Born in Mystery

by Susan Kearney

  “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I wondered, why now?” she persisted. “What made you go ahead after all these years?”

  His eyes lowered as if to hide pain. He drained his mug and set it aside. “We always wanted children. After Linda’s death, it just seemed right to carry on with her wishes.”

  Clearly, sorrow washed over him as he recalled his wife. Bianca hesitated, wondering if she dared ask her next question, then plunged ahead. “How did she die?”

  He didn’t say it, but his eyes revealed he still carried the grief with him. Bianca couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a man love her so deeply that his gaze mirrored the intensity of his devotion. She knew a bit more about him than she intended to admit. The fact she’d seen him before she’d keep strictly to herself.

  Craig closed his eyes, looking totally miserable. Although his words were deceptively calm and devoid of emotion, a faint tremor shook him. “I lost her at the beach. She was caught in a riptide. A lifeguard and I finally pulled her out, but it was too late.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I should have known better than to swim with the waves cresting ten feet.” Guilt and pain layered his razor-sharp tone. “Loving the water, Linda had insisted. I could never refuse her.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “I still feel responsible for her death.”

  And it was obvious, he still missed her with all his heart. A fertility specialist had removed Linda’s eggs and combined them in a laboratory with Craig’s sperm. But Linda had died before the doctor could implant the embryos. During the four years the embryos had been frozen Craig had been unable to forget. The babies in Bianca’s womb were his last link to Linda. Part of her would live on through them, the promise of better days, of all their hopes and dreams. His deceased wife’s presence was so strong at the moment, Bianca felt as if Linda were silently rooting her on.

  “My mother talked me into waiting to find a surrogate, believing that the grief should pass before I made such an important decision. My brothers told me to wait.”

  “You didn’t listen.” Perhaps he thought the children would make him whole. After the doctors at the clinic had given her background material about Craig, she’d become curious about a single man who still wanted to have his deceased wife’s children. Her initial intention had been to give him the children he wanted so badly so his soul could be in peace.

  “My family thought I would meet another woman,” he continued, “and they believed I’d find someone else to have children with, but . . .”

  “But you never did,” she finished for him. Her eyes brimmed, and she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She couldn’t help a twinge of envy. No one had ever loved her that much.

  Unlike Craig, who had loving memories of wife and marriage, Bianca’s past had been more rocky. Although she and Kendrick Yarlboro had enjoyed several happy years, their relationship hadn’t lasted. In the two years since their breakup, she hadn’t been attracted to a man beyond casual interest.

  “What about you?” he asked, a dangerous edge to his tone. “Why did you agree to bear children for a stranger?”

  “You must have seen my profile.” She had no wish to repeat the personal reasons she’d given to the psychologist before her application had been accepted. In the face of his honesty, grief and pain, he deserved the truth.

  Guilt kept her silent.

  The waitress left a check, and he paid, leaving a generous tip. He made no move to leave. Instead, he went completely still under the harsh lights, his blunt-cut black hair gleaming. “You sure you can give up the children when the time comes?”

  So, he’d finally asked the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. She couldn’t blame him for believing her a thief, for doubting her intentions. Yet she wanted to hate him for questioning whether she’d already changed her mind, wanted to despise him for thinking her so weak in character. Still, she couldn’t hate him when she was the one who’d lied from the beginning and maintained the lie now.

  At least this time, she could answer without hesitation. “You and Linda are the parents. I’m just the babysitter.”

  His majestic gray eyes bored into hers. “You’re a lot more than a babysitter. You’ll lose your figure, go through the pain of childbirth.”

  She grinned. “Not to mention morning sickness, heartburn and waddling like a duck.”

  He returned her grin, then with a puzzled expression, he furrowed his high forehead, arched his ebony brows and shoved his fingers through his hair. “What I’m paying you doesn’t seem enough.”

