi thanked her, drank it down, and requested another. “Your son has grown to be a very formidable man,” Mioshi finally said, setting the cup down on the table next to him. “He is quick, decisive and has a keen business sense. All good qualities.”

“Is that all you saw?” she questioned, knowing that her brother was being intentionally evasive.

“What else was there to see?”

She cast him a long look from dark eyes identical to her son's. “Why must we play these ambiguous games, Mioshi? We save those skills for the conference room. You know well what I mean. I'm not interested in his business skills. If he did not have them, he would not have gotten this far.”

Mioshi chuckled deep in his throat, mildly enjoying his sister's annoyance. “Oh, do you mean does he look like you—like one of us?”

“If you know that is what I mean, then you should answer,” she stated in her mellifluent voice.

Mioshi smiled and took his cane, pushing himself to a standing position. “Perhaps you should see him for yourself to make that judgment.”

“He is not to know who I am, Mioshi,” she stated emphatically. She faced her brother with her hands folded in front of her.

“Do you think he will not find out once his company is
established here?” he challenged. “Then what will become of you and your liaison with the governor?” His smile was taunt.

Sukihara knew the moment that she'd been told of Maxwell's intention to set up operations in Tokyo, that her existence risked discovery. The governor had been her patron for more than twenty years. Although times in Japan had changed, he had not. Murayama Hosokawa was from the old school of thought. Japanese stayed with Japanese. Yes, geishas could entertain any man who was willing to pay for their services, but to indulge in an intimate relationship outside of your race was to disgrace yourself and your people. If Murayama were to discover that she'd been involved with James Knight, and had his son, he would withdraw his support and bring all the other politicians and businessmen with him. Even her brother's far-reaching influence would not be enough to stop Murayama's wrath. Her life as she knew it would come to an end, and this life was all that she had.

“Then you must not allow Maxwell to establish his business here,” she said in finality.

“My dear sister, you do not instruct me on how to run my business affairs and I will do the same for you.” He ambled slowly toward the door. “Your advice, however, is always welcome. And my advice to you
okasan
is to come to terms with your reality. Tomorrow night you will meet your son.”

 

Suki spend a sleepless night fraught with dreams of imminent disaster. She was well past the age of starting over. Even though many “mothers”—or older retired geishas—lived out their lives in nunneries or serving as advisors to the new mistress, these were not options for Suki.

For twenty years, she'd worked hard at mastering her skills of music, song and dance. She was fluent in English, French and Spanish. She'd held court to some of the most notable
men across the globe. She'd performed for cabinet members. Her keen ear and insight into world events had garnered her the trust and respect of politicians and businessmen alike. Her career and her fortune were rivaled by none. Discovery could erase all of that as if it never existed.

Weary, Suki opened her tired ebony eyes and looked out onto the red sun, rising majestically over the mountaintops. Levels of iridescent orange and gold light shimmered in a hazy pattern across the horizon. The signal of a new day. The day that she would meet her son.

Her heart beat a bit faster as the idea settled heavily in her stomach. Laboriously, she rose from the downy comfort of her futon, pulling a white silk robe over her nude body. Walking silently across the room to the window, she pulled aside the white gossamer curtains and looked at her world.

So much had changed since she'd come to this place as an eager but rebellious fifteen-year-old, she mused languidly…