Beautiful Lies (15 page)

Liana touched the monitor, as if somehow it could bring her in contact with her son. “Computers are one of his passions.”

“I turned it on and checked out a couple of things. He spends a fair amount of time on the Internet. Did you know?”

“It seemed harmless enough.”

“I checked the mail he sent and received recently. No
obvious leads, but I want you to E-mail everybody he's corresponded with in the past two weeks and find out if anyone has an idea about where he's gone. Are you computer savvy?”

“I use the database at Pacific. Matthew showed me how to go on-line, but I rarely do. Just occasionally, to please him.”

Stanford explained exactly how to do what he'd requested using Matthew's computer. “Do it tonight, after I leave. Then check for answers before you go to bed.”

She might go to bed, but Liana knew she wouldn't sleep. She would be checking for answers all night long, even though she suspected Stanford was just trying to give her something to do.

Stanford continued. “An expert could extract anything he posted earlier than about two weeks ago. Most of it's been deleted. We'll do that if we have to. I checked websites he visited in the past few days, but again, no leads. It looks like he was checking prices on some new computer equipment. And he logged on to a couple of camping sites.”

“He and Cullen were going camping in New England.”

“Well, we know camping was on his mind as recently as yesterday. He was looking into the best ways to pack a backpack.”

“He was trying to impress Cullen.”

“About your ex-husband…”

Liana folded her arms. Here in Matthew's private sanctuary she felt even more vulnerable. The room was spacious, and every inch was filled with clutter. Her son couldn't bear to throw away anything, as if every object he had once treasured might feel personally rejected. Shelves lined the navy blue walls, filled with the plastic space ships and baseball cards of a younger boy and the stereo equip
ment of a teenager. One wall held a well-loved baby quilt of multicolored stars that Liana had stitched herself.

“Go on,” she said. “Stanford, ask me anything. I don't care. I just want my son back.”

“How did Mr. Llewellyn sound when he reported that Matthew hadn't shown up at LaGuardia?”

“Furious. He thought I hadn't sent him.”

“How about later, when you told him you'd put Matthew on the plane this morning?”

She closed her eyes and remembered. After the shock, after realizing that both Matthew and the pearl were missing, she had managed to pick up the receiver to finish her conversation with Cullen. “What are we going to do?” she had whispered.

She could hear Cullen breathing harshly. “You really didn't know, did you?” he'd said at last.

“No.”

“I'll find him. We'll find him.”

She opened her eyes and stared at Stanford. “Cullen was broken up,” she said. “He's as worried as I am.”

“He has a reputation for being a good liar.”

She exhaled sharply.

“I'm sorry,” Stanford said. “But that's what I've heard.”

“Cullen's a gambler. When we were married and he lost big, he lied about it. Yes.”

“Could he be holding Matthew to extort money from you?”

When she shook her head violently, he grimaced. “I know you don't want to believe it, Liana, but think. Could he be desperate? Could he have lost so much money that this is the only way he can get it back?”

Cullen owned and managed Southern Cross Pearls on Pikuwa Creek in Western Australia. It continued to amaze
Liana that the pearl farm was still in business, considering Cullen's gambling addiction, but, somehow, through the years, Cullen had held on.

But gambling was one thing, kidnapping his own son another. “Cullen loves Matthew.” She had said the same thing to Graham.

“You're saying your husband would never use his son, even if he'd lost so much money his life was in danger?”

She didn't answer, because she couldn't say that. In the final year of their marriage, Cullen
had
been that desperate.

“I see,” Stanford said. “I'll be investigating him right along with everyone and everything else. Be prepared.”

She gave a short nod.

“I've got enough for now. Do you want me to stay the night, to help you man the phone?”

“No. I'll be all right.” She led the way out of Matthew's room and walked Stanford to the door.

“This is my beeper number.” He handed her a card. “I can be here in ten minutes. Try to get some sleep if you can. I've put a trace on your line, but it's fairly primitive. If someone does contact you, the FBI will step in, and their equipment is state-of-the-art.”

“Tell me the truth. Do you think Matthew's been kidnapped?”

