Revealed: His Secret Child (12 page)

His jaw looked tight enough to crack rocks on. He unclenched his teeth enough to speak. “I used to play doubles tennis with Dylan. We were good. After he died I stopped playing competitively and took up swimming.”

“Why swimming?”

“Because,” he said, his gaze fierce, “it was something Dylan did. Not me. For a while I tried to become him to replace him for myself and for my family. And the bonus was that when you're swimming people can't talk to you, can't ask questions, and you can't see the knowledge and pity in their eyes. You can spend hours in silence going up and down the pool.”

“Thank you,” she said. What else could she say? How did she put a sorrow and sympathy he wouldn't want to know about into words?

“That's it?”

“It's enough. For now.”

He sighed his relief. His fist on the table relaxed. Slightly.

Gillian slid her hand over to cover his, relieved when he accepted her touch. She didn't pull back till Pierre brought their appetizers. “Maybe sometime later you could show me some photos of him.”

“Maybe.”

And that tacit agreement felt like a victory.

Max picked up a fork. “All the photos are at my parents'.”

“There's no hurry.”

“I had a call from Mom earlier. She wants us to come up next Saturday, anyway. Wants you and Ethan to meet Daniel, and Kristan and her husband, Craig, and their girls.”

She watched his eyes. “How do you feel about that?”

“I'm telling you, aren't I?”

 

Max stood to the side of the stage, just out of sight behind a heavy blue curtain, watching rock star Ward Miller work the audience like the true professional he was. In this case the audience consisted of local journalists and reporters, from papers, gossip magazines, radio and television stations. And some of those journos had internationally syndicated columns.

They sat on the auditorium's seats, notebooks on laps, Dictaphones clutched, cameras clicking, rolling or at the ready, listening to Ward extol the virtues of Hannah's Hope. The publicly stated goal of the charity—named in memory of Rafe's mother—was to improve literacy levels among the disadvantaged in the community, many of whom were immigrant workers, by pairing them with mentors.

And although the underlying motivation behind founding Hannah's Hope had been to improve the public image of Cameron Enterprises, there was no denying it was already making a real and positive difference.

Ward, who was also a friend of Rafe's, was the perfect spokesperson. He gave Hannah's Hope not just profile but
credibility because he was already behind one nationally revered charity, the Cara Miller Foundation, a foundation he'd begun after his wife's death from breast cancer.

Today Ward was all about Hannah's Hope. He told of the people already being helped in ways that would assist them, today and potentially for the rest of their lives.

Ward was not only good-looking and photogenic, he also had an undeniable charisma and charm. But what shone from him was his utter sincerity and a belief in this cause.

Max had spoken with him several times now. And he'd never failed to be impressed by his commitment and passion, initially for the Cara Miller Foundation but now also for Hannah's Hope. He seemed to find genuine fulfillment from working with the charities. They'd shared ideas on how to make each of the charities even more successful. Max was interested in most effectively harnessing Ward's star power and Ward was interested in Max's opinions on increasing the Cara Miller Foundation's West Coast presence.

Max surveyed the audience again and found the person he sought. Gillian. She sat listening attentively, her whole focus on Ward. It had almost been a relief to tell her about Dylan. After not speaking of it to anyone other than his mother who occasionally, like Gillian, forced the issue with him.

It had also been a relief that once he'd told her what she wanted to know she'd let the subject rest. He knew that wouldn't be an end to it but that she'd respect the space he needed to keep around it.

He was glad, he realized with a shock, that he'd found her again, had her back in his life. And that he had Ethan, too. More than glad.

She made light of the years she'd spent on her own but they couldn't have been easy. He would do what he could to make it easier for her now that he was on the scene. He wanted to help however he could, however she'd let him.

Just looking at her brought a warmth to Max. He couldn't stop it. Never thought to until it was too late. And as always the warmth was followed by something hotter. He couldn't help but think of how they'd spent last night and of how they'd spend tonight once Ethan was well asleep.

