Authors: Barbara Freethy
"You didn't think Brady was that kind of person, either."
His father's face paled and his jaw tightened. "You're right. He conned me. I just wish he wasn't dead. I would have enjoyed killing him myself."
He'd never thought his father capable of murder, but Alex was beginning to realize that he hadn't known Charles Manning at all, not the real man, not the man who'd gotten involved in a Russian defection plot or the man who had gone underground and lived his whole life in the shadow of the family he'd left behind. The question was-did he want to know him?
"There is something else I've been wondering about," Alex said. "Why did Brady force you to go underground and fake your death? He was the one who killed the
Markovs
. And he knew you didn't know anything about the girls or about the treasure. I don't get it. How were you a threat to him?"
"It was part of the plot. Brady had to continue to make our government believe that the Russians had killed Natalia and Sergei, that I was in danger. He faked the threats to me to lend credence to the idea that the Russians had long arms. He certainly convinced me that was the case. I honestly believed I was in danger." Charles paused, clearing his throat. "But in retrospect, I think the real reason Brady had me die was to try to flush out Sarah and Julia. He thought Sarah cared for me. He thought if anything would draw her out of hiding, it would be my funeral. She'd come to the service; then he would find out if Julia had the stones."
Alex had never considered that possibility. It made sense. "And later? He never told you anything over the years? What about the other day? Why did Brady make you disappear again?"
"He didn't want me to tell you the story. He tried to convince me I needed to keep silent for your protection, but I knew you wouldn't stop looking. And I couldn't stand the thought of you searching for answers that might risk your life, so I wanted to help you. In the end, I almost got you killed. You found the treasure, and Brady followed you to it."
"So the whole government moving you out of your house again, that was all engineered by Brady? He had a hell of a lot of power."
"Yes," Charles agreed. "Too much. No one ever suspected he was a double agent. Now I believe we may find out other terrible crimes he committed over the years."
"So there was never a time in the last twenty-five years when you didn't think you could come out of hiding?" Alex queried again. "You must have wondered if the danger still existed."
"I know you can't understand, but for at least the first five or six years, I did still believe in the danger. Brady would occasionally catch up to me, relay information that I now know was false. He would question me about Sarah, ask me if I'd heard from her. He kept saying he wanted her to come in, to stop hiding, to be able to live her own life. They were more lies, but I believed him. And then there came a time when I just didn't think I had the right to go back and interrupt your life. Your mother had remarried. You seemed to be doing well."
"And how would you know that?"
"I told you, I watched you sometimes, at school or at one of your games."
It gave Alex the chills to think his father had been that close to him, and he'd never known.
The front door suddenly opened. "Alex, is that you?" his mother asked. "Who are you talking to?"
Fortunately, his father had his back to the front door. Charles was staring straight at Alex, and there was suddenly fear in his eyes. Alex didn't know what to do, how to make this easier for everyone involved. As soon as his father turned around, she'd get the shock of her life.
"Mom," he said tentatively, "I want you to take a deep breath and try to stay calm."
Her eyes narrowed. "What's going on?"
"It's Dad," Alex said. He nodded to Charles. "Turn around."
His father turned so slowly, Alex felt like he was watching a movie. His mother's eyes grew wider and wider until she let out a small cry, putting a hand to her heart.
"No," she said, shaking her head, backing toward the front door.
Alex jogged around his father and up the steps to his mother, putting his arm around her trembling shoulders.
"Who is he?" she whispered.
"It's Dad," Alex said. "He's alive. He's been alive all these years."
His father put up a hand in entreaty. "Kate," he murmured. "I'm sorry."
She put up her own hand as he took a step forward. "This isn't possible. I must be dreaming. This is a nightmare and you're both in it."
"It's real, Mom." Alex's hand tightened on her shoulder. "You always thought his death was suspicious. That's because it never happened."
"I don't understand."
"He's-"
"Let me explain," Charles said firmly. "I need to do this, not you, Alex. Can I come in, Kate? Can I tell you what happened and why?"
Kate turned to look at Alex, her eyes seeking confirmation. "Is it really him?"
"Yes."
For a moment, she looked lost, panicked, completely unlike the mother he'd known. But ever so slowly, she regained her composure. Her back stiffened. Her head went up. Her jaw tightened.
"Then I guess you should come in," she said, a steel edge to her voice now. She led them into the house and took a seat on the white couch in the living room.
Alex and his father took chairs opposite her. Silence surrounded them like a thick, thorny, uncomfortable coat. The only thing breaking the quiet was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the entryway, the same clock Charles had bought for Kate on their fifth wedding anniversary. Alex doubted either of them heard the clock. They were too caught up in staring at each other, although neither gave anything away. He waited for the explosion. He knew one was coming. Maybe his father was right. Maybe he didn't need to be here for this. It wasn't his lie.
But it was his family. And this was the last loose end. He needed to tie it off so he could leave and never look back.
"Well, you said you were going to explain," Kate said briskly. "Do it."
Charles leaned forward, his gaze focused and determined. "I believed that the Russians were after me because of a photograph I took in Moscow. I received death threats toward you and Alex. The government, a man named Brady whom I had worked with for many years, told me that I needed to disappear. I was their only link to the-"
"Orphan girl at the gates," she said. "I get it."
