Behind the Shadows (20 page)

“You will, Mom. I promise.”

But there probably wouldn't be any children. She was thirty-two and had no prospect in sight. Max was certainly beyond her reach, even if they weren't adversaries. Today was a freak event. Neither of them could afford to let it happen again.

Her mother's eyes closed. The conversation had worn her out. It was happening more and more often. She leaned down and pushed away hair from her mother's face. More gray now. Thinner. Her mother's breathing was ragged. The number of tubes going into her had increased. Kira had to talk to her doctor tomorrow.

Fear shot through her, wrapped around her heart. How could she lose her?

She didn't know how long she remained. An hour or so. Memories flickered through her head. Picnics and parks on Sundays. Usually places that didn't cost much. But she treasured them, along with those times she'd helped her mother clean a vacant house. Her mother would take along a radio and would sometimes waltz with a broom. Life should be fun, she always said, and she was superb at making lemonade out of lemons.

“Good night,” Kira whispered as darkness started to enclose the room. “I'll be back tomorrow.”

She hesitated at the door, not wanting to leave but not wanting to tie up Max all night, either. She really didn't want to owe him, even for something as little as this.

He stood when he saw her.

“How is she?”

“Getting sicker by the moment.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Everyone says that but not many have a chance to do something about it.” The statement was barbed, and from the flicker in his eyes, she knew she'd struck home.

He didn't reply, and that was fine with her. She didn't want false promises. She'd slept with him knowing the conflict between them. She could only hope that over time he could convince Leigh. He wanted to. She felt that, though he hadn't put it into words.

But she wanted more. She wanted them to feel the urgency she did.

She hesitated as he guided her to the door. How could she have dinner when her mother was so sick? How could she relax when time was slipping away?

Convince him so he will convince Leigh
.

They walked to Lucchesi's. The owner greeted them with a smile. “Happy to have you back.” He guided them to a secluded table in the back and lit the red candle on the table.

Pavarotti was still singing his heart out.

Lucchesi beamed at them, then poured Chianti in their glasses. “Ready to order? Or would you just like to look at each other for a while?” His voice was definitely fatherly.

Was she that obvious? How could she even think about Max, about sex, when her mother was fighting for her life?

“We're ready to order,” Max said, and she realized he knew exactly what she was thinking. It was disconcerting the way he did that.

“My usual,” she said.

“Steak Lucchesi,” he said.

Lucchesi touched his lips with his fingers as if blowing a kiss. “It is
bellissimo
. You will love it.” He left the table, a broad smile on his face.

Max leaned back in his chair and regarded her carefully. “You look exhausted.”

“Surprise,” she said wryly. “It happens when you don't get much sleep.”

“You also look delectable.”

Oddly, she felt delectable even through the weariness and anxiety. Her body still hummed from his touch.

She tried to shake away the feelings crowding in on her. They shouldn't have come here. It was romantic and intimate and … the last place she should be tonight.

“You said there were things to talk about,” she reminded him, trying to break the hypnotic hold he had on her.

He took a sip of wine. “We complicated things today.”

Classic understatement. “I know.”

“We could end up on opposite sides.”

“We
are
on opposite sides,” she replied. “We will be until Leigh gives the kidney if she's a match.”

“Even if you're right about the DNA, she may not be a donor match,” he warned. “And if she is, she may not consent to a transplant.”

“Can't you convince her?”

He met her gaze directly. “There's nothing more I would like than to see her donate a kidney to your mother, and not only for your mother. Leigh always believed she was unwanted. By everyone. It's messed up her life, just like the accident made her terrified of blood and hospitals. You're asking her to do the one thing she mentally cannot do. Not now. Not yet. Maybe if she met your mother …”

“I don't want my mother to know about the switch. It could kill her.”

“You have to make some decisions,” he said. “You can't say no to everything I suggest. We have Leigh's agreement to the DNA test. It's going to take some convincing to take the next step. Right now your mother is a stranger to her. There's no emotional connection.”

His words struck her like a bullet. She
would
have to make a decision. If there was a match, she would have to tell her mother about what had happened in that maternity room years ago. She'd hoped that Leigh could be an anonymous donor, but that wouldn't be fair to anyone.

“And if she doesn't agree?” she asked after a moment's silence.

“I represent her,” he said without emotion, but his gaze didn't leave her face. “I've represented the family all my working life, and as an attorney, I'm bound by her wishes.”

“Then I'll file suit. I don't care if she's afraid of blood. I don't care if her life has been tragic. I'm sorry, but that doesn't mean as much to me as Mom's life.”

His eyes cooled. “The more you push it, the more she'll resist. Leave it to me for a few days. You can't force her to give a kidney even if she is a match.”

She broke a roll into small pieces as she fought her frustration. “Isn't this dinner a conflict of interest?”

“Not if I bring about a negotiation,” he said. “That's what an attorney does.”

“Was that what this afternoon was about?” she said, unable to stop the sharp reply. She regretted her comment nearly the moment it left her mouth.

“Is that what you think?”

“I don't know what to think.”

“I don't do negotiations in the bedroom.” His voice was like ice.

She wanted to trust him, but she couldn't. He'd just made it plain where his loyalties were.

“What are we going to do about today?” she asked.

“Try to forget it happened.” His voice was flat.

“No ethics violations?”

“No. Bad judgment maybe.” A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“I would say terrible on both of our parts,” she said. “I don't usually sleep with enemies.” Lord, but she hurt inside. She'd been so hopeful he would understand, that he would convince Leigh. Instead, he was saying, “Wait.”

She couldn't wait. Her mother couldn't wait.

“We're not enemies,” he replied after a moment.

