CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The man definitely had some wicked talents.
A smile tugged at Kelsey’s lips as she rolled toward the closed bathroom door and listened to the water running on the other side. She liked that Hunt was in there, using her shower. Liked that he’d stayed in her room all night. Liked even more what he’d done to her in this bed.
Her cheeks heated as she remembered how assertive she’d been last night. She’d never been like that with a man before, but then she’d never been with a man like Hunt either. It was easy to drop her guard and just be herself with him, especially when she’d seen how turned on he’d become when she’d taken charge and shown him what she liked.
The shower flipped off. Nerves rattled around in her belly as she tugged the sheet up to her breasts and shook back her hair, hoping it looked sexy and alluring on the pillow instead of the major bedhead it probably was. Since Hunt had slipped out of bed before she was awake, she didn’t know what he was thinking now that morning had hit. She desperately didn’t want him to regret any of last night, but she knew there was a chance that was possible. Especially since they’d clearly cut the sexual tension between them and the wine from last night’s dinner had worn off.
Oh man. I really hope that wasn’t because of the wine . . .
The bathroom door quietly opened, and Hunt stepped into the bedroom with a white towel hooked low at his hips and another in his hand as he rubbed his hair.
“Hey,” she said, pushing herself higher in the pillows while trying not to look at that low-riding towel that accentuated the dark line of hair on his belly and did crazy things to her blood.
“Hey. You’re up. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“You didn’t.” She fixed a smile on her face, hoping she looked calm and casual. That’s how she needed to play this regardless of what he was thinking this morning.
“Good. I contacted Armstrong’s attorneys last night. They left me a voice mail this morning and said they could see us at two. I was going to let you sleep a little longer, then thought we could get breakfast and drive into LA.”
Real life. She didn’t want to think about real life just yet, but there was no avoiding it. “Yeah, that sounds fine.”
“Good.” He tossed the hand towel onto a small chair in the corner and eyed her carefully.
An awkward silence filled the room, one she didn’t like. She glanced down at her hands, trying to think of something mature to say.
He moved toward the bed, and those nerves went haywire in her belly. She still didn’t know what he was thinking, but instead of grabbing his clothes from the floor or telling her he needed to go get dressed as she half expected him to do, he placed a knee on the mattress, angled diagonally toward her, then stretched out on his stomach and reached for her hand. “I had a good time last night.”
The relief suddenly swirling inside her was sweeter than any summer wine. “So did I.”
Pushing up on his elbows, he closed both hands around hers and played with her fingers, looking sexy and adorable and just the slightest bit nervous. And, oh boy, she really liked that he was nervous. “Not what I expected, of course.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Had she been too aggressive? She was completely clueless when it came to what guys liked. “I, um, hope I didn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”
He laughed and glanced up at her, and his smile made him so devastatingly handsome, she caught her breath. “That’s not what I meant. No, I definitely liked that. Loved it, actually, and absolutely want more.”
Oh, thank God.
He glanced down at their joined hands again. “I meant this. You and me. I think it’s safe to say I’ve stayed away from you on purpose because . . .”
When he didn’t seem to want to go on, she mustered her courage and said what he was thinking. “Because it complicates things.”
“Yeah.” He looked up at her. “It does, big-time.”
That little burst of happiness deflated like a balloon losing air. She loved what he’d said, loved the way he was touching her, but she hated what he was about to say next.
“Your brother. My best friend. Your other brothers. Your parents.”
Yep. There it was. He was already listing off all the reasons this couldn’t happen again. She’d been silly to think last night was a good idea.
“But here’s the thing.” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “I don’t really give a shit what your parents or brothers or even Alec think about this.”
She blinked, sure she had to have heard him wrong. “What did you say?”
One corner of his lips tipped up in the sexiest smirk. “I said, I don’t care what they think. And I don’t want you to either. I know this complicates things with your family in a million different ways, and it’s probably gonna tick Alec off royally, but neither of us planned it. And this morning when I was in the shower, I was just thinking, you know, who cares if we planned it or not? This isn’t about them or anyone else. It’s about you and me. And now that it’s happened, I wanna do it again.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.” He tightened his hold on her hand. “I do. What about you?”
