Nadine Harrington swallowed hard, trying not to reveal her frustration as yet another Tampa airline clerk handed her a report. “We had thirty standby passengers December twenty-fourth,” the clerk said, tapping the printout with a manicured fingernail. “Eighteen male passengers, fourteen women, two children under twelve.” She snapped her gum. “Most of them were college kids or businesspeople trying to get home for Christmas.”
“I’m interested in a woman traveling with a child.” Nadine scanned the list. “She would have flown out sometime after five o’clock.”
“We only have three flights out after five.” The young woman shifted her weight and pulled on her earlobe as if she were bored. “One to Winston-Salem, one to Dallas, one to Miami.”
“This one.” Nadine tapped the list. “Mary Tobias, traveling with a child, Taylor.” She frowned at the string of ticket codes. “I see she went to Winston-Salem, but where after that?”
The clerk craned her neck to look at the passenger manifest, then nodded. “Yeah. That’s Roanoke, Virginia. She woulda got in at 9:05 that night.”
“Thanks.” Nadine tossed the printout back, then turned and left the office. The pieces fit, but Lara Godfrey’s chutzpah surprised her. What in the world would drive her back to Virginia?
She considered the question for a moment, then laughed. There were two things, Nadine had decided, that motivated every human being— love and money. Lara Godfrey had gone back to Virginia to find one or both.
On Sunday morning, after church services at the Roanoke Community Chapel had concluded, Connor took Lara’s hand and led her to the front of the church. Standing before God, Hunter, Franklin and Harriet Blythe, and a few stragglers, he listened to the minister explain the mystery and meaning of marriage.
The minister lifted his gaze above the spectacles on the end of his nose. “Do you, Connor O’Hara”—he blinked in the lights—“take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.” Connor squeezed Lara’s hand and turned to face her. Her soft, earnest eyes sought his as if to ask again, Are you sure about this? He squeezed her hand again. They’d stayed awake half the night discussing strategy with Mr. Blythe; then the lawyer left and Connor spent the rest of the night convincing Lara that his proposal was based upon more than concern for Hunter. He loved her. He confessed that he had loved her since the day she first asked him if he thought she’d make a good mother. He had known even then that she’d make a wonderful wife.
“Do you, Lara Godfrey”—the minister paused, his brow wrinkling as if the name rang a distant bell—“take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Her wet eyes glistened. “I do.”
“Do you have a ring?”
Caught unaware, Connor stared at the minister for a moment, then remembered. Hunter stood at his side, the delicate Black Hills Gold band taped to a white satin pillow. Connor pressed his hand to Hunter’s back as he pulled the ring free of the tape, then slipped the circle of gold onto Lara’s finger, grateful that she hadn’t minded using his former Christmas gift as a wedding band.
The minister nodded in approval. “By the powers vested in me by the commonwealth of Virginia and this county, I pronounce you man and wife.” The minister stepped back, clasped his hands, and smiled at Connor. “You may now kiss your bride.”
Connor dropped Lara’s hands and lifted the edge of her veil, then smiled as Harriet Blythe sniffed from the front pew. The lawyer’s wife had been miffed that her husband missed their shopping appointment, but after learning about the wedding, she had graciously offered to loan her wedding dress and veil so Lara could be married in something other than a denim skirt or her nurse’s uniform.
Connor pushed the cloud of veiling away, then took Lara in his arms and kissed away the loneliness of five long years. For a moment he forgot everything but the feel of her lips against his, and then Hunter’s voice rang through the nearly empty sanctuary. “Oh my goodness, they’re kissing!”
Laughter pulled them apart, and then Connor extended his hand to Hunter. “Come on, buddy.” He paused to thank the minister, then turned to Mr. and Mrs. Blythe. “We’re all yours.” He gripped Lara’s hand. “Tell us what to do. We’re ready.”
Franklin linked his wife’s arm through his. “My wife and I want to take Hunter with us tonight so you and Lara can have a honeymoon. Hunter will be safe with us. I’ll leave for Charlottesville tomorrow morning and make an appointment with the judge appointed to Devin Sloane’s case.”
“We’ll go with you to Charlottesville,” Lara said. “I don’t want Sloane to think I’m afraid of him.”
A grin overtook the lawyer’s features as his eyes met Lara’s. “All right. Enjoy tonight with your husband, let Harriet take care of Hunter, and leave the legal work to me. I’ll call the cabin when I have news; then you can pick up your boy and drive to Charlottesville.”
Connor felt Lara grip his arm with her free hand; then she reached down to ruffle Hunter’s hair. “Mrs. Blythe is going to take good care of you,” she told her son, her voice brimming with love. “You don’t have to worry about anything, buddy.”
