Knowing Vera (Romantic Suspense, Family Drama) (Chance for Love)

by Ayala, Rachelle

  --

  To: Vera

  From: Zach

  Subject: Re: Where are you?

  I’m so worried about you. They didn’t hurt you, did they? I called the police but they won’t do anything. They say you’re an adult and haven’t been missing long enough. I forwarded your email mentioning you were locked up, but they haven’t gotten back to me.

  I’m still on the road. The company wouldn’t rent me another car, so I had to take the bus. I won’t get to Melbourne until tomorrow. This bus is stopping at every town along the way.

  As for getting away, there’s a secret exit underneath the wine cellar and a tunnel leading to my father’s fruit stand. Go to the back row behind the barrels. There’s a trapdoor under a grate. I’ll meet you as soon as I can.

  Zach

  --

  I type my reply.

  --

  To: Zach

  From: Vera

  Subject: Re: Re: Where are you?

  I’m fine. They’re not hurting me. They took a DNA test, but it might take a few days to get the results.

  I’ll get one of the guys to take me on a tour of the vineyard and look for the trapdoor. Please take good care of yourself and don’t worry. Vera

  --

  Footsteps stop outside my door. I hit ‘send’ and shove the tablet under the bed. The door opens without a knock, and Cliff stands there wearing a grey Armani suit. Dr. Sung, the man who took my cheek samples, is next to him.

  I clear my throat and fluff my hair, glancing in the mirror of the dresser as if I had been accessorizing. My feet slip into the black stilettos, useful to have if I want to spike someone’s hairless testicles.

  I step back as Cliff strides past me into the room and glares at me. Dr. Sung plays with the knot of his tie, and his left eyelid twitches. I wonder if he knows the reason for the DNA test.

  Cliff throws the towels off the bed and flips over the bedspread. “I know it’s here. The wifi router log shows Dr. Sung’s tablet is connected.”

  “Maybe Ben or Dex picked it up, or one of the servants.” I move to the side of the bed and cross my legs. “When are we having dinner? I’m starving.”

  He practically growls. He’s so angry and puffed up. “Don’t blame the servants. Dr. Sung says he was browsing the web before we came in, and that was the last time he had it.”

  I’m not a thief, but the tablet’s my lifeline. I grab a nail file from the night table and examine my fingernails. “Maybe he placed it down and forgot where. I wasn’t blaming the servants. They seem so efficient, they might have safeguarded it.”

  Cliff opens the door to the bathroom and pulls out the drawers. Then he heads to the dresser and flips all the sexpot underwear onto the floor, getting more and more angry. The doctor looks embarrassed. He wrings his hands and ahems several times before Cliff looks in his direction.

  “She might be right,” the doctor says. “I ran into the gardener, and he showed me the new roses, and then I stopped at the gatehouse to talk to the guard. I might have left it there. Let me check with him.”

  Cliff wipes his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “Fine. Why don’t you do that?”

  I expect him to leave with Dr. Sung, but he doesn’t. Instead, he shuts the door and advances toward me, his eyebrows lowered. “I know it’s in here somewhere, and I’ll find it if I have to rip every shred of clothing from your body.”

  I’ve had enough of Mr. Bad Boy Cliff Morelli’s aggressive attitude. I stand, all my five feet plus four-inch heels and keep him at arm’s length with a palm-heel to his chest. “So what? You’ve seen me naked already. Why do you have me locked in?”

  “So you won’t go running back to ‘Zach, Zach, oh, Zach.’” He mimics me, but his jaw is bulging, his lips tight, and a vein on his forehead throbs. He’s staring at me as if I were his wayward girlfriend and owe him an explanation. If anything, I owe myself an explanation, except I know too well who I fantasize about, and it’s not the hulk standing in front of me.

  Cliff’s eyes flicker, and he loses the staring contest. He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, fine. Have it your way. Whatever. If you want to see your father, you’d better be nice to me. I’m the estate manager here.”

  “Yeah, yeah, so you say.” I waggle my head annoyingly. “I’m beginning to think this was all a trick to get me to Mr. Ping’s estate. Think he has a singing gig for me? Next thing, you’re going to tell me you’re my manager.”

