Forbidden

by Pat Warren

Genres: Literary Fiction; Action & Adventure Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Liz Townsend's love for Senator Adam MacKenzie had never lessened. Widowed for some time, Liz senses Adam still wants her. But if she can get him back, the price may be too terrible to pay.

Release date: October 14, 2009

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 352

Sample

Friday, August 28, 1992


Southern California

Lieutenant Lou Genovese got the call just before one A.M. A sports car had careened off the coastal road in Ocean Beach, crashing down the embankment onto the jagged rocks far below.
The desk sergeant had said a passing motorist with a car phone had called it in. Several uniforms were on the scene, but someone
with more authority than they had was needed.


No bodies could be seen from the road.

It was the kind of call all cops hated, Lou thought as he pulled on his gray slacks. By the time they hauled up the car and
discovered who and where the occupants were, it’d be morning before he’d be finished. Nights like these were the reason his
brief marriage had ended in divorce twelve years ago. All for the best, Lou thought as he slid his feet into leather loafers.
He buttoned his pale yellow shirt over a gold
cross on a heavy chain, a gift from his Italian Catholic mother that he always wore. After looping his tie around his neck,
he grabbed his navy sport coat and hurried out the door.


It took him just under half an hour from his home in Clairemont to reach Sunset Cliffs Blvd. In the sixties the area had been
home to an assortment of hippies. Now, facing the ocean, expensive residential homes were set back from the street and scarcely
visible behind river-rock walls and high oleander bushes.


The two black-and-whites were angled close to the cliff’s edge, their red lights still flashing. Someone had strung a yellow
crime scene tape between the two cars. Lou pulled his white Acura into a narrow space just before the road curved, and he
got out.


Police Officer Ray Orlando had been the first on the scene and the one who’d asked the precinct to call for backup. Lou knew
him casually, a young, eager cop anxious to do the right thing.


Ray hurried over to meet Lou. Despite the hour, his khaki uniform looked bandbox fresh. “Sorry to drag you out of bed, Lieutenant,
but I got a funny feeling about this one.”


“What’ve you got, Ray?” Hands in his pants pockets, Lou checked the ground. No sign of skid marks. “Someone fall asleep at
the wheel?” He knew this to be a dangerous section of road where accidents happened frequently because of the many sharp curves
and the way the highway hugged the cliffside. If the driver had been awake, surely he’d have slammed on the brakes hard.


“Or maybe a suicide,” Ray answered as he led Lou over to the rocky edge. The police cars had their bright searchlights beamed
down along the sheer drop onto the black rocks below, where the restless waves rolled endlessly in, then were sucked back
out. Ray pointed to where a red sports car hung precariously on a jutting rock slimy with seaweed and moss. “By rights, that
little beauty should have dropped into
the sea, but it got caught on that rock. It’s going to be a bitch to haul up.”


It was a miracle the car hadn’t burst into flame, Lou thought. The Porsche had landed about two hundred feet down, the nose
pointing toward the sea. The lights were still on, and both car doors were hanging open.


“Doesn’t look like there’s anyone inside, though they might be on the floor.” Ray held out his binoculars. “Take a look.”

Lou did and could see no one.

“Maybe she fell asleep at the wheel.”

Lou straightened. “She?”

“Look to the right and down some, on that flat rock just below.”

Adjusting the glasses, Lou saw a woman’s red jacket and, beside it, something that appeared to be a red handbag. “Maybe she
was a passenger, fell onto the rocks, then bounced into the sea. The driver could have shot out the other side.” Slowly he
scanned the area through the binoculars. “No sign of anyone in the water. Their bodies could be miles from here by now.”


“The jacket and bag could’ve been on the seat and landed on the rock. From here they look dry.”

Lou narrowed his eyes. “License plates are from a rental.” He lowered the glasses. “Did you call it in?”

“Yeah. Mac’s on the radio now. Rescue unit’s on the way with the hitch to pull up the car and a flatbed to tow her in. I asked
for frogmen to search the area, but they didn’t know if any were available. I didn’t want to delay in case it rained and the
vehicle got dislodged.” Ray glanced up at the dark night sky and wondered how long before the predicted summer storm would
hit. “Hope that was what you’d have done.”


