Derek felt as if he was reeling. “Marla had a child by that monster?”
“Two,” Nick put in. “Tyler and Conrad. Twins.”
“I never knew, never suspected,” Derek whispered. So much time had been lost. He should have made the attempt to find her, to be there for her. And now it was too late. His heart ached.
“No one did,” Mark told him. “She only told her children when she was on her deathbed. I guess she was tired of living a lie. And so am I.”
Derek looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Then you’re not a writer from New York.”
Feeling guilty, Mark offered the man a half smile. “I’m from New York all right, but I’m a private investigator. I’m sorry, it was the only way I could think of to get close to you.”
Derek shook his head. The attack on Brooke, his own identity outed, the true parentage of his nephews, this was all so much to absorb. His ordered life had been sent reeling on its ear. For the second time in his life, he realized that nothing would be as it was before.
But he’d run from doing what was right all these years. It was time to stop running.
“Don’t be sorry,” he told Mark. “If you hadn’t been there, Brooke would have died. And saving her life means everything to me.” And then his eyes darkened. “Walter Parks was behind this, wasn’t he?”
It was Nick who answered his question. “The man we’ve got in custody didn’t say as much when he was ranting, but we’ve got a pretty good idea that Parks is the responsible party.”
Derek’s mouth hardened as he remembered that day over a quarter of a century ago. The day that had been both the happiest and the worst day of his life. The day he had both found and lost Anna.
“He’s an evil, evil man,” Derek pronounced. He straightened his shoulders, and it looked to Mark as if Derek had suddenly shed a very heavy weight from them. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Good, I’ll set up a meeting for you with Tyler and the D.A. as soon as possible,” Nick promised him.
He looked back over his shoulder to where the would-be hit man had been left. The man had been handcuffed to his hospital bed with a guard watching over him, but Nick didn’t want to take any chances.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a prisoner to see to.” He looked at Mark. “You going to be okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” He didn’t want his brother fussing over him. “Go do what you have to do.”
“I’ll call you later,” Nick told him.
He left the two men standing in the hall, keeping vigil, sharing unspoken, fearful thoughts.
Derek was the first to finally break the silence. “Tell me the truth, Mark,” he said suddenly, then stopped. “It is Mark, isn’t it?”
He didn’t blame the man for having doubts. “Yes, it’s Mark.”
Derek nodded, accepting the assurance. He struggled to keep the fear at bay. “How bad was she when they took her in?”
For a moment they were just two men sharing the same fear, loving the same person. “Brooke was unconscious. But I heard the doctor say that the bullet had missed her heart.” He’d had to restrain himself from shaking the physician, trying to get answers, to get assurances when he knew there were none.
“Thank God.” Struggling against caving in emotionally, Derek searched for something to distract him. He looked at the man with him. “You really do care about her, don’t you? That wasn’t an act.”
He couldn’t explain why, when other people’s opinions never meant anything to him, that he was relieved that Derek understood. But he was.
“No, that wasn’t an act. I care about your daughter more than I can possibly say.” A rueful smile came to his lips. “I’m not very good with words. I guess I should have said I was something other than an writer.”
There was a sadness in Derek’s eyes as he said, “Brooke always had a soft spot in her heart for writers.”
Which made what he’d done even that much more manipulative, Mark thought. “Yes, I know.”
Derek sighed wearily as he shook his head again. “She’s going to be devastated when she finds out about all this. About you. About me.”
Mark looked at Brooke’s father in surprise. He hadn’t even thought about that part of it. He’d been so wrapped up in his own dilemma, in how to make a clean breast of it to Brooke, that he hadn’t even considered what this other revelation might do to her. It hadn’t crossed his mind that she was ignorant of the facts.
“Then she doesn’t know.”
“Nothing.” Derek looked at the stricken man beside him, taking pity on him. “I can break it to her if you like.” When Mark raised an eyebrow in a silent question, he added, “All of it.”
Another easy way out. But how reprehensible would she find it to have her father as the messenger and not him? No, there was no easy way out, Mark told himself. No way around it. Not if he ever hoped to win her.
And even if he didn’t, he owed this to her, owed it to her to tell her the truth himself, not by proxy. “No, I need to tell her myself.”
Derek solemnly nodded his head. “I understand.”
Mark only hoped that Brooke would.
Easing the door open, Mark tiptoed into the room. The nurse had told him Brooke was awake and asking for him, but he still thought she might be asleep when he entered.
Her eyes were closed.
Holding his breath, Mark moved in a little closer. He stood by the bed for a moment just looking at her, his heart aching. She was alive, but she looked so frail, so delicate, as pale as the sheet she was lying on.
The doctor had told Derek and him that the surgery had gone exceptionally well and he had every confidence that she would recover. They’d gotten the bullet, and Brooke had lost very little blood, considering the circumstances.
But he needed to see for himself. Needed to assure himself that she was still alive, still breathing.
He stood by her bed for a long time.
