Switch Master: 6 (Ink and Kink) (31 page)

An hour into their conversation, she took a break to call
Taran. The call went to voicemail and she left a message, letting him know she
was staying the night and asked him to call her as soon as he could. She then
tried her partner and Phalen, with no luck.

She had no idea what was going on in Plymouth. Although she
had a terrible feeling that if Taran’s phone, or any Maddox brother’s for that
matter, was being ignored for voicemail, something was terribly, terribly wrong
with Mark Cormack.

A few hours after the phone call, Taran and his brothers
arrived at a coastal mansion that’d been turned into a hospice center.

Stunned, Taran sat in the backseat of the Navigator, staring
at the massive building. Ethan remained in the driver’s seat. Phalen was in the
front passenger seat, his eyes focused straight ahead.

“If Mark Cormack is a patient here, he’s dying,” Phalen
said.

“I know, bro, I’ve helped families deal with legal matters
for those who’ve gone into hospice care. I don’t wish this kind of illness on
any man, not even one I was about to beat with my bare hands.”

“I’d have been right there with you, Taran,” Ethan stated.
“Morgan said we’d find him at a medical facility and it was urgent. He’s got to
be a patient here.”

Taran shook his head, trying to understand. “The question is
why would he send Samantha old photos of his father and her mom?”

“We won’t know until we’re inside,” Phalen said. “Tread
carefully once we’re in there. We don’t want to disturb the patients.”

“If we’re unsuccessful in talking to Mark tonight there’s a
Holiday Inn Express not far from here. We can camp out there until tomorrow
morning,” Ethan suggested.

“One step at a time,” Phalen cautioned.

A thought came to Taran, one he couldn’t shake, and he had
to ask, “You found Samantha’s daughter, didn’t you, bro?”

“As much as I love you, Taran, Sam’s going to learn what I
discovered first. I’ve the feeling Mark’s got something to say about it too.”

“I respect that. Let’s go.”

Collectively, they turned their phones off as they got out
of the SUV and headed through the main entrance of the building. They came to
an elaborate receptionist’s desk made of rich red oak and brass. The rest of
the lobby area was luxurious, reminding one of an expensive hotel.

There were no foul odors often found in hospitals or nursing
homes. It smelled like the seashore and saltwater taffy. There was popular
music quietly pumping through an unseen speaker system, rather than elevator
music. Not far from the lobby was a small bookstore and gift shop.

The receptionist greeted them with a warm smile. “Good
evening, gentlemen. Might I be of assistance?”

“My name is Taran Maddox, I’m an attorney from Boston hoping
to visit a patient of yours, Mark Cormack,” Taran introduced himself,
automatically turning on his professional charm as he produced his ID. He was
really glad he still wore his courtroom getup.

The receptionist took his ID, studied it then looked back
and forth at them as she placed her hand over a phone-speaker system on the
desk.

“You might not have blond hair, but the three of you are
related,” she said, handing back his ID.

“You’ve a good eye. My brothers accompanied me here to
Plymouth, as I’d only learned of Mark’s illness. His parents must be
devastated.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Mr. Maddox,” she finally said.

“I understand, Ms. Carlotta,” he said smoothly, having
noticed her nameplate on the desk. He also knew that the receptionist was
obligated by HIPPA laws to guard the identities of the facility’s patients.

“It’s all right, Angela,” a man with a weakened but native
New Englander accent spoke, the voice coming from a small speaker on the desk.
“It happens that I contacted Mr. Maddox in the hopes he’d visit. Send him
back.”

Ms. Carlotta flushed nervously. “Mr. Cormack, you should be
resting,” she admonished.

“Easy does it, Angela. I’m dying, not dead yet. My doctor
has told me I could have visitors. I’m sure he won’t stay overly long.”

“As you wish it, Mr. Cormack,” Angela Carlotta agreed.

Taran turned to his brothers. They gave him the go-ahead and
he headed in the direction the receptionist indicated. It took less than a
minute to find Mark Cormack’s room.

Inside, he found a frail man wearing a monogrammed robe
reclining in a chaise. Sadly, the room’s décor, though elegant and resembling a
fancy hotel room, couldn’t hide the plethora of monitors and medical equipment.
An IV pole was situated next to Mark, the line hooked to his arm, dripping
constantly.

“Come in, Maddox,” Mark invited, sounding weak but stronger
than he’d been over the intercom.

“Thank you,” Taran said, stepping farther into the room and
closing the door. “Under the circumstances, I wish we’d have met sooner.”