Lou clapped the intense young officer on the shoulder. “Good work.” They walked over to the second police car just as Mac
stepped out.



“Got a make on the car, Lieutenant,” said the officer named Mac. “Rented from Avis in their midtown office, which closes at
eight. It’s the location that handles these expensive sports cars on special order. The only Avis outlet open all night is
at the airport, and their computer’s down. So we won’t be able to get a name until morning.”


Just their luck, Lou thought.

“We could dust the car for fingerprints and ID her that way,” Mac suggested.

Lou shook his head. “Do you know how many prints we’d find in a rental car? Besides, if she didn’t have a record, we couldn’t
get a match anyway.”


Embarrassed, Mac nodded. “Right.”

Turning, Lou saw the big truck with the heavy-duty winches pull up as the two other officers stepped to the road to keep gawkers
in the light traffic moving along. Two men carrying diving suits stepped out of a second vehicle. He checked his watch and
stifled a yawn.


It was going to be a long night. As a twenty-four-year veteran who’d moved slowly up through the ranks, he was used to long
waits.


By four they had the Porsche as well as the jacket and woman’s handbag up at road level. Lou shone his light inside, not wanting
to touch anything until forensics had a look. The expensive Porsche was pretty banged up, but not wet other than from sea
spray. With his pencil eraser, he pushed in the glove compartment button and found in empty, as was the rest of the interior.
The key was still in the ignition.


The two frogmen in wet suits scampered up over the cliff’s edge just then, and Lou walked over. “See anyone?”

After removing his headgear, the taller man spoke up. “Not a sign of anyone, Lieutenant. The breakers are really hitting hard
and fast. He’d have to be a hell of a good swimmer to land in that sea and make his way out, especially if
he’d be dazed from the accident. The shoreline doesn’t straighten out for half a mile or more.”


“But a good swimmer, say, if he jumped as the car was going down, could do it?” Lou persisted.

The shorter man scratched his head. “He’d be taking a terrific chance. If he landed on one of those sharper rocks, it’d be
all over at that speed.”


A calculated risk, but not impossible. “Thanks, fellas.” Lou returned his attention to the car. Carefully he popped the trunk
and found no luggage or personal effects. With a finger under the collar, he picked up the woman’s jacket. It was just a little
damp. The label read “Lafayette of Paris.” Big bucks. The pockets were empty. Using his handkerchief, he reached for the soft
leather handbag and opened it.


Three keys on a cheap silver ring seemed out of place. The tube of Elizabeth Arden lipstick was more in keeping with someone
who’d rent a Porsche. Whoever she was, she apparently liked red, he thought as he put the top back on. There was a small mirror
in a black velvet case and, at the bottom, half a dozen folded newspaper clippings.


Using care, he spread them out. The articles, each ripped from the San Diego Union, carried dates spanning seventeen years, from the first in 1975 to the last only a week old. They chronicled the rise of the
hometown boy who’d made good, the two-term senator who’d been tapped by the Democratic Party as its vice-presidential candidate
at last month’s convention, Adam McKenzie.


Reading over Lou’s shoulder, Ray whistled low. “What do you make of it? Do you think our maverick senator’s been playing footsie
with some rich dish? Maybe he threw her over, so she drove off the cliff, carrying her own personal scrapbook with her.”


“No, not McKenzie.” Lou put everything back in the bag. “He’s a straight arrow.”

“You think so even with all the stuff in the papers about him lately?”


“Yeah, I do. I knew the senator back when he was running for California’s attorney general.” Lou stepped back from the car.
“You ever hear of Kowalski?”


Ray nodded. Detective Sergeant Leon Kowalski was almost a legend in California law enforcement. “Hell, who hasn’t?”

“Kowalski worked closely with McKenzie on several cases. He admires the senator. There isn’t a man on the force who doesn’t
respect him. Nothing I’ve read since has changed my mind.” Lou’s tone brooked no argument. At forty-eight he was old enough
to be this young officer’s father and commanded as much respect. Nights like this, he felt every day of those years.


