Lover's Bite (11 page)

“I know, but he could have been lying. It's just not as compelling to me as the reward and the hit and all that.”

“We'll find out the truth, Topaz. We're getting closer all the time.”

She sighed softly. “It's just that we're running out of options. One more interview to conduct. And I don't know where we go from there.”

“Mmm, the actor. Retired by now, no doubt.”

“It's a long shot,” Topaz said, and he could hear the disappointment in her voice. “He didn't even try for custody.”

“Don't assume anything.” He reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, breaking their deal by doing so, but grateful when she didn't object. “Thank you, Topaz. You probably saved my life tonight.”

“You're welcome,” she said. He held her eyes for one long moment, and he thought she might just be willing to let him kiss her. But then she lowered her lashes, rolled onto her back and took a long deep breath. “Good night, Jack.”

“Good day, Topaz.”

 

Jack had another one of his “errands” to run shortly after sundown. He dropped Topaz at the mansion and left, only to return an hour later with a thick file folder.

Topaz wasn't in the house. Frowning, he opened his senses and felt her outside, on the beach. So he went, file folder in hand, and found her there. She was sitting in the sand, legs stretched out in front of her, staring out over the nighttime sea as the waves rolled lazily, not quite reaching her bare feet. The way the wind moved her hair mesmerized him, and for a moment he just stood there, a few feet from her, watching.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” she asked. “I love the ocean.”

“Well, it's wet.” He kicked off his shoes and moved closer, setting the folder across her thighs.

“What's this?”

“Dossier on the actor. Thought we might as well go in prepared.”

She nodded, but she wasn't looking at the folder. She stared at his face instead. “Where are you getting all this stuff?”

“I know people. Can't tell you more than that.”

“Are you blackmailing someone? Conning them?”

“Does it matter?”

She studied him intensely. “I've been thinking about you, you know.”

His smile was slow and deliberately suggestive. “Oh, believe me, I've been thinking about you, too.”

“I mean about your childhood. Your mother abandoning you. I got to wondering if that's why you treat women the way you do. If maybe, every time you take a female for a bundle of cash and then walk out, you're kind of getting payback. Punishing your mother symbolically.”

He pursed his lips, saying nothing.

“Do you think that's why you do what you do?” she pressed.

“I do what I do because I'm good at it, and because it's lucrative. And if I want a shrink, I'll make an appointment with one, okay?” He got to his feet and stomped back to the villa.

“I hit a nerve, didn't I?” she called after him.

“Don't try to analyze me, Topaz. This isn't some kind of mind-meld we've got going on here. We want to fuck each other's brains out. And we will, before this is over, I guarantee it. But that's all it will be. The sooner you figure that out, the easier it'll be for you when it's over.”

She would have winced at the words, but she didn't, because he hadn't blocked, and so she felt what he was feeling in that moment. He was afraid, she realized, stunned to the marrow. Jack Heart was scared to death—of
her.

S
he should have realized it sooner, Topaz thought as she rose to her feet and took her time about brushing the sand from her clothes. She'd been so wrapped up in her own pain that she hadn't taken time, until now, to wonder what made Jack the way he was.

He'd experienced the same kinds of loss and betrayal in his life that she had. He had the same bitterness eating away at his soul, and it stemmed from the all-consuming pain of abandonment. He was still that wounded little boy whose mother had dumped him and never looked back.

She knew that child. She'd
been
that child.

And now she knew that he was hurt and he was scared, whether he would admit it or not. Knowing that made
her
feel frightened, too. It was far easier to think of him as a heartless con man out for a buck and some sex on the side—providing the sex was good and hassle free. Now, though, she was seeing him as so much more. That was a dangerous path for her to walk, one that was treacherously steep, booby-trapped with potholes and loose stones, and skirting a bottomless pit. She could fall all too easily, treading this particular path. If she did, she would fall hard, and the landing was going to make the pain she'd felt so far seem like a hangnail.

“So be careful,” she told herself. “Just don't fall.”

Squaring her shoulders and carrying the folder with her, she trudged through the sand back to the villa. Jack had hit the shower. By the time she'd settled herself on the sofa with the file open on the coffee table in front of her, he returned, and he seemed to have forgiven her for the dime-store analysis. He trotted down the stairs wearing jeans but no shirt. His feet were bare, his hair still wet, though he was rubbing it vigorously with a towel. He wore his usual expression: a smirk that said nothing.

“So, anything interesting so far on our friend the actor?” he asked, nodding toward the file.

