Every Breath You Take (26 page)

The witness’s mother was seated in front of Gray’s desk, twisting a handkerchief in her lap, her beautiful face stricken with grief over the discovery of her husband’s body, her expression dazed as she watched her son lay a trap for her husband’s killer. Lily Reardon, one of the ASA’s observing the procedure, nodded her head toward Caroline Wyatt and whispered to her colleague, “Can you imagine what it must be like to realize that your husband’s killer has been your houseguest since his death?”

Jeff Cervantes shook his head. “If Gray doesn’t get
this over with pretty quick, she looks like she’s either going to pass out or be sick.”

Gray perched his hip on a corner of his desk. “Are you feeling all right, Billy?”

The handsome fourteen-year-old looked at him, swallowed, and nodded. He was tall, slim, and well-built for his age, and he wore his dark suit, white shirt, and patterned tie with the relaxed aura of a privileged, preppy kid who was as accustomed to wearing suits as jeans. In that respect, he was no different from what Gray had been at his age.

“Take another drink of water while I go over this one more time, okay?”

“Okay, Mr. Elliott.”

“Please, call me Gray. Do you think you’re up for this call?”

Despite the boy’s visible anxiety, he nodded; then he nodded again with more conviction. “He killed my father. I will do whatever it takes to get him here.”

“I know you will,” Gray remarked, smiling a little because at that moment, sitting behind Gray’s polished desk, in Gray’s executive chair, Billy exhibited both his father’s likability and Cecil’s steely resolve. “Okay, let’s run through it one more time. All you have to do is tell Mitchell that your father’s body has been discovered and his killer has confessed—”

“Got it.”

“Then you’ll tell him your grandfather and your mother have taken the news very badly, and you need him to come back here because you’re really, really scared.”

“Okay,” Billy said; then he added, with a twinge of touching ingenuousness, “I know I can do the last part, Gray, because I am—really, really scared.”

“Try to be as convincing as you can about all of it.”

“I will.”

Satisfied, Gray leaned across the desk to his telephone and pressed the intercom button. “Make the call, Paula.” Trying not to do anything to unnerve the fourteen-year-old more than he already was, Gray reached slowly behind him and flipped the switch on the tape recorder; then he glanced at his watch. It was one-thirty in St. Maarten, and according to Childress, Mitchell Wyatt was in his suite at the hotel.

In an effort to make time pass more quickly and to distract himself from thoughts of the ordeal Kate was facing, Mitchell had phoned his New York office and asked his assistant to fax some documents that Stavros had asked him to go over.

When his cell phone rang, Mitchell continued reading the documents in his right hand and reached absently toward his cell phone on the coffee table with his left.

“Uncle Mitchell, it’s me. It’s Billy,” the boy clarified needlessly in a voice so shaken he was nearly stuttering.

“What’s wrong?” Mitchell asked, rising slowly to his feet in anticipation of very bad news.

“It’s my dad—”

Closing his eyes, Mitchell waited for what he’d known he would hear someday.

“They’ve f-found my dad’s body in a well out near the farm.”

“I’m so sorry,” Mitchell said hoarsely; then he opened his eyes and shook his head to clear it. “A well? He fell into a well?”

“No, he didn’t fall; he was murdered. He was shot in the chest.”

Afraid to say the wrong thing, Mitchell waited helplessly for the boy to say more. “Go on, Billy, I’m right here. I’m listening.”

“The Udalls’ caretaker shot him. He—he’s confessed.
He’s a filthy old drunk, and he admitted everything to the police when they finally came down hard on him. That worthless old bastard—he shot my father! Please, Uncle Mitchell, can you come home? My mom is locked in her room, and I don’t know if she’s okay, and Grandpa Cecil—they’re taking him to the hospital with angina.”

“I’ll come home,” Mitchell promised.

“Tonight? Please say you’ll come tonight. I’m trying to be brave and be the man of the family, like Grandpa Cecil said I should do, until you get here to take care of things.” His voice broke, and Mitchell’s heart squeezed in sympathy. “Uncle Mitchell, I’m really scared for my mom. She has sleeping pills up there and she isn’t answering me.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Will you leave right away?”