Carefully Ray placed the jacket and purse into an evidence bag. “What year did he run for attorney general?”

Lou rolled his shoulders and ran a hand through his neatly trimmed black hair. “Seventy-five. The summer of ’75. Hotter than
hell that summer, I remember.”


“Guess you’ll be paying the senator a visit tomorrow. I read that he just got in town.” Ray wished he could go along but knew
it was out of the question.


“First thing in the morning.” Lou walked over and gazed down at the churning sea surging up onto the dark rocks. The salty
air was humid and heavy, the clouds ready to disgorge their load. In the distance he saw a streak of lightning and knew it
wouldn’t be long.


His eyes shifted to the ground, and spotting something, he crouched down. In a patch of soft earth near the rocky edge alongside
the Porsche’s tire print was an unmistakable impression of a woman’s high-heeled shoe. About a size six, Lou decided. The
cops had carefully circled the area on the other side of the yellow tape so as not to disturb the ground. He doubted if anyone
else, especially a woman in high heels, would have had reason to walk there. Interesting.


Straightening, he called Ray over. “Keep this area roped
off. I want a cast made of this shoe print and any others you may find.”


“Right.”

“Also, I want a fresh team of divers back at the first light of day. There’s bound to be a body out there somewhere. Maybe
two. That car didn’t drive itself off the road.”


“I’ll get right on it, Lieutenant.”

Lou glanced over at the houses across the street, their residents seemingly still asleep. “About seven or eight, send a couple
of men up to those homes and ask some questions. Maybe some insomniac saw or heard something.”


“Will do.” Ray scribbled in his notebook.

With a nod, Lou walked back to his Acura, his mind racing with questions, with possibilities. What connection did Senator
McKenzie have to tonight’s events on this lonely cliff? Had the woman who owned the red jacket and handbag been alone? Had
she stepped out of the car, leaving that one footprint? Had she been trying to get away from someone? Had there been a man
with her, perhaps one of McKenzie’s friends or aides? Or had she been a political groupie who got a kick out of following
a politician’s career? No matter. He would find out. The facts usually came out, sooner or later.


As he got behind the wheel, he couldn’t help wondering if the driver of the red Porsche dated back to that hot summer seventeen
years ago before Adam McKenzie’s name had become a household word.


June. 1975


San Diego, California

“Damn, but it’s hot in here,” Diane Cramer complained as she lifted her heavy blond hair off her damp neck. Her red lips in
a pouty smile, she ambled over to the front desk just as Fitz McKenzie hung up his phone. “Sugar, I know the budget’s tight,
but couldn’t your brother have rented a building with air-conditioning? All of us little ol’ volunteers are perspiring up
a storm here. How classy is it mailing out campaign leaflets with sweat stains all over them?”


Fitz frowned in annoyance. His personal opinion was that Diane had a long way to go in the class department herself. Even
though she was wearing a green silk Adolfo suit that he suspected she’d bought at a resale shop and Ferragamo shoes, she had
an imitated style that was as phony as the color of her hair. The rest of the volunteers—most in their early twenties—showed
up dressed in California casual.
Diane arrived as if she expected to lunch at the Hotel Del Coronado instead of the deli down the street. Fitz had great admiration
for people who rose above their humble beginnings. He himself had. But there was something about Diane that hinted at a hidden
agenda. However, the worth of a person didn’t lie in how she looked or what she wore. Diane was smart, ambitious, and a hard
worker. For those reasons Fitz was glad she was aboard.


“Sorry,” he told her. “This is Adam’s first run for office, and we’ve got to watch every cent.” Swiveling on his chair, he
readjusted his Padres baseball cap as he gazed around the cluttered storefront office they’d rented on Broadway across from
the San Diego County Courthouse. Seven hundred fifty square feet was all they could afford, and every inch was humming with
activity. Fitz turned to another volunteer who’d just finished running a batch of mail through the postage meter. “You got
a count for me on those, Molly?”


“Nine hundred going out to zip code 92116,” Molly Washington answered as she snapped a rubber band around the last fifty envelopes.