“Plenty,” she said. She moved over a bit on the sofa, and he took her cue, sitting close beside her. Really close. She didn't move away, either. She liked him close. She cleared her throat and refocused her attention. “Wayne Duncan was married, but as an up-and-coming actor with aspirations of becoming a leading man, he and his handlers opted to keep his marriage secret.”

“Not all that unusual, I suppose,” Jack said. “Gay actors pretended to be straight, married actors pretended to be single. Some still do.”

“It's all about the image,” Topaz agreed. “According to the file, his affair with my mother was a long one. Probably could have been great for his career, if it could have been public. But he had to keep it from his poor wife, and he had to keep his poor wife from the public at large.” She gave her head a shake. “Can you imagine trying to juggle so many secrets?”

“It would be enough to make some men snap,” Jack said softly.

Topaz nodded. “I wonder if my mother knew he had a wife.”

“I wonder if his need to keep his secrets was why he didn't fight for custody of you. It would have meant admitting the affair, possibly ruining his marriage.”

“Couldn't have been much of a marriage anyway,” Topaz said. “The reports here suggest he was very much in love with my mother.”

“He'd have been a fool not to be.”

Jack was staring at her as he said it, reminding her without a word of his insistence that she resembled her mother, and she felt herself warm in reaction in spite of herself.

“Topaz,” Jack said.

She glanced up at him, saw in his eyes that he was about to veer off topic and take this moment into a dangerous direction. Dangerous to her heart, at least. She shook her head slightly, just barely, and then focused again on the file. “No one seems to have known anything about Wayne Duncan's wife,” she said. “But there is one photo. Let's see, I just saw it a minute ago.” She shuffled papers. “Ah, here it is. Her name's Lucia Duncan. Looks like she's been through the mill, huh?”

She handed Jack the grainy three-by-five black-and-white photo. He took it, stared at it, said nothing.

“It surprises me that he married her. I mean, she's probably his age, but she looks a lot older in that photo, doesn't she?”

“Yes, she does,” Jack said softly. “A lot older than the last time I saw her.”

Topaz frowned. “Jack? You
know
her?”

“I don't think I ever knew her.” He surged to his feet, and the file folder flew from the table, papers scattering everywhere. The photo landed faceup on the floor. He stared at it for one frozen moment, then spun and paced away.

“Jack…?”

“Where is he?” As he strode toward the door, Jack snatched his key ring from the rack on the wall with so much force that the entire thing came down. “Where the hell is this actor?”

“Um, the address is in the—” As she spoke she scrambled to gather up the fallen sheets, searching for the actor's last known address. “Jack, what the hell is going on?”

She found the sheet she was looking for and knelt there on the floor, looking up at him.

“That woman,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at the photo that lay on the floor, as if he could send a blast of power from his fingertip to annihilate it. “That woman…is my mother.”

 

“You need to try to calm down,” Topaz said softly. She was driving. She'd insisted on it, because Jack was in no condition to. His jaw was tight and clenched, his entire body trembling with barely contained emotion. He clutched the photo in one hand, crumpling its corner with the force of his grip.

And all Topaz wanted to do was comfort him. God, she knew what he was feeling. She knew it so well. No one could hurt you like your own mother could. No one.

He didn't answer.

“We'll talk to him. Duncan. The actor. We'll just talk to him, right? You can't go in there looking for blood, Jack. Remember, he isn't guilty of anything here.”

“Except taking a mother from her only child.”

“You don't know that. He may not even have known she had a child. He may have met her after she'd left you.” She looked up, increasingly nervous as the actor's house came into view. It was a modest Cape Cod in a quiet suburban neighborhood. There were palm trees lining the edge of the lawn. She reached out a hand to cover one of his. “I'm with you on this, okay? I'm here.”

He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. There was emotion roiling there, but she glimpsed a hint of surprise beyond the unbearable hurt that photograph had dredged up from the depths of him. There might have been a touch of gratitude there, too. She couldn't be sure.

As soon as Topaz stopped the car, Jack got out. She had to hurry to keep up with him as he strode toward the house, knocked on the front door.

“Are you sure you're ready for this? We could have phoned first, given you both time to prepare.”

“I just want to look her in the eye and ask her why. It's been a long time coming, Topaz.”

She nodded. “I understand.” Lowering her head, she whispered, “To be honest, Jack, if I had the chance, I'd want to do the same thing. Look my mother in the eye and ask her how she could leave me. And I suppose it makes even less sense for me to feel that way. She didn't leave on her own. She was taken from me. And yet, it feels the same. It feels like she walked out on me.”

She glanced at the door then, but there were no sounds from beyond it. Impatient, Jack stepped closer and pounded on the wood, ignoring the doorbell.

“Coming, coming,” a male voice called from somewhere within.

