Circumstantial Marriage (13 page)

“And no one ever knew he wasn’t Will’s father?”

“No.”

“Did you ever speak to Rich again?”

“No. He never contacted me again, and I didn’t try. I didn’t want to see his face again.” She exhaled sharply. “And then he went and became a senator and decided he wanted to run for president. Now I can’t get away from him.”

“And Will still doesn’t know the truth?”

“No. As far as he knows, Adam Kent was his father. And he
was,
in every way that matters. He’s the one who held Will on the day he was born. He’s the one who coached him in Little League and taught him how to ride a bike. He’s the one who taught Will how to be the man he is today. He was a better father than Rich Bridges ever could have been, and I won’t let that be taken away from Will.

“I’m sorry about what happened to your uncle and what’s happening to you now, but I told you this so you’d see that my son and I are victims of the Bridgeses, too. I don’t think you can prove that Rich is Will’s father, but you can make things messy for Rich. But you’ll also make things a lot harder for Will. He’s the one who’ll be hurt in this, much more than Rich.”

Marybeth suddenly reached out and placed her hand over Audrey’s. “Please,” she whispered. “My son deserves better than to be known as nothing more than Richard Bridges’s bastard. He has a future. He’s his own man. Please don’t take that away from him.”

Audrey’s heart twisted at the woman’s plea. Marybeth was right. She and Will would be hurt if the truth came out, and Audrey didn’t want to hurt anybody. But at the same time, her life and Jason’s were on the line, and this was something they could use against Bridges to save themselves. And people needed to know what kind of man Bridges was. Part of her wished she could give the woman the assurance she clearly wanted, the rest knew she had to remain silent. Torn, she could only stare into the other woman’s eyes and wish she knew what to say.

Someone knocked on the swinging door to the kitchen, startling them both. They both looked back toward the door just before it was slowly pushed open.

Jason stuck his head through the opening, his gaze centering on Audrey moments before he stepped fully into the room. “There you are. I was wondering where you were.”

He must have noticed the undercurrents in the room. His eyes narrowing slightly, he glanced from her to Marybeth and back again. “Is everything okay?”

“Come in,” Audrey said. “We have to a lot to talk about.”

A
HALF HOUR LATER
, Jason sat at the kitchen table with Audrey and Marybeth, mulling over everything they’d told him.

He shook his head in amazement. “Bridges really is a piece of work. He plays the good guy so well you’d never think he’s capable of something like this.”

“He’s fooled a lot of people,” Marybeth agreed quietly, her own experience weighing heavily in her tone.

Anger jolted through him at what she’d been through, the way Bridges had abandoned her. “People need to know the kind of man he really is.”

Then he saw the fear that flashed in Marybeth’s eyes and the worry in Audrey’s, and his anger quickly gave way to frustration. He knew what Audrey was thinking. She hadn’t had to say a word; he’d read it in her face as she and Marybeth had related the story. She didn’t want to hurt the Kents. He didn’t want to either. The only person he was interested in seeing hurt in all of this was Bridges. He just didn’t know if there was a way to do it without inflicting a lot of collateral damage.

His instinct had once been to hold the truth above all else, but no more. No, he couldn’t do that to Marybeth or Will, couldn’t be responsible for hurting them, turning their private histories into headlines, even to bring down someone who deserved it. He and Audrey couldn’t reveal this secret.

But of course, Bridges didn’t know that.

As soon as the thought occurred to him, inspiration struck, and he knew exactly what they had to do.

“We need to talk to Bridges.”

Both women frowned at him. “What do you mean?” Audrey asked.

“The original plan was to release whatever information we found, whatever secret Hal had uncovered. We can’t do that because we can’t prove any of it. But he doesn’t know that. Our only way out of this is to threaten to release the information if he doesn’t leave us alone, and convince him that we’d actually do it. Holding the information over him is our only guarantee he won’t come after us anymore.”

Audrey’s frown merely deepened. “But then people won’t find out the truth about him. He’ll get away with all of it.”

