Loving Deep: Steele Ridge Series

by Tracey Devlyn

  “Good morning, gentlemen.” Donovan approached a small cluster of casually, yet expensively dressed members. “I’d like to introduce you to Jonah Steele, of the famed Steele Survivor.” At the members’ blank stares, Donovan cleared his throat. “Mr. Steele is the former owner of Steele Trap Entertainment and the man who saved Canyon Ridge from financial collapse.”

  Mild interest transformed into avid, focused attention. The group consisted of the club’s president, three board members, and two regular members. Although they did not greet the brothers as effusively as Donovan, they left no room for misinterpretation of their welcome.

  “What brings you to Carolina Club?” President Jack Bennett asked.

  The president matched Jonah in coloring and height, however there was a toughness about him that bespoke military training.

  “My brother and I learned about your organization quite by accident,” Jonah said. “Intrigued, we decided to come investigate.”

  “I take it Mr. Donovan has given you the grand tour and answered all of your questions,” the president said.

  “Yes, he has.”

  “What did you discover, Mr. Steele?” Bennett asked.

  “The club is financially stable and operationally sound.”

  “Indeed, we are.”

  Britt released a slow breath. They had decided to stick to the truth as much as possible, but with Jonah, there were no guarantees of what would emerge from his mouth.

  “I’m curious about your display in the entry hall,” Britt said.

  “Oh?”

  “I noticed several endangered species.”

  “Ah, yes. Many of those specimens were harvested decades ago—well before the Endangered Species Act came into existence.”

  “Does that mean the club no longer supports hunts involving endangered species?”

  “There is plenty of game to be had without harvesting protected species.”

  “Yes, but that didn’t really answer my question.”

  The president’s smile dimmed. “As a general rule, no. However, on occasion, Carolina Club, along with many other similar clubs across the U.S., is invited by a foreign nation to bid on a permit to hunt an endangered species.”

  “How is that legal?” Jonah asked.

  “Because the foreign government is in need of revenue,” Britt said. “They sell permits to kill black rhinos, elephants, lions, leopards, whatever, to support their initiatives, conservation or otherwise.”

  “You are correct, Mr. Steele,” Bennett said. “Often to fund Rangers who protect the very species they’ve allowed to be harvested. Ironic, no?”

  “Doesn’t our government stop the hunters from bringing in an endangered species trophy?” Jonah asked.

  “Not if he has a valid permit,” Britt said.

  “That’s messed up,” Jonah said, dropping his refined disguise.

  No one could argue that simple fact.

  “You are both hunters?” a member with a short-trimmed beard and blunt, wide nose asked.

  “To varying degrees,” Britt said. “My brothers and I spent our childhood hunting and fishing all over Western North Carolina. However, over the last decade, we’ve been distracted by careers and family. Now that we’re all together again, we mean to get back to our roots. Hence our visit today.”

  “To approve membership without a sponsorship from a current member would be inconsistent with our past practices,” one of the board members said.

  “Yes,” Bennett said, “but if the Steeles prove acceptable, I don’t see that as a great obstacle.”

  An elegant, almost effeminate board member crossed one leg over the other, then flicked the ash off his slender cigar. Mild discontent kept his features just below neutral. “Canyon Ridge was lucky to have such a wealthy family in residence.”

  Jonah hitched his mouth into its cockiest, most confident smile. “Couldn’t agree more.”

  “I hear that the residents are less than pleased about the town’s name change. Arrogant, many say.”

  “What would you rather endure?” Jonah asked. “A name change or taxes so stiff you’d be forced to move away?”

  “A tax hike wouldn’t disturb my pocketbook.” The board member stared at the glowing end of his cigar. “A more altruistic person would’ve saved the town without the additional turmoil.”

  “Ah, but I’m not altruistic in the slightest. I’m a businessman.”

