“So why didn't you try and find me?” Katrina asks, and I can hear the hurt in her voice. “I spent six years in foster care, and a lot of that was hell. Even with Virginia, there was a lot of hell I went through.”
“At first, I was just told you were gone,” I answer. “Later, when I found out that your parents had been killed, I was told you were sent to live with your grandparents in Vermont. Since I didn't know anything about your grandparents, and I didn't know how much my parents lied to me on a constant basis... I believed it. But without you in my life, without that normalcy... I realize now that I've become too much like my father. I may have all my hair still, and there's a lot less fat around my waist, but in too many other ways, I've walked down his path. Except for one.”
“Which is?”
“I don't want you to die, Katrina. You were my friend, and since seeing you...” I stop, unable to finish what I want to say. “I don't want you hurt. You talk about going through a decade of hell, and I don't doubt it. But I've been through my own kind of hell for my entire life, especially when my best friend and the only girl I... liked was taken from me. But if I have to, I'd rather go through that again than have you hurt.”
I look down at my shoes, noting that I'm still wearing the same muddy and stained loafers I'd put on this morning, in fact, I'm wearing the same stuff that I wore for my walk with Nathan. It's filthy, and for the first time in years, I don't really care.
Katrina surprises me by reaching out and putting a hand on my arm, and I look up, into her glittering eyes. “I believe you,” she says softly. “Jackson... you were the only thing I missed from my old life once I accepted that my parents were dead. But I'm not going to stop, and I'm not going to run. If Peter wants to send his men after me... it's going to cost him a lot to get my head on a stick.”
“You sound a lot like Nathan,” I mutter, but I can feel her hand through my shirt, and I want her so damn bad. I want to feel her fingers on my skin again, not on my shirt. I want to kiss those lips, to see those tear-colored eyes change to what I know they can be, a clear blue like the Caribbean. I want to hold her and tell her that the pain can go away, for both of us. I want all of that, but I don't move. The hurt and distrust is still too much inside her, I can tell.
“He's misguided, but somewhat honorable still,” Katrina says. “You can learn something from him, if you study him closely enough.”
“There are other things, other people I'd rather learn from, even if he is interesting,” I reply, letting go of my pain some and covering her hand with mine. “Katrina, I want you safe... but if not, I want to be part of your life.”
Kat's about to answer, when her computer beeps and she looks over, breaking the tension between us. She pulls her hand free and goes over, pulling up a window. She's quiet for a few minutes as she reads and types, then leans back, her face slack. “Oh my God.”
Chapter 13
Kat
I can feel Jackson's eyes burning into me as he tells me that he wants me to be part of his life. I'm lost in those eyes, and the honesty of what he just revealed to me. It's nothing that I didn't already know, I've spent nearly ten years learning everything I could about the way Peter DeLaCoeur and the way he's run his business and family, but to me, it sounded like it was the first time Jackson has ever said it out loud. The way he just opened up, and the weight that drops off his shoulders as he tells me about the pain of growing up in his life... it touches me.
So when his hand covers mine, I feel myself being pulled toward him by his eyes, and I want to lean in toward him. I want to tell him how just hours ago, I was dreaming about him, and about the fact that since he's come back into my life, I feel like there's a chance at a future.
My computer beeps, saving me. I take my hand off Jackson's arm and get off the bed, trying to keep the trembling out of my knees as I cover the short distance. I sit down in my chair gratefully, and see that Andrea has messaged me.
BS- You there?
CDG- I have a visitor. Your brother.
BS- Half-brother. He's making strides, but he's got a way to go before he's my full brother.
CDG- Your choice. What's up?
BS- You know you're not the only one researching Peter's past, right?
CDG- I figured as much. What, did you learn something helpful?
BS- Yes, but it's not something I want to release to the press.
CDG- What?
BS- Can you receive a file?
CDG- Yes. Format?
BS- Encrypted document.
CDG- Send it.
