“Quite the contrary, Maddie. She’s using him to control me. She always has.”
Angry again, he threw the car into gear and pealed out of the drive. “She deliberately got pregnant when she knew I didn’t want a child. Christ, I was twenty-six!”
The gate was still open. He hit the road going too fast, taking the turn like they were back on the racetrack.
Maddie gripped the seat with both hands. “Are you married to her?”
“Good God, no. I was helpless about the child, but I wouldn’t let her con me to the altar. And I made damn sure he was mine before I gave him my name.”
“So you hide him here, your mistake. And his mother has to play along or you’ll take him away from her.”
He barked a laugh. “Wrong again, Maddie.” The tires squealed as he braked in front of his villa. He shut off the engine and turned to face her again. “Maribelle calls the plays in this little game. Dominick turned nine this year, so the price of her silence is nine million. It goes up on his birthday each year.”
“Then why pay it? Why are you hiding him?”
His hands gripped the wheel hard. “The pat answer, and it’s true as far as it goes, is for his own protection. As my son, he’s a kidnapping target. I don’t know if I could live with that kind of worry.”
His knuckles were white. “Here, I can keep him safe. Even if someone suspects he exists, this compound is impenetrable except from the air.” He slid his eyes to hers. “For that, Gerard has ground-to-air rockets.”
She tried to condemn him—“That’s terrorist weaponry”—but how could she condemn a man who’d stop at nothing to protect his family? Again, he’d turned right and wrong on its head, and upended her principles in the process.
He must have sensed her halfheartedness, because he didn’t engage. Instead, he said, “I told you that was only part of the answer. The other part is that he’s an embarrassment.”
Her back went up. She didn’t equivocate about this. “Dom’s an amazing kid. You should be proud, not embarrassed.”
“You don’t understand. I’m not embarrassed by Dominick, per se. I’m embarrassed that he exists. That I let Maribelle dupe me.” He raked a hand through his hair, self-aware enough to look sheepish. “It sounds foolish when I say it out loud, but there it is.”
She grappled with it for a moment, then nutshelled it. “She tried to trick you into marrying her by getting pregnant. You got pissed and wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. So you’re torturing each other with the kid because you both took a shot to the ego.”
She opened her door, but didn’t get out. “Now it’s a standoff. You’ve got the money, she’s got the kid. If she meets your terms, meaning she keeps her mouth shut and hides the kid, you keep paying. If you stop paying, she blabs it to People for ten mil and takes the kid back to Hollywood.”
She shook her head, disgusted. “No wonder you hate each other.”
HANDS IN HIS pockets, Adam watched from the window of his study as Maddie disappeared down the path toward Maribelle’s villa, John dashing ahead joyfully.
They were abandoning him. They didn’t care that he was the mighty Adam LeCroix. He wasn’t important to them. They were on to other things, other people.
He sucked a breath that carved through his chest like a blade. Not since childhood had he felt so lonely, so . . . unnecessary. Even John had turned his back.
Adam dug his hands deeper into his pockets. He didn’t want a dog anyway. Better if John stayed with Dominick. He was an encumbrance. A nuisance. Always underfoot.
John, that is. He couldn’t say the same about Dom, because the boy was barred from the main house when Adam was at home. Not that he hadn’t snuck in on occasion, pestering Henry and Fredo, playing pranks to get Adam’s attention.
Adam had no tolerance for it. He’d send the boy packing, then blister Maribelle’s ear, sounding off, making empty threats. She’d fire right back at him, claws out, and it would escalate into a fight that neither of them bothered to spare Dom.
Before Maddie had waltzed off with his dog, she’d bluntly described them as a pair of self-absorbed, pigheaded idiots who had by some miracle created a great kid that neither of them deserved.
The woman didn’t mince words. And she was right.
But there was nothing to be done about it, was there? Nothing except his duty, to see the boy cared for and educated, give him a leg up in the world. And if something about that didn’t set quite right, well, he’d do what he always did where Dom was concerned—push him out of his mind.