“And you’ll be alive.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You mean
we’ll
be alive.”

“The point is, it’s a chance for survival, the only one I can think of. Unless you have any better ideas.”

She shook her head. “I don’t. So what do you want to do, call him?”

“No, this has to be done face-to-face. It’s the only way we can show him we mean business and that we we’ll be able to see whether or not he’s telling the truth if he agrees. We need to get close to him.”

She gaped at him. “That’s going to be impossible. He has so many people around him at all times, there’s no way we’ll ever get anywhere near him.”

“Maybe we can disguise ourselves.”

“Except that you’ve already been recognized. By now that man Hagan will have gotten the word out that you’re in town. All of Bridges’s people could have been alerted to keep an eye out for you at all times.”

She was right. He tried to come up with another option, another way to get close to Bridges. But the man was surrounded by people at all times. Besides his own private security, he would soon have Secret Service protection, if he didn’t already.

When someone finally spoke, it wasn’t him or Audrey.

“I know a way,” Marybeth said quietly.

They both looked at her. “You do?” Audrey asked, clearly just as surprised as Jason was.

“He’s at the house for the campaign event, isn’t he?” she said. “There’s a tunnel that leads from the edge of the property right into the house. Rich used to use it to get out, or to bring me in without anyone noticing. That’s how no one knew about us that summer. There’s access to several of the bedrooms on the second floor, including the one that was always Rich’s.”

“Do you think the tunnel’s still there?” Audrey asked.

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. It was built over two hundred years ago, when the house was. It seems that the early Bridgeses weren’t any more reputable than the current breed. They had their share of shady dealings, and they needed a secret way to escape from the house, so they built the tunnel.”

He and Audrey exchanged a glance. It seemed too good to be true. Should they trust her? Marybeth didn’t want the truth of Will’s paternity getting out any more than Bridges did. This could be her way of setting them up to be caught, captured, killed.

Then again, she could also be trusting that they wouldn’t tell anyone about her son’s paternity, wouldn’t leave word in case they didn’t survive.

Not to mention, they didn’t have many other options.

Audrey gave him a small nod, the resolve in her eyes matching his own.

It appeared they didn’t have any choice.

Chapter Ten

“I almost can’t believe Bridges was willing to wage a presidential campaign with all this dirt out there just waiting to be discovered,” Audrey said later that night when they were alone in their room. “Even if the truth of Tim Raymer’s death was reasonably hidden, Will Kent is a much more visible person. I can’t be the only one who will have noticed the resemblance.”

Seated at the small table, Jason had to agree with her. It seemed strange that the Bridgeses had let Marybeth have her baby and raise it alone without guaranteeing she’d never reveal the child’s father. Maybe they’d figured that if Marybeth hadn’t done so during Bridges’s earlier senate runs, she wasn’t going to now. Still, it would have made sense for them to get some assurances of that rather than ignore her completely.

At the same time, nothing people did really surprised him anymore. “Some people are arrogant enough to think they can get away with anything. Just look at all the politicians caught having affairs.”

“Yes, that’s why I said ‘almost,’” she said with a wry smile. “I guess there’s really no end to what people will fool themselves into thinking they can get away with.”

“Well, he’s going to learn, like so many others before him, that he can’t get away with everything.”

“Do you really think this is going to work?”

Jason considered his answer carefully, then finally admitted, “I don’t know.”

He watched her frown and wished he was the kind of person who could lie to her. He doubted she would believe him—she had to know the risks as well as he did—but being honest seemed cruel at the moment.

Marybeth had given them directions to the tunnel’s entrance and they’d driven out to check it out beforehand. It was exactly where she’d said it was, well hidden off the farm property and a half a mile from the house, in a small cluster of woods. It would have been impossible to find without her directions, the trapdoor built into the ground and covered with leaves and undergrowth. From the looks of it, and the ancient padlock attached to it, the door hadn’t been opened in years and Stone hadn’t spotted any security measures around it. While security would undoubtedly be high around the farm tomorrow, it appeared that this entrance had been overlooked.

