But now he knew the truth. Taylor hadn’t betrayed him. He’d betrayed her. A crushing weight of regret replaced the wall around his heart.
“How could you?” she whispered. “How could you believe that about me? Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Because I didn’t see the point.” Dillon’s anger drained away with the dawning of the truth. He saw it all so clearly now. The elaborate deception. The threats. How easily he had played into Miranda Walsh’s scheme.
He stared at Taylor, saw the anger and hurt warring inside her, and he wondered if it was time for all the truth to come out. Maybe it was time she learn just how far her mother had been willing to go to keep them apart.
But as he watched a silent tear slip down her cheek, Dillon knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make himself look better in her eyes by destroying her relationship with Miranda. Taylor had lost her baby, her husband and whatever fantasy she might have been harboring about him. He couldn’t take away her mother, too.
What good would it do, anyway? What he and Taylor had was over a long time ago. If it had been real, even Miranda Walsh wouldn’t have been able to destroy it.
Maybe it was time they both face reality. Maybe it was time they both accept the fact that what might have been was never going to be.
Chapter Twelve
With the exception of a few old-money neighborhoods in midtown, the farther east one drove in Memphis, the more prestigious the addresses. Maneuvering the car carefully, trying to avoid undue stress to her broken wrist, Taylor took Poplar Avenue all the way into Germantown, an enclave for the Memphis elite.
Despite Dillon’s objections that morning, she had insisted on going in to work. Except for a few lingering aches and pains from her tumble down the stairs and the cast on her left wrist, she felt pretty much back to normal.
No, that wasn’t exactly true, she thought grimly. Someone was trying to kill her. How could she possibly feel normal?
And then, on top of all that, to learn after all these years why Dillon had left town. If only he’d come to her, faced her with his suspicions about her and Brad, how different their lives might have been.
But she couldn’t blame him for what happened, no matter how much she might wish to. Her selfishness, her unwillingness to see his side of things, had brought them to that point in time, and had led Dillon to believe her capable of betraying him. Spoiled little rich girl, he’d called her that night. Never had those words rang with more bitter truth than they did at that moment for Taylor.
She sighed as she braked for a light. She’d resolved this morning after another sleepless night that she wasn’t going to do this. Wasn’t going to dwell on the past, on what might have been. It was all water under the bridge, and there was nothing she could do about it now. She and Dillon had both made mistakes, but there was no going back. There was no fixing what had been broken, she thought with a sudden ache in her heart.
The light changed and she turned left, following the directions Lorraine Westcott had given to her earlier that day when she’d called, asking to meet with Taylor. But not at school, Lorraine had insisted. Could Taylor please come out to the house? Dr. Westcott would be tied up at the clinic until late. They could talk for as long as they needed to.
A wrought-iron gate with interlocking Ws woven into the design marked the entrance to the Westcott property. The security camera acknowledged Taylor’s arrival with a red blink, and the intercom sputtered to life as a clipped voice invited her to enter. After a moment’s hesitation, the gates silently parted.
Taylor drove through, admiring the sculpted shrubbery and fountains and dazzling flower beds that artfully dotted the grounds. As she rounded a curve in the driveway, the late afternoon sun fired the seemingly hundreds of windows in the house, dazzling her.
Taylor had been raised in the lap of luxury. She was accustomed to gracious living. Her mother’s home on Tamarind Street had been featured in Southern Living a few years ago, and the homes of their friends had been equally as elegant.
But the Westcott home was something beyond even Taylor’s experience. It was quite simply breathtaking.
She sat for a moment, staring up at the palatial estate, trying to imagine what it must be like for a little girl to grow up in such a place.
Taylor remembered how lonely her own childhood had been, how dwarfed and insignificant she often felt with her every need and desire tended to by people—not loved ones—who had been paid handsomely to do it.
The massive wooden door swung open as she raised her hand to ring the bell. A young man with blue-black hair slicked straight back and wearing a severe dark suit beckoned her to enter.
