Every Breath You Take by Judith McNaught
He studied the scribbles on the chalkboard and concluded that his son was probably not an artistic prodigy. Since no one seemed to be paying any attention to Mitchell, he leaned over and opened one of the window seats. It contained an assortment of toy trucks and cars. From that, Mitchell concluded that Danny’s future might be in the transportation industry. He didn’t realize he was hoping his son might share his love of airplanes until he looked inside the second box: there were at least half a dozen toy planes.
Mitchell straightened and looked at his watch, wondering why it was taking so long to get confirmation that the boy in the guesthouse was Danny. Fifteen minutes later there was a commotion on the stairs, and Elliott got off his stool, striding swiftly to the door. “Why in the hell didn’t you call us?” he said, but underneath the reprimand he sounded excited, and Mitchell automatically tensed.
When Elliott walked back into the room, he was carrying a little boy and grinning from ear to ear. Kate’s uncle walked a few steps toward the bedroom hallway and called, “Kate, come out here right away. There’s someone who wants to see you.”
Elliott lowered the child to the floor as Kate rounded the corner from the hallway. People began crowding into the room from the stairwell, and the scene exploded with joy and motion. “Danny?” Kate cried, and the child laughed out loud at the same time his mother burst into tears and dropped to her knees in front of him. “Danny!” she whispered, running her hands over his face and chest, then dragging him into a crushing embrace, weeping while she chanted his name like a prayer. “Danny, Danny, Danny.”
It was an exhibition of maternal love beyond anything Mitchell had ever imagined. It imprinted itself on his mind and touched something deeper as he came to terms with the reality that the weeping, joyous mother who was holding her son in a fierce embrace was the same woman he had held in an even fiercer embrace in bed in St. Maarten.
She swept her son up and carried him to the doorway to show him to the crowd gathered there, and it dawned on Mitchell that the people in the doorway were mostly dressed in white, like kitchen staff, or in black suits, like waiters.
“Kate?” Father Donovan whispered. “I’m going to leave now. I’ll handle the press downstairs and make a public statement on your behalf, thanking everyone for their prayers.”
“I should do that myself,” Kate said, clutching Danny more tightly, and stepping forward. “While I’m doing it, will you call Holly and leave a message on her cell phone that Danny is back? I want her to know he’s okay as soon as her plane lands. And I need to phone Molly at the hospital right away, too.”
“I’ll take care of all the phone calls, and I’ll tell the reporters that you’ll make a personal statement outside in a little while,” her uncle said firmly. “Right now, Mitchell has a right to some private time with Danny and you.”
Kate stared at him blankly and slowly emerged from her mindless euphoria. “I forgot,” she said aloud, her voice filled with disbelief that she could actually have forgotten Mitchell was there. Or that he’d dispatched lawyers with $10 million to pay Danny’s ransom within two hours of her phone call to Matt Farrell. Or that she’d told him to get out of Danny’s bedroom.
Filled with shame, she searched the faces in the doorway and stairwell, looking for a hard, unsmiling face, but he wasn’t there. She turned around with Danny in her arms and saw Mitchell standing motionless at the far end of the room, his hands thrust in his pockets, watching for a clearer glimpse of Danny … waiting there to meet his son. Danny’s safe return was unquestionably the happiest moment in Kate’s life. Oddly, this moment felt very much like the second-happiest one. She’d never allowed herself to hope that she’d ever see Mitchell again or that he’d want anything to do with Danny, but he was here, and he did.
With her mind on Mitchell, Kate thanked everyone in the stairwell for their prayers and waited while her uncle followed them out. Gray Elliott and Detective MacNeil were the last to leave. Gray reached out to ruffle Danny’s curls, and grinned when Danny intercepted the gesture and gave him a “high five” instead. He continued smiling at Danny as he chose his words carefully and addressed Kate and Mitchell in a deceptively lighthearted tone. “Danny spent the day with Rebecca Crowell, watching cartoons and having fun in the guesthouse on the Crowell estate. She made popcorn for Danny and they had lots of strawberry ice cream after dinner tonight. Rebecca is Billy Wyatt’s girlfriend and he convinced her that Danny was his biological offspring, so she agreed to help him this morning. Rebecca is a very softhearted girl, whose emotional problems have nothing to do with violence—just the opposite, in fact.”
