BY NOON the next day Morgan and Riley were heading north on the first leg of their journey. Her gear was stashed in the trunk; she was wearing her bush pants and boots. Her campsite, rather to her surprise, had caused her no second thoughts. For now, she wanted to be with Riley rather than camping alone in the desert. And that was that.
They were driving toward the interstate when Riley said, “Now’s a good time for you to tell me about Chip.”
Morgan had been admiring the smooth expanse of grasslands and the distant, cloud-capped mountain range. “I don’t want to,” she said. “How’s that for honesty?”
He rested his palm on her thigh. “Come clean, Morgan. You didn’t want to tell me about burnout, either.”
“You’re like a dentist, always prodding and poking,” she said crossly. “Oh, look, there’s a red-tailed hawk.”
Riley’s eyes didn’t leave her face. “Dentists add to the beauty of your smile. What’s his last name and how old is he?”
Morgan had never really sorted out what Chip had meant to her. Instead, in the last year, she’d retreated into herself and increased her workload. Which, more or less directly, had led her to Riley.
“Chip Palermo, thirty-one, low-key kind of guy, teacher at my school, collects antique glass, known him for seven years.”
She stopped abruptly. “Keep going,” said Riley.
She frowned at the long ribbon of highway. “Dated him, on and off, for four years. We were friends. Buddies. Went to movies. Ate pizza. Jogged together in the park. Worked together with the kids after school in athletics and drama. It was so reliable and easygoing, and just what I needed—it helped me keep the lid on all the problems at school.”
“What happened?”
Morgan sighed. “A year ago September on my twenty-eighth birthday we went out for dinner. We drank too much wine and ended up in bed. We’d never done that, you see, it hadn’t been an issue. And it ruined everything. The whole friendship got strained and awkward and horrible, and we started avoiding each other. Then the first thing you know he falls in love with the new art teacher and all last spring they have this scorching affair right under my nose…they’re getting married next month.”
“I see,” said Riley thoughtfully. “Chip and you sound rather like your parents’ marriage. No ups and downs.”
“Except that sex wrecked the relationship.”
“Is he another reason you’re so tired?”
“Oh, well, there was Sally, too—I might as well give you my whole life story while I’m at it. Sally’s my best friend. She got bronchitis at the end of term, when we’re all zombies anyway, and over the summer it turned into pneumonia. So I spent most of August and September looking after her and her four cats.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I don’t care if I ever see kitty litter again.”
“You know what I’d like to do?” Riley said with sudden violence. “I’d like to spirit you to a Caribbean island and keep you there for at least six months. Doing absolutely nothing.”
It sounded like heaven. “I don’t feel tired when I’m with you,” Morgan confessed in a small voice.
“We’re getting in deeper and deeper all the time…you know that, don’t you?”
His hand felt heavy on her leg and the same violence had roughened his voice. “Scary,” she said.
“Yeah…maybe for once we should talk about the weather. For instance, it looks like we’re heading into rain.”
“We should soon reach the interstate,” Morgan said, and grimaced as they passed a dead coyote on the shoulder of the road.
The interstate was four-lane, the rain held off, and they talked of nothing but inconsequentials. They passed through the brown haze over the steel plants in Provo and Orem, and a little later pulled off for coffee so Riley could stretch his legs. By five they were booked into a hotel in Salt Lake City.
Morgan was beginning to regret her spending spree of the day before. Riley didn’t look in the mood for black underwear; he’d withdrawn from her in a way she didn’t like at all. With a touch of desperation she said, “What’s wrong, Riley?”
He was shaking out his suit. “I’ll be glad when this thing with Atherton is dealt with,” he said tersely. “I’ve got a bad feeling about it. Must be the Irish in me.”
“Oh. So it’s nothing to do with me?”
“Of course not,” he said in faint surprise. “But I’ve got the same kind of lump in my gut as when I’m swimming too close to a whale fifty times my size in order to free it from a fishing net. One flip of the tail and I’m a goner.” He hung his suit jacket on a wooden hanger. “Morgan, will you go with me tomorrow? I know it’s a lot to ask. But I’d feel better if you were there.”
