Tristan (Knight's Edge Series Book 1)

by Liz Gavin

  Natasha showed them to a meeting room. On the brief walk through the open plan office, Tristan took in the frenzied activity, along with images on various types of screens and boards that confirmed the agents’ commitment to finding Arthur.

  In the meeting room, Natasha waited until they settled in the leather chairs. Although the long mahogany table was set for at least twelve people, Tristan, Izzie, and Anastasia chose chairs on the same side, to the left of Natasha. She stood at the head of the table, a large screen behind her showed an enlarged version of the FBI’s seal. It framed her as she debriefed them.

  “Evidence shows that Mr. King had watched the house for quite some time before he made his move yesterday. He saw a chance and grabbed it.”

  Tristan spied Izzie’s hand clutching Anastasia’s under the table. His heart swelled at the small gesture of reassurance. Amid her nightmare, Izzie took the time to let her assistant know she had no blame in the matter. Mark would have found another way in, even if Anastasia had not gone to the store.

  Natasha went on, “We have been able to trace his movements up to a point. His car was last seen on the 210, a little after the exit to downtown San Bernardino. The trail went cold there. There is a big junction in the area. He might have driven north to Nevada or south to San Diego.” She paused as if to gauge their reactions.

  Izzie and Anastasia had their eyes trained on the agent, barely blinking. Tristan cast his down intently studying his hands crossed on the table. His heart skipped so many beats he lost count, air left his lungs. His mind raced with disconnected pieces of information chasing after one another. He didn’t know which way was up anymore.

  “Mr. Knight, does this information ring any bells, sir?” Natasha’s expression turned razor sharp. He knew she knew he knew something.

  “Maybe, not sure,” he mumbled, not bullshitting her as her squinted eyes suggested. He held her stare. “It stirred something in the back of my mind, but I can’t say what exactly.”

  Natasha’s eyes relaxed. “That’s okay, it happens. You’re tense, and our memories are fluid. However, any little thing that might not make sense to you may be useful. Tell me what you remember.”

  The pieces fell into place as she spoke. Tristan had a hunch as to where Mark had taken Arthur. If he told the FBI, he wouldn’t have a chance to wring the motherfucker’s neck as he was dying to do. What would be the odds of the agents giving him ten minutes alone with the bastard before they took him into custody?

  Slim to none.

  Mark had threatened Izzie if she called the cops on him. Tristan had to consider that as well.

  Izzie’s stare focused on his, hope and despair warring in her green eyes. He averted his.

  If he lied, maybe he could get there ahead of the police. He just needed enough time to punch a hole through the fucker’s face. He didn’t care if he got arrested for it. Mark deserved to have his perfect features rearranged.

  “Mr. Knight?” Natasha’s tone had gained a sterner pitch.

  If he got to the cabin and assaulted Mark, what kind of fucked up example would he set for his son? One where laws didn’t matter, and violence was a valid way of solving issues. Not to mention he would be gambling with Arthur’s life. God only knew what kind of shit went on inside Mark’s addled brain.

  “Spill it, goddamn it!” Izzie blurted.

  He blinked his way out of the hellhole his mind had taken him to. His eyes landed on Izzie’s and he choked.

  “Fuck! I’m sorry,” he pleaded, pulling her rigid body against his in an awkward embrace. He cut his stare to Natasha’s. “My apologies, agent Cooper. I don’t remember the exact directions, but Mark’s parents had a cabin in Lake Arrowhead when he was growing up. He took me there once or twice. The place had been sold years before, but he liked to boast about it. That’s not much to work with, but it’s all I’ve got.”

  Izzie scowled at him and he raised his hands in the air. “I promise, love. That is all I remember. I’m not trying to solve this on my own.”

  “That would be a first.” She eyeballed him for a moment, then her shoulders relaxed. She laced their fingers together again. “I believe you.”

  He kissed her knuckles. “Thank you.”