Instead of cloaking his next topic in innuendo, he transferred his gaze directly to Kate, but he kept his tone mild. “I’ll keep police officers at all the entrances downstairs tonight, but as soon as you reopen for business, this place will become a security nightmare. You’re either going to have to keep the restaurant closed so we can protect him until Billy Wyatt is apprehended, or else you’re going to have to stay somewhere else, ideally someplace with limited access and good security of its own in addition to what we’ll provide.”
“I’ll figure something out,” Kate promised, but her mind was on Mitchell, and she was desperately anxious to put an end to his wait to meet his son. She conveyed that to Gray Elliott by giving him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek; then she turned to Detective MacNeil, bestowed a kiss on his cheek, too, and ushered them both out into the hall. She closed the door behind them, and lowered Danny to the floor.
He looked sleepy and rumpled, so she deliberately kept him out of Mitchell’s sight for a few more moments while she crouched down to tuck his red shirt into his coveralls and tug the cuffs into place over his shoes. “Before I introduce you to your son,” Kate said as she combed her fingers through Danny’s tousled curls, “I want to tell you two things.” Behind her she heard Mitchell move forward, and she stole a glance over her shoulder, actually looking at the handsome face she’d barely seen through her tears in the bedroom.
“What are they?” he asked, and her heart swelled a little at the sound of his well-remembered deep voice, devoid now of anger.
“First, I am very sorry for the way I treated you in the bedroom. I was hurting so badly that I couldn’t think or see or hear. I was in such a horrible daze that I actually forgot you were here until a moment ago.”
“What you said in there was true,” he replied unemotionally.
“The second thing I want to tell you,” Kate said as she stood up, still blocking Danny from his view, “is that you’re in for a bit of a shock.”
“Why is that?”
Danny was trying to peer around her legs to see who she was talking to, but Kate managed to keep him behind her while she turned toward Mitchell. “Mitchell, this is Daniel,” she said with a smile. “I think you’d recognize him even without an introduction,” she added, and then she stepped aside so that Mitchell could see what she meant.
The tableau that followed was so poignant that Kate felt her throat constrict. With an expression resembling awed disbelief, Mitchell gazed down at a miniature version of himself, while Danny tipped his head way back and stared up at Mitchell with much the same expression until Mitchell’s intense blue stare suddenly unnerved him. His chin began to tremble and he looked worriedly at Kate. Mitchell looked worriedly at her, too.
“It’s okay,” Kate assured Danny lightly. “How about shaking hands?”
To her amusement, Mitchell thought she was reassuring him, and he nodded gratefully, stepped forward, and held out his large hand to Danny. Danny solemnly laid his small hand in Mitchell’s large palm, and Mitchell’s fingers tightened and relaxed reflexively as if he was having trouble controlling his grip. Another awkward lull ensued, but before Kate needed to intervene with a new suggestion, Mitchell suddenly crouched down as if inspired and gave Danny a grin. “I have an airplane,” he confided.
“Me, too!” Danny replied, giving Mitchell back his own grin.
“I li
“Me, too,” his son replied in a tone of wonder.
Mitchell’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “How many jets do you have?”
In order to answer, Danny pulled his hand free, spread his fingers wide apart, and held them up in front of Mitchell. “I got this many,” he proudly proclaimed. When Mitchell seemed incapable of speech, Danny prompted, “How many jets do you got?”
In reply, Mitchell held up his own hand and lifted his forefinger. “This many,” he said tenderly, and Kate turned aside to keep her face from betraying her emotions.
Danny showed Mitchell his airplanes, and Mitchell admired each one, but it was obvious to Kate that Danny was getting very sleepy and needed to go to bed. “Would you like to read Danny his bedtime story after I give him his bath and put him to bed?” she asked.