I get a file transfer notice and analyze it quickly. I know Jackson's sitting behind me, but he's being quiet, probably still absorbing everything that we've said to each other over the past few minutes. The file transfers quickly, and I give it another scan before dropping it into a virtual box.
CDG- Encrypt code?
BS- My full name.
CDG- English or Japanese?
BS- English. I'll be in touch after you read it. Goodbye.
Andrea Julia DeLaCoeur... the file unlocks, and a document along with a subfolder pulls up, unzipping and opening for me. I read quickly, and realize what Andrea meant. “Oh my God.”
Jackson's next to me in an instant, looking at me closely. “Kat... Katrina? What is it?”
I point, unable to speak. Jackson looks at the window, his lips moving silently as he reads, something he did even as a kid.
Samuel Grammercy, detective lieutenant, New Orleans Police Department. Thirty-eight years old at the time of his death, no suspects ever identified in his death by car bombing.
Michael Ball, forty-eight years old, bartender. Alcohol server's license states that he works in the Miami area.
The pictures aren't great, all taken from public sources, but there's enough there to verify what Andrea's document tells me.
“They're alive,” Jackson says after he finishes clicking through the files. “They... they never were blown up. How?”
“I don't know,” I whisper, finally finding my voice. “But Jackson... I remember. I remember the fire, the boom, I remember it all. How is that possible?”
Jackson shakes his head. “I don't know either,” he says. “Katrina, can you trust this information? Who sent it to you?”
“Someone I can believe,” I reply, not sure why I won't tell Jackson the truth about his half-sister. I just don't think Andrea would want it yet. “But I need to verify this.”
Jackson gives me a look. “Katrina, this changes everything. I'm not saying it makes Peter any less of an animal, or any less of a threat to you. But you've spent nearly half your life vowing revenge for something that may never have happened. And if your father’s in Miami... you're going to need help.”
“Whose?” I ask, shaking my head. “Darcy... but she's got a family now. Virginia's taking care of two new foster kids herself now, she can't help me... I'm alone.”
“No you're not,” Jackson says, kneeling down next to me and taking my hand. “Kat, you've got me. I already told you that I was going to try and deflect Peter off you... now we've got something else to do.”
“You mean it?” I ask, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “It's going to involve money, deception, and lying to Peter. You'd be signing your own death warrant if he finds out.”
Jackson nods, then smirks. “Nathan told me this morning that I need to stand up. Be a man, he said. Maybe this is just my way of doing it.”
I nod, then smile. “I like that. Okay, so we work together on this. But I don't have a lot of details. Miami's a big city, and there are a lot of bars there. All I have is a name for him.”
“Then we find out together,” Jackson says with a smile. “After all, who'd think that Prince Douchebag would actually be trying to do something worthwhile with his time? I mean, besides reading Rich Dad, Poor Dad.”
“Good book. Myopic, but a decent book,” I comment to Jackson's surprise. “You'll find as we spend time together I know more than just martial arts, hacking,
and seduction.”
“Okay. So where can I start first?” he asks. “This isn't something I have any experience with, so I'm going to be putting myself in your hands.”
“First... I need to know more. I need verification, and there's only one person who can do that for me that I know of.”
“Who?”
“Nathan Black.”
Jackson shakes his head emphatically at first, but then the shakes slow as something dawns on him. “He told me... he told me that he didn't kill your father.”
“Not that he didn't set the car bomb. So find out what happened. Meanwhile, I'm going to go to some of my other sources, help narrow down the Miami end of things.”
Jackson thinks for a moment, and I understand. He suspects how dangerous Nathan Black is, but I know exactly how dangerous he is. On the other hand, Jackson knows more about Nathan's state of mind than I do right now, which is why I'm asking him to talk to Nathan directly. It's still dangerous, however.
Finally, he hums, then grins. “Deal. How do you want me to pass along what I know? I mean, coming here all the time is great for me, but puts you in more danger, right?”