Every nerve ending in her body tingled with excitement. “I do too.” Smiling, she pushed up from the pillow and leaned toward his lips. “I definitely do.”
He met her kiss, opened, and drew her into his mouth as he shifted to his side, wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her flush against him. Deepening the kiss, she pushed him to his back and straddled his hips, part of her unable to believe that last night—that this morning—had actually happened.
Drawing back from her mouth, he laid his head on the pillow and looked up at her. “There is one thing I’m a little worried about, though.”
“What?” Her gaze drifted from his lips to his scruffy jaw, then down the line of his throat to his sexy chest. God, the man was built. And right now he was laid out before her like an offering.
He brushed the hair back from her face, drawing her eyes back to his. “Your divorce was just finalized.”
She blinked down at him, unsure where this was going. “And?”
“And . . . I told you last night I’ve had a thing for you for ten years. I don’t want to ruin it before it even starts because my timing suc—”
She kissed him. Dove right in and kissed him hard. And when he drew in a surprised breath, she swept her tongue into his mouth and tasted him, wanting him even more than she had last night.
His hands fisted in her hair, holding her close so he could take charge of the kiss. And beneath his towel, his erection lengthened and pressed against her low belly, telling her he wanted her the same way she wanted him.
When she was breathless, when she knew he was too, she drew back just enough so he could see her eyes. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“No?”
She loved the hopeful sound of his voice. “Not at all. Julian and I have been separated for eight months, but I was over him years ago. The truth is, I never should have married him.”
His gaze dropped to her hair falling across his chest. “That’s good.”
She sensed there was something more. Eyeing him carefully, she said, “What else?”
“Why do you think there’s something else?”
“Because I’ve spent ten years watching you too. You’re not the only one with creepy stalker tendencies.”
He laughed, and the sound was so light it released a little of the pressure building in her chest. “I will remember that.”
“So tell me.”
His smile faded, and his expression grew serious. “I’m . . . not great with relationships. I avoid them, to be honest. Women have told me in the past that I’m bullheaded, emotionally closed off, and noncommittal, all of which is true. And a big part of the reason I’ve stayed away from you. I just . . .” He glanced back down at her hair and toyed with a wayward strand. “I don’t want to avoid you anymore. I don’t think I can. But I definitely don’t want to screw this up either.”
His words touched her in a way nothing else ever could. Not just because he’d said them, but because he meant them. Her ex certainly hadn’t ever cared about their relationship like this.
“Hunter.” She stretched out on top of him so they were eye level. “Look at me.”
His gaze drifted to hers, and in his dark irises she saw heat and nerves and hunger. All the same damn things she felt. And that one look supercharged her blood and told her no matter what, this—them—was absolutely not a mistake she would ever regret.
Sliding down his body, she pressed her lips to his chest, then moved lower, skimming hot, wet kisses the length of his abs to the top of his towel. “Unless you plan on stopping me right now, there’s not a whole lot you can screw up at the moment.”
Relief filled his eyes, but it quickly heated and darkened, intensifying all that hunger she’d seen earlier in his gaze. “I think I like the sound of that.”
She knew he would. Reaching for the knot at his hip, she planned to make sure he liked it a whole lot more than he had last night.
All those nerves Hunt had fought through the night had completely dissolved when Kelsey had climbed over him this morning and rocked his world. And it wasn’t because of the sex—though that had been soul-shatteringly amazing. It was because they were finally on the same page. Both ready to see where this thing growing between them went.
He glanced sideways at her as they stepped into the elevator at the trendy Beverly Hills law offices and Kelsey pushed the button for the top floor. Unlike him, she was nervous today. He could tell by the way she repeatedly fiddled with the hem of her blouse and smoothed her hand down the hip of her slacks. But he was confident these nerves had nothing to do with him, and he was also sure—especially after last night—that he was the only person who could calm her.
As soon as the doors slid closed, he reached for her hand at her hip and pulled her toward him.
Surprise drew her brows together as she glanced down where he held her then up at his face. “What are you—?”
