by Tara Wyatt
Needing to regain control, he headed back into the kitchen and fished a bottle of water out of one of the coolers. He twisted the cap off the bottle and drained half the water, trying to ignore the heat crackling over his skin.
The entire night had become a goddamn confusing mess. Taylor was married, and he felt slightly awkward joining in the celebration, given the way things had gone down between them. And then there was Alexa. Keeping her safe. The complicated mix of lust and protectiveness he felt toward her.
The party was starting to dwindle, and Alexa came into the kitchen, a stack of dirty paper plates in her hands, and just setting eyes on her sent warmth flaring up his spine. She sent him a small smile and shoved the plates into the garbage, then wiped her hands on the kitchen towel. He hadn’t even realized his legs had started to move until he was right in front of her.
“How you holding up?” he asked, fighting the urge to cage her against the counter. He crossed his arms over his chest, and he didn’t miss the way her eyes dipped down and trailed over his arms.
She sighed heavily, and her shoulders slumped as she leaned against the counter. “I’m confused and exhausted.”
“Why, what’s going on?” Sean came into the kitchen behind them, a garbage bag in his hands. He paused as he studied them, one eyebrow raised.
Zack met Alexa’s eyes, and she just stared at him, uncertainty warring with fear across her pretty features. After a second she bit her lip and then nodded rapidly.
Zack turned to face his boss. “We need to talk to you. Alexa’s in trouble, and she needs our help.”
Chapter 4
Jonathan Fairfax eased back into the leather chair behind the massive mahogany desk in his office and rolled his cigar between his fingers. The tip of it glowed softly, the rich, loamy smell of the Cohiba filling the air. It wasn’t often he broke out the Cohibas, but the fact that Astor was now out of the picture called for a celebration.
A tendril of smoke curled lazily up from the tip of the cigar, and he smiled as he brought it to his mouth. Crosby was the last pin to knock down. The last thorn in his side. And then it would be blue skies, and everything he’d worked for, everything he’d fought to maintain, would be his.
Power.
Influence.
Wealth.
They were his drugs, and he was proud to be an addict.
And now, when all the dust settled, he’d be a king in everything but name. He cocked his head, staring at the black-and-white framed photograph of his father and grandfather that he kept on his desk. It served as a reminder. Motivation. But as much as they’d done for the family, he had a feeling that even they’d be impressed with how things were coming together.
It had all started with his grandfather in the 1920s. George Fairfax had moved to Hollywood, bitten by the acting bug. He’d come from a wealthy family in Colorado, the Fairfaxes having made their money in mining. Lacking any acting experience, he’d bought his way into his first roles, using his wealth, good looks, and charm to talk directors into giving him parts.
When his first movies had flopped and his studio had dropped him, he’d taken matters into his own hands, using family money to pay cinema chains to show and promote his films. It was fairly small stuff, really. Bribery. Coercion. A little extortion here and there. Higher-ups in RKO and United Artists found out what George had been doing and saw the simple elegance in his solution to slumping ticket sales. They banded together, and the Golden Brotherhood was born. They invested in other film studios, in film lots, in bars, and in other properties around Los Angeles. Money, power, and influence followed, and George won his first Academy Award for Best Actor in 1929.
In the early thirties, shortly after Jonathan’s father, Robert, was born, the Golden Brotherhood got wind of corruption among the local heads of the biggest cinema workers’ union in America. Projectionists were being bribed into disrupting showings, threatening work stoppages, showing films upside down, and dropping stink bombs into the aisles. Big payoffs were extracted from cinema chains in order to prevent further disruptions.
George and the Brotherhood flipped. They’d thought they’d had the cinema racket cornered and were livid that the union was dipping into their pool. George and a few other members of the Golden Brotherhood met with the union leaders and struck a deal. The Brotherhood would allow them to continue their scam—for a 50 percent cut. The union knew the Brotherhood had the power to crush it and accepted the deal. The deal also meant an even greater influence over the film industry for the Brotherhood. Back then, some of the biggest cinema chains were owned and operated by the film studios. Control over the projectionists meant control over the cinemas, which meant control over the studios. By the midthirties the studios realized the control the Golden Brotherhood had and set up a system of regular payments to keep everything running smoothly.
