“You knew he had a son, though?”
Freddy’s gray eyes turned colder than steel. “I’ve known Kyle for fifteen years and the first time he said a word about you was when I last saw him. You two estranged or something? Does he even know you’re here?”
Resentment tipped like paraffin through John’s blood, fuelling his constantly simmering rage against Kyle. “He knows I’m here. Did you meet my father in prison when he was there the first time?”
A muscle worked in Freddy’s jaw. “Yeah. So?”
“And you met up again upon his release nine years ago?”
Freddy nodded, his gaze steady.
John stared. “And he never mentioned me in prison or after?”
“No.”
“Then I guess I’m a big surprise to you in more ways than one.” John smiled, even as his heart beat like a bloody hammer against his rib cage.
Freddy crossed his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, first, you didn’t know about me, and then you find out Kyle has a son. I’m betting a bloody fortune you didn’t expect his sole heir to speak and act like me, either, did you?”
“Your accent don’t mean shit. I’ve met some pretty evil posh bastards inside prison. As for the rest of you?” Freddy’s smile was slow and suggestive. “You scream of being Kyle’s offspring. You’ve got a mean look in your eyes, no matter how much you might smile and want to make friends. People ’round here ain’t going to take too kindly to Kyle’s son turning up, regardless of what plans you’ve got for this place.”
John slid a stack of files off his desk and pushed them under his arm. He grinned. “Worse than that, Freddy, my man, I’m not even sure what I’ve got planned yet, so people are going to wonder—or worry—more than ever what I’m up to, aren’t they? See you tomorrow.”
He strolled to the door and left it wide open behind him. It was nearing eleven and the fair was drawing to a close. The beat of a nineties dance track matched the stomp of John’s boots as he made his way to his car. He unlocked it and slid into the leather seat of Kyle’s Mercedes convertible. Placing the files on the passenger seat, his gaze lingered on the top file emblazoned with Sasha Todd’s name.
“I’ve got my bedtime reading, Kyle. Let’s see what other nightmares you have in store for me.”
Drawing in a long breath, he yanked on his seat belt and gunned the engine. Time to get himself comfortable in his father’s well-made bed.
CHAPTER THREE
SASHA LEFT MARIAN’S Bonniest Bakery with a vanilla latte in hand and gripped the handlebar of her bicycle. She waited for the road to clear and then steered it across to the other side. After parking her bike against the railings overlooking Cowden Beach, she lifted the lid off her coffee, and a plume of gray steam split the runners and dog walkers dotting the sand.
At 8:00 a.m. she would normally have been cycling through the fairground gates, the excitement of the day ahead running through her blood like oxygen. This morning, raw anxiety washed through her at such a rate she couldn’t help thinking she’d be in danger of crashing her bike the moment she got back in the saddle.
She sipped her coffee and contemplated the last time she’d jogged across the beach. Who needed to run when she cycled everywhere she could? All day and half the night, she scrambled on and off rides, climbed ladders to fix broken overhangs or change lightbulbs. She smiled.
Not to mention the innumerable amount of times she’d jumped on the carousel horses under the guise of accompanying a kid riding solo, while their mother rode with their toddler sibling.
Loving the local kids and wanting to make the park a happy, safe place for them was once again out of reach for the foreseeable future. How would the fear of history repeating itself ever go away if she wasn’t in charge? How could she ascertain suspicious behavior from innocent if Funland was overrun with Kyle’s criminal contacts? If only her family would join in the fight for their ancestral piece of history. How could they stand by and let something that had been in their hands for more than a hundred years slip into such undeserving ones?
Didn’t they want the place made good again? To help her wash away the evil?
“That fairground won’t run itself, you know.”
Sasha quickly swiped at her face and pulled on a smile. “Hey, Marian. What are you doing out here?”
Templeton Cove’s favorite—and scariest—baker stood beside her, holding Sasha’s phone between her thumb and forefinger. “You left this behind. Thought you might need it...and a big ol’ shoulder to cry on.”
