Jermy, Marie - Together Forever [The Andersons 1] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Marie Jermy

  “Ross?”

  “No, Jess, no. A storm’s brewing, that’s all. Where was I? Harknett was the senior aide to Senator Williamson. You said Williamson wanted the BlackBerry because he was going to fill his very dead aide’s shoes. So the password would have to be something they’d both know. A word that, I don’t know, maybe links them together?”

  She smiled. “I’ve already tried asshole.”

  Ross chuckled and elbowed Jessica when the lights flickered again. “Storm brewing, remember? Either that or Williamson hasn’t paid his bill.”

  “I know the feeling,” she sighed.

  “Would you like me to loan you some money?”

  “No! How many more times do I have to say it? I don’t want your money! I’m handling my debts.”

  “All right. All right. Don’t get your thong in a twist.” He blew out a lungful of air and tapped his fingers on the table. “How about the word aide? No, not long enough.”

  “Senior?” she suggested. “Or what about secretary?”

  Ross typed in both words, but on each occasion “incorrect password” flashed up on the screen. He again tapped his fingers. Then an idea came to him. He typed in the word senator. “We have liftoff!” he announced gleefully when the message, Good evening, Blade, came up. A couple of seconds later, he scrolled through the list of applications and selected Contacts. Nothing but the names and telephone numbers for other members of the Senate. The Oval Office was also listed.

  “I’ve always fancied ringing the president and asking if he’d had a nice day.” Ross chuckled.

  “How about the one marked Federation?” Jessica suggested, moving closer until she was almost sitting in his lap.

  With deliberate concentration because her hot breath in his ear was a tickling turn-on, Ross selected the relevant icon. There was only one document. He opened it. Displayed on the screen were a list of names and numbers. “We definitely have liftoff.” He then frowned. “No, wait a minute. Jeff Summers. Wasn’t he the police officer who was stabbed a few months back in the Bronx? He died while trying to break up some domestic. The husband turned the knife on him or something.”

  Jessica frowned. “Can’t say I remember it. You don’t think he was involved in drugs, do you?”

  Ross shook his head. “Definitely not. And these names are definitely not those of drug traffickers. They’re police officers. Dead ones,” he added when he recognized a couple more.

  Then, at the bottom of the document, two names leapt off the screen.

  Scott Rafferty.

  And Sam Carrick.

  Chapter 13

  Ross needed a drink. A large one. He reached for the wine bottle, poured out a full glass, and downed it. One glance at the BlackBerry’s screen told him he needed another. Sam Carrick was still there.

  It seemed no sooner had his mother laid Carrick to rest, than he’d popped up to haunt him. Ross would have pondered on the reasons why if it hadn’t come to his attention that Jessica had gone strangely quiet. As he poured himself another glass, he studied her. No weird look this time, just an unreadable expression. Yet he knew she was holding out on him. “What do you know about Sam Carrick?” he finally asked.

  Jessica took a moment to take a steadying breath. Who’d have thought that gaining access to Harknett’s phone would be the catalyst for revealing a thirty-year-old family secret? “What was he apart from your mom’s former partner who died thirty years ago?”

  “He’s mine and Daniel’s half brother,” she replied when he nodded.

  Ross spluttered and choked on the large mouthful he’d just taken. “He’s what!”

  “Mine and Daniel’s half brother.”

  He shook his head in denial. “No way. You’re lying.” He again shook his head, then after drinking the wine, pushed the glass away. Cool, calm, and in control. Not what he felt at all. What he really wanted to do was throw the glass at the wall. The bottle, too. In fact, every breakable object on the table.

  “Ross, I’m not lying. Why would I?”

  “Gee, give me a nanosecond to think about that, will ya?”

  Jessica ignored the clear sarcasm and placed her hand on his arm. He was wound so tight she thought he might snap. “Don’t be angry.” She reached up with her other hand and touched the kink in his nose with her forefinger. “I mean it’s not like we don’t all have our little secrets.”