They were going in early the next morning. If they were going to see Bridges, they needed to do it at a time when he was likely to be alone. Bursting in during the middle of the night would probably get them shot on sight; going in too late could result in missing him entirely. Their best chance would be to catch him when he was getting ready in the morning, alone and awake enough to be convinced to hear them out rather than calling for help right away.

The thought of everything that could go wrong reminded him of how crazy this plan was, how much of a risk they both were taking when only one of them needed to.

“I still think it would be better if I did this alone,” he said.

Audrey sent him a sardonic look. “I know. You already said that. And you might as well forget it. I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

“If something happens to me, you’ll still be alive and able to figure another way out of this.”

“If something happens to you and I don’t immediately release any information, he’ll know I don’t have anything to release, so I won’t have any leverage anyway. Besides, one person going in alone is just plain foolish. You need someone to have your back, otherwise it might as well be a suicide mission.” Her gaze sharpened. “At least one of us cares whether you live or die. I’m going.”

He opened his mouth to argue further, only to recognize there wasn’t much point. He recognized that stubborn gleam in her eye well enough by now. Saying anything else would just be wasted breath.

He wanted to be irritated with her for being willing to risk her life for his, but all he felt was a grudging respect he’d never admit. “Fine,” he muttered.

“Good.” Audrey relaxed slightly. She was silent for a few moments before shaking her head. “Even if it does work, it seems wrong that the story Hal died to tell won’t come out. The truth will remain buried. Doesn’t it bother you that there won’t be any justice for Hal, or the medical examiner, or even Clint Raymer, not to mention Tim?”

“All I care about is you not being killed.”

“What about the truth?”

“Trust me, the truth doesn’t count for much if people are hurt trying to get it. Was this story really worth Hal dying over, or Clint or the ME?”

“I think Hal would have said so. Bridges is probably going to be the next president. Don’t people deserve to know what kind of man he really is?”

“I’ve already made the mistake of worrying about other people instead of the ones that really mattered. I won’t do it again.”

Only when the words were out did he consider how they might have come across—like she mattered to him.

Which she did, he immediately recognized, his chest tightening at the thought. He didn’t want it to be the case, but the feeling was undeniable, even if he’d only admit it to himself. This woman had come to mean something to him in the past several days, enough so that the idea of anything happening to her scared the hell out of him.

If she’d noticed the implication, she didn’t show it. She simply looked at him, so much sympathy in her eyes he had to glance away. “What happened to your family wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was,” he said roughly. “Make no mistake, it was.”

“You couldn’t have known there was a bomb in the car.”

“But I did know the kind of people I was dealing with. I could have anticipated how they may have reacted to my investigation. I could have thought about my family—but I didn’t. All I cared about was the story. And they were the ones who paid for it.”

“Is that why you don’t want to live? The guilt?”

“I never said I don’t want to live,” he said weakly.

“You never said you do either.”

No, he hadn’t. He remembered that all too well. He hadn’t been able to say it, just like he couldn’t say it now.

He wished he could, if only to get her to stop talking, even though he doubted she would believe him. But no matter how much he tried to summon them, the words wouldn’t come.

When he didn’t say anything, she finally asked, “Don’t you think they would have wanted you to live?”

Jason exhaled sharply. “They’re not around to offer their opinions, now are they? That’s the point.”

“They loved you, didn’t they? Your wife? Your little girls? Just as much as you loved them.”

No,
he almost said. They couldn’t have. No one could love anyone as much as he’d loved them, not even them. It simply wasn’t possible.

Instead he said nothing,
couldn’t
say anything.

“They did,” Audrey said finally, firmly, into the silence. “And they would, you know. I promise you that. They would want you to live.”

“I don’t know how.”

The words came out on their own, as though spoken by someone else, the agonized voice unrecognizable as his own.