“Great. Thanks.” Fitz took the stack from her. He liked Molly and admired her exotic looks. Not many women could get away
with wearing jet black hair pulled back tightly off the face. Molly had high cheekbones that made him wonder if she had Indian
ancestry. Her clothes were more like costumes, bright turquoise or vivid pink skirts and tops embroidered with wildflowers.
Of course, she was an artist, and people expected some flamboyance.


It was a good group that he’d rounded up to help launch Adam’s political career. Not zealots, but enthusiastic and hardworking.
Mostly poli-sci graduates, young and idealistic. Seated at a desk across the room, Jesse Conroy, one of the few more serious
aides, glanced over and gave him a thumbs-up signal, meaning he’d wangled another pledged donation from his endless phone
solicitation of registered California Democrats. Fitz gave Jesse the high sign. Next to
Jesse, huddled over a typewriter, was bearded Barry Rider, who usually did the first draft of Adam’s speeches. Then there
was Steve Quinlan, a shy introvert who’d graduated with honors from Yale. Together they’d make victory happen somehow.


Alongside Fitz, Molly rolled her shoulders wearily. It had been her idea to spend the summer working to elect Adam McKenzie
as California’s youngest attorney general, but she had to admit there was far more grit than glamour involved. She glanced
over at Liz Townsend, wondering if her friend wished she hadn’t let Molly talk her into trying out the political arena. They’d
been neighbors growing up, friends since grade school, and college roommates for four years. Now they were about to tackle
real life, and Molly had wanted them to work together this last summer in an effort to maintain their closeness a while longer.
“How’s it going, babe?”


Liz sealed the final envelope on her desk and added it to the finished pile. “Fine, but I’m glad we’re finished for the day.”
She checked her hands and shook her head. “Hey, Fitz, do the stuffers get battle pay? I’ve got half a dozen new paper cuts
since noon.”


Fitz sent her one of his shy smiles. “Fill out a casualty report and I’ll see what I can do.” Liz Townsend had impressed him
from the day Molly had introduced them. “Elegant” was the word for Liz. Monied elegance. Despite the fact that she was wearing
tailored brown slacks and an oversize beige silk blouse, she stood out from the others. Fitz was sure there was a terrific
body in there somewhere, but Liz never flaunted her looks. Her auburn hair came just to her shoulders in a simple classic
cut, and she wore little makeup. She reminded him of someone he’d known back in law school, the first woman who’d made his
hands sweat with the urge to touch her. But he hadn’t; someone else had.


Reluctantly Fitz dragged his eyes from Liz and checked his watch. Five to six. Where had the time gone? There simply weren’t
enough hours in the day. Taking the manila envelope
with him, he walked over to where Liz was cleaning off her desk. “I wonder if you could do something for me. These letters
have to go out tonight. Adam’s apartment’s about twenty minutes from here. Would you mind stopping by and getting his signature
on them, then dropping them in the mailbox?”


In bending to retrieve her purse from the bottom drawer, Liz bought a little time. Her mother was giving a dinner party tonight,
cocktails starting in an hour, at the Townsend home in La Jolla, and Katherine did not like late arrivals. Liz would scarcely have time to drive home, shower, and change as it was. Still, she’d agreed to help
out here, and once committed she never gave anything less than her all. Besides, Fitz was such a nice guy that she hated refusing
any of his requests.


Fitz shoved his glasses back up his nose, wishing he hadn’t asked. Liz had put in a long day as it was; he didn’t want to
push her into quitting. Nor could they afford to lose the clout and support of her father’s law firm. Joseph Townsend & Associates
carried a lot of weight in California. “Listen, it’s all right if you’ve got plans.”


“I’ll be happy to go for you,” Diane offered as she picked up her leather shoulder bag and strolled over. Pointedly she glanced
up at the campaign poster of Adam McKenzie tacked onto the far wall. The man had the look of a born winner, with that strong
chin and those sincere blue eyes staring straight into the camera, challenging the world to trust him. She could do worse
than to hitch her wagon to that rising star, Diane told herself. Perhaps a few minutes alone with the candidate could persuade
him to ask her to dinner and… and whatever.


