Paper Rose

by Diana Palmer

  “What is it?” Tate demanded impatiently.

  “Sorry. Wallace had a heart attack and died on the spot. I can’t believe none of us knew it! Three days ago, apparently…hello?”

  Tate was off the phone. He spent the next ten minutes in a cold sweat, calling in markers, talking to old colleagues, doing everything possible to get a handle on where Cecily might have gone. He drew a complete blank.

  He phoned Colby back. “I can’t find out anything, but I’ve put together a network. I’ll find her.”

  “The thing is, she doesn’t want to be found. That isn’t going to make things any easier.”

  He didn’t want to ask, but he had to know. “Why doesn’t she want to be found?”

  “Because you’re marrying Audrey at Christmas,” Colby said simply.

  “I’m not marrying Audrey,” came the short reply. “I never meant to marry Audrey. She outflanked me while I was getting used to the idea of being a media snack.”

  “Well, Cecily doesn’t know that,” Colby replied.

  “Great,” he muttered. “That’s just great. I leave the country and come home to find myself engaged to a woman I wouldn’t have, at any price!”

  “That’s not the only reason Cecily left,” Colby said tersely. “She knew you wouldn’t forgive her for not telling you about Matt Holden.”

  Tate ran a hand through his hair, missing the former length of it. “I’ve had a rough few weeks.”

  “So has she,” the other man said curtly.

  “She could have told me about my mother and Holden!”

  “Cecily gives her word and keeps it. There aren’t a lot of people on the planet who could make that claim. She promised the senator she wouldn’t tell you anything.”

  The senator. His father. Tate paced with the phone to his ear, his mind busy with possible places she might have gone to. “She might have told my mother where she was going.”

  “I’d bet good money that she didn’t,” Colby returned immediately. “She doesn’t want you to find her.”

  Tate stopped pacing. He scowled. “She doesn’t want me to find her?”

  “Actually, she doesn’t want any of us to find her. Especially you.”

  Tate’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Any particular reason for that? Other than what I already know?”

  “Oh, boy.” Colby made a rough sound in his throat. “I still don’t think I should tell you. But if something should happen to her…”

  “Damn you, tell me!”

  Colby took a breath and went for broke. “All right. Cecily’s pregnant. That’s why she ran.”

  “You son of a bitch!”

  The phone slammed down so hard that Colby shuddered at the noise. He put the receiver down with a grimace. He shouldn’t have blown Cecily’s cover. But what else could he do? She was pregnant and alone and an attempt had been made on her life. If Tate wasn’t told, and Cecily was hurt or lost the baby, he might never get over it. That went double for Tate.

  Tate was throwing things. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so betrayed. First by his mother, and then by Cecily, and now by Colby. Cecily was pregnant and she’d run away. Why hadn’t Colby gone with her, for God’s sake, to make sure she was all right?

  He stopped heaving furniture around and stood getting his breath, scowling as he thought back to his passionate encounter with Cecily back in South Dakota. He hadn’t used anything. And what about that incredibly brash interlude on the rug in her office? Again, he hadn’t tried to protect her.

  The baby could be his. He caught his breath. Of course it could be his. It was his! Cecily had loved him. She wouldn’t have gone from him to another man, regardless of the provocation.

  But Cecily believed he was marrying Audrey, so she was bowing out gracefully. She was going away to have his child, in order not to be an embarrassment to him. Just as his mother had kept the knowledge of her pregnancy from Matt Holden, Cecily was doing the same thing to him, supposedly for the sake of his own happiness. For the first time, he realized how his father must feel. It hit him so hard he felt as if his stomach had been slammed with a brick.

  Cecily was carrying his child, and someone had tried to kill her. He felt sick. He sat down, horrified at the things he’d said to her, at the way he’d treated her. She’d covered her tracks and disappeared. What if he couldn’t find her? Missing person cases were left unsolved every day. People vanished without a trace for one reason or another, and were never found. What if Cecily became a statistic? She’d have his child and he’d never see it, or her.

