Alternating between optimism and despair, Lara marked off the weeks on the kitchen calendar and tried to help Franklin prepare their case. The trial, the lawyer explained, would be a bench trial, so the final decision would rest in the judge’s hands. “We could have elected to have a jury,” Franklin said, “but I don’t think it’s wise to complicate things. Sloane wants to avoid a jury because he fears facing a group of mothers. I’m happy to waive the jury because I’m worried about facing a panel of folks who are too easily impressed with Sloane’s money.”
“There is one thing that concerns me,” he told Lara one afternoon. “Since Sloane’s claim rests upon this supposed surrogacy contract, is it possible he is the biological father?”
Lara resisted a sudden wave of nausea. “No. Not according to what Connor and I have learned. But Sloane knows I won’t allow DNA testing because there’s no telling what it might reveal.”
While Franklin prepared interrogatories and subpoenaed records, Lara tried to concentrate on impressing the guardian ad litem. On some days, particularly after Karyn Gower had visited, Lara felt buoyed with a sense of rising confidence. She felt certain that Karyn would support her claim for custody. If the judge agreed with Karyn’s assessment, Devin Sloane could never bother their little family again.
On other days, however, particularly if Hunter reported that he’d caught “Miss Karyn” in a lie, Connor would retreat into offended silence. In those moments Lara was certain they were doomed to divorce. Sloane would bribe the judge and take her son; Connor would stare at her with the light of love extinguished from his eyes. He would truthfully say he had tried to warn her, yet she had stubbornly refused to listen.
Standing at the kitchen sink on a Sunday morning, Lara looked out the window, frowned at the horde of reporters loitering across the street, and thanked God for sending Franklin and Harriet Blythe to see her through the most intense trial of her life. The Blythes had unselfishly given of themselves, going so far as to sublet a small apartment so Franklin could prepare for the trial in Charlottesville. Harriet enjoyed taking care of Hunter while Lara and Connor met with her husband, and Franklin seemed to thrive on the work he did for others.
Lara smiled as she remembered the first time she’d seen the lawyer. The generous spirit that drove him to play Santa for poor children was her only defense against Sloane.
The Blythes had been the only guests at Hunter’s sixth birthday party. Harriet baked a cake and Franklin bought Hunter a baseball cap and glove. Lara blew up balloons until black spots danced before her eyes, but Connor offered the best gift—an hour in the park tossing the baseball, free from interruptions and reporters. Somehow—Lara didn’t quite understand how he arranged it—he called in a favor to his contact at the FBI. An hour later, a swarm of men in dark blue jackets showed up and cleared the park of every news crew and photographer. Lara managed to get some good pictures with her own camera—shots of Connor and Hunter, Harriet and Hunter, Hunter on Franklin’s broad shoulder.
Their birthday merriment faded as the days of February slipped by. The news on the investigative front, Franklin reported Friday, was not good. He had found an FBI handwriting expert who would testify that Lara’s signature on the surrogacy document may have been forged, but with one look at a copy of the contract Lara knew it was authentic. She had signed that paper, but it had been blank at the time. And the witness to her signature, Helmut Braun, carried the truth to his grave.
“Everything we can do,” Franklin explained, “Sloane can do better. Our only hope to win this case lies in the judge and how he perceives what’s best for Hunter. That’s why your relationship with the guardian ad litem is crucial.”
Franklin explained that the surrogacy contract was practically a moot point. The Commonwealth of Virginia had taken the halfhearted position of not appearing to endorse surrogacy while not discouraging it, either, so the legal issues involving surrogacy would scarcely bear upon the judge’s ruling. More distressing was the knowledge that Judge Harold Weaver had single-handedly raised his six children after his wife abandoned the family in 1990. He fully believed in a father’s ability to parent. Franklin feared Weaver might even exhibit an anti-mother bias, particularly if he thought a mother had attempted to flee from her obligations.
As the chime of the doorbell broke into Lara’s thoughts, she turned from the kitchen sink and wiped her hands on a towel. She paused by the entrance to the living room to look at her son. Though it was scarcely midday, Hunter had fallen asleep on the couch. One hand lay curled under his chin, bent in what looked like an uncomfortable position.
She resisted the urge to straighten him out, then moved to the door and looked through the peephole. She half-expected Karyn to drop by for an unannounced visit, but Franklin and Harriet stood outside, both of them hunched into their overcoats as a bitter wind blew over the porch.
Lara hurried to open the door. “Hello!” She stepped forward to embrace Harriet. “It’s so good to see you.”
“I’m sorry for coming by without calling,” Franklin said, taking his hat from his head. “But we were on our way back from church, and I thought it might be a good time to go over a few things before the hearing tomorrow. There’s something particular I want to discuss with you.”
