by Robyn Grady
As Wynn sprinted back through the entrance, shock subsided into rage. When they found whoever was responsible, he wanted just five minutes alone with the son of a bitch. He wanted a fight?
This meant war.
* * *
“This time yesterday, champagne corks were flying down there.” Grace turned from the window as Wynn entered the bedroom. “Hard to believe it’s all cordoned off now with police tape.”
Brandon Powell and his team, along with Wynn and his brothers, had extinguished the majority of flames before emergency services had arrived. Consequently, most of the marquee still stood, but the air outside reeked with the stench of charred debris. As Wynn joined her, Grace turned again to the view. This side of the crime scene tape, Brandon stood, arms crossed, as he spoke with a detective. A few feet away from them lay a bunch of flowers—Taryn’s bouquet?—dirty and trampled.
“Teagan’s with Tate.” Wynn’s arms wound around her middle as he pressed his chest snug against her back. “I can’t believe he came out of it all with nothing more than a couple of scratches.” He rested his chin on her crown. “He can’t remember anything between the time I caught the garter and when he came to outside.”
“Will he ever remember?”
“No one knows.”
Hearing the screams and feeling the heat of the flames again, Grace winced and, pressing back against Wynn more, hugged his arms all the tighter. She hoped Tate never remembered.
Wynn turned her around to face him. “Cole followed up on his guests. Other than still being a little shell-shocked, everyone’s fine.”
“I guess the authorities will be in touch with them all.”
“Brandon, too. If anyone saw anything that didn’t fit, it’ll come out. No one’s going to let up until we track down whoever’s responsible. In the meantime, Dad’s been offered protective custody. He’s considering it.”
The Hunter clan had spent the night in a nearby hotel with security. After the grounds and house had been swept by the bomb team and cleared, they’d returned this morning. But questions remained: Would that madman try to strike again here? When? How?
The public was curious, too.
“Is the media still out front?” she asked.
“It’s news,” he groaned, before leading her to the bed and coaxing her to lie down next to him. Studying her expression, he brushed some hair away from her cheek.
“Did you get ahold of your family?” he asked.
“Mom says she wants me back right away.”
“I’ll speak with your father myself. Pass on my apologies.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
“I’m still responsible. Cole doesn’t want Taryn anywhere near this place. He’s stepped up the security at the Hunter Broadcasting building, too.”
“And Dex?”
“He wants Tate to go back to L.A. with him and Shelby. Makes sense, but Tate is clinging to his mom.” He cursed. “Christ, this is a mess.”
“And you?”
He held her chin and told her firmly, “I agree with your mother. I need to get you out of here.”
He brushed his lips over hers and it didn’t matter what had gone before—she felt nothing but safe.
“Did you get an update from Brandon?” she asked.
“He’s adamant that every workman and hospitality person was checked coming in and going out. They’ve bagged some evidence that’ll help determine the sophistication of the device, although bets are it was small and crude. No suspicion of high-grade explosive material.”
He pressed a soft kiss to her brow. The warm tingles fell away as he pushed up off the bed and onto his feet.
“We have seats booked on an evening flight to New York,” he said, moving to pour a glass of water from a carafe. “And you’ll be flying on to Florida a few days after that.”
It was a statement. And she did need to get back to Florida. She’d just expected to be here a couple more days. It was all ending so quickly.
“I’ve told Teagan we need to keep in touch,” she said. “Either she’ll come out to the East Coast or I’ll visit her in Seattle.”
He moved to the window to gaze out over the debris in silence.
She swung her feet over the edge of the mattress onto the floor. If she was ever going to know, she might as well ask now.
“What was she like?”
“What was who like?”
“The woman in that hotel foyer that night.” The woman you used to love. Perhaps still love. “What was her name?”
When he faced her, his jaw was tight. She thought he was going to say he didn’t want to talk about her, not ever. But then his chin lifted and clearly, calmly, he said, “Her name is Heather Matthews.”
Grace crossed over to join him at the window. “I met Sam at a local baseball game. I dropped my hot dog. He offered to buy me another one.”
Wynn considered her for a long moment.
“I met Heather at a gallery opening. She’s a photographer. Inventive. Artistic. My perfect foil.” He frowned to himself. “That’s what I’d thought.”
“Sam asked for my number,” she said. “He asked me out the next week. A movie and hamburger afterward. Not long after that, I met his parents and he met mine.”
“Cole and Dex were the devout bachelors,” he said. “Too busy with other things to worry about that kind of commitment. But me...”
“You proposed.”
“After two years.”
“Sam and I were together for five years before...”
“He asked you to be his wife. And you said yes.”
They were talking so openly, feeding off each other’s stories. Now she opened her mouth to correct him. She hadn’t accepted Sam’s proposal. She’d turned him down. But the words stuck in her throat. If she admitted that—told him the truth about that, wouldn’t he view her as another Heather? A woman who gave a man in love some hope only to wrench it away.
