Tony Sandini stood next to Vince McPherson in the locker room of the Chicago Health and Fitness Club. Vince had been playing a little racquetball while Tony indulged himself in a long relaxing massage. They had just finished a nice hot shower and were getting ready to go into the snack shop for something to eat.
“So what’s the word on the Brookhaven deal?” Vince dried the back of his neck, then began to work on his curly dark brown hair. He was in good shape for a man in his late forties. He couldn’t imagine letting himself run to fat like his friend Tony did. “That Bonham chick with the pension fund give the okay yet on the Westwind trust deed sale?”
Sandini grunted. “As a matter of fact that was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. The pension fund turned down the purchase. We got to find somebody else or give up and try somethin’ different.”
“Something different like what? Wringing the money out of that stupid bastard, Donovan? If you recall, that’s what I wanted to do in the first place.”
Tony dragged the towel back and forth across his beefy shoulders, shaking the thick slab of fat on his belly. “If this Westwind scam woulda’ worked, we’d of all made a pot load of dough. The way things are going, it looks like we shoulda’ done it your way.”
“You think Donovan went against us with the pension fund?”
“I don’t know, but I gotta hunch he might have.”
Vincent pulled on his shirt, a nice white cotton knit, and began to fasten the buttons at the throat. “I hear the prick’s back in the hospital. Another heart attack or something.”
“From what I heard, he’s off the drugs and booze. Pretty-boy Donovan’s probably screwin’ himself to death.”
McPherson chuckled. “I hear Woody Nicholson’s out on the Coast. Why don’t we send him over to see Donovan, deliver a little get-well card, if you know what I mean? Tell him to let Donovan know, in no uncertain terms, he’s got ten days to come up with the money he owes us, or he isn’t gonna like what happens.”
“Good idea. I’ll take care of it myself.” Tony zipped his pants, then sucked in his belly to fasten the button at the waist. McPherson thought he could probably knock the eye out of a cat at fifty yards if that button ever came unsewed.
“You think Donovan’ll be able to pay us?” McPherson asked, slamming his locker door.
“He’d better,” Tony said, his eyes suddenly cold. “If he doesn’t, he’ll be havin’ another heart attack—and you can bet this one’ll be fatal.”
* * *
Julie poured water into the paper cup on the table beside Patrick’s hospital bed and handed it over.
“Thanks,” he growled, accepting the cup and knocking back the pills the stout nurse, Mrs. Fielding, commanded him to swallow. As soon as the “tyrant in white,” as Patrick called her, left the room, he sat up in bed and spit out the pills he had hidden beneath his tongue.
Julie laughed as he dumped them into the waste bin, swore an extremely earthy phrase, and fell back against the pillow.
“I realize you’re grouchy and eager to get out of bed,” Julie said, “but you’ll just have to struggle along for a couple more days. There is no way Dr. Cane is going to release you until he’s sure you’re going to be okay.”
“I’m in perfect health,” Patrick grumbled. “Every damn test I’ve taken has told them that, but they keep dreaming up something new.”
“They’re just doing their job. Be grateful you’ve got health insurance.” A company plan Patrick had actually kept paid and Val had upgraded after he took over the company. His deductible was sky-high, but right now the policy was looking pretty good.
“Another couple of days and I’ll be stir-crazy.”
“A couple more days and you’ll be out of here.”
He grinned at that. Reaching out, he captured her hand, bent his head and kissed her palm. “When are we going to get married?”
Julie smiled. He had asked her every day since his return. So far they hadn’t set an exact date. “How about the end of the month? Is that soon enough to suit you?”
“Tomorrow isn’t soon enough to suit me and you know it.”
She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I thought we could have a small wedding in your father’s backyard. Just friends and family, maybe a small reception.”
“If that’s what you want, it sounds perfect. Do you want to live in your house or mine?”
“Mine, if it’s okay with you. I thought maybe, in a couple of years, we could sell the beach house and get something with a…a little more room.” She stumbled over this last and glanced away. They had never spoken of children. She had been on the pill since the first time they had slept together, but now things had changed.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure how Patrick would feel about kids.