“That’s all right,” Liz said as she stood. “I have the time.” In the ten days she’d worked here she hadn’t yet met Adam McKenzie.
Perhaps it was time she did. She’d been greatly impressed with his record, and Molly had detailed his many virtues in trying
to persuade Liz to join his campaign: champion
of the underdog; charismatic charmer; winner of cases against nearly impossible odds. Opposing attorneys, law clerks, and
volunteers alike seemed in awe of him. Clearly the man all but walked on water. She needed to see for herself. “Where does
he live?”


“Are you sure you can squeeze it in, sugar?” Diane sauntered toward the door, hoping she might run the errand instead.

Fitz handed the envelope to Liz. “I’ve written Adam’s address here. You’re familiar with the Bankers Hill area just east of
the airport, right?”


She glanced at the street name, recognizing it immediately. “Sure. That building’s not far from my new apartment.” She had
rented her own place just two weeks ago, right after graduation from Stanford. Her mother had been less than pleased, and
her father had asked why she’d felt it necessary to waste her money when their La Jolla home had six bedrooms and as many
baths. Neither of her parents, it seemed, understood her need for independence.


Liz tucked the envelope under her arm. “Consider it done, boss.” She wished Fitz would quit wearing that silly baseball hat.
She sympathized with his concern over losing his hair at only twenty-six, but the cap didn’t really hide the fact. Instead
of making him look boyish, it gave him a frivolous air that was in sharp contrast with the very high IQ he had even more difficulty
hiding.


Fitz thanked her, then watched as she linked her arm through Molly’s, their long legs carrying them quickly out into the unseasonable
heat of a late June afternoon. Those long legs reminded him of Sandy Wilkins, who’d hurt him worse than he’d ever dreamed
possible.


The phone on his desk rang, and Fitz shook his head. What was the matter with him tonight? he wondered. It wasn’t his habit
to indulge in mulling over a past that couldn’t be changed. Impatiently he grabbed the receiver.


Outside, Liz pulled her friend along. “I want to show you my new car.”


Molly flung the strap of her huge canvas tote over her shoulder and hurried to keep up. “What’s the big rush?”


Liz turned into the parking lot at the corner and kept going. “Command performance at my folks’ place. Cocktails at seven,
dinner at eight. They’ve asked me over on ten of the fourteen days since I’ve been gone.” She sighed, wishing her parents
would let go.


“Well, you are only twenty-one,” Molly reminded her, knowing it would get a rise out of Liz.


“So are you, and you’ve been on your own for two years already.” Molly’s widowed mother was a bit on the bohemian side herself
and let her daughter run her own life, an arrangement that Liz envied. She stopped in front of a white Mercedes two-seater
with the top down. “What do you think?”


“Niiiice.” Molly grinned. “New apartment, new car.”

“New woman,” Liz answered with a smile.

“Now, you need a new man. Or is Richard still in the picture?”

Richard Fairchild—a nice man, but her mother’s choice. That was one strike against him. Liz loved her mother but hated having
her presume to continue making choices for her. Which was the main reason she’d moved out of the family manse. She wasn’t
really rebelling, she told herself. She was asserting herself, becoming her own person. Picking out and buying her car all
on her own had been evidence of her insistence on freedom.


“Richard will undoubtedly be there tonight,” she told Molly. “He’s been over to the apartment with flowers, wine, little gifts.
I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but…”


“But he doesn’t make your heart pound, your face sweat, your hands shake…” Molly’s blue eyes were devilish as she laughed.

“Sounds like a case of the flu.” Liz opened her door and tossed the manila envelope inside.

“Say hello to the elusive Mr. McKenzie for me, will you?
And ask him why he hasn’t deigned to grace us with his presence since we’re slaving away for his career.” Molly frowned at her thumb. “I even chipped a nail today. Damn, I hate that.”


“Beyond the call of duty,” Liz agreed, sliding behind the wheel. “You definitely deserve a day off with sick pay.”

“See you tomorrow.” Molly moved toward her Mustang.

With a wave, Liz backed out of her space, then turned onto Broadway, heading for North Harbor Drive. First Street would be
faster, but since she was going to be late anyway, she might as well enjoy the scenery.


