Final Deposit (7 page)

Kyle laughed. “I'd say we can call it even. Your daughter had a rare talent for doing laundry that saved me a time or two.”

“Why didn't you marry this guy, Lindsey? I like him. He's smart, funny—”

“Enough.” Lindsey rolled her eyes. “What did the doctors say?”

“I have an infection, which apparently is common with the cancer, but I should live.”

“Is the pain any better?”

“A little. At least my hip's not broken.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Enough of me. I need a good distraction. Tell me what you've been doing the past few years, Kyle.”

Kyle glanced at Lindsey, wondering how much he should disclose up front. “I own my own business.”

“Really? Well, that's quite impressive. What exactly do you do?”

Kyle paused. “I'm in…finances.”

“He works with international-fraud cases and security issues,” Lindsey threw in.

Apparently she had no problem getting straight to the point.

“Wait a minute, Lindsey.” Her father's face paled as he tried to sit up. “Does this have to do with what we talked about this morning? Because if it does—”

“He can help, Daddy.” She pressed her lips together, looking directly at her father.

Don't crumble now, Lindsey. Your father needs you.

“If I told you I don't need your help, then I certainly don't need his help,” Mr. Taylor spouted. “You don't understand any of this. Either of you. I told you everything was fine. You have to trust me.”

“Yes, but—”

“Lindsey, Abraham would never defraud me.” Mr. Taylor's jaw tensed. “This is a private business matter. One I went into with my eyes wide open. Any losses I suffer are due to a corrupt foreign government. Not Abraham.” He grasped his daughter's hand. “He's my friend, Lindsey. Not a criminal.”

Except Abraham
was
a criminal. And even if her father refused to admit it, he was worried. Kyle could tell by the older man's clenched jaw and the beads of perspiration on his forehead.

“Sir, I understand your hesitation in wanting to talk about the situation, especially to me. But you need to know that all we want is to ensure that you're not taken advantage of financially or in any other way, for that matter. We're worried that Abraham Omah—”

“I thought I made it clear that I don't need your help.”

“You did make it clear, Daddy,” Lindsey said. “But that doesn't take away the fact that there is a problem that can't be ignored. We know what happened. You gave Abraham everything you had saved. You sold Mom's porcelain figurines. You can't deny that.”

Mr. Taylor shook his head. “I will not discuss this. Not now. Not ever. I told you to trust me.”

“This isn't about trusting you,” Lindsey said. “It about seeing the truth for what it is.”

“Lindsey, I've always taken care of you and your mother financially and nothing has changed.” His mouth tightened. “My business association with Mr. Omah is private.”

“Daddy, I think you're wrong. You need to be concerned about Mr. Omah.” She got up off the bed and stood beside the window that overlooked the city. “Kyle, please. Tell him what you've told me about these schemes.”

Kyle looked at Lindsey's father. A vein pulsed in the older man's temple. As much as he wanted to help, the last thing he wanted to do was come between her and her father, or cause further strain on his health.

“And I don't want or need your services.” Mr. Taylor looked at his daughter, shaking his head slowly. “I…I want…”

His words slurred. He pressed his hand against his chest.

“Daddy?” Lindsey crossed to him.

Her father didn't respond.

“Something's wrong,” Lindsey said, panic in her voice.

Kyle ran into the hallway and called for help.

L
indsey felt Kyle's hand on her elbow as the nurse asked them to stand back from the bed. The doctor entered the room. Lindsey fought to breathe. Her father's face was pale, his eyes closed. Sharp voices rose above his ragged breathing as they worked on him. If she lost him now…

Kyle pulled her toward the door. “You don't have to stay and watch—”

She shook her head. “I can't leave him.”

Memories of her mother's death swept over her, filling her with grief. Why hadn't she waited at least until he was out of the hospital to confront him?

“Miss Taylor,” the doctor said after five minutes that had seemed like an eternity.

Lindsey wrapped her arms around her waist. “Yes?”

“We'll be running some tests to confirm, but it looks as if your father had a TIA, which is a ministroke,” the doctor told her. “The positive thing is that the symptoms don't last long, and, when treated, are completely reversible.”

“So he's going to be all right?”

“There are two main things I'm concerned about right now. These ministrokes are often a precursor to a larger stroke, so we will be watching his vital signs closely.” The doctor scribbled something on her father's chart. “The other issue is his infection, but I promise that we'll do all we can to ensure he has a complete recovery.”

“Can I stay with him?”

“For a few minutes, but he needs to rest.”

Kyle touched her shoulder. “I'll wait in the hallway.”

