Found Underneath: Finding Me Duet #2

by K. L. Kreig

  I am his.

  He is mine.

  There is an us.

  It’s love, without a doubt, no matter if we say it or not.

  What started out as a job, a way to earn enough money to care for my ill mother has completely changed my life in ways I wasn’t expecting.

  All weekend I questioned myself and what I was doing. I doubted me. I doubted him. I doubted we had a real future ahead of us. I let others feed it. Because how can a foundation cemented in lies and deceit not eventually crack under the power of them? But after this afternoon, I don’t doubt anymore. We’ve turned this into something far, far more. Somehow over the past two months, we’ve both unconsciously been laying new groundwork, this one layered in truth and honesty.

  Now I just have to figure out how to navigate this foreign territory I’ve found myself in because as much as I want us to work, I know stripping down to the bare bone will be the hardest challenge I’ve ever faced.

  Chapter 7

  “That’s fucked up, man,” Noah says, taking a swig of his Yuengling.

  “Which part?” I ask, sipping my Hennessey 250 more slowly than I’d prefer. But getting drunk won’t solve a damn thing. I’m not sure what will, quite frankly.

  “All of it. Does your father know about this?”

  I wondered the same thing, but my father would never have been able to keep his surprise hidden when I first introduced Willow, so no. Mergen hasn’t said a thing to him about this. I’m not sure what to make of that either.

  “I don’t think so.”

  I take in a heavy breath. Leaning forward, I let the tumbler hang between my legs. I stare off into the inky night, listening to the constant rippling of the lake not fifty feet away from my backyard. The sound of waves gently crashing against the shore usually lulls me to a place of inner peace that’s hard for me to tap into, but tonight I’m wound so tight it’s a nit. Another irritant.

  Noah stormed through my front door about half an hour ago on the warpath. Can’t say I blame him. I left him to deal with an important meeting today. We need a new president to run our private equity division and we’ve been secretly whisking one away from our biggest competitor. We had a full afternoon of interviews scheduled for him, and I bailed without a single explanation, leaving Noah to deal with it.

  Not that he’s incapable, but we work best as a team. Always have. He respects my input, as I do his. He sees things I don’t and vice versa. We are a well-oiled machine, in the bedroom and the boardroom alike, and this is a big decision. This guy may be the shits, but he needs to fit in with Wildemer’s culture and values.

  Last week getting him on my payroll seemed like the most important thing on my agenda. Now I honestly couldn’t care less.

  Once Noah stopped screaming profanities at me, I beered him and ushered him out to my fire pit for an account of today’s events, starting with my morning meeting with that campaign fuckhead.

  Jesus, that seems like a lifetime ago already. I wish it was. I wish it was dust in my mirror and I was sitting here enjoying the cool fall air with Willow instead, knowing my sister is safe and sound, happy and remains drug free. But it hasn’t even been twelve hours since my carefully constructed world started cracking so damn fast I can still see the void widening.

  Twelve hours and I’m still in no different position than I was when I left his goddamn office.

  No answers.

  No idea of what comes next.

  Nothing except confirmation from Willow of what Mergen told me earlier.

  He’s waiting for me to fuck up.

  He’s working to win her back.

  The only good news is he hasn’t said anything irreparable. Yet. But I know that’s only a matter of time.

  “I need to bury this fucker. Far and deep,” I growl.

  “Then we will,” my best friend replies evenly. “We’re pretty good at burying shit.”

  “Apparently not good enough,” I mumble, still wondering how the hell Mergen found out about that night.

  “What size shoe does he wear?”

  Noah hasn’t even asked the most important question of all: did she do it? Did Annabelle have a link, direct or indirect, to Charles Blackwell’s death? And he won’t either. Instead he goes full bore into problem-solving mode: let’s make this shit go away.

  I shift my attention to him then. He has an ankle casually thrown over a knee, an elbow hooked over the back of his chair, a brown bottle bottling dangling from two fingers. His demeanor is relaxed. Lazy even, but I know he’s dead serious. There’s no doubt in my mind that he could get all sorts of sordid shit done. I only have to ask.