“We’ve met now,” Mark said.

“How long have you been sick?” Taran asked, wishing there
was something he could do to help.

“Years, it seems. I went in remission two years ago, found a
new purpose in my life, wrongly thinking I’d beaten the odds. Never was a good
gambler. Here I am now, the house won, cancer returned. The morphine helps.” He
gestured to a small device in his hand and the intricate IV line and device.

“I’m very sorry to hear that. I’m sure Samantha will be
too.” Taran took a seat in the lounge chair close to Mark.

“I’m not so sure she would. I was a sonofabitch to her. I’ve
no excuse other than finding out my old man wasn’t my old man and wrongly
decided to screw the only decent person I’d known.”

“What you did was wrong,” Taran agreed. “You could’ve
apologized a long time ago. Why didn’t you?”

“I was ashamed. I’ve wronged many since that time. Given
that, I decided I can’t maintain lies anymore. For my wife and my children, I’m
making everything right.”

“Is that why you called and then sent the envelope?” Taran
asked, taking a seat in the lounge chair near the chaise.

“I sent the envelope because I didn’t want to face a
restraining order, although I don’t pose any danger to anyone anymore.”

“We’ve been trying to contact you,” Taran told him. “Your
phone was out of commission.”

“It was cheap thing the receptionist picked up for me at a
7-11 during a visit to see her son in New Hampshire,” Mark explained. “Can I
ask you something personal?”

“You can ask. If it’s too personal, I may not answer.”

“Fair enough. Do you love Sam? It sounded as if you did on
the phone, but I want to be sure.”

“I love her very much and plan to have a family with her,”
Taran answered, proud to say those words.

Mark shut his eyes, sighing sadly. “She deserves to be
happy.”

“Since we’re sharing, how many children do you have, Mark?”

“With Pamela, two boys and three girls,” he answered,
visibly perking up at the mention of his children.

“You love them?”

“More than words can say. It’s killing me to know I won’t
see them grow up or get married or have a family of their own. This time here
has helped me get to know them better. We play games, they talk and I listen.”

“Family is everything, my parents taught me that. You said
Pamela specifically. You have other children?”

“Three that I know of,” he admitted. “That’s one of the
reasons I’m glad you visited tonight.”

“Does one of your children include Samantha’s daughter?”

“There’s a file in the top desk drawer over there. Could you
get it?”

Taran stood and went over to the ebony and mahogany
monstrosity. There was fancy monogrammed stationery, a pen and envelopes
sitting out on the desk blotter. He ignored it all for the drawer, opening it
up to find the file.

“Everything Samantha needs to know is in there. Maddox, it
destroyed what little humanity I had left in me when I had to send her away,
but I was left with no choice.”

“Everyone has a choice, Mark. Why did you do it? Samantha
didn’t want anything more from you than financial support.”

Mark wheezed some more, looking much like a deflated
balloon. “My mother bailed me out of a huge gambling debt, promising to turn me
over to loan sharks if I didn’t ruin Samantha.”

“Why the hell would she do such a despicable thing?”

“She’d do anything to protect what she regards as hers, the
Cormack name. My dad may have fooled himself into thinking he’d kept his
mistress and his daughter a secret but my mother knew, therefore, I knew.”

“Don’t misunderstand, Cormack, your mother’s a bitch.”

“You’ve no idea.”

Taran remained standing. Mark became more agitated and
winded after so much talking and he wasn’t sure if he should call a nurse or a
doctor.

“Use the morphine, man,” he advised.

“I will,” Mark replied softly, pressing a button on the
device in his hand. “Will you tell Samantha I’m sorry? As much as I was at
fault for hurting her, I didn’t know the lengths my mother would go to destroy
Sam until it was too late to change what happened to her in New York.”

“Your mother arranged for James Cormack to keep her in that
penthouse?”

“Yes, and she’s paying for it. Swear on all I regard as
holy, Samantha will never have to fear anything where my mother’s concerned,”
Mark answered, coughing harshly. “Hopefully, the paperwork in that file will
enable Sam to forgive me someday.”

“I can’t promise forgiveness. I’m sure she’d wish you peace
in what time you have left. You should rest. Can I get anything for you before
I go?”

“If you could get my nurse in here, that’d be enough.”

Taran took the file, leaving silently and closing the door.
He made a stop at a small nurse’s station, asking for a nurse to attend Mark,
and went back to the lobby.