He closed his mouth over hers and pushed her up against the back wall of the elevator. She sucked in one surprised breath and tensed, but the second he dipped into her mouth and stroked her tongue, she sank into him with a groan and slid her arms around his waist.
God, he loved the way she tasted. Adored the way she melted under his touch. And couldn’t stop himself from feeling more than a little victorious when the tension and stress released from her muscles, all because of him.
When she was breathless—when he was nearly ready to hit the “Stop” button and completely distract both of them—he drew back and gazed down at her. She blinked her sweet brown eyes up at him before pursing her lips and reaching to wipe the lipstick from his mouth. “Point taken, Mr. O’Donnell.”
He grinned, loving that she knew exactly what he’d been doing. “It’s just a meeting.” He pressed his lips to the tip of her nose, then stepped back so she could smooth out her shirt again. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”
She smirked his way, then focused on the silver doors. “Famous last words.”
“Kels—”
“I’m fine.” She shook back her hair. “Really, I am. But I’m glad you’re here with me.” Drawing a deep breath, she added, “Promise not to get too far away, just in case.”
Something in his chest turned over as he watched her, shoulders back, spine straight, eyes focused and intense. Something he wasn’t prepared for.
He knew she saw herself as weak, but she wasn’t. Not just because of all she’d been through in her life and survived, as he’d told her last night, but because she hadn’t let any of it jade her. She’d been rejected numerous times. She’d failed more than she’d succeeded. And right now, some unknown person wanted to hurt her, and they still didn’t know who that was or if that person was even a threat anymore. But she hadn’t been hardened by any of it. She hadn’t closed herself off emotionally, as he had for years. And she wasn’t letting the past dictate her future, as he still did every damn day. She was taking chances, moving forward, living life by her rules and no one else’s . . . the way he should be.
“Kelsey.” His fingertips skimmed hers.
She glanced up at him with the prettiest brown eyes he’d ever seen. “Yeah?”
Words lodged in his throat. Words he wasn’t ready to say but couldn’t keep from forming in his mind.
He wasn’t just attracted to her. He was falling in love with her. Had probably been halfway in love with her for a really long time, only he’d been too stupid to see it. And he didn’t know what the hell to do with that information because his lungs suddenly weren’t working and it felt as if a thousand daggers were piercing his chest from every side.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Kelsey’s head swiveled toward the lobby of the law offices, and she squared her shoulders as she released his hand. “Go-time. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
His head felt as if it were floating in a fog as he watched her step off the elevator and cross the immaculate lobby toward the high, sleek counter on the far side. A receptionist, seated in front of a waterfall held back by a wall of glass etched with the words Lange, Hanson & Associates, looked up and smiled.
Hunt’s heart raced as he stepped off the elevator and Kelsey quietly spoke to the receptionist. He couldn’t hear what they were saying. All he could hear was the rapid pounding of his pulse and that little voice in the back of his head that was screaming he was playing with fire. Liking her and loving her were two very different things. Liking her was safe. Loving her made him vulnerable. It also made her a weakness he could never completely keep safe.
He swallowed hard as he stilled in the middle of the lobby and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Yeah, security was his business, and yes, he was confident he could protect her from whoever was harassing her, but he hadn’t been able to stop what had happened to his mom. His dad hadn’t been able to stop it. No one could. No matter what he did, he couldn’t protect Kelsey from everyday dangers, and there were a shit-ton of them in today’s world. Which meant, at some point, he was going to lose her, regardless of what he did and how much he loved her. And he already knew that would gut him. Knew because just the thought of it was already burning a hole right in the center of his chest. He just didn’t know if he’d be able to survive it a year, five years, or even twenty years down the line if let himself fall all the way in love with her the way he wanted.
“Yes,” Kelsey said to the receptionist. “Two o’clock.”
Footsteps sounded close, and Hunt blinked, focusing on Kelsey’s silky blonde hair and her gorgeous face drawing near.
“It’ll just be a few minutes,” Kelsey said to him. “He’s in a meeting right now.” A frown pulled at her lips as she shot a glance over her shoulder, then looked back at his face. “The secretary eyed me like I had a giant wart on the end of my nose. I don’t have something on my face, do I?”
