First Loves: A Loveswept Contemporary Romance

by Stone, Jean

  He smiled that warm, wonderful smile, that little-boy smile. “Damned if I know. But something’s happening here. Yesterday I went to work smiling, for chrissake. Me. The one who specializes in tugging at the hearts of viewers, in being somber, in exposing doom and gloom. I smile now. And what’s worse, I’ve started whistling.”

  Zoe couldn’t help but laugh.

  Just then, from inside the family room, came the sound of whistling. They looked at each other and laughed together, as Scott appeared on the deck.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “You’re whistling,” Jay said.

  “Yeah, well, why not?”

  Zoe felt a glow as she looked at her son. It was so wonderful to have him home. So right. And like herself, he’d taken to Jay right away.

  “Scott!” Marisol’s voice called from the kitchen. “Get yourself in here and leave your mother alone.”

  Scott rolled his eyes and ducked back into the house. Zoe leaned against Jay’s shoulder again.

  “Happy?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the steady sound of Jay breathing, the morning song of the birds. She wondered how it was possible that she felt she’d known this man all her life—that, without realizing it, she’d waited for him forever. She opened her eyes and looked into his again. She did not know what their future would bring, but right now, right here, Jay Stockwell was making her feel like more of a total woman—spiritually, emotionally, and physically—than any man had ever done. She could not be certain that they’d be together for a long, long time, but she would capture this moment, these feelings, into a velvet box of memory in her mind. And when the craziness of stardom began once again, as Tim Danahy and Cal Baker assured her it would soon do, Zoe would always remember this morning of peace, this very special time of loving so much, of feeling so loved. She closed her eyes again, savoring his arm around her, surrendering to his heart. “Yes,” she said quietly, “I am very happy.”

  As the plane banked its descent into the Atlanta airport, Meg took Danny’s hand in hers. “You really are my guardian angel, you know that?”

  Danny laughed. “I’ve been called worse, I suppose. What amazes me right now is that we’re coming to the aid of a woman who both of us basically feel is more than a little bit out of her mind.”

  Meg removed her hand and tucked the magazine on her lap into the pocket behind the seat in front of her. “You said she’s scared, Danny. I think you’re right. And being scared is a very lonely place to be.”

  “Are you scared, Meg?”

  “Not about Alissa. I have nothing to lose.”

  “But you do. You have Steven. If you want him.”

  “Steven is changing his life. So am I. Maybe one day we’ll get together again, when we’re both clearheaded and no longer afraid.” She heard herself say the words, but she didn’t believe them.

  Danny leaned back on the seat. “Everybody’s afraid, Meg.”

  She laughed. “Surely not you?”

  He smiled and took her hand. “I’m glad you’re my friend,” he said. “I’m glad we never got involved.”

  Meg looked out the window. “It would have been over by now.”

  He squeezed her hand, then let it go. “I know.”

  Meg turned her head back to him. “Tell me about your family,” she said, crossing the boundary of privacy, yet, after all these years, now curious about Danny’s life. Maybe it was because she, at last, felt comfortable in sharing her own secrets. Some of them. “You were raised by your grandparents?”

  Danny nodded. “My grandfather traveled a lot. He was in the wine business. A distributor. When he had to be home, he spent all his time in his greenhouses. With his orchids.”

  “Orchids. So that’s where your passion began.”

  “I figured my grandfather spent so much time with them because it was the only way he could stand staying married to my grandmother. I couldn’t stand her either.”

  “Why not?”

  The seat-belt sign lit up. Danny pushed a button and his seat moved upright. “She was a bitch. Still is. I guess she’s always thought her money gives her that privilege.”

  “She’s wealthy?”

  “Very. Even more so after my grandfather died a few years ago, although he did leave a chunky trust fund to me.”

  “To you? My God. You’re one of those independently wealthy trust-fund types?” She put her face in her hands. “Oh, no. I’m so disappointed in you!”

  Danny laughed. “I’ve always had one, Meg. My mother left me one, too.”

