I told Jason everything, feeling like such an idiot. But you know what? He told me he understood why I did it. He didn't like it of course, but he understood. Jason is being pressured to join my father's firm, but being a lawyer isn't something he wants to do. His real career choice, his dream job, well let's just say it would give our parents massive heart attacks. When he confessed what he wanted to be, and I'm sorry, but I swore to him I wouldn't tell a soul, he also reminded me Hannah, his girlfriend, wouldn't be happy either. Hannah is the daughter of one of my father's partners at the firm. Where Jason is a calm and patient man, Hannah is a brash and, dare I say, bitchy girl? Her parents have given her everything she has ever demanded and now, it seems, she expects the same from Jason.
My sister, Caroline, a woman forged from the shadow of our mother, has always done everything asked of her. When she finished college, she was told to apply for a job in the Governor's office, not to give her a steady income or excellent benefits. No, it was to gain access to Richard Caldwell, her now husband and new contender for State Senate. With my mother and Caroline, there is always an agenda behind everything they do. Which is probably the reason Jason and I are so close.
He confessed Hannah has started to, not so subtly, hint that she is ready for him to propose. I questioned whether this was something he wanted to do. When he failed to respond, I had my answer. Hannah may have my parents believing she is the perfect wife for Jason, but I know my brother doesn't love her. Now, maybe that isn't an issue for her, perhaps I should have introduced Hannah to Virginia, they both seem to have a common goal.
Lieutenant Michaels, this letter has given you more information than I think you bargained for, I apologize, but I do tend to ramble which is another personality trait my mother frowns upon. I will understand if you find me a complete lunatic and want no further contact, or if you are happily married, engaged, or in a relationship of any sort—I don't judge— please send my praises to your significant other as you are truly a kind man. They are lucky to have you in their life.
With best wishes and gratitude,
Kennedy Forrester
I smiled sitting back against my chair, my hands tucked behind my neck, reading and re-reading her words. In my mind I pictured this young girl with a plaid skirt, knee socks, black-rimmed glasses, and braces. I had no idea how old she was, but by the maturity of her words and the fact her mother was trying desperately to couple her off, she had to be of at least college age. As I clicked the button to reply to her email, I couldn't help but feel relief that this Steven Hawthorn had been of no interest to her.
CHAPTER SIX
Kennedy
“Forrester, Turner and Wilkins. This is Lauren, how may I direct your call?” My suitcases had barely been placed in storage when I received the distressful email from Zack. My fear of his poor brothers and sisters being placed in a foster home gave me the courage to seek out the help of the last man on Earth I ever wanted to speak with.
“William Vale, please.”
“May I ask who is calling?”
Lauren Wilkins, a bigger busy body than my dear old mother, knew exactly who I was. She had a set of moon eyes for Will since we were in prep school. She was welcome to him for all I care, him and all his deplorable history.
“Kennedy Forrester, he is expecting me.”
“Oh, hello, Kennedy. I hadn't heard you were back in town. How have you been?” Lauren was nosy and a liar, she and her mother sent their RSVP for the tea being held tomorrow; she knew good and well I had been back in town.
“Oh, yes. I've been back for a few days. Will made mention of escorting me to dinner, I'm calling to discuss more permanent plans.” Of course my intention was to get out of them, but she didn't need to know this.
“Mr. Vale is in a meeting with your father, shall I leave a message for him?”
“No, thank you.”
Twenty minutes later, I smiled in greeting to a shocked Lauren as I pushed open the glass doors to my father’s office. She was in the middle of a conversation on the phone so I brushed past her with a friendly wave.
Will sat in his corner office, just as I suspected he would be. A stack of papers on his desk, making it look like he was busy with something. “Mr. Vale.” Knocking on his door, a smile eating my face, my tone as demure as I could muster. His eyes flashed to mine, the color of surprise lighting up his face as he rises to greet me.
“Kennedy, what a pleasant surprise. Please come in, come in.”