“And,” Harriet twinkled with grandmotherly concern, “I wanted to see how my darling boy is doing.”
“Come in. Connor’s gone to the grocery store, but he’ll be back before long.” Lara stepped aside, then helped Harriet with her coat as Franklin moved into the living room. She felt a tinge of guilt at the mention of church, but she and Connor had decided that worship attendance would have to wait until after the trial’s end. Too many reporters might follow them into the sanctuary.
When Lara and Harriet joined Franklin, the lawyer stood by the side of the couch, his eyes large and liquid as he stared at Lara’s sleeping son.
“He’s tired.” Lara struggled to speak over the lump in her throat. “I don’t know why; maybe he senses the strain we’ve been under these past weeks.” She lowered her voice and gestured toward the ottoman and wing chair, inviting the Blythes to sit down. “Lately Connor and I have not exactly been agreeing about what’s best. I think Karyn is going to give us a good recommendation, but Connor doesn’t trust her because Hunter caught her in a lie.”
“One lie?” Harriet pulled her mouth in at the corners. “Goodness, that’s not so bad. The little darling has caught me in more than that, even catching my little exaggerations.”
Lara felt the corner of her mouth droop as she sank to the end of the couch. “Actually, he’s caught her in several fibs. I keep telling Connor it’s no big deal. The girl probably has to cover up certain things to preserve her own privacy, but Hunter sees through everything.”
Franklin pulled an envelope from the inner pocket of his suit coat. “I did a little checking up on Karyn Gower.”
Lara felt her mouth go dry. “Don’t tell me she’s not legit.”
“Oh, she’s a legitimate guardian ad litem, and she is employed by the city of Charlottesville as a social worker.” His face locked with anxiety as he looked at the sleeping boy. “I was more concerned about what she’s been doing since taking Hunter’s case. I hired a private investigator, expressed my concerns, and he did a little scouting around. I’m not sure exactly how he managed it, but he was able to get a copy of Ms. Gower’s bank account records.”
Lara fought down the momentary doubt that wrenched her stomach.
“What I found curious,” Franklin went on, “is that Ms. Gower earns approximately two thousand dollars per month in her role as a social worker. Last year’s bank records show that she deposited nineteen hundred dollars every two weeks, like clockwork, but her pattern changed on January first of this year.”
Lara’s hands were damp with sweat, yet her mind had gone cold and sharp, focused to a needle’s point. “She got a raise?”
“If so, it’s news to the city of Charlottesville. They list her salary as $28,000 per year, plus use of a city vehicle for her work. But on January fifteenth, Ms. Gower paid cash for a $15,000 car and made a cash deposit of an additional $13,000. The check she deposited was issued by the Harrington Group and signed by Nadine Harrington.”
The lawyer’s words didn’t register on Lara’s dizzied senses. “Is that supposed to mean something to me? I’ve never heard of them.”
“I didn’t think you had. They are a private investigation agency in Washington, D.C. Though they’d never admit it, rumor has it that Devin Sloane is at the top of their client list. Nadine Harrington spends so much time in Charlottesville that she has taken an apartment only two miles from Sloane’s mansion. And Nadine Harrington has apparently hired Karyn Gower.”
Lara stared at the carpet, the muscles of her throat moving in a convulsive swallow. The woman who had smiled at her and held Hunter’s hand was Devin Sloane’s proxy? Through Karyn Gower’s youthful fingers, Sloane had run his fingers through Hunter’s blond hair, smiled into his blue eyes, caressed his round cheek— She leaned forward as a nauseous geyser threatened her throat. “How do you know this Harrington woman works for Sloane?”
Franklin pulled a photograph from the envelope, then handed it to Lara. The photo featured a striking blonde woman, and Lara’s hand trembled as she ran her fingertips over the image.
“Our investigator flashed that picture around the airport, and one of the pilots confirmed that he’d seen Harrington on Sloane’s private jet.”
Lara stared at the picture, an image focusing in her memory. She closed her eyes and saw the woman with a different hairdo, in a different outfit. She had come to the clinic complaining of a headache.
Her face burned as the memory came flooding back. “I think I know this woman. She came to the clinic when I was pregnant.”
“The pilot said she’s been involved with Sloane for years. I think it’s safe to assume he brought her in about the time Hunter was born.”
“Before Hunter was born.” Lara’s hand flew to her stomach, as if Hunter still lay safely hidden there. “She asked questions about my pregnancy and said she was a widow herself. That’s why I remember her—we seemed to have so much in common.” She shook her head. “I really liked her.”
