Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5)

by Shirley Hailstock

  "Connie, security has been alerted in this building. My staff will feel truly inhibited if you search every piece of paper that comes across this desk."

  "This is a big package. You can't imagine the things that could be hidden in there."

  "You're right, I can't, and I'm sure I never want to know anything about those kinds of devices, but I also don't want my staff feeling like they're suspects."

  "I'll be more considerate," she said.

  "There's a small office through that door." Erika went and opened it. "You and Adrienne can use it while you're here."

  Connie went through it and Erika sat down at her desk. Separate stacks of reports and mail waited for her. She searched the stack for the report from Jeff Rivers. What had been the activity of their stock over the past week? Thankfully the market was closed on Thanksgiving and the weekend. Jeff's report showed no additional unusual activity. She breathed a little easier. Maybe they had jumped to conclusions, and there was no attempt to gain access to the board or to undermine the market share.

  She went on to the competitive reports. Nothing out of place there. She felt better. Maybe they had been chasing their tails in the past few months. Erika hoped that was true, but she knew she'd keep monitoring the reports.

  "Good morning." Michael came through the door the way he did every morning about this time. He had two cups of coffee. Handing her one, he sat down.

  "How come you're enjoying this so much and I'm having the worst time with it?"

  "I've always wanted to be followed around by a beautiful woman." He sipped his coffee. "You probably haven't."

  Erika picked up one of the letters in front of her and threw it at him. He put his hand up and blocked the shot, laughing at her.

  Picking up the envelope, he handed it back. "What are these?"

  "More requests for my hand in marriage," she told him.

  Michael got up. "Turn them down," he said. "I've got a meeting. I'll see you soon."

  He left and she began her usual day of meetings, reports, and market strategies. By five o'clock she was dead tired and ready to go home. She and Connie rode without speaking in the limousine back to the estate.

  Erika opened the door to hanging wreaths and garlands. The staff must have been working all day to make the place ready for Christmas.

  She went to her room. She felt guilty. It wasn't like her to be angry with someone for no good reason, and she certainly had no good reason to use cross words with Connie Forester. She didn't dislike her. What she disliked was having her ability to move freely curtailed. There were times when she wanted to be alone, and with Connie lurking about she wasn't given that opportunity.

  She should feel grateful for her presence. It allowed her to keep her vow of staying away from Michael. But she'd long ago abandoned that vow. Now she wanted nothing more than to be in his company, to be free to make love without someone knowing where she was.

  Erika changed into jeans and a sweater and headed down to the library.

  "Excuse me!"

  Erika reached the top of the stairs. She heard her mother’s haughty voice. Why was Alva always showing up where she wasn’t wanted?

  "I will not be searched."

  Erika ran down the stairs. "It's all right, Connie. She's my mother."

  "Ms. St. James—"

  "I know, Connie," her voice was a little harsh. Erika let her shoulders drop, and the anger she felt went out of her. "I apologize," she said in a quieter voice. "Let her in."

  Alva Redford humphed, glared at the guard and swept past him with her nose high enough to cause it to bleed.

  "Don't look so smug, Mother, or I will let them search you." Alva followed her to the living room. A tree that reached near to the ceiling stood fully decorated in front of the window. The fireplace mantel held a scene from the Dickens Village lit with small lights. Everything about the room was merry. It should have made Erika happy.

  "What's going on?" her mother asked the moment they were in the room. "Who was that?"

  "She's my bodyguard."

  "You're kidding." Alva stared at her for a moment.

  Erika stood with her arms crossed.

  "You're not kidding?" Her perfectly arched brows went up an inch.

  "The accident was caused by someone tampering with the car." Erika refused to give her the details of recent events. Prolonging her visit was not something she’d enjoy.

  Alva's mouth opened and she clamped her hands over it. Erika could only think of her mother and drama in the same breath. "We've added some extra guards, including the woman you met at the door."

  Erika took a seat and waited. Her mother sat down, but said nothing. This time she was determined to wait her mother out. It didn't take long. Alva looked around the room several times. Eventually her gaze came back to her daughter.

  "The staff is fully awake, Mother. Should I order you coffee?"

  "No, dear. I'm cutting down on my intake of caffeine. It isn't healthy to drink too much I’m told."

  "So you're becoming health conscious?"

  "It wouldn't hurt any of us. We all need to take care of ourselves sometimes."

  Again they lapsed into silence. It stretched about the room like a tight rubber band.

  "You know, you look a lot like me when I was your age," Alva said.

  "I don't think you want to begin any discussion that goes along that line," Erika said.

  "Why not?"

  "Because, Mother, you know I don't look like you. I look like my father."

  Erika watched her mother. Alva had mastered a flinch that would in the past have been invisible to the naked eye.

  "I don't want to talk about your father," she said.

  "You never want to talk about him. Why?"

  "Erika, I didn't come here to argue with you."

  "Why did you come? Each time we get within ten feet and two minutes of each other, we're ready to scratch each other's eyes out. Why is that, Mother? "

  Alva hesitated a moment. Erika didn't know which of them she wanted to calm down.

  "Where's Michael?" she asked calmly and sweetly, as if they hadn't been about to explode.