Ward finished the spiel he and Max had worked on and opened the floor up to questions. Gillian's hand shot up and some of the warmth Max had been feeling cooled. She had that look in her eyes, the same one she'd had when she'd probed him about Dylan, as though she already knew something and was going to keep digging till she uncovered it.

They'd agreed they wouldn't talk about work at home. Which effectively meant they didn't talk about work at all. Either of their jobs. Which meant he had no idea what she was thinking about the charity.

Hers wasn't the first question Ward took. But she kept her hand up, reminding him of Heather Spindler from his eighth-grade class who always sat up front, and always had questions for the teacher. And often as not, answers, too.

After Eric from the local radio station it was Gillian's turn. "Mr. Miller. What do you say to the accusations that the Hannah's Hope charity is nothing more than a smoke screen to improve public opinion toward Rafe Cameron and his takeover of Worth Industries?”

The warmth Max had been feeling only moments ago turned to ice.

I
t was thirty minutes before he was alone with her. Thirty minutes during which he had plenty of time to try to figure her out. Even as he'd been ostensibly busy with other things, like getting Ward quickly and safely from the premises, fending off those few even more persistent members of the press who had no respect for personal boundaries.

Maybe he should have seen Gillian's approach coming, her quest for information that wasn't on offer, but he hadn't. At least not from her. The clearly stated purpose of the press conference had been to spotlight Hannah's Hope.

Of course he'd briefed Ward on the potential for that line of questioning because he'd known it could, and probably would, crop up.

But not from her. That was what it kept coming back to. From anyone else it wouldn't have bothered him. He would have accepted those questions as inevitable. From Gillian it felt like sabotage, of a personal nature.

Which meant he cared too much.

Which meant he had to find a way to make it stop.

He'd caught her for a couple of seconds at the end of the conference and asked if she could wait around for him. It was early afternoon and Ethan would be asleep with Mrs. McDonald watching him so she'd blithely, almost happily, agreed.

He approached her now just as she said goodbye to a young man with cameras strapped across his chest like a gunslinger from the Wild West.

She turned to him with a smile.

A smile that in other circumstances would have set his heart racing. In truth, even now, even when he knew it shouldn't, it still affected him.

“Great press conference.” She crossed to him. “Better run than most. Ward has the perfect blend of fame, enigma and charm, along with the tragedy in his past. Rafe couldn't have picked anyone better to front Hannah's Hope. Everyone has something to pick up and run with. The gossip mags about his personal life, some of the papers about his return to the music scene and others about the charity. Hannah's Hope should get excellent publicity from it.” She sounded almost excited.

“No thanks to you.”

Her head jerked back.

“Come on, Gillian. Quit with the feigned surprise. You can't expect me to be pleased with how the press conference went when you were the one asking the thorny questions. You were the one detracting from the good the charity hopes to achieve.”

Her smile had gone. “I was doing my job, Max. Just like you were. Just like I've been doing here for the past six months. Someone was going to ask those questions.”

“Why didn't you ask me any of them at home?”

Her eyes had narrowed. “Because we've been keeping work
out of our personal relationship. And because we didn't want to have this type of argument in front of Ethan.”

Behind them the conference center staff cleared away the lectern and microphones and stacked chairs.

“What are you trying to do to me?” he asked quietly. “Is this some kind of payback?”

He thought he read a glimmer of hurt in her eyes but it was quickly replaced by defiance. She took her time dropping her notepad into her handbag, snapping it shut. She looked back at him, her face carefully neutral. “This isn't about you, Max.”

“It is when you publicly detract from what I'm trying to achieve.” He wanted this woman, above anyone else, on his side.

“It's about me doing my job properly.”

“What are you going to be writing in the
Gazette
tomorrow?”

“You know I'm not going to tell you that. Just as there are things I know you wouldn't tell me.”

“You're right but it's not that simple. The difference is that what I'm doing doesn't impact negatively on what you're trying to achieve. Rafe Cameron's trying to do something good for this community but if the people here are suspicious or hostile toward him, it won't work, won't help the very people he's trying to help, people like his parents used to be.”

