Trouble with Nathan

by Anna J. Stewart

  Tears burned the back of her throat. Her own little girl, perhaps a year, maybe two, younger than the pseudo superhero who had come soaring down the path to protect her uncle from the attacks of sword-wielding rapscallions.

  Kelley—a foster child no less—made her heart hurt. So precious, so happy. So . . . wanted. The adoration in her enormous blue eyes as she’d leaped into Nathan’s arms. How many years had Laurel dreamed of finding that perfect family, of having aunts and uncles and brothers and sisters, of knowing she was loved? Having someone to protect her and comfort her. Instead she’d made her way through the system alone and survived disappointment after disappointment until she realized the truth: she couldn’t rely on anyone other than herself. With one exception.

  Laurel picked up her phone and flipped through her pictures until she found the decade-old image of her and Henry “Poppy” Poppington. Her onetime foster father had always been there for her, even when she’d screwed up, which was frequently. He’d never once berated her, never once turned away. That he’d agreed to care for Joey while Laurel worked had saved her sanity. Knowing her daughter was safe, secure, and loved was all that mattered. But as far as Poppy knew she worked for TransUnited. The fewer people who knew about her connection to Alastair Manville the better—for all of them.

  How many people’s futures would she have to sacrifice to ensure hers and Joey’s? She let the realization wash over her and sink in, but stopped short of dwelling. She couldn’t. Not if she wanted to keep her sanity.

  “What a mess you’ve gotten into.” She clicked her phone off, unable to withstand Poppy’s photographic and knowing stare any longer. He’d be so ashamed if he knew the truth, so disappointed. And disappointment was one thing Laurel never wanted to see in Poppy’s eyes.

  Block it out. She had to find a way to block it out and focus. Everything was lining up; everything was where she needed it to be. She had Nathan Tremayne on the hook.

  Now it was time to reel him in.

  ***

  “I appreciate the information, Rick, thanks,” Nathan said, wishing the phone conversation had ended before Sheila walked into the kitchen. “Yeah, pretty cold way to go out, I agree. Have a good rest of your Sunday.” He clicked off and shoved his phone in his pocket.

  “Well that sounded positively dour.” Sheila strode over to the counter as Nathan resumed lining up a new cache of wine in the rack. “Fair warning, I plan on making a serious dent in Dad’s wine reserves before this evening is over. What’s up?”

  “What’s up with what?”

  “Who were you talking to? The last time I saw you looking this pale I believe a bottle of tequila and an unexpected trip to Tijuana were involved.”

  Nathan grinned, grateful for the distracting memory. “I think I’ve been banned south of the border. And I’ll tell you about the call later.” Until now, he’d come up empty in regards to his inquiries about the crown. Whatever his usual contacts had heard was steeped in rumor and innuendo, which was why he’d branched out and pushed a little deeper into the black market for stolen items of value. He hadn’t expected a lead to come from out of the LA’s coroner’s office.

  “I thought we agreed no secrets,” Sheila said, aiming a daggerlike finger in the direction of his throat.

  “It’s not a secret. I’d just rather go into this with everyone in the room. Besides, when was the last time we had Sunday brunch as a family?” He meant it to be a teasing accusation, but a veil of sadness washed over his sister’s face as he answered his own question.

  Sunday brunch had been their mother’s tradition; one that had faded quickly after Catherine Tremayne’s death. These days, late-afternoon Nemesis meetings had taken its place.

  Nathan honestly didn’t want to dwell on what their mother would think about that.

  “Was this weekend deemed ‘screw the Tremaynes’?” Sheila pointed at a bottle of pinot in Nathan’s hand. “Did you see the undercover unit parked across the street? Are the police actually keeping Dad under surveillance?”

  “It would seem so,” Nathan said. Damned inconvenient, too, especially now that he could use his father’s help with this new, albeit disturbing, lead. “Where’s Malcolm?” Nathan located a wine opener and popped open the bottle.

  “He took a detour to Dad’s study to make an offer on the house.” Sheila’s mouth twisted at the meager glass Nathan poured. “Seriously? Pour it like you mean it.”

  “Lush.”

