Boy was that the truth, Nathan thought.
Once the warden left, Nathan scooted two seats together, then slung an arm over the back of her chair. “At some point will you teach me how you did your IDs?”
“Trade secret.” Laurel crossed her legs, her bouncing foot the first sign of nerves he’d seen today.
“Since when is a portable printer and laminating machine a trade secret?” He leaned over, pressed his lips close to her ear and, smiling as he felt her shiver, whispered, “I have to admit, my curiosity is killing me. Thinking of my father involved with a career criminal isn’t something that’s been easy to get used to.”
“Just proves you never know what secrets people live with.” The arch of Laurel’s brow and questioning look in her oddly blue eyes tied a new knot of unease in Nathan’s gut. Sometimes it felt as if she was dissecting him without him even realizing he was on the table. What did she see when she looked at him? “Then again, it’s not as if you or anyone in your family is some kind of criminal mastermind.”
Nathan bit the inside of his cheek and focused his attention on the door at the end of the room. “I have a feeling the next few minutes are going to shine a light on a lot of things about my father neither one of us could imagine.” Nathan clenched his fist. After the last couple of years as Nemesis, Nathan had gained insights he couldn’t have fathomed before. He should have realized, given how easily Jackson fell into the thieving mindset, something more was going on. As if he could have guessed at his father’s past. Hopefully Mac would fill in some if not most of those blanks Jackson hadn’t seemed inclined to share. No doubt Jackson was hoping for the same thing. Hearing the truth from a more objective third party made the truth a bit more palatable. For all of them.
Nathan angled his gaze up and to the right. “Just remember, this place might be low security, but they still have cameras.”
“I learned my camera lesson years ago.” Laurel turned her face to his. Given their guarded surroundings and pseudo-illegal intentions, the last thing Nathan should be considering at the moment was kissing her again, but the more time he spent with her, the more he thought about it—and more. Laurel was right. Sleeping together would definitely complicate matters, but the more Nathan pondered the idea, the more he realized he would happily “complicate” things between them. Especially if it meant convincing her she wasn’t nearly as alone as she believed.
“Stop looking at me that way,” Laurel whispered with more than a twinkle in her eye. “Work now, play later.”
“You don’t play fair.” He settled for cupping her shoulder in his palm and squeezing.
“No,” Laurel said. “I don’t.”
Given what he’d read about Mac Price, con man extraordinaire, Nathan wasn’t sure what to expect, but the burly man with slicked-back grey hair and a round, welcoming face who walked through the reinforced door wasn’t it. Put him in a suit and stand him beside his father, he’d think this guy had just walked off Wall Street, given the distinguished vibe he was giving off.
He pinned Nathan with a long stare before, after a few moments, Mac held out his thick hand, the wide smile exposing perfectly straight white teeth. “Mr. Kirkpatrick. Miss Richards. Lovely to meet you. Thanks, Jimmy,” Mac said to the guard, a young Hispanic man who looked as if he’d been in a few brawls. “How much time do we have?”
“Thirty minutes give or take. I’ll give you a heads-up.” Mac’s escort left the room and stood on the other side, giving them almost complete privacy. Mac pulled out his chair and lowered his bulk into it. When Laurel opened her mouth, Mac lifted his right index finger barely an inch and shook his head.
Nathan glanced over to see Laurel’s mouth snap shut, then followed Mac’s gaze up to the surveillance camera. The red light blinked off.
“Friends in high places,” Mac said. “Delayed routine maintenance on the camera system. Smart of you to send your pictures to the warden so he’d show them to me.” Mac leaned back and crossed his arms over his expansive chest. “I’d recognize you anywhere, Nathan. How are your sisters doing? Last I heard Sheila got married to that computer guy, what’s his name? Malcolm Oliver?”
“That’s him.” Nathan blinked. Mac’s nonchalant reaction to their visit was clouding his already foggy brain. That said, small talk was part of the game. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t anxious to get things going. All the same, he was willing to follow Mac’s lead. “Morgan’s getting married next year. To a former cop.”