Loving the feel of the wind in her hair, she drove as fast as the traffic and speed limit allowed. This was why she’d gotten
a convertible, against all advice. Her parents were only in their fifties, yet they were both conservative enough to be downright
boring. Had they no memory of being young, feeling glad just to be alive, wanting to experience everything?


Liz sighed as she passed a slow-moving station wagon driven by a harried-looking woman trying to control three small children.
In all fairness to Katherine and Joseph Townsend, Liz knew exactly why they’d been so restrictive of her: her sister, Nancy.


Nancy, the impetuous, rebellious, wild one. Two years younger than Liz, Nancy had eloped with a sailor at seventeen, divorced
at eighteen, been kicked out of two colleges by nineteen, and been giving her family all manner of grief ever since. Nancy
had tried drugs, been cited for DUIs, moved out of California and back several times. Sometimes no one heard from her for
months; then, suddenly, she’d reappear, vowing she was truly sorry and forever changed. Liz loved her sister but considered
her a case of arrested development.


Passing Anthony’s Fish Grotto along the waterfront, Liz watched a gull dip low into a foaming wave, then quickly soar upward
into a balmy blue sky. Nancy’s irresponsible ways were the main reason Liz had tried so hard not to displease
their parents. One disappointment in the family was difficult enough for them to handle. Two would be devastating. Still,
at times she couldn’t help resenting the situation.


Turning onto Laurel, she spotted the six-story beige structure known as Century Plaza Towers just ahead. Liz had looked at
apartments in the Towers weeks ago but had decided they were a bit pricey for her budget. Volunteer work didn’t provide an
income. Of course, she had the trust fund from her maternal grandmother, but she’d also inherited a propensity for careful
money management. The three-story Miramar Apartments she’d finally chosen were just as nice, though they didn’t offer an ocean
view as Adam’s building did.


Since she wasn’t going to be long, she parked the Mercedes in the circular drive alongside a cluster of oleander bushes. In
the small foyer she checked the list of names by the buzzer buttons and pressed 6-A.


It was answered in moments by a deep, impatient voice. “Yes?”

Liz leaned into the intercom. “Hello, Mr. McKenzie. I’m—”

“Thank goodness you’re here. Hurry on up, will you? There’s blood everywhere?”

“Blood? I don’t—” The buzzer releasing the lock on the outside door interrupted. Stunned, Liz stared at his nameplate for
a long moment, then grabbed the handle and pulled open the heavy door. Undecided whether to ring him back, to go on up, or
to get the hell out of there, she paused in the doorway. What on earth was she getting into?


Feeling uneasy, she walked across the tiled floor to the elevator and stepped inside, then pushed the button for floor six.
Whom was Adam McKenzie expecting? Whose blood was all over? Should she have called the police instead of riding up to Lord
only knew what? The door slid open silently and she stepped out, wiping her suddenly damp
hands on the pant legs of her slacks. Cautiously she walked down the short hallway, checking the numbers on each door.


The one to 6-A was ajar. She could see nothing through the small opening except pale gray carpeting in what was probably a
vestibule. Swallowing around a nervous lump, she knocked twice.


“In here,” the same deep voice called out. “Hurry!”

Liz took a deep breath and walked in. There was no one in the large living room directly beyond the half wall divider. She
turned toward the archway to her left that led into the kitchen and recognized Adam McKenzie from his campaign posters. He
was wearing navy slacks and a white shirt streaked with blood as he leaned over the Formica counter. Cradled in what appeared
to be his suit jacket was a calico kitten looking ragged and pitiful.


“You must be Mitzi,” Adam said, his voice filled with relief. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I hope you can do something for
her. I’m pretty sure her leg’s broken. Maybe there are internal injuries. She cried when I first picked her up, but she’s
been quiet for so long now.”


An injured kitten. Feeling foolish that she’d imagined a human massacre, Liz waked down one step into the kitchen.

Adam’s brow furrowed into an angry frown as he went on. “I don’t know who hit her, but they were gone when I found her. As
I told Iris, people race around our parking garage as if they were trying out for Indy. I’m going to talk to management as
soon as I get a chance and see what I can do ab