What would he think about her if he knew the rest of the story?
He set his glass on the window ledge and held her. “I didn’t lose what you lost. How you lost.”
Her stomach turned over. If he only knew...
“It was hard for you, too. Although...” She said the rest before she could stop herself. “Heather was only being honest with you.”
He cocked his head as his mouth twisted into an uncertain grin. “Are you defending her?”
Grace was defending herself.
“The truth is,” he said, “that when we met, I had industry connections. Two years on, she didn’t need them anymore.”
The urge swelled up inside Grace like a big bubble of hot air. She had to be honest with him, even if he could never understand.
“Wynn, I need to tell you something.”
His face warmed with a smile that she imagined he kept only for her. “You don’t need to tell me anything.”
“I do.”
“If it’s something more about Sam, you don’t have to explain. That explosion, those flames—yesterday would have shaken you up maybe more than any of us. I was cut when Heather and I broke up, but I didn’t lose her in a fire—”
“Wynn, Sam didn’t die in a fire.”
His brows snapped together. “He was a firefighter.” She nodded. “When your father mentioned an accident, I assumed...”
“Sam died in a car crash.”
She wanted to tell him more, tell him everything, how she’d felt about Sam, how the years they’d spent together as a couple had just seemed to pass and drift by. She wanted to tell him about the secret that she had yet to describe even in that notebook. But now she couldn’t bear to think of how quickly that thoughtful look Wynn was sharing with her now would turn into a sneer.
He led her over to a
sofa. They sat together, his arm around her, her cheek resting against his chest. After a time, he dropped a kiss on her brow and asked, “Will you be okay alone for a while? I need to speak with my father. I need to get something off my chest before we leave.”
“About that merger deal?” she asked.
“I’m not looking forward to it. Especially not after yesterday.”
She held his hand. “You’ll still be his son.”
He sent her a crooked grin. “Fingers crossed.”
* * *
Wynn found Eloise reclining on a chaise lounge, lamenting over the images in a swimwear catalogue. Seeing him, she seemed to deflate even more.
“Honey, could you bring me some ice tea from the bar?” She fanned herself with the catalogue. “I feel so parched. Must be all that ash floatin’ around.”
Wynn dropped some ice in a highball glass and then filled it from a pitcher in the bar fridge. Handing it over, he asked, “Where’s Dad?”
“In his study, last I heard, worrying over insurance.”
Soon, he’d be worrying about even more than that.
Wynn turned to leave, but Eloise called him back. She had a certain look on her face. He thought it might be sincerity.
“Wynn, I need to thank you.”
Was this about how he’d rescued Tate from the burning marquee? He waved it off. “You’ve already done that.”
Everybody had, but no one needed to. In his place, anyone would have done the same.
Eloise dragged herself to a sitting position. “I want to thank you for supporting us—my family. Supporting me.” Her chin went down and her gaze dropped. “I’m ashamed to say, I haven’t always deserved it.”
“There’s no need to—”
“No. There is.” Her palm caressed her big belly. “I may not be a fairy-tale mother, but I do love Tate. With him being away so much this year, with us almost losing him yesterday...” Her eyes glistened and her mouth formed what Wynn knew was a genuine smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you all.”
Wynn allowed a smile of his own before he headed out. In a place he rarely visited, he knew the truth: some time ago, Eloise had propositioned Cole. Before this stalker trouble had begun, Tate had lived here in Sydney. Cole had had the benefit of seeing their father and Tate regularly, but he also had to contend with those issues surrounding his stepmother. Not pleasant.
Wynn arrived at his father’s study and knocked on the door. He waited before knocking again. When there was no response, he opened the door and edged inside. Guthrie sat in a corner, staring into space. His hair looked grayer and thinner. The frustration and despair showed in every line on his face. As Wynn drew nearer, his father roused himself—even tried to paste on a smile.
“Take a seat, son.”
“I wanted to let you know,” Wynn began, “Grace and I are flying out this evening.”
“Understood. Only sensible.”
“If there’s anything I can do... If you need me to come back for any reason—”
“You need to get back to New York. They’ll be missing you there.”
Wynn rubbed the scar on his temple. “There’s a lot going on. Lots of industry changes.”
“How do they put it? The death of print. We simply need to find ways to work around it. Diversify. Make sure we’re the last man standing.”
“Actually, I have something in the pipeline. Something I’m afraid you won’t like.”
A keen look flashed in his father’s eyes. “Go on.”
“I’ve had discussions with Paul Lumos from Episode Features. My attorneys have drafted up a merger agreement.”
His father’s face hardened, but he didn’t seem surprised. “You went behind my back.”
“You assigned me to run our publishing operations in New York. I’m doing what I feel is best. Frankly, I don’t see any option. Together, Hunter Enterprises and EF can save on overheads that are threatening to kill us both. And I want to act now. Eighteen months down the track, it could be too late.”
