Dare to Dream (19 page)

By degrees his tensed muscles began to relax. He walked toward her, took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“It’s like I told you, baby, we have the rest of our lives to love each other.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And I intend to use every minute of it.” He tickled her side until she giggled. “Except for the next few hours. I have some business to take care of at the bank.”

“That’s fine actually. I wanted to visit Cynthia anyway.”

“I’ll drop you off on my way and you can call my cell when you’ve finished your girl talk and I’ll come and pick you up.”

“Let me give her a call and make sure she’ll be home.”

Chapter 39

P
robably the last thing she needed to do today was meet with Desiree. But she couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse, especially after telling her how much they needed to get together and catch up. Besides, Desiree said that she and Lincoln would be heading back to Sag Harbor for a few days. Had she said no, it would have seemed odd and definitely suspicious.

Cynthia glanced at the statue that she’d put on her dresser. As much as she didn’t want to believe it, the statue was one of Desiree’s creations. Her signature was on the bottom.

She remembered when it had been purchased. Desiree took it off the inventory the very same day as the fire. Why did her mother have it? What was her connection? She didn’t want to imagine. But what kept her up all night long was a recurring nightmare. She was standing atop a great mountain. Below was her mother being chased by an angry mob—all the people she’d walked over, used, or ruined. Her mother was running toward her, trying to get up the mountain to safety.

Within her grasp, Cynthia for the first time had the power to decide her mother’s fate. If she reached out her hand, she would be saved. If not…

In some versions, Cynthia rescued her mother and Eleanor showered her with all her withheld love and affection and Cynthia reveled in it.

In other versions, she simply stood there, motionless, and watched her mother become engulfed by the crowd that ran after her.

Cynthia looked down at the statue that she gripped in her hand. Every fiber of her being told her that her mother was somehow involved in the destruction of the gallery that nearly cost Desiree her life.

She had a choice to make, a choice that would permanently change the course of her relationship with her mother.

* * *

“Okay, call me when you’re ready for me to pick you up,” Lincoln said as he came to a stop in front of Cynthia’s building.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Yes, sir. See you later, sir.”

“Very funny. Enjoy your visit.”

Desiree hopped out and waved as she watched Lincoln drive off. When he was out of sight she went to the front door and rang the bell.

“So tell me about this guy you met,” Desiree said as they sat together on the couch.

“I actually met him at a bar.”

“You—at a bar! I didn’t know you drank.”

“I don’t. Not really.” She reached for her iced tea from the coffee table. “Anyway, by the time we actually met I was pretty wasted. He had to bring me home.”

“Cynthia, you’re kidding. You got so drunk that you let a perfect stranger bring you home?”

Cynthia squeezed up her face and nodded. “I know. Stupid, right? I could have been a statistic.” She took a swallow of her tea. “Anyway, he brought me home, left his number, and I called him the next day. We went out to dinner the other night.”

“Hmmph. Is he cute at least?”

Cynthia giggled. “Yeah, in a Clark Kent kind of way.”

“Well, you know Clark Kent has that Superman thing going on. So watch out.”

They laughed.

“Enough about me. What’s been going on with you?”

Desiree sat back against the couch cushions and in a bunch of fits and starts she brought Cynthia up to date on all that had occurred with her rekindling her relationship with Lincoln.

“Wow. Guess you two are meant to be together.”

“I think so, too,” Desiree said. “I just want all of this business with the fire and the investigation to be over and done with.” She slowly shook her head. “Arson…what kind of person does something like that?”

Cynthia fidgeted in her seat. “Uh, have you heard from Carl?”

Desiree’s gaze darted in Cynthia’s direction and then away. “I understand he’s in the Bahamas,” she said, avoiding the question.

“Bahamas! With everything that’s going on? Don’t you think that’s kind of strange?”

“I don’t put anything past Carl,” she said, the disgust obvious in her voice.

Cynthia frowned. “Did something else happen with Carl?”

“Nothing that I want to talk about at the moment.” She sipped from her glass and stared out the window.

Finally Cynthia spoke, breaking the silence. “What are your plans? I mean what are you going to do about your work?”

Desiree shrugged. “I’m just past the nightmares,” she said in a faraway voice. “I haven’t been able to paint.” She shrugged. “So…I really don’t know. Hopefully one day I’ll be able to go back to it without feeling like I want to scream.” She stretched, then checked her watch. “I need to call Lincoln.”

“You can use the phone in the bedroom.”

“Thanks.” She got up and walked toward the bedroom.

She entered the room and spotted the phone by the bed. She sat on the side of the bed and punched in Lincoln’s cell phone number. While she waited for the call to connect she looked around the room and suddenly her entire body went cold.

