The Pretender

by HelenKay Dimon

  Harris wasn’t exactly sure what they were talking about, so he jumped topics again. “Back to the reason for my visit. You left a message. I’m here, Wren. Talk.”

  “For the record, you’re welcome in our home anytime, but for the next visit use the front door or I’ll shoot you.” Wren yawned as he took a seat across from Harris.

  “A totally boring way to enter, but fine.” Harris appreciated the offer because he knew Wren meant it. He didn’t throw out words to be nice. There was a pledge behind every sentence.

  Wren rolled his eyes. “You have a serious problem.”

  Harris decided to stand. He felt more in control with his hands balanced on the back of the chair. Watching and waiting. “So you’ve been saying for years.”

  “Gabby Wright.” Wren leaned back in the chair but didn’t say anything else.

  He didn’t have to. The name vibrated through Harris. He could feel it spin inside him, crashing through every defense he’d built up over the months. Through every ounce of fake casual indifference he tried to wear as he moved through the day.

  “What about her?” Harris asked, struggling to keep his voice even.

  Emery pulled out the chair next to Wren. “Wait, you’re talking about the woman who killed her sister?”

  “She didn’t.” Harris didn’t know what happened that day, but he knew that much was true.

  Emery sat down hard. “I almost hate to ask how you’re so sure.”

  “He knows because he was there,” Wren said.

  “Damn it, Wren.”

  “Get used to her knowing stuff.” Wren shrugged. “You can trust her.”

  Easy for him to say. “Not that you’re giving me a choice.”

  For a second Wren didn’t respond. He glanced down to where his hands rested on top of the table. When he finally looked up again, all amusement had disappeared from his face. A clear and determined intensity radiated off him. “I called because there’s movement in Gabby’s case. The uncle is on a rampage. He wants her arrested before the next estate hearing a month from now and is hiring experts to make it happen.”

  Harris felt the life drain out of him and struggled to keep his voice even. “Shit.”

  He’d spent so much time thinking about Gabby. So many hours planning what he would do if anyone tried to put her in jail. He’d watched over her from a distance, ready to step in and hoping he’d never need to. He’d called on Wren to divert attention away from her more than once over the last fourteen months when the rumors turned wild. It was Harris’s way of protecting her from afar—not good enough but it was something.

  “She’s in real trouble, Harris. Her uncle isn’t backing down and he has the resources to make her life miserable in a way even I can’t stop.”

  That serious tone. Wren brought that out more than once during their discussions over the years. The last time was when he told Harris to get his head out of his ass and find a legitimate job. Harris had the same answer this time. “I get it.”

  “Lucky for you, I created a reason for you to be on the island. A legitimate and legal one.”

  Harris was pretty sure he’d missed a jump in the conversation. “Wait, what?”

  “You need to step in. Get to that house and control the uncle while you still can.”

  The day had arrived but Harris wasn’t ready. He started shaking his head before Wren finished his sentence. “I’m not going back to that island.”

  He already spent too much time on the island in his head. Sometimes he’d hear Gabby’s voice. That pained and desperate screaming as she begged Tabitha to wake up.

  Fucking hell. He’d do almost anything to protect Gabby from being charged with a crime she didn’t commit, but he could not willingly step back into that nightmare. Not when he hadn’t recovered from the last round.

  Wren exhaled. “You’ll have help there with you.”

  “Garrett?” He and Wren were almost inseparable. Garrett basically had been adopted by the Quint group. He was also on the verge of getting married thanks to a quick dating-to-engagement move on his part around Christmas.

  “No.” Wren didn’t offer anything else.

  Leave it to Wren to pick that moment to become even more secretive than usual. Harris looked at Emery but she didn’t say anything. She just sat there with a mix of concern and frustration showing in her frown. She clearly didn’t know the background of this discussion, but Harris knew she would before she went back to sleep tonight.

  “Did you weasel your way in and put your people in place of the ones the uncle intended to hire?” Emery asked.

  “I fix things. It’s what I do,” Wren explained to her before looking at Harris again. “And I’m trying to help you fix this.”

  “If only you could help me forget it.” But Harris knew it wasn’t that simple. A woman was dead and he’d been the one to make it harder to find her killer. Not on purpose, but his intent didn’t matter.

  “Gabby could go to prison, Harris.” Wren’s voice was louder and more urgent this time.

  “You don’t think I know that?” He thought about little else.

  The nightmare played in his head all the time. He tried to push the worries out and convinced himself she was fine. Beaten down but not out. Emotionally battered because of him but a survivor. None of it worked. Every night the doubts and guilt would seep back in. He’d think about her, remember the heartbreaking grief on her face in those photos in the news. Her screams of horror from that night never left him.

  Wren continued to stare at Harris. “So?”

  As much as Harris fought it, he knew he’d have to return to Tabitha Island one day. For Gabby. Apparently that day had arrived.

  “When do I leave?”

  Chapter 3

  Two days after the showdown with her uncle, Gabby sat on the porch of the main house on Tabitha Island. She’d just arrived with little more than a small duffle bag and a load of panic bouncing around inside her. A month ago her uncle restarted his very public campaign against her, one that caused her to lose the receptionist job she’d managed to land. Now she was back to being unemployed and worrying every two seconds about being arrested.

