Worth Dying For (21 page)

“What we need is to get a look at G.W.’s will,” Dante said. “Money can be personal. Who, other than Tessa and Leslie Anne, are named in the will? It’s possible this entire upheaval has been set up to give the old man a heart attack.”

“Could be,” Vic agreed. “At least you’ve got a theory. That’s more than Dom and I came up with.”

“The only way we’ll know what’s in Westbrook’s will is if he tells us,” Dom said.

A steady knocking at the closed library doors drew the attention of all three agents. Vic, the closest to the pocket doors, slid the doors open. There stood Lucie and Sharon Westbrook.

“Sorry to bother y’all,” Lucie said, looking straight at Dante. “I made those phone calls and expect to hear back by morning.”

Dante nodded.

“I ran into Ms. Westbrook in the hall and she wanted to find out if we all need rooms for the night and if anyone would like a late supper.”

“You can go to the kitchen to eat or Eustacia can bring you a tray,” Sharon said.

“We’re fine.” Dante glanced at the others. “We’ll all be staying the night, but we won’t require four separate rooms since we’ll be taking shifts so that two of us are on duty at all times.”

“We’ll certainly have a full house tonight,” Sharon said. “I’ll arrange for Eustacia to prepare a couple of guest rooms for y’all,” Sharon said. “And if there is anything else any of you need, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m very grateful that y’all have been here to handle this terrible situation.”

When Sharon turned to leave, Lucie called to her, “Ms. Westbrook, may I ask you a question?”

“Yes, certainly.”

Lucie stared at the portrait hanging over the fireplace in the library. “Who’s the pretty young woman in that picture? I’ve been curious about it since I first saw it. Is that the late Mrs. Westbrook?”

“No, that’s not Anne.” Sharon gazed at the portrait, then sighed. “That was painted when Tessa was seventeen, before—” Sharon paused. “She’s lovely now, of course, but she was a very pretty girl before the plastic surgery. She has Anne’s coloring, but everyone thought she looked like me back then. She was a Westbrook through and through.”

“Tessa had plastic surgery? When and why?”

Lucie asked the questions Dante wanted to ask, but he somehow hadn’t managed to get the words out of his mouth.

“She had plastic surgery done to reconstruct her face,” Sharon said. “You know she was brutalized by that awful man. Her back is covered with scars where he whipped her and her pretty face was beaten almost beyond recognition.”

Rage boiled inside Dante. He clenched his fist. “Beating a woman in the face wasn’t part of Eddie Jay Nealy’s M.O. He beat, whipped and cut his victims’ bodies, even cracked open their skulls, but he never touched their faces.”

“Well, in Tessa’s case, he did.” Sharon glowered at Dante. “I remember the first time Anne and I saw her, after G.W. brought her back to Fairport. Her face was covered in
bandages. She couldn’t walk, could barely utter a word and she stared at us as if we were strangers.” Tears trickled down Sharon’s cheeks. “It was a terrible time for us, but we were so thankful Tessa was alive that nothing else mattered.”

“Mrs. Westbrook had already been diagnosed with terminal cancer, hadn’t she?”

Once again Lucie spoke for Dante. God, had he gone mute? He wished that damn roar in his head—caused from the rush of blood and the erratic racing of his pulse—would stop so that he could think straight.

“Yes, Anne was dying, but she fought to the very end to live because she didn’t want to leave G.W. and Tessa. But I believe it was Leslie Anne who helped Anne survive as long as she did. She outlived the doctor’s prognosis by nearly two years.”

“Thank you,” Lucie said.

Sharon looked at Lucie, obviously puzzled, but she simply nodded and left the room.

“You two take the first shift,” Lucie said to Dom and Vic. “I think Dante needs to get some rest.” She came over to him, slipped her arm through his and told him, “Come with me. We’ll check on Tessa and Leslie Anne before we turn in.”

As they walked down the hall toward the foyer, Dante finally managed to speak. “G.W. would have done anything to have prevented his wife having to see her daughter die before she did.”

