“Wait,” Sophie said. “You should eat the salad first.”
Jack just smiled at her and took a large wedge of pizza. Alec dragged out a chair and sat across from him. He pulled the pizza box toward him and reached for a slice. Cordie handed them each a beer and distributed napkins as though she was dealing cards.
“So here’s what I know,” she began. “Her full name was Natalie Ann Smith. She was born in Sydney, Australia, and I assume she went back there.”
“What other information do you have on her?” Jack asked.
She handed him copies she had made of her father’s marriage certificate, the divorce decree, the flyer from the Las Vegas chapel, and the Swanson-and-Black wedding invitation.
“That’s all there is,” Cordie said. “Tell me where to start.”
“We can check government records, and how about we track down Hillary and Jonathan Black?” Jack suggested. “We have the date they were married, and it’s public record . . .”
“They could have moved away,” Sophie warned.
Jack smiled at his wife. “We’ll find them.”
“And the invitation might have been for Cordie’s dad before he met Natalie Smith,” Regan said. “They might not even know Natalie.”
“Cordie won’t know until she talks to them,” Jack said.
“I’ve been on the Internet,” Cordie said. “I pulled up the phone directory for Sydney. Do you have any idea how many Smiths are listed? It’ll take me a year to go through all of them,” she exaggerated.
“I know a guy,” Alec said.
“Where?” Jack asked.
“Australia.”
“That’s a big place. Where exactly in Australia?”
“Perth . . . or maybe Sydney,” Alec answered. “He moves around a lot.”
“Interpol?” Jack guessed.
“Something like that. He’s based out of London.”
“Who is he?”
“Liam Scott,” he answered. “I did a favor for him a couple of years ago. He’ll help Cordie.”
“One of us will call you tomorrow with the information on the Blacks,” Jack told her.
• • •
They came through just the way she knew they would. Alec called her at nine fifteen the following morning with the address and phone number for the Blacks. Cordie thought about calling first to set up the meeting but decided face-to-face without any warning would be better. Fortunately she wouldn’t have to drive far. They lived in a suburb just north of the city.
It was a beautiful sunny morning for a drive. And hot. She wore a short white skirt and navy blouse with sandals, but she had her workout clothes in her gym bag in the trunk of her car for her kickboxing class. Regan had signed up both of them for the class, insisting Cordie would love the exercise once she got into it. It was offered twice a week. They normally went on Saturday, but because of a conflict they were going today instead.
The Blacks lived in an older neighborhood of cookie-cutter ranch houses. She found their house number stenciled on the curb and pulled into the narrow driveway. A dog barked when she rang the bell, and she stepped back and waited. A moment later a woman with curly gray hair opened the door. When she saw Cordie, her hand flew to her throat and she gasped. “Oh my God, you have to be her daughter. You’re the spitting image. I swear you’re identical. You could be her twin if she were twenty years younger,” she stammered.
“I look like Natalie?” Cordie asked.
The woman looked confused. “Who?”
Cordie shook her head and smiled. “I think we should start over. Are you Hillary Black?”
“Yes, I am,” she said. “And I know who you are. You’re Simone Taylor’s daughter.”
EIGHT
Cordie was fit to be tied.
“It was all a lie, a big, fat, horrible lie,” she ranted as she paced around Regan’s office. “There is no Natalie Smith. Never was. It was just the name on a fake driver’s license she bought from Hillary for twenty-five dollars so she could go into bars and drink. That’s how they met. Hillary had a nice little sideline going while she was in college. She printed counterfeit driver’s licenses for extra money. Lovely, right?” Hands on hips, she turned to Regan. “Hillary bragged that she was really good at it, too; said it was difficult to tell the difference between the fake and real licenses.”
She paused to take a breath and then continued. “According to Hillary—and God only knows if she’s telling the truth or not—Natalie’s real name is Simone. Simone Taylor. Want to hear something else? Simone was nineteen years old when Hillary met her, and wild, really wild. Men were crazy about her, Hillary told me.”
