Full Circle (16 page)

“I won't be staying. Wouldn't want to disturb my sister's tranquillity.” Tight lips were painted a Chinese-lacquer red. The color accentuated their twisted slant, as though Emily chewed constantly on the inside of her left cheek. “Kayla, is it? So how do you feel about having a stepmother who's scarcely older than you?”

“I'm utterly delighted.” Kayla took a firm hold on Honor's hand. “As long as it's Honor.”

Emily sat sideways, her chin far too high, her arm slung over her cloak, her hand limp. “Can I smoke in here?”

Honor replied, “You know you can't.”

“The nanny state. How revolting. Never mind. So how is the old gentleman. Getting around all right, despite his advanced years?”

“Peter is fine.”

“Still keeping you happy, I suppose. Living in your sweet little country villa, lording it over the rest of us.”

“Emily, please.”

“Really, Honor. The man is old enough to be your grand-father.” Her gaze was as compressed as her lips, as though staring through perpetually burning smoke. The eyes glinted as she asked Kayla, “Did my perfect darling of a sister tell you about our little family drama?”

“Yes. I'm sorry.”

Emily sniffed. “When you next hear from Papa, do give him my best, will you?”

Honor used her free hand to reach inside her purse and came out with an envelope. “I can't manage to offer you as much as last year.”

“Things a bit tight, are they?”

“Yes. Merry Christmas, Emily.”

“Oh, my, it must be ever so hard, running an estate on the allowance his lordship provides.” Emily redirected her smirk at Kayla's grip on Honor's hand. “How sweet. My dear sister has made a new friend.”

Kayla tightened her grip. “That's right. She has.”

They left the café as soon as they could be certain not to run into Emily. On the walk back to Honor's car, Kayla's anger cooled to confusion. She had not given much thought to Honor's back-ground. But if she had, Kayla would have assumed the lady came from a perfect family. A home where values were locked in early and well, where love was taught by example, where tragedies were of a manageable size. Certainly not this—father disgraced, family torn apart, loved ones scattered across the world, embittered remnants sniping at each over, jealous of every crumb.

Honor unlocked the door and slipped behind the wheel. She started the car, turned the heat up full, slipped off her gloves, and rubbed her hands together. “Seeing Emily always leaves me feeling like I've been frozen to the core.”

“She's horrid.”

“I'm sorry you had to meet her. But I'm glad you came. It means so much, you just can't imagine.”

Honor spoke the words to the front windshield. Which gave Kayla the chance to study the woman seated beside her. She would have liked to put Honor's character down to some wayward gene, some chance happening at a molecular level that left Honor with a saintly disposition and the ability to endure such an attack without anger of her own. “You two could not be more different.”

“I have nightmares.” Honor blew on her hands and rubbed them again. “I wake up next to your father and discover I'm Emily.”

“That couldn't happen,” Kayla said firmly. “Not in a mil-lion years.”

“I dream there's some part of her that crawls up into my brain and takes over. I snip at him and he looks at me with that look of gentle confusion. And I wake up weeping because I've hurt a very good man.”

“Daddy is so lucky to have you.”

Honor's eyes grew round. She blinked fiercely, but one tear managed to escape. She whispered, “I'm so worried about him. And the company.”

“I know. Me too.”

“It means everything to him.”

Kayla smiled sadly. “Not everything. Not by a long shot.”

“I wish I could do something . . .”

Kayla reached over and embraced the woman. The gear-shift jammed into her thigh, and their bulky coats made it hard to take a full grip. Kayla said, “You do more for Daddy than you will ever know.”

They remained like that for a moment, long enough for all the mistakes to evaporate.

Honor finally straightened, wiped her face with both hands, then fumbled inside her purse. “I promised Peter I'd phone as soon as we were done.”

Kayla leaned back and straightened her coat and smoothed her hair. Normal motions of a normal day. Two women seated in a car heated against the cold, out for a morning errand. Friends.

Honor said, “That's impossible.”

“What?”

“I have twelve messages.” Honor pressed the key, held the phone to her ear, gasped.

“What's the matter?”

Honor dropped the phone to her lap, slapped the car into gear, and said, “Something terrible has happened.”

chapter 17

K
ayla found Adam seated behind the wheel of her father's car in the company lot. Several sheets of paper were spread across the seat next to him. A black rubbish bag was dumped on the rear seat. A neighboring tree rustled overhead, a gentle sound, light as laughter. Adam scribbled furiously, not looking up until she opened his door. He greeted her with, “Joshua fired me.”

“I know. I'm so sorry it's taken this long. Honor and I . . . We came as soon as we heard.”

“It's okay. Your father let me wait here so I wouldn't freeze.”

Kayla inspected him for gaping wounds. Adam did not sound cheerful. But not unhappy either. Kayla stated what she and Honor had decided was the best course of action. “I'm taking you home.”

“Can't.” He tore the sheet from his notebook and started working on the next. “We've got work to do.”

“Honor will come back for Daddy. Move over, I'll drive.”

“We're not going to your house.” He began gathering notes. “We're going to London.”

Kayla protested, “They just dumped you on the street.”

“On the drive, actually. But never mind.”

“Never mind? That's all you can say?”

“Actually, I have quite a lot more to tell you. But not here.”

“You're not making any sense.”

“I know. There's something we have to do. Together.” He gathered his papers off the seat. “We need to hurry.”