Emotions closed his throat. Unable to speak, unconcerned with who could see, he wrapped both arms around her shoulders, pulled her up against him, and lowered his mouth to hers.
She tensed, then relaxed as she always did when he kissed her, and he drank it in. Drank her in. Kissed her with everything he had in him, never wanting to let her go, scared to death at the same time because he suddenly didn’t trust himself. He wanted this. He wanted her. But he was suddenly terrified if he didn’t let her go soon, if he pushed this relationship further and something bad happened to spook him, it might cause him pull back completely. And that wouldn’t just hurt her, it would amplify all the rejection he already knew she struggled with and shake the foundation on which she stood.
When he finally drew back from her mouth, she blinked up at him with soft, sweet, trusting eyes that only made that lump in his throat grow even bigger. God, he didn’t want to hurt her. He’d hate himself forever if he hurt her.
“What was that for?” she whispered.
He didn’t have an answer. Couldn’t make his lips form one. All he wanted to do was kiss her again and hold on tight until he was forced to let go.
“Hunt?” Kelsey’s brows drew together. “Are you all right?” Drawing her hand from his waist, she pressed her palm against his forehead. “You look pale. Are you sick?”
He closed his eyes, soaking in the heat of her hand against his head. No, I’m not sick. He breathed deep, fighting to slow his pulse. I’m head over heels in love with you, and I don’t have a fucking clue what to do now.
“Ms. McClane?”
A male voice rang out to his left. At his front, Kelsey dropped her hand from his forehead and said, “Yes?”
“My God.”
Footsteps echoed across the floor, then stopped. And as a heartbeat and another passed in silence, Hunt forced his eyes open and blinked, searching for the person who’d pulled Kelsey’s attention away from him.
A sixtysomething man with thinning gray hair and a pudgy build stared at Kelsey with wide eyes. “I can’t believe it. The similarity is completely uncanny.”
Kelsey shot Hunt a nervous look, one that snapped his attention away from his turbulent emotions and back to the reason they were here. Straightening, he cleared his throat, hoping it would snap the suit out of whatever trance he seemed to have fallen into.
The man gave his head a quick shake and held out his hand. “I’m sorry. I’ve completely forgotten my manners. I’m Charles Lange. It’s good to meet you.”
“Thanks. I’m Kelsey McClane. This is Hunter O’Donnell. I think he spoke with your assistant on the phone earlier.”
“Yes, of course.” Charles Lange shook Hunt’s hand, then held his arm out, indicating the open office door. “Please, this way.” As Kelsey and Hunt moved in that direction, Lange said to his secretary, “Hold all calls for the next two hours. We’re not to be disturbed unless it’s you-know-who. And send David in right away.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Lange.”
Hunt followed Kelsey into the office, but he didn’t miss the nervous look she shot his way, and all those emotions tightened in his chest with the urge to close his hand around hers and reassure her everything would be okay.
He resisted, though. Not because he wasn’t desperate to touch her, but because he didn’t totally trust himself at the moment. His emotions were dangerously close to the surface, and he wasn’t sure what might set him off. As much as he ached to hold on to any part of her he could reach, he didn’t want to trip back into that fog and do something stupid that would embarrass her in front of these lawyers, like grab her and kiss her and never let go.
So he settled for placing a hand at the small of her back as she moved through the doorway in front of him. Then wished like hell they were alone so he could strip off her slim-fitting slacks, toss her up on that desk, and devour her with his mouth until the taste of her consumed his mind and shoved aside all that shit still swirling in his head.
Lange closed the office door at his back and motioned toward a sitting area to the left where two couches were separated by a low coffee table. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”
Hunt shook his head and lowered himself to the couch that faced a wall of windows and the view of LA’s high-rises in the distance. Sitting next to him, Kelsey said, “No, thanks. We’re fine.”
With a sigh, Lange sat across from them, unbuttoning his suit jacket in the process. Perching one Armani shoe on his opposite knee, he leaned back in his seat and smiled with a shake of his head. “It really is amazing. When my secretary, Melanie, told me you wanted to meet today, I thought this was another dead end. I looked you up online, Ms. McClane. Your picture doesn’t do you justice.”
