Deceived (37 page)

“A scratch or two,” he gave her a one-shouldered shrug. “Not a big deal.”

“Why are you in a hospital gown?”

He gave her a half smile as his eyes held hers. “My clothes were wet.”

“You kept me from drowning.”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t lose you.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He smiled. A bit of color returned to his cheeks, and his eyes flashed with an intense light. “I’m going to want more than a thank you.”

She laughed, which brought waves of pain. Dear God, it felt as though her arms and legs were being ripped from her body. With the pain, the light moment ended as fast as it began. “My father?”

“He’s here, in critical condition, but alive,” Brandon said.

Taylor shut her eyes. She didn’t try to stop the anger that made her blood boil. “He had the option all those years ago to expose the truth. Instead, he concealed it.” She drew a deep breath, as tears of frustration spilled from her eyes. “He’s a fraud. I’ll never forgive him. Never.”

When she opened her eyes, Brandon was leaning towards her. He wiped her tears with tissue and gave her a slight head shake. “Don’t focus on that now.”

She said, “I should have talked to you or Sebastian before reading that letter. I thought it could end things, but it just provided a catalyst for Victor instead.”

He shook his head. “Victor’s catalyst came long before you read that letter.”

“Did they catch him?” She prayed that they did.

Brandon nodded. “While you and I were in the water,” she shuddered at the memory of dropping uncontrollably through the inky black water, “Sebastian got a couple of shots in him. It took Victor a while to die. He managed to get a few miles from the camp. They found his body an hour ago.”

“Someone called him,” Taylor said, “Someone told him you were on your way. We weren’t there for five minutes when he got that phone call.”

Brandon nodded. “Lloyd Landrum.”

She gasped. She remembered more details, but the pain medicine made thinking difficult, and she fought against the sudden urge to sleep. “Victor said the professor had called.”

“Lloyd is in custody now and giving them one hell of a story. Andrew is also talking to the authorities. They’re still piecing the details together, but evidently, in 1979, when the letter was originally delivered to Lloyd, the HBW Board, and my father, the HBW Board paid Lloyd a sizable fortune to conceal the letter. He did.”

Her thought processes were fuzzy, and waves of fatigue were making it hard for her to keep her eyes open, but she understood what Brandon was saying. She drew a deep breath, and he was quiet. She shut her eyes for a second, then opened them. “I want to know more,” she said, “tell me what you know.”

He swallowed. “Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“When Lisa showed the letter to Lloyd, he panicked. You see, exposure of the letter today would indicate that Lloyd had concealed facts earlier. At the same time, Victor, who saw my mother’s correspondence between Lloyd and my father, went to Lloyd. Lloyd told Victor that Lisa had the original letter. We also think that Lloyd told Victor that the Board had paid him a small fortune to conceal the letter. Lloyd set the wheels in motion for Victor’s murder of Lisa, to keep her quiet and so that Victor could reclaim the original. The rest was Victor’s way of making money off of this and of making the Board of HBW, and especially your father, pay on an emotional level. I suspect that, once the extortion demand was in play, Victor was using Lloyd to learn what your father was thinking. Otherwise, Victor would have killed him.”

“Do you know any more about the fire, the one that destroyed your home?” She drew a deep breath, and hoped that the answer to her next question was no. “Was it set by someone connected to HBW?”

He shook his head. “Both Lloyd and Andrew deny knowing that the fire was planned by anyone with HBW. All we really know about the fire is that it accomplished the goal of keeping my father quiet about the letter, and that may have been due to his grief over Catherine. The fire and my sister’s death could have been a coincidence that played in HBW’s favor.”

Taylor looked at Brandon. “Was anyone else hurt?”

Brandon swallowed. “Victor killed one FBI agent. When Victor was attempting to get away, he threw a grenade, and instead of Sebastian diving for cover, Sebastian used that time to fire at Victor. The grenade exploded not far from where Sebastian was standing. The explosion knocked him off his feet, and he hit his head on something. They’re evaluating him now.”

“Oh Brandon,” she said, scared by how Brandon had gone pale as he talked about Sebastian. “Is he going to be all right?”

“He’s not conscious yet, but Sebastian is the toughest guy I know,” Brandon said. “He’s going to be all right.”