  The phone rang again and he picked it up at once.

  There was a pause. “Is this Tate Winthrop?” an unfamiliar voice replied.

  Tate scowled. “Yes.”

  “I work for an acquaintance of yours. It’s about Miss Peterson.”

  “Cecily?” Tate asked, surprised.

  “Yes,” the man said matter-of-factly. “I know who tried to run over your ex-ward, Winthrop. I tried to stop it, but my car was sitting out of the way at the museum parking lot. There wasn’t time to act.”

  “I see.” Tate was getting an excess of factual information, and it was making him sick. “Who tried to kill Cecily?”

  “A Mr. Gabrini,” came the taut reply. “He works for a faction of gamblers based in a nearby state. He’s out on bond and facing a stiff prison sentence for fraud, racketeering and money laundering. He wants revenge for Senator Holden’s part in his arrest. Miss Peterson is an easy target, and a friend of Senator Holden’s. I should also tell you that Mr. Gabrini hired a private detective to bug Miss Peterson’s apartment. I didn’t know that until today, when I finally ran the detective to the ground.”

  He let out a breath. “Where’s Gabrini?”

  “I don’t know,” the curt voice replied. “But if I were you, I’d make damned sure Miss Peterson was watched around-the-clock. Gabrini’s got nothing to lose.”

  “Who are you?”

  There was a chuckle. “You don’t remember me, do you? I’m Micah Steele. We had a mutual employer about ten years ago.”

  Tate searched his memories and found a face to go with them. A battle-scarred blond man the size of a house who spoke four languages and was a gourmet cook. “Yes. I remember you.”

  “Thought you might. I was working on a related case when Gabrini’s name came up, and I started tailing him. Good thing I did. He’s bad news.”

  “He’ll be lucky if he lives to go to trial, if I find him first,” Tate said, blazing with wrath.

  “I’d feel the same way. You might mention it to Miss Peterson, just in case, so that she can keep her eyes open.”

  “I’d love to,” Tate said heavily, adding silently, if I can find her.

  “I’m at the Justice Department, if you need to talk to me.”

  “Thanks, Steele.”

  “You did me a favor once, although I imagine you’ve long forgotten it. I owed you one. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Tate put the phone down and stood up, feeling like a tiger in a trap. So it hadn’t been someone after Colby or Tate. It had been the gambling syndicate out for revenge. His fists clenched at his side. Gabrini was going to pay for that, one way or another. But for the moment, his only concern was Cecily. She was in danger as long as Gabrini was on the loose. Where was she? And how in the world was he going to find her? Even with his contacts, it was going to take time. He thought of the vengeful gambler, who surely had his own contacts. He had to find her first. He wouldn’t let himself think about her condition. He’d go mad if he did.

  The museum was delightful. Cecily celebrated Christmas with a tiny tree in her rented house and invited her immediate neighbors, an elderly couple, in for pie and coffee on Christmas Eve. It was lonely, but the Martins were kind people and they had a soft spot for an expectant mother whose husband had died on an oil rig.

  Cecily felt guilty for the lie, but she had to think of the future. It was a small, rural community, very tight, and she wasn’
t going to start her child’s life with scandal.

  Her duties at the museum were mostly custodial, but she had some ideas that would fit within the budget for increasing its holdings and attracting tourists. She’d discussed them with the head curator and he was thrilled with her. He was a widower, several years her senior, with a kind manner and a nice smile. She was optimistic about her chances of making a life for herself here in Cullenville. God knew, she’d had some bad breaks lately. At least, the prospective stalker wouldn’t know where she was or how to find her, she hoped. It was a risk to come here, but so far Tate and Colby hadn’t managed to track her down. Perhaps the stalker, whoever he was, would give up now. She put a hand on the slight swell of her belly and dreamed of next Christmas, when she’d have a little boy or girl to buy presents for. It would be nice to have someone to love.

  It was into the new year before a seething, impatient Tate was finally able to track down a bus driver on extended sick leave who remembered seeing a young woman with a bandaged wrist and a luggage carrier who matched Cecily’s description.

