The Virgin Mistress

by Linda Turner

  “Yes, you do,” she said tearfully, taking advantage of a talent she’d had for crying on demand since she was little more than a toddler. “Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been looking at me since the shooting? You know I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger—I couldn’t since I was standing right next to you!—but you still think I had something to do with it.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  Even to his own ears, Joe knew his denial sounded more than a little weak, but the truth was, he had wondered if she was somehow involved with the shooting. And every time he found himself thinking that way, he felt guilty as hell.

  She was his wife. His Meredith. The woman he’d loved almost from the moment he’d met her. They’d shared everything, all their hopes and dreams, all the joy and sadness and triumphs life had to offer. She would never do anything to hurt him. Would she?

  It was that doubt that was tearing him apart. There’d been a time when he thought he could trust her implicitly. But the woman he would have sworn he knew inside and out would have never betrayed him with another man. She would have never gotten pregnant, then cold-bloodedly mocked his sterility and tried to pass that child off as his. Not the woman he married. She just wasn’t capable of such a thing.

  He readily admitted, though, that this Meredith was a far different woman than the one he had fallen in love with so long ago. She had changed, ever since the accident nine years ago. He couldn’t quite bring himself to trust her as he once had.

  Still, she was his wife, and he owed her his loyalty and protection. And that wasn’t hard to give when he thought of all those years of their marriage, before she changed, when they were happy. “I don’t believe for a second that you would ever do anything to hurt me or anyone else,” he said, irritated that she’d put him on the spot in front of Austin and Rebecca. “You could never be that ruthless. Why do you think I hired Austin? It was obvious the police were focusing the investigation on family and friends, and I couldn’t just stand by and let that happen. Tell her, Austin.”

  “That’s exactly right,” Austin replied when she turned tear-filled eyes on him. “He was afraid that Law and his buddies would be so busy looking at the wrong people that the real shooter would get away—or find a way to finish the job. That’s why he brought me down here. To make sure that no stone was left unturned in looking for the bastard.”

  “No one suspects you, Meredith,” Rebecca assured her. “Especially Joe.”

  “Then why is everyone asking me so many questions?” she sniffed, playing the injured party to the hilt. “First Austin, and now the police—”

  “The police?” Joe cut in, scowling. “You were questioned by the police? When? Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Because you weren’t here and that awful Detective Law insisted that I come down to the station. That’s where I’ve been all afternoon, sitting in a smelly interrogation room while they grilled me!”

  She knew Joe would be outraged, and he reacted just the way she expected him to. Cursing, he pulled out his cell phone and quickly punched in the number of the police department. “I’ll take care of this right now,” he said grimly. “My family is not going to be harassed by the cops!”

  Pleased as punch that she knew just how to push his buttons, Patsy had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. The old boy might hate her for the way she’d screwed things up when she got pregnant with Teddy, but she was still his wife, for better or worse. And that meant he stood by her and protected her. Hopefully, he’d be so busy doing that, he wouldn’t have time to notice that she was guilty as hell.

  Caught up in her reflections, she didn’t notice that Austin was still watching her until he said, “What kind of questions did Law ask you in the interrogation? What was he looking for?”

  Her heart lurching in her breast, she reminded herself it was too soon to get cocky. Just because she’d easily distracted Joe didn’t mean she could do the same with Austin. He’d been a cop and still thought like one.

  Summoning very real indignation, she said, “He tried to imply that I knew the shot was going to come from Joe’s right, so I deliberately moved to his left before the toasts started so I wouldn’t get shot myself. As if I would have been anywhere near the spot where I thought a bullet was coming,” she added, rolling her eyes. “Nobody in their right mind would do that.”

  Austin’s lips twitched. “True. If I remember correctly, you told me you went to get champagne for you and Joe before the toasts started. Right?”

  “That’s right,” she agreed, and wanted to kick herself for bringing up the toast in the first place. If he thought to ask her why she didn’t just have one of the waiters bring them each a glass, she’d have to think of something fast. “I also wanted to make sure there was enough champagne to go around and the waiters were doing their job. I did a quick check and got back just in time for the first toast. And the shooting,” she added with a shudder. “It was awful.”

  She gave him the same story she’d given the police ad infinitum and wasn’t surprised when he didn’t ask her any more questions, but, instead, turned his attention back to Joe and what he’d seen right before the shooting. From the moment she’d first been asked about the shooting, she’d made sure her story never wavered, so Austin had already heard everything she had to say.

  He wasn’t the one she had to worry about, anyway, she silently acknowledged. Granted, he made her damn nervous and so did Thaddeus Law, but there was really only one person who could bring down her house of cards and that was Emily Blair Colton.

  Nine years, Patsy thought, grimly. It had been nine years since she’d run Meredith off the road and switched lives with her, and to this day, that little bitch Emily still remembered the moment right after the accident when she’d hit her head and saw two mommies. Oh, her memories of that day were still fuzzy, but Patsy didn’t fool herself into thinking that Emily’s images of the accident wouldn’t one day snap into focus. And when they did, Emily would figure out that there were really two Merediths. Patsy wasn’t waiting for that day. She already had the name of a man who would eliminate the little bitch for her. It was time to set up a meeting with him.

