A Delicious Deception by Elizabeth Power Page A

Genuinely upset. But with a woman—particularly this woman—who could tell? ‘That won’t be necessary,’ he told her succinctly, leaving her staring after his dark retreating figure and feeling as though she had been slapped in the face.
    ‘What is it, King?’ Mitchell Clayborne was staring at his son’s broad back as King in turn stood staring out of the window of the private clinic. ‘God knows I haven’t been the best of fathers, but I would have thought the news that I’m not going to be consigned to the history books just yet would have made you a bit happier than you seem.’
    Sighing heavily, King dragged himself away from an absent study of the clear evening sky, his mouth pulling down on one side at his father’s dry remark. Mitch certainly sounded better, and his breathing was easier than it had been a few hours ago, but he had no intention of causing the man any undue distress.
    ‘It’s nothing that can’t wait,’ he answered.
    ‘And it’s nothing that I’m not man enough to take—even wired up like a puppeteer’s blasted dummy! Tell me.’
    It was clear to King that the man would be more likely to die of a heart attack from being kept in suspense rather than from being told the truth.
    ‘It’s about Rayne,’ he breathed, the air seeming to shiver through his nostrils.
    ‘What about her?’ Mitch brought his head off the mountain of pillows, suddenly looking alarmed. ‘She’s all right, isn’t she?’
    King nodded. He couldn’t believe how fond of her his father had become.
    ‘What, then?’ Mitch demanded with considerably less than his usual strength.
    King hesitated, but only briefly. ‘She’s Lorri Hardwicke,’ he stated, drawing another deep breath.
    Mitch stared at him for a long worrying moment before closing his eyes.
    ‘Shouldn’t I have realised it!’ he exclaimed somewhat breathlessly at length, with an unusual tremor in his gravelly voice.
    ‘Do you know why she’s here?’
    ‘I think I can guess,’ Mitch returned. ‘But tell me anyway.’
    ‘She’s saying what Grant said all those years ago. That Claybornes took the credit for MiracleMed when it really belonged to him. In short, she’s accusing us—but you in particular—of, at best, gross professional misconduct and, at worst, outright theft.’
    Had he gone too far? King wondered anxiously, wanting to kick himself for telling him when he saw the pain that darkened Mitch’s eyes and heard the way his breathing had suddenly became more laboured.
    ‘She’s right, King.’
    ‘What?’ Above the sound of footsteps hurrying along the corridor outside and the intermittent bleep of Mitch’s monitoring machine, King’s response was one of almost inaudible shock.
    ‘I did steal that software.’
    King’s face was sculpted with harsh lines of bewilderment. ‘What are you saying?’ he whispered, his face turning pale, his mouth contorting in revulsion and disbelief.
    ‘It’s true,’ Mitch admitted heavily. ‘I know you thought I put a lot of my own time into it, but I didn’t. I’m glad it’s out. I’m glad you know, King. It’s been hell keeping it to myself—and from you in particular—all of these years.’
    For once King found himself unable to think straight. Had he really heard Mitch correctly? Was his own father admittingto being a thief? Was that what had been gnawing away at him for so long? Making him so bitter?
    ‘You let me—let everyone—believe he produced the whole thing in the company’s time. Or a large part of it, anyway. Under Clayborne’s corporate umbrella!’ King reminded him roughly.
    ‘It was his word against mine—and he had no proof.’
    ‘So you took it on yourself to call it yours? Another man’s intellectual property!’ King stared at his father, appalled. ‘Didn’t it occur to you that you might be robbing him of his livelihood? That he had dependants? A wife and a daughter?’
    ‘So she’s come after me,’ Mitch murmured, sounding far away, as though