Savage Sons (House of Winterborne Book 2)

by Luanne Bennett

  Samuel nodded to the picture and told him to take another look. “Try to imagine it covered in grime.”

  “What did you say your name was?” the man asked.

  “I didn’t. You sold this box a couple of months ago to Katherine Winterborne.”

  That seemed to do the trick. By his expression, the man knew exactly who she was. She’d probably paid him a hundred times what he thought it was worth, so he should’ve remembered her.

  “The woman from that fancy auction house uptown? Yeah, I remember her now.” He glanced at the photo again before handing it back to Samuel. “It cleaned up nice. She came in to look at another box I called her about, but this one caught her eye. Couldn’t figure out why she wanted it so bad. I would have kept it if she hadn’t offered me so much for it. Probably should have held out for more.”

  Samuel slipped the picture back in his pocket. “Where did you get it?”

  He looked back and forth at the two of us, suspicion growing on his face. “How the hell do I know? It’s been months.”

  “You don’t keep records of where you get your inventory?” I asked.

  He huffed. “Sure. Let me just go back in my office and look it up in my fancy database. I’m sure it’s cataloged along with every other piece of merchandise around here.”

  I glanced around at the piles of cheap trinkets, figuring most of it was worth less than the time it would take to actually write it down on a piece of paper for tax purposes. It was a wonder he could pay the rent at all. Maybe he sold more than junk out of the back of his shop.

  “Look,” he said. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume you two ain’t with the IRS, so I’ll be straight with you. People come in here and bring me all kinds of stuff, and in return, I hand them a little cash. That’s the extent of the record keeping around here. If I remember correctly, some woman brought that box in at the end of summer. Said she’d just disposed of her father’s estate and what was left was only fit for a garage sale. But she didn’t look like the garage sale type, if you know what I mean. Said she couldn’t bear to throw it away. Told me I could have it all if I unloaded it from her car myself, and I ain’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  Neither of us was happy, but what could we do? Force an old man to remember a name he’d probably never been given in the first place? It was a dead end, and we both knew it.

  Samuel handed him a card. “If she comes back in here, give me a call. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  He flipped the card over and stared at Samuel’s name and number. “Since you’re willing to make it worth my while, there is something I remember. Come to think of it,” he added with a cagey grin.

  Without hesitating, Samuel took his wallet out and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill.

  The man licked his lips but refrained from holding his hand out. “I think this level of information is worth a little more than that.”

  Samuel pulled out another hundred, and the man reached for the bills.

  “Not so fast,” Samuel said. “I just want to make sure you and I are on the same page. You’re going to give us something useful, or I’ll be back to have a more intimate conversation with you this evening. Am I making myself clear?”

  He nodded and took the money. “I don’t know the lady’s name, but I’ve seen her a few times. You probably have too.”

  I was itching to get out of the place. “Just tell us what you know.”

  He smiled widely, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth with a gap here and there. “She’s the woman from those real estate commercials. You know, the one where she says she’ll buy your property herself if she can’t sell it in sixty days.”

  Samuel’s brow furrowed, but I knew exactly who he was talking about. “Patty Prescott?”

  He pointed his index finger at me. “That’s her.”

  Prescott Real Estate was hard to get out of your head. Their TV commercials ran on a regular basis, and Patty’s face had made the cover of the Wall Street Journal on more than one occasion. The company had made a fortune selling homes in the five boroughs but had expanded over the years to include high-end Manhattan real estate. It was a business that made a lot of money, which explained why Patty Prescott was so willing to give away the crumbs of her father’s estate. I was just surprised she’d come all the way down here herself instead of hiring someone to lug the stuff away, and I intended to ask her why when we paid her a visit that night.

  Sundays were prime days to shop for real estate in Manhattan, and I was a little surprised when Patty Prescott herself agreed to meet us that evening to look at an apartment. Maybe it was the high seven-figure price tag on the property and the fact that I insisted it be her and not one of her associates. I also mentioned that we were out-of-towners flying out in the morning, so it was now or never.

  She walked into the lobby of the apartment building at seven p.m. sharp and headed straight for us. She looked every bit the successful businesswoman she was, her blond bob neatly combed against her cheeks and wearing a suit that must have cost as much as an average person’s monthly salary.

  “You must be the Gibsons.” She looked me in the eye as I took her outstretched hand and lied.

  “That’s us.”

  Since Winterborne Holdings owns a luxury real estate division, she would have seen right through us if we’d used our real names to book the showing.

  We followed her up to the tenth floor to look at the five-bedroom unit. I actually felt a little guilty about wasting her time, but it couldn’t wait another day for me to contact her office to set up a meeting and then have to wait a few more days for her schedule to open up.

  “The view is spectacular, isn’t it?” she said as we crossed the living room and headed for the wall of windows looking out over the Hudson. “The buyer is asking six million.”

  I glanced at Samuel, deciding it was time to end the charade. “We’re not here to look at the apartment.”

