CHAPTER NINE
A STRAINED SILENCE FILLED the back of the dark SUV as Bradley drove north from Beverly Hills toward Encino to drop me off at work, since my car was probably still in some impound lot. I glanced at Dante, his brows furrowed, a sort of melancholy air about him. His eyes lacked the vigor and vitality they normally exhibited around me, the corners of his lips turned down into a small frown.
The instant he left me alone to shower, guilt found its way into my subconscious. He just wanted to do everything he could to make me happy. Work did make me happy. At least it used to. Now I wasn’t quite sure.
Sucking in a breath, and a little bit of pride, I reached across the seat and grabbed his hand. He flung his eyes to mine, the slightest hint of a smile forming on his lips, like the lack of my skin on his all morning had been excruciating.
“My mother went to Harvard,” I began, running my thumb across his knuckles. I looked at our joined hands, marveling at how small mine was compared to his. My skin was smooth and fair, my nails painted a deep red. His hands were rough by comparison, his fingers long and thick. It was just another reminder how different we were. “Did I ever tell you that?”
He slowly shook his head.
I faced forward, still keeping my fingers wrapped around Dante’s. “My dad was smart, but not nearly as intelligent as my mother. He went to Cornell. It’s a good school, but it’s certainly no Harvard. Her maiden name is Wilson. Her father was a longtime U.S. Senator before he ran for and won the governorship here in California. She had political aspirations, too, but because she’s a woman, no one in the party leadership took her seriously, relegating her to the sidelines pretty much her entire life. I can’t help but think that’s why we never had a typical mother-daughter relationship. I don’t think she wanted to be at home, to have a family, to be the one supporting another person’s career at the sacrifice of hers.” I met his eyes once more, my voice catching. “I don’t want that to be us.”
He tightened his grip on my hand, bringing it to his mouth as he placed feather-light kisses across my knuckles. “It won’t be. I promise,” he urged. “We’ll figure it out.”
“How?” I asked, giving voice to the concerns that had floated around my head since we’d reconnected Friday night. Concerns both of us had done everything in our power to avoid discussing. “You live in Italy, Dante. I live here.”
“If being with you means moving here, consider it done.”
I shook my head, licking my lips as the weight of his words hit me. “But I can’t ask you to leave your family.”
“You’re not.” He reached for my seatbelt and swiftly released it, pulling me across the seat toward him. He cupped my cheeks in his hands, bringing my face a breath from his. “What’s it going to take for you to see that you are my family? I don’t care what I must do — move mountains, walk across the desert, turn water into wine. I’ll do it.”
“What if I’m not enough for you?”
“Stop it.” He cradled my head against his chest, treating me to the melody of his drumming heart. “Don’t let your mother’s words poison what we have. You’re more than enough. You’re more than I could ever ask for. You’re…you’re more.”
The car slowed to a stop and I glanced out the window, the familiar entrance to the building where the law firm was located appearing in front of me. Without a word, Bradley jumped out of the SUV and headed around to open the door. I hated leaving things this way, but maybe some time away from the fog of Dante would help me figure out what I wanted. At this moment, I had no idea what that was.
Once Bradley opened the door, I stepped onto the sidewalk. Dante clambered out behind me, grabbing my hand in his. When we approached the entrance, I slowed my steps, turning to him. I peered into his forlorn eyes, wishing I could give him the reassurances he needed. I wanted to. Hell, I remembered how miserable I was the past few months without him. I loved him. And he’d never given me any reason to believe he didn’t love me. Still, there was something preventing me from jumping back into my fantasy world with Dante. Something in the flicker of his eyes made me second-guess everything.
“I just need some time, Dante. I need my routine. It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me. I need this right now.”
He looked down at me with longing, bringing his hand up to my face. I leaned into him, our skin fusing. “I’d walk through fire for you.”
I swallowed hard, giving him the only answer I could, the only answer that seemed true. “I know you would.” I raised myself onto my toes, brushing my lips against his so he wouldn’t see the uncertainty in my eyes. “Sempre e per sempre.”
“I really hope so, Eleanor.”
I pulled back, searching his face, wondering how he could see the battle raging inside me.
“I don’t care what it takes to be with you.” His expression turned fiery, his hold on my hands tightening. “I’ll do it. Just don’t push me away because you don’t think you’re enough, that you don’t think you deserve me. You deserve much more than what I can give you. I’m the one who’s undeserving.” He licked his lips, passion brimming in the lines around his eyes. “Not you. I won’t let her win, not when it comes to you. Okay?” He grabbed my chin, forcing my gaze to his.
