Nick credit. He had amazing self-discipline to give away so little as a limousine whisked the two of them toward Washington, D.C.
His self-control held through the hearing, but he wasn’t put on the witness stand and grilled, either. The legal proceeding mostly consisted of motions and technical arguments between the lawyers. As far as she could tell, they were wrangling over the rules of engagement for the trial to come. All in all, it was rather anticlimactic.
The hearing was adjourned, and Nick joined her in the aisle, looping an arm over her shoulder as they stepped outside …
… into a barrage of lights and microphones and shouted questions.
Nick reared back hard beside her, going board stiff. The Tatum team of attorneys leaped forward to intercept the phalanx of reporters, but it was too late. The press had spotted Nick. The story of his kidnapping and rescue had made a brief sensation last year, but thanks to his inability at the time to give interviews and put a poster-boy face to the story, it had faded quickly.
Unfortunately, the media had put two and two together, and they wanted the scoop on the miracle man now. Laura was half-blinded by flashing lights exploding at them from all directions. Good thing she was completely out of her old line of work. One media assault like this would’ve blown her cover permanently.
Nick swore quietly beside her. To the lawyers, he said tersely, “Get us out of here. Now.”
The Tatum support team hustled her and Nick down the front steps and into the waiting limousine. He collapsed on the plush upholstery, swearing steadily under his breath in what sounded like Greek. What was up with that?
The car door closed, and silence descended around them.
He yanked out his cell phone and punched in a number. She caught only the first few digits—617 area code. Boston?
“It’s Nick Cass,” said into the device tersely. “What have you got for me?”
He listened in silence for a long time, his jaw clenching tighter with each passing minute. And then he finally ordered, “Keep looking.”
“Who was that?” Laura asked as he put away his phone.
He looked up at her grimly. It was like staring into the eyes of a total stranger. Cold shock washed over her. Who was this man sitting beside her? She couldn’t ever recall seeing that expression of irritation or determination in his gaze before.
He answered tightly, “That was my past.”
She waited for him to elaborate but was immensely frustrated when he didn’t. It was all she could do not to demand answers right this second. But she’d vowed when she found him to just be grateful that he was alive and accept whatever part of him he chose to share with her, no questions asked. But, darn, that was hard to stick to now!
The ride home was silent, with him lost in his thoughts, and her convincing herself to respecting his privacy. She would not turn her investigative skills on the father of her children, the man she loved with all her heart. She would trust him and take him at his word and support him. But her fingers literally itched to start typing, to dig into the internet and tap her network of resources built up over years of hunting down disappeared and deadbeat dads.
At dinner that night, she and Nick let Adam dominate the conversation with an eager description of his outing with Nanny Lisbet to Colonial Williamsburg that afternoon. Afterwards, Adam went upstairs with Lisbet to take a bath, and Laura and Nick adjourned to the family room. Nick flipped on the news.
Laura started violently as his face flashed up on the flat-screen TV at several times larger than life size. He froze on the sofa beside her.
The reporter narrated over footage from the courthouse this afternoon, recapping the story of Nick’s rescue from a container ship a year before and moving on to report in detail how federal prosecutors were going after several high-ranking AbaCo executives for their roles in Nick’s kidnapping. The reporter devolved into speculating on how high in the company the complicity reached.
Nick turned off the TV, scowling ferociously.
Laura commented soothingly, “It was an essentially accurate report. You came off completely sympathetically. You’re an innocent victim of a heinous crime. And I have to say, you’re incredibly photogenic. The public is going to love you.” She smiled. “Particularly women.”
His scowl deepened and he leaped up off the sofa to pace. He kept mumbling something under his breath that sounded like, “Not good. They’ll see me.”
“Who’ll see you?” she asked carefully.
When he turned to stare at her, it was like looking into the eyes of a wild creature, hunted and cornered. “Everything will be ruined,” he bit out. And with that, he stormed out of the room.
Laura eyed her laptop computer. Just a quick search. Nothing in depth. A brief check to see if something about his past would pop up. No, darn it! She headed for the gym in the basement to drown her temptation in some good old-fashioned sweat.
Nick was restless that night. To her vast disappointment, he didn’t come to bed when she did, and the clock was turning toward 4:00 a.m. when he finally slipped in beside her. His arms went around her and she snuggled into his embrace, pretending to sleep.
But as she lay there in the dark, listening to his quiet breathing, she couldn’t help but wonder who exactly she was in bed with. What in his past had him so frantic? Was he a criminal after all? Who were his enemies? What baggage clung to him? What kind of trouble was he so afraid of bringing to her doorstep? She was a former CIA field agent, for goodness’ sake. What was so bad that he didn’t think she could handle it?
She finally gave up on getting any more rest at around 6 a.m. and eased out of bed quietly so as not to wake Nick. She went to the nursery and scooped up Ellie who, orderly child that she was, was beginning to rouse exactly on time for her 6 a.m. feeding.
“Such a good baby,” Laura crooned as she sat down in the rocking chair in the family room to feed Ellie. As the baby latched on and began sucking hungrily, Laura picked up the remote control and flipped on the TV. Was Nick still the star attraction of the all news channels, or had some real story come along overnight to bump him off the airwaves?
“… reclusive billionaire Nikolas Spiros may have surfaced yesterday in a Washington, D.C. courtroom … appears to be living under a new name … rumors of kidnapping and conspiracy surround his disappearance six years ago after a mental breakdown … unable to contact his people to confirm or deny his identity … you judge for yourself.”
Laura lurched up out of the chair as a photograph of a dashing man in his early thirties was flashed up beside a still picture of Nick yesterday on the courthouse steps.
She knew that younger man very well, indeed. He’d been her lover in Paris six years ago. He was the father of her son. And the man in the other, more recent, picture was the man she lived with now, the father of her daughter. Ellie squawked as she lost her grip on breakfast, and Laura was momentarily distracted resettling the baby.
“I’m sorry, honey,” she murmured. “Mommy was just surprised.”
Although surprised hardly described the sick nausea rumbling through her gut. Nick was a Greek shipping tycoon named Nikolas Spiros? A billionaire? Why had he turned his back on all that? Why did he continue to live under this Nick Cass identity?
Her mind flashed back to Paris. To meeting Nick Cass there. He’d lied to her. He hadn’t told her who he was back then, and he was perpetuating the lie now. No wonder neither she nor her attorney had been able to learn anything about him back then. Nick Cass didn’t exist. The first stirrings of anger started low in her belly, building by steady degrees. Only Ellie’s tiny body nestled against her breast, sucking sleepily, kept her from storming up the stairs and bursting in on Nick—Nikolas—this very second and demanding the full truth and nothing but the truth.
Who in the world was he?