“You know, it’s not the way I do business.”
“Then, I’m sorry, but you need to change.”
“I’m too old to change.”
“Which is why you put me in charge.”
Pushing to his feet, Guthrie crossed to the window, which overlooked the peaceful southern side of the property. As boys, Wynn and his brothers had pitched balls there, and roughhoused with Foxy, their terrier who had long since passed on. Wynn’s mother had always brought out freshly made lemonade. She’d never gotten involved with the business side of things. Her talent had lain in cementing family values, keeping their nucleus safe and strong. When she’d passed away, the momentum of everything surrounding her had begun to warp—to keel off balance.
His father had remarried, then had needed heart surgery. The company had been split up among “the boys,” and the siblings had gone off to live thousands of miles apart. Wynn’s decision to mount this merger was just another turn in the road.
He waited for his father to argue more or, hopefully, see reason and acquiesce.
Guthrie turned to face him. “Now I have something I need to say.”
Wynn sat down. “Go ahead.”
“Christopher Riggs...”
Wynn waited. “What about Christopher?”
Guthrie pushed out a weary breath. “Vincent Riggs and I were having lunch a couple of months ago. His son joined us. Of course, I’d met Christopher before, but he’s grown into such a focused man. Afterward, Vincent confirmed that Chris was extremely thorough—a dog with a bone when he got his teeth into a task. His background is investigative reporting.”
When his father seemed to clam up, Wynn urged him on.
“I know Christopher’s background.” What was it that Guthrie wanted to say?
One of his father’s hands clenched at his side. “I employed him,” Guthrie said. “I gave him a job.”
“You mean you had me give him a job.”
“Son, I gave him the task of being my eyes and ears in New York.”
Wynn sat back. He didn’t like the feeling rippling up his spine.
“Why would you need him to do that?”
Before he’d finished asking, however, Wynn had guessed the answer. The righteous look on his father’s face confirmed it. And then all the chips began to stack up. His insides curled into a tight, sick ball.
“Despite your objections to a merger, you suspected.” Wynn ground out. “You knew I’d go ahead and put the deal together.”
When Guthrie nodded, Wynn’s pulse rate spiked before he bowed forward, holding his spinning head in his hands. His throat convulsed. He had to swallow twice before he could speak.
“You hired that man to spy on me?”
“You mentioned mergers months ago. I needed to know what was going on.” He moved closer. “Christopher admires you. It took a good deal to convince him.”
“I’m sure a fat transfer into his checking account helped.”
“I knew, out of all my boys, you would have the most trouble accepting why I would need to do something like this.”
Understatement. Wynn felt it like a blunt ax landing on the back of his neck. “Who else have you got over in New York, sharpening their knives, waiting for the chance to stab me in the back?”
“This was a special circumstance. I needed to be able to step in. Defuse anything before promises were made I couldn’t keep.”
“Do Cole or Dex know?”
“No one knows.”
Wynn swallowed against the bile rising at the back of his throat. His lip curled. “Guess we’re even.”
“We can move on from this.”
“Until the next time you decide to go behind my back.”
“Or you behind m
ine.”
“I could go ahead without your approval,” Wynn pointed out. He had the necessary authority.
His father slowly shook his head in warning. “You don’t want to try that.”
Wynn shot to his feet and headed for the door.
His father called after him. “You’re more like me than you know.”
“Yeah. We’re both suckers.” He slammed the door behind him.
He was striding down the hall when he ran into Dex.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dex asked, physically stopping Wynn as he tried to push around him.
“It’s between me and the old man.”
“Whatever it is, it couldn’t be any worse than what we all went through yesterday.”
“It’s up there.”
Wynn told Dex everything—about the merger plan, about the lowlife corporate spy, Christopher freaking Riggs. When Wynn had finished, his brother looked uncomfortable. Dex ran a hand through his hair.
“Geez, I wonder if he’s ever sent anyone over to spy on me.”
He’d needed his sons to take over the reins. None of them was perfect, but at least each brother was nothing but loyal to the family.
“He’d be better off sending someone to spy on his wife,” Wynn growled under his breath. “If he thinks I betrayed him organizing a company merger, what the hell would he think of Eloise throwing herself at Cole, and God knows how many others?”
Dex gripped Wynn’s arm and hissed, “Shut up.”
“Why?” Wynn shook himself free. “You know the story better than me.”
Dex was looking over his shoulder. Wynn paused and then an ice-cold sensation crept down his spine. He shut his eyes and spat out a curse at the same time his father’s strained voice came from behind.
“Seems everyone knew the story but me.”
With a sick feeling curdling inside, Wynn edged around. His father stood a few yards away. Leaning against the wall as if for support, his skin had a deathly pallor.
Wynn felt his own blood pressure drop. What the hell have I done?
