Behind the Shadows

by Potter, Patricia;

  She’d even been excited about the newspaper interview. She’d become passionate about her favorite cause: the riding program for special needs kids. She’d thought the interview would help raise funds.

  Maybe she was finding herself, after all. He hoped to God she was.

  He wanted her happy, and God knew she’d had little of that emotion. He used to ferry her to school and various activities when she was a child. He knew how self-conscious she was about the scars from the accident that killed her parents. Plastic surgery had helped, but a number of psychologists hadn’t been able to heal the survivor’s guilt she felt.

  He wondered if her cry for help now had anything to do with the story. And that drew his attention back to Kira Douglas and the dinner last night. He’d enjoyed himself far more than he’d expected until she’d virtually fled from him.

  Her excuse had been exhaustion, and the slight rings around her eyes gave substance to the claim, but he suspected she was one of those people who ran on adrenaline.

  He couldn’t explain his reaction to her. Not the heat that had ignited in him, nor the desire to touch her. There was a fierce attraction—make it a sexual storm—that stunned him. It was even more surprising since she was a reporter, and he’d never been a fan of most of them.

  To his surprise, Kira Douglas had challenged him in a way few women did. She was driven. Confident. Compassionate. Smart as hell.

  And pretty. Not beautiful with sleek cheekbones and a straight nose, but a more interesting kind of attractiveness. Eyes that flashed with enthusiasm or clouded with questions. A smile that was real and not practiced.

  She was also wary of him, and he couldn’t quite figure out why. He’d been on his best behavior. But her eyes had been cautious and her responses carefully phrased, even after two large glasses of wine.

  He called the investigative agency on retainer for Westerfield Industries. “Any more on Ms. Douglas?” he asked the investigator.

  “Very little. She’s been active lately in organ donation groups. Other than that, nothing.”

  “How active?”

  “Press releases. Press advice. That kind of thing.”

  “Paper doesn’t mind?”

  “Not if it’s a nonprofit.”

  “Okay, keep hunting. I want to know what she has for breakfast in the morning.”

  “Gotcha, Mr. Payton.”

  Max put down the phone and stared at the law books in his office. He loved those books. The symbol of success. He used to take pleasure in looking at them, but the glow had faded.

  He suddenly felt alone, and the feeling didn’t give him the satisfaction it usually did.

  Leigh ran down to the pasture before leaving. Maude always made her feel better, as did Silver Lady, who came to the fence and nudged her pocket for a treat.

  “You spoil them,” Rick said, and she whirled around. She hadn’t heard him approach.

  “I like spoiling them. Did you rub Lady down after my lesson this morning?”

  “Yes’m.” There was the touch of insolence in his voice, but as long as he did his job, she ignored it. He was Mrs. Baker’s nephew and had worked part-time as groom for two years. He was rarely late and had never missed a day; it was rare finding someone that reliable, so she ignored his sometimes surly manner.

  “I’ll put them inside the barn when I get back this afternoon,” she said.

  “I’ll be going, then,” he said. “I put clean water and feed in their stalls.”

  She gave the donkey and mare another piece of apple, then went inside the house and grabbed her purse. In minutes she was on the interstate.

  What did the Kira person want? Money? Her inheritance?

  What galled her most is how she’d been tricked. She’d been flattered by the interview, had instinctively liked Kira Douglas. She’d told the other members of the board about the upcoming story, and they’d been thrilled.

  What a fool she’d been. What a trusting fool. No wonder Max wouldn’t give over control to the Westerfield trust.

  Anger seethed inside her. She had no doubt her mother had given her birth. She’d been told that her mother had three miscarriages before her birth, and she had been a treasured child for that reason.

  An ugly prank? Blackmail of some kind?

  Get yourself together, she told herself. Max will know what to do. He always knew what to do.

  She left the house early. You never knew about Atlanta traffic, even on Saturdays. Her hands trembled on the steering wheel as images flipped through her mind. Her mother singing to her. Her father whirling her around. Then the ugly parts. The drinking. The arguments.

  Traffic was light today. Unusually light. She arrived at Max’s office twenty minutes before noon. The security guard nodded at her. “Miss Howard. Good to see you.”

  On the sixth floor, she went directly to his office. Why would someone say something like this? That she wasn’t Leigh Howard?

  She blinked back tears. She would fight back this time. No more running and hiding. She wanted advice from Max, but no one was going to take her birthright from her. No one was going to take her name and her memories.

  He stood as she entered his office. It was clean except for two manila folders. It was always clean. He was the most disciplined man she knew.

  He looked at her face, and his smile faded. “What is it, Leigh?”

  “Can we go out to lunch? Now?” She didn’t want to be in the close confines of the office. She wanted to be in a public place where she could wear a public face. She wouldn’t cry there.

  “Of course.” His hand touched her shoulder as they went out the door.

  Was she really that obvious? Kind gestures were not in his repertoire, at least not that she’d noticed.

  “That reporter,” she said after they were seated in the restaurant, “the one who did the story earlier this week, visited me again.”