Kelsey’s back tightened. It was a subtle move, but now that Hunt’s brain was working again, he caught it. “Thank you,” she said, clearly not knowing how to take that comment.
“Terrible incident up in Portland. The news reports said you were caught in that blast. How are you feeling?”
Kelsey shot Hunt a nervous look before refocusing on Lange. “Fine. A little sore, but it could have been much worse. I consider myself lucky.”
“As you should.”
“We both were.”
This time, when Kelsey looked at Hunt, Lange noticed. He shifted his gaze to Hunt. “You were there as well?”
“Yeah. Long story.” And one he didn’t particularly want to get into right now.
Questions lurked in Lange’s eyes, but Hunt sidestepped them by saying, “We appreciate you seeing us today. We’re actually here because we’re investigating whether there was any link between your client, Vivienne Armstrong, and a man named Graham Fost—”
A door on the far side of the office opened, and a tall man in his late fifties with jet-black hair graying at the temples stepped into the room with a file folder in his hand. “I’m sorry to keep you all waiting. I—”
He stopped in his tracks when Kelsey glanced his direction. “My God.”
Lange chuckled and shot to his feet. “I’m not the only one bowled over by the resemblance. Ms. McClane, Mr. O’Donnell, this is my associate, David Hanson.”
Kelsey and Hunt both pushed to their feet and shook the man’s hand as he drew close. When he only continued to stare the way Lange had, Kelsey looked back at Hunt and rolled her eyes. And that one simple action eased some of the tension inside Hunt. At least enough so he could reach for her hand and not feel like he was about to lose his shit.
Hanson sat next to Lange on the couch across from them and flipped the file folder open on the table. “My apologies. I saw your picture online earlier; it’s just way more obvious in person.”
Lange propped his foot on his knee again, leaning back with a grin as wide as the cat that swallowed the canary. “Incredible, isn’t it? We almost don’t need to know her background to call the lab.”
“The lab?” Kelsey blinked.
“Routine, my dear.” Lange waved his hand. “We’ve had a number of women claiming to be Vivienne’s long-lost daughter ever since her memoir was published. After her death, you can only imagine how many opportunists came out of the woodwork, seeking fame and fortune.”
“I’m not seeking fame and fortune, trust me. I’m just here to get some information.”
“Which makes you all the more intriguing to us,” Hanson said. “You’re already quite successful with your design business.”
Kelsey glanced Hunt’s way. They’d done their research.
Lange dropped his foot to the floor. “Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell us how you wound up here today?”
Starting at the beginning seemed logical, so Hunt explained how their investigation into Kelsey’s cell phone messages had brought them to California, looking for Graham Foster.
For their parts, Lange and Hanson didn’t say much, just listened intently as he and Kelsey relayed the story. At one point, Lange pushed to his feet and brought a pen and pad of legal paper back to his seat where he jotted notes as they spoke, but aside from nodding, neither interrupted, and neither asked any questions. Not until Hunt said, “And that brought us here.”
“Forgive me if this is an insensitive question considering the circumstances.” Hanson removed his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose before sliding them back on. “Have you seen a photograph of Mr. Foster, Ms. McClane?”
“Yes. The police showed me one when they were questioning me.”
“And did you recognize him?”
“Not at all. I’ve never met him.”
“The cops put out an APB on him,” Hunt said, “but as of this morning they still have no lead on his whereabouts.”
Lange made another note. “We’ll call over and see what we can find out.” He looked up at Kelsey. “The online bio you published for your business says you were adopted.”
“I was.”
“Tell us about that. How old were you? And do you have any memory of your birth mother?”
Kelsey glanced once at Hunt. Knowing she was nervous, he squeezed her hand, but he knew she didn’t really need it. She was solid steel whether she believed it or not.
“There’s not much to tell, I’m afraid. I don’t remember my birth mother at all. I wasn’t even two when I was placed in foster care. From what my parents told me—the McClanes,” she clarified when the attorney began jotting notes again, “that was somewhere in southern Oregon. Klamath Falls, I believe. I was relocated several times. By the time I was eight I’d already been with three different families, and I was living in Ashland. But I was about to be moved to a new family.”