“Mrs. Westcott is expecting you,” he said, and then without another word turned on his heel to lead her through the spacious marble entrance hall to a sunlit morning room that overlooked the gardens. He motioned her toward a dark green settee and withdrew.
Moments later, Lorraine Westcott entered. She wore white silk pants topped by a white silk tunic trimmed in gold. Her feet were clad in gold sandals and her hair had been swept back, highlighting her delicate features. Her face was carefully made up, her expression devoid of emotion.
She sat down on a brocade armchair across from Taylor and folded her hands in her lap. Her eyes widened when she saw the cast on Taylor’s arm. “What happened to you?”
“I had a little accident,” Taylor evaded. “But I’m fine.”
The stony-faced young man appeared silently in the doorway and Lorraine said, “Would you care for something to drink? Tea, perhaps?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
The man’s gaze cut to Lorraine. She deliberated, then said, “Bring me my usual, Matthew.” Her apologetic gaze met Taylor’s. “I hope you don’t mind if I have a cocktail. It’s been one of those days.”
It was painfully obvious the woman had already had several cocktails. She’d probably started with a Bloody Mary for breakfast, graduated to a couple of screwdrivers at lunch, perhaps a glass or two of wine in the afternoon, and now at five, she was ready for Scotch.
Taylor knew the scenario well. For years, she’d watched Brad drink away his career, his life and whatever relationship the two of them might have been able to forge.
“I’m sorry for having you drive all the way out here like this, but I didn’t want to come into your office,” Lorraine said, accepting the glass from Matthew. She turned to Taylor. “I…haven’t been feeling well lately.”
“I understand,” Taylor murmured. “I was happy to come.”
Lorraine took a long swallow of her drink. “I’m sure you know why I wanted to see you. I’d like to talk to you about…my daughter.”
Taylor nodded. “I had the impression you wanted to say something in my office the other day.”
“Things have been…difficult for Alisha.”
“What do you mean?”
“I suppose it’s obvious that Elliot and I had Alisha late in life. I was forty-two when she was born, Elliot was fifty. I’d just about given up hope of ever having a child. The doctors all said it was next to impossible and then…it happened. It was like a miracle…” She took another sip of her drink. In the silence that followed, Taylor could hear the clink of ice against the crystal.
“I thought at our ages, we would be ready for parenthood,” Lorraine continued. “But Elliot’s career means everything to him. It always has. When Alisha was born, I’d hoped things would be different. That he would want to spend more time at home with his family, but the opposite has been true. I know now the real reason he agreed to have a child was to keep me occupied. Keep me out of his hair.” She shrugged, as if nothing she’d said so far mattered, but Taylor saw that her hands were trembling. “I’m afraid his absences have taken a toll on Alisha. On both of us. It’s hard living with a legend,” she concluded, expressing a bitterness Taylor hadn’t witnessed before.
She leaned forward, addressing Lorraine earnestly.
“Mrs. Westcott, I’m sure I don�
�t have to tell you what an unhappy little girl Alisha is. I’m afraid if something isn’t done to remedy the situation, her problems will only grow more serious as time goes on. She’ll become even more withdrawn, perhaps depressed. We don’t want that to happen.”
“I find your relentless interest in my daughter more than a little troubling, Mrs. Robinson,” said a deep voice from the doorway of the morning room.
At the sound of her husband’s voice, Lorraine’s hand jerked, spilling her drink down the front of her silk tunic. Her expression was one of horror as she gazed up at Elliot.
“For God’s sake, Lorraine,” he said in disgust.
Matthew miraculously appeared in the doorway. Dr. Westcott said, “Bring my wife a towel, Matthew. She seems to have had an accident. Again.”
While Lorraine Westcott ineffectually dabbed at the moisture down the front of her clothing, Elliot Westcott trained his light gray eyes upon Taylor. “I don’t appreciate your coming here and upsetting my wife. I thought I made my feelings on the subject of my daughter perfectly clear in your office.”
“Yes,” Taylor said. “You did.”
