False Family

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She knew her position was tenuous at best. Her car was stuck, and this place was out in the middle of nowhere. And if she were honest, the last thing she wanted to do was get back in a car with a man who could upset her equilibrium with a single look. Leaving wasn’t a viable option at the moment.

“Okay,” she said. “I agree to that.”

“Excellent.”

“What is it you want me to do?”

“I want you to play the part of my daughter for the next two weeks.”

Mallory sat very still, not sure she’d heard Saxon Mills correctly. “Excuse me?”

“I thought that was pretty straightforward,” the man said, his tone laced with barely concealed irritation. “I need someone to assume the role of my daughter for the next two weeks.”

“Mr. Mills, I—”

He held up one hand. “Call me Saxon. I don’t think Father or Dad would be terribly convincing at the first.”

“Are you doing an autobiographical play or something?”

That actually brought a smile to his face, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “No. This is no play. It’s my life.” He sank back farther in the chair and his eyes narrowed. “It’s a matter of life and death for me.” The words sounded melodramatic, but his face was contained, almost cool.

A knock sounded, and as the door began to open, Saxon leaned toward Mallory and whispered, “Say nothing of this in front of Myra.”

Mallory nodded and sank back in the chair. While the housekeeper laid a tea service out on the table, Saxon Mills spoke with her. The word mad came to mind, along with crazy and demented. Play his daughter? The idea was so absurd that Mallory almost laughed.

As Myra went to the hearth to stir the fire into new life, Saxon nudged a cup of tea across the table to Mallory. “Drink it while it’s hot. You’ll be glad for any warmth you can find in this house during weather like this.”

Mallory had totally forgotten about the storm and the dampness in her slacks and her sodden shoes. Myra moved quietly for being such a large woman. She silently crossed the room, and the door clicked shut behind her. Mallory reached for the tea and cautiously took a sip, letting the hot liquid slip down her throat and settle in her middle, easing her tension just a bit. But as soon as she looked at Saxon over the rim of her cup, her nerves tightened again.

The man was staring at her, but she had the idea that he wasn’t really seeing her. His gaze was slightly unfocused, as if he were lost in a place of his own making. “It’s quite remarkable,” he murmured softly.

“Excuse me, sir?” Mallory said as she lowered her cup, cradling it in her hands on her lap.

He flinched, then took a harsh breath and reached for his cup of tea. “We need to discuss this job.”

“Yes, we do. It’s all so rushed. I was only contacted last night by Mr. Welting. If I had more time, I could do a better job for you.”

“We only located you a few days ago, and we needed to be sure you were right for this part. As for doing a good job, being spontaneous will probably only enhance your talents.”

For a moment she thought he was trying to flatter her, but one look at his blue eyes and she knew he was just giving her an answer. “How can I pass for your daughter when anyone who knows you would know your daughter and know I’m obviously not her?”

“That’s the beauty of this idea. I don’t have a daughter. Everyone knows that. So you don’t have to be anyone but yourself. They won’t have a clue what to expect, because they won’t know you exist until I introduce you to them. As far as background goes, I’ve been briefed on yours, and it fits perfectly.”

She frowned. “You said they know you don’t have a daughter. Where am I suppose to have come from?”

He stood and crossed to a night table by the bed on the marble pedestal. Despite his age, he moved easily, Mallory thought, and when he came back to the table, he held out an eight-by-ten gold picture frame. “This should explain things a bit.”

She put her cup back on the table and took the heavy frame from him. A sepia-toned studio photo was set in it, an ethereal-looking picture of a delicately beautiful woman with feathery dark hair framing a heart-shaped face, large dark eyes and pouty lips. The image startled Mallory, and she blinked. Her memory had to be playing tricks on her.

“Who is this?” she asked as Saxon took his chair again.

He sank back, watching Mallory. “My Kate,” he said with a sigh. “And you look a lot like her, Mallory. A lot.”

