Fast Track (5 page)

“My father was proud of the fact that he was Irish, and he used to tell me that the Irish are great storytellers.
He
certainly was,” she began. So far, so good. The crowd seemed to be buying it. She went on. “He loved to tell stories about students from the past, and the boys here today . . . like me . . . have all heard his stories so many times now, they’ve almost made them their own. Of course, you can assume that all those kids my father talked about and some of the things he said they did were greatly exaggerated. He meant his stories to be lessons so that the students would learn from mistakes others had made in the past . . . cautionary tales.”

Cordie wasn’t quite sure what she said after that. When she went back to her seat, she noticed that Alec and Jack weren’t smiling, but there was a definite sparkle in their eyes. They knew exactly what she had just done and why. Like her father, she was protecting the boys.

Somehow Cordie got through the rest of the day, though she couldn’t remember most of it. After the funeral and the burial, a large number of well-intentioned and caring people followed her to her home and stayed most of the afternoon. Gradually the guests began to thin out, and by evening most of them had said their good-byes, leaving only her close friends. With her house finally quiet again, she curled up in the corner of her sofa, her bare feet tucked under her. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep.

Spencer and Aiden were still there. They were in a deep conversation with Alec and Jack. The topic was a congressman named Mitchell Ray Chambers, and from the look on Aiden’s face, he wasn’t a fan. Up until now she had avoided looking at Aiden whenever possible. He was like a magnet, though, drawing her to him. She had had a crush on him for so many years—she refused to call it love—and she knew it would take time to break old habits. She’d been completely infatuated with him, but infatuation wasn’t love. She imagined most women who met him quickly became captivated. It wasn’t just his looks that drew women to him. Yes, he was one gorgeous man, the epitome of tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome, but it was the power that radiated from him that kept women begging for his attention. And until a couple of days ago, Cordie had been just like all those silly women under Aiden’s spell.

Her eyes were open now. Her father’s confession had opened them. She had never been in love with Aiden; it had been just a foolish crush. That was all. Fortunately for her, the man was clueless. As brilliant as he was in business matters, he was a neophyte where women were concerned. She knew for a fact that he didn’t have any idea how she felt—how she
had
felt—about him. If she weren’t his sister’s friend, she doubted he would have even given her a second glance. She certainly wasn’t his type. From all the women who had hung on his arm in the past, she knew he preferred tall, slightly anorexic blondes. Cordie was the complete opposite. Her hair wasn’t blond; it was as black as ink and looked even darker against her fair complexion. At five feet six inches she considered herself average height, though she was a smidge taller than Regan and Sophie. She supposed she was in good shape, but no matter how much she dieted, she couldn’t attain the flat-chested skinny-mannequin look. She was what men called curvaceous.

She realized she was staring at Aiden and quickly turned away. God, she had been such an idiot for such a long time.

Sophie nudged her. “Have you eaten anything today?”

The question jarred her. “What? I don’t know. Why?”

“Let me fix you something,” Regan suggested.

Cordie shook her head. “I’m not hungry, but thanks for offering.”

“You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” Sophie asked. She reached for her coat and put it on. “Come on, Regan. We should all go home and let her get some rest. It’s been a long, stressful day. Do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight, Cordie?”

“Maybe one of us should stay over,” Regan suggested.

Cordie laughed. “No one is staying with me. I’m fine, really. I’m begging you, please go home. And take those men with you,” she added, waving her hand toward Jack, Alec, Spencer, and Aiden.

Hearing her, Aiden turned around. “Those men?” He grinned as he repeated her comment.

“I could be wrong, but I’m getting the feeling that Cordie might want us to leave,” Jack said.

Aiden reached for his suit jacket and slipped it on. He looked as though he were about to walk into a boardroom. His suit was a perfect fit, of course. Everything about the man was impeccable. After asking her if there was anything she needed, he and Spencer, insisting that she not walk them to the door, came over to give her a hug. Aiden smelled divine when he wrapped his arms around her, and she tried not to react. She pulled away as quickly as possible.

After they were gone, Sophie and Jack, along with Regan and Alec, prepared to follow, but just as Sophie reached the door, she suddenly stopped, causing Regan to bump into her. Sophie turned to Cordie. “I can’t believe I forgot to ask you . . . what was the surprise?”

“There’s a surprise?” Jack asked.

“Yes, her father told her something surprising,” Regan remembered.

“She promised to tell us tonight,” Sophie explained. “So what was it?”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to share it just yet,” Jack suggested, being diplomatic, but Sophie was already back in the living room waiting for an answer.

Cordie stretched her legs out, then swung her feet down to the floor and sat up. Looking around at the curious faces of her four closest friends, she decided there was no easy way to say it other than to just simply state the facts. “My mother . . . Natalie Kane . . . didn’t die in a car crash. She—”

“What?” Sophie exclaimed. “If not in an accident, then how?”