  Without so much as a blink, she just stared back at me for a moment. “I know who you are,” she finally said, glancing at Samuel. “Are you a Winterborne too?”

  “This is my uncle, Samuel Winterborne.”

  “And you’re Morgan, heir to Winterborne Holdings.” I must have looked surprised, because she decided to explain. “I’m a smart woman, Ms. Winterborne. I know exactly who my competition is in this town, and your face has been plastered all over the media since your mother died. My condolences, by the way.” She took a steady breath and glanced out the window at the river. “Since you already own a real estate division, I suppose there’s a good reason for wasting my time. Why didn’t you just schedule a meeting to discuss whatever it is you want from me?”

  Samuel spoke up. “Would you have dropped everything and agreed to meet us this evening?”

  “Probably not.”

  “There’s your answer.”

  “We’re here about the donation you made to a thrift shop downtown a few months ago,” I said. “A hole-in-the-wall called the Wreckage.”

  She gave it some thought as if she was trying to recall the place. “I remember. What about it?”

  “There was a very old wooden box included in that donation. We’d like to know where you got it.”

  “We’d also like to know if there was more than one box,” Samuel added.

  Her annoyance was plain as day. “You called me out here on a Sunday night to ask about an old box I donated to a thrift shop?” She laughed and grabbed her red Birkin bag from the coffee table. “If you want to talk to me about something in the future, make an appointment with my office.”

  “Wait!” I said as she headed for the door. “This isn’t a joke. That box is important to my family. The Winterbornes would be very grateful for your help.”

  She hooked her bag over her forearm and turned around. “How grateful?”

  “I think we can refer a rich client your way in the near future.”

  With a smug smile, she walked back over and set her bag down on
the sofa. “Make it two and I’ll give you fifteen minutes of my time.”

  “We’ll make it three if you tell us what we want to know,” Samuel said. That got her attention. “You donated a very old box with symbols covering it. The old man who owns the shop said you were getting rid of your father’s estate.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m curious about that. Why would a woman like you waste her time driving a carload of old stuff downtown to a thrift shop?”

  Her brows cocked. “A woman like me?” She walked over to the window and looked across the river at New Jersey. “I wasn’t born rich, Ms. Winterborne. My family didn’t have a pot to piss in when I was growing up. You didn’t throw anything away because everything was worth something, even if it was a quarter to buy a can of beans or a box of macaroni and cheese.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by that.” I was feeling worse by the second as she gave me the intimate details of her childhood.

  She turned around and waved it off. “It’s all right. You just haven’t had the pleasure of being hungry. My father died a very wealthy man, but he never got past the feeling that it could all disappear in the blink of an eye. He was a collector most of his life. As his money grew, so did his lust for things.” She shrugged. “He liked boxes. The older the better. He had dozens. Collected those damn things for years. Then he got sick. When the cancer started to ravage him, he made me promise never to sell those boxes. I honored that wish and threw them all in the basement a decade ago after he passed.”

  “Then why did you?” Samuel asked.

  “I didn’t sell them. We renovated our brownstone recently and found them among other things he’d collected. I donated everything to people who needed the stuff more than I did.” She shrugged. “I just drove around the city one afternoon until I found the right places. So you see, Ms. Winterborne, I did exactly what a woman like me would do. I also do my own grocery shopping, in case you were curious.” Her brow tightened. “Is there a particular box you’re referring to?”

  Samuel pulled the picture from his pocket and handed it to her. “This one. It was cleaned up considerably by the time the picture was taken.”

  She studied it for a few seconds. “I remember this one. What’s so special about it?”

  We couldn’t tell her the truth, but Samuel had already prepared a convenient story. “It used to belong to our family. An heirloom that was stolen decades ago. The symbols on the box are a family sigil, so you can understand why it was so exciting for us to find it. But we’d also like to track down whoever stole it.”

  Her face suddenly hardened. “You’re not accusing my father of theft?”

  “Of course not. But we’d like to know who he got it from.”

  She seemed uncertain but finally recalled something. “It was a dealer in London. My father spent a lot of time there on business. I remember him telling us the boxes were very old.”

  “Boxes?” Samuel said.

  “Yes. He bought three of them from the same dealer. The symbols were a little different on each one, but they all looked very similar. Like a set. I donated the other two to a different shop. A place called…” She squinted, trying to recall the name.

  My heart started to beat so fast I felt like I was about to physically shake. “This is important. Please try to remember.”

  A light bulb seemed to go off in her head. “Hidden Treasures. Or something like that. Yeah, that’s it. It’s in Brooklyn.”

  By the look on Samuel’s face, he was a minute away from losing his composure. It was time for us to leave. The shop would be closed on a Sunday night, but at least we could locate it.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She smiled and glanced around the palatial space with the seven-figure price tag. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in the apartment? It’s a bargain.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for those clients we promised you.”

  On the elevator ride down, I looked up the shop on my phone. “I just texted you the address. The shop opens at nine. I’m planning to go into the auction house in the morning, so you’ll have to go without me.”

