by Diana Palmer
“No, you just spread it around, with as many embellishments and enhancements as your editors see fit.” He got to his feet, too, and looked down at her. She barely came to his chin. She noticed the discrepancy in their heights and stepped back a few inches.
“Frightened?” he chided, his black eyes glittering as he smiled down at her. “I’m not much of a threat these days.”
“You’d be a threat if you were missing both legs,” she muttered uncomfortably. The proximity was making her legs wobble. She backed up again. “I’m not responsible for what a few renegade reporters do.”
“I know several families, including one royal one, who could give a chilling response to that remark.”
Her fingers clutched the strap of her shoulder bag tightly. He noticed her nails, short and rounded and unpolished. The suit she was wearing was of the chain-store variety, and not new. Her shoes were scuffed, vinyl instead of leather, like her purse. He stared at her with new interest. She wasn’t a successful professional, judging by her looks.
“As unfair as it seems, we are judged by the company we keep,” he said quietly. “Some of your colleagues have no scruples and no conscience.”
“I’m not like that.”
“Yes, you are,” he said simply. “Otherwise, why would you be chasing my mother over an indiscretion?”
“That’s a rather weak thing to call it,” she pointed out.
“What, a would-be affair?”
Her lips parted. “Mr. Deverell, Lord Harvey’s body was found just this morning floating naked in the Thames. Your mother is Scotland Yard’s number one suspect.”
He caught his breath. The shock and terror he felt were in his stiff expression, his clenched jaw.
“You really didn’t know, did you?” she asked worriedly. “I’m most dreadfully sorry. I thought…”
He caught her by the upper arm long enough to look at his check and lay a wad of bills down with it before he propelled her out the door.
“What you ordered doesn’t cost that much,” she murmured as he took her out through the doorway.
“I know how little waiters and waitresses get paid. What business is it of yours?” he asked curtly.
“Could you let me go?”
“Not on your life. You’re not making my mother front page news. I’ve got you and I’m keeping you until I get to the bottom of this.”
“You can’t! It’s kidnapping. It’s against the law!”
“Big deal,” he muttered. “Come on.”
He put her into his big Lincoln on the driver’s side and got right in beside her, quickly pressing the master lock switch on his door so that she couldn’t open hers. She fumed and pushed, but she was trapped.
“Put on your seat belt,” he said.
She did, only because when he put the car into gear and took off, she didn’t want to go into the backseat the hard way.
“You drive like a maniac!” she exclaimed.
“So I’ve been told.”
“Listen here, I’m not going anywhere with you. Let me out!”
“When we get to the airport,” he assured her.
Her eyebrows lifted. “The airport?”
“We’re going to London. You’re resourceful and you have contacts that I lack.” He glanced at her formidably. “You’re going to help me find Tansy.”
“Oh, am I, now?” she returned haughtily. “And what am I going to get out of it?”
“A front page scoop when we clear her name.”
“You’re nuts!”
He nodded. “Apparently.”
“But I can’t leave the country. Not like this. I told you, I have responsibilities.”
“So have I. They’ll wait until you get back.”
“But I must stay,” she persisted.
He lifted the cell phone from its cradle in the floorboard and handed it to her. “Call somebody and make arrangements.”
She hesitated, but only for a minute. She couldn’t afford to miss the opportunity of a lifetime, which this certainly was. Once she got the story, she’d file it no matter what he tried to do. If she didn’t go with him, he might find some way to block her, to keep her from finding his mother. That wouldn’t do at all.
She punched in the number and then the button that would send the call along the airways. It rang once, twice, three times.
“Hello?”
She smiled at the pepper in that sweet old voice. “Hi. It’s me. I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to be out of town for a day or two. You let Mrs. Harris come over and cook for you. I’ll make it right when I get home.”
“Chasing after that mad old lady, are you?” A deep chuckle came from the other end of the line. “Just like me, when I was younger.”
“Not just like you,” she replied, smiling. “You used to hang out in bars with the Lafayette Escadrille and the SAS. I just walk in your shadow.”
“Flatterer!”
“Don’t forget to put the chain latch on at night,” she added worriedly. “And if you need me…”
Chris already had the picture, from the brief snatches of conversation he overheard. “Give him this number,” he told her without taking his eyes from the road—a good thing, at the speed they were going. He recited the cell phone number, and then added one with a foreign exchange. “That’s in London. He can call anytime if he needs you. I’ll make sure the call is forwarded immediately.”
She relayed the information.
“Sounds young,” the old man cackled. “Is he?”
“Sort of,” she replied warily. “Stay warm, too. Don’t worry about turning up the heat. Okay?”
“Okay. Now stop worrying about me and get the job done. Don’t shame us.”
“I wouldn’t dare!” she chuckled. “I’ll see you when I get back, Grandad.”
“You take care, too. You’re the only family I got left.”
“Same here.” She smiled as she put the receiver down. She glanced at the taciturn man beside her warily. “Thanks.”