In the late thirties, a rival organization, the Rizzolis, had tried to penetrate the movie industry. Tried and failed, because the Brotherhood’s enforcers had taken them out, solidifying their power. George then realized he needed to step back from the Brotherhood, but only publicly. He wanted the Fairfaxes to thrive in Hollywood, and he needed to keep his business dealings separate from his professional persona. George couldn’t be connected with murder.
But that didn’t mean the family legacy wouldn’t continue. George had groomed Robert, and, while pursuing an acting career of his own, Robert had expanded their operations. In the early 1950s, he’d invested in Las Vegas, opening five casinos. Loan-sharking and money laundering had followed, and by the time Jonathan was born in 1957, the Fairfax family had amassed almost $300 million, thanks to the activities of the Golden Brotherhood.
George had died from a heart attack when Jonathan was a baby, and shortly before he died, Robert had promised him that he’d groom his son the same way George had groomed him, to carry on the family business—both the public and the private one. The extortion of film companies continued, raking in millions of dollars a year, and, finally, in the 1960s, Robert had started Fairfax Films, which almost overnight became the biggest, most powerful film studio in Hollywood. It had crippled the other studios and had the wealth and power to do whatever it wanted. It had given the Golden Brotherhood a legitimate front, further hiding the business from law enforcement.
Jonathan remembered distinctly his eighteenth birthday, when his father had given him a gun and a man to kill, a former Brotherhood member who’d turned informant.
“I will never ask you to kill someone who doesn’t deserve killing. Killing isn’t about violence. It’s not personal. It’s business. There are no bad guys, and there are no good guys. Everyone wants money. Everyone wants power. Some are just better at getting it and keeping it.” He’d patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a man now, and this business is in your blood. Pull the trigger.”
And he had. So easily. He hadn’t even hesitated. He’d claimed what was rightfully his, and he hadn’t looked back.
When his father had died five years ago—another heart attack, which had spurred Jonathan to start watching his cholesterol—the family’s net worth hovered somewhere around $2.5 billion, but it wasn’t enough for Jonathan. He still felt the need to prove himself, to go above and beyond what his father and grandfather had done. He’d made moves to increase their circle of influence, wanting more. Wanting to make his father proud. He’d started buying politicians for the tax breaks and blind eyes needed for the Brotherhood’s illegal activities to continue undetected. He’d recruited biker gangs to move drugs for them. And while things hadn’t always gone to plan, with Jeff Astor’s death and the impending studio acquisition, things were looking up.
As long as he could get that damn journalist Crosby out of the way, and maybe Morales if it came to that, the next part of his plan would come to fruition and mark a new chapter in the Golden Brotherhood’s power and wealth.
He puffed on the cigar, blowing out smoke rings and sitting back, propping his feet up on the desk, basking in all tha
t he’d accomplished. Him, and the men who’d come before him. Moonlight sparkled over the pool, light dancing over the water, and a peaceful contentedness settled over him.
A soft knock sounded, and the library’s door swung open. Elijah Todd, Jonathan’s second in command, stepped in. With his bald head, hip Warby Parker frames, and elegantly tailored suit, he looked much more studio head and much less mobster. It was his ability to do both jobs flawlessly that set him head and shoulders above most others in the Brotherhood.
Elijah stopped a few feet in front of Jonathan’s desk and slipped his hands into his pockets, rocking back slightly on his heels. “I think it went well tonight, no?” he asked in his deep, melodically cultured voice.
Jonathan nodded. “I do. I spoke to Kramer. Let’s see what he can do with Crosby.”
“And if he fails?”
“Then it’ll fall to you.”
