Beautiful Lies (16 page)

She had met Cullen in New York, followed him to the ends of the earth, and married him when it was clear that her morning nausea was not caused by the heat and humidity of Western Australia. She had fallen insanely, desper
ately in love, a free-spirited jewelry designer besotted with a man who created pearls.

And then, four years later, after a slow slide into distrust and disillusionment, the bottom had fallen out of their lives.

She gave up trying to sleep when she realized that every time she closed her eyes, she saw Cullen's face or, worse, Matthew's. The faces were not one and the same, although Matthew strongly resembled his father. Cullen's features were rugged and sensual, while Matthew's were more refined. Cullen's eyes were a smoky blue, lit by temper, warmed by laugh lines—because the world had always been a laughing matter to Cullen. Matthew's eyes were boyishly innocent, trusting cinder gray eyes that mirrored whatever they saw.

And what did they see right now? Where was her son? Under the control of a stranger, terrified he would never come home again? Or running from some personal demon he hadn't been able to share with her?

She sat up, in the grip of a panic attack that made the one outside the Robeson building seem like a twinge. Even with her eyes wide-open, she could still see Matthew's face. She could almost reach out and stroke his cheek, but when she tried, her hand trembling so hard it fanned the air, Matthew's face disappeared.

She swung her feet over the bedside and stood, stumbling in her panic until she gripped one slender cherry post. She was dizzy with anxiety, but she couldn't bear to lie still and think about her son and all the things that could be happening to him.

She forced herself to breathe slowly, and bit by bit she calmed until she could stand alone. She found her robe and put it on once more, tying it tightly at her waist. Then, barefoot, she made her way to her son's room and stood in the doorway.

Matthew's computer was on, and the screen lit the dark room with an eerie green glow. She had spent the hours between Stanford's departure and Cullen's arrival carefully wording messages to everyone in Matthew's Internet address book, as well as everyone from whom he had gotten E-mail in the past weeks. All the mail she had sent had been similar. She was Matthew's mother, and somehow, through a communication error, she had temporarily lost touch with her son. Did the recipient know where Matthew could be? Was it possible to get a message to him?

She supposed anyone capable of stringing two thoughts together would see right through her request. But she wasn't ready to advertise Matthew's disappearance on the information superhighway. Not until she had more information.

Before Cullen's arrival she had checked for responses, but the only new mail had been from a school friend who didn't seem to know he was gone.

Now she didn't turn on the light, afraid she would alert Cullen, who was in the room next door. She found her way to Matthew's desk chair and sat, fingers poised on the keys. Then she logged on to the Internet, using Matthew's password, which was stored in the program. She listened as the modem dialed and watched the steps flash by as the computer connected, and finally as it retrieved his mail and logged off again.

She clicked the appropriate box for incoming mail and saw that three messages were waiting.

The subject of the first message was “More Diabolical Danger.” Her heart slammed in her chest as she opened it, until she realized it was an advertisement for an updated adventure game Matthew had downloaded on-line at Christmas time. The second message, “School Sucks,” was
from a cyber-friend in Massachusetts who was just finishing final exams. Since this was someone she hadn't written to earlier, she responded with the same message she had sent everyone else, to be posted later.

The third message, “Guess I'm Late,” wasn't signed, but the sender was SEZ, another unfamiliar screen name. “Problems with the server. Hope you get this before you go. Lots of luck. Wish I was going, too.”

She was staring at the screen, trying to decide if anything could be read into the message, when she heard a noise behind her. She swivelled in the chair and saw Cullen leaning in the doorway.

“What's going on?”

She was still shaky, as dizzy as if an abyss had opened at her feet. Cullen, jeans low on his hips, shirt unbuttoned and untucked as if he had just pulled it on, was not what she needed.

“I'm checking Matthew's E-mail. Nothing's going on.”

“You won't be any good to anyone if you don't sleep a bit.”

She faced the screen. “Suppose you tell me how to manage that, Cullen.”

“Climb in bed and close your eyes. You see how successfully it worked for me.” He came to stand behind her. “Hasn't somebody checked this before?”

In as few words as possible, she explained what she was doing.

“Did you find any of my posts?”

“Yours?”

“Right. Sometimes we post back and forth a couple of times a day. Not the last few weeks, of course, since I've been on the road.”

She knew Cullen had been in New York for the past week on business, which was why he had made arrange
ments to meet their son at LaGuardia. “I didn't know Matthew was mailing you.”

“Maybe he thought you wouldn't like it.”

She could feel him behind her, almost as if some indefinable charisma filled the space between them. “I should have guessed. He hasn't asked to call you as often.”

“We send photographs back and forth, as easy as attaching a file to an E-mail. That way he gets a taste of what I do, and I can see how much he's changed.”

This secret correspondence unsettled her, as if Cullen and Matthew had been plotting to find ways around the custody agreement. “Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

“No, I'm trying to tell you what your son's been doing. I thought you'd want to know.”

“You get a month with him, Cullen. Isn't that long enough to catch up?”

“Would it be long enough for you?”

“That's different. I wanted to be his mother. Everything Matthew does matters to me.”

“And to me. That's why I use every way I can to show him I'm interested in his life.”

“You didn't want him.”

“I didn't want to be a father. There's a difference, Lee.”

“It's too subtle for me.”

“It's simple. I didn't want to be a father because I knew I wasn't ready to be a good one. But I loved Matthew from the moment he was born.”

“You had a strange way of showing it.”

He didn't reply, and she felt a stab of guilt that when they were both legitimately terrified they might never see their son again, she had waved Cullen's faults in front of him.

“I sound so bitter,” she said. “And spiteful, too. I'm not
really that way. I rarely even think about the past. It's just that Matthew's disappearance—”

“And my appearance…”

“That, too, after all these years,” she admitted. “I don't seem to have much self-control.” It was as close to an apology as she could come.