  But I don’t want Mergen at the bottom of the Puget or eating through a straw for the rest of his pathetic life. Although neither option would make me lose a night of sleep, that’s not how I operate. I simply want him gone. Out of Seattle and the state of Washington. Out of my hair, out of our lives.

  Our lives. I still can’t believe I’m thinking in those terms. It feels equally intoxicating and scary as fuck.

  At my silence, and with one brow cocked high, he asks, “You sure she’s worth it?”

  Under any normal circumstances, that question would cause my spine to steel and my temper to fire. But tonight it doesn’t. Noah’s not asking to be antagonistic. He’s asking out of genuine curiosity. No one threatens my family and fares well.

  Only Willow is not an outsider. She’s not collateral damage or some interloper. She’s become the sun I revolve around. I’m not willing to risk her, but I’m not willing to risk my sister either. Once again I am at a dead end.

  “Yes,” I answer simply. That tells him all he needs to know.

  “First time in my life I’ve seen a woman on equal footing with your family.”

  “A miracle witnessed, never to be repeated.” She’s it for me, I leave unsaid.

  He gives me a clipped nod. “Okay, then. We’ll figure it out. Whatever it takes.”

  My relief is there, but marginal. A shitstorm has kicked up and it’s going to take a deluge to quell the dust.

  “I need to ask you something.” Easing back in my chair, I throw the rest of my pricey cognac back and set my glass gently on the concrete pavers beside my chair.

  “Shoot.”

  “Is the money you’ve been putting in Willow’s account traceable?”

  The time I should have been asking that question was about two-and-a-half months ago when Noah and I sat in a bar and I watched him get our waitress off right at our table. The night I agreed to this charade in the first place. Not now, when everything’s rigged to blow up in our faces.

  After Willow begged me to give her a respite this afternoon, she pressed her naked body to mine and spilled her worries about Mergen digging into both of us. She was particularly concerned about the money. Easily traceable if not done right. But she was more worried for me and what this may do to my father’s campaign than how it would reflect on her.

  Fuck, I love her. She’s selfless and humble. She’s loyal, when I’m not sure I deserve it yet. For not the first time I’m kicking my own ass about that contract. It was necessary to get her but it’s undermined the basis of our relationship. And why wouldn’t it? There was never supposed to be a relationship. And now? What the three of us have engaged in? It could bring us all down in a plume of flames if it’s discovered.

  “Don’t worry, Shaw. I wouldn’t do anything that would finger either of us.”

  I eye him. “How is that exactly? These are large sums of money we’re talking about. Deposits that are reported to the feds and terror watch lists. How are you keeping it under the radar?”

  Noah brings the bottle to his lips and tips, sucking the last of the liquid dry. He throws the empty behind him. It lands in the grass with a dull thud. He grins when I scowl.

  “Don’t worry, lover boy,” he pokes in jest. “I won’t litter your perfectly manicured lawn.”

  “You annoy the shit out of me sometimes,” I huff.

  Hi
s teeth are so white they glow in the dark. “It’s what endears you to me. Admit it.”

  “I need to know how you’re keeping this covered, Noah.” I need to know his little scheme isn’t going to put our entire lives under a microscope.

  Noah sobers, losing his cocky bravado. “We don’t need to keep it covered. It’s all legit.”

  I scoff. “Somehow I don’t think Randi Deveraux is paying quarterly estimated taxes to the IRS.”

  His smile is slow to return. I wish I knew how well he knows this woman. How much we can trust her. “The escort side of her business, maybe not. But she runs a legitimate public foundation, and that foundation gives grants for those in hardship.”

  “Hardship?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What kind of hardships?”

  “Financial ones.”

  Suddenly I wonder how much Noah knows about Willow. What did Randi tell him? What does Randi know about her? Do they both know her secrets? And why does that send my blood pressure through the roof? Because you want them all, that’s why.

  “Financial ones?” I prod, needing more goddamn information. “You’d better tell me everything you know, Noah. I’m not fucking around here.”

