Behind the Shadows (30 page)

One step at a time, she told herself.

Max led the way to the door and opened it. He followed her out and opened the door of his car. She barely suppressed a groan as she stepped inside. That darn rib!

“You shouldn't have come,” Max said, then muttered something she couldn't hear. It was probably just as well.

He said nothing else as they drove to the gate. The guards opened it as Max approached. The drive beyond the gate was lined with cars, trucks, and portable satellite vans from various television stations. Max drove a few yards and got out of the car.

“Is that Kira Douglas?” yelled one.

“Ms. Douglas, how do you feel about being a heiress?” said another reporter who tried to approach the car.

“Are you going to sue the hospital?” yelled another.

Max stepped in front of them. “We'll have a statement later this evening,” he said.

“Who're you?” yelled a reporter.

“Maxwell Payton. I'm the attorney for Westerfield Industries.”

“Why are you with Ms. Douglas? Are you representing her as well?”

“What about the kidney?” a television reporter yelled out. “We heard …”

“Who's trying to kill you?” That from another reporter in the back of the pack. The question was obviously meant for Kira. She shook her head.

“Come on, Kira,” said another. “You know we have deadlines.”

Max fought to get back into the car. He started slowly, even as questions continued to fly at both of them.

“Where and when will the statement be issued?” came one last question.

“Seven. At my office.” He gave an address. “Until then, there will be no comment from Kira or from any of the Westerfields, so you might as well leave.”

He put his foot on the gas pedal and made his way through the gauntlet.

“They won't give up,” Kira said.

“I know,” he said.

“Who's going to write the statement?”

“You and I. But Leigh will have a say.”

The reporters suddenly made her remember her cell phone. She had turned it off while the technician took the DNA sample. She hadn't wanted anything, anything at all, to delay the test. She turned it on and saw she had three messages. All from the newspaper.

Damn. For the first time in her life she forgot about a story. Not forgot, exactly, but just pushed more important things in front of it. The attack on her mother. The DNA test.

Wade would be livid.

She punched the button for the city desk.

“Carlton!” the rough voice barked out.

“Wade, this is Kira. I'm sorry. I should have gotten in touch with you sooner, but someone tried to kill my mother at the hospital and …”

“Good God,” came the expletive. “Look, we're on deadline. Our police reporter is covering the city hall stuff. Can you just dictate something quickly? All the television stations are going nuts with this baby-switch thing. Apparently someone got a tip from the police department.”

For the first time in her life, she didn't get a rush in writing a story. “I'm too close to it …”

“Look, Robin Stuart is here. She's the best we have. Can you give her some details, then write something for the morning paper tomorrow?” Before she could reply, he'd transferred the call.

Kira was careful in what she said. She passed over how she got the first DNA sample and simply said that Leigh Howard was one of several possibilities and that she'd been kind enough to give a DNA sample. Nothing was positive yet. She gave a time line of the attacks on her and suggested the attacks could be related to several stories in the past. She downplayed any connection.

When she finished, Robin read back what she had.

“
Atlanta Observer
reporter Kira Douglas, one of several victims shot outside city hall Thursday night, might have been the victim of an accidental baby switch at Eastside Hospital thirty-two years ago. Police are investigating whether the two events are connected …”

Fifteen minutes later, Kira finished, satisfied that she'd done as much as she could to report the important facts without pointing an accusation against the Westerfields. She wanted to do nothing that would slow the reluctant cooperation she now had.

Max had listened to her side of the conversation. “Thanks for toning down the Westerfield connection.”

“Don't thank me. Until the DNA is official, it would be irresponsible to make any claims or charges. There're other stories, though. The police department report was leaked, and it mentioned the possible connection.”

“But your story might defuse it for right now. It might give us a few days, time for Leigh to accept whatever comes.”

“Is that possible? Leigh still doesn't want to admit the truth.”

He took his gaze from the road and turned to her. “How long did it take you to accept the impossible?” he said.

“A day. Two.”

“Longer than that. You said you had to wait several days for the third test to come in. Didn't you, in all that time, want to believe it wasn't true?”

He'd said something similar before. She wanted to debate him. This was a life. Her mother's life.

“Do you love her?” she asked. She hadn't meant to blurt out the question, but out it came. She hoped it was only her roiling emotions and lack of sleep rather than jealousy, but she suspected the truth was all three.

He glanced over at her, his green eyes meeting hers.

“Yes,” he said, sounding as if the answer surprised even him. He sounded tired and frustrated. “I probably never admitted it before, even to myself. I've avoided that word like the plague. But, yeah, I do care for her. Maybe even more than I thought.”

Her heart plunged.

A muscle tightened in his cheek. “Like Leigh, I grew up without much support. Certainly damned little love. It's something I shared with her. I didn't believe in it and avoided any kind of emotional entanglements. Leigh did the opposite. She ran to any man that promised love.”

He stopped. Kira couldn't take her eyes from him. Each word seemed forced from his throat, and that surprised her. He'd always seemed so at ease with himself.

His hands tightened around the steering wheel. “You asked whether I love her,” he said. “You know about the accident she had. I used to drive her to school. She always wore long-sleeved shirts to cover the scars on her arms. She still does. You haven't seen them because she still hides them. I took her to ballet lessons and she always wore tights on the way. Her legs are scarred as well. Not bad. Not as much as she thinks, but the memories of that night make them worse in her mind. We have a pool, but the only time I've seen her swimming is at night.”

Kira listened intently as he swerved in and out of traffic. “She accepts me because I never pitied her,” he continued. “Never catered to her. I make her angry, but there's a certain respect between us. She knows I won't take advantage of her, that I'll tell her exactly what I think where she's concerned. If she's being a damned fool, I tell her that.”