  “Thief.”

  He chuckled and felt his spirits lift. “Forger.”

  “Aha!” Sheila snapped perfectly manicured fingers at him. “Reformed. I win.” She flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder and snagged the glass to sip. “Malcolm and I have a bet. He thinks you’ve got a solution to our Nemesis problem.” She sniffed, wrinkled her nose, and held out the glass. “Smells weird. Ugh. Never mind.” She pressed a hand against her stomach and headed for the fridge.

  “Malcolm’s always been an optimist.”

  “Shows how well you don’t know him,” Sheila said as she dragged out the iced green tea Nathan had made for Malcolm. “My money says things are about to get worse.”

  “I always bet on blood.” Nathan’s attempt at humor fell flat. The worried expression on his sister’s face was the last thing he wanted to see, especially after his conversation yesterday morning with Gage. “I’ll keep the wine handy.”

  Sheila pouted. “So who’s this mystery woman Morgan’s heard about?”

  Now it was Nathan who was ready to grab a bottle. “Gage has a big mouth.” But at least he was keeping quiet about other things. For now. “We’ll talk about Laurel later.”

  “Laurel?” Sheila’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “Well, well. Don’t tell me the immobile heart of Nathan Tremayne has finally been moved. Tired of one-night stands with . . . Good lord, just how long has it been since you had one of those?”

  “Just because you’ve found marital bliss, don’t go expecting the rest of us to fall in line.” Laurel Scott was useful, that was all. Anything else was just . . . distracting. And if Nathan got distracted, his family would suffer the consequences.

  “Oh! That reminds me.” Sheila pulled out her cell phone. “I need to let Liza know we have a meeting with the caterers on Monday afternoon. Trying to narrow them down to three before we bring Theresa into the mix.” Nathan knew his sisters were on countdown before they had to bring Gage’s mother into the next stage of wedding plans. Theresa Juliano definitely had her own ideas as to her eldest’s nuptials.

  “At least planning Morgan’s wedding gives you something else to focus on,” Nathan said.

  “You’d think having almost nine months would be in our favor. I mean, we could grow a human being in that time, but all those days mean Theresa has even more time to have her say. Thank God she has good taste.”

  Nathan would never voice his gratitude that Gage’s mother was providing ample distraction for both his sisters. He’d take help wherever he could get it. Between wedding plans and Malcolm’s upcoming cancer treatment, he wouldn’t have to worry about Sheila getting in the way of his plans—or getting hurt because of them. He was beginning to think insulating as many Tremaynes—and by extension the Julianos—from the Nemesis fallout was of foremost importance.

  “I swear, I don’t know what I’m going to do when Liza starts college next year,” Sheila muttered when her text was instantly replied to. “The way she and Gina have whipped the foundation offices into shape, we might just fall apart without them.”

  “Something tells me Gage’s sisters have a plan in place that will survive their leaving.” The youngest Juliano siblings, twin seventeen-year-olds, had been one of the bonuses of Gage Juliano’s inclusion into the Tremayne family. Besides being highly responsible, effective, and tenacious, they’d also managed to become honorary kid sisters . . . not that Gina or Liza would appreciate having y
et another big brother.

  “We need to finish this conversation in front of witnesses,” Malcolm Oliver said as he walked into the kitchen with Jackson right on his heels. “I didn’t think I’d want to murder my father-in-law until our first Thanksgiving together, yet here we are.”

  “While that would solve a number of problems.” Sheila swept between her husband of a month and her father. “What’s the problem, boys? Did you lowball him on the offer to buy this house?” Nathan saw Sheila slide her hand down Malcolm’s arm and entwine her fingers with his and felt a pang of envy for their connection.

  “He won’t take a damned dime,” Malcolm muttered.

  “I don’t take money from family.” Jackson aimed a look at Sheila as he walked around the massive center island and poured himself a glass of red. “Shouldn’t one of you be grilling meat by now? I turned the grill on ages ago.” He pointed toward the backyard. “Besides, I should have thought about offering the house to you as a wedding present. Might have if I’d had some warning that event was going to take place.” He aimed a pointed look at Malcolm who had surprised everyone—the bride included—with the wedding of her dreams.