She wasn’t even sure he would be able to have children.
“Are you saying what I think you are?” He laced his fingers through hers, gave them a gentle squeeze. “Are you talking about having offspring?”
Offspring. Only Patrick. “It’s all right if you don’t want them. It doesn’t change anything between us. I just thought…hoped…maybe…if you could…you might want a family.”
He said nothing for the longest time. Then he smiled and a faint dimple formed in his cheek. “If I could? Why, Ms. Ferris. I thought I had proved that point a sufficient number of times, but if you wish to see further evidence—” He pulled back the covers, inviting her to join him, and Julie laughed.
“That isn’t what I meant, you scoundrel, and you know it.”
He smiled at her. “I would love to give you children, Julie. They would be human in every way and I would do my best to be a good father, though it isn’t something I know very much about.”
Julie leaned over and kissed him. “You’d be a wonderful father. You’re kind and generous, you’re loyal and caring. But would our children…? I would want some part of them to be yours, Val.”
She rarely called him that. She did it now to make a point. She loved him, not the man who was once Patrick Donovan.
“The children would be ours—yours and mine. We would make them so. Our teachings, our morality, our patience and love, that is what makes a child grow into a fine man or woman. Together we can give them those things.”
A lump rose into her throat. She loved him so much. She started to tell him so when a soft knock sounded at the door and Nurse Fielding pushed it open.
“He’s right in here,” the woman said to the tall, bone-thin man who walked into the room as if he belonged there. He moved with purpose, his face hard-edged, his mouth little more than a gash in his narrow, slightly sallow face. It was visiting hours. The floor was open to anyone who might want to come, yet she didn’t recognize this man who must have been a friend of the old Patrick’s. And there was something about him, something of menace that sent an icy chill down her spine.
“You Donovan?” Ignoring Julie, the man walked—no, swaggered—farther into the room. He was dressed in black slacks and a plaid shirt. A navy blue windbreaker hung loosely from his narrow, bony frame.
“I’m Patrick Donovan.” He sat up straighter in the bed, his expression suddenly wary, and a knot began to form in Julie’s stomach.
“Woody Nicholson’s the name. I got something for you from your associates—Mr. Sandini and Mr. McPherson. A get-well card of sorts.” Standing next to the bed, he whirled on Julie, slapped her hard across the face, jerked her against him and locked an arm around her throat.
Stunned, she gasped in a breath. “Let me go!” Struggling to be free of his choking hold, she felt the cold prick of a knife blade pressed against her throat.
“Leave her alone!” Patrick commanded. “It’s me you want—this has nothing to do with her.” He was breathing hard, crouched on the edge of the bed, his hospital gown off one shoulder, his muscles corded with tension, but the knife at her throat held him still.
“Sandini said to tell you the pension fund deal fell through…but then you know that already, don’t you?” A ruthless smile twisted his lips. “You’ve got ten days to dig up the money you owe. After that…” He squeezed Julie’s throat and she clawed at the arm locked around her neck. “Well…you get the picture. Only next time it won’t be her, it’ll be you, and you won’t be walking away.”
Nicholson let her go and Julie staggered backward, gasping for breath, her throat bruised and swollen.
“See you around,” the man said calmly, sliding the knife into its sheath beneath his jacket as he turned and walked out the door.
Julie didn’t move and neither did Patrick, not until the heavy door swung closed, then he was out of the bed and pulling her into his arms. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so damned sorry.”
Julie shook her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault. You only did what you had to. We both knew there might be consequences.”
His face looked thunderous, his eyes a cold, savage blue. “I wanted to kill him. Before I came here, I never even knew what anger was. Tonight I wanted to kill a man.”
Julie reached up and cupped his cheek. “You felt helpless. You wanted to protect me. Under the circumstances, there is nothing wrong with the way you felt.”