  He barks a laugh, throwing his head back for good measure. “Your bite won’t work on me, Merc. Save it for your woman.”

  “Fuck you,” I say with a hiss.

  “Gonna be a hard pass. I like fucking with you, but pussy is my cuppa tea.”

  When I start winding my fingers through my hair in frustration, he finally gives me what I need. “She’s a shrewd businesswoman, Merc. She has a foolproof, legit process for funding these types of transactions through the foundation. There’s an application from Willow on file for audit purposes, but because it’s a public foundation, they don’t have to disclose any grant information to the government. Donations,” he quotes, “are a write-off—”

  “A write-off?” I interrupt incredulously. “You think I give a shit about a fucking tax break when everything I love could be on the line?”

  I realize what I just admitted when Noah’s grin eats up his whole face. Well, fuck him. I don’t care.

  “I paid in cash anyway, anonymous donation, so it’s untraceable to either of us. And before you ask, there isn’t a wad of unexplained bills sitting somewhere in Willow’s account that can be questioned or uncovered either. Randi holds the funds in a foundation account.”

  My knowledge on public foundations is limited, as the foundation we run through Wildemer is private, but once again, I have to trust Noah used a fine-tooth comb on this before he dragged me into it.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. I wouldn’t put you or your father or Randi into that situation, Merc.”

  “Yeah,” I agree on a long exhale. “Yeah. I’m sorry I questioned you.”

  He shrugs like it’s no big deal.

  I push up and head over to the outdoor fridge, snagging two beers. I’d prefer my Hennessey, but I’m too lazy to walk back up to the house to get it. Popping the tops on the under-counter remover, I let them plunk into the garbage below and head back to Noah, handing him one, which he takes with a “thanks.”

  Settling back in my chair, nighttime sounds fill the absence of noise that falls between us. Cicadas sing. Water laps. The faint hum of an occasional car engine can be heard even though I’m set back from the main road quite a ways.

  My mind frantically races after answers that remain elusive.

  Drumming his fingers against the lift of his chair, Noah breaks the silence. “We need to talk to Bull.”

  “Have an appointment with him tomorrow at three.” I’d planned to swing over to the PD after talking to Annabelle, but I had a visceral need to see Willow first. Then I ended up drowning in her for the rest of the day, unable to make myself leave until she kicked me out, saying she needed to work or she was going to be late with a recording for a client.

  “I’m coming.”

  “Fine by me,” I reply after I swallow the beer in my mouth, wondering who the fuck is going to run our multimillion-dollar business while we’re both out playing detective.

  “I think we need to pay a little visit to Bluebelle’s friends, who were with her that night.”

  It feels as if I’m pushing two tons of air from my chest. “Scaring the shit out of girls who are barely out of their teens is not my idea of a good time.”

  “We don’t have to scare them. I’ll use my quick wit and wieldy charm.”

  That makes me laugh. Breathe a smidge easier.

  “I’ll also have someone quietly start looking into this tool.”

  “That would be much appreciated.”

  “So it’s settled.”

  “That it is.”

  “So,” Noah starts slowly, “I guess sharing her is off the table then?”

  My head snaps toward him in disbelief. Envisioning Willow sucking his cock the way she did mine earlier, as if it were her source of life, makes each muscle in my body tense for a throwdown. I want to pound his face into the cement beneath my feet until he eats the bitter words he dared speak.

  In typical Noah fashion, he’s scrutinizing my reaction, staring at me with this unreadable look on his face. I can’t tell whether he’s screwing with me or serious as a heart attack.

  I’m going with the latter. “You lay a finger on her, I’ll castrate you.”

  That low chuckle is back. Grating down each nerve ending until they’re sensitive to the touch.

  “I mean it. She’s off-limits, Noah,” I warn. “No flirting, no propositioning, no trying to charm the pants off her. You so much as think about her naked and I’ll rip your eyeballs out. You got it?”

  I’ve discovered something about myself over the last few weeks. I’m an irrationally jealous he-man when it comes to his woman. Another label I never thought possible but will own with pleasure.

