His Unexpected Family (16 page)

Chapter Nineteen

T
hat evening, Greg pulled up in front of a large mansion in Rimrock, the wealthiest section of Billings. It was hard to see much detail through the foggy rain, but from what he could tell, it was a three-story affair, brick with white trim. The windows glowed cheerfully, the light from chandeliers sparkling through the cracks in heavy drapery. As he parked his cruiser and turned off the engine, he sent up a quick prayer.

He’d been praying the entire drive from their little town of Haggerston to Billings, a two-hour commute. It was the same highway that Jessica had driven and died on all those weeks ago, and as he drove he’d poured his heart out to his Father. The solitude was what he needed—solitude and a mission. He needed to do something, fix something. Anything.

No, not anything,
he thought to himself.
This.

Was he wasting his time with this visit? He didn’t know. There was no crime committed for the senator to be wary of, at least no crime that they knew of. There were simply unanswered questions, and the senator may very well not feel like chatting.

Pushing open the door to his cruiser, he plunged through the rain to the front door and pressed the doorbell. A long, melodious series of chimes rang through the house and he paused, listening. He heard the dead bolt being retracted, and an older woman in a housekeeping uniform opened the door cautiously, peering past a chain.

“Good evening,” Greg said. “I’m the chief of police in Haggerston, and I’ve come to ask Senator Lindgren a few questions.”

“Police?” The woman frowned. “One moment, please.”

The door shut again; there was the scrape of the chain being removed and a couple of seconds later it opened again to allow him entrance. He stepped into a brightly lit foyer with stone tiles and a vaulted ceiling, a crystal chandelier hanging overhead. The senator paused midway down the spiral staircase as he looked around, a paisley dressing gown tied around his waist. He was a fit man in his fifties with iron-gray hair and a smooth tan.

“How can I help you, Officer?” the senator asked. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m Chief Greg Taylor, Chief of Police in Haggerston. I’ve come to ask you a few questions. I hope I haven’t disturbed you, sir.” Greg met the senator’s gaze easily.

“Out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you, son?” Senator Lindgren smiled evenly, caution edging his tone.

“Sure am,” Greg agreed. “I only have a few questions. I was hoping you could help me out with an investigation I’m doing. It shouldn’t take long.”

The senator seemed to consider for a moment, then he nodded, gesturing toward a room on the main floor. Greg followed his host into a library. It was a cozy room with a gas fireplace, unlit at this time of night, floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves and a bearskin rug on the floor beside several overstuffed leather chairs. It was a comfortable room, a man’s room. A humidor for cigars was set to one side, and a collection of antique rifles decorated one wall.

“It must be of some importance to bring you out at this time of night,” the senator commented, gesturing for Greg to have a seat.

“Well, there has been a death,” Greg said, nodding.

“Who?”

Greg ignored the question. “I was hoping you could tell me a little bit about Jessica Shaw.”

The senator narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. He was taking his time to consider before answering, something people rarely did. Greg was silently impressed with the man’s control already.

“What about her?” the senator finally asked.

“Why were you giving her large sums of money monthly?”

Senator Lindgren gave a tight smile and looked past Greg to point behind him. “That is between Miss Shaw and myself.”

“Senator, I have no intention of making trouble for you,” Greg said, his voice low. “I need to have some questions answered, and that is as far as this needs to go. However, if you aren’t going to cooperate with me, I could contact the Billings police to aid me in this. That would get complicated. And official.”

Senator Lindgren sighed, his eyes suddenly looking very tired. He was getting somewhere. Taking advantage of a sign of weakness, Greg pressed on. “Did you have her followed?”

“Yes, but that is much worse than it sounds.” The senator shook his head. “I simply had a private detective ensure that she...was doing what she said she would be doing.”

“Which was?” Greg slid his hands along the smooth leather armrests, watching the older man’s expression turn from exhaustion to wariness once more.

“She was going home.”

“I realize that,” Greg said. “And you wanted to make sure she went home?”