He stopped for a red light. He turned to her. “Ed Westerfield treated her like a piece of property. He was determined she would not marry ‘trash' like her mother did, which, of course, drove her to do exactly that. If he cared, he never knew how to express it. In any event, he never gave her the unconditional love she's always yearned for. So I've watched her struggle through a horrific marriage and a gold-digging fiancé. She's just now beginning to find herself, and you throw this at her.”

The light changed and he looked back at the road. “So, yes, I am protective. And I guess I love her as I would a kid sister.” A muscle jerked in his jaw, and Kira knew exactly how much he cared and how torn he was.

This was a different Max. He'd finally let his guard down, and she feared he would regret it. But for now her heart filled with a bittersweet knowledge of what he was trying to say to her. He not only owed his duty to Leigh, but a piece of his heart. Perhaps even a larger piece than he thought.

She was a fool to fret over it. She had far larger worries than someone who had always been out of reach, even if she was interested in a relationship. Which she wasn't.

“I don't want you to think, even for an instant, that Leigh could have anything to do with what's happened these past few days. The truth is she wouldn't hurt a flea. Herself, yes. A flea, no.”

“Then who?”

“I've gone over it a dozen times,” he said. “I keep wondering who would benefit if something happened to you. Especially if Leigh was blamed.”

She waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she asked, “What
would
happen?”

“I suspect that other members of the family would step in as potential heirs and contest the trust. None of them is overly fond of me.”

“Would they win?”

“I don't think so. Since I was an interested party, I found the best law firm in Georgia to draw the trust. Ed told them exactly what he wanted. But you never know how a judge is going to rule.” He paused, then continued, “This kind of trust is rare in that the beneficiary has little or no control. It's to protect her. If Leigh doesn't conform to the terms of the will, the money goes to charity. I would administer that process and could make some very fat fees. So I imagine I would be considered someone who would benefit. There would be few checks on what I could and couldn't do.”

“Who are the relatives who could contest?” She knew from Chris's research, but she wanted to hear it from him.

“Leigh's cousins, Seth and David, and David's father, Dr. Crawford. That's all. The Westerfields aren't very prolific.”

“There's no one else who would have a claim or benefit?”

He was thoughtful. Silent. Then he shrugged. “Not that I'm aware of.”

Before she could ask more questions, they arrived at the hospital.

“You don't have to come in with me,” she said as they turned into the hospital driveway.

“Lady, I'm not letting you out of my sight until Burke gets here.” The way he said “lady” sent a warm tingle through her.

She was silent as he parked. She didn't wait for him to come around to her side. Despite the pounding on her ribs, she was out of the car and walking toward the entrance before he caught up with her.

They didn't talk on their way to the elevator, but she was only too aware of his body language, especially when he rested an arm on her shoulder. Claiming her.

The tingle grew into a rush of warmth.

Not good, Douglas
. He'd just said he avoided emotional entanglements like the plague. He'd told her that he was more than a little on Leigh's side.

But no matter how much she warned herself, her body didn't behave. It reacted to him all on its own.

They reached her mother's floor. She stopped at the nurse's station. “How is she?”

The nurse on duty knew her well. “Holding her own. We're all praying for another kidney.” She paused. “I heard what happened. There's a guy outside your mother's room. He's been vetted by our security here, and we're keeping a special eye on her.”

Kira smiled her gratitude and went on to the room. She didn't recognize the man sitting in a chair outside the room. He stood as they approached.

“I'm Kira Douglas, Mrs. Douglas's daughter.”

“I recognize you, Ms. Douglas. Go in.”

“How do you recognize me?”

“Chris sent pictures along. I have one of Mr. Payton as well.”

“Anyone else been here?”

“Only staff. I've checked all their credentials. The doctor wasn't happy, but …”

She didn't wait for him to finish. She opened the door and went inside.

Her mother was on oxygen. And asleep. She retreated back to the nurse's station. “She's on oxygen?”

“On and off. It relieves the strain on her heart. You can take it off while you're here.”

She returned to the room. Max had waited outside, but now he followed her inside. She wanted the company. It took the edge off the despair. The continuing anger at Leigh's inertia.

Her mother's eyes opened as if she sensed her presence. The smile was dimming, but it was there. “Kira. I'm … so glad to see you. I've been worried about you.”

“I'm better,” she said. Anything more optimistic would warn her mother. “I did ask Carly to take over the books at the Clean Sweep.” Carly had worked for the Clean Sweep for two years and had offered to step in yesterday. “It's taken a big load off.” She paused, then added, “People are asking about you.”

“They know?” She looked distressed.

“Yes. Remember what I told you yesterday. The story is in the newspapers now. A lot of people know—and care—about you.”

And someone wanted her dead
.

Her mother's gaze left her face and went to Max, who stood in the doorway. Her eyes filled with curiosity.

“This is Max Payton,” Kira said. “He's the attorney for your … for Leigh Howard.”

“I would like to see her.” Katy Douglas's voice trembled slightly.

Max stepped closer. “You will,” he said softly.

“When?”

“Soon, I expect.”

She held out her hand to him. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome, Mrs. Douglas.”

“Katy. Everyone calls … me Katy.”

“Katy then,” he said easily.

Her mother looked at him with speculation in her eyes. Sick as she was, Katy Douglas was an unrepentant matchmaker for her daughter, and now she had a glimmer of that old fire in her eyes.

Before she had an opportunity to question him further, he crossed the room in what seemed like three steps. “I'll wait outside while you visit.” And then he was gone, the door closing softly after him.

Her mother's eyes widened. “Wow,” she said. “He's certainly … something.”

He was that. The problem was that Kira didn't know what kind of “something” he was.