“Then why are you here?”
She cast a quick glance at Lorraine, who shook her head almost imperceptibly, as if imploring Taylor not to give her away.
“Well?” Dr. Westcott demanded. “Why are you here, Mrs. Robinson?”
“I’m worried about Alisha. Dr. Westcott, don’t you care about your daughter’s happiness? Don’t you want her to have friends, a normal childhood?”
Dr. Westcott strode across the room and stood behind his wife’s chair. He waved grandly with one arm. “Take a look around you, Mrs. Robinson, then tell me how my daughter can possibly have a problem. She has everything a child could ever want or need.”
“But a child needs more than possessions,” Taylor countered, her anger rising. “She needs attention. She needs love. Does Alisha get either of those things in this…monument?” To your greatness, she silently added.
Dr. Westcott’s eyes narrowed on her. “You are way out of line. And I’m warning you, if you pursue this any further, you will soon discover exactly who and what you are up against.”
Taylor had the impression he was referring to more than just his daughter. She stood, refusing to give ground. “I think you should know that as an educator, I am bound by law to report even a suspicion of abuse to the proper authorities.”
Lorraine Westcott gasped, but Taylor’s gaze was fixated on Dr. Westcott. For the first time, his icy facade slipped, revealing his emotion. The fury in his eyes was astounding. Frightening. At that moment, he looked like a man capable of anything. Even murder.
“Get out.”
“I’ll go,” Taylor said. “For now. But I’ll be back because I don’t give up, Dr. Westcott. I never give up, especially where a child is concerned.”
“Then you are in for a great deal of trouble, Mrs. Robinson.” His gaze dropped to the cast on her left arm. “More, perhaps, than you’ve bargained for.”
“YOU SPENT THE NIGHT with her? Are you crazy?”
Dillon cast a quick glance around the squad room. “Keep it down,” he warned. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?” Neal demanded. “Look, Dillon, I’ve tried to give you the benefit of a doubt here because I know you and Taylor Robinson have a past. I know you still care about her—” He raised his hand when Dillon started to protest. “Don’t bother denying it. It’s written all over your face. But I’m seriously beginning to wonder about your judgment.”
“I’m telling you, it’s not what you think.” Dillon sat back in his chair and glared at his partner. “Someone tried to kill her last night. What was I supposed to do? Let her stay there alone?”
“This isn’t your case and Taylor Robinson isn’t your problem.”
Dillon swore, raking his fingers through his hair. “I’m so damned tired of hearing that. We both know Lamar won’t do anything about this. He’s convinced himself Taylor is either lying or delusional. He refuses to accept the fact that someone is trying to kill her.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that he might be right?”
A loaded silence fell between them. Dillon stared at Neal in disgust. “I didn’t expect this from you.”
Neal leaned forward, resting his arms on the edge of Dillon’s desk. “I’m just trying to keep things in perspective, which is more than you can say. The story you told me the other day about baby-swapping at the Westcott Clinic…I gotta tell you, Dillon—the more I think about that, the more Looney Tunes it sounds. Do you really believe Dr. Elliot Westcott swapped Taylor’s baby at birth? What the hell was his motive?”
“I don’t know.” Dillon shook his head. “I don’t know. I just know I have to find out the truth.”
“For Taylor?”
“And for me.” He took a deep breath and released it. “The baby she gave birth to nine years ago was mine, Neal.”
“Yours?”
Dillon nodded. “I just found out about it myself. If that baby didn’t die…”
Neal stared at him, stunned. “You could have a kid out there somewhere.”
“Exactly.”
“Wow.” Neal drew his hand across his eyes. “Wow. I guess I see now why you’ve been so stubborn about investigating this case.”
Dillon didn’t say anything. He stared out across the squad room.
“I hate to ask you this,” Neal finally said. “But can you trust her?”
Dillon’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Look, your history with this woman hasn’t exactly been all rosy and romantic, has it? She dumped you for another man. That’s what you told me.”