“I hurt you. I can't change that. But I can help you find our son. And I will.”

She listened to his footsteps and finally, the closing of the guest room door. She stared at the computer screen, willing it to make sense of Matthew's disappearance and of her life. But in the end, the computer was only a machine, with no miracles to offer.

 

Stanford arrived not long after dawn. Liana, dressed and showered but not rested, met him at the door, waving Sue back into the kitchen, where she was already hard at work scouring an impeccably clean tile floor to keep herself busy.

“Have you heard anything?” Liana asked before she even allowed him to step across the threshold.

“Nothing much. May I come in?”

She moved aside. “Nothing much sounds like something.”

“I had a telephone interview this morning with the woman who was sitting beside Matthew on the flight to Denver. She remembered him because he was so polite, and she found that unusual in a teenager. Matthew told her he was transferring to another flight in Denver, but unfortunately she didn't ask his destination. She hates to fly, so she was preoccupied. She said he told her his mother won't get on an airplane. And that's all she remembers.”

Liana shook her head sadly. “He told me once that if I'd just get on a plane with him, he'd make sure everything was
all right. He wasn't even eight at the time.” Her fear of flying had preceded the panic attacks by almost a decade. It had narrowed Matthew's world, too, making it impossible to take vacations away from home.

“There's one more thing. The passenger said Matthew was in a good mood. He seemed to be looking forward to the rest of his trip. She said if he was worried or upset, he hid it well.”

“That doesn't tell us anything, does it?”

A voice answered behind her. “It tells us if he's running away, he's bloody well glad to be doing it.”

Liana turned and examined Cullen, who was wearing fresh clothing, dark trousers and a knit shirt. He had shaved and showered, but he still looked as if he had spent the remainder of last night staring into the gaping chasm of Matthew's absence.

Stanford drew himself up to his full height, which made him just slightly taller than Cullen. Liana made the introduction. “Cullen got here late last night,” she finished.

Stanford extended his hand, and Cullen moved forward to grasp it. “I guessed who you were from the accent,” Stanford said. “I'm sorry we're meeting this way. I know you must be worried.”

“Too right. I gather you spoke to someone on Matthew's flight?”

Stanford filled him in. “I wish there was more, but that's it.”

“I spoke to the authorities in Denver on my way through. Nothing there, either.”

“We've been in touch with them. They seem particularly aware of everything. You light a fire under them?”

“They won't forget about my son.”

Stanford gave a weary smile. He had probably slept more
than either Liana or Cullen, but he didn't look rested, either. “Did you have any luck with the E-mail?” he asked Liana.

“Nothing. The computer's on. You can see what I got.”

“No calls?”

She shook her head.

“You have a cell phone?” At her nod, he continued, “Use it to call the office this morning, and tell them to put all your calls through to that number. We want to keep the regular line free. What do you have planned for the day?”

She hadn't wanted to think that far ahead, but when she had gone to her closet, she had stared at one jacket near the front for minutes. Then she had known what she had to do.

“If you think it's all right to leave for a little while, I'm going to see my aunt.”

“Your aunt Mei?” Cullen asked. “How is she taking this? She's what, in her nineties now?”

“Ninety-seven. And she doesn't know. I didn't see any point in telling her yesterday.”

“Do you see a point today?”

She had thought of nothing else since she'd stared at the antique jacket that was Mei's most recent gift to her. It was red silk brocade, with a Chinese collar and beautifully knotted black silk buttons, a lovely gift that had been intended as a reminder of Liana's heritage.

Liana faced Cullen. “If I don't tell her and she finds out from someone else, she won't forgive me.”

“Wouldn't she forgive you anything?”

“Not where Matthew's concerned. I think she's lived as long as she has because she doesn't want to die and leave him.”

Stanford addressed Liana. “They're close?”

“As close as a ninety-seven-year-old woman and a fourteen-year-old boy can be. My aunt believed Matthew was
special from the moment she saw him. She treats him like a grandson.”

“Is it possible he might have shared secrets with her?”

“You're asking if he might have told her where he was going?”

“Is it possible?”

Cullen answered for her. “I know my son. He wouldn't ask an old woman to keep a secret like this.”

Reluctantly Liana nodded. “Cullen's right.”

Stanford pressed her. “But if she knows him as well as you believe, maybe she has a theory on where he's gone.”

“She might. If I can just find the words to tell her.”

“I'd like to come with you.” Cullen continued before she could protest. “When we were married, her letters to me were always more than cordial. She'll want to meet me now that I'm here. I can help you give her the news.”

Oddly enough, Liana knew Cullen was right. Since Liana and Cullen had lived in Australia during their marriage, her aunt had never met him face-to-face, but she had always wanted to. Mei had not counseled Liana to stay with Cullen when their marriage neared its end, but neither had she tolerated criticism of him. After the divorce, Mei had become the one person with whom Matthew could happily discuss his father, and Liana had been grateful for that.

“Liana?”

“You're right. If she discovers you're in town, Aunt Mei will be upset if I come alone.”

“This is what we'll do, then,” Stanford said. “I'll stay here to answer the telephone. We'll put the company limo at your disposal, and if I need to reach you, I'll call the driver.” He looked at his watch, then back at Liana. “Have you had breakfast?”

Her mind went blank. Nothing that mundane had made an impression on her.

“No, she hasn't,” Cullen answered for her. “Lee, hot tea and toast? You've got to eat something.”

She nodded numbly. The fact that Cullen was taking charge alarmed her, but she didn't have the defenses to fight him.

“I'll speak to Sue.” He disappeared into the kitchen, and Liana could hear the low rumble of his voice, the sexy, accented voice that had first attracted her to the man.