Falling For Nick (34 page)

He found boxes filled with scarves, gloves, and even old hair clips. Junk. Maude had more junk than anyone he knew. He continued removing Maude's things from the shelf until nothing remained. There was no box that fit a key. He wasn't sure he wanted to find a secret box anyway. A shroud of sadness had settled over him. He didn't know how much more he could take.

Maude's dresser still waited to be emptied. Cursing Billy for not showing up to help with this loathsome task, Nick yanked a drawer open. Maude's underthings lay in a tangle. He yanked the drawer out, and turned it upside down, dumping the contents into the box. Something solid fell from the drawer. A metal box.

A small metal box with a silver lock. He took the key from his pocket. Did he even want to open it? What did Maude have that she felt she had to lock up?

Nick left the bedroom and placed the box on the kitchen table. Taking a deep breath, he inserted the key and lifted the lid. There wasn't much. A bankbook and an envelope. Nick opened the envelope. Inside were photos. Slowly, he removed the faded pictures.

Maude with a young Senator Bloomfield. Maude kissing the senator, drinking with him. Shit. Disbelief shot through him. What the hell was his mother doing with the senator? Maude looked younger, a lot younger, in the photos. She'd always been a looker, that had been her problem. Nick flipped one of the photos over and looked for a date seeing the year he'd been born.

Nick picked up the bankbook. Starting with the month of Nick's birth Maude had made neat entries, five hundred dollars each month. There were also deductions for school pictures, shoes, clothing, and even attorney's fees. He'd always wondered how Maude had paid for his attorney. Nick flipped to the last page. The last deposit had been made on his eighteenth birthday.

Child support. Holy shit.

Nick dropped the bankbook into the box. His stomach rolled. Was Senator Bloomfield his father? It would explain everything. Had Danny known? Did that explain his hatred for Nick?

A sharp rap sounded at the door. Billy entered. "Hey, Nick. Sorry I'm late." He paused, getting a good look at Nick. "What's wrong, man?"

Nick couldn't reply. He didn't know what to say to Billy. How did his tell his brother that in the space of an hour he'd discovered they didn't share the same father?

Billy looked from Nick to the box. "What do you have there?" His brow wrinkled with concern as he picked up the bankbook. He flipped to the last page, disbelief on his face. "There's over seventy-five thousand dollars here. What is this?"

"I don't know."

"You're scaring me, Nick." Billy studied him. "You look like you're going to be sick." Billy picked up the photos, going through them. "Maude and the senator? No way."

Nick needed air. Going to the window, he swung it open, and closing his eyes he inhaled.

"There's a lot of money here, Nick, and your name is written in the front of the book."

Nick grabbed the book from his brother. He didn't want one penny of Senator Bloomfield's hush money. He couldn't even begin to think about why Maude hadn't used more of the money to clothe and feed her kids. Maybe the thought of payment to keep quiet about her son had sickened her as much as it sickened him. Is that why she'd been such a drunk? Had her bad taste in men been her undoing? For the first time he felt compassion for his mother. Had she really loved her sons before her addiction to booze got in the way?

"Is he my father, too?" Billy asked, an aching note in his voice. "The account only lists your name."

"I don't think so. The photos are dated. I think Hank Lombard is your father. Mom must have married him when she found out she was pregnant with me."

Nick turned away. For ten years he'd wanted answers to his questions about the night Danny was killed. He finally had the power to get those answers.

Bankbook in hand, he started for the door.

"Where are you going?" Billy asked.

"I'm going to see the senator. I want the truth from his lips."

"Jesus, Nick. If it's true, Danny and Robert are your brothers." Billy flopped down onto the kitchen chair. "I killed your brother."

So many secrets, so many lies.

It was time for the truth.

"Clea, hello," Ellen Bloomfield said. She kept one slim hand on the oak door, using the door as a shield to keep Clea from entering the house. Robert's mother wore a soft blue sweater and black slacks. Pearls encircled her throat and dotted her earlobes. Ellen Bloomfield had a strength; a polished look and attitude that even Vivian couldn't match.

"I'm sorry to intrude," Clea apologized. After Nick's confession she'd wasted no time driving up to the lake to see Robert. Her confrontation with Nick had left her with questions only Robert could answer. She hated to think she'd been deceived by her fiancé, but the more Clea thought about Nick's version of that night ten years ago, the more she suspected Robert did have something to hide. "I need to speak to Robert." She knew he was there. His BMW was parked in the driveway.

"I see," she said, the words frozen and unforgiving. A gust of wind picked up, blowing a lock of Ellen's impeccably styled hair across her cheek. She let go of the door to set the strands back into place. A second gust of wind caught the door, blowing it open, giving Clea a clear view inside.

Robert stood in the hallway, a glass of liquor in his hand. His clothing appeared as neat as she'd expect, but there was a slight droop to his eyes that told her he'd been drinking for some time.

A pang of pity for him shot through her, but just as quickly she pushed the emotion away. If he'd done all she suspected him of doing, he didn't deserve her concern.

"What're you doing here?" His eyes held the light of hope.

"I need to talk to you, alone." She glanced at his mother.