“And why was that?” Hanson asked.
“Because I was termed difficult. I don’t think anyone really knew the reason at the time. I was small for my age, but I was also socially behind other kids my age. I had trouble expressing myself. When I’d get mad, I’d have emotional outbursts and trouble controlling my reactions. I also didn’t always understand cause and effect, which made it hard for me to assimilate into my foster families.”
“But you were eventually adopted,” Lange said. “By the McClanes. How did that come about?”
Kelsey shifted next to Hunt, clearly uncomfortable but not about to back down. “The year I was eight was the year Oregon had that really wet spring. You might remember it from the news. Rivers in the southern part of the state were all above flood stage because of the unrelenting rain, and there was so much damage that the governor finally declared the area a state of emergency. Hannah McClane, my mother, is an ER doctor in Portland. She volunteered to help during the disaster relief. The house I was living in at the time was within the evacuation zone, and my foster family was relocated to a shelter. Hannah was at the shelter, providing medical aid, while we were there. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my caseworker was there one day, arguing with my foster mother because they didn’t want to keep me anymore, and Hannah overheard them. She came over, sat next to me, and talked to me for a while, then she went and spoke with both of them. It all kind of happened really fast. The next thing I knew, I was going home with Hannah and Michael McClane.”
“A little unorthodox,” Lange said.
“Very.” Kelsey smirked. “But the McClanes are like that. I have three older brothers, all adopted when they were twelve or thirteen years old, and a younger brother, also adopted, who’s still in high school. We’ve each come from some rough and troubled backgrounds, but the McClanes gave us a chance for a permanent home and a real family, and I don’t know, somehow it worked. Shouldn’t have.” She smiled. “But it did.”
“Sounds like a movie script.” Hanson shot Lange a mischievous look, then glanced back at Kelsey.
“Maybe.” Her expression grew serious once more. “But it wasn’t all unicorns and rainbows by any means. It was a lot of work. I was lucky. My parents are also both medical doctors. It’s because of them I’m where I am now. I’ve never been officially diagnosed because no one examined me after I was born, but both of my parents suspect my delays are linked to mild fetal alcohol syndrome, or, since I didn’t have the facial abnormalities FAS kids have, ARND—Alcohol-Related Neurodevelopmental Disorder. Whatever you want to call it, my struggles were related to my birth mother’s prenatal drinking. And had the McClanes not adopted me, put me in therapy, and gotten me the help I needed, I’d probably be living on the streets and struggling to hold down a job today.”
A somber look passed over Lange’s face. “I’m going to guess for that reason, you never tried to look for your birth mother.”
“Your guess would be right. I don’t expect either of you to believe this, but I’m not here for publicity or fame or money. I don’t care about any of those things. I’m only here because I’m trying to figure out who Graham Foster is and how he’s connected to me. That’s it.”
Silence settled over the room. The two attorneys glanced at each other and conversed in that nonspeaking way attorneys do. Long seconds later, Lange finally sighed and tossed his notepad on the table in front of him. “Graham Foster was Vivienne’s high school sweetheart. He was a few years older than her. They dated on and off for about three years when she was a teenager in Klamath Falls and lived together for roughly six months after she graduated from high school.”
Kelsey’s face paled. “Are you sure it was Foster? His name wasn’t in her memoir.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Hanson said. “And I’m sure. She kept his name out of the book intentionally. The split wasn’t amicable. Foster wasn’t happy when she left for Hollywood. Told her she’d never make it as an actress. I think part of her hated him for that. At the same time, it motivated her to prove him wrong. Sadly, he never forgave her for that.”
“Foster had a pattern of harassing her,” Lange continued. “He moved to the LA area just after she hit it big in film and tried to force a reconciliation. Vivienne wasn’t interested at that point. Foster didn’t listen, and over the years Vivienne filed multiple restraining orders against him in the hopes he would leave her alone. According to him, they were meant to be together. He was never violent, but he was mentally unstable, and twice he was admitted for psychiatric evaluation. The last five or so years of Vivienne’s life, Foster was mostly quiet. A letter now and then, but he didn’t try to see her.”