He needed her. That was what he was saying. She said, “Yes, I’ll go.”
Lightly he rested his hands on her shoulders. “Thanks.”
She would do a great deal more than beard the taciturn Mr. Atherton to bring that look to Riley’s eyes. He added, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose, “You did all the driving today. Why don’t you soak in the tub while I go down to get a newspaper? Maybe there’s a concert or a play you’d like to go to tonight.”
“Okay,” she said.
But Morgan didn’t soak in the tub. She had a very quick shower instead. When Riley unlocked the door to their room, she was lying in a provocative pose on the sheets, clad in lacy black underwear complete with a minimalist bra and long black stockings, her hair a vivid cloud around her face.
He pulled the door shut and slid the chain in place, his blue eyes sparked with fire. “You’ve got a choice,” he said. “Tickets for a ballet. Or me.”
She gave him a sultry smile and moved her hips suggestively. “I did promise to seduce you.”
He dropped the newspaper and hauled his shirt out of his waistband. “So you did. I’m glad you’re a woman who keeps her promises.”
He undressed in total silence. Then, naked and aroused, he walked toward the bed. And Morgan forgot all her preplanned moves and simply opened her arms to him.
Nine o’clock the next morning found Riley and Morgan standing outside the double mahogany doors that announced in polished brass letters the firm of Atherton, Williams and Atherton. Riley looked exceedingly handsome in his gray pinstripe suit and Morgan felt her best in her new dress and boots. Mr. Atherton didn’t have to know she was wearing black underwear, she thought, and gave Riley’s hand an encouraging squeeze.
He glanced down at her. “Have I told you yet this morning that you look very beautiful?” he said huskily, and in his face was all the memory of their lovemaking last night and of dinner eaten in bed because neither of them wanted to go out.
Some of her nervousness vanished. “You’re the handsomest man in the state of Utah,” she said pertly, her heart in her smile. “Also the sexiest.”
“Don’t feel you have to research Utah’s male population to back up that last statement,” he growled and lifted her hair to kiss her ear. Then he opened the door.
Wilfred Atherton was younger and more affable than Morgan had expected from Riley’s comments. Riley introduced her as his friend and said in a tone that brooked no argument, “I want Miss Cassidy to be present, Mr. Atherton.”
“Certainly,” the lawyer said, aligning the file precisely with the corners of the leather blotter on top of his desk. He had thin fair hair and light blue eyes, and looked not altogether at his ease. Morgan felt her nerves tighten.
Wilfred Atherton cleared his throat, opened the file and passed Riley a letter. “I believe the most direct way to deal with this matter is to give you this letter,” he said. “I have been apprised of its contents, although I was not permitted to divulge them until we were face-to-face. Perhaps you would read it, Mr. Hanrahan?”
Only Morgan, who was beginning to know Riley rather well, saw the tension in his jaw as he tore the envelope open and spread out the two sheets it contained. He started to read.
She watched the color drain from his face and heard the expensive notepaper crackle in his fingers as he gripped it more and more tightly. Her pulse began to race; her throat closed uncomfortably.
He read the letter through. Then, as though he couldn’t believe the evidence of his own eyes, he read it again. Only then did he drop it on the desk and croak, “Is this true?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Hanrahan.”
“God in heaven,” said Riley.
“I can see that it must come as a surprise to you,” Mr. Atherton said. “Perhaps when—”
“A surprise?” Riley snarled. “I’ve just discovered that I’ve got a seven-year-old daughter, and you talk about surprise?”
Morgan’s gasp of shock brought his head around. He was white-faced, his eyes blank; not even in his worst moments in the desert had she seen him look so terrible. He said hoarsely, “You’d better read it, too, Morgan,” and thrust the letter at her.
She swallowed hard, glanced at the signature at the end and began to read. The script was very neat, written in fountain pen on heavy vellum; the letter was dated seven years ago. Its gist was that Beth Slater had deliberately deceived Riley. She had wanted a child but not a husband; her month-long affair with Riley had achieved her aim. She did not once apologize for the deception. “I hope you never receive this letter,” Morgan read, “because if you do it means I shall be dead. But should that happen, I’m giving my daughter into your custody as the biological father. One of the reasons I agreed to our affair was that I felt you were a man of intelligence and integrity who would make a good father should anything happen to me.”