  With the press closing in and the daily barrage of new threats against her, her life unraveled. She traveled to the one place she hated, Tabitha’s special island, because she didn’t have any other option. Control had slipped away and she was desperate to get it back.

  Her uncle didn’t want her there, which was a bonus. Ticking him off was her only revenge for how he’d upended her life. But being on the island also provided her with the chance to complete the one task she needed to finish. With a new investigator headed to the island and an appraiser who would be wandering around, she had to be efficient and fast. Not give her movements away.

  She’d spent so much of the last fourteen months running and trying to figure out who would want her sweet sister dead that she’d skipped the grieving stage. It swamped her here. She couldn’t go into the guesthouse because her uncle had locked it down. That meant sleeping in Tabitha’s house, and since it had taken her two hours to work up the nerve just to sit on the front porch, Gabby didn’t know how she’d ever get through the front door.

  Sitting there, memories floated back to her of Tabitha hanging out on the porch while reading. As a kid, Tabitha would race across the lawn to get to the oversized rocking chair first then wouldn’t move from it for hours. Back then she was five or six, seven years younger than Gabby. As the youngest, Tabitha won most arguments and she’d always loved the island. It made sense since their parents named it after her. She was the “surprise” baby. The one their parents coddled and overprotected from birth.

  “Gabrielle.”

  At the sound of her uncle’s disappointed tone she looked up. He stood there in his usual expensive suit, this one gray. He wasn’t alone. Another man stood next to him. He lacked Uncle Stephen’s stern expression and stiff stance. No, this guy wore a hint of a smile. She noticed because he was a hard man
not to notice. She wouldn’t call him pretty, but he was damn close.

  He had a face people would remember. Firm chin with a sexy little bit of scruff around his mouth and over his cheeks. Hazel eyes in this incredible hazy green-brown shade. The muscular frame, yet not bulky. From the brown hair to the broad shoulders, he stood out. Even his clothing, stylish but not too much so.

  He checked every single box. It was almost as if someone built him from a list of Tall, Dark and Hot characteristics. And since he was with her uncle, she disliked him immediately. Any friend of her uncle was likely to be an enemy of hers.

  “Uncle Stephen.” She nodded to him then turned to the unexpected guest. “I prefer to be called Gabby.”

  “You still insist on using that ridiculous nickname?” Stephen made a dismissive sound. He balanced his foot against the bottom step to the porch and glanced at the front door. “We might be more comfortable inside.”

  Not going to happen. Her first trip inside would not be with a man who would rather chuck her into the water than sit down to have a meal with her. “I’m fine here.”

  The wind whipped around the island but the early-spring sun had grown warm. Gabby had always loved this time of year on Tabitha Island. The tourists hadn’t arrived in the area yet. It was the intake of breath before the wild stage started. All the pleasure boaters and partygoers would show up soon enough.

  She looked out at the water, seeing boats. Every now and then a helicopter circled. The press had found her. She wouldn’t be surprised if Uncle Stephen tipped them off.

  Stephen shook his head before gesturing at the man next to him. “This is Harrison Tate.”

  The introduction pulled her gaze back to the quiet cutie. “Okay.”

  “He’ll be appraising the personal property. Doing an inventory.” Stephen’s foot slipped off the step with a thud. “He may have questions for you.”

  Right, because that sounded like something an appraiser would do. Her skepticism level rose along with her anxiety. Much more of this crazy bouncing around in her stomach and she’d never be able to eat again. “I don’t know anything about the furniture.”

  The guy’s faint smile broke wide. “I’ll mostly be handling the antiques and artwork.”

  Yeah, no way was she being lured in by that look. She’d learned long ago that a guy with a pretty face could be just as dangerous as the bossy, controlling-guy type. “I know even less about those things.”

  He grew more serious. “I’m very sorry to hear about your sister’s death.”

  He’d just committed an almost unpardonable sin in her book. “Murder.”

  His eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  “She was murdered.” Gabby’s fingers curled and tightened around the ends of the armrests. “She didn’t fall out a window or drown in the pool. Someone killed her.”

  He opened his mouth as if he was about to respond, but her uncle jumped in. “We’re all well aware of how she died, Gabrielle. I, for one, have studied the reports.”

  Of course he had, and he blamed her. Gabby didn’t need to hear the words. They were right there in every sentence, in every look. He’d come to his conclusions the day after the murder and told the investigator. As soon as he knew she’d been on the island, visiting Tabitha, he shut down on her. Any emotion, any genuine feelings he had for her died that day. He’d never said another kind word or offered one second of affection or comfort.

  He even tried to have her barred from Tabitha’s funeral, but that didn’t work. Gabby had been prepared to make a scene. The minister had stepped in and soothed the rising tensions.

  “I’m not going to agree to finalize anything and distribute assets while questions remain,” Stephen said.

  As if she cared about any of that. He could have it all if he’d stop hating her for ten minutes and work with her to find Tabitha’s killer. “About me, you mean.”

