“Good evening, Miss Hannah. Welcome home.”
“Hello, Carson. I assume Mother and Father are in their usual occupations for a Monday evening?”
A sideways glance from the butler crawled over Derek, but he forced himself to stand tall. What kind of FBI agent would he be if he allowed himself to be intimidated?
“Are they not expecting you?”
“Not exactly, but it’s urgent.” She swept past Carson, who stepped back quickly to allow her space. Derek followed, stretching out to the full inch he had over the man. As they hurried down the well-appointed hallway toward the sitting room, he fought to maintain that height. He would need it in the coming moments.
As they walked, he surveyed the area. Despite what little he knew about the home and what was normal for the McClarnons, it didn’t seem that anything was out of order, or that the shooter or his cohorts, whoever they may be, had been around. Still, he knew better than to let his guard down and would continually monitor their surroundings for any potential threat of danger.
Hannah sauntered into the sitting room ahead of him by a few steps, and Derek sniffed the floral perfume of Hannah’s mother and heard her surprised greeting before he made his presence known. When Derek entered, Mr. McClarnon pulled back from a one-armed hug with his daughter, spied him and stiffened, the ice in his crystal glass clinking against the side.
“Evelyn.” He spoke softly to his wife, and she immediately turned from her happy reunion with her daughter.
Mrs. McClarnon ran a hand down her silk skirt and stepped forward, her face masked with the high-society politeness and artificial hospitality of welcoming someone who was beneath their station. She held out her hand. “Derek, isn’t it? Good evening.”
“Ma’am.” Derek crimped her hand, suppressing a grin at the mischievous thought of whether or not he should kiss it.
Hannah’s father cleared his throat, a call to attention. “Well, Mr. Chambers.”
“You remember my name.” A curious look from Hannah skittered around his peripheral vision, but he didn’t make eye contact. He would have some questions to answer, but not yet.
The squeeze on Derek’s hand was tight. A challenge. Derek squeezed back, enough to communicate that he wouldn’t be intimidated but not enough to hurt the older gentleman.
Mr. McClarnon’s eyes burned into Derek’s. “Wish I could say it’s good to see you again, but here you are with my daughter.”
FOUR
How did her father know Derek’s name? Willford McClarnon was an astute businessman—aggressive and perhaps even harsh when the occasion called for it. But Hannah also knew him to be polite and hospitable and loving. He had never even met Derek and, in fact, wouldn’t have known him at all since their high school romance had been a secret. Still was a secret. Wasn’t it?
Hannah shifted from one foot to the other, now uncertain as to what should come next. Would life have been different if they had told her parents? Would they have accepted Derek? Perhaps they should have tried. But one glance at her father, now glaring at Derek and seemingly holding his hand in a death grip, confirmed that their high school decision had been the right one. That old romance was better kept a secret, just as the renewal of her attraction to him should also be kept under wraps. Again and again the thought bounced around her mind: better to get this situation resolved and let Derek go back to wherever he came from.
Her father finally released Derek’s hand and turned toward her mother, placing a protective arm around her. They exchanged a glance, but Hannah couldn’t read their expressions.
“It’s always nice to have a visit from our little girl, even a surprise one.” Her father’s tone held the hidden meaning that she should have called first, arranged a time, allowed them to prepare tea or some sort of refreshment, perhaps on the veranda.
“I’m not sure how nice you’ll think this is, Father.” Hannah couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. She wasn’t being disrespectful, but assertiveness had never been her forte. Perhaps law school had had a positive effect on her confidence. Either that or the news from just an hour ago was enough to embolden her. She pulled her birth certificate from her purse and thrust it toward him. “I have a few questions.”
Her father examined the document for a few seconds, then looked at her with a question of his own in his eyes. “Yes?”
“Derek, a, um, friend from high school who is now in law enforcement, came to the office today and told me that I’m adopted. Adopted, Father! And then the lawyer I work for pulled up my birth certificate and said that the date of issue confirms it.” She pointed at the birth certificate. “Is that what this means?”
It would have been nearly imperceptible if Hannah hadn’t been watching closely, but her father actually slumped his shoulders. Her mother peered over his arm at the birth certificate, then a single tear slowly coursed down her cheek.
For the first time in her memory, her parents were speechless.
The mahogany mantel clock ticked in the silence, and her mother’s floral eau de toilette scent tickled Hannah’s nostrils. However, she refused to sneeze and break the moment.
She wiggled her nose but otherwise didn’t move. “I didn’t want to believe it when Derek told me. I thought that surely you wouldn’t keep something that big from me for all these years. But it’s true, isn’t it?”
“Hannah, sit down.” Her father attempted an authoritative tone, one that would have made her immediately plop into a chair a few days ago, but today his voice faltered.
Her mother darted her gaze from her father to the floor, then to Hannah for a brief moment and finally to the door out of the room. “Shall I call for some tea? Maybe a ginger ale, dear?” She plucked a tissue from a hidden pocket and dabbed at her eyes.
Hannah forced herself to suck in a deep breath before she answered. “No, thank you, Mother. I don’t need anything to drink. I need answers.”
