Shayla got the note Nicholas had left on the nightstand next to the bed when she woke up the next morning. It said he was going to his place to unpack and would return to her place by noon. It also said for her not to think about going to work. He was giving her the day off to spend with him.
She shifted her thoughts to last night. They had awakened in the middle of the night and made love several times. She had finally gotten to sleep a little before dawn completely exhausted.
She slipped out of bed and smiled. She would be spending the day with Nicholas, and couldn’t help feeling giddy at the idea. A little while later she entered the shower stall. Closing her eyes, she let the water flow over her body while last night’s memories flooded her mind.
She remembered the feel of Nicholas trailing his lips from her mouth down to her throat, where he kissed the pulse that was beating there. She remembered the feel of his hand as it caressed her intimately, making sure she was warm, wet, and welcoming each time he got ready to make love to her.
A rising passion spread through her like flames at the memories, and the feel of the water drenching her skin helped soothe the fire. With trembling hands she cut off the shower faucet, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the shower to dry off.
She had a feeling that today would be like no other she had ever known.
Paul leaned against the refrigerator and drank the last of the milk right out of the carton as he remembered last night’s visit from Silas Harris. Harris hadn’t left until way past midnight, and by then it had been too late to visit with Callie Foster.
Paul took another swallow of milk. Harris had told him everything—about the episode with Cindy Davenport in her apartment, and how she had taped the whole thing, and how Stockard was using that tape to blackmail him into convincing Nick that a virus was invading Chenault’s software. It had taken all of Paul’s control not to go into the office this morning and have Stockard fired. But he knew that without adequate proof, it would be Stockard’s word against Harris’s. He had to let Stockard play what he thought was a winning hand and then nail him just when he thought his plan had succeeded. It was a good thing Nick wasn’t due back in the office until Monday. That would give him a chance to brief him on what was going on over the weekend after he returned from Bolivia.
Paul checked his watch. It was a little past 8:00 a.m. It would take him a good thirty minutes to drive across town to where Callie Foster lived. He threw the empty milk carton into the trashcan before slipping into his jacket.
He didn’t want to dwell on the fact that Callie had consumed his mind all through the night. He wouldn’t be surprised if she refused to see him. The last time he had seen her he had said a lot of mean and hateful things, words he had later regretted. At the time he had believed she had used him and betrayed him, and in anger he had reacted badly.
Her last name hadn’t changed, and he couldn’t help wondering if that meant she had never married…like him.
He checked his watch again. He would have all his questions about Shayla Kirkland answered. “Soon,” he said to himself as he walked across the room to the door. “Real soon.”
Thinking that it was Shayla, Nicholas answered the phone before the second ring. No one else knew he had returned a day early. “Miss me already, sweetheart?”
“Uhh, Mr. Chenault?”
Nicholas frowned. “Yes. Who is this?”
The person on the other end cleared his throat. “This is Carl Stockard. I called your hotel in Bolivia, and they said you had left already.”
Nicholas’s frown deepened. So much for no one knowing he was back in the States. “Yeah, Stockard, what is it?”
“There’s a security matter of grave importance that I need to discuss with you, sir.”
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Stockard, why are you calling me, and not Paul? He’s the one you should be reporting anything—”
“Mr. Chenault, because of the nature of what I’ve discovered and the person involved, I think I should approach you about it first.”
Nicholas shook his head in exasperation. “Is that really necessary, Stockard?”
“Yes, sir. I believe it is. The future of the MC Project is involved with the information I’ve uncovered. I’ve discovered which one of our employees is working with Thomas Jordache to sabotage the project.”
Nicholas drew his eyebrows together, suddenly alert and very attentive. “You know who it is?”
“Yes, sir. There’s concrete evidence that can’t be disputed.”
Nicholas felt numb. He had hoped that none of his employees had actually been guilty of treachery. But from what Stockard was saying, that wasn’t the case. Someone in his employ had been working against him. “Okay, Stockard, I’m on my way.”
Paul parked in front of the Victorian-style house and thought that it suited Callie. From the first time he’d seen her, as a young woman, he’d known that she had style. She had been twenty and in her junior year of college the summer they had met. He’d been five years older, and had been working at Chenault for nearly three years.
He checked his watch again before getting out of his car and walking up to the door. It was almost nine o’clock. Most people would be up and moving around about right then. He hoped that was the case with Callie.
