Lara felt her stomach twist as she considered the irony in Sloane’s words. Lead future generations into a world of truth? Sloane had no idea how right he was. Hunter was capable of leading the world all right, but Sloane and others like him wouldn’t recognize Hunter’s truth. Hunter recognized absolute truth, not the sort of half-truth Sloane had indulged in today.
She looked down and studied the whorls in the wooden table as Franklin began to question Sloane about the contract and their supposed arrangement. Franklin was right; she saw that clearly now. Sloane was a liar and a manipulator, but he had leavened his lies with enough truth that the judge might find them palatable. That was her handwriting on the contract, and nearly everything he said on the stand today could be proven or supported by other witnesses. She could protest until the dawn of eternity, but nothing would change the fact that she had signed a blank document and might pay a severe penalty for her foolishness. She had trusted a friend who had proven himself open to temptation.
She rested her elbow on the table and covered her mouth as her mind burned with the memory of Eva’s call. There remained a tape. Eva said Helmut had left a confession that would resolve the case; surely that meant he had confessed to creating the surrogacy contract after she signed a blank page. But apparently Dr. Braun had also confessed to using the Iceman’s DNA for her son’s conception.
A sense of foreboding descended over her with a shiver. Did she want the world to know the full truth about her son? If Franklin submitted the tape as evidence, her life and Hunter’s would be an open book for every eye in the courtroom to read. As much as it pained her to admit it, Hunter might be better off living in disguise than to be so exposed. The world would call him a freak; political cartoonists would sketch him with a sloping forehead and hairy arms. Scientists would think of him as some kind of bizarre evolutionary throwback. If the world pressed for more information about her son, it would only be a matter of time before they discovered his gift . . . and tried to abuse it.
Her heart thumped against her rib cage. Dear God, what am I supposed to do? Why did you bring us to this place? I want to settle this matter, but I can’t give my son to Sloane. If it means taking Hunter and running again, I’ll do it, but how can we leave Connor?
The sound of Franklin saying, “I have nothing else for this witness” snapped her back to the present. Had he already finished with Sloane? Lara searched Connor’s face, hoping for some clue to indicate how Franklin had fared in the cross-examination, but her husband’s eyes were flat and dark under the fluorescent lights, unreadable.
Madison Jarvis stood and addressed the judge. “We would like to call Lara Godfrey O’Hara to the stand.”
Scarcely aware of what she was doing, Lara pushed back her chair, then moved toward the bailiff. She placed her hand on the Bible and felt comforted by the touch of soft leather beneath her skin. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” the bailiff intoned, his eyes not meeting Lara’s.
If only he knew! She’d been speaking truth for nearly six years. Hunter would accept no less.
“I do.” She lifted her hand and stepped into the witness box, then sat and adjusted her skirt, suddenly aware of the pressure of myriad pairs of eyes.
“State your name for the record,” the bailiff instructed.
“Lara Godfrey O’Hara.”
Madison Jarvis stepped forward with brittle dignity. “Mrs. O’Hara, do you have a son called Hunter?”
“Yes.”
“His age?”
“His sixth birthday was January twenty-ninth.”
“You are his biological mother?”
“Yes.”
“Where was he born?”
“Charlottesville, Virginia.”
Her answer seemed to amuse him. “Let me rephrase the question. Where—precisely—was your son born?”
Lara glanced at Connor, then lowered her gaze. “He was born in my neighbor’s apartment.”
The lawyer retreated a step, his face contorting in an expression of mock horror. “Not in a hospital? Surely you, a medical professional, understand the importance of being prepared for childbirth!”
“I couldn’t go to the hospital.” Lara fastened her gaze to the lawyer’s face. “I was afraid they would take my son. I knew by then, you see, that Devin Sloane wanted my baby. I also knew he had the resources to take him.”
“Are you saying my client is above the law?”
“Your client is quite powerful.” Despite her intention to remain calm, she felt heat stealing into her face. “I did not feel safe at the hospital, but I felt safe with Mr. O’Hara. I am a physician’s assistant, so I know how to deliver babies. I didn’t expect any problems during my delivery.”
“But you did experience a problem. The child nearly died because of your decision to avoid a hospital, didn’t he?”
Lara stared, speechless. No one but she and Connor knew about Hunter’s condition at birth. She had never told that story to anyone but . . . She sank back, remembering. One afternoon, in a burst of earnestness, she had told the story to Karyn Gower. She’d been trying to illustrate that she and Connor made a good team, but the little snitch had gone straight to Sloane.