“Understood.” Elijah nodded and looked down at the floor. He paused and frowned, stooping down to pick something up. “An earring,” he said, approaching the desk with his hand extended. Gently, he set down a diamond stud on the leather blotter in front of Jonathan. The earring was platinum, with a princess-cut diamond surrounded by round brilliant diamonds all totaling almost two carats. He knew, because he’d given the earrings to his daughter, Alexa, just a few months ago for her twenty-fifth birthday.
“It’s Alexa’s,” he murmured, picking it up and twirling it idly in his fingers, watching as the moonlight caught the diamond’s facets, glinting coldly.
“And does that mean we have a problem?”
Jonathan sighed and replayed the evening in his mind. Alexa had been at dinner, had been her usual quiet self, and had left early, saying she didn’t feel well or something. Really, he hadn’t been paying much attention, preoccupied as he was with Kramer.
He sat up a bit straighter and once again went over the evening’s timeline. Drinks. Dinner. The discussion in the library with Kramer. In almost every instance, he could place Alexa, but he couldn’t be certain she’d still been sitting at the table when he and Kramer had retired to the library. Obviously, given the earring, she’d been in here at some point, but she couldn’t have been in here at the same time as he and Kramer. There was nowhere to hide.
And yet his instincts were telling him that something was off. Alexa had been pulling away lately, moving out of the house and becoming increasingly stubborn and distant. She was a far cry from the pliant girl she’d been in her teens and early twenties, and it frustrated him. Her usefulness was in her ability to publicly uphold the Fairfax name and do what he needed her to do.
“Jon?” prompted Elijah, frowning slightly.
Jonathan dropped his feet from the desk and leaned forward, examining the earring in his hand. An eerie trickle worked its way down his spine. What if the reason Alexa had been distancing herself was that she suspected there was more at play than winning Oscars and running studios? He’d always kept her out of the Golden Brotherhood’s business, knowing she didn’t have the personality or the stomach for any of it. He’d always hoped for a son, but Alexa was his only child. So he’d made the best of it.
Had she been in here because she was spying? Had she heard something? Or was he being paranoid?
“I don’t think so. This is Alexa we’re talking about.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself or Elijah.
“Is that really a stone you want to leave unturned?”
He sighed heavily because Elijah was right. He needed to find out if she knew anything, if she’d somehow started to piece things together. And if she had, he’d need to figure out what to do about it. “No. You’re right.”
“What do you want to do?”
He tipped his head, thinking. “Search her place. See if there’s evidence she knows anything. And leave it a mess. Scare her a little, just in case she’s been snooping. Take a few things, make it look like maybe it was a break and enter, in case she doesn’t know anything.” A few ruffled feathers, and if she had been snooping, she’d settle back into place. And if she hadn’t, it would look like a simple robbery, no harm done.
“You want us to bring her in?”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Alexa’s easy to manipulate. This should take care of the situation.”
And if it didn’t, he might have a big, messy problem on his hands.
* * *
Sean raked a hand through his hair as he settled himself behind the desk in his study, gesturing for Alexa and Zack to take the two chairs facing it. A few guests still lingered downstairs, but Taylor and Colt had left, easing Alexa’s guilt a little. At least she wasn’t stealing attention away from them. Her cheeks heated as she remembered the way they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other in the hallway, Taylor’s fingers toying with Colt’s belt as they whispered in each other’s ears.
It didn’t matter if Alexa wanted that—or something like that—for herself. Chances were that, even if she had it, she wouldn’t know what to do with it. And maybe she liked only the idea of it. In all likelihood she wouldn’t like the reality. She hadn’t in the past, anyway. She shook her head as she sank into the low-backed leather chair; she had bigger worries than her mess of a sex life right now.
Sean’s home office was comfortable and masculine, with gray walls, hardwood floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk. A framed antique-looking map of the world hung over the fireplace, and the mantel held several framed photographs. A much younger Sean in a baseball uniform with who she assumed were his parents; Sierra’s college graduation photo; a recent photo of Sean and Sierra together on a beach. Bookshelves lined the walls on both sides of the desk, which was really more of a table on which a laptop and a lamp sat.
