by Mae Clair
“I’m gonna make you pay, you fuckin’ S-O-B.”
Somewhere through the haze in his mind and the nausea waffling up from his gut, Caith recognized Lance McClure’s voice. His vision cleared enough for a glimpse of McClure’s fury-mottled face looming over him. Before he could roll clear, the bat descended a third time, catching him in the stomach. Caith was sure the world had upended. The food and drinks he’d consumed moments before threatened to spew from his gut. He drew his knees to his chest, shoving an elbow beneath him for leverage.
“Get the hell away from him.”
A man’s angry voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. Something slammed into McClure, sending him teetering off balance. Recovering slightly, Caith hooked him by the ankle with a foot and spilled him to the ground. The bat clattered against the asphalt and rolled from his fingers.
“Keep your fucking hands off my brother,” the newcomer commanded.
Caith blinked, pushing to his knees. Someone grabbed the bat. McClure struggled upward, spittle flying as he spewed vulgarities. The end of the bat popped him squarely in the face and he folded without a sound.
Breathing heavily, Caith looked at his benefactor. Shock coursed through him.
Merlin dropped the bat with a loud clatter. “One of you owes me a drink, and I don’t think it’s Cyclops here.”
Chapter 15
Caith closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the sofa. He wasn’t sure what hurt more, his shoulder, his stomach, or his pride. The ice pack Merlin had given him for the gash on his cheek helped mute the sting, but he’d be left with a nasty bruise. It wouldn’t be the first time. Just the first in a long time. He was generally too cautious and observant to be taken by surprise.
“How’s the arm?” Merlin dropped into an adjacent chair, carrying two open bottles of beer. He slid one across a glass-topped table to Caith. “Sorry I don’t have anything stronger. I don’t drink hard liquor.”
“I always figured you for a wine and champagne man myself.” Forcing his protesting body upright, Caith leaned forward with a groan. The label on the beer indicated it was pricey and imported. Dropping the ice pack in his lap, Caith retrieved the bottle, rolling his left shoulder experimentally. “Hurts like hell. I can’t believe I let Lance McClure kick my ass again.”
Merlin smiled smoothly. “At least you put him in his place first. Nick Fontaine said you threw him across a table.”
Caith shifted and grimaced. “It was more like a pin. He was getting loud and mouthy with his wife. I just—”
“Stuck your nose where it doesn’t belong.” Merlin raised his bottle in a mock toast. “There’s a lot of that going around lately.” Their eyes met and held, and Merlin grinned.
Exhausted, Caith slumped into the sofa. Designed for looks, it wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it felt like heaven after the drive to Merlin’s home on the outskirts of town. Vaulted ceilings, an open staircase, and whitewashed hardwood floors reflected his brother’s taste for contemporary styling. Sitting in the sunken living room, Caith found himself surrounded by shades of silver, crimson, and black.
“Merlin.” Caith eyed the expensive art deco prints on the walls. It felt funny to be talking without sniping, to be conversing easily after so long. He sent his brother a wary glance. “If I didn’t say it before…thanks for helping me out tonight. If you hadn’t stuck your nose where it didn’t belong, I’d be a lot worse off than I am.”
Merlin shrugged. “I like the Jade Club on Monday nights. They run a special on coconut shrimp. You’re lucky it was so packed I had to park near the back. Otherwise I wouldn’t have heard McClure shooting his mouth off about making someone pay.” He took a long swallow of beer. “Besides, even if my mission in life is to piss you off, you’re still my brother. No one takes a swing at you when I’m around. Especially not with a baseball bat.”
Caith was surprised by the sincerity in his voice, just as he’d been surprised by Merlin’s arrival behind the club. In truth, surprise didn’t cover it. Shock, utter astonishment, even bewilderment fell short of what he’d felt when he’d spied Merlin standing over McClure, baseball bat in hand. Merlin, who fussed at getting a hair knocked out of place. Merlin who’d made it clear from that first day at Stone Willow, he cared little or nothing for Caith. There were too many years of silence between them, a host of buried and poisonous feelings. How could Merlin toss all of that aside in the matter of a heartbeat?
