The Kept Woman (26 page)

Sam laughed.

"You know Kara's going to suspect sooner or later," Monte said, frowning.

"I disagree," Sam said. "People see what they want to see, and I think Kara sees what's happening with Jack and me as a well-orchestrated performance, a reflection of her own genius. I don't think she has a clue."

Monte got up from the stool and reached for Sam's hand, pulling her up. "Come on. Let's get some sleep. I think I'll take the Lincoln Bedroom tonight."

"You're nuts," Sam said with a snicker. She turned off the lights as they moved toward the foyer and the front stairway.

Monte stopped halfway up the white marble steps and glared at Sam. "If Jack Tolliver does anything to hurt you, I swear I'll—"

"No." Sam squeezed Monte's arm and encouraged her to keep moving. "No sharp objects are coming near that man."

It was hours later when the phone woke Sam from deep sleep. She struggled with the light and reached for the phone by her bed. Not many people had this number and she couldn't even begin to imagine who'd be calling at this hour. The caller ID said "number not available."

"Hello?"

"Sam, it's Mitch. You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice."

Sam shot up in bed and pulled the covers close to her chest, as if a layer of luxury goose down could protect her heart. "I have nothing to say to you, Mitch."

"Don't hang up. Please."

She didn't, and as she held the phone to her ear, Sam wondered why—was it the familiar sound of his voice? A perverse curiosity about why he'd chosen now to appear in her life? Or was it the fact that for the first time in three years she had a chance to hold Mitch over the fires of hell for what he'd done to Lily, Greg, and Dakota?

"I just want to see the kids, Sam. I need to see them."

Sam's spine went rigid. Denny had told Sam that Mitch would probably do this and told her how to handle it. "You currently have no visitation rights. Talk to your lawyer. I am not legally obligated to have this discussion with you."

"Just meet me. Talk to me. You can't be so cruel as to deny me a chance just to see them."

Sam suddenly felt quite cold. "Where did you get the money to pay off your child support debt, Mitch?"

"You say that like I robbed a bank or something, Sam. I earned it, of course."

"Glass pods must really be coming back into style."

"I knew you'd be bitter."

"Bitter?" Sam heard herself laugh so loud she was afraid she'd wake Dakota in the next room. "Listen up, Mitch. I'm glad you left. As angry as I was that you abandoned me with three kids to raise and as hard as these years have been, it was a blessing in disguise. I am far better off without you."

"Please, just meet me. We can go somewhere quiet to talk, somewhere we can—"

"Talk to your lawyer. Do not call me again." Sam hung up and didn't sleep the rest of the night. The worries swarmed in her mind like hornets, angry and ready to sting. What was Mitch up to? She knew she couldn't trust him. It would devastate the kids if their father suddenly reappeared in their lives only to leave again.

She would do whatever it took to make sure that didn't happen.

"I'm still very curious who hired you." Mitch was trying to make small talk while Brandon secured the microphone wire with one last strip of medical tape. Mitch hoped it wouldn't rip off his skin when he went to remove the ridiculous contraption. "I mean, really, how did you find out that Sam had an appointment this morning at the prosecutor's office? How does a person get that kind of information?"

"It doesn't matter." Brandon never seemed to have much patience with Mitch. "All that matters is that you get Samantha Monroe on tape saying the engagement is a publicity stunt. We don't care how you do it; just do it. And if you don't, you're on your own—no car, no apartment, no job. Got it?"

Mitch despised this guy. He'd always hated dweebs like him, who'd somehow found themselves in positions of authority and then milked it for all it was worth. Brandon What's-his-name clearly thought he was too good for this assignment.

"You told me I could see my kids again. That's the only reason I'm doing your dirty work."

"I told you that you'd at least have a
chance
of seeing your kids again. Your debt is paid. You'll have to discuss the legal technicalities with your attorney."

"I don't have one. Are you a lawyer?"

Brandon pulled Mitch's shirt down over the wire and stared at him in discomfort. "Uh, yes. But I don't do custody."

Mitch was getting more hacked off by the second. He was pissed at this Brandon jerk and whatever politician he worked for. He was pissed at Sam for treating him like he was a waste of her time. But most of all, he was pissed at himself for getting into this mess.

He wanted to see his kids. That's all he wanted.

"How does that feel?" Brandon asked, zipping up the ugly forest green fleece-lined jacket he'd made Mitch wear. It was so not his style.