“Thanks.” Sasha took the phone. “For the phone. The shoulder will have to wait. No tears today.” She nodded toward the bakery. “You’ll be overrun with angry customers wanting coffee and your famous honeycomb muffins in two seconds flat at this time of the morning.”
Marian waved her hand dismissively. “You’re more important. The girls can cope without me for a while.”
“I was just about to head off.” Sasha pulled her bike from the railing, but Marian pushed it back.
“Sasha Todd, talk to me. Now.” Marian lifted an eyebrow and leaned her ample backside against the railing, pinning Sasha with her unrelenting stare. “I’ve never known you to be so distracted when my George was chatting with you. You know how that husband of mine relies on you young girls to brighten up his aging ego. The man’s heartbroken over there.”
Sasha laughed. “I’ve got things on my mind. Tell him I’m sorry and I’ll make it up to him tomorrow.”
“You think he’s going to listen to me? He’ll want to know what’s going on with you...as do I. Spill. Now.”
Sasha hesitated. If she said out loud what had happened between her and John Jordon last night, that would make the situation real, and part of her was still holding on to the hope that when she got to Funland, John would turn out to be nothing more than a figment of her imagination.
“Well?” Marian crossed her arms. “I’m waiting.”
Sliding her coffee into the bottle holder on her bike, Sasha gripped the railing and stared ahead. “Kyle Jordon’s son turned up last night to take over the running of the fair.”
“What?”
Inhaling a deep breath, Sasha turned. Marian’s face had darkened to a worrying shade of scarlet and her eyes bulged wide open.
“His name’s John.” Sasha sighed. “And he speaks with some stupid posh accent as though he’s a member of the Royal family.”
“What?”
Sasha laughed at the pure disbelief on Marian’s face. “Can’t you say anything else?”
Marian blinked. “Kyle Jordon’s son? Here? In Templeton? I don’t believe it.”
“Well, you’d better believe it. He’s here and, from the little time I’ve spent with him, I’ve worked out he’s dangerous. I’m not sure if he’s ‘Kyle Jordon’ dangerous yet, but he’s dangerous all the same.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did he hurt you? Threaten you? What did he do to make you think he’s dangerous?”
Sasha glanced toward the beach. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
She turned and pushed the hair back from her eyes, considering John Jordon and the unsettling effect he’d had on her mentally, emotionally...physically. She swallowed. “The man has more anger in the tip of his little finger than I’ve got in my entire body, so there’s trouble on the horizon whichever way we look at it.”
“I see.” Marian looked toward the bakery across the road. “Does DI Garrett know he’s here? We should call her. We’ve just gotten rid of one Jordon and another turns up.” She faced Sasha again. “Did you know he had a son?”
She shook her head. “Nope. And he says Freddy didn’t, either. I’ve got no idea what this is going to mean for the fair or Templeton.”
Marian pushed away from the railing. “Well, whatever it means, DI Garrett should know he’s here. I’m going to call her right now.”
When she spun away, Sasha clasped Marian’s arm. “Wait. I wa
nt to get an idea of what he intends to do first.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said.” Sasha straightened and pulled her bike upright. “There’s something about him that intrigues me. Something’s just not right. He doesn’t exactly look ecstatic to be here, any more than I am to see him.”
Marian gave an inelegant snort. “How can anyone be right in the head if they’re the product of Kyle Jordon’s bodily fluid? Answer me that.”
Sasha wrinkled her nose. “Seriously? Bodily fluid?”
Marian gave a hoot of laughter and patted Sasha’s cheek. “Be careful and call me as soon as you know anything. DI Garrett should be told what’s going on and she trusts my judgment, as I trust yours. The minute you tell me this man is up to no good, I’m on it.” She brushed her thumb over Sasha’s cheek. “I know what that fairground means to you and what it meant to your granddad. Watch your back, okay?”