  Ross jerked away and shoved to his feet, his chair landing with a clatter on the terra-cotta-tiled flooring. “Don’t you dare turn this into something about me! The only woman who’ll know how I came to break my nose will be my wife. And since I don’t ask twice, that won’t be you. Like I’ve said, you’ve already had your chance with me…” He trailed off at her crushed expression. Blowing out a lungful of air, he righted his chair and sat down again. “Okay, since I’m becoming a great fan of fairy tales, tell me how Carrick is yours and Daniel’s half brother. How you found out and when. Oh, and you can start with ‘Once upon a time’ if you want to.”

  She again ignored his sarcasm. “Just before Christmas I was—”

  “You’ve known for six months!” he interrupted, loudly and sharply. “And you were going to tell me, when? Next Christmas?”

  Jessica slapped her hand on the table, stunning Ross into silence. “If you don’t stop behaving like a moron, I won’t tell you anything.” She waited for a full minute before continuing. “I was in my parents’ attic searching for a spare set of fairy lights for my Christmas tree. I came across a cardboard box containing a load of old photographs. There was also a framed photo of a man and a woman. There was something familiar about it, but I just couldn’t think what. Then I realized I’d seen it at your parents’ house. When was the last time you saw Danny?”

  He frowned, half with concentration, half with exasperation at her abrupt subject switch. “Don’t know. Last July maybe. Why?”

  “I’m not changing the subject, okay, Ross? At first glance, I thought the man and the woman was Danny and your sister, Samantha. The likeness is incredible. It was only when I looked more closely and saw the letters LAPD on the notice board behind them that I knew it wasn’t them but your mom and Sam. I knew his name because I once asked your mom about her former detective days. What was her nickname again? Foxy?”

  Ross held up a hand. “Hang on a minute. Is Carrick seated at a desk and Mom standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. She looks kind of serious, but Sam’s grinning like the Cheshire cat. He’s also got a real wicked glint in his eye. Kind of like he’s thinking of new ways of going down on her.”

  “Yes, thank you, Jess, for that analysis.”

  “What? You don’t mind overhearing my mom saying she’s gonna give Dad a blow job, yet you turn prude when it comes—”

  “I’m no prude,” Ross cut in. “It’s just I can’t imagine Mom with any man other than my father. Getting back to that photograph, it’s been on our mantel for years, and I’ve never noticed any likeness between Carrick and Daniel.”

  “Well, I could see it. And that’s why I went downstairs to ask my father for an explanation. At first, he clammed up, wouldn’t tell me anything, other than to say it was none of my business. Then Mom came in the room. She saw the photo and said, ‘It’s time.’ Dad then explained when he was twenty he’d had a relationship with Esther Carrick, his childhood sweetheart. They had a son, Sam. They were happy and in love, or so Dad thought. But Esther ran off with another guy and took Sam with her. He would have been twelve at the time.” She stopped at Ross’s thoughtful expression. “What?”

  He shook his head. “I was just thinking. Mom worked and lived in LA, Hollywood, if I remember correctly. With Carrick. When he died, she took a transfer to Montana where she met and married my father, and in turn, found out his best friend, Ray Ferris, your father, is also Carrick’s father.” This time, he stopped when Jessica shook her head. “No? What do you mean no?”

  “Did Dad tell you where he was posted a
s an agent?”

  “No. Like I said, I’d always presumed he’d been a cop. You know, he and Dad were partners or something. Thinking about it now though, I suppose Ray was posted to Salt Lake City. It serves Utah, plus the states of Montana and Idaho, and Yellowstone National Park. He must have been assigned a case that involved my father because, otherwise, how would they have met and become friends?”

  “Ross, Dad was born and lived in DC, but after he graduated, he was posted to the LA Field Office. Before Sam died, Dad had never set foot in Montana. So when your mom was transferred, our fathers didn’t know each other.

  “Actually, saying that, your mom didn’t even know Dad was Sam’s father. It was only when Sam’s murderer, some Grade A asshole called Mickey Sanchez, escaped from jail and decided to go after your mom in revenge for putting him behind bars in the first place that she found out.” She shifted in her seat. Ross was looking at her expectantly. “What I’m about to tell you goes no further, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  Jessica then told Ross everything else about her father’s past and Sam Carrick. When she’d finished, he was opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. She couldn’t blame him. It had been a shock to her system when her father had told her.