Meeting up with his brothers, he waited until they were in
the Navigator to speak. “Mark has cancer, end-stage, from the look of him. He
contacted Samantha to atone for his and his mother’s sins against her.”

“At least he did the right thing,” Phalen said. “What’s in
the file?”

Taran thought about looking. It was right there, tempting
him, but he wouldn’t do it without Samantha.

“If it’s okay with you, Phalen, this is for Samantha.”

“Well done, little brother. You know what it means to look
after a Maddox woman.”

“I’ve always known. I was raised by the best parents and
brothers a guy could hope for.”

“Amen to that, bro,” Ethan said. “It’s late. Let’s crash at
the Holiday Inn for the night. We can call our women and make sure they know we
love them.”

They agreed, heading out of the hospice parking lot. The
drive was all of five minutes, conducted mainly in silence. As soon as they’d
checked into a suite, they pulled out their phones and started pressing
numbers.

Sam didn’t make it back to Boston until Sunday afternoon.
There’d been a lot of reasons why, mainly she’d wanted to reconnect with her
mom. She started by making fried eggs, sunny side up, on toast for breakfast
and they’d lingered over coffee and conversation.

After breakfast, she offered to take her mom for a shopping
spree at an outlet mall because she hadn’t taken anything with her when she
left Boston. Then they had a mani-pedi at a spa, a first for her mom, and went
out for a leisurely dinner.

Forgoing her favorite jeans in favor of a new multicolored
maxi skirt, matching blouse, fashionable ankle boots and the skimpy underwear
and beautiful bra that flattered her figure, she’d driven home feeling lighter,
more feminine and freer than she’d had in a long time.

Late Friday night, Taran called and they’d talked for a
while. When she’d learned Mark Cormack was a hospice patient, she felt sad for
him, his wife and his children.

She’d told Taran about her conversation with her mom,
conveying how deeply her mother must have been hurt when Martin Cormack
threatened to take her away from the only parent she’d really known or loved.

Making the last turn toward the brownstone, Sam was relieved
to see the row of houses to her right and the small parking lot to her left.
For their two-week anniversary, Taran had given her a key card for the lot. She
turned in, pausing in the drive long enough to use the card, and headed to her
spot.

Except for small piles of snow and a big one at the back of
the lot, most of the snow from a few weeks ago had melted. It was March and
while there might be the occasional snowfall in New England, spring was
beginning to make an appearance.

Climbing out of her car and circling around to the trunk to
gather her packages, she headed across the street, noticing there were more
cars than usual parked in the lot and along the street.

Walking on, Sam thumbed through the keys on her keychain,
smiling to herself when she thought of the evening Taran gifted her with her
own set of keys to the brownstone and Maddox Ink. As it happened, she didn’t
need the key.

The side door opened and Taran stood there waiting for her.
The instant she saw him, she dropped the bags and made a beeline straight into
his arms. He hugged her to him, his body heat amazingly comforting.

“Welcome home, baby doll,” he murmured into her ear, holding
her close, holding her as if she meant everything to him.

“I missed you, pretty boy,” she admitted, not that it was a
big secret or anything.

“Missed you too, just stay right here for a minute.” He
didn’t let go until Phalen practically busted the doorframe charging through
it.

“You going to let her inside or do I need to remind you how
a Maddox treats the lady of the house?” Phalen demanded of his brother.

“Shouldn’t that be ladies of the house?” Sam asked. “Morgan
lives here too.”

“Not for much longer,” Ethan called out from inside the
kitchen.

“Spoil my surprise why don’t you,” Taran complained, at last
guiding Sam through the kitchen door, Phalen on their heels.

Once inside, the familiar scents and sights of the big
kitchen greeted her. She didn’t expect to see Alex Grant and his husband, Ryan
Hathaway, who many referred to as Doc. Guinness sat on the floor at Ryan’s
feet.

More voices could be heard down in the basement. From the
sound of them, she’d say Avery, her boyfriend Hazard, Eve Stratham and Remy
Sinclair were playing pool.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, looking back and forth at the
Maddox brothers, Taran in particular.

“Ethan and Morgan’s bid came through,” Taran answered. “They
got the call yesterday morning.”

“They got the house in Danvers?”

“Yes, partner. Closing’s in April, we’ll start packing and
move as soon as the keys are ours,” Ethan stated.

Sam hopped up and down, slapping her hand to her mouth
before going over to Morgan who was steadily stirring a pot of vegetable soup
on the stove.

“Congratulations,” she said, gathering her friend into her
arms and giving her a big hug.