I nod, then hold out my hand. “Phone.”
He takes out his phone, and I quickly go to his address book. “Here, under Grace Miseria. It's another one of my aliases. Jackson... not too many people have this number. I normally give out one of my rotating SIMs.”
He nods, and looks at the number for a moment, then puts his phone back in his pocket. “I understand. Let me talk to Nathan, and I'll be in touch as soon as I have something.”
Jackson walks to the door and unlocks it. In a moment of deja vu, I'm up, running to the door before he leaves, this time though catching him before he gets the door all the way open. “Jackson... wait.”
“What is it?” he asks, turning back to me, his face still full of concern. We were yelling at each other at the beginning, and now I want to kiss him. Weird.
“Just... I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry about getting your junk in the papers.”
Jackson smiles and shakes his head. “Thank you for the apology, but I'm not angry about it anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because it brought you back into my life. I think that's more than worth the price of a few pictures. Goodnight, Kat.”
“Not Kat. Not for you, at least,” I reply, taking his hand and give it a squeeze. “I was thinking, after you used it a few times... I kinda like hearing you call me Katrina again.”
“I like that, too. Goodnight, Katrina.”
Jackson leaves, and I watch him for a moment before closing and locking my door. My computer beeps again, and I see that it's Andrea.
BS- You okay?
CDG- Yeah. Took me a minute to read it over, and then to discuss what to do next with Jackson.
BS- He knows?
CDG- He knows the info. Not who sent it. That's up to you.
BS- Thank you. Maybe in time, but I've my own plans. Not sure if he's to be included.
CDG- I understand. Do me two favors?
BS- I can try.
CDG- He's going to talk to Nathan about the bomb. Keep an eye on him.
BS- If I can. And two?
CDG- Rich Dad, Poor Dad? Really?
BS- LOL. I just gave him that to give him some easy fluff to see if he was serious. It seems like he’s been snapped back to reality.
CDG- It does, doesn’t it?
BS- You sure you're okay with this?
CDG- I'll try and be. Hey, I just thought of something. If there's an emergency... call me on Viber. 864-885-9073. I check it often. Goodnight.
BS- Goodnight. And thank you.
Chapter 14
Jackson
I'm unsure of how to approach Nathan as I get back home. The sun went down hours ago, and Peter is probably gone. Growing up, he almost never spent evenings at home, usually going to see “friends,” as he would put it. So there's a chance that Nathan might be with him if he's actually conducting business.
On the other hand, if Peter's out with any of his current mistresses, he'd leave Nathan behind. Now that I've admitted to myself and to Katrina that he’s a philandering, lying son of a bitch, I'm able to recall little details about the way he does things, things that I'd overlooked or never really cared to think about before. Like dyeing his hair, or the fact that he changes secretaries on a roughly yearly basis. Or the fact that when he's going out to fuck around, he leaves Nathan behind.
I'm encouraged when I see that Peter's Porsche is gone. That thing only has two seats, and unless Nathan’s riding shotgun, he’ll be home. Of course, Peter never lets anyone else drive that German showpiece. I park my Audi and go inside. And here I thought my car was pretentious...
The first person I find is Andrea, sitting in the dining room with her textbooks in front of her. She's stripped out of her power suit and looks more like the twenty-year-old that she is. Shows me how fifteen hours can change someone, I guess. “Hey, Andrea.”
“Whatcha want, Jack?” Andrea asks, grumpy. Studying must be going bad for her. She's always been moody, but normally she's never outwardly hostile to me unless I'm being a jerk to her. “Don't tell me you finished Rich Dad.”
“No, I got to chapter four before everything sort of kicked off this morning. Since then, I've been... well, busy. How was your day?”
“Sucked. Got my midterms back.” Oh yeah, she said something a while back about preparing for her summer midterms.
