Surrogate Dad

by Marion Smith Collins

  “We’re very glad you could be here, my dear,” said Mrs. Bolton graciously. Alexandra decided she liked the senior partner’s wife a lot better than she liked him.

  Mr. Bolton was conspicuously silent.

  Others were behind them. “Congratulations, sir,” said Luke before they moved on.

  West grinned at Luke. “Looks like we’re still in the doghouse.”

  “Champagne?” Luke asked Alexandra as they entered the huge ballroom.

  “Yes, please.”

  Luke got their drinks from the bar while West introduced her to several people. As soon as a conversation was started, however, he would edge her away and head for another group.

  Over the course of the next few minutes, she noticed that both men were strangely tense. One or the other of them always had a hand on her arm. They watched her as if they expected her to flee.

  “What is the matter with you two?” she asked finally when she’d been dragged off in the middle of another exchange.

  “Nothing,” answered Luke shortly.

  She decided to ignore them and enjoy herself. She looked around. “This is an impressive room.” Light from the huge chandeliers sparkled on crystal and silver, diamonds and gold. A string quartet played Mozart softly beneath the hum of well-modulated voices.

  “Mr. Henderson, it’s nice to see you again,” Luke said. His tone was mild, but Alexandra felt the tension in the grip of his fingers on her arm.

  The man turned suddenly, his elbow knocking against the champagne flute in her hand. A bit of the golden liquid sloshed over the rim. His eyes were cold as they met those of the two men standing on each side of her.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Prescott.” His apology lacked sincerity. “I hope I haven’t spoiled your gown.”

  “No harm done.”

  “I’m glad.”

  She knew that there was something going on here but she wasn’t sure what. She tried to smooth the moment with a casual comment. “I hope you don’t think I was rude the day we ran into each other at the airport, Mr. Henderson. I was anxious to see my son.”

  He turned that cold gaze on her. She was chilled, so unnerved, that she took a step backward.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t been to the airport in months. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said abruptly.

  “What in the world...” She turned to West. “You remember me telling you about seeing your client at the airport? Why would I make up something like that?”

  Her gaze swung back to watch, puzzled. The man was almost running. Or would have been if the room hadn’t been so crowded. He was halted by a buxom woman in a wheelchair, who reached out to grasp his sleeve. He tried to pull his arm, his hand away.

  At that moment, he turned to glance back at Alexandra.

  She heard Luke inhale sharply. Suddenly, she became still, frowning.

  A similar picture burned in her mind. A man in a uniform. Someone—a child—reaching up for his sleeve. A ring.

  The ring she had drawn was unique—she had thought so at the time—and it was the same as the one Henderson wore now. “Is Mr. Henderson a pilot?” she asked, confused by the images racing across her mind. Her eyes sought Luke’s.

  “No, he isn’t.” He was watching her, keenly, silently. As though he was waiting for her to reveal...she caught and held her breath. She was so confused.

  Slowly, she let out the breath she was holding. Her head swung to West. With dawning suspicion, she realized that he, too, was waiting. “You both know something that I don’t. You brought me to this dinner...why did you bring me? What is going on?” she demanded.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” said Luke.

  “We can’t,” cautioned West. “Not unless we want to be canned on Monday.”

  “What is going on?” Alexandra asked again.

  “The hell we can’t,” Luke said through clenched teeth. “You stay, then. I’ll take Alexandra home.”

  Both men had ignored her question, as though she hadn’t even asked it. All at once, her confusion dissipated and was replaced by indignation. She had a feeling she’d been used and she didn’t like it one bit.

  She put her hand in the middle of Luke’s chest and pushed. It was a childish maneuver, but it got their attention. “Do not talk about me as though I weren’t here,” she commanded. “And answer my question.”

  “Not here,” Luke muttered.

