by Beth Flynn
Spotting her keys, she reached for them and said, "I need to get back to the house. I need to get in there while they're not home."
"Why?" he asked, swiping the keys before she could.
"I didn't ask you why Van owed you money, did I?" She pursed her lips and snapped, "It's none of your beeswax why!"
"None of my beeswax?" he asked. Without giving her time to respond, he told her plainly, "When they get home I'm going to pay Van a visit. Without you."
She rolled her eyes. "Enough with the drama. Okay? I feel like I'm in a bad Mafia movie or something. Can't you handle Van's debt like a normal person?"
She must have been feeling a lot better, Anthony thought. The attitude was back as he knew it would be.
Anthony frowned. "How would a normal person handle it?" he asked.
"Hire an attorney and take him to court," she scoffed. "I think the ransom thing is a tad overboard, don't you?" she questioned, hoping he couldn't detect her false attempt at bravery. Her stomach was in knots, and it wasn't because she'd been sick.
"Not when you're in my business," he countered, narrowing his eyes.
She broke from his gaze, ignoring the trickle of fear that made its way down her spine. "So, Van owes you money. What are you? A loan shark or something?" She tried to act nonchalant, like she talked to loan sharks every day.
"I guess you could say that," he replied.
Her patience was waning, and it gave her a renewed sense of courage. She was losing precious time. She was on a quest and was certain that what she was looking for was hidden in her childhood home. There had to be proof of what she suspected, and if she was going to bring Van down, she had to find it. She didn't have time to be a kidnapping victim. She would have to bargain with the Neanderthal.
"Look. We both have a bone to pick with Van. How about you let me go, and I go about my business, but I'll make a deal with you. I'll stay off the radar. You can tell Van you have me. He'll never know it's not true. I have no relationship with him whatsoever. I even told you before that I think you'll be disappointed. Van won't pay to get me back. I'm nothing but a thorn in his side."
Anthony half believed her, yet something stopped him from agreeing to her terms.
"No," was all he said.
"Fine!" she said through gritted teeth. "Take me to my apartment and let me get my checkbook. I'll pay you whatever Van owes you and this will be over and done with."
She was a wealthy heiress, so he had no doubt she was telling him the truth. It would be the simplest solution, but again, something kept him from accepting the proposition.
"No."
"Why not?" she asked, her tone sounding irate. Her face was turning red, and her hands were clenched at her sides.
"None of your beeswax," he mocked.
Ignoring his sarcasm, she said, "Okay, but if I give you the money, you can leave me alone and deal with him however you want. It doesn't need to involve me. It's a win-win for both of us. You can see that, right?" Her voice sounded hopeful.
It was a reasonable and easy solution, but he couldn't let himself agree to it. There was something about her buying her freedom that irked him. She had so much money she didn't even ask about Van's debt. She was spoiled and privileged and probably bought her way out of any situation that she found uncomfortable or couldn't control. Not this one, he told himself.
"No."
Taking a deep breath, she realized she was getting nowhere. Stubborn jerk, she thought to herself. How did I even let myself think for one minute that he could be reasonable?
He picked up her pager and handed it to her. "You said nobody would miss you, but you had two pages."
She looked at it and said, "My brother and Bobbi Bowen's dealership."
"You mentioned your brother at the house," Anthony said, nodding. "Does he live in Naples?"
"Don't get any more misguided fancy kidnapping ideas in your head," she snorted. "He was disowned years ago. And like I told you before, Van wouldn't pay to get me back, and he'd probably pay you to take and keep Richard."
Anthony didn't say anything, and she continued, "The Corvette is a loaner. My car is in the shop. I guess the call from Bobbi Bowen's was to let me know it's ready. They'll expect me to pick it up soon." She brushed a hand through her hair. "And my brother and his girlfriend have a new baby. I'm due for a visit. It would seem odd if I didn't."
He purposely didn't tell her about the crying woman who'd answered the phone. It must've been Richard’s girlfriend and the fact that she'd been sobbing told Anthony it was probably important.
