Dirtiest Secret

by J. Kenner

  "Bring it back? It never went away."

  "You're doing better, sweetheart, and you know it. You and Dallas both are."

  I snort. "That's because he has a harem to help him cope."

  I can practically hear my mother pressing her lips together to keep from commenting. After a second, she says, "I'm thinking about your career. About your books. If your kidnapping becomes public you're going to end up in the spotlight in a much less pleasant way. The media will be sympathetic--you and your brother were the victims--but they'll be relentless. Is that what you want?"

  "Want? Of course not." I hate the tabloid attention that comes with my family name. Piling on more attention--and for so horrible a reason--sounds like a living nightmare. "But if that's what it takes to punish the person who did that to us, then I'll deal."

  "Well, all right," she says softly, but she doesn't sound convinced. "I suppose we'll see what your father has to say."

  I don't respond. Because honestly, I don't understand her reaction at all. I mean, objectively I understand why Daddy wanted to keep the kidnapping secret. Our lives were public enough without adding that kind of horrific spotlight. But we're adults now, and if we can catch the man who did this to us, then I want him punished. Even if that means stepping into that circle of light.

  My mom clears her throat. "And Colin? Have you told him?"

  I know Mom doesn't like the fact that I still see my biological dad, but after the kidnapping he'd been there for me in a way that my parents--who are also Dallas's parents--couldn't be. And although he was a class-A fuckup when I was little, I think he's mostly gotten his shit together.

  Mom, I know, isn't so sure.

  "I called him from the road and told him the basics," I admit. "He wanted me to come straight over--but he also said he had plans to go to Boston for an overnighter. He told me he'd cancel, but that didn't really make a lot of sense, especially since I wanted to see Dallas. So I told him we could have dinner tomorrow when he gets back."

  "Do you really think telling him was a good idea?" I hear the sharp edge in her voice and cringe.

  "Mom." My voice is soft. "He deserves to know. I mean, he is my father."

  "Not legally."

  I exhale. "I know that. And I know he's a screw-up. But he's tried really hard to put his life back together."

  My mother snorts. Clearly she doesn't believe me. "Tell that to the IRS agent who called me last week. He's under investigation again."

  "Why are they calling you?" I ask, avoiding the real question of whether or not my birth father is backsliding.

  "I was married to the man for ten years." I hear the shrug in her voice. "It's hard to escape your past."

  I sigh, because isn't that the truth?

  "I know it bothers you," I say. "That I see him, I mean. But--well, sometimes it helps."

  "Oh, sweetheart." She sounds so lost, and I think again how much it must have hurt her when I'd begged to go to boarding school near him.

  "Mom? I'm sorry."

  "No." The word is sharp. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You and Dallas went through so much. Lost so much. And--and we all have things we regret. I'm sure Colin has many."

  "He does. He's told me so over and over."

  For a moment, she's silent. Then I hear Sarah's muffled voice telling Mom to take her time, that she'll wait in the car. A moment later, I hear a car door slam. I expect her to wrap up the conversation, so I'm surprised when she says, "Colin and I--well, we were never meant to be. But--You know that Eli and I had an affair?" She continues, the words sounding like they've burst out of her. "While I was still married to Colin?"

  No one had ever specifically told me as much, but years later I figured it out. "Yeah," I say. "I know."

  "We broke rules. Hurt people we loved--because even when Colin screwed up, I did still love him. Maybe I still do in some ways even though he makes me so damn angry. But the point is that I don't regret the affair. Not really. Your dad and I were meant to be together. It wasn't an easy path, but sometimes the best destinations require the most difficult journeys."

  "Have you been skimming Reader's Digest again?" I keep my tone light, a little uncomfortable with such an intensely personal revelation from my mom.

  "I swear that's my own original slice of brilliance. And all I'm saying is it was worth it, but it wasn't easy, especially on you kids."

  "I guess not. But I don't know anyone with a normal nuclear family these days."

  "Well, that's true," she says with a laugh. "But I meant the way we bounced you and Dallas around with marriages and adoptions. Sometimes I think Dallas should have lived with us as Eli's nephew, and you should have simply been Eli's stepdaughter. I think maybe it would have been easier."