  “It would be rude to leave so soon after we arrived,” Alexandra informed them calmly. She was still holding the champagne glass. Pointedly, she toasted a passerby and sipped. “Besides, I don’t want to leave,” she said firmly. Her chin came up to a stubborn angle and she glared at Luke. “You invited me here intending to use me in some way. Don’t think I don’t want answers, but I dressed for this occasion. I’m hungry and I intend to have dinner first.”

  Luke glowered; West chuckled.

  “Shall we find our table?” she said.

  The crabmeat cocktail was delicious. The terrapin soup was delicate and divine. The sparkling conversation of their tablemates was amusing. And the steaming beef Wellington had just been set before them when West murmured, “Oh, my God.”

  He was staring blankly at the Boltons’ table.

  “What is it?” Luke asked in a low voice.

  Clutching his napkin, he stood. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  They watched him wend his way through the sea of circular tables until he reached the one where the honoree was holding court. He spoke to an older couple, nodded to Henderson and Bolton, and then turned right around and headed back.

  He dropped his napkin on the table. “Luke, call Zarcone. Come on, Alexandra. I’ll get the car.” He turned to the others at the table. “Please forgive us. A small emergency,” he said with his engaging grin.

  The grin survived only until they got out of the room.

  “West, what happened?” asked Alexandra. “You are as white as my dress.”

  “I happened to see my parents at the table with Bolton. I just don’t like the idea that they’ve left David home alone. I want to check on him.”

  Luke almost stumbled when he heard West’s statement. He had to admit that West made a valiant effort at improvisation. Hell and damnation to that bastard, Henderson.

  Had the Chadwicks let the information slip about the youngster who was their houseguest? Of course they had. Casual dinner conversation. If not, the three of them wouldn’t be rushing over there right now.

  “Good idea,” he said. “You’re going for the car? I’ll stop and call Zarcone. Meet you out front.”

  Alexandra had also paled. “David’s in some kind of danger, isn’t he?” She looked from one of the men to the other. “Oh, God, hurry up.”

  Lights were blazing at the Chadwicks’ West Paces Ferry mansion when they drove up. West pulled into a circular driveway and stopped at the front door. Zarcone screeched in right behind them with three other men. They all piled out of the cars. Zarcone deployed his men to the sides of the house and ran to the front door with West, Alexandra and Luke.

  “Damn,” said West. “I don’t have my key.” He jabbed the button and they heard ponderous chimes inside. He jabbed again.

  The door was opened by a middle-aged man. “Mr. West, how...er...nice...” His voice trailed off in the wake of the four people who pushed him aside.

  “Where’s the boy?” demanded West.

  “Master David? I believe he’s swimming, sir.”

  At that moment, David came in from the back of the hallway, wearing bathing trunks and beach shoes, a damp towel slung around his neck. He smiled. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Luke, Mr. Chadwick.”

  “David,” cried Alexandra. She raced to hug him. True to form, David endured it for a minute. Then he began to wiggle.

  “What’s up, Mr. Zarcone?”

  “To tell you the truth, David, I’m a little confused, myself.” He turned to West. “I’ll leave some extra men here through tomorrow. Two on the grounds
and one inside.” He let his gaze roam over the three-story entrance hall where they were standing. “Tough duty. They ought to get hazard pay.”

  “Luke, don’t you think you and West should explain yourselves now, while Mr. Zarcone is here to hear the story?”

  “No, not here,” Luke said without hesitation. “Zarcone can come back with us to the condo.” He fixed the shorter man with a scowl. “You can come, but you have to be quiet and let us handle things.”

  Zarcone sputtered. “Take it or leave it,” West added.

  “I’ll take it,” Zarcone said sourly. “But I’ll give you fifteen minutes’ head start before I get there. Then, unless you give me a damned good reason not to, I’m butting in.”

  * * *

  When West pulled into his parking slot and turned off the engine, both of his passengers were silent, as they had been during the entire drive home.

  Alexandra, wedged into the middle of the front seat between the two men, spoke in an adamant tone that did not allow for argument. “I can’t wait to hear this. Ten minutes.”