Her eyes fluttered open just as he began to back away. She looked right at him, spearing his soul. Holding him fast.
“Don’t go.”
Her voice was small, barely penetrating the air around her. Barely audible.
He moved back to her side immediately, taking her hand in both of his. Acutely aware that this might be the last time he could be with her like this. The last time he might be with her at all.
She tried to smile. Only one corner of her mouth rose. “My hero,” she whispered.
The word pierced his heart, bringing with it a fresh assault of guilt. “Don’t.”
“You’ve…got to…get…over this…modesty…Mark,” she said with effort. “You were my…hero. You saved…me. Always there…watching…over…me.”
Her eyes fluttered shut. The even breathing told him that she’d fallen asleep again.
He didn’t let go of her hand.
They took turns, Derek and he, sitting by her bed, keeping vigil, waiting for her to wake up again.
Waiting to tell her what he didn’t want to tell her, Mark felt as if his very life was on hold. He knew how prisoners on death row felt, waiting for that fateful call from the governor.
The call that might not come. The forgiveness that might not be there.
Brooke woke up again six hours later, during his portion of the vigil.
Stirring, she murmured in her sleep, calling his name. When he answered, she opened her eyes. And then smiled. It came slowly, unfurling like a sleeping flower in the morning sun.
“I was dreaming about you, and here you are. My hero.”
He couldn’t have her calling him that, believing that, not until she knew everything.
For a moment, because of her condition, he thought of waiting. But that was the fear talking. He had waited too long already.
Maybe, he realized, if he’d told her last night, the way he was going to before changing his mind at the last minute, she might not be lying here like this.
There were a thou
sand different ways to play the scenario through his head. It didn’t matter. It had happened, and thank God she had survived it.
He had to do what needed to be done.
Though her head felt as if it was in danger of spinning again, she tried to focus on Mark’s face. He looked so solemn, so bereft. Was that because of her? She was sorry she’d put him through this.
“Is the mugger dead?”
“No.”
Nick had told him that the man had regained consciousness and shown every sign of pulling through. He had also made a partial confession, admitting he was paid to kill Derek Ross, but refusing to give them the name of the man who’d hired him. Nick said the hardened man said something about not living out the night if he gave the man up.
“He wasn’t a mugger,” Mark told her. Brooke looked at him with eyes that didn’t understand. “He was a hit man.”
“A hit man?” she echoed incredulously. How was that possible? They didn’t move in those kinds of circles. “Did he get lost? Why would a hit man want to kill me?”
“He didn’t.” Mark measured out his words slowly, giving each one weight. Waiting for each to sink in. “He wanted to kill your father. He thought you were Derek. You were wearing his raincoat, opening up the shop…”
His voice trailed off for a moment along with his courage.
It still didn’t make any sense to her. “I don’t understand. Why would someone want to kill my father? He’s just a bookstore owner.”
“No, he’s not.” Standing over her, Mark looked down into her eyes. Hoping he could find forgiveness there as he began to approach the truth of his part in all this. “He’s Derek Ross.”
In her mind’s eye, she suddenly saw the letter. The letter she’d found in his desk drawer and had thought was misaddressed. The letter written by a Tyler Carlton, urging her father to come forward.
It had to be a mistake. Stubbornly she said, “Moss, our name is Moss.”
“No,” he told her quietly, taking her hand in his, “it’s Ross. Your father is Derek Ross, Marla Carlton’s younger brother.”
“Marla Carlton?” She wrinkled her brow. “Who’s Marla—the woman whose funeral Dad went to?”
Mark nodded.
“And someone wants to kill him because he’s her brother?” Why? Who was this Marla Carlton? For that matter, who was her father?
He knew this was hard for her, hard to comprehend, but there was no turning back now. “No, because he witnessed Walter Parks kill her husband, Jeremy Carlton.”
Her head was aching and spinning at the same time. Was she really hearing all this, or was this just part of a bad dream, induced by the anesthesia?
“How do you know all this?” she asked him. “Did my father tell you?” Why would her father confide in Mark and not her? Why had he kept all this from her all these years?
Mark braced himself. This was it. “No, I was sent to find him.”
This was getting more and more confusing. “They sent a writer?”
“No.” He took a deep breath. “They sent a private investigator.”
She stared at him. What was he saying to her? That her father was someone else? That he was someone else?
“You?” she finally asked, her voice shaking. She felt as if the very walls of her life were being systematically shattered.
“Me.”
She stared at him as she tried desperately to align the information she’d just received with what she’d thought, until two minutes ago, was true. None of the jagged edges fit together. Everything felt all jumbled. The only thing she knew was that she knew nothing. Everything she’d believed to be true was a lie.
Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the man she loved. The man who didn’t exist. “You lied to me.”
The words rang like a condemnation. “About some things.”
Hairs, he was splitting hairs. She knew better. “About everything.”
“No.” He couldn’t have her believing that. But when he started to take her hand, she pulled it away, nearly yanking the needle out of her vein.