“According to my father, she’s not dead,” Cordie said.

Sophie pulled her coat off and handed it to Jack as she rushed back to Cordie. Regan dropped her purse on her way across the room.

“Where is she? What happened to her?” Sophie demanded.

“I don’t know,” Cordie replied.

“Do you think she just up and left you and your father?” Regan asked.

Cordie shrugged. “From what my father said just before he died, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what she did.”

“How could any mother . . .” Regan couldn’t go on. She was so angry her face turned red.

Her friends had a hundred questions, and Cordie couldn’t answer any of them. No, her father didn’t give her any other details, and no, she didn’t know why he had gone to such lengths to keep the truth from her, especially after she became an adult.

“Are you going to try to find her?” Sophie asked.

“Would you?” Cordie replied.

Sophie started to nod, then stopped. “I don’t know. I’d be curious.”

“Alec and Jack could locate her for you,” Regan offered.

“Of course,” Sophie agreed. “They could use their resources at the FBI.”

“No, thanks,” Cordie said, shaking her head. “I’m not interested in finding her.”

“Don’t you want to know why she left?” Regan asked.

“No.”

Alec walked over to the ottoman and sat facing Cordie. “What do you know about her?” he asked.

“Her name was Natalie Ann Smith, and she was born in Sydney, Australia.”

“What else did your father tell you about her?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell me anything. I found out her full name and where she was born when I got a copy of my birth certificate so I could get my driver’s license.”

“He didn’t tell you anything about her?” Alec asked.

“He told me she died when I was a baby, and I now know that was a lie, but I’m assuming that’s when she left. My father didn’t like to talk about her. Every time I mentioned her, he would become upset. After a while I knew not to ask questions.”

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to find her?” Sophie asked again.

“I’m certain.”

“But there could be extenuating circumstances—” Sophie began.

Cordie cut her off. “I don’t care. She broke my father’s heart. I want nothing to do with her.”

Cordie left no doubt that the subject was closed and that she was resolute in her decision to let it go, but after she read the letter her mother had left for her father and all the letters he had written that were returned, her attitude drastically changed. She not only wanted to locate the woman who broke her father’s heart, she wanted an answer to the question that was gnawing at her: Did Natalie get the life she wanted or—if there was any justice—the life she deserved?

A
ndrew,

This is a difficult letter for me to write. What I have to say is going to upset and perhaps shock you, and I’m sorry about that. You’ve been working such long hours you haven’t had time to notice how unhappy I am. I’m not going to sugarcoat how I feel, though, no matter how much it hurts you.

This marriage was a mistake. I never should have let you talk me into keeping the baby. We both know I wouldn’t have married you if I weren’t pregnant. Marrying a mechanic was an act of rebellion and terribly foolish. If my family ever found out, they would disown me.

I can’t do this anymore. I hate being poor, and as selfish as this seems, I believe I deserve more out of life. You and I are so different. I want adventure, and I want to see the world. I know you love me, Andrew, but it isn’t enough.

I want to go home. I’m going to pretend this marriage never happened and start over. I’m going to put all of this behind me, and I don’t want any reminders. My home is a continent away, so there should never be any chance encounters.

I’ll leave it to you to file for divorce. I don’t want anything from you but my freedom. You and Cordelia are part of my past now. I don’t want to share custody. You can have her.

Please accept my decision and don’t come after me.

Natalie

Cordie’s heart ached for her father. She couldn’t imagine what he must have felt when he read the letter. It was so cold, brutal, unfeeling. It had to have devastated him, and yet he mourned her on his deathbed.

He’d treated the letter as though it was a treasure. He’d wrapped it in tissue, then sealed it in a plastic bag and tucked it in the bottom of the box with his other important papers. His letters to Natalie were there as well. There were four of them, and all had been returned unopened with
Return to Sender
stamped on the front. The address showed her father had sent them to a post office box in Chicago.

If her father hadn’t wanted Cordie to read the letters he’d written, he would have destroyed them, she decided. She sat in the middle of her bed, spread the envelopes in front of her, and one by one opened them.

In the first two letters he pleaded with Natalie to come home. He told her he loved her, that he would always love her, and that he was lost without her. In the third letter, sent two years after she’d left him, he notified her he had filed for divorce and had requested full custody of their daughter, Cordelia. He added that, even though he was taking legal action, he still loved her and wanted her to come back to him. He promised to wait because she would always be the love of his life. The fourth letter was verification that the divorce was final.