  Luke almost smiled at the tough wording of the command. She waited. Finally, he heaved a sigh and got out. She slid across the seat. Ignoring the men, she marched to her door.

  West joined Luke on the sidewalk.

  “Damn, she’s pigheaded,” Luke said.

  West gave a nod of agreement. “But she’s still the only one who can solve this problem. Don’t you think one of us should—”

  “Yeah,” said Luke, suddenly realizing that she was about to walk unescorted into an empty house. He sprinted to catch up with her. He followed her inside, switching on lights as he went, and made a quick but thorough search of the rooms.

  Alexandra was waiting for him in the living room. “Are you going to your place to change?”

  He yanked at the bow tie. “No, I’ll be right here.”

  “Then if you will excuse me, I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, still cool. She looked over her shoulder one last time as she left the room.

  He couldn’t read her expression, but he was fully aware of the sleek, smooth skin of her back. His memory of how it felt under his hands was vivid and stimulating.

  * * *

  “All right. Let’s have it,” said Alexandra when they were all seated in her living room.

  West nodded at Luke as though to say, “You take the lead.” Luke gave him a wry grin. Then he leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees. He looked down at his clasped hands for a brief minute. “It might be better if you begin.”

  “Better for whom?” she snapped.

  “For all of us. Please, Alexandra, tell us what you saw.”

  “All right.” She surged to her feet, plunging her hands into her jeans pockets, and walked away from him and West. “First, I saw Mr. Henderson at the airport. He was dressed in a warm-up suit. Navy blue, I think. He sat beside me and chatted for a while.” She scuffed the carpet with the toe of her sneaker. “Then I saw him tonight at the party and he told me he had not been at the airport. Obviously I am delusional.

  “But then...” She walked to the mantel, running her fingertips along the edge of the wood. “I think you should call Zarcone,” she finished softly.

  “Not yet,” said Luke urgently. “Go on, finish it.”

  “I can’t. I need my sketch pad. Zarcone brought it back and I can’t remember where I put it.”

  “You don’t need your drawing. You are an artist, trained to observe,” he said roughly. “You know what you saw, Alexandra. Just describe it for us.”

  Her eyes reflected the hurt brought on by his harsh words. He knew that she couldn’t bear being given orders to without explanation. Her husband had demanded she obey because he said to. “Why? Why are you doing this? I don’t understand any of it.”

  “Dammit, can’t you just trust me?” He slapped the arm of his chair. The sharp sound made Alexandra start.

  West stepped in at that point. “Cool it, Luke,” he warned. He turned to Alexandra. “Alexandra, you will get an explanation, I promise. But for now it’s very important that you tell us what you saw without any prompting.”

  She placed her hands on her hips and drummed her fingers on the denim. “I saw a woman reach for Mr. Henderson’s sleeve. It reminded me of a drawing I had done in the airport. A child reaching for the sleeve of a man in a pilot’s uniform.” The statements came out staccato, in perfect rhythm with her anger. “The man in the airport tried to pull away. He was wearing a distinctive ring that looked like Mr. Henderson’s.”

  She heard the audible sighs that escaped them both at her last words. “What?”

  Luke chose his words carefully. “So you can definitely place him at the airport that day?”

  “Of course.” She looked from one man to the other. “Does that help?”

  “I sure as hell hope so.” He relaxed visibly, stretching his long arms along the back of the sofa. “Okay, now we’re ready for Zarcone.”

  “Hold on,” said Alexandra. “I thought I was going to get an explanation.”

  “After you tell your story to Zarcone,” said Luke. He came to stand beside her, and turned her to him. His smile was crooked. “Sweetheart, please.”

  Alexandra twisted away from him. She crossed her arms over her stomach in an attempt to ease the ache there. “Tell me something, Luke. Did you and West see the ring in my sketches? Did you recognize it?”

  The two men looked at each other. Neither spoke.

