Dangerous Secrets (48 page)

‶
We knew all about you going to
watch him swim when we were in Korea.″ Morgan′s eyes widened in
surprise. Allie went on.
‶
I wanted to taunt you with it, but Jan
wouldn′t let me.″

‶
Jan knew, too.″

‶
Of course we knew. We lived
with you, knew when something piqued your interest, and each time someone
mentioned Jack Temple′s name you would tense up, or try not to. We were
girls back then, still in high school most of us. Our entire world, excluding
the gym, revolved around boys. But somehow you were older. Jan and I wanted to
be just Like you.″

‶
You′re kidding.″
Morgan never thought anyone would want to be like her. She had nothing. They
had everything.

‶
You were so poised and so
serious and knew what you wanted, and God you were good. I′m sure it
wasn′t only us. We didn′t know how much Jack meant to you.″

‶
Allie, it′s so complicated
and I can′t explain it. Until a few days ago, I hadn′t seen Jack in
twelve years. And in another few days, a week at the most, I′ll never see
him again.″

***

Hart Lewiston switched the green-shaded
banker′s light on his desk off and leaned back in the chair. Moonlight
streamed in the windows, casting shadows over the richly appointed furnishings.
Tears rolled down his face. The folder in front of him could no longer be seen,
but he didn′t need to see it to know its contents. Every word, every
photograph had been printed on his memory as if some microscopic-sized
Michelangelo was inside his head chiseling them in place.

Disaster had struck. It waited thirty-one years
to flare up and shoot him down. He′d been a prisoner in a foreign jail.
He′d been tortured, starved, drugged, beaten to within inches of his
life, yet nothing could be more devastating than the unsolicited information
that lay before him in an innocuous manila folder. He had a child. A daughter.
A fully grown woman he didn′t know existed until thirty minutes ago.

Tears rolled to the comers of his mouth. Hart
tasted the salt as he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He and Carla
had never had children. They′d been married for twenty-three years. Since
his child, his daughter, was eight years old. Images of family holidays,
picnics, school functions when he was eight years old floated through his mind.
He saw himself dressed as a dinosaur for Halloween and opening brightly colored
Christmas presents. Where had she been when she was eight?

Hart wanted to think of what he could do to
rectify the situation. Someone undoubtedly knew of the child′s existence
or this folder wouldn′t have been sent to him by special messenger. And
to his home when he was sure to be here. Campaigning took him on the road
ninety-eight percent of the time. Yet this folder had come tonight, after Carla
had retired and he′d planned to follow her. Whoever sent it knew his
schedule.

He tried to think clearly, but it was made
difficult by the image of the nineteen-year-old girl with a bouquet of roses
crushed to her breast. Hart recognized her at once, and then when he saw the
photo of her mother, he knew without the shadow of a doubt that his past had
returned to bite him. He should call someone.

But who?

Elliott Irons would have a coronary when he
found out. What about his father, a Supreme Court justice, or Carla, sleeping
soundly in their bed only a floor away from the turmoil boiling inside him. She
was not the one to call, although he wished she was. He should be thinking of
his campaign, his bid to be the next president, what this knowledge if given to
the press would do to his ratings in the polls. Would America stand behind him
when they became aware of his daughter and her life?

Morgan
Kirkwood, born to Rose Kirkwood and Hart Lewiston - Frauenklinik vom Roten
Kreuz in Munich Germany.
Hart repeated the words he′d read on paper
in his mind. A copy of her birth certificate was enclosed, along with adoption
papers and her new birth certificate created when Sharon Peters adopted her. An
account of her life on the streets and her exploits at the Olympics in Korea,
even her part in saving his life, were all there. In five neatly printed pages,
the entire focus of his being had altered.

Did she know? He wondered. Had she known he was
her father all these years and hated him with every bit of her being? Did she
dislike and distrust him so much she wouldn′t even appeal to him when she
was living on the streets and he was comfortably ensconced in the lap of
luxury? He felt like an unfit father. Even in these surroundings, where Carla
had worked with decorators for months to find just the right fabric for
curtains and just the right furniture for the rooms, he felt like a failure. He
should have known. He should have found Rose. The furniture in this office
alone could probably have paid for his daughter′s entire career of
gymnastics lessons.