For an instant the boy’s face clouded as if he doubted her words, then his pink mouth curled in a one-sided smile. “Okay, Mom.”
Mrs. Blythe chuckled as Hunter stepped forward to take her hand. “What fun!” she trilled, patting her ample bosom as she bent to meet Hunter’s gaze. “Did you know I have a grandson about your age? I love him so much, but he lives far away. We have a closet, though, stuffed with toys for a little boy like you.”
Connor held his breath, half-expecting Hunter to weigh Mrs. Blythe’s words and pronounce the woman guilty of gross exaggeration, but apparently the woman spoke the truth. Hunter’s brows lifted; then he moved toward the door, tugging the lawyer’s wife behind him.
“He’ll be fine.” Franklin met Connor’s gaze. “Harriet understands this is a sensitive situation. She’ll keep him inside the house, safe and out of sight.”
Lara dropped Connor’s arm, then stepped forward and kissed the lawyer on the cheek. “We thank God for you.”
As a tide of dusky red crept up the lawyer’s throat, Connor placed his hands on Lara’s shoulders. “We’ll be at the cabin if you need us.”
The lawyer grinned broadly, then winked at Connor. “Congratulations, son. You’ll make a fine family.”
Connor wrapped his arms around Lara’s shoulders, holding her tight as she bit her lip and waved at Hunter with a false show of bravado. He felt a trembling from deep inside her and realized she had probably never been separated from her son. When you’ve risked your life to keep someone safe, it isn’t easy to let that someone walk away . . .
He knew how much it hurt to let go. But God had brought Lara back and this time Connor wouldn’t let go no matter what Sloane threatened.
With Hunter walking between Harriet and Franklin, the Blythes passed through the sanctuary doors and stepped out of sight. The stragglers and the minister had disappeared too, leaving Lara and Connor alone in the quiet sanctuary.
Connor gently turned her to face him. “There you go”—he stepped back and smoothed the billowing veil at the crown of her head— “changing your name again.”
Tears sparkled in her lashes, but a sweet smile trembled on her lips. “Lara O’Hara,” she whispered, moving closer. She placed her hand on the front of his shirt and lifted her gaze to meet his. “It’s about time I made that name change, wouldn’t you agree?”
When Connor kissed her, it again seemed to him that he, too, had finally come home.
On Monday afternoon, Nadine, Trent Bishop, and Devin Sloane booked a suite at the Roanoke Hilton. Through interviews with a cabdriver and hotel personnel, Nadine had traced Lara Godfrey to this hotel, but apparently she had fled after meeting her “husband” in the lobby.
“The so-called husband has to be Connor O’Hara,” Nadine insisted, crossing her legs as she shifted on the sofa to face Sloane. “We talked to a woman in the UVA library who says O’Hara left abruptly on December twenty-fourth, two hours before closing time. He said something about taking his accumulated vacation days for a family emergency, then took off without giving her any idea where he was going.”
“The child has to be in the area.” Sloane walked to the bar, one hand in his pocket, his brow furrowed. “But why would Lara come here? Why not go to Richmond or Charlottesville or Lynchburg?” He looked at Nadine. “Does she have family in Roanoke?”
“No.” Nadine looked at Trent. “But Connor O’Hara’s parents used to live in Lynchburg, and that’s only an hour’s drive from here. She might have hoped to distract us by coming here when she intended to rendezvous with O’Hara in Lynchburg. I’ll drive over there this afternoon and check out the old homestead—”
“Listen!” Lifting his hand in an abrupt gesture, Trent raised the television remote and jacked up the volume. Nadine felt her blood chill when Lara Godfrey’s image filled the screen.
“This just in,” the CNN reporter was saying. “Authorities in Charlottesville, Virginia, are reporting that Lara Godfrey, the surrogate mother who allegedly fled with billionaire Devin Sloane’s child, has made an appearance at the Charlottesville District Court with her attorney, Franklin Blythe. With Ms. Godfrey this afternoon was her new husband, Connor O’Hara, a Charlottesville librarian who previously denied having any knowledge of Ms. Godfrey’s whereabouts.”
Sloane cursed softly. “How does she manage to stay one step ahead of us?”
“Not to worry,” Trent said, his eyes fixed to the television. “Jarvis is in Charlottesville; he’ll take care of this. He’ll have things well in hand by the time we fly back.”