Because I’m his brother.
Caith frowned. “I keep screwing up, don’t I?” The beer was sour in his stomach, the ice pack cold and wet on his legs. Right-handed and awkward, he tossed it on the table. “Aren told me I need to fix my life. I guess part of that includes you.”
“Shit. Don’t get sentimental, Caith. I’m not in the mood for a trip down memory lane.”
“Neither am I, but it’s unavoidable.” Caith’s expression was hard. “You’ve been at my throat since I came back. Over Veronica, over Trask’s death. Then tonight you turn around and help me out of a jam.”
With a snort of disbelief, Merlin slumped in his chair. He tipped the beer to his lips. “For as brainy as you are, you can be incredibly stupid, Caithelden.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, you stupid shit, it was never about Veronica and never about Trask’s death. I can’t believe after all this time, you still haven’t figured it out.” Irritated, he pushed from the chair. “I should find a fucking bat and finish you off myself.”
Frustrated, Caith sat forward. He grimaced at the movement, cupping his right arm across his middle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He watched Merlin pace agitated rings around a grouping of scooped-back chairs. “You’ve been pissed at me since Trask died. You think it’s my fault he got killed.”
Merlin came to an abrupt halt, swiveling to face him. “Where did you get a crazy idea like that?”
“From you. You haven’t spoken to me for twelve years.”
“Why should I? You didn’t need me when I was around. Why the hell would you need me when you were gone?”
Caith felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Everything he’d believed and held true for so long shifted out of focus. “I thought…” He swallowed, tried a different approach. “After Trask died, you were different. You kept pulling away. Year after year.”
“Because you shut yourself off.” Merlin leaned forward, gripping the back of a single chair. “Listen, Caith. I’m only going to say this once, because I’ll feel like a damn idiot when I’m done. When we were kids, it was never about the four of us. It was about you and Trask. Veronica and I were there, but you and Trask—” He stopped suddenly, something dark and bitter compressing his mouth into a frown. “It was like he was your brother. Not me. Trask.”
Blood thundered in Caith’s ears. The knot in his left shoulder sent fire down his arm, and his mouth went dry. His stomach grew hollow as an unimaginable truth struck home. “Merlin.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Are you saying…you were jealous of Trask?”
“Why would that surprise you? I’m shallow, conceited, self-centered. I’m the one everyone liked, but you’re the one everyone wanted to be like. Chivalrous, smart, brave. Like one of those fricking knights Mom was always telling us about. Veronica fell in love with you the moment she saw you, and Dad was going to turn BI into a worldwide commodity with you on the team. When we were kids, everyone wanted your approval.” He stared hard. “Even me.”
Caith didn’t know what to say. How could he possibly tell his brother he was none of the things Merlin imagined? He’d gotten Trask killed. He hadn’t fought his way free and bravely thrown himself at the man with the knife. Instead he’d let himself be held, his arm pinned to a cold metal table while his captors joked about which finger to cut off. His father, Veronica, Merlin…they’d turned him into some kind of idea, a fabricated character.
“After Trask died, I thought things would be different.
” Merlin sank into a chair across from Caith. Shoulders slumped, he laced his hands between his knees. “I thought you’d start to rely on me. I thought I’d take Trask’s place. Pretty low, huh?” He shot Caith a guarded glance.
“Merlin.”
Merlin held up a hand. “You did confide in me for a while. I remember when you told me about the glue. I was proud you’d told me something no one else knew. Pretty sick way for brothers to behave. You were messed up in the head, and I was turning it into a competition with a dead kid. A kid who was my friend. The problem with you, Caith, is you’re so fucking controlled you’d rather be miserable than admit you need help. So instead of getting closer, you kept shutting everyone out, trying to deal with things on your own. I got pissed, and then I stopped trying. When you left for college, I promised myself I wasn’t going to call. I figured if you needed help, you’d pick up the phone, but you never did.” He paused, smiling tightly. “You know what gets me the most? When we were kids, Aren was so much older than us, he was rarely around. Now look at the two of you. It’s like you and Trask all over again.”