  I hear her long sigh before she continues. "But he wanted legal heirs. He wanted the picture perfect family package. A wife and two kids to shoulder the Sykes empire once he was gone. We never had the dog, but we all did okay. Didn't we?" she asks, and the question seems so genuine that I wish I was back in LA so that I could give her a long, tight hug.

  "Of course we did, Mom," I say, and it's not a lie. My life may be screwed up and I may wish that things were different, but I'm doing okay. I'm surviving, aren't I?

  "Well," she says, and I imagine her smoothing her skirt as she gathers herself. "I stepped out of the car to talk, but I should get back to Sarah. And our driver is probably wondering if I've lost my mind. I'll see you on the island this weekend, okay?"

  "I can't wait. I love you, Mom."

  "Love you more."

  We say our goodbyes and I sit for a moment longer. I may not have had the best luck on the father side of the equation--at least not originally--but I won the lottery with my mom.

  I turn in my seat and look back at the familiar house that holds so many of my childhood memories. My parents. Colin. Liam. And, of course, Dallas.

  He's no longer in there, I know. His helicopter has already whisked him away. And as I look at the well-lit house contrasted against the dark night sky, I can't help but wonder where he's going--and if he is thinking of me.

  Dallas was cramming his T-shirts into his duffel bag when Jane burst through his bedroom door wearing sleep shorts and a Bugs Bunny T-shirt. She was fourteen now, just like him, and Dallas didn't know if her body had filled out early or late for a girl, but he knew that it was perfect. And he knew that he thought about it way, way too much.

  "Liam just told me," she said, slamming the door shut behind her. "Is it true?"

  "Guess that depends on what 'it' is."

  She scowled at him. "Is Dad really sending you to boarding school in London?"

  He wanted to snap back an answer--like, what? Did she think he was packing for fun? But he saw the tears glistening in her eyes and the words died in his throat. It wasn't Jane he was mad at. It was himself. And his father.

  But it was Jane he was going to miss the most.

  He dropped the duffel and went to sit on the edge of his bed. "Yeah. It's true. I'm surprised Mom didn't call you."

  "Me, too." She'd been at a sleepaway girls' camp for the last week. Dallas had been having fun with his friends, too. Mostly jacking cars like the one that had gotten him caught. The one that had his dad sending him away.

  "Why did you do that? I told you that Ron and Andy were bad news. Why did you keep hanging with them?"

  He couldn't answer. He didn't have a reason. Or maybe he did. Maybe he was just bad like his birth parents. Maybe that's why he did all that shit.

  Maybe that's why the only girl he fantasized about was his sister.

  "Now they're sending you away from me and it's all your fault. God, Dallas, what were you thinking?" A tear spilled from one eye and she wiped it away brutally. "You're so stupid sometimes."

  He exhaled loudly. "It's not just because of the cars."

  "What? The drugs, too? I know you smoke pot sometimes, so don't even pretend that you don't."

  "It's not the drugs," he said. "And it was
only a couple of times."

  "Then what?"

  He took a deep breath. "You."

  Her forehead crunched into a frown. "What are you talking about?"

  "Remember a few months ago. The time I fell asleep in your bed?"

  "Yeah. So?"

  "Eli saw me come out of your room."

  "So what? It's not like we ever did anything."

  But we wanted to. He almost said it, but he didn't. He didn't need to. She knew it as well as he did.

  Instead, he just lifted a shoulder, remembering what their father had said. "He said it was bad." He lifted his hand to bite his thumbnail, then forced himself not to.

  "What was bad?" Her voice was almost a whisper.

  He swallowed, then focused on his thumb. "The way I look at you."

  "Oh."

  "He said it was bad, and that if anyone found out it would be worse. He said he'd disinherit us. Disown us." He turned his head to face her. "He said it was a sin."

  "How do you look at me?"

  He shifted on the bed feeling too exposed. And his skin felt tingly like it did when he jacked off to the thought of her, right before he exploded. He wanted to answer, but how the hell was he supposed to tell her that?

