I'll Find You Part 23

He spoke diffidently, but Callie said, "Don't worry about my feelings where Jonathan is concerned. We were long over before the accident. Sean was the only reason we stayed together. When I go back, you want me to see if my memory's correct, and there's something there about Teresa?"

"If Rivers is right, Teresa was good at conning people. She got my brother to marry her. If your husband maybe found her again, after being conned himself, he might have felt more like Rivers does, like he was taken."

"I don't think it was like that. As I said, he wanted her back. That's why he married me. He was trying to re-create something that never really existed. If I could just remember everything it would help, but it's just out of reach."

"Maybe when you go back."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to get Tucker to the ranch, make sure he's okay, then check with Edmund Mikkels again. I want to know what Teresa was doing all the while she was on the ranch. Was she any part of Stephen's death? Who did she hang out with there? Somebody must know something."

"What if there's a snag about taking Tucker from Aimee? What if she fights for custody?" Callie worried.

"She'll lose. Victoria is a formidable opponent. Once Tucker's DNA comes back, and it's clear he's a Laughlin, Aimee won't have a chance. And if she kicks up a fuss, I'll offer her cold, hard cash to go away, if I have to."

"When do you think I should fly to LA?" she asked, hoping against hope he would say it was best if she stayed, knowing it wasn't true as she would only undoubtedly complicate things with Aimee.

His hand cupped her b.u.t.tocks and slid down her thigh. She could feel that he was hard and ready to go again and it sent a thrill through her.

"Not today," he said, his hips moving seductively, and with a soft sigh Callie slid her hands down to hold him hot against her.

PART II.

Chapter Eighteen.

Sorry, Teresa, but you had to go. You were long past your pull date. And based on the amount of bad stuff you did, it's's amazing somebody didn't beat me to the punch long ago.

But you left a bit of a problem behind, didn't you? That boy of yours. You sure as h.e.l.l were begging for his life at the end, but unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to help you out there. He's an obstacle, and you know better than most what to do with obstacles, don't you? You gotta remove them.

Callie sat in the chair across from Dr. Rasmussen, intent upon keeping herself from wringing her hands, cracking her knuckles, or playing with her fingernails, all the little signs of anxiety that had plagued her before. It wasn't that she was afraid to meet with her psychiatrist. Actually, she welcomed it. Dr. Rasmussen had been nothing but supportive after the accident and had been instrumental in putting the pieces of her back together. But if Callie were going to be an integral part of Tucker's life she needed to convince everyone, especially Victoria Laughlin, that she was the right, the most perfect, person for the job of his teacher/nanny, and Dr. Rasmussen's approval was key to meeting that goal.

"Tell me more about Tucker," the doctor encouraged Callie. The psychiatrist, wearing a cream-colored blouse teamed with a gray jacket and a matching gray pencil skirt, sat with her legs crossed in the chair facing Callie. Her eyes were benign over a pair of half-moon gla.s.ses, and her steel-gray hair was cut short and feathered around her face, which was remarkably unlined.

Callie hoped she looked as at ease and natural as Dr. Rasmussen did, though every nerve was strung tight. She hadn't met Victoria yet, hadn't met any of the Laughlins, as West was still in Martinique, finalizing Tucker's move to California. She needed her first impression to be a good one.

"There isn't much more to tell," she said. "When we became friends I didn't realize he was being taken care of by someone other than his mother."

"And now, after his mother's death, Tucker will be living with his uncle and grandmother."

"His grandmother and great-grandmother. I'm not sure about his uncle. West Laughlin lives in LA and Laughlin Ranch is outside of Castilla. That's where I'll be going."

"They're home-schooling and you're the teacher."

Callie wanted to lick her dry lips but refrained. "Tucker will be matriculating into first grade, but he needs to catch up a little first."

The doctor shifted position, uncrossing her legs. She looked at the file she held in her hands. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"I was away for over a month, and I just got back a little over a week ago. I went away to gain some perspective. Like I said earlier, I chose Martinique because it's where Jonathan and I honeymooned."