I opened my mouth, ready to rattle off my mental list of reasons why we were just setting ourselves up for failure. But as I stared into his eyes, I told myself we would cross those bridges when the time came. The most important thing right now was the love we shared. And I did love him. I just hoped it would be enough.
“Okay,” I breathed.
“Okay.” He placed one last soft kiss on my forehead, then stepped back. “We’ll talk more this evening. As much as I’ve enjoyed all the other activities we’ve been engaged in…” A salacious smile briefly formed on his lips before his expression turned serious once more, “it’s important we actually talk.”
“Yes, it is.”
“What time should I pick you up?”
“Five?”
He grabbed my hand and brought it to his lips, his kiss light, the promise of something more.
“You’re more, too, Dante,” I said, not wanting him to walk away without knowing that I did care about him.
His mouth curved into a smile as he slowly lowered my hand. “That’s all I want. To be more for you.” He paused, then straightened his expression. “Have a good day at work. I’ll be thinking of you all day.”
“Me, too,” I murmured in a soft voice, then turned from him, a bit of reluctance in my steps as I headed into the building. Part of me wanted to jump back into the SUV with Dante and forget about the real world for a little bit longer, to have one more day in the clouds. But we needed to face reality, and this was my reality. A nine-to-five job. A crappy apartment. A stack of bills to be paid. A mother who never loved me. And a father who I felt like I didn’t even know.
After nodding a greeting to the building security guard, I headed into a waiting elevator and pressed the button for the sixth floor. When it began its ascent, I pulled my phone out of my purse to see what I’d missed over the past twelve hours while I allowed myself to be immersed in Hollywood glamour. As expected, there were a few missed texts from Mila. I shot off a quick message to her, asking if she’d be able to drop the kids at her mom’s so she could meet me for lunch, to which she was only too happy to agree.
Once the doors opened, I shoved my phone back into my purse, continuing down the hallway and through the large glass doors of the law firm. The instant I crossed the threshold, the bubbly blonde receptionist, Maggie, jumped to her feet and rushed toward me.
“Holy crap on a cracker! You know Dante Luciano?!”
Taken aback by her sudden assault, I immediately stilled. I knew there would probably be questions, but I expected them from the media and my mother. I guess I didn’t consider the people I worked with would probably see the infamous kiss that, according to Mila’s text, was the big headline coming out of last night. No wonder my mother was so pissed.
“What’s he like?” she continued without even taking a breath. “God, that kiss, Elle! I wish my boyfriend would kiss me like that.” She placed her hand over her heart, sighing.
A blush bloomed on my cheeks as I recalled the feel of Dante’s lips on mine, the way he kissed me as if millions of people weren’t watching. The way he didn’t care that they were. The fact that the world bore witness to our kiss didn’t bother me at the time. It shouldn’t bother me now, either. But all I heard was my mother’s voice in the back of my head telling me I wasn’t enough. That I’d never be enough. I thought I’d cut the chains binding me to her and my father. Now I wasn’t too sure.
“How did you meet?”
“In Italy,” I answered. It was the only question I wanted to answer.
“So, you’re together then? Like, together together?”
I opened my mouth, uncertain as to how I should answer any questions relating to Dante Luciano. I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say.
“Hey, Elle,” Blake interrupted, saving me from having to respond. He stepped into the reception area, a folder in his hands. I studied it, wondering if it was anything of interest. By the glint in his eyes, I had a feeling he’d found something. “Do you have a minute?”
“Of course.” I turned to Maggie, smiling as I excused myself, following Blake down the hall and into his office. He made sure to close the door behind us, then led me to a small leather couch against the far wall. I noticed a pillow and blanket shoved into the corner between the couch and the wall, and raised an eyebrow. “Sleep here on occasion?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes.” He sat down, gesturing for me to do the same. I obliged. “I found a few things.”
My heart rate picked up, my hands becoming chilled. I’d asked for Blake’s help to try to make sense of what was going on with my father, doubting anything would come of it. As much as I wanted closure, I didn’t know if I was ready to hear, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my father was the man responsible for Lilly’s death. I didn’t know what I wanted to hear.