Holding on to the Oscar worthy smile, I took the offered seat across from his desk. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I know how busy my father must keep you, but I thought it would be nice to talk privately.”
“Oh,” his face shifted, confusion wrinkling the space between his brows. “Is something wrong?”
“I'm sorry, nothing is wrong per say. My parents have voiced your intentions of seeking my company for dinner in hopes of starting a relationship.” I tried to act as innocent and shy as possible, giving him the illusion I was interested in what he had to offer.
“Well, yes, Kennedy, I have expressed an interest to your father. He emphasized the importance of proceeding in an honorable manner. I assured him the last thing I wanted to do would be to make you uncomfortable in any way. A beautiful woman such as yourself deserves to be lavished with gifts and admiration, something I am prepared to do, if you will allow me.”
Bowing my head in fake shyness, my fingers fumble at the pearls around my neck. “I'm sorry, did I come across too strong?” Good Lord, he was making this too easy.
“No,” raising my eyes back in his direction. “It's just I didn't really believe a man like you would ever be interested in me.” Fanning my face, adding to the whole overwhelmed and falling hard part I was playing.
“Well, I am. I find you to be one of the most beautiful ladies I have ever met.”
“Is it hot in here?” As I pull at the collar of my blouse, Will jumps to his feet and comes around his desk.
“Let me get you a glass of water.” He touches my face before he makes a quick exit. Not wasting a second, I scurried around the desk, tapping the spacebar to wake his computer. Clicking on the web browser, a paused video of two women having sex pops up. Of course Will would be watching stuff like this instead of doing what my father was paying him for.
Opening a new browser, I typed in the webpage I knew my father had access to. Familiar with where he kept his passwords, I normally would have steered clear of his private files, but this was important. I had to get in touch with Zack. As I typed in Zack Michels, the program showed the name with a different spelling. I didn't have time to argue with a government database, so I quickly wrote down the address, slipping back out before Will could return.
***
Everyday for the month, I waited patiently, but the mail would present with no word from Zack. In a casual conversation I had with my father, I learned the state would look for a family member before placing children in foster care. I prayed his brothers and sisters were with someone they knew and loved, instead of one of the dreadful images I had created in my head.
Mother awaited me at the top of the stairs, a porcelain cup in one hand and her cell phone in the other. Closing the door behind me, I began mentally preparing myself for the brow beating I was sure to receive.
“Henrietta reports you received a letter today.”
Rolling my eyes internally, Henrietta took tattling to a new level. As children we got away with nothing courtesy of the prying eyes of our housekeeper.
“Oh, must be from one of my friends in Colorado.”
“Why would you give away our home address? Next thing we know they will show up at the front door to rob us in the night.” She groused, taking a sip of what I assumed, given the time of day, was tea. “At least you are dressed properly.”
Sensing this was the end of the interrogation; I began climbing the stairs to my room. As I walked beside her, the hand holding her phone blocked my path.
�
��Don't forget Kennedy, we are expecting an important guest today”
“Of course, Mother.”
She needn't say whom we were expecting. Miss Emma’s presence was the equivalent of saying Cher or Prince was about to arrive. Everyone in Atlanta knew who she was and mother needed her in the group of friends she kept, as lots of influential people hung on every word she said.
Meeting my mother's friends, smiling at the surgically altered faces of the women she hand picked to surround herself with, each one meeting the criteria of whatever social ladder she was in need of climbing. Caroline sat with her group of admirers; five women, each with a pedigree they crawled and hurled over mountains to maintain. All five waiting to receive the call they had been selected to join Atlanta's elite social level. Their conversations turned from the heat and humidity, which had already started its assent, to the three open chairs on the hospital board.
“Mrs. Forrester?” Henrietta interrupts, her pressed white apron covering the gray uniform she wore only when these ladies were visiting.
“Yes?” Mother's tone joyful and fake. All conversations stop, and eyes turn in the direction of Henrietta.
