“No. He did. Why? I’ve got the contract he signed right here if you need to see it.”
“Hmm.” That was obviously not the answer the AG expected. “Then why did Mayor Gaskin ask for your assistance in such a public forum? Why didn’t he just call or email you? Why the six o’clock news?”
Alex sat back in his chair. Until now he’d thought it was just another manipulation of Webster and the press.
“Who contacted you first? Gaskin or Webster?”
“Gaskin. Six o’clock news, just like you said.”
“Are you and he close?”
“No. He’s worked with my wife before on one of her Youth Outreach programs. I’ve met him at a couple dinners.”
“It looks odd, Alex. That’s all I’m saying. It seems to me the Mayor’s very public request forced Webster into hiring you whether he wanted to or not.”
Alex didn’t see that coming.
“Think about it. Once Gaskin went public, he boxed Webster into a nice, tidy trap. Webster had to hire you, or his buddies in the press would’ve eaten him alive. They would’ve dug into his side of the story, and he didn’t want that.”
“Interesting theory. Do you think Gaskin knew Webster was guilty of the White Hawk crime?”
“I don’t have any evidence. Like I said, it’s just a hunch, but the more I dig into this ugly business, the more questions I have. Gaskin may not have known everyone involved, but I think it smelled bad enough he had suspicions.”
“And you think he needed someone to rip the scab off without him getting his hands dirty.”
“Precisely. What you do best.”
Alex shrugged, but now it made him think. Did Gaskin know all along how deep this cover-up went? Did he intentionally force Webster into hiring The TEAM, hoping to open the Pandora’s box of a fifteen-year old crime? For that matter, was Gaskin involved in the cover-up?
He’d served three consecutive terms already, which meant he came to office shortly after the White Hawk case ended. Was Gaskin clever enough to sacrifice several police officers to save himself, and do it in such a way that he not only maintained his innocence, but nailed the real criminals in the process? It seemed like a lot for one man to accomplish.
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Branson asked.
“How deep will your investigation go?”
“That’s why I’m here. I’d like to hire a couple of your best.”
Epilogue
Sunday morning at the Armstrong household? Best day in the week.
But Taylor worried. Gracie had invited the world for her much planned-for housewarming of their lovely colonial. Until now, he’d lived the quiet life of a self-imposed recluse. Even the sweet addition of Gracie to his home hadn’t added the hubbub and uproar he fully expected would assault his sanctuary today. They’d worked hard to get the house finished. All it needed was the baptism of friends and family. And that was the problem.
He was a man apart who’d only recently let his walls down. Life with Gracie was everything he’d ever wanted, but a crowd of friends? Here? In his private lair? With their children running all over the place?
No freaking way.
Anxiety prickled up his spine until he couldn’t sit still. This might just be like the Huns storming Normandy. He needed a moat. Maybe a few crocodiles. A trebuchet. Definitely archers.
Harley and his wife Judy were the first to arrive, and Taylor immediately understood why she hadn’t shown up the night Alex dragged him home for a picnic. The redheaded woman was imminently pregnant with twins, her poor belly stretched too large for the housewarming she seemed determined not to miss.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just point me to a comfy chair and I’ll be fine,” she advised the moment she waddled in with her hand at her lower back. “It’s not like I’m going to pop just because I’m pregnant. Heaven’s sake, they’re twins, not watermelons.”
Harley smirked. “Yeah, but if she does pop, we’ll christen this place by having our firstborn sons here.”
“Hey. I’m not a ship,” she scolded, and Taylor smiled. There was that look of love again amidst the teasing banter of husband and wife. He brought extra pillows to cushion Judy’s back while Gracie poured tall glasses of sweet tea all around.
The guests kept coming. Alex and Kelsey arrived with a huge picnic basket filled with deli-meats, several bottles of wine and various cheeses.
“Hey, Boss.”
Alex nodded back, his arms full of the bulky gift. “Where do you want this?”