Mitchell glanced at his watch. “I’ll leave here around five, that’s three your time. I should be there by eight.”

“Okay,” he said meekly. “Uncle Mitchell?”

“What, son?” Mitchell said.

“My dad really loved you. He said—said—that
you
made
him
proud to be a Wyatt.”

Mitchell swallowed over an unfamiliar constriction in his throat and stared out the windows. “Thank you for telling me that.”

In Chicago, Billy leaned back in Gray’s chair and grinned broadly at his mesmerized audience. “How did I do?” he asked, tapping his pencil on the yellow pad like a drumstick on a drum. “It was a bunch of bullshit, but I think it did the job, don’t you? I thought the way I improvised about the ‘old drunk’ had a nice touch.”

On the other side of the office, Lily Reardon suppressed a shiver and avoided meeting her colleague’s eyes.

“You’re amazing, Billy,” Gray said proudly, and stood up. “You are absolutely amazing.”

F
OR SEVERAL MINUTES AFTER
B
ILLY HUNG UP
, M
ITCHELL
stood beside the coffee table, immobilized, his head bent, his forehead furrowed, trying to cope with the flood of grief he felt at the loss of a half brother he scarcely knew, and whose death he’d only just accepted.

Until eight months ago, he couldn’t even have conceived of how it felt to have a relative, let alone how it felt to lose one. Now he understood a little of both, and the emotions running through him were poignant and painful.

In his mind, he saw William standing in his London living room with Caroline and Billy in tow. “I understand why you haven’t returned my phone calls and letters, Mitchell,” William had said with a smile when Mitchell stalked angrily into the living room, intending to throw them out once and for all, “but you cannot choose your relatives, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with us.”

Despite the fact that he’d been determined to reject this long-overdue overture from his family when he strode into the living room that day, Mitchell experienced a shock at coming face-to-face with a man who bore an indefinable but definite resemblance to him. “I’m not interested in acquiring a brother,” Mitchell snapped.

“I am,” William replied with that combination of warmth, friendliness, and surprisingly strong will that was uniquely his. “May we sit down?”

The word
no
was on Mitchell’s tongue, but Billy was
there watching him closely, and Caroline was smiling at him as if to say, “We know how you must feel; this is awkward for us, too.”

Before he knew it, he’d agreed to see them the next day, and the next, and the next.

William was eager to get to know Mitchell personally, even though he already knew more about Mitchell than Mitchell knew about himself. Besides possessing all the facts surrounding Mitchell’s conception and birth, he’d also gone through all the old files he’d discovered in Cecil’s safe, including letters and reports from Mitchell’s schools—none of which had been opened, William had frankly admitted.

What William couldn’t find out from those files, he’d discovered by researching Mitchell on the Internet. He knew about Mitchell’s degrees from Oxford and Cambridge, and about Stavros Konstantatos and about Mitchell’s marriage to Anastasia. He even teased Mitchell about several of his highly publicized flings over the years.

Mitchell hadn’t wanted to hear anything about his father or grandfather, who had not made a similar overture, and William seemed to accept that at first, but as Mitchell soon discovered, his older brother was like a silent locomotive that couldn’t be derailed and whose arrival at any given point couldn’t be anticipated.

One night when Mitchell was in Chicago, meeting with Matt Farrell, he’d had dinner with William and his family, and William had played what he hoped would be a trump card to interest Mitchell in exploring his relationship with Cecil. “There’s a great deal of money to be considered—”

“His or mine?” Mitchell sarcastically replied, even though he already knew Cecil Wyatt was an extremely wealthy man. Caroline had looked down quickly to
hide her smile. William had laughed out loud and then sobered. “Half of my inheritance is rightfully yours.”

“I don’t want it.”

“I’m not asking you if you want it; I’m telling you that I won’t accept it. As your older—albeit perhaps not wiser—brother, I reserve the right to look out for your best interests.” He grinned with embarrassment, and added, “I’ve been thinking about how it would have been if we’d grown up together, and in my imagination, I see you tagging around after me, and me protecting you from bullies, and you, well, you know—”

“No, I don’t know,” Mitchell said honestly.