“A cop?” Mac shook his head. “That’s karma for you. Can’t believe I’ve lost almost two years now. Last time I saw all of you was your mama’s funeral.” A slight Southern drawl tinged the edges of his words as he danced between topics. “That Catherine was a lovely woman. Loved your Dad to the end of the earth and back. Absolutely devastated him when you all lost her.”
“You knew my mother?” The fact Mac was at the funeral, now that was something he didn’t expect to hear. What other mysteries of his life was he going to learn about today?
“Son, your Dad and I go back nearly to the cradle. Thick as thieves we were, so to speak, mind you.” He grinned. “But I’m being rude. You are a new face to me, young lady. Heather, isn’t it? Mac Price. Welcome to my humble abode. Such as it is.” He reached out his hand.
“It’s Laurel, actually. Laurel Scott. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Price.” Her voice wobbled just a touch.
“She’s a fan.” Nathan grinned as Laurel kicked him under the table. “The two of you have a lot in common.”
“Do we now?” Mac turned those laser eyes back to Nathan. “And it’s Mac, please. Is what you’ve heard about me the reason for this surprise visit? Not that I mind some visitors now and then, but seeing as I haven’t had anything to do with any bond forgeries lately . . .”
“Jackson mentioned you have a family,” Laurel said before Nathan could respond.
“Four kids.” Pride, along with caution, shone in his eyes. “All adopted. My wife Merry, she passed on about fifteen years ago now, wanted a houseful and when it didn’t happen, she opened the door and in they came.”
“Sounds like Morgan,” Nathan said. “She’s got a full house herself.”
“And this cop of hers is going to marry her?” Admiration shone in his lively eyes. “Huh. Might be able to look past that law enforcement issue after all. Nothing like kids. I got two of each and they’re the lights of my life. Not that I see them much these days. I don’t like exposing them to certain elements, if you get my meaning.”
“I do. Dad said to mention Rylan’s been a great help to him.”
“No one’s more reliable than Rylan. If you see that son of mine, tell him my grandpa clock is ticking big time. About time for him to start thinking about settling down.”
“You need to meet Morgan’s soon-to be mother-in-law,” Laurel said with a low chuckle. “The two of you have a lot in common.”
“Yeah, well, I can say that about my boy. Not to Cat, mind you. That’d be my oldest girl. Attitude and claws to spare, but stuck in my heart the second she landed on my doorstep. It’s interesting. I see the same edge in your eyes Cat has in hers. I’m betting you and she would get along great. She has a penchant for disguises as well.” Laurel’s scowl deepened and Nathan gave Mac credit for sizing Laurel up so well so fast.
“Are they, your kids,” Laurel clarified at Mac’s questioning look. “Are they all okay? Safe?” Comprehension slid over Mac’s face. “Last I heard. I’ll be sure to check in with them at my earliest convenience.”
“Please do,” Laurel said and plunged in before Nathan could broach the subject. “Alastair Manville’s surfaced.”
“Shit.” Mac leaned his forearms on the table as his voice dipped. “I was afraid of that. That cockroach never knew when to stay under his rock. But that explains why it’s you two and not my oldest friend sitting across from me right now. Tell me what you know.”
It didn’t cross Nathan’s mind to lie, or even hesitate. Hearing his father speak about Mac hadn’t convinced Nathan the convicted felon could be trusted, but Nathan’s doubt vanished under the vehemence of Mac’s command.
“Dad’s in trouble.”
“The Crown of Serpia,” Laurel supplied and glanced at Nathan when Mac’s eyes went wide. “Alastair Manville had it stolen in Lantano Valley last month and framed Jackson for it.”
“Sounds like Alastair’s style. He never was one to come at an enemy head-on.” Mac’s gaze went pinprick sharp. “The crown, huh? Makes sense since that’s what put him in prison forty years ago.”
Nathan tapped restless fingers against Laurel’s shoulder as he followed her lead and tried not to move his lips any more than necessary when she spoke. “Dad said Alastair went to prison because of him.”