Sitting on top of Cynthia’s dresser was the statue from the gallery. The same one that the woman purchased—the day of the fire.

Her heart began to thump as images ran rampant in her head and her thoughts raced, trying to make sense of it all.

“Hello? Hello? Desi.”

She took a deep breath and slowly walked to the dresser.

“Lincoln,” she whispered and peered toward the partially opened bedroom door for any sign of Cynthia.

“Desi, what is it? Are you all right?”

“The statue…”

“What statue? What are you talking about?”

“It’s here in Cynthia’s bedroom. The statue from my gallery,” she hissed.

“I’m not understanding you.”

“It’s the same statue that the woman bought that day. The same woman we ran into in Sag Harbor who swore she didn’t know me. Why is it here?”

“I’m coming for you right now. Don’t say anything to Cynthia. I’ll call Jackson. I want you to leave. Now. Meet me outside.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, suddenly more afraid than confused. “I’ll meet you out front.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Desiree hung up the phone just as Cynthia poked her head in the door.

“Did you get him?”

Desiree swallowed. “Yes, uh, he said he was in the neighborhood. He’ll be outside in a few minutes.”

Cynthia frowned. “Is something wrong? You look upset.”

“I’m fine. Just getting a headache.”

“Oh, let me get you something.”

“It’s okay. Don’t trouble yourself.” She hurried out of the room, took her purse from the couch and turned to Cynthia. “I’ll call you when I get back.”

Cynthia gave her a long look. “Sure. I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Take care,” Desiree said.

Cynthia’s hand suddenly covered hers. “You do the same.”

Desiree’s heart leaped to her throat. “Thanks. Bye.”

* * *

Cynthia watched as Desiree left the building, knowing that what had sent her running was what she’d discovered in her bedroom.

Slowly she closed the door. Desiree was an intelligent, resourceful woman. Cynthia had no doubt that if she hadn’t put the pieces together already she would very shortly. And when Desiree did, Cynthia would be prepared.

Chapter 40

C
arl’s driver was waiting for him when he landed at JFK Airport.

“I’m going straight to the office,” he said without preamble. He settled himself in the car and contemplated his next move.

He’d lost his perspective, he thought, as the Belt Parkway opened out in front of him. He’d allowed raw emotion to drive his decisions and he’d made one mistake after another as a result. He didn’t realize how single-minded, power-driven and greedy he’d become until he saw himself through Desiree’s eyes that night. The fear and disgust that lashed back at him haunted him in a way that none of his other under-the-table dealings had ever done.

He knew that he’d crossed the line—his own line—and he couldn’t look himself in the face knowing what he’d become.

What he’d almost done was reprehensible, but what Desiree had done was more startling. She hadn’t reported it. That much he knew from his contacts in the police department. It was when he’d gotten the call from Jake about the turmoil back home that he finally realized that Desiree had inadvertently given him a chance—a chance to do the right thing or keep living the way he’d been living.

Carl reached into his jacket pocket and took out his cell phone. He dialed Jake Foxx.

“Just listen and don’t ask questions.” He laid out what he wanted done.

* * *

“Are you sure it’s the same one?” Lincoln asked as he weaved in and out of midtown Manhattan traffic.

“I know my own work,” she snapped and immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to take your head off.” She patted his thigh, then bit down on her thumbnail. “But you know there’s something not right, Linc.” Her brows knitted together. “Cynthia had to know that statue was in her bedroom in plain sight and that I’d see it and know it was mine. It’s a one-of-a-kind piece.”

“Okay, let’s think about this. Cynthia has the statue, which she must have gotten from that woman. And the woman just happened to come to the gallery the very day that it burns down.”

Desiree pressed her lips together and nodded slowly, allowing the pieces to fall in place. “And Cynthia wanted me to see it and connect the dots.” She turned to Lincoln. “That says to me that Cynthia is not the guilty one, but she knows who is.”

“And she doesn’t want to tell you directly.”

“Because that person is—”

“Her mother,” they said in unison.

“Turn around,” Desiree said. “I want to go back.”

Lincoln threw her a glance even as he checked traffic and made a sharp U-turn. “I was hoping you were going to say that.”

* * *

Carl walked into the conference room. The management team and the accountant were all present as requested.

“Thank you all for rearranging your schedules on such short notice.” He walked to the head of the table, adjusted his navy blue pin-striped jacket and sat down in his executive chair. “There have been a lot of rumors and innuendos running rampant through the company. My name and the reputation of the company have been dragged through the mud in every paper in the city.” He cleared his throat and lifted his chin. “The things you’ve heard are true. Hampton Enterprises is in financial trouble, serious trouble, and has been for quite some time.”