  She hadn’t agreed to be a surrogate for the money, but he would never believe that. Did he think she’d tracked him down to extract more money from him? If he was that cynical, he’d never believe how much she’d wanted children and that she’d given up hope of finding a man she wanted to marry in order to have them.

  Even if she couldn’t raise his kids, having them was her chance to do something good, to bring life into the world. She didn’t expect a man to understand. Her motives were difficult to put into words. Her own mother hadn’t lived to raise her, but Bianca had always been grateful for her ultimate gift of life. Now she had her turn to pass the gift on.

  Looking into his harsh features, she could never adequately explain such an abstract concept. Instead, she spoke of specifics. “Your terms are more than generous. But I’d prefer you take me in. I want to live with you. It’ll be better for your babies.”

  She held her breath. If he booted her out now, she had nowhere to hide—and she and his unborn twins were as good as dead.

  His lips curved into a wry smile that made him look carefree and boyish. “Bonding?”

  She chuckled. “Bonding.”

  AFTER THEIR MEAL in the café, Craig escorted Bianca to his car, gratified to see color had returned to her cheeks. In one fell swoop, he’d almost lost his children, and he told himself that his concern for Bianca was secondary. However, fear for her safety had heightened his curiosity. He now had more questions than before.

  Who was she? Why was she so frightened?

  Bianca slipped into disguises with a practiced nonchalance, playing her roles with an adeptness he found alluring and all the more fascinating for her lack of perfection that allowed him glimpses of her true character. Recalling her in the provocative black leather and wild red hair had him wondering what she’d have done if he’d walked right up to her and kissed her full lips. Oddly, he found the demure suit and blond hair just as intriguing. What was happening to him? How had he let a liar and thief slip past his normal barriers?

  When he held her trembling in his arms, his concern had been every bit as much for her welfare as the babies. That in itself told him how close she was to forcing him to look at how he’d been deceiving himself. Taking her to bed once or twice wouldn’t be enough. Even if he could handle a one-nighter, she was too complex for a simple fling. Even if she wasn’t, taking her to bed was too risky when he had so much to lose. He had to keep the babies’ welfare firmly in the forefront of his mind.

  If only she looked pregnant, he would have had an easier time containing his response to her. His mind and his body had never been at odds like this. Why was he having visions of her taking off his clothes, the two of them rolling naked across tangled sheets? She was at best a liar. And a thief.

  Yet he’d discerned a hint of vulnerability he couldn’t banish. Perhaps deceit wasn’t a normal part of her life.

  While he knew little of the hormonal changes due to pregnancy, he wasn’t completely ignorant. Pregnant women ate pickles and yearned for fresh strawberries; they didn’t steal motorcycles. She couldn’t be the innocent she wanted him to believe.

  In court, she hadn’t been as relaxed as she’d pretended. When the judge had agreed not to send her to jail, relief had washed across her t
ensed features. Although he suspected she wasn’t pleased to find herself in his custody, she hadn’t protested. She might not be a career criminal, but he’d bet everything he owned she was hiding something.

  But what? There was nothing suspicious in her file. She’d left him with only one lead, and he couldn’t afford not to follow up.

  He started the car. “I think we should talk to your grandmother.”

  Her fingers tightened around her purse, but her demeanor remained calm. She met his gaze with a curious hint of amusement. “Why?”

  He admired her courage in the face of his resolve, but he had every intention of finding answers. If she wouldn’t reply to his questions, then perhaps her family would. Sensing she didn’t want him to meet her grandmother, he kept his tone reasonable, wondering how she’d avoid agreeing to his suggestion. Bianca had many weapons in her arsenal, and she was good at employing them all. He didn’t know if she’d use sex, tears or an argument, and that intrigued him.

  “You told the court your grandmother gave you a hot bike. Don’t you think you should talk with her about it?”

  “Turn down Parson onto Fourth. She’s at the Jarrod Home on Sunberry.”

  Surprise left him speechless. He hadn’t thought she’d so easily give in to his request. Bianca’s impetuous audacity amazed him. She was as unpredictable as an August rainstorm and twice as arousing. What was she up to?