  A smile slides across his face. “Hey, that’s a good one. How did you know? Just think, me and you on a luxury tour bus, traveling across the continent. Or a yacht, sailing the seven seas, or even a hot air balloon.”

  I poke his chest. “I’m not joking. What’s this trip really about?”

  “You.” He sighs, folds my hands into his and goes into romantic mode. “You deserve better than to slave as a nurse in a clinic. Your talent, your voice, beauty, fragrance—everything about you fascinates me.”

  He kisses my knuckles slowly and looks at me with lowered eyes. “Allow me to escort you to dinner. That dress is so delicious I could eat it off you for dessert.”

  Whatever, Mr. Un-Romeo. I should never have let him fondle me in the shower. Hadn’t I had enough for one day? But then, I haven’t had real sex for months, the kind that fills all my voids, and makes me as lazy as a koala, high on eucalyptus oil.

  Zach and I should have opted for the hotel room this morning.

  Cliff clears his throat and knocks me back to reality. I glance at the mirror and say, “I haven’t had time to put on my makeup, and I need my purse.”

  “I’ll have a maid bring it around.”

  “With my cell phone and passport?”

  “That depends,” he kisses another knuckle, “on whether you change your name or not.”

  I yank my hand away. “I have family back home. Stop being mysterious and either tell me what’s going on, or let me go.”

  He steps into the sitting room. “I’ll give you a few minutes to put on your makeup, even though you look great without it.”

  I suddenly remember my manners. “Thank Mr. Ping or whoever for the clothes. I’m just borrowing them and will return everything.”

  “De nada, mi amor.” He blows me a kiss and shuts the door. Show off!

  Chapter 16

  It’s been three days, but no one has told me the DNA results. Thankfully, the servants retrieved my luggage from the airport and sent it to my room, but my cell phone and charger are still missing, along with my passport and purse. The battery on Dr. Sung’s tablet is running low, so I leave it off most of the time, only turning it on to check my email.

  --

  To: Vera

  From: Zach

  Subject: When can you get away?

  I crawled through the tunnel yesterday, but the grate is locked from your side. I’ll ask my father if he kept a copy of the key.

  Is your father truly there? Or is there some other reason they’re keeping you? Send me a reply that you’re being held against your will, so I can get the police to raid.

  I miss you, Zach

  --

  To: Zach

  From: Vera

  Subject: Re: When can you get away?

  I miss you too. They’re being very nice to me, but I haven’t met my father yet. The maid who does my room says some of the gardeners are Filipino, and the head gardener is a man in his mid-fifties who came from California. I haven’t been able to speak to him, because every time I go jogging, Cliff stays at my side.

  It turns out Mr. Ping is a fan of my singing and is arranging a benefit concert for the community. I’m practicing with the keyboard accompanist. Maybe you can come see me sing and then try to get backstage?

  I don’t want to get the police involved yet. I have to get to the bottom of this mystery, and I’m not in any danger.

  I hope all is well with you, Vera

  --

  I slide the tablet into my suitcase not a moment too soon.

  Th
e door clicks and Cliff enters with a bouquet of flowers. He looks annoyed as his eyes scan the room, as if looking for hidden cameras.

  Suppressing the chill on the back of my neck, I smile and receive the flowers. “Hey, what are these for?”

  The scowl disappears immediately, and he gets all dreamy-looking again. “Para mi amor.”

  “What’s with the Spanish?” I sniff the delicate peach colored roses and tiny bell-like lilies.

  He seems flustered and quickly wipes his mouth.

  “With a name like Morelli, I would have figured you’re Italian.” I toss the dried up flowers he brought a few days ago into the wastebasket and arrange the new ones into the eggshell china vase.

  “I’m a mystery.” He smirks, his eyes almost blue in the sunlight streaming through the window. “What would you like to do today?”

  “Glad you asked.” I slip on my platform heels and walk toward the door. “First, I want to meet my father. You’ve had plenty of time for the DNA test. After that, a tour of this wonderful estate you manage. You must be quite talented to be able to run the entire operation at such a young age.”

