by Zara Chase
“Yes, he’s been in a coma since he was brought in four days ago. He had no identification on him so we didn’t know who to contact.”
Naomi covered a gasp with her hand. “Saul died four days ago.”
“Our patient only gained consciousness briefly this morning. He suffered a severe head injury, but when he came to he said he was Frank and kept asking for Saul, then Jared from Maynard-Sinclair. What with all the publicity about Saul Redford, we thought—”
“We’re on our way,” Jared said, ending the call.
“Shit,” Kent said into the ensuing silence. “We should have thought to check the hospitals when we couldn’t find Frank.”
“We had other things on our mind,” Jared replied, turning to face the rest of them, his expression grim. “Anyway, the plot thickens. It can’t be coincidence that Frank was attacked on the same day that Saul died.” He stood up and pocketed his phone. “Come on, let’s go and see Frank before we do anything else. With a bit of luck he might be conscious again and remember what happened.”
Chapter Eight
Naomi was stunned by the amount of activity in the hospital’s emergency department. People rushed everywhere, communicating in a dozen different languages. It was organized chaos. She’d heard that health treatment was free at the point of entry in the UK, which perhaps explained its popularity. A ton of people in the States didn’t go to hospital when they probably should because of the prohibitive costs involved. On this side of the pond, the reverse appeared to be true.
“How do they cope?” she asked Kent.
“With difficulty,” he replied. “The National Health Service’s creaking at the seams and no one quite knows what to do about it. They brought in bean-counters to try and sort it out, which made matters worse. Medical professionals just want to save lives and resent being told how to prioritize by people with their eye on the bottom line.”
“You’re entitled to different treatment according to where you live and how much money’s in the coffers of that particular health region,” Jared said.
“Don’t get sick in Scotland, whatever you do,” Kent warned.
Jared asked at the inquiries desk for directions to Intensive Care. The three of them followed the overhead signs until they reached a locked door. They sounded the buzzer and a harried nurse in scrubs eventually asked them through an intercom whom they had come to see.
“Ah, Mr. Maynard, it was me who spoke to you on the phone.” The door buzzed open and the three of them stepped through into the sterile environment of the seriously ill. “Your friend is in and out of consciousness. He has a fractured skull and the police are waiting for me to call them when he’s awake so they can talk to him.” She looked up from Frank’s notes, appeared to see Jared properly for the first time and did a double take. “I thought you might like first dibs before the police grill him.”
Naomi couldn’t help wondering if that idea had only occurred to the nurse now she’d seen Jared in the flesh. Appearances open doors. Always have and always will. Not that she could blame the girl exactly. Her first reaction to Jared and Kent had been exactly the same.
“That was thoughtful. We’ve been worried about him, but with Saul’s death on our hands we didn’t—”
“I was sorry to hear about that. It’s such a waste.”
“This is his sister, Naomi, and my partner, Kenton Sinclair.”
The nurse shook their hands and offered Naomi her condolences.
“Does Frank know about Saul?” Kent asked.
“No, we thought it better not to upset him. He needs to remain calm. If you could avoid telling him, for now, it would probably be best.”
“Sure,” Jared replied.
“It’s really only one at a time,” she said. “But I guess I could make an exception, under the circumstances, and let two of you in. Just for a few minutes.”
“I’ll wait here,” Kent said, grabbing a chair in the waiting area, while Naomi and Jared donned the protective gowns that the nurse told them were compulsory to prevent the spread of infection. Was that to stop visitors bringing infection in, or taking it out with them, the cynical part of Naomi’s brain wondered as she slid into the unflattering one-size-fits-all garment.
“Geez!” Jared muttered under his breath when he and Naomi entered Frank’s cubicle.
Naomi had never met the man, but she’d seen picture of a lean, tanned and very fit guy in his early forties. The figure in the bed, head swathed in bandages, abrasions to his face and arms, was nothing like that man. This poor victim was pale, looked shrunken, and had tubes attached to monitors coming from what seemed like a dozen different points on his body. Naomi briefly wondered if there’d been some kind of mix-up, or if this was someone’s idea of a sick joke.
Jared shared a speaking look with Naomi.
“Hey, Frank,” he said, sitting beside the motionless figure. “What’s all this skiving off in bed? Some people will do anything to get out of working.”
Frank’s eyes, since presumably this was the right guy, fluttered open.
“Jared.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Where’s—”
“What happened to you? Can you remember?”
“Ask Saul. He was there. Where is—”
“Saul’s not sure.”
“He’s hurt?” Frank tried to sit up but Jared’s hands and various tubes prevented it.
“Naomi’s here.”
“Hey, Frank,” she said, blinking back tears of sympathy and regret.
“Saul will be glad.”
“Tell us what happened. The police need to know,” Jared said.
“Not sure. So fast. We were walking home…two men. They pulled Saul away, I tried, tried to fight them…they hit me. Pain.” Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. “So much pain. Then I woke up here.”
Naomi glanced at Jared and could see he was thinking the same thing as her. The attackers had been after Saul and didn’t care about collateral damage, brutally fracturing Frank’s skull to prevent him from protecting Saul. So much for Detective Regan’s accidental death theory, she thought.