  Nine

  “What do you mean, there was no redheaded waiter at Mr. Colton’s party?” Austin demanded, outraged. “Then who was the hippie with the earring serving drinks?”

  Not the least bothered by his anger, the snooty assistant to John Roberts, the caterer, simply looked down her nose at him and said airily, “I neither know nor care. Perhaps he was one of the guests. Whoever he was, he wasn’t employed by Mr. Roberts. He doesn’t hire hippies.”

  “He did for the Colton party,” he snapped, wishing he’d brought Rebecca with him. She might have known how to appeal to this little snob. But he hadn’t known how long the search would take and she’d had papers to grade. “Look, lady, I’ve got witnesses that this jerk worked the party. Not,” he added with a scowl, “that I have to prove anything to you. You’re just the receptionist, right? You answer the phone. Where’s Mr. Roberts? I need to talk to him.”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” she said without a smidgen of regret. “He’s in L.A. doing a party for the American Film Institute.”

  “Then let me talk to somebody else. Who’s Mr. Roberts’s assistant? Maybe he can help me.”

  Her mouth pursed in disapproval, she just stared at him like he was a bug who’d landed in her soup. Finally, just when he thought she was going to turn him down flat, she scrawled an address on a slip of paper and pushed it across her desk at him. “His name’s Sean O’Connor. He’s working a wedding tonight. Don’t be surprised if he doesn’t have time to talk to you.”

  He could take time, Austin vowed as he checked the address and strode out. He just needed the name of the redheaded waiter and an explanation of why he hadn’t been included in the list of other employees who’d worked the party. How long could that take? Five minutes? Big deal.

  But when Austin arrived at
the hall where the wedding reception was being held later that evening, O’Connor was as cool as the receptionist. “You can’t be serious,” he growled when Austin identified himself and asked for a few moments of his time. “Do you have any idea who is getting married tonight, Mr. McGrath? Congressman Hart’s daughter! So, you can see, this is a very big reception, and I still have a million things to do. Surely you don’t really think I’m going to drop everything so I can talk to you?”

  Austin liked to think he was a reasonable man. If O’Connor hadn’t copped an attitude, he would have been happy to make arrangements to meet with him the following day. But there was something about his superior attitude—and the way the caterer looked down his thin nose at him—that rubbed him the wrong way. If the jackass wanted to drop names, he’d be more than happy to do the same.

  “You know, you’re right. I’m sorry, man. I wasn’t thinking. Go back to what you were doing. I’ll just call former Senator Colton and tell him that you didn’t have time to help me because you had bigger fish to fry tonight. Uncle Joe will understand…I hope.”

  O’Connor, to his credit, wasn’t stupid. He knew who Joe Colton was and that one negative comment from him could do irreparable harm to the reputation of Roberts Catering. Not that Joe would do that, but this little worm didn’t know that. He paled and immediately began to try to make amends.

  “Wait!” he said quickly when Austin half turned to walk away. “Maybe I was a little hasty. I can spare a few minutes. Who did you say you were looking for? A redheaded waiter?”

  Satisfied he’d gotten his attention, Austin nodded. “He must have been someone who was brought in at the last minute. He wasn’t included in the list of employees who worked the party that night. Mr. Colton and his foster daughter both remember the man. He was tall and lanky, with long red hair and a ponytail.”

  Frowning, O’Connor said, “I was in charge of the staff for that party—John handled the food—and it was a nightmare. There was some kind of stomach virus going around, and we had people calling in sick just hours before the party was scheduled to begin. Normally in a situation like that, we call our competitors—we all help each other out—but they were having the same problem we were.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Got on the phone and started calling every restaurant in town until we found one that would give us the names of some of their waiters who weren’t scheduled to work that night. That must have been where your guy came from. There’s certainly no one on our regular payroll that fits that description.”

  “You don’t remember him personally? Surely he checked in with you before the party started.”

  “That party was so hectic, I doubt that I would have remembered seeing my own mother that night. Mrs. Colton was—”

  Suddenly remembering who he was talking to, he immediately snapped his mouth shut, but it was too late. “Mrs. Colton what?” Austin prompted. “What were you going to say? You can tell me, O’Connor. I may be a family member, but I was hired to do a job, and whatever you tell me is confidential.”

  Still, the other man hesitated. “She was impossibly demanding,” he finally admitted. “I’ve worked with her in the past, but I’ve never seen her so…manic. She insisted that everything be perfect, and was constantly rushing into the kitchen, giving orders and throwing everyone into chaos. It was very nerve-racking.”

  “It was a big party,” Austin said. “It was obviously very important to her that Joe’s sixtieth birthday was memorable.”

  “True,” he agreed. “As it turned out, it was anyway. I don’t imagine he or anyone else will ever forget it.”

  That, unfortunately, was only too true. “Back to our redheaded waiter. What restaurants did you call that day for help?”

  “The Irish Tavern and the Baja Steakhouse,” he replied promptly. “Try the Irish Tavern first—ask for Susan LeCoke. She’s the manager and was very helpful.”

