Chapter Eight

The door swung open and Edward strode into his office. He didn't say a word, merely offering Isabella a solemn glance before shrugging out of his suit jacket and sinking into his desk chair. Leaning back, he ran a hand over his face.

Bella eyed him from the corner of the room. While he'd met with the governor, she'd waited in his office, since it was one of the few places they both agreed she'd be safe from Smythe. And though thoughts of her father's time between these four walls hovered in the back of her mind like a ghost, the problems of the past seemed insignificant compared to her worry for Luke. And for Edward.

She was one of the few people on earth who knew exactly how much Edward's career meant to him. How he'd come from nothing, earning scholarships to get him through college and law school. How he'd worked night and day trying every case he could get his hands on, from the smallest misdemeanor until he worked his way up to felonies. And finally he'd earned his way to an appointment from the governor and hopefully to election by the people in November. He'd put his heart and soul into his job. And looking at his face now, so pale and drawn, she knew exactly how much it cost him to give it up.

Standing, she set the paperback she'd been staring at on the chair seat, crossed the room and stopped next to his desk. "How are you holding up?"

He didn't glance at her, but stared straight ahead, eyes weary. "I'm fine."

"Right. You're downright peachy. Just like me." She hadn't meant to let the sarcasm slip out, but she couldn't help it. It was so like Edward to withdraw into himself when facing a personal crisis. She'd seen him do it more than once. But he wasn't going to do it this time.

She stepped behind his chair and rested her hands on his shoulders as she'd done so many times before. His muscles were tense, bunching like coiled springs under his crisp white dress shirt. She dug her fingertips into the knots and began to knead.

He'd helped her so much these past days. If it wasn't for him – his shoulder to cry on, his strength to lean on, his determination to find Luke – She didn't know how she would have survived. And now it was her turn to help him. And though she wasn't sure how to accomplish it, she'd give it her best shot. And the only place she knew to start was to get him talking. "How's the governor holding up?"

"He's not so fine."

"Not happy, eh?"

"To say the least."

"What reason did you give him for resigning?"

"The ever-vague 'personal reasons'." The pain aching in his voice cut into her like a sharp blade.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "There must be a way around this. Isn't there some way you can resign temporarily?"

He shook his head. "I don't know how Smythe found out about Cullen's involvement in the case, but we can't take the chance that he'd sniff out a false resignation. There's too much at stake."

He was right. There was too much at stake. Far to much. And that left Edward only one option. He had to do as Smythe said.

Unless they could find Luke before the press conference tomorrow.

Bella continued to massage the knots out of his shoulder muscles, her mind racing with possibilities. "While you were with the governor, I was thinking of some things Runyon said."

Edward glanced over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"What if Smythe's parents arranged for Tanya Cleever to fake the rape? The Smythes certainly have enough money to make it worth Runyon's while to smuggle James's blood out of prison."

"I suppose it's possible. But the question is why?"

"What do you meant? Isn't if obvious? They're his parents."

"That's not enough reason. Not for people like the Smythes. I doubt any one of them would risk one hair to save a family member. That family makes my background look positively wholesome."

Bella's hands stilled. Edward had mentioned before that he'd had a troubled family life growling up. But every time she'd pressed him to tell her more, he'd clammed up, as if unwilling to open himself that much. Or unwilling to relieve the memories.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Seems James's father beat his mother and his mother passed the abuse on to James. Among other lovely things."

"I didn't mean Smythe's family, I meant yours."

Edward froze. He didn't look at her, but she didn't need to see his face to know how his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed guardedly behind his wire-rimmed glasses. Tension pulsed off him in waves.

"Some things are better left alone."

"And some things are better if you talk about them."

He shook his head, the office light sparking off his bronze hair. "This isn't one of them. Trust me. We both have enough pain to deal with in present. We don't need to go looking for more." He stood from his chair, effectively shucking her hands off his shoulders. But instead of pacing to the far corner of the room, he planted his feet, as if something was keeping him rooted to the spot.

She searched for words to say – words that would convince him to open himself to her. But none formed on her lips. She raised a hand, letting it hover near his arm. She wanted to touch him again, to reach him, but she didn't know how.

She'd never known.

She let her hands fall to her sides. "You don't think talking to Smythe's parents would do any good?"

"I didn't say that. Right now I think we need to explore every possibility. We have no other choice." He stepped away from the desk, away from her.

Standing alone, she placed her hands on the back of the chair. She'd been foolish to think she could help him. Or that he would accept her help. He was the same man, after all. The man who'd survived who-knew-what horrors in childhood. The man who'd leveraged his way into district attorney's office with nothing but hard work and stubbornness.