Kelsey reached for Hunt’s hand on the sofa between them and squeezed tight. “She wrote in the book that the child she’d been trying to locate for so long was from a different relationship. Was that true? Or a lie?”
“No, it was true,” Lange answered.
Kelsey released her tight grip on Hunt’s hand.
“Vivienne’s daughter was born about three years after she moved to LA.” Lange went on. “Vivienne had a brief relationship with a man who moved into her apartment complex for a short time when he separated from his wife. It didn’t last long, and as far as we know, he was out of Vivienne’s life rather quickly. But Graham Foster was most definitely not her daughter’s father.”
Kelsey exhaled and glanced at Hunt with half grin. And though he wanted to share her relief, he couldn’t. Not quite yet.
Focusing on the attorneys, he said, “What about Armstrong’s death? I remember seeing tabloid articles claiming it wasn’t really an overdose.”
Both attorneys stiffened. It was the first time Hunt had seen them flinch all day. Even when they’d seen Kelsey for the first time, they hadn’t seemed uncomfortable, but they definitely were now.
Hanson adjusted his glasses, then looked across the table. “What we speak of in this room goes no further, agreed?”
Hunt and Kelsey exchanged glances, then nodded toward the attorneys.
Hanson drew in a breath. “I believe—”
“We believe,” Lange interrupted, shooting a look at his colleague.
“We believe,” Hanson corrected with a nod, “that Vivienne was murdered. We haven’t been able to prove that yet, but we’ve hired a private investigator to look into the matter. For the last six months, since Vivienne’s death, he’s been gathering information.”
“It’s no secret that Vivienne struggled with alcohol.” Lange leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Her addiction was well documented in the media. She liked her wine, and she liked to flaunt the image of herself enjoying her wine. Vivienne was ‘old-school Hollywood.’ We often joked she should have been working in the thirties and forties instead of today. But she was never a fan of hard alcohol, and she never did recreational drugs.”
Hanson shifted in his seat. “When she was found dead by her housekeeper, we were immediately suspicious. The official autopsy report said they found a cocktail of painkillers and sleeping pills in her system. But none of those fit with what we knew of Vivienne. After all the years we’d worked together, not just on her film deals but on her personal deals, neither of us could reconcile what we knew of Vivienne with the media’s story of an accidental overdose. Just didn’t fit.”
Hunt glanced between the two men. “You have a theory about who killed her, obviously. Otherwise you wouldn’t be hiring a PI to dig.”
The men exchanged glances again, then Lange said, “We do. Our money has always been on Foster. The fact he grew quiet the last few years concerned us. It was out of character for him.”
Hanson sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Only a few people know this. Vivienne kept it tightly under wraps. But she married Foster in a civil ceremony right after she graduated from high school. She was only seventeen at the time and lied about her age. We weren’t even aware of the marriage until after her death when Foster petitioned the courts for fifty percent of her estate. California’s a community property state, and they were never legally separated or divorced. It’s caused all kinds of red tape, as you can imagine. Her assets are technically in limbo until the courts rule on the legality of that marriage.”
A tingle rushed down Hunt’s spine. That gave Foster motive.
“Foster is unstable,” Hanson said, glancing Kelsey’s way. “He has been for a long time. We’re confident the courts are not going to rule in his favor, but we want you to be aware of everything going in. I know it’s not much help, but if what you told us is true, that Vivienne’s memoir was found in his place not far from pictures of you, then I would suspect he already believes you’re Vivienne’s daughter, and he’s not happy you’re alive.”
Kelsey stiffened, and this time Hunt didn’t even hesitate to reach for her hand. He closed his fingers possessively around hers and held on tight when he said, “He won’t get to her. Do either of you have any idea where he might go?”
“No.” Hanson blew out a breath. “The only person who might know—and it would be a stretch—is his son.”
“He has a son?” Kelsey asked.