The words blurred in front of Morgan’s eyes. Riley had a child. A daughter born seven years ago.
Terrified out of her wits, she threw the letter on the desk as though it were the deadliest of rattlesnakes.
Mr. Atherton ran his finger around his collar. “Miss Slater has been my client for many years. She drew up a new will when her daughter was born, and that document remains in effect now. In brief, she leaves her house to her brother; it’s a very substantial house. The remainder of her estate—” he mentioned a sum that made Morgan blink “—she leaves to you, Mr. Hanrahan, for the care and support of your daughter. She wishes her brother to have no further dealings with the child. I’m sure you’d like to look over the will.”
The document he held out to Riley was bound in shiny dark green paper. Riley shook his head; he still looked like a man in shock. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said.
“I had my secretary xerox a copy, you can take it with you.”
There was a silence. Then Riley, who had been gazing at the floor, looked up. “What’s her name?” he said. “My daughter’s name?”
“Jennifer Elizabeth. She goes by Jenny.” Mr. Atherton cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to do, Mr. Atherton. But Jenny should be in school, and I would hope that you’ll take her to your home as soon as possible and get her settled. You live in Maine, do you not?”
“You mean she’s not in school now? But if she’s seven—”
The lawyer said delicately, “Miss Slater preferred private tutoring. Entirely legal, of course,” he finished hastily.
Riley leaned forward. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“I’m sure when you meet Jenny, you’ll come to your own conclusions,” Mr. Atherton said, and made a little steeple of his fingers.
“I’m walking into this blind,” Riley exploded. “I need all the help I can get and I don’t appreciate you holding back any information that might be of use.”
The lawyer glanced at the framed photo on his desk of an attractive blond woman with two little girls. Then he looked back at Riley. “I’m a father myself,” he said, rather obviously. “If I were to give you any advice— strictly off the record, of course—I’d say take Jenny out of that house just as quickly as you can. Today wouldn’t be too soon. She needs to go to a regular school and wear blue jeans and get dirty. And that, Mr. Hanrahan, is all you’re getting out of me. Other than to say that I’m available to smooth out the legalities and financial transfers, and to explain any clauses of the will should you require me to do so. I would also appreciate it if you’d notify me when you plan to leave the state.”
He passed Riley a hand-sketched map. “I took the liberty of showing you how to get to the house, it’s a twenty-minute drive from the city.”
Riley took the map and the plain brown envelope that contained the copy of the will. Gazing at the map as though it might blow up in his face, he pushed himself to his feet. “Thank you, Mr. Atherton, I’ll be in touch. We’re staying at the Wasatch Hotel if you need me.”
All the way down on the elevator Riley stared stonily at the control panel. They walked out onto the street, into October sunshine and the roar of traffic. When they reached the car, he said abruptly, “I’ve got to be by myself for a few minutes, Morgan. Why don’t I walk back to the hotel and you meet me there?”
“But—”
“If it’s too far, I’ll get a cab,” he said curtly, and set off down the street as though demons were after him. He was, Morgan noticed with a catch at her heart, masking his limp as best he could. His hands were thrust in his pockets, his shoulders hunched.
Riley had a seven-year-old daughter. Named Jenny. Who was now in his sole custody. And who would be going with him to Maine very soon.
Which certainly changed things between herself and Riley. Altered them totally. It was one thing to embark on an affair with an unattached man, quite another to continue that affair when she’d just discovered the man in question was responsible for the upbringing of a small child. That in the next few days he’d be leaving for the other side of the country with that child.
Her heart felt like it was encased in lead, her throat as though it were encircled by a choke chain. But she couldn’t just sit here. Hoping the problem would go away.
Morgan started the car and leaped away from the curb, passing Riley without acknowledging his presence, and driving to the hotel as fast as she could. There was a parking meter free right by the hotel. She pulled in and turned off the engine. A bus zipped past, followed by a police cruiser.
What had that policeman said, the one she’d disliked so much back in Sorel? If Riley had been left a million bucks, he’d said, it would be a motive for murder.