"Fabulous! The fabric has so much movement. And the color is to die for!"

Brandon scowled at him and took a few steps back, and Mitch laughed. He so loved to play with homophobes.

"Remember, don't touch the recorder afterward. Call me and tell me you're done and we'll meet at the City Market men's room, where I'll take all this off of you."

"You're such a tease."

"Ugh. I can't wait for this to be over." Brandon headed for the door of Mitch's apartment.

"You and me both." After the door shut, Mitch stood still for a moment, overcome with a sudden flash of creative brilliance. He went around the apartment and gathered up what little stuff he had worth keeping and threw it in the trunk of his beater Pontiac. All it would take was some research at the library—after all, he hadn't exactly had his finger on the pulse of Hoosier politics the last few years—and he'd never have to lay eyes on this place again. He was thinking California this time.

Maybe he'd make it big out there. Maybe the kids would want to come out for a visit.

Sam hadn't been inside the City-County Building in years, and walking the halls of the sterile concrete box of a building gave her the willies. The last time she was here it was to finalize her divorce.

She pushed open the glass door of the Marion County Prosecutor's office and spoke to the receptionist. Sam waited a few minutes past her appointment time, fascinated by the frenetic pace of busy people rushing in and out of the suite of rooms, case files clutched to their sides. It reminded her of a typical day at Le Cirque, and Sam realized she didn't miss it one damn bit.

Maybe she wouldn't go back to part-time. Maybe she wouldn't go back at all.

"Ms. Monroe?" A harried-looking young woman in a blue suit stood in front of her in the waiting area. "Let's come on back."

The process took only about fifteen minutes, and Sam left holding a county check for every last penny Mitch had ever owed her children. The deputy prosecutor had asked Sam the same question she had—where did Mitch get the money? Sam told the lawyer she had no idea.

She'd barely exited the office when a hand landed on her upper arm. Sam spun around to see Mitch hovering close, those familiar eyes shadowed with something she'd never seen in all the years she'd known him—desperation.

Sam was stunned. Nothing came out of her mouth. She pulled her arm from his touch and headed into the crowded main hallway of the third floor, knowing he was right behind her.

"We have to talk," Mitch called after her. "Sam, please! You've got to talk to me."

"Leave me alone." Sam took one look at the crowd waiting for the next elevator and felt nauseated. She decided to hit the stairs. Sam cursed herself for the stupid move as soon as she heard Mitch's footsteps right behind her.

"Sam! Please!"

She whipped around and stopped on the landing between the second and third floors. She held on to the painted metal railing to steady herself, because she was suddenly very dizzy.

"I have nothing to say to you, Mitch. You fucked up. You can't see your kids because you fucked up, do you understand?"

Mitch now stood two steps above the landing and looked down into Sam's eyes. He appeared so much older than he had just three years ago and was dressed like a guy ready to play eighteen holes. The Mitch she knew was more of a black jeans, black T-shirt, and black leather jacket kind of guy.

"You look so beautiful, Sam. You were always such a beautiful woman."

"Oh jeez. I think I'm going to throw up."

"And I know I messed up bad. Please give me another chance."

Sam laughed in his face. "Mitch?
Hello?
This is not about me. It's about your children. And it's my job to do what is best for them, a concept you apparently never fully grasped."

"Don't be such a bitch."

"Forget it." Sam turned to continue down the stairs and almost fell. She braced a hand against the concrete block wall.

"Wait! I'm sorry!" Mitch tromped down after her. "It's just that I saw you with Jack Tolliver and I knew that if I didn't come forward right now he'd probably adopt them and then I'd
never
have a chance to tell them how sorry I am for hurting them. I just want to be their father again!"

Sam slowly turned around, only to see tears streaking down Mitch's face. Her immediate instinct was to soothe him, the emotional remnant of a ten-year marriage, no doubt, but she didn't have the energy.

"I hate myself for what I've done to them, Sam. You have no idea what I've been through these last few years and how I've kicked myself for leaving the way I did."

"Uh-huh. And you have no idea what I've been through."

"I'm sorry, Sam."

"Right. Well, this is not a conversation I want to be having, Mitch. I'm not feeling too good at the moment. Besides, you should be discussing this with your lawyer, not me."

"Fine. But I'm telling you that I won't stand for Tolliver adopting the kids when you get married, do you hear me? They're my children and they are the only things that matter to me in this life!"

