"No, I screwed up, big time. I gambled and lost. So what else is new?"
"How can you say that? We have so much!"
He refused to make eye contact, and Jessica felt her own anger growing. "So that’s it, huh? Just say it’s because of Mac and walk away. Just make it easy on yourself." She got to her feet and placed her hands on her hips. "Do you know why I came down here? Why I humiliated myself in front of that… that little trollop you were seducing back there?"
Now Dane did swing his vision upward to meet her eyes. "Probably to lambaste me for not getting Charlene’s baby for you. I blew that, too, didn’t I? Ah, but your other husband would have had no problem."
Jessica shook her head in frustration and began to pace the empty living room, struggling to voice her tangled and painful thoughts. "I’m sure you don’t know it, but I haven’t been able to sleep since you left for L.A. Even before you left, I knew something was wrong, but I chalked it up to some kind of adjustment period. Yeah, I was rationalizing. I know it now. But a few days ago, I got out of bed, alone, alone again, and realized that I was losing my husband. Again. Only this time, I had a chance to do something about it. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let you just cruise out of my life like some… some ransacking pirate sailing off to sea."
Jessica paused to draw in a deep breath, and then narrowed her eyes as she peered down at Dane. "But go ahead. Feed your jealousy, your jealousy of a dead man. And for the record, Mac was anything but perfect. And I loved him. But you know what, Mr. Smart Ass Know it All? I loved you first. And yes, you were a complete jerk to me. You broke my heart, and I forgave you. You wanna talk about gambling? I put my whole marriage on the line just to keep you in my life. Have you forgotten, that when I was married to that other man, I flew halfway around the world, seven months pregnant, because I was terrified that you might die?"
The memory of her trip to Singapore brought a stinging to her eyes. She had been afraid to even breathe until the doctors had finally said that Dane would live.
Now, she placed her palms out between them. "If you’d rather sit there and get shit-faced drunk, and feel sorry for yourself, just do it. But know this, Dane Thomas Pierce, I am your wife, and you are my last chance for happiness. I will not go through this again for anything or anyone in the world. It just isn’t worth the pain." Jessica’s voice grew softer and more broken as she spoke. Deflated, she lifted Dane’s keys from the fireplace mantel and slipped into her shoes. "Have a good night with your ghosts. I need to go."
And she was in the car, trying her best to force herself to put the car into gear; he was knocking on the driver’s door window. She locked him in her gaze and lowered the window.
"There’s so much you don’t know," he began, the cockiness gone from his voice.
"Then tell me."
"I can’t."
"Goodbye, Dane."
Twenty-nine
A Killer in the House?
Doc says that my tests came back good. Gotta watch the booze, though. As if I didn’t know that.
God, I miss Jess. Too bad it’s not me she is missing. Despite what she said, I know she would rather be with him. She will never be free. Come to think of it, neither will I.
I’m sure she’s even madder now that our appeal was denied. I can’t believe Denehy would sink low enough to leak his suspicions to the adoption board. Slimeball.
Surely something has to change soon. It’s ruining me.
Dane looked up from his computer and toward the television, where the news was broadcasting. A congressman from Minnesota was in town, attending a nuclear arms discussion being held at Camp Pendleton, California.
"So what?" Dane muttered, and started to look back at his keyboard when Steven Conway’s name was mentioned. An advocate against nuclear arms, Conway was briefly interviewed outside his West L.A. hotel.
His interest re-ignited, Dane pulled out the file of information he’d all but forgotten over the last several weeks. Again reading through the notes, he pondered his earlier thoughts. He had to have missed something. Boldly, he picked up the phone and dialed.
~ * ~
"Nice to see you again, Mr. Pierce. Glad you caught me. I was going to visit my son before flying home."
"He live around here?"
"Yes, but I just found out he’s out of town. I just missed him."
"Funny, I thought he was a child. Like your daughters."
The two men took their seats in the downtown restaurant Dane had picked.
"No. He’s older… from a previous… you know."