Frank’s eyes had closed again and he appeared to have drifted back to sleep. The nurse put her head around the curtains and told them it was time to leave.
“He’s high as a kite on morphine for the pain,” she explained. “That’s the most he’s talked since he got here. It will have worn him out.”
“Thanks for letting us see him,” Jared said. “It helped a lot.”
“No problem,” the nurse replied, batting her lashes at him. “Come back tomorrow. He ought to be more with it then.” She sighed. “And he’ll need to be told about Saul. He asks every time he opens his eyes. I’ll leave that to you, I think.”
Naomi figured Jared probably wasn’t even aware of the coercive charm that had the nurse, who no longer seemed quite so busy or short-tempered, eating out of his hand.
“How is he?” Kent asked, standing when they pushed through the swing doors.
“Let’s get out of here and I’ll tell you. Hospitals give me the creeps.”
“Have to be fit to survive them,” Kent quipped.
“Frank says he and Saul were attacked by two men. They pulled Saul away and cracked Frank over the skull to prevent him from helping Saul.”
“Shit! Does he know who they were?”
“No, we didn’t get that far. He’s not very lucid but kept asking about Saul. It wasn’t the right time to tell him.”
“But we know now that Saul was targeted by thugs on the same night he died of a supposed drugs overdose,” Naomi said, sliding into the back seat of the car that Connor, who was driving it, held open for her. “But why?”
“That, darling,” Jared replied, leaning over from the front passenger seat and touching her hand, “is a very good question. Okay, Connor, let’s go to Saul’s place in Wimbledon.”
Connor drove the powerful car through the heavy traffic with dexterity and skill. No one spoke much during the
first part of the forty minutes it took them to get to Wimbledon, but Naomi’s mind was working overtime. Now she knew Saul had been targeted it meant his death had to be murder—accidental or otherwise—giving her a direction in which to focus her anger. She fully intended to figure out who, and why, regardless of the damage it might to do the reputation of the Maynard-Sinclair Agency. Regardless of the damage it might do to Saul’s reputation too, come to that, because Naomi couldn’t shake off the feeling that his death might be related to his past love life.
“Saul was in a long-time relationship with a guy called Sam Rodale,” she said musingly.
“We didn’t know that,” Jared replied, a sharp edge to his voice. “When did it break up?”
“About two years ago, I think.”
“Just before he started making a name for himself?” Kent asked.
“Yeah, he was still slogging his way through second tier tournaments, trying to earn ranking points and qualify for the slams. Sam was older than him, an architect based in Chicago. He wanted Saul to quit tennis and settle down with him. They fought over it, couldn’t reach agreement and decided to go their separate ways.”
“But you think Sam might have wanted back into Saul’s life once he found fame and fortune?” Jared suggested.
“Why not?” Naomi shrugged. “Everyone else who knew him wanted to…well, know him again.”
“Were they together for a long time?” Kent asked.
“Since Saul graduated High School. That’s when our father discovered Saul was gay and made such a drama out of it. Sam tried to persuade Saul that he might as well come out, seeing as how the old man knew anyway, but Saul didn’t figure his sexuality was anyone’s business other than his own.”
“Right,” Kent said, nodding his agreement.
“Saul would have done just about anything else for Sam, though. They really loved each other.”
“Anything except give up tennis.”
“Sam was a bit of a control freak. He saw just how cut-throat the tournament scene was and wanted to protect Saul from it.” She sighed. “Everyone wanted to protect Saul, including me. None of us did a very good job of it.”
“If Sam loved Saul, he wouldn’t have come back and tried to rekindle their relationship against his will, would he?” Jared asked.
“Hell if I know.” Naomi shrugged. “It’s just one theory. I don’t even know if Sam’s in England, but if he is and found Saul and Frank cozying up together, he might have flipped.”
“And fed him steroids?” Kent shook his head. “It’s a stretch.”
“Jealousy’s a bitch,” Jared said. “If Saul refused to ditch Frank, it would explain the fractured skull. Presumably he thought he’d be able to console Saul in his grief and get him back that way.”
“There are other possibilities,” Kent said after a thoughtful pause. “Perry Denton, for example.”
“He’s an Australian player, isn’t he?” Naomi asked. “Ranked higher than Saul.”
“Yeah, I’d forgotten about him,” Jared said. “Saul beat him for the first time this year. The press were all over that game because both players got the ladies’ motors running. Anyway, a sponsor decided against renewing one of Perry’s lucrative deals and offered it to Saul instead because…”
“Because Perry tested positive for steroids after the Australian Open,” Jared and Kent said together.
“There’s poetic justice for you,” Naomi said, sitting forward. “If Saul was taking Perry’s place as the sports pinup boy and getting his sponsors to transfer their allegiance, there’s a motive for murder if ever I heard one.”
“Perry was livid about the sponsor and made some ugly threats against Saul at the time,” Jared conceded thoughtfully.
“And you’ve only just thought to mention it,” Naomi challenged. “You should have told Regan.”
“If we find anything he needs to know, then we will,” Jared said. “You can count on it.”