The senator nodded. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“It was good for her.”

“And for you.”

“Yes, and for me.” The senator leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Son, some things are personal.”

Greg regarded the older man dubiously. He was smooth, practiced and not easily intimidated. He’d been in politics too long to be susceptible to these interview techniques. He could question and barter all night, and he’d get very little out of the man. It was time to level with him.

“Senator, Jessica Shaw is dead.”

Senator Lindgren blinked twice, swallowed, then shook his head. “What?”

“She’s dead.”

“When? How?”

“The same night she drove back to Haggerston.”

The shock was certainly real, and Greg leaned forward, locking eyes with the older man. “Who was she, Senator? Was she your mistress?”

“Mistress?” the older man barked out. “Good grief, man, no!”

The vehemence of the man’s response was a surprise to Greg. He was inclined to believe him, as little sense as that made. Greg waited silently, but when he got nothing else out of the man, he said, “Then who was Jessica Shaw to you?”

“She was my daughter.” Senator Lindgren stood up and rubbed his hands over his face. He looked distraught, but not grief-stricken, and Greg rolled this new piece of information over in his mind. His daughter? But wasn’t there an Uncle Hank back in Haggerston who was grieving the loss of his only daughter?

“Forgive me for being dubious,” Greg said slowly. “But are you sure?”

The older man smiled wanly. “Do I look like a man who would accept paternity lightly?”

“So you were giving her money to help with the baby?” Greg asked.

“No, I was giving her money to ensure she’d go away,” he retorted. “I had an affair with her mother thirty years ago. Her mother was briefly separated from her husband, and I met her at an opera. It was a short-lived fling, which ended when she went back to her husband.”

“And your wife?” Greg asked.

“Knows nothing of it. It was my one indiscretion. I’ve never been unfaithful since.”

A lie. Even Mrs. Lindgren knew better than that, but this wasn’t about the sanctity of his marriage, so Greg let it go.

“So Jessica was a child born from an affair.” Greg frowned. “Did her mother tell her husband?”

“I have no idea.” Senator Lindgren shrugged. “That was her business. She said she didn’t want anyone to know what she’d done, and that suited me just fine.”

“So when did Jessica contact you?”

“A few months ago. She was pregnant. She’d learned about me from her mother a few years ago, and she decided to come and meet her biological father.” There was a shade of disgust in his voice as he said it, as if the thought were ridiculous at best.

“You didn’t want a relationship with her?” Greg pushed himself to his feet and walked toward the fireplace thoughtfully.

“A relationship?” The senator laughed bitterly. “I don’t have children for a reason, Chief.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t want them. They complicate things. They’re good for politics only when they behave perfectly. I didn’t take that risk in my career.”

Greg looked up at some old paintings of Lindgren men of yore along the wall. It was hard to believe that the old senator didn’t want to sire an heir of his own, but apparently he didn’t.

“So why did you have her followed?”

“We agreed on a price. I’d pay her, and she’d go back home and stay there. I just wanted to make sure she’d made good on her end of the deal.” He rubbed his hands together as if he were cold, then plunged them into the pockets of his dressing gown. He looked irritably toward the door, no doubt wishing Greg would leave through it.

“You had no idea she was dead.”

“No.”

“You don’t seem terribly broken up about that fact.”

“Should I be?” The man shook his head in exasperation. “I barely knew her. She was a starving artist looking for a handout. She didn’t feel anything more for me than I felt for her.”

“Are you sure?”

“She wanted money.”

“Did she ask for money?”

“No.” The senator frowned and hunched up his shoulders, then sighed. “No, she didn’t ask for money, but she didn’t turn it down, either.”

“Is it possible she really did want a relationship with her biological father?”

“That wasn’t possible. My wife didn’t know about her. I couldn’t let the public know about her. I paid her to go away, and she took the money and left.”