  Britt could not have been more proud of his baby brother. He played the part of arrogant, confident rich guy to a T. If he hadn’t known Jonah, he would be equal parts in awe of and disgusted by him. But no one in this room knew about Jonah’s penchant for giving a good portion of his fortune to charities every year, or of his fondness for handing out hundred-dollar bills to kids on the street and vagrants huddled under tattered blankets.

  “I understand we might be neighbors soon,” Britt probed.

  “Oh?” The president glanced at the other board members. “What do you mean, Mr. Steele?”

  “The Shepherd property.”

  “A magnificent piece of land. One of our members spotted a twelve-point buck at the edge of the woods a few months ago.” His voice lowered. “Such a shame about Barbara Shepherd. Although she and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye on wildlife conservation, I respected her a great deal.”

  “Do you have plans for the property?”

  “Hunting, of course. Our members like to have a variety of locations in which to test their skills.” The president focused on something beyond Britt’s shoulder. “According to our finance director, we should have the daughter’s acceptance of our offer later today.”

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” a smooth voice interrupted.

  A vaguely familiar gentleman with a small entourage stood a few paces behind Britt. He wore the sickening smile one reserved for hosts who failed to pick up their dog’s crap before an outdoor party. What did these men do for a living? They all either owned their own businesses or lived off their family’s wealth. Britt would have to work Saturday and possibly Sunday to make up for today’s escapade.

  “I hope we’re not interrupting an important meeting.”

  “A potential member,” the president said, his tone stiffening. “Jonah and Britt Steele, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Norwood, our director of finance, board member Mr. Ferguson, and members Mr. Ito, Mr. Taylor, and Mr. Watters.”

  Murmurs and nods followed the introductions. The two groups of men stayed as they were. No comingling, no guy quips, no backslaps. Nothing but an uncomfortable though civilized standoff.

  That was when Britt put a face with a face. He’d seen Norwood at Randi’s bar a few days ago with Superman. A puzzle piece slid into place.

  “You’ve made quite a name for yourself in Canyon Ridge,” Norwood quipped, eliciting chuckles from his entourage. “What does it feel like to have a town named after you?”

  “Too late to the pun, Norwood,” Jonah said, boredom lacing his words. “That ground has already been covered by your board member.”

  “We were just discussing the Shepherd property,” Britt said, watching the man.

  Norwood’s keen gaze scanned the president’s and the other members’ faces. “How so?”

  “President Bennett mentioned the club’s looking to purchase the land to add to its hunting acreage.”

  “No need to worry, Mr. Steele. Our members will learn the boundaries in short order so as not to step onto the Steele Conservation Area.”

  “We have measures in place, so we don’t have to worry about such trespassing.” Somehow Britt didn’t think their reputation would be shield enough to protect them from members of this group, but he enjoyed a good bluff. “But I am curious about the club’s decision to purchase such a large tract of land, especially for the price tag. Besides twelve-point bucks, do you have another compelling reason for the purchase?”

  “Carolina Club is membered by gentlemen with a great deal of wealth and time. If we elect to spend millions of
dollars for the privilege of harvesting a sizable buck, we can do so without a moment’s concern.” Norwood’s assessing gaze steadied on Britt. “Your family’s wealth is new. It’ll take a while to erase your blue-collar mentality.”

  “Interesting perspective,” Jonah mused. “I assumed the club catered to intelligent businessmen, not spoiled playboys.”

  “Your original assessment is correct, Mr. Steele,” the president said. “Not all the membership’s philosophies are aligned with Mr. Norwood’s. Our interest in the Shepherd property is because land is always a good investment and because we want to expand our holdings in the area.”

  Something very close to hatred entered Norwood’s eyes as he gazed at the club’s president. “I’ll leave you to your invigorating discussion.”

  “Any word from Miss Shepherd?” the president asked.

  “I’ll have more to report later today. Gaviston has a meeting scheduled at three o’clock.” Norwood pivoted, slicing down the middle of his entourage to head back inside.

  An awkward silence fell over the veranda as Norwood’s group left.