“Yes, but—”
“It looks bad,” Kent said. “But Perry won’t get that sponsorship back just because Saul’s no longer with us. Okay, he threatened him, but he did it publicly, in front of witnesses. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to—”
“Let me guess,” Naomi said, seething. “You represent Perry Dalton.”
“Actually,” Jared replied on a note of feinted injury, “we don’t.”
Naomi sucked in a shuddering breath. “Sorry. Ignore me. My head’s all over the place and I spoke without thinking.”
“No problem.” Kent placed a reassuring hand on her thigh and left it there. “And just so you know, Dalton’s represented by our main rivals, but we won’t do a hatchet job on him until we’re sure of our facts. We try to rise above that sort of thing, despite the competitive nature of our business.”
“No, of course not.”
“We’re just getting to Saul’s place now,” Jared said. “Let’s see what clues his possessions throw up. You ready for this, babe?”
Naomi shuddered. “As I ever will be.”
“Oh, shit!” Kent said as Connor pulled the car up outside Saul’s apartment block and three figures stepped toward it. Naomi’s father and step-brothers.
“That’s all I need to complete my day,” Naomi muttered.
* * * *
“Stay put. They don’t need to know you’re here, babe. I’ll deal with them,” Jared said, stepping out of the car.
“Mr. Maynard.” Redford approached Jared, meaty hand outstretched. “I guess you’ve been too busy to return my calls.”
“I told you I’d be in touch when I had something to report,” Jared replied, hiding his revulsion for the man with difficulty.
“The police won’t tell us diddly-squat. They’re treating us like suspects, not grieving relatives, if you can believe that bullshit.”
Jared could.
“Baby, there you are!”
Jared turned to see Naomi and Kent approaching. They really would have to work on her obedience, or lack thereof, Jared thought with a wry smile.
“Hello, Dad,” she said, avoiding his efforts to embrace her and ignoring her lumbering step-brothers all together.
“God, this is awful, what happened to Saul. We need to grieve together as a family, help each other through it.”
“What are you doing here?” Naomi asked. “Sitting outside Saul’s apartment, I mean.”
“The stupid dork of a doorman wouldn’t let us into his apartment,” one of her step-brother’s groused. “Said we have no authority, even though we told him who we are.”
“Why did you want to go in there?” Naomi asked.
“We thought we could stay there together until after the funeral.” Cheapskates! “It might help us to come to terms with what happened if we’re amongst his stuff. Do you have the keys?” He held out his hand. “You can go now, Mr. Maynard. We’ve got this.”
“Actually, you haven’t,” Jared replied. “This is the man you need to speak with.” He handed over Jack’s card. “He dealt with Saul’s legal affairs. His will, and stuff.”
“Will?” The brothers shared a bewildered look, as though they had no idea what a will actually was. Jared hadn’t pegged them as the brightest candles in the cathedral, but still…“Why would he have made a will? We’re his next of kin.”
“You’ll have to speak to Jack about that,” Jared said.
“We’re speaking to you,” Redford replied, poking Jared in the chest with a thick finger. His amenable expression, if that’s what it was supposed to have been, gave way to a threatening scowl. “We’re here and we want to go inside my son’s apartment. We have the right, so hand over the keys.”
“Actually you have no rights,” Jared replied, thrusting the man’s hand away with considerable, yet controlled, force. “Now I suggest you let us get on with what we came here to do and get in touch with Jack.”
Redford squared up to Jared, his sons standing shoulder to shoulder with him. “We ain’t going nowhere until we get this sor
ted out. Don’t think I don’t know your game, Maynard. You turned my boy against me, made him think he was too good for his own family. But it won’t wash, do you hear me?”
“The entire street can hear you,” Jared replied calmly. “Do you really want this to get back to the press? Being seen brawling outside your dead son’s flat is hardly the best way to preserve his memory.”
“I’ll go to the press anyway,” Redford replied, eyes bulging, face red with rage. “Tell them how you poisoned Saul’s mind against his own family just so you could get your grubby hands on what he’d worked so hard to achieve. I sacrificed everything to make sure he achieved his potential, and this is the thanks I get.”
“Why don’t you do that and see how it makes you look?” Kent suggested.
“Don’t judge everyone else by your own standards, Dad,” Naomi said at the same time. “You turned Saul against you by being so mean to him, and well you know it.”
“I was just trying to straighten the boy out.” Redford spread his hands. “He didn’t know his own mind.”
“By calling him a faggot, and all the other names you pinned on him?”
“He knew I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s a father’s duty to…”
“To what, Dad?” Naomi asked, sweeping past him. “To make him ashamed of the person he was supposed to be.”
“Come back here, Naomi, we need to talk about this. Don’t you turn on me, too.”
Naomi glanced over her shoulder. “Go home, all three of you. There’s nothing for you here.”
“Sorry,” Jared said, sliding an arm around Naomi’s shoulders as they rode the lift up to the penthouse, leaving the three scowling men gaping at their retreating figures. “That was the last thing you needed. You should have waited in the car and I would have saved you from it.” He lowered his voice to a seductive purr that vibrated through her body. “You’re really gonna have to learn to do as you’re told, you know, or face the consequences.”
