Bougainvillea (3 page)

“Am I? Sorry. I'm tired I guess.”

“You were thinking something,” he prodded.

She laughed then. “Yes, I was. I was thinking that you look like you should be an attorney.”

“Prosecution or defense?”

“Prosecution—or defense, either. I admit, in my mind's eye, I saw you making mincemeat of a witness on the stand. Or…telling a jury with passionate indignation that they can't possibly convict a man for such a horrendous crime on circumstantial evidence.”

“Hmm, interesting. Do I look like an ogre?”

“Fierce. Intense—or possibly cool as a cucumber. Are you an attorney?”

“I keep up my credentials in the state of Florida, but I haven't practiced for a while.”

“Ah, but you were an attorney!”

“Yep, I worked for the district attorney for several years. And I was with a firm in private practice as well.”

“But no more?”

“No more.” He didn't explain further. Looking at his suit, she wondered if he'd won a lottery. Florida. That
explained the tan. It didn't explain what he was doing in frigid Chicago. “And you?” he asked.

“Pardon?”

“What do you do?”

“Oh. I do a syndicated comic strip.”

“Great. Have I read you?”

“Maybe. I'm just beginning to get picked up. I do a little strip called
Annie's Day.
Pitfalls of day-to-day life, dating in the twenty-first century and the like.”

“Ah. Nice.”

“Have you seen it?”

“Yes, I think I have.”

“You're just being polite.”

“I'm seldom just polite.”

She arched a brow, sipping her coffee, shaking her head. “I can't believe that. You came to my aid with your dollar bills. Oh, and listen, I'm sorry to have kept you. I imagine you're here to visit someone?”

“An old friend, a man I haven't seen in years. In fact, I believe I've made the trip for nothing, so it was delightful to talk with you.”

“Your friend has passed away?”

“I just asked about him at the information booth. They said that if I waited, a nurse would be free to speak with me. I may not even get to see my friend. He's in a coma.”

Suspicion triggered quickly in Kit's mind. “What's his name?” she asked thickly.

“Delaney. Mark Delaney.”

“My father,” Kit said softly.

He arched a brow very high, and seemed to reassess
her. Carefully. He smiled. “I should have known. Kit. Katherine. Katherine Delaney. You didn't say that.”

She kept staring at him, confused. “How could you have known? Or—should I know you? You're an old friend of my
father's?
”

He nodded, smiling ruefully. “A voice from the past, actually.” He hesitated. “And I should have known you because you're the spitting image of your mother. I'm not so sure you'd remember me, but, yes, you did know me. You were very young at the time, but once, you lived at a huge estate called Bougainvillea. On the water. Your mother died when you were just six—”

“She drowned.”

He nodded. “Your father was devastated when she passed away. He left Miami—and never returned.”

“I have a very vague memory of Florida,” Kit said, intrigued. “My father didn't want to remember a lot. We didn't talk about it. I do remember a big beach area, ponds, long grass, lots of flowers, a big old house with arches and gables…partially constructed out of coral rock. I had a wonderful room with a tiled balcony. And I remember a vague assortment of people there—but forgive me, how rude, I don't remember you.”

“You were a child. And I was the adoptee, you see, away a lot of the time,” he explained, and when she knit her brows in puzzlement, he continued. “Years and years ago, in the late 1930s, my grandfather, your grandfather, and his cousin, Seamus Delaney, started a company called Sea Life Enterprises. They founded it on property bought by the first Delaney to settle there, soon after the turn of the last century. The main business is boats—speedboats and pleasure craft. Anyway,
my grandfather was a designer, but he had a falling out with your grandfather and Seamus a few years before I was born, and split from the corporation. After he passed away, my father raced for Sea Life, and raced well—but he was killed one day while out diving. Old Seamus decided he had to take me in, so he did, and then shipped me right off to boarding school at every opportunity. So you probably didn't see much of me. When your mom died, I was away at school. And your father left Bougainvillea quickly after the accident.”

“How strange. I don't remember ever hearing about Sea Life.”