  “So let me get this straight,” Ross said once he’d rediscovered the power of speech. “In summary, when Esther left Ray, your father, she made false accusations of assault and rape against him to prevent him having access rights to Sam. She failed. He was cleared. Then she and Sam disappeared without trace. Ray hits the bottle and gets kicked out of the Bureau.

  “Fast-forward fifteen years. Carrick dies. Mom transfers to Silver Creek, where she meets Dad, marries him and has me. In the meantime, Sanchez escapes from jail. Ray sobers up and pays Mom a visit, just in time to stop Sanchez putting a bullet in her. Our fathers become friends for life. And Mom fixes Ray up with a job working as a civilian in Hollywood alongside her old friend, colleague, and all-round wise-ass Frank Walsh.

  He ignored Jessica’s laughter at his description of Frank Walsh, family friend to both their families.

  “Finally, after a year, Ray gets sick of all the earthquakes and moves to New York, where after receiving an anonymous letter informing him of the loss of his son, compensation to the tune of one million dollars—an astronomical amount of money in those days—had been deposited into his bank account. He sets up Magnum Investigations, employs and marries his secretary, Scarlett, your mom. And everybody lives happily ever after.” Ross paused for breath. “Have I missed anything?”

  “Nope, that’s pretty much it. Oh, apart from how your sisters, Dad’s goddaughters, were so named. Samantha was in memory of Sam. And Ramona, the female equivalent of Ray, was for Dad. To say thank you for what he’d done.” She poured herself another glass of wine before realizing what she was doing. “Like father, like daughter, hey?” she smirked.

  “Ray’s not a drunk.”

  “Oh, for those fifteen years of his life he was. Spent time in police cells, too. And got himself arrested many times. That’s how he was reunited with Sam, because he also arrested him. Sadly, it was a week before Sanchez put a bullet in his back so they never really got to know each other.

  “Dad sobered up enough to attend Sam’s funeral and the subsequent court case that put Sanchez behind bars. He kept his distance from your mom, though.” Jessica smiled. “Apparently he could feel her volcanic temper from fifty feet away. Decided it was wiser to sort himself out and get help for his alcohol addiction before asking her to tell him about his long-lost son. Obviously it didn’t happen. It took him well over a year before he felt right in himself and that he didn’t need a drink to feel alive.”

  “But he still drinks. I’ve seen him. Beer in particular.”

  “Non-alcoholic beer,” Jessica corrected. “You know, he blames himself for turning to drink instead of trying to locate Sam. ‘You never solve problems or find answers at the bottom of a bottle,’ was what he said. And he’s right.”

  A smile played on his lips. “Is that some sort of dig at me?”

  She grinned. “I said at the bottom of a bottle after drinking its contents, not smashing the whole thing against a cupboard.”

  “Oh, right. Is there anything else?”

  “Sort of. And this is even stranger than that anonymous letter. Obviously with Dad being arrested, he had a record. A rap sheet. But about a year after moving to New York, Frank told him it had been deleted. Someone, and someone who must have had top-level clearance either at the FBI or the police, had wiped out all his convictions. They’d even changed the details of why Dad left the Bureau. It now says on his file he was retired on medical grounds.”

  “That is strange,” Ross murmured with agreement, before asking, “Does Daniel know?”

  Jessica nodded. “I made Dad tell him. I thought he had a right to know.”

  “And what about me? Don’t you think I had a right to know? I mean, Christ, if Carrick hadn’t died, he probably would have married Mom. I could have been their son. And we’d be related in some way!”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

  “Melodramatic!” he echoed, his tone several octaves higher.

  “Yes, melodramatic. You never would have been Sam’s son. You’re an Anderson, not a Carrick. And yes, while you’ve inherited one or two of your mom’s traits, sometimes when I look at you, like I am now, all I see is your father. No wonder you’re named after him, because no other name would have suited you. And you can take that as a compliment,” she added with a smile.