  The middle-aged man grinned. “Hard to miss that bandage,” he recalled. “She was too proud to ask for help, but nobody minded lifting the suitcases for her. She said one of them had a lot of books in it, and that was why it was so heavy. She studied Native Americans, she said.”

  Tate’s heart jumped with delight. “Where did she go?”

  “Went to Nashville,” the man recalled. “I had to show her where to go in the terminal, because she had to change buses. Let me see, where was it she wanted to go? Clarksville? No. Sounded a little like that, though.” He thought for a minute while Tate waited with barely contained patience. “Cullenville. That’s it. Cullenville. Was going to work in a museum there. Smart girl. Knew all about the first Native Americans who lived in these mountains, too.”

  Tate thanked the man, gave him a twenty-dollar bill for his time, and went back to his apartment to make an airplane reservation. Tate had gone to see Audrey to make his situation crystal clear. Surprisingly she’d gone to pieces and admitted to a drug problem that had crippled her ability to reason. She apologized for planting the stories in the tabloids about Tate seducing a teenage Cecily and Audrey’s engagement to him and offered to speak to Cecily on his behalf. He put her in touch with a psychologist he knew and helped get her into a treatment center, where, Tate hoped, she was going to stay for some time. He blamed her for contributing to Cecily’s flight, but he knew he had to shoulder a large part of the blame. He’d spent a lot of time with Audrey. Now, he had to face the fact that it had only been to keep Cecily from seeing how he really felt.

  He’d also been able to put together a profile of Gabrini, and it wasn’t reassuring. The man had been in trouble with the law since his teens, and he’d managed to slip out of two murder indictments. He had a violent temper and a reputation for revenge, and it was said that he never gave up until he finished what he started. Tate feared for Cecily’s safety.

  Impatiently Tate started to phone the airport to get a ticket on the next flight to Nashville. It was then he realized that, when he found Cecily, he didn’t know what he was going to say to her. It stopped him, but only for a minute. She was still at risk from Gabrini and she didn’t know it. He’d have to work out his apology on the way. He made his reservation for the next morning and then sat down in his lonely apartment and recounted his recent sins.

  He thought about the baby and his heart jumped. He wondered if it would have his features or hers, if it would be a boy or a girl. His eyes softened, thinking of how Cecily loved children, of how tender and loving she’d be with his child. She’d loved him for so long…

  His groan was audible. She probably didn’t love him now; he’d seen to that. He got up and paced and wished he knew what to say to her. Then it occurred to him that the man at the very center of this whole damned mess might have some ideas on that theme. After all, he’d coaxed a woman into his arms after a thirty-six-year absence and a lot of resentment. He shouldered into his coat and went out the door.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tate rang Senator Holden’s home on the way there, to be told that they’d arrived home the night before. Tate didn’t ask to speak to his mother or Matt. But he needed advice, and his father seemed like the logical person to give it to him, despite the bad blood between them. He drove himself to Maryland, thinking about Cecily in Tennessee with his baby, and worried sick about how he was ever going to get her back and salvage any of his pride. He was even more worried about Gabrini and his attempt at revenge, chillingly certain that the man would eventually track her.

  Matt’s housekeeper let him in with a grimace.

  “I’m harmless today,” Tate assured the woman as she led the way to where Matt Holden was standing just outside the study door.

  “Right. You and two odd species of cobra,” Matt murmured sarcastically, glaring at his son from a tanned face. “What do you want, a bruise to match the other one?”

  Tate held up both hands. “Don’t start,” he said.

  Matt moved out of the way with reluctance and closed the study door behind them. “Your mother’s gone shopping,” he said.

  “Good. I don’t want to talk to her just yet.”

  Matt’s eyebrows levered up. “Oh?”

  Tate dropped into the wing chair across from the senator’s bulky armchair. “I need some advice.”

  Matt felt his forehead. “I didn’t think a single malt whiskey was enough to make me hallucinate,” he said to himself.

