“Julie,” he said distractedly.
Dalton smiled. Yesterday it had been Heather and the day before, Monica. A.J. had the whole building abuzz. Searching his name retrieved enough eye candy to crash computers all over the office. Ethan was having trouble keeping up.
“Is your fan club meeting in the copy room?”
“Don’t know.” He continued punching away at the keys.
“I heard they were taking over conference room C because it has a projector in high-definition.”
“Don’t care.” He smirked at Dalton. “Are you jealous or something?”
“I didn’t think you cared.” Dalton set his glass on the counter and dropped into the closest chair.
“And I assumed you’d appreciate my distraction techniques.”
It took a moment for the statement to sink in before Dalton responded. “You posed in your underwear for my benefit?”
More keyboard tapping. “No, you’re benefiting because I posed in my underwear.”
“How exactly?”
“Are you kidding? No one even notices you’re here. No one is gossiping about you or Josh or even Kira.” He checked the supply of printer paper before continuing. “All they care about is little old me.”
“And you’re eating this up, right?”
“It feeds my ego.” The printer started spitting out page after page of information and A.J. reclined in Dalton’s chair. “But more important, it allows me access to the entire building without argument from anyone.”
True. Plus, employee morale was higher than ever.
“And what have you learned from all this access?”
“First of all, hiring the private investigators was a waste of money. I could do the job blindfolded.” He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his feet onto Dalton’s desk.
“How so?”
A.J. teemed with smugness. “Everything is on the internet. You just have to know where to look.”
Dalton copied A.J.’s posture as the liquor loosened his muscles and his mind. “And you know where to look?”
A.J. nodded and tilted his chin toward the printer. “I’ve got everything you need right there. Josh and Kira’s marriage license, copies of bank statements from the time they were together, Brandon’s birth certificate.”
“You found the birth certificate?” Dalton stormed to the printer and started riffling through the pages.
“Josh was pretty smart. I thought about all the possible ways to hide a child. The easiest was changing the baby’s name. So instead of searching for a baby named Brandon, I started searching for any baby with the last name of Matthews born in the same year.”
Dalton scanned the document in his hand. It was from the state of North Carolina and as soon as he located Josh’s name he glanced at A.J.
“Aren’t there plenty of men named Joshua Matthews out there? Did you find anything with Kira’s name listed for the mother?”
“If he used Kira’s name, it would be easier to track, because it’s unusual.”
“Who names their baby Rembrandt? This seems a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”
A.J. grabbed a few sheets of paper from the stack and flipped them onto the desk. He plucked a highlighter from Dalton’s penholder and systematically circled items on at least six separate pages. “Take a look at the date on their marriage license.”
Dalton nodded.
“Now look at the date Josh opened this bank account and what he listed as his birth date.”
So far, they all had one thing in common. The fifteenth of the month was listed on every document.
“I’m sure I don’t need to show you Josh’s birth certificate, right?” A.J. paused.
“March 21, 1986,” Dalton automatically replied. And then he grasped the inconsistency. “So he lied about his birthday. Probably the smallest lie he told.”
A.J. snorted. “Well, yeah. But what’s so special about July 15?”
Dalton finally glanced up at him. “I don’t know, but I bet you’re going to tell me.”
“I ran an internet search for the date and found a slew of famous people. I think your brother was trying to channel Rembrandt.”
“Rembrandt?”
“Famous Dutch painter from the 1600s,” A.J. prodded.
“Don’t be a smart-ass. I’m familiar with the name.”
Silence filled the room as Dalton scanned the rest of the documents A.J. had collected. There was a joint checking account with a paltry amount of money direct deposited every two weeks. Kira hadn’t been lying about surviving on next to nothing.
The next statement was from a different bank and showed only Josh’s name. He’d maintained a substantial balance during the same time period. Two major withdrawals had been made a few months after their marriage and then again around the time Brandon would have been born.
“Any idea where these withdrawals were spent?”
“A large part of both were transferred into this account.” A.J. circled another name.
Finn Barnes, the doctor who’d supposedly delivered Kira’s baby. Son of a bitch. And since Finn had disappeared around the time Josh faked his death, more than likely the man had outlived his usefulness in Josh’s eyes.
Dalton grabbed the sheets of paper and slapped A.J.’s back. “Still want to fly the jet?”
“Of course.”
“It’s past time for me to meet my nephew.”
* * *
Kira peeked out the blinds of her sixth-floor room and stared through the bars covering the window. This was utter madness. The paparazzi occupied the parking lot adjacent to the hospital, and orange plastic fencing had been installed to keep them away from the entrance. At least a dozen large news trucks with giant satellite dishes filled the cramped area and it looked more like a bunch of tailgaters at a college football game than the media event of the year.
Plus, Dalton hadn’t called. It was probably all too painful. Josh was dead and now the press was rehashing Lauren’s suicide, using everything but a flow chart to connect all the pieces. Scratch that. CNN had a color-coded chart filled with pictures of all the main players and dates going back to the moment Lauren had become an overnight sensation. Kira couldn’t blame Dalton a bit for keeping his distance.