Taylor and Alex stepped into the kitchen to stow the basket while Gracie and Kelsey chatted with Judy. Taylor watched his boss’s sharp eye take in the restored woodwork of the recently completed colonial. Apprehension prickled. Alex knew wood. His opinion mattered. A lot.
The compliment came in an offhanded remark. “This is exactly what I want to build for Kelsey,” Alex muttered more to himself, his palm smoothing over the wide bay window ledge that overlooked the backyard. “This is precisely what she deserves.”
Taylor grinned.
Alex caught him looking. “Looks like a lot of work, son,” he said gruffly.
“It was. It’s gone a lot quicker now that I’ve got help.” He nodded back at Gracie, standing at the wide-open front door while five little girls raced around Mark, Libby, Zack, and his wife, Mei. The girls took one look at the gleaming walnut banister and headed upstairs.
“You’ve done a good job,” Alex said with a clap to Taylor’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Boss.”
The moment struck Taylor harder than he expected. Alex sounded more like his father than his father. The world had changed. Yes, he had a good-sized scar under his right collarbone, but for the first time in his life, he had family. Dysfunctional at times maybe. A full twelve inches on the side of crazy passionate? Sometimes. But his? Always.
The noise level escalated as the girls shrieked from the staircase. It was LiLi, Zack and Mei’s oldest daughter, who’d decided the freshly polished banister was fair game. With a flounce of her plaid skirt over her black stockinged legs, she slid the entire length amidst excited squeals and giggles of her would-be cohorts.
Mark’s daughter, JayJay, stood clapping with Zack’s youngest girls, Song and Miki, at her side. Fortunately, Mark’s youngest, Faith, was still too small to participate. She watched the outrageous game from Libby’s lap, clapping and giggling with delight.
Zack and Mark put a quick stop to the banister thrill ride, but not until Taylor caught Gracie’s wide smile at the kids’ adventure. She winked at him across the crowded room, and just like that, his consternation dissipated. If Gracie didn’t mind kids tearing around the place, neither did he.
A knock at the front door quieted everyone. There stood Peter White Hawk with his sons, Luke and Matthew, at his side. Trina and Ryder peeked timidly around Luke. Taylor winked at the kid. They’d had their heartfelt discussion about why they shouldn’t ever shoot each other again. Ryder was forgiven and Taylor was learning a few things about archery. The police accepted his statement that the shot was an accident. It was. Kind of. But best of all, Ryder was now inside the White Hawk inner circle where he belonged.
Harley took over host duties and welcomed the stern-faced men inside.
Grandfather raised a brown paper bag over his head. “I brought smoked turkey,” he said solemnly. “Just as our forefathers brought to the first white man many moons ago.”
Luke raised another bag. “I brought smoked venison,” he said just as seriously. “And corn on the cob to be grilled at Taylor’s hand.”
Matthew followed suit, but the second he raised his gift for all to see, his face expanded into a huge smile. “And I brought smoked beer. Want some?”
Harley hooted. “You’re my kinda folks. Bring it on in.”
Taylor gave his grandfather a welcome hug, but before they had a chance to chat, Alex snagged him and the two old Marines convened to the solitude of Taylor’s recently landscaped
backyard.
David Tao arrived next with his wife, Nancy, and their five children. Rory and Ember Dennison, Connor and Izza Maher, and Gabe Cartwright showed up at the same time, and suddenly there was a little boy amidst all the girls.
Rory and Ember’s five-year-old son, Tyler, eyed the banister. The decision played across his bright blue eyes. This masterpiece was meant to be an eye-catcher. Taylor never imagined every child who came through his front door would see it as a slide.
“Hey, Tyler.” Taylor scooped him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and headed upstairs. “You get one ride on my banister. You ready?”
“Yeah! I ready!” Tyler shouted in glee. “Watch me, Mama. Look at me!”
Taylor caught Rory’s disapproving glance and answered it with a shrug. What the heck? His children would be doing the same thing before long if he was lucky. Might as well break the banister in good and proper.
Everyone watched one happy little boy sail downstairs on his magic banister ride. When Rory caught him at ground level, Tyler looked back upstairs with bright, hopeful eyes. “Again?”
