“But you failed to mention he thinks he’s a reporter. What type of idiot does he take us for?”
“Mother. Let’s not get into this. I’ve already had a round with Dad.”
“Good. I’m glad to see Alex had the good sense to talk to you. Because I find this unacceptable.” After Sharon glanced over both shoulders, she leaned over and said in an unpleasant whisper, “Here is not the place to discuss this. Follow me.”
Katherine watched her mother, back rigid with displeasure, stride toward the room’s exit. She thought about ignoring such a flagrant command. Then she envisioned their next meeting, or more appropriately battle, and how delaying the inevitable confrontation would aggravate her mother that much more. Deciding on the lesser of two evils, Katherine followed her from the room and into the family library.
As Katherine closed the door, muffling the noise from outside, her mother turned around and glared across the plush maroon carpet. Her mother’s mouth, a flat, pale line of disapproval, dipped at the corners.
Katherine’s shoulders tightened with tension. Great. Battle might not have been the most appropriate word—World War III seemed more apt. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that young lady—”
“Then don’t treat me like a child.”
“Then don’t act like one!” Her mother waved a hand at the closed door. “What is it with you? The man’s an obvious nut. Who in their right mind calls themselves Clark Kent and claims they’re a reporter? He sounds like he’s escaped from the mental institute. That, or your homeless shelter. I wouldn’t put it past you to drag one of your lost causes here.”
“That’s low, Mother. Even for you. And as far as Clark is concerned, you’re being extremely unfair.”
“I might be. But I only have your best interests at heart. If he’s a reporter at the Globe as he says—then why hasn’t your father heard of him?”
“Because he just started.”
“I see.”
At her derogatory tone, Katherine struggled to rein in her temper. How typical. She wasn’t allowed to act disrespectful, but her mother could act however she liked. “No. You don’t see. You’ve no idea who he is, but you’re right there ready to make snap judgments.”
“I don’t want you bringing him here again. I think he’s from the shelter, and you just don’t want to admit it.”
Katherine lifted her chin. “And what if he were? Would it be that bad? Don’t panic. He’s not, but he’s someone I enjoy being with. He’s intelligent and kind—”
“You can save me the résumé. I want someone worthy of you.”
“You know, Mother. He might not be from Harvard or Princeton, but I guess that doesn’t matter to you. For someone who claims to sympathize for the subjugated—you sure are a snob. As long as you keep those types out of your yard, that’s fine. Goodness knows, you couldn’t stand to actually rub shoulders with someone ‘beneath’ you. Especially if they’re useless to your political agenda!”
“Don’t start psychoanalyzing me, young woman. If anyone needs it, it would be you and why you like to push me. You’ve used the shelter to no end. You know I hate it. This cause of yours is something I will never understand. You’re wasting your life among a bunch of derelicts. Why?” Sharon asked, looking truly perplexed. “Is it your way of getting back at me?”
The unexpected question robbed the retort from Katherine’s tongue. Impossible. Or was it? Could she be using the shelter to retaliate against her parents, knowing how much both of them disliked it?
As far back as Katherine could remember, she’d yielded to their wishes and let them pick the appropriate university, the correct friends, and the suitable extracurricular school activities—for fear of losing their love.
Katherine sighed. “I’m not trying to get back at you.”
“Then it’s because of Miranda. The shelter, the people you pick. Why do you think you stopped seeing your old friends? Because they didn’t need to be fixed.”
Katherine stiffened. A slap to the face couldn’t have been more shocking. “I don’t want to discuss this.”
She walked away from her mother, but Sharon followed. “That’s exactly what I mean. Miranda’s death is a complete taboo. You need to let her go. You’ve put her ghost between me and everyone else who loves you.”
“That’s not true!”
Katherine pivoted, the skirt of her dress whirling around her ankles, and stared at her mother in horror. Physically, two feet separated them, but mentally, a broad chasm cut across the floor between them, and right now, Katherine didn’t know if either could ever breach the distance—or for that matter, wanted to. Their relationship, which lacked depth as far back as Katherine remembered, would take years and the need to change on both sides to get past the superficial. At this point, she didn’t even want to attempt the work.
Katherine shook her head. “And even if it were true, that’s my business. I’ll deal with it in my own way.”
“Well, you’re not dealing with it. Period. Someone has to say something since it’s been ignored for far too long. Much of it’s my own fault. But you’ve melded your personal life into your professional life until you can’t tell the difference between the two. The relationships you create at work are not the type you bring home with you. You need to stop saving people. What happened to Miranda wasn’t your fault. Get over her.”
Katherine, battling the childish temptation to raise her hands to her ears, turned and strode away. This time, thank goodness, her mother didn’t follow. Katherine opened and closed the door behind her and escaped the library and her mother’s cuttings words.
In the empty hall, she stopped, leaned her bare shoulder against the wall, and struggled for calm. Her mother wasn’t going to make her doubt herself or her motives. Katherine straightened. No. She wouldn’t allow it. She was strong, capable, in control and could handle anything thrown her way.
Then Katherine glanced up the stairwell’s graceful curve to the second floor, and her determination wavered. She’d forgotten about Clark.