“My son,” she began, each word a splinter of ice, “would not have experienced respiratory distress if Dr. Helmut Braun had not given me a sedative prior to labor. The drug affected the baby, but he pinkened right after we helped him begin to breathe.”
“How many other medical mistakes have you made with the boy?”
“None.”
“Isn’t it true the child is suffering at this moment? I have here a report from the court’s appointed guardian ad litem. It states that your son suffers from a limp, a pronounced facial tic, exhaustion, depression, and paranoia.”
Lara grasped the arms of the chair and struggled to control her temper. “That’s not true!”
“Is he limping, or not?”
“Sometimes.” Lara could feel rage boiling under her skin. “He limps when he’s tired. The pediatrician thought it was nothing, but said I should take him to a specialist to be sure.”
“But you haven’t done that.”
“I can’t.” She spat the words in contempt. “The court has ordered us to remain in Charlottesville. When this trial is over, I will do whatever I must to protect my son.”
“Will you run again?”
“Objection!” Franklin roared.
“I’ll withdraw the question.”
As Jarvis turned to peruse his notes, Lara cast a withering stare at his broad back. He knew she couldn’t leave the city, yet he seemed determined to paint her as an irresponsible mother. And where had that nonsense about depression and paranoia come from? Hunter was often tired and perhaps stressed from all they had endured in the last few weeks, but who wouldn’t be?
“Mrs. O’Hara,” Jarvis whirled to stare at her, his voice cold and lashing. “Who is your son’s biological father?”
Lara clung to the chair, frozen in a limbo where all answers and options seemed impossible. How could she answer? Michael wasn’t Hunter’s father, but neither was Devin Sloane. The truth lay somewhere in Dr. Braun’s lab, perhaps even on that tape, but she couldn’t announce that truth . . .
She looked around the courtroom; saw the reporters’ expectant faces and the sketch artist with her uplifted pencil. Then her gaze fell upon Eva, who sat stiff and pale, her hand at her throat.
Telling the truth would destroy Eva. She might know about the Iceman, but if the story became public knowledge she’d never be able to hold up her head in town.
“Shall I repeat the question?” Jarvis captured her eyes with his. “You heard Mr. Sloane testify under oath that he provided the genetic material for your child’s conception. Since you will not agree to let us perform a genetic test to establish Mr. Sloane’s paternity, the court needs to know—who is your son’s biological father ?”
Through the veil of her hair, Lara heard the judge’s voice. “Mrs. O’Hara, I must ask you to answer the question.
She grasped the edge of the witness box, then raised her gaze to meet the lawyer’s. “I don’t know.”
Jarvis lifted a brow, then turned to the crowd. “Is it possible that some other man fathered your child while you were preparing to be implanted with the embryo? Have you refused to allow DNA testing because you’re afraid the world will discover you are not only guilty of kidnapping, but of fraud and immorality as well?”
She pressed her hand to her chest, amazed at the accusation. “What are you suggesting?”
“Is it possible, Mrs. O’Hara, that you became pregnant with another man’s child and neglected to tell Mr. Sloane because you feared the loss of the benefits he had promised?”
“No.”
“Weren’t you dating another man at the time?”
“I was not.”
“Isn’t it true that you and Mr. O’Hara were close? Didn’t you visit him often?”
“Before the baby, no. I scarcely knew him.”
“You weren’t seeing him?”
“No more than I’d see any neighbor. I was still mourning my husband; I wasn’t interested in other men.”
“How do you feel about Mr. O’Hara now?”
Lara looked across the room and met Connor’s gaze. His eyes were large and soft with pain, but his mouth lifted in a small smile of encouragement.
“He is my husband and the only father Hunter has ever known.” She looked at the judge. “But we were mere acquaintances when I first became pregnant. I grew to love him later. When the baby was born, Connor held my world together while I was falling apart. It took every bit of strength I possessed to leave this town . . . to leave Connor.”
The reporters scribbled as Jarvis pressed on. “Would you mind explaining why you will not allow genetic testing upon your son? Mr. Sloane has requested it. He is most eager to prove that the boy is his.”
“No, he’s not.” Lara looked past the lawyer toward Sloane, whose mercurial black eyes sharpened at the touch of her gaze. “Dr. Braun performed the in vitro fertilization in his lab, and I can’t say whose DNA he used during the procedure. I may not know who fathered my son, but I can virtually guarantee Devin Sloane is not my child’s father. I know my boy and there is nothing of Sloane in him. Nothing at all.”