  Meg stopped joking. She took her hands from her face and toyed with the metal ashtray, now soldered closed, on the armrest between them. “What about your parents?”

  Danny was quiet a moment. “My father was killed in Korea. I never knew him. My mother died when I was seven.”

  She rested her hand on his. “How awful for you. Do you remember her?”

  “Sure. She was beautiful and busy, always busy. A real socialite, the way my grandmother demanded. But she smoked too much and drank too much champagne. Even though she was her mother’s daughter, I don’t think she was ever comfortable in that role.”

  Meg leaned back on the seat. “So that’s why you have no patience with rich women.”

  Danny shrugged.

  “What about Alissa? Do you think she’s uncomfortable in her role?”

  Danny thought for a moment. “Let’s just say I think there’s more to Alissa than we see. And, yeah, I think that maybe she was never given a chance to be the kind of person she could have become.”

  “But apparently she did once. With Jay Stockwell.”

  “She was too young. Too scared.”

  “And now she’s scared again.” Meg looked out the window and watched the streets and buildings grow larger. “What happened to your mother, Danny?”

  The plane dipped toward the runway.

  “She was scared, too,” he said quietly. “So she killed herself.”

  “I thought you’d never get here,” Alissa said as she opened the front door to them.

  Meg ignored Alissa’s gesture to follow her. “Before we come in,” Meg said, “there’s something we have to discuss.”

  Alissa turned around. “Money? That will hardly be a problem.”

  “Not money. Blackmail. As an attorney I am an officer of the court. I could arrest you.”

  Alissa looked at Danny, then back to Meg. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Quite.”

  Alissa pursed her lips and nodded. “Is it an apology you’re looking for? Well, okay, then, I’m sorry.” She sighed and put her hand to her forehead. “Jesus, Meg, I’m desperate. Can’t you see that?”

  “And I’m going to tell you something, Alissa. I will speak with your daughter. I will see if I can help. If I want to help. But if you ever so much as mention the name Steven Riley around me again, you’ll be the one with the legal problems.”

  Alissa stared at her a moment, then nodded. “I understand,” she said quietly.

  As Meg and Danny stepped through the doorway, Danny touched Meg’s elbow. “Nice going, counselor.” He winked.

  Natalie had not been arrested, though the possibility loomed. Meg and Danny sat on winged-back Queen Anne chairs in Alissa’s living room, a long, museumlike room filled with dark-cherry furniture, nineteenth-century landscape paintings, and small bronze sculptures. Robert and Natalie were seated across from them on a Victorian sofa; Alissa moved to the large marble fireplace, where she positioned herself, poised, the unflinching matriarch. Michele, according to Alissa, was far too humiliated over the entire incident to be present.

  “Before I agree to get involved, Natalie, there are a few questions I need to ask,” Meg said.

  “I told you what happened,” Alissa said sharply. “It was an accident. But even if it weren’t, the worst it could be called is self-defense.”

  Meg didn’t acknowledge Alissa. “Natalie?” she asked.

 
Natalie twisted her hands in her lap. She was a beautiful girl, Meg noted, dark-haired like her father, but with her mother’s fair complexion and piercing blue eyes. But she was too heavily made up for the witness stand and wore her skirts too tight and too short to garner any sympathy from a jury. Meg made a mental note to change these things if it came to trial.

  “It’s like my mother told you,” Natalie finally said. She spoke in a small, frightened tone that belied her tough-looking facade. “I grabbed the gun to scare him. When he picked up the poker, I was the one who got scared. The gun went off.” She dropped her gaze to the navy-and-maroon Oriental carpet. “I never shot a gun before. I never even held one.”

  Robert leaned his head against the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling.

  Danny crossed his legs and rubbed a scuff mark from his boot.

  Alissa began drumming her fingernails on the ornately carved mantle.

  “Does anyone have any idea how the victim got into the house? Was there forced entry?”