Kayla drove them downtown and parked in the lot across from Oxford's central train station. They made the next high-speed service with seconds to spare. Adam slipped into a seat opposite hers, spread out his papers on the table between them, and went back to work. Kayla assumed he had a job interview lined up. Perhaps her father had arranged something for him. She repressed the urge to pry. She was certain she would find out soon enough. For the moment, she was grateful for a fragment of time to sort through the morning's events.

Honor was a woman of grace and a giving heart. She loved her new husband and blessed their home with love and peace. These were not imaginings. Kayla could not argue with this. Yet the facts and the woman stood in direct contrast to what Kayla had just witnessed. Honor came from a world of bitterness and abandonment and hurt. Kayla knew there was a unique mes-sage there. She knew this, and she was frightened by the knowledge. Because if it could happen to Honor, why not to her? Yet to accept this as a possibility meant giving in to the most painful thought of all.

Hope.

While Adam remained absorbed in his work, she studied him. He stopped writing and sorted his notes. He flattened the creases and rubbed away the folds. He lined the pages like soldiers about the narrow table. When there was not enough room, he handed Kayla her purse without looking up. She touched his fingers when she took her purse and absorbed an electric shock in the process. Adam did not notice either the touch or her shiver. The outside world was gone to him now. He did not hear the train rock through a village station or the whistle. Nothing interrupted his concentration, not even her inspection.

London grew up around their train in a jumbled fashion, soot-stained and graffiti-scarred. Only in the distance could there be seen a few hints of the glory beyond the city's blemished outskirts. Adam sighed and straightened in his seat. He glanced out the window. There was no sky worth a mention, just a flat city grayness. When Adam turned back, Kayla said, “I spoke with Honor this morning. And apologized. You were right.”

Adam nodded slowly. “This is important. And I want to hear all about it. But not right now, okay?”

“What is it, Adam?”

He kept nodding as the train pulled into Paddington Station. “Soon. Very soon.”

They took a taxi. Adam read an address off his notes, a street she did not recognize. She gave name to a few of the sights they passed—Hyde Park, Marble Arch, Piccadilly, the Ritz, Buckingham Palace. Christmas lights flickered overhead. Wreaths hung from numerous front doors. Adam watched the city scene with silent intensity.

Kayla reached over and straightened his tie. “Is it just like you imagined?”

“To be honest, there's so much going on right now I wonder if I'll remember anything I'm seeing.”

“Can you at least tell me where we're going?”

“The security firm your dad put us onto.”

“They've found something?”

“Maybe.” He held up his hand. “I really need you to wait, okay?”

The security firm was located on Linacre Lane, a dingy street of prewar brick and grime. As they started down the alley, Big Ben struck the hour from a very long block away. The corporate security firm and detective agency occupied the building's entire ground floor. Adam gave his name to the receptionist, then stood by the front doors. Kayla could feel the tension radiating off him in waves. She wanted to ask why he was so abuzz about something related to the firm that just fired him. But he had asked her to wait. It was not in her nature to be patient or to relinquish control. Especially to a man. But the morning's journey with Honor remained a vivid component of the day.

The man who approached was in his mid-thirties and both muscled and lean. His pin-striped suit was wrinkled from too many wears between cleanings. “Mr. Wright?”

“Yes.” Adam shook the offered hand. “This is Kayla Austin.”

“Good of you to come. William Foley, senior security consultant. Shall we go back?”

The security agent, a title he preferred over private detective, went by Bill. He hoped one day to enter Scotland Yard. But in the meantime, doing corporate security work wasn't a bad gig for a man desperate to escape the provinces. He had previously done a stint in the forces as an MP with the Royal Gloucesters, and straight up, the life wasn't nearly so bad as what people on the outside might think. All this was given in a nervous rush as they walked back to his cubicle. When they were seated and had declined the agent's offer of tea, Foley asked Adam, “How do you want this to play out?”

Adam turned to Kayla, a serious look on his face. “I need you to look at a couple of photos.”

She knew. Before she asked, she knew the answer. Adam's dark gaze held enough focused intensity for her to ask, “It's Geoffrey, isn't it? You've found him.”

Adam said to Foley, “Show her.”

The agent slid the single file on his desk over in front of her. “Bit grainy, these. Shot in fairly awful light yesterday evening. Couldn't use a flash, of course. But they should do for the process of identification. Or elimination.”

Kayla watched her hand reach out. The folder's cover held a delicate sensation, like very old dirt. She opened it. And gasped.

“The bloke's name is Steen. Derek Steen.” A note of pride entered the agent's voice. “Soon as I spotted him, I knew it was our man.”

It was the first time she had seen his image in months. The yellow streetlight and the photo's grainy quality turned him sallow and dug caverns below his jaw.

Adam asked, “Is it him?”

Kayla swallowed, but the breath was not there for a response. She turned to the next photo. Geoffrey spoke to someone cropped from the picture. His smile reached out and gripped her gut. Kayla put a hand to her mouth, clamping down on a sudden wave of nausea.

“Kayla?”

She released her mouth and gripped the arm of the chair. “It's him.”

The agent asked, “What's he done, then?”

When Kayla did not respond, Adam said, “He stole six hundred thousand pounds from a project she ran.”

Kayla looked at Adam. “Everything. He took everything.”

Adam asked the detective, “Do we still have time?”

Foley glanced at his watch. “Should just make it. If we can snag a taxi, that is.”

Adam rose from his chair. “You heard the man. We need to hurry.”

“We're leaving?”

Adam spoke with the gentle firmness of a man dealing with the recently bereaved. “There's more, Kayla.”