He picked up the phone and handed it to her. "Call Bobbi Bowen's and tell them your friend Alexander will be dropping off the Corvette and picking up your car."
This guy obviously didn't negotiate. No matter how misguided she felt he was, she knew it was easier to attract flies with honey rather than vinegar. She would play along. Other than his dark and commanding demeanor, she wasn't feeling a specific threat. Unless she allowed herself to stare into his eyes for too long. There was something chilling about eyes that showed no emotion. She dialed the number and told Vicky to expect her friend later that day.
As far as her brother was concerned, Anthony was slightly curious. Two wealthy children. One disowned, and the other obviously despised her parents. He felt like he had front row tickets to a live soap opera. And a bad one at that. He wanted to meet Richard.
The sound of his truck interrupted his thoughts and seconds later Alexander came through the front door without knocking. Waiving the courtesy of a proper introduction, Anthony told Christy to get her shoes on. He gave X a brief explanation as to where he was going, saving details for a later time.
Christy met them in the foyer.
"X will be picking up your car. What kind is it?" he asked her.
"It's a white convertible—"
"Of course it is," Anthony said, cutting her off.
After exchanging car keys with X, he steered Christy out the front door toward his truck.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To meet your disinherited brother," he told her.
"To meet my brother?" she asked, incredulously. "How in the world am I going to explain who you are?"
"Tell him I'm your boyfriend," he said as he opened the truck door for her. He gave her a smirk, knowing that she would rather die from shame than let someone think they were a couple. Even her worthless brother.
"I don't date, let alone have a boyfriend," she answered, her tone sounding worried.
Good, his suggestion had hit a nerve. He couldn't fathom why he enjoyed taunting her so much.
"You and me?" she asked, shaking her head as she climbed into the truck. "He'll never believe it."
"Then it'll be your job to make him believe it," he said, slamming her door shut. He walked around to the driver's side and jumped in. She was still listing reasons why she wouldn't be able to convince Richard they were in a relationship, her voice rising with each point.
"Shut up, or I'll tell him we're married," Anthony snapped. He didn't want to admit it, but what he considered amusing less than ten seconds ago, was now digging under his skin. And he didn't like how it was making him feel.
Chapter Eight
Naples, Florida 1978
After a curt demand for her brother’s address, Anthony started the truck and tried to ignore guilty feelings concerning his sister. Nisha’s essence lingered from when X had driven her to the airport earlier. It permeated the truck cab prompting him to roll down his window.
"Is this your truck?" Christy asked, glancing around the cab.
"Yeah. Why? Not fancy enough for you?" he asked, without looking at her.
"It's just a question," she replied, surprised that he seemed to find her inquiry insulting.
Christy watched him as they drove in silence. She recognized the exotic aroma of an extremely expensive lady’s perfume. She studied Anthony’s profile and wondered about the woman who’d recently been in the truck. Up until thi
s moment, she hadn't seen him as anything other than a dark and menacing criminal who'd managed to turn her life upside down in less than twenty-four hours. Thinking that there was a woman in his life humanized him somehow.
She hadn’t been lying or trying to make excuses–her brother, Richard, wouldn’t believe she had a man in her life. She’d told the truth. Richard wouldn’t believe it because not once had Christy brought a boyfriend home to meet her family. Not even when she was still in school. She wasn’t one of those girls whose folders in high school displayed elaborate doodles of her latest boy crush. She hadn’t participated in any clubs, sports, or extracurricular activities. She’d never giggled after catching a boy’s eye at the lunch table or on the bleachers. No dances, no proms, no homecoming. It meant no girlfriends and definitely no boyfriends. It wasn’t like kids hadn’t tried. Most girls looked at a connection with someone like Christy Chapman as a step up, but she always rebuffed any attempts at friendship. She quickly earned a reputation for being the snobbiest girl around. High school for her hadn’t been an escape from the reality of her circumstances. Rather it had been endured so she could graduate and move out of her family’s home. Besides, the fewer people she let inside her inner circle, the less risk there was of her family’s dysfunction being exposed or of Van getting his lecherous hands on some unsuspecting teenager. She scoffed out loud at her own musings. She didn’t have an inner circle. You need friends to make up a circle. There was no one. She was alone.