"Ah. Well. I thought this might be an opportune time to talk about fattening your campaign coffers."
"My constituents have been very generous. It’s people like you and Miss MacKendall who have helped keep the right folks in office."
Dane nodded thoughtfully. "You sure you didn’t know Charlene?"
"No. As I mentioned before, I only met her while touring the facility."
"Really. I thought for sure you two knew each other better. She spoke of you on several occasions."
"I’m flattered, I guess," Conway said, shaking his head slowly. "She wasn’t exactly the kind of woman that fits into the political scene, if you catch my drift."
"No, what is your drift, Congressman?"
"First of all, I’m a married man, Mr. Pierce."
"So am I. Forgive me, but--so?"
"Good point." Conway looked weary. "Surely you don’t imagine… a man like me, a younger woman… with tattoos, no less…" he chuckled. "No offense to Miss MacKendall. She was a nice person."
"Yes. She was."
"Shame about that adoption. I was sorry to hear about that."
"Mm Hmm."
"What a run of bad luck. But you came here to talk about the campaign."
Dane smiled. "I wasn’t around much the last time you were running. Charlene was really impressed with your platform. She was your true supporter."
The congressman seemed to wince. Dane continued. "I’m really a California boy. Minnesota politics only matter when they affect the business."
"Well I can assure you, my position has only strengthened over the past four years."
"Good." Dane leaned forward, offering a sly smile. "You sure you and Char weren’t more… intimately acquainted?"
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Pierce. That’s preposterous."
"Then perhaps you spent some time lurking about her bedroom windows?"
Conway stood abruptly. "Whatever are you getting at?"
Dane leaned lazily back in his seat. "Just trying to figure out how you knew about those tattoos. You know, as brash as she was, Char was really very modest about her body. Hell, I’d been sleeping with her for three months before I caught a glimpse of them. And here you, by your own admission, a total stranger…"
The representative from Minnesota took his seat. "Can I buy you a drink, Mr. Pierce?"
"Not tonight."
"Funny, I took you for a drinking man."
Dane chuckled, unwrapped a stick of gum and slid it into his mouth.
"What is it you want?"
Chewing his gum thoughtfully, Dane looked around the restaurant at the other, unsuspecting diners. "You surprise me, Mr. Conway." He reached into the breast pocket of his sports coat and withdrew two envelopes. He placed them side-by-side on the table. "You asked about my kids." Opening the first envelope, Dane pulled out some photos. "This is my oldest son, Alexander, my wife, and our son Devon. I’m not his birth father, of course. His real dad is gone now." He turned the photos toward the politician. "This little guy is Chester. He’s Charlene’s son. We named him Chester, hoping to adopt him one day. I’m not his biological father either." Dane pushed the second picture closer to the perspiring man across the table from him. "But I’d do anything for these boys."
Conway averted his eyes. Dane patted the second envelope.
"These are the results of a blood test performed on Chester, and on the mysterious blood donor who came forward during his open hear
t surgery. Guess what." Dane rearranged the photos. "Cute little kid, isn’t he? Too bad his mother had to die before she could tell us who the father is."
"Perhaps you could be the father, Mr. Pierce. A little influence imposed in the right direction, and those could be your blood records in that envelope."
"I’ve considered that option. However, it’s not a very well concealed fact that I underwent the knife about eight years ago to see to it that little accidents like this one didn’t happen to me." Dane pressed his fingertips together. "I love my wife, Mr. Conway. Her late husband, and his sister, were friends of mine. The least I can do is see that the child is placed in the right family, and with the help of the biological father, I just might be able to do something. Now, shall we talk about the tattoos, what’s in this envelope, or your campaign? Your choice."
"I never saw the tattoos, myself," Conway remarked at last, still not meeting Dane’s eyes. His voice was soft and woeful when he continued. "Those blood tests may, in fact, be mine, but I am not that little boy’s father."
"You sound mighty sure of yourself."