His words didn’t fool her. “You’re worried sick, aren’t you?”

He frowned, then didn’t answer. A nurse came into the room. She checked Taylor’s vitals, rearranged the IV lines, and asked Taylor if she was all right. Taylor said, “Yes. Really, really tired though, and numb.”

“That’s the morphine. Given the extent of your injuries, though, at least until tomorrow you need it in a drip, then we can start weaning you off of it.” The nurse turned to Brandon. “I’m alerting the surgeon. Now that she’s awake and alert, you don’t have an excuse.”

“Brandon?” Taylor asked, fighting through waves of drowsiness. “An excuse for what?”

He looked at the nurse. “I’m going to wait a while longer.”

“Physically, Mr. Morrissey, she’s in better shape than you are.” The nurse pulled a cell phone out of her pocket, dialed a number, and said, “Mr. Morrissey is ready now.” The nurse turned to Taylor. “Ms. Bartholomew, Mr. Morrissey was shot. Twice. Once in the shoulder and once in the the leg.”

She didn’t understand. “When? When did that happen?” She looked at him, then drew a deep breath. “When you kept me from drowning, you were already shot?”

He held her gaze. “I had no choice but to save you. Or die trying.”

“And that’s why he needs to get in surgery, now,” the nurse said. “Most people wouldn’t have managed to help you given the extent of the injuries he’s suffered. He put his life at risk for you and it is still at risk. Now, he’s bandaged and we’ve managed to stop the blood flow, but the bullets are in him. He’s running the risk of irreparable damage and infection the longer he waits. Tell him to go, now.”

The urge to sleep left her as concern for him made her heart race. She looked at Brandon. “Go.”

The doctor opened the door without knocking. He glanced at Taylor, then Brandon. “Great. She’s awake. Ms. Bartholomew is going to be fine until you get out of surgery.”

“Five more minutes,” Brandon said.

The doctor shook his head. “You have until the gurney arrives, which better be less than that.”

The doctor and nurse stepped out of the room. Green eyes found hers. “I’m sorry,” he said, “for all of this.”

“You didn’t cause any of this.”

“Still. I underestimated you. I’m sorry,” he said, “and I couldn’t go into surgery without telling you that.”

“I didn’t have faith in myself,” she shook her head. “I couldn’t expect you to have it in me.”

“The fact that you read that letter, in public, before all of those people, was an astonishing display of courage.” Brandon leaned in closer. His eyes burned with a deep intensity. “There’s something about you, Taylor, that’s magical. You’re captivating, witty, smart, and,” he paused, “I want to hear your next question. I will never get tired of your questions. Never. In the last few days, you’ve made me experience feelings that I haven’t felt since,” he gripped her hand with both of his.

Her heart pounded as she watched him frown.

He shook his head. “Since…”

“You don’t have to say it,” she said.

Brandon bent to her, pressed his lips against hers, and looked into her eyes. “I want to. You’ve made me feel more alive than I’ve felt since Amy died.” He paused. “I’ve never been able to say those words. Not until now. I died when Amy died. But now I can live again, and that’s only because of you. You make me feel as though the part of me that died with Amy, the part of me that found joy in living, is still alive. You’ve given me hope that I might be able to have what I once had with Amy. My relationship with Amy had a rare beauty. It wasn’t perfect. Amy and I had our differences,” he shrugged, “and our disagreements, but that was just part of us. You’ve given me hope that I can have something special again in my life.”

“Something special,” she whispered, “with me?”

He chuckled. “Now you knew the answer to that question without asking it, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.” Her heart beat faster as she listened to him, and the pace had nothing to do with anxiety. He was hers. Really hers.

“Of course with you. Amy would have loved you. She would want me to be with you, because you make me feel as though I’m at the very beginning of some of the best days of my life.” Brandon gave her a smile that made his seriousness fall away. With his smile, warmth flooded through her. He continued, “As soon as I get out of surgery, I’m going to figure out what I need to do to persuade you that you can’t live without me.”

She breathed in deep, then let out her breath, her thoughts suddenly crystal clear. “You’ve already made me feel that way.”

“Was it something I said,” his eyes light with a slight tease, “or something I did?”