The pacing started again. Regan sat at her desk watching her friend and waiting for an opportunity to ask questions. She had never seen Cordie so upset, so out of control. Her friend’s cheeks were flushed, and she was sputtering.
“Did you ask Hillary if she knew your father?” She pushed her chair back and stood.
“Yes and no,” Cordie answered. “I asked her if she had ever met Andrew Kane, but I didn’t tell her he was my father. She said no, she had never met him. You know what was really odd? She never asked my name. I tried to introduce myself, but she interrupted to tell a story about Simone. She talked so fast I could barely keep up. Oh, and she said she could tell by looking at me that my mother had married well. How strange was that?”
“Did you have hundred-dollar bills pinned to your shirt again?” Alec asked the question as he walked into the office.
Cordie knew she needed to take a second to calm down and collect her thoughts. She tugged the scarf from her neck, haphazardly folded it, and tossed it on the desk. It slid to the floor, but she didn’t notice. Her sunglasses were on top of her head. She pulled them off and dropped them into her purse, which was perched precariously on the edge of a chair. When she glanced through the double French doors of Regan’s office, she noticed Aiden in the outer room. He was leaning against the reception desk with one ankle crossed over the other, and he had his phone to his ear. His frown indicated he wasn’t pleased with what he was hearing. His side of the conversation was short and not very cordial. She heard him emphatically say, “No,” and nothing else. By the time he finished the call he looked as though he wanted to throw the phone across the room. Turning to the desk, he picked up a stack of papers, walked into Regan’s office, and dropped them in front of her.
He seemed preoccupied when he said, “Here are the forms you wanted. They need to be filled out, signed, and sent over to the accountants as soon as possible.”
“Everything is as soon as possible with you,” Regan said. “We’re in the middle of something,” she added. “We were talking about Cordie’s mother . . . I mean the mother who gave birth . . .” She was making a muddle of explaining.
“He’s all caught up,” Alec said.
“What do you mean, he’s caught up?” Cordie asked.
Alec went to the desk, sat, and turned on the computer. “Remember I called you on your cell right after you left the Blacks’ house?”
Cordie nodded. “I had just gotten back into my car after my lovely visit with Hillary, who told me all sorts of fun stories about her wild friend, my mother dearest, and I was reeling, so you can imagine my state of mind.”
“Regan told me where you were going,” Alec said. “And I was curious to know how it went.”
Cordie recalled the phone conversation. She had been practically incoherent when she answered, and Alec had to calm her down before she could explain what she had found out. “I was very upset, and I might have raised my voice.”
Alec laughed. “Might have?”
Cordie turned to Aiden. “Alec caught you up on my exciting life, then?”
Aiden picked up her scarf and moved her purse so it wouldn’t fall on the floor. “Alec was in my office when he called you. He had you on speaker.”
Oh God. “So you heard every word?” she asked, mortified. She didn’t mind or care that Alec had listened to her tirade. Aiden was another story. She still stupidly cared what he thought. Have to work on that, she told herself. She would add that to her list of feelings she needed to squelch.
She motioned to Regan. “Come on. Let’s get to the gym. I need to kick something.”
“We’re way too early,” Regan argued.
“Don’t leave yet,” Alec said. “I want to show you something.”
Aiden walked behind the desk and stood next to Alec, looking at the computer screen.
“I know what you’re doing,” Cordie said. “You’re looking for Simone Taylor, aren’t you? I wouldn’t bother. That name is probably a lie, too, just like Natalie Smith. I spent hours and hours looking for Natalie on the Internet. Is that what you’re doing, Alec?”
“Uh-huh,” he answered as he typed on the keyboard.
“You’re wasting your time.”
Alec sat back. He was staring at the screen as he said, “I wouldn’t be too sure.”
Aiden glanced at Cordie, then back at the screen. “Wow,” he whispered.
“Wow, what?” Cordie asked.
“Come see.”
She rounded the desk, stepped in front of Aiden, and looked at what had captured their attention. There was a photo, and for a second Cordie thought it was of her. Same eyes, same dark hair . . . same smile . . .
Alec tilted the screen up so she could get a better look and said, “Meet Simone Taylor.”
