“Do you think…?”
My mom stood and began to pace. “I don’t know,” she said.
I sat back and crossed my leg over my knee, trying to reconcile what she was saying with what I already knew. It all seemed to add up pretty evenly, except for that part about the reporter.
“When you got to the party last night, did you walk the red carpet?”
My mom glanced at me, again that expression on her face that suggested I was worrying about all the wrong things.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Did you see a short, fat reporter wearing a black jacket and jeans?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Did Grant see him?”
“Do you want me to call him and ask? What does this have to do with anything?”
“Think about it, Mom,” I said, leaning forward a little. “Did Grant act funny last night when you were on the red carpet? Did he talk to someone, or seem unusually tense?”
She shook her head again. “I don’t know. I mean, he doesn’t like red carpets and he was grumbling about Margaret inviting too much press. You know how he is.”
“But he didn’t see anyone that upset him?”
She started to deny it again, but then she stopped. She stopped everything. She stopped pacing, stopped talking. She even stopped breathing for a second.
“There was something…”
I stood and went to her, taking her hands and drawing her back toward the couch with me. “I need to know exactly what happened.”
She got this far away look on her face for a long minute. Then she slowly began to form her words.
“We were almost to the door. The doormen were waving us in. Then someone called out to him and wanted to know about a deal he’d signed for a client a few days ago. It’s for a building not far from the center. The reporter—I assume it was a reporter—I never saw a face. But he asked about this place, spelling out the address almost exactly.”
“What was the address?”
My mom shook her head, the wheels in her head spinning. “I don’t know. Something on Third Street. Third and…I can’t quite remember. Third and Robert…something.”
“Third and Robertson?”
“That’s probably it.”
I started to shake my head, my stomach threatening to turn in on itself. This wasn’t happening.
“That reporter, it’s very important for you to tell me what he looked like.”
“I never saw him, Xander. It was just a voice. And it upset Grant enough that we almost didn’t go into the party. He pulled me aside and said he wasn’t feeling well, that he thought we should just go. But I insisted, and he calmed down after he saw Margaret catering to all her rich friends. Did you know she was there with Walter last night?”
I didn’t hear half of what she said. I just knew that Harley and I were about to walk into a trap. And I couldn’t be sure who’d set it up.
It wasn’t Grant, not if the reporter caught him off guard. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of what I’d been up to, that Harley was working against him on my behalf.
It could be Philip. He was the one who set up the meeting between Harley and the reporter. The same reporter who was at the party last night on the red carpet, the one who pretended he didn’t know about her accident or why she stood him up that day two months ago. But he had to know. Who else would have asked Grant about the address of the same block where Harley was run down if not him? It would be far too huge a coincidence for there to be two reporters there last night with some sort of interest in this whole ordeal.
And what about Harley’s mysterious visitor this morning? Could that person be involved in all of this? Could that person be the one spreading information around that no one should have had? Could that person be leaking information to Grant, or worse, his clients?
This whole thing was getting too complicated for my taste.
I couldn’t let Harley go that meeting.
“Xander? Do you know something about all of this? Has Harley said something?”
“Harley doesn’t remember the last three years of her life, Mom.”
“But then why did you want to know about that reporter? I didn’t even remember it until you said something.”
“Because that address? That’s where Harley was hit by a car.”
My mom started to shake her head so hard that she stumbled back a little. “Grant had nothing to do with that!”
“Are you sure?”
“He wouldn’t hurt anyone—no matter what he thought they were capable of doing to him.”
“But you expressed regret in not doing it yourself.”
We both turned to watch Harley walk into the room, graceful despite the boot on her leg.
“Harley, I—”
“Why don’t you tell him, Bonnie?” she asked, a little lilt to her eyebrow. “Tell him how you told Margaret last night that you would have mowed me down yourself if it meant protecting Grant from what I was planning on telling that reporter?”
“I was just talking,” my mom said, turning her face away so I couldn’t read her expression.
“What are you talking about, Harley?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, wrinkling the perfectly starched peasant blouse she was wearing. “I was in the bathroom at the party and heard them talking.”
“About your accident?”
“Your mom was upset that I was there with you.”
“Of course I was upset,” Mom said. “You never told me about her accident, never told me she was back in this house. You knew what she was going to do, knew that she was going to start a ball rolling that would end with Grant in jail, possibly me, too. Yet, you brought her back here—”
“She was my fiancée, Mom. Was I supposed to leave her in the hospital, not knowing anything about her life these past three years?”