At first Cordie wanted to find the woman, to look her in the eyes and tell her what she probably already knew, that she was a horrible person for causing her father so much pain, but as therapeutic as it would be, Cordie knew she would never confront her. What would be the point? She gave up on the idea of having a conversation with the woman. She still wanted to find her, though. There were a few questions that needed answers. Had Natalie’s life changed for the better or the worse? Had her ridiculous dream of pretending she’d never been married and starting all over worked? Was she being pampered? Cordie most wanted to know if she had any regrets.

There were two other documents in the box with the letters: the marriage certificate and the divorce decree. The marriage certificate showed that Natalie Smith married Andrew Kane in Las Vegas, Nevada. It was dated four months before Cordie was born. The divorce decree was a very basic notice dissolving the marriage. She read them both and then carefully put everything back in the box and closed the lid.

It was after midnight when she finally got into bed. She tossed and turned for another hour before her mind calmed. She kept thinking about her father and how he had thrown his life away waiting. He could have remarried and had a wonderful life if he’d only been open to the idea. Did his love for Natalie become an obsession? Or did he feel, once married, always married?

She didn’t have any answers. She couldn’t understand how he could continue to love Natalie after reading that terrible letter.
You can have her.
Those were the last words that drifted into Cordie’s thoughts before sleep claimed her.

 • • • 

Sunday afternoon was spent grading papers, and Sunday evening was spent falling apart. She had been melancholy all day, but she kept busy so that she wouldn’t have time to feel sorry for herself. Not wanting to talk to anyone in her present frame of mind, she let the phone calls go to voice mail and tried to focus on getting organized for school. She was fine, she told herself again and again. She was just feeling a little stressed, nothing more, and certainly nothing to worry about.

But she wasn’t fine. She had lost her dad, her only family, the one person who had loved her unconditionally, like a good parent should, and then she’d read that horrible letter from the woman who had to be talked into giving Cordie life and then couldn’t wait to be rid of her.
You can have her.
Those words were branded in her mind. And there were her father’s desperate pleas in his letters for the love of his life to come back to him. How could her father have loved someone like that?

It was getting late. Cordie collected her papers and books for the next day and slipped them into her satchel, then stood and stretched. The strain of the last few days had taken its toll. The tension in her muscles was working its way upward, and now her head was beginning to throb. Rubbing her temples, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. A long, hot shower was exactly what she needed.

She let the soothing water flow over her tight muscles, and by the time she stepped out of the shower, the tension had eased and her headache was gone. She washed and dried her hair, then put on a short silk nightgown. She was beginning to feel much better and was proud of herself because she had kept it together all evening. She’d done enough of that in the past few days.

She hadn’t been sleeping well lately and hoped tonight would be different. She was so tired now, she thought she might just fall asleep the second her head hit the pillow, but to be sure, she would go down to the kitchen and brew a cup of chamomile tea. Not bothering to put on her slippers, she picked up her silk robe and padded out into the hallway. She was tying the sash on her robe and didn’t notice the box of books she’d left sitting on the landing until she tripped into it, lost her balance, and went flying down the stairs. The box careened down the steps with her, and she landed on her backside with books all around her. It was the last straw in a miserable day. She leaned into the banister and burst into tears. She could have broken her neck, and no one would have known until they found her decomposing body days later. Oh Lord, what a depressing thought. She was so caught up in her misery she didn’t hear the pounding on the door.

Aiden had just climbed the steps to her front door when he heard a commotion and a loud thud coming from inside. He called her name, but there wasn’t any response. About to break in, he realized he hadn’t tried the doorknob. He’d assumed it was locked, but it wasn’t. He rushed inside and was met with the sight of Cordie sobbing as she pushed books off her and tried to get up from the floor.

“Are you hurt?” His worry made him sound angry.

She wasn’t in the mood to be sociable. “Go away.”

“Are you hurt?” He repeated the question, though now his voice was calmer.

“No.”

He rubbed the back of his neck while he studied her. He wasn’t sure what to do. It wasn’t like Cordelia to be difficult. She always had it together. But not tonight. He picked up the books and stacked them in the box in the corner of the foyer; then he turned back to her. She was still crying. He wanted to tell her to stop.

“Why are you crying?”

Her first inclination was to glare at him, but she was too weary to give it her best effort. She grabbed the banister and, wincing, pulled herself up.

He moved forward and, before she realized his intent, lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs.

“Did you know your front door was unlocked? Anyone could have come in. You live alone, Cordelia. You should make certain your doors are always locked and your alarm is always on,” he scolded as they ascended the steps.

“I don’t have an alarm.”

“You’re getting one,” he snapped.