Hart reached for the phone and punched in
numbers he didn′t need light to distinguish. He checked the clock but
couldn′t see it in the darkness. Switching the light back on, the dial
read 3:39 a.m. He had to find her. He needed advice on what to do and what was
about to happen. Whoever sent him this material didn′t do it to keep him
informed. They wanted something. Hart needed to think clearly and act.

He was going to have to tell Elliott. His
campaign manager deserved to hear about this before it made front-page news.
And Carla. Little did she know that her night would be disturbed with news that
would blindside her.

An alert voice answered the phone. Hart knew
the man on the other end had been asleep, but he was used to being aroused in
the middle of the night. Disaster seemed to happen after dark and the director
of the FBI was a man who dealt with disaster.

‶
Clarence, this is Hart. We need
to meet.″

Chapter 12

Jack stood rock still in the darkness. He
blended with the trees, becoming part of the landscape, unseen and unnoticed.
Yet he could hear and smell everything around him, the crickets, cicadas,
mosquitoes, the pine trees, forsythia bushes, the scented soap Morgan wore. She
was behind him, quiet, trying to do what he did, but she was an amateur. Her
perfumed body announced her presence long before she actually got to the place
where she stood.

He waited for her to make a move, for her to
make it known she was behind him. Minutes went by without a sound. She was good
at patience and good at keeping quiet. If it weren′t for the fragrance,
he wasn′t sure he could tell she was standing there. He estimated she was
about ten feet from him, behind a bush to his left. The wind, a gentle breeze,
filled the night with smells; the trees, moist earth, clear air also brought
hers to him.

Then a hand touched his right shoulder. Right
not left, his mind whirled. Morgan was on the right. Instinct made him go for
protection. He grabbed the hand, twisting the arm and turning at the same time.
He found his gun in his hand without conscious thought. Brushing the feet from
his assailant, they both went down, his assailant on the ground, Jack′s
knee in his back. He brought the gun up to the assailant′s head and then
the knowledge that the body he landed on wasn′t hard and unyielding, but
soft and female, penetrated his consciousness.

‶
Damn it, Morgan, don′t
ever do that again.″ He shouted at her.
‶
What are you doing here?″

She was paralyzed with fear. Her body was taut
and her breath came in gasps. Jack removed the gun from her head and rolled
away from her. He sat up, re-holstered his gun and stood. Morgan still lay on
the ground away from him. She′d turned her back to him. Jack could see
her shoulders moving as she tried to compose her fear into something
manageable. He let her do it alone. He knew she wouldn′t want his help
just yet. He faced the trees so when she finally turned, she wouldn′t
know he′d seen her.

Jack heard her get up. He turned back.

‶
I′m sorry,″ he
apologized.
‶
I
knew you were behind me, but I didn′t know you were that close. When you
touched me I thought it was someone else.″

‶
It′s all right,″
she said. It wasn′t all right. He′d scared her adding one more time
a gun had been thrust at her.

Jack took a step forward. Morgan raised her
hand, palm outward. He stopped.

‶
I-I need a moment,″ she
said. She turned toward the house.

‶
Morgan,″ Jack called. She
turned back.

‶
Is this what you do, Jack? Is
this how you live? Thinking everyone is out to do you harm, and you′re
ready to kill.″

She left him, walking fast and determined. He
was here to protect her. Why didn′t she see that? Jack felt his gun under
his arm. It was part of his body and had been there since he′d started
working this job. But it scared Morgan. More than that he′d pointed it at
her, although that was enough for the normal person. He′d begun to think
of Morgan as more than normal. Guns had been pointed at her before. She
hadn′t told him, but he knew it. He knew how she reacted when she saw it
the first time and how she′d reacted a moment ago. He just didn′t
know why.

Jack tried to go back to his observation of the
perimeter of the camp, but Morgan intruded on his thoughts. Looking over his
shoulder for the fifth time, he saw no light coming from her room, but the
downstairs lights blazed brightly through the windows. She could be in one of
the downstairs rooms talking to either Allie or Jan. They were a close group and
hadn′t seen each other in years. Jack knew where he should be. He should
be with her. But she said she needed time.