“I looked into whether there were any suspicious events around the vicinity of Barnes Pharmaceuticals in the weeks leading up to Cynthia Edelman’s death, like you requested.” He paused, opening the file. “There were several.” He handed me a police report. I immediately began flipping through the account, as well as various witness statements. “That’s from the day she died.” I briefly met his eyes before returning my attention to the report. “An eighty-five-year-old man fell asleep at the wheel and drove onto the sidewalk, injuring a handful of people. The report indicates he suffered from Alzheimer’s and shouldn’t have been operating a motor vehicle. They slapped him with a fine and let him go. But when I looked into him, I found a transfer into his account of a few thousand dollars the day prior to the accident.”
I lifted my gaze back to his. “You think he was paid to do this?”
“The thought has crossed my mind. I also accessed exterior security cameras a few of the area businesses had. I found this.”
He held out a grainy black-and-white photo that appeared to be a video screenshot. I took it from him, scanning it. A small white sedan had rammed into the brick storefront of a restaurant, a scene of chaos. People were scrambling to safety, some of them with torn pants and cuts on their faces. And in the middle of the melee was a woman who looked alarmingly like Cynthia Edelman, her eyes wide in terror as she glimpsed over her shoulder. Everyone else seemed to be focused on the car that had careened into the building. Not Cynthia. Her attention was elsewhere.
I handed the photo back. “Do you have any other footage that would allow us to see what she’s looking at?”
He released a defeated sigh. “Not yet. But I’m working on it. She saw something, or someone, and it scared her. That could be the clue we need to blow this whole thing open.”
“And the rest?”
Blake turned his attention to the remainder of the papers in the file. “More accidents. A few suspicious packages left at popular restaurants or coffee shops, all places where Cynthia’s bank statements confirmed she had dined around the same time.” He shook his head, his shoulders falling. “I’m not sure what’s going on. I can’t say with certainty that someone was trying to kill Cynthia, but I do think someone was trying to scare her, send her a message.”
I nodded, my brain trying to compartmentalize this new information. “So she wouldn’t talk about what she knew.”
“It appears that way. With so many seemingly failed attempts on her life, I doubt anyone actually wanted her dead. At least by their hands. Did anyone else know she was in communication with Mr. Luciano? That she was going to share what she knew with him?”
“Only my father.”
He tilted his head at me. “When did she tell him?”
“I don’t know. All I know is Cynthia was blackmailed to cover up something going on at Barnes, but she was done remaining silent.” I grabbed the file, sifting through the police reports, noting the dates. “These go back a month before her death. She didn’t reach out to Dante until a few days before she died, just a day or so after she got that threatening email.”
“True, but I reviewed your notes. You indicated she noticed something suspicious going on, not only at her pharmaceutical company, but at others. A slight increase in deaths over a short period of time before they leveled out. Perhaps someone wasn’t happy with what she’d been able to figure out and hoped to scare her into silence.”
“But that was all she figured out. Other than that, she didn’t know what else was going on.”
“That could have been enough to raise someone’s concerns that she eventually would figure it out…or would share that information with someone who could.”
He pulled a photo out of the file. It had to be at least thirty years old, taken at some Capitol Hill function. Men were dressed in tuxedos, women in gowns, holding overflowing champagne glasses, all under the glitz of golden chandeliers. And in the center of the photo was someone who looked like a much younger version of Cynthia. She wore a long black gown in the style of that decade, her dark hair pinned to the top of her head, a few loose ringlets shaping her face. Her skin was milky against her plump red lips. And beside her…James Harrison.
“This doesn’t mean anything. This photo was taken thirty years ago,” I said, playing devil’s advocate to myself as my mind came up with dozens of scenarios of what this picture could prove. “Cynthia Edelman did a congressional internship for one of the republican members of the House of Representatives.”
“So you said, but when I looked into Cynthia’s background, I found nothing to indicate she did a congressional internship. In fact, I found her background to be extremely limited and sparse up until about twenty-five years ago.”
I furrowed my brow, heat washing over me. “What are you insinuating?”
“I’m not insinuating anything, Elle. I’m telling you. Cynthia Edelman’s real name is Lauren Hall.” He pointed to the familiar face in the photo, then placed a copy of a dated driver’s license belonging to Lauren Hall beside it. “This woman. And she wasn’t an intern for just any representative. She was an intern for none other than James Harrison. As you can tell,” he continued, placing photo after photo of Lauren Hall…or Cynthia Edelman…in front of me, many from events where she was on James Harrison’s arm. “They were photographed together quite often…” He lifted a brow.