He rejected her.
Greg suddenly had an image in his mind of a pregnant young woman reaching out to her biological father, hoping for some special connection now that she was estranged from her family. The senator didn’t care about her one way or another; he just wanted her to go away and leave his charmed life alone. Hurt, rejected, insulted, she took the money and headed back home. Only she never made it.

“And the baby?” Greg asked.

“What about it?” the senator asked tiredly.

“Do you know who the father was?”

He shook his head. “Some fellow artist, I imagine. I have no idea. She told me at one point that the father didn’t want anything to do with her.” He shook his head sadly. “Neither did I. She was better off at home.”

“Thank you, Senator.” Greg gave the older man his most professional smile. “I appreciate your candor.”

“I don’t have to stress how much I’ll value your discretion,” he said, a smooth smile returning to his face. “I can be an influential friend to have, Chief.”

“I’ll be very discreet.” Greg returned the smile. “But don’t count on my vote next election.”

Chapter Twenty

O
utside the judge’s office, Greg sat on a bench along the wall, waiting. He held his hat in his hands, rolling it end over end. He would be called in as a witness at some point soon. The scent of the lemon floor polish combined with that unique courthouse smell was comforting. He’d spent many a morning in a situation like this over the years, waiting in full uniform to give his testimony about a case. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to expect. He knew exactly what to expect, and in this case he also knew the judge personally. Judge Willis would be fair and impartial. She always was. Emily was the part that made it personal. Both Emily and Cora, to be precise.

He heard movement inside, and then the door opened. Steve and Sara came out together. Steve looked down at Greg and frowned.

“Greg Taylor?” His voice held a slightly high-pitched ring to it.

“Hi, Steve.” Greg wasn’t in a mood to play this game. He stood up, enjoying the fact that he was four inches taller than Steve, forcing him to look up.

“How are you doing, man?” Steve asked, reaching out to shake his hand. “This is my wife, Sara.”

“Pleased to meet you.” He shook her hand in turn. Steve’s refusal to use his professional title this morning wasn’t lost on him. Steve had always been the manipulative type, using subtlety to gain an edge.

“Well, this should be over soon,” Steve said with a smile. “When we’re done here, you should come by our place for a little dinner with our girls.”

He was already mentally celebrating, Greg realized. That wasn’t good news, and he personally resented that Cora was silently being lumped in with “his girls.”

“Is it over already?” Greg asked.

“No, no. They’ll want to hear from you still, I’m sure.” Steve shrugged and grinned. “But good to see you, Greg. We’re just going to go call the girls and see how they’re doing.”

As Steve and Sara moved on down the hall, Greg looked after them, narrowing his eyes. Smooth. That was the best way to describe Steve. Much like Senator Lindgren. He knew how to position himself above other people and how to keep himself there. Less subtle men used open bullying, but Steve was no better than a common bully. He was just better at masking his motives. The question was, what was actually lurking under that smooth veneer?

As Emily stepped out of the room, Cora held close in her arms, she looked deflated. Her beige pantsuit made her look more conservative than she generally looked, the only splash of color a pink blouse that peeked from beneath the jacket. Her hair was pulled away from her face in a bun, and there were tears in her eyes when she slowly turned and looked at Greg. She gave him a small smile.

“Hi,” he said. “How’s it going in there?”

“I don’t know. They’re basically saying that I’m emotionally unstable because of the call I made to Steve after I was followed. It was recorded. Oh, and apparently I’m a workaholic. Being a single mom is being used against me, too. I seem to lose by default.”

“Steve’s an idiot” was Greg’s response. “I don’t like him.”

“The judge seems to.”

“Come on.” Greg took her arm and guided her down the hall. He could see Steve and Sara talking on a cell phone near the door for better reception. Turning to Emily, he said quietly, “I have the rest of Jessica’s story.”

“Oh?” She frowned, looking up at him. That seemed to break through her fog, and she focused on his face, her eyes sharpening.

“I made a visit to Senator Lindgren last night. We identified him as the one giving your cousin large sums of money monthly.”

“The senator...” Emily frowned uncertainly. “Then she was having an affair with him?”