“Yes, he would have,” Lucie agreed. “He might even have identified Amy Smith, who had amnesia, as his daughter, once he knew Tessa Westbrook was dead. And the only way to pull off the hoax was if plastic surgery was performed on Amy’s face. The two women were about the same height, same size, same hair and eye color.”

Dante halted, nausea churning in his stomach. “Either we’re both crazy or there’s a damn good chance that the woman upstairs with Leslie Anne right now isn’t Tessa Westbrook.”

“You’re right,” Lucie said. “And if she isn’t Tessa, then there’s an equally good chance that woman is Amy Smith.”

L
ESLIE
A
NNE
curled up against her mother where they sat together in the antique canopy bed. Some of the best memories of her life, especially her childhood, were moments like this, of her and her mother together. When she’d been much younger, Mama had read her a bedtime story every night and stayed with her until she’d fallen asleep. And anytime she’d had a bad dream, she either slept the rest of the night in her mother’s bed or Mama slept with her. Lying here now, her head on her mother’s shoulder and cocooned in her mother’s arms, Leslie Anne felt so secure, so loved. And knowing Dante was downstairs, that he was going to stick around for a while, at least as long as they needed him, made her feel protected.

Odd how she’d never thought about those kind of things—being loved, being safe, secure and protected—until lately. Those things had been a given in her life, things she’d taken for granted. But that had been BTAT—before the awful truth—and now was ATAT.

In a way, nothing had really changed, and yet everything had changed. Mama and Granddaddy and Aunt Sharon still loved her. She was still the same person she’d always been. Same hair, eyes, nose and mouth. Her home was the same, her room just as it had always been. But nothing
would ever be the way it had been before. She realized she could accept the fact that her mother and grandfather had lied to her and she understood their reasons for doing it. But how could she ever come to terms with one irrefutable fact—Eddie Jay Nealy was her biological father. And everyone in Fairport already knew or they’d soon know what had happened to Tessa Westbrook and exactly who Tessa’s child was. No one would ever look at her the same. Not ever again.

Her life had changed in another way, too. Dante Moran. Her hero. She supposed that since she’d grown up without a father, subconsciously she’d always been looking for one. There had been a time when she’d thought her mother might marry Charlie. She’d been okay with the idea of Charlie for a stepfather, but that was before she’d understood that a woman shouldn’t marry a man just to give her child a father. Thank goodness her mother hadn’t settled for good old Charlie. Thank goodness she’d waited for a man like Dante to enter her life. Well, their lives actually. From the moment Dante had burst into the Bama Motel and rescued her, Leslie Anne had felt a weird sort of connection to him. Instant trust. Yeah, that had been a big part of it. Trusting him with her life. And she suspected that when they first met—only a few days ago?—Dante and her mother had felt something a lot more powerful than simply instant trust. At least Leslie Anne hoped so.

Am I wrong about Mama and Dante? Do I want there to be something romantic between them because I’d like nothing better than for Dante to be my dad? My stepdad
.

Tessa kissed Leslie Anne’s temple. “It’s getting late, sweetie. You should try to get some sleep.”

“Will you stay with me?” She glanced at her mother and noticed the oddest expression on her face. “Mama?”

Tessa sniffled, then laughed. “I’m all right, just concerned about you and your grandfather and—”

“We’re going to be all right, all of us. You and me and Granddaddy,” Leslie Anne said with a great deal more conviction than she felt. “I’m through with acting like a silly child. I promise. No more running away. No more temper tantrums. From now on, it’s the Westbrooks against the world. Right?”

“Right.” Tessa laughed in earnest then as she hugged Leslie Anne. “You’ve had to grow up really fast, haven’t you? And I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really it is.”

“No it’s not, but it will be. There aren’t going to be any more lies between us. Not ever. But you do know that Granddaddy and I did what we thought was best for you.”

“I know. Heck, I’d have done the same thing if I’d been you two.” She said it not only because that’s what she knew her mother needed to hear, but because she was beginning to understand how true it was. They had lied to her to protect her, because they’d believed it better for her and everyone involved to not know about her mother’s rape.

“Leslie Anne, baby girl, will you…will you see Dr. Barrett again?” Tessa asked.

