Chapter Seven
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A week later Grant walked down the steps of his jet and onto a private airfield outside of Trinity, Canada. Although the small harbor town boasted two hundred permanent residents, there was only one he was interested in meeting. If the mother of the pilot Stiles had paid to lie on his flight log was right, this was where her son had spent one uneventful evening before flying back to Aruba.
The first few days in Aruba had been frustrating. Just as Marc had warned, when Grant had first starting asking questions no one had been willing to discuss Stiles. What he’d found most curious was the fear he saw in some people’s eyes at the mere mention of his name.
Grant met with the private investigator Lance had hired and learned nothing more than he already knew. After a couple of days of making no progress, Grant had decided to become more creative.
To get people to open up to him, he fabricated a story about working for the insurance company that covered Stiles’s home and clinic. He flashed his fake IDs and said he was trying to earn a commission by proving Stiles had set his own home on fire.
Each time he told that story he learned something new about Stiles. In Aruba, Helene’s uncle was loved as well as feared. No one was willing to say a bad word about him, but they did describe how much of his own money he’d poured in, providing health services for those who couldn’t afford it.
Grant’s break came when he tracked down Stiles’s butler. The man had worked for him for a decade and was still angry he’d been let go with no warning or severance pay. Grant offered him five hundred dollars in exchange for any information regarding where Stiles might have gone.
When the man hesitated, Grant had used his cover story and said five hundred dollars was all he had, but if he proved Stiles was guilty, he’d get a bonus from his company and could send him more.
For a man who’d never been good at lying, he found he was better at it than he wanted to be. He layered on a story of two children in college and all the bills that went with it. That had resonated with Stiles’s ex-bulter, and he’d told Grant that although he didn’t know where Stiles was, he knew the mother of the pilot he’d used to leave the island.
More lies and another small bribe had gained him an address in Trinity, Canada. As soon as he had that, he sent Marc Stone ahead to make sure Stiles wouldn’t get far if he ran.
Grant slid into the black SUV he’d hired to take him to Stiles. If he were there for any other reason, he would have taken the time to appreciate the 18th century charm of the small roads, saltbox houses, and churches set against the deep blue of the cold northern ocean. He struggled to keep his thoughts focused on his reason for being there because when his mind wandered it filled with memories of a woman he’d almost called about a hundred times since leaving Boston.
He hated how he’d left things with Viviana. Their final kiss had felt like a goodbye. At the time he’d told himself the truth could wait. She could wait until he came back to hear his reasons for lying to her.
As the week went on, though, he’d thought more and more about how hurt she’d looked when he’d told her he might not be able to call her for a while. She thought I was brushing her off.
He could have called her, but he didn’t want to keep up the lie. He also didn’t feel it was a conversation they should have over the phone.
Just a few more days.
I’ll get the answers my family needs then track down Viviana and explain as much of this as I can.
Full disclosure might be worse than saying nothing.
I ditched you the morning after we had phenomenal sex because I had to find out how and why my soon to be sister-in-law’s uncle killed my infant brother. Yeah, my family’s fucked up.
The SUV parked in front of a blue and white house near the center of town. There was nothing about it that stood out from any of the other houses. Grant scanned the area and saw a man leaning against a tree a few hundred feet down the street. Marc.
Grant flicked his head in question toward the house.
Marc nodded.
Grant made a tactical hand motion for Marc to come and then a square to represent the back door and waved him in that direction. In a practiced, smooth move Grant slid his gun from the holster beneath his suit and kept it close enough to his thigh that it would blend in with the dark gray from a distance.
He was going into the situation armed because in his opinion cowards were as unpredictable and dangerous as little dogs. Both panicked and might attack without warning.
He knocked on the front door and stood slightly off to the side so he was not visible through the glass pane in the door. Stiles opened the door, looked around, and tried to slam the door shut as soon as he saw Grant.
Grant shoved his foot in the door to stop it from closing then shoved it back open with his shoulder. He slammed the door closed behind him and raised his gun. “Clarence Stiles, I’m going to give you a chance to make things right by telling me the truth about what happened to my brother, Kent Barrington.”
On closer inspection there was little about Clarence Stiles that warranted a drawn weapon. He was thin, almost frail looking, with gray hair and tired eyes. “You must be Asher. I know you by reputation”
“I am not,” Grant said impatiently.
Stiles relaxed somewhat. “Are you Ian? The ambassador. Have you come to offer me asylum?”
“No.”
The older man scratched his chin. “You’re too old to be the architect, Lance.”
“I’m Grant.”
“The financial wizard? Why would they send you?”
His temper rose and he holstered his gun. If need be, he could handle Stiles with his bare hands. “Because I’m the one who can best afford to cover up your death if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”
Stiles went white and swallowed visibly. “How is Helene?”
“She’s safe, no thanks to you.”