“Andrea, you go three semesters a year, you've been doing that since junior high school. Don't you think, well, maybe you can let go of a test or two? Nobody can throw perfect games each time out. I've had bad lift days, shit like that. Besides, what'd you score?” It is one of the things that I've never grasped about Andrea until meeting Katrina again. Her drive is superhuman, and she's getting her MBA at twenty because of it. Still, it can't be healthy, having graduated high school at sixteen, getting her bachelor's at nineteen and now being more than halfway through her MBA. I've never worried about it before, mainly because I've been too much of a self-absorbed manchild to give a damn. Well, that's going to change. “Come on, Andrea. What'd you score?”
“Only 83 and 87,” she grumps, slamming her book closed. “Happy now?”
“Whoa, whoa, Andrea. I wasn't trying to piss you off,” I hurriedly apologize. I want to snap at her in return, but something, maybe something that rubbed off from Katrina's talk with me, holds me back. “Okay, so you didn't get As in them. And I know, the shitstorm I've raised this past week and a half or so hasn't helped much.”
Andrea takes a deep breath, then nods. “Thank you, oniichan. Sorry, too. Margaret was bitchy when Peter left tonight. We had an argument, which is why I'm out here instead of in my room. She's insisted that she hold court over the entire family wing of the house, and threw me out. It was either study here or in the kitchen, and the kitchen's too hot.”
I smile and pat her shoulder. “I understand, thanks for the heads-up. I'm sorry you had to deal with that.” She looks started at first, then nods gratefully. Mom's always treated her like shit, but I've never really bothered to empathize before, I guess because I was always too wrapped up in my own bullshit. That's going to change. “Quick favor. Have you seen Nathan?”
Andrea nods. “After Peter left and Margaret's blow-up, I heard him say something about getting a workout in. You'll probably find him out there, or maybe in his workshop.”
“Thanks. And I owe you a hot chocolate later or something, something to help you stay awake while you study.”
“Sounds good. And Jackson...”
“Yeah, Andrea?” I ask, already heading out the door. I pause, and look back.
She looks like she's going to say something, then shakes her head. “Just... when you get back, if you'd like to talk about what you read, I'll make some time.”
“Thanks. We'll see.”
I leave the dining room and run up to my room, changing clothes quickly. I didn't ge
t a second workout in today yet, and I could use a sweat myself. It only takes me three minutes, and I jog outside. I can hear Mom drunkenly singing to herself in her room, so slurred I can't even make it out, but it sounds like blues. I leave the drunken singing and the main house behind, heading out to the gym. Andrea's right, I find Nathan inside, stripped down to just some compression shorts and pounding on a heavy bag. He puts a lot of thirty-year-old athletes to shame. He’s still pretty ripped, and I can only hope to be in that kind of shape at his age.
A timer goes off, and Nathan stops, stepping away and seeing me for the first time. “How goes your warnings?” he asks, surprised when I don't answer. “What?”
“Did you?” I ask, surprised at how calm I say it, despite my anger. “Did you set the bomb?”
The timer goes off, and Nathan turns back to the bag. His first punch is a jab, but still, the hundred and fifty-pound bag jumps like it's just been shot, only to be followed up almost immediately by a thunderous right hand that shakes the beam the bag is attached to. The foot-thick wooden beam groans and I see dust shake down around him as Nathan continues with his assault on the bag, driving fists, elbows, knees and his bare feet into the leather sides. When the timer goes off again, he looks surprised that I'm still standing there watching him.
“I'm going to repeat myself, Nathan. Did you set the bomb that blew up the Grammercys’ car? No matter how much you want to try and scare the shit outta me by beating up the bag, I'm going to get an answer.”
“You sure about that?” Nathan asks. The timer goes off again, but he ignores it, still looking at me. “You think you can beat an answer out of me?”
“I'll do what I have to, succeed or not. I thought you were a better man than that. Why'd you lie, Nathan, when I asked you about the bomb before?”
Revenge: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Page 10