And there it was, the question that faced him every minute of every day, the question he had yet to find an answer for.

How was he supposed to live in a world where his wife and children were dead?

Lisa, the woman who had meant more to him than any he’d ever known, who’d had an effect on him like no other ever had—except Audrey, he registered with a twinge. Audrey affected him on an almost molecular level like that.

Morgan and Megan, the two most miraculous creatures he’d ever laid eyes on in his entire life. He’d been there when they’d drawn their first breaths, held them when each of them were small enough to fit in both his hands put together.

How was he supposed to get through each day, how was he supposed to feel anything, how was he supposed to
breathe,
without them in this world?

How?

“Tell me about them.”

He slowly raised his head to meet her eyes, the compassion in them almost painful to see. “Why?”

“Because I think you need to talk about them,” she said simply. “You haven’t, have you? Since they died?” His silence was answer enough. “I know what it’s like. When my parents died, I didn’t have anyone to talk to about them, when I needed to the most. Hal dropped me off at school where I didn’t know anybody, away from him, away from my friends. There were counselors there, but they were strangers. I didn’t know them. I didn’t want to talk to them, even though I knew I wanted to talk to someone. So I didn’t talk to anybody. And it was hard. And I think it’s only making it harder for you. Besides, I don’t know anything about them, and I’d like to. So tell me about them.”

No, he hadn’t talked to anybody about them. He couldn’t. It hurt too much.

Unsure what to say, he looked down at his hands.

We’re going to cross the street now. Hold Daddy’s hand.

He didn’t know where the words came from, but suddenly they were there, echoing from the back of his mind in another voice he almost didn’t recognize as his own. They were immediately followed by a feeling, the sensation of a small hand, delicate little fingers sliding into his palm, unhesitating, infinitely trusting. He stared at his right hand. All he saw there was the leather glove covering the scars he didn’t have to see to visualize. But he didn’t feel the texture of the leather or the scars marring his flesh. He only felt the weight of a small hand in his, as though it were actually there, and along with it, the surge of protectiveness, of possessiveness, of pure love that had always shot through his chest at the contact.

He almost gasped, the air rushing from his lungs as though he’d been punched.

He’d forgotten. God, he’d forgotten what it had felt like, his little girls’ hands in his, the way they would smile up at him, how happy they always were to see him. Somehow, in the wake of their deaths, he’d forgotten that.

He closed his hand, trying to hold on to the feeling, the memory. He didn’t want to forget it, even as other memories soon followed, one after another, flooding his head.

He only realized he’d started speaking when he heard the sound of his own voice. “My girls—their names were Megan and Morgan. Their mother came up with the names. I admit I wasn’t that crazy about them at first. It seemed a little too cute to give twin girls matching names like that, but she was set on them, said that was who they were. I figured she should have more say in what they were called than I did, so I didn’t argue with her. And when they were born, it didn’t take me long to see she was right. That’s who they were. I guess she knew that from the start.”

He remembered Lisa in the hospital, holding the newborn girls, happy, exhausted, looking more beautiful than ever. And the first time he’d seen her, across the room at an embassy party, and known immediately that she was a woman he had to talk to. And how strangely nervous he’d been, despite all the women he’d ever spoken to in his life. And how it had felt the first time he’d made her smile.

He knew he was still talking, could feel his lips moving and sounds emerging from his throat. But mostly he remembered, one thought, one image after another, each leading into the next, almost faster than he could process. He tried to cling to each one, tried to absorb the emotions attached to it, even as there was always another one to follow.

Audrey didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. It was enough to have her there, listening to every word. And he knew she was doing just that. He could feel her unwavering attention on his face, feel her smile at every happy memory, her sympathy at every tender one.

The memories came, one after another, vivid and clear, as though they’d happened recently instead of years ago, as though unfolding for him anew.

And for the first time in years, he felt no pain as he remembered, only the joys, great and small, that he’d been lucky enough to experience and that he never wanted to lose again.