He shrugged. “You’ll do better sleuthing if you’re not worried. Your grandfather sounds like a character.”
“He was, and still is. He was a reporter during the gang wars in Chicago, during Prohibition, and after that he was a war correspondent.” She laughed. “He can tell some stories. I followed in his footsteps, but not very well. I’m not sure I’m cut out for investigative reporting after all.”
“What did you do before?”
“I did political news and features.” She grimaced. “I was good at it, too, but Grandad said I was wilting on the vine and wasting away. He wanted me to do something exciting and risky while I was still young enough.”
“Don’t you have any other family?”
She shook her head. “My parents died overseas. They were touring the Middle East when the plane they were in was shot down accidentally. Grandad took me in when I was just ten and raised me.”
“Tough luck,” he said. “No brothers, sisters, uncles or aunts?”
“An aunt,” she replied. “She lives in California and never writes.” She glanced at him. “At least you have a brother.”
“A brother and a mother,” he replied.
“What’s she like?”
“She’s a hell-raiser,” he returned amusedly. “I’ve never known her when she wasn’t in trouble. But she doesn’t kill people,” he added firmly.
“I hope you’re right,” she replied.
“I know I am.” But there was the faintest doubt in his voice. He turned the car onto the highway that led to the Jacobsville airport, new lines in his worried face.
Chapter Two
Heathrow Airport was busy, especially for the time of year. Summer was high season for most tourists, and as Chris passed along the crowded path to the customs line, he heard accents from countries all over the world. He glanced at Della, surprised by the look on her face. She seemed overly affected by her surroundings, by the people around her. Some were wearing exotic dress, and she seemed to
find those fascinating.
He had a sudden thought. “You have your passport, but you’ve never been out of the States before, have you?” he asked.
She glanced at him with a shy smile. “Actually, I haven’t. I always wanted to travel like my grandfather did, so I applied for my passport, but I couldn’t afford to go anywhere until I landed this latest job. Now that I can, I’ve been too afraid to leave him on his own. He’s diabetic, you see, and he won’t leave sweets alone. He’s been in a coma twice in the past three years, because he’s too stubborn to admit there’s anything wrong with him.”
“That sounds familiar,” Chris murmured under his breath. He glanced at the line beside them, which had thinned considerably. He took Della’s arm and steered her and her wheeled suitcase to the shorter line.
“You know how to do this, don’t you?” she asked, impressed.
“I spend a lot of time overseas,” he commented. “Got your ticket?”
“Right here.” She held it up.
They passed through customs and baggage control with a minimum of fuss, and Chris went right to the rental car agency to hire a vehicle. Minutes later, they were on the way to their hotel to check in. He seemed to find driving on the left-hand side of the road very easy. It made Della nervous, but after the first few minutes, she relaxed and began to pay attention to the sights.
“We’ll leave the luggage, get a bite to eat and head out for Back Wallop,” he said.
“I’m glad to see you aren’t planning to let jet lag hold you back,” she commented dryly.
He lifted an eyebrow and smiled. “What do you know about jet lag?”
“I’ve read lots of travel books. Besides, my grandfather is an authority. As I mentioned before, he was a war correspondent.”
“In which war?”
“World War II, Korea, Vietnam and several other little wars in Hispanic countries.”
“I’m impressed.”
“He can tell some stories,” she mused. “It’s killing him that he can’t do it anymore. He’s seventy-three, and he’s got arthritis as well as diabetes. It’s like he’s given up on life because he’s been slowed down.”
“Tansy has the same problem,” he confided. “She thinks like a sixteen-year-old, but her body can’t do what her mind wants it to.”
“She must be a fascinating person.”
“I’ve always thought so,” he said. “My earliest memories of my mother are flamboyant, colorful images. She was always going somewhere, hosting parties, dragging us to cultural events like opera and the theater.” He shook his head. “She used to be just a little less reckless.” His face sobered. “I can’t believe she’d get herself mixed up in a murder. It’s not like her.”
“Anyone can get in a circumstance where violence becomes the only answer,” she said, glancing out the window at the crowded streets. “Are we downtown?”
“Yes. And here’s our hotel.” He pulled off the road into an elegant courtyard, where a man dressed like something out of medieval times was opening and closing car doors for guests.
“It’s very elegant,” she commented.
“When I travel, I always go first-class,” he said carelessly. “I find it’s less wearing to be pampered, especially if you’ve been to more than one or two countries on business.”
“I thought you didn’t work,” she said.
He gave her an incredulous glance. “I inherited money, but I have to work at keeping it,” he said. “I own interests in businesses all over the world, in several multinational corporations. I like to know where my money’s going, and how it’s being spent.”
“So that’s how it’s done,” she murmured.
He chuckled. “Stick with me, kid. I’ll make an entrepreneur of you in no time.”
“That would be nice,” she said. “I think I’d like making a fortune.” She shrugged. “Well, I’d like the challenge of making it,” she added thoughtfully. “Money’s not really very important to me, except that I’d like to spoil Grandad a little while I’ve still got him. He sacrificed a lot to bring me up.”