Mac shook his head. “Alastair went to prison because he was careless, but given your father’s inflated sense of responsibility, it doesn’t surprise me he thinks that.”
“So that’s why Alastair hates him so much,” Laurel said.
“First off, Alastair Manville is bat-crap crazy. If he hadn’t focused on your father, he would have found someone else. Alastair doesn’t like to lose and from the second they met, it was one bet, one competition after another. Who could score the biggest haul, who could sell something for the most money. You get the idea. Alastair was never one for personal growth, but when it came to bragging rights and monetary success, don’t get in his way. Your father, on the other hand.” Mac shrugged. “Let’s just say, unlike most of us, Jackson wasn’t in the game for monetary gain. Not to mention Jackson never sees the bad in people until it’s too late. Case in point.” He held up his hands.
“You all worked together,” Nathan said. “You, Dad, and Manville.”
Mac nodded. “I guess you could say that. But while bringing Alastair into our little enterprise might have been your father’s idea, Alastair found his way to prison all on his own. Your father and Alastair bonded over a mutual love of history and artifacts, but it only ended up fueling Alastair’s animosity. Treasure to me is what you can hold in your hand and sell, not something you dream about owning and keeping to yourself. But let me backtrack. Your father and I had been working together for about six months, redistributing the wealth, if you get my meaning?”
“I do.” Nathan tried to ignore the flash of confusion on Laurel’s face. There were some things he wasn’t willing to come clean with her about just yet, including Nemesis. Not until he was certain she wouldn’t use it against them.
“Well, your father upped the stakes and set his sights on this exhibit at a private museum in San Francisco that was being protested by a group of Native Americans. They claimed the museum’s sponsors and representatives had stolen priceless artifacts from their land and were demanding the entire collection be returned. Beautiful headdresses and masks, jewelry, pottery, you name it, this collection was going to put the museum on the map as far as high-end collectors went. Your Dad investigated and discovered the protestors were right; the pieces had been stolen, but no one outside the reservation was willing to do anything about it; not when that much money was involved. Your dad even went to the police to try to file a complaint, but he had no standing and they booted him out of the station. So”—Mac grinned and his gaze flitted to the camera—“we decided to take care of it ourselves. In doing so, Neme—”
“Wait.” Nathan jumped as Laurel slapped her hands on the table. “Are you talking about the Cassam heist back in ’75?” Nathan could practically hear the wheels grinding in her head. “Those pieces were never found.”
“Sure they were,” Mac said, with the barest hint of offense. “By the people who mattered. Once those items were back on Native American land where they belonged, the museum couldn’t very well say they’d been stolen, especially since they couldn’t prove where they’d come from in the first place. Besides, the tribal elders had no idea who returned them. They just”—Mac snapped his fingers— “appeared.”
“Jackson returned them to the tribe?” Laurel’s expression flashed from confused to surprised to skeptical in the time it took Nathan to count to five. “You didn’t try to sell them?”
“Even if I’d wanted to, Jackson wouldn’t have allowed it. Besides”—Mac sighed—“there wasn’t a high street value and profit wasn’t the point. It was never the point for Jackson. He was always about doing the right thing. Me? I was more of a money man myself, certainly not the avenger his father was, which was why he chose the moniker he did. Until that night, we assumed Alastair was on board with our plans to retrieve the Native American collection, but he was only using us to gain access to the museum so he could get his hands on what he really wanted. A new batch of maps from the Serpian digs.”
“1975,” Laurel said as if the date meant something to her. “That’s about the time the archaeological dig for the Serpians was getting going over in Europe. There were a number of students from the Bay Area involved in the excavation. So these new maps had to do with the Serpian Trail?” Laurel asked.
