Roark: The Donovan Dynasty Book #2

by A. C. Arthur

  The doctor’s face had gone from concern to sympathy, and before she’d pulled her hand from Tamika’s grasp, she’d given it a reassuring squeeze and said, “I’ll let you know what I find.”

  “Thank you.” Tamika had felt a wave of relief wash over her, only to replaced quickly by more concern. “What about Ms. Gregory? I still haven’t been able to see her and I’m wondering why. How serious was her injury? How do you think she was injured so badly and my mother wasn’t?”

  The truth had been in the immediate hooded look of Dr. Duvall’s eyes. “It’s my guess that she fell into something while trying to escape the fire and it punctured her liver. There was a deep laceration we repaired during surgery. Unfortunately, she’s developed an infection and we’re trying to keep her stable while we wait for that to heal. Her body’s not reacting to the antibiotics the way we’d hoped—that’s another reason we’ve limited visitation, because we don’t want her to incur any other infections while we’re trying to fight this one. Does she have any other family we can contact?”

  “No,” Tamika had said around the tears that had clogged her throat. “I’m all they both have. Can I see her today?”

  “We’re trying a different antibiotic this morning, and since you’ve just mentioned the possibility of some sort of drugging, I’ll do a toxicology screen on her too. I’ll have the nurses come get you when you can see her.”

  Worry had mixed with a measure of relief that they were both still alive, and Tamika had thanked the doctor before entering her mother’s room.

  Who had done this to them? Who had started that fire and tried to kill both of them?

  That question still loomed in her mind two hours later as her eyes remained closed like her mother’s, and she tried to think back to her days in church, to the prayers the pastor would say. How did she ask for her mother’s life to be spared when she’d never paid the least bit of attention when others had been praying? Would God even hear her if she did?

  As she continued to wonder and chastise herself for things she knew she couldn’t change, something happened. Her mother’s fingers twitched.

  Tamika’s head shot up. “Mama?” She stared at her mother’s closed eyes, at her naturally thick eyebrows and long lashes. Her high cheekbones and full lips and her black hair with the sprinkle of gray that had just begun to sprout at her roots. “Wake up, Mama. I’m here. I’m right here waiting for you to wake up.”

  Sandra’s fingers moved again, and Tamika lifted her mother’s hand to her cheek.

  “Please, wake up, Mama. I need you to open your eyes and talk to me,” she said and paused when her voice was cracking. “I need you to tell me everything’s going to be alright.”

  The last was spoken on a whisper. A desperate plea to the woman who’d always made things better for her. But seconds ticked by as Tamika continued to hold tight to her mother’s hand, staring down at her sleeping face, waiting and hoping.

  “Please,” she whispered as her eyes filled with the tears she hated so much. “Please, save my mother. Please.”

  The plea was spoken into the air, circling in the universe as Tamika closed her eyes and fought with everything she had to keep from crying. It wouldn’t help, and she needed to be stronger than ever now. She needed to find out who’d done this and to make them pay.

  Chapter 12

  She’d been gone for a couple of hours. But she was coming back. Geoff had said he’d assigned a driver and a car to her because she’d wanted to go and visit her mother. All her things were still in her room, so she was coming back.

  Why any of that mattered, Roark had no idea.

  He hated the morning after sex, always had and always would.

  He planned to hate this one even more, because Tamika had gotten up and left him sleeping in bed. He was used to being the one to leave first. Just as he’d been adamant he wasn’t a snuggler. Yet, that had been what had finally wakened him this morning—the moment he’d rolled over to pull her into his arms once more and realized she wasn’t there.

  His laptop beeped with an incoming call, and Roark silently thanked the heavens for the interruption. Pressing the button to wake his screen, he accepted the call and felt a wave of relief when Ridge’s face came into view.