Turning away from the window, he sat down at his desk to do just that, but damn it, Gio had taken his computer away to be analyzed.
And wasn’t that another unsettling problem? So far the testing led to just one conclusion: The system had been disarmed from that unit, and Adam was the only person who could have done it.
Rising again, he paced the spacious room. Afternoon sun glanced off the polished floors, the mahogany desk. He paused at the bar, poured two fingers of Scotch, took a swallow, then set it down and forgot it.
He found himself back at the window, staring blindly at the path. The only good news was that Maddie hadn’t sent for her sister. That meant he had one more night with her. He’d have to make it count.
For sure, he wouldn’t be mentioning her father again. Her reaction left no doubt in his mind; she’d been abused, sexually, and dear old dad was the abuser.
That key unlocked so many of her mysteries. Like why she’d left home for good at eighteen, then sacrificed so much to care for her sister. Why she’d sworn off marriage and children of her own. Why she didn’t trust the facade of a nice middle-class home.
What it didn’t explain was why her mother hadn’t protected her. His experience with his own mother notwithstanding, he knew that was what mothers were supposed to do.
Even Maribelle had that much of it right. Despite her threats, in his heart he knew she’d never put Dominick at risk. Just as she knew he’d never cut off the money. The fact that neither of them would admit it made their standoff that much stupider.
He paced some more, his troubled thoughts circling between Maddie’s parents and his own, then inevitably winding around to himself and Maribelle.
For certain, Maddie’d had the worst of the lot. His own narcissistic parents looked good in comparison. For one, they’d never actively injured him. And even though he’d believed all his life that they hadn’t wanted him, they’d never explicitly said so. For the most part, they simply ignored him.
As a father, he realized uncomfortably, he fell somewhere on the spectrum between his parents and Maddie’s. He’d never physically abused Dom, as Maddie’s father had abused her. But where his parents’ greatest sin was neglect, he’d gone further and actively barred Dom from his home, repeatedly and openly rejecting his own son without a thought for how it might damage him.
And damage him it would. Look how his parents and Maddie’s, with their separate brands of dysfunction, had warped their children’s lives.
He sank his hands deeper in his pockets.
How had he, who took such pride in his unflinching self-awareness, not acknowledged before now what his callousness would do to Dom? He hadn’t set out to wound the boy. But a knife wielded recklessly sliced just as deep.
He stepped back from the window and found the Scotch he’d abandoned, took a slug, and tried to salve his conscience. He’d make amends to the boy. Pay some attention to him. Ask him about his studies. He couldn’t be the kind of father his son obviously wanted. There was too much history there, too much water under the bridge.
But even if he couldn’t love the boy, he could at least quit being such a bloody bastard to him.
MADDIE HAD BEEN smitten with Lucy from the moment her parents brought her home from the hospital, swaddled in a pretty pink blanket. She’d changed Lucy’s diapers, warmed her bottle, and sung her to sleep in her crib. When Lucy cried, Maddie distracted her father. When she started to toddle and knock t
hings over, Maddie took the blame.
Then, when Lucy was four, Maddie went off to college and left her sister to their mother’s dubious care. And she’d never gone back again.
In truth, Maddie had run away.
But through college, through law school, through the first hectic years as a prosecutor, Lucy was never far from Maddie’s mind. And when Lucy entered her teens, Maddie hired a private detective to get a package into her hands without their parents’ knowledge. It held five hundred dollars, a cell phone and charger, and a note explaining what to do with them.
For three years, she didn’t hear a word from Lucy. For all she knew, her sister had ditched the phone and spent the money on weed. But on Lucy’s sixteenth birthday she stayed home all day and night. Just in case.
The call came at nine-thirty. The cab showed up at midnight. And just like that, Maddie had a little sister again. She quit the U.S. Attorney’s Office the next day and took the job with the firm. And she hadn’t regretted it for a minute.
But she’d never stopped regretting that she hadn’t freed Lucy from that house sooner, before she’d had to learn things the hard way. Maddie would always wish that she’d shielded her from that disillusionment and pain.