David shrugged. “Your grandfather had passed away, and your father sold his share of the business to Seamus. Your dad truly adored your mother, and I think the only way he could see clear to raise you was to start over completely. So he severed all ties to the past.” He paused, shrugging. “That's why I don't practice law anymore…I wound up heavily involved in the family business. I'm also an avid amateur photographer, so…but, trust me, in business, that law degree always comes in handy.”

Kit nodded, “Yes, I can well imagine,” she agreed, then shook her head, staring at him pointedly. “I'm grateful for the coffee, of course… But I'm not sure I understand why you're here. Now. At—at this late date.”

“I just heard Mark was gravely ill. And I didn't know if he needed help. I knew, of course, that he had you, but I didn't know if there was anything I could do. Mark was always so damned decent to me. Seamus was a tyrant. He gave me what I needed—the best education money could buy. While your father…” He shrugged,
lifting a hand. “He took me fishing. Taught me to dive. He took me to movies, out waterskiing. The fun stuff.”

“By chance did you come by my father's room earlier?” Kit asked, remembering her dream.

“No, why? Was someone there?”

“I thought so. I'd fallen asleep…I might have been imagining things. I suppose it was the nurse.”

David shrugged, then reached for her hand. “You know, I supplied the coffee, but you might be a godsend to me. I'd truly love to see your father. Could we go to him? If you don't mind me with you?”

“No…of course not. Except that…I'm not sure what good it will do you. The information you've been given is correct…he's been in a coma for days now and it's not likely that he'll come out of it.”

He bowed his head. She couldn't see his features, or his reaction to her words.

“I would appreciate any chance to see him.”

“Then certainly, come with me.”

Sherry rose when they entered the room, her eyes round as she met David. She was impressed to learn that he and Kit shared a strange history, and her look fully conveyed to Kit that she should see what she could do to bring the past up to the present.

“Honey, your dad hasn't moved, he's hanging in. He's due for another shot in a few minutes. And two of your friends called—Jen and Steve. Both just wanted to wish you well and said for you to call them if you needed anything, anything at all.”

“Thanks, Sherry.” Kit gave the nurse a quick hug. Sherry bid her good-night, leaving her alone with her father and David Moore in the hospital room. David
approached the bed. Kit watched his face, but the light in the room was so muted that she couldn't read his expression. He took her father's hand—the one without the IV needle.

He stayed for several minutes without moving or talking, then gently released Mark Delaney's hand and came to Kit. “I'll leave you alone with him,” he told her softly. “This is your time, and I am intruding. But, please, when you're up to it, give us a call. Bougainvillea is your heritage as well.” He produced a business card and handed it to her. “If you need any help—with arrangements, anything—please call.”

“I'll be fine,” she said. “But thanks. And sometime… certainly, I will call.”

He bid her goodbye, taking her hands. His were strong, powerful, and seemed to offer tremendous encouragement.

“Thanks,” she told him.

He left the room. Kit sat beside her father on the bed, taking his free hand in hers.

Hours passed.

She was nearly dozing again when she felt a squeeze against her fingers. She jerked to attention. Her father's eyes remained closed, but his lips were moving.

“It's okay, Dad,” she said gently. “I'm here.”

She leaned very close, trying to ascertain what his murmurings meant. She didn't want him suffering any pain. But she couldn't understand him.

“I'm here, Dad, I'm here.”

To her surprise, her father opened his eyes. Sharp, clear blue, they stared up at her for a fleeting moment.

“Kit,” he said fitfully.

“I'm here, Dad.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. So much.”

He squeezed her hand again. His eyes closed, then opened again. They met hers.

To her amazement, he whispered one word.

“Bougainvillea.”

His eyes closed again.

His last word.

* * *

David Moore walked into the penthouse office. Seamus Delaney was seated at his desk, but his swivel chair was turned toward the windows that overlooked the city. The view was spectacular, south-southeastern, encompassing the brilliant, colorful lights of downtown Miami to the immediate east, and Coconut Grove to the south. The panoramic view offered expressways, glittering water, beautiful residential sections—and the slums that came with any big city, but which were nicely concealed by the dark shadows of night. Night helped hide the sins of the city. Darkness was always kind to what was wicked. Still, David loved the city. Seamus Delaney did, too. It was an unspoken but mutual bond between them.