  Tate glowered at him. “You’re not one of my favorite people, but you know Cecily a little better than I seem to lately.”

  “Cecily loves you,” Matt said shortly, dropping into his chair.

  “That’s not the problem,” Tate said. He leaned forward, his hands clasped loosely between his splayed knees. “Although I seem to have done everything in my power to make her stop.”

  The older man didn’t speak for a minute or two. “Love doesn’t die that easily,” he said. “Your mother and I are a case in point. We hadn’t seen each other for thirty-six years, but the instant we met again, the years fell away. We were young again, in love again.”

  “I can’t wait thirty-six years,” Tate stated. He stared at his hands, then he drew in a long breath. “Cecily’s pregnant.”

  The other man was quiet for so long that Tate lifted his eyes, only to be met with barely contained rage in the older man’s face.

  “Is it yours?” Matt asked curtly.

  Tate glowered at him. “What kind of woman do you think Cecily is? Of course it’s mine!”

  Matt chuckled. He leaned back in the easy chair and indulged the need to look at his son, to find all the differences and all the similarities in that younger version of his face. It pleased him to find so many familiar things.

  “We look alike,” Tate said, reading the intent scrutiny he was getting. “Funny that I never noticed that before.”

  Matt smiled. “We didn’t get along very well.”

  “Both too stubborn and inflexible,” Tate pointed out.

  “And arrogant.”

  Tate chuckled dryly. “Maybe.”

  “I’ve told Leta. Maybe I should tell you, too,” Matt began. “I’m sorry for what you went through when you were a kid….”

  Tate held up a hand. “Neither of us can change what was,” he said quietly. “It was almost a relief to know Jack Winthrop wasn’t my father. It helped me to understand why he hated me so much. I don’t blame you. My mother keeps secrets very well.”

  “Too well,” Matt said gruffly. “I wish she hadn’t kept this one. I’ve missed so much,” he added, averting his eyes. It was difficult to say these things, but they needed to be said. “If I’d had any idea that you were my son, I would have swept the floor with your damned stepfather years ago!”

  Tate touched his cheekbone and grinned. “I take the point, about not underestimating you because of your age. God, you hit hard!”

  “I had pr
ovocation,” Matt reminded him.

  Tate sighed. “Yes, you did. I was way out of line. I’m sorry I said those things to my mother. When she’s ready to listen, I’ll apologize for every one of them.”

  “She’s not angry,” came the quiet reply. “She understood what you were going through. So did I.”

  He smoothed a place on his slacks. “I gave Cecily hell, too.”

  “She deserved it least of all,” Matt pointed out. “She was involved strictly because she didn’t want to see you hurt. She would have done anything to spare you.”

  “Life hurts,” Tate said simply. “There’s no way around the pain of it.”

  “So they say.”

  “Cecily was in the hospital, did you know?” he asked after a minute.

  Matt sat forward scowling. “What?”

  “A car tried to run her over in the parking lot where she works.”

  “Oh, good God!” Matt exploded. “Who?”

  “A man named Gabrini, apparently, one of the men in the gambling syndicate,” he said with barely contained fury.

  “Well, is Cecily all right?” Matt persisted.

  “She had a concussion and a fractured wrist, but she’s fine.” He looked up briefly. “She told the hospital that she had no family,” he added, lowering eyes that would have revealed the pain of that memory. “She and the baby could have died and none of us would even have known.”

  Matt understood why that was so painful. Cecily had disowned Tate; all of them, maybe.

  “Did you go to see her?” the older man asked.

  “Inevitably,” Tate replied heavily. “For all the good it did me. I didn’t know about the baby then.” He stared at the carpet. “She gave up her job, vacated her apartment and moved to Tennessee without telling anybody except Colby. It’s taken time to track her down. Now that I know where she is, I don’t know what to say to her, how to get her back. I don’t want to frighten her about Gabrini, but she’s in danger. I can’t protect her if I’m not there. But given my track record,” he added with faint humor, “I don’t even know if she’ll let me in the door. I thought you might have a suggestion.”