Desire a Donovan Page 15

  She’d had hangovers before, mostly in college after finals. This didn’t feel like a hangover. Actually, there was a haziness hovering around her, and opening her eyes felt like a tremendous chore. She’d only had two glasses of champagne at the ball, definitely not enough to cause a hangover. Still, her stomach felt as if it would momentarily heave whatever was inside and her temples felt like someone was driving nails into her head.

  Lyra whimpered, the act of trying to open her eyes more tiring than she’d ever imagined.

  “Lyra.” She heard her name being called and wanted to open her eyes even more urgently. But she couldn’t.

  “Just relax, take it slow,” the voice said. It was a man, a familiar man, she thought.

  Lyra took a deep breath, let her eyes rest a minute, then attempted to open them again. This time it worked, her lids cracked open. Spears of light seeped inside and she whimpered again.

  “I’ll get them. Just sit tight. I’ll take care of it,” the male voice told her. She’d heard this voice before, felt soothed by it at one time.

  When she tried to open her eyes this time they opened wider, the light subsided and she blinked long, then opened her eyes again. She saw Dion standing next to her and wanted to smile. But something like dread settled in her chest and she gasped instead.

  “The car,” she whispered, her throat a little sore with the effort.

  Dion’s lips closed into a tight line before he nodded. “There was an accident,” he told her.

  Flashes of memory sped through Lyra’s mind and she gasped at the recall. The bright lights and fancy dresses at the ball, followed by the stench of alcohol, the slurred speech of her mother, the car moving fast, spinning out of control. With an audible cry she felt the impact of the crash once more and tears streamed down her face.

  “It’s all right, baby. Everything’s all right now. You’re at the hospital and they’re taking good care of you,” Dion attempted to reassure her, his hands wiping away the tears on her cheeks.

  “She wouldn’t put her seat belt on,” she heard herself saying in a crackled voice. “I told her to put her seat belt on.”

  “Okay,” Dion was saying.

  But Lyra heard something else, beeping and doors opening and footsteps. She looked around and in the next instant there was a woman standing beside her.

  “Ms. Anderson? Can you hear me?” the woman was saying.

  Of course she could hear her, she wasn’t deaf. “Yes,” Lyra said, wanting the woman to go away.

  She didn’t, and in came another stranger. Lyra looked to Dion, who stared at her with concern. She closed her eyes and tried again to remember everything that had happened. He said there was an accident and she was obviously in the hospital. Okay, so that meant she was hurt. But she wasn’t the only one in the car.

  “My mother?” she asked, looking at Dion again. “Where’s my mother?”

  “I’d like to do a few tests, Mr. Donovan. If you could just step out of the room for a few minutes.”

  He was the doctor, Lyra supposed as she looked from him to Dion and asked again, “Where’s my mother?”

  Dion looked tired but he kept his eyes on hers after nodding to the doctor. “She didn’t make it, baby” was what he said before leaning over to kiss her on the forehead.

  Lyra’s eyes closed again and this time she didn’t really care if she could open them again or not. She didn’t hear Dion leave the room and barely heard the doctor and nurse talking to her. All she heard was the screeching of the tires and the loud sickening crunch of metal that signaled the end.

  * * *

  Six days later, Lyra stood in the Canyon Pines Cemetery, a navy blue coffin draped with blue and white carnations only six feet away from her. Her tears had long since dried up. She’d cried for Paula Anderson for years, now all she could do was stand.

  Janean and Bruce stood by her side as they had these past few days. When she’d been discharged from the hospital she’d returned to the Big House and to the bedroom where she’d grown up. Her hands were still bandaged and the date for her surgery was scheduled for next week. The impact of the air bag had caused severe nerve damage to both her hands. If not repaired, Lyra might not do something as simple as write her name again. And she might never hold a camera again. That thought made her extremely sad but not sad enough to cry. Lyra was definitely all cried out.

  It was a bright sunny day in Miami, the day she had to bury her mother. The funeral service had been a wonderful heartfelt homegoing filled with friends of Paula’s—friends Lyra never knew she had. Of course there had to be others in Paula’s life, others that were trapped in the same addiction as her mother had been. Lyra silently prayed for them all, instead of judging them, because it’s what her mother would have wanted.

  Several of the Donovans were at the funeral. Regan and her parents, Savian and Parker. Sean was there and, of course, Dion, whom she hadn’t spent a moment alone with since that day in the hospital when he’d told her that Paula was gone. It wasn’t because Dion hadn’t tried to see her alone, it was that Lyra didn’t want to see him. Over the course of the past few days she’d had time to really think about what had happened and about all that had led her to this moment in her life.

  The revelation that Mark was an idiot and her sleeping with Dion had been things she’d known were bound to happen. And really, Lyra didn’t regret any of that. What did linger in her mind was Katrina’s announcement that she was carrying Dion’s child. She wondered if Dion knew, if he did and just wasn’t telling her, or any of his family for that matter. She also wondered if his family knew and had agreed to keep it from her. All this made Lyra wonder if she’d ever be able to trust Dion, or if what was between them could really be expected to last.