“There is a Mr. Hawthorn, who wishes to speak with Miss Kennedy.” Mother’s eyes flash to mine, pursed lips she masks with a wave of her hand. She is angry and I know I will hear about this for hours after the ladies leave.
“Kennedy, don't make your gentleman wait, sweetheart, it's rude.”
Excusing myself to an arena full of giggles and hushed whispers, I notice the card pinched between Henrietta’s thumb and index finger. My mother will know every detail about the card, of this I was sure. Refusing to look at the card, I toss her an ugly oath under my breath, something else my mother will no doubt learn as well.
Standing in a dark blue suit, his hair gray and thin. Admiring the massive painting of my mother hanging in the entry. Sensing my presence, he turns in my direction.
“Mr. Hawthorne?”
“Miss Forrester.” He crosses the room, his hand outstretched, a warm smile resting on his face. His jacket flutters open with his movement, revealing the handle of a gun. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but it is imperative I speak with you. My name is Stephen Hawthorne, I’m an investigator with the FBI. I'd like to ask you a few questions about a Zack Michels.”
Releasing his hand from mine, I chance a quick glance over my shoulder to check for eavesdroppers. Finding the room behind me too quiet for comfort, I motion for Mr. Hawthorne to follow me down the hall. I usher him into my father's office, the one room in this house I know will give me privacy. A few years ago, my father sent my mother off to New York for a shopping weekend with my sister. While she was away, he had a company come in and soundproof his office.
“Please, have a seat.” I offered politely as I closed the door behind us.
“Thank you, again sorry to pull you from your party. I’ll make this as brief as possible.”
“Trust me,” waving in the direction of the hall. “You saved me more than anything.”
“Right.” Pulling out a notepad, he flips open the cover and several white pages. “Miss Forrester, your name was found in a recent seizure of an illegal website, Military Connections. Are you familiar with this name?”
Red flags waved overhead, warning me of the possible implications I may face by answering his question. “Mr. Hawthorne, while I know I have done nothing wrong, perhaps I should contact my father who is an attorney here in Atlanta.”
“You’re correct, you have done nothing wrong, but it’s your choice to involve your attorney. Maybe if I tell you what we know, it may help you in deciding to place a call to his office.” His face full of affirmation, wrinkles giving his decades of experience away. “A few weeks ago some files were found in the home of a...Virginia Greyson in Charleston, South Carolina. Located in the basement of the home, was a fictitious dating website which had been created by the owner and a...Kevin Winters. According to our experts, the pair created a program within the site, which used keywords and phrases obtained in the initial profile page to lure in clients. These keywords would be automatically added to an email reply, making it seem as if the subscriber had someone in the military who was interested in a romantic connection. Your name was one of the tens of thousands we found on the client list.”
Nausea filled my stomach. All the emails I’d received from Zack were fake; his overzealousness was as false as the ladies in the room down the hall.
“From what we’ve discovered, Miss Greyson and Mr. Winters have stolen nearly two million dollars from around the world. Now, according to the data in the files, you were one of the few who did not send any additional money when Mr. Michels requested it. With Miss Greyson currently behind bars awaiting transfer to a federal institution, we are actively pursuing evidence to put her in prison for a great many years.”
“And what of the other person involved? Winters, I believe you said.” Mr. Hawthorne nodded his head, dropping his hands into a relaxed position. “Mr. Winters was killed during a meth lab explosion.”
After Mr. Hawthorne listened to my story, taking several notes and confirming selected parts of my version, he assured me he would be in contact with any developments.
Mother stood in the hall, a curious look on her face. I ignored her assumption of any romantic interest I held for the man. As I sat on my bed, I remembered the letter I had received earlier. Assuming it would be from Sabrina, I pulled the envelope from my desk, the return address leaving me stunned and at a loss for words. But as I read the words this kind soldier had for me, I couldn't let this act of kindness go without a proper thank you. While I sat at my computer, the words fell like a summer rain, easy and welcomed. After I hit the send button, I worried he would think me too forward in saying all I had.
