Caught in the Act (The Davenports) (9 page)

“I hear the paper rattling,” Thomas said into his ear, reminding him that his brother was still on the phone. “I take it you hadn’t seen it yet?”

“It didn’t get delivered on time this morning,” Brody muttered as he finished the article. A reporter had been at the theater over the weekend, and Cat had impressed.

Brody had a momentary thought, wondering if he could use this notoriety himself. Maybe knowing a Davenport was in his play would get a producer up there to take a look. He still had the play out with a top-name agent. He should probably shoot the man an e-mail, pointing out the new lead of the show. That had to say something about the quality.

It felt dirty, but then, that seemed to be the game everyone else was playing.

“I understand she’s your neighbor,” Thomas informed him. “That’s convenient.”

“How do you mean?” And how did he know that? Brody handed the paper back to Louisa and stepped from the building. He was ready to end the conversation. It was going nowhere.

“Neighbor with a Davenport? Come on, man, surely you can help me out here.”

Brody paused on the front porch. “In what way?” Had his brother just asked him to use Cat on his behalf?

“Looks like you’re already friendly with her. Do some digging, is all I’m saying.”

“Don’t even—”

“This election is important, Brody. I’m not asking for anything illegal.”

“But unethical doesn’t bother you?”

“I never suggested lying.” Thomas went into his politician’s voice.

“You’re not asking me not to, either.” It hadn’t been said, but Brody knew his brother would love a fat, juicy story, even if it was made up.

“Does she know who you are?” Thomas suddenly asked.

“She knows my name.”

“Your real one?”

“My real one is Hollister. It’s on my birth certificate.”

“So she doesn’t know?” The interest in Thomas’s voice sickened Brody.

It surprised Brody to find that the reason for the call hurt. It shouldn’t. After all this time, Thomas remained the same. No big surprises there. But Brody had wanted them to mean something to each other. He’d wanted to have a brother.

Hell, he’d even taken the teaching job at Georgetown hoping for the chance to form a relationship—while still not exposing to the world that they were related, of course.

Nothing about Georgetown had worked out as Brody had planned.

Nothing about brotherhood had either.

“Listen,” he began. It had been almost two decades that he’d been trying to grow a relationship with Thomas. Maybe it was time to give up childish notions and accept that the two of them would never be close. Sadly, the idea bothered him as much as knowing why Thomas had called. “I’ve got to run. It’s been good talking to you.”

There was a pause, then Thomas followed with, “It’s been good talking to you, too.” The sincerity in his voice actually sounded real. “Think about it, will you?” Thomas tacked on, ruining any remaining positive thoughts Brody had about his sibling. Thomas was a politician to the core. He always would be.

“Sorry, man. Can’t do it. And you know that.” They’d had enough conversations over the years about Brody’s thoughts on the secrets and backstabbing that so often showed up in politics. He was not on board with that kind of duplicity, and never would be.

They hung up and Brody stared at his phone. He wanted to call Cat.

Only, if he called her, what was he supposed to say?

Hey, nice article in the paper? Are you in the play only for the publicity?

Oh, and by the way, my brother—
Thomas Harrison
—wants me to find some dirt on you. Got any?

And one last thing . . . about Friday night . . . can I have a do-over?

He shook his head and shoved the phone back into his pocket. She would be at the playhouse later that evening, ready to make her debut. He would see her then.

The hum of the crowd built up a slow energy inside Cat. It was scary, but also exciting. It was downright thrilling, actually.

She paced backstage, crossing from side to side before taking a quick peek out at the crowd. There were so many people in attendance tonight. That newspaper article had apparently brought them out. It looked like all of Dyersport was trying to pack themselves into the small theater.

All but Brody Hollister, apparently.

She hadn’t seen him all day. Or all weekend, for that matter. Other than a brief conversation Saturday morning when she’d shown up to try out for the part. But that’s as it should have been. She’d had lines to learn, rehearsals to attend. Then countless more hours of practice in the privacy of her own cottage.

Her nerves were strung tight at the thought of stepping onstage.

Good thing she hadn’t had time to think about Brody.

She snorted at the very idea. Somehow, Brody had still managed to creep into her mind. So much so that she’d gone by the museum that morning to see him.

She dropped off doughnuts for Louisa, planning to pop into Brody’s class. Keep it casual. Show that all was cool between them—even though he
hadn’t
jumped at the chance to sleep with her the other night.

But then she’d caught sight of the paper, and she’d been mortified. Being on the front page in the arms of a man was not what she would call flying under the radar.

Of course, trying out for lead in a play wasn’t exactly flying quietly, either. She hadn’t really thought that one through very well. She also hadn’t taken into account the effort required to prepare for a three-act play in the span of one short weekend. She’d be lucky to get through tonight without looking like an utter fool.

Or making Brody look like one.

But she could salvage this; she was certain. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been tasked with worse in her life. She simply had to do a good enough job to ensure that anything else written up showcased both her and the play in the best possible light. Maybe she could turn on the charm, even if she flubbed her way through parts of the play.

Reversing positions, she moved to the narrow back hall, her sights set on the far door. There was fresh air beyond the barrier, and she suddenly needed it. As she squeezed past the other actors in the hallway, she sternly told herself that she had this. She would wow them tonight.

But the reality was, she had no idea if she had this at all.

In fact, she was pretty sure she didn’t.