  Now was not the time to consider all these things. It was time to say her final farewell to her mother. When the preacher said his last words and nodded toward Lyra, she took one slow step toward the casket, then stopped.

  “You’ve done all that a good daughter can do,” Janean said into her ear. “You can go now.”

  Lyra shook her head. No, she couldn’t. With a deep breath she walked the rest of the way to the casket and picked two bright white roses from one of the arrangements sitting on the ground. With steady hands and a heart that actually felt lighter than it had in years, she lay the two stems on top of her mother’s casket and said, “I love you, always.”

  Bruce wrapped his arms around her whispering in her ear, “She was so very proud of you, Lyra. You were everything to her.”

  Lyra nodded, knowing his words were true. She would move on with her life knowing that her mother had been very sick for a very long time and that even in that sickness her love for her child had never ceased.

  Lyra heard his voice, felt the comfort it exuded. Then she heard something else. A female’s voice saying something she never wanted to hear—someone else would have Dion’s child.

  They’d all walked away from the burial site and were just about to step into the four limousines that were waiting for the family. Someone yelled, everybody stopped walking and looked around. Then shots rang out.

  Lyra didn’t have a chance to see where they came from as she was pushed immediately into the backseat of one of the limos. There were screams and yells all around as her heart thumped wildly in her chest.

  “Dion,” she whispered.

  Chapter 24

  Trent Donovan was still in Miami wrapping up his investigation of Katrina Saldana and uncovering even more disturbing facts about the woman and her connections. The fact that Katrina and Mark Stanford had made bail and were released from jail the day before Paula Anderson’s funeral had concerned him.

  “What should we do?” Sean asked Trent as he, Dion and Parker sat in Trent’s hotel room.

  “We should be alert” was Trent’s response. “S
tanford has a good lawyer and so does Katrina. Of the two of them I think Stanford’s the most stable. He’s not about to risk his job or his money over any more scandal. Katrina, on the other hand, doesn’t have much to lose.”

  “What about the men pressing charges against her?” Parker asked. “Who are they and how far will they go to see her punished?”

  “Most of them are old rich men who just want to punish her for making fools of them. One, however, is connected to some unsavory characters so it might be a little dangerous to her to be out of jail right now,” Trent told them.

  “So it would make sense for her to keep a low profile,” Sean said.

  Dion shook his head. “No. She won’t do that. I’ll see her again,” he said with confidence. “I get the feeling she’s not finished yet.”

  This conversation had led the Donovan men to hire security for the funeral, and it was a good thing they did.

  * * *

  Dion watched Lyra from a distance, his heart going out to her for all the pain and loss she had endured in her young lifetime. He wanted so badly to stand by her, to be the one to comfort her, but she didn’t appear to want that. In the past few days she’d been very standoffish with him, so much so that he wondered where their relationship now stood.

  It was selfish of him to stand here at this gravesite thinking about his future with a woman who was barely speaking to him. But Dion didn’t care. He wanted Lyra, he wanted a life with her and he wouldn’t apologize for thinking of nothing else.

  When she faltered only slightly at the coffin he wanted to run to her side, to scoop her up into his arms and hold her away from any harm and pain forevermore. But his parents were there, that would have to suffice.

  As they filed away heading to the limos, Dion couldn’t help but look around. The funeral hadn’t been private. Lyra had wanted all of Paula’s friends to come and say their final farewells. So there were at least one hundred and fifty people around, some going to cars, others standing in groups lighting cigarettes or shaking their heads in either sorrow or disbelief.

  He saw the bodyguards that they’d hired to stick close to the family for a couple of weeks as they seemed to be looking around just as he was. Then he saw Katrina.

  Dion instantly moved away from the family, heading straight toward her. She was standing on the other side of the pebbled driveway, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, a short coat belted at her waist. Her legs were covered in some type of skintight denim, and stiletto heels adorned her feet. She was staring intently, Dion noted. But not at him.

  He walked faster, trying not to draw attention to himself but needing to get to Katrina as soon as possible. When he was just at the front of one of the limousines Dion had to stop to let a car pass. Since there would be no official funeral procession this time, cars were free to go without waiting for the hearse or the family cars to pull out first. In the second he stood still he saw Katrina reach into her pocket and pull out a gun. Without wasting another second Dion ran toward Katrina, shouting for her to put the gun down.

  She never wavered, didn’t even look in his direction, but pulled the trigger.

  Shots rang out as bullets pierced the windows of the limousine that Lyra was getting into.

  All hell broke loose as Dion ran straight into Katrina knocking her to the ground. Two of the bodyguards were there in seconds, grabbing Katrina’s arms and wrestling the gun out of her hands. When Dion rolled off her she was pushed onto her stomach and one of the guards held her hands behind her back.

  “You don’t love her!” she screamed at Dion. “You can’t love her! She’s nothing! Nobody!”

  Dion looked down at what he once thought was a beautiful woman and shook his head. “She’s more than you will ever be.”

  “Dion!”

  Hearing his name being yelled pulled Dion’s attention away from the pitiful sight of Katrina being lifted off the ground and held tightly by the bodyguards.