  “I gather all is not rosy in the Carolina Club?” Leave it to Jonah to stir things up.

  It took a second for the president to tear his attention away from Norwood’s disappearing back. “My apologies, Mr. Steele. The club offers entertainment, skill challenges, and camaraderie like any social organization—to varying degrees.”

  He didn’t expound on his meaning, though it didn’t take a PhD to read between the lines. Not everyone got along. Just like high school, but on a much larger, more expensive playground.

  “We have taken up enough of your time,” Britt said.

  “Do let us know if you’re still interested in joining us. I’ll find you a sponsor.”

  Jonah held out his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Bennett.”

  Britt and Jonah didn’t say another word until they closed their car doors.

  “Well?” Jonah asked. “Did you get what you wanted?”

  “Yes and no.” Britt set the vehicle in motion. “As I suspected, they’re a hunting club. A very different type of wildlife conservation than what their attorney portrayed to Randi.”

  “Some states use culling as a wildlife management method.”

  “When populations are far greater than is healthy for the animals or when disease, such as chronic wasting disease, is creeping toward uninfected populations, culling can be a powerful tool—for the welfare of the whole.” Britt rubbed the back of his neck. “But clubs like the one we just left only care about preserving animal populations in order to ensure their next kill.”

  “Don’t you still hunt?”

  “One deer each winter.”

  “So what makes you different from them?”

  Britt gave his brother a quelling sidelong look. “What I shoot, I eat. I don’t display the heads of my kills on the walls of my home like some conquering hero. And I don’t keep a record book on the number and types of trophies I’ve taken.”

  “That last part. You think the Carolina Club does?”

  “I’d bet Old Blue on the fact that at least some of their members keep scorecards. Norwood and his cronies being at the top of the list.”

  “I’ve never seen you this worked up over an issue before.” Jonah stared at Britt’s profile for a good half mile. “You’ve trusted me this far. Why not share with me what’s really at stake here?”

  Britt recoiled at the notion of more people learning about the wolves. But given the current direction of things, the wolves didn’t have long to live in the sanctuary, anyway. So Britt filled his brother in on the research that he and Barbara had conducted, on the pups’ progress, and on the intricacies of the will. When he finished, Jonah sat silent, pensive.

  Then Jonah said, “I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”

  15

  After Randi left Britt’s cabin that morning, the minutes had ticked by like a glacier’s slow advance across the Arctic Sea. Randi had glanced up at the clock above the recliner in her office so often that she started to get motion sickness.

  In a way, she couldn’t wait for three o’clock to come and go. She wanted to put this time in her life well behind her. The thought of her decision forcing the red wolves out of their home, after the struggle their species had endured, made her heart sad.

  If there were any other way to ensure their safety and save her business, she would do it. But she’d spent hours trying to conceive another plan, only to fall back on the Carolina Club’s offer. No way would she allow Britt to sink his entire savings and his personal possessions into the purchase of her property. She would never be able to live with herself. The guilt of knowing she’d saved her business but ruined Britt would haunt her forever.

  Thank goodness he hadn’t been able to gather the full amount. If he had, she would have been tempted to give him what he wanted, even with the consequences. The pain her refusal had caused him was almost as unbearable as the guilt she would now have to live with.

  Unable to tolerate the four walls of her office any longer, Randi ducked out the back door of Blues, Brews, and Books and made her way down the alley until it emptied into Mill Street. She hadn’t eaten much for breakfast and didn’t want anything now. But her blood sugar was already plummeting. Time to feed the machine.

  The sound of wind chimes reached her ear, and Randi read the display on her phone. Her aunt. Hitting the silent button, she dropped it back in her purse. Putting on the happy wasn’t in her repertoire at the moment.

  She found her Jeep, turned up the volume on her radio, and guided her vehicle eastward. Rather than stay downtown, she decided to take a drive and see where the road led. For the next however many minutes, she didn’t want to think about anything important. All she wanted to do was feel the bass, enjoy the melody, and sing out of tune.

