His mouth searched the quivering skin of my throat. "Why not?"

"I promised Gage—he and I agreed—I wouldn't do this with you. Not until—"

"What?" Hardy drew his head back, eyes narrowing. "You don't owe him that. He doesn't own you."

"It's not that, it has nothing to do with ownership, it's just—"

"Like hell."

"I can't break a promise," I insisted. "Gage trusts me."

Hardy said nothing, only gave me a peculiar look. Something about his silence drew shivers up from beneath my skin. Dragging his hand through his hair, Hardy went to one of the picture windows and stared at the city spread below us. "You sure about that?" he asked finally.

"What do you mean?"

He turned to face me, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankles. "The last couple of times I've seen you, I noticed a silver Crown Victoria tailing us. So I got the license plate number and had it checked out. It belongs to a guy who works for a surveillance company."

A chill rushed over me. "You think Gage is having me followed?"

'The car is parked at the end of the street right now." He gestured for me to come to the window. "See for yourself."

I didn't move. "He wouldn't do that."

"Liberty," he said quietly, "you haven't known the bastard long enough to be sure of what he would or wouldn't do."

I rubbed my prickling upper arms with my hands in a futile attempt to warm myself. I was too stunned to speak.

"I know you think of the Travises as friends," I heard Hardy continue in a level tone. "But they're not, Liberty. You think they've done you a favor, taking you and Carrington in? It was no f**king favor. They owe you a hell of a lot more than that."

"Why do you say that?"

He crossed the room to me, took me by the shoulders and stared into my bewildered eyes. "You really don't know, do you? I thought you might at least suspect something."

"What are you talking about?"

His mouth was grim. He pulled me to the sofa, and we sat while he gripped my nerveless hands in his. "Your mother had an affair with Churchill Travis. It lasted for years."

I tried to swallow. The saliva would hardly go down. "That's not true." I whispered.

"Marva told me. You can ask her yourself. Your mother told her all about it."

"Why didn't Marva say anything to me?"

"She was afraid for you to know. Afraid for you to get tangled up with the Travises. For all she knew, they might have decided to take Carrington away from you, and you couldn't have done a damn thing to stop them. Later, when she found out you were working for Churchill, she figured he was trying to make it up to you. She thought it best not to intefere."

"You're not making sense. Why would they have wanted to take Carrington away from me? What could Churchill have—" The blood drained from my face. I stopped and covered my mouth with trembling fingers as I understood.

I heard Hardy's voice as if from a great distance. "Liberty...who do you think Carrington's father is?"

CHAPTER 24

I drove away from Hardy's apartment building, intending to go straight to River Oaks and confront Churchill. I was in more turmoil than I had been at any time since Mama had died. I was strangely calm on the outside, even though my mind and heart were in anarchy. // can't be true, I thought over and over. I didn't want it to be true.

If Churchill was Carrington's father...I thought about the times we'd been hungry, the hardships, the times she'd asked why she didn't have a daddy when her friends did. I'd showed her the picture of my father and said, "This is our daddy," and I'd told her how much he loved her even though he was living in heaven. I thought of the birthdays and holidays, the times she'd been sick, all the things she'd had to do without...

If Churchill was Carrington's father, he didn't owe a damn thing to me. But he owed plenty to her.

Before I realized what I was doing. I found myself driving up to the gated entrance of

the garage at 1800 Main. The security guard asked for my driver's license, and I hesitated, thinking I should tell him I'd made a mistake, I hadn't meant to come here. Instead I showed it to him and drove into the residents' parking section, and stopped the car. I wanted to see Gage. I didn't even know if he was home.

My finger was shaking as I pressed the button for the eighteenth floor, a little from fear but mostly from anger. Despite Mexican women's reputation for having hot tempers, I was pretty mild-mannered most of the time. I didn't like getting angry, I hated the bitter adrenaline rush that came with it. But at the moment I was ready to explode. I wanted to throw things.

I went to Gage's door with long, heel-digging strides, and hammered with a force that bruised my knuckles. When there was no response, I raised my fist to hammer again, and nearly pitched forward as the door was opened.

Gage stood there, looking calm and capable as always. "Liberty..." A question tipped the last syllable of my name. His light gaze swept over me, coming to rest on my flushed face. He reached out to draw me inside the apartment. I jerked away from him as I stepped over the threshold. "What's going on, sweetheart?"

I couldn't bear the warmth in his voice, or my own aching need, even now, to bury myself against him. "Don't you dare pretend you're concerned about me," I stormed, throwing my purse to the floor. "I can't believe what you've done, when I've been nothing but honest with you!"