  The Harrison guy scoffed. “He doesn’t mean—”

  “He does.” It was sweet but hugely naïve for the guy to think her uncle didn’t choose each word for maximum damage. The object of this game, of being on the island together, was emotional torture. He wanted her to suffer and was willing to go sentence by sentence to do it.

  “The police have failed to find your sister’s killer.” Stephen folded his arms over his chest and glanced around the property.

  “I’m aware of that, yes.”

  His gaze whipped back to her. “The case is open, but the police have limited resources.”

  Oh, she got the message. “But you don’t.”

  “Mine are better.” For the first time in months, Stephen smiled. This topic clearly made him happy when nothing else could. “As such, I have hired an investigator to conduct a complete review of the evidence and facts. You may have been told that he would be here tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” She forced her voice to stay calm even as her insides jumped. Her mind took off on a frenzy of planning. The things she wanted to check and do. Her movements would be restricted, if not impossible, as more people—people paid by Uncle Stephen—descended on the island. She glanced at the guy who stood there, acting as if this wasn’t the most awkward family conversation ever. “That still doesn’t explain why you need to be here right now.”

  “Please call me Harris.” He smiled again, this time less bright and more with a touch of something that looked almost like empathy. “The court has imposed a rather tight timeline for valuation. I need to be here, on the grounds, until every item is catalogued and inspected.”

  “And you will stay out of his way,” her uncle ordered.

  She didn’t bother looking at her uncle. Not when he talked to her like she was five.

  Her attention settled on Harris. She stared at him and he stared back. “I figured you were here to babysit me.”

  Harris winced. “That’s not really in my job description.”

  The longer she watched, the more unsure she became. A sensation Gabby couldn’t really name or pinpoint hit her. She didn’t buy for a second that his work on the island was about tables and lamps. But she didn’t get the sense he was a mouthpiece for her uncle either. If anything, he seemed unimpressed with Uncle Stephen’s bluster. More than once, Uncle Stephen spoke and Harris looked ready to roll his eyes.

  “The investigator is your bigger concern. He will need to speak with you at length.” Stephen shoved his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. “He will also have access to family information, including any history that may be relevant.”

  The jab wasn’t subtle. Gabby got the point. Every accusation from over the years would be dug up and thrown at her again, including the one that changed everything. “I do have a phone. Your guy can call me.”

  “No more running, Gabrielle. It’s time this family faces the truth.”

  She dug her nails deeper into the wood of the chair. “I’m ready if you are.”

  Without another word, Stephen turned around and stormed off. He walked down the paved path and kept going. Halfway across the lawn he pulled his cell out of his jacket pocket and put it to his ear. Between the distance and crash of the waves, she couldn’t hear a word.

  She watched his outline and that familiar bounce to his step. He always carried his body with a could-take-on-anyone confidence. Today was no different. Fury had surged through him until there was almost nothing left inside him. She’s heard rumors about his marriage being in trouble. That his quest for vengeance had overcome everything else.

  Under all the hurt Gabby had to admit Stephen was just one more victim in a series of family tragedies. One more Wright who got buried under all the pain and despair. Still, it was hard for her to feel anything but frustration because he chose his current lonely course. He refused to listen to her.

  Harris cleared his throat. “You two seem close.”

  “That business he has to rush off to likely involves having me arrested.” She said it as a joke but she feared it might not be.

  “For talking back to him?” Harris sa
t down on the stone porch railing right across from her.

  “At this point I think he’s actually convinced I’m guilty of multiple murders.”

  Harris frowned. “That’s a pretty extreme level of family dysfunction.”

  His voice sounded so genuine. The comment even carried a note of question, as if he were wondering out loud what could possibly lead an uncle to making those sort of comments to his own niece.

  It was garbage. Oh, Harris had a good act. All concerned and acting as if he was just dropped there and doing his job. She didn’t buy it at all. “Let’s not do this.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t need to pretend you don’t know.”

  He shook his head. “You lost me.”

  “I assume someone filled you in on my family. If not Uncle Stephen, you’ve at least seen the news or heard rumors.” Pundits and so-called experts had spent hours of television time dissecting every move and every Wright holiday for years. “The only thing I ask is that you give me the courtesy of not pretending to be surprised when you’re not.”

  To his credit, he nodded. She’d expected more denial and maybe a ratcheting up of the I’m-just-sitting-here act he had going, but he abandoned it all.

  “Fair enough.” He tapped his fingertips together as his gaze searched her face.

  “I’m guessing you have a hundred questions.” Not that she intended to answer any of them.

  “There are whispers you killed your sister.”

  Gabby tucked one of her legs beneath her and rocked the chair with her other foot. “They’re more than whispers. I’ve been questioned by the police multiple times.”

  “There are those who believe you killed your parents before you killed your sister.”

  The allegation sliced through her until an ache settled deep in her bones. “Their plane crashed. But yes, there are those who think I picked up a mechanical engineering degree—in secret, I guess—and then used that knowledge to kill them. Really, people will make up any fact to fit with their theories about my supposed guilt.”

  He shot her a sad smile. “You’ve been busy.”