He was probably wondering if she planned to go after Josh’s stake in Buckshot’s. If she was smart, which there was overwhelming proof to the contrary, she’d leave him alone.
She turned at the knock on her door, undoubtedly another nurse checking another set of vital signs and making progress notes in her chart. Kira had spent six days being a model patient and answering questions of numerous nosy doctors and interns.
Instead of a nurse, Tate Wilson stepped through the doorway and greeted her with his trademark lady-killer smile. His face probably hurt from constantly schmoozing with the nursing staff, who treated him like some sort of god.
“Good afternoon, Sunshine.” He used the same greeting every day and yet it still caught her by surprise, how easily it flowed off his tongue and how much she enjoyed the endearment.
“Dr. Wilson.” Finding out he was a real doctor had been a minor shock compared to everything else she’d endured. But it also meant he was either trying extra hard not to upset her or secretly feeding her Valium in her IV bag.
She felt pretty levelheaded, so it was probably the drugs.
“Are you ready to blow this Popsicle stand?” He flipped the wooden chair around and dropped onto the seat, crossing his arms over the back to stare at her.
“And go where, to a real jail?”
“I’m deeply offended you’d think such a thing.”
“I’ll bet.” She wheeled the IV stand to the bed and sat down, wincing slightly as the stitches in her side tugged uncomfortably.
&nb
sp; “A majority of the charges against you have been dropped.”
“Majority?” She adjusted the red silk bathrobe he’d given her and tilted her head to the side. “But not all?”
“A little gratitude would be nice.”
“I want to go home.” It might have sounded firmer if her voice hadn’t ended on a whisper. She was miles from home and a million miles from normal. And after everything she’d put him through, Dalton probably hated her.
“Dalton doesn’t hate you,” Tate said.
Had she said that part out loud? Evidently, yes. “Really? Is he too busy saving the family’s good name to even pick up the phone?”
“You aren’t allowed phone calls or visitors.” Tate delivered the line with a frown.
“You’re losing your touch, Dr. Wilson, if you can’t find a way around hospital policy and smuggle me a cell phone.”
He ignored her comment. “You’re being discharged tonight.”
“And?” She wasn’t foolish enough to believe she’d gain any measure of freedom, whether in darkness or daylight.
He rose from the chair and turned his back long enough to retrieve something from the hallway. He handed Kira an oversize shopping bag loaded with clothes. “Pick out something cheery to wear and I’ll be back at seven.”
She hadn’t expected him to leave so quickly. There were many more questions she wanted to ask. Instead, she dumped the contents of the bag onto the bed and plucked the brightest colors from the pile. A red shirt with three-quarter sleeves caught her attention, but then she spotted an orange V-neck sweater.
It was October. She could wear orange if she wanted to, no matter if it was Dalton’s favorite color. She checked the size, yanked the tags free and quickly discarded her hospital clothing. She flipped through a few more items and located a pair of black casual pants of stretchy material. Spandex was a girl’s best friend.
After pulling on socks and a pair of wool-lined boots, in size eight, she folded the leftover clothes and returned them to the bag. A while later, one of the nurses stopped by to remove her IV and pulled a handful of items from her pocket.
“I always feel better when I wear a little makeup.” She laid a few tiny bottles on the bedspread. “I brought these from home, but if anyone asks, you didn’t get them from me, okay?”
Kira nodded. It was the first time all week that anyone had spoken to her as more than a patient. She’d been allowed to walk up and down the hallway twice a day, but always under the watchful eye of the two armed guards who patrolled the floor.
After the nurse left, Kira spent some time in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully applying the makeup and adding a bit of color to her lips. It was the most normal thing she’d done in days. And then she waited as the final two hours seemed to drag by. Even the delivery of her supper tray offered little distraction.
Her door opened again a few minutes after seven. She stood, bag in hand, waiting for the next part of her journey.
“Showtime.” Tate held the door wide-open and plucked the bag from her hand.
“Don’t I have to be handcuffed or something?” she asked, resisting his attempt to usher her into the hallway.
“Do you want to be handcuffed?” Tate said.
“No.”
“Then let’s go.” He grabbed her right hand and led her down the hallway to the elevators.
Ten minutes later they left the hospital from the rooftop helicopter pad, under the cover of darkness. Tate evidently had paid big money for a private flight to take them to the Casper airport, where an unmarked private jet was waiting.
Tate conversed with the helicopter pilot about current weather conditions while Kira watched the changing terrain below and remained quiet. She had nothing left to say. She probably should have asked where they were going, but she wasn’t convinced jail wasn’t in her future.
She wanted to go home. Wanted to sleep in her own bed and wear her own clothes. Wanted to spend some time mourning everything she’d lost.
Her throat tightened and tears filled her eyes each time she reflected on Dalton.