The uniformed man opened the door for Della and helped her out, while he signaled for a porter to take the luggage from the boot, which Christopher had already opened automatically from the driver’s side.
Chris escorted Della to the front desk and registered them, in separate double rooms. He handed her the encoded card key and led the way into the elevator.
“You look embarrassed,” he commented.
She was. The clerk had asked if they were sharing a room. She felt uncomfortable. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I’m not used to sophisticated circles. I guess they get a lot of unmarried couples here and nobody thinks anything about it. I’m a little out of step with the rest of the world.”
He was gaping at her. She was an anachronism, all right. It probably came from being raised by a man from a different generation.
“No love life?” he teased.
She didn’t rise to the bait. “Not now,” she replied.
He paused while they got off on the fifth floor. He showed her how to work the card key.
“The bellhop will bring the luggage up shortly,” he promised. “Meanwhile, I’ll freshen up and drop by to pick you up on the way out of the hotel.” He hesitated. “Ever eaten fish and chips?”
“Not real English ones,” she said.
He grinned. “You’ve got a treat in store.”
They stopped at a roadside stand and gobbled down fish and chips and strong tea to the foreign sound of proper English being spoken all around them. Della was delighted with the new experience.
“Later, we’ll have a proper, sit-down meal,” he promised. “But there isn’t time now. I want to find Tansy.”
“Oh, this is lovely,” she protested. “I’m enjoying it!”
He chuckled. “So I see.”
She was standing on his right side, so that he could see her and vice versa. He looked very worried, and she wondered how she’d feel if it was her grandfather the police and the press were chasing.
She put down her cup of tea, frowning.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I was thinking how I’d feel, in your place,” she said, looking up at him with darkened gray eyes. “Grandad is my whole life.”
He searched her face and nodded slowly. “Tansy and Logan are the only close family I have. I didn’t worry so much about them several years ago. Since I’ve had the wreck, my perspective has changed.” He looked grim.
“Life is short, and you hadn’t realized how short before,” she speculated.
His eyebrows jerked. “That’s it, exactly. I had a concussion, internal and external injuries, as well as the damage to my left eye. It took months for me to get back on my feet, and I’ll never regain the sight in my eye. It woke me up.”
“I remember reading about you in the tabloids, when you were younger,” she recalled. “You were like your mother, forever in and out of scrapes and scandals.”
“Not anymore,” he said. “It isn’t worth the risk.”
“What is?” she asked solemnly.
He turned and looked down at her pensively. “Leaving the world a little better than we found it,” he said simply.
She smiled. “I like that.”
He touched his finger to the tip of her small nose and smiled. “I like you,” he said genuinely, and chuckled when she flushed prettily.
“Are you sure? I thought I was at the top of your enemies list.”
He shook his head. “You don’t fit the image of a hardened newshound,” he said simply. He frowned slightly. “In fact, I don’t think you have what it takes to do the job properly. You’ve got too much heart. Eventually, you’ll be wrung out like a damp cloth.”
She stiffened. “I’ve been a reporter for several years and I can do this job,” she asserted stubbornly. “Grandad says I just have to put aside my hang-ups and concentrate on the process of gathering information.”
“Your grandad
can probably eat lunch while he watches war footage,” he replied. “I expect he’s grown such a hard shell over the years that nothing much affects him.”
He was right. She hated admitting it. “He said he was sensitive when he started out, too.”
“Bull. He’d have gotten over that the first day in the field.” His eyes narrowed. “Can you really see yourself printing everything you find out about peoples’ intimate lives behind the social masks they wear? Can you destroy a marriage by turning in stories on unfaithful spouses or headline-making news about their private sexual perversions? That sort of news destroys lives, Della. Are you really hard enough to hurt people deliberately for the sake of making headlines?”
He was asking the same questions she’d asked herself. He made her uncertain, unsure of herself. He made her ashamed. She didn’t answer him. Instead, she wiped her mouth on the napkin and put it on her plate.
He glanced at his watch. “Are you finished? We need to get started.”
“Yes. I’m through.” She finished her last swallow of tea and didn’t look at him as she got up from the counter and left him to pay the bill. She started down the road toward the thick of the commercial district, thinking how ancient this country was and how many empires had embraced it. The history of Great Britain had always fascinated her, and now here she was in London itself, and she was too sick at heart to pay much attention to sights she’d always dreamed of seeing.
She felt Chris’s hard fingers close around her elbow as he escorted her back to the car and put her in what would be, in the United States, the driver’s side of the car. The steering wheel was on the right side, here.
“Curious feeling, isn’t it?” he asked with a smile.
“Very.”
He got in and cranked the engine. “Tell me everything you know about the murder,” he asked.
“Well, honestly, I don’t know a lot,” she had to confess. “I was told that the late member of parliament was found floating in the river with a blunt-force injury to the right temple. The official cause of death was drowning, though.”
“The right temple? You’re sure?”