  "Dallas?"

  "Like I want you," he blurted.

  "Oh." She licked her lips. "Do you?"

  Oh, god, she was killing him. He sucked in a breath for courage. "Yeah. You know I do."

  She turned so that she was looking right at him. "Me, too," she said, and he thought those were the most magical words in the world.

  "Do you believe him?" she asked. "That it's a sin, I mean?"

  "No. And even if it is, I don't care."

  She nodded, as if considering that. "Is he here?"

  Dallas shook his head. "In Chicago for the night."

  "Can I stay with you, then?"

  He wanted to just scream yes. But instead he reminded her about the staff. "If anyone sees you..."

  "We can set an alarm. I'll go back to my room early. But you're leaving tomorrow for good."

  He almost laughed at that. "I'm not moving to the moon."

  She made a face. "You might as well be. And it's not like we're gonna do anything."

  He really shouldn't feel disappointed. "No. 'Course not."

  "But maybe--I mean, do you think--I just--Oh, crap. Dallas, would you kiss me goodbye?"

  He didn't answer, at least not in words. But he turned to her and leaned in, his nerves jangling because he didn't know what he was doing. But he knew he wanted this. Her. And when he brushed his lips against hers, it all made sense. It all felt real.

  It all felt right.

  And as he tasted her--as he explored her wide mouth and soft lips--he thought their dad was crazy. Because this was too good to ever, ever, ever be bad.

  "We're starting our descent, Mr. Sykes."

  Dallas winced as the captain's voice crackled over the intercom, just a little too loud for comfort considering the alcohol and Jane-induced headache he was nursing.

  He'd been in the damn jet for almost ten hours now, and she still filled his head. The way she'd melted against him, so soft at first and then so demanding. Christ, the way she'd taken charge of that kiss had made him practically lose his mind. The knowledge that she wanted him--that she was willing to cross all those invisible lines to have him.

  He'd known he should resist, but she'd filled him up, made him hard. And he'd been a total and complete goner. And when those soft little sounds she made filled his head, he'd snapped. He'd had to have her again. Had to touch her, claim her.

  Oh, dear lord, she had felt so good. Her skin so smooth. Her nipples so damn hard. He rubbed his thumb against his fingertips, remembering the way her skin had moved with each stuttering breath, her desire so open, so evident, it's a wonder he didn't fucking come just from the sight of her.

  He'd wanted to strip her bare and spread her wide. He'd imagined her on her knees, her back arched so that her breasts were high and her pussy was wide open for him. He could imagine the taste of her as he teased her with his tongue, and the feel of his palm against her ass when he punished her for coming too early.

  He wanted to possess her. To have her. To stroke and cherish her.

  And at the same time he wanted to run from each and every one of those desires. Because they came from the dark. From the things the Woman had done to him. The way she'd hurt him, then pleasured him.

  She'd fucked with his body and with his head.

  She'd broken him, and he'd never--ever--wanted to drag Jane down with him. And yet that's what he'd done. He'd practically taken her in a cabana in the middle of his party. And he'd been so lost in the haze of desire for her that he hadn't even realized how far he'd gone until she cried out for him, begging him to fuck her.

  He was a complete bastard. He should never have kissed her, never touched her, never opened that door. He'd known it was a mistake, but he'd been unable to resist. And he'd wanted her as much in that moment as he had seventeen years ago when they'd been lost in the dark together.

  And that was the real hell of it, wasn't it? Because he could never have her again. Not on any level. Not like he wanted.

  He was too broken, and she deserved so much more. And even if he were whole, what would it matter when every touch was forbidden? She was his sister, for Christ's sake. It's not like it could ever be right between them.

  He wished he could block her out of his mind, but he knew that wasn't possible. She'd walked back into his life, and by doing so, she'd marched right into his head. All of his desires. All of his memories. Everything was flooding back, dark and raw and wrapped up in this news about Ortega.

  He closed his eyes, hoping that Liam would greet him at the airport with the news that Quince had brought Ortega in, and that the son of a bitch was trussed up in the interrogation room.