Hanson nodded. “He’s a few years older than you. From a previous relationship. He works for a tech company in San Francisco. He and his father had a tense relationship most of his life, but whenever we had problems with Foster harassing Vivienne, he was always willing to help us get him reined in. For all his faults, Vivienne never wanted Foster arrested. She just wanted him to leave her alone.”
Hunt glanced toward Kelsey. “I think we need to talk to him.”
She nodded in agreement.
Hunt looked back at the attorneys. “What about the man Vivienne wrote about in her memoir? Her child’s father? Do either of you know where he is?”
Lange shook his head. “She never told us who he was.”
“Is there anyone who might know his name?”
Kelsey shot a look his way, and he didn’t miss the what the heck are you doing? warning in her eyes.
Hanson brushed his thumb over his lips, considering. “The only person who might know is her best friend. Catarina Brunelli.”
“The actress?” Hunt asked.
Hanson nodded. “Vivienne and Cat broke into the industry at the same time. They had a lifelong friendship.”
“I thought I read somewhere they couldn’t stand each other,” Kelsey interrupted.
Hanson dropped his hand. “Oh, they had their ups and downs, but any quarrels they had over the years were usually about roles. They were often up for the same parts, which, sadly, become harder to come by for women as they age in this industry.” He looked toward Hunt. “I can have my secretary give her a call if you’d like, see if she’ll meet with you both this afternoon? I’m sure she’d be more than happy to talk to you.”
“Yeah, I think we’d like that.” When he caught Kelsey’s confused look again from the corner of his eye, he quietly said, “She might be able to give us information they can’t.”
She didn’t seem thrilled by that idea, but she didn’t argue.
Lange jotted a name and number on a piece of paper, ripped it off, and handed it across the table to Hunt. “This is Trey Foster’s number.” Looking at Kelsey again, he said, “The good news is you’re safe now.”
That was the good news. Hunt tucked the paper in his pocket. But for how long? That second text Kelsey had received proved Foster wasn’t ready to give up his need for revenge just yet. And until he knew more he wouldn’t be able to relax.
“Mr. Lange?” The intercom on Lange’s desk rang out with his secretary’s voice. “I’m sorry to bother you, but the lab is here.”
“Wonderful.” Lange rose and crossed to his desk where he pushed a button and said, “Send them in.” He looked Kelsey’s way as she stood. “After we read your bio, we called the lab to come over and take a DNA sample. It’s highly routine, I assure you. Just a swab of your cheek and possibly a blood sample.”
A nervous look passed over her face. “Are you saying—?”
“That it’s highly likely? Yes. Everything you’ve told us today coincides with what we know about Vivienne’s daughter, right down to dates and locations.”
Hunt moved up beside her and placed a hand at the small of her back, just in case. She eased a half step closer to him.
“Vivienne’s estate is quite large.” Hanson moved up on Lange’s left as the double doors opened and two lab techs entered the room carrying trays of medical instruments. “We’ve been looking for you since she died.”
“But I . . .” Kelsey swallowed hard. “We don’t know yet that I’m her daughter.”
“Not yet.” Lange grinned. “But we will soon. Lab results take about two to three days. If they come back the way we expect, your entire life is going to change. For the better.”
“Oh, I really don’t care about finding out if I’m—”
“It’s really all routine,” Hanson said, pushing her gently toward the lab techs at the table. “I promise.”
The waver to Kelsey’s voice pushed Hunt into protective mode. “Do we really have to do this today? She’s already been through a lot recently, and—”
“The sooner we know the truth, the better it’ll be for everyone,” Lange cut in, positioning himself between Hunt and Kelsey so Hunt couldn’t get in the way of the test. “There are legality issues that need to be resolved for the estate. Trust me.” He patted Hunt’s arm in a way that did nothing to ease Hunt’s stress. “It’ll be better all around once we have the results.”
Hunt wasn’t so sure. And the wary look Kelsey shot him tightened his chest, but not for the reasons she thought. Not because he was afraid her world was going to change for good or bad, but because he knew in that moment he’d do whatever it took to protect her from being hurt. From a long-dead mother, from her unhinged ex, from a crazed stalker even, if that’s what this turned out to be.
He’d even do whatever it took to protect her from himself.