Behind the Shadows (26 page)

She was still drinking it when she heard the doorbell. She knew instinctively who, and why.

She also knew she needed to make some very long explanations.

Chris knocked at the door, then came in. “Two detectives are here. It's time now to tell them everything. Your mother. The baby switch. The attacks. Suspicions. Everything,” he stressed, then left before she had a chance to answer.

A moment later, he ushered two men inside, then fetched two chairs for them to sit in.

“Detective Ray Callum,” the tallest introduced himself. “My partner, Jeff Paul. We're both with Homicide.”

Detective Callum was younger than the other, though obviously the senior partner. She took note of his suit, his slicked-back hair, and his sharp eyes. His partner, Paul, was probably in his fifties.

Chris stood at the end of the bed.

“We would like to talk to her alone,” Callum said.

“No,” Chris replied easily. “I'm a friend.”

“What kind of friend?” Callum said, his eyes narrowing.

“Not that kind,” Chris said. “She and her mother took care of my wife when she was sick.”

“You know the procedures,” Callum said. It was obvious he disliked—or resented—Chris. “We talk to witnesses alone.”

“I also know I can remain here unless she's under arrest.”

Callum ignored him and took out his notebook. “You told an officer yesterday you didn't see anyone.”

“No. I just felt … this blow, like being hit with a sledgehammer. A friend shielded me. I heard shouts. Screams. People running. Ambulances.”

“You were the first hit,” Callum said. “Maybe the shooter was aiming for you.”

“I thought about that,” she said. “It's possible. There've been several … incidents in the past few days.”

She related everything that had happened since she discovered she was not her mother's biological daughter. As she retold the story, Callum's frown turned into a glower. “Westerfields?” he said. “Isn't one of them running for some office?”

She nodded. “He's a state senator now. He's running for Congress.”

“Dammit,” the detective said. “If we'd known this last night …”

“She was out of it last night,” Chris said, exaggerating.

“
You
weren't. You were supposed to be a good cop, a real hotshot. Once upon a time. We wasted time yesterday. Maybe we could have found the killer if we'd known that.”

“And when were you assigned to the case?”

Callum didn't reply.

“This morning, I would guess,” Chris said. “Maybe at seven. Everyone was busy last night interviewing witnesses, searching for bullets, looking for anyone with a gun. I'm not sure how this information would have helped just then.”

“That's not your decision.”

“Why don't you just do your damned job now,” Chris said.

The detective's face flushed. Then he turned back to Kira. “Why didn't you report the attack at the MARTA station?”

“As I said, I thought it was probably an accident.”

“And when your home was trashed?” He looked around. There were still signs of the invasion. A torn curtain. Holes in the walls.

“I reported it, of course.”

“Don't you think you should have mentioned the other incident?”

“I still didn't know they were connected. The Westerfield name would have been all over the press.”

The mention of press had an effect. He straightened.

She exchanged a look with Chris. He nodded. The detective would probably be on the phone before he reached the station.

“Who have you talked to about this ‘switched babies' theory?” It was obvious he didn't really believe it.

She glanced at Chris. He nodded.

“Just Leigh Howard and her attorney—the company's attorney—Max Payton.”

“Anyone else know about it?”

“I don't know,” Kira said. “I don't know whom they might have told. The only people I've discussed it with are my mother and Chris. Chris is doing some work for me.”

The questions went on, but most were repetitive. He kept asking about the man on the train platform. She kept saying she didn't see the attacker's face.

“Nothing about his body that stood out?”

“No.” She'd been over that with Chris over and over again. She didn't think she should tell the detective that, though. He was already furious.

The two detectives were on the way out when Callum turned to her. “Don't hold anything else back.”

“No,” she said meekly. She didn't like anything about the young detective. He was rude and supercilious.

She sat up after they left. Every movement hurt like hell.

Chris stepped back into the room. “What are you doing?”

“I'm calling in a story, then I'm going to the hospital.” She looked at him stubbornly. “I want my car.”

“You still have too many drugs in you to drive.”

“Then I'll take a cab.”

“I'll take you,” he said. “Some friends of mine—retired cops—will accompany you when I can't be here.”

“You must really be using up your friends.”

“Most of them are tired of fishing,” he replied. “Now make your call to the newspaper. I'll be ready when you are.”

He went out, closing the door behind him. She called Wade and dictated a short sidebar about being in the midst of a shoot-out. She looked longingly at her pillow. God, she hurt.

Her phone rang. She grabbed it.

“Hello.” The deep voice belonged to Max. Her heart flip-flopped. She told it to behave.

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“Sore.” She paused, debating whether she should tell him her discussion with the detectives. He probably knew what was coming.

“Two detectives just left,” she said. “I told them about the baby switch.”

“I expected that,” he said evenly. “You didn't have a choice. Not after being shot at.”

Her heart fluttered faster. She should have known. Max Payton was a realist.

“What about Leigh?”

“She's still going to give the DNA sample. Today. In fact, that's one reason I called. Burke might want to be at her house. Two p.m.”

“I know you had something to do with it. Thank you.”

“It's my job to give my best advice to a client,” he said curtly.

There was a silence.

“I'm glad you're doing okay,” he finally said in a cool voice.

“I wish everyone there had been that lucky. I feel responsible.”

“You don't know what motivated the shooter.”

“Yes, I do. In my gut, I know. Maybe if I'd gone to the police earlier …”

“Don't ever play that game, Kira. Ifs, buts, and maybes don't change anything. Neither does regret.”

Her fluttering heart stilled. Was he telling her something? That he had some kind of regrets. About her?