  While they talked, Natasha punched a number on the internal phone. “Check the Lake Arrowhead area for any properties belonging to the King family going back fifty years.” She hung up and addressed them. “Thank you. There’s little more you can do right now, I’ll ask for a car to take you home.” She raised a hand, when Tristan tried to counter the offer. “We’ll work faster and more efficiently, if we don’t have to worry about your well-being. A patrol unit has been assigned to your house since yesterday. You’ll have round-the-clock protection from Mr. King, any unknown associate of his, and the press. In the meantime, we’ll follow this lead. It’s the most solid one we’ve got and I’ve a feeling it might do it.” She stretched out her hands and held Izzie’s when they got up from their chairs. “I promise we’re not going to rest until we bring Arthur back to you.”

  “Thank you.”

  They rode to Izzie’s home in tense silence. Tristan feared any of them might crumble if the other said something. He kept his mouth shut and his eyes trained on the landscape outside the tinted windows.

  Once inside, Anastasia offered, “Can I get you anything, Izzie?”

  “Thank you, hon. Waiting is awful, but there’s nothing much to do. Go home, hug your family. I’ll keep you posted.”

  The women shared a tight embrace, Anastasia waved to Tristan on her way out, and they were left alone to wait for the FBI’s call.

  Smashing Izzie’s antiques was not an option, even though Tristan had the urge to break things to get the frustration out of his system. Instead, he stood in the middle of her living room, feet disappearing in the thick cream rug, and held his arms wide open, inviting her in.

  “Why don’t you follow the wise advice you just gave Anastasia? Hug your family,” Izzie wrapped herself around him and broke down crying. She had been holding the emotions in, putting on a brave face, and now she let them loose. Her sobs shook her small frame, but Tristan gladly absorbed the shocks, smoothing her hair and back. “Let it out, love. You don’t need to be strong for me,” he whispered.

  She wailed, her voice muffed by his shirt as she crinkled it in her fisted hands. “The bastard took Arthur because of me. Me.” She stabbed her chest. “I’m the one to blame here. Nobody else.”

  “I know that’s how you feel, but that isn’t true. Mark King is a sick bastard. He’s the only guilty party in all of this. He isn’t the smartest person either. I’m sure he took Arthur to that cabin. They’ll find them, throw Mark’s sorry ass in jail, and bring Arthur to us.” He wasn’t just saying that to appease her.

  She hooked her arms under his and dug her fingers into his shoulders. Burying her face in his chest, her sobs ebbed. He kept stroking her until she sought his stare. “You believe that, don’t you?”

  “I do, ma’am.”

  She sighed and rested her chin on his chest, eyes still on his. “You wanted to go up there and beat the crap out of him, though. You almost lied to the FBI, didn’t you?”

  “What’s with the third degree, woman?”

  “Evasive response. That’s a yes in your world. I don’t blame you if you did, though.”

  He realized he had held his breath when it came out as a sigh of relief. He chuckled. “You don’t?”

  She shook her head, chin still buried in the middle of his chest. “Nope. It’s in your nature to protect the ones you love. You challenged the bullies in school when they singled me out. You stood by Noah, fifteen years ago, when his girlfriend broke his heart and helped him mend the pieces. You rearranged your life to take care of your mom. And you offered a kidney to a child you’ve never met, one you didn’t know existed until a month ago. In all these cases, you had an option. You could have chosen you. Instead, you chose the people you love.”

  Tristan gazed into her eye
s, mesmerized by the emotions she showed him and the image she made of him. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I wish I were half as good as you believe I am, but I’ll take the compliment. What? I’m learning,” he explained, when she raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Obviously.”

  “Some of your social skills are rubbing off, I guess.”

  “What are you driving at?”

  “You amazed me earlier at the field office. The way you calmed Anastasia down, reassured her that she didn’t have reasons to blame herself for what had happened confirmed what I had suspected.”

  “Which is?”

  “That you’re an angel in disguise,” he kissed the tip of her nose.

  She twitched it. “Or maybe a bewitching witch?”

  “You’re not blonde enough.”

  “I meant Serena,” she chuckled, but soon let it die out. “I shouldn’t be laughing and making jokes while my son is out there, God knows where.”