“You were broken up! And she turned on us. Turned on your family. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
I wanted to tell her that Harley was my family now, but Harley shot me a cautious look, telling me that it was best to keep my tongue in my head. And I knew that. We’d talked about it and decided it was best if everyone continued under the assumption that she couldn’t remember anything about the last three years. But I so wanted this whole thing to be over now.
Right now.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked, my tone deliberately low and steady.
My mom glared at Harley before focusing on me again. “What?”
“Why would the address of the place where Harley was hit by a car upset Grant if he didn’t know anything about the accident?”
As the meaning behind my words sank in, color once again drained from my mother’s face.
“He didn’t have anything to do with it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she insisted.
I looked at Harley, and I saw something in her eyes. Something had just popped into place in her mind. And she wasn’t happy about it.
Neither was I. Because all of this pointed to just one person.
Margaret.
Chapter 30
Harley
I had dreams about her even when I didn’t know who she was. Dreams that I knew now were a mixture of memory and something else, something angry inside of me.
As I came out of my coma, I dreamed I was in a dress shop with a dark-haired woman I didn’t know. I remembered thinking this woman had betrayed me—even though I couldn’t say if she’d been a friend or a foe. And then again, later, I had the same dream. But this time we were arguing about Xander, about the marriage I hadn’t learned about until the day Xander and I went to get our marriage license.
We did fight about it. Not in a bridal shop. My mind had mixed that up for some reason. But the words had been the same.
“I can’t believe you would betray me that way! Why wouldn’t you tell me something like that? I thought we were friends. You were supposed to be a part of my wedding,
for God’s sakes!”
“It wasn’t my place to tell you. Xander should have done it.”
“But we worked together all this time—”
“I thought he’d already told you. I thought you were okay with it.”
“Well, you thought too much.”
“It was a lifetime ago, Harley. It’s been over so long that it doesn’t even feel like it was part of this life.”
“But it was. And neither of you felt the need to tell me.”
I remember it clearly now. We were in the gym at the community center. Margaret had just found out about Xander and my separation, and she’d tried to apologize. But I attacked her, accused her of things I didn’t really feel, but thought someone in my position might feel. I was hurt she’d never mentioned it to me, but the blame rested with Xander, not her. I was just trying to keep up my end of the whole charade that Xander and I were performing for everyone.
But it stood out in my mind because, despite Margaret’s words, she didn’t seem all that heartbroken that I’d found out, or that I appeared to blame her for my ignorance.
That was…odd.
Margaret was never easy to figure out. She was complex, one of those people who always seemed calm and collected, but you could sense a whirlpool hidden just under the surface. She admired my work, telling me I could have gallery shows in places like New York and Paris if I wanted, but in the same breath suggesting I take a job at a local university in case my work didn’t stay on top as it should. She would tell me how happy she was that Xander and I were together, but then criticize the way I spoke to him or the things I did for him. She was a ball of contradictions. Either she was my best friend, or she hated me for stealing Xander’s attention from her. Or maybe a little of both. I don’t know.
But I never felt as though I were in danger around her until this very moment.
I was really hoping my memory of that day was just a figment of my imagination.
“Xander,” I said softly, “we need to go.”
He shook his head. “We’re not going anywhere until I know for sure that this isn’t some sort of set up.”
“What are you talking about?” Bonnie demanded.
“Don’t,” I said—even as Xander turned to his mother and grabbed her upper arms.
“We have to talk to Grant.”
“Xander!”
He looked over at me, the wheels spinning in his head. “It’s the only way,” he said finally. “We need all the cards on the table. We need to know who we can trust.”
“But Philip—”
“Who came to the house this morning, Harley?”
I glanced out the doors that opened onto the back porch. Clearly, he’d overheard us. I had suspected, but wasn’t quite sure. But he heard.
“You know someone’s spilling information to the wrong people. And if we keep going forward with this, we’re going to fall right into someone’s trap.” He looked at me again. “That reporter on the red carpet last night? He asked why you didn’t show that day. That suggests he didn’t know what happened to you. But then he called out the address of your accident to Grant to get a reaction out of him.”
“Are you sure it was the same reporter?”
“It would be too much of a coincidence if it wasn’t.”
He was right, of course.
It was my turn to pace the room. I wanted to drag my fingers through my hair, but it was gone, too short to even feel against my fingers—except in the rough bristle that felt like a man’s new beard. I leaned against the wall, thinking about last night, about that man’s words.
Bulbs immediately flashed in our faces as we got out of the car. Someone grabbed my arm and spun me nearly out of Xander’s grip.
“Harley Alistair! Where have you been hiding?”
He grabbed me even as Xander pulled me tight against his side and said, “We’re not answering questions right now.”
But the man pushed the issue.