After hearing her scoff, Anthony looked over. “Still don’t think you can convince your brother I’m your boyfriend?” Before she could answer, he added rudely, “Guess I don’t look like your typical upper-class snot-nosed kid.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not that.” She paused, ignoring his last comment and asked, “Don’t we need time to come up with a back story? I mean, you want to walk in there cold turkey? What if he asks us something that we don’t know the answer to?” She quickly added, “And you’re obviously a lot older than me. That might be hard for anyone—not just Richard and Nadine—to believe.”
He shot her a look. “How old do you think I am?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Just older.”
“I’m thirty-two,” he answered. “I’ll be thirty-three later this year. I guess you’ve only dated boys. We’ll convince him you prefer men.”
“Thirty-three?” she practically screamed. “When I said I thought you were older I meant like twenty-eight, twenty-nine at the most. I didn’t know you were in your thirties. You don't look that old.”
“Yeah, well, you’re legal so it shouldn’t matter either way,” he quipped. He wasn’t insulted that she thought he was ancient. He found it amusing, kind of like the beeswax comment, and it irked him more than he admitted. Anthony Bear rarely found anyone or anything amusing.
“So, how did we meet?” she asked.
“You got a flat tire. I stopped to help you change it. We flirted. I asked you to dinner. We keep it simple. If he wants you to elaborate, you tell him we’re still figuring it out and you don’t want to say too much.”
She didn’t reply so he decided to goad her a little. “And if he pushes and wants to know why you don’t want to say too much, you tell him it’s because you’re crazy about me and you don’t want to jinx it.” Why are you engaging her? he asked himself. This is business, pure and simple. Find Van, get the money he owes, get rid of her.
He heard her gasp while staring out her window and mumbling under her breath, “That is not simple. I can never see myself being crazy about an overbearing, bullying, kidnapping, stubborn criminal. Especially an old one. Never!”
She snapped her head around and glared at him. “You think you’re so smart. That you have this all figured out. Fine. I’ll play along, but only to prove to you that it won’t work. You don’t need to meet my brother. Drop me at the house and come back for me. I told you before I won’t cause any trouble. I hate Van just as much as you do!”
“No,” was all he said.
“And how should I explain this?” she asked, gesturing toward her forehead and the prominent purple knot.
“The truth. You walked into the edge of an open door,” he answered matter-of-factly.
Twenty minutes later they pulled into Rolling Meadows, a tasteful subdivision that Anthony was familiar with. Native Touch serviced a few clients in this upper-middle class neighborhood.
They drove up to a pale-yellow house with white trim. The yard was sparsely landscaped but neat. What looked like a brand-new station wagon was sitting in the driveway. Anthony pulled in behind it and noticed the Bobbi Bowen decal on the back of the car, right below the window.
“Thought you said your brother was disinherited,” he said pointedly. “This is a nice house and that,” he said nodding at the car in front of him, “looks brand spanking new from your grandmother’s dealership.” He was certain that Bobbi Bowen didn’t sell station wagons. This must’ve been a special purchase.
Without looking at him, Christy replied, “I bought them the car. The one Nadine was driving had seen better days. I wanted her to have something safe to drive the kids around in.” She opened the door and got out. Anthony followed her up to the front door. She knocked twice and went in.
She stopped short, and Anthony almost bumped into her. Christy slowly scanned the living room that was in disarray. Cardboard boxes, some taped closed and some still open, were scattered on the floor. The coffee table and end tables were cluttered with items that didn’t belong in the living room. Just then, a little boy appeared in the hallway. He ran to Christy and wrapped his arms tightly around her legs. She picked him up and hugged him close.
“Cody, where are Mommy and Daddy? Where's Nana?”
