She started toward him; she’d always liked Paul, and they had gotten along well in the seven years since his investment group had acquired enough stock to warrant that seat on the board.
“Kendall?”
She smiled as Paul looked up and saw her coming toward him. He seemed startled, then, oddly, nervous. His gaze flicked to the man he’d shaken hands so familiarly with, the man Kendall had barely looked at in her surprise at seeing Paul. But she looked now. And he half turned to look at her as well.
It was Jason.
Her steps faltered, her smile vanished, but she steadied herself and kept going.
“Paul,” she said with a nod.
“Kendall, it’s good to see you. I’m sorry about Aaron. I know you were close.”
“Yes,” Kendall said, “we were.” She nodded toward Jason without looking at him. “You two . . . know each other? From Seattle?”
Paul glanced at Jason. “Er . . . yes, you could say that.”
She looked at Jason then, expecting to see nothing but that cool, distant expression he’d worn when he’d left her. It was there, his features a mask of detachment, but the effect was marred by his eyes; they were watching her intently, almost warily. And in them she sensed a touch of reluctance, as if he were facing some task he found distasteful somehow. Or perhaps it was her he found distasteful now.
She looked back at Paul. “Why are you here instead of the house?”
“I . . . That is, because . . .”
His voice trailed off, and he looked at Jason again. One of the reasons she’d always liked Paul was because she’d sensed he was an honest man. He wasn’t acting like one now.
“He’s here,” Jason said, “to meet with me.”
Her gaze flew back to Jason’s face, startled. “You? Why?”
“Let it be, Kendall,” he said again, as he had upstairs.
If you push any more, you may not like what you find.
The rest of what he’d said came back to her; as it replayed in her head it sounded even more ominous. The implication, that she might learn a truth she wouldn’t welcome, was clear. But she’d faced unpleasant truths before in her life. She’d always thought it better than foolishly believing a lie. And she’d already played the fool enough in this little charade of Jason’s.
Her head came up determinedly. Jason sighed, as if he’d read her intent in just that movement.
“Go ahead and get settled, Paul,” he said. “I’ll see you and the others as planned, before the meeting tonight.”
Seeming grateful to escape, Paul gave Kendall an apologetic look and walked hastily away. She was vaguely aware of him dodging someone who had just walked in through the front doors of the hotel, but her attention was already returning to Jason.
“Why would Paul Barker be here to meet with you? What’s your connection with him?”
“Business.”
“What business do you have with a member of the Hawk board of directors? It’s part of what you’re planning to do, isn’t it? What, Jason?”
He shook his head. “No, Kendall.”
She knew it wasn’t an answer to her question but merely a reiteration of his refusal to tell her. She suppressed a shiver. Or tried to; she knew she was trembling, but couldn’t seem to help it. Nor could she help the plaintive note in her voice.
“You really don’t trust me, do you? Even after—”
She bit back the rest of the words, unwilling to humiliate herself quite that far.
“I can’t,” Jason said. He didn’t sound particularly happy, but he did sound utterly determined. “I’m sorry, Kendall. I trust you as much as I’ve ever trusted anyone, but I can’t risk you messing up out of some misguided sense of loyalty to Aaron. I’ve worked too long and too hard.”
“Aaron’s dead!” she exclaimed.
“But his company isn’t.” Kendall whirled, startled, as George Alton spoke from behind her, clearly the man Paul had nearly bumped into in his haste to escape the awkward situation. “At least not yet. But you’re going to do your best to see that changes, aren’t you, Mr. West?”
Kendall’s gaze flicked to Jason; he had gone rigid. She looked back at Alton.
“What do you mean?”
“What you wouldn’t let me finish on the phone. I’ve only been able to confirm it in two cases, but I’m willing to bet on the rest.”
“Confirm what?” Kendall asked, her voice taking on a sharp edge as both her anger and her apprehension grew.
“How many seats are there on the Hawk board?”
“Seven, counting Aaron . . . Alice, now.”
She started to ask why, but stopped when a possibility hit her. A possibility that, she realized, she should have seen the moment she had found out how much Jason was worth. Alton’s next words confirmed her hunch.
“Then I’d say your friend here controls four of them.”
Kendall stared at Jason, searching for any sign of the truth of this in his face. He was closed off to her as he’d never been before, utterly unreadable.
“Paul Barker is here already, I see. He and Mr. West go way back.” Alton’s gaze shifted to Jason. “You helped his son out of a bad spot, about ten years ago, didn’t you? Rumor has it the kid was on drugs and in big trouble with the law. You gave him a job and kept him straight until he could do it on his own. And in return, Paul fronted for you in your first buy into Hawk Industries.”
“Oh, God.” Kendall knew where this was going. She sensed it like a weary fox sensed the hounds closing in. You may not like what you find.
“And then there’s Marty Burr, in Phoenix. You floated him a loan five years ago, when no one else would, because he was on the verge of his second bankruptcy. And in return, he’s been holding another chunk of Hawk Industries for you, hasn’t he?”