Alexa smoothed her hands over her skirt, knowing she was cataloguing the office’s decor in an effort to center herself. It was one of the techniques the therapist had given her to deal with the panic attacks she’d started having shortly after her sixteenth birthday. It was a relaxation method that worked for her. Taking slow breaths in and out, she’d focus on her surroundings, and her heart would slow and the dizziness would subside. Paying attention to the reality around her somehow diminished the anxiety expanding through her chest and replaced the repetitive, panicked thoughts with something more mundane.
Sean leaned back in his chair and folded his impressive arms over his equally impressive chest, the fabric of his T-shirt stretching over his biceps. “So what’s going on, Alexa? What did Zack mean when he said you’re in trouble?” He furrowed his brow in concern, lines creasing his forehead.
She opened her mouth, and her skin prickled uncomfortably as her anxiety surged back up. The more time she put between herself and what she’d heard, the more uncertain she became about everything. She smoothed her hands over her skirt again and then fiddled with the hem, trying to make her brain stop spinning long enough to form a few words. A sentence even. She could feel the weight of Sean’s and Zack’s eyes, and she knew she needed to say something. Her anxiety spiked, her heart thudding in her chest as sweat formed along her hairline. She sucked in a breath and then another, but somehow she wasn’t getting enough oxygen.
Zack’s hand, big and strong and warm, landed on her bare knee. He gave her leg a squeeze and rubbed his thumb in gentle circles over her kneecap, and she felt as if she could breathe again. That touch, so easy, so simple, anchored her, and she nodded, finding her voice.
She met Sean’s calm, curious gaze. “I know my father’s not a saint. Maybe better than most,” she added, giving her head a slow shake. “Earlier tonight, I heard him talking with another man. Talking about murder.”
Sean sat up straighter in his chair, dropping his hands to the desk. “Murder?” He glanced at Zack before returning his attention to her. “You’re sure?”
She nodded and told Sean the entire story.
He frowned and drummed his fingers on the table. After a second he nodded. “Alexa, I’m gonna ask you some question
s, and I want you to know that I’m not trying to be an insensitive asshole. Okay?”
Zack’s hand tightened a tiny bit more. She nodded. “Okay.”
“Have you heard any of the rumors about your father?”
She nodded again. “Yeah. That he bought his Oscars. That he’s a bully within the industry. That he manipulates people and uses them. Anything to succeed. That he’s not someone you piss off. I don’t think those are rumors.”
“No?” he asked mildly.
She bit her lip and shook her head, surprised at how freeing it felt to admit out loud what she’d known for a long time. “No. I know firsthand that he…Well, like I said. He’s not a saint.”
“Some of the rumors say that he’s in the mob.”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but as she turned that single syllable over in her mind, the longer she sat with it, the harder it became to reject outright. Finally she shrugged her shoulders, some of the heaviness returning. “I don’t know. It’s…not impossible,” she conceded.
Sean sat back in his chair again, scrubbing a hand over his close-cropped beard as he thought. “And you’re sure he doesn’t know that you overheard that conversation?”
“No. He doesn’t know.”
Sean tapped his fingers against his mouth. “Good. But we still need to be careful with how we proceed.”
“What do you mean, be careful?” Zack cut in, a low intensity in his voice. “He offered her up as a prize for murder. She needs our protection. We can’t let that happen.” He looked at her, his deep-brown eyes full of emotion. “I won’t.”
Sean held out his hands. “Whoa. Easy. I agree that Alexa needs our protection, if she wants it.” He glanced at her, and she nodded, knowing she didn’t want to face whatever the hell this was alone. “But we need to think this through. If she’s suddenly got security when she didn’t before, that might set off alarm bells with her father.” He shoved a hand through his hair again. “He’s provided you with security in the past, right?”