Before the little boy could answer, she caught sight of Nadine walking toward her. She slowly lowered Cody to the floor and tried to mentally wrap her mind around what was happening.
Anthony didn’t say anything as he watched the beautiful woman approach Christy. He knew instantly she was a Native American. She gave Anthony a curious look before returning her eyes to Christy. Eyes which instantly burst into tears.
Christy fired off a litany of questions, not giving Nadine time to answer any of them.
“What is it? What’s wrong, Nadine? Where’s Richard? I didn’t see his car out front. Is everything okay? Is the baby okay? Is Nana okay?”
Nadine pulled Christy in for a close hug. Her shoulders were shaking. Christy carefully removed herself and held Nadine by her shoulders.
“What is going on?” she asked with concern, steering Nadine toward the couch.
“Who’s that?” came a little voice from the middle of the room. They all looked at Cody who was standing there, pointing at Anthony.
“That’s Anthony. He’s my friend, Cody,” was all Christy said. Her obvious concern for her brother’s girlfriend and finding out what was wrong negated the plan to introduce Anthony as her boyfriend. As a matter of fact, she’d forgotten Anthony was even with her until Cody asked about him. She was afraid to hear what Nadine was going to tell her. Scary thoughts of car accidents and heart attacks were swirling in her brain. All kinds of frightening scenarios pounced on her, and she recognized the fear that was pooling in her stomach.
As Nadine explained the situation, the fear was replaced with fury so intense, Christy could feel herself trembling.
Apparently, nobody had been hurt. At least not yet, Christy thought. Richard had gone back to his old ways. Nadine explained how she'd suspected he was seeing someone else before Zachary was born, but she didn’t want to believe it. However, her fears were confirmed when Richard insisted that she sign over the title of the car that Christy had bought them.
“He wanted to trade our car in for a new one. For his girlfriend,” Nadine cried. “When I wouldn’t do it, he took what little savings we had and gambled with it. I guess he won or maybe traded in his car,” she said sadly. “I didn’t even know he’d cleaned out our bank account until yest
erday when he showed up here with her and the new car. He told me that I have until tonight to get my things moved out.” She let out a big sob. “I have no choice. It’s his house. Oh, Christy!" she cried, swiping at her tears. "I can’t believe this happened. I don’t know what to do. There’s no time to find somewhere to go. I was hoping Nana and the boys and I could stay with you until I can figure something out.”
She sniffled and looked at Christy as if seeing her for the first time. “What happened to your head?” she asked. Her words were sincere, and it warmed Christy’s heart to know that even with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, Nadine was concerned for her.
“It’s nothing. I walked into a door,” she told her, brushing off the inquiry as she tried to focus on what her brother had done. How had she ever let herself think that Richard could change? He was an irresponsible, womanizing, gambling, cheating, rotten human being. Same as Van.
Christy jumped up, her fists balled at her sides. “No,” she said, looking down at Nadine. “No, Nadine. You can’t stay with me.”
Anthony, standing off to the side, had watched the entire exchange. He shifted when Christy told Nadine no. Sure, she could drop a brand-new car in the driveway. When you had as much money as Christy Chapman seemed to have, it was like throwing a dog a bone. But when it came to something that didn’t involve her checkbook, the entitled heiress couldn’t be bothered. She was shallow and self-serving. Exactly like he’d thought. With a self-righteous smirk, he crossed his arms and glared at her.
They were interrupted by a loud engine outside. A shiny new Camaro rolled up on to the lawn. They watched from the front picture window as Richard and a woman got out of the car and approached the front door. Anthony immediately recognized the type of woman Richard was with. She had all the makings of a serious drug user who tried to hide behind too much makeup and knock-off designer clothes—he could spot an addict a mile away. Richard wasn’t what Anthony had expected. Christy was short and filled out, where Richard was tall and overly thin. Almost sickly thin, Anthony thought. He had the same skin tone as Christy, but it looked paler because it contrasted with his dark hair.