Now here was Dom, with his intelligent eyes so much like Adam’s, and the rolling laugh that had surprised her the first time she heard it, but that now seemed like the most essential part of him. He could still have a healthy and happy life, if his parents would only put him ahead of their own bruised egos.
Dom’s laugh was constant and contagious as he galloped around the yard in pursuit of John, whose only game was keep-away.
Maribelle drifted off the terrace to stand beside Maddie where she was taking a breather in the shade. “Boys and dogs,” she said, summing it up.
“Yep. How come he doesn’t have one?”
Maribelle did the shrug, but it didn’t seem studied now. “He never asked, and I never thought of it. I wish I had. I’ve never seen him so happy.”
John pivoted on his back legs, swished past Dom just an inch out of reach. Dom spun to chase him, tripped over his own feet, and landed on his face.
Maddie tensed, expecting tears, while John circled back, tail tucked in apology. He dropped the ball to nose the boy, and Dom, laughing wildly, rolled over and grabbed it, then clambered to his feet and took off, John bounding merrily behind him.
“Tough kid,” Maddie said.
“He gets that from his father.” Maribelle gave her a crooked smile. “I cry if I break a nail. But Adam’s built for pain. Taking it and dishing it out.”
She seemed to mean the physical kind, so Maddie said, “Does he box?”
“No. He fights. I guess you haven’t seen him after a brawl. Black eyes and bandages, arm strapped around his ribs until they knit.”
This was news. “Wouldn’t that make the papers? Adam LeCroix in a brawl?”
Maribelle slid her a sideways look. “You haven’t figured out yet that Adam knows how to keep secrets?”
Secrets like having a kid. Stealing a Renoir.
“Remember that movie Fight Club?” said Maribelle. “A bunch of guys beating on each other, testosterone on the hoof. The only rule is . . . blah blah.”
“Yeah, I remember it. Brad Pitt, totally ripped.”
Maribelle grinned. “He’s even hotter in person.”
“That’s impossible.”
“But true. Anyway, that’s Adam’s deal. He’s got a fight club.”
“Why?” And why was she dishing about Adam with Maribelle?
Because the woman knew things, that’s why.
“He grew up on the streets,” said Maribelle. “But you probably know that. You prosecuted him over the Lady in Red.”
So Maribelle had Googled her. “I tried to prosecute him,” Maddie said. “My boss wouldn’t let me. But I don’t know much about his childhood except that his parents were big-time artists and he parlayed their paintings into zillions.”
“Everybody knows that, how he turned sixty paintings into sixty million in five years, yada yada. But growing up, he was a vagabond. His parents were basically squatters, moving from one rich person’s guesthouse to another’s, wearing out their welcome, screwing around on each other, fighting like cats and dogs. And ignoring Adam.
“It’s a real-life Dickensian tale,” she said dryly, but not entirely without sympathy. “He was on his own, an easy target, despised by rich and poor alike. He got beat up a lot. And I have this from Henry, who knows everything there is to know about Adam. Henry keeps most of it to himself, but he’s told me some stories over the years.”
And she seemed more than willing to share them with Maddie, which only made sense, since she couldn’t talk to another soul about them.
“So Adam got good at taking care of himself,” she went on. “Fighting and thieving and guarding his turf. Which is why loyalty’s everything to him. You mess with Adam once and forget it, you’re on the outside forever.”
And didn’t that explain a lot about the man? Like his loyalty to his friends. The street skills he kept sharp by training . . . and stealing. And why he knew nothing at all about being a father.
Maddie looked up at Maribelle, six feet of supernatural beauty, and the look on the woman’s face said she was living proof. She’d messed up, and now she was as far out of Adam’s life as he could get her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“LET’S GO SWIMMING,” Maddie said to Dom. They were panting almost as hard as John, who’d flopped in the grass, his sides pumping like bellows.
Dom looked regretful. “Papa’s in residence.”