“I knew Andrew would get her out of there. I wasn’t as sure I’d be able to do the same. If you see her, tell her I’m sorry I left the way I did. My nerves are shot. Mind if I get a drink?”
Grant shook his head. Stiles looked like he might pass out if he didn’t, and that would be counterproductive. Still, he had no sympathy for him. Stiles had entrusted his niece’s safety to Andrew, a man he’d just met, then covered his ass by destroying old medical records and fleeing. He was weak in the most disgusting sense. “I have men outside who will shoot if you try to run.”
Stiles made his way over to a cabinet, poured himself a shot of whiskey, and downed it in one gulp before pouring himself another. “I’m not afraid to die. I haven’t slept through the night in months. I’ve lost my family, my clinic—everything I spent my life working for. All gone. And I deserved to lose it all. So, please, kill me. You’ll be doing me a favor.”
“Andrew came home with the impression that you were responsible for my youngest brother’s death.”
Stile took another gulp of whiskey. “Responsible yes, but I didn’t kill him.”
Grant felt some of the tension leave him. It was exactly what he’d assumed. “So it was negligence you covered up.”
The liquid in Stiles’s glass sloshed as his hand began to shake. “I wish it were.”
Grant stepped closer. “How did my brother die?”
“Suffocation,” Stiles said weakly. He placed the glass down and moved to sit in a chair, looking as if he might collapse if he didn’t. “I didn’t know anything about it until after it was done. I would have gone to the police, but it was an officer who told me what had happened. He said I’d be given two choices: a large sum of money to cover up how your brother died or the death of my family. He had photos of my sister, her husband, and Helene. I was scared. A part of me wanted to be heroic like in the movies, but there had already been a death—a nurse. He said anyone who was involved would be erased. I agreed to the cover-up, but I still thought I could do something. Your parents were devastated, but the truth couldn’t bring your brother back. I needed to protect my staff. I tried to warn one of them, the one who had delivered your brother, but he said his conscience wouldn’t allow him to stay quiet. He died in a car crash soon afterward. They killed him, and it never made the papers. That’s when I knew how powerful they were. People could disappear and not make the news.”
Grant went to stand above Stiles, shaking his head. “Who would do something so heinous? And why? Why would anyone do that?”
Stiles closed his eyes for a long moment, then said, “A few days later, a man came to see me. He was American. He was the one who arranged for a large sum to be deposited into my bank account. I asked him the same questions. He said the devil is a woman, and her jealousy has no compassion for innocence or age.”
With his hands fisting at his sides, Grant growled, “I don’t want a riddle. I want a name.”
Stiles gripped the arms of his chair. “Patrice Stanfield, your aunt, a woman who, if there is any justice, is rotting in hell—she was the one who paid to have your brother killed. I took her blood money, but I poured it back into the community. One by one, every person who was involved with your brother’s birth or death disappeared. Doctors. Nurses. Even the two police officers who had threatened me. I lived every day thinking it would be my last, but they never came for me.”
A chill went down Grant’s back. He didn’t remember ever meeting his aunt Patrice, but she sounded even more demented than her journal had implied. Asher had told him she was the one who had destroyed his father’s political career. Had his mother’s sister been so sick that she would have gone as far as to have her sister’s child killed? Or was this Stiles making up a story to save his own ass? “That doesn’t make sense. Why kill just one? Kent was a twin.”
Looking sick to his stomach, Stiles said, “I think there was a mix-up. The man who paid me mentioned a baby girl. I think that was who Patrice wanted dead.”
“Do you have proof that any of this is true?”
“I destroyed the employee records from that time. No one investigated the murders that followed. I may have had money, but not the kind it would have taken for a cover-up of that magnitude. Only someone very rich, very connected, and very evil could have done this. No, I don’t have proof, nor do I have a reason to lie anymore. Look at me. What do you think I have left to lose?”
Grant went over the story, searching for something he could act on. “Are the local police corrupt?”
“I know what they did, but I don’t know if they were given the same choices I was. The police chief moved to Argentina. At least, that’s what people said.”
“Who was the American? Do you know his name?”
“Senator Forn. He retired after that term. He can’t help you, though; he killed himself a year later.”
“Patrice Stanfield is dead as well. She died a few years ago. Natural causes, they think.”
“Thank God she’s gone. I probably didn’t have to run as I did, but she was the type to set something evil in place, even if there was no longer a need for it. I couldn’t risk putting my family in danger again.”
“There is no one left to corroborate your story.”
“No.”
Grant rubbed both hands over his face roughly. Of all the scenarios he’d thought he might uncover, this was by far worse. He’d told Ian he would tell his mother any truth, regardless of how ugly. How could he tell her this?
“Why did you have Helene visit you at all if you were worried about her safety?”