“Appearances can be deceiving, Mrs. O’Hara.”
“I’m not talking about physical appearances. I’m talking about character.”
Jarvis flinched at this unexpected retort, and Lara flushed when Sloane narrowed his eyes. She looked at the lawyer. “Is there anything else, Mr. Jarvis? I’d like to have my lawyer tell the truth about what happened, and I suspect it’s nearly time for our lunch break.”
Jarvis snapped his mouth shut, then turned to the counsel table and leafed through his notes. Lara crossed her legs, relieved that he had been rendered momentarily speechless. The judge had promised this would be a quick trial—the sooner it was finished, the less chance she’d have to directly involve Hunter.
Jarvis leaned over the counsel table and whispered something to Sloane. A look of malignant satisfaction crept over the man’s handsome features as he inclined his head in a barely noticeable nod.
The lawyer whirled to face Lara. “Mrs. O’Hara, you say there is nothing of Devin Sloane in your son, but by your own admission you don’t know Mr. Sloane very well. He is a most intelligent and resourceful man.”
“So I’ve heard.”
The grooves beside Jarvis’s mouth deepened into a smug smile. “Perhaps your son has inherited something from Mr. Sloane after all— isn’t it true that he has exhibited a most remarkable ability?”
Lara felt terror brush past her, stirring the air and lifting the hair on her forearms. Of course they knew about Hunter’s gift; Karyn Gower had told them everything. But if Sloane cared for Hunter at all, surely he wouldn’t expose the secret in a public courtroom . . .
Jarvis stared at her until her heart raced. “We’re waiting for your answer, Mrs. O’Hara. Does your son have an unusual ability?”
She took a deep breath, looked at Connor, and somehow found her voice. “He’s a bright child.”
“Very bright, wouldn’t you say? Isn’t it true you told his guardian ad litem that he was a prophet?”
Lara pressed her fingers to her lap in an effort to keep them from trembling. “I didn’t mean it literally.”
“No? A prophet foretells the future; he solves riddles; he can see into the minds of others. Isn’t it true that your son has exhibited these traits on more than one occasion?”
A murmur rose from the gallery, a flutter of horrified excitement. The judge slammed his gavel and Lara lowered her head, desperately seeking a way out. Lord, what do I say?
“Mrs. O’Hara, we await your answer.”
Lara lifted her head and gripped the railing in front of her. “He doesn’t foretell the future, and he doesn’t read minds. Yes, he can solve riddles, but so can any other five-year-old if he hears them repeated often enough. If you ask him why the man threw the clock out the window, he’ll tell you it’s because he wanted to see time fly.”
The gallery rocked with laughter, and Lara sighed with relief when Judge Weaver lifted his hand to cover a smile.
Jarvis’s face went brick red. “Have you ever had your son’s IQ tested?”
“No.”
“Isn’t that because you’re afraid of what you’ll find? Mr. Sloane has an IQ of one hundred forty. Aren’t you afraid you’ll discover that your son has inherited something from his biological father?”
“Objection!” Franklin Blythe stood from behind the counsel table. “Your Honor, Mr. Jarvis is leading the witness.”
“Objection overruled.” The judge nodded at Lara. “Answer the question, please.”
Lara’s mood veered sharply to anger. “I repeat, Mr. Jarvis, my son has inherited nothing from Devin Sloane—and Sloane knows it.”
Jarvis stared at her across a sudden ringing silence; then his dignified mask settled back into place. “I have nothing else for this witness, Your Honor.”
On cue, Franklin rose and walked toward the witness stand. He gave Lara a bland smile, with only a wary twitch of the eye to show he knew she had been treading on risky ground.
“Mrs. O’Hara”—he propped his arms on the witness box as if they were neighbors gathering for a casual conversation over the backyard fence—“tell me, in your own words, how your signature came to be on that surrogacy contract.”
Lara straightened, took a deep breath, and began to tell her story.
From his place at the counsel table, Connor watched Lara progress sure-footedly through her testimony. Franklin had done a good job of coaching and helping her stick to the pertinent facts. She told the court about the blank paper, her trust in Dr. Braun, and his promises that the baby she carried was Michael’s. She told the judge about her fears that the child might carry a cancer gene and how Dr. Braun had reinforced, then soothed those fears. “That’s why he said we had to do IVF and embryo transfer instead of a straight insemination,” she explained, undoubtedly aware that the judge probably knew far less about such procedures than she did. “Dr. Braun said he altered Michael’s DNA—he removed the cancer-causing gene.”