“Is that the official line?”

“It's the truth.”

“It may be, but there's more to it than that. Even the truth has two sides.”

Someone knocked over a chair behind them. “Let's talk outside.” Max gestured to the exit. They walked together out into a bright clear afternoon. By unspoken agreement they headed for the beachfront a block's walk away.

“Despite the fairy-tale dream of Rafe's rags-to-riches story,” she said, “some people are worried that in his takeover
of Worth Industries he's out for revenge. And I have to say, it seems there might be a case for that. I'm finding very little information on what his intentions with the company are. What it looks like is that Hannah's Hope, for all that it's doing good, is actually just a front. It's my job to at least bring the questions and concerns to light.”

Max said nothing. He couldn't. Because she could well be right. Rafe hadn't said as much to him, but Max knew he held a grudge for the way his parents had been treated by the people of Vista del Mar and by Ronald Worth in particular. That directly or indirectly he blamed them for his mother's death.

Max's understanding of the story was that Hannah and Rafe's father, Bob, had worked for Worth Industries till she became pregnant. When her condition became known, they'd been fired because fraternization hadn't been permitted. The young couple had struggled and those struggles only got worse when Hannah developed COPD. And although the cause was never clear, Rafe suspected exposure to contaminants at Worth Industries had led to the disease. Without health insurance, the family couldn't afford treatment. Hannah had died when Rafe was fifteen.

Max and Gillian turned on to the sidewalk that followed the shoreline. In the distance, waves crashed against the bluffs and surged around rocks. “That's the difference between us,” Gillian said. “Your job is to convince people to think what you want them to think. It's my job to give them the information I find and then ask them to think for themselves. I did you a favor. I gave Ward the opportunity to dispel the rumors.”

When she got all passionate about an argument or a point she wanted to make her eyes shone and energy radiated from her. And that passion kindled memories of other passions. But now wasn't the time to tell her that. Or even think it. She'd think he was trying to distract her. All the same, he took her
hand in his, felt hers soften in his clasp and her fingers curl around his. And her touch seemed necessary and right. “Worth Industries was failing.” He stuck to the facts, still hoping to persuade her to see things his way. “Someone was going to take it over or it was going to go bust in a big way and then this town would have nothing.”

“But if Rafe takes it over and then sells off the parts to the highest bidder, which is the rumor I'm hearing, a rumor which Rafe has done nothing to quell, this town will still have nothing.”

“That's not necessarily what's going to happen.”

“Isn't it?”

“I'm not in a position to say.”

“I'm sure you're not. Doesn't mean you don't know more than you're letting on.”

“What I know for certain is that Rafe's a shrewd businessman. If anyone can make a go of turning the company around, it's him.”

“If he's motivated to do it.”

Which was the key question, and only Rafe knew the answer.

 

Gillian leaned into Max a little as they walked the path—partly for the shelter he provided from the cool breeze and partly because, despite their disagreement, being here with him like this made her believe everything would be okay. Above them a gull squawked and swooped. With each wash and ebb of waves to the shore, the tension between them eased. “I know our careers throw up conflicts but we can navigate them.” They had to.

“What if you could stop?” he asked.

“Stop what? Do you mean stop highlighting the fact that there are two sides to any story?” she asked gently. He wouldn't really expect that of her.

“No. Stop working for the
Gazette.
Stay home and look after Ethan.”

She halted, pulling her hand from his clasp so she could turn to face him. The wind lifted and blew her hair as she stared at him.

“You said yourself that at times, like when he's sick, it's hard.”

“As it is for all parents.”

“I'd support you. You know money's not an issue. It never will be. And it might be best for Ethan.”

Gillian tried to absorb the enormity of what he was suggesting. “You're serious?”

“Completely. It's the perfect solution.”

“I ask a few questions you don't like and you want me to give up my job.”

“It's not that. I've been thinking of it since the book launch. Thinking it might be the best way forward for us.”

“Us? You mean you?”

He shook his head. “No. I meant us.”

