To Love a Stranger (13 page)

M
adeline didn't remember leaving Stone Cold Records, driving to the House of Madeline or even how long she'd been staring out of her office window. One thing for sure, she hadn't mustered the courage to read Russell, or rather Marcellus's file. At the moment, she kept waiting for Christopher's words to stop ringing in her ear.

“Maddie?” Lysandra poked her head inside the office. When Madeline turned from the window, Lysandra's mouth dropped open. “My God. You look like…What's wrong?” She entered the office and closed the door behind her.

Madeline shook her head, prepared to lie through her teeth if need be, but one look at Lysandra's concerned face and she broke down.

In a flash, Lysandra enclosed her in her small embrace and, despite not knowing the problem, assured her cousin that everything was going to be all right.

“It's never gong to be all right,” Madeline sobbed, clutching her cousin tight. “Everything is a mess. What am I going to do? What am I going to tell the children?”

“Okay, now you're scaring me. Come over here and sit down.”

Madeline allowed her cousin to lead her over to her desk.

“Now. Tell me. What's going on? What happened?”

“Russell…I mean, Marcellus—he's not him. He's not mine. He can never be mine. I have to tell him. I have to let him go.”

Lysandra knelt in front of Madeline, shaking her head. “Who? I don't understand. What did this guy do?”

Madeline turned and grabbed the folder. “It's in here. I can't make myself read it.” She shoved into Lysandra's arms and then grabbed a few Kleenexes to mop her tears. “You read it. You tell me what it says.”

Lysandra still struggled to understand Madeline's babble, but she did glance down and read the name on the folder. “Marcellus Cougar.” Her gaze found Madeline's again. “Who is he?”

Madeline fought for control of her trembling lips. “He's Russell.” When no bells and whistles went off, she continued. “The new Russell…the one who's been living with me.”

“You mean…Russell is not Russell?”

Hearing the truth like that caused a fresh wave of tears to rush down Madeline's face.

“But I don't understand.” Lysandra opened the folder and pored over the numerous pages. “Here's a copy of a military ID, driver's license, and…How did you get all this?”

“Christopher,” Madeline said both angrily and wearily. “He's known the whole time.”

“What? Did you kill him?”

“No. Although, the thought did cross my mind.”

“You want
me
to go kill him?”

“Tempting, but no. I have a much bigger problem on my hands. Like telling the kids…and Marcellus.” She sighed. “Marcellus. It sort of suits him, don't you think?”

“Wait a minute? Christopher pulls an outrageous stunt like this and expects you to clean it up?”

“He doesn't want to give Russ—I mean, Marcellus—up. For him, it would be like losing his brother all over again.” Madeline dropped her gaze. “I don't want to give him up, either.”

Lysandra's concern collapsed into pity. “Oh, Maddie.”

Madeline returned to her cousin's embrace and cried until the well ran dry.

Russell spent the morning in Tiffany's, searching for a wedding ring. When he first walked through the door, the saleswoman, Helen, presented one monstrous diamond after another. But he didn't like any of them.

“Something simple,” he finally told the woman. “Simple yet elegant.”

“More like an antique design?” Helen suggested, seeming impressed and pleased that he wasn't a man who just asked for the biggest diamond they had.

“I want a ring that reflects the qualities I love about her. Her intelligence, the way she dotes on my children and the subtle ways she shows her love for me. Nothing flashy or over the top.”

Helen sighed dreamily. “She must be one hell of a woman.”

Russell smiled. “She is.”

“I don't think I've ever seen a man of your stature blush before.”

“That's because the other men don't have a woman like mine,” he said.

Helen winked. “I think I have the perfect ring for you.”

And the perfect ring she had. It was an antique Asscher-cut diamond and platinum ring. The diamond's small table, high crown, deep pavilion and square culet gave it an almost octagonal appearance.

“Asscher-cut diamonds were developed in the early 1900s by the Asscher Diamond Company in Amsterdam,” Helen went on to tell him. “They are extremely rare and desirable.”

Russell's smile bloomed. “I'll take it.”