Abandoning his post, he went toward the house.
Convention dropped from his shoulders on his way. He didn′t know who he
would pass if he went through the house, so he decided not to do it. He stood
under the balcony and bending his knees jumped up and caught the bottom of the
supported platform. Pulling himself up by the strength of his arms, he raised
his head up above the floor. He saw the carved slats of the railing support.
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the post with one hand, snaking it through the
opening and getting a grip that withstood his hanging weight. Repeating the
action with the other hand, he pulled himself up and then over the protection
rail.

The glass doors leading to her bedroom were
closed to the night air. Jack wanted to barge directly through them, but he
stopped, remembering he′d already frightened her once tonight. Barging in
like Rambo would gain him nothing. He stopped and peered through the sheer
curtains. She lay face down on the bed, fully clothed. Jack opened the door
quietly and went inside. He smelled the soap scent.

He removed his gun and laid it on the dresser
near the door. He went to the bed and knelt beside her.
‶
Morgan,″ he
whispered.

She jerked toward him. He thought he′d
find tears in her eyes, but they were dry. Her hair fell past her shoulders and
obscured part of her face. She looked alone, vulnerable. For a second they
stared at each other, then she swung around and threw herself into his arms.
Jack gathered her to him, helpless to do anything but hold her close. He leaned
against the headboard, wrapping his arms around her soft body and feeling the
weakness that invaded his being whenever he held her. He concealed his face in
hair that hinted of fresh lemons and thanked God she′d forgiven him.

Jack had never thought much about needing
forgiveness, but he really wanted to be in her good graces. He sat, keeping her
in his arms. He didn′t want to move. He′d be content to hold her
this way for eternity.

But they didn′t have eternity. If they
lived through the next seventy-two hours, it would be a miracle.

***

The air in the room was thick enough to cut
with a knife, although no one was saying anything. What Hart had said had
silenced them. Elliott Irons stood at the window overlooking Pennsylvania
Avenue, raking his fingers through his hair. If the guy lived to be fifty, it
would be only by the grace of God. Carla sulked in a corner, tears running like
Niagara Falls since he woke her more than an hour ago. Clarence Christopher,
sitting behind his desk, was the only other person who appeared to keep his
wits. He was also the only one not personally involved with Hart, the only one
with nothing to lose when this news broke.

PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE HIDES OUT-OF-WEDLOCK
DAUGHTER for thirty years. He could see the headline now, seventy-point type,
like they used to announce the end of World War II. Vietnam and Desert Storm
didn′t get nearly the coverage as WWII, but none of them would hold a
candle to this coup. The opposition would make sure of it.

‶
Is this everything?″
Clarence looked over his reading glasses.

‶
It′s all that
came,″ Hart said, dropping into one of the chairs in front of the desk.
‶
Clarence,
I didn′t know.″

‶
Are you saying this is all
true?″

He nodded.
‶
I remember Rose Kirkwood. I met
her before Carla.″ He glanced at his wife. She gave him a withering look
through her tearstained face.
‶
We were young. She worked for the State Department,
the Office of Protocol. Our projects threw us together a lot. We started to
rely on each other, back each other up, even do research to help the
other.″ He paused a moment.
‶
I don′t remember when our
relationship changed. . . I suppose that trip to Paris played a big
part.″

Hart didn′t elaborate on what had
happened in Paris. It started with water. His shower didn′t work and they
had to appear at a state function, a command performance. It was Bastille Day,
a big event in France. Hart was too young and too nervous to appear late by
waiting for the hotel to repair his shower. He went across the hall to
Rose′s room and asked to use hers. It was so innocent, the beginning.
Then again it wasn′t. He′d felt differently about Rose for months.
He′d made himself close to her, positioning himself at her side whenever
he could, attending the same meetings, same parties, dancing with her so he was
able to hold her in his arms.

Then Paris happened.

He′d gone into the bathroom. It was like
walking into a room intense with her presence. He drank it in as if he was some
mythical god and the airborne elixir would restore his strength. He could still
remember the smell -- apricot.

He would have survived the room, his secret
intact, but the door behind him opened. He turned. She held a huge towel in her
hands, outstretching it like an offering.
‶
You′ll need a clean
towel,″ she said. Hart couldn′t speak. Her eyes told him everything
he needed to know. He couldn′t stop himself from going to her, kissing
her, making love to her, forgetting everything he′d told himself about a
relationship between them.