“No, he was
her
father.
”

Emily shook her head. “That can’t be. Uncle Hank is her father.”

“Hank raised her. Hank and June had a brief separation, and during that time Jessica was conceived. I doubt Hank ever knew that Jessica wasn’t his. Maybe he didn’t care. Jessica discovered the truth somehow and went to talk to her biological father.”

“Was he trying to support the baby?” Emily asked.

“He was paying her to go away.”

From across the foyer, Greg could hear Steve talking to his daughters in exaggeratedly cheerful tones. The door opened to the outside, letting in the sound of a passing garbage truck, then closed, muffling it again.

“Really?” Emily’s eyes met his. “She was coming back here because her own father wanted nothing to do with her?”

“Neither did the father of her baby. Apparently, he was another artist who didn’t want to be a dad.” Those words almost stuck in his throat. It seemed as if there were a lot of men out there not wanting to be fathers.

“So why did she choose me?” Emily looked up at him questioningly.

“Steve is smooth, Em, but he’s an awful lot like that senator. He smiles and says the right things, but his motives...they are eerily alike. The senator didn’t want children. Steve does. Besides that difference, they carry themselves the same way—in perfect self-interest. They don’t care who they railroad to get their way. Frankly? I think Jessica knew exactly why she chose you. You’re the right one to raise Cora.”

Emily looked down at the baby in her arms and held her closer, resting her cheek against the soft baby curls. She closed her eyes, and he could see the struggle it was to keep her emotions under control. “What do I do?”

“Go in there and show the judge that Jessica was right. You’re not married. You’re an excellent teacher, and you’re a loving mother. Stand up for all the single, working moms out there. Mine worked her fingers to the bone. This isn’t about staying at home or working—it’s about being a loving mom.”

She looked up at him, her big eyes filled with apprehension. She was pale—probably hadn’t eaten that morning from being too nervous. She blinked back tears and gave him a faint smile. There was something about that soft smile that lit something inside of him. He didn’t care what it meant for his job or for his future with Emily.
No one
was going to push her around and break her heart. Greg bent down and pressed his lips gently against her warm forehead. “It’s not over yet, Emily,” he murmured. “Go fight for your baby.”

And if she was getting worn out in the fight, he was right behind her—fresh and ready.

* * *

An hour later, as everyone filed out, Greg eased next to Emily, his strong arm brushing up against her. He bent toward her ever so slightly, and Emily had to stop herself from leaning into his arms. But she didn’t need to complicate his life anymore.

She had won custody. She’d do this on her own with the help of her family. Emily looked up into his warm blue eyes, and he smiled.

“You did it.” His voice was soft and low, meant for her ears only.

“Thanks to you, Greg.” She beamed up at him. “Really, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

She looked down at Cora with the joyful certainty that they were going home together. They weren’t going to be separated. She was Cora’s mom!

“You deserve it. You two belong together.” He gently ran a finger down Cora’s tiny hand. “Now you can relax and enjoy this.” He leaned over and put a kiss on Cora’s downy head. “Bye-bye, Sweet pea.”

“Greg?”

“Yes?” Greg looked down at her, a deep sadness welling in his eyes.

“Is
this
goodbye?”

“It better not be.” He reached out and put his warm, strong hand against her cheek, and she couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “Go celebrate.”

“Okay.”

He took a deep breath, then he gave her a nod, as if steeling himself. Emily felt a sudden wave of sadness as he pulled away from her, heading off in the opposite direction. If only she could have it all, but sometimes that wasn’t possible. Pulling her eyes away from Greg’s broad, strong back, Emily headed toward the outside door. Cora was up on her shoulder looking around with her bright, curious eyes. As Emily pushed open the heavy glass door, an older lady pulled it open the rest of the way for them and looked at Cora with a grandmotherly smile on her face.

“She’s beautiful,” the lady said.

“Thank you.” Emily turned toward her, flashing a radiant smile. “This is my daughter.”