  “You had as much warning as anyone else,” Malcolm countered. “Ouch!” He flinched as Sheila punched him on the arm. “Okay, maybe not everyone else. Really? I’m sick and you’re punching me?”

  “Play the cancer card again. I dare you.” Sheila rubbed her hand over where she’d hit him before pressing her lips against his arm. “Dad, we have to be honest. It’s not the house we want.”

  “It’s not?” Nathan asked.

  “It’s the garden.” Malcolm looked out the French doors into the endless green and firecracker bright colors. “We can’t bear the thought of anyone else tending to Catherine’s roses.”

  “Oh, man.” Nathan said, feeling his own heart pinch at his friend’s sentimentality over Catherine Tremayne’s pride and joy. “She’s turned you into a romantic sap.”

  “Hey, he’s my sap.” Sheila leaned against Malcolm.

  “Yeah, see, you never should have said that,” Jackson sighed. After a long moment of looking at the newlyweds with an expression Nathan had never seen before, nor could he identify, he added, “Dammit. I’ll be right back.” He pulled out his phone as he left the kitchen. A few seconds later the front door slammed.

  “Now will you tell us why we’re having an emergency family meeting?” The worry was back on Sheila’s face.

  “Dad’s the one who suggested it, so I’ll let him take the lead when he’s ready. But we’d better get to it before Veronica gets here.” Given Gage’s revelation about his and Morgan’s pending adoption, he wanted Veronica Harrison’s legal input.

  “Not cool calling her into this,” Malcolm said, and Nathan heard the same steel edge in his voice he’d heard in Gage’s. Not surprising considering Veronica was Malcolm’s best friend and right hand. “She did you a solid getting Jackson out of questioning, but don’t push it, Nathan. She was in a dark place back when she was a criminal defense attorney. Do not shove her back into that world.”

  “I understand, believe me. She let me have it with both barrels when I asked.” Yet another reminder people were bound to get hurt before whatever this was was over, but he couldn’t let those concerns derail the progress he was making. “Veronica’s the only one we can trust with what’s really going on.”

  “What is going on?” Sheila said. “Bad enough Dad’s keeping secrets from us, now you are, too?”

  “As soon as Dad’s back, we’ll sit down and—”

  The front door slammed.

  “Man, I wish I had that superpower.” Malcolm accepted the tea Nathan passed him before he backed away from a determined Jackson.

  “What’s that?”

  Jackson shoved the enormous wooden For Sale sign into Malcolm’s hand. “I’ve called the agent and taken the house off the market. Happy wedding.”

  “Dad—”

  “Jackson—”

  Sheila and Malcolm spoke at the same time, only to be silenced with one furious look from the senior Tremayne. “This is my house. Correction.” He closed his eyes and took a calming breath. “This was your mother’s house and I’m not taking a penny from either of you for it.” He placed a hand on each of their shoulders, then, inclining his head, his brow furrowed as he lifted his hands and touched both their cheeks. “You fill this house with love and happiness and God willing, children. I want laughter again. And family and hope. It’s the only payment I’ll accept, understood?”

  “Daddy,” Sheila whispered, tears forming in her eyes as she caught his wrist in her hand. “Thank you.”

  Nathan couldn’t remember a time when he’d been more impressed or more terrified by his father’s actions. The sudden meeting made sense now. Jackson was putting the pieces in place in case things went very, very wrong. He’d already taken a leave of absence from Tremayne Investments and Securities, now the house. The only thing Nathan could do to ease his father of the rest of his burden was to clear his name once and for all. He wouldn’t stumble. He couldn’t. Not when his entire family’s future was at stake.

  “We’re settled then?” Jackson said, this time to Malcolm, who looked as choked up as Sheila, or maybe it was shock. Given his difficult family history, Malcolm wasn’t overly familiar with generosity or even kindness. “And enough of this Jackson thing,” their father continued. “It’s Dad. You’re part of the family now. It’s time you accepted that.”