“I’ll take care of Papa.” Imagine barring his son from the pool. What a dick.
She sent Dom off for his swimsuit while she told Maribelle about it. “Want to come along?” she asked, grateful when Maribelle declined. Side by side in swimsuits, Maddie’s legs would look even stumpier. And she could stand under the woman’s bust like an awning.
“Don’t be surprised when he throws Dom out,” said Maribelle.
“If he does, I’ll be sleeping over here tonight.”
“I’ll have Giselle get your room ready.”
Maddie laughed. So did Maribelle. Unexpected camaraderie that neither knew quite what to make of.
On the path to Adam’s villa, Dom walked soberly at Maddie’s side while John herded them along like a Border collie. Now that he’d found Dom, he wouldn’t let the boy out of his sight.
“Go ahead and take John to the pool,” Maddie said, “while I get changed.” And while I show your father he’s not the boss of everyone.
Adam met her coming in. He must have seen them from the window, because his face was a thundercloud. She marched straight into the storm.
“You got the plane gassed up? Pilots on standby?”
That set him back on his heels. “No. I was hoping—”
“Good. Because I’m thinking I’ll stick around a few days. If you can keep from pissing me off, that is.”
“Okay.” He raked his hair. “That’s good. I want to talk to you—”
“Fine. Let’s talk in the pool.” She brushed past him, heading for her suite. “Dom’s out there with John. We worked up a big sweat tearing around the yard.”
“Maddie, I—”
“Get your suit on. I’ll be right out.” And she closed her door in his face.
Stripping off her sweaty T-shirt, she wondered if it was a mistake to stick her nose in. Too bad if it was. The kid deserved better.
Adam did too. He was stuck in a groove he’d dug ten years ago, back when he was still scratching and scraping his way to the top of the shit pile, working hard and playing harder. Proving himself to the world and to every dickhead who’d ever doubted him.
It made all kinds of sense now, his need to constantly prove himself. Ignored by shitty parents, beaten up by bullies, tormented and picked on by pea-brained kids who were happy just to find somebody weaker to despise. He was still giving all of them the finger.
Even Maribelle. And once upon a time, she deserved it. But ten years of water had flowed under the bridge since she’d tried to trap him, and if Maddie was any judge of people, the woman had changed as much as he had. For sure, she regretted her treachery; it cost her a Hollywood career and forced her to live a lie. But just as surely, she didn’t regret her son.
Maddie ripped the tags off another bikini, wriggled into the barely-there bottoms.
She wasn’t wasting any sympathy on Maribelle. She was an adult, she’d have to fend for herself. But Dom was just a kid. He needed all the help he could get.
Slipping barefoot into the hallway, Maddie put an ear to Adam’s door, but heard only silence. He could be in there changing into trunks, or outside sending Dom packing.
She sprinted for the pool, found Dom sitting on the side, feet dangling in the shallow end. John was doggie-paddling in circles, trying to lure him in.
No sign of Adam.
“How’s the water?”
“Always the same. Eighty-six degrees.”
The kid was too serious. She walked around behind him and shoved him in.
He sank like a stone.
“Shit!” She jumped in. The water was only four feet, but it was over his head. She hauled him up by his armpits, adrenaline pumping, mentally rehearsing her CPR.
He broke the surface laughing. She let go and he treaded water easily.
“You little shit. You scared me!”
“That’s what you get for horsing around in the pool.”
“Who’s the adult here?” she grumbled. John paddled through the narrow space between them, and she feigned annoyance with him too. “Jesus, John, we’ve got Lake Michigan here. Spread out, will ya?”
Dom giggled. Then his face went slack.
Maddie glanced over her shoulder. Adam. Adam in board shorts.
Jesus. That body. Like Brad Pitt in Fight Club.
John paddled in his direction.
Tearing her eyes away to check Dom, she realized he was scared stiff. “Want to race?” she said. He blinked uncertainly. She looked over her shoulder again. “Hey Adam, want to race?”
The Wedding Vow Page 22