Beth’s estate wasn’t quite that much. But it was near. Which to Morgan seemed like a huge sum of money.
Perhaps Howard and Dez had been hired to get rid of Riley so the money would go to the unknown brother. If they’d been able to track Riley down in Sorel, it was entirely possible they knew where he was right now. And would try again.
Her palms were sweating. Morgan rubbed them on her new dress and tried to calm down. She’d been reading too many mysteries. Not even Dez with his minimal intelligence would shoot Riley down in the middle of the city.
They could run him down when he crossed the street. He wouldn’t be able to jump out of the way because of his bad leg.
With a whimper of fear Morgan got out of the car. Riley would come that way, she thought, and started running along the sidewalk, scanning both sides of the road for his dark head. When she came to an intersection she turned right, thrusting her way through pedestrians with scant regard for good manners or for the toes of her new boots.
Five minutes later she was still running. Her imagination was also running, running away with her. What if Howard had posed as a cabdriver? She’d never see Riley again. She couldn’t bear that. Her breath sobbing in her throat, she sprinted along the sidewalk.
And then she saw him. He was on the opposite side of the road, waiting for the light to change. She looked both ways and darted across the street, crying his name, ignoring the cabdriver who was racing the light and leaning on his horn. Riley grabbed her by the sleeve. “What the hell are you doing?”
She collapsed against him, gasping for breath. “You’re s-safe,” she sputtered.
“Of course I am.” He pulled her out of the crosswalk, giving some curious bystanders a ferocious scowl. “Morgan, I’m quite capable of walking six blocks and I told you I wanted to be alone.”
She stammered out her theory, which didn’t sound very convincing now that she had her arms cinched around his waist. “So I c-came looking for you.”
“Where’s your car?”
“At the hotel.”
He hailed a cab, thrust her in the back seat and got in beside her. He didn’t look at all grateful for being rescued, she thought resentfully, and pulled her skirt down over her knees. Her boots, elegant though they were, had not been designed for running. “Next time I’ll let you be the victim of a hit-and-run,” she said meanly.
Riley said nothing. The cabbie pulled up by the hotel and Morgan climbed out, stalking back to her car. A parking ticket was flapping under her windshield wiper; she’d forgotten to put any money in the meter. She got in the car, slammed the door and flung the ticket in the back seat. As Riley climbed in, she said coldly, “Now what do you want to do?”
“I want to wake up,” he said with savage emphasis. “Wake up and find out this is all a bad dream.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Let’s go straight to the house.”
“I’m not going. You can take a taxi.”
His head swung around. “Look, it was nice of you to come running after me like that even if it wasn’t necessary, and I’m sorry I’m in such a lousy mood. I want you to come with me.”
Morgan hated the word nice, especially when it was used of her. “Jenny’s your child, Riley. Not mine.”
“You’ve got that wrong. She’s Beth’s child.”
“You fathered her.”
Violently he slammed his fist on the dash. “How could she have deceived me like that?” he blazed. “Deliberately. In cold blood. And then walk away as though nothing had happened. She never let me know she was pregnant. Never told me when my child was born. I still wouldn’t know if she hadn’t died. She didn’t even apologize in the letter…how could she have behaved that way?”
He was haggard, his eyes burning in their sockets. Morgan hardened her heart. “How do I know? You’re the one who knew her.”
“I didn’t know her at all! Because that’s the other thing. I was utterly taken in. Here’s this pleasant, serene woman who wants an affair with no commitments, right up your alley, Hanrahan, go for it.” Bitterly he added, “I was thinking with my hormones, not my brain cells.”
He was glaring at Morgan in a way that seared her to the soul. She spat, “Don’t you dare look at me like that! I’m not Beth Slater.”
As he rubbed at his forehead, Morgan watched reason
return to his eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I know you’re not, of course I do. But I’ve been half crazy ever since I read that letter.”
“I can understand why, don’t think I’m being utterly unfeeling. But I still think you should take a cab.”
He took a deep, slow breath. “Let’s start over. Why don’t you want to come with me?”
