by A. C. Arthur
He used his key to let himself in and closed the door quietly behind him. It was a Sunday afternoon, so she’d most likely be in the den reading. Drey walked through the house he’d grown up in, memories assaulting him with every turn. He’d had a great childhood, his mother and his father, caring and loving parents, raising him to be an honest and loyal citizen.
“Well, hello there,” Daiyu said, looking up from her book as he walked into the den.
“Hi, Mom.” Drey stood by her chair and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. Sunlight streamed through the bay window, casting gold rays across his mother’s lap and along the floor. She’d made a few changes to the room since the last time he was here. There were still no curtains at the bay window; Daiyu didn’t like curtains. She liked the light and the clean lines the windows of her Cape Cod house displayed. There used to be potted plants at the window’s base, but there were now stacks of books.
Oriental rugs still covered most of the hardwood floors leading over to the fireplace and mantel. But on the mantel, where there used to be a row of statues, now stood candles in different shapes and colors. Trained to pick up little inconsistencies and changes, Drey closed his eyes. He knew he needed to stay in the investigator mode for this conversation. But this was his mother. This was her home. The personal connection was tough and made what he had to do the most difficult task in his life.
“Drey, is something wrong?” Daiyu asked, closing her book and looking up at him. “You look distracted.”
Drey took a deep breath and sat down on the black leather ottoman that always sat beside the chair and served more as a table than a footrest. Daiyu put a hand on his shoulder then rubbed his head.
“You look so tired. I keep saying you work too hard.”
Drey rested his elbows on his knees and replayed in his mind how he would say what needed to be said. The words sounded normal enough—in a dysfunctional family full of drama. But to his mother, they would be more than strange, more than disconcerting, invading their peaceful life.
“The other day I asked you how you knew Congressman Braddock,” he said, deciding that it was well past time to get this over with.
Her hand stilled on his neck, then slid slowly down to his shoulder. “Yes.”
“You told me you contacted him in reference to some sort of fraud you suspected at Stewart Industries.”
Her hand fell away from him completely. “Yes.”
“Thirty-three years ago you were part of an international exchange program with Stewart Industries.”
“Yes. That is how I came to stay in America. My student visa would have expired after I graduated, but my internships with Stewart helped me to stay here until I gained citizenship.”
“You were in Dallas at the National Business Conference.”
Beside him Daiyu shifted. Her book fell onto the floor. Drey leaned forward picked it up and ran his hands over the spine. “Harmon Braddock was in Dallas attending a criminal justice seminar. You were in the same hotel.”
Drey looked over at his mother. Her hands were in her lap, wringing. Her gaze stayed straight ahead, not really focusing, but avoiding.
“That’s where you met him.”
“It was…so long ago. I must have forgotten,” Daiyu said slowly.
Drey stood and walked to the window, placing the book on the window seat. “You know what I thought I’d forgotten? After Dad died and I was walking home from school, a big shiny car pulled up beside me and came to a stop. The back passenger door opened and a man stepped out. He wore a suit and I remember thinking that’s how I would always remember Dad. In the suit he wore as he lay lifelessly in the coffin.
“The man walked right up to me and he called me by my name. He knew me but I had no clue who he was.” Drey turned to face her. “That was the day I met Harmon Braddock.”
“Son, I do not know where you are going with this…”
“I’m going to ask you again, and I really need you to be honest with me this time, Mom. How did you know Harmon Braddock?”
Daiyu stood slowly. Her worst nightmare was becoming a reality. She’d known the other day when Drey had come to her office asking her about Harmon that her secret was now about to be revealed.
Foolishly, she’d thought that with Harmon’s death she would be safe. But that was not true.
Drey had always been a curious child. And she was so proud when he announced he was going to study criminal justice in college and follow in Ronald’s footsteps to become a cop. Drey had loved Ronald almost as much as she did. The death of her husband in the line of duty had been hard on them both.
Then Harmon appeared again, offering to help Drey get through it. She was instantly against the idea but knew that to deny a man like Harmon Braddock—who was a powerful district attorney by that time—would almost certainly guarantee their secret would be revealed. So she cooperated.
Drey came to adore Harmon and appreciated all that the man did for him. Daiyu swallowed the painful secret and tried to live a normal life.
But all that had changed the day of Harmon’s accident.
“I met him at the conference, yes.” Although Daiyu had kept this secret to protect him, she would not stand here and blatantly lie to her son.
She loved him too much for that.
He let out a sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me that the other day?”
“I did not want you to ask what I know you are thinking now.”
She watched him slip his hands into his pockets. He was waiting, in that patient no-nonsense way of his, he was waiting for her to tell him everything.
“Your job is very important to you, son. I know that. I also know that Harmon Braddock filled the void left by Ronald’s passing. I will forever be grateful to Harmon for that.”
“I need to know how you’re connected to Braddock and this case, Mom. I need to know now.”
Daiyu could do nothing else but nod in agreement. “I am going to tell you how I knew Harmon Braddock. But first, I am going to assure you that I did not speak with him the day of the accident. He called me but I was not in my office. The next thing I knew there was the accident and he was gone.”
“What did he call you for? Is the fraud at Stewart Industries true?”
“Yes, somewhat.” She nodded. “I did suspect some things and Harmon agreed to look into them for me. But he probably was calling me about something else. Something that we had been discussing a lot lately. Sort of a disagreement.”
“What would you and the congressman disagree about?”
Straightening her back, Daiyu looked into the eyes of the baby she’d carried for nine months and raised for thirty-three years. He was a man now and just as Harmon had tried to convince her, a man had a right to know who he was.
With Harmon’s words and the memory of their time together still fresh in Daiyu’s mind, she said, “Ronald St. John was not your biological father. Harmon Braddock was.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-2300-8
SECOND CHANCE, BABY
Copyright © 2008 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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Chance, Baby