Stanford seemed uneasy. “The truth?”

She nodded.

“I think he's going to turn up on his own. But we have to consider every possibility.”

On the trip home she had agonized over whether to tell him about the Pearl of Great Price. Perhaps Stanford could be trusted not to spread the news of its disappearance, but if she told him, would he turn his considerable powers of investigation to that and slight, even for a minute, the
search for her son? She had discovered the pearl's disappearance at nearly the same moment she had discovered Matthew's. But was there a connection? It had been weeks since she had last opened the safe, perhaps months. The pearl could have been missing since then.

“Is there anything else?” Stanford said.

She decided to consider all the possibilities before she committed herself. “No.”

“Don't hesitate to call if you think of anything new, or if you hear anything at all.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded before he let himself out.

She stared at the door her son had walked through that morning. Then she rested her head in her hands and let the tears flow.

C
ullen Llewellyn was dog-tired. He had covered every inch of LaGuardia, spoken to authorities of every stripe and color and watched them file useless reports, as if paper in proper little compartments would help anyone find his son. Then he had flown to Denver to begin the same process all over again.

No one in either place remembered Matthew. They were all terribly sorry, but since the boy was fourteen and flying alone, there was little they could do. No one had alerted them to watch out for a teenager named Matthew Llewellyn.

And why
should
they have been alerted? Cullen wanted to blame somebody. In the worst way he wanted to blame the airlines or Liana, who had put his son on the airplane and blithely walked away. But what should she have done differently? Cullen had criticized his ex-wife for holding too tightly to Matthew, for keeping him a child when he needed to become a man. Liana refused to fly, but for years she had paid an escort to travel with their son, and only after Cullen had sent Matthew home by himself last sum
mer—just to prove the boy could do it—had she agreed to let him travel alone in the future.

If he was going to blame anyone, Cullen had to blame himself.

“Here you are.” The taxi driver slowed, then stopped in front of an apartment building at the top of a hill. Matthew had described his mother's apartment, but Cullen still wasn't prepared for the lights of the city rippling in waves down to the bay. The closest town to his home had less than a thousand people. And even if Broome was growing by leaps and bounds, it would be a millennium before it rivaled this.

“Looks a bit like Sydney,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “Grander, though.”

“First time here?”

“More or less.” Over the years he had reluctantly made the occasional business trip to California, and several times he had met Matthew at the San Francisco airport. But he had never wanted to tour the city where Liana and his son lived. He didn't want to picture them here, making the pain of their absence from his life more immediate and defined.

He paid the fare and reminded himself to add a tip. He grabbed his bag and closed the door; then, as the taxi drove away, he wondered if he should have paid the driver to wait. There was no guarantee Liana would let him in the door to ring another.

Since there was nothing to be done, he hoisted the bag over his shoulder and crossed the street to her building. When no doorman appeared, he buzzed her apartment, stepped back and waited. Time passed, more than he had expected, before a woman answered. It was not his ex-wife.

He announced himself and added, “I have to see Liana.”

He expected a wait this time, but there was none. The
woman, who was probably Sue, the housekeeper Matthew had told him about, buzzed him inside. In the small but elegant lobby he found the elevator, flanked by ficus trees in red lacquered pots, and took it to the top floor. There was only one apartment and one door. Liana stood in the doorway, gazing silently at him.

Sometimes still, on the blackest nights out on the Indian Ocean, Cullen tried to picture Liana's face. Over the years he had aged the image, adding tiny lines and slacker skin. He had imagined a woman whose fear and turmoil were mirrored in her eyes and in dark hollows beneath them.

The woman staring up at him from the doorway was older, but no less stunning than she had been the day she walked out of his life forever.

Of course,
this
moment proved how relative forever could be.

Liana didn't move aside. She was wearing a white silk robe, Chinese in style, piped in gold and embroidered with bloodred roses. Her black hair hung loose at her shoulders, and her pale face was scrubbed clean. But she hadn't been sleeping. Her hair was neatly brushed, and her slate gray eyes were shadowed with grief, not slumber.

She spoke at last. “What are you doing here, Cullen?”