Loud murmurs and looks of disbelief ran around the table. The accountant worked his tie back and forth to loosen it as if he were being strangled.

“As of today, I’m resigning as president and CEO of Hampton Enterprises and immediately filing for bankruptcy.” His voice cracked but he continued. “I’m going to dissolve all of my personal assets to try to offset the debt.”

There was another series of shouts and banging on the table.

“What about us?” one of the managers shouted over the others.

“Quiet down!” Carl slammed his fist on the table. “Do any of you think this is easy? This is my company.” He poked at his chest and glared at each of them in turn. “I built this company from nothing, gave some of you jobs when you still needed to have your noses wiped.” His voice lowered. “I came into this business full of energy and idealism. Over the years I allowed greed and power to control me, to replace the very things this business was built on.

“Hampton Enterprises owes millions more than it’s taking in. And the loans are long overdue.”

“Is there any truth to the rumor about the fire?” one of the other managers asked.

The room fell silent.

He looked at each of them. “I didn’t know it at the time, but I know now. Yes.”

* * *

Desiree clasped Lincoln’s hand as they stood in front of Cynthia’s building waiting for her to answer the door.

It opened and Cynthia stood in front of them with a look of acceptance in her blue eyes.

“I knew you would come back,” she said in a monotone. She turned and walked inside. Desiree and Lincoln followed.

When they entered the living room, the damning statue sat in the center of the coffee table.

Lance rose from the couch. He stretched out his hand toward Cynthia, which she took.

Desiree looked from one to the other and tried to figure out where Lance fit into all of it.

Cynthia read her thoughts. “Lance is here to make sure that I don’t do anything stupid, like I’d intended to do. And what was that? Take the blame for something my mother did,” she said, answering her own question.

Desiree lowered herself to a chair, relieved that her hunch about Cynthia had been correct, but pained for the angst that Cynthia must have gone through and was going through to come to this moment.

Inhaling deeply, Cynthia told them about the fight she and her mother had, her knocking over the statue on the way out, how Jackson’s questions made her really think about it, her trip back to her mother’s apartment and bringing the statue to her own apartment.

Cynthia turned briefly to Lance. “Some stupid part of me wanted to take the blame for everything, knowing that my mother was somehow behind it in some way.”

“Why, Cynthia?” Desiree asked, totally perplexed.

“I thought that if I did, it would show her how much I loved her and maybe she would love me back.”

“Oh, Cyn,” Desiree said, empathy and hurt welling in her voice. She got up and went to her side, taking a seat next to her. “Sacrificing yourself, your beliefs for the approval and love of others will never give you what you hope to gain.” She looked at Lincoln for a long moment and her own life and decision came into crystal-clear focus. “I wasted five years of my life and countless others trying to be the person my family thought I should be. I lost Lincoln and a part of myself in the process. But like you, I got the chance to make my life right and do what was right for me. It’s hard, but you won’t regret it.”

Cynthia blinked back tears and gripped Lance’s hand a bit tighter. “I hope not.”

Lincoln’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me.” He stood and walked out into the hallway and listened with disbelief and fascination to what Jackson had uncovered.

* * *

Allison Wakefield’s byline appeared beneath the headline:
NEW
YORK
SOCIALITE
AND
PROMINENT
BUSINESS
TYCOON
BEHIND
INSURANCE
SCAM
—
POSSIBLY
LINKED
TO
ATTEMPTED
MURDER
OF
LOCAL
ARTIST
. The article went on to outline Eleanor Hastings and Carl Hampton’s longstanding business agreements spanning a decade. Hastings provided seed money for many of his enterprises through intermediaries such as Sylvester Ward, according to information obtained by investigator Jackson Trent. According to Trent, Hastings recouped her investments from nonpaying clients by torching their buildings and obtaining the insurance money. There were indications that yet another unidentified woman was also involved.

Desiree put the paper down on the kitchen table after reading the article to Lincoln.

“What makes a person that greedy, that evil?” she asked.

Lincoln stretched out his long legs beneath the table. “Money or lack of it has toppled everything from marriages to corporations to whole nations. Money is equated with power, and power can corrupt even the best of us. I’m just glad that Cynthia wasn’t involved.”

“So am I. I feel so bad for her and what she was willing to sacrifice.”

“Cynthia is a tough girl. She would have to be to have a mother like Eleanor Hastings. I’m sure she will be fine.”

Desiree sighed. “Yeah, she will.” She pushed up from the table. “Well, if we plan to get to Sag Harbor anytime today we need to get moving. And I want to stop by Rachel’s place to pick up some things.”

“I thought you had everything here.”

“Almost everything.” She smiled. “I think when we get to the shore I might feel like painting.”