Soft footsteps came closer. Finally the door opened, and Wayne Duncan stood there, a dim echo of the publicity photos in the file. His hair was no longer striking black, but silver. His brows were salt-and-pepper. His face still bore the bone structure that had given him leading-man potential, though he'd never achieved movie-star status. He was thin, but held himself erect and proud, and he was an impressive figure, even in a flannel robe and slippers.

Jack looked him up and down, and then looked past him, scanning the rooms beyond. “Where is she?” he asked.

Clasping Jack's shoulder to try to instill calm, Topaz intervened, taking the confused looking man's attention away from Jack. “Mr. Duncan, I'm sorry to bother you, but—”

“My God,” Duncan whispered. His eyes were riveted to her face, and then his hand rose to lightly touch her cheek. “Tanya.”

She licked her lips, lowered her eyes.

“You
are
Tanya. Aren't you?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” She lifted her eyes again and held his gaze. “And this is my friend, Jack Heart.”

He ignored the introduction. “I read you were in town, but I couldn't believe it. There were no photos. No proof. Oh, Tanya, I'm so happy to see you.”

She nodded and tried to smile. “That's lovely to hear, Mr. Dunc—”

“Wayne, please.”

“Wayne,” she corrected. “But Jack and I really need to talk to you. Can we come inside?”

He lowered his head, his expression guilty. “Of course. And I know what you want to talk about. You know about the break-in, don't you?”

Jack snapped to attention, his gaze shooting back to the actor. “Yes, we know,” he lied. “We know it was you.”

He nodded. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just…I read that tabloid report, and I needed to know what you'd found. What you suspected.”

“Why?” Topaz asked.

He sighed, shaking his head slowly. “Come inside. Sit down, and I'll try to explain.” He stood aside to let them enter, and they did, side by side.

Save the questions about my mother until he tells us what he knows about yours,
Jack's mind whispered to Topaz's.
She doesn't seem to be here at the moment, anyway.

Topaz nodded, noting the framed photos of the couple together. One hung from a wall, and two others stood in facing frames on an end table. He led them to a cozy nook, set between curving windows that looked out onto the stars. Four chairs stood there, velour and comfortable, and they surrounded a small wicker table.

“I'll get right to the point, Mr. Duncan,” Topaz said softly. “I'd like to know who murdered my mother. Was it you?”

He held her gaze, and she probed his mind. “I loved her. I could no more have hurt her than I could fly to the moon. She was the love of my life, Tanya. But I couldn't be with her. Not fully. I was married, and I couldn't leave my wife.”

She nodded, then asked the next question without hesitation. “Are you my father?”

He dropped his gaze. “It's very likely. I never claimed you, never tried to gain custody.”

“Because of your wife,” she said.

He nodded.

“If you didn't kill my mother, then why the break-in?” Topaz asked. She was amazed at Jack's restraint, and yet he kept silent, just watching, and no doubt probing.

Duncan faced her. “Because I know who did kill her. At least, I think I do. I have no proof, you understand. And yet, I had to know whether you had found any. I thought you might have uncovered—”

“You think your wife did it,” Jack said slowly. His patience had run out, and he saw the same things in the aging actor's mind that Topaz did. The difference was, he said them out loud. “You think Lucia found out about your affair and murdered Mirabella DuFrane.”

Duncan met Jack's eyes. “Yes. I think it. I've always feared it. It's eaten away at my soul, not knowing. Wondering. Believing it to be true.”

“My God.” Topaz was stunned to the core. “How could you stay with a woman like that? Why would you choose someone capable of—”

“Lucia was sick, Tanya. Pancreatic cancer. She needed me.”

Topaz sucked in a breath, her eyes flying to Jack's. He sat there looking as if he'd been hit between the eyes with a mallet.

“Where is she now, Duncan?” she asked, her voice shaking as she reached her hand out to clasp Jack's as firmly as she could.

And then the final blow fell.

“She died twenty years ago,” Duncan said. “She never told me whether or not she'd killed Mirabella. But I believe in my heart that she did.”

Jack shot unsteadily to his feet and stumbled from the room. Topaz got up to follow, but he held up a hand behind him, telling her to stay. Then he staggered out the door into the night like a punch-drunk boxer heading for his safe corner.

“Is he all right?” Duncan asked.

“I seriously doubt it,” Topaz told him. “Mr. Duncan, Lucia was Jack's mother.”

“What?”

“You didn't know, did you?”

“Lucia had a
son?
” It was his turn to look blown away. He pressed a hand to his forehead, his eyes wide and inwardly focused. “It can't be. She wouldn't have kept something like that from me. No.”