“Thank you,” Morgan replied, drawing back and grinning from
ear to ear. “Ethan and I can’t wait to make the house a home.”

“I’ve no doubt you’ll succeed. Anything the two of you need,
don’t hesitate to let me know. I’m glad to help with painting or hanging
things, whatever,” Sam offered.

Taran tugged on Sam’s elbow, turning her about. “To
celebrate the occasion, we’re having a Maddox barbeque.”

“Aren’t there a few snow piles left in the backyard?” she
asked.

“Nothing that couldn’t be dealt with,” Phalen said. “No
self-respecting Maddox can ignore the lure of steaks on the grill.”

“Unless it’s me,” Morgan said, grinning. “I make vegetable
soup instead.”

“We tried to invite your roller derby teammates,” Taran
said. “But they couldn’t make it on short notice.”

“That’s okay,” Sam said. “I’ll call them later.”

“Roller derby,” Phalen remarked. “Imagine our Sam kicking
other women’s asses for fun. Yeah, I could get into watching some girl-on-girl
sporting action.”

Cassie swiveled around, fire in her eyes when she glared at
her husband. “Keep imagining that, you’ll be sleeping on the couch until our
baby comes.”

“Imagine what?” Phalen countered smoothly, laying his palms
over the baby growing inside of her. “You know you and the baby are my heart
and soul, Cassie.”

Cassie melted, letting her husband draw her closer. He held
her with care, with love. It was possibly the sweetest thing Sam had ever seen,
bringing tears to her eyes.

“You look lovely, Sam,” Cassie said, noticing Sam’s tears
and changing the subject.

“Thank you, I went shopping with my mom yesterday,” she
answered, smoothing her hands down the front of her skirt.

“Guess that’s my clue to go pick up the bags outside the
kitchen door,” Taran said.

“I’d appreciate it,” Sam responded.

“Anything for you, doll.” He came up beside her, kissing her
cheek. “When the hoopla dies down, we’ll journey upstairs. We need to talk.”

“Can’t wait,” she agreed.

It turned out that the journey upstairs didn’t happen until
the barbeque ended. By the time Taran opened the door to their suite, she eased
back against the doorframe, taking a moment to look around, feeling happy to be
home.

“Taran, do you mind if I take a shower?” she asked, knowing
they needed to talk, but unable to concentrate if she didn’t clean up after her
road trip from Vermont.

“Not at all, doll, make yourself comfortable,” Taran
replied.

Pleased, she went into the bathroom, taking time to wash her
face and brush her teeth before climbing into the shower stall. The water was
heavenly, refreshing, waking her up for what lay ahead.

Thirty minutes later and wearing a satin robe she’d bought
in Vermont, she left the bathroom, stopping short in the doorway. Taran had
turned the lights down low.

In various corners of the room, tiny blue lights shone from
electrical outlets. Taran honored his promise to provide nightlights to ease
her mind, taking the time to light candles and set two glasses of chilled white
wine on the coffee table.

On the coffee table were several candles, each lit, the air
stirring the small flames. Wineglasses, a bottle of red wine and a vase with a
dozen gorgeous long-stemmed red roses sat in the middle of the table.

“Those roses are beautiful,” she said, turning her eyes to
the man she loved. He’d been sitting back on the sofa when she first appeared,
now he leaned forward, picking up a glass of wine.

“They’re for you. Admittedly, I’d gotten them Friday and
they faded some, but Morgan worked her mojo on them.”

“Thank you, that was sweet of you.”

“You’re welcome. Wine?” he offered.

“That’d be lovely.” Sam tightened the robe around her waist
and went to take a seat next to him on the big sofa. They’d spent a lot of time
lounging together on this spot. It was nice, familiar.

Taran handed her the glass, giving her time to sip it. The
wine was sweet, delicious. He took his own glass, sipped it then set it on the
table.

“Samantha, I want you to know I’m not mad at you for going
to see your mother. Being with me should make you feel free, not cornered or
worried that I might get angry when you need to handle something without me.”

“I know and I’m grateful for your support, truly. I simply
had to know if Mark was my half-brother. You’ve no idea how relieved I was to
know he isn’t.”

“For your sake, I’m glad. If some weird twist of fate had
made it otherwise, it wouldn’t have changed a thing between us. I love you,
through thick or thin, sickness and in health, all that jazz.”

“I love you too. Spending the weekend with my mom was
amazing. I only wish I’d stopped hiding in the past long before now. Maybe it
would have saved us a lot of pain and misunderstandings.”