She dragged in a ragged breath and rubbed her damp hands on the velvet of her dress. What a lie. She didn’t have control of her life. Not when turmoil loomed at every corner—her uncle, teenage boys disappearing from the shelter, the Morning Dove failing financially, and Clark’s shattering appearance. The world as she knew it was fracturing into jagged pieces.
Mindful of her skirt’s hem catching against her shoes, she gathered the material in shaky hands and climbed the stairs. A large crystal chandelier, suspended from the vaulted ceiling, illuminated her way to the second-floor landing. As she crept down the hall toward her uncle’s bedroom, the lighting, music and voices faded and silence, thick and eerie, descended around her.
Almost afraid of what or who might cross her path, Katherine inched further along the hall. What if her uncle or someone else caught her snooping? What if she’d completely jumped to conclusions, and Clark never thought to come up here?
Well, then, she’d look like a complete idiot.
Suddenly, an arm snaked out from a doorway and yanked her inside. Katherine opened her mouth to scream. A hand clamped over her lips and cut off her cry before it reached her throat.
“We really should stop meeting like this.”
Twisting around, she glared at Clark as he slipped his hand from her mouth. “That’s not very funny.”
“You’re right. And neither one of us would be laughing if you’d actually screamed. Even with all the noise from downstairs someone might have come up here and investigated.” Clark stepped back and eyed her with concern, his gaze lingering on her breasts. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, but you scared the heck out of me.”
He cleared his throat and nodded. His lips curved into a half-smile. “You may want to fix your dress.”
Katherine wondered at his odd smile until she looked down. Her breasts were literarily bursting from her heart-shaped, str
apless dress. Mortified, she yanked and twisted the bodice back to its original position.
“Thanks,” she muttered, far more flustered than she liked to admit.
Clark, on the other hand, looked disgustedly composed. The light from the hall touched a benevolent hand on his tall, sophisticated figure. Not one wrinkle on his tuxedo or hair out of place. A modern-day version of Cary Grant from To Catch a Thief. But she was no Grace Kelly. And neither one of them were cat burglars. At least, she hoped Clark’s past didn’t entail any grand larceny.
“I found something.”
Katherine’s interest flared. “What?”
“I’ll show you.”
Katherine followed him into Paul’s walk-in-closet. Two columns of clothing lined both sides—everything one would expect in a wealthy man’s closet. At the back, Clark swept aside a row of shirts and revealed a beveled wall. He pushed the wood on one side and a panel, from floor to ceiling, slid to the right. Light failed to penetrate into the thick, black opening.
Katherine touched her chest with the palm of one hand. “If there’s a dead body in there—”
“Don’t worry. Nothing so dramatic.”
Stepping inside, Clark pulled on something above his shoulder and a single, bare bulb flooded light into a shallow room. The only item inside was a large, metal safe.
Katherine eyed the safe with disappointment. “There’s no way. It has a combination, and I haven’t a clue what the numbers are.”
Laugh lines crinkled at the corner of Clark’s eyes as he smiled. “What’s that saying? Where there’s a will...”
Katherine watched in amazement when Clark moved the knob with agile fingers. He turned it to nineteen, and then back to another number. The combination of both formed the year of her uncle’s birth. The third number, Katherine didn’t recognize. In all, the combination consisted of three numbers. When Clark grabbed the handle and pressed down, a soft click punctured the silence and the safe’s door whispered open. Maybe she shouldn’t have compared him to Cary Grant and a thief. Only someone with experience...
“How did you—?”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is what I found inside.”
Chapter 13
Clark glanced over his shoulder and saw the suspicion and doubt in Katherine’s eyes. Opening the safe in front of her wasn’t the smartest move on his part, but he’d been carried away with his discovery. Now she thought he was some type of criminal. But was it worse than the truth? Would she react any better if she learned he’d broken through the safe by his ability to hear any minute noise? Not likely.
Turning back around, Clark opened the safe door wider and heard Katherine inch up behind him. “There’re files and accounts of at least five different companies here.” Excitement deepened his voice. “One, in particular, seems to be some type of holding company. Does Harvest and Associates sound familiar?”
“No.”
“I’m not an accountant.” He laughed harshly. “At least, I don’t think so. But something doesn’t smell right. I don’t know if it’s embezzlement or some type of money laundering.” He pulled a folder from the safe and leafed through several documents. “What about Kirkwood Incorporated?”
“No. Sorry. Hey, wait a minute. It does sound familiar. Let me see.”
When he edged sideways, she shifted closer, brushed a shoulder against his him, and bent over the folder. Several strands of her hair clung to the cloth of his suit.
Clark closed his eyes. She smelled of lemons and flowers, of sunshine and summer breezes. He wished he’d met Katherine under different circumstances. He wished...
“I’ve heard the name before,” Katherine interrupted his thoughts, “but for the life of me, I just can’t place it.”
Clark opened his eyes and sighed. Hope. He was starting to think of it as a four-letter word.
“Did you see this?”
“I didn’t get a chance to go through everything.” Frowning, he watched Katherine pull several files aside. “What is it?”
“Money.”
She pulled a bundle of bills from the safe. Hundreds. The money in her hand was tied with the same type of strap as the ones he’d found in the duffle bag.