Fighting to keep her composure, Sasha covered Marian’s hand with hers and lifted it from her face. She squeezed the older woman’s fingers. “I will. Now get back to the bakery before the inspector turns up because of a riot over honeycomb muffins, let alone anything else.”
Marian smiled despite the lingering concern in her gaze. “I’m going. Just remember where I am.”
Sasha saluted, and Marian hurried across the street. Once she’d disappeared inside the shop, Sasha inhaled a deep breath and drew a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of her jeans. She opened it and stared at her carefully typed letter to Kyle, offering him every penny she had for the fair. The amount included the money her grandfather bequeathed her from Funland’s sale to Kyle seven years before, plus some savings.
Of course, there was still the glaring problem of the contract clause that gripped and twisted at Sasha’s heart...confused and irritated her mind. Why had her grandfather written in a clause to say that the fair wasn’t ever to be resold to anyone in the Todd family? She stared ahead at the growing numbers of locals and holidaymakers gathering on the sand to enjoy another day of the school holidays.
Why would you do that, Granddad? Why would you keep something from me when you said so many times you wanted it back in the family?
It was a long shot, but she just hoped and prayed her suspicion that with Kyle imprisoned and her grandfather having passed, the clause would be deemed invalid. She tightened her jaw. Every hope was pinned on the money she’d accumulated being enough. She couldn’t allow this clause to cut her dream to a million pieces. Her plan to ask Freddy to give the letter to Kyle when he next visited him had given her something to hold on to. She finally had a decent sum that even Kyle surely wouldn’t outright dismiss.
Now John was here, and it was time to find out what his reaction would be to her offer. Clause or no clause. She slid the paper back into her pocket, straddled her bike and pushed onto the road. It was time to face the music...or maniac.
* * *
IT WAS ONLY eight-thirty when Sasha stowed her bike at the back of the fairground offices. She locked it to the iron bars of a sad, decrepit and very much disused kiddie ride before smoothing her hands over the rumpled cotton of her shorts. Rare self-consciousness overrode her, the same as it had in the bathroom that morning. Cursing, she tidied her shirt and ripped the band from her hair.
She shouldn’t give a crap what John Jordon thought of her, but his gaze was unnerving and...baring. Yesterday, there were times he’d studied her with such intensity, she wanted to glance at her chest to see if her nipple had popped over the vee of her shirt. She couldn’t let him see the way he made her aware of her body whenever she was within two feet of him.
Tipping her head upside down, she scrunched her hair before standing straight and swinging it over her shoulders.
Her long hair was the only thing she had going for her in the way of armor. If Kyle’s son thought she hadn’t seen the way his blue eyes swept back and forth from her hair to her eyes last night, he was a damn fool. Every man she knew was a sucker for her hair. Why, she had no idea, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t use the phenomenon to her advantage.
Everything else about her seemingly brought admirers straight back to earth with a hard bump within a few weeks. Their hair fetish soon cooled when they realized Sasha was more tomboy than girly girl...or else they sensed her discord, her wary apprehension of what might come next. She lifted her chin. One day, she’d meet a man with enough balls to stick around longer than a month or two.
She blew out a shaky breath and swept her gaze over the back of the office. Just remember, you do fine and dandy kicking them out of your bed, instead of the other way around. Your way or no way, remember? She narrowed her eyes as a blush heated her neck. Even though they never put up much of a fight.
Stepping across the short dry grass, the early-morning sun warming the back of her legs, she strode purposefully to the office and pushed open the door. Her heart beat hard, but her determination was on full-power. Steeling herself, she shot her gaze straight to Kyle’s desk, expecting John to be sitting there ready and waiting. The chair was empty.
“God damn it.” She released her pent-up energy in a whoosh of air from her lungs. She planted her hands on her hips. Now what?
The door clicked open behind her and Sasha spun around. Freddy wandered in, his ever-expanding waistline juddering with each step and his shaven head shining with perspiration. He closed the door, his brow furrowed.
Sasha stepped toward him. “You okay, Freddy?”
He turned. “You’re late.”