“You believed him?” Franklin asked.
“Of course.” Lara’s lips twisted in a frayed smile. “He was a professional geneticist and my best friend’s husband. I thought he was doing me a tremendous favor.”
“And your medical expenses? Did you know Sloane was paying them?”
“Dr. Braun said there were lots of foundations who were eager to support cancer research, so I assumed he arranged for one of them to support my case. I didn’t think it odd—after all, I worked for a clinic affiliated with the university hospital, so I assumed the hospital brass would be eager to help me.” Her brow furrowed as she looked down at her hands. “I should have known better, but I thought such arrangements were routine.”
“Did you know about the million-dollar bequest Sloane made through the Muriel Foundation?”
“I knew the Muriel Foundation was covering my expenses, but I had no idea Devin Sloane was affiliated with that organization.”
“Mrs. O’Hara”—the lawyer moved to the side of the witness stand— “we’ve heard a lot today about biology and genetics. But, if the truth be told, is the issue of your son’s paternity a matter of crucial importance?”
“Not to me.” Lara swallowed hard and boldly met the judge’s gaze. “I am Hunter’s mother—biologically and emotionally. I have loved him, protected him, and provided for him as best I could. I came back to Charlottesville because I do not want my son to spend the rest of his life hiding from Devin Sloane.”
“What about those who say—with some justification, I might add— that a boy needs a father figure?”
“Hunter has my husband, Connor O’Hara. Connor helped bring Hunter into this world, and I know he loves my son”—Connor smiled when her gaze met his—“as much as I do.”
Connor felt his heart turn over the way it always did when she looked at him, but he couldn’t help but wonder if she realized the irony in her words. She called him a father, and she knew he loved Connor. Why, then, did she refuse to give him an equal stake in her son?
Franklin turned and clasped his arms behind his back. “Several times the opposition has stressed that you will not agree to have your son’s DNA tested. Why are you opposed to a procedure that could refute Mr. Sloane’s paternity?”
She answered with easy defiance. “Because this case isn’t about Hunter’s father; it’s about Mr. Sloane’s fraud. I will not allow Hunter to be exploited. I will not allow him to be offered up like a piece of real estate to be divided by whoever owns property rights. He is a little boy, and he needs stability. That’s why I came back to Charlottesville, and that’s why I’ll protect him with my last breath. I am his mother; I love him. Connor loves him. We have established a home, and Hunter is happy with us.”
“Mrs. O’Hara,” the judge interrupted, frowning, “this home you’ve established is only two months old. Surely you can’t expect this court to see you as a model of stability.”
“We may have been married for only two months, but we’ve been in love far longer than that.” A blush stained her cheeks. “While I was living in Florida, Connor faithfully kept in touch with us. We came to depend upon him, and Hunter has known who Connor is for several years. He is not my son’s biological father, but he is a psychological father in every sense of the word.”
Connor wiped his face with his hand, struck again by the incongruity in her answer. If he was Hunter’s psychological father, why did she insist on carrying Hunter’s burdens alone? Last night as they knelt by the bed, she had prayed “I will praise you, even if you take all I hold dear. For if you take Hunter from me, you will have taken everything.”
Everything? Connor knew she loved him, but he could not deny that she loved her son far more.
After taking her seat at the counsel table, Lara exhaled in relief, then grasped Connor’s hand, relishing the strength of his grip. She would have been lost without him; she would have dissolved into tears or a fit of temper if his calming gaze hadn’t worked its magic on her.
The lawyers at the opposing table huddled; then Jarvis whispered something to Devin Sloane. Lara saw Sloane’s head jerk in an emphatic nod, then Jarvis straightened and approached the judge’s bench.
“Your Honor, for our next witness, we’d like to call the child to the stand. We realize he is not present in the courtroom, but would like to ask for a recess until he can be brought to court.”
Judge Weaver glared at the plaintiff ’s lawyer. “You want a five-year-old to testify in this case?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Perhaps you should explain why I should consider something so irregular.”
One of the other lawyers passed a document to the end of the counsel table, but Jarvis didn’t look back. “His name was on the witness list and there is legal precedent, Your Honor. Several children of preschool age have testified in criminal proceedings against day-care operators—”
“And those cases have been lost on appeal. The testimony of children is easily manipulated.”