“You’ve always been open with the press, Harley,” he said. “You promised me an exclusive on your falling out with Margaret Wallace. Did you change your mind?”
“I don’t…”
“Harley, where have you been these last few weeks? When did you get back with Xander Boggs? Weren’t you going home to Texas this month?”
“He said I’d had a falling out with Margaret. Why would he say that?”
Xander turned to me. “What do you mean?”
“Margaret and I fought once, weeks before the accident. But after that, we were civil with each other, even friendly at the few press junkets she asked me to attend. So why would he think we’d had a falling out?”
Xander shook his head, even as the incident played through my mind again, like a tape I could rewind and pause, focus on first this bit, then that.
“He also asked about you and I. Asked why we were back together. Doesn’t that seem like an odd question from someone working with Philip?”
“Maybe it was cover for the other reporters around us.”
“But none of them asked those questions. Someone asked if the wedding was back on, but that was it.”
“And he asked about you going back to Texas.”
Xander seemed worried now, too. More worried than he’d been.
There was clearly something not right here.
“I don’t know what the two of you are up to, but I don’t like it,” Bonnie said.
Xander turned to her and shook her lightly. “What the hell has Grant got us all wrapped up in?”
She just shook her head. She didn’t know any better than we did.
“We have to talk to Grant,” he repeated, as he stepped away from his mother and came to me. “And no more calls to Philip until we figure out who he’s leaking information to.”
“It’s not Philip.”
He touched the side of my face lightly. “How can you say that with everything that’s gone on?”
“Because…”
Because she told me.
But I’d promised I wouldn’t tell him. She wanted him to continue trusting him, and she didn’t think he would if the truth came out.
But wasn’t that the thing here? Wasn’t all of this the result of too many people keeping too many secrets for too long?
“Grant won’t talk to her.”
Bonnie’s voice was verging on hysterics. I almost felt sorry for her. She’d clearly been in love with Grant since she began working for him. And he treated her well, except when he didn’t, which was far too often. They were lovers. She admitted that to me once. Had been since before his divorce from Margaret’s mother. But he’d likely never marry her, and he wouldn’t stop dating the starlets that came and went from his life as if his bedroom door was a revolving one.
I couldn’t understand how she could put up with such a thing. But then I looked at Xander and wondered what I would do if that was all he was willing to share with me.
Who could really judge a woman in love?
“Grant has no choice,” Xander said. “Tell him to come here. Alone.”
Bonnie shook her head. But Xander had had his fill of all this. He charged over to her and shoved his own cellphone into her hand.
“Call him and tell him to come over.”
She only hesitated a moment longer.
Chapter 31
Xander
Harley was hiding something from me. I wasn’t sure what it was, and I didn’t like it. But I told myself she wouldn’t do it if she didn’t think it was important.
I watched her pace the porch outside the back doors, the way that boot caused her just the slightest limp. Two months ago, the doctor said she would have a definitive limp if she ever woke up. Her recovery was remarkable, but everything about Harley had always been remarkable.
“How can you be with the woman who might send me to jail?”
“How can you be with the man who got us all into this position in the first place?”
My mom crossed her arms over her chest, a defiant l
ook taking over the attractive features that once made her a very beautiful woman. Now she was tired. A very tired and broken woman.
“I trusted that Grant would do the right thing.”
“And I know that Harley’s only doing what she thinks will protect us all.”
“She almost went to the press with paperwork that shows Grant was working with terrorists. If it didn’t send him to jail, it would have ruined his reputation, his career, and everything he’s worked all his life to build.”
“Would you rather government officials came knocking on his front door and searched his house in front of reporters who had only their own imaginations to fill in the gaps?”
“At least then we could have formulated a way to deal with it.”
I groaned, frustration such a familiar feeling these days that I almost felt like I was welcoming an old friend home. “He’s going to jail, Mom. One way or the other, Grant is going to jail.”
“Do you really think I don’t know that? I do. I just…I’d rather you and Harley have nothing to do with it.”
I pulled her into my arms and held her for a long moment. And then I sighed.
“They came to me a year ago. Said that if I didn’t cooperate, if I didn’t get the information they needed, they would go after you, too.”
She stiffened as she jerked away from me. “You?”
“What was I supposed to do, Mom? They have your signature on dozens of incriminating papers. But they couldn’t get what they really wanted, the paperwork that would identify the men Grant was working with directly and the reason they were buying up all those buildings. They could have moved without my help, but they wanted those papers. And I had them, but then Harley got involved, and she wanted to do this in a way that would protect you and me.”
She shook her head, tears flowing again.
KYLE: A Mafia Romance (The Callahans Book 4) Page 31