Multiples Mystery. Alice Sharpe

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      Olivia’s dark eyes flashed. “I know he wanted to be here.”

      “Where did you say he went?”

      “I didn’t,” she said, doubt sneaking into her voice. “He didn’t have a chance to tell me.”

      It appeared all the reporters, who had been growing bored with another multiple baby story, smelled fresh blood. “Would you say your husband is a secretive man?”

      “Absolutely not,” Olivia said immediately, but her eyes betrayed her uncertainty. She squared her shoulders and added, “Anthony tells me everything. We’re partners, there are no secrets between us. It’s just that lately I’ve been out of the loop. I’m sure you understand.”

      Partners. Did Olivia really believe she and Anthony were partners?

      He looked around the room. He could see the hunger in the reporter’s eyes, the cameraman next to him zooming in closer and closer on Olivia’s face. The headlines would read, Woman Gives Birth to Quadruplets, Dad Disappears. His heart went out to her. They had to find Anthony and nip this thing in the bud.

      “What’s next for you, Mrs. Capri?” someone asked.

      “I just want to take my babies back to Westerly. I want to take them home.”

      “With your husband?”

      “That goes without saying.”

      “That’s enough,” Juliet said, casting her daughter a concerned mom type glance. Amid much grumbling, the crowd began to disperse. Zac caught up with Olivia by the elevator and greeted her family, who explained they were on their way upstairs to feed and cuddle the infants. He asked Olivia to linger behind for a moment.

      Faith, who had trailed him, hustled the family onto the elevator. “Catch up with us when you can,” she murmured as the doors slid shut.

      He put a hand under Olivia’s elbow and guided her to a small sofa across the room from where the hospital maintenance crew was in the process of dismantling the table and chairs used for the interview. Their corner of the lobby was quiet.

      Her mouth set in a straight line, she said, “I can’t believe those reporters. They were digging for some kind of intrigue.”

      Zac tried to look sympathetic, but his own chore lay ahead and he dreaded it. “There’s no way to sugarcoat what I have to tell you. Anthony was not staying at the Marina Inn.” He hadn’t told her this on the phone because it had seemed cruel to do so. Then he’d gotten waylaid by his case and finally, like the big chicken he was, he’d hoped Anthony would come to his senses and Olivia might never have to know her husband lied to her.

      The time for that kind of sensibility was over as the man was still missing.

      She blinked a couple of times. “What do you mean? He checked out?”

      “He was never there.”

      “But he said he was.”

      Zac waited without speaking.

      She blinked thick black lashes a few times, her dark eyes almost liquid. “He lied to me.”

      The last forty-eight hours of little sleep—and none of it in an actual bed—had made his head fuzzy, his eyelids feel grainy. Sidestepping the lying thing, he said, “I saw your mother hold up a wedding picture. If you’ll get her to loan it to me I’ll take it back to the hotel and find out if anyone recognizes him.”

      “You’re saying he used a different name.”

      “I’m not saying anything. It’s the next logical step.”

      She peered closely at him for a second. “You look tired, Zac.”

      “Nothing eight hours in the sack won’t take care of. Go get the picture. I’ll wait right here for you.”

      She nodded once and got to her feet, moving a little slowly, no doubt due to the recent operation. Her soft gray skirt swished against her long legs as she paused in front of him.

      When had he first started noticing things like Olivia’s breasts and shapely legs and the way her supple body curved? When had he noticed she was no longer a kid? When she came home from college to help out her mother and little sisters after her father died? He’d been in the middle of a divorce. He could barely remember anything from around that time, but at some point it had finally registered in his sorry brain that she’d changed.

      And yet he’d never done a damn thing about it. The timing was always off. The chance she’d laugh in his face—well, there was that, too.

      “I’ll be right back but it might take a few moments,” she said and he realized he’d been staring at her lips.

      “I’ll wait right here,” he said, and watched her cross the lobby, her gait cautious but fluid. There was nothing wrong with the way her hips moved, either.

      Not a damn thing.

      

      OLIVIA CHECKED on each of her babies, leaning close to them, whispering assurances, kissing silky foreheads, promising each she would find their daddy. They indiscriminately threw their little arms wide or jerked their tiny legs up against their chests and made baby faces that charmed her down to her toes.

      Olivia told Faith where she was going and while her mother was busy cooing over Brianna, swiped the lone wedding picture from the oversize handbag.

      She stared at it on the way down in the elevator, bypassing her own face to concentrate on Anthony’s.

      The wedding had taken place in September. Anthony had been very tan, his light hair bleached lighter by months of summer sun. He looked like the sportsman he was, like a skier or a deep-sea fisherman. His white teeth glowed in contrast to his bronzed skin. With a bittersweet jab in the heart, she remembered their Key West honeymoon. He’d been attentive, charming. His smile never seemed to slip off his face. More than once she’d found herself thinking she’d married a very good actor and then reproached herself and wondered where such a thought came from.

      The moment they’d returned home, she’d started throwing up. The diagnosis she was carrying multiples came next. In a daze she’d come home from the doctor’s office, the sonogram clutched in her hand. She would have to tell Anthony there were four little hearts, four little lives—she would have to tell him their future had just been rewritten, things were going to change forever and ever.

      He’d seemed as shocked by the news as she was. A week later, she’d begun to adjust to her new reality and a week after that, when she told Faith and her mother, she’d started looking forward to this life-altering experience.

      Anthony, however, hadn’t.

      Slowly, as Anthony’s summer tan faded with the advent of winter, so had his interest in her. He’d married a woman eager for adventure and ended up with a nauseated blimp. The fancy sports car would have to go—they would need a van of some kind. The guest suite in the house he was building acquired a new designation: nursery wing.

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