She looked at the picture again, hating the way the memories of a five-year-old child were overlapping with it. But when she really looked at the picture, she knew her mind had played tricks on her. This woman wasn’t really like the mother she remembered. This woman, maybe in her early twenties, looked delighted with life and was openly flirting with the camera.

Mallory had no memory of her mother smiling or being happy. What memories remained were scattered and few, of a sad, bitter woman beaten by life. A woman who had died too young.

“Kate?” she asked, looking at him instead of the picture.

“She’s a woman I knew almost thirty years ago. I was mad for her, but we were both too stubborn, too volatile, probably more in lust than in love. It just burned out after six months, and she left to get on with her life.”

His tone was unemotional, as if the memory of the incident with the woman had little lasting effect on him. Yet he’d kept her picture all these years.

“Henry Welting was astounded when he saw you. You look so much like Kate did at one time. It would be very easy for anyone who’s seen Kate’s picture to believe you could be a child from our affair, that Kate was your mother.”

Bitterness burned at the back of Mallory’s throat. She quickly put the picture down flat on the table, and Saxon sat forward to reach for it. Without a glance at it, he turned it facedown on the table in front of him.

“Did you have a child with her?” Mallory asked, her voice sounding tight in her own ears.

“I have no children. But you’re a good enough actress to make people believe it could be true.”

“What happened to…to this Kate?”

He didn’t blink. “She died years ago in Europe.”

Again no emotion. And that made Mallory feel even more edgy. It didn’t help that the storm went unabated, crashing around the stone walls and tearing at the night outside with lightning. “Who’s this charade for?”

His expression tightened. “My family, Mr. Carella, the staff. Everyone who’s in this house for the holidays.”

She wondered if this was all some horrible practical joke the man was setting up. “Why would you want to deceive these people?”

“That’s something that’s complicated and personal, but I can give you a general idea. I have little family, just a niece and nephew. My only brother’s children. Warren has been gone ten years, but he left his son, Lawrence, who’s thirty-two. He calls himself a writer, but from what I can see, all he writes is IOUs and bums around being ‘creative’ while others pay for it.

“He sees me as the way to finance his dilettante life-style. Then there’s Joyce, his sister. She’s married to Gene Something-or-other. I believe he’s husband number three. I can’t think of why he married her except he’s a patient sort who’s willing to wait until she gets her hands on my money.”

He sighed. “I’m fed up with them, but one or both of them will be my heirs. I’ve never been married, so, as shabby as they are, they’re the only blood relations I have.”

“What good would it do to pretend you have a daughter for two weeks?”

He steepled his fingers again and began to tap his forefingers together. “Maybe no good at all. Or maybe a lot of good. Maybe if they think you’re my direct heir, they’ll get on with their lives without waiting for me to die so they can celebrate. Maybe it would help me sift out the wheat from the chaff, so to speak.”

Mallory had little experience with family in her life, but it seemed that Saxon Mills didn’t have a great deal more, despite all his wealth. “I’m sure they aren’t just sitting around waiting for you to die.”

“Of course they are,” he said without rancor. “So are Myra and William.”

She frowned. “William?”

“Myra’s son, a stupid man who seems to think the way to do anything in this world is through brute force.”

“Why would they want you gone?”

“Myra’s been with me for years, and I’m sure she thinks she and William will make out quite well when I’m gone.”

Mallory watched the man and knew she wouldn’t make a bet on his generosity to anyone. “What about Mr. Carella?”

“Tony’s a bit different, more dangerous. He’s greedy like the others, but he’s got brains. He’ll do whatever he needs to do to get what he wants, and he doesn’t worry about the consequences.”

The words sounded strangely similar to what Tony had said about Saxon. “What does he want?”

“He’s been involved in some of my businesses for ten years, and he’s here to talk me into letting him buy me out.” He exhaled. “Or maybe he wants me to put him in my will so he gets control of my shares when I die. One way or the other, he wants control of the businesses, come hell or high water.”

She was uneasy about underestimating Tony, about thinking he could be easily deceived. The man could look at someone as if he could see into their soul, and if she was going to lie to him, she’d have to be very convincing. “Can he get control?”