The man who'd walked away from her the moment she'd failed to live up to his impossible standards.

Nothing she could do would make him change. Not a year and half ago and not now. The only thing she could do was worry about herself. Because she faced more dangers than James Smythe posed. She'd given Edward her heart once, and it had almost destroyed her. She couldn't let herself fall into that trap again...

EDWARD SLAMMED the car door and looked up at the looming Gothic Tudor-style mansion that the Smythe family called home when they were in Seattle. Sheer stone walls stretched in long wings on either side of the entry, gray as weathered bone. Sharp-angled roofs stabbed into the cloud-darkened sky like spears raised in battle. Windows stared down at Isabella and him like cold eyes.

He glanced at the half dozen cars parked in the circle drive then at Bella as she climbed out of the car. "Judging from the cars, someone's entertaining."

Edward followed his gaze. "Richard or Patrice?"

"Must be Patrice. I had Jessica place a call to Smythe Pharmaceuticals earlier today. Richard's out of town."

"Is that good or bad?"

He shrugged and circled the car. "Doesn't matter. Both are equally hard to deal with."

Bella nodded and looked up at the house. She was walking into a lion's den and she didn't even seem to know it. Or maybe she did. He doubted it would make a difference. She would clearly do anything to get Luke back, whatever the cost. He'd bet she was a wonderful mother, so loving and giving. Always concerned about others' needs.

Just as she'd been concerned about him when he'd returned from his trip to talk to the governor. He pressed his lips into a grim line. He'd never told anyone about his family, but he'd come close to spilling it all to Bella.

Thank God she let the subject drop. Reliving the past didn't do any good. It would only have served to remind him of his vulnerability during a time when he especially couldn't afford to be vulnerable. Or weak. He focused his attention on the mansion. "Are you ready?"

Bella shivered and started to climb the stairs leading to the house. She ripped her attention from the windows and met his gaze. "Just nervous, that's all. I keep thinking James could be up there, looking down on us."

"If he is, he has more to be nervous about than you. I'd love to get my hands around that bastard's neck. Unfortunately the best we can hope fore is to find out if his parents helped him get out of prison. Or have any idea who did."

"Or if they're helping him hide Luke."

"Knowing Patrice Smythe, I don't see that happening. But that doesn't mean she won't be able to clue us in about who might be helping him. The trick will be getting her to talk."

Isabella gave an eager nod and quickened her pace up the staircase.

Edward lengthened his stride to keep up. "Don't get your hopes up. Like Runyon pointed out, they both refused to talk to me two years ago. There's no reason to assume Patrice will talk to me now."

"She has to. I can't bear to think of Luke spending another night away from me." Setting her chin, Bella focused on the grand entry. "We've got to find him."

"And we will. I promise you. We will." Reaching the door. Edward pressed the doorbell. Chimes echoed through the stone. Before the ringing stopped, the door opened and a small woman who resembled a delicate bird stood in front of them. "May I help you?"

Edward remembered the petite housekeeper from the months up to Smythe's trial. She'd always met him at the door. And she always turned him away with instructions to talk to the Smythes' attorney. He gritted his teeth. Only the filthy rich could duck the law enforcement. But this time he wouldn't take no for an answer. If she tried that tack again, he'd bull his way through the door and force them to talk with his bare hands, if need be.

"Is Mr. Or Mrs. Smythe in?' Edward asked.

The woman nodded. "Mrs. Smythe is in, but she's busy with guests."

"Tell her Edward Masen, is here to see her. Tell her I need to talk to her about her son."

"I'm sorry. She really is busy."

"Tell her I'm here to apologize."

He could feel Bella's eyebrows raise at the obvious lie. The housekeeper didn't seem to notice. She merely nodded and pulled the door open wide."

They stepped into the grand entry hall. Edward looked around the foyer, taking in the way the crystal chandelier threw droplets of light on the oak floors and art covered walls. Stairs swept up to the level above with the drama of Southern plantation house. Amazing how some people lived. Coming from his poor background, he might be envious if he didn't know the seedy side of the Smythes' seemingly perfect lives.

The housekeeper gestured to an arched doorway. "Have a seat in the living room. I'll tell Mrs. Smythe your here."

They stepped into a living room furnished in cream and gold and lowered themselves into plush chairs. Edward hated sitting sill like this, as if waiting for something bad to happen. He itched to pace the length of the room. Instead he followed Bella's example and took in the scenery, facing out one of the plate-glass windows facing the lake.

"It's about time you apologized, Mr. Masen. After all you did to my son, it's surprising you have the guts to show your face around here."