  He’d given him more information than Austin had expected—even though he’d had to threaten him to get it—and he was appreciative. Thanking him for his help, he hurried outside to his rental car and headed across town to the Irish Tavern. If Susan LeCoke was as cooperative as Sean O’Connor, he just might have the name of the shooter by nightfall.

  The dinner crowd was already starting to gather, but Susan LeCoke was, thankfully, happy to take a few minutes to talk to Austin in her small office right off the kitchen. Pleasant and easygoing, she made a list of the employees she knew had helped with Joe’s party, but when it came to the redheaded waiter, there wasn’t, unfortunately, much more she could tell him than his name.

  “He was employed here until he didn’t show up for work last week,” she said when he described the waiter. “His name’s Bryan Walker, but good luck finding him. When I tried to call him to see if he was coming into work, his phone had been disconnected. I don’t think he’s very responsible when it comes to paying his bills.”

  Great! Austin thought in disgust. If he wasn’t paying his phone bill, he probably hadn’t paid his rent either. “Do you know where I can find him? It’s very important.”

  Flipping through her employee records, she pulled out Walker’s file. “Let’s see, the only address I have is 1908 Johnson Street. You might try there. Just because the phone was disconnected doesn’t mean he moved.”

  Austin appreciated her optimism, but considering the way the investigation had led him on one goose chase after another, he wasn’t holding his breath. “Thanks,” he said. “At least I’ve got a name now. And these,” he added, holding up the list of the names and phone numbers of six of her waiters who’d helped with Joe’s party. “That’s a start.”

  Just to humor himself, Austin drove by 1908 Johnson Street and wasn’t surprised to find the small house empty and deserted. Just as he’d feared, Bryan Walker had cleared out his stuff and moved on, and it was too late to track him down tonight. He’d pick up the trail again tomorrow. There had to be someone, somewhere, who knew where he’d gone.

  In the meantime, he was tired and disgusted and it had been a very long day. His defenses were down, and as twilight pushed in on him, he could no longer hold memories from the past at bay. With no effort whatsoever, he found himself going back in time to that moment when the doctor had told him that he’d lost not only the baby, but Jenny, as well. He could still hear the animal cry that had ripped from his throat.

  Dear God, would he ever forget the pain of that moment? he wondered as he drove away from the restaurant. In the awful silence of two lost heartbeats, his whole life had changed forever.

  With time, he’d learned to deal with the loneliness of his own existence. He never forgot the anniversary of the day he’d lost Jenny, but he had managed to let go of most of the hurt. Or so he had thought—until today. For some reason, it was worse this year and he didn’t know why.

  He needed a drink.

  It was, he tried to tell himself, the logical solution. He should go back to the hotel, order a bottle of whiskey from room service, and get plastered. He’d wake up in the morning with the mother of all hangovers, but at least he’d be able to get through the rest of the night without thinking.

  But instead of doing the smart thing and driving back to his hotel, he found himself heading for the one place he knew he would find comfort and the last place he should have gone. Rebecca’s.

  In the middle of cooking supper, Rebecca couldn’t stop her heart from lurching in her breast when the doorbell rang. In spite of the fact that she was thrilled that Richard had resigned, deep down inside, she’d been half expecting to hear from him all day.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered, setting down the wooden spoon she’d used to stir the homemade spaghetti sauce she was making. That had to be him. Now what did she do? It would be horrible of her not to accept his apology if he’d come to offer one, but she started to tremble just at the thought of letting him into her apartment.

  So don’t answer the door, her common sense retorted. You’re under no
obligation to talk to him or anyone else if you don’t want to. Ignore him.

  For all of ten seconds, she considered it. Then when the doorbell rang again and she realized she was standing there in her own apartment letting him terrorize her just by ringing her doorbell, she was furious. Damn him, she would not let him or any other man ever frighten her again!

  Storming to the front door, she jerked it open without even checking the peephole. “How dare you— Austin!”

  As surprised as she, he started to grin. “Why do I have the feeling you were expecting someone else?”

  “I thought you were Richard,” she admitted sheepishly.

  “Ahh,” he said, understanding. “I guess it’s lucky for him I wasn’t. You looked like you were ready to take his head off.”

  “I was,” she said simply, and didn’t apologize for it. Suddenly realizing she hadn’t invited him inside, she pulled the door wide. “I didn’t mean to leave you standing on the doorstep. Come in. I was just cooking supper. Did you find the redheaded waiter?”

  “I was able to get his name and where he used to live,” he replied as he followed her into the kitchen. “Tomorrow I’ll track down his former landlord and see if he knows anything.”

  “Oh, Austin, that’s great! Maybe this is just the break you’ve been looking for.”

  “Time will tell,” he said with a shrug. Taking a seat at the breakfast bar, he sniffed the air. “Are you making spaghetti sauce from scratch?”

  Smiling, she nodded. “And meatballs, too. You’ll stay to eat, won’t you? I made enough for an army. It’s hard to make just a little spaghetti sauce.”

  He should have said no. In spite of the fact that everything smelled delicious, he didn’t have much of an appetite. His mood was lousy, and he wouldn’t be very good company. But he didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight, of all nights. “Sure,” he said huskily. “Thanks.”