Chapter 6
Northern California
“Did you see Papa?” Callesandra asked sleepily when Amanda checked on her shortly after midnight. So stunned by Callie’s innocent question, Amanda’s head snapped back as if she’d been struck. Papa? “Who, Callie?” Amanda coaxed to be sure she’d heard correctly.
Callie rolled over as she whispered, “The admiral, Mama.”
Alex? What had given Callie that idea, that he was her father?
She supposed he had been around a lot—like all the time—and had been very affectionate with her daughter, but she’d never heard her call him “Papa” before.
Poor thing, all of this must be so hard on her, too, her own mother barely remembering things.
It’s no wonder that she’d cling to him. Hadn’t she herself latched on to him too?
Amanda sat down on the edge of Callie’s bed, her daughter still looking at her with her bright, earnest eyes.
Eyes that Amanda had always loved, though she could never see herself in them.
Suddenly, Amanda froze. Those eyes. Surely, they couldn’t be…
no. Could they? Amanda let herself consider just for a moment—for a crazy, in-no-way-is-this-possible moment—that Callie wasn’t mistaken.
That Mr. Mont—Alex was her father, her real one.
She rewound as far back as her mind would allow.
The hospital. He’d written a check for her release, AMA, against medical advice.
The way he’d touched her wrists, the reverent sweep of his thumbs as he brushed them over her bruises, once he’d removed the restraints and before his large hands clutched her.
In the moment, she’d been so woozy she’d barely noticed, but now she could almost feel the possessiveness of his grip as she pictured it.
How he’d almost ripped the manacles from the bedrails that secured her ankles.
Bloody hell, sweetheart, he’d said. I’m taking you home, Amanda.
The way he’d held her in the truck on the ride back.
Sure, she’d been under the influence of drugs, not to mention traumatized and exhausted, but he’d held her. On his lap. In his arms.
She vaguely recalled now burrowing into his neck. Why had she done that? He’d rocked her. And she’d felt safe. Really safe. When she’d awoken at home that night, he’d been there, at her bedside. Holding Zander.
Her son looked like him, too, same coloring, same hair. No wonder Alex was so easily affectionate with Callie and Zander. And no wonder Callie was so comfortable with him.
Could it really be true? From the moment Amanda remembered meeting him, Callie had called him Admir—then her mind whirled again as an image, barely a second’s worth, of Alex on the cliffs of Abersoch, windblown and reaching for her flashed through her mind—
“Mama? Did you?” Callie asked again, jarring Amanda from her swirling thoughts. She pasted on a smile and brushed the hair from Callie’s face before kissing her brow.
Yes, she had his eyes, Amanda realized again. How had she missed that before? Callie had an uncanny resemblance to her, people had always remarked on it, but the similarities stopped at her eyes.
Looking at her now, something else crystallized in Amanda’s mind, causing her heart to break just a little bit. Callie was not her biological daughter. Out of nowhere, she realized that was true. And yet she loved her like she was.
It seemed crazy—Amanda had seen Callie’s birth certificate, her passport—but somehow, deep down, Amanda knew Callie was not technically hers, sure as she knew anything else.
In fact, six years ago was when she’d won her first Grammy.
She could remember the awards circuit from then clearly.
And she’d been dating someone who turned out to be a real jerk.
She’d let herself forget all of that, but there was no denying it.
Callie even had that similar strange cadence to her speech that Alex had. How had she been so blind?
“I did, sweetie,” Amanda said, turning to Callie, keeping her voice light. “He just left.” She tucked the covers more tightly about her daughter and kissed her precious little face again, realizing just how much she loved this child, his child. “I’ll see you in the morning, baby.”
As she leaned against the back of Callie’s bedroom door, reeling from too many thoughts and emotions to count, what she couldn’t fathom was why they hadn’t told her. None of them.
Why? She’d seen movies and read novels where characters had amnesia, but not one had a scenario that included keeping that person in the dark.
Unless they were trying to gaslight them.
Or worse. Was something nefarious happening?
She shivered, terrified for a moment. What else were they not telling her?
Callie’s innocent question spurred Amanda’s next move.