Aiden’s mind raced with all the terrible things that could have happened to her, and he was furious about her cavalier attitude toward her safety. There was only one bedroom door open and he headed there. He could have put her down, but he didn’t. She weighed next to nothing in his arms. He sat on the side of the bed with her in his lap, his arms wrapped around her as he waited for her tears to stop flowing. Her head was down on his shoulder, and she was so soft cuddled against him. He had the sudden urge to get the hell away from her. He was reacting to her in a way he didn’t like.

She finally stopped crying and leaned back so she could look into his eyes. “Why are you here?”

“I got stuck . . .” He stopped before he hurt her feelings with the truth. “Regan was worried about you. You weren’t answering your phone,” he explained. “She knew I was out, so she called my cell and asked me to stop by and check on you, and it’s a damned good thing I did.”

“Why? As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.” She sniffed.

Aiden said, “You were sprawled at the bottom of your steps.”

“I was sitting, not sprawling,” she corrected.

“Wearing this flimsy see-through nightgown.”

“You can’t possibly see through this material.” She looked down and saw that her robe was open, exposing a fair amount of her breasts because of the gown’s low neckline. “Oh,” she said as she quickly pulled the robe closed. She glanced up and met Aiden’s eyes. He was looking at her in a way he’d never done before, as though he was seeing her for the very first time as a woman. A warm, tingling sensation coursed through her body.

“Let go of me and go home. I’m fine, I promise. Tell Regan I’ll call her tomorrow, and thank you, Aiden, for taking time to check on me.”

Her arms were still around his neck. She leaned up and kissed him on his cheek, then started to move away, but he didn’t loosen his hold. He continued to stare into her eyes as though he was searching for something inside her.

The strangest thing happened then. Maybe it was just curiosity to find out what it would feel like, or maybe it was just plain lust on her part. She kissed him again, this time on the lips. He didn’t pull away. He nudged her chin down and gently kissed her back. Then, taking her face in his hands, he deepened the kiss, passion igniting when his tongue swept inside her mouth. He was so incredibly hot and demanding, overwhelming her. He made love to her with his mouth while he caressed her. His hand cupped her breast and he groaned.

Aiden was lost in the moment. It was only when he felt her tremble that he came to his senses. He pulled back, forcing her to let go of him, then lifted her off his lap and dropped her onto the bed.

Cordie was so flustered she didn’t know what to say or do. She could see he was upset. He walked to the door, turned back to her, and said, “I’ll lock up. You get some sleep.”

And he was gone.

She sat there a long while trying to make sense of what had just happened. She’d ruined everything. She was embarrassed and mortified. What must he think of her? She’d all but attacked the man. How could she ever face him again? Maybe she was overreacting. It had just been a few kisses—long, intense, unbelievably arousing kisses that all but turned her inside out—but they meant nothing.

After she calmed down she came up with a plan should she run into him anytime soon. She would behave like an adult. Yes, they had shared an intimate moment, but it was still possible to go back to the way things used to be. He would ignore her, and she would do her best to ignore him.

Monday Cordie was back at work. She was busy, but Aiden kept popping into her thoughts. As the days progressed, it became easier to push him to the back of her mind. Each night she went through one of the boxes her father had packed when he’d sold his house. She assumed it would be easy to find more information about her mother, thinking that there had to be some papers or photos stashed away in one of the boxes. But she was wrong about that.

The last three weeks of school were hectic, and the search to learn more about Natalie was put on hold. She made a copy of the horrid letter and took it with her when she met her friends for dinner at the Hamilton Hotel. She had tried to get them to eat somewhere else because she didn’t want to chance running into Aiden, who lived in the penthouse at the top of the hotel. He traveled so much he was rarely there, but still, she didn’t want to risk it.

Then, during a phone conversation with Sophie, after Cordie had suggested two different restaurants, Sophie mentioned that Jack and Alec were going to be at the hotel playing poker with a couple of the Vice detectives from the Chicago Police Department.

“It’s their monthly poker game,” she said. “Jack thinks he has a chance of winning a hand or two since Aiden is still in San Francisco. Whenever Aiden plays, he wins.”

Cordie relaxed. She was worried she wouldn’t be able to control her reaction to him, and she had decided the only way she could move on with her life was to stay as far away from him as possible. She was more determined than ever not to turn into her father and waste her life hoping for the impossible.

After a stressful day rushing from one meeting to another, then enduring a frustrating session with the principal of St. Matthew’s, Cordie was ready for a glass of wine.

Regan had reserved one of the smaller private dining rooms at the Hamilton so they wouldn’t be disturbed. The room was just off the bar, and with the doors closed it was nearly soundproof, a perfect place to share secrets and gossip. They could laugh as loud as they wanted and not worry about bothering other diners. On the other side of the bar, tucked into an alcove, was the door to another dining room, one the men used for poker games. It was isolated from the rest of the hotel but close enough to the bar to get beer and anything else they wanted.