She handed the picture back, then raised her eyes to find Franklin watching her with a serious expression. “So—isn’t this good news for us? If we can prove that Sloane is pulling Karyn Gower’s strings, the judge will have to admit we’re the innocent party.”
Franklin shook his head. “That’s just it, I can’t prove anything. The pilot our investigator talked to works for Sloane. Though we could subpoena him, there’s no way he’s going to risk his job by testifying against his boss. And no investigative agency is going to reveal the names of its clients, particularly as wealthy a client as Devin Sloane. Secrecy is their business. If word gets out that Nadine Harrington can’t protect her clients’ privacy, she’ll be finished.”
“But—the bank records!”
“I can’t prove the connection. Nadine could say she hired Karyn Gower for some other job.”
“But we can’t let them win!”
“We won’t. We have another weapon.”
His eyes drifted again to the couch and Lara bit down hard on her lower lip as Franklin said the words she’d been dreading: “Hunter can validate your story.”
She shook her head, afraid to speak.
“He tells the truth, Lara. With a small demonstration, we can prove Sloane is lying. Even if Weaver doesn’t believe Hunter, Sloane may be rattled enough to slip up. There’s something terribly powerful about that little boy’s eyes when he pronounces you a liar.”
“I won’t use him like that.”
“It could save your case.”
“It could destroy him.” Her voice went hoarse with frustration. “Don’t you see? The media will be there. If we let Hunter demonstrate his gift, they’ll pick up on his story no matter how we try to shield him. Within two hours the National Enquirer will be saying he’s the child of aliens, and we won’t ever be able to live a normal life. I can just imagine what the world will to do to him—”
“We could ask that the interview be held in the judge’s chambers. Hunter is so young; I can’t imagine the judge interviewing him publicly.”
“I won’t use him. He’s a child, and lately he hasn’t been feeling well. He needs a normal, stable life, a life where I can take him to the park and to the doctor’s office without a horde of reporters hounding our every step.”
“We need the truth, Lara. And that’s what Hunter is.”
She fell silent, unable to argue. She looked toward her sleeping angel and saw a helpless boy, a sweet cherub who walked with a limp, hated peas, and loved to deepen his voice to mimic Connor’s baritone growl . . .
She closed her eyes, wishing Connor were home. Though lately they had been arguing about little things, they did agree that Hunter’s gift should remain a secret. If the world learned the story of Hunter’s parentage, he’d become another proof of science’s miraculous advance, a one-boy freak show. She couldn’t subject Hunter to that sort of scrutiny.
Their lives had never been normal . . . but, for a time, at least they had known quiet. And Hunter had known peace.
She smoothed her damp hands on her jeans and clenched her jaw to kill the sob in her throat. “I appreciate what you’re saying, really, I do.” She looked up at the lawyer and smiled. “I know you love Hunter, and I know you want what’s best for him. I’ll think about what you’ve said, but I’ve got to trust God to make everything all right. I don’t think God would have given Hunter to me if he didn’t want me to protect him.”
Harriet’s chin quivered up. “Have you ever thought that God gave Hunter to you in order to reveal his gift of truth?”
Lara answered as gently as she could. “I don’t think God expects a five-year-old to teach the world. I do believe God sent Hunter to me for a reason, but I haven’t quite figured it out yet. But I will . . . in time.”
“I understand why you don’t want the world to know about Hunter’s gift.” Harriet’s eyes filled with distress. “But won’t you let us tell the court about the Iceman? The world thinks Hunter is Sloane’s biological son, but if you let us explain how you were used in that obscene experiment—”
Disconcerted, Lara crossed her arms and pointedly looked away. “I see your point, and I know it may come to that. But that story is nearly as fantastic as Hunter’s gift, and I don’t want him to go through life as the Iceman’s baby.” She looked Franklin in the eye. “If you have to tell that part of the truth, you may. But use it only if you absolutely must.”
“There’s one more thing.” Franklin patted his jacket pocket. “I received a call yesterday from a woman who claims to be your mother-in-law.”
Lara laughed. “It had to be a reporter. Connor’s mother is deceased.”
Franklin pulled a pink slip from his pocket and stared at it intently. “Her name is Eva Godfrey. She discovered that your new number was unlisted, but she says she would like to speak to you.”
The corner of Lara’s mouth twisted. “So Eva finally decided to call,” she said, taking the message. “A reporter probably made the connection between us and parked on her doorstep. I’ll bet she wants me to call off the hounds . . . as if I could.”
“Nothing like that,” Franklin said softly. “She said she’d spent the holidays at her flat in London and only returned last week. She has read the paper, of course, and her apology for not contacting you sooner seemed quite sincere.”
