by Lexi Blake
“It’s hurricane season.” He glanced down at the folders. It looked like McKay-Taggart had been very thorough. They’d come through with full dossiers on all the important players. He flipped through them until he found the only one he was truly interested in: Mary Hannigan.
Yeah, he still would like to solve that mystery.
Margarita looked down at him, her eyes warm. “Sometimes riding out the storm with someone you care about can be a good thing.”
Win didn’t sleep well during storms. Who would hold her when she woke up and the thunder and lightning was cracking all around her? She would be alone out there on the island. If he was there, he could distract her. He would make love to her over and over again until she was so tired not even the storm could keep her awake. Then he would cuddle up and sleep against her and start all over again in the morning.
“Henry, what are you doing?” Margarita asked. “You want that woman, and she wants you. Go after her.”
“I thought it would be smart to give us some time,” he explained. “Our relationship was built on some pretty heavy trauma. The time isn’t just for me. It’s for her. She’s young and it’s very reasonable for her to fall for the man who saved her life. You know those types of relationships almost never work.”
“But you met her before, when there wasn’t any stress. You were too stubborn to call her then.”
“I was going to.” Henry sat back. He wasn’t going to lie about that a second longer. He’d been ready to call and set up some way to see her. “I want to now, but I don’t know if I have the right to. I’m too old for her. I’m an alcoholic, a workaholic.”
“You haven’t been too much of a workaholic lately,” Margarita said nonchalantly. “In fact, before the last couple of days, some of the associates were complaining because they’d heard you were a hard-ass who never left the office. They started clocking when you left work. I believe on average they had you walking out the door a little before five. Not quite the usual hours for the Monster of Manhattan.”
His associates needed more to do. “I had to make sure I got home at a reasonable hour because . . .” He was such an idiot. Margarita had led him right into her trap. “I wanted to spend time with Win, so I made her a priority.”
“See, you can do it.” Margarita sat down in the chair across from him. “You’re totally trainable. Tell me how she did it. It was food and sex, right? She worked quickly.”
He frowned. “She certainly didn’t train me. She merely made it clear that dinner was served at a specific time and it would be rude to leave her alone after she cooked. And then she would come and sit in my lap for dessert.” He thought about that for a moment. “Damn it. She used food and sex to train me.”
He laughed for the first time in days.
He’d been worried about taking advantage of her while she’d been quietly working to mold him into a good boyfriend. Not perfect. She didn’t want perfect. She wanted healthy and good and right.
“I love her,” he admitted. It was good to say the words.
“Excellent because I asked Noah to get the plane ready.” She stood up, a happy look on her face. “I also had a bag packed for you. You leave in forty minutes and you can’t be late or you might get grounded because apparently there’s another storm. You’re right. It is storm season.”
He could see Win in less than two hours. He could show up on her doorstep and she would welcome him. She would open her arms—not asking him any questions, merely making him glad to be there.
He was tired of being without her. Not alone. He could be alone, but now being alone meant being without her. If he stood up and got on that plane, Win would gently mold him, and slowly his career would become less important and she would likely talk him into marriage and he would wake up one morning a poor schmo idiot who spent more time on his wife and kids than he did on his stellar career. He wouldn’t be excellent because he wouldn’t have time to make his career the way he’d dreamed of. He would be ordinary. An ordinary man who loved his wife and kids. An ordinary life. Not perfect. Merely right and good.
Henry stood up because he was done with perfection forever. “I need David to take the Jameson case.”
“Already done.” David was standing in the doorway, a smile on his face. “And your bag is waiting in the car. Go get your girl. You’re probably going to have to grovel though. Do you remember how?”
Win wouldn’t make him. She’d given him time and she would likely reward him for not taking too long to come to his senses. She’d probably been ready to give him another few weeks before she got mad at him.
Noah stepped up beside David. “Let’s get going. I’m going to be your pilot today.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can hop on a commuter plane.”
Noah shook his head. “And not take the company jet? Oh, sure it says 4L Software on the side, but I consider it ours. Let’s head out. I’ve got a date.”
Henry felt lighter. Younger. Less stupid. More stupid. He didn’t care because he was going to see Win. “You have a date?”
David shook his head. “When we went out to the island to make sure you were alive a few weeks ago, he met a woman. Apparently she’s very open to accommodating his busy schedule. He’s going to fly you out, spend the night, and come back in the morning. You and Win can come with him or hang out for a couple of days. Margarita and I will hold down the fort.”
He was going to Win. Why had it been hard to make that decision? Because having made it, he felt so damn good. Being with Win was the best decision he’d ever made.
“Let’s go.” Nothing else mattered. Only Win. Getting Win in his arms was the most important thing in the world.
Sharon stepped in. “Who wants this?”
The DNA report. He pulled the folder out of her hands. It didn’t matter, but he wanted to be able to go over it with Win and her uncle. They could settle everything. And while he was at it . . .