Caith rubbed his temple. He couldn’t think. The stillness in the room was suffocating. For twelve years, he’d harbored the misconception that Merlin blamed him for Trask’s death. Stunned, he spread his hands. “Merlin, I’m sorry. I never realized.” He faltered, too shaken to find the right words.
Merlin arched a brow. “Don’t sweat it. I don’t know why I was so stuck on being your best bud anyway. You got your ass kicked when you were a kid, and you got your ass kicked tonight. Some tough PI. You can’t even take a drunk with a baseball bat.”
“Maybe if he’d been a troll with a sword.” Caith grinned faintly. “Why fight when you’ve got a wizard for backup?”
Merlin collected their empties and stood. “I’m glad that’s out of the way. How about another round? We’ve got some catching up to do.”
“Sure.” Shifting stiffly, Caith dug in his pocket for his cell phone. “Just let me call the house. I want to make sure Veronica and Derry are okay.”
By the time Merlin returned with two more beers, Caith had finished the call and was tentatively fingering the gash on his cheek.
“Your son’s a good kid.” Merlin passed him an open bottle and sprawled in the nearest chair. “Looks just like you. Talkative as hell, though. I took him, Matt, and Noah on a hayride and the kid never shut up. Is he like that all the time?”
Caith chuckled. “Afraid so.” He set the beer aside, uneasy again. “Merlin, I need to ask you something. About what I told you…about the glue.”
Merlin exhaled and dragged a hand over his face. “I knew you were going to get back to that. Okay, I admit it. I told Galen. I was pissed.”
“Galen?” Caith thought back to his conversation with Nick and Nick’s references to an affair between Kelly Rice and a man with the initials GB.
“I was pissed at you, and pissed at Galen and Aren for hiring you. So when Galen got back, I cornered him in his office and read him the riot act. If Aren had been there I would have done the same to him. I didn’t mean to tell Galen about the glue. It sort of slipped out in the heat of the moment.”
“How?”
Merlin shrugged. “I said something about you being unable to do a quality job when you freak and puke your guts over the tiniest whiff of model glue.” He cleared his throat, looking shamefaced. “I didn’t mean to tell him, Caith. I’m the one who called and ratted you out to Dad, too.”
Caith barely heard, his thoughts racing. Galen had sent Aren to the Breckwood home to pick up BI documents, knowing he’d see Caith first. Had his brother figured Aren could talk him into going to the house? Once there, it was natural he’d visit his bedroom, almost guaranteeing he’d stumble over the glue in the nightstand. And the night of the hayride, Galen was the only one Caith hadn’t seen. Was it possible he’d slipped through the shadows, dumping glue when Caith had been distracted with Nick?
He gnawed on his bottom lip. Why? To unsettle him? To distract him from what was happening at Stone Willow?
“There’s no way Galen had anything to do with that glue in your bedroom, so if that’s where you’re headed, forget it.” Merlin stretched, propping his feet on the glass-topped table. “The whole thing stinks if you ask me. We should have sold the lodge when we had the chance.”
“Sold the lodge?” Caith looked at him blankly, momentarily forgetting Galen. “Are you telling me someone made BI an offer on Stone Willow?”
“Sure.” He nodded to Caith’s beer, sitting untouched on the table. “You’re not drinking. Part of making peace with the past involves getting plastered together.”
“Merlin.” Caith leaned forward. “Who made the offer on the lodge? When did it happen?”
“I don’t know. Before all the garbage started.”
“A date,” Caith snapped. “I need a date.”
“I didn’t pay much attention. No one was interested in selling, so we shelved the offer. Not long after that, the problems started.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Caith pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe no one thought it important to tell me.”