“There were extenuating circumstances,” Dillon said uncomfortably, not liking the defensive note in his own voice.
“Even so, you haven’t seen her in almost ten years. You don’t know her anymore, Dillon. Are you willing to risk your whole career for her?”
“It’s not just about her—”
“Don’t kid yourself,” Neal said grimly. “It’s all about Taylor and we both know it. If Lamar ever finds out what you’re doing, he’ll have your badge. Interfering in an investigation is one thing, but interfering for personal reasons is another. You better watch yourself.”
“I intend to.”
Neal stood and stared down at Dillon. “I hope she’s worth it, buddy.”
“HELLO, MARIA,” Taylor said as her mother’s housekeeper pulled back the door.
Maria’s eyes lit on Taylor’s cast and her smile of pleasure vanished. “What happened? Are you all right?”
The woman’s concern touched Taylor. Maria had worked for Miranda for as long as Taylor could remember. She was a part of the family and, at times, Taylor’s staunchest ally.
She patted Maria’s arm as she walked passed her into the foyer. “I’m fine. I just had a little accident. Is Mother home?”
Maria closed the door behind Taylor. Her eyes were clouded when she turned. “She’s home, but she has…company.”
“Oh.” Taylor glanced toward the open drawing room doorway. She could hear the faint murmur of voices coming from inside. “I’ll wait, then. You don’t happen to have any of your famous chocolate chip cookies out in the kitchen do you?”
Maria smiled but she still seemed nervous. Her gaze flashed to the doorway where the subdued tones suddenly grew louder. Taylor recognized her mother’s voice followed by a deeper, masculine voice. A voice that Taylor thought she also recognized.
“Who’s in there with Mother?”
Maria looked decidedly uncomfortable.
“Never mind. I’ll see for myself.”
Taylor walked to the drawing room doorway. Her mother, dressed in black knit and pearls, sat on the sofa with her legs curled beneath her and a glass of wine in one hand, while Charles Robinson reclined in an armchair opposite her. Taylor stared at the cozy scene in surprise.
When Miranda saw Taylor, she immediately rose, setting
aside her drink. “Taylor! I wasn’t expecting you.”
Obviously. Taylor walked into the drawing room. “Sorry for interrupting.”
Miranda saw the cast on Taylor’s arm and rushed to her. “Darling! What happened?”
“It’s not important,” Taylor said absently. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Charles Robinson slowly stood and faced her. The gray eyes regarded her coolly for a moment, then he nodded. “Hello, Taylor.”
“Charles. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I don’t see why,” Miranda said, almost defensively. “Our families have always been friends. There’s no reason we can’t remain so.”
“His wife accused me of murdering their son,” Taylor said. “That would put a strain on any friendship.”
“Brad’s death has been hard on Deirdre, as I’m sure you can imagine,” Dr. Robinson said softly. “She hasn’t been herself since the funeral and that awful scene. I just hope one day you and she will be able to sit down and work things out. For the sake of Brad’s memory.”
Taylor doubted very much that would ever happen. She could still see the hatred blazing in Deirdre’s eyes. If it’s the last thing I do, I swear I’ll make you pay for taking my son away from me!
It was on the tip of Taylor’s tongue to ask Charles Robinson where his wife had been last night. If she’d had anything to do with the attack in the boiler room. But Taylor’s assailant had been a man. Of that she was quite certain.
“Well, I suppose I should be going.” He walked over and brushed his lips across Miranda’s smooth cheek. “It was good seeing you again, Miranda. Taylor, take care of that arm.”
“I will,” she murmured, watching him leave. Charles Robinson was still an attractive man. Tall, elegant and as graceful as an athlete. If Brad had lived, Taylor wondered if he would have looked like his father in thirty years. Or would the drugs and alcohol have taken their toll?
Miranda shook her head sadly as the front door closed behind Charles. “That poor man. First his son and now this…”
Amanda Stevens Bestseller Collection: Stranger In Paradise/A Baby's Cry Page 35