"When you were at Del Amo, you blamed Jonathan for the loss of your son. You said he deliberately drove too fast when you asked him to slow down."

"He's not the reason I chose Martinique," she answered. "But, yeah, Jonathan always drove too fast."

"You said that if Jonathan had been driving slower, Sean would have survived," the doctor reminded.

"Well . . . yes. I said a lot of things."

"Do you still blame him for your son's death?"

"I know we were run off the road, but yes . . . partially. I'm not going to lie about it."

She regarded Callie over the tops of her gla.s.ses. "How are you feeling now?"

"Good. Much better. Almost as good as new."

Did she sound too eager? She cut herself off before she could start babbling and really blow her chances.

"Callie, I sense you're here because you want me to give you a good recommendation. Something you can take to the Laughlin family to prove you're fit to be Tucker's teacher."

"Your word would definitely make a difference," she said diffidently.

"I believe you would be a good teacher. I'm just not sure about your emotional connection to the boy."

Callie had known it would come down to this and she'd practiced her response. "I understand. It's tricky. But meeting Tucker helped me get back to where I am now. I was broken; I totally own that. And I know Tucker's not mine. I just don't want to lose contact with him. And from the Laughlins' point of view, they need someone during this transitional time and Tucker already knows me."

Her words started rushing toward the end and she had to take a careful breath when she was finished. She knew, as well as Dr. Rasmussen, that she wanted something more out of her relationship with Tucker, but was that so wrong? She loved Tucker. Was he a replacement for Sean? Maybe . . . at some level. Probably. But she just didn't care. She wanted to be with him.

"The Laughlin family knows about Sean and the accident?"

"West Laughlin does. I don't know if he's told his grandmother yet."

"Tell me about Mr. Laughlin."

Callie had brushed over her a.s.sociation with West on purpose, aware that her feelings for him could be used against her in her quest to be with Tucker. Knowing she was retreading some of their earlier conversation, she said, "He thought I was Tucker's mother because of my appearance, and because I was Tucker's friend. When he and I realized we were both looking out for Tucker's best interests, we began working together."

"But what about him as a man? I don't have a sense of what you feel about him and his relationship with Tucker."

"West's good with him. He's a good man."

Dr. Rasmussen left that for a moment and said instead, "He's leaving Tucker in his grandmother's care and you plan to move into the Laughlin home in Castilla with the family."

"It's a big house. I'll have my own room."

"Mr. Laughlin works here, but will make the trip back and forth as he plans to be a part of Tucker's life too?"

"Yes."

This was the arrangement she and West had worked out before she'd caught the plane home. She'd thought-hoped-West would be right behind her with Tucker, but there had been legal hang-ups. He'd told her that Aimee had fought tooth and nail to keep Tucker with her. She hadn't even believed Teresa was dead and had demanded to see the body. Even then, shocked as she was at the sight of her deceased friend, she'd claimed Tucker was her responsibility. The wrangle was still continuing but the last Callie had heard Victoria's legal team had prevailed, and Aimee had reluctantly already relinquished Tucker's pa.s.sport, which had been in her possession as Callie had suspected.

"Aimee kept saying over and over again, 'But she owes me money. She owes me money,'" West had told Callie just yesterday. "That's why she's hanging on to Tucker. She wants payment."

"The bracelet?" Callie had asked.

"Oh, I think she'd prefer a cash payment for its value," he'd answered dryly.

"What about Teresa? Do the police know anything more?"

"They found her belongings. She'd left them with the bellman at her hotel. She bought two tickets to Miami, one for herself, one for a Stephen Laughlin, leaving that night. She had to have contacted Aimee if she was taking Tucker, but Aimee won't say anything. I think she's afraid it'll look bad. I'm going to try to persuade her to see things my way."