“With all due respect, Your Honor, this child won’t be coerced in any way. He will not be rehearsed by plaintiff or plaintiff ’s counsel, since we have not been allowed access to the boy. My client, however, wishes to see the child. It is our understanding that the child is exceptional, but we have been unable to arrange even a single visit with him.”
The judge’s brow wrinkled. “You’re not seriously suggesting the boy is a prophet.”
“No, sir, but he is unique. My client believes we will be able to demonstrate this uniqueness if the child is allowed to appear.”
As Madison Jarvis accepted a folder from one of his associates, the serpent of anxiety wrapped around Lara’s throat slithered lower to writhe in her stomach. Jarvis pulled several documents from the folder, then walked toward the judge. “I have here several affidavits, Your Honor, ranging from the child’s preschool teacher in Florida to the guardian ad litem this court appointed.” He handed the documents over and continued as Judge Weaver flipped through the pages. “As you can see, sir, in each case, sworn testimony indicates that the boy has demonstrated unusual gifts and atypical behaviors. Because the boy has never been for-t mally tested or evaluated by a psychologist, we are eager to ascertain whether or not his developmental maturity is on par with his peers. My client is concerned that his vagabond life with Mrs. O’Hara has significantly affected his development.”
Judge Weaver pushed his glasses higher on his nose, studied a page before him, then lowered the paper. “You are confusing me, Mr. Jarvis. You say your client is concerned that the child is developmentally delayed, but when you questioned Mrs. O’Hara, you intimated the child is a budding genius.” He glared down his nose at the lawyer. “Which is it?”
“We believe the child may be a genius but has been stifled by the restricted lifestyle Mrs. O’Hara has forced upon him.” Jarvis rested his hands on his belt. “Because Mrs. O’Hara lives in an irrational state of paranoia, the child cannot go outside to play; he has no friends, no relatives, no playmates. We believe he is exceptionally gifted, but his gifts will be wasted as long as he continues to live with Mrs. O’Hara. At the very least, Your Honor, we would like to be able to interview the boy, to gain a sense of how content he is in his present environment—”
The judge cut the lawyer off with an uplifted hand. “I’ve been given many things to consider today,” he said, his gaze strafing the documents stacked on his desk. “I am going to call a recess until tomorrow morning.”
As he crossed his arms, his gaze shifted to Lara. “At nine a.m. tomorrow, Mrs. O’Hara, you will bring your son to my chambers for an informal interview. You, your husband, and Mr. Blythe may attend, as may Mr. Sloane and Mr. Jarvis.” His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the crew clustered around Sloane’s table. “Aside from my court reporter and bailiff, no one else will be permitted in the room. At the conclusion of that meeting, I will decide if the boy should be allowed to testify.”
He lifted his gavel, brought it down with a solid whack, then stood and exited the room. Lara sank back in her chair, her nerves throbbing with weariness.
Connor picked up her hand and massaged it as though he could push energy back into her body. “It’ll be okay.”
“I hope it will.” Franklin shifted and looked at Lara with compassion in his eyes. “But I have no idea what Weaver will do. Remember, in a bench trial, the judge makes the final decision. He could spend five minutes with Hunter and decide that Sloane could never have fathered that child. He could order a DNA test. He could also consider you a flight risk and decide that Hunter would be better off in foster care.”
Franklin’s bluntness shattered Lara. “Foster care? It’s bad enough to think of my baby in the same room with Sloane, but Hunter would die in foster care. He’d be lost without me—” Her voice braked to a halt as her mind floundered.
The lawyer nodded. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do the best I can. And let’s not underestimate Hunter. He may surprise us all.”
Something moved at the corner of Lara’s eye. She turned, then closed her eyes to the sight of Eva standing behind the rail.
“Mr. Blythe,” Eva said, her voice like velvet-edged steel, “might I have a word with you?”
Franklin grasped Lara’s shoulder. “Why don’t you and Connor go on home and get some rest?”
The suggestion filled Lara with relief. She didn’t have the strength to deal with the trial and Eva, too.
Connor helped Lara to her feet. As he led her away, he wished Franklin a good day, then paused. “Good day to you, too, Mrs. Godfrey,” he called over his shoulder. “I hope we’ll see you tomorrow.”
Irritated by her husband’s unfailing good manners, Lara walked away without waiting for Eva’s reply.