Kendall held up a hand to ward Alton off when he would have gone on. The hounds had caught her, and she wasn’t the least surprised to see that these particular hounds had originated in a very unique kind of hell. A hell she had only now tumbled into, and had little hope of escaping.
“Enough,” she said, her voice devoid of any emotion now.
Alton shook his head. “It’s my fault. That buddy of mine in Tacoma knew about this Jason West early on, but I told him it wasn’t likely, and to concentrate on the others. I’m sorry about that, Kendall.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” she said. “Thank you, George.”
“Are you all right?” the investigator asked.
“I will be,” she answered, hoping to God it was true. “Will you wait for me outside, please? I’ll need a ride.”
He hesitated, but when Kendall turned back to face Jason, who stood unmoving, his face registering nothing, he nodded and left them.
“How much do you hold?”
“Kendall—”
“Paul has been on the board for seven years, Martin for five, and we never suspected. I suppose Corelli is yours, too? Or did you somehow manage to subvert Hartfield or Boldt?”
“Don’t do this.”
“No, I doubt you managed that. Why should you waste time convincing a couple of stubborn old men when you could find an easier way?”
Before he could answer, something else registered, a fragment of his conversation that day on the phone a few yards behind her. Alexander has the largest block. The Alexander investment group. The group that held the closest thing to an outside controlling interest in any Hawk company.
“The Alexander group,” she said. “The untaken seat on the board is yours?” His jaw tightened, and he didn’t speak, but she knew the answer. “Very . . . patient of you, to let Aaron just vote it all these years. And the others . . . they never fought with Aaron, not really. But then, as long as he made good decisions, why should they?”
“Damn,” he muttered. She ignored it.
“Who got the profits, all those years? Did Aaron help build North Pacific Marine Services?’
“No,” Jason said sharply, prodded by that to speak at last. “Not a cent came from Hawk. Ever.”
She lifted a brow at him, thankful for the blessed numbness that had descended on her, allowing her to talk about this as if it was of no personal concern to her at all.
“So that was part of their payment? They just sat there and collected all those dividends over the years, while they waited for you to call in the debt? I presume you did bankroll their buy-in?”
“This is pointless—”
“What were you going to do? Just stroll into a board meeting one year and take over? Was that to be your revenge on Aaron?”
Something flickered in his eyes then, and she knew she’d struck a chord.
“It was, wasn’t it? That’s what you’ve been planning, all these years. And then he died, and ruined it. But you couldn’t give it up, could you? So you switched to another target. Alice.”
“You defending her now?” His tone was biting. “After what she did to my mother, and tried to do to you?”
“She deserves what she gets,” Kendall said, meaning it. “But don’t try to convince me your mother has much to do with this, Jason. Revenge was not her way. What she did when Aaron wouldn’t marry her and when Alice threatened her proves that. No, this isn’t for your mother. This is for you.”
“What the hell do you know—”
“I know you hated your father. That you felt betrayed by him, until you came to hate the very name Hawk, and anything it stood for. And I know that your reaction to betrayal is to destroy the source. In that, you are very much Aaron’s son.”
He didn’t deny it. “What are you going to do?”
She looked up at him, at his face, at his set, determined expression. She tried to remember how he’d looked in those moments of extreme, explosive pleasure, when he’d looked down at her with wonder in his eyes. She wondered if that man had ever really existed, or if she’d made him up somehow, woven him out of the threads of childhood dreams and wishful thinking.
“How much do you hold?” she repeated, even though she knew the answer, or close enough; like his father, he would never make this move unless he was very, very certain of winning.
“Enough,” he said, in the tone of one surrendering to the inevitable. “As long as you don’t side against me.”
She felt something shift inside her, as if something had broken or crumbled. She prayed the numbness would hold, because she knew, deep in her soul, the answer to the question that was coming. But she had to ask it anyway. She had to hear him say it.
“And that’s what this was all about, wasn’t it? You and me? To make sure I wouldn’t . . . side against you?”
“Kendall, don’t. It wasn’t like that. It might have started out that way, but—”
She cut him off as another realization came to her. “You decided after you saw Alice that night, didn’t you? That it was time to make your move? Only stupid little Kendall was in the way. So you turned on the charm. And she fell for it. You must have been proud that it worked so well. And so fast.”
“I had no choice,” he said. “But I didn’t mean to—”
She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “And all those questions you asked. About Aaron’s work, and the company, and the board . . . you were pumping me, weren’t you? It was all part of the plan.”
“I had to be sure of my position before I moved. You were the only one who could tell me that.”
A tiny burning sensation had begun somewhere inside her, and she knew it was the beginning of the pain. And she knew it was going to get much, much worse.
“Why didn’t you just . . . ask?”
“You were loyal to Aaron. Everything you’ve done has been because you were loyal to Aaron.”