Callie pushed the newspaper aside and stood up when she heard the doorbell. Glancing at the clock over the fireplace mantel, she wondered who it could be. She glanced through the peephole and couldn’t make out the person’s identity. His back was to her.
“Yes? Who is it?” she asked through the door.
There was a pause before the man answered. “Paul Dunlap.”
A tight knot suddenly formed in Callie’s chest. She glanced back through the peephole, and this time she stared directly into Paul’s face. There were only slight changes in his features. Overall, he looked just as handsome as he had the first time she had seen him. He had matured over the years, in a definitely good-looking away. The stubborn reserved tilt of his chin that had intrigued her when she’d first met him was still there, along with the deep-set dark eyes that had made her senses acute and full of desire whenever she was with him. His mouth, a mouth she had kissed countless times, had a masculine strength that had not been there before, and gave his features even more tantalizing dimensions. She took a deep calming breath, then pressed her lips together tightly, coolly, wishing her thoughts would not go there.
Taking another deep breath, she exhaled deeply. She had an idea of what had brought him to see her. She opened the door and came face-to-face with the man who had broken her heart over twenty-seven years ago—the man whose wrongful accusations had destroyed the love they had shared.
“Paul? What are you doing here?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice light and casual.
Paul tried to answer Callie’s question, but his brain wasn’t functioning. It was on overload at seeing her again. She didn’t look as if she had aged much at all, standing before him dressed in an oversize T-shirt and a pair of black tights. Her body looked just as youthful, and her features just as beautiful, as he remembered. The same earthquake that had rocked him on the day he had first laid eyes on her, twenty-seven years ago, was shaking him now. He wondered if she still had those same pristine qualities, that ability to give and share with those she loved abundantly and unselfishly. He, who had always been a loner, had been touched by those qualities in her. He had needed them, and gloried in them. Those qualities, along with the most beautiful sensual face his eyes had ever beheld, had been what had attracted him to her, and later those qualities had completely, irrevocably, captured his heart.
“Paul, I asked what you are doing here.”
The repeat of her question snapped his mind back in focus. “I need to talk to you, Callie.”
“About what?”
“About Shayla Kirkland. May I come in?”
Callie took a deep breath. Her hand tightened around the doorknob, wondering how much he knew. “Yes.” She stepped aside to let him in.
Closing the door behind him, she led him into the living room. “Please have a seat.”
Paul took a seat on the sofa. Callie decided to remain standing.
“Can I get you anything to drink? Milk?”
He stared at her. Even after twenty-seven years she remembered that he didn’t drink coffee, and preferred milk. “No, thanks. I’ve had my milk this morning already.”
She nodded. “Why do you want to talk to me about Shayla?”
“You know that she’s working at Chenault?”
Callie felt heat rise on the back of her neck. “Yes, of course.”
He nodded. “Is she aware that Evangeline used to work for the company years ago, and that she was terminated?”
Callie stared at him for a long moment before replying. “Yes, she knows. She found out after Eva’s death, when she came across her diary. She knows Eva was fired after being falsely accused of something she didn’t do.”
Paul’s jaw clenched. He deserved that hit. He didn’t want to put Callie on the defensive, and decided to word his next question carefully, but straight to the point. “Does she know that Thomas Jordache is her biological father?” He didn’t miss the look of shock that flared in Callie’s dark eyes.
His question hung in the air as she walked over to the fireplace and stared into the flames. The silence grew tight with tension. When she turned around her face was covered with a cool facade. Her eyes were expressionless. “And what makes you think Thomas Jordache is her father?”
Paul leaned forward. “Deductive reasoning with mathematics thrown in. I read her file, then did a bit of adding and subtracting. Unless Shayla was born prematurely, Evangeline had to have been pregnant when she left the company. Since she was involved with Thomas Jordache at the time, I can only assume he fathered her child. Did he?”
Callie stared at Paul for a long moment. She felt as if her very breath were being squeezed out of her with his question. She, Eva, and Glenn had agreed that the truth would never be known, but it appeared that would not be the case.
Taking a deep breath, Callie crossed the room to stand a few feet from Paul and met his eyes. She couldn’t help remembering how fury and rage had blinded his eyes twenty-seven years ago. He had hurt her deeply, because she had loved him and he had believed the worst about her. “Yes, Thomas Jordache fathered Eva’s child,” she finally answered. “But he is not Shayla’s father.”
When she saw his confused expression she decided to clear things up for him. “Thomas Jordache is not Shayla’s biological father, Paul. You are.”