Beautiful Lies (39 page)

“You're sure you want to make this trip?”

“I'm going with you, Cullen. Just try and stop me.”

 

Early the next morning, Cullen parked the Miata in front of Graham's house, and Liana left him to wait while she went in search of her stepbrother.

Graham was an early riser. He had equipped a room in the back of the house with weights and treadmills, stationary bikes and ab rollers. He worked out religiously, then ate a breakfast guaranteed to undo any good he'd accom
plished. Graham's weight had always been his weak spot, one Thomas had exploited ruthlessly. Liana suspected her stepbrother still heard Thomas's taunts every time he picked up a fork.

“Liana?” Graham emerged from a bout with the tread-mill, wiping sweat off his rounded cheeks with a hand towel. “What are you doing here? Have you heard something?”

“We found Matthew.” And because the truth was more upsetting than the lie, her acting skills weren't taxed. “He's in Arizona.”

“Arizona?” Graham frowned. “What in hell is he doing there?”

“He's upset, Graham. Confused.” She lifted her hands in defeat. “He made a friend on-line, and he went to visit her. He wanted some time away from Cullen and me. He's never rebelled against anything. I guess it's just his turn.”

“So he's coming home?”

“No, but we've seen him. Cullen and I got a tip from a friend of his. That's where we've been.”

She thought of the hours she and Cullen had spent choosing their lie. After long debate, Simon's story had seemed their best choice. If Graham or Stanford investigated, their trip to Arizona was on record. And if Graham really
was
searching for Matthew, the Sonoran Desert country was as good a place as any for a wild-goose chase—as she and Cullen had already learned.

Graham mopped his forehead. “You mean you left him there?”

She embroidered, since she couldn't produce her son. “We were afraid if we insisted Matthew come straight back with us, he'd just take off again at the first opportunity.”

“Don't you think leaving him with strangers is dangerous?”

“We checked them out thoroughly, Graham. The girl's family lives on a ranch, and there are plenty of chores for Matthew to do to earn his keep for a few more days. He's living in a bunkhouse with her brothers, and they're willing to let him stay. Then Cullen's going to pick him up and take him east for a couple of weeks. Matthew promised to come home in July and try to work things out here.”

“I can't believe this,” Graham said. “You act like the boy's off on a little vacation!”

She mustered up some indignation, although of course Graham was right. “Are you a parent?”

“You know I'm not.”

“Then since when did you get so damned good at it?”

“This isn't like you. You've always made him toe the line.”

“Well, he hasn't been a teenager for long. And a week ago you suggested I might be smothering him, remember? I don't like what he did, but this is the only way I can handle it right now.”

“We've spent a fortune looking for him, and he's off forking hay and riding horses?”

“I'm afraid that's what it comes down to.”

He stood in the hallway staring at her, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Look, I know what I said before, but I don't like this. Pacific's spent a lot of money. Stanford's put everything else on hold for days now. I want Matthew's phone number so I can check out these people or have Stanford do it.”

She had expected this reaction, but her blood chilled as she thought of all the reasons why Graham might be interested in Matthew's whereabouts. Was he really so concerned about her son's welfare? Graham, who had little reason to love anyone descended from Thomas Robeson? Or did he have his own reasons for wanting to find Matthew? Despite
her stepbrother's pleasant exterior, she knew he could be utterly ruthless when representing Pacific International.

No one had more to gain if Matthew never came back home.

“Liana?”

“I don't want you to interfere,” she said, although, of course, there was no number in Arizona to give him.

“I just want to call and be sure he's all right. He might need an uncle right now. Someone to talk some sense into him.”

“He's all right. Take my word for it.”

“This kid is not a stable hand. This is the Pacific International heir.”

Liana drew herself up to her full height. “'This kid' is also my son.”

In the end, there was nothing Graham could do except let her go. She promised regular reports and announced that she was taking some vacation time at a Southern California spa to try to put herself together again; then she and Cullen drove to the office building on California Street so she could speak directly with Stanford.