“Not everything,” she said, remembering the moments of pure rapture she’d found in his arms. Regret flashed across Jason’s face. She looked away, willing herself not to be a fool yet again and believe he was feeling any remorse. The pain was expanding, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before it overwhelmed her.
“You don’t understand, do you?” she said, hearing that pain in her voice. “You’ll never understand. What Alice did removed any obligation I ever had to her. And Aaron . . . Aaron would have wanted me to help you in whatever way I could.”
“To take down his company? I doubt that.”
“It’s not his anymore. And I think he’d rather see it destroyed than in Alice’s hands.” She bit her lip, trying to fight back the oncoming tide of anguish. “So you see, you didn’t have to . . . seduce me for whatever information I had. I would have given it to you. Freely.”
Jason was shaking his head. “Why should you help me? The only thing you had to gain out of this was trouble.”
She shook her head in turn, sadly. “And that’s the bottom line for you, isn’t it? Nobody helps anybody unless there’s something in it for them.”
“That’s the bottom line for most of the world,” Jason retorted, sounding a bit angry.
“Maybe. But not for me. I would have helped you, Jason. But you didn’t trust me. So you had to . . . make sure of me. And you did, didn’t you? Very sure. I guess I’m the naive little fool you thought I was after all. Because I believed you. I saw in you what you wanted me to see. What I wanted to see. And I’ll pay for that for the rest of my life.”
“Kendall, it wasn’t—”
“You know what’s really sad?” she said, fighting off the pain for one more moment. “You’ve hurt me. Badly. But I’ll heal. Someday I’ll be over it. And I’ll look back and remember what I learned. What I learned about trusting and not trusting, what I learned about myself. And”—she took a quick breath and bit her lip for a moment, needing the sharp physical pain to enable her to go on—“what I learned about need and love and sex and how incredible it can be.”
He moved then, just slightly, as if his muscles had gone suddenly tight on him. He didn’t speak, but for one brief moment he looked like a man to whom her every word was a lash across his bare skin.
“But you’ll never learn,” she said. “Vengeance has been your motivating force all your life, hasn’t it? I’ll even bet, in his way, Aaron is responsible for where you are today. Because you had to succeed, to get into a position to where you could have your revenge. Well, you’re going to get it, and then it will be over, and what will you have? What will drive you then, Jason?”
She turned away then, unable to bear this any longer. The pain was crushing her now, and she would die before she would weep in front of this man. But she glanced back at him one more time.
“I’ll heal,” she repeated. “But you never will. And I feel sorry for you for that.”
She turned away again, and began to walk, her eyes fastened on George’s familiar car, waiting just outside the doors. It took every bit of self-discipline she possessed to keep from running.
JASON STARED AFTER her. He concentrated on her, because not to would leave him open to whatever that was welling up inside him that felt so much like pain. He noted the straightness of her spine as she walked, and thought of her nerve and courage. He noted the quickness of her step, and thought of the tears that had been brimming in her eyes in those last seconds.
I’ll heal, but you never will. And I feel sorry for you for that.
Yes, she would heal. She was strong, and had more nerve than anyone he’d ever known, including himself, he thought as the pain he was denying began to hammer at him, demanding he acknowledge it. He should be thankful for her strength; he hadn’t really wanted to hurt her. He’d only meant to—
To what? Coldly seduce her, getting what he needed? And then what? Walk away? Leave her here, with t
he ruins of Hawk Industries settling into the dust around her?
He’d warned her, he told himself. More than once. He’d warned her it was nothing but sex, warned her never to think it was anything more. He had no reason to feel guilty. No reason to feel this agony that had suddenly engulfed him despite his efforts to fend it off.
And he had absolutely no reason to feel like it was his own world crumbling into dust around him.
Chapter Twenty-three
THIS WAS RIDICULOUS. Why was he sitting here in a damned hotel room, staring at the walls, feeling like a boat whose mooring lines had all been cut? What he was here for hadn’t changed. And it was going to happen; he’d met with everyone, and everything was in place and ready. He would see retribution made. He’d worked for it all his life, and the fact that it would now take Alice Hawk down instead of his father didn’t bother him. Aaron was beyond his reach, but the woman who had killed his mother wasn’t.
This isn’t for your mother. This is for you.
He got abruptly to his feet, slamming the chair back against the wall. He needed to move, to ease the pressure building inside him.
She was wrong. It was for his mother. He owed her that much, to see that the woman who had arranged her murder would pay, in one way or another. It wasn’t for him. It wasn’t all he had. When he finished here, his life would go on. Only he’d have the satisfaction of knowing Aaron Hawk was dead, and his murderous widow had paid by losing what was most important to her. He couldn’t think of a more fitting ending.
He wasn’t doing this for himself, he insisted silently.
He took a deep breath. Then another. Then he laughed out loud at himself for thinking some faint, sweet scent lingered in this anonymous hotel room, for thinking there was some trace of Kendall left behind to taunt him.
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