  She saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Why?” he asked with more interest than she’d expected.

  “She claimed that I’m not the biological daughter of my parents. That she is. That we were switched at birth.”

  Max didn’t usually show emotions, but he started forward in his chair and his eyes darkened. “That’s nonsense.”

  “That’s what I said,” Leigh agreed, suddenly comforted by his obvious shock. “You know all the family secrets,” she said, voicing that tiny kernel of doubt. “You would know.”

  He ignored that comment. “Tell me exactly what she said.”

  She recounted the conversation with Kira Douglas as completely as she could, knowing she’d hit the most important points.

  His eyes turned icy and a muscle flexed in his throat. She’d seen enough of him to know he was angry. Furious, in fact. It wasn’t, though, aimed at her. She had been on that end before and knew the signs.

  “She wants me to take a DNA test.” A pause. “She wants me to give a kidney.”

  “And what do you want to do?” His voice was noncommittal but his eyes seethed with anger.

  “Tell her to go to hell. She lied to get into my house. I have no reason to trust her. I found my birth certificate after talking to her. There’s no doubt I’m a Westerfield. I wonder if she’s just using the kidney story to blackmail us.”

  Max shook his head. “She does have a very ill mother on the kidney transplant list.”

  “How do you know?”

  “A gut feeling that she wasn’t just there for the interview. I ran a check on her.”

  She glared at him. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “I had no reason to. You made the appointment without asking me. When I saw her and the photographer, it was rather late to ask questions.”

  “What do you think she wants?”

  “She’s clean as far as public records go. She’s apparently good at her job,” he said.

  Leigh had the sudden impression that he was not telling her everything. Her blood chilled. If she couldn’t trust Max, who could she trust?

&nbs
p; “What should I do?” she asked again.

  “Don’t agree to anything. Don’t sign anything. I’ll meet with her and find out exactly why she believes there was a baby switch and whether she has any proof. You say she got some DNA that day she interviewed you?” Then he cursed. That damned cup. No wonder Kira Douglas had looked so guilty.

  “She says it matches her mother’s.”

  “That wouldn’t hold up in court,” he said.

  “What should I do?”

  “I don’t want you talking to her. If she phones, hang up. If she e-mails, save them for me but don’t reply. Okay?”

  She nodded, feeling better already. His anger was palpable, but she knew it was directed elsewhere. She would not want to be in that reporter’s shoes.

  “Something else,” he said. “Don’t mention this to anyone else. Not until I know more. You don’t want the press camping on your doorstep.”

  “She is the press.”

  His expression tightened. “For some reason she apparently hasn’t said anything about this to anyone but you. If she had any legal proof, she would have gone to the hospital first. That’s something for our side.”

  She liked that “our side.” She left an hour later, feeling much better. She planned to do exactly as he suggested. He would get rid of the pretender.

  The sense of violation, though, ran deep. She had been used. Lied to. She had invited someone into her house as a guest and her hospitality was abused.

  Not only abused but trashed with an outrageous falsehood.

  Max prided himself on self-control. Some, including the CEO of Westerfield Industries, called it arrogance. Perhaps they were right, because Max didn’t give a damn what others thought.

  He had a small opinion of most people. He’d been dumped as a kid into a group home, then foster care, and that didn’t endear him to authority and courts and do-gooders.

  He owed one person. No one else. He planned never to owe anyone else again, and he was wary of anyone venturing too close to him.

  And no one had, not until this weekend when he’d spent a few hours with a woman he would usually avoid.

  He knew now why he distrusted such emotions. Kira Douglas was a liar.

  Max wanted to slam something. Instead, he finished eating. It was important that Leigh not notice how angry he was.

  He had protected her now for more than twenty years. It had become more than a habit, especially when he had discovered what was behind her self-destructive actions. He related only too well.

  He also felt deceived. He had been fooled by misty blue eyes and earnestness.

  He looked at his companion at the table. Leigh was picking at her salad, but her eyes caught his and held. She had changed in the past year. Or maybe he had. What he used to believe was irresponsibility was really shyness and fear, and God knew she had a right to both of them.

  Still, Max wanted to hurry her. He had appointments this afternoon but none he couldn’t cancel. He wanted to call Kira Douglas and find out what in the hell was going on. And if she was playing games with Leigh, or was a threat to her, he would destroy her.

  12

  Kira spent Saturday afternoon taking care of business for the Clean Sweep. She sent out bills to clients and made out checks for employees.

  She wanted her mother to come back to a functioning business. She would come back.

  The busywork, though, couldn’t quench the dread in her heart. Kira knew the roof was going to fall in on her. She simply didn’t know when.

  She should have told Max Payton about what she suspected. Suspected? Hell, no. What she knew. Now he probably wouldn’t believe anything she said.

  That thought hurt. Far more than she wanted to admit.

  It had been a long time since a guy made her tingle from the inside out. Even longer since she’d been so challenged in every way. She liked him as well as being so physically attracted to him. She liked the preciseness of his mind, the trace of gallantry after they left the restaurant. She liked the ease with which he made conversation even while gently interrogating her.