He jogged back and grabbed the intelligence Sharon had put on his desk earlier. He could read the files while he was in flight. It wasn’t like they would tell him anything interesting. It would tell him things like Trevor had a coke problem and Win had control issues. There would be reports on how Win should dump her reality TV show friends.
Some people would read the latest thriller. Henry liked to read reports on people he found suspicious.
“Let’s go. I want to touch down long before that storm hits,” Noah said.
Henry didn’t argue. He wanted Win in his arms before the first thunder shook the house.
* * *
An hour later he stared down at the report, a chill going over his skin.
“You’re quiet,” Noah said, walking out into the cabin.
“Shouldn’t you be flying the plane?” He didn’t look up. He couldn’t quite manage to process the words on the page. He shouldn’t have ducked Big Tag’s call earlier this afternoon. He hadn’t wanted to deal with the head of McKay-Taggart—Case’s older brother, Ian, was known for his sarcasm—but now he realized what the man had been calling about.
“It’s on autopilot,” Noah replied. “This sucker pretty much flies itself. I just sit in the seat for takeoff and landing. We’ve got smooth skies on this side. Are those the final reports on Win’s case?”
Now he wasn’t absolutely sure Win’s case was over. Not by a long shot. A sick feeling had opened in the pit of his stomach. “I asked the investigators to find out everything they could on Mary Hannigan.”
“The nanny? Wasn’t there some issue with her immigration status?”
Immigration was the least of their problems. “No. There was an issue with her existing at all before she shows up on the tax records thirty years ago. Apparently she changed her name after her husband died, when the yacht he was piloting went down.”
Noah frowned. “That’s weird. Didn’t Win’s parents die in a ya
chting accident?”
“Yes, they died during a storm. The boat was captained by a man named Milo Jarvisch. His wife was named Mary.”
Noah huffed, looking down at the names on the files. “Are you fucking with me? Mary Hannigan was married to the captain of the yacht Win’s parents died on? How did we not know that? Shouldn’t that have been all over the initial reports? I read a bunch of background on the accident and that was never once mentioned. They mentioned the captain’s name, but not that he had a wife.”
The fact that he’d been married wasn’t even the bad part. “And child. Milo and Mary Jarvisch had a child. A daughter.”
Taylor Winston-Hughes had been called the Miracle Baby. How did a baby survive when the adults hadn’t? When the storm had been so bad it had broken a million-dollar yacht apart and they’d never found the bodies?
Only one living baby strapped into a life vest. She’d been saved from the ocean’s dangers by a fishing boat twenty-four hours later and miles from where she should have been. That baby had managed to survive in ten-foot waves, in the frigid water for hours and hours.
Her uncle had been called to identify her.
A miracle.
Or a very clever way to keep a billion-dollar fortune in the family.
Noah went still. “What are you thinking? Because that would be terrible. If you’re thinking what I’m thinking. What happened to the Jarvisch daughter? Where is she now?”
“There are no records of the child beyond her birth certificate. She would have been almost the same age as the Winston-Hughes baby. There are no school records or immunization records. It’s like Mary dumped the baby and continued on with her life. Or she’s been with her baby girl all along. I think I know exactly where she is.” He turned to the envelope with the DNA tests and opened it. There it was. Not one test but two. One of the envelopes was marked TWH.
Taylor Winston-Hughes.
“Oh, shit. Brie figured it out.” Noah moved back to the pilot’s chair. “I’ll have us down on the ground as soon as I can.”
Yes, Brie had figured out a decades-old con. That was why she’d died. And that was why he had to get on the damn ground, because Win was with the real killer.
FIFTEEN
Win pulled the Jeep into the garage, her mind still on that picture. She’d seen it a million times, but this time it had disturbed her. She stepped out of the garage, closing it behind her. She delivered the cans of stock to Mary, who was cutting up vegetables.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” She shook her head. “Though I told you not to go yourself.”
“The grocery store was completely paparazzi-free.” In a few weeks no one would even want to talk to her. There would be a new scandal and everyone would move on.
“I’m happy to hear it.” Mary glanced out over the yard toward the shop. “Could you go and ask your uncle to make sure the generator has gas? I don’t like those skies.”
“Sure.” She started toward the door but turned, asking a question she’d always wanted to ask. “Do you ever wish you’d had kids of your own?”
Mary looked up, a sad smile on her face. “I did. I had you, my love. Never think I don’t love you as my own. You are my own. Sending you to those boarding schools was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I fought with your uncle, but he convinced me it was for the best. If I could do it over again, I would have kept you at home and maybe you wouldn’t have fallen in with that terrible girl.”
When she thought about it, her uncle and Mary had functioned as her parents. Right down to fighting over what was best for her.
“I would have found other trouble,” Win replied. “Things tend to work out the way they should. At least I hope so. I hope fate is kind this time around and Henry calls.”
Mary’s eyes met hers. “Sometimes you have to take control of fate. Sometimes you have to make hard decisions and never back down from them. If you want that man, if he’s the one for you, don’t give up on him.”