  “Hey, man. Just checking in to see how you’re holding up.” It was almost noon on a Monday, but Ridge wasn’t in the office. Roark could tell because his brother’s long locs were hanging free. Even though he’d worn his hair in this style for almost seven years now, Ridge never went into the office or to any business event or meeting with his hair out. It was either pulled back in some professional style or held with one of the many leather bindings Ridge had in his bathroom. His brother was very good at compartmentalizing his professional life from his personal, even as it related to his hair.

  “I’m good. What about you? No work today?” Because just as Ridge was particular about his hair, Roark was particular about their family businesses.

  “Had a Skype meeting at four with that group in India and their reps who’re in the US. The time zones were all jacked up, but I made myself available anyway.”

  “Good move.” Roark sat back and rested his elbows on the arm of the chair. “How ‘bout Suri? Is she getting back to her normal life? I meant to check in with her and Aunt Birdie last night, but I got caught up in something.”

  Ridge threw back his head and laughed. “Man, those two are going at it every day and night. Those couple of days I spent with them were out of control. But you know Suri—she’s cool. She can handle Aunt Birdie, and you know Aunt Birdie’s a tough one, she can handle Suri. They’re like a perfect match.”

  Roark couldn’t help but smile at the happiness he clearly heard in his brother’s voice. He knew it was just because Ridge was speaking about two people he loved dearly, and not a total depiction of how his brother was doing during his grieving process, but he enjoyed hearing it just the same. “You better not let Suri hear you say they’re a perfect match.”

  “Oh no, I have more sense than that,” Ridge said. “What do you have going on out there? I thought you were heading to the country to get some time to yourself.”

  Roark wondered how much he should tell his brother. Keeping in mind the disagreement he’d had with his siblings before he’d left London, he wasn’t really in the mood to keep secrets from them again, but he hated talking about the things he still didn’t have an answer for. “Detective Gibbons paid me a visit yesterday.” That was true and could also be considered cryptic. He knew Ridge would push for more details.

  “What? Why? We gave him our alibis and told him to contact our solicitor for any further comments. What part of that doesn’t he understand?” Ridge’s smile was gone now.

  “There was another fire here, and Gibbons thought it was a coincidence that I was here too.”

  “Wait, what? Man, that doesn’t make sense. How did Gibbons even know you were there, and what was he doing out there in the country?” Ridge held up a hand before Roark could respond. “Are you telling me everything?” Again, Roark must not have been quick enough with his response, because Ridge continued. “If you’re holding out on me again, Roark, I swear I’m coming out there, and you’re not gonna like what happens when I arrive.”

  “Whoa.” Roark spoke up quickly that time. “Don’t get carried away with the threats, little bro. It’s been a while since we’ve tussled, but make no mistake—”

  “Oh my goodness, you’re about to talk about that one time you pinned me down in less than five seconds. I was just recovering from a cold that winter and was still weak when you bullied me into a match. Then you refused a rematch.”

  Roark chuckled at the memory. “Champions don’t have to entertain persons they’ve already beat.”

  Ridge laughed. “Yeah, whatever. But seriously, man, tell me what’s really going on. We’re in this together.”

  “There’s this woman—” Roark paused when he saw Ridge shaking his head.

  “Oh, no.”
r />   “Oh, no what?”

  “Oh, no if you’re starting off with ‘there’s this woman.’”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Ridge did something with his eyes that clearly relayed a “duh” expression. “Because you’re not good with women.”

  Roark was about to reply to that comment with vehement disagreement, but then he thought there was a better use of his time. “Look, you wanted to know what’s going on, so just listen.”

  Ridge sat back and smirked. “I’m listening.”

  There was no key Roark could hit that would take him through the screen so he could strangle his know-it-all brother. “This woman had been sending me text messages the week after Mum died. I ignored them, because I didn’t know who she was. I met her out here Saturday morning when I arrived, and later that day, her mother’s cottage was set on fire.”

  “Wait.” Ridge leaned closer to the screen. “Some random woman wanted to meet with you, and you agreed to leave London to meet her. Then her mother’s house catches on fire—is her mother dead? And Gibbons came to see you? Call me crazy, but I feel like you’re still leaving something out.”