He lowered his bag to the carpet. “Has there been any word?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

He hadn't expected different, but he had hoped. He felt his shoulders sagging. “I had the airline route my flight through Denver so I could question the authorities myself. There's no word of Matthew there, either.”

“The police are looking into it. The Pacific security team is working on it.”

“But nothing so far?”

“Nothing. If he calls, or someone else calls about him, we can trace the call. But the phone hasn't rung.”

“Has he been upset about anything? Bad marks at school? A girl?”

Her veneer of composure slipped. “We could have covered this on the telephone.”

He was too exhausted to be tactful. “I had to see your face. To be sure.”

“Sure he wasn't here? That I wasn't trying to keep him from being with you?”

“I don't know what to think, Lee. My son's gone missing. I have one month out of twelve to be with him. And instead of holding him in my arms, I'm filing police reports.”

A flicker of compassion softened her expression, but her words belied it. “Too bad he had to disappear on your time.”

“Don't twist my words.”

He wanted to start again, to go back to the beginning when he had stepped off the elevator to find her in the doorway. But he knew that the most carefully worded sentences wouldn't change a thing. The animosity between them went back years. Some might say as far as the turn of the century.

“I didn't come here to fight with you.” He took off his hat, a battered Akubra that was as familiar as a body part, and raked his brown hair back from his forehead. “I want to find my son. Maybe if we share everything we know, we can sort this out.”

“Sort it out?”

“Would you rather sit back and wait?”

He expected more sarcasm, but she shook her head, sending hair swirling against her cheekbones. “Come inside.”

“Thanks, I have to ring a taxi.”

“Where are you staying?”

He smiled tiredly. “After I ring a taxi, I have to ring a hotel.”

“This isn't the outback, Cullen.”

“No, you've got a sight more hotels here.”

She turned and led the way through a tiled hallway into a sitting room with pillowy couches in neutral tones and bright contemporary art on the walls. The only representational painting was a beautifully wrought portrait of their son standing beside the water, a portrait Cullen had never seen. Matthew Robeson Llewellyn at eleven or twelve. Sun-streaked brown hair and cowlick like Cullen's, dark angled eyes like his mother. Cullen's grin, Liana's straight nose. Cullen's large frame, Liana's long fingers.

Their son.

Cullen couldn't bear to look at the portrait any longer. He dropped his bag beside one of the couches facing away from it. “Can we talk a bit before I go?”

“It's the middle of the night.”

“Is
that
why it's so bloody dark out there?”

“I could have been sleeping.”

“Bugger it, Lee, you know you weren't.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know what you look like when you wake up. Until Matthew's found, you'll hardly close your eyes.”

She didn't deny it. She chose a couch across from his and carefully pulled the robe around her as she sank into the corner. “Tell me what you discovered at the airports.”

“Not a flaming thing. They spent their time making sure I understood they had no liability. They took Matthew's photo to make copies. I made sure they'll be watching for him, and questioning people who might have seen him, including the crew of the plane you put him on today.”

“Yesterday.”

Cullen didn't want to believe a day had gone by, but Liana was right. The count had begun. “What did you do after I rang you?”

“Notified the police. Got our security division working on it.” She hesitated. “Then I went over everything with my stepbrother.”

“Does he have any theories?”

“He wondered if this is one of your schemes, Cullen. I was in the familiar position of having to defend you.”

“And what do
you
think?”

She looked away, as if the granite sculpture behind him had captured her fancy. “I think you wouldn't go this far.”

“Good on ya. Loyalty above and beyond.”

“What have you done to earn my loyalty?”

He was silent, but his gaze never left her face.

She looked at him at last. “You didn't have anything to do with it, did you?”

“Is there any point in answering?”

“Try me.”

“I didn't have a thing to do with it. You didn't. Someone else did.”

“You don't think he's run away, do you?”

“I know it's hard on our egos, us being such a happy family and all, but I think we'd better hope he has. The alternatives are worse.”

She looked as if he had struck her. “He
is
happy! We have a good life here. I spend every minute I possibly can with him. He goes to a wonderful school. His grades are excellent.”