His mouth curved into the faintest of smiles. “You’re telling me I was only being human?”
Julie managed to smile, too. “I guess you could put it that way.” Patrick’s smile widened, but Julie’s slid away. “What are we going to do, Patrick?”
He sighed and together they sat down on the edge of the bed. “The only thing we can do, I guess. Find a way to come up with eleven million dollars.”
“Plus interest,” Julie added darkly.
“Plus interest.” Patrick tilted her chin with his hand. “Don’t look so glum. Business has been better lately—”
“Since you’ve been running the company.”
He smiled. “Yes, I’m happy to say. Donovan Real Estate has assets—”
“You have assets.
“All right, I have assets. Somehow I’ll find a way to raise the money.”
But deep in their hearts, both of them were afraid he wouldn’t be able to come up with enough. And he only had ten days.
* * *
Patrick shut another cardboard box and taped it closed with a roll of packing tape. He carefully marked the contents kitchen utensils with a black felt pen, glanced to where Julie bent over the sofa, folding a stack of linens, and drew a happy face below the words.
“Ready for another?” she asked, walking toward him with another empty box. He was packing his things, carting them little by little over to Julie’s beach house. They had decided not to wait until after the wedding to move in together. Both of them knew only too well how precious time could be.
“One more and we can start on the living room.” He reached for the empty box, but Julie dangled it just out of his reach. She laughed as he made a futile lunge for it, then let it drop a few feet away.
As she looked at him, her warm smile slowly faded, replaced by a far too serious expression.
“What is it, love?” He reached for her hand, pulled her down on the floor beside him. “Tell me what’s the matter?”
“You know what’s the matter. We’ve gone over every possible avenue we can think of and we still haven’t come up with nearly enough money to satisfy Sandini and McPherson.”
“We’ve still got time. I’ve got an appointment with Beverly First National in the morning. Dan Witherspoon has become a friend. He’ll help if there’s any way he can.”
“Let me go to Owen. If he would loan you the money—”
“Damn it, we’ve talked about this. Owen Mallory is the last person in the world I’ll ask for help.”
“I know you and he don’t get along, but—”
“That is putting it mildly. The man is in love with you. I’m the last person he’d want to help.”
“You don’t know that…not for sure. If I asked him, maybe—”
“No. That’s the end of the subject. Owing money to Mallory would be worse than owing it to Sandini and McPherson. He wouldn’t do it anyway—not even for you.”
She looked like she might argue. Instead she gave up a sigh. “Maybe we should talk to your father. I know we agreed not to bring him into this, but maybe there is some way he could help. I don’t know much about his finances—”
“Neither do I. He was always somewhat guarded about his money, but I’m sure he can’t afford anything as substantial as this. And even if he could, I wouldn’t ask him. His health is extremely fragile. The strain might cause him to have another stroke.”
Julie shivered. He knew she wouldn’t argue with that. She loved Alex Donovan. She wouldn’t want to see him hurt. He settled an arm around her shoulders and drew her against him. Tipping her chin up, he outlined the bruise on her cheek. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
Julie swayed toward him. “I’m frightened, Patrick. Those men are determined. They might do something—”
The lobby buzzer sounded, interrupting whatever else she might have said. Patrick stood up and hauled Julie to her feet. “I’ll go find out who it is.” Padding silently across the thick white wool carpet, he pushed the button on the intercom next to the door.
“Yes?”
“Patrick…son, it’s your father. Nathan and I would like to come up for a moment, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, I don’t mind.” He pressed the admittance button, then waited for the elevator to arrive. The door slid open and Nathan wheeled Alex into the living room.
“I know it’s a little late for unexpected house calls, but something’s been bothering me and I needed to see you about it. I hope we haven’t interrupted anything important.” He glanced around at the half-filled cartons and boxes.
“Getting Patrick moved, is all.” Julie smiled as she leaned down to kiss his cheek. “It’s always good to see you.” He had come to the hospital, of course, but kept his visits brief. His health remained good, his complexion robust, but tonight he seemed edgy, somehow disturbed.