Her cell buzzed as she reached the door, and she saw that it was a text from her mother. Terrific. She’d spoken to her mom the day before, excitedly telling her about the play, but Emma Davenport had not been impressed. In fact, she’d thought it was “silly.” So Cat had ignored the many calls that had come in from her that afternoon. She had too many nerves as it was, and she didn’t need her mother getting in her head and adding to them.

However, receiving a text from her mom was odd. It typically took an act of Congress to get Emma Davenport to punch out a message.

Cat was intrigued.

She stepped out the back door and swiped the phone to bring up the message.

Call me.

Well, that put it bluntly. And only because Cat was looking to take her mind off her nerves—even if that meant an argument with her mother—she pushed the call button.

“Catherine.” The call was answered with a single word.

“Hello, Mother. The play is just about to start. Did you need something?”

“I
need
to know why I’m looking at a picture of you in Brody Hollister’s arms.”

Cat stood up straighter. “What?”

“I have a copy of the
Post
in front of me, and there in full color, is you in
his
arms. What is going on up there?”

The picture made the
Washington Post
? Lovely. She’d just wanted to have a little fun, not make national news.

“It’s his play,” she explained. Clearly it had been a mistake answering the text. This was not the argument she’d expected. “He wrote it.”

“Then you need to bow out of it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tell them thanks, but no thanks. Bow. Out.”

Cat stared at the phone. Had her mother lost her mind? Cat wasn’t a teenager anymore. She was a grown woman. With two kids and a house. She was a widow, for crying out loud.

Her mother didn’t get to tell her what to do.

And if Cat wanted to be in Brody Hollister’s arms, then she would be in Brody Hollister’s arms.

Though she
would
prefer to keep it out of the papers.

“I’m going to have to say no to this one, Mom.” She knew that would be a new concept for her mother, but it felt strangely empowering to say it. In fact, it made her a little giddy.

Maybe it was simply that her nerves were still on the edge, and giddiness was an aftereffect.

“I’m not joking around, Catherine.” Her mother used her stern voice. “You can’t get messed up with him again.”

“First, I wasn’t messed up with him before. We
hooked
up, yes. And things happened.”

“Things that I had to help you fix.”

Cat clenched her jaw. “Yes. Things that you had to help me fix.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”

Cat’s nerves took a backseat to her blood pressure. She didn’t need her mother reminding her of her past actions. They weren’t anything she would ever forget.

But she did need her mother to move on. This wasn’t nineteen years ago.

“And
I
don’t see what the problem is,” Cat stressed. “That happened almost twenty years ago. I was a teenager. But I’m an adult now. I don’t need you worrying about my private life.”

“Well, someone needs to. You don’t want your past coming out. Not to him.”

Anger colored Cat’s view. “Were you planning to tell him?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“I’m just saying—”

“Looks like I need to run,” she interrupted. She wasn’t doing this. She simply wasn’t in the mood. “We’ll talk later, Mom.”

“I’m only thinking of you,” her mother tossed in before Cat could hang up.

Cat closed her eyes. It was a tired expression. One she found that she didn’t particularly care to hear anymore. “Then how about you
don’t
think of me so much?” She paused for only a second before adding, “And do not throw my past in my face, Mom. Never again. I’m well aware of what happened.”

“Catherine—”

“Brody and I are friends. Deal with it.”

She hung up, realizing that her hands were shaking. But at least her nerves had calmed.

What was her mother so upset about?

Cat shook her head as she stood there facing the back parking lot. She pulled in several gulps of cool air, letting her gaze hang on the waning light as she tried desperately to refocus on the play. Her mother always bore a tendency to go off about the oddest things, but really, Cat talking to a man she’d befriended years ago wasn’t the end of the world. Even though they had become more than friends and she had left him out of a very important decision.

It didn’t mean they couldn’t be grown-ups now.

Especially because Brody wasn’t even aware of Cat’s deception.

She lifted her phone again, needing to calm the anger now, and decided to pull up the good-luck text that had come in from JP earlier. There was also an obviously high-pitched squealing, shouting text from her sister-in-law.
They
were excited for her. Rereading the messages now would help reset her mind, but the e-mail indicator caught her attention first. A new e-mail had come in.

When she opened it, she discovered it was from Bennett, her older brother, and she sucked in a breath. This was the first time he’d responded to any of the messages she and JP had been trying to get to him over the last two weeks.

She opened it cautiously.

Break a leg, Sis. I remember you being quite the drama queen when you were a kid. Too bad I can’t be there to see it in person. I would like to.

An unexpected tear appeared in the corner of her eye, and she dabbed a finger at it to keep from messing up her stage makeup. How had Bennett known about the play? She wouldn’t think the news would make it to him—wherever he was.

She loved that he thought enough to contact her, though. She just wished he’d reach out in person so she could tell him about their father. Or in his case, the lack thereof.

She hit Reply and typed in a thank-you, then tacked on:

Please call me. I really need to talk to you. It’s important.

When she stepped back inside the building, the first thing she saw was Brody. He was leaning casually against the wall, flowers at his side, a blank expression on his face.

She let out a slow breath. She’d missed him the last few days.

“You’re late,” she chastised.

He held up the huge bouquet of yellow roses. “I had a stop to make.”

“You brought me roses.” The gesture softened her insides.

Her phone rang before he replied. It was her kids this time. Her heart thudded. They’d been so excited for her when she’d told them about the play.

“I have to take this.” She held up the phone.