  Damn, but that would be sweet.

  Find the Woman. Find the Jailer. And fucking end this thing.

  He wanted the closure. And he wanted the pleasure of telling Jane.

  It wouldn't change anything--she still couldn't be his--but at least he could do that one thing for her.

  He sighed. He needed to put it all away. He wanted to be sharp when he arrived. Not emotional. Not fucked up.

  He took the last sip of sparkling water, then lifted it up for the attendant to take. She came quickly, a pretty girl he'd flirted with on many flights, but never taken to his bed.

  "Just an overnight trip this time, Mr. Sykes?"

  "That's right."

  She knew it was an overnight, of course. She was either making conversation or reminding him that she'd be at the hotel. The lovely Mendoza Elite, an exclusive boutique hotel owned by the Sykes empire. Which meant he could easily find out her room number if he was so inclined.

  He wasn't.

  He glanced down at his satellite phone, still showing no calls, and resigned himself to waiting until they'd landed for an update from Liam.

  The attendant--Susie?--was still standing in front of him holding his empty glass. He wanted to tell her to look elsewhere. To have a little pride. Didn't she read the papers? Didn't she know that he was nothing but a good time? She was sweet and pretty and deserved a hell of a lot better.

  But since telling her that would be the same as blowing his cover, he simply gave her a bland smile and started to flip through his notes on a new retail center that was opening in San Diego in the spring.

  She cleared her throat. "Well, I hope it's a productive trip. I look forward to serving you on the return flight." She flashed a quick smile, then scurried back to her seat, hopefully to review her contacts and see if there was some nice guy back in the States who'd given her his phone number.

  He was seated on the small leather sofa, his duffel tucked beneath the empty space beside him. Now he bent over and slid his phone back into the side pocket. As he did, he caught a glimpse of blue and remembered the letter. He grimaced. Just one more nuisance to add to the
steadily growing pile.

  He considered continuing to ignore it--for that matter, he considered ripping it up. But prudence prevailed and he pulled it from the bag.

  He opened it carefully, even though he knew there wouldn't be prints.

  As always, there was a single piece of paper inside.

  And, as always, the words on the paper were typed. Needy, clingy, demanding words.

  You're mine, Dallas. You always have been. You always will be.

  Why don't you see this? Why don't you listen?

  But I am patient. I've always been so very patient.

  So have your fun.

  Play with your little girls.

  But we both know that it is me you'll come back to.

  Me that you need.

  Ice filled him as he read it. He had no idea which of the women who'd been in his bed had sent it--analysis of the paper, font, envelope gave no clue. All he knew was that the letters had started over a year ago, but considering the number of women he'd entertained, that didn't help much.

  Each new letter made his gut twist. Because although he knew it wasn't true, each word could have been written by Jane.

  Fuck.

  He crammed the letter back into the duffel and braced himself as the plane landed, the force pushing him against the back of his seat. He closed his eyes and for just a moment he succumbed to physics instead of manipulating, twisting, and trying to rearrange the world.

  Then the plane slowed and the interlude was over. He opened his eyes and waited for Susie to open the door and lower the stairs. The instant he stepped out of the jet and into the sunshine, he knew that something was wrong.

  Liam stood on the tarmac, his straight posture revealing his army training, and his expressionless face a reflection of his years in military intelligence--Liam never gave anything away. Not to the world, anyway.

  But Dallas could see the shadow on the other man's face, and he knew it meant trouble. Along with Jane, Liam was Dallas's oldest friend. He'd watched the skinny, smart-ass son of a housekeeper grow up into a solid rock of muscle who could make another man cower with only a glance and a scowl.

  Liam might look like an absolute badass, but Dallas knew the only time he'd failed to call his mom on a Sunday was when he'd been unconscious after taking a bullet in the shoulder during one of his tours.

  Liam knew Dallas better than anyone, and Dallas trusted him more than anyone. And yet Dallas had never told his friend about Jane. About what had happened in the dark. But more than that, about how they'd felt. How he still felt.