“If the two of you don’t mind,” he said to Julie and Nathan, “I’d like a moment with Patrick alone.”
Julie gave Patrick a sideways glance, then smiled. “I’ll go fix us a pot of tea—assuming I can still find the teapot. Nathan, you can help me.”
“You got it.”
They walked into the kitchen, Nathan towering over Julie, so wide he filled the doorway. As soon as the door swung closed, the wheelchair spun in Patrick’s direction and Alex Donovan turned the full force of his still intimidating gaze on his son.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Alex said, his shrewd old eyes fixed firmly on his face.
“Much better, thank you.”
Alex glanced around at the heavy items Patrick had obviously been lifting with ease, and those perceptive old eyes assessed him even more closely. “The doctors are amazed you aren’t dead. They say it’s a medical miracle the way your heart started beating on its own. And there was the matter of the length of time you were dead. There should have been brain damage…something. Instead, they say you’re the picture of health. In fact, considering the trauma your body’s experienced, they say it’s astonishing how healthy you are.”
Patrick shifted uneasily. “No one is happier about it than I am.”
“Except perhaps Julie.”
Patrick said nothing. He didn’t like the way Alex Donovan was staring at him, as if he could see beneath the surface to the man he was inside.
Alex’s eyes remained on his face. “Amazing, isn’t it? Two miracles in one family in just a few months.”
“Yes, it is.”
“And let us not forget the miracle of my recovery.”
Patrick said nothing.
Alex sighed. “I’m an old man, Patrick. When you live to be as old as I am, you stop seeing everything in black and white. You stop knowing what can and cannot happen, what’s possible and what is not. You start to realize there are things that happen we’ll never understand. Things that sometimes can’t be explained. That doesn’t make them any less real.”
Patrick worked to make his voice come out even. “What is it you’re trying to say?”
Alex picked up a silver framed photo of Patrick and his mother when Patrick was a boy. “I know about the Brookhaven deal,” he said, still concentrating on the photo. “At least I know part of it. I know my son was involved in some sort of fraudulent real estate scam. I know his involvement might have ended up sending him to jail. At best it would have destroyed the company and ruined the Donovan name.”
“I’m sorry. I never meant for any of that to happen.”
“I know you didn’t. I also know you have done the right thing and advised the Teachers’ Pension Fund not to buy those worthless notes. I also know the Westwind Corporation has packed its proverbial bags and headed out of town.”
Interesting. Even he hadn’t heard that bit of news. “I did what I had to. It was the right thing to do.”
“Yes, it was. In the months since your first heart attack, you seem to have made a habit of doing the right thing. You’ve saved Donovan Real Estate from going bankrupt. You’ve won the respect and admiration of the people in your office, the love and respect of a woman I love like a daughter.”
Alex looked him straight in the face. “If you were my son, I’d be proud of you. I’d go to my grave a happy man. Unfortunately, I know it isn’t true.”
The words sank in like a blow to the stomach. And yet he didn’t deny it. He respected Alex Donovan too much to do that.
“My son was greedy and selfish,” Alex went on, “but he was still my son and I loved him. What happened to him? Is he dead?”
His stomach felt tied in knots. He had prayed this day would never come. He wasn’t quite sure how to answer at first, then decided simply to tell the man the truth.
“He would have died the day of his heart attack. Because of who I am, part of him still lives—his hopes and dreams, his memories of you and his mother when he was a boy, the happy times the three of you shared. If Julie and I have children, Patrick’s blood will run through their veins. They’ll be your grandchildren, children who will carry on your heritage.”
“I thought perhaps it was merely a physical coincidence…that the two of you simply looked the same. It didn’t take long to realize that wasn’t the truth…that in most ways you are him.” He fumbled with the photo. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to explain how all of this has happened.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Alex just nodded. He looked older, more frail than he had when he came in, yet as always there remained an underlying strength. “Does Julie know?”
“Yes.”