She chuckled, but didn’t answer, because right when she was about to speak, an orderly wheeled a gurney into the room. The doctor followed, this time with a syringe in hand. “It’s time, Mr. Morrissey.”

Brandon winced as he stood, and a shiver rushed through her.
Please God,
she prayed,
let him be all right
.

He gave her a deep kiss, then broke it with a smile. One hand caressed the side of her face with a soft stroke, while the other hand held hers, tight. “I’ll be fine,” he said, as though reading her thoughts. “By the time you wake up again, I’ll be through with surgery and back in here. I promise. But first,” he gave her an eyebrow arch, “I want an answer to my question. When, exactly, did you start to feel that you couldn’t live without me?”

She gave him a soft smile and let go of his hand.

“I’ll tell you after your surgery.”

Epilogue

Three months after July 4th everything was different than it had been in June, before Lisa’s murder. For Taylor, each day brought new challenges, and the first Saturday in October was no different. The morning didn’t start with a challenge, though, because she awakened in Brandon’s arms, with his eyes on hers, a half smile on his face as he toyed with her hair. They hadn’t been apart for one night since July 4th, and he always awakened before her.

“Is he still asleep?” she asked.

Brandon looked over her shoulder, to the nightstand on her side of the bed, where the video monitor was placed, and nodded.

The question came naturally, because she now thought of herself as a mother to Michael. She would have loved him simply because he was Brandon’s child, but there was even more than that behind her feelings for Michael. Bearing responsibility for Lisa’s child was one way of undoing the ramifications of the fraud that had been perpetuated by her grandfather and her father.

Brandon said, “It’s early. He won’t be up for a while.”

“Hmmmm,” she said, welcoming his soft kisses on her forehead, her cheek, and on her neck. “Then we have time to kill.”

“I’m glad you see it that way,” he said, as he moved closer to her and methodically awakened every nerve ending in her body with slow lovemaking.

Afterwards, they showered, and then Michael was awake. He laughed and cooed through his morning bottle and bath, and laughed more when Laura arrived to take charge of him for the day.

Brandon and Taylor drove together to the monthly Saturday board meeting of Hutchenson, Bartholomew, Westerfeld & Morrissey Shipbuilding Enterprises. As soon as Taylor had been able to gather her strength to confront her father, she went to his hospital room and demanded his resignation from the board. If he didn’t resign, she told him, he’d never see her again. Her words had conveyed the coldness and the anger that she felt towards him, when she said, “And you may still never see me again. But if you do not resign immediately, you are guaranteeing that when I walk out of this room, all of my contact with you will be severed.”

Andrew had immediately tendered his resignation, without any urging. Andrew’s oldest son, Phillip Hutchenson, had taken Andrew’s place on the Board. Both Claude and Phillip joined forces with Taylor to demand that George step down. By mid-July, George had resigned. He was facing criminal charges and, for now, was a lonely old recluse in his big mansion. Taylor didn’t know if she was going to have any type of relationship with him going forward. What she did know was that if she had any contact with him, it would be on her terms.

The first business of the new board had been to send a formal apology to the descendants of Benjamin Morrissey and extend an invitation to Brandon Morrissey to become a board member to represent the Morrissey interest in the company. Aside from the necessity of such action from the public relations perspective, independent attorneys had advised Claude, Phillip, and Taylor that the Morrissey family had a viable fraud claim, aside from other civil claims against the company. Their claims, however, were tainted by Victor’s actions. Whether the Morrissey family was going to act on their legal claim to the company was something Taylor doubted, given their mortification over Victor’s actions. Besides, the fact that she and Brandon were in love made it unlikely that he would sue the company. However, to nullify the possibility that the company could be enmeshed in legal actions for years, and because they all agreed it was the right thing to do, Claude, Phillip, and Taylor invited the Morrissey family into the company. The legalities of how the business would be divided to include the Morrissey family would be resolved over time.