  Noah’s casual, “She’s the one, huh?” throws me for an upside-down loop after the calculated goading he just did.

  I break my death glare, loosen my grip, and let my head fall back against my chair. “She’s the one,” I admit, after taking a long drink of the cold beverage in my hand.

  “Have you told her you’re in love with her?”

  I want to. I told my sister this morning, and I certainly left Mergen with the impression I loved her. Yet being that vulnerable with her? The thought twists my gut into so many knots it hurts.

  But if I don’t tell her, where does that leave me?

  On the outside looking in, that’s where.

  I’ve no doubt Mergen is vomiting his emotions all over her, and even though she told me earlier she didn’t want him, I can’t help but wonder what I’d do in her position. We’re both on our knees, hanging on to her for dear life, but only one of us has bared his soul. Only one man wins.

  And what if my sister was somehow involved in her father’s death? Then what? Christmases and Sunday meals will be mighty uncomfortable. She would end up leaving me. I’ll have bared my very soul to her, only to have it flayed if she walks.

  Yet if I don’t make myself vulnerable, I risk losing her.

  “Not yet.”

  Silence stretches between Noah and me for such a long time, I swing my gaze back his way. He’s staring out at the lake, blinking slowly. Contemplating.

  I wonder what he’s thinking. If he’s envious or feels slighted. Or maybe he’s just upset our uncomplicated encounters have finally run their course.

  His eyes cut to mine, his head barely turning as if he can’t be bothered to angle it all the way. “You should. Don’t let her get away. She’s good for you, Merc.”

  I know.

  “You think?” He’s never put that string of words together.

  This time his smile is genuine. “I don’t know how I knew it when I first saw her, but I had this feeling. About her. About you. I won’t bullshit you. I wanted her. I wanted to—”

  “Don’t fucking say it,” I threaten through gritted
teeth. My hand curls tight around my beer bottle. I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.

  One side of his lip twists up wryly. It’s his trademark. Women rip off their panties when he drops that look right there. “But the second she opened that brassy mouth…Christ.” He shakes his head, remembering. I tamp down envy, knowing it’s unnecessary. Having a hard time with it anyway. “All I heard was Shaw Mercer’s demise.”

  I’m speechless and surprisingly emotional at that. “Thank you,” I tell him, choking a bit on my sincerity. Knowing if he tried hard enough he might have had her that night causes a sharp pain in my chest. And I’m not sure I could have sat here and acted like that didn’t bother me. Because it would have.

  For once in my thirty-six-year friendship with Noah, I selfishly want a woman’s taste and moans of pleasure to belong solely to me.

  Chapter 8

  “Are you sure I can’t help?” I offer again for the umpteenth time.

  We arrived at the Mercers’ less than twenty minutes ago, but well ahead of the rest of the family. Shaw said he had some business matters to discuss with his father and wanted privacy before the evening turned chaotic. “Maybe I can set the table?” I add, anxious for something to do.

  “No, dear. It’s all set. You just sit and relax. Enjoy your wine,” Adelle Mercer replies. She reaches for the plump hothouse tomato next to her and slices the top off before dicing it into perfect wedges for the enormous salad she’s creating. It’s a masterpiece. It looks so delicious it could be photographed for a spread in Martha Stewart Living.

  “I’m afraid I don’t sit and relax well.” I fidget with the glass in front of me, twisting and turning the stem so the wine inside swirls in arcs that leave long red legs racing back to the liquid below.

  “Well, that’s a problem. Everyone needs to unwind more instead of go, go, going all the time.” Her eyes find mine. “You seem the type who takes the world’s problems into her lap and makes them her own, never finding time for yourself.”

  Her intuition strikes me mute for a few seconds. God, am I that transparent? “I’ve always had a lot of responsibility.” It’s lame, but I don’t know what else to say. I can’t spill my entire sad story to my “boyfriend’s” mother. And maybe it’s time to stop thinking of Shaw with those caveated quotations? It’s just another way I keep him out. Or me trapped. It’s all the same.