  She seemed almost too eager to bring him to her grandmother in Garden Grove, and he couldn’t understand why. Perhaps lack of sleep was causing his uncharacteristic inability to solve the mystery engulfing her. If she had something to hide, and she must, with all her evasive maneuvers, why would she want him near the one person who could prove her deceit?

  Not for one moment did he believe she’d moved into his home so he could bond with his children. Nor did he think she was out to catch a husband. He’d dated too many woman who sized up the Braddack fortune and calculated his net worth not to recognize someone who wasn’t motivated by greed.

  So why was she bearing his children? What did she want from him? Why did she show up when he was just getting the business back on into the black? The short drive wasn’t long enough to figure out the answers—not when he wasn’t sure of the right questions.

  The Jarrod Home looked more like a hotel than an assisted living center. Inside, the spacious foyer boasted a waterfall, and the pattering of the water echoed soothingly. The scent from a tray of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies wafted into the air. Hallways of rich emerald carpet and flamingo pink tile led them past card and bingo rooms and a whirlpool and exercise area.

  Seeing his interest, Bianca commented, “Gran likes it here. She has her own apartment. Meals are served if she doesn’t feel like cooking. Jarrod’s arranges shopping and trips to the doctor, so though she can’t drive anymore, she doesn’t have to relinquish her freedom.”

  Her knowledge of the facility impressed him. Obviously, she cared about her grandmother.

  They paused in the hall, waiting for a woman with a walker to turn toward the elevator. Potted palms in ceramic containers lined this corridor, giving the home the atmosphere of a luxury hotel.

  A bleached-blond man in his late twenties and wearing white tennis shorts ambled toward them, a tennis racquet in his hand. “Hi, Bianca. Almost didn’t recognize you. Nice hair color.”

  “Thanks, Fred.” Apparently, the man was accustomed to Bianca’s disguises. “Craig Braddack, I’d like you to meet Fred Hardcastle.”

  Fred shook hands with Craig, but his gaze focused on Bianca. “Gran’s acting feisty.”

  Bianca chuckled. “Did she beat you again?”

  Fred winked. “Does her good when I let her win now and then. But that’s not it.”

  “I give up. What’s she done this time?”

  Fred shook his head and grinned, showing off his white teeth against his tan as he passed by. “I’m not spoiling her surprise.”

  The cheerful man left Craig with an image of friendly concern. Not exactly the sterile and depressing picture he’d expected. If the rest of the staff were as upbeat and sympathetic as Fred, the residents were well cared for.

  “How long has your grandmother lived here?”

  “A few years. Fred’s the athletic director. Gran says the women go to his clinics just to ogle his legs.” They took an elevator up, and after a short walk down another hall, Bianca stopped at a door decorated with a silver star, knocked and called out, “Gran.”

  “Coming, dear.”

  Craig angled himself to one side, positioning himself to observe Bianca’s face as the door opened. Instead of some secret signal, her eyes lit with joy, and she smiled with genuine warmth. She hugged the short and rounded woman, who appeared to be in her late seventies. Just as eccentric as her granddaughter, Gran wore jeans and a t-shirt, her thin hair dyed electric blue.

  Bianca leaned back from the embrace and examined the older woman. “I like your hair, Gran.” Her grandmother beamed and fluffed out a curl. “Really? I thought this look might be a little young for me.”

  “Naw. You don’t look a day over fifty.”

  “What are you wearing, child?” She surveyed Bianca’s pin-striped suit. “Did someone die?”

  “I had a business appointment,” Bianca explained.

  Craig swallowed a grin as he wondered what her grandmother would have said about black leather. He suspected Gran would approve—especially if she had bought Bianca that bike.

  Gran peered around Bianca. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  Bianca’s lips turned up in an easy grin. “Gran, I’d like you to meet my friend, Craig Braddack. He wants to ask about the motorcycle you bought me.”