Ten minutes later Russell headed back to his limo, feeling like the luckiest man on earth. He was already dreaming of ways to present the ring to Madeline: a fancy dinner, carriage ride through Central Park, or before a nice crackling fire.

Just like Pamela.

Russell stopped. Something ghosted around his memory or someone—a woman. He stood still in the middle of Fifth Avenue, the January wind freezing him to the bone.

Dennis frowned while still holding open the limousine door. “Did you find what you needed, Mr. Stone?”

Russell snapped out of his reverie, the ghost gone. He looked around the busy street, momentarily confused. His gaze searched the faces of the busy New Yorkers. None of them paid him any attention.

“Mr. Stone?” Dennis asked.

Russell didn't answer.

“Mayday! Mayday!”

“Mr. Stone?”

“What's your position, Major Cougar?”

“Mr. Stone?”

“What's your position?”

Dennis approached, concerned etched in his features. “Mr. Stone, are you all right?”

Russell touched the side of his head and felt the scar buried beneath his short-cropped hair.

“Do you need me to take you to the hospital, Mr. Stone? You don't look too good.”

At long last, the men's gazes connected.

Russell blinked, shook his head and gave the young driver a reassuring smile. “Fine. Everything is fine.” He pounded Dennis on the back for good measure. “Why don't we just go home?”

“You're not going into the office today?”

“No. I, uh, I'm going to take the day off.”

“You're the boss.”

Russell walked over to the limo and slipped inside. The moment the door closed behind him, he slumped back against the leather interior and tried to recapture the voice and images from moments ago.

Dennis slid behind the wheel and they melted back into traffic. Usually, the two engaged in friendly conversation during their drives, but after a couple of failed attempts, Dennis left his employer alone with his thoughts. However, he did keep watching him through his rearview mirror.

After a few intense minutes of heavy concentration, Russell felt the tingling of another headache. He abandoned his efforts and turned toward the limo's dark windows. The passing scenery calmed him, but then suddenly everything seemed wrong or rather something was missing.

“What's going on here?” he asked.

“Sir?”

Russell nodded to the massive construction site. “What are they working on?”

“The World Trade Center Memorial. It looks like it's coming along pretty good.”

Something clicked inside Russell's head. “The World Trade Center…9/11.”

Dennis's gaze snapped back to the mirror. “You remember the attacks, sir?”

“Oh, my God,” Russell whispered.

“Sir? Are you all right? You look as though you've seen a ghost.”

“Pull over, Dennis.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There's a lot in here,” Lysandra said as she continued to pore over Marcellus Cougar's file.

Madeline snatched the last tissue from the box and returned to pacing the office. “All right. I can't stand it anymore.” She marched over to her desk and plopped into her chair. “Just tell me what it says.” She jumped back up. “Wait, no. Don't tell me.” She returned to pacing.

Lysandra turned toward her cousin. “Look, Maddie. I know this has to be incredibly hard…but he's not a puppy. You can't keep him.”

“Why not?” Madeline asked. “Just the three of us know the truth.”

Lysandra cocked her head in weary sympathy. “Maddie.”

“I know,” she whined. “It's just that…he's so perfect. The kids love him.”

“And you love him.”

“Yes, damn it. I love him. Why do you think I'm losing my mind here?” Madeline swore under breath. “It's bad enough that I've know for over a week that he wasn't my husband. Russell wished he was that good in bed. Quantity doesn't mean quality.”

“That good, huh?”

“Oh, Lysandra.” She sighed almost dreamily. “He's attentive, eager to please and my God, he's like the Energizer bunny.”

Lysandra's shoulders drooped. “Okay. Now I'm jealous.”

“It never entered my mind that he had another wife somewhere.”

Her cousin closed the folder. “You know what? I think you need to take this folder to Marcellus and you guys read it together.”

“Then what? Watch him walk out the door?”

“I'm afraid so.”

Madeline's lips trembled as fresh tears found their way to the surface.

Lysandra stood, walked over to her and placed the folder in her hands. “Just make sure you get a kiss goodbye.”

There was a knock at the door.

Madeline groaned. She and Lysandra spent most of the day telling employees they were not to be disturbed. So when Madeline rounded toward the door to give whoever it was a piece of her mind, she was not prepared to see Marcellus.