“Not officially. Officially my hours on Friday are nine to nine, remember?”
He grunted and walked to his desk. “Never known you to take any notice of what time of the day or night it is.” He collapsed into his chair, his gaze wandering the length of her. “You looking for our new boss, by any chance?”
“Not particularly. He asked to see me first thing, that’s all.”
“He’s outside.”
Sasha glanced toward the glass doors. “Right.”
“He’s been here since I came in at seven-thirty. Christ knows what he’s doing out there. He’s walking around with this look on his face. A look that tells me he’s Kyle’s boy through and through.”
She stepped closer to the desk. “And what does that face look like exactly?”
“Like he’s a hard son of a bitch. You wouldn’t think it looking at the pansy way he’s dressed this morning, but I guarantee that bloke out there has a mean streak.” He met her eyes. “Takes one to know one.”
Unease rippled over her skin but Sasha smiled. “Yeah, well, you never scared me and neither did Kyle, so John Jordon has a long way to go to frighten me out of this place.”
She marched to the door.
“You know something, Sasha?”
“What?” She faced him.
“Kyle’s boy turning up like this changes everything.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You think I don’t know that.”
“It changes things with the park, the staff, the patrons...and especially with me. I didn’t work my ass off for Kyle to be pushed around by his damn son.”
Trepidation furled in her stomach, and Sasha slipped her hand from the door handle. Freddy’s eyes were colder than steel, his cheeks flushed red.
She curled her hand into a fist at her side. “He’s trying to push you around?”
“Not yet. But give him time.”
She smiled. Two against one was something to consider, surely? “Then maybe he needs to learn that neither of us will take too kindly to that.”
Freddy stared, his eyes darkening. “I’m not your friend. Never have been. I work for Kyle and he ain’t here no more, so it’s a brand-new playing field. For all of us.”
He shot her a final, loaded glare before picking up the phone and dialing.
Anger burned hot behind her rib cage. What the hell was going on here? One minute she thought the fair was within her grasp and her life was about to change for the better. Now she
was facing not one, but two adversaries. Clearly, Freddy intended to lay claim to Funland, too.
She stared at his bowed head. She’d thought she knew Freddy and now it was abundantly clear she didn’t. John Jordon, the other claimant, was an unknown entity entirely.
“Well, I’m glad we both know where we stand.” She turned and shoved open the door.
Drawing in huge gulps of air, she marched past the rides, her gaze darting left and right as she searched for the best and most handsome target on which to vent her anger. She didn’t have to go far.
Her nemesis sat in one of the dozen three-seaters, hovering above the platform of the dreaded Mixer. John looked lost in thought, his stare following the progress of his hand as he wiped it back and forth along the seat beside him. Sasha’s hormones surged to high alert.
When Freddy described Kyle’s son as being “dressed as a pansy” today, Sasha had already guessed John would be wearing a suit, maybe even a tie, too, in order to add a flash of additional authority to their meeting that morning.
She’d been right about the suit at least.
What she hadn’t expected was the way a black jacket and open-necked crisp white shirt looked on him. His dark brown hair, cut short and neat, chiseled jaw and lightly tanned skin only added to the overall confidence that exuded from his every pore.
Tiny flutters of excitement erupted in Sasha’s stomach as she approached the steel steps. Her attraction to the man could be controlled. She’d had years of practice being in the driving seat as far as men were concerned. Her only weakness was the fair and she was no pushover with that, either.
She smiled. So he wanted to run Funland—and he wanted her help to make that happen, did he? He’d given her no idea what his plans were, or if the crime going on behind the scenes would get worse or improve.
Marian’s suggestion of letting the police know John Jordon was in Templeton lingered in Sasha’s conscience even as a worse, naughtier idea flittered through her brain. The only sounds were the seagulls diving to and fro overhead and the rush of passing traffic in the distance. By two o’clock, booming music, screaming and laughter would fill Funland, but right now, it was just her and John Jordon.
What Belongs to Her (Harlequin Superromance) Page 3