  But the supper had probably been their first and last social meeting. He did not seem a man who took kindly to lies. And she had lied by omission. Big time.

  The phone rang and she hesitated. She felt as if she were jumping out of her skin. It kept ringing. When she picked up the receiver, she heard a very cold, very hard, clipped voice. She’d heard that words could sound like pieces of ice falling, but she’d never experienced it before. An apt description.

  “There are things we need to talk about,” Max said after introducing himself very curtly as Max Payton.

  “You’ve talked to Leigh.” A statement, not a question.

  “Yes.” Even icier if possible.

  “There’s a reason I didn’t tell you Friday.”

  “Really?”

  She could mentally see him raise his eyebrows in disbelief.

  “When do you want to meet?” she asked.

  “As soon as possible. Leigh is understandably upset. No, she’s bewildered and furious. Just as anyone would be when confronted with … your … bombshell.”

  Time was of the essence for her as well. Maybe she could convince him, even enlist his aid. “Today?”

  “Yes.”

  That clipped, angry tone again. She tried to ignore it. “Where?”

  “My office.” The answer was curt. No intimate bistro tonight.

  “I can be there this afternoon,” she said.

  “Four?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He gave directions, then hung up without another word. Her heart dropped. She’d hoped for the benefit of the doubt. But then, she hadn’t given him that. She’d had supper with him as if she hadn’t a care in the word, when she was really carrying around information that could shatter his client.

  His office. No suggestion of her home. Obviously he meant to be in control. Well, she owed him that much.

  She thought about calling Chris. She’d already reported the conversation with Leigh and planned to meet with him Sunday. But she’d asked enough of him already, and this was her problem.

  She glanced at her watch. She had enough time to run over and see her mother first.

  Leigh couldn’t get the reporter’s words from her mind. The lunch with Max had helped, but she was jumpy with anxiety. Beyond restless.

  Perhaps some work at Seth’s office would help while she waited for Max to report back.

  Seth was talking to his campaign manager as she entered his headquarters. He grinned when he saw her, then his smile faded as his gaze met her eyes.

  “Excuse me,” he told the man with him and came over to her. “Hey, Cous, what’s wrong?”

  “That obvious?”

  “You look like you lost your best friend. I would have thought you would be ecstatic after the story in the paper. It was terrific.”

  “You saw it?”

  “Someone brought over an early edition of the Sunday paper.” He picked a section of the paper up and handed it to her.

  She stared down at herself. The photo covered nearly a quarter of a page and she looked good. She quickly read the story. She would have loved it had she not discovered it had a poisonous seed. She truly wanted to kill Kira Douglas at the moment.

  Seth hugged her. “Good job, princess.”

  The gesture surprised her because Seth wasn’t a demonstrative person. No one in her family was. Except her mother. She remembered her mother’s cheek against her, the smell of roses. Or was that just something she dreamed? It had been so long ago.

  And now someone wanted to take even those few memories away.

  “Come inside my office,” he said. “Jack can wait.”

  She followed him into the office, ignoring the look of impatience on his manager’s face.

  He sat on the corner of a neat desk. “What is it?” he asked.

  She recalled what Max had said. Don’t tell anyone. But Seth wasn’t anyone. He was and always had been
her friend.

  She quickly told him. He was five years older than she. He might have heard rumors if anything had been odd.

  His face reddened with anger as she talked. “She should be fired,” he said. “You want me to call the newspaper for you?”

  “I don’t want you to do anything that would hurt your campaign. Max is looking into it. He’s going to talk to her.”

  “I hate to admit it, but you’re in good hands then. God, I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling. Forget it. You look like your mother. Everyone has always said that, particularly your grandfather.”

  He was right. Everyone had said she favored her mother. Another reason to totally disregard the wild ramblings of a reporter.

  She brightened.

  “You’re an heiress,” he continued. “And there’s a lot of money at stake. Maybe she thinks she can get you to settle to keep a false claim out of the papers.”

  “Max will pound her into the ground,” she said. “I’m afraid of him, and I think he likes me. I’m never quite sure.”

  “Max is a pain in the ass,” Seth said. “He guards that trust like it was his. He forgets it should be yours.”

  “And yours,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I’m a grandnephew, not a grandson. And Ed didn’t like my dad much. We did okay.”

  Leigh had always felt guilty that she’d received the bulk of the estate—through the trust, true—while her second cousins received only a token inheritance. Grandfather had said in the will that it was because she was his direct heir, but she suspected it had something to do with the fact that neither of his brothers or nephews had gone into his business. Or had succumbed to his dictates.

  She also suspected that he wished Max was his son. He had left Max a life tenancy of a house on the property, a large amount of stock for himself, and control of the trust, which included the majority of corporation stock. As far as she knew, Max was the only person he’d really trusted.

  Neither Seth nor David had shown any concern about the will. But she would have, had the situation been reversed.

  “It still isn’t right,” she said.