Belatedly, she remembered to speak. “Oh, hi.”

“Hello. Uh, Kate wasn't at her desk so I thought it was okay to come on in.” He glanced over at Lysandra. “Is this a bad time?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Lysandra corrected. “I was just leaving.”

Madeline's gaze cut to her traitorous cousin, but Lysandra was smart enough not to look in her direction. Both Madeline and Marcellus watched her as she left the office.

When they were finally alone, Marcellus turned to Madeline and took in her puffy, red eyes and disheveled appearance. “Is something wrong?” he asked, moving toward her.

“No, well, I'm fine,” she said, stepping back and sliding the folder behind her back. In order to think, she couldn't stand too close to him. “What are you doing here?”

For the first time, she noticed his drawn appearance, his troubled eyes.

“Have you talked with Christopher?” she asked fearfully.

“No. I didn't make it into the office today.” He frowned. “Why?”

“No reason,” she covered, and relaxed a little.

“Madeline, we need to talk.”

The seriousness of his tone quickened her heartbeat and she finally read the truth in his eyes.

He knows.

“I don't know how to say this,” he began.

“Then don't,” she said without thinking. Her body showed no signs of running out of tears.

“You know, don't you?” he asked, strolling up to her.

She nodded though her vision was completely blurred.

“How…?”

“The first time we made love. It was also when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was in love with you.”

Tears glistened in Marcellus's eyes. “I have to go.”

“I know,” she croaked. Dropping the folder, Madeline completely broke down.

Marcellus was at her side in a flash, pulling her into his strong embrace and whispering words of comfort. None of them worked.

Just make sure you get a kiss goodbye.

And that's exactly what she did.

A
riel cried for a week.

Russ simply stopped talking.

After two months of the media raking him over the coals, Christopher Stone woke the morning of March first and put a bullet through his head. Three days later, after the funeral, Tiffani inherited a small sum and the rest of Christopher's estate was divided between Madeline and her children.

“Hot damn,” Cecelia popped the cork off a bottle of champagne. “I never thought I'd be happy of the day you didn't listen to me.” She quickly poured the gushing, bubbly into two flutes. “Just don't go around making it a habit.”

“Mother, not now.” Madeline removed her black hat and veil and then kicked her pumps across the room. “I never wanted his money and I have no clue how to run all these businesses.”

“It's simple. You hire people.”

Madeline sighed. Why did she even bother discussing this with her?

“Of course, this also means you're back on the market.”

“Mother, if you mention Toby McDaniel. I swear, I'll scream.”

Cecelia rolled her eyes and handed her daughter her flute of champagne. “There's that tone.” She waved a slender finger in reprimand. “Besides, Toby is no longer available. I hooked him up with someone else already.”

Madeline arched an inquisitive brow and set her champagne down on her vanity without a sip. “Who?”

Her mother fluttered a hand around. “Oh, just an acquaintance.”

“Does this acquaintance have a name?”

“Denitra Bell,” Cecelia mumbled into her glass.

The name was familiar and it took Madeline a moment to place it. “That private eye's girlfriend? The one you called a Spandex Queen?”

“Yes, well, it turns out all she needed was some polishing.”

Dubious, Madeline leveled her with a look.

“Okay. It took some major overhauling.” Cecelia squared her shoulders. “But it was nice having a eager student. And if you ask me, it's way past time to enroll Ariel into charm school.”

“Then it's a good thing nobody asked you.”

There was a soft knock before Lysandra entered the room, as well.

“Now,
this one
I'd like to get my hands on.”

“What?” Lysandra asked, suspicious she'd been the butt of a joke.

“Trust me. You don't want to know.”

Lysandra took her at her word and informed them, “The kids are taking their naps.”

“Thank you. Losing their uncle like this on top of…” She sighed. No matter what, Madeline's thoughts traveled back to Marcellus and, shortly after, her body ached from his absence. “I had no idea Christopher was suicidal. I knew he was taking the scandal pretty hard but…”

Lysandra took Madeline by the hand. “Don't. It's not your fault.”

“Lately it seems everything is my fault. And I don't know how to fix any of it.”