Compared to Graham, Stanford was less upset, more assessing. Unlike Graham, he didn't try to change her mind. But Liana wondered how long it would take him to dial her stepbrother after she left his office. And how long after that before the two of them began to retrace the trip she and Cullen had made? At least, if they got as far as a mobile home in the Arizona countryside, Brittany Saunders wouldn't be there to help them. She had moved to an un-disclosed location. In the fall the young woman would head for Prescott College with a healthy bank account, earned by vanishing for the summer so that no one else could question her.

The final stop was Frank's condo in Pacifica. Since he
was scheduled for a business trip to Seattle over the weekend, he had taken a morning at home. Frank lived just two mudslides away from oceanfront property. At the moment he lived alone, although it was more common for him to have a lover in residence. Over the years Liana had watched women wax and wane through Frank's life with the regularity of the tides that nibbled at the city's cliffs. He was handsome and personable. Women rarely left him because they were disenchanted. But Frank was easily bored.

“My view's better,” Cullen said.

“The view from that condo is worth half a million easily.” Liana cracked her door. “You'd better stay in the car again.”

“Maybe I ought to build a condo or two at Pikuwa Creek and forget the pearls.” Cullen was still shaking his head over the price of California real estate when she got out of the car.

She found Frank practicing golf swings on a terrace landscaped with evergreens in shiny brass pots. A stone Buddha smiled from a corner, an orange foam ball resting like a flower in the crook of one granite arm.

“Fine use you've made of poor old Gautama,” Liana said from the terrace doorway. She had found his front door unlocked.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Frank grinned, then sobered quickly. “You've heard something, haven't you?”

She told the now familiar lie.

Frank set down his driver and dusted his hands on his denim cutoffs. “The little bastard.”

“I know. We're not happy with him, either, but at least we know he's safe.”

“How are you?”

She wished she could tell Frank the truth. Next to his
grandmother, he was the closest thing to a confidant she had allowed herself since her return to San Francisco. He was the grandchild who most resembled Mei, and the similarity had drawn her from the beginning, that and his sense of humor, which now made her hours at Pacific International more bearable.

She smiled a carefully tempered smile. “I'm okay, I guess. But the whole thing's thrown me for a loop. I need to get away and do some thinking.”

“Your ex have anything to do with that?”

She threaded her way through that obstacle course with care. “Just that now I realize how badly Matthew needs the guidance of a man.”

“I wish I could do more.”

Frank hadn't been a constant presence in Matthew's life, but over the years he had stepped in as surrogate father on the occasional Cub Scout and Webelo campout. Mei, who had always had a special place in her heart for Frank, had asked him to look out for Matthew, and Frank had done his best.

Liana reassured him. “He's been lucky to have you. But right now I'm going away for a couple of days. I need some space.”

“So Matthew's off with his dad?”

She repeated the rest of the lie. “No, Matthew's staying in Arizona a little longer. He needed space, too. Then he and Cullen will have their time together.”

“Where are you going?”

“I thought I'd stay at a spa down in Monterey. I could use about a week of massage to get over this.”

He flashed a warm smile. “You'll be all right?”

Frank was the only person at Pacific International who knew the scope of her agoraphobia. “Thanks, but I've been
there before. It's small and familiar. I'll be okay. And there's nothing hanging fire at work that can't wait until I come back.”

“You've told Grandmother?”

“Every time I call, Betty says she's sleeping and shouldn't be disturbed. Will you do it? I don't want her to worry.” Liana pictured Mei's fragile features. “Tell her I'll bring Matthew to visit just as soon as he comes home.”

“I'll tell her.”

She gave him a brief hug, then turned to go.

Behind her Frank's voice was bright with relief. “I'm really glad everything's okay. I was a teenage boy once. I know what a mess they can make of things.”

She told Cullen about the conversation as they drove to the airport. He had booked seats on the first available flight into Cairns through L.A., since Cairns was closer to the station than Sydney.

They boarded together and found their seats. “By the time you get off the plane in Australia, you'll never be afraid to fly anywhere again,” Cullen promised her.

“I flew home from Australia when I left you. That's when the trouble erupted.”

He squeezed her hand. “But you didn't have me with you that time, did you?”