Lindsey nodded and sat down beside her father on the bed. A bit of color had come back to his cheeks, and his breathing had returned to normal. “I thought I was going to lose you, Daddy.”

His eyes opened and he shook his head. “I'm tougher…than I look.”

“I know.”

I don't want this situation to consume either of us, God. You've got to show me what to do.

She squeezed his hand. “I want you to know that I love you. I don't care what happened. We can forget about it or fight it—anything you want—but right now all I want is for you to get strong again.”

One of the nurses stepped back into the room. “I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave. He needs to rest.”

Lindsey kissed him on the forehead, then joined Kyle outside the room.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes…no.” She shot him a half grin.

“Let me take you home now so you can rest. I know you're exhausted—”

“I can't. Not yet.”

“Then what?”

Lindsey looked up at Kyle. “The answer to all of this has to be at his house.”

Kyle punched the elevator button. “Then let's go.”

 

Lindsey tried to shrug off the fatigue that had wrapped itself around her body. She needed caffeine. Desperately. She turned onto her father's street, making a mental list of the things she had to do. Making a pot of coffee was number one.

She stifled a yawn.

“You've been through a lot,” Kyle said.

“All because of one man's greed.”

Parking the car against the curb, she scanned the front yard. Everything looked the same as when she left earlier this morning. The eerie shadows from last night had disappeared beneath the bright, noonday sun. The hedge in front of the house had been recently clipped, and despite the dry weather, the lawn looked green. She followed Kyle up the sidewalk. Abraham Omah might have taken her father for a ride financially, but he wasn't going to ruin either of them. She would fix this. For her father.

She slid the key into the lock and pushed open the door. Her hand flew to her mouth.

Papers lay strewn across the floor beside CDs, coffee-table books and photos.

Whoever had broken in last night had returned.

She started to enter the house, but Kyle gripped her arm from behind. “Don't go inside. Let me make sure that whoever did this is gone.”

He pulled out his phone and dialed 911. She stood frozen in place. The couch was tipped over, and the television lay on its side on the floor. The only thing still in place was the cichlids, swimming in their new tank.

After checking the rest of the house, Kyle was back beside her. “They're gone.”

Her hand shook as she bent down to pick up what was left of the wooden clock.

The piece had no value other than the fact her mother had bought it on a whim one day they'd spent together garage sale shopping before she died. Beside an old coin collection and a few pieces of jewelry, there was little of value in the house.

“This has something to do with Abraham Omah, doesn't it?”

Kyle held a couple of CDs in his hand. “You're right, Lindsey. This wasn't a random burglary.”

 

An hour later, the police left, leaving Lindsey to pick up the mess. Numbly, she rubbed the back of Sammy's neck. At least they hadn't hurt the cat. She fed him, then looked up at Kyle across the room. While she was thankful for his company, even he couldn't help with the tangle of emotions she felt. Anger, sadness, hopelessness—at the moment, the list seemed endless.

She picked up a picture of her and her mother off the carpet. The glass was fractured; the edge scratched. Running her finger across the photograph, she tried to remember the freedom she'd felt that day. Her father had snapped the candid shot beneath the Eiffel Tower two weeks before cancer took her mother. Before her father's depression led him straight into the path of an Internet fraudster.

“You okay?” Kyle set the couch upright, then started picking up a scattered stack of magazines.

“Yeah.” She set the frame on the file cabinet beside another cracked photo. “As okay as I can be, considering the circumstances.”

“We're going to get to the bottom of this.”

She glanced around the room. It would take hours to put the place back together—and days to track down whoever did this. She had a few days of vacation saved up. She'd take the week off, spend time with her father and figure this whole thing out.

It was one thing to clean up the physical mess left behind, she thought. But trying to help her father heal emotionally was going to be a whole other story. She still had a hard time believing he had let this happen. Frugal and stingy, he'd traveled some, spoiled her mother at times and saved and invested. Looking around the living room was proof of that. The television, still on its side on the floor, was fifteen years old. The aged-leather recliner was even older. His favorite line had always been, “Why get a new one when the old one is perfectly fine?”

Regret swept over her. If she'd kept her mouth shut at the hospital, he might have been released this afternoon to come home. But to what? She grabbed on to the side of the couch to steady herself and fought to get her composure back as the room swirled around her.

“Lindsey.” Kyle took her shoulders and set her down on the couch, sitting next to her. “At least your father's all right.”

“I know,” she said, sighing deeply. “But all of this is my fault. I never should have brought up the subject. He told me to trust him.”