"I am quite sure." He turned to face Dane. "A few minutes ago, you said you would do anything for your sons. Well, Mr. Pierce, so would I. Hopefully, your sons will grow up strong and healthy, make you proud. But if they don’t, if they go astray somehow… how will you handle that? Hmm? And what about their children, the innocent by-products of careless indiscretions… if they needed care, you would step forward, wouldn’t you?"
Dane narrowed his eyes, his mind racing through the scenario the congressman was painting.
"So where does it end, Mr. Conway?"
"As a father, it never ends."
"And as a public figure? As a law making, and hopefully law abiding, citizen?"
Conway issued a deep sigh. Dane gathered the envelopes and tucked them back into his pocket. "Where did he go?"
"Who?"
"Your son. You said he left town."
Steven Conway looked forlorn for a moment. "He meant well. He was worried about the election. She wanted to get married."
"Char? Married? That’s a joke."
"It was the baby. She wanted respect. I told Frankie he had to do right by her, something I wished I’d done many years ago. Frank’s mother… well I guess that’s irrelevant, now. But he’s so headstrong. He’d really cleaned up, you know? Didn’t want to associate with that scene down there. So, they argued. He thought she was threatening him. He wanted to scare her, so she’d leave us alone."
"Wait a minute. Frankie is your son? The drug dealer?"
Conway said nothing. Dane frowned. The puzzle pieces were knitting themselves together. Frankie Conway was more than just the baby’s father. "Scare her?" Incredulous, Dane leaned close to the politician’s face. "Scare her?" Dane’s voice reflected the horror of his realization. "He killed her! The mother of his child! And her brother!"
Now, people in the surrounding tables began to stare. The maitre ‘d signaled the waiter, who approached the table.
"Can I get you gentlemen anything else?"
"No. Thank you." Dane fell back against his chair; his guest sat stock still in his. The unexpected turn of events had put a new spin on Dane’s plans to get Conway to confess. "You know I can’t sit on this," he finally said.
After a long moment, Conway broke the silence. "I’ll bring him in."
Dane swallowed hard and tried to slow his breathing. "Look. I’m… I’m sorry it had to be this way. I’m sorry I suggested what I did about you and Char. It was not meant to degrade you."
"I know that, Mr. Pierce. I guess I knew all along that someone, somewhere, would find out. However, I doubt very much that Frankie’s conviction will help in your attempt to adopt the child. It will, most likely, only complicate matters. I wish you luck, however. And I’m truly…" his voice began to roughen and he cleared his throat. "Truly sorry about the MacKendalls."
Dane took a moment to rub his eyes. When he opened them, it was to see the Minnesota State Representative retreating slowly from the room, head held high. A moral, well-liked politician who loved his family and his country. A man whose career was likely now over.
His legs shaking with adrenaline, Dane made a dignified effort to retrieve his car from the valet. He could barely discern the road ahead as he began the drive home; his sinuses were swelling and his eyes burned. Finally, after exiting the freeway onto a darkened stretch of Canon Road, Dane Pierce pulled over and parked his car. Lowering his forehead against the steering wheel, he began to weep.
He didn’t go to work the next day. He didn’t answer the phone, or go out. He did sit on the beach, despite the overcast sky and chilly air.
~ * ~
"What do you want for your birthday, darling?" his mother asked, her fingers subtly toying with the single strand of pearls around her neck. "What would make you happy, Dane?"
He was probably nine or ten. She’d baked him a round layer cake, and he was putting on the candles before his father came home from work.
"Didn’t you already buy my presents?" he’d asked in surprise.
"Of course I did. But you never tell me what you want so I just have to pick things I think you’ll like. Isn’t there anything you have your heart set on?"
Only Jessica.
His birthday was two weeks away, just after Thanksgiving. He’d be going home next week. He’d make it a quick trip. No sense in prolonging the agony. She wouldn’t want him around much anyway. Still, he labored over her last words to him.
I loved you first.
If she was telling the truth, then he’d made a big mistake. Again.