The Morrissey family, consisting of Rose, Kate, and Brandon, had resisted the invitation at first. After long conversations with Taylor, Claude, and Phillip, Brandon accepted on behalf of his grandfather. With Brandon as a board member, the board was working hard to salvage the company’s reputation amidst the residual effects of the scandal. Taylor had let go of her dream of working in the district attorney’s office; instead, she wanted to be there to guide HBW&M through this critical juncture. Without her father’s presence, she believed that she could make a difference in the company, and that quickly became her new dream. Each of the four board members were involved in negotiations for the submarine contracts. Brandon’s persuasive skills helped the board members focus on pros and cons of each tactical decision, then formulate presentations that focused on the strengths of the company. Despite the scandal, HBW&M was the most skilled shipbuilder in the maritime industry, and Brandon’s presence on the board helped them present a unified front.

When the meeting ended at three, Taylor and Brandon went home. His house had become hers as well, and there, she fed Michael a bottle of formula, as lawyers arrived from the Morrissey Firm for an afternoon session of legal work. Brandon was juggling HBW&M responsibilities, law firm responsibilities, and a family life. From what Taylor could tell, he was thriving with the heavy workload. Before he disappeared with the lawyers into his study, Taylor said, “Be ready to go at six fifteen.”

Brandon shook his head, “I didn’t know we had somewhere to be.”

She smiled. “We do. Michael too. Don’t ask where. Just come along for the ride.”

He gave her a wary glance. “You do know that I really don’t like surprises. Don’t you?”

“Yes. But relax. It’s no big deal,” she said, feigning nonchalance. There was nothing nonchalant about what they were going to do, and she didn’t know how he’d react.

At six fifteen, when she and Brandon headed to the car, he deposited Michael into the car seat, then moved to get into the driver’s seat. Taylor put a hand on his arm to stop him. “I’m driving.” She pulled a scarf out of her purse. “And you’re wearing a blindfold.”

He gave her a hard look, then shook his head. “I love you, but no.”

She was expecting that. She stood on tiptoes and planted a kiss on his lips. He responded by deepening the kiss and pulling her close. She broke the connection, pushing herself away from him with her hands on his chest. “If you want more of that anytime soon, you need to do this. Please.”

“Damn it,” he said, pulling her to him and kissing her hard, before saying, “That’s not fair.”

“I wouldn’t typically use sex as a bargaining chip,” she laughed, “but I can’t let you see where we’re going. Let me cover those eyes, or you’re not getting any tonight. Or tomorrow, for that matter.”

He took the blindfold from her then slipped into the back seat. “You’re going to pay for this when we get home.”

She shivered in anticipation of a long stretch of whatever he wanted to do to her body. “I can’t wait.”

She drove to the National World War II Museum, pulled into the parking lot, scooped Michael from the car seat, slipped the diaper bag onto Brandon’s shoulder, then guided him into the museum. It was closed to the public for the evening. Aside from a few docents who had stayed for Taylor’s show-and-tell, they were alone in the cavernous atrium. She pulled the blindfold off of Brandon and said, “There have been some changes since you were last here.”

The displays had all been modified to tell the accurate story of Benjamin Morrissey’s contribution to the landing craft. In the version that was now on the placards, Benjamin Morrissey was credited as the chief designer. Benjamin Morrissey’s original design drawings, with his signature, were on display next to the landing craft. For purposes of the museum displays, the landing craft was now called the Allied Landing Craft. Taylor watched Brandon walk to each exhibit. He paused when he got to the final exhibit, the original Hutchenson letter that Taylor had read the night of the gala. The placard explained the crime and the decades-long cover-up. No details were left out. He turned to her. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I didn’t. The museum insisted upon accurately telling the history of the landing craft,” Taylor explained. “All I did was assure them that they would not lose funding from me or the company. Claude and Phillip also agreed with that decision. There’s still some fine-tuning that’s needed in other areas of the museum.”

He reached for her arm, then pulled her to him. “It’s perfect.” His eyes glinted with moisture as his gaze fell on her, then returned to the exhibits.

“This part of the museum has been closed to the public ever since July 4th. It reopens tomorrow. I wanted you to have a few private moments to absorb it before the modifications made the newspaper.” He pulled her in closer, his hug encompassing both Taylor and Michael, who was in her arms. “Now Michael can walk in here one day,” she said, “and be proud of all the Morrissey men who have come before him.”

He looked at her, his eyes as serious as they’d ever been. “Thank you for knowing what this means to me.”