“You asked me to come,” David said.

“Kit Delaney has yet to call, or appear.” Seamus kept his back to David.

“Mark is barely cold in his grave,” David said.

“I can read the papers…I saw his obit. He's been dead almost a week now. What did you do, hang around Chicago?”

“I went to the funeral.”

“Was she surprised?”

“She never saw me. I kept my distance.”

“You should have asked her right then and there to come home with you.”

“This isn't her home.”

“It
is
her home,” Seamus insisted.

“Seamus, she's been gone nearly twenty years.”

“I want to see her. I need to see her.” He hesitated, aggravated. He spoke more softly. “This is important to me… . And that's the point. I've waited nearly twenty years. Tell me more about the girl.”

“Woman. She's all grown up. And she's going to need time. Mark was her father. Naturally, she's devastated.”

The man in the swivel chair waved his hand in the air. “I don't want to know her current emotional state.”

David arched a brow. “No, you don't, do you? Well, all right. But you want to know more about her now? She's just what you'd expect. You knew her as a child. And you knew Mark. He would have done all the right things, raising a child. His daughter is bright, charming—and incredibly attractive. As charismatic as her comic strip. Independent, capable. Reeling, at the moment. It will take her some time to get back on her feet. She was devoted to her father.” He leaned against the back of Seamus Delaney's chair. “Devoted, loyal. She adored Mark. Everything about her seemed admirable.”

Seamus grunted. Then he swung around, his hands folded prayer fashion before him. He tapped his lips thoughtfully with his fingers. “Go back for her. Bring her here.”

“Bear in mind, Seamus, it's a free country—”

“Go get her. Do whatever you have to do. Just go get her, and bring her back here.”

“She'll come. When she's ready.”

“I don't want to wait any longer. I'm not sure I can wait any longer.”

David walked around the chair to the front of the desk, staring the old man in the eyes. “And just what the hell am I supposed to tell her?”

“Tell her whatever you want. Do whatever you have to do. Just get her here. I need her
here.
Dammit, you owe me. I don't care at all how you manage it, just get her here.”

David straightened, shaking his head. He was about to reply angrily. But Seamus issued one soft, seldom spo-ken word.

“Please.”

David threw up his hands.

“I'll bring her here.
After
a few months. You're just going to have to hang on a while. I mean it, Seamus. I won't intrude on her right now.”

“Dammit, David—”

“I'll get her here. In a few months. I will do my absolute best,” he promised.

“There's a lot at stake. For you as well.”

“For me?” David challenged, irritated.

“This is very important to me. I've waited. Now, it's my turn.”

“I said that I'd do my best,” David repeated.

Seamus nodded. “Time is at a premium. You must bring her back as soon as you can.”

“Once again—I'll do my best.”

David left the penthouse, angry, frustrated.

But hell, Seamus was right. He owed him. He'd go for Katherine Delaney.

And he would bring her back.

“O
h, my God!”

Jen Harrison whispered the words while kicking Kit Delaney beneath the table. Kit winced, but didn't look up. She was sketching in a Valentine's heart as she autographed a copy of her first book for a young woman with a baby in her arms.

Jen was not about to be ignored.

“Oh, my God, will you look at what's coming next? To die for!” she whispered dramatically.

Despite her dedication to her task, Kit had to smile.

Jen was perfectly comfortable here at the New England Booksellers' convention, a massive trade show for writers and books of all kinds. Jen had been a popular comic strip artist for years; her
Down-Under Girl
strip had been in syndication for over a decade and the book she was signing today was the fourth she had written and illustrated featuring her main character. Kit, on the other hand, had known but a year's success in the syndication field and this was her very first book. Though she was determined not to show it, she could
definitely describe herself as a nervous wreck. There were hundreds of publishers represented here, as well as hundreds of writers and illustrators—not to mention movie stars or pro athletes who might have written a book in the last year! Right before the show had opened, she'd felt a moment of pure panic—what if no one wanted a copy of her autographed book? The humiliation would kill—especially since the books were being given away at the trade show that also featured such revered comic artists as Jim Davis.