His voice took on a clipped note. “I just wanted to know how you were. And your mother.”

“She's not dead yet, thank you,” she snapped.

“I would be very sorry if she was,” he said quietly, then, “I still want you protected, but this time I won't do it without your permission.”

“Chris has already arranged for protection,” she said.

“Good. Good-bye then.” The phone went dead, and she felt a huge emptiness inside. Why had she acted so cool when every ounce of her wanted to ask him to come over?

Kira knew the answer only too well. He'd crawled into her thoughts and emotions and, God help her, her heart. She'd told herself she would never be used as her mother had been used. Pretty words, then desertion after the first sign of trouble. She'd hated her father for years, then decided he wasn't worth it. But his desertion had colored every male/female relationship she'd ever had.

She put the phone down and stood. She swayed for a moment, then made her way to the chest. She pulled out a loose pair of jeans and a big shirt that just needed to be buttoned. No bra. She went into the bathroom. She was a fright.

She ran a brush through her hair and added a dab of lipstick.

She slowly made her way into the living room. The wound in her side pulled and burned, but the big problem was the bruised rib. Every movement was pure pain.

Chris looked up from the television. A camera was scanning the front of the courthouse.

“Nothing new?”

“No.”

“Max Payton called,” she said. “He thought you—we—might want to be there when Leigh is having DNA samples taken this afternoon.”

“I do.”

“Maybe that will stop whatever is going on,” she said hopefully.

His expression was thoughtful. “That would be reasonable,” he said slowly. “I don't think this person is reasonable. You don't shoot up a crowd if you just wanted to scare off one person or even to kill that one person. You don't keep escalating the violence. You don't murder strangers.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “It just doesn't make sense. The first attack, yes. Scare off an imposter. Even the burglary. Someone looking for whatever proof you have. But last night? Why bring so much attention to the Westerfields? It was bound to bring the baby switch to public view. I don't think the Westerfields wanted that.”

“Then who? Why?”

“Damned if I know.”

27

To Max's surprise, no one from the police department appeared at the Westerfield home the morning after the city hall shooting. No calls from the media, either.

Max lingered at Leigh's home, expecting an onslaught from both at any time.

He left at eleven for a noon board meeting. “Call me if the police come,” he instructed Leigh. “For God's sake, don't say anything. Just tell them your attorney insisted that he be here.”

“Won't that make me look guilty of something?”

“It'll make you look smart, and don't let them tell you anything different. I'll be back at two.”

“You're not going to let me slide out of it?”

“No.” He didn't want Leigh to have second thoughts. He hoped that once the results were in, the violence would stop. There would be too much of a spotlight on the story.

Leigh was evidently thinking of that as well. “Won't they need a sample from my mother as well? Otherwise, how can Kira Douglas claim to be my mother's daughter? God, that sounds ridiculous.”

He liked the wryness in her voice. She would need a sense of humor in the days ahead. “A sample from Seth or, better yet, from Dr. Michael Crawford should do,” Max said. “If necessary, we might be required by a court to disinter Karen's remains.”

“No!”

“You may not have a choice.”

“You keep saying that. It's your job to give me choices.”

“I can't perform miracles,” Max said.

“You were good at making husbands, and potential husbands, disappear.”

“Neither was good enough for you,” he said. “You always undervalued yourself.”

“You're the only one who ever thought that. Grandfather didn't.”

“Yes, he did. He loved you. He just wasn't good at expressing it.”

“You were the son he wanted.”

“No, I was never that. To be honest, I wanted to be. But you were his granddaughter, and I was hired help.”

“But I may not be his granddaughter.”

That was the first time she admitted the possibility. He tried not to show any reaction. She had to reach the decisions on her own. “Doesn't matter. He loved
you.”

“I would really like to think that. It was lonely growing up here.”

“I know.”

She looked at him. “I always thought you were cold and unfeeling.”

“I am,” he said, straight-faced.

“You seemed to be on
her
side.”

“I'm sorry you felt that way. I did believe her, though. And I didn't think you could evade the issue forever. You would drive yourself crazy wondering whether you were Katy Douglas's child. And always regret not knowing until it was too late.”

“You
want
me to donate a kidney … if it's true?”

“It's not my decision and I'm not going to try to make it for you, sport.”

“You haven't called me that since …”

“You went to college,” Max finished for her.

“Have you ever been really, really attracted to anyone?”

The question came from left field, and he didn't know how to answer it. Of course he'd been attracted to women, but probably, as she said, not “really, really.” Not until this past week. There had been brief alliances, even affection, but nothing that tempted him into long-term plans. He'd thought he was missing something inside, that there was an emotional block that made him back away when anyone threatened to get too close.

She was waiting for an answer. “Yes,” he said simply. It wouldn't have been true a week ago. He surprised himself by admitting it today.

“I had a terrible crush on you,” she admitted.

“I know.”

“You could have seduced me.”

“I knew that, too.”

“Why didn't you? Because of Grandfather?”

“I liked you,” he said simply.

She smiled. “Thank you. I think you were the only one who did. I was a brat.”

“I was a lot worse,” he admitted.

“I can't imagine that.”

“Anyway, I'm proud of you. I think your grandfather would be, too.”

“You say he may not be my grandfather.”

“He'll always be your grandfather,” Max said. “But you might also have a mother. Think about that, Leigh. Katy Douglas is a good woman, a warm and loving one from everything I know. You might get what you've always wanted.”

“And what's that?” she asked, a bit of the old defiance back.

“A living parent who loves you.”

“She doesn't know me.” That she didn't deny his statement spoke volumes.