Leslie Anne pulled away from Tessa and flopped over in the bed. After propping her elbow on a pillow and bracing her chin with her palm, she looked right at her mother. “Yes, I’ll see him again. And I promise not to threaten to kill him.”

“You did no such thing.” Tessa’s lips curved into an almost smile. “Not really.”

“No, not actually, but I did imply that he should worry that I might. I figured he knew I was just acting out, which I won’t do again. I swear.” She crossed her heart.

“I believe you.” Tessa’s expression turned deadly serious. “Sweetie, I need to ask you something, something that Tad mentioned to—”

“Tad? God, Mama, who listens to that jerk?”

“It seems that from a conversation you had recently with Tad that he came away with the impression that thoughts of…well, that you were…” Tessa huffed in exasperation. “Tad thinks we should be concerned that you’re having suicidal thoughts.”

“What?” Leslie Anne sat straight up and glared at her mother. “You’re kidding? Where did he get an idea…Oh, shit.” Leslie Anne grabbed her mother’s hands and held them as she looked straight into her eyes. “Yesterday morning—God was it only yesterday? Well, anyway, right after I ran away from Dr. Barrett, I was angry. Mad at the world. And yes, I did wonder if maybe I should just jump into the river. I ran into Tad right after that and I might have mentioned to him what I was thinking about.”

“Oh, Leslie Anne.”

She squeezed her mother’s hands. “I’m not going to kill myself. I promise. It was just a passing thought. I swear. Eddie Jay Nealy did enough damage to this family and I’m not going to let the fact that he’s my biological father hurt you or Granddaddy…or me!”

“That’s my girl. Oh, sweetie, I’m so proud of you.”

“Well, you know this doesn’t mean I’m all right about everything—about your lying to me and about the fact that you were raped and got pregnant with me because of it. I know I’ll need help coming to grips with everything, but
right now, I just want us to find the person who sent me those newspaper clippings and told everybody in Fairport about Eddie Jay Nealy.”

“That’s what we all want, and I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before Dante and the Dundee agents discover his or her identity.”

“I think I know who it is.”

“What? How could you—”

“Mama, this morning I heard a strange voice calling my name and at first I thought it was a dream. But it wasn’t. He said—and the voice was disguised, but I think it’s a he—well, he called my name and then he said, ‘Little girl, who’s your daddy?’ That voice woke me, but I couldn’t find anybody in my room. But it was real. It wasn’t a dream, because when Eustacia brought my breakfast tray, I found a note hidden in my napkin and the note said what he’d said. ‘Little girl, who’s your daddy?’ He was in our house this morning and he’s here tonight.”

“My God! What did you do with the note?” Tessa asked.

“I tore it into a million pieces.”

“Oh, honey, you shouldn’t have.” Tessa cupped Leslie Anne’s chin. “You said you think you know who he is.”

“I think it’s Tad Sizemore. He’s just enough of a weasel to do something that despicable.”

“But why would Tad—?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you and I don’t like him and his mother. I’m sure Olivia would like nothing better than make our lives miserable, plus show Granddaddy how loving and supportive she can be. She probably put Tad up to it. They want Granddaddy’s money, don’t they?”

Tessa patted Leslie Anne’s cheek. “I’m not sure Tad and
Olivia have a strong enough motive. Besides, how could Tad have found out about my past?”

“How could anybody have found out? Somebody told him. Actually Granddaddy probably told Olivia one night when they were in bed together and she told Tad.”

“No, honey, your grandfather has never told anyone other than your Aunt Sharon.”

Leslie Anne yawned. “I think I’m right about Tad and we should tell Dante.”

“You’re worn out and so am I,” Tessa said. “Let’s put on our pajamas and go to bed. We’ll talk to Dante first thing in the morning and tell him what you suspect.”

“But Dante promised he’d come back up here after his meeting. I want to wait up for him.”

“All right, we’ll wait up for him, but in the meantime, let’s get ready for bed. And you can tell me every detail about the voice you heard and the note you received.”