“Yes,” Mitchell replied simply. “Thank you,” he added, grateful for the moment that she was allowing him—no, helping him—to step into the very role she’d deliberately denied him for nearly two years.
“While you’re doing that,” Kate said, “I’ll take a shower and change clothes.”
She reached for Danny’s hand, but the mention of his bedtime routine suddenly reminded him of Molly, and he twisted around in sudden panic. “Where’s Molly?” he cried. “Molly fell down—” His face crumpled at the memory, and Kate scooped him into her arms, hugging him close.
“Molly is fine,” she soothed. “We’ll call her on the phone right now, and you can talk to her. In a few days, she’ll be back here, sleeping in her bedroom, just like always.” When Danny still looked dubious and worried, Kate started down the hallway toward the phone in her bedroom, pausing just long enough to explain to Mitchell, “Molly is Danny’s nanny. She’s been with us since Danny was born.”
Chapter Fifty
SEATED IN THE ROCKING CHAIR BESIDE DANNY’S BED, Mitchell stole another glance at his son as he turned to the third page of the little book Kate had given him to read aloud. Danny was lying on his side, his arms wrapped around the gray rabbit, his gaze riveted on Mitchell.
Despite Danny’s intent expression, Mitchell sensed that his mind was on something else, and he attributed that worrisome situation to his own inadequacy and lack of experience as a bedtime-story teller. Determined to redeem himself in Danny’s eyes and regain his attention before he lost it completely, Mitchell tried harder to sound convincing while he read his son an amazingly ludicrous story about a train engine named Thomas who was not only capable of human thoughts and emotions, but also immune to all the laws of physics and chemistry, particularly those involving weight, fuel, and self-propulsion.
Danny’s apprehensive voice stopped him before he finished the first sentence on the page. “A bad man took me away—”
Mitchell made a Herculean effort to keep his expression from betraying the rage he felt, and laid the book down on his lap. “I know he did, but he will never come near you again.”
“Why?”
Completely taken aback by the question, Mitchell settled for the only explanation he could think of that would be simple enough for a child to accept. “Because he’s afraid of me.”
“Why?”
Because I’m going to make certain he can’t get near you, and if he tries, I’ll kill him myself. “Because I know who he is, and I’m going to make sure he spends the rest of his life in—” He broke off that vengeful sentence because he didn’t want his son to start fearing him; then he choked on a laugh when Danny helped him finish it.
“Time-out?”
“Yes,” Mitchell said.
“Why else?”
“Why else is he afraid of me?” Mitchell thought hard for a reassuring but nonthreatening answer to give and said, “Because I’m a lot bigger than he is.”
“Why else?” Danny prodded.
It dawned on Mitchell that he’d been lured into a conversational loop by a two-year-old who was prepared to continue the game all night. Mitchell smoothly switched roles with him. “Why do you think he’s afraid of me?”
Danny regarded him in surprise for a moment, as if the answer should have been obvious all along. “You’re my daddy.”
Mitchell’s heart slammed into his ribs and he had to swallow before he could breathe.
Danny mistook his silence for uncertainty. “Mommy said so,” he added emphatically, as if that alone should be enough to remove any doubt Mitchell could have.
“Your mommy is right,” Mitchell said tenderly. Reaching out, he smoothed the cover around Danny’s shoulder. “What else did she say?”
“Mommy said—you came my house. You told people —‘Find Danny!’ You said—‘Bring Danny right straight home!’ And so—and so—they did!” The words tumbled out in an excited, halting rush; then he seemed to run out of words altogether, and his brows drew together as if that baffled him. Mitchell watched him, his own brows drawing together in bafflement because Kate had obviously convinced his son that Mitchell had raced to his rescue today and was solely responsible for his safe return. She apparently wanted Danny to see Mitchell in a heroic light, and yet, Mitchell would have expected just the opposite of her.
Danny’s next words pulled Mitchell back to the present and made his throat tighten again. “You see me soon?” he asked, and wagged his head in the affirmative, urging Mitchell to say yes.
“Yes,” Mitchell whispered, smiling. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“And the next day?” He wagged his head again.