His face showed a moment of relief. “I’ve watched you these past few months. I saw Patrick in you and for a while I was fooled. I appreciate your honesty. And now that I know the truth—or at least a portion of it—I believe you are the best of Patrick. And I also believe that in some strange way, I am a very fortunate man.”
His throat went tight. He had never had a father yet he felt tied to this weathered, aging man as if he were truly his son. “Thank you.”
The old man nodded. He lifted a hand and waved it toward the kitchen. “I imagine our tea is ready.”
Patrick smiled slightly. “I could use a good strong cup…though I only drink decaf.”
Alex chuckled softly. “My son drinking tea. I never thought to see the day.”
His smile grew warmer. “I imagine both of us have a number of surprises yet in store.”
The old man chuckled again. “Thanks to you and your ‘miracles,’ perhaps I’ll be around long enough to see them.”
* * *
The study was sumptuous, masculine, and expensively done in gold and dark forest green. Heavy Oriental carpets warmed the polished wooden floors, and behind his massive rosewood desk, a row of mullioned windows overlooked the pounding sea. Owen Mallory leaned back against his expensive leather chair and adjusted the telephone receiver to a more comfortable position against his ear, the panoramic vistas behind him the farthest thing from his mind.
“You listen to me, Witherspoon. I don’t give a damn what you promised Patrick Donovan—you loan that bastard enough for a cup of coffee and I’ll withdraw every dollar I’ve got on deposit with Beverly First, and use my influence to see that my associates do the same.”
A long silence followed. When the banker didn’t answer fast enough, Owen started speaking again. “If you can’t handle my request, Dan, I’ll have to speak to Adrian. I’m sure your boss won’t have any trouble at all seeing that my request is complied with.”
Witherspoon sighed into the phone. “All right, you win. I’ll take care of it myself. You’ve left me no choice but to do what you want.”
Owen inwardly smiled, pleased with the results of the conversation though he had never really doubted the outcome. The bank simply had too much to lose. “Thanks, Dan. I knew I could count on you. We’ll have lunch at the club the next time I’m in Beverly Hills.”
Witherspoon made no reply, his disdain more than clear. Owen didn’t care. He hung up with a shot of satisfaction. Less than an hour ago, Julie Ferris had left his office, asking him on Donovan’s behalf for a loan against Donovan Real Estate and other of Patrick’s assets; the rest, she had told him, was coming from a loan with Beverly First National Bank.
Owen smiled. He had agreed, of course. For a price.
“We’re friends, Julie—you know you can count on me. I’ll be happy to loan Patrick the money—on one condition.”
She turned a little wary. “What’s that?”
“That you stop seeing him. That you never go near him again.”
“What!” Julie jumped up from her chair. “That’s insane, Owen. You know Patrick and I are going to be married.”
“Marrying Donovan would be the biggest mistake of your life. Tell me you’ll stop behaving like a lovesick fool and I’ll see he gets the money. Otherwise he can forget it.”
Julie clenched her fists. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re supposed to be my friend.”
“I am your friend, Julie. I’m trying to help you.”
She looked at him hard. “No—you don’t want to help me. You just want something else you can’t have.” She braced her palms flat on his desk and leaned forward. “You know something, Owen, I never believed what people said about you, stories about how ruthless you are, what a complete and total prick you can be. I thought you were kind and generous. I felt lucky to count you among my friends. The truth is, if I ever behaved like a fool it was believing in you—in being so stupidly naive.”
She whirled away from him, grabbed her purse, and started walking toward the door.
“Donovan will only end up hurting you,” Owen called after her. “When you’ve had enough, come back and see me.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” she tossed back over her shoulder, jerked open the door, and slammed it closed behind her.
Owen thought about their unfortunate confrontation as he leaned back in his chair. She had always been a challenge. Perhaps she was right and he only desired her because he couldn’t have her. It really didn’t matter. Whatever the reason, he wanted her.
And if he couldn’t have her he intended to make damn sure Patrick Donovan wouldn’t have her either.