  Lyra struggled to get away from another bodyguard who was trying to keep her in the limo, away from the commotion on this side of the driveway. He ran to her, giving the guard a nod of permission to let her go. When he thought Lyra would run into his arms she pushed past him to look over to where Katrina was being led away.

  “You can’t hurt her,” she was saying, out of breath. “She’s carrying your baby.”

  “What?” Dion asked pulling Lyra’s arm and turning her to face him.

  She brushed wayward strands of hair away from her face and took a deep breath. “At the ball she told me she was pregnant with your child.”

  “What the hell did she just say?” Bruce came up behind Lyra looking at Dion with a deep frown.

  “Please God, say it’s not true,” Janean implored.

  “Hold on. Wait just one damned minute,” Dion roared. “Who told you this, Lyra?”

  Folding her arms over her chest and looking him straight in the eye Lyra said, “Katrina said she was carrying your child.”

  For a few seconds that Dion figured everyone else held their breath, he could only clench his teeth as anger seared through him. Looking over his shoulder he watched as the guards shoved Katrina into the back of one of the SUVs they drove. Turning back to Lyra and his family he stated slowly and precisely so that there would be no mistaking of what he had to say. “I did not impregnate that woman. She’s a vengeful liar and an opportunist.”

  Janean gave an audible sigh of relief. But Lyra didn’t look too impressed by his words.

  “Lyra, baby, you know me,” he said, and took a step toward her.

  She was shaking her head. “I can’t do this. It’s too much,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “All of it is just too much.”

  Dion reached for her but she stepped away. “I’ve never lied to you, Lyra. Ever. You know who I am and what I’m capable of.”

  “Leave me alone, Dion. For now, please, just leave me alone,” she said slowly before walking away with Bruce heading after her.

  When Dion made a move to follow her, Janean stepped up putting a hand to his chest. “Give her some time, son. She’s just lost her mother.”

  “And I’m losing her,” he said with pain racking his chest at the thought. “She doesn’t believe me. She doesn’t want me near her. I’m going to lose her.”

  “You’re going to lose her if you push her. Not only does she have to deal with her mother’s death, but Dion, she might not ever take another picture in her life. She’s having surgery next week and her career future is unknown. And today of all days that lunatic woman was actually shooting at her. You’ve got to give her a moment to breathe or you will lose her, forever.”

  Taking a deep breath Dion listened to his mother’s words, tried valiantly to absorb and accept them. “I love her so much.”

  “Then be the friend you’ve always been to her,” Janean said seriously, patting a palm to her son’s cheek. “Be there for her the way you used to be. Sometimes you have to go back to the basics.”

  With those parting words his mother was escorted into the same limo as Lyra. Dion stood in the grass watching as they pulled off, wondering if he could really go back to what he and Lyra used to be.

  Chapter 25

  The room was dim as Lyra lay on her back staring up at the ceiling. It had been eight weeks since the accident and two days after her third hand surgery. This one, Dr. Elias, the hand specialist, had told her, would be the last. If his attempts to save the nerves in both her hands didn’t work this time, her condition would be permanent.

  Lyra could feel her hands and she could move her fingers, but gripping or having any type of strength to do things such as hold a pencil or lift a fork to her mouth were touch and go. After each surgery she’d undergone intensive physical therapy that helped, but didn’t prove one-hundred-percent effective. So tonight she lay here thinking of what h
er life would be like if full recovery was not an option.

  After all she’d been through, Lyra refused to think anything other than optimistically. She was still among the living, which meant she still had living to do. If she had to do something other than photography as a career, she would. And she would work as hard as she could to maintain her independence, because living with the Donovans for the rest of her adulthood was not an option. These days she loved this family even more than she had in the past and appreciated everything they did for her. She didn’t feel like she owed them anything anymore, besides living her life to the fullest. As such she knew she had to leave this house and make a home of her own, on her own terms.

  In thinking along those lines it was obvious that Dion would enter the picture. Although in the past weeks they hadn’t been intimate, hadn’t even talked about their relationship, Lyra couldn’t deny that she still loved him and probably always would. Even before Dion’s announcement that Katrina was definitely not pregnant based on a pregnancy test given to her in jail, Lyra had come to terms with Katrina’s lies and vindictive actions. Additionally, she’d dismissed Mark’s bitter betrayal. And she was profoundly thankful that the autopsy Dion ordered on her mother had not come back showing traces of any drug poisoning. It was all in the past now, and Lyra was determined to focus on her future.

  When there was a light knock at her bedroom door she whispered, “Come in,” thinking that it would be either Ms. Janean or Regan bringing her dinner, since she was still taking two painkillers that made walking up and down the stairs a treacherous task.

  Her heart did a little flip when she looked up to see Dion carrying the tray of food and closing the door behind him.

  The lamp on the side of her bed was on but it wasn’t bright, and her blinds had been closed. For some reason bright light was giving her headaches. One of the doctors mentioned it might be post-traumatic stress after the accident. She just hoped it would be temporary. Watching Dion walk toward her, Lyra tried to sit up on the bed. He hurriedly put the tray on her nightstand and came closer to the bed to help her.