If he’d been half crazy, she’d been in a total panic ever since she’d read Beth’s neat script with its devastating message. Panic so all-consuming she couldn’t think straight. Which was one reason she’d gone running after him. Now, trusting her gut instincts, Morgan said, “You’ve got to make your own relationship with Jenny. She’s your child. Yours and Beth’s. My presence would just confuse the issue.”
“Morgan,” Riley said, “I don’t know the first thing about kids. I haven’t been with a seven-year-old since I was in the orphanage.”
“Then you’d better start learning. Fast. I can’t help you with that, Riley—it’s your job.”
“So what are you going to do? Head for the desert in your jazzy blue dress?”
“I don’t know!”
“Start the goddamned car and let’s get out there.”
“You’ve got to think of Jenny,” she stormed. “You and I aren’t married or engaged or even in love, and—”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Riley said grimly.
“About what?” Morgan said, all her senses suddenly alert.
“I told you you’ve turned my world upside down. That I’ve been intimate with you in ways that are utterly new to me and that I want you both in bed and out. I don’t know what being in love means, Morgan, it’s new territory for me. But I figure what I’ve just told you might turn out to be one definition.”
“I don’t want you falling in love with me!”
“I haven’t said I am,” he grated. “Although if I were, would that be so terrible?”
“You’re not the right man for me. You’re nothing like the kind of man I’ve always known I’ll marry.”
“No, Chip was,” he said acerbically. “Morgan, this is scarcely the time to discuss your prospective life partner—I do happen to have other things on my mind. Will you for Pete’s sake start driving? We need Route 81 north.”
He looked every bit as furious as she. And let’s face it, Morgan, she thought turbulently, you know darn well you can’t push him out of your car and drive away to the desert and never know what happened. You’re in too deep for that.
If she were to be completely honest, she was also very curious to see Beth Slater’s house. And to meet Jenny. Even though the prospect of that meeting caused her state of panic to escalate into outright terror.
“All right,” she seethed. “But I’m not becoming any kind of surrogate mother—or unpaid teacher—just because you’re totally ignorant of kids, Riley Hanrahan, have you got that?”
For the first time since he’d read the letter, Riley looked full at her. In a hostile voice he said, “I wasn’t aware I’d asked you to be either one.”
Which put paid to that particular conversation.
Twenty-five minutes later Morgan turned off the highway to a side street, following it up the steep slope of the mountain toward a huge brick house perched on the hillside. She pulled up in the semicircular driveway and turned off the engine. It was amazing, she thought, how much money must have been spent to produce so graceless and ugly a dwelling. The brick was a drab gray, the design pretentious, and the grounds soullessly formal. Morgan had always hated topiary. “Well,” she said, “here we are.”
“I may not know much about kids,” Riley said, “but this joint looks more like a prison than a place for seven-year-olds.”
The windows were blank. Like Bob Dinsey’s eyes the day he’d pulled a knife in history class. “I don’t like it,” Morgan said, and shivered.
Riley shot her a quick glance. “Let’s go,” he said, and opened his door.
Until they’d arrived, Morgan had had every intention of sitting outside in the car. Now she knew nothing on earth would persuade her to let Riley go in there on his own. She also got out, glad she was wearing her new dress and boots. They walked through a row of yews carved into fat barrel shapes, and Riley rang the bell. The door looked like the door to a bank safe, thought Morgan.
The butler who opened the door had a face like a safe. An empty safe, she decided. Locked tight but nothing inside. Riley said formally, “Good morning.”
“Good morning, sir.”
“I’m Riley Hanrahan. I’ve come to see my daughter, Jennifer. Might I ask your name?”
The butler’s face remained immobile. “Sneed, sir. This way, sir. I’ll get Mr. Slater.”
The brother who inherited the house, Morgan thought, as they were ushered into a living room with a wide view of the houses, highways and autumnal trees of the valley. The color scheme of the room was cream and the chesterfield set covered in the softest of leathers. Everything was expensive and Morgan craved not one object in the room. Riley was standing like a ramrod beside the gray brick fireplace which contained an immaculately tidy pile of logs.