Her mother half collapsed on a floral, upholstered fainting couch. “Of course.”
“Evelyn.” It was a warning tone. A be-quiet-and-I’ll-handle-this tone. Her father turned to her, a distinct lack of confidence surrounding him. “Hannah, you are our daughter, and we love you. That is the truth. Isn’t that all you need to know?”
“I don’t doubt that you love me. But I want to know why you never told me I was adopted.”
“Fine.” He closed the heavy oak doors to the den and then returned to stand in front of Hannah and Derek, gesturing to the sofa. “If you insist. But please, let’s all sit down.”
He moved a wingback chair close to Hannah’s mother, who had managed to sit upright on the couch. She grasped his hand as if it was a life preserver and tumultuous waves were about to overcome her. “I presume you want Derek here?”
How could he ask such a thing? She had brought him, hadn’t she? She had never been rebellious, but this was almost too much. She had a sudden urge to grab Derek’s hand, but that could send a signal she didn’t intend. Her teeth ground together as she forced out one word. “Yes.”
A long moment stretched between them, gathering among them and gaining strength until Hannah wondered if the silence would ever be broken.
Eventually, her father drew a breath and spoke quietly as he stared at the floor. “As you know now, you are adopted.”
So there it was. True, she hadn’t quite believed Derek. Something that big and life-altering she needed to hear from the very people who had made it happen. She sat motionless, afraid that any small movement would bring further catastrophe into her world. She fixed her gaze on the Renoir reproduction on the far wall—a little girl holding a water can, gazing solemnly outside of the photo. If she sat as still as that painted little girl, would her life stop changing?
Her throat closed up and she couldn’t manage a single word to her father or mother.
&nbs
p; “Hannah, darling, please let us explain the circumstances.”
A large, warm hand grasped hers, strength flowing from Derek to her. The pounding of her heart slowed slightly, but the pressure on her chest remained constant. She squeezed his hand, an attempt to convey gratitude at his presence.
Her father rearranged himself on the chair, as if a new position would make the conversation more comfortable. “Hannah, the world was a different place twenty-five years ago. You’ll think I’m selfish for keeping the truth from you, that we are selfish—” he nodded toward his wife “—but please hear me out before you come to any conclusions about us. I’ve thought on this many times over the years, and there are three main reasons.
“First, adoption has never been looked kindly upon in our social circles. You know the business I built from the ground up. You know the networking that’s required for success. The country club. Your mother’s social activities with the wives of my business associates. You are not our child by blood, and our social acquaintances would view us differently. We loved you and wanted you to be a part of our family, but we couldn’t stand to tell anyone because we would lose our social standing.”
Her mother dabbed at another tear. “Adoptive parents, then, weren’t the heroes they are now.”
Hannah couldn’t say she liked their reasoning, but she understood it. The people she knew from her parents’ connections could not be relied upon to be kind and understanding. “Okay. Your second reason?”
“You, dear.”
Her father stroked her mother’s hand and let her choke out a sob before he resumed the explanation. “We wanted to protect you within our social circles. You know their character, or lack thereof. We’ve tried to instill in you kindness and generosity and many characteristics that come from faith that so many of them do not possess because of their lack of faith. And many of our friends, if you choose to call them that, can be downright cruel. We didn’t want them to think less of you. To see you as an orphan or a reject. Or worse yet, for you to be bullied and made an outcast.”
Hannah felt her arms and legs relax slightly, and she inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. Her parents had a point. Despite their affluence, or perhaps because of it, her own social circle at the private school had been riddled with bullies. Peer pressure was fierce, and many afternoons she had rushed home, escaped to her own room and pacified herself with classical music, a good book and sometimes a piece of chocolate.
Her parents stared at her, her mother with one hand open on her lap, as if seeking a reassurance that their relationship with their daughter was not lost. “I think I’m understanding your reasons, Mother and Father, but it’s not easy. You said you had three?”
“Yes. You’ll be curious about your birth mother. Perhaps someday you’ll wonder about your birth father. But we have no idea who she was or where she is now. Our final reason for not telling you is because the lawyer that called me about your availability advised us that you not be told you were adopted for your own protection. Those were his exact words.”
A shiver raced down her spine. “I am curious about my birth mother, but I already know about my birth father. According to Derek, he’s part of an organized crime family.” She darted her gaze to the French doors that led to a large patio and the landscaped yard and pool. “And it seems that he’s trying to find me. To hurt me.” The very thought pierced her heart with terror.
Derek squeezed her hand again. She startled, having completely forgotten that he was there, comforting her, reassuring her. She jerked her stare to him. “That’s why Derek is here.”
“Sweetheart.” Her mother’s gentle tone drew Hannah back to the conversation. “We didn’t know what that lawyer meant. No one told us about your birth parents. But it scared us. Still, we loved you. Adored you. And we figured you would have a better life with us, even without knowing the truth, than you would have had in whatever dangerous situation your birth mother was in.”