"Exactly. So Brady helped me fake my death. He said you and Alex would be safer if I was gone. The trail would end with my death. In the Soviet Union, I had seen firsthand how brutally people could be killed. I had those images in my mind when I made my decision. It was not an easy one to make." He 378 shot Alex a quick look, probably sensing his disgust, Alex thought. "But I knew it was far more difficult for the two of you to live with that decision than it was for me to make it."
His mother stared at his father for what seemed like hours. Finally she said, "So that's it? You disappeared, and we went on, and you never looked back."
"I looked back every day. I've told Alex that. I'm sure neither of you will believe me when I say this, but I loved both of you very much. And each day that went by I thought of you. I prayed you were well, that I had done the right thing."
"Then why come out now?" she demanded. "Why didn't you just stay dead?"
"I found him," Alex interjected. "Julia and I were looking for her father, but we found him instead."
"Julia," she echoed. "I knew she was that girl in the picture."
"Actually, that's her sister," Alex replied. "An identical twin. Both girls were part of a planned defection that didn't occur because the parents were killed."
"It was my job to help get the girls out of the country through the cover of the theater," Charles added. "It was one of many jobs I had in those years that involved undercover work for the U.S. government. I had gained the trust of certain people in the Russian government. It was easier for me to get around because of that trust."
"So it was your selfishness that left Alex without a father," Kate said pointedly. "Now, that's the first thing you've said today that hasn't surprised me." Trust his mother to turn the story her way, Alex thought. Not that he could blame her. He wasn't too thrilled with his father, either.
"You can go now," she told him with a regal wave of her hand. "I think you've said enough."
"I will go." Charles stood up. "But if you need anything-"
"Why would I need anything? I've made my own way the past twenty-five years. I don't need you for anything."
"I guess you don't. Although you seem to be awfully interested in my pictures these days."
His mother tossed her head. "I had every right to make money off your work and to keep your reputation alive. It was for Alex. He was so proud of you and your accomplishments. I never wanted him to lose that. I was doing it for you and your legacy."
Alex had to admit she had a beautiful way of spinning the truth. It had never been about him, but he didn't intend to get in the middle of this fight. It was between the two of them.
"You're welcome to do what you want with the photos," Charles said. "They served their purpose. They did what I wanted them to do at the time. They showed something important to the world. That's all I ever cared about. That's why you were always angry with me. I wasn't ambitious enough. I didn't want the fame or the celebrity. I wanted to stay in the background."
"Because you were spying on the Russians," she said, "not because you wanted obscurity. And you know, I wasn't stupid. I knew something was going on. And that woman-Sarah-were you sleeping with her?"
"Sarah was always just a friend. She was also working for the government," he added. "We both wanted to do something for the people over there."
"So altruistic," she sneered. "Worry about people you don't even know, but to hell with your family. What kind of heroism is that?"
She had a good point, Alex thought. And his father took the hit hard, his face aging before their eyes. 380 There were deep, grooved lines around his eyes, across his forehead, and at the corners of his mouth. He'd spent twenty-five years living a lie and feeling guilty. They'd all paid a price, Alex realized.
"I can't defend what I did to you and Alex," Charles said. "I can only tell you that my intentions were to keep you safe, and at least in that effort I succeeded. I'll go now. And I am sorry, Kate, for whatever that's worth. Do what you want with my pictures. I gave up photography the day I died."
Alex was surprised to hear that. "What have you been doing?"
"Working as an auto mechanic. My father was one. He taught me how to work on cars. I never thought I'd want to have that job, but in the end it became my life. I've been able to make enough to survive."
"Did you marry again?" Kate asked sharply. "Not that I care."
"I never remarried," he said quietly. "I never tried to re-create my family. I knew that would be impossible." He drew in a long breath and slowly let it out. "I want you both to be happy. That's all. I'm sorry for everything I've done that hurt you. Not just for faking my death, but for choosing to involve myself in something I knew could bring danger to both of you. That's what I truly regret. I was selfish. I couldn't see past what I thought was so important. I was a shortsighted photographer. I should have turned that camera on myself; then I would have seen the truth." He gave a regretful shake of his head. "Good-bye."
Alex wanted to say something, but he didn't know what.
His mother didn't seem to have the same problem. "You owe me, Charles," she said.
"Whatever you want, Kate."
She hesitated. "I want you to stay dead."
Alex's breath stuck in his chest as he waited for his father's answer.
"I can do that," Charles said. And with that, he walked out of the living room, out of the house, and out of their lives… again.
"I hate him," Kate said a moment later, but there was more pain in her voice now than anger. "You hate him, too, don't you, Alex?" Her eyes pleaded with him to agree.
He wished he could give her what she wanted, but the truth was he didn't know how he felt about his father anymore.
Julia stared at the house Michael had bought to surprise her. She still couldn't believe he'd made the purchase without asking her first. But she wasn't here about the house or about their relationship; she was here to find Liz. She needed to tell her sister the entire story. Maybe Michael needed to hear it, too. She owed him that much.
She walked up the front steps and saw that the door was ajar. She knocked, then pushed it open, hearing laughter in the kitchen. She walked through the doorway and saw Liz on a short ladder, using a roller on the ceiling, while Michael was on his knees doing the baseboard, complaining that Liz was once again spattering him with paint. He was right. They both wore as much paint as the walls, and they looked surprisingly at ease with each other.
Julia had always known they were good friends, but now she couldn't help wondering if Liz and Michael should have been the couple all along. She cleared her throat, drawing Liz's attention. Her sister almost dropped the roller when she saw her.