That included her heart. The one thing she tried her entire life to protect was now shattered into a million pieces.

Lysandra walked over to the vanity and picked up Marcellus's folder. “You still have this?”

Madeline nodded. Hell, she had the whole thing memorized. Major Marcellus Cougar was born and raised in Seattle Washington. One sibling—a younger sister. His father died a war hero in Vietnam. His mother a school teacher. Not much information about his academia, other than he'd joined the ROTC, but Madeline suspected Marcellus was a good student. He joined the military the same year he married Pamela Cutler.

Pamela.
Madeline shook her head. She had never been prone to jealousy, but thinking of the woman who now warmed Marcellus's bed threatened to do her in.

The report did have some major gaps. Like whether the two had children. Or what Pamela did for a living as they bounced from one military base after another.

The fascinating material revolved around Marcellus's medical discharge from the military. During his extended deployment in the Middle East, he was a sole survivor of a Black Hawk crash that not only battered his body but doctors had diagnosed him with severe post-traumatic stress disorder.

PTSD answered the questions about Marcellus's insomnia, small bouts of depression and memory loss.

“Well, I say, good riddance to him,” Cecelia said, pouring herself another drink. “I knew he was a fraud the moment I laid eyes on him.”

Madeline and Lysandra rolled their eyes.

“I told you. You can't fake good breeding. All that rolling around in the yard. Just be happy you were too smart to let him in your bed.”

Madeline and Lysandra's gazes crashed. Neither corrected Cecelia or mentioned the child growing inside Madeline's body.

“And don't think I bought that whole traumatic-stress nonsense.”

Madeline closed her eyes and wished like hell she could put a muzzle on her mother.

“Now, I know that you weren't in love with the real Russell Stone, dear. But you can't say he wasn't a great provider. And really, that's all a woman needs in a man. You start caring, or worse, loving them…and it'll lead to disaster.” Cecelia's voice quivered.

When Madeline glanced over at her. She was stunned to see tears shimmering in her mother's eyes. “Are you crying?” Had she ever seen her mother cry before?

“Ah.” Cecelia waved the question off. “Silly emotions.”

“You were in love once, weren't you?” Madeline asked, stunned.

Cecelia straightened her shoulders and knuckled away a tear. “Once. Which is why I've always warned you against it. Women…and our silly notions of knights in shining armor and our crazy nonsense of happily-ever-after. It should be against the law to read little girls fairy tales. They do more harm than good.”

Madeline ignored her mother's bluster and pressed, “Who was he?”

More tears leaked from Cecelia's eyes and Madeline grabbed a few Kleenexes from her vanity table and handed it to her. “Who?”

“Your damn father, who else?” Her mother dabbed her eyes.

“My father?” Madeline knew close to nothing about her father. Only that he was some Cape Cod summer fling who conveniently forgot to mention he was married.

“I was young and dumb,” she said, downplaying the experience. “It can never be said that I didn't learn my lesson.”

Sighing, Madeline shook her head. “But I didn't learn mine. No, I was never in love with Russell…but I do love Marcellus. I know that he doesn't have all the qualities you expect out of a husband, but he had every quality that I wanted.” Tears resurfaced in Madeline's eyes.

“He doesn't come from money or, as far as, I can tell, aspire to be the next gazillionaire. But there was no denying he had heart. He was patient, caring and loving. He's a man who walked into our lives and turned it upside down. And before we knew it, he was gone again.

“And you know what? I would give it all up for him to walk back into our lives. Walk in and call Ariel pumpkin or run around out side tossing the football with Russ. I want us all to gather around a fireplace and eat s'mores until it's running out of our ears. And for once I want the father to be in the room when I deliver our child.”

Madeline watched Cecelia's eyes widen in horror. “But don't worry, it'll never happen.” Be-fore she knew it, she'd broken down again. However, this time, it was her mother's arm that comforted her.

Seattle, Washington

Marcellus placed flowers against the tombstone of his wife's empty grave and wiped at the silent tears. In the past two months, he'd suffered an incredible amount of guilt for having forgotten about his beautiful wife. Their life together, the dreams they shared and how they all abruptly ended during the 9/11 attacks.