“I didn’t perceive danger for her until your brother started asking questions. Then I became afraid he would stir up old trouble.”
Grant walked away from Stiles. He needed a moment to think. From across the room, Stiles asked, “What will you do now?”
Grant answered without turning back to face him. “If you weren’t Helene’s uncle, I would have you prosecuted for what you’ve done. Or killed. Or whatever I deemed the least painful for my family. My brother was murdered at your clinic, and you did nothing to honor his memory or bring comfort to his family.”
“Is there any comfort to be found in knowing that one’s own sister killed one’s child?”
“No, there is not.”
“I know it’s too little too late, but I am so very sorry about what happened to your brother and what it put your family through. I may not have killed him, but Kent’s blood is on my hands. I am responsible. You’re right—it was my clinic, and the choices I made back then have been my own ticket to hell.”
Grant turned then. “I have all I need for now. There will be someone in town who will make sure you can’t run again in case I have further questions.”
“Will you tell Helene you saw me?”
“I don’t know,” Grant said with a disgusted shake of his head. “I don’t know.”
He stepped through the door of Stiles’s home and took a deep gulp of fresh air. He sat down on the top step of Stiles’s steps and continued to take deep, calming breaths.
“Did you get what you came for?” Marc asked as he approached.
“No,” Grant said in a hollow voice. I wanted it to be something we could all forgive. A mistake covered up. I didn’t want this.
Until he’d spoken to Stiles, a part of Grant had felt powerful and in control. He was neither. There was no good way to spin what he’d learned. Rather than uncovering something that would bring his mother closure and peace, he now had to decide if some questions should remain unanswered.
I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t find what you need.
And I don’t know what to do with the truth.
Viviana peed on a fourth stick because the positive result on the first three pregnancy testers had to be a mistake. Because I can’t be pregnant.
I’m too smart to get knocked up by a Mr. Any Name.
Double lines again.
Shit.
So much for trying to forget him.
Two weeks without hearing from the man whose name was now banned in her apartment. Week one had been the hardest. Even after her talk with Audrey, Viviana had clung to a sliver of hope that he would call. She considered herself a good judge of character. Yes, there had been glimpses of arrogance, but overall he’d been decent.
Now I have to face it. His wife was probably away on a trip, and he was looking for a diversion. I just happened to throw myself at him at the right time.
And the cherry on top? I’m pregnant.
I should have known there’d be a price to pay for cutting loose. Some people live on the wild side and somehow nothing bad happens to them. I stick my toe in a puddle of decadence and now I’m going to be a mother.
Mom, where did you meet my father?
Um, next question please.
Did you love him?
Love? That’s hard to feel when you never knew his real last name.
Viviana tossed the testers in the trash and washed her hands before exiting the bathroom. Audrey was stepping out of her shoes near the coat rack but froze when she saw Viviana’s face.
“Did someone die?”
“No,” Viviana said in a tight voice. “Can we talk?”
“Sure.”
They each sat on their usual ends of the small couch. “I’m pregnant.”
Audrey’s eyes rounded and she blinked a few times. “How sure are you?”
“Four testers sure.”
Andrey moved closer and put a hand on Viviana’s arm. “What are you going to do?”
“Do?”
“You have choices.”
“Like an abortion?”
“Or adoption.”
Viviana sat back and put her hand on her still flat stomach. “I’m only two weeks along. I’ve heard people don’t even tell anyone at this stage because it doesn’t always stick.”
With a sympathetic squeeze of her hand, Audrey said, “Hoping it goes away is not a plan.”
“I’m not hoping—” Viviana stopped. Really, she was still in shock. It didn’t feel real yet. She thought about what her father had once said about her own existence and knew what she couldn’t do. “I couldn’t abort a baby or give one away. I’m not judging anyone who could. I just think that every life is precious. Mine. This baby’s. Everyone’s.”
Audrey hugged her. “Any baby would be lucky to have you for a mother.”
“I guess.” Viviana sucked in a shaky breath. “I hope so. I’m still trying to figure out my life. I don’t know if I’m able to guide anyone else along.”
With a sympathetic smile, Audrey said, “No one is ever ready.”
Viviana searched her friend’s face. “So, no lecture about how I should have been more careful?”
Audrey shook her head then smiled. “No, but if it’s a girl can you name her Audrey? After all, I am partly responsible.”
Viviana laughed even though her stomach was still doing flips. “You did tell me to fuck him.”
Audrey bent and cupped her hand as if speaking to the baby. “I thought she knew about condoms.”
With a groan Viviana said, “I did. My brain just turned off that day.” She placed her hand back on her stomach and rolled back onto the couch so she was looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t regret it, though. Not even if it changes my life.” If she were honest with herself, she’d known before she’d bought the testers. Her body felt different, and it wasn’t simply because it had finally experienced good sex. She thought about her mother and wondered if she’d regretted having a third child after she’d been diagnosed with cancer. You didn’t, did you, Mom? I can’t either. Little girl or little boy, this child will grow up knowing it is loved exactly as God made it. A tear ran down her cheek.