  His cheeks pink, and he stands straighter. Flattery with arrogant men works so well. Besides, I need him to loosen the chains.

  I tap his jaw and give him a seductive smile. “I heard Melbourne’s a big party spot. Think we can go clubbing later this week?”

  “Great idea. They have an open mic night at the Grungy Caterpillar tomorrow. It’ll be good publicity for your concert.”

  He takes my hand and leads me into the hallway. I hate how handsome he is and how he’s being so respectful after the shower incident by bringing flowers and not trying for a kiss—although I’m sure he’s wooing me for ulterior reasons.

  We walk down the grand staircase along the wall of water, passing a maid who steps aside and bows. Her name’s Bumbie, the one who cleans my room, and she promised to ask the head gardener about his family for me. Cliff ignores her. I smile, but she lowers her gaze. I can’t get used to servants bowing and scraping. It just doesn’t feel right.

  Cliff takes my finger and touches it on the water wall. “There’s one in the CBD where you can tuck dried leaves to make a message.”

  “CBD?”

  “Central Business District. Not far from the Grungy Caterpillar.”

  “What a name for a nightclub.”

  He laughs and traces my finger in the water, spelling, “I love you.”

  I’m rolling my eyes inside. I don’t believe in insta-love. Lust definitely, but not love. Everything about Cliff seems phony. He’s obviously decided the alpha he-man take-no-prisoner attitude wasn’t getting him anywhere. I take his finger and write, “Where’s my papa?”

  He puffs his chest and points his thumbs at himself. “I’m your Papa. Gimme a kiss.”

  Okay, going back to dorky-ass again. I slap him playfully. “Not until I’ve found my father.”

  “Don’t worry, you passed the DNA test, and I’m taking you to meet him.” He swings me around and into his arms as if I weighed nothing and gallops down the stairs.

  My father? Finally! I cling onto Cliff’s broad shoulders, hardly able to catch my breath. “Slow down. I don’t want to fall.”

  Another servant steps aside as Cliff barrels down the hallway swinging me in circles. My heart is doing loops, and the butterflies are swarming in my chest. I’m about to meet my father.

  Cliff lets out a big whoop and sets me next to an intricately carved screen fronting a wooden structure that looks like a confessional booth. There’s even a kneeling bench on one side of it, and it’s recessed into the wall so it can be entered from the other side.

  I nudge Cliff. “You’ve got to be kidding. My father’s not a priest.”

  He flips out his phone and texts, but keeps turning so I can’t see what he’s thumbing. Finished, he tucks his phone in his pocket and takes my hands, pressing them to his chest. “He’s on his way, but first, a kiss.”

  My hands are clammy, and my pulse skips. I’m about to meet my father, and Cliff is bugging me for a kiss? I dart one quickly onto his mouth and step to the kneeling bench. Cliff sticks his head in. “Have you been to confession lately?”

  I yank the curtain to close him out, but he squeezes his bulk into the narrow space and his eyebrows shimmy. “Tell me about your impure thoughts.”

  I pinch his forearm lightly. “I was just starting to think you were nice. Are you sure my father’s going to meet us here, or is this another one of your tactics?”

  “Hmm … I know what you’re thinking. Naughty, naughty.” He tickles my waist. “Have you had sex inside a confessional?”

  “Not since I left the convent,” I deadpan.

  Cliff’s eyebrows take flight, and his mouth is quiet. Ha, ha, I’ve finally rendered him speechless.

  A shuffling sound appears on the other side of the screen, and a man clears his throat and says, “Vera, my child.”

  My breath catches. It’s my father’s voice, maybe creakier than I remember, but it’s him.

  I reach for the screen. “Papa?”

  “Iha, miss na miss kita.” Daughter, I miss you so much.

  “Papa? Is it really you?”

  “Yes, but you can’t tell anyone I’m here.”

  Too late for that. Zach already knows I’m looking for him. I tap the privacy screen. “Why can’t I see you? How did you get here?”

  “Cliff,” my father says. “Leave me and my daughter alone. Go.”

  “But … she might get lost in the mansion.”

  “She’ll be fine. Now go.”