  “I still should have been told, either by Ray or my parents. Actually, that’s a good idea. They can tell me right now.” He whipped out his cell phone, but Jessica snatched it from him.

  “Ross, stop it! Your parents obviously had their reasons for not telling you, just like mine did. And really, if you think about it, it’s none of your business.” Ross was doing a slow burn so she changed tack. “Sam was a lifetime ago. We should be concentrating on what’s happening now.” She pointed to the BlackBerry. “Rafferty. Do you think he really is dead, and we’ve been dealing with his ghost?”

  Ross huffed. “How many times, Jess! Ghosts do not exist. Anyway, you can’t shake hands with a ghost, and I’ve shaken Rafferty’s. The question we should be asking is why would Harknett have a list of dead police officers? And why would Senator Williamson want it, too? I mean he said he was going to fill Harknett’s shoes, but what on earth is going on? It’s not drugs, that’s for sure. What was he going to do with it?”

  “That’s four questions,” she pointed out, tongue stuck firmly in cheek.

  “And do you have any answers?”

  “Pass. Pass. Pass, and pass. Next question?”

  “What’s so important about a list of dead officers that it’s worth killing for? Namely you.”

  “Are we sure they are dead officers?” Jessica frowned. “These four-figured numbers next to the names. Do you think they’re dates? The years they died. Sam died thirty years ago, so these numbers”—she tapped her forefinger on the screen, indicating to the figures next to Carrick’s name—“correspond. But Rafferty’s says 1875.”

  Ross rolled his eyes, not even bothering to answer. He’d known Jessica was stubborn, but her unwavering belief in ghosts was bordering on stupidity. With a weary sigh, he covered his head with his arms on the table.

  Jessica laid a hand on his shoulder, her fingers softly stroking his hair. “What’s the matter?”

  “My head hurts,” was his muffled reply.

  She suppressed a smile. “Well, you know what they say is good for a headache, don’t you?” She felt her sex contracting and moistening when his head lifted and he leveled his sky-blue eyes at her.

  “No. What?”

  “Sex. And you did say I was dessert.”

  Chapter 14

  Jessica watched Ross as he calmly turned the BlackBerry off, rose from his chair, and began to clear the table, his every move
ment controlled and precise. No words were spoken, yet those sky-blue eyes of his spoke volumes.

  She was spellbound. None more so than when he returned from the kitchen and approached her. Still without a word, he took her hands and stood her up, then, and with minimal skin contact, lifted her top over her head and deftly removed her jeans.

  Standing before him, in just her underwear and Jimmy Choos, she felt her skin flushing under his heated gaze. He lightly ran his fingers over the embroidered mesh of her bra, instantly turning her nipples into pert, tight peaks and down to her belly before clasping his hands around her hips and lifting her onto the table. Parting her legs, he stood between them.

  It was only then that he spoke.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  The word had hardly left her mouth before he swiftly removed his tie and used it to blindfold her. She closed her eyes, adding to the darkness, and lost herself in him when his mouth claimed hers with a kiss that, she believed, touched her soul.

  He thumbed her nipples through the bra, and she gave a soft mewl of satisfaction.

  “I’m so glad I blindfolded you,” Ross murmured in a guttural tone. “My control is already shot, without seeing those amber flecks in your eyes glowing.”

  Tracing a path to her ear with his mouth, he gently nipped on her lobe. Though mindful of her bruises, the nip to her neck was not so gentle. She gasped in surprised but thrust her hips forward against his groin. His cock was hard. “Did you like that?” he inquired, sounding a little surprised himself.

  “Mmm. Do it again. Mark me as yours.”

  He duly obliged, sucking the tender flesh just enough to leave an imprint of his mouth. His hands on the curve of her shoulders, he gently pushed her back until she was flat on the table. Wanting to see him, she pushed his tie up and off her head. There was a chair behind him, and he pulled it closer and sat down, his head level with one extremely tempting view of an embroidered flower placed just so.