A
T ELEVEN FORTY-FIVE
, Dante made the rounds through the Leslie Plantation, checked in with Dom and Vic, then dropped by Leslie Anne’s suite. When he found the door closed, he thought twice before he eased it open and went in. Walking quietly, he made his way into the bedroom, but paused when he saw Tessa and Leslie Anne asleep in Leslie Anne’s canopy bed. He stood there, several feet away, and looked at Tessa. She wore a pink floral, silk robe over a matching gown. Her long, wavy blond hair draped across her neck and rested against her chest. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Is it possible that she’s Amy?
More than anything he wanted to believe that she was.

How ironic that just when he’d finally given up all hope
of Amy being alive and allowed another woman to become important to him, his hope had suddenly been renewed, rising like a phoenix from the ashes. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—say anything to Tessa about his suspicions. Not until he had proof of some kind that she was not G.W. and Anne Westbrook’s daughter. And even if it turned out that she wasn’t the real Tessa Westbrook, that didn’t automatically mean she was Amy Smith.

But what about the leaf-shaped birthmark?

Yeah, there was that. It wasn’t scientific proof—no blood match, no fingerprint match, no DNA match. But what were the odds that two women with so many other physical similarities would have identical birthmarks in exactly the same spot?

Dante moved closer to the bed and studied Tessa’s face in the soft glow from the bedside lamp. There was little of Amy in her features—except for the eyes. He’d noticed immediately, the first time he saw Tessa, that she had Amy’s eyes. But Tessa’s nose was smaller, her cheekbones a little higher, her chin rounder. Even her mouth was different. Not as full as Amy’s had been. Images of Amy flashed through his mind. Amy at seventeen.

He thought about the portrait hanging over the fireplace in the library, the portrait of Tessa Westbrook—before the plastic surgery. The Tessa lying here now in bed with her daughter didn’t look much like the old Tessa. As quickly as a snap of the fingers, Dante realized who the woman he knew as Tessa looked like—she looked like someone had taken Amy Smith and the original Tessa Westbrook and combined their features into one person.

His chest tight, his pulse racing, Dante reached out and lifted the sheet and blanket up and over the sleeping
mother and daughter. His gaze drifted to Leslie Anne, who, lying there with her eyes closed, looked like the teenage Amy he’d loved and lost. She was such a beautiful child. Amy’s child?

And there’s your proof
, he told himself. Leslie Anne was the living, breathing proof that Amy Smith was her mother.

Amy. My sweet, darling Amy
. Tears clouded his vision. If only he could wake her and tell her who she really was. He had his Amy back, at long last. And yet not his Amy. She didn’t remember him. Would never remember him, never remember the love they’d shared. Because of the brain trauma, her memory of the past was lost to her forever.

But this woman cares for me
, he told himself,
maybe even loves me. We were drawn to each other without realizing why. Even if we didn’t recognize each other, our souls made the connection
.

Leslie Anne moaned, then rolled over in her sleep and wrapped her arm around her mother. Dante’s heart caught in his throat. This was Amy’s little girl.

She should have been mine!

But she wasn’t his, no matter how much he wished she was. If only he hadn’t been such a conscientious teen, so careful to protect Amy every time they’d made love. But he’d loved and respected Amy too much to risk hurting her in any way. They had agreed that they would wait several years after they married before having children, so he’d always used a condom when they had sex. If only…if only…

Damn, don’t do this!
Yeah, condoms leaked sometimes. It happened. But hoping that it might have happened with Amy and him really was nothing more than wishful thinking. He was kidding himself big-time if he thought there was even the remotest chance Leslie Anne might be his. Wouldn’t he
have felt something special for the girl if she was his? Wouldn’t some sort of paternal thing have kicked in?

Maybe it had. After all, he hadn’t turned and walked away from her when he’d found out that she was Eddie Jay Nealy’s biological offspring. By all rights, he should have despised the kid, but he hadn’t. He didn’t.

You’re grasping at thin air. Be grateful Amy is alive. Don’t dare ask for more. If accepting the fact that Leslie Anne is Nealy’s daughter is the price you have to pay for receiving this miracle, then say “Thank You, God,” and learn to love Amy’s child as if she were your own.

Dante took one last look at the sleeping mother and daughter, then turned and walked out of the room. Tomorrow, he would confront G.W. And then he would tell Tessa that Amy Smith was still alive.