  My pulse swishes behind my ears. So many emotions clash and war in my chest. I wipe cold sweat from my brow. “Papa, before you say anything else. Did you kill Lillian Spencer?”

  There’s a tight cough before he answers, “I did.”

  “No!” The bottom drops from my stomach. “No, Papa, why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You do. Tell me.” I want to bolt from the booth and run, run, run, throw myself down the stairs or hide in a tunnel. “Why?”

  “There was no reason.” His voice is dry. “Now, tell me, Vera. How’s your mother?”

  I don’t want to talk to him, tell him how he broke my mother’s heart, her will to live, to love, and how she’s finally started seeing someone, although remotely on the internet. I stand too fast and bump my head. A high pitch buzzes behind my ears, and I see dark patches alternating with flashes of light. My breathing is too shallow. I wobble out of the booth into a pair of strong arms.

  Cliff signals me to be quiet and picks me up. He hurriedly takes me down a corridor and through a set of French doors into a garden with a sparkling mirrored fountain flanked by wicker lounge chairs.

  “I heard what he said,” Cliff whispers. “You can’t let anyone know he’s here on this estate or the police will send him back to America. We took a chance having you come, because he wanted to see you badly.”

  “Why? Is he sick, dying?” My heart is palpitating. I fan myself, feeling like I’m about to faint. “Why did he bring me here, and what about my mother? How come he didn’t contact her?”

  “He tried, but she wouldn’t fall for it. Well, I mean, he didn’t exactly say who he was.”

  Oh great! And I’m the stupid one.

  “What do you want me to do?” I gulp and swallow to loosen my tight throat.

  Cliff sweeps the hair from my face. “You can’t let anyone know he’s alive. You must tell Zach that this was a wild goose chase, that I took you here to elope. If you marry me, you’ll have an excuse to live here and invite your mother over. Then we can bring your uncle and even your niece and be one big, happy family.”

  My throat is dry, and I’m gasping. It’s too much information. They must have planned this for months. I knock my forehead on his collarbone. “This was a setup? You, Tito Louie, my father? Why?”

  “To reunite the family,” he says as if it’s obvious. “You’ve been apart far too long
, and when Rodrigo died, and then Rey, it broke your father’s heart. He tracked you on the internet and wants to spend the rest of his days with you. He still loves your mother.”

  I’m feeling sick. “And you? Why would you want to be in our family?”

  “Your beauty enthralls me.” He clasps my hands to his chest. “I watched your YouTube videos and fell in love with you.”

  Something’s not adding up. I doubt my father wants me to elope with Cliff. He doesn’t look Filipino, and my father would have picked an older, more established man for me. My head aches, and I need to think straight. “Can you get me some water and an aspirin or Tylenol?”

  Cliff squeezes my hand and pecks me on the cheek. I slump onto a chaise lounge as if I’m so overcome I’m about to keel over.

  “I’ll be right back,” he says. To his credit, he looks genuinely worried right before he rushes through the French doors and into the mansion.

  No one is around. I circle the fountain and sneak around the tree ferns and cycads to a grove of Australian willows across from the wine cellar. A flock of cockatoos screech as I pass below. I have to get away from here. I was so convinced my father was innocent that I believed all the phony text messages and postcards. Owen was right. I’m stirring up more trouble by coming here.

  Leaving the cover of the willows, I stick close to a line of bushes and stop at the sound of clippers. The older Filipino gardener is busy trimming the hedges. He’s medium height with wide shoulders. A wide-brimmed straw hat casts a shadow over the top half of his face, and he’s chewing gum as if he hadn’t a care, hadn’t just confessed to murder.

  A younger gardener is blowing leaves near the cellar. I approach the older man and tap on his arm.

  He stops clipping and turns, wiping his sweaty forehead. I can’t see his eyes because he’s wearing dark glasses, but he looks vaguely familiar with that strong jawline my father had.

  I say to him in Tagalog, “I’ve misplaced my cell phone. Did you happen to pick it up?”

  He glances around and lowers the shears to his side. “No, miss. Where did you drop it?”

  My shoulders sag. It’s not my father’s voice. But maybe he can still help me.