He leaned forward, twisting the Akubra. “His father lives on the other side of the world, and Matthew isn't allowed to visit him.”

“You have him for a month every summer, Cullen. One entire month.”

“On your terms. In your country. And it bothers our son. He's told me as much.” He hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “But I don't think that's why he's run off.
If
he's run off.”

“Maybe he's run off because he didn't want to spend a month with you. Have you thought of that?”

The words hurt, but he had to consider them. “Did he give you cause to think he didn't want to be with me?”

She struggled over her answer. Her arms were folded over her chest, and she tightened them, as if locking her feelings inside. “No. He tries not to mention you, but this time he couldn't help himself. He talked about the New England trip. He even pulled out that hat you gave him.”

Cullen smiled, thinking of his son in the Akubra like his own. Then the smile died. “Our son isn't welcome to mention me in your home?”

“Of course he is. I never criticize you in front of Matthew. And I've never asked him not to talk about you. But we're divorced, Cullen. Quite obviously we aren't the best of friends.”

They had never been the best of friends. Lovers, yes. Wildly obsessed with each other. Passionately absorbed in the minutiae of each other's lives. Unwilling to live apart but unable to live together. Idealistic, impetuous and foolish. But never really friends.

“It's a dead cert we aren't getting anywhere, isn't it?” Cullen closed his eyes for a moment, and for the first time he realized how heartsick he was. “I meant it before, Lee. I don't want to fight with you. I just want to find our son.” He opened his eyes. “We can work together more effectively than we can apart. Are you willing?”

He expected an argument, but she nodded. “I'd do anything to get Matthew back.”

He heard the postscript.
Anything, Cullen, even suffer
your presence.
He pushed himself wearily to his feet. “I'm all in. I'll ring the taxi. Can you suggest a hotel?”

“There are probably at least three major conventions in town.” She stood, too, silent and watchful, as if she had never seen him before. Then she released a breath. “You can stay in the guest room for what's left of the night.”

He was seldom speechless, but now he couldn't think of anything to say.

Liana's eyes were huge, dark frightened eyes that told him even
his
presence was welcome, even
his
help was better than facing this crisis alone. “If we're really going to work together, you should be here tonight, in case Matthew calls. Or if someone else does.”

“Thank you.”

“By tomorrow we'll know something, and you can make whatever arrangements suit you best.”

“We may not know anything tomorrow, but we'll find our son. I promise I'll do everything in my power. Do you remember the morning Matthew was born?”

She looked away, but he could see her eyes filling with tears. Despite everything between them, he wanted to gather her in his arms and hold her. He wanted to feel his own heart beating against the red embroidered roses.

Instead he thrust his hands in his pockets. “I came into your room in hospital, and you were holding him. You looked up and said, ‘Our families tried to destroy each other, Cullen, but look what a miracle we've created together.'”

The tears didn't fall, but they were in Liana's voice. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“Because Matthew is a miracle. If we can work together to bring him home, maybe we can finally put everything else to rest.”

“I remember that morning,” she said. “No one knew
where you were. No one could find you until the delivery was over and I didn't need you anymore. You were off in a back room, gambling away the money I'd saved to pay for our stay in town.”

“I remember that, too.”

“So you'll have to forgive me if I'm out of practice trusting you to keep your promises.”

Cullen wished there was some way of erasing a century and a past that had doomed them both. But he could only tell her the truth. “I just hope someday you'll be able to forgive me.”

 

Liana couldn't believe that Cullen was only two rooms away. She had excised him from her life so completely that even her memories of their years together had grown dimmer and more tolerable. But Cullen had lurked in the shadows of her mind, and now that he was here in her apartment, the memories refocused in painful clarity.

Their relationship had been cursed from the start. They had been too young when they met, too isolated from the world when they married, too caught up in daily problems after Matthew's birth to realize the larger difficulties they would face. Cullen was the great-grandson of Archer Llewellyn. Liana, whose father had been sixty-one at her birth, was the granddaughter of Tom Robeson. They had known from the beginning of the tragic connection between their families and the story of the Pearl of Great Price. But in their youthful idealism, they had thought they would never be touched by it.