Caroline finished the sentence for him, smiling softly at Mitchell, “—and,
you
would have looked up to your big brother and asked him for advice, and all that.”

Mitchell gazed at the “big brother” who was seated at the head of an elegant table in a Chicago mansion. He was several inches shorter, several years older, and many pounds heavier than Mitchell. He was also the most decent, generous man Mitchell had ever met.
I look up to you now
, he thought, and with amusement, he added,
but if you’re going to walk around giving away half your fortune, I’m the one who should be giving the advice
.

Not long afterward, Caroline brought up William and Mitchell’s father, when she and Mitchell were alone, and what she said explained more than merely why Edward still wanted nothing to do with Mitchell. “William’s father—your father—is the most self-absorbed human being I’ve ever met. He strolls through life hiding the truth about who he is from himself and everyone else, and he drinks to make sure he never has to face it. He never paid the slightest attention to William when he was growing up, and that’s why William has been so determined to build a relationship with you,” Caroline finished. “William’s angry that the two of you
grew up feeling as if you had no one who cared, when you could have had each other, and he is determined to make up for lost time.” She stood up then because dinner was being served, and tucked her hand into Mitchell’s arm as they strolled to the dining room. “By the way,” she confided, “in case you aren’t aware of it, he loves you, he thinks you’re brilliant and he’s outrageously proud of you.”

Instead of telling her how he felt about William, which was what Mitchell knew she hoped he would do, he smiled and said, “He’s very lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have him,” she said simply.

Now, as Mitchell stood in the suite at the Enclave, he was filled with remorse that he hadn’t at least told Caroline how much he liked and admired William, so she could have relayed that back to her husband, just as she’d done with William’s feelings about him. Why hadn’t he been able to say the words? Why hadn’t he just said them, so that William would have known how he felt before he died?

With a harsh sigh, Mitchell dragged his thoughts back to the present and focused on what he needed to do. Billy’s fear that his mother would overdose on sleeping pills was groundless, Mitchell knew. Caroline had known all along that William hadn’t vanished of his own volition, no matter what the police thought. She’d also known that nothing would have kept William away from his family except his death. They’d talked about all that often since William’s disappearance. Furthermore, the last thing on earth that Caroline wanted was for Billy to be left alone in the world, so there was no chance she’d ever consider taking her own life.

On the other hand, there was no question that Mitchell needed to leave for Chicago immediately and lend what moral support he could to Caroline and Billy
for the next few days. That much he needed to do for the brother he had … loved.

Once he explained to Kate why he needed to be in Chicago, she would understand and forgive him, he knew that without a doubt. She was so kind and softhearted that she couldn’t bear to abandon an injured stray dog, so she would instantly realize that he couldn’t abandon Caroline and Billy.

He could fly back and forth between Chicago and St. Maarten for the next few days. It was only four hours each way, and he could get what sleep he needed on the plane. However, the idea of leaving her behind in another hotel, just as her boyfriend had done, was untenable.

She’d mentioned that she liked boats, he remembered, and the best possible solution suddenly occurred to him—he could arrange for her to cruise the islands on Zack’s boat during the day while he was gone. She’d enjoy that. In a few days, Zack and Julie, and Matt and Meredith, were flying down for a longer cruise, and she’d enjoy meeting them, too, Mitchell decided, already reaching for his telephone.

His first call was to his pilots, instructing them to be ready to leave for O’Hare at five o’clock.

His second phone call was to the hotel’s front desk, notifying them that he would be checking out immediately.

His next phone call was to Zack in Rome.

S
TANDING AT THE WINDOW OF
M
ITCHELL’S APARTMENT
in Rome’s Piazza Navona, Julie Mathison Benedict gazed down at Bernini’s spectacular Fountain of Four Rivers. It was evening, and the fountain was bathed in light, the little cafés lining the piazza were serving dinner, and lovers and tourists were strolling by in a steady stream. In the living room behind her, her husband was seated in a seventeenth-century baroque armchair going over his notes on the day’s filming of his new picture. They’d been there two weeks, filming on location, and they were finished in Rome, but Zack wanted to stay a few extra days to shoot some extra exterior footage.