Clark wanted to push the discovery from his mind, to take back the last few seconds, to deny the reality of the situation, but he couldn’t as he stared at the money with fear and loathing. The probability of who he was hammered him in the gut.
The gun. The cash. The murdered teen in the car.
Someone must have killed the missing boys. Clark had assumed Paul was that person. But Katherine’s uncle wouldn’t have dirtied his hands. No. He would have hired someone. Someone capable of killing. Someone with a gun. Someone who expected to get paid for it.
That someone could be him. Clark had the gun. Clark had the cash.
“There’s a lot here,” Katherine said. “Strange that he’d keep all this hidden away like that, isn’t it? Clark? Are you all right?”
Clark struggled to pull himself together. “Yeah. Just surprised at the cash.”
“So am I. It’s not very smart. All that interest he’s losing. Not something my uncle would do unless...it’s from something illegal. Oh, my goodness. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Clark tried to focus on her words, on the room around him.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Katherine touched his shoulder.
“I...”
He grabbed onto the safe door and tried to concentrate. Then he heard something. Over the low murmur from below, Clark deciphered another sound, one separate and different. A footstep. Frowning harder, he focused on the sound. It came from the stairs.
“Someone’s coming,” he warned.
“I don’t hear anyone. You’ve done this before. I don’t understand how you can—”
“I don’t know, but trust me on this. Someone’s upstairs and coming down the hall.”
While Katherine stuffed the money back, rearranged the files and shut the safe, Clark rushed to his feet and closed the panel. He snapped off the overhead light and thrust the small enclosure into a thick, black, claustrophobic blanket.
Over Katherine’s shallow breathing, Clark heard light footsteps on the carpet along the hall. He couldn’t tell if they’d passed the door to Spalding’s room. Katherine shifted and bumped up against him. As he lifted a hand to steady her, his palm touched velvet. Her breast. Swallowing, he moved his hand to the right and grasped the smooth, warmth of her arm. Awareness rushed through his body, and by the sudden rapid change in her breathing, he knew she felt the same.
Clark drew on his exceptional sight, focused and concentrated on the place where he knew she stood. Slowly, shadows formed and separated from the darkness. Katherine’s blonde hair, the paleness of her skin became visible—a faded image of how he remembered her in the light, all creamy, ivory skin against black velvet and incredibly sexy with her hair unbound and draped around her bare shoulders.
She was beautiful. And mere inches away. Clark couldn’t believe they were hiding in a closet with the possibility of discovery, and all he could think about was how Katherine looked and smelled.
He watched Katherine’s lips part and her hand flutter to the place where he’d accidentally touched her. Desire flooded his veins, and he couldn’t do anything but react.
Reaching over, he glided a thumb ever so gently along her jaw. She jumped, but when she didn’t draw away, Clark inched her chin upward and bent forward. He lightly touched his lips to her own, testing, tasting, savoring the texture of her mouth. She melted toward him. The whisper of her hand skimmed across his chest.
She wanted him.
The knowledge flamed Clark’s desire. He curved an arm around her back and fitted her against him as he molded his mouth over her own, deepening the kiss, taking everything she gave and more. But a kiss wasn’t enough. Clark wanted to peel back the velvet and touch skin softer than any man-made material.
The gentle sigh of her surrender nearly pulled him u
nder, damning everything but the moment. Clark grappled for self-control. Before he completely lost it, he eased back from the intoxicating feel of her.
“They’re gone,” he whispered, regret and longing in his voice when he pulled further away.
“Then I guess we better leave while we still have a chance.”
The reluctance in her voice matched how he felt. But the timing was off. Hell, it couldn’t be worse. What with his suspicions about himself. The sad part was, he’d kiss her again, given the opportunity.
Clark slid the door open and closed behind them. When they reached the landing, Katherine glanced back and paused.
“What’s wrong?”
She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does,” he replied in a soft but urgent voice. “I’ve put you into a dangerous situation—even deadly. Something I’ve no right doing.”
She frowned. “I’m at a point where I don’t know what to do next. I’ll check into Kirkwood Incorporated and find out why it sounds familiar. It’ll take me a couple of days. Then maybe the police will need to be called.”
Clark stiffened. “You don’t need to do anything. I’ll take care of it. You’re far too involved as it is.”
“How can I not be involved?” she whispered harshly. “We’re talking about my family here!”
Turning, Katherine hurried to the stairs and walked down, and Clark quickly followed.
Things were getting way out of hand. It had been different before when he’d first met Katherine. He’d used her then because of her relationship with her Uncle and Miltronics, but now, he saw her as so much more. She was a living, breathing being, one who didn’t deserve the mess he was making of her life.
Hell. Clark knew he needed to put some distance between them, but he couldn’t. He needed her. Not just because of her tie to her uncle. It went far deeper. More importantly, he was too damn selfish.
With a tight fist, Clark hit the stair rail in frustration. The balustrade cracked, moaned and splintered. Then the wood shattered and launched into the air. In horror, Clark watched a large chunk break away and spear the stair below, inches from where Katherine had stepped.
Duplicity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance Page 10