“He’s got the brains and a strong instinct of when to go for the kill, but he’s up against me. He only gets it if I say he does.”

She could tell this man enjoyed that power. “So, you’ll tell all of them you found an heir and they’re out of luck?” she asked, her tea growing tepid as she listened with morbid fascination to the man’s twisted plans.

“Exactly. I want to throw a monkey wrench into their plans and get them off my back. If they think I found a long-lost daughter, the product of my foolish liaison years ago, maybe they’ll leave me alone for a while.” He paused, then added, “Maybe it will bring out the true colors in all of them. All the better for me to make a decision.”

Mallory sat forward. In a distorted way, this meeting was like a scenario that had gone through her mind over and over again through the years. The moment in which she would find the man who’d walked out on her mother, that he would admit he was her father and would hold out his arms to welcome her into his family.

That was fantasy, a self-delusional lie. Yet she couldn’t help but think that if Saxon Mills really was her father, she would be just as apt to walk out and keep going. He clearly liked people to dance to his tune. He played with people, manipulating them for his own purposes. He didn’t even come close to any idea she had of what a father should be.

“That’s the bare bones of the plan,” Saxon said. “Now, tell me what you think about it.”

“I don’t know what to think. I suppose you must feel your reasons are compelling for you to go to all this trouble.”

“Yes, they are compelling. Will you do it?”

The fire crackled and popped, and Mallory could hear the storm beating against the windows behind the heavy velvet drapes, but she never took her eyes off Saxon Mills. No matter what his motives were for this deception, the role was simple. She knew she could do it. She didn’t have to like him, or even approve of what he was doing. All she had to do was keep up her part of the agreement and leave in two weeks with enough money to keep her going for a while.

“Well?” he prodded, and she could hear the tinge of impatience in his voice.

She made an instant decision. “I’ll do it.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“Excellent,” Saxon murmured, then levered himself out of his chair and crossed to the bed. “Remember, outside the walls of this room, you are in character, and you stay that way. No talking about any of this, not even to me, unless we’re in here.” He looked back at her, his hand hovering over the raised nightstand. “You’re my daughter. I’m your father…unless we’re in here. Understood?”

“Yes.”

He pressed a button on the nightstand, then turned back to Mallory. “I’ll have Myra take you to your room now.”

She stood. “Don’t you need to tell me more about all these people I’m supposed to be deceiving?”

“Why? You just came here tonight and found out you’re my daughter. You wouldn’t know much about me, and even less about my family and acquaintances.”

“What if they ask questions about my life? What do you want me to tell them?”

“Tell them the truth as much as you can. Tell them you work as a waitress, that you live alone, that you don’t have any other family.”

She knew her jaw must have dropped a bit. “You had me checked out, didn’t you?”

“I had to. I know your mother died from pneumonia when you were five, and you were in various foster homes until you were old enough to escape the system and go out on your own. You have two years of college as a drama major, and you’ve worked as a waitress to help support yourself so you can act.” He ticked off her life with an ease that shocked her. “You’ve had roommates, but you’ve lived alone for the past six months. You’re twenty-eight years old.”

“All right. I get the idea.” She looked at the photo that was still facedown on the table. “What about her…Kate? What do I tell them about her, since she’s supposed to have been my mother?”

“Tell them the truth about your mother, except for the fact that your mother wasn’t Kate. Tell them what you remember, what she was like, and leave it at that. And she died in Europe.”

“My mother never even made it out of California as far as I know, let alone Europe.”

He waved that aside with a sharp jab of his hand. “Then don’t talk about her death. As a rule of thumb, stick to the truth as much as possible, and when you need to add details for authenticity, play it by ear. Your own clothes will be fine most of the time, but there are a few things in your room for you to wear when you need to be more formal. There are riding clothes, just in case you want to ride when this storm is gone.”

It was a bit unnerving to think someone had purchased clothes for her, but she knew that her casual jeans and sweaters weren’t exactly a full wardrobe. “How do you want me to play this part?”