The first clap of thunder shook the house. They were running out of time. “I’ll remember that. I’ll go and talk to Uncle Bell. He’ll get stuck in the shop if I don’t make him come in.”
It wouldn’t be the first time. She jogged across the yard, the scent of the storm rolling over her senses. It was like the ocean air, only with an extra charge to it. The sky was dark, with flashes of light making it seem like one big show. Nature’s mighty entertainment.
The first raindrops hit her forehead and she raced into the shop.
Music filled the space. Chopin. It was soothing, along with the soft light that filled the building. Uncle Bellamy’s shop was neat and well kept. For much of her life, it had been off limits because of the tools. She and Trevor had been locked out after Trevor had played around with a saw and nearly lost a finger.
“Is that you, Win?” Her uncle’s voice was muffled, and she could see his feet sticking out from under the boat he was restoring.
“Yeah, the storm’s moving in. Mary wanted to make sure the generator is ready in case we lose power,” she said over the music.
“I already checked it this afternoon.” He didn’t move from under the boat. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll walk back to the house with you. I’m almost done here. Can you pass me the sander?”
She moved around the shop to where her uncle kept the tools and picked up the triangular sander he used on small jobs. Her uncle’s hand came out and she could see he was working with a light wrapped around his forehead. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” He took the sander. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“No problem.” She glanced around the shop. She knew why her uncle was hiding out here. It was soothing for him after the chaos of Trevor’s death. He could come here and work in peace and quiet and try to forget that the police still hadn’t released his son’s body for burial.
That was something she would have to get him through. A funeral for his son. Who might be his nephew.
If her father had cheated, could her mother have cheated, too? With a man who had blue eyes and light-colored hair? Would that explain why she didn’t look like anyone in the family? She wasn’t sure why, but that picture was still bothering her. “Do you think my mother cheated the way my dad did?”
The sander stopped. “What did you say, dear?”
This wasn’t the time or the place. “Nothing. Just commenting about the rain. It’s starting to come down now.”
“I think there’s an umbrella in one of the bins by the front door.” The sander sounded again, the whirl oddly peaceful.
She moved around the shop, brushing her hands over the neatly kept tools. Maybe she needed a hobby to take her mind off things. She couldn’t start school again until the next semester and she wasn’t sure she would go back to Duke. It was too far from Henry. NYU would work. Maybe Columbia.
Maybe he wouldn’t call at all and she would really need a hobby and that wand she’d ordered.
Umbrella. She needed to concentrate on finding one because it was coming down hard now, the sound competing with the music and the sander.
There were several containers near the door. One of them was a box for the wood her uncle used. The other seemed to be a catchall. There were a couple of umbrellas and the walking stick her uncle took with him when he walked along the beach. She reached in and pulled out the umbrella. It caught on something, pulling it along.
Something heavy and metal had caught on the fabric. She pulled it free and then stopped.
It was a fireplace tool.
She stared at it dumbly for a moment, trying to understand why it was here. It was supposed to be back in her bedroom in Manhattan. That was where it had been for years. Until it had gone missing the night of Brie’s murder, the night she’d been hit on the back of the head.
That was when she realized no one had cleaned it. There was blood and strands of blond hair
clinging to it.
Her blood. Her hair.
“I should have gotten rid of that,” a deep voice said from behind her.
She turned and faced her uncle, fear beginning to rise. “Why? Why would you kill Brie? Why would you nearly kill me?”
He looked odd in his shop clothes. He was always so perfectly pressed, but he looked older, more timeworn in the denim coveralls he wore when he worked here. “I wasn’t trying to kill you, Win. That would have made everything I’ve done in the last twenty-nine years meaningless. As for that bitch friend of yours, she figured it all out. She knew I would pay to keep the secret, but she didn’t understand that I couldn’t trust her. Can’t trust anyone but Mary. It was why I had the fishermen killed a few years later. I couldn’t risk them talking.”
“Fishermen?” Why was he talking about fishing when she was holding the evidence that could send him to jail? “Brie knew that Trevor was my dad’s son? Why would you kill her over that? I know it’s got to be a blow to your ego, but . . .”
“I didn’t care about that stupid son of a bitch. I don’t care if he’s my child. Hell, I hope he was my brother’s. My brother was a selfish bastard. I told him not to go that night. I told him not to get on that boat, but he was always smarter than the rest of us. He said he had a captain who could get around the storm.”
She was so confused. “The night they died?”
“Matt fucked everything up. I always had to clean up after him. Yes, he was the brilliant mind, but I was the one who had to keep everything together. Who leaves their billion-dollar company to charity? Who fucking does that? What was I supposed to do? He got his whole family killed and I was supposed to let the company go to some hippie-dippie organization that would run it into the ground?”
Her stomach turned as she realized what he was saying. Was he saying that? She couldn’t quite make herself believe it. “But his whole family wasn’t killed.”