Merlin sprawled in the chair, flinging a leg over the arm. “Turn off the investigator, Caithelden. Whatever’s going on in that analytical brain of yours can wait until tomorrow. You owe me. Tonight is about catching up on what we missed.”
Caith hesitated. His mind was in overdrive, sorting details. Galen, Lew, Dean Bowerman. They were all connected somehow. He had the feeling it came down to the offer Merlin didn’t want to discuss. As much as he wanted to pick at the puzzle and examine it from every angle, Merlin was right. He did owe his brother. Not only for tonight, but for the last twelve years and before.
“Okay.” He picked up his beer. “Why don’t we start with Veronica and how you feel about her?”
* * * *
Veronica returned to the lodge in the morning, stepping through the front door shortly after eight. Bare of furniture and rugs, the lobby felt vast, somehow intimidating. Ash greeted her, rubbing against her legs, insisting on breakfast. He left small wisps of gray hair clinging to her ankle-length, saddle-brown skirt as he trailed her down the hallway. Once inside, surrounded by familiar possessions, her uneasiness vanished. Later that afternoon, she was scheduled to meet with three furniture vendors to select new items for the lobby. The fate of Stone Willow remained undecided, but BI was moving ahead with refurbishing. Furniture, rugs, decorative accents, and potted plants would go a long way in making the empty space feel inviting, less eerie.
With Ash taken care of, she dug coffee out of the cupboards. As she turned on the faucet to fill the coffee pot, her mind wandered. She’d heard about Caith’s run-in with Lance McClure. Most of the town already knew about it. News traveled fast in Coldcreek, especially when it concerned the Breckwoods.
She grimaced.
Lance was bad news. He was one of the few people who could make her skin crawl with a single leering glance. She supposed it went back to that incident in ninth grade when he and his friends had cornered her in the cafeteria. “Veronica?”
She jerked unexpectedly, dropping the coffee pot in the sink. “Caith. Where did you come from?”
As if realizing he’d startled her, Caith jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Your door was open.”
“So you just waltzed in?” Her voice came out harsher than expected. Drawing a breath, she collected her scattered nerves. He looked disheveled, like he hadn’t slept. There was a cut on his cheek, overlaid by an angry bruise more purple than black. She winced. “Look at what Lance did to your face.”
“So you heard? It doesn’t surprise me. I’m sure the whole town knows by now.”
Veronica bit her lip. Turning back to the sink, she filled the coffee pot and set it on the burner. “I hope he looks worse.”
Caith chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you. He got the better of me.”
Still gnaw
ing on her lip, she looked at him worriedly. “Are you…are you feeling all right? You look tired, Caith.”
“That’s Merlin’s fault.” Moving closer, he leaned against the counter, facing her. “He bailed me out of the jam with McClure, then kept me up talking all night. We had twelve years of catching up to do.”
Veronica grinned. Her wizard had turned into a white knight. Suddenly, her anger seemed childish considering Merlin and Caith had put twelve years of differences behind them. Her two childhood friends were acting like brothers again. “I’m happy to hear that.” She couldn’t mask the enthusiasm in her voice.
Caith reached forward, tentatively stroking her arm. “Does that mean I can kiss you?”
Her smile faltered. He was already under her skin. Before she could gather her wits to reply, he tugged her forward, gently pressing his mouth to hers. Her lips opened instinctively, inviting greater intimacy.
He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, his hand rising to cup her neck. She wanted to melt, to surrender to the heat and possessive warmth rolling from his body. The touch of his lips was deliberate, as if he sought to mark her as his own with every slow, seductive movement of his mouth.
When the kiss ended, she leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I missed you.” The truth brought a tight knot to her belly. If she missed him so dreadfully after a single day apart, how would she cope when he returned to Boston? When he finally told her it’s been nice, keep in touch, maybe we’ll do lunch some day?
Caith stroked a hand down her back, pressing his lips to her hair. “Derry said you read him a story last night.”