“I hope you can understand and forgive us,” her father said. “His words scared us. We were worried for you. For all of us. So we haven’t even breathed a word of it to each other for nearly twenty-five years.”
Her parents certainly seemed genuine in what they were saying. Hannah watched carefully and didn’t see any sign of deception. Just real worry.
She blinked slowly to clear her vision, to try to see more clearly. Love was shining in the countenances of both of her parents as her father nodded to her mother.
Her mother rose steadily from the couch. “Hannah, I have something you need to see.”
Derek squeezed her hand and released it. “I’ll be right here.” He touched his hand to the outside of his shirt, where his holster rested. A signal that he would stay with her. Protect her.
They left the den and turned down the hallway and up the stairs. Hannah looked at all the furnishings and accoutrements of her family home with a new vision, as if seeing the knickknacks and photos with a clearer understanding. Inside the master suite, a well-appointed grouping of rooms decorated with delicate pinks and greens, Hannah’s mother led her into her inner sanctum, a space that Hannah had only been allowed into a handful of times. A sitting area sat past an ornate mirror that went from floor to ceiling. A glance into the mirror revealed a young woman with brows creased together and lips compressed into a tight line. Hannah stopped to look more closely. Was that really her, with that tired, stricken look?
“Hannah,” her mother called softly. Tenderly. The voice of a mother protecting and nurturing her child. “Sit here.” She gestured to a pink-and-white upholstered chair.
Hannah obediently sat, the numbness that had crept over her showing no signs of dissipating. Her mother curled her fingers under the right edge of the mirror and pulled. It opened like a door.
She disappeared inside for a few minutes, then reappeared holding an envelope and sat in a chair that matched Hannah’s. “I have something here that I’ve had since I first held you in my arms. Your father and I contemplated, once upon a time, destroying it as a means of protecting you. As a way to hide whatever identity you had before you came to us. But we never could. It always seemed that it belonged more to you than to us. So we held on to it, hoping and praying that there would never be occasion to retrieve it.” She stopped to take a deep breath, loosened her clutch on the envelope and color returned to her fingernails.
Hannah couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
Her mother held out the envelope, and Hannah grasped it, laying it in her lap. “I don’t know what is in this envelope. I’ve never opened it. But it has your name on it. If I was your birth mother, giving you up to another, I would write a letter to you. That may be what this is.”
Hannah broke eye contact with her mother and stared at the envelope. Would it reveal secrets she was suddenly desperate for? Or would it simply raise more questions?
Hannah and her mother sat in awkward silence. What could she say now? It seemed there was nothing to be said. Her mother seemed to be sharing everything she knew, and up until today, she had never known her mother to be anything other than completely honest. There was no reason to doubt her now.
Dryness threatened her throat, and Hannah swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she whispered. She stood and rushed from the room.
“Hannah,” her mother called from behind her, out in the hallway, but she needed a moment alone to read whatever was in that envelope.
Back in the den, she beelined toward the French doors that opened onto the large patio. She met Derek’s questioning gaze and nodded for him to follow. Outside, she leaned a hand on a stone column, and took several gulps of fresh air, hoping to steady her nerves. Derek closed the doors gently behind them. He walked around to stand next to her, at a distance close enough to be comforting but not so close as to intrude on her space. It was just the right angle to protect her from the wide open backyard.
She straightened and paced down the stone steps and around the large pool surrounded by boulders and willowy reeds and flower beds. A covered seating area with a sofa and wrought-iron armchairs tastefully arranged on a blue-and-white outdoor rug in front of a large fireplace beckoned her, and Derek followed. His presence soothed her somewhat, but she was still a bundle of nerves.
She held the envelope out to show him. “Mother just gave me this. I don’t know what’s in it yet, but I didn’t want to open it in front of them.” The sofa called to her, to collapse into it, to pull the gauzy curtains around the comfortable space and block out the world. But she couldn’t seem to stop pacing.
Without a word, Derek stood in front of her, gently maneuvering her into the back recesses of the patio.
She nodded her assent, then slid a quivering finger under the envelope flap. Inside was a single piece of paper. Hannah withdrew it and opened it to find the name of a ritzy downtown Chicago hotel embossed at the top. A practiced and careful script filled the rest of the page.
My dearest darling daughter,
If you are reading this, it means you now know that you are adopted. Please know that it was my wish that you not be told. I knew that you would be better off with a loving and caring adoptive family who could provide safety and stability and normalcy for you in a way that I never could have.
My relationship with your father was brief. I loved him, but then I found God’s love, and my life was never the same. I prayed for your father. I begged him to give up his evil ways and live a life pleasing to God. I won’t go into detail, but I was forced to run for my life. I kept you for as long as I could, but ultimately, the only sure way to save you was to give you up. I can leave you with only two things. First, this letter that I pray assures you of my love. And second, your most beloved doll with the carnation-pink dress and the brown yarn hair. Please keep them both safe.
I long to hold you, to wipe away the tears you may shed when you read this, to tell you with my own voice how much I love you. But for your benefit, I cannot reveal myself to you, and I beg you not to search for me.
Deadly Disclosure Page 5