  “I thought so. Naive as I am, you know, I never asked myself why you were taking such an interest in my safety. I’m going to make coffee.” She left them there and went to the kitchen. As she filled the coffeemaker, she could hear their subdued voices but couldn’t make out the words. The ache was quickly becoming a terrible pain.

  Instead of returning to the living room, Alexandra went to her darkened bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed for a few minutes, then with a soft cry she fell backward.

  She still didn’t understand why, but clearly Luke and West had known more than they were willing to tell the authorities. They both seemed determined that she should be the one to figure it out, to steer her toward the facts rather than simply reveal what they knew.

  She turned her head restlessly against the spread, trying not to remember the glorious lovemaking that had happened here. She had thought she was falling in love, that she might, after four lonely years, be ready to give her heart again.

  But he was not the person she’d thought he was. She squeezed her eyes shut. She could hardly believe that he had deceived her.

  He knew her vow—never again would she allow a man to dominate her life. She would only accept a partner, not a guide, not a manager, not a protector.

  Now, her disappointment was deeper and darker than any emotion she’d ever felt.

  He was there, standing in the door to her room looking at her. He had not made a sound and her eyes were still closed but she knew he was there. With a silent groan, she rolled away, to the side, drawing her legs up, curving her back. When she tried to see ahead, her future looked so black.

  “Alexandra, sweetheart.” He crossed the floor and sat beside her. The mattress dipped with his weight. She held herself against the urge to roll toward him. “Please listen to me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Luke felt his heart twist painfully. He hated seeing her like this. She was always so straight and confident. “Alexandra...I know you don’t understand this, but West and I have been deeply troubled over something.” He paused. “We were trying to handle an impossible situation in the only way we could think of, and we used you to do it,” he said in a low voice. “I obviously didn’t realize how it would appear to you. But, I promise you, I would never knowingly hurt you. Or David. Never. I care about you both too much.”

  He finally succumbed to the temptation to touch her, but she stiffened when she felt his hand on her back. He withdrew immediately.

  The doorbell rang. “There’s
Zarcone. I know this is hard for you—”

  He broke off when she swung her legs off the bed and stood up. “Would you please tell him I’ll be out in a minute?” she asked as she headed for the bathroom.

  “Sure.” Luke continued to sit for a moment, feeling tired and depressed. What else could they have done?

  At last, he stood and went to join West and Zarcone.

  * * *

  The story didn’t take long to tell. Zarcone was silent through most of it, interrupting only once or twice to clarify a point. When Alexandra finished, she felt drained. “I’m not certain what the value is of this information. Maybe they—” she waved at the two men, having avoided looking at them until now “—will tell you. They haven’t told me anything.” She heard her own bitterness come through, and she felt a moment’s guilt. But only a moment.

  Zarcone looked at her sympathetically. “I think I understand.” He turned to the two men. “This man, Henderson, is a client of the firm you work for, isn’t he?” he asked Luke.

  “We were assigned to handle his business,” Luke answered guardedly. He shot a look at West.

  “So he’s your client. And you can’t tell me what that business is?”

  Luke shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “No. The lawyer-client confidentiality rule—”

  “What?” Alexandra barked. “My son was almost kidnapped and you didn’t say anything because of some stupid rule?”

  “Wait.” Zarcone held up his hand. He got to his feet and began to pace. “There is a connection between this man that Mrs. Prescott saw at the airport, the threats, the break-in, the murder.” He paused. “And the fact that this man was in a pilot’s uniform.”

  “Make them tell you,” Alexandra said.

  “Mrs. Prescott, I know how you feel. But lawyer-client confidentiality is one of the bedrocks of our legal system. The reasons may not seem logical to someone who isn’t a member of the bar.” He spread his hands. “But I am.”

  “Oh, great,” said Alexandra. “I’m surrounded by lawyers.”

  * * *

  Zarcone and West left together. Luke joined them on the porch for a few last words.