It hurt to think of the years she’d locked herself away from everyone who brought her happiness. Josh had robbed her of interacting with the rest of the world. But in her new life, after jail, she was going to be a different person.
She would give her opinion. She’d allow herself to feel emotion again and not stay locked in a cycle of unhappiness. In a nutshell, she was going to live.
Had it really been less than a week since they’d argued in his study? Since Dalton had forced her to think about her future, and she hadn’t been able to give him the answers he wanted? He’d said he wanted her to be happy, but hadn’t said that her future would include him.
Had she read too much into his behavior at the cemetery? She’d announced that she loved him and hadn’t seen or heard from him since.
The ride to the airport took less than ten minutes and then they were on solid ground. Tate helped her from the helicopter and hustled her toward a familiar hangar door. Once inside, the bright lights were almost blinding and she clung to his arm for direction. Was he taking her home to Kansas City?
Instead, she saw the Buckshot’s jet and jerked to a stop. “You never said it was Dalton’s plane.”
“You never asked.” The contours of his handsome face reflected his tiredness before he winked at her.
Tate had stayed with her at the hospital, and now she couldn’t show a hint of gratitude for his sacrifice? She followed him across the hangar. It was silly to be afraid of a plane. Okay, maybe not silly, because planes could crash. But being leery of anything associated with Dalton would be exhaustive.
The man standing next to the stairs looked vaguely familiar. He was almost Tate’s height, but with hair as light as Tate’s was dark. His smile insisted they were old friends, but it was his turquoise-blue eyes that flashed through her memory.
“Are you trying to picture me with my clothes off?” he asked Kira.
Tate punched him in the arm and his smile was replaced with a scowl. “Clean it up, A.J.”
“What? I’m very recognizable.”
“Not always a good thing,” Tate replied. “Kira, this is our copilot, A. J. Atkins.”
She extended her hand, but Tate hustled her up the stairs before she could complete the gesture.
“I can speak for myself,” she insisted.
“I know you can.”
Kira almost imagined Tate was jealous of the attractive man at the bottom of the stairs, which was a ridiculous assumption. Women fawned over Tate as if he was the last tasty morsel on a sinking ship. And he’d used that to his advantage more than once at the hospital.
He followed her to a gathering of seats and watched intently as she buckled herself in.
“Is something wrong?” Kira asked. He was hovering again.
“Nope.” He winked at her. “I’ll let you know when it’s okay to move around.” He hurried to the front of the plane. A.J. secured the door before following him.
Why was the man so familiar? Had they met before?
The plane taxied down the runway and was airborne within minutes. She’d forgotten to ask Tate where they were headed. She didn’t care, as long as she never set foot in Wyoming again. She rubbed her eyes, yanked a magazine from a nearby seat pocket and absently thumbed through the pages.
Halfway through the magazine she came across an ad for Buckshot’s Coffee. She quickly flipped past it, swallowing the knot in her throat. Why did she have to notice their advertising now, when she’d happily avoided it for years?
As the plane leveled off, she sighed, turned one more page and recognized a familiar pair of turquoise eyes. That was him, the copilot. He was A. J. Atkins, the spokesmodel for Bare Briefs underwear.
Kira laughed for the first
time since the ordeal had begun. No wonder he’d made a joke about picturing him with his clothes off.
“I really thought you’d choose the red,” Dalton said from somewhere behind her.
The magazine slipped from Kira’s hands. She turned sideways in the seat, the tightness where she’d been shot pulling enough to keep her from jumping up. She watched him emerge from the rear of the plane. Her eyes locked on his face and she immersed herself in the dark brown depths of his eyes, his clean-shaven face and much shorter hair.
“It’s a power color, you know,” he added.
“I’ve acquired an unhealthy attachment to orange.” She absolutely didn’t mean to say that, at least not as the first words out of her mouth.
“Really?” He stood several feet away from her with his hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. He looked worried, almost as if he had a vested interest in each of her answers. “They wouldn’t let me see you. Or talk to you. First one law enforcement agency, then another. Tate convinced me it was better to stay put and sort through the mess. I had to make certain all the charges were dropped.”
Kira wanted to jump from her seat and straight into his arms. It would have been so easy. But she couldn’t expect that Dalton was there for anything more than closure to an extremely unpleasant set of circumstances. None of this was his fault, and yet he’d borne the brunt of the pain.
“Dalton, I’m so sorry.” Could she make him understand she’d never meant for him to get hurt? For his family to weather another storm of unwanted public scrutiny.
He rubbed his chin. “I thought we were past all of this.”
“But you don’t deserve—”
“What about you? What do you deserve?”
He was doing it again. He was forcing her to think about what she truly wanted. It wasn’t fair to tell him she wanted him.
“I’ll be fine.” She forced perkiness into her voice.
He was keeping his distance now. His eyes grew darker as his shoulders tensed.
“You mean you’ll be fine alone, right?” His voice rose for emphasis. “Because you’re never going to give anyone a chance to make you happy?”
Protecting His Brother's Bride Page 23