She glanced at him, or at least that was all she'd intended. But their gazes held. She thought about all they'd been through, and all that was still to come. She was afraid, but not as afraid as she had expected. If her life ended in the next hours, at least she and Cullen had made a sort of peace with their past.

As she watched, he leaned toward her and, without apology, kissed her. Not a lingering kiss, but not a brief one, either. He kissed her as if it were one in a series, neither
preamble nor postscript. Then he sat back, still holding her hand. “Close your eyes,” he said. “And go to sleep. When we get to Los Angeles, I'll let you know.”

Queensland, Australia

I
t was evening, Cairns time, when they arrived. During the interminable flight Liana had slept nearly as much as Cullen. He was convinced she hadn't been pretending. Her breathing had slowed gradually, and her eyelids had drooped, despite a determined attempt to keep them open. Eventually she slumped in her seat—slumped against him, in fact—and pillowed her head against his shoulder. Even when the cabin grew light, Liana slept on.

He had reserved rooms at a hotel. There were no connecting flights to the vicinity of Jimiramira that evening, and he'd known they would be too exhausted to make another trip, anyway. He tried his father's number from the lobby, but this time there was no response.

“Odd,” Cullen told Liana. “But not that odd. No one sits beside the telephone at night. We'll try again in the morning.”

Liana was pale with fatigue and worry. He could only guess what the trip had taken out of her. It was a balmy
Queensland winter, and the air felt unnaturally warm after San Francisco. He wondered if the humidity reminded her of the better days at Pikuwa Creek.

“I wanted to bring you here when we were married,” he told her. “But we didn't have many holidays, did we? I wanted to take you out to the Reef, maybe off to one of the islands.”

“You spend enough time on the water, don't you?”

“There's no place in the world like the Reef.” He lifted her bag—she had only packed a small one. “Let's get you settled.”

The hotel was small but charming, with tan wicker furniture and tropical prints. Aquariums graced corners and hallways as previews of the wonders that guests had come to explore. They had been given adjoining rooms. Liana unlocked hers, and he followed her inside. The draperies covering a wall of French doors were open, and he saw that the room overlooked a terrace with a small pool resembling a jungle grotto. The pool was subtly lit with colored floodlights, a step too artificial for his taste, but romantic, he supposed.

Liana didn't speak. He felt sure something was required of him, but he didn't know what. “Better than the motor court in Arizona, wouldn't you say?”

“Do you think Matthew's all right, Cullen? Why didn't someone answer the telephone?”

He forced reassurance into his voice. “If he's with Dad, he's fine. And there's no reason to think he didn't get to Jimiramira safely. He's a smart kid, our Matthew. He knows how to watch out for himself.”

She faced the French doors, looking out at the view. “How do you make that trip back and forth to the States, year in and year out? Even if you like to fly, it must still be horrible.”

“It has to be done to have time with Matthew.”

“I should have realized how much that said about you. You were always there, no matter how hard it was to get to him or how inconvenient for your work schedule.”

“It doesn't matter now, Lee.”

She turned. “It matters to me.”

He saw that her eyes were filled with tears. “Come on. She'll be right. You're done in by the flight. You're worried sick. You need a good rest and you'll feel better.”

“Can you forgive me for refusing to see what a good father you are?”

He didn't rush to answer as he might have once. He considered his response, as now he considered all things. He had not conquered the impulsive Cullen, but he had learned to channel his own bursts of spontaneity and the high energy that still coursed through him. He had, in short, grown up.

“I do,” he said at last. “Everything you've done, you've done to survive. And God knows, Lee, I gave you cause to hate me.”

“No. I knew, even all those years ago, that you were driven by forces you couldn't control. But I taught myself to hate you, because it was the only way I could leave. I loved you so much.” She shook her head, and the tears spilled down her cheeks.

“It's over now,” he told her. He had gathered her against his chest before he realized what he was doing. “Let go of it.”

She clung to him. He stroked her hair and told himself what he had told her. She was exhausted, fearful, shaken to the core. Her body trembling against his was not an invitation.

“Go to bed,” he told her at last. He held her away. “Take a shower. Order something to eat. Then go to bed and sleep. Don't say anything you might regret.”

