Don't Say a Word - Barbara Freethy [47]
"That's bullshit," Alex said, jumping to his feet. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Stan had suspected that his father had been killed and hadn't done anything about it? That was completely out of character.
"Alex, calm down," Stan said, putting out a placating hand.
"The hell I will. You turned a blind eye because someone told you to? I don't buy it. And you shouldn't have bought it, either. What aren't you telling me, Stan? Because there has to be more."
Stan slowly stood up, so they were looking directly into each other's eyes. "I don't know any more. Frankly, I never wanted to know more. I wasn't like your father. I didn't care about people trapped by a government half a world away. He wanted to help them, but he couldn't, because he was only supposed to photograph them. He was frustrated. I think he decided to take some action that he shouldn't have taken. When Brady told me to mind my own business, I didn't see any point in going against him. I couldn't bring your father back, but I could do what he asked- I could look after you and your mother. And that's what I did."
"My father didn't take that picture. It was me. I took it." Alex paused, seeing surprise in Stan's eyes. "He never told you that?"
"No, he didn't."
Alex paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. Stan's comments raised so many questions in his mind. Even if his father had wanted to take action, he wouldn't have gotten involved in another country's politics… Or maybe he would have. Alex had certainly had similar thoughts in the past year-that taking a picture wasn't enough. There were times when he'd been able to get into places and see things he wasn't supposed to see because he had a press pass and a camera. Had the same thing happened to his dad? Had he seen an opportunity to help and taken it? Had he died because of it?
Or had he died because Alex had taken that picture?
God, how could he live with himself if that were the case? Knowing that he might be responsible for his father's death made his chest tighten and his breath come short and quick. He felt dizzy and had to sit down. Julia was suddenly beside him, her hand on his thigh.
"It's not your fault," she said urgently.
He looked into her blue eyes and saw that little girl again. Maybe it wasn't his fault. Maybe it was hers. He'd been drawn to her then, and he was certainly drawn to her now. If he'd walked away before, none of this would have happened.
"She's right," Stan said. "We don't know if your father's death had anything to do with that photograph."
"It's a hell of a coincidence then," Alex replied. "Let's examine the sequence of events. The photograph is published. My dad comes to me in a panic, making me swear not to tell anyone, and the next day he's dead. Some government agent tells you to back off. Even my mother thinks the accident is suspicious. We're developing a pretty clear picture of what went down. Now we need to figure out why. What was in that damn photo that was so disturbing? Do you have the negative? I asked Joe, and he couldn't find it in the magazine files."
"I assume your mother has it." "She doesn't."
"Then it must have been destroyed." Stan paused. "It's not important, Alex. It all happened a long time ago. There's nothing to be gained by traveling back to the past. You won't be able to change anything that happened. You can't bring your father back. Sometimes you just have to let go."
"Like you did? You let go too damn fast," Alex said, fixing Stan with a hard glare. He saw Stan's face pale and knew he'd struck a nerve, but he didn't care. The man who'd been like a father to him for most of his life now seemed like a stranger. How could he have failed to push for an investigation into his best friend's death? It was unthinkable, inexcusable. "Tell me something, Stan," he continued when the older man remained silent. "Why did you encourage my mother to put my father's photos in the exhibit, especially the picture of the little girl?"
Stan shrugged.