"All right." He drained the liquor in a single gulp, then set the empty glass down on the hall table. "Let's go down to the boat house where we can have some privacy."

"It's cold," Clea said, stating the obvious. She didn't want to be totally alone with him, not when he'd been drinking. There were too many old hurts between them, and she couldn't forget Robert's anger when she'd broken their engagement. He'd been enraged, and he hadn't had a drop of alcohol then.

"You asked for privacy." Robert slipped his coat on. "Besides, the boathouse is heated." He walked past her, leaving Clea no choice but to follow if she wanted to talk to him.

Once inside the boathouse, he flipped on the light. While the boathouse did have an attached garage to house the boats, the part they stood in was more of a beach house, a place to change into swimsuits and host lakeside barbecues. Wicker furniture with plump floral cushions filled the room, giving it an inviting, homey feel.

"Why are you here?" Robert asked. "Let me guess. You've come to your senses and come to beg my forgiveness." A wry smile twisted his lips as he shrugged out of his coat, tossing the garment on a nearby chair.

The light of hope had left his eyes, and in its place Clea now saw a meanness that sparked her fear. "How drunk are you? Maybe I should come back later."

He laughed, the sound brittle and angry. "I plan to stay drunk for a while, Clea. Maybe days."

"Oh, Boomer." She hated seeing him this way, hated knowing she'd caused his pain.

He reached for her, hauling her roughly against him. "Did you come here to torment me? God, I can smell your perfume."

"Let me go." Clea twisted out of his grasp. "I came here because I have questions."

"Well, I have questions, too," Robert said, his eyes filled with agony. "I want to know why you always choose him."

"I love Nick." She'd never said those words out loud, even to Nick, and it felt right to say them now. Suddenly, her life zoomed into sharp focus. She did love Nick, no matter his past. But to really be free, she wanted to know the truth about that night, a truth she suspected only Robert knew. "Let's go back to the house." She turned to leave.

"Not so fast." Robert caught her by the arm. "You'll leave when I say you can leave."

"What?" She tried to yank her arm free, but he held tight. "You're drunk, Robert. Let me go. It was a mistake for me to come here." A wild look entered his eyes, sending panic through Clea.

"You're not going to call the shots this time." Robert hooked an arm around her waist, dragging her body up against his.

The smell of Scotch filled her nostrils, sickening her. Clea turned her head to the side to avoid his breath. "This is crazy. Let go of me."

"Lombard is right about one thing. You are a princess," Robert sneered, his breath hot on her cheek. "I could have made you my queen."

His lips grazed the side of her face. Clea yanked her head back, struggling to be free of him, but he held on tight.

"I love you," he said. "I've always loved you. Everything I've ever done, I did for you."

"What do you mean?" Clea asked. "What have you done for me, Robert?" She forced herself to look into his eyes, eyes filled with pain and something else? Anger? Remorse? Revenge?

"I have secrets, Clea," Robert said thickly. One of his hands twisted in her hair. "I can't share my secrets with anyone and it's killing me."

"What kind of secrets?" Clea asked, keeping her tone calm. "Tell me your secrets, Robert."

"Why should I?" he said. "You'll just tell Lombard."

"Do your secrets have something to do with Nick?"

"I hate him," Robert said with enough heat to wither a spring leaf. He closed his eyes, a tortured expression on his face. "He's taken everything away from me."

A deep pity for him filled Clea. "Not everything," Clea said in a small voice.

"He took my brother. He took you and John. And he took…"

"What? What did he take, Robert?" Clea asked, frustrated. Robert's hand moved painfully in her hair. She cried out.

"He has no right," Robert said. "He's not a Bloomfield. He's just white trash. He ruined everything. You belong to me, Clea."

"Robert, you're hurting me," Clea gasped. It had been a mistake to talk to him alone. For the first time she understood the depth of his feelings for her.

Robert's mouth crashed down over hers. Clea twisted her head, and bringing her knee up, she kicked Robert between his legs. Then she was free. She turned to run, but Robert caught her ankle, bringing her to the ground with him. Bigger and stronger, he pinned her under him.

Clea screamed.

*   *   *

Nick rounded the corner at sixty miles per hour. The Boss roared under him, as angry and charged up as he was. Every part of him rebelled against the possibility of Senator Bloomfield being his father. He didn't want to believe it, and wouldn't until he heard it from the man himself.

One more curve and he'd be there. The Mustang slid into the curve. The car fishtailed. Taking the next left, he floored it, barreling down the hill to the Bloomfields'. When he hit the driveway he slammed on the brakes, leaving black tire marks down the center of the senator's pristine driveway. Before he climbed out of the car the senator and his wife were at the front door.

Nick fixated on the senator. Grabbing the bankbook from the passenger seat, he exited the car, slamming the door.

"What's going on here?" Senator Bloomfield called from the porch. His mouth set in a grim line, he walked to meet Nick. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing driving like that?"

"You tell me." Nick tossed him the bankbook. He stared at the senator hard, looking for some resemblance between them, but other than their height, he didn't see anything. Nick's coloring came from his mother. The senator was blond, while Nick's hair was jet black. The senator's eyes were green, where Nick's were blue. Could this all be some mistake, some cruel joke?