Her eyes were wide and vulnerable. The brittle angry woman who had greeted him in San Francisco was gone. This softer one seemed almost like a stranger. Except this softer one was the one he had loved.

He started for the door. She didn't try to stop him. In the doorway, he faced her again. “I'll see you in the morning.” Before she could reply, he stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him.

In his own room, he switched on the lights and closed the curtains. Then he stumbled into the shower and stood under the hot spray for minutes. He shaved and brushed his teeth, but when he had finished, he didn't feel any better. For a man suffering jet lag, he was hopelessly wide-awake and sexually frustrated.

A knock sounded at his door, and he searched for a towel to wrap around his waist. He supposed Liana had ordered a meal to be delivered to his room. He opened the door a crack, expecting to see a hotel employee, but she stood there instead. Like his, her hair was damp. Like his, he supposed, her eyes were haunted.

“I ordered food for both of us.” She shrugged. “You're not a detail person. I knew you'd shower first, and you'd be starving. So I just—” She cut off her explanation. “Do you mind too much? I don't want to be alone.”

Mind? She was barefoot, wearing a lavender sundress that hung halfway down her calves. She no longer looked as sad, just soft and utterly feminine. With her face scrubbed clean and her hair loose around her shoulders, she looked young enough to bring the newborn Matthew home from hospital.

“It might not be a good idea.” He folded his arms over his bare chest.

She didn't pretend not to understand. “I have no ideas,
Cullen. Not a one, good or bad. Come with me. Eat something. Be with me.”

The last set his heart pounding. He wasn't sure what she meant, and she didn't withdraw her words or elaborate. “Please?” was all she added.

How could he say no? Only in his deepest, most uncontrolled dreams did she come to him this way. And every time, he was unable to refuse himself.

He nodded. “I'll put on some clothes.”

“Don't be too long. The tea is steeping.” She turned away.

He heard the click of her door, but for a long moment he couldn't make himself move. Because this might be a dream, after all. And he didn't want to risk waking.

 

Cullen was wearing shorts and a white cotton shirt when he went back to Liana's room. He looked none the worse for wear. She, on the other hand, knew she looked like a wet dishrag.

Twice, as he was dressing to join her, she had nearly gone back to tell him to forget her offer. She had considered taking food to his door and holding out a plate as if nothing much had changed. “Here,” she would say. “I know you're pooped. It was selfish of me to demand company at a time like this. Get some rest, and I'll see you in the morning.”

But she hadn't. She wanted Cullen with her. She was beset by demons. Hers. Mei's. Tom Robeson's. Willow's. The worst, of course, were the demons that might yet pursue her son. In the years of their marriage, she hadn't been able to lean on Cullen. In the years since, she hadn't allowed herself to lean on anyone. Now, having him near, having him care, made her stronger.

“I didn't know what you'd want.” Her hands fluttered
as she spoke. “I ordered too much. Scones. Tea. Sandwiches. A vegetable platter. Cake. You'd probably prefer steak and eggs, wouldn't you?”

“It's all right, Lee. I could tuck into a sand hill about now.”

“I liked to cook for you. You were the perfect audience.”

“You made flowers out of beetroot and tomatoes. They were too lovely to eat.”

“I don't recall that stopping you.” She waved him to the table in the corner, where the food had been served. “Maybe you don't want tea. Maybe you'd rather have a soft drink or coffee?”

“Not want tea? A bushie like me?”

She felt herself smile. “We had fun at first, didn't we?” The smile lingered only a moment. She wondered if he was thinking of the same things she was, of nights when sunset made up for the unbearable Western Australian summers and for the menacing saltwater crocodiles that sunned themselves too close to the house. They would sit together on the old front porch, looking over the water, and the sky would streak with color. Sometime during the heavenly spectacle he would pull her to his lap. His hand would brush her breast, tentatively, in question. She would brush his hair—longer then—off his forehead and kiss the space between his brows, tickling it, perhaps, with her tongue.

He would slowly unbutton her blouse, or lift it by the hem to slip it over her head. One of them would have the presence of mind to look around and be certain that none of Southern Cross's employees were about. Her lips would be sweet and willing, wicked sometimes, pliant at others. His callused palms would be gentle—at least at first—against the soft flesh of her breasts.