  “Yes,” Robert said quickly. “Derek came in through the French doors in the library. He broke the glass, then apparently reached inside and unlocked the dead bolt.”

  “Didn’t you hear any noise, Doctor?”

  “I was asleep.”

  Alissa spoke sharply. “Why are you asking all these questions? It sounds like you don’t believe us.”

  Meg paid no attention to her and continued. “There’s no alarm on the house?”

  “No,” Robert answered. “This house was built in the fifties. We’ve never have had a system installed.”

  Meg made a note and concealed her surprise. A house this size? With all these expensive things? Maybe Atlanta was safer than New York. Maybe the people down here weren’t as paranoid.

  Danny uncrossed his legs and moved forward on his chair. His next move, Meg assumed, would be to go into the library and check out the claim of “forced entry.”

  Meg looked over at Alissa. “You weren’t at home?”

  Alissa fixed her gaze on Danny, then turned to Meg. “No. I was in Los Angeles.”

  From the corner of her eye Meg could feel Danny’s gaze penetrate Alissa’s. Obviously he knew something about this. What on earth, Meg wondered, was Alissa doing in Los Angeles? Did Danny know something about it? Danny, Meg thought. Alissa. There was, as far as she knew, only one connection: Jay Stockwell. Hadn’t Danny said he’d located Jay in L.A.? It had to be, Meg thought. Alissa had been with Jay Stockwell while her daughter was shooting a man.

  The doorbell rang. The eyes in the living room darted around to one another. Low, muffled sounds came from the foyer; then Alissa’s housekeeper escorted two men into the living room. They flashed opened, flat wallets and introduced themselves as police detectives.

  “We’d like to look around if you don’t mind.”

  Meg stood. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I’m Meg Cooper. An attorney. What is it you’re looking for?”

  One of the men sighed, reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a piece of paper. “Yes, counselor,” he said tiredly, “we have a search warrant.” The other man browsed the room with his eyes.

  “What are you looking for now?” Alissa barked as she folded her arms across herself. “I’ve had just about all I can take of you people swarming all over my house.”

  “Evidence, ma’am,” the man who seemed to be in charge replied. “The preliminary autopsy report came back, and there are a few discrepancies we need to clear up.”

  Meg quickly noticed that all three Pages—Alissa, Robert, and Natalie—seemed to freeze in the moment, like statues, their heads, their arms, suddenly stone. They didn’t even seem to blink.

  “What discrepancies?” Meg asked.

  “First of all, the victim’s body has an exit wound through the lungs. Our officers didn’t locate a bullet in the library. We need to double-check.”

  Danny hauled himself to his feet and shook his jeans over the tops of his ankle-high boots. Meg knew if there was any evidence left to uncover, he would want to watch the police firsthand. He followed the men from the room, leaving Meg alone with the three distraught family members who undoubtedly had something they were covering up.

  Alissa crossed the room and tugged at a bellpull. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I could use a drink,” she announced.

  It was almost an hour before Danny and the detectives returned to the living room. As they stepped in, Danny shot Meg a look that told her something was wrong. The detective in charge walked over to Natalie and stood in front of her.

  “I think it’s time for a trip downtown,” he said.

  Alissa moved between them. “This is preposterous,” she said. “My daughter isn’t going anywhere.”

  The detective reached into his pants pocket and produced a set of keys. He gave them a quick toss into the air, then caught them. “We may not know exactly what happened here yet,” he said calmly, “but there’s one thing we now know for certain.” He tossed his keys again; the jangle broke Alissa’s silent, icy stare. “We now know that everyone here is lying. And it’s time to get at the truth.”

  “Are you arresting my daughter?” Alissa asked, her face so close to the detective’s that Meg was sure he would wince at the whiskey on her breath. He didn’t.

  “We’re just bringing her in for formal questioning,” he said, then added coolly, “You’re welcome to come, ma’am. And,” he turned his face to Meg, “her attorney, too, of course.”

  They sat at a long wooden table in the interrogation room—Meg, Danny, Natalie, Alissa, and Robert—waiting for the detectives to join them.