  Gran fumbled for her pink-tinted John Lennon glasses and led them into a spotless den decorated in soft whites, aqua and peach. “Well, I don’t know much about motorbikes. I paid two hundred dollars for it. Do you suppose that was too much?”

  Craig took an overstuffed wing chair. Gran seated herself on the matching couch, pulled a Siamese cat into her lap and scratched it between the ears while Bianca paced.

  “Where did you buy the bike, ma’am?” Craig asked while Bianca tossed her hair back from her face and gave him a warning look as if she expected he’d cross-examine the woman like a hostile witness.

  “I always shop at the mall.”

  AT GRAN’S CURT, matter-of-fact reply, Craig restrained his astonishment. No mall he’d ever been to sold motorcycles. Had the old woman been conned? Or was he being set up? Bianca had called Gran from his home. She’d had time to warn her that the bike was stolen. Was he too suspicious? Was Gran who she appeared—merely a dotty old lady with eccentric hair?

  “Jarrod’s bus provides daily trips to the mall,” Bianca reminded him.

  “Did you get a title?” Craig asked, determined to learn the real story.

  Gran looked bewildered. “I didn’t buy any books. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

  Craig choked on a chuckle.

  Eyes twinkling Bianca took a seat on the couch. “Gran, he means did you get a . . . receipt for the bike?”

  Gran shook her head and, with a girlish gesture, twisted her finger in her blue hair. “That’s why I got a good deal. The salesman told me September is a special month for sales—like a flea market. Bought it—as is, where is.” She beamed with pride at remembering the correct terminology. “Didn’t it run good?”

  There could be no doubting Bianca’s love for her grandmother as she patted Gran’s hand. “The motor ran just fine.” Bianca turned to him. “Is there anything else you need?”

  He felt like a heel, trying to trip up the grandmother to catch Bianca in a lie. Yet she was hiding something; he sensed it by the challenging glint in her too-green eyes. He turned back to the elderly woman. “Just one more question, ple
ase. When did you buy the bike?”

  Bianca crossed her legs, and her foot bounced nervously, the heel of her shoe slipping off one elegant foot. He fought down a twinge of desire.

  “Let me see. Fred brought me a chicken dinner that day. I think it was Friday. No, Friday is fish day.” Gran scratched her neck. Her eyes widened. “Sorry. I can’t remember. Is it important?”

  Bianca stood and leaned over to embrace her grandmother. “No. It’s not important.”

  Craig had difficulty keeping his gaze off Bianca’s long, lean legs. She didn’t seem to notice, but he thought her grandmother did, because behind Bianca’s back, she gave him the thumbs-up signal.

  “Thanks for your help, Gran. We’ve got to go.” Bianca kissed the woman’s cheek. “I’ll be in touch.”

  As Craig drove home, Bianca lay back against the headrest. Her face still looked tired, but the tension had eased from her shoulders.

  “You seem especially close to your grandmother.”

  “I am.”

  She spoke reluctantly, and he wondered if his suspicions were running rampant. She’d told him precious little about her family, even less about her past. She hadn’t mentioned friends, either. The way she avoided his questions told him not to trust her.

  Wanting to do something normal to ground him in reality, Craig pulled over at an ice-cream stand along the beach. The sun had set, and the first stars glittered in the night sky, adding to his strangely restless mood. Lack of sleep and the surprises of the day, not the woman beside him, had caused a tautness to hum through him.

  From the moment she woke him this morning, the day had held a fast-forward quality, and he suddenly ached for the peace of a moonlit stroll on a beach with a pretty woman at his side.

  “So you grew up with your grandmother?”

  “Gran raised me. It wasn’t easy for her, burying a son. She treated me like a daughter—a hellion, she called me.”

  He chuckled, picturing Bianca as a mischievous ten-year-old. “Now you causing trouble—that I don’t find hard to believe.” He spotted a place where the cliffs broke. Moonlight illuminated a path down to the Pacific. “How about an ice cream cone and a walk?”