The expression on her face cut him dead.
“How do I know that?” she demanded hotly. “You could be lying now.”
There was no way he could prove that he wasn’t. He could only give her his word. “I’m not.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe you.” How could she have been so stupid, so blind? She’d literally thrown herself at him. And he’d been there to catch her. Humiliated, she hated him. “Boy, what an assignment you got. Find a missing person and, oh, yes, make love to his stupid twit of a daughter while you’re at it. And you got paid for this?”
It sounded disgusting. He couldn’t blame her for being angry. But it hadn’t been like that, and he had to make her believe that it wasn’t.
“You’re not a stupid twit, and it wasn’t supposed to happen that way.”
“Right, regrets.” She nodded, remembering the look on his face when he’d discovered that she was a virgin. “Sorry I wasn’t more experienced for you.”
“Stop it.” There was a dangerous edge to the warning. For a second, she was silent, looking at him. Daring him to prove her wrong. He felt as helpless as he had when he’d seen the hit man aiming his gun at her. More, because he had no weapon of his own to use. “That wasn’t part of it.”
And then Brooke laughed shortly, anger entering her eyes. “Well, you can’t exactly call it a bonus now, can you?”
How did he make her understand that he hadn’t used her, not that way.
Hadn’t he? a small voice echoed in his brain. Hadn’t he used her to bring him back among the living? He could have kept her at arm’s length; it wouldn’t have cost him the investigation. But it had been easier for him not to. And in the final analysis, that was using her.
He came as close to pleading as he ever had in his life. “Brooke, you have to believe me when I say that what happened between you and me was beside the point.”
But her eyes were flat, unapproachable. “Was anything you told me true? Are you even from New York, or was that an act, too?” Sarcasm twisted her mouth. “You know, you really should be in the movies, you’re very convincing.”
“I am from New York.” His voice was tight as he fought to rein in his emotions. Losing his temper wasn’t going to further his case. Nothing, he knew, was going to further his case. “And I told you as much of the truth as I could. My brother’s best friend hired me to find your father—”
“Your brother?” she echoed. “You have a brother?” She knew nothing about him. The thought hit her right between the eyes. She’d given herself to a stranger, a lie, a fabrication. For all she knew he was married with three children.
He nodded. “His name is Nick and he’s with the police department—”
But she was shaking her head, her one good hand to her ear. The IV bottle tottered dangerously, then settled again. “I don’t want to hear it,” she cried. “You’ll just tell me more lies.”
He stood his ground, feeling as if he was fighting for his life. “Brooke, I—”
“Get out,” she cried. Tears sprang to her eyes. Tears of anger, of hurt and humiliation.
It couldn’t end like this. She hated him; he could see it in her eyes. And he couldn’t stand to see her crying like this.
“Brooke, please—”
“Get out,” she repeated, struggling not to scream. Her emotions were all over the map. “I want you to get out of here.”
He wanted to stay and fight for her, to make her understand that he’d done what he had to do but that making love with her hadn’t been part of it. That was in a separate place all its own. And above all, he wanted her to believe that she was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him.
And that he loved her.
But he could see by the expression on Brooke’s face that she wouldn’t believe him, wouldn’t believe anything that came out of his mouth now. And he couldn’t blame her. In her place, he knew he would feel the same w
ay. Violated.
He backed away from her. Just before he opened the door, he said, “I’ll send in your father.”
“No,” she ordered with so much feeling that the single word all but drained her. Her father had lied to her, too, had lied to her her entire life. “I don’t want to see him, either.” She pushed the button on the side of her bed that made the upper portion rise until her eyes were all but level with his. “I don’t want to see anyone, do you understand? I want to be left alone.”
He thought of the man waiting outside the room. Brooke was her father’s whole world. Mark deserved her censure, her father didn’t. He’d kept the truth from her to protect her.
“Brooke.” He tried again.
She drew herself up as much as she could, tethered the way she was to an IV on one side, a monitor on the other. “I said get out! Now!”
Afraid of what this was doing to her physically, Mark had no choice but to do what she said. With a nod of his head, he withdrew, closing the door behind him.
He didn’t hear her as she began to cry in the room. All he heard was the sound of his own heart, breaking.
Chapter Fifteen
“Mr. Walter Parks?”
Looking up from his desk, Walter Parks scowled. His secretary had selfishly taken the day off, leaving another woman to fill her place. Obviously, this woman didn’t understand the ramifications of her job, since she had allowed some stranger to breach his inner office and annoy him. He hated incompetence.
“Yes?” he barked. In response, the young man stepped forward and thrust a thick envelope into his hand. Parks stared at it. There was only his name on the outside, nothing more. “What the hell is this?”
“A subpoena,” the man said cheerfully, already retreating. “Consider yourself served, sir. Have a nice day.”
Enraged, Parks threw the envelope after the man, who was swift enough to make his exit and close the door behind him. The envelope landed with a loud thud against the door, then fell to the floor.
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