  "He teaches tonight," Erika told her. "Except for the guards, we're alone."

  "Your injuries, from the accident," she said. "Are they completely healed?"

  "Completely," Erika lied. She still had bruises on her arms and legs, but her headaches were gone. "Mother, you're trying to get to a point to ask for something. Come straight out with it. We get on much better when we're honest with each other."

  "All right, Erika." Alva leaned forward in her chair. "I want to borrow some money."

  "For what?"

  "I can't tell you that."

  "How much money?"

  "Fifty thousand."

  "You have to be kidding."

  "I assure you I never kid about money."

  "You want me to loan you that much money without knowing what you're going to do with it?"

  Alva's head bobbed up and down.

  "You have got more nerve than a. . ." She couldn't think of an adequate metaphor. "Give me one good reason why I should lend you anything."

  "I'm your mother."

  "That's not a good enough reason."

  "The reason is personal. That's all I can tell you."

  "If I give you this money, is there a chance at all that it will be repaid?"

  Alva stared at her daughter for a long time. Her face didn't change. Not one thing about her changed except a narrowing of her eyes. "No," she finally said.

  "Yet you think I should give it to you, anyway?"

  She nodded. "If you ever in your life felt anything for me. . .”

  “You’re not going to play the you-used-to-love-me card? I can trump that one without a second thought.”

  “I need the money."

  "Why don't you go to a bank? You obviously have assets."

  "I need it faster than a bank could process it and they would insist on knowing its purpose, and I c
ouldn't tell them that."

  "Whatever you're doing, is it legal?"

  "Of course," she said, astonished that her daughter would even consider she'd do something illegal.

  Erika had never written a check for that much money, not a personal one. She had no need to write checks at all. Carlton paid her expenses while she lived here, and when she went to school he paid the bills. She had a credit card and money in the campus bank. After graduation she got a job and lived on her salary. Carlton insisted she have an allowance, but Erika had never used it. The money had been in the bank for eight years, collecting and compounding interest. Writing a fifty thousand dollar check wouldn't even dent it.

  "Mother, I'll give you the money." Alva's shoulders dropped in relief. "On one condition," Erika finished.

  "What is it?"

  "I want to know what the trust fund was set up for, and why it's been paying you since I moved into this house."

  "The establishment of that fund was an agreement between Carlton and me. I promised him I'd take its reason for being to my grave." She stared directly at Erika. "You understand a promise, don't you?"

  Erika surely understood promises. They were not to be broken. Alva had broken almost every promise she’d ever made to Erika. Yet she threw up a curtain when it came to this fund.

  "Do I get the money?"

  Erika didn't move. She thought about her mother. There was no earthly reason why she should give this woman a penny. She'd mentally abused her as a child. She'd given her no moral support or guidance during her entire life, and now when she could go nowhere else she'd came begging for money—money she wouldn't even tell the purpose for. So why was Erika getting up and going to the library to write her a check?

  Chapter 17

  The University of Pennsylvania School of Law was a brightly lit modern building. Michael looked down from his window on the second floor. His class had ended fifteen minutes ago, and Peter was right on time. Adrienne waited for him nearby. Moments later his brother came into the room and closed the door.

  His features were grim, not at all like his anchorman look from the six o'clock news.

  "What have you found?" Michael asked. Neither of them bothered to exchange pleasantries.

  "Your suspicions were right. Alva St. James Redford does have a secret, but it had nothing to do with stock manipulations."

  "How can you be sure?"

  "Using sources you don't want to know about, I checked the dates of the checks she received from the fund against the surges in stocks. They coincide closely enough, but the funds don't go for stock."

  "Are you sure?" Michael didn't want Alva to be behind anything that affected Graves Enterprises. He knew how much it would mean to Erika to discover her mother really loved her, but if Alva had secretly been buying stock, what could be her purpose, other than to force her daughter to do something? But what?

  "My sources say there isn't any stock problem. The increased activity surrounded Erika and you being named co-partners of a vastly successful business. The analysts think the stock is leveling off."

  "If there's not a stock problem, what is Alva using the money for?"

  Peter looked directly at him, in the same way he did each night when the camera transmitted his image to an unseen audience. Michael waited.

  "Medical treatment," he said. "She's dying."

  Michael remembered seeing her walking toward the elevator that day she invited Erika to Thanksgiving dinner. He'd never have thought there was anything wrong with her.

  "She has a rare disease that causes an imbalance in the chemistry of the brain. It causes mood swings. One minute she can be normal and talking and the next she'll be screaming and shouting. The addition of alcohol accelerates the process."

  "Oh my God!" Michael said. "That's why she treated Erika so badly. Her bouts of shouting and screaming. Her moods changing. For a child that would be unbearable."

  "It's not inheritable," Peter assured him. "It is long-term, however. Most people who develop it don't even know they have it. To them, their actions are completely normal. It's everybody else who is irrational."

  "How long has she got?"

  "No one knows."

  "Can she be treated for it?"

  "She has been. For the past twenty-five years she's been taking medication to control the imbalance."

  "And now?"