The scary thing was that he looked and sounded as though he really meant it. The even scarier thing was that for a fleeting moment the idea had held a glimmer of appeal. It wasn't something she could allow. It wasn't something she wanted for myriad reasons. “Max, no matter how perfect your solution may seem to you, I can't ever let myself be totally dependent on you.” She spoke slowly, hoping that gave her words the weight she wanted. “I like my job with the
Gazette.
It's the best paper I've ever worked for. What I do there gives me purpose and it keeps me sane. And more than that I need the independence it gives me.”

“It's a thought. At least give it some consideration. I'm not suggesting you make an immediate decision.”

Had he even heard what she'd said? Gillian turned back. “I'm not going to give up working there. Ever.” She hated
that her voice shook. “Why don't you give up working for Rafe? There'd be no conflicts of interest then.” She started walking.

“You're angry?” He fell into step beside her and reached for her hand.

“Yes.”

He interlaced their fingers. “Are you going to yell?”

Their shoulders brushed. “Maybe. If you bring it up again.”

It was another minute before he spoke again. “Would we get to have angry sex?”

She bit her lip. This was not funny. She would not laugh. She caught a faint trace of his cologne. He tugged her a little closer. “Maybe angry sex
after
I've yelled at you.”

“You could yell during.”

“This isn't a joke, Max.”

“I wasn't joking.”

 

Max stepped into Rafe's office, passing Chase Larsen on his way out. William Tanner, the CFO, was already seated across from Rafe's desk and, judging by the seriousness of the expressions on the two men's faces, something was up.

“Shut the door behind you,” Rafe said. Another bad sign. Rafe always kept his door open.

Max pushed the door closed and took a seat. “What's wrong?”

Rafe nodded at Will, who turned to Max. “I can't be certain just yet but we thought I should give you a heads up.” Max waited.

“I've only just come back from the New York office so I've only had a preliminary look through the Worth Industries accounts but it appears that there are some…discrepancies.”

“What do you mean?”

“Funds that aren't correctly accounted for,” Will said.
“Accounts that look unnecessarily…padded, figures that don't quite add up.”

This was bad. “You're saying…”

“There are two obvious possibilities. The first is that it could be due to clerical and system errors. They implemented some company-wide, accounting policy changes six months ago. So it could be they haven't been handled consistently. In which case the money will still be in the company, just not attributed to the right places.”

“And the second possibility?” Max asked.

“Someone's helping themselves to a little extra on the company.” Will's expression hardened.

“An inside job?” Max considered the implications.

Will nodded.

“Who and how much?”

“It's too early to answer either of those questions. There are a limited number of people with the necessary access to the accounts to achieve something like this but I don't want to go pointing the finger till we know for certain that it's fraud, and if it is, till I know for certain who could have done it.”

Max let the seriousness of the potential ramifications sink in.

Rafe leaned forward. “We've brought you in at this stage because—”

“Because if it is fraud, and that knowledge gets out into the public, as it inevitably will, the PR implications for the company are huge.” The press, including Gillian, would have a field day with it.

The two other men nodded, faces solemn.

“Looks like I'd better start working on a crisis management plan. Give me your worst-case scenario.”

 

Max sat across the table from his son that evening, watching him eat. But tonight his thoughts weren't totally on Ethan or
even Gillian. They were back with Cameron Enterprises. He had never met a crisis he couldn't work through, and usually he loved the challenge of it. But this was different. Someone stealing from the company—the thought appalled him.

Gillian stood mixing something at the sink, swaying gently to the pop tune on the radio. She'd feel the same. She turned. Caught him watching. “Is everything okay?”

“Great.”

Only it wasn't. And part of the “not” okay was the fact that he couldn't talk about this with Gillian. Not tonight, or tomorrow. Not until if and when it became necessary to make the knowledge public.

And that should have been okay. If this had happened last month he wouldn't have had Gillian to talk through ideas with. So why did it matter now that he not only couldn't talk it through with her, he had to hide it from her, something that was going to consume a lot of his mental energies until it was sorted?