It had been over a week and there was still no clear evidence whether Teresa's death was an accident or something else. There was a contusion to her head, which could have happened aboard a boat, and there was a chain mark around her neck, as if from a necklace, but there was no chain. From what West had gleaned, the chain mark wasn't considered significant in her death. More likely she'd slipped, hit her head, and fallen into the water. Or it was possible someone had purposely hit her over the head and tossed her overboard. The theory was she'd been on a boat, but that vessel had yet to be found. Jean-Paul's boat had been thoroughly examined, but there'd been no sign Teresa had ever been aboard it.

"Victoria's elated that Tucker will probably end up in her and Talia's care," West had said as their conversation wound down. "She brought up Tucker's schooling and I told her about you. Victoria will vet you, so get ready for the hard questions. That's just how she is."

And that's when Callie had realized she needed to make an appointment to see Dr. Rasmussen who'd managed to fit her in this morning. If West's grandmother got hold of the fact that she'd spent a month in a mental hospital, she could see how dim her chances might become. Of course, West didn't know about that, either.

She answered several more of Dr. Rasmussen's questions with responses that appeared to be unsatisfactory to the psychiatrist, but eventually their session wound down, though the doctor pressed upon her the need to return. Callie agreed to make another appointment, though in truth she never wanted to be on the couch again. Yes, she'd needed help after Sean's death, but that didn't mean she felt comfortable talking about her feelings. Upon occasion, she'd felt some of the mental health professionals had twisted her words, looking for meaning where there wasn't any, expecting some terrible truth she refused to give them.

Was she paranoid? Maybe a little, but she wasn't interested in blindly following anyone in her life ever again. She'd done that with Jonathan, and before him, Bryan. If nothing else, those relationships had taught her to be cautious and careful about what she revealed.

You let West in pretty quickly, though, didn't you? Don't congratulate yourself too much, just yet.

She drove back to the Mulholland house and went into Jonathan's den, seating herself at the ma.s.sive antique desk that he'd said was a gift from his father. Inside one of the file drawers were the bank statements from all of his accounts, as far as she knew. She'd gone through them several times, but nothing had jumped out at her. Maybe he had another account somewhere else but it had never surfaced. This one, held jointly in their names, still had a substantial balance that was slowly being depleted. Callie had always kept a separate checking account and had mostly relied on it since Jonathan's death, but her funds weren't going to last forever. With her name on the joint account, the money was hers, though she suspected Derek and Diane would argue that fact. They seemed to believe all things Cantrell now belonged to them and Callie should just get the h.e.l.l out.

Glancing at the clock, she saw that she had a couple of hours until her next appointment at William Lister's office. She'd finally called him the night before to let him know she'd returned. He'd immediately wanted to set up a meeting with Derek and Diane, and she'd had to talk fast to get him to put off seeing them until the following week. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to either Cantrell sibling, especially since she'd dug through all of Jonathan's papers and found no trace of where he'd spent the money, nor had she discovered anything about Teresa and Jonathan. It was discouraging, really. She'd been so sure there was a Jonathan-Teresa connection. Maybe she just hadn't found it yet, but whatever the case, she didn't want to deal with either of the Cantrells just yet . . . or really ever.

But with West's admonition of Victoria's vetting still ringing in her ears, she knew she needed to meet with William and convince him that she was mentally strong and ready to move forward. Next week she could face the Cantrell lions, but not today.

And next week West might be back with Tucker, she thought as she headed into the kitchen to find something for lunch. Then she could leave this house and all the Cantrells behind forever.

"Can I get you anything before we land?"

Andre momentarily lifted his head to make eye contact with the pretty flight attendant with the big blue eyes. He tried to smile at her, pull out the old charm, but the synapses between his brain and mouth seemed to have frozen. "No," was all he said, and she moved away to check on another pa.s.senger.

He closed his eyes and bent down over his clasped hands, deep in prayer to his G.o.ds. Even with his eyes shut, he could see there were flaky edges on the periphery of his vision, a crumbling that had begun bothering him some time back but that he'd dismissed.