NINE
Simone was seventeen when this photo was taken. She had just won some beauty pageant,” Alec explained.
“Was it difficult finding her?” Cordie asked. She couldn’t stop staring at her double on the screen. The resemblance was freaking her out.
“Not difficult at all,” Alec said.
Regan leaned over her husband’s shoulder. “Because you had her real name.” She looked up at Regan and added, “Hillary Black was telling the truth.”
Alec had found other information as well. “Simone’s mother isn’t alive, but her father, Julian Taylor, is. He’s about to retire and his son-in-law is set to take over the family business.”
“What is the family business?” Cordie asked.
“Merrick Enterprises,” Alec answered.
“Merrick Enterprises?” Aiden responded with surprise.
“You know them?” Cordie asked.
“They’re probably the biggest real estate developers in Australia, not to mention the other businesses they own. I don’t recall meeting the Taylor family, but I’ve attended so many events in Sydney and Melbourne, there’s a good chance I’ve run into them.”
Pointing to the computer screen, Regan said, “This photo is more than twenty years old. Can you find one that’s more current?”
Alec turned back to the computer. “Not yet, but I just started searching.”
Aiden’s phone rang. He checked to see who was calling and clenched his jaw.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Regan asked. “It could be important.”
“No, it isn’t important. Lester Chambers is calling again. He’s trying to get me to change my mind about buying his property. He called a few minutes ago, and I did something I’m not proud of,” he confessed.
“Then why are you smiling?” Regan wondered.
“What’d you do?” Alec asked at the same time.
“I dumped it all on Spencer.” His phone rang again. Muttering something under his breath, he walked toward the doorway before he answered.
“Do you think Simone has tried to find photos of you, Cordie?” Regan asked.
Cordie stopped watching Aiden and turned to her friend. “I doubt it. She erased me, remember?”
Regan nodded. Aiden was obviously a master at multitasking, because he was still on the phone when he asked Cordie for clarification. “How did she erase you?”
“She decided she didn’t get married and she didn’t have me.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Aiden said before going back to his phone conversation.
Why was he lingering? Cordie wondered. He was usually in such a hurry. If she asked him why he was hanging around, the question would come out as rude. He could go anywhere he wanted; it was his hotel. It was next to impossible not to look at him. He was wearing a deep-navy suit and a white shirt that accentuated his tanned complexion. He’d obviously been playing a lot of rugby. He had the muscles to prove it . . . and the bruises. There was a new one on his forehead, small but still noticeable. Rugby could be a brutal game, which was apparently why he liked it so much. No holds barred, no diplomacy, just brute force and strategy. Alec had caught the fever and was now a player on Aiden’s team. They were, of course, undefeated and loved to boast about it.
“Don’t you have a game today?” she asked when he joined them again.
“That’s tomorrow,” Aiden answered. “Regan mentioned you were thinking about going to Australia. Is that true?”
“I don’t know what I want to do anymore,” she admitted. “When I found out my mother didn’t die, that she just walked out, I had no desire to find her. Then I read the letter she left for my father, and I changed my mind. I didn’t want to speak to her. I just needed to see for myself if she got what she wanted. But now, knowing about the fake ID she used to marry my father and all the lies she told him . . . if I do go, I’ll probably get arrested.”
Alec’s head came up. “Arrested for what?”
“Assault.”
Alec laughed. Cordie was one of the gentlest women he had ever known. She could never knowingly cause any other person pain. “You’re thinking about punching Simone?”
She shrugged, then said, “I don’t know what I’ll do if I ever come face-to-face with her.”
“Cordie, you couldn’t deliberately hurt anyone, no matter how horrible or sleazy he or she may be,” Regan said.
“Here we go,” Alec said, nodding toward the screen. “Simone Taylor Rayburn. Craig Rayburn is Simone’s husband. She was twenty-one and he was thirty-four when they married. They have two sons, and they live in Sydney. Want me to go on?” he asked.
“Is there a family photo?” Regan asked.
“Yes.” Alec pulled up a magazine website and scrolled through the pages to find the one he wanted. He leaned back so Cordie could get a closer look.