  Roark took a deep breath and released it with a huff. “Her mother’s alive and in the hospital. Their housekeeper was also injured, and she’s in the hospital too. A year ago, her father was killed in a fire. In her father’s office, she found a letter written by Mum three days before her father died.”

  Ridge looked like Roark had felt the moment he’d heard about the fire at Sandra Rayder’s cottage. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

  The raise of Ridge’s brow said he was intrigued. “Does this woman have a name?”

  “Tamika Rayder.”

  “Is she good-looking?”

  Roark shook his head. “You’re a jerk.”

  “Nah, I’m a man, and so are you, sometimes. So, is she good-looking or not?” Ridge wasn’t about to let this go.

  “She’s fine.”

  “She’s fine or she’s fine as in she doesn’t have a temperature or need medical attention?”

  Roark chuckled. “Again, you’re a jerk. Tamika came to me because she thought there might be a connection between her father’s death and Mum’s. Then her mother’s cottage caught fire, and now Gibbons and another detective out here think there’s a connection too. Actually, they think Tamika and I are conspiring to kill our parents for the insurance money.”

  “Wow.” Ridge took a deep breath and released it the same way Roark had just done. “What are you going to do?”

  “Cade and someone from his team named Pierce are looking into it.”

  “Well, there goes your calming retreat.”

  “Yeah. I thought I was going to have some quiet time here in the clubhouse alone, but now Tamika’s staying here because she can’t go back to the cottage and—”

  “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. This woman you can’t tell me is good-looking or not is staying in the same house with you? Man, this is good! I mean, it’s not good because people are being hurt and you’re both suspects, but it is good, because if there’s one thing that can help keep you calm, it’s sex with a good-looking woman.”

  There was a knock at Roark’s door, and he welcomed the interruption. “For the last time, you’re a jerk,” he told his brother with a chuckle. “And I gotta go. I’ll call Suri later today and touch base with you about what’s going on tomorrow.”

  Ridge was also laughing now. “Yeah, keep me posted. And seriously, man, if you need me to come out there, just say the word. Like I said before, we’re in this together.”

  Roark nodded. “Yeah, I know, bro. I’ll call you tomorrow.” After disconnecting the call with his brother, Roark went to the door and opened it, his light mood taking a tumble when he met Geoff’s gaze.

  “Agent Rawlings is in the den, sir.”

  “Thanks, Geoff. I’ll be right down. Have you—”

  Geoff nodded. “After you asked the last time, I called Vaughn. He’s the driver I assigned to Ms. Rayder this morning. He said Ms. Rayder was finished at the hospital but that she wanted him to drive past the cottage and then they’d be on their way back to the clubhouse. That was a short while ago, so I expect they’ll arrive any minute now.”

  Roark felt a little embarrassed that Geoff had known what question he was about to ask. And that he was even asking the question, again. He shouldn’t care where she was or how long it was taking her to get back here. She was an adult with her own life, and so was he. “Thanks, Geoff. I’ll come down to see Agent Rawlings now.”

  Roark wanted to ask the man what he thought about Colin Hopkins being a suspect. Even though that wouldn’t explain his mother’s murder, Roark thought Colin was a good fit for wanting to kill Tamika’s parents. From his track record and the way Tamika had described him, the guy sounded like the controlling type who would’ve been out of his mind with rage at the fact that she’d walked out on him. There was no doubt Tamika loved her parents above anyone and everything else, so it wasn’t a jump to know that hurting them, killing them, would destroy her.

  Roark found Pierce in the den, pacing, his black lace-up shoes moving over the plush forest green rug. “What’s wrong?” he asked the moment he was close enough. The questions he’d just had in his head to ask were now lost with the look of concern etched on the guy’s face.

  Pierce looked up at Roark. “Where’s Tamika?”