Edward turned in his chair and looked into the face of Patrice Smythe. Whereas the housekeeper always reminded him of a delicate sparrow, Mrs. Smythe resembled a bird of prey. Sharp eyes riveted on Edward. Rough cheeks hollowed below high cheekbones. And her lips pressed into a severe line, she hadn't changed in the past two years. If anything she'd grown harder.

Edward tried to assume an appropriately chagrined expression. "I just need to clear a couple things up first, if you don't mind."

"I have guests, so make it quick."

"When was the last time you saw your son, Mrs. Smythe?"

"The afternoon he was pardoned. I planned a party for him. He stayed five minutes. Why?"

"Did you visit him while he was in prison?"

"Me? Go to that awful place?"

"How did you communicate with him?"

"Through his attorney, Mr. Runyon."

"And did you pay Mr. Runyon to act as a go-between?"

She narrowed her mascara-rimmed eyes. "This doesn't sound like an apology."

Anger churned in his gut. He couldn't hold it in any longer. Just the thought of apologizing for taking James Timothy Smythe off the streets made him want to hit something. "Your son was guilty of victimizing six women. I have nothing to apologize for."

"You've read the papers, haven't you, Mr. Masen? My son didn't rape those women. Someone else is out there. Why don't you focus on finding him instead of on embarrassing our family? Now if you aren't going to apologize, I have nothing more to say to you. Mary Ann will show you out."

Bella jumped up from her chair before Patrice had the chance to turn around. "Wait." Chin raised in determination, she looked as if she was ready to take on an army to get to the truth.

Patrice looked down on her as if she was a dirty stain in the carpet.

"We didn't come to talk about your son's past, Mrs. Smythe."

Patrice arched plucked eyebrows." Why did you come?"

"Do you know if your son has a baby?"

"A baby? James?"

"Yes."

"And why are you asking me?"

"You're his mother. I just thought–"

"If he has baby, he hasn't told me. Not that he would share that kind of news with his mother. Who's the mother of this baby?"

"Me."

He gaze darkened. "Are you accusing James of something? Or are you here to see what kind of payoff you can get?"

Just the suggestion that James was Luke's father made Edward want to set the record straight. He caught Bella's pleading glance and shut his mouth. He'd struck out when it came to handing Patrice Smythe. The only option left was to let Bella take a shot. He clenched his hands and said nothing.

Bella looked back at Patrice and splayed her hands, palms up, in front of her. "I just want my baby back. I want to know he's okay."

"That's a likely story."

"It's true, Mrs. Smythe. Please."

"Well, if it's money you want, you've come to the wrong person. You'd be better off going to his father. God knows he's paid off enough of his own whores over the years. I suppose he'll write you a nice check, too." She looked aback at Edward. "I don't know what you're up to, bringing her here, but I'm not going to stand for it. I want you both out of my house. Now." She whirled around and strode away.

Bella's shoulders slumped.

Edward stood from his chair. He'd warned her not to get her hopes up, but she obviously had. "Patrice Smythe was a long shot. We did our best."

She shook her head. "I hoped that as a woman and mother, she'd understand. I never dreamed she'd think I was trying to extort money by claiming Luke was James's son."

"You tried."

"I can imagine how it made you feel. I'm sorry."

He waved aside her concern. He couldn't accept anymore concern from her today. Each tender word from her mouth made him want to gather her in his arms, to claim her lips, to never let go.

"Please follow me." The meek voice of the bird-like housekeeper penetrated his thoughts.

Holding out a hand, he helped Bella from her chair and they followed the woman across the plush carpet into the marble-floored foyer.

The housekeeper reached the door and opened it, standing to the side to let them exit. As Bella stepped past her, the woman whispered, "Mrs. Smythe wouldn't know about any baby. James doesn't confide in his mother."

Adrenaline jolted through Edward's blood stream.

Bella grabbed the woman's arm. "Who does he confide in? You?"

She shook her birdlike head. "Not me. His sister."

Edward stepped up close behind. "His sister? He doesn't have a sister."

"Half sister. The daughter of one of those whores Mrs. Smythe likes to talk about." An edge of bitterness crept into the woman's voice. She glanced down the hall as if to be sure her employers hadn't crept back within hearing range. The long hall was empty and the women's voice drifted from one of the rooms.

Edward's mind raced. He scrutinized the woman's face. "How do you know all this?'

"Because my mother is that whore. Though my sister and I have different fathers."

"Edward searched her face. "Who is your half sister?"

The woman's forehead furrowed.

"Her name is Jessica Stanley."