“You’re going to be okay, Viviana. You’re not alone. You have me. And even if you don’t want to hear it, you have your dad and your brothers. We all love you.”
Viviana raised her head. It was exactly what she needed to hear, and she wrapped her arms around her best friend. “Thank you, Audrey. I’m still trying to absorb this. I’m scared, but I’m not. Does that make sense?”
“You’re not sixteen, so, yeah. There’s no reason to be afraid. You can do this.”
Viviana nodded. “I can.” She sat back again. “How long should I wait before I tell my family?”
Audrey made a pained face. “My opinion? Reconnect with them first. They don’t understand why you left or why you’ve avoided them.”
“How do you know that?”
Audrey looked away then back. “I check in with your dad once a week. He worries.”
Another tear fell. “He doesn’t call me.”
“He doesn’t want to pressure you. All he and your brothers want is for you to be happy. They don’t know how they let you down, but they’re hoping you forgive them and go home soon. Things aren’t the same without you. Their words, not mine.”
Viviana wiped away tears that, once they started to flow, just kept pouring out. She took out her phone and said, “There’s nothing to forgive. Except maybe on my part. I needed this time away. For me. How do I explain that?”
“You won’t have to. I think they’ll be happy if you call and say you love them. And maybe, promise to make Dylan shepherd’s pie soon. He’s mentioned missing it at least three times since you’ve been here.”
Viviana laughed. “It’s his favorite.”
“I guessed that.”
No longer crying, Viviana picked up the phone. “I’ve missed Cairo. I’ve loved being here with you, but Boston is too big for me. Maybe it’s time I think about going back—but this time getting my own place.” An idea came to her and she said, “Since I work for a fertility clinic, do you think they’d believe I did this on purpose? Single women use the service all the time.”
“That baby has a father; they may notice that small detail.”
“It doesn’t. I’m writing Grant off as a sperm donor.”
Audrey shook her head. “You can’t do that and you know it.”
“You think I want—?”
“This isn’t about what you want. Once you decide to keep that baby, what you want comes second to what is best for it. Like it or not, that baby has a father, and one day it will ask you about him.”
“Grant is probably married. He doesn’t want this baby.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What if he’s not at all the man I thought he was? What if he’s someone awful?”
“You can’t use that as an excuse to take the easy way out.”
Viviana sighed. “You don’t cut me any slack, you know that?”
“I channel my mother when I think you need it,” Audrey smiled.
“When is she coming for a visit? I miss her.”
“She and Harry are summering in Venice. It’s still weird to think of her with a boyfriend, but she’s happy.”
Viviana looked down at her phone. She had two calls to make—which should she make first?
She scrolled through her contacts and found Grant’s number. “Leave a message,” his voice said as the call went directly to his voicemail. She almost didn’t leave a message, then said abruptly, “It’s Viviana, call me when you have a chance.” And hung up.
“He’ll call,” Audrey said.
“Why now? For two weeks you’ve been convinced he wouldn’t.”
“You didn’t hear your tone. I’d call if I got that message even if I didn’t want to see the person again.”
Even if I didn’t want to see the person again. Audrey’s words repeated in Viviana’s head. Is that how he feels toward me?
How do I tell a man like that that I’m pregnant with his child?
Maybe I don’t if he never calls me back.
She scrolled through her contacts again and chose another number. It picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, baby. How are you?”
Viviana blinked back tears. “Good. I miss you. Boston has been fun, but I’m thinking about getting my own place in Cairo and coming back to work for you if there’s still an opening.”
“There is always an opening for you. You don’t need to rent a place; your room is just as you left it.”
“I do, Dad. That’s part of why I needed to leave to figure it out. I need a space of my own.”
“Then we’ll find you one.” There was chatter in the background and her father said, “I’m not asking her that. Sorry, your brothers are here.”
“Tell Dylan yes, I will make it for him when I come back.”
Her father laughed. “She knows you too well, and she said yes, now can I finish my conversation?”
Viviana laughed, too. When she’d first started her journey to find herself, she’d thought she needed to leave this part of her life behind. She was beginning to see that she could have both—she could be herself and be with her family. “I love you, Dad.”
He cleared his throat. “I love you, too, baby.” Then he growled. “I have to go, Viv. Your brothers are laughing at me, and I may have to beat them. When will we see you?”
Viviana smiled because the worst her father had ever done to any of them was yell. “I could come home for the weekend. I want to give my job two weeks’ notice.”
“You never did tell us what you do out there.”
Yeah, and I’m probably going to keep that one to myself. “I’ll text you with the info about when I’m coming.”