  “She went to the hospital to see her mother. Tell me what’s going on.” Roark wasn’t in the mood for waiting on an answer, especially not when the look on Pierce’s face said he knew more than what he was saying.

  “I’m calling Cade to loop him into this conversation, but we need Tamika here. Now.” He didn’t look at all bothered by the slight rise in Roark’s voice with his previous comment. Probably because the guy was used to dealing with sociopaths and serial killers for a living. Standing here listening to Roark demand answers was most likely nothing to him.

  “Hey. Are they all there?” Cade’s voice sounded from Pierce’s phone.

  “Tamika’s not here yet,” Pierce told him.

  “What the hell is going on, Cade? I want to know what you two know right now!”

  That rise in temper may have done the trick, because Roark watched as Pierce’s brows raised, and he could hear Cade exhaling deeply through the phone.

  “It’s about Aunt Max and Lemuel Rayder.” Cade’s voice sounded dour.

  “What about them?” Roark asked.

  “They were classmates.” Tamika came into the room, supplying the answer to his question, and Roark turned to face her.

  “My mother’s awake and I asked her before I left,” she said. She was wearing denim today, cuffed mid-calf, form-fitting over her soft thighs and glorious hips. Her jacket was a coral color, the shirt beneath white. She dropped her oversized Louis Vuitton bag onto the chair closest to her and turned her attention back to the conversation.

  “She’s right,” Cade said from the phone. “They went to college together and, according to another classmate we tracked down after finding a picture of them during some rally back in the early Seventies, their group of seven was very close.”

  Tamika moved closer to where Pierce stood with the phone. “My mother just said Mrs. Donovan and my dad were good friends. All of them were friends.”

  “Did she know about the letter?” Roark asked, because he knew it was important for Tamika to keep believing her father wouldn’t have had an affair.

  “She knew, because your mother had sent her a letter too,” Tamika answered.

  “Now, we have this group of seven,” Pierce interrupted. “Lemuel and Sandra Rayder, Gabriel and Maxine Donovan, Ronnella McCoy, Tony Graves and Kaymen Benedict.”

  “Okay, a group of friends from college—that’s not out of the ordinary. How does this relate to the fires?” Roark needed Pierce and Cade to get to the point sooner rather than later.

  “From everything we know about the fires so far, this guy
is controlled. He’s organized and intentional in everything he does.” Cade cleared his throat before continuing. “Most arsonists set fires for the joy of the fire. They have an intimate relationship with it and with the method of their choice. Once they set a fire, they stay and watch, because it not only gives them a sense of control, but for some it gives them sexual pleasure.”

  Tamika frowned. “Because things always needed to have the weird factor tossed in to be real.”

  “We think the arsonist might be going after people in this group,” Pierce announced soberly.

  “Revenge?” Roark couldn’t believe that was what they were saying. People were actually dying—his mother had been burned to death in her bed—because of revenge? His hands fisted at his sides while he tried to come to terms with that thought.

  “Revenge is a very strong motivator,” Cade said. “And this guy’s plenty motivated. He’s traveling cross country to get the job done.”

  “My father died twenty-three years ago from a heart attack. He can’t be included in this.” Roark clenched and released his fingers.

  Pierce shook his head. “No, your father wasn’t, Roark, but he was part of the group. Your father was the first victim,” he told Tamika.

  “We believe something happened last year that reminded him of whatever went wrong in the group. The event would’ve been his stressor, and from that point on his plan to seek revenge by fire was hatched.” Cade spoke matter-of-factly.

  It was his work voice, Roark surmised. Cade and Pierce were talking like profilers, and he and Tamika had no choice but to listen to every word they were saying.

  “I don’t understand. You think somebody they went to school with forty plus years ago is now hunting them down and killing them. The guy would have to be in his mid-sixties by now,” she said.

  “Our profile puts him at sixty-five, the same age your parents were, and he’s in relatively good shape. He’d have to be to carry the cannister of gasoline and whatever protective gear he’s wearing,” Pierce said.