downtown Chicago. Beyond the metal bars, the world spun along without her—the charity events, gala openings, and life in general. But her world had stopped dead still, marred forever. For her, nothing would ever be the same again.
As he walked through the door marked for visitors and took a seat, bland gray walls closed in on him. The room smelled of sweat and an indefinable musty odor, masked by industrial pine cleaner. Walls had been stripped bare, functional in their simplicity. Rules of conduct were posted and screwed into painted cinder block, printed in blue, the only real color in the room. Dull mediocrity and guilt weighed oppressive in this place.
He knew Fiona hated it, her home for the next five years with good behavior. The judge had been lenient in exchange for her voluntary confession to the arranged murder of her husband, Charles Dunhill, over twenty-five years ago. No evidence would have convicted her. She came forward, unwilling to deny her guilt any longer. Perhaps the judge aligned his sympathies on the side of Fiona, given the fact she killed her husband to save her illegitimate ten-year-old son from the man's murderous wrath.
All things considered, his life had been built on a foundation of murder and lies. He had grown weary of the burden. But he couldn't fathom the depths of her regret.
He sat in a metal chair, staring through Plexiglas at the empty seat that would soon hold his mother. A myriad of fingerprints dotted the dingy surface, a quiet reminder of the desperation and longing within these walls. His thoughts turned to Fiona.
He yearned to see her . . . and dreaded it at the same time.
An annoying buzzer, followed by a slamming door, preceded footsteps echoing down the hall within the bowels of the prison. He stood in anticipation, almost unaware he had moved at all. His gaze shifted to the door beyond the barrier. Swallowing hard, he had to remind himself to breathe. Through the small plate glass in the door, covered with wire mesh, he saw the grim face of a security guard. The door swung open with a creak and Fiona walked into the room.
His heart lurched in his chest.
Dressed in an oversized orange jumpsuit, she looked so frail in her misery, so consumed by it. Gray walls drained her skin of color, blanching it to a doughy sheen. Her normally piercing gaze had lost its defiance. Eyes the color of deep jade had faded and now brimmed with tears glistening under fluorescent lighting.
Profound defeat robbed her of dignity. Fiona would never be the same again. This image of his mother would forever stick in his memory. She stared, a tear draining down her cheek. Christian fought the lump building in his throat. He gestured for her to sit, unable to take his eyes off her.
'How are you? You've lost weight.' His words sounded trite.
She nodded and wiped fingers across her cheek. 'I'm fine. You look . . . Are you getting enough sleep?' Her voice muffled through the speaker in the Plexiglas.
No doubt, the dark circles under his eyes gave him away. Of all people, Fiona knew how he slept, understood his relentless demons. As a child, she comforted him on many nights after one of his recurring nightmares, holding him until he fell asleep again. As a man, the dreams came less frequently, but remained a constant reminder of his past.
So the rift between them left a gaping hole in his heart, stealing the one person he'd known his entire life .. . his confessor. And worse, he could do nothing to ease her suffering.
'Yes. I'm fine,' he lied, hating the strain between them. 'I miss you. I wish—'
Before he finished, she raised a hand to stop him, pain etched deeply on her face. 'Not a day goes by that I don't wish things were different between us . . . that I had made different decisions. But I can't change what happened. I only hope one day you can forgive me.'
'I'm trying ...' He lowered his eyes and took a breath. 'So much has happened. I just need . . . time.'
Awkward silence. No matter how much he longed to reconnect with her, a part of him knew the link had been severed for good. He would have to get beyond her betrayal, and she would have to survive the guilt. None of it would be easy.
Furrowing her brow, Fiona nodded her head in acknowledgment, yet kept her eyes on him. 'You look like you have something on your mind. Please . . . say it.'
He could never hide anything from her. Today would be no different.
'On more than one occasion, I've asked you about my father . . . my biological one.' He took a deep breath, giving her time to prepare. 'This time, I need an answer.'
'Please . . . don't ask me again. Believe me, it's for your own good.' Her words were engulfed by an underlying fear. He read it in her eyes.
'Why?'
'I made a mistake when I was a very young woman. If I tell you now, then you might convince yourself he is a man worth knowing. I can't let you do that.' She diverted her gaze, wringing her thin hands. When she looked up, tears filled her eyes, her lips quivered. 'Even if you don't think of me as your mother, I love you more than my own life. Keeping this secret is the last thing I can do for you . . . from in here. Don't make me answer that question. Please.'
An uncomfortable stillness filled the space between them. Locked in her gaze, he felt the stalemate, unsure how to proceed. Only one way remained. Her way.
'Nicholas Charboneau has been kidnapped in Brazil.' Christian raised his chin, his jaw rigid.
He witnessed her pain, unable to console her. Fiona's eyes widened in shock and the defeat returned, forcing her to stare at her trembling fingers. Without the ability to touch her, he ached with her emptiness.
'His bodyguard, Jasmine Lee, has asked for help to free him. She needs a million dollars wired in seven days and use of the Dunhill jet.'
Christian reached into his windbreaker to pull out an envelope containing the wire instructions. He held the unfolded paper against the barrier for her to see, then slid it back into the envelope. A guard would have to approve the exchange before he gave it to her.
'Don't wire the funds until you hear from . . .' Christian hesitated, catching himself. '. . . until you hear from Jasmine Lee. She'll have your contact information.'
'You trust this woman?'
'Yes, I do,' he lied.
Of course, he'd be the one to make the call on the payout, but he didn't have the heart to tell her he'd be in Brazil to do it. And if the funds got paid early, Charboneau's life would have no more value to the kidnappers. Timing would be everything.
'You still love him, don't you?' Christian knew the answer even before she looked up.
'I would sooner command my heart to stop beating than to deny my love for him.'
'Is he my father, Fie?' The question had been unnecessary, but he wanted to hear her say it. Needed to hear it. 'He's the one you built that shrine to, the one in the attic at the estate. All those memories locked away.'
She chewed her lower lip, no doubt contemplating her options. Time stopped as he waited for her answer. Then resignation stooped her shoulders and she finally replied, 'Yes. Nicky is your father.'
Finally, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.
Christian lowered his head and shut his eyes for an instant, letting everything sink in. When he looked up, he spoke softly. 'If it means anything, Jasmine is convinced he still loves you.'
Haunted laughter echoed in the small room, Fiona's amusement tainted by the agony of her expression. 'Yes, I know . . . but he has a most peculiar way of expressing his feelings, my love. I suppose he always did.'
With a renewed urgency, she placed her hand on the glass, leaving her print smudges, mingling her desperation with the many coming before. Her voice cracked under the weight of emotion.
'Please, Christian, I beg of you. I'll arrange for the money and the aircraft for his bodyguard's use, but please don't get involved with him. He's a dangerous man.'
'So I hear.'
Slowly, he raised his hand to meet hers, pressing it to the barrier. There was nothing more to say. Christian stood, giving the metal chair a shove across the floor. He should have told her the truth. His lie by omission shamed him. But if Fiona knew he planned to accompany Jasmine to Brazil, she might pull her support in order to protect him. He couldn't allow that.