“There’s no need for thanks, and there’s more for you to see tonight. A new exhibit has been in the works for some time. It’s a live exhibit, where restorers will work on artifacts and explain the restoration process to the public. It includes a hands-on area where children will learn about the restoration process and about boat building.” Before July 4th, the new exhibit area was going to be named after Lloyd Landrum, but Taylor didn’t go into that. Landrum was facing criminal prosecution on numerous charges, including being an accomplice to murder. “The museum board unanimously voted to name it Benjamin Morrissey Hall. The exhibits are almost finished and the engraving of your grandfather’s name was completed today. I consulted with Rose and Kate on this. They assured me that you would approve. Would you like to to see it?”

He lifted Michael from her arms, kissing her forehead as he did, then holding his son close. “We’d love to.”

As she guided him there, she said, “I hope that you don’t mind, but I have a few people meeting us there.”

He laughed. She was never going to get tired of hearing his deep laugh. Like his smiles, his laughter was genuine and heartfelt and, usually, unexpected. “A few, or a hundred?”

“Just a few of the walking wounded.” She used the term that she and Brandon privately used to describe those who had been affected by the fraud and secrets surrounding the landing craft and Victor’s crimes.

At the Benjamin Morrissey exhibit hall, under the wide entranceway that bore Benjamin’s name, Rose Morrissey gave Taylor a welcoming hug, then took Michael from Brandon. Kate greeted Taylor and Brandon with a hug and a thank you to Taylor.

Taylor shook her head. “I had very little to do with this.”

“Except to guide the museum every step of the way,” Kate said.

Rose, Kate, and Taylor had become friends. There had been uncertainty, at first, fueled by the responsibility each thought they should bear for the actions of their relatives. Rose and Kate sought Taylor’s forgiveness for Victor’s crimes, just as Taylor sought Rose and Kate’s forgiveness for the actions of her grandfather and George. They were able to move forward after they agreed not to hold each other responsible for the terrible things that others had done.

Phillip and Andi Hutchenson walked through the small crowd, towards Taylor and Brandon. This was one of Andi’s first public outings since the kidnaping and assault. Andi looked fine, on the outside, but Taylor had seen her friend frequently and knew that Andi was still haunted by what Victor had done to her. Brandon had apologized to Andi repeatedly for what his brother had done to her. She had finally asked him to stop apologizing, explaining that what Victor did to her wasn’t Brandon’s fault. Now, Andi approached Brandon and gave him a hug. “Recognition of your grandfather’s accomplishments is long overdue.”

Brandon returned her hug. “Thank you.”

Sebastian arrived and crossed the room to give Brandon a bear hug, then he kissed Taylor on the cheek. “Great job, gorgeous.”

“Thank you for coming, Sebastian. How are you feeling?”

“Never better,” he said, giving Taylor his usual response. After the grenade blast, Sebastian had been in a coma for days. Surgery had been necessary. His scalp had been shaved, but his hair had grown back. He was still thinner than he had been on the day that Taylor met him, but he was looking healthier. After a medically-forced hiatus from work, he had just completed a two-week stint at Black Raven’s home office in Denver, Colorado. He had returned to New Orleans to be at the museum on this night.

Sebastian had been a perpetual visitor at their home while he recuperated in New Orleans, to be near the medical team that handled his post-trauma care and surgery. As his strength returned, Sebastian had bonded so much with Michael that he now called for a nightly video chat at Michael’s bedtime.

“We miss you,” Taylor said.

Sebastian’s blue eyes held hers with a doubtful glance. “You just can’t help but be gracious, can you? Admit it. I was a restless moocher. Here you two are, practically honeymooning, and you didn’t have one minute when I wasn’t underfoot.”

“I was glad to see you go,” Brandon said, but his eyes were light, and Taylor knew that Brandon was joking. The truth was that Brandon was still worried about his friend’s health. Sebastian didn’t admit that he still felt sick, but Brandon talked to Ragno frequently. She reported to Brandon that Sebastian still had crippling headaches as a residual effect of the blast and fall. Besides the physical effects from the head injury, to Brandon, Sebastian seemed troubled. He explained to Taylor that Sebastian wasn’t back to his old self yet. Taylor watched Brandon study Sebastian. Brandon added, “You look like you feel like hell.”