“Mr. Hanrahan,” a man’s voice said heartily. “We weren’t expecting you to arrive unannounced. I’m Beth’s brother, Lawrence Slater.” He looked inquiringly at Morgan. “I hadn’t realized you were married.”
Lawrence. The name slammed through Morgan’s chest as though it were a bullet. “Lawrence’ll pay us, and pay us good,” Howard had said to Dez as she had crouched in the rabbitbrush near their truck. Now she saw Riley turn to face the other man, his whole body suddenly alert in the way a tiger is alert when it sights its prey; and knew she wouldn’t want Riley for an enemy. “I’m not married,” Riley said smoothly. “This is my friend Morgan Cassidy, Lawrence. You did say Lawrence, didn’t you?”
Lawrence Slater said bluffly, “I did, Riley, I did. After all, we’re all in the same family now, aren’t we? Might as well dispense with formality.”
Very deliberately Riley limped across the room to shake Lawrence’s hand. Lawrence Slater was Morgan’s height, his features with the pallor of the room, his hair and lashes an indeterminate shade of brown and his eyes light gray. He looked flabby, as though it were a long time since he’d actually walked up the hillside to his house.
Standing very close to him, Riley said affably, “You should have hired killers with a few more clues, Lawrence. Because unfortunately they let your name drop in Miss Cassidy’s hearing. Not smart, Lawrence, not smart at all. Of course it was lucky for me that Howard’s such a bad shot and that Dez wasn’t around when brains were handed out.”
Lawrence’s pudgy fists were clenched at his sides. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Riley continued as if Lawrence hadn’t spoken. “The other lucky thing was that Miss Cassidy came along and saved me from dying of blood loss and dehydration in the desert.” He smiled, a smile that sent a frisson along Morgan’s spine. “I should have read Beth’s will on the way over here. If I’d had an unfortunate accident—a fatal one this time—before meeting Jennifer, would the entire estate have reverted to you?”
Lawrence’s cheeks flushed a dull, unhealthy red. “You can’t march in here and make all these accusations,” he blustered. “I’ll call my lawyer. I’ll sue you for slander.”
“No, Lawrence, you’ve got it wrong,” Riley said softly. “I’ll be calling my lawyer, to make a new will. Let me tell you something else. Should anything happen to me, first there’ll be a police inquiry, and second, Jenny will be raised by the order of nuns who raised me. They will, of course, inherit the money, as well.” He gave the other man a wolfish smile. “I trust we understand each other.”
A look of cunning flitted across Lawrence’s face. “I’m sure you’d like to meet Jenny,” he said, dredging up a smile. “Why don’t I fetch her? I expect you’d like some time alone with her.”
Riley gripped him by the sleeve. “Not yet, Lawrence. First Miss Cassidy is going to make a phone call. To Mr. Atherton, Beth’s lawyer. Just to warn him that should there be any attempts on my life in the next few days—or hours—you’re responsible.” He flicked a glance at Morgan. “The phone’s in the far corner of the room, Morgan.”
Lawrence croaked, “I won’t allow—”
“Shut up,” said Riley.
Morgan, obediently, made her phone call. Wilfred Atherton did not, in her opinion, sound particularly surprised by her strange request. She added calmly, “I think Riley would appreciate it if you could come to our hotel room late this afternoon so he could draw up his own will…Five would be fine, thank you.”
Riley grinned at her, a grin crackling with energy. “I said the FBI should hire you,” he said. Then he turned his attention back to Lawrence. Gripping him by the shirtfront, Riley said evenly, “I don’t want to lay eyes on you again. The butler will take me to Jenny and you can stay out of my way—just in case I forget I’m a civilized man who should depend on the law to redress wrongs. I didn’t like being shot in the leg and left to die, Lawrence. I didn’t like it at all.”
He loosed his hold. Lawrence, his eyes glazed, scuttled out of the room as though pursued by a whole phalanx of hit men. And Riley went to the archway and called for Sneed.
The butler said impassively, “Sir?”
“I’d like you to take me to see Miss Jennifer, please.”
“This way, sir. Madam.”
Her heart thumping as though she’d run all the way up the slope to the house, Morgan followed the two men up the stairs.