  "I don't know. Maybe she only takes it at times, or maybe the imbalance has grown worse with time. It's such a rare condition that not much is known about it." Peter reached across to his brother and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Michael."

  Michael nodded. "What about Bobby and Catherine? Are they all right?" He moved the subject to other avenues.

  "They're fine. Mom is having the time of her life with Roberta, and Catherine is supervising the building of the new kitchen."

  "She's not alone, is she?"

  "No," Peter said. "The guard you hired is always with them. Until this maniac is caught, none of us travel alone. Even Mom has agreed to the terms."

  "Good," Michael breathed. At least he didn't have to worry about them.

  He told Peter about the firm of investigators they had hired to track Frank. He hoped they could find him and turn him over to the authorities. Then maybe everyone could go back to a normal life.

  Michael didn't know if his would ever be normal again. It hadn't been normal in years. He'd thought he was on the right track after he'd met and fallen in love with Erika, but he wasn't sure. The night he'd told her he loved her, she hadn't returned the sentiment, and she still hadn't. He knew she was attracted to him. He knew she satisfied him in bed, and he satisfied her. He'd seen the way she looked at him when her eyes were unguarded and filled with passion. Yet he didn't know how she really felt, or what it would mean to her when he delivered his news.

  "I have to get back, Michael. Will you be all right?"

  "Sure," Michael said. They both stood and put their coats on. Michael picked up his briefcase, and they met their guards in the hall. Outside the law school they separated and went to their waiting cars.

  Michael rode in silence to the mansion. Erika always waited for him. Tonight he had news she probably wouldn't want to hear. He didn't want to tell her. He wanted to make love to her. Tomorrow would be plenty of time to give her bad news. He didn't want to spoil her night. He wanted it to be the most wonderful night in the world.

  ***

  "Good-night, Mr. Lawrence," the limo driver said as he got out of the car. Michael and Adrienne came through the door. Erika stood in the doorway of the library. She looked beautiful. Michael dropped his briefcase on the hall table and left his overcoat on a chair.

  "I have to talk to Erika," he told Adrienne. "We don't want to be disturbed."

  Michael came to her. She didn't move. He didn't try to conceal anything from the bodyguard behind him. He took her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly. Then he took her hand and led her up the stairs. At the landing they turned toward his rooms and she followed him, looking back to see if Adrienne was standing in the hall watching. She wasn't. She had discreetly disappeared, affording them privacy, but he knew the slightest out of place sound would bring her running.

  Michael closed the door to his bedroom and locked it. He turned back to Erika, who stood before him. The room was dark except for the firelight. He smelled pine and noticed that Christmas accents had been added to the suite. Then his gaze came to rest on the woman he loved. Her short curls glowed with a red tinge as she watched him. Neither of them moved. Only the hammering of his heart through his shirt was visible. Michael slipped his jacket from his shoulders. His tie followed it before he took a step toward Erika.

  "Touch me," he said.

  Erika's hands reached his chest. Through the material he felt her slim fingers. Heat seared through him. Nimbly she opened the buttons on his shirt and slipped her fingers inside. When she'd opened it completely she kissed his brandy-hot skin. His muscles contracted. Her tongue tasted him, working a slow, h
ot magic on his nipples. She circled them in long, rapturous strokes. The flat surfaces hardened into sand pebbles.

  Michael groaned at her action. He took hold of her head, his fingers softly digging into her hair. He brought her mouth to his in a hard, fervent kiss. She came up on her toes, her arms circling his neck as she held on, pressing her body into his, devouring his mouth as their tongues danced in a wet, warm, erotic dance.

  Moving his hands, Michael caressed her back, slowly sliding his long arms down her spine and up again, pulling her hips into his and reveling in the carnal excitement that tingled about them.

  Michael found the hem of the sweater and slipped his hands under it. Pushing upward, he stepped back, breaking contact only long enough to drag it over her head. He gasped at the touch of her hot skin. He slipped his thumbs in the top of her jeans and made a ceremony of sliding them around to the front snap. Erika expelled air into his mouth when his hands touched the core of her being. He opened the snap and slid the zipper to the bottom.

  The mounting heat in the room threatened to incinerate them. Erika pushed his shirt down his arms, and one by one pulled it free of his arms. The white silk floated to the floor, joining the clothes. Her hands were small as they touched his untarnished skin, bringing it to fiery life. Her mouth again touched his chest, open and wet, seeking, persuading. Michael clenched his teeth at the pleasure she caused to rocket through him. Opening his pants, she slipped her hands inside. He groaned at the bliss that shot through him, the hardness that pulsed in her hands and the sheer need to have her continue the torturous thrill she'd begun. His pants slipped down his legs and he stepped out of his shoes and the material with no effort.

  Lifting Erika, he carried her to the bed and laid her on it. In seconds he'd removed her jeans and shoes. He pulled her to a sitting position and kissed the swell of the breasts still encased in the lacy cups of her bra. Her hands drew widening circles on his back. He unhooked the bra, freeing her breasts. He took them in both hands, his thumbs padding over nipples that hardened to his touch. Erika moaned, asking for more. His fingers moved faster. Her breath caught in her throat, and his mouth took it on the exhale.