“I was always sorry we had to marry,” she said, pulling
herself from that memory. “Perhaps if I hadn't gotten pregnant, if we had gone on being lovers…”

“It was nothing we said in front of a minister, Lee. And it was never Matthew. It was you and me and what I felt about that.” He motioned her to join him. She felt the need to flutter, to stir pots or fill glasses with ice. But there was no stove or refrigerator here. Someone else had done the work, and she was forced to sit.

“I loved you. It frightened me. It was love that did it. Not marriage.”

As she considered that, she felt relief rising inside her. “Then it wasn't my fault.”

“Fault?”

“Matthew's birth didn't drive you to gambling. Because I didn't get pregnant on purpose, Cullen. Not really. But the night Matthew was conceived, I was tired and hot, and I convinced myself I didn't need to fuss with birth control. I told myself it was the wrong time of the month to get pregnant. I should have known better.”

He broke open a scone with his fingers, but he didn't bring it to his lips. “The devil. I'm glad you didn't. What would I do without him?”

Relief was rising higher. “You really don't blame me?”

He leaned toward her, elbows on the table. “Of course I blame you. Loving you forced me to see myself two different ways. The way I was, and the way I needed to be. And I didn't know how to be that second man. So you're to blame. But how can I hate you for that?”

“I was a million miles from perfect. I whined—”

“Spot on, you did. About little things like man-eating salties, and weeks of being alone, and a house that was falling down around you. You whined constantly, didn't you? At least once every month or two. And there were those
cheeky bits, like ‘Cullen, do you suppose you might fix the leak in Matthew's bedroom?' or ‘Cullen, I think the snake living under the porch is a death adder.'”

“Well, it wasn't, as it turned out.”

He grimaced. “No, it was a Western brown, every bit as dangerous.”

“I loved Pikuwa Creek.” She surprised herself. She stopped and considered. Cullen looked mystified. “I did,” she confirmed. “The sunsets and the birds. The tides most of all. Nothing subtle there. And going out on the water with you. Sometimes I still dream we're on that old lugger of yours….” She stopped.

“You dream of me, then?” he asked.

“I dream about your lugger.”

“But I'm on it, of course.”

“Maybe.”

“You don't have me strapped to the mast, do you?”

“Your imagination is better than mine.”

He smiled at her, a tender smile that filled her chest. “We could have made a go of it, couldn't we? We had the chance. We weren't crazy when we took off together.”

“We could have, if we'd done our growing up first.”

“If I had struggled with my addiction…”

“If I had struggled with my fears.” She held up her hand when he started to deny it. “Oh yes, Cullen. If I'd made a life for myself that was independent of yours. But I left too much of my self-confidence in New York. Right from the start, I was overwhelmed by Australia. All my insecurities came bobbing to the surface.”

“We should be meeting now. For the first time. With no history.”

“Not Archer and Tom, not Mei and Bryce…”

“Not Liana and Cullen. Just two people so powerfully
attracted to each other that everything else seems unimportant.”

“Isn't that what got us into trouble the first time?” Her voice was soft; her gaze was locked with his.

“No. That's what nearly got us through it.”

She knew they had run out of words. The future loomed before them.

He reached across the table and took her hand. His palm brushed the top of hers slowly, then crept beneath. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

She felt the kiss in every part of her. She wanted him. She could tell herself it was a need for comfort from the one person who understood what it meant to worry about Matthew. She could pretend it was only a need for closure, that making love would be proof they had forgiven each other. And perhaps it
was
those things, but it was also more. More even than profound sexual attraction. She wanted him, as she always had, even in the worst of times. Because he was the one man who could truly touch her.

His blue eyes were smoky with invitation. He clasped her hand against his freshly shaven cheek and kissed her palm. But his lips were gentle, a temptation, not a demand. When he lowered her hand, he covered it with his own. Her gaze fell as he wove his fingers through hers. She saw their entwined hands and remembered the many times their bodies had entwined, too. The memory was powerful and primitive, and tempting. So terribly tempting…