He tilted her chin so she had to look at him. His features blurred before her as she fought back tears. “You've got to understand something. Your father's in a lot of trouble. He's lost more than money—he's feeling shattered, vulnerable and embarrassed. No matter what you said to him today, he's had to deal with the situation and its consequences every day and that has taken its toll.”

“I know.” She hiccuped.

“This isn't your fault, Lindsey.”

Her eyes widened. “You heard what the doctor said. A ministroke could be a precursor to another stroke. If he dies…”

“Listen to me. He's going to be okay,” Kyle insisted. “Your father is a bright, educated man who loves you very much. Nothing that has happened changes those facts. That's what makes this so difficult for him.”

“What do I do to help him?”

“Support him. Let him know you love him. And don't let him deny there's a problem. He's going to need you now more than ever.”

She glanced across the living room. Sunlight poured through the sheer drapes that overlooked the manicured backyard. Four and a half years ago, she'd moved back in with her parents for six months to help care for her mother while she went through cancer treatments for the second time. Then her mother had died. She didn't want to lose her father as well.

She couldn't sit. “I need some coffee.”

“Is that your solution to stress?”

“Yes.” She went to the kitchen and filled the coffeepot with water, pouring it into the coffeemaker. “What did you do when you lost Michael?”

“I blamed myself and promised that I'd find a way to make sure his death wasn't for nothing.”

“What about God?”

Kyle leaned against the counter. “I told Him it wasn't fair. Yelled at Him a lot. Even threatened to stop going to church.”

She scooped her favorite cinnamon blend into the machine. “And did you?”

“No. God kept finding ways to remind me that He was in control.”

Control. That was exactly what she'd just lost. And her life had ceased being so black and white. The answers seemed just out of reach. “But how do you turn over the whole situation to God and let Him handle everything? Because I'm not sure I can do that.”

Kyle steepled his hands. “Honestly, I'm not sure I ever gave it to Him completely. There are still days I struggle. What happened to my brother still seems so wrong.”

“Are you still angry at Anya?”

“Anya, my brother and even God some days.”

She pulled open the kitchen blind and let the sun spill into the room. God's handiwork lay all around her. But sometimes even that wasn't enough.

I need more faith, God. More of a grounded faith so that when things go wrong I know You are still there.

Why did hard times always seem to come with doubt instead of a reassuring calmness that He really was in control?

The aroma of cinnamon filled the room as she grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. “How do you deal with the anger?”

“One day at a time, I guess. I have to let go of my anger every day while I struggle with forgiveness, hatred and anger toward a woman I didn't even know. What I do know is that I don't want it to destroy me.”

And neither did she.

The phone rang. Lindsey flinched. She was tired of jumping at every shadow and sound. She picked it up and pressed the receiver to her ear. “Taylor residence.”

There was a short pause on the other end.

“Lindsey?”

“Yes? Who's this?”

“Vincent Lambert.”

Lindsey tried to match the name and twangy Texas drawl with a face. Golf…that was it. Her dad's old golf buddy. Gray hair, slightly bald, late fifties…

“Mr. Lambert, of course.” She forced a smile into her voice. “I'm sorry. It's been a long time.”

“Yes, it has. If I remember correctly, the last time I saw you, you were getting ready to go back to school.”

“Then it has been a while. I finally graduated about seven years ago.” She pulled the milk out of the fridge and reached for the sugar bowl. “I guess you're looking for my father?”

“We were supposed to meet for breakfast out at ol' Jack's place this morning, but he never showed up. Got worried something might be wrong.”

Lindsey took a deep breath. There was no getting away from the reminders. “I'm sorry. Dad was admitted to the hospital last night.”

“The hospital? Is he okay?”

“I think he'll be fine. He blacked out yesterday and hit his head. Then this afternoon, he had a ministroke. They're running tests and keeping him for observation.”

“Wow. I'm so sorry.” There was a pause on the line. “If there is anything I can do…”

“Thanks.” The coffee stopped dripping and she filled the mugs “I appreciate the offer. For now it's just a waiting game.”

“That's too bad, because I wanted to invite him to a party I'm hosting next Thursday. A charity event at my house, though I suppose he's not going to be up and around by then.”

“He should be home, but I doubt he'll be up to any socializing.”

“I had hoped he might enjoy catching up with a few old friends. Well, in case you need a night out, you're welcome to come. It's black-tie and very snooty, but the food will be worth any trouble.”

Lindsey laughed before taking a sip of her coffee. “Thank you for the invitation. I'll have to see how things go.”

“I understand. Let him know I called, will you?”

“Certainly.”

She hung up the phone. Kyle had left his coffee on the counter and was cleaning up the living room again.