***
Before I left Colorado, I had composed a list of facilities I would love to work for. At the top of the list sat Hart Stables and Therapy Center. It was considered to be in the top two percent across the country, specializing in children and veterans. According to the webpage, they had one opening and I knew they would have hundreds of applicants. While my chances were slim, they weren't zero.
By the time I had finished the personal profile and taken the online quiz they required, four hours had passed. As I was about to close my computer, a single ping sounded alerting me to a new email.
To: HorseWhisperer
From: Michaels, Zach. LT
CC:
Subject: Re: Thank You
Dear Kennedy,
I hope this letter finds you in better spirits after the crushing news I had the misfortune of rehashing. I feel terrible for introducing myself with such a bitter pill, but felt it must be done. If we are to continue to correspond, and I sincerely hope we do, I ask you to please call me Zach, as my team refers to me as Lieutenant. Since you shared a little about yourself, I feel the need to be honest with you.
I noticed your address is Atlanta, Georgia. My family resides in Atlanta, so we're neighbors. You say your father is a lawyer and desires your brother to join his firm? This is something I can relate to. My father is the Chief of Staff at Emory University Hospital. He has made his desire for me to follow in his footsteps quite clear. However, unlike your father, mine is proud of the career choice I made. Perhaps Jason would be surprised by your father's reaction, if he told him what he truly wanted. I must say, Kennedy, your loyalty to your brother is commendable, and yet it had me pondering dozens of job choices ranging from a security guard to a drag queen. Hey, if he does want to be a drag queen...I don't judge either.
My mother is a lot like yours; she's a member of a number of boards. Although she doesn't play bridge, she's got a great poker face. She holds a monthly book club supposedly discussing classic literature, but my father says it’s an excuse to drink moonshine and gossip.
My parents have been happily married for over twenty-five years. I pray someday I will find a girl who will complete me as much as my parents do each other. There
, I answered a question you didn't really ask me. I have no wife, no girlfriend or boyfriend. I would like to explore that one-day, but I know with me being here it makes it difficult to date. It's one thing for someone to say they will wait for you, it's entirely another for them to actually do it. So for now, I remain single.
Let's see, what can I tell you about me, the regular guy and not the SEAL? And yes, they are different people. I'm twenty-five...speaking of age, I'm assuming you are older than eighteen? Otherwise this Greyson woman has more legal trouble than she can handle.
I love music, most every genre, but my appreciation for rap is limited. I'm just your average guy: tall, brown hair and brown eyes. When I'm back in Atlanta, I live with my parents. Sounds pretty lame, huh? Once I joined the military, I had my housing taken care of, no reason to have a house I would never be in.
I was around seven when I began to scribble on the corners of discarded envelopes and leftover take out napkins. My mother caught on to my talent and purchased me a case of sketchpads. My drawings have become more and more detailed as I’ve grown older. When I was fifteen, my brother and I went to a state football championship game. While we were stopped at a roadside diner, I noticed next to it was this little tattoo shop. Our friends dared me and Zane to go inside. We knew we couldn't actually get a tattoo, but from the moment I stepped inside, I knew what I wanted to do.
When I get out of the military, I want to open my own tattoo shop, placing my drawings forever on the skin of people and have my art travel around the world. I wanted to put my business degree to good use by opening my own shop, however my brother and I are so competitive, when he was drafted by the Falcons his senior year of college, I spouted off I was going to become a SEAL. Zane laughed at me and said I wouldn't make it past day one of Hell Week. Since I'm writing you from Afghanistan, and you've seen my Special Ops email address, we know who came out on top. I've seen some amazing things and some horrific things, but I wouldn't trade those experiences for anything.
Signed, SEALed, Delivered (Trident Brotherhood Book 1) Page 6