  “You have to tell me the truth,” Meg tried to convince them, although what little she knew of Alissa, she wondered if this would be at all possible. People like Alissa lived in the gray areas of life, a little bit vague, not always who or what they appeared. With people like Alissa, sometimes the truth was convenient, sometimes it was not. No matter how much compassion Danny had for Alissa, or how much understanding he had for her unhappy lifestyle, Meg cursed herself for having gotten involved. Chances were, there would be lies upon more lies. And if Natalie was arrested, there would be publicity upon more publicity. But ultimately, the rich would survive. This was exactly the reason Meg had escaped to the spa in the first place; this was exactly the reason she’d decided to give up law. She folded her hands on the table and looked directly at Alissa. “Sooner or later,” she said wearily, “they’ll figure it out, and it will only be harder on Natalie.”

  Robert’s and Natalie’s eyes quickly flicked back and forth to each other, then to Alissa.

  “It was an accident,” Alissa said. “That’s the truth, and that’s all that matters.”

  Meg sighed and sat back in her chair. Whatever they were hiding would come out eventually. She wondered if she’d have the patience to see it through to the end.

  Danny stood up. “I’m going to see if I can get a look at the autopsy report.”

  Meg didn’t ask why. She knew Danny must have his reasons.

  She spent an exasperating half hour watching mother and daughter shoot knives of tension between them, watching Robert sit quietly with his hands folded, his head bent. World-renowned research physician, Meg thought, helpless when overpowered by aggressive females. Maybe he was so famous for his work because it was the one facet of his life that he could control.

  The door to the room opened and Danny stuck his head inside. “Meg. Could you come out here, please?”

  Meg was relieved to escape the dynamics of the Page family. Once in the hall Danny closed the door behind her. The two detectives were with him and another, older man. Danny introduced him as the captain.

  “We’ve got a couple of problems,” Danny said. “Back at the house we found the bullet that killed the victim.”

  Meg nodded.

  “But it wasn’t in the library. It was in the wall of a bedroom, next to the bed.”

  Meg frowned.

  The captain spoke next. “Appare
ntly it was the bedroom used by Dr. Page. His clothes and personal belongings were in the closet.”

  Meg looked back at Danny. The intruder was killed in Robert’s bedroom? She wanted to ask Danny what he thought that meant, but she knew not to ask—or offer—anything in front of the police. It was not in her client’s best interest. She silently sighed, accepting for the first time that Natalie was, indeed, her client now.

  “There’s more,” the captain continued. “Your friend here, Mr. Gordon, asked how the victim had been dressed. He wasn’t, like we’d expect, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt or some other clothing that might suggest robbery by someone in need—a druggie or something.” The captain’s eyes narrowed as he spoke; the lines of his high forehead deepened to furrows. “The victim was dressed in a suit. Italian. An expensive job. Plus, traces of aftershave were still discernible. It appeared as though he’d been going out for a night on the town, not an evening of B and E. We’d already done a background check on him. He had no priors. Mr. Gordon here urged us to prod further. That’s when we discovered that two years ago the victim worked as a technician in Dr. Page’s lab.”

  Meg could no longer hold back. “A disgruntled exemployee?”

  The detectives snickered. The captain looked at Danny. “You tell her,” he said.

  Danny cleared his throat and held up a piece of paper for Meg to see. “The autopsy. According to this, the victim had recently”—he paused and looked at the three men, then back to Meg—“ejaculated. We both know that bodily fluids sometimes secrete at the time of death, but the tests indicate the victim had the orgasm before death.”

  Meg stared at him.

  “Obviously, he’d had a fine time for himself before he was killed.”

  “He and Natalie had sex?” Meg asked.

  Danny shook his head. “Not he and Natalie,” he said. “More than likely, it was he and Robert.”

  The captain shook his head. “No matter how many times I hear about queers, it’s still sickening.”

  Meg shifted her weight onto one foot. “Danny? Are you sure?”