“I really don’t know the Cormack family, or even like them
based on what they did to you and your mother, but Mark isn’t the same man he’d
been when you knew him.”

“Cancer puts a lot of things in perspective. It causes people
to make amends for past wrongs and mistakes or cross off adventures on their
bucket lists,” Sam said, hoping Mark had done that himself.

“For that alone, I’m certain Mark was sincere in this gift
to you.”

Sam leaned back as Taran reached for a thick file sitting on
the table. Handing it over, he waited until she took it from him before
reaching for the remote and turning up the lighting.

“I didn’t look inside,” he told her, taking the wineglass
from her and setting it next to his on the table. “Phalen put some paperwork in
it, but he didn’t invade your privacy either.”

“Taran, I’m scared,” Sam confessed, gripping the file.

“Nothing can hurt you, I’m right here.”

“If the answer’s what I hope it is, I don’t know what I’m
going to do.”

“We’ll figure it all together. We can’t do that until you
take the next step.”

Sam’s fingers trembled even as she opened the file, finding
the paperwork from Phalen first. She had to read through it several times to
make sense of it all.

“Phalen found Dr. Solomon’s nurse, the one who assisted him
in the ER and visited my room. Her name’s Carys Ellison. She turned herself in
to the authorities when she heard of a massive criminal investigation and
multiple malpractice lawsuits brought against Dr. Emilio Solomon.”

“I knew my brother had found her, not the details.”

“Your brother should be a Boston detective. He’s good.”

“He’s the best at tracking a person’s past. What else did he
find out?”

“In addition to the health clinic and working at the
hospital, Dr. Solomon was an OB-GYN for a practice specializing in fertility
treatments and surrogacy. The fertility clinic was also named in the lawsuits.”

“I was afraid of that. Go on.”

“According to Carys’ statement of record when she pled
guilty, Dr. Solomon convinced her to help him steal and sell the babies of
women who’d gone to the clinic in Hell’s Kitchen. He’d paid her a fortune under
the table. Jesus, Taran, they stole my baby! How could I let that happen?”

Sam closed the file in a fit of panic. She’d have shot up
from the sofa if Taran hadn’t stopped her by cupping her face.

“Listen to me. You could have died that day. You didn’t,
you’re still here, thank God. I believe Sarah is too. Be at peace, Samantha.
Know.”

His assurances calming her, Sam relaxed, letting him kiss
her softly, lovingly, before freeing her to read. Reopening the file, she read
the truth in the form of a multi-page letter Mark had written.

Some of the words were difficult to decipher, likely due to
his weakened state. Other parts were clearly written by someone else, the
writing stronger, crisp and efficient.

“Mark’s mother arranged for me to stay with James Cormack,”
she said aloud, startled to read those words. “The two colluded to have Dr.
Solomon steal my baby and tell me she’d died.”

“He mentioned his mother held sway over him for a gambling
debt,” Taran explained.

“Taran, I’m confused. How can a doctor get away with
something so horrible? Why would he risk his reputation and his practice?”

“Unfortunately, we may never know why, insurance fraud,
greed, blackmail. Barbara Cormack proved she was capable of it by forcing her
own son to send you away.”

“I always knew she hated me,” Sam said, saddened. “I suppose
she felt threatened, especially when my mother and I moved to Martha’s
Vineyard.”

“You were in the hospital when you were seventeen? I’ve the
feeling you weren’t Solomon’s only victim. It’s time to find out who knew what
and who covered for whom. If the lawsuits are tangled up in arbitration, I will
get them untangled.”

“Arbitration is common in malpractice suits, isn’t it?”

“Certainly can be,” Taran answered. “Also, if a malpractice
suit is massive enough or multiple complainants are involved, lawyers for both
sides often put out calls for witnesses or information to use during trials or
hearings.”

“Taran, when I was there, I was under a fake name. James
signed a treatment form and disappeared, leaving me uninsured. It took years to
prove who I really was and obtain my own medical records. Would that complicate
things for a lawsuit?”

“You were entitled to fair and equal treatment, Samantha,
everyone is. Like I said before, I’m going to find out what happened to the
lawsuits and see to it that if there are any other patients out there who were
in a similar situation as yours, they get peace of mind.”

“Thank you,” she said. “It’s good to know there are still
men out there who wear white hats and want to do what’s right.”

“It might take some time, doll, but I’ll get the answers.
For now, keep reading, I want to take you upstairs and remind you what you mean
to me.”