And he was the tiniest bit smug about that. ‘True.’
‘But you do have an Internet presence. Or your daughters do, at least.’
He drew a very deep breath. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked ominously.
She didn’t blink. ‘I mean that your daughter Taylor was in the papers last year for helping to take down that man who murdered his wife and threatened his little girl. Jazzie. I tried to call her, by the way. Taylor, I mean. I posed as a reporter. She wouldn’t answer any of my questions. However, your other daughter did.’
‘That’s impossible,’ he said flatly. Because Daisy only accepted calls from numbers she knew. Otherwise she’d have blown her travel budget on cellular fees and not easels and paint in Paris. Besides, he monitored her bills. Closely. He’d never tell her, but he watched her credit card receipts for trips to the liquor store or the wine shop. He’d allowed her alcoholism to run unchecked for too long the first time. He was not making the same mistake twice.
Her drinking had been his fault, after all. He’d been trying to give her ‘space’ then, which was ludicrous considering he’d all but sentenced her to a life of seclusion on the ranch in California for her entire adolescence. And all that after he’d already lost one daughter to addiction. Thinking about Carrie hurt too much, so he focused on the children he could still save.
Yes, he continued to watch over Daisy as best he could, and from the accounts he’d received from those around her, she was clean and sober and happy. Just as she should be. And due to this vigilance, he was quite certain that she’d taken no calls from strange phone numbers. At least not from the US to Europe.
He stared Miss Brewster down coolly. ‘You must be mistaken.’
‘No, I’m not. Julie was quite frank with me on the phone.’
Frederick drew a shocked breath. ‘What?’ Hearing someone say his daughter’s name was like taking a high-voltage jolt. Julie was the youngest of his four daughters and . . . special. Born with cerebral palsy, she also had an intellectual disability. At twenty-one, she read at a fourth grade level, although she thought she might be making progress at the new therapy center she attended. Regardless, he kept her safe from the world. From anyone who’d hurt her. Fury began to blaze within him at the very thought that someone, that this woman, had breached that protective wall. ‘That is impossible,’ he said, his voice shaking with anger.
She gave him a sympathetic look. ‘You may not have a Facebook page, Mr Dawson, but Julie does.’
‘Julie’s never touched a computer,’ he declared, confident of that fact.
Her brows lifted. ‘Because she has CP? Think again, Mr Dawson. Look, I harbor no plans to hurt you or your children. I’m a mother. I’m a nurse. But I also like to continue breathing, and this thing with Bernie is damn terrifying. Her husband stalks her, she fights back and wounds him, so he stalks her more. And then she gets arrested, for God’s sake.’ Her voice rose a little more at the end of every sentence. ‘And then her lawyer gets accused of murder? And then her replacement lawyer asks me to meet him alone?’ Her eyes flashed in a mixture of fear and anger. ‘Damn straight I was going to check you out before I met you. Damn straight I told someone exactly where I am and who I’m with so that they know where to start looking if I fail to check in later.’
She looked away, visibly gathering her composure. When she spoke, her voice was quiet again. ‘I wanted to know what kind of man you are. Your daughter Julie adores you, by the way. That’s all I really wanted you to know. For her sake. But I think she’s picked up more at the new therapy center than you might have realized. You might see her as a child, but just because she might read at a lower level, she is not a child. She doesn’t speak like a child, she doesn’t think like a child, and she has the needs and wants of an adult.’
Frederick could only stare at her. Oh my God. Julie. She had a caregiver who attended to her personal needs and who stayed with her when Frederick was working, which wasn’t that often. He thought he’d been paying adequate attention. I guess I thought wrong. Yet again. A feeling of despair crept into his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. He’d failed another one of his daughters.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he managed, his voice rough and unsteady.
Sally Brewster’s mouth curved sadly. ‘Say thank you. And then make sure your daughter is safe. She could attract the wrong kind of attention so very easily. I couldn’t have lived with myself if something happened to her and I hadn’t told you.’ She stood up, her hand outstretched. ‘Thank you for supporting Bernie. I know she appreciates it. And please call me should you have any questions about her situation. She’s my best friend.’
Frederick rose too, locking his knees to keep them from buckling, and shook her hand. ‘Thank you. I’ll walk you to your car.’
‘That would be nice. Thank you. This isn’t a bad neighborhood, especially during the day, but it’s prudent to be careful.’
On autopilot, he guided her to the backstage door, but stopped before opening it as a thread of reason wound into his brain. ‘Wait. How did you get my home phone number?’
‘Julie gave it to me after I messaged her on Facebook.’
His jaw tightened. ‘You had no right. She’s a child. My child.’
Her eyes flashed again, and this close, he noticed they were blue. Like the sky. She opened her mouth to speak, then her anger was abruptly gone, her shoulders sagging as she met his gaze directly. ‘You’re right. I didn’t. I apologize. She’s not a child, but still, I didn’t have the right. At the same time, aren’t you glad it was me, and not someone . . . else? Someone who actually might want to hurt her? Now at least you know about the problem.’
He shook his head, unable to find words of absolution. Because there was nothing about this that was okay. Julie was off limits. ‘Let’s just go.’
But her hand had reached out to cover his as he clutched the doorknob. ‘I was afraid. But you’re right. I shouldn’t have contacted her.’
He jerked a nod, too damn aware of her hand on his. It was gentle and . . . He swallowed hard, trying to remember how long it had been since he’d had such a simple touch from a woman. Years, he realized. Long before his wife had died. She’d been sick for a long time. But it was more than that. When he found out how she had lied to him for years, telling him they had to hide because Clay was a threat to Taylor . . . When he realized how much she’d stolen from all of them . . . He could no longer remember any of her touches with anything but contempt.
So it had been a long time. Maybe not since his first wife – Carrie, Daisy and Julie’s mother – had died. Twenty-one years. Too damn long. Way too damn long if such a simple touch had him as tongue-tied as a schoolboy.
He stared at Miss Brewster’s small hand with its neat, unpolished nails. Her hands cared for people every day. This was not a woman with an evil agenda. Although he had believed every word Taylor’s mother had said, so he would never trust his own judgment again, at least not when it came to women.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to put himself in her place. Yes, she’d been right to be cautious. ‘I suppose I understand your being afraid.’
‘Well, that’s kind of you,’ she murmured. He thought she’d remove her hand then, but she didn’t. Her gaze had dropped to their hands as well. ‘But you are wrong about a few things, I think, Mr Dawson.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, for starters, Julie is not a child. I’ve said that several times, but I don’t think you’re completely hearing me. She’s a twenty-one-year-old woman. She might read at a lower level, but her interests and desires are most definitely adult. As are her hormones.’
He sucked in another startled breath. ‘What do you mean?’
She glanced up at him, a small smile on her lips. ‘She has a boyfriend.’