A mixture of confusion and anger crossed Gage’s face, but he finally looked at the picture Harper was holding up.
She knew the moment he saw the small crescent moon birthmark on the side of Shane’s face, the same birthmark that was on Gage’s face. An extremely rare hereditary mark that all the Bishop men shared. She knew because she’d researched the family during the nine months she’d carried the newest generation in her womb. It had been a long trial of loneliness, bitterness and despair. But the real trial had begun the day that Shane was born. She just hadn’t realized it at the time.
His hand shook as he took the picture from her.
Harper watched his hungry gaze soak in every detail as he stared at the five-year-old little boy who promised to become every bit as handsome as his father one day. He had the same blue eyes, the same dark brown hair, the same sweet smile that would break hearts when he was older.
If he lives long enough, that is.
Holding back the tears that wanted to fall, she crossed to one of the windows and peered through the blinds at the street below. She was surprised to see her sister out front, laughing at something her latest boyfriend—Dean Everly—was saying. If there’d been an attempt on their father’s life, shouldn’t the family be on lockdown instead of out in public? Then again, Cynthia had never been a rule follower. And she was a legal adult, a sophomore at Vanderbilt, no longer under Secret Service protection any more than Harper was.
“I didn’t know.” His deep voice rasped behind her.
She turned, surprised to see his eyes looking bloodshot, as if he’d been on a bender for days. Myriad emotions tumbled across his expression, running the gambit from grief to shock. He took a halting step toward her.
“I didn’t know,” he repeated.
“I tried to tell you. When I found out that I was pregnant, I knew it would be wrong to keep that a secret. But I didn’t know how to contact you. I only told my father because I hoped he could quietly obtain your current address from the Secret Service so I could privately let you know that we were going to have a baby. I never expected him to tell your boss and get you fired, then poison others against you. He told me that he’d confronted you and you made such a scene that your boss found out. Then you disappeared so you wouldn’t have to support your child.”
He shook his head. “I thought you were lying about the pregnancy because I had no memory of us ever being together. But if I’d known the truth, I never would have run from my responsibilities. I’d have been there for you. For our child. I swear it. I would have been there.”
Grief and regret threatened to tear her apart. There was no doubt in her mind that he was telling the truth. It was there in the tone of his voice, the misery and shame in his expression. How different things might have been. If only.
He let out a ragged breath. “I remember getting the call about my brother’s death, Agent Faulk arriving at the Manning estate to guard you. I went to the pool house to pack my things. And then... And then...” He shook his head. “I know I drank way more than I should have that night. But I never... I don’t remember you being there. I don’t.” His confused gaze bore into hers. “I would never knowingly disrespect you that way, make love to the woman I was assigned to protect, then turn my back on her after...” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “My whole life I wanted to be in the Secret Service, to serve my country. How could I have broken my vows, crossed that line?” He searched her eyes, as if seeking absolution. “How could I not remember making love to you?”
Tears pricked her vision. She wrapped her arms around her waist to keep from reaching for him, knowing she couldn’t bear it if he recoiled again. “As soon as I saw how drunk...” She shook her head. “It’s my fault. I should have left. But I... I wanted you so much. I was young and immature. I’d had such a terrible crush on you from the moment we met and you were so determined to keep it professional. But that doesn’t excuse my actions. What happened that night is my fault.”
“No.” He took another step toward her, so close she could feel the heat from his body, see the turmoil in his eyes. “The blame lies with me. You’re right that I would have gotten in trouble if you’d called for help and my boss found out I was drunk while still on the Manning estate. And I would have deserved it. I should have waited until I’d left to drown my sorrows, or avoided drinking altogether.”
He raked a hand through his hair, making it stick up in spikes. “All this time I thought I’d been wronged, that my honor was intact, when you’re the one who was wronged. I am exactly what your father said I was. I broke my vows, took advantage of you and didn’t even have the decency to realize what I’d done.
“My God, Harper. You carried my child for nine months, went through that experience alone while I yelled at the heavens about how unfair life was, believing I was the one who’d been betrayed. I’m so ashamed of how I treated you. And I’m so deeply, deeply sorry.” He winced. “That sounds so pathetic, doesn’t it? An apology could never make up for what I’ve done. For how you’ve suffered.”
His complete turnaround had her world tilting on its axis. His apologizing was the last thing she’d ever expected and she didn’t know how to even begin to process it. She couldn’t. Not now. Maybe not ever. There was too much water under that bridge for either of them to cross. And she wasn’t even sure she wanted to, not after all this time. Her battered heart wasn’t ready, might not ever be.