  “Yeah,” Malcolm said with a short nod. “Yes, sir. Dad.” Jackson patted his cheek, a little too hard to Nathan’s mind, which was a good thing. “Good. Now.” He swung on Nathan. “Let’s get this meeting under way.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nathan echoed. “Better bring the wine.”

  ***

  Laurel stuck the wooden chopsticks into the take-out box of vegetable chow mein and pushed her reading glasses higher up her nose.

  Ensconced in her hotel room, her laptop stared back at her, displaying unending articles about the Tremayne family, the investment firm, the Tremayne Foundation, and the Pediatric Cancer Treatment Center that had its unofficial opening a few weeks ago. She might have to wing things where Nathan Tremayne was concerned, but she didn’t want any other surprises. As with most things in life, knowledge was power, and Laurel was tired of not wielding any. That changed. Today. Whatever Alastair had planned for the Tremaynes, and Jackson Tremayne in particular, she wanted to be ready. Alastair might have thought he’d frightened her into compliance—and he had, for the last five years—but he’d also proven what she’d been too scared to realize before now—he had a weakness: Jackson Tremayne.

  As Joey had a slumber party and Poppy was bowling, she dined alone. Plucking up a crispy fried eggroll, she nibbled on the edge and sat back in her chair, tucking her feet under her as she looked at pages of scribbled notes.

  She knew the game, the con. She’d played it often enough over the years. Being prepared for any eventuality and any turn was a con’s greatest advantage. And while the Tremaynes were interesting and seemingly as crystal clean as a baccarat vase, there were cracks.

  And cracks, when enough pressure was applied, had a tendency to spread.

  The connections between the wealthy citizens of Lantano Valley, the police, and the politicians bordered on incestuous. Forget six degrees of separation. In some instances she’d been able to find three, two, even one degree . . . especially between Morgan Tremayne, chairwoman of the Tremayne Foundation, and the former lead investigator of the D.A.’s pet investigative unit, Gage Juliano.

  According to the papers of a few months back, there had been some speculation that the Tremayne Foundation had been one of the recipients of the ill-gotten gains of Nemesis’s pilfering of certain residents, but that had shifted more to rumor than actual fact. To the contrary, the FBI had publicly credited Morgan Tremayne and Nemesis in exposing
a local money-laundering ring run by the lawyer who had represented the leader of a ruthless drug cartel operating out of Florida.

  Then there was Sheila: middle child, former beauty pageant contestant, and recent bride of the “oh my God how lucky could one girl get” Malcolm Oliver, owner and founder of TechInter Network. Despite Malcolm’s recent leave of absence due to medical reasons, it was one of the most profitable tech companies on the stock exchange. Sheila worked as programs and events coordinator at the Tremayne Foundation when she wasn’t dabbling in the art world. Their spur-of-the-moment wedding at the aforementioned opening of the Cancer Treatment Center was still the talk of the town, enough so that since Laurel had arrived, she’d heard only good wishes amidst sighs of envy from both male and female commentators.

  Which brought her to Jackson Tremayne. Patriarch, widower, philanthropist, investment advisor to more than 80 percent of the residents of Lantano Valley, and, from Laurel’s point of view, mortal enemy of one Alastair Manville. She hadn’t found any connection to Alastair, which only raised more questions. From what Laurel had been able to find, and contrary to the load of BS Jackson’s lawyer had spewed, there was no hint of mental issues or erratic behavior that would explain why this distinguished pillar of the community would have anything to do with Nemesis, let alone confess to the criminal’s actions. Besides, Jackson might be in good shape, but given the physical agility it would take to commit the majority of Nemesis’s crimes, there was no way the sixty-year-old man could pull it off.

  “It’s as if they’re a family of unmasked avengers.” Laurel shook her head and attributed the headache pounding behind her eyes to the MSG while images of Morgan Tremayne and her foster kids rumbled uneasily through her mind.

  And then . . . there was Nathan. For a top-notch security expert with his own connections, he shouldn’t be so interested in her. Given his previous working relationship with the museum, it wouldn’t have taken more than a phone call to the curators to get him access to the Serpian display room. What was with the innocent act? Especially when his father’s sterling reputation was at stake?