He was gripping his brother's hand when the nurse came in to escort him out. "He needs to rest, Mr. Talbot," she said softly, placing a tray of syringes on a nearby tray.
Barely hearing her for the thoughts rampaging through his beleaguered mind, Randall slipped the deposit ticket into his pocket. "When will the doctor be here?"
"Dr. Gregory usually gets in around six." She slid a needle into one of the I.V. lines. "He should be here in about an hour."
Feeling as though he'd stepped into someone else's nightmare, one that was terrifying and dangerous, Randall left the room, wondering how in the hell he was going to break the news to Addison.
*
Addison knew the moment she saw him that the visit had shaken him badly. "How is he?" she asked.
"Sleeping." It was the only answer she got. "Let's go get some coffee. We need to talk."
A stark sense of uneasiness settled over her as they made their way to the hospital cafeteria. He knows something, she thought. Something important. Something terrible.
The cafeteria was a dreary basement room that smelled of vending machine coffee and yesterday's meat loaf. Randall bought two cups of coffee and ushered her to a comer table.
"What did you find out?" she asked when he was seated across from her. "
"Jack told me who your birth father is."
The words struck her with physical force. She met his gaze. Cold wariness poured over her. There was something in his eyes she'd never seen before. Fear, she thought, only darker.
"Who?" She braced for the impending blow.
Randall withdrew the deposit ticket from his pocket and laid it on the table in front of them.
Heart pounding, she lowered her gaze.
Garrison Tate.
Shock spiraled through her. She stared, too stunned to feel anything but disbelief.
Garrison Tate. The name bespoke power and status. He was a political high roller. She'd seen him on television. Handsome. Charming.
A cold-blooded killer.
Her next thought was that Jack had made a mistake. His hacking programs had somehow failed him.
"Garrison Tate." Randall said the name aloud when she didn't speak. "He announced just last month that he would be running for a seat in the U.S. Senate."
"This can't be. There's got to be a mistake." She couldn't tear her eyes away from the scrawling letters. "This is insane. He's a respected politician, for chrissake."
Randall looked over his shoulder in a gesture that sent an icy finger gliding up her back. "Old man Stukins mentioned Yale. We can check to see if Tate went to Yale."
"A crazy old man's ranting doesn't prove anything," Addison snapped back. She refused to believe that such a powerful and respected man would go to such violent lengths to hide his past.
Randall slapped his palm against the table. "Dammit, think about it. Your parents. Agnes Beckett. Jim Bernstein. Jesus, Addison, it fits."
She could only stare at him as the horror seeped into her.
Deep inside, she knew he was right. But the truth was so ugly, she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge it. "I can't believe a respected politician would resort to murder to hide the fact that he has an illegitimate daughter."
"You were conceived through an act of rape. Agnes Beckett was a minor. She was fucking brutalized. You saw the emergency room invoice. God only knows how badly she was hurt, or what else was done to her. That changes everything."
Her stomach clenched. Bile rose in her throat as the reality of his words struck her. She hugged herself against the sudden chill that enveloped her.
"He battered and raped a sixteen-year-old girl," he said harshly. "He bought and paid for McEvoy. He destroyed your birth mother's reputation and the entire, stinking crime was swept under the rug."
Outrage and sadness and an acute sense of injustice sent her heart hammering against her ribs. The pain was so intense, it hurt to draw a breath. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she thought of her birth mother. Sixteen years old. Poor. Uneducated. But with dreams as big as the sky was endless. She would have been dazzled by a handsome young student from Yale. She would have been vulnerable. She would have been without credibility because of her lack of social status.
The perfect victim.
Garrison Tate had forever and irrevocably changed Agnes Beckett's life. In a single, violent act, he had ripped her dreams away and then systematically destroyed her.
Addison choked back a sob. Vaguely, she was aware of Randall reaching for her. Taking her hand. Squeezing.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She lowered her face into her hands. She felt sick inside. Sickened by the fact that she was the product of such a vile act. "God, Randall, it hurts."
"I know, honey. I'm sorry."
"Agnes Beckett didn't deserve that. My parents. Jim. Jack. None of them deserved what happened."
"Neither do you. That's why I'm going to nail that slimy son of a bitch."
She raised her eyes to his. "We need proof. We can't do anything without proof."