Sam frowned, her mind racing in an attempt to figure out how to end this rapidly disintegrating encounter and make it down the next two flights of stairs. "I feel dizzy." She plopped down on the last step and Mitch followed her.

"I have a right to re-establish a relationship with them." He peered down at her. "The idea that some other man would adopt them makes me crazy."

"Pardon me if I don't quite trust your sudden love for your children."

Mitch's shoulders shook, and before she knew it, he'd sat down right next to her, put his face in his hands, and cried like a baby.

The gray concrete stairwell walls felt like they were closing in on her. She felt clammy. On the edge of being sick. She needed to go.

Mitch's voice was strangled when he spoke again. "Please don't let him take my kids! They are the only thing I ever did right in my life! Oh God! I'm begging you!"

Sam pushed herself up to her feet and fought off nausea. "Stop it, Mitch. Just stop." She grabbed her purse. "He's not going to adopt them. Look, we're not really engaged to be married, OK? Jack Tolliver hired me to pretend to be his fiancee until the primary. That's all. It's a business deal. I need to go."

Mitch slowly raised his face, and Sam watched, horrified, as her ex-husband's eyes flashed with something that looked almost like glee. How did he go from devastation to glee in a heartbeat?

"Thank you, Sam. That's all I needed to know." Mitch stood up and wiped off his jeans. "So long as they're still my kids. I guess I'll talk to my lawyer."

Mitch bent down to kiss her cheek and Sam backed away. He gave her a smirk and walked past, and as Sam watched the green windbreaker disappear around the stairway's next bend, she wrapped her arms around herself as tight as she could, feeling dizzy and tired and sick with the thought that she'd just made a horrible mistake.

"What do you mean he's gone?" Christy stared at Brandon in disbelief, noting that he was sweating like a boxer.

"What I mean is he didn't show up at our designated meeting place to hand over the tape. He didn't go back to the apartment and he hasn't shown up at work for two days."

Christy's jaw fell open in shock, and that movement sent sharp streaks of pain all along her chin and up to her temples and into her shoulders. It hurt so bad she wanted to cry.

"I can tell you're upset and I'm sorry, baby, but we'll find him."

Brandon opened his arms and Christy stared at him in disbelief. Could he want to hold her? Had it developed to the point where he thought she'd want that? And what was with the
baby
crap? Christy silently thanked God that the primary would be over in just a few weeks so she could extract these wisdom teeth from her aching jaw and Brandon from her life!

She eased into his arms, gritting her teeth as he hugged her and rubbed her back. If anyone walked into her office at this moment she'd die. Christy pushed him off her and smiled.

"Well, you'll just have to track him down, then," she said, trying to sound casual when she was panicking inside. She'd spent a fortune to drag Mitch Bergen back here. He was her only shot. She needed three independent verifications of the information before she could take it on air, and she knew no one would comment unless she could play the tape for them.

Samantha Monroe's family in Valparaiso said they hadn't heard from Sam in more than a year. Jack ignored Christy, referring all questions to Kara. Of course, she warned Christy to stop harassing Samantha and gave her just enough information so that she couldn't claim Kara had shut her out entirely. Stuart said nothing, as usual. Marguerite Tolliver wouldn't answer Christy's calls. That left Sam's two teenagers, now enrolled at Park Tudor. Christy could try to catch them after school, she supposed, but she'd never used kids as sources and didn't know how reliable they would be. Or if it was even ethical.

All Christy knew was that failure was not an option. If she was going to break into a national network slot, this was the time to do it and this was the story. She could
not
let it slip from her grasp.

"Maybe we should call the police," Brandon suggested.

"And tell them what? We've lost track of the snitch we paid to get the audio I need for my award-winning story? I don't think so."

Brandon cleared his throat. "Technically, Christy, you're the one who hired him. I just volunteered to help you out."

Oh really?
Christy thought to herself.
Technically, I feel like telling you to fuck yourself
. She didn't know how much longer she could take all this stress. Her jaw throbbed, and she feared she was gobbling so much ibuprofen that she'd blow a hole through her stomach before she could get the stupid molars out.

"Are you all right, Christy? You look kind of pale."

"Fine—just my wisdom teeth."

Brandon opened his arms again and Christy made a beeline to her office door, which she opened wide. "I've got to work on my piece for the noon news, Brandon, but call me the second you track him down."

"I just hope he's not out getting high somewhere," Brandon said, walking past her.

"Find him,
now
."