“That’s what blind faith can do. Make you believe anything and everything that comes out of the ether. Let this be a lesson for you. Spur of the moment bets, ego, and alcohol do not mix. Jackson didn’t take Alastair’s ribbing seriously, but that didn’t stop him from goading Alastair whenever he got the chance. What came naturally for Jackson, Alastair had to work at and it ate at him. As Jackson’s focus shifted to the good we could do, Alastair became more determined to beat him. At everything. The night we, ah, relieved the museum of those aforementioned artifacts, Alastair had other plans. Sorry, Nathan, but your dad was never known for having a light foot. Jackson tripped the alarm sooner than expected and while he and I managed to get out before the police arrived, they caught Alastair breaking out of the map room’s transom. By the time your dad got back from delivering the collection to the tribe, Alastair had pled down and taken ten to fifteen for breaking and entering. Case closed.”
“That seems harsh,” Laurel said.
“Yeah, well, Alastair had himself a bit of a record going back to when he crawled out of the womb, so the judge didn’t take kindly to his gallivanting around a hoity-toity museum in the city by the bay. The city had been trying to build up its reputation for the wealthy art crowd and a break-in and theft, even in the Presidio, certainly wasn’t going to earn them any positive reviews. Alastair was made an example of. In the meantime, I was able to finagle myself into the museum—this was prior to CSI and anything remotely forensic for investigations, mind you—and asked one of the workers if anything had been disturbed. They couldn’t be sure, but a nice young woman told me they’d received a new set of maps the week before, but they hadn’t been catalogued yet. There was a notation in the records that one map was estimated to be from the 1300s with rumored Serpian installments throughout Europe, but they never found one when they searched. From then on, anytime I’ve heard the Serpian collection talked about, the name Alastair Manville hasn’t been far behind, even while he was locked up. He got out of prison in six years, but he built up a reputation in there as a ruthless son of a bitch in the meantime. Rumor has it his obsession with the treasure and especially the crown only got worse. Almost as if putting the collection back together could change what had happened to him. When Alastair got out of prison, he all but vanished and became one of those ghosts you hope you never encounter. By then your father and I had parted ways. Jackson went straight, got married, then you kids starting arriving and well”—Mac shrugged—“I’m guessing all thoughts of Manville and what happened just faded away. Until your mother died. You know what happened then, what your father started up again. Funny how life comes full circle.”
Nathan kept his expression blank as Laurel’s gaze shifted to him. “We think Manville’s in San Francisco. Does that match what you’ve heard?”
Mac nodded. “A couple of y
ears ago, I started hearing Alastair’s name pop up in relation to some expanding company.” Mac tapped the side of his head. “Selective . . . No. SylEctus. Yeah, that’s the name. Apparently he and the CEO are like this.” He crossed two fingers. “But I can see this isn’t news to you.” He waggled a finger between them. “You two need to work on your tells.”
“You’re the second person to tell me that.” Laurel aimed a look at Nathan. “I work for TransUnited, the insurance company that holds the policy on the crown.” Laurel told him.
Mac leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you now? I bet you have all sorts of interesting information at your fingertips.”
“According to their records, SylEctus is the owner of the crown. If what you said before is true, if Alastair isn’t one to come at someone head-on, it would make sense he’d use this group as a buffer, a shield.”
“Doesn’t explain why he set my father up for stealing it,” Nathan said.
“The why is the reason I sent an S.O.S. to your father through Rylan. Listen to me, Nathan.” Now it was Mac who leaned forward, his voice dropping another octave. “All this time, we assumed Alastair’s issues revolved around the crown and taking the fall for Jackson’s planned break-in, but I’ve recently learned otherwise. When Alastair was arrested, he was married with a young son. His son died in a fire a few months before Alastair was released, but his wife committed suicide before he got home; drove herself into a pylon on the freeway on her way home from the cemetery. As far as Alastair is concerned, if it wasn’t for your father, he’d have been around for them and they’d be alive. Therefore . . .”
“This isn’t about the crown at all. Alastair blames Jackson for the loss of his family.” Laurel said. “That certainly explains his obsession. And the photos.”
“What photos?” Mac asked. Even without moving Nathan sensed the tension in the man’s body.
“Jackson started receiving photographs of his kids and grandkids. We, um.” She glanced at Nathan. “We caught a couple of guys taking pictures from a van on Saturday.”
Trouble with Nathan Page 23