  Tristan tightened his arms around her, then pulled away. She resisted, and he smiled. “My feet are going numb. Let’s move this to the couch. We’ll be more comfortable.”

  He settled on the overstuffed black leather cushion, holding her by his side. She pulled her legs up and under herself, resting her head on his thighs. He resumed stroking her hair, and arms.

  She sighed. “You make me feel safe.”

  He didn’t get to reply because her cell phone rang. “Yes?” She closed her eyes as she listened intently to whoever was on the other side of the line.

  His world stopped spinning.

  He couldn’t read her, couldn’t tell if she was tense or relieved. His brain cells had deserted him. He had only emotions, and they chased each other around like psychedelic ponies in a fucking merry-go-round on steroids.

  “Thank you, Natasha.” She hung up, dropped the phone on the couch, and buried her face in her hands.

  He needed to know, but he didn’t want to pressure her.

  He leaned down and whispered, “I’m here for you, love. You’re not alone.”

  Izzie laced her arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses. She laughed and cried. The boulder on his chest lifted a fraction on an inch, enough to allow him to hope.

  “They’ve found Arthur,” she shrieked. His lungs remembered how to breathe. “Natasha said he looks fine, but they’ve taken him to a hospital in Lake Arrowhead for precaution.”

  “Let’s go. No, wait. Lake Arrowhead is more than two hours away.”

  “Exactly. I’ll call Steve. He’ll get us a helicopter.”

  “He’s still your manager?”

  She shrugged as she swiped to unlock the phone. “I’m loyal that way. Hey, Steve. I need a favor.”

  The Claddagh ring twinkled on her finger, while she paced the room and arranged the details with her manager. Izzie was right, she was loyal to those she loved. So was he. He recalled the promise he made to her on her senior prom night. She would always have his friendship, his love, and his loyalty.

  All he had to do was convince her to accept them.

  17

  Izzie

  Her heart burst at the seams watching the two men she loved the most get lost in a tight embrace.

  Arthur’s face buried in the crook of Tristan’s neck as he sobbed, “I thought I’d never meet you, Dad.”

  Tristan’s big hand stroking Arthur’s black curls as he fought his tears. “I’ve got you, son. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

  She had already shared her bout of crying inside her son’s arms, but she would need a heart of stone to remain untouched by the scene in front of her. She shoved her hands inside of her front pockets to contain the urge to fold her arms around the two. The hospital bed was too small, and Tristan sitting on its edge took most of the space, anyway. She didn’t want to risk hurting Arthur’s arm, where the nurses had hooked the IV.

  She stepped back, and contemplated father and son as they got through the awkwardness of their first encounter. She had made her piece with her past bad choices, like robbing her son of a father for fourteen years; or hiding his son from Tristan. That didn’t make the ache in her chest any easier to bear, now that she had finally brought them together. She promised herself she would make up for that mistake for the rest of her life.

  All she had to do was convince Tristan to accept her back in his life.

  For good.

  After Mark’s arrest and Arthur’s return, Izzie and her small family focused on the impending transplant surgery. More tests, more probing and poking of Tristan and Arthur. And Izzie was left with the task of managing two whiny males.

  Until she reached her limit.

  One evening, they returned home from the clinic, and father and son had been complaining non-stop through dinner. She occupied the chair at head of the table for six that dominated the intimate dining area. Tristan had the chair to her right, while Arthur was sitting on her left. In the beginning, she listened to them and offered arguments, which they ignored. She was glad they had bonded so closely, the health ordeal they were facing together helped that connection. She would appreciate it, if they listened to her more. She wasn’t a fucking doormat, never had been, and never would be.

  Weary, she dropped her fork and knife, they clanked as they bounced off the plate onto the polished mahogany table.

  “Seriously, dudes? You’re whimpering because they had to redo the CT scans?” She jabbed her index at both men’s chests for emphasis. “You have no idea how lucky you are you don’t bleed every fucking month for days on end. The tomography room was too cold? Boo-hoo. Try carrying another person in your belly for nine months, then having it get out of you through a tiny little hole.”