“No,” Rory answered. “Only one ride per customer, son. Go play with the girls.”
“Aww,” Tyler moaned, his eyes glued to Taylor. “Just one more?”
Rory lifted his left brow. “How do we act in public?”
“Just as good as we ’sposed to act at home,” the little guy grumbled, but after one squeal from the gaggle of little girls in the kitchen, he was off. “Bye, Daddy. I gotta go.”
Ember grinned. “You know you’ve just created a monster, don’t you?”
“Ah, it’s just one ride.” Taylor brushed their concern aside, reconsidering the moat idea. Instead of crocodiles, ducks and geese. The kids would love them.
“No, it’s not.” Rory said sternly. “One ride is never enough for a kid. Besides, David’s got five. Do they get a turn?”
David was already shaking his head, and right next to him, Connor gave him the same stern look. His daughter, Jamie, peered up the long banister from the safety of her father’s lap while Izza balanced one-year-old Braxton on her hip. Even he eyed the forbidden banister.
Taylor shrugged one shoulder. Okay, so maybe he had created a monster.
“Uncle Taylor,” LiLi shrieked from the kitchen. “Can I have another ride on the—”
“No.” Both Zack and Mei answered simultaneously. “Go play.”
So this is what families do.
“Okay, I get it.” Taylor held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry kids, no more banister rides.”
“Aw,” every child in the house whined at the same time.
“It’s a beautiful home.” Ember pointed upstairs. “Do you mind if we wander around?”
“Please do.” He turned to join Gracie, but there stood Mark and Libby at his elbow.
Mark nodded toward the front porch, the only quiet place left. He got right to the point. “So, you’re not selling this place?”
“No. Gracie and I decided to keep it. You like it, huh?”
Of course they did. Libby had been studying the kitchen since she’d arrived. She’d prowled all over the place. “I fell in love with it. I can’t tell you how many other homes we’ve looked at, but this place? The moment I stepped in the front door, this lovely old house spoke to me. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
“What’s your going rate?” Mark asked, a determined glint in his eye.
“My what?” Taylor outright laughed. “I don’t have a going rate. I’m not for hire, but if you two find an old relic you want to restore, I’ll be glad to give you a fair estimate. Will that do you?”
“Including a staircase like yours?” Mark asked.
“And a kitchen, too?” Libby added.
“I’ll do you one better.” Gracie slid her arm around his waist and joined the wheeling and dealing. “If Mark’ll help me with the heavy lifting, I’ll restore one that’s just like—yours.”
Libby scrunched her shoulders, her eyes bright blue with excitement. Mark and Taylor shook hands, and the deal was struck.
Taylor and Gracie wandered through the rooms of their very full home. Mei and Kelsey had the children calmed at the kitchen table and working studiously with some kind of dough Kelsey cooked on Gracie’s stove. Bright pink and yellow shapes filled a cookie sheet with masterpieces of monsters, necklaces, and hearts. A turtle. A rainbow-colored coiled snake. Taylor looked closer. Damn. These kids are good.
For the most part, Alex and Grandfather had circumvented the hubbub by retreating to the backyard, but now they stood in the room Taylor had turned into Gracie’s library. He and Gracie joined the men, closing the door behind them to keep the racket and the little ones out.
Grandfather stood before one of the pictures Gracie had hung between two tall bookcases. It was an enlarged oil painting of toddler Taylor with his proud Granpa Peter.
Another nearby picture captured Martha’s love for her infant son, the light in her eyes unmistakable as she cradled him in her arms. The artist had worked soft teals and gentle browns into the painting, and despite the fact that the baby was him, Taylor still thought it looked like the Madonna and Child. Martha’s look of utter love for the child in her arms couldn’t have shone brighter or more sacred.
He’d taken Gracie’s advice and set his hands to the work of love he hadn’t known he could do. He learned to carve. His first project commanded a small table in the center of the room. It was the bust of an Indian carved from the heart of a cedar, the extra hard wood created where branch joined trunk.