In fact, a series of moves that would forever change her life as she’d known it—or at least as she’d thought she’d known it.
Cue the gears moving in her head. Not a firm landing yet, or anything close, just another piece of the puzzle that belonged on the board but was still set to the side.
Two hours later—after Amanda had torn the house apart looking for evidence of Alex before he’d taken her from the hospital, or any kind of relationship she might have had with him—Amanda picked up her phone and dialed, tapping her foot, frustrated and trying to think of more places to look even as the phone rang.
But there was no evidence. Nothing made sense.
Nothing explained why no one, Sam especially, had told her Alexander frigging Montgomery was the father of her children.
Or, if this ridiculous but increasingly plausible idea was the truth, then why there were no pictures of him or them together anywhere, even in a drawer or an album?
She’d checked. Everywhere. No pictures, love letters, cards, mementos, an old T-shirt of his in her closet buried under her things.
Nothing online, nothing in the house. Nothing at all.
“Derek?” she said when her longtime private jet pilot finally answered.
“Amanda?” Captain Morgan answered, obviously surprised to hear from her at two in the morning.
“Are you in town?”
“I am.”
“I need to go to Chicago. I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”
She heard fumbling in the background. “I’ll call the guys and have her ready by four. Good?” he said, and Amanda breathed a thankful sigh of relief. Captain Morgan—always reliable.
“Perfect. Thanks, Derek.” It would take an hour to get to the small private airport where they kept her G5 anyway.
She had one more call to make. She knew it would break the new current protocol, but at the moment she didn’t really care. She needed to take control, and this seemed like the right move. The only right move. Stan’s voice was clear as a bell when he picked up. “You okay?”
“I need you to pick me up.”
“Amanda?”
“I need to get out of here, Stan. Please.”
“I have to tell him,” he said. Stan had been with her longer than he’d been with Montgomery, so Amanda knew that if she pressed, he’d be loyal to her, though it would pain him. Stan loved rules.
“No,” she said firmly. “You don’t. In fact, when we get out of here, you need to tell me. I still don’t know what’s going on, but I’d bet my last dollar that you do.”
“Amanda, I have to let Alex know—he’s my boss.”
“I’m taking the kids and Rosa regardless.
If you don’t come, I’ll go alone.” She hung up the phone and glanced at the clock again—2:07.
She knew Stan well enough to know he’d be here by the time she was ready.
He’d be too worried for her safety to let her leave alone.
And that was a relief, because in this house of cards, Stan was the only person she still trusted; though, considering the circumstances, even that trust now came with caveats.
Why hadn’t anyone shared the truth with her?
The question was running across a marquee in her head all night.
They’d taken advantage of her good nature.
It made her mad. And made her feel like a frigging idiot.
She’d begun to bond with him. Jeez, they…
she’d felt like they were becoming friends.
Friends who liked to be with each other.
A lot. Who gave each other longing glances—don’t think she hadn’t noticed.
What, was she deemed too delicate to handle the truth? Well, screw that. She refused to be the Amanda who needed to be treated with kid gloves. Bring it on, people. She was taking the upper hand. She was taking charge.
Filled with renewed determination, Amanda grabbed a weekender and started packing, not sure how long she’d be gone, but knowing that staying here right now was not an option.
God, she’d been stupid. It seemed so obvious now.
The way he always looked at her, so deeply and so seriously.
The way he always touched her when she was in front of him, brushed her hair back, fixed her hood, or checked her bruises.
The way he spoke to her, and, she hated to admit, how his voice made her feel.
And what security company’s CEO was around that much, took that much personal interest in their clients, no matter how famous they were or how much they were worth?
Amanda thought about how he always seemed to take cues from Evan before broaching a subject. Like he was asking Evan’s permission for it. Permission about how much she could handle. Of the truth. That realization made her angrier. She could handle anything, just give her a frigging chance.
And Sam! That was the betrayal that hurt the worst. Why on earth couldn’t her friend, her best frigging friend, give her a clue? The next time she called her that cutesy name, Ammy, she might just slap her.
Over feeling like a victim while waiting for her memory to return, Amanda marched past Sam’s room, her anger turned to pure fury that she’d kept something this monumental from her.