  Ten minutes later, she spotted Serenity Cafe in a small strip mall. Perfect. Known for its excellent food and peaceful environment, the Thai-inspired restaurant catered to the more reflective, intellectual crowd. New Age instrumentals and sounds of the Orient streamed into the sconce-lit room. Private booths and cozy nooks dotted the space, creating productive workspaces for local businessmen and women and soothing, intimate corners for friends or lovers.

  Randi slid into one of the booths and regretted that she didn’t have her laptop with her. She could get more done in one hour here than in five hours at work, where her staff interrupted her concentration on a regular basis. She would swear that some of them had screw-with-Randi radar. No sooner would she get deep into entering figures in a spreadsheet than a knock would sound on her door.

  When the server came around, Randi ordered Tom Yum Goong, edamame, and ice-cold water. She’d been trying to drink more water, but the only way she could tolerate the stuff was by flooding it with ice.

  Looking for a distraction, she scanned the room. She loved people-watching. One would think she’d get enough of it at the bar or coffee shop, but no. Facial expressions, body language, clothing styles—they all told a story. She wondered if the story she read was anywhere near the truth.

  The gentleman in the booth behind her started talking. It only took a few seconds of listening to his one-way conversation and his shuffling of papers for her to realize he was using a Bluetooth device. Randi clenched her teeth, wondering how ticked off the server would be if she asked to be moved to a different table.

  The murmur of the guy’s conversation crystallized into individual words, phrases, sentences. Something in his voice—an inflection, an oddly pronounced word, something—caught her attention and held it. She lounged against the booth’s back cushion, placing herself closer to the stranger.

  Heat rolled up her throat while she eavesdropped on his conversation. The subject matter interested her not at all. It was his identity she was determined to ferret out. The more he spoke, the more certain she was that they’d met. By slow degrees, a name rose to the conscious part of her mind. She ran through the alphab
et letter by letter, trying to force the cobwebs from her memory.

  And just like that, the call ended. Any chance of locating his name disappeared. Randi blew out a breath of frustration. She ached to turn around and look at the guy, but the back of the booth rose at least two feet above her head. The much-needed privacy the cozy area afforded her moments ago, now seemed confining.

  “Here you are.” Her server set down a plate in front of her. “Tom Yum Goong soup and edamame.” The server glanced over the table. “Did no one bring out your ice water?”

  “Not yet,” Randi said in a low voice.

  “I’ll be back with that in two shakes. Need anything else?”

  Randi shook her head.

  With the guy quiet behind her, Randi spooned up a straw mushroom. Ginger, lemongrass, and chiles exploded in her mouth. She soon found out the knots in her stomach had masked a rather large appetite.

  Halfway through her soup, Bluetooth Guy’s phone rang.

  “Gaviston speaking.”

  Randi’s fork paused midway to her mouth, and her heart thunked against her chest. Surely not.

  “Not yet. My appointment’s at three o’clock.”

  She placed her fork beside her plate and leaned back. Her pulse careened through her veins like a caffeinated kid buzzing around the schoolyard.

  “I understand, sir. Trust me to win her over.”

  Keith Gaviston, attorney for Carolina Club. The voice, the name, the appointment time—there could be no doubt. Of all the freaking restaurants she could have gone to, she’d picked the one in all of Western North Carolina that Keith Gaviston frequented. The odds had to be Power Ball worthy.

  “Given her current situation,” Gaviston said, “she would be an idiot to pass up such a lucrative deal. No one else has the means to save her business. Miss Shepherd didn’t strike me as the unwise sort.”

  What the hell was going on? Britt and now Gaviston. How had they found out about her financial situation? Had somebody blogged about the investment scam online and named her? In today’s technology age, pretty much anything seemed possible. But how could they have found out about her? She had never come across anything that had listed the victims. And she’d looked. Hard.