Lara dropped the message to the coffee table. “She doesn’t have to get involved in this. She hates publicity, and she’ll really hate it once the trial starts. She was a part of my life a long time ago, but not anymore.”
Franklin pushed the message toward Lara. “She wants to help. And at a time like this, one can never have too many friends.”
Lara hesitated, then picked up the paper again. “All right. I’ll call her.”
“I think you’ll be glad you did.” The lawyer and his wife stood. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call us.”
Lara stood too. “Thanks for coming by. I love you both and appreciate all you’ve said, but I need to talk to Conner about using Hunter in the trial. We’ll tell you what we’ve decided when we see you in court tomorrow.”
She forced a smile when Harriet took her arm. “I’ll come here to babysit,” she said, her brows a brooding knot over her eyes. “That way, if you need Hunter, I can run him right over to the courthouse.”
Lara drew a breath, about to say Hunter wouldn’t be going to the courtroom at all, then remembered that she’d promised to at least discuss the idea with Connor.
She patted Harriet’s hand, then walked the couple to the door.
Lara stood by the phone and studied Eva’s message. Hunter had awakened right after the Blythes left, and Lara welcomed the chance to prepare lunch and talk to her husband and son. But after only a few minutes of play, Hunter grew tired again. Now he lay in her bed with Connor, his arm tucked around the stuffed monkey Connor bought him, his head on Connor’s chest. Connor had stretched out with a book, and Lara knew he’d lie there, quiet and still, for as long as Hunter napped.
If she was going to call, she might as well do it while the house was quiet. Eva was probably afraid Lara might mention her name in the trial or that some tawdry bit of testimony would tarnish the Godfrey family lineage.
“No need to worry,” Lara murmured as she dialed. “My son is no relation to you.”
The phone had scarcely completed its first ring when she heard Eva’s voice, breathless and husky. “Hello?”
“Eva.” Lara forced a smile into her voice. “Mr. Blythe gave me your number. I hear you’ve been in London.”
“Of course, dear; you know I always winter there. I wanted to apologize for not reaching you sooner, but I had no idea you’d come back until I landed at La Guardia and happened to see a newspaper.”
Lara hesitated. Was she supposed to apologize for disappearing to save her child’s life? Or perhaps Eva was upset because there were no messages from Lara on her telephone answering machine. Lara could have tried to call after returning to Charlottesville, but she could see no purpose in it. Eva had been against Lara’s pregnancy from the beginning, she had disapproved of Connor, and she would pass out in a genuine aristocratic faint if she ever learned the full truth behind Hunter’s conception.
Still, the woman had been Michael’s mother, and the two of them had once been close. Perhaps she deserved an explanation she could palm off on her fellow Women’s Clubbers.
“Eva,” Lara began, “Hunter is not your grandson. So don’t feel obligated to call or visit or check up on us. We’re going to get through this.”
“Lara.” Eva’s tone was coolly disapproving. “I know everything. When I came back, I found a package from Olivia Densen in my mail. I’m not sure why the poor woman sent it to me, but her note said the tape was recorded by Helmut Braun.”
Lara felt a shock run through her. “A tape?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it? I listened to it, and on this tape Braun confessed what he did to you. I know all about the Iceman and Sloane’s involvement. I know how he tried to create a superhuman from ancient DNA—”
“That’s great, Eva, I’m sure my lawyer will want to know all about it.” Unwilling to hear another word, Lara glanced toward the bedroom. The secret she wanted to keep buried had just reared its head from an unexpected source. “Send Mr. Blythe the tape, will you? It will help convince the judge I’m telling the truth.”
“Lara, I’d really like to see the boy.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s not well; I think the stress is getting to him. So pray for us and send the tape to my lawyer.”
“Lara, I’d—”
“I’ve gotta run, Eva, before Hunter wakes up. Thanks for calling.”
Lara hung up before Eva could speak again; then she leaned against the refrigerator and slowly slid down it until she sat on the floor.
So Helmut had made a tape before he died. In a fit of conscience, probably, he spilled the secrets of his soul, mailed the tape to Olivia, then pulled the trigger.
Olivia, bless her heart, hadn’t known how to reach Lara. So she mailed the tape to Eva Godfrey, knowing Eva would deliver it.
And though Lara had been shocked to hear that her mother-in-law knew the truth, Eva would be the last woman in the world to reveal that her supposed grandson had been begotten by an Iceman. Women like Eva still went pale at the thought of visiting a gynecologist.
Lara pressed her hands over her face and sighed. If things began to look bleak during the trial, at least the tape could prove there had never been a surrogacy agreement.