Of all the softer woods he could’ve chosen for a beginning project, the reds, browns and rusty siennas of the knotted cedar provided the most character. He’d nicked his thumb plenty carving that stubborn thing, but it was his Grandfather Peter’s face that presided over the library now, the proud, weathered face that told the real White Hawk story.
The library had become one of Taylor’s favorite rooms in the entire house, full of gentle ghosts on every wall. He and Gracie retreated there often to discuss other projects, to choose another perfect paint scheme, or just to relax together on the oversized lounge chair in the corner.
Grandfather hadn’t said a word yet. Neither had Alex. They’d separated and moved from picture to picture. At last, Grandfather came to stand before the portrait of three dark-haired children in a sandbox, each of them busy filling Taylor’s cowboy boots with sand.
Gracie’d spent hours working with a photographer who specialized in recreating oil paintings from photos. Mary’s happy face beamed with delightful impishness while Taylor and Gracie’s showed the intensity of two four-year-olds hard at work.
Grandfather’s lip quivered as he gazed on his sweet baby girl again. When Taylor took a step to join him, the library door swung open. Kelsey stood there with General Armstrong stern and stiff beside her. “Oh. Here you are. We’ve been looking for you.”
Taylor all but ran to intercept his father while Kelsey joined Alex at the far window. “You’re here.” Shit. Why the hell are you here?
“Well, of course I’m here,” he snapped. “You invited me, didn’t you?”
Taylor shot Gracie a panicked look. Did we?
“I did,” she replied sweetly to the unspoken question. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”
General Armstrong’s expression didn’t soften one bit while he took in the lavish room’s high ceiling, walnut bookcases and the art gallery. He sniffed that arrogant nose of his and Taylor clenched a fist, hating the ugly tension filling the room.
Right about now his father would toss a biting criticism or a snide remark. He’d point out flaws or irregularities that needed immediate corrective action. His eagle eyes would take in every detail, every wrinkle on Taylor’s cotton shirt, every piece of lint and every crooked picture frame on the walls. If anything was out of place, the General would find it.
Gracie didn’t help the situation. She steered him to every picture, calmly chatting about the history beh
ind their selection and restoration. The only problem was that each picture reflected White Hawk history. There were only two Armstrong paintings: the family portrait and the one of Martha and baby Taylor—the ones Michael left behind.
Peter shifted his back against the wall, his eyes dark and full of distrust at the wolf in sheep’s clothing suddenly in their midst.
Taylor gulped. What was Gracie thinking? His grandfather and the General in this close proximity? Not a good idea.
Taylor went to Peter’s side while Gracie worked her charm on the General. She’d chosen to wear her painter’s overalls today, a statement of casual welcome. They were clean, but splashes of paint and other smudges adorned the light blue denim fabric. Her bright pink tank top under the coverall straps provided a stark contrast to his very proper olive drab.
All out panic throbbed a steady beat in Taylor’s chest, but for now, his lovely lady commandeered—and Michael Armstrong followed.
At last, they stood before the happy Armstrong family of so long ago. Taylor bit the inside of his cheek, dreading the biting sarcasm that would surely come. He should’ve never let Gracie talk him into this housewarming. The whole thing was a mistake. Inviting his father, worse.
He bristled as the word came back to him. Heathen. The moment it was spoken out loud, the ugly slur would forever linger in this sacred place. No one should have to endure that bully’s taunt. Not Martha. Not Gracie. And not me!
Every muscle tensed in anticipation. His fist clenched tighter.
“Isn’t Martha beautiful?” Gracie whispered, her arm wrapped almost possessively around his father’s forearm. My hell, she looked like his date the way she kept tipping into him, brushing her shoulder to his and bumping him with her hip. “It’s almost as if she’s alive again, right here with us.”
Taylor’s heart thumped. Don’t say it, General. Don’t you dare—
“Yes. She looks exactly how I remember her.”
What?
“And look at you, so young and handsome.” Gracie flirted with the proud man like he was family.
Taylor Page 30