Gage’s gaze returned to the picture still clutched in his hand, as if drawn by an invisible thread. “How you must hate me to have kept him from me all this time. I’ve missed everything. His first smile, his first word, his first steps—”
“So have I.”
His head shot up. “What do you mean?”
Memories of that awful day had her wanting to curl into a fetal position and shout her own rage to the heavens. Instead, she forced herself to keep it together, to hold on a little while longer, to explain. Time was running out.
“My parents didn’t want scandal touching my father’s precious political career,” she said, bitterness creeping into her voice again. “He was nearing the end of his first term and didn’t want anything damaging his chances for reelection. So they rented me a house thirty minutes outside of Nashville and hired a midwife to stay until my due date.
“She did all the grocery shopping. I never went into town, couldn’t risk being seen and recognized. And when I went into labor, after I struggled an entire day to bring Shane into the world, the midwife said he was in distress, that he needed care she couldn’t provide. She rushed him to the hospital. An hour later, she called to tell me they’d done everything they could to save him, but he didn’t make it.”
She clutched her hands together. “Two weeks later, I had an urn of ashes on my mantel and a death certificate in the mail. The heartache, the grief, was overwhelming. I could barely function. It was months before I was able to climb out of that awful pit of despair. But I did. I moved on, went back to school, got my masters...
“You said you started a construction company. Well, I started my own medical illustrations company, albeit a one-woman operation. Things have been going really well since then. I recently even started dating again, after years of Julia doing the mom thing, nagging me to get back in the game.” She grimaced, wishing she’d left that last part out.
“Anyway, the reason I asked my father to arrange this meeting with you is that picture you’re holding. It arrived six days ago, along with a lock of hair and a ransom note from someone calling himself Sam the Good Samaritan.” She shook her head at the ridiculous name. “All this time I thought my little boy was dead. Now I find out that someone stole him, and they’re threatening to kill him if I don’t get the cash together before he contacts me again.”
Gage stared at her a long moment, as if letting everything sink in. Finally, he slid the picture into his jacket pocket then asked, “How much is the ransom demand?”
“Two million dollars.”
His eyes widened. “Do you have that kind of money?”
“Not even close. My clients are doctors’ offices and publishers of medical textbooks. They aren’t inclined to pay extravagant fees no matter how good my illustrations might be. And the work fluctuates, that whole feast or famine sort of thing. After paying taxes, health insurance premiums, and investing in a 401K for my retirement, I’ve got enough left for a decent living. But I’ll never get rich doing what I do.
“All I can figure is that whoever has Shane knows that my father is wealthy and is counting on him to come up with the money.” She shrugged. “Say what you will about him. But when I explained what was going on, he immediately said he’d give me the money. His bankers are liquidating assets as we speak.”
He stiffened. “No.”
She waited for more. When he didn’t say anything else, she asked, “No...what?”
“Your father isn’t ransoming our son. If we pay the kidnapper, I’ll be the one to pay it. And I won’t have to liquidate anything.”
She stared at him, stunned. “You have two million dollars in the bank? Wait, what do you mean, if we pay the kidnapper? We have to or he’ll—”
“How do you know it’s not a trick? A scam? How do you know...Shane...is really alive?”
Harper gave him a brittle smile. “You sound like my dad. The first thing he did was have the ashes in the urn tested. For over five years I’ve polished and cried over a silver vase packed with firewood ashes.” She slumped into one of the nearby chairs and drew her knees up to her chest. “After that, Dad had a private lab verify that the hair came from a live person. I have no idea how they can tell something like that, but that’s what they said. Then they ran a paternity test using some of my hair and the lock of hair that supposedly came from Shane. All hush-hush, of course, using a fake name. Dear old Dad is willing to part with his money but never his reputation.”
She waved a hand in the air, wishing she could wipe away her words just as easily. “He didn’t deserve that. He’s been wonderful during this crisis. He’s doing everything he can to help me. Anyway, it’s not a scam. The test was positive. He’s my son.”
“Our son.” His tone dared her to contradict him. Gone was the anguished man from moments ago. As soon as she’d mentioned the kidnapper, he’d tamped his emotions behind the wall again and was all business, the confident former agent ready to take charge.
“Our son,” she reluctantly agreed, feeling an unexpected pang of resentment about sharing the memory of her baby with him when it had been hers alone for so long. “He’s alive, has been, all this time. We both missed his first smile, his first word, his first steps. Neither of us got to see him as a baby. And if we don’t cooperate, and help each other, neither of us will get to see him grow up.”