  She wrapped up her ranting and scowled at them. They exchanged glances before looking at her. They were wise not to make fun of her, but she spotted a hint of a smile on Tristan’s pursed lips. Arthur’s eyes sparkled with something dangerously close to amusement.

  Tristan covered her hand. “I hear you, sweetheart. We sound like a couple of brats.”

  She leaned back on her chair. “You do.”

  “I’m sorry, mom. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “That is okay, hon. I know you didn’t.”

  Standing, Tristan tipped his head toward the kitchen. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get mommy some dessert.” He slung an arm around Arthur’s shoulder and she watched them amble away. A couple of feet shy of the kitchen door, Tristan delivered his punch line. “I’ve heard chocolate works miracles with women during their menstrual period.”

  Their guffaw deflated her annoyance.

  When they returned carrying a mouthwatering Fudge Cake, she shook her head and smiled. “What am I going to do with you two?” Father and son exchanged another quick glance and she frowned. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing, mom. May I cut you a slice?”

  “That’s very nice of you. I appreciate it, hon.”

  Arthur held the serving knife and motioned to cut the cake, but Tristan intervened. “The other side, sonny.”

  “My bad,” he carefully cut a thick slice of the cake and transferred it to a plate, placing it in front of her.

  When he stared at her instead of cutting more slices for himself or his father, she nudged him on. “Go on, finish serving the cake. I’ll wait for you.”

  “Right, right.” Arthur made haste of cutting two other slices and placing them in front of Tristan and himself.

  Both played with their dessert, while watching her. “You’re freaking me out. What’s going on here?”

  “Mom, will you please eat your cake? Like now?”

  She was indeed in her menstrual period and those guys were playing with fire. She rolled her eyes and muttered through gritted teeth, “Fine!” Her fork stopped its descending movement midway through her slice. She glanced at Tristan and Arthur and found out their stares were glued to face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. What have you two done?”

  Tristan’s lips curved in amuseme
nt. “Son, your mother sucks at romance.” He poked her slice of cake with his fork, dismantling the thing, until a red box emerged from the brown ruins. He winked. “There. Happy?”

  Speechless, she bounced her gaze between the two men she loved the most.

  Tristan opened the box to reveal the most exquisite Claddagh ring she had ever seen. A large red diamond in the shape of a heart, held in place by two golden hands, and crowned by an emerald flanked by two white diamonds.

  Izzie’s hand flew to her mouth as she fought tears and gasped for air. She cut her stare to Tristan, on one knee beside her chair. “Will you make me the luckiest bastard in the world? Will you be my wife?”

  “Fuck yeah.” She pounced on him, knocking him off balance, and they tumbled to the floor, laughing. Mouths locked in a passionate kiss, fingers pulling hair, and legs intertwined.

  “Ew, guys. Kid in the room here.” Arthur’s voice broke through her daze, and Izzie chuckled inside Tristan’s mouth.

  “Better get used to it, son. You’ll get a lot of PDA in this house. I’ve no intention of taking my hands off your mom’s ass when I’m around her.”

  “You’re scarring me for life, you know.” He winked and sat down on the chair Izzie had occupied until a moment ago, crossing his outstretched legs at his ankles, and watching his parents roll on the floor. “Go on.”

  Izzie gazed into Tristan’s loving stare. “He’s got your sense of humor.”

  “You’re so screwed.”

  “Don’t I know it?”

  Epilogue

  A Couple of Years Down the Road

  Tristan

  Going under for the transplant surgery had been a walk in the park on a warm summer afternoon compared to what Tristan was about to face. Almost as terrifying as the day his mom got accepted into that top-notch research program for a new kidney drug. Seventy thousand raging fans, in all senses of the word, could make them or break them. The first stadium concert in the meteoric career of the Knight’s Edge band. A game-changer for the band members. He hoped the concert would turned out to be as successful as Arthur’s transplant, and Lilly’s recovering health. Like his son’s and mom’s ordeals, any small slipup could cause the band members everything they had worked for so far. And throw their future into the trash can of History.