The news cut to a video clip of Lara Godfrey—brunette, short-haired, and thin—as she climbed the courthouse steps flanked by two men. Nadine recognized Connor O’Hara immediately—the intervening years had done nothing to diminish that man’s rugged appeal. His arm was securely wrapped around Lara’s waist, his body language warning away anyone who would threaten her. The other man was a cherubic-looking gentleman with rosy cheeks above a manicured silver beard.
Sloane let out an audible hiss. “Why doesn’t she just give up? She told Braun she didn’t want any child but her husband’s, so why has she put me through this?”
“She probably came to love him—” Trent began, but Sloane silenced him with a snap of his fingers. “She wants money.”
Nadine bit the inside of her lip, amazed at the man’s blindness. If Lara Godfrey had wanted money, she would have dangled the boy like bait for a hungry fish. She would not have dropped off the face of the planet.
“All right, then.” Sloane straightened and gave the image on the television a hostile glare. “She’s turned herself in, so at last the battle will begin. We’re ready. We have our witnesses.” He glanced at Nadine. “You’ll contact them all for me, of course. Dr. Braun, the nurses at the clinic, even the mother-in-law. I want you to find anyone and everyone who can testify that Lara Godfrey was unbalanced, thrilled with the pregnancy, whatever. We’ll subpoena the lot of them and let Jarvis sort them out.”
Nadine reached for her briefcase. “I’ll get on the particulars.”
An inexplicable look of withdrawal fell over Sloane’s face. “Trent, will you excuse us?”
The assistant looked up, surprised; then his face colored. “Certainly,” he said, fumbling for his notepad and pen. He rose and retreated to one of the bedrooms without a backward glance.
Nadine lifted a brow. She knew something unpleasant was bound to be forthcoming.
Sloane sank to the wing chair adjacent to the couch, then took a moment to smooth the crease in his trousers. “I’m sure you’re aware”— a frown puckered the skin between his dark eyes—“that one potential witness might severely injure our case.”
Nadine kept her face smooth and expressionless as her brain raced through the names she’d come to know as well as her own. The nurses, the neighbors, the doctors could all be guided to give testimony helpful to Sloane’s cause—then, in a barely comprehensible flash, she remembered. Five years ago Sloane had struck Dr. Olivia Densen-Braun from the witness list, stating that her friendship with Lara Godfrey might negatively influence her testimony. Nadine had thought little of the omission, especially since Sloane assured her that Dr. Helmut Braun, Olivia’s husband, would be a supportive witness. The woman certainly would not contradict her spouse in a court of law.
But four years ago Olivia Densen had divorced her husband.
Nadine chose her words carefully. “Are you thinking about Dr. Olivia Densen?”
Sloane gave her a tense nod. “I’m concerned about animosity between her and Dr. Braun. If she feels duty-bound to antagonize her husband, she might come out against us on the witness stand.”
“She seems a rational, intelligent woman. Surely she is above that sort of pettiness.”
Sloane rubbed the bridge of his nose. “She and Lara Godfrey were strong friends.” His voice, low and passionate, chilled the room. “She will be a hostile witness. She must not testify.”
He spoke softly, but the venom in his voice was unmistakable . . . as was his meaning. He had asked Trent to leave because he wanted Nadine to make certain Olivia Densen would not testify on Lara Godfrey’s behalf.
An odd coldness settled upon Nadine, an awful and darkly textured sensation like a gust of fetid wind. She had broken the law before— engaged in illegal wiretapping and surveillance, pried into records she had no business seeing, and paid out large sums in bribery and burglary— but she had never asked anyone to commit murder.
Sloane was watching her, his eyes glittering like a snake slithering toward a paralyzed bird. He owned her; she’d been bought with a princely retainer and a generous expense account. Her agency had come to depend upon the prestige and support of her affiliation with Devin Sloane . . . but she could not conscience murder.
“Circles within circles?” Her mouth twisted in bitter amusement. “If you’re inviting me into yet another secret circle, Devin, I have to refuse. I’m not an assassin.”
“I would never ask you to do anything unpleasant,” he said, his voice as smooth as quicksilver, “but surely you know people who could take care of this situation? I’ll provide whatever funds are needed. I only require thoroughness and discretion.”
Nadine felt a plastic smile creep across her face. “You’re on your own now.” She placed one hand on top of the other, and noted with some surprise that her flesh had gone as cold as ice. “Why don’t you call the people who took care of poor Lemuel Reis?”
“There’s an idea.” Sloane’s black eyes sank into nets of wrinkles as he smiled. “I’d nearly forgotten about those fellows. Thanks for the reminder.”
She felt her lips curve in an expression that hardly deserved to be called a smile, but it sufficed.