His son, Mitchell realized with amused pride, had obviously inherited Mitchell’s knack for knowing when, and how, to press an advantage—a clear indication that he could have a stellar career in the world of mergers and acquisitions. In answer to his question, Mitchell said, “Yes, the next day, too,” and then he decided to broach another, very important subject. “I brought a special friend along with me. His name is Calli and he’s downstairs right now. He’s going to sleep up here, and whenever you go somewhere, he’s going to go with you.”
“Is he big as you?”
Absurdly pleased that his son apparently regarded him as a giant among men, Mitchell said, “No, but he’s very, very strong.”
Danny nodded and closed his eyes. Moments later, he was asleep, and Mitchell gazed down at the sweet face of his son, a cherub with sooty curls, dusky lashes, soft cheeks, and a small, square chin. Mitchell’s chin—he realized with a jolt. He recognized that chin; he stared at a larger version of it in the mirror every day while he shaved. The small hand lying against the rabbit’s head was Mitchell’s hand in miniature. Leaning forward, Mitchell carefully lifted the little hand from its resting place and pressed it to his lips.
In the room across the hall, the shower stopped running, and he stood up; then he turned and looked around at his son’s things, but it was the three photograph albums atop the chest of drawers that ultimately captured his attention. Two of the albums had labels on the spine indicating the time frame of the pictures inside them. Mitchell took one off the dresser, opened it, and saw pictures of his son in a high chair, surrounded by balloons, with a chocolate cake in front of him that had one candle on it. His son’s first birthday had come and gone without Mitchell knowing it. The anger he would have felt at that was softened by everything he’d seen Kate do and say, and by the fact that she’d not only told Danny right away that Mitchell was his father, but had also succeeded in making him a hero in Danny’s eyes, rather than a frightening stranger.
He flipped to the front of the album and saw Kate, very pregnant, standing in Danny’s bedroom, hanging some sort of toy above his crib.
A long-buried memory suddenly re-surfaced with vibrant clarity, the memory of a sexual experience so powerful, and an orgasm so intense, that it had seeemed profoundly spiritual. Afterward, he’d held Kate in his arms, sensing somehow that they’d just conceived a baby, and so he’d held her tighter because he didn’t mind if it was true. … No, because he’d wanted it to be true.
The third album was sh
Mitchell picked up all three albums, took them into the living room, and laid them on the coffee table; then he glanced at his watch, and reached for his phone. He’d already gone downstairs and dismissed his attorneys while Kate was bathing Danny, and he’d phoned Matt Farrell to tell him that Danny was safely back. However, he’d left Calli down there with the two suitcases because he didn’t want Danny present when he explained to Kate what Calli’s role was going to be.
When Calli answered his call, Mitchell told him to call Joe O’Hara in the limo and transfer the suitcases into the trunk, and then he explained to Calli that he wanted him to act as bodyguard for Danny for the time being. His last call was to Caroline Wyatt, Billy’s mother. Her fiancé, a prominent banker named Gordon Nather whom Mitchell liked very much, answered her private line. “Gray Elliott is with her now,” Nather explained, “but I know she wants desperately to talk to you. We saw you going into Donovan’s tonight on the six o’clock news, and Caroline started trying to reach you then. We didn’t know Billy was involved until Gray got here. It’s all over the news now, however. There’s a full-blown manhunt under way.”
He paused and then said awkwardly, “I wouldn’t ask you what I’m about to ask, but if Danny Donovan is your son, then what Billy did is going to be even harder for Caroline to bear. I just want to be prepared so—”
“He’s my son,” Mitchell interrupted. “Tell Caroline that no harm was done to Danny, so she needn’t feel badly on my account.”
“It’s amazingly kind of you to dismiss the whole thing,” Nather said, sounding more astonished than grateful.
“I’m not dismissing anything,” Mitchell retorted. “I am going to do everything in my power to make sure Billy spends the rest of his life behind bars, and if he comes near my son or his mother again, I will hunt him down myself—and I won’t bother with the police when I find him.”