  “Why are you going to Winterborne’s?”

  “Because I’m taking my job back whether Cabot likes it or not. He’s probably already trying to replace me, and I have no intention of letting that happen.”

  “I don’t think you understand, Morgan. We’re about to go to war. Your job at Winterborne’s will have to wait. It’ll still be here when this is all over.”

  My heart sank at the thought of my career slipping away. Despite my family owning the company, I’d earned my way up the ladder. The longer I stayed away, the harder it would be to get my job back.

  We stepped off the elevator and headed for the car. “All right. But you’ll still have to pay a visit to that shop on your own. I’m going to Winterborne’s in the morning to let my assistant and a few associates know what’s going on. I’m sure Cabot has told them some bullshit story about why I left. And if he has already found a replacement, I’m going to tell that person not to get too comfortable because I’ll be back.”

  Chapter 4

  Hawk was waiting for me on the terrace when I got home. Instead of inviting him in, I walked outside and met him at the wall where he was gazing at the skyline.

  “How did it go?” he asked.

  “We found out where the box came from. We also discovered that the other two are somewhere in New York.”

  He turned around and leaned against the wall. “That’s great. So now what?”

  “It was a woman who inherited them from her father when he died. She had no idea what they were. The other two were donated to a shop in Brooklyn, so Samuel is heading over there in the morning to see if by some miracle they’re still there.”

  He nodded a few times, and then the conversation went quiet. The elephant in the kitchen was getting bigger with every awkward second that passed.

  “Are we going to talk about it, or are you under the delusion that I’ll forget about what you told me last night?” He had a sister who needed to feed like I did, and it somehow killed her. And then he also mentioned the minor fact that my frequency for needing blood depended on how much I liked it. Good or bad, it was time he told me the truth about what I was in for.

  He shook his head and turned away. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t what?” I moved closer and reached for his arm. “Will you look at me?”

  When he turned around, his expression was a blank slate. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or indifferent. “My sister died because I didn’t take care of her. She was falling apart right in front of me, but by the time I noticed, it was too late to save her.” His anger finally reared its head. “She fucking died, and I did nothing to stop it!”

  When I stepped back, his face softened. He reached for my hand and pulled me closer. “I told you I’d never hurt you. If you don’t trust me by now, we have nothing.”

  I fell into his arms and pressed my cheek against his warm chest. As he gripped me tightly, I decided in that moment that I would never back away from him again. Hawk had become my anchor, and I knew from the depths of my soul that he would never lay a hand on me. And even if he tried, I was more than capable of putting him in his place. It was my heart that would suffer.

  The moment passed, and he took me by the hand and led me to the bench outside the terrace door.

  “Mia was younger than me,” he said when we sat down. “She was born more like our father and never really got much of our mother’s side.” He laughed quietly. “She could barely shift, let alone hunt for prey.”

  “Was she a hawk like you?”

  He shook his head. “She started out that way, but by the time she was fourteen, it was clear she was struggling to sprout wings. I had to hunt for her. I didn’t mind, but then she started to change. Animal blood wasn’t enough, and I suspected her vampire side was beginning to dominate.” He stared into the night with a thoughtful gaze. “I think my mother was protectin
g her because she was turning into our father. I guess she thought if she smothered Mia with her own influence, she could change Mia’s destiny.”

  “What happened to her?” I asked, wondering if a similar fate was waiting for me.

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and continued without taking his eyes off the ground. “She started to crave blood on a regular basis. Daily. I didn’t know it at the time, but Annie pulled me aside one night and told me Mia had been showing up alone. Annie found out that Hester was servicing her so I wouldn’t know about it.”

  “Is that the woman we saw at the house last night? The one at the bottom of the stairs?”

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t call her that. I don’t know what she is, but she’s evil. She’d call Mia and convince her to come over even when Mia didn’t need it. By the time I found out what was happening, it was too late. Mia was a full-fledged vampire. She was already gone.”

  I hated to ask the next question, but I needed to know. “How did she die?”

  He gave me a weak smile that seemed more consoling than anything else. “She was killed. By a hunter,” he added as the smile faded from his face.

  Suddenly my body started to shake from the adrenaline surging through me. “Tell me, Hawk. Who killed Mia?” Call it intuition, but I already knew the answer.

  “The Circle.”

  I stood up and stumbled away from him, hitting the terrace wall with my back.

  “That night at the club,” he said, standing up and coming toward me. “It wasn’t a chance meeting. I followed you.”

  “No,” I kept saying, shaking my head.

  He must have felt my fear, because he stopped and stared at me for a moment before backing up to give me some space. “I didn’t follow you to get revenge, Morgan. You have to believe me. I knew what she’d become. A Night Walker.”

  “Your father was a Night Walker?”

  “Of course not! But Mia got mixed up with one and decided she preferred his lifestyle over ours. She didn’t know where she fit in until she met him. It was the blood that did it to her. Addicted her and distorted her thinking.”