He went back to the house with a heart as heavy as the sand upon which he walked. There were messages on his answering machine, the only one of any interest being from the detective bureau at L.A.P.D. A Lieutenant Fusco was calling to offer an apology on behalf of the department. Frankie Conway had surrendered to authorities that morning and was undergoing psychiatric evaluation prior to being charged. Sergeant Murdo Denehy had withdrawn his hat from the race for the D.A.’s seat and would be taking a voluntary leave of absence.
Dane snorted at the implication. "Should be a permanent vacation," he muttered.
In the afternoon he slept some, then drove his Mustang around Los Angeles with no particular destination in mind. Near the airport, he stopped in at a topless bar.
With some semblance of decorum left, he kept in the shadows and ordered a drink he didn’t touch. At one end of the bar centered in the room, a short, abundantly endowed redhead was swinging around a heavily chromed pole. Wearing not much more than a g-string and a cheap rhinestone tiara, her bump-and-grind was impeccable. Dane stopped the waitress and gave her a hundred dollar bill to give to the dancer when the set was over.
Breathless and wearing a sheer silk peignoir over the skimpiest bikini possible, Trina Vidal slid into the booth across from him, delicately folding the note and slipping it between her breasts.
"I can see you’re not doing your routine," she said accusingly, but her eyes were sympathetic. She hailed the waitress and ordered two Perriers.
"I don’t know why I came here," he said miserably.
"Let me guess. Your wife locked you out of the house?"
Dane only frowned and withdrew into more of the shadow in which he was sitting.
"Uh… okay, your movie deal got canceled. No? Christ, man, what happened? Your dick fall off?"
At this comment Dane sat up, ready to be mad at her. Instead, he burst into laughter and Trina joined him. Reaching forward, she stroked his cheek affectionately. "Is there anything I can do, big boy?"
"Naw. Not really. I thought maybe… but it wouldn’t work."
"Ha! It did fall off."
Again they both shared a good laugh, Dane shaking his head at her comic expression.
"Well that’s gotta be it, otherwise my heart will be broken. Can’t have that, can we?"
"No, I guess not." Dane’s smile faded. Her comment about the broke
n heart reminded him again of Jessica. "I shouldn’t be here."
"No, you shouldn’t. But you are, and I’ve only got ten minutes before I get to pump up all those redneck slobs again. If there’s something I can do for you, better ask now."
Dane’s smile, now melancholy, returned and he took Trina’s hand. "You’re a good friend, Katrina Vidal. Just listening to your inane prattle does me good. You be careful out there, you here?"
"Not me I’m worried about, Romeo. It’s you. You’re the one wearing your insides on the outside these days. You better patch things up with the missus pretty quick. No sense in all three of us bein’ miserable over this. I gotta go change. Thanks for the c-note. Love ya." She gave him a quick kiss on the mouth and disappeared through a curtain of hanging beads.
Dane sipped on the Perrier and left halfway during her second act.
Thirty
Redemption and Revelation
Jessica had never known Peter Welles to be a nervous man. Yet, as she watched him scurry about the kitchen one morning, it occurred to her that he had been agitated of late. And she was willing to bet it had nothing to do with her own troubles with Dane.
"What’s the matter?" she finally asked.
"Matter?"
"You’re hoppin’ around here like a rabbit with a hound after you. Is something bothering you, Peter?"
Peter stopped and stared directly at Jessica. "As a matter of fact, yes."
"Well, let’s talk about it. Maybe I can help."
"It’s complicated and not very pretty," he answered, his tone slipping decidedly back into the Cockney slang he’d spoken since his childhood.
"Shoot."
"In a word, it’s Lydia."
Jessica smiled. "Go on."
"I want to marry her."
"I doubt you’ll get much resistance from her, dear. So what’s the problem?"
"Oh Jess, it’s… it’s… oh buggers. I’m already married."
Jessica couldn’t keep the shocked expression from her face. "What?"
"It’s true. I married me a London whore while on ‘oliday. She up n’ stole all the money Dane gave me and gambled it all away. I ‘ad to borrow to get back ‘ere. But it’s a legally binding marriage. I can’t marry another until I’m free of ‘er."
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