“Aren't we? I thought you just made that plain.” She wasn't sure why she was doing this. Exhaustion. Frustration. Disappointment. Grief.

Or the fact she wanted him to be something he couldn't—wouldn't—be.
Her
advocate. Not Leigh's. Not the person who might be standing between her mother and death.

Unfair? Yes. But she was punishing herself as much as him. She had fallen in bed with him almost immediately. She never did that. Never. There was always a courtship before. An old-fashioned word, but it conveyed what she felt. She'd always prided herself on knowing someone well, or at least liking them very well, before having sex.

She'd practically thrown herself into his arms. She knew nothing about him except he was known as a ruthless and effective attorney and was named bachelor of the year. That usually meant someone who was a player.

The food arrived, breaking the awkward silence. A waitress placed a steaming platter of spaghetti in front of her, asked whether she wanted cheese. She nodded. She wasn't hungry any longer, but she needed to eat.

Max smiled at the waitress and thanked her. It was a small courtesy, but she was always struck by how many people neglected it.

He was perplexing. Enigmatic in many ways. He kept surprising her, but never more than earlier today at the apartment. She should have known he would be an accomplished lover, but she hadn't imagined how accomplished.

Dammit. Her spoon sliced down through the pasta.

“That's a string of spaghetti, not a snake,” Max noted.

Had he read her mind? She looked up from the plate and saw the corner of his lips turn up.

“I'm angry.”

“I've noticed.”

“I'm angry at myself. I shouldn't have—”

“If anyone has a right to be angry with oneself, it's me,” he interrupted. “I broke one of my cardinal rules. Never get involved with someone associated with a case. On either side. I'm angry because I've obviously made you unhappy. I didn't intend that. I didn't go to your home planning to make love to you. Dammit, it was the last thing on my mind. I'm still not quite sure …”

She couldn't take her gaze away from his. Good Lord, but his eyes were green. At the same time, his words kicked in. So did the almost bewildered way he said the latter ones.

The admission broke some of the tension. For the first time, she wondered if she was getting the first real glimpse at what was inside the well-dressed exterior.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I shouldn't have questioned your …” She stopped, looking for the right word. Reporters always looked for the right word.

“Intentions?”

“Motives,” she corrected.

“Good,” he said simply. “Now eat.”

She slowly started to relax. She wasn't ready to shed all her reservations and suspicions, but for the moment it didn't matter. They were two people out to dinner. The candle flickered lazily between them. The wine was seductive. The room warm. The corner intimate. His face intriguing. His eyes deep and intense. Willing her to believe him.

God help her, she did.

21

Leigh paused in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She rarely did that. She'd even thought about taking it down.

Her grandmother had the mirror put there fifty years ago. It was exquisite. And revealing.

Leigh usually avoided it. She still carried scars from the accident. She had some plastic surgery to cover the worst of them, but the scars on her left leg had been too extensive. She'd had a bone transplant and several other operations to repair it.

She'd trained herself to walk normally, although the left leg was a little shorter than the right, and she usually wore long-sleeved blouses to cover the remaining scars on her left arm.

When angry, her ex-husband had told her how ugly her body was.
Why would any man want to touch you?
He'd seen it before they were married, but within a few months of their marriage she realized he'd married her for her money. Or what he thought was her money.

She bit her lip as she turned away and dressed.

She wasn't sure why she'd agreed to meet the detective. Max had told her not to talk to anyone about this. But curiosity had won out. She kept looking at photos of her mother and comparing them to herself, and to the reporter.

She touched one of the photos. Traced the figure with her fingers. Karen Westerfield Howard had been a tall woman. She was striking on one of the horses she loved. Leigh had always longed to be tall like her. Instead, she was small. Five foot two.

She should be more excited about the new horse that would arrive tomorrow. And she was. But she also realized that the horse wasn't going to fill the huge empty space in her life. In a rare moment of introspection, she realized her obsession with the horse was only to cover the fact that she was lonely.

Max cared, but it was with an exasperated affection that precluded any real relationship. Her housekeeper had been in the Westerfield employ for nearly thirty years. She'd even tried to mother Leigh in her own austere way, but she'd always maintained a certain distance. Her grandfather had been mostly disapproving.

She was probably closest to her second cousins, but David was completely absorbed with his medical practice, and Seth with his political career. And they were family. They
had
to like her.

She stopped herself. She hated those spells, those introspective moments that made her look inside and see the bad stuff. Why did she pick losers as husband material? Why was she so afraid of succeeding at anything? She'd gone through months of therapy to find the reason, and the reason turned out to be the worst possible truth.

Kira Douglas had reopened old but still very raw wounds. Leigh ached as she recalled the love with which the other woman talked of her mother, the way she'd been not only willing but anxious to give a kidney.

It was self-destructive to want to know more. She didn't think she could voluntarily go into a hospital again after the many pain-filled months she'd spent there. The horror of the accident …

Even if the kidney was compatible.

And if it was, her entire life had been a terrible joke …

She changed blouses. A long-sleeved green one. Fully clothed, she looked elegant. The blouse and slacks covered the ugly parts.

She looked at the clock. Ten till four.

Leigh put on just a touch of lipstick, a brush of powder.

The doorbell rang. Mrs. Baker would answer it, would know that she heard it, too.

She waited a moment, then went downstairs. She met Mrs. Baker going out. “You'll be okay?” the housekeeper asked.

She nodded and went into the library. The man had his back toward the door and was looking at the titles.

“My grandfather collected books. He thought they made a good impression for guests. I doubt if he read any of them.”

He turned. “A waste.”

She knew from what Kira Douglas said that he was a former police detective. She hadn't known what to expect, but it wasn't the face of the man who turned toward her.