“He’s always had an inclination toward the fairer sex,” I muttered, stopping just short of sharing what I knew about his relationship to Dante. “Do you think the secret she’s being blackmailed over is that James and Lauren had an affair?” I paused when I came to a photo of Lauren and James, as well as my father.
He looked so young, so happy, so full of life. His hair was dark and thick, long before the stress of the job turned it gray. While James was dressed in a sleek suit and crisp tie, my father was in stark contrast to the usual appearance of a politician — unbuttoned shirt, revealing a few tufts of chest hair, sleeves rolled up. He had a sort of Hollywood quality about him. That was what helped him get elected. He was devastatingly handsome with a smile you couldn’t help but swoon over. The people of California ate it up back then. And they continued to do so.
“I do. I looked into Lauren Hall’s background. She was a senior at George Washington during her internship, which was supposed to last until June. However, she left early in May. The following fall, she started at Yale Law. After her first semester, she took a leave of absence for medical reasons, but never returned. Over the next several years, she worked a few jobs in D.C., as a waitress, then a bartender. Then, twenty-five years ago, she vanished…at around the same time Cynthia Edelman made her first appearance as a first-year law student at DePaul in Chicago. Even so, the photos don’t lie. That woman in the photos and the woman we know as Cynthia Edelman are the same person.”
I simply nodded, staring at two photos, one of a recent shot of Cynthia Edelman, the other of Lauren Hall standing beside my father. Despite the passing of years, it was unmistakable they were the same person. Even the mole on each of their cheeks was in the same exact place.
Based on everything I knew about James Harrison, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn he had an affair with Cynthia Edelman, which caused her to leave her internship early. This had to be the secret they were all hiding. But was it worth killing over? I knew politicians who’d slept with their fair share of staffers and had their backs patted in congratulations. No one would care. Perhaps it was bigger than that. Maybe Dante wasn’t the only child he abandoned. Maybe there was another. Or maybe there was supposed to be another.
“This may be nothing,” Blake said, reading my thoughts. “We could be jumping to conclusions.”
“Trust me. James Harrison has a history of not being able to keep his dick in his pants. And the changed identity is a bit disconcerting.”
“Yes. Someone may have been aware of her connection to Commissioner Harrison and worried she’d use the access she had to him to open up whatever can of worms this is. Someone Ms. Edelman may have told about her findings in confidence.” He gave me a knowing look.
“My father,” I murmured, the evidence of him being behind it all seeming to pile up. “They served in the army together. They’ve been friends forever. James’ support helped him get where he is today…” I trailed off, a sickness forming in my stomach at the fact that my father made no mention of Cynthia’s real identity when he claimed to tell me what was going on, that he failed to say she was an intern for James Harrison. What else was he lying about? Did he tell me the truth about anything? “He said she’s still alive.”
Blake’s eyes widened. “Who?”
“Cynthia. Lauren. Whatever the hell her name is.” I threw my arms up, then returned my eyes to his, apologetic. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I guess that’s why I wanted you to look into whether there were any suspicious events leading up to her supposed death. My father said the suicide was just a façade to hide her. I wanted to know whether I could corroborate his story. And I guess you have, but based on the fact he failed to tell me who Cynthia really is and her relationship to James, I can’t help but think it was just another lie so I wouldn’t look any further into Cynthia’s death. When I pressed him about where she was hiding, he refused to tell me. In fact, he insisted he didn’t even know.”
Blake studied me for a moment, the wheels in his head spinning. He must have thought the same as me. Based on everything, there was no way my father wasn’t involved in some sort of wrongdoing.
“Say the word and I’ll take what I know to the FBI. I have several connections, people who I know won’t back down to pressure.”
I paused, contemplating, then sighed. “No, Blake. Not yet. I need more than just a bunch of circumstantial evidence.” I looked out the window, mentally sifting through everything. A voice reminded me this was much more than simply circumstantial evidence now. But there was still a part of me that wanted to believe I had it wrong, that we both did.
Straightening my spine, I stood, peering down at Blake. “There could be another explanation for all this. See if you can try to figure out where Cynthia’s hiding and what she was looking at in that photo. That may help.”
“I’ll keep going until you tell me to stop.”
I offered a small smile as I approached his closed office door. “Thank you.” Then I left, dazed, confused, mentally exhausted. Could this day get any worse?