Pamela had never even been to New York before, but she always wanted to go to Broadway, Central Park and wave a sign in front of Good Morning America. So for her thirtieth birthday, Marcellus bought two tickets: one for Pamela and one for his mother. He couldn't go because he had just received deployment papers for the Middle East.

They left on a Friday, called him all weekend about the shows they caught and then waved their signs with Al Roker Monday. Tuesday morning, they'd decided, to have breakfast at the Windows of the World restaurant at the World Trade Center.

Marcellus took his next batch of flowers and placed them across the few remains of his mother. Burying both women had been one of the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. That and trying to convince himself that it wasn't his fault they were gone. He bought the tickets. He sent them that week.

His baby sister, Valerie, had tried her best to help ease his guilt. But it hadn't worked. What had helped, at least for a little while, was transforming himself into some kind of superhero during his three tours in the Middle East. What some of the guys on his squad called bravery, Marcellus called a death wish.

And he nearly got it.

His Black Hawk was shot down by small arms fire. Out of seven soldiers aboard, only he survived. After his physical injuries healed, the psychological ones began to pile. Post-traumatic stress syndrome had been his diagnoses and one month later, he'd received a medical discharge from the military.

His sister had left the states, married a Canadian doctor in Nova Scotia. Being his last surviving family member, he went to see her—only to learn that she'd died in a car accident the year before. No one had contacted him.

Looking back on it now. Maybe receiving the news on his in-laws' front porch had finally snapped something within him while he walked along the Nova Scotia seashore. The lives he was responsible for continued to pile. And then this week, Christopher Stone's suicide sent him reeling once again.

For six weeks he had been Christopher Stone's long lost little brother. He'd liked the man though now he knew they were from two different classes, two different worlds.

Madeline belonged to that other world, as well. A woman of privilege and fierce ambition wouldn't want anything to do with a man who had nothing. Hadn't she admitted that she'd only married for money?

Hell, he didn't even have a life anymore.

Marcellus had debated on whether to attend Christopher's funeral, but knew the media still swarmed like flies around the family. His beard was growing in full now, his hair a little unruly. One thing for sure, he wouldn't be wearing any Armani suits again anytime soon.

Lowering his head, Marcellus waited for another wave of guilt. Why was he thinking about another woman while at his wife's grave? The guilt never came. It had been over six years since Pamela's death and the pain of his loss seemed to have a weaker hold over his heart. Not that he didn't still love her, it's just that…maybe it was time to move on.

Maybe it was okay to fall in love again. It was just too bad, he could never cross back over to that other world. Never hold Madeline Stone in his arms, never kiss his pumpkin good-night or toss the football around in the yard with Russ.

But for one moment in time, he did all those things. And it had been one of the happiest times in his life.

April showers were more like torrential rain in New York. One night, Madeline and the children couldn't sleep. As a treat, Madeline suggested they gather around the fireplace and eat s'mores. It'd also helped sate her massive chocolate cravings. But instead of cheering the children up, it seemed to depress them more.

Marcellus's presence was sorely missed.

“Maybe we can invite his other family to come live with us?” Ariel suggested sheepishly.

Russ huffed. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“Russ, don't talk to your sister like that,” Madeline gently reprimanded.

“Well, it was a stupid suggestion,” he complained.

Madeline's brows stretched high into her forehead to let her son know not to try her patience on this.

“He said that he would never forget how to come home again,” Ariel complained pitifully.

“Baby, I'm so sorry but we've been over this. Marcellus was not your father. He just looked like him.”

“Does that mean that he never loved us?”

“Oh, baby. Come here.” Madeline stretched out her arms and Ariel found room on her lap. “I'm sure Marcellus came to care for us very much. In his own way. It wasn't his fault that he was sick.”

“Because he had annameseah?” Ariel questioned.

“Yes, baby.” Madeline finger combed her daughter thick locks. “You mustn't hate him. You must never hate him.” She sniffed.

“I don't hate him,” Ariel mumbled. “I just wish that he could be our daddy again.”

Madeline smiled through her brimming tears. “Me, too, baby.”

Russ stood and ran to his room.