And they
were
late for the dinner.

‶
She changed after that
trip.″ Hart began again.
‶
I thought she′d found someone else, that she
regretted what had happened between us, that our races made a difference. I
didn′t see much of her after we returned, never alone, only able to talk
to her during a meeting. Then one day she didn′t come to work. A week
went by and when I asked I was told she′d resigned without notice.″
Hart remembered the hurt that sliced through him when he overheard the news. No
one told him directly. He′d come in to get coffee and someone else had
remarked that she′d resigned.
‶
I went to her apartment, but
she was gone. She′d moved and no one knew where she went.″

He leaned forward, picking up the photo of Rose
as he remembered her, darkly beautiful, her hair up in an array of curls,
except for the bangs that reached arched eyebrows over hugely expressive eyes
and a smile that crushed his heart. The accompanying photo of his daughter had
those same eyes.

‶
Clarence, I need to find her.
Call it a favor. This is a town built on favors. I need to know where she
is.″

‶
No!″ Carla
Lewiston′s voice cracked in the room.
‶
Hart, we can′t let this
get out. Whoever they are, pay them, do whatever they want. This could ruin
us.″

Hart stood and turned toward his wife. Elliott
also faced her.
‶
We
can′t keep this a secret.″

‶
It′s been kept a secret
for more than thirty years. She′s dead, Hart. Dead! Why do we need to
bring her back to life?″

Anger fissured through him. Hart stopped
himself from moving toward her. He knew if he got close enough Carla would see
a side of him he wasn′t sure he even knew was there.

‶
Hart, she′s making
sense,″ Elliott agreed.
‶
We need to deny everything if this comes out.″

‶
I′ve denied her her
entire life.″

‶
Hart, you don′t even know
that she′s alive,″ Carla argued.
‶
That explosion was total. She
could have been blown into so many parts no one could identify her. And if she
did survive, she′s an adult. She′s not a child who needs your
guidance. Walking into her life now could ruin her too.″

Hart weighed her comments. He stared at the
woman he thought he loved. They had never wanted children, never thought of
having them or discussed the possibility. They simply never needed to. Now he
knew he had a child. She was grown, had been for some time, living, making
decisions. She was old enough to have children of her own. She could have made
him a grandfather and he′d never know. Suddenly it was important.

‶
I don′t know if I can
explain this to you.″ He swung his glance between his wife and his
campaign manager.
‶
This is important to me.
She
is important to me. I can′t explain why. I didn′t
know about her, never knew what happened to Rose until earlier tonight. But we
produced a child and regardless of that child′s age, she exists and she
deserves to know who she is. I deserve the right to meet her and explain,
answer questions and ask some of my own. She could hate me, resent me for
upsetting her world and even her life.″ He glanced at his wife,
acknowledging that she could be right.
‶
But whatever the consequences,
I need to know.″

‶
This could cost you the
election, Hart,″ Elliott spoke with authority.
‶
The black vote
would disappear, southern whites evaporate like water dropped on a hot
stove.″ He ticked each group off on his fingers.
‶
The opposition
would crucify you. We′ll be lucky to have more than our own votes come
election day.″

‶
Elliott, I think you′re
wrong. We′re going to lose votes, there′s no doubt about that, but
we have to do something and we′ve only got a few hours to make a decision
on what that will be.″

Hart took a deep breath. His heart was pounding
and he didn′t especially like what would happen to his career. He′d
worked hard to get where he was and it probably looked like he was throwing his
chances away, but he wouldn′t back down.

‶
Clarence, will you help
me?″

‶
Hart, can′t we wait until
after the election?′′ Elliott asked.

‶
He′s right, Hart.
You′re vying for the highest office in this country, the most powerful
position in the free world. News that you have an illegitimate child will make
headlines in every newspaper in America. To discover she′s a former
Olympic champion will further scar you. Your opposition will paint you as an
adulterer, an unfit father, a philanderer, any label they can think of.
They′ll make Carla a martyr for sticking by you, if she chooses to do so.
If not, they′ll champion her for getting away from a man who would
abandon his child. This is a no-win situation.″