Now, he dismissed it again, lost in a weaving world with colors so bright he had to open his eyes to get some relief from their blasting power. His G.o.ds were sending The Messiah messages.

The flight was circling LAX. The day was gray, clouds mixed with smog. He contrasted it to the lovely, tropical morning he'd left in Martinique, but memories of the unsatisfactory trip were dark and painful and he pushed them aside. Things hadn't gone as planned and it was the handmaidens' fault.

Reaching inside his shirt, he crushed the ankh against the flesh of his palm. Teresa was dead. He thought he should feel more satisfaction at her death, but in truth he already missed her. Yes, she'd tricked him and run away and death was the price. But once upon a time they'd been partners. She'd done so many things right. Without her, there would have been no other handmaidens. She'd shown him how good it was to sit back and let her do the work, and when she'd been gone so long, so very long, embedding herself into the Laughlin world, he'd been forced to find new "Teresas," although none of them were anything close to her.

Now, who would carry that torch? His mind skipped over the women who had pledged their souls to him and he felt faint despair. Naomi, Clarice, Daniella, and Jerrilyn . . . none of them could be counted on. The ultimate goal was about to be realized and only Teresa would truly have understood. To the rest, it was just another con.

His mind suddenly swept away from the topic, as if overrun by floodwaters. He'd had this sensation before, of being washed away from this reality to another one. When his inner vision finally cleared he saw he was standing in a roomful of skulls. They stared at him and spoke to him without chattering their teeth.

You're too late, they said. Too late.

"No!"

His vision cleared and he realized he'd lost time. He wasn't on the plane anymore, he was in baggage claim. What had felt like an instant must have been thirty minutes or more.

Looking down, he saw that he'd already collected his bag. Turning, he strode outside into a warm LA afternoon. He and the handmaidens had taken different flights and he didn't know who was back and who wasn't. Now he punched in Naomi's number, then Daniella's, and when they both went to voice mail, he turned in disgust to the taxi stand.

They were useless to him any longer. He was moving to a new phase and they were baggage. Dangerous baggage.

But it wasn't too late, no matter what the skulls warned.

He needed to close down things in Los Angeles and move on.

The cab dropped him at the house and he strode up to the front door. He was leaving them, but still they needed to remember that he was The Messiah. He looked forward to a prayer meeting with antic.i.p.ation.

Pulling out his key, he unlocked the door and then stopped short at the sight of the dumpy-looking man standing inside. The man turned and stared at him as well, his gaze dropping to the bag Andre held in his hand. "Who are you?" the man demanded.

Andre had never actually met Robert Lumpkin, but he knew without asking that this man thought he was their landlord even though Lumpkin's mother, Irene, was the actual owner of the house. Beyond him, Daniella stared, wide-eyed, shaking her head as if to say it was no fault of hers the man had shown up.

"Just how many people are living here?" Lumpkin demanded, turning back to Daniella.

"Just me . . ." she quavered.

She was such a whiny rat. She would buckle under the slightest pressure.

"Daniella's my fiancee," Andre said smoothly, striding toward her. He didn't know where the rest of the handmaidens were, but he hoped to h.e.l.l they weren't about to show up now. Sliding an arm around Daniella's narrow shoulders, he added, "I have my own place. I just got back from a trip and couldn't wait to see her."

"The rent on this place is too low. Do you know how much this house is worth? How much you'd pay if I fixed it up a little, like the others around here?" Lumpkin asked, hooking a thumb in the direction of the neighbors to the west. "Twice as much, that's what."

"You're Daniella's landlord?" Andre asked.

"You got that right."

Daniella managed to squeak out, "His mother is."

Lumpkin scowled at her fiercely and said, "I run things for my mother."

"Well, I a.s.sume you signed a lease," Andre said to Daniella.

"Yes . . . yes . . . it's . . . I'll go get it."