Dangerous Temptation

by Anne Mather

  "Then it's a pity it wasn't you who died instead of your brother," exclaimed Alice recklessly. She flinched at the sudden anger in his eyes, but she pressed on regardless. "I wonder, if he'd lived, would he have married Iris for her money?" She gazed at him contemptuously. "At least Fletch married me because he loved me. And whatever else you say about him, I know he doesn't cheat on his wife!"

  She thought he might hit her then. Alice was used to being hit if she voiced her opinion. But she should have known Jacob was far too civilised to do something like that. "I'll overlook your ignorance," he said coldly, "because I know you must be tired. But, please, don't insult my intelligence by pretending the Neanderthal you call a husband has any scruples. I doubt there's anything I couldn't buy from him including you. So I suggest you stop fighting me and take the opportunity I'm offering."

  Alice gulped. "Go to hell!"

  "I very probably will." Jacob was philosophic. "But before I do, I want to know there's someone I can leave to take my place. A son," he said, looking down at the cribs, a muscle jerking spasmodically in his jaw. "My own son." He lifted his head and looked at her. "Is that really so much to ask?"

  1

  1997

  Jake saw the rental car at once. It was the only half-decent vehicle parked outside Casey's bar at this hour of the afternoon. Which meant Nathan was already inside, waiting for him. Jake grimaced. It must be something serious to bring his brother here. It wasn't as if they were friends. God Almighty, when he'd first found out he had a twin brother, he'd been desperate to see him. But Nathan wasn't like that. Jake was reluctant to admit it, but Nathan always thought first about himself.

  When he'd got back to his office, after taking a deposition at the courthouse, Loretta had told him Fletch had been trying to get in touch with him—which was nothing new. Since his mother died, and Fletch had lost his job hauling lumber, he was often on the phone to the man he'd raised as his son. Most times he'd had too much to drink and he'd wanted a sympathetic ear for his troubles. Because he drank so much, his own daughters had given up on him long ago.

  But this time Fletch was ringing to complain about the fact that Nathan had come to the house on Jackson Street looking for his brother. "He wants to see you, boy," he wheezed, his gravelly voice revealing the resentment he felt that Jacob Wolfe's son should have come to his house. "I told him you don't live here no more. That you'd got your-self a place out at Pine Bay, but he don't want to come to your office. He says can you meet him in town. The sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned."

  Jake could hear Nathan's voice in the background, but he didn't bother asking to speak to him then. On the rare occasions that Fletch and Nathan had met, their mutual dislike had always coloured the proceedings. Fletch despised Nathan because of his parentage; Nathan thought Fletch was an ignorant old bastard.

  Which was ironic really, Jake reflected now, as he got out of the Blazer and locked the door. If anyone was a bastard around here, it was him or Nathan. Only his brother preferred to forget who his real mother had been.

  It was dark in the bar, but as his eyes adjusted to the light, Jake saw Nathan slumped in a booth at the far side of the room. There were already a couple of empty bottles in front of him, and Jake reflected that Nathan and Fletch weren't as different from each other as they'd both like to think.

  Nathan saw him, and getting to his feet, he gestured for Jake to join him. "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded with his usual lack of restraint. "I've been sitting here for God knows how long. I thought you said you were coming right down."

  "Some of us have work to do," remarked Jake mildly, sliding into the booth across from the other man. "In any case—" he indicated the empty bottles "—you look as if you've been busy. You won't forget you're driving a motor vehicle, will you?"

  Nathan scowled. "Don't start shitting me, Jake. I didn't come here for one of your lectures. Okay, I've had a couple of beers, but I'm still sober. Don't treat me like you treat your old man."

  "Fletch isn't my old man," Jake corrected him tautly, his fingers flexing on the table between them. The trouble was, he didn't feel as if Jacob Wolfe was his father, either. Somewhere along the way, he'd lost out on both counts.

  "Well, okay." Nathan seemed to realise that whatever had brought him here wasn't going to be helped by starting an argument. "But I honestly don't know how you put up with him. It's not as if he ever cared about you. He'd have thrown you out years ago if he could."

  Jake arched a dark brow. It was true enough, he supposed. From the moment Fletch had realized that he wasn't the boy's father, Jake's life hadn't been worth living. Not that it had been worth that much before, he reflected ruefully. A man who thought little of beating up on his wife thought less than nothing of beating up on his son.

  But, from the time he was old enough to wield a yard brush, Jake had done everything he could to defend his mother. He'd had more than his share of grief, and occasionally the teachers from school formed a delegation to protest about the bruises that regularly appeared on his body. Mostly however, they stayed away. It was well known in Blackwater Fork that Fletch Connor had no respect for authority, and only his friendship with Sheriff Andy Peyton had saved him from certain prosecution.

  Yet Jake had known from an early age that Fletch was proud of him in his own strange way. He used to say the boy reminded him of himself at that age, and although it didn't save him, Jake sensed Fletch admired his spirit.

  Fletch's attitude had changed when Jake was eleven years old. He'd gashed his knee playing football, severing the main artery, and neither Fletch nor his mother had been able to give him the blood transfusion he needed.

  There'd been one hell of a scene, he remembered. His mother had turned up the next day wearing a black eye, and Jake had been as stunned as Fletch to learn that they were not actual father and son. And then to learn that he had a twin brother…

  Jake supposed he'd guessed even then there had to be more to it than they told him. Fletch wasn't the type to be philanthropic, and money had to have changed hands for his twin to have been adopted by someone else.

  It was only later that his mother had explained that the man who had taken his brother was his real father. And by then, he'd had to come to terms with the fact that his relationship with Fletch could never be the same. Indeed, if it had been left to Fletch, he'd never have come back to the house in Jackson Street. But for once, his mother had put her foot down: either her husband accepted the situation as it was, or she'd take her son and go.

  "He's old," said Jake now, as if that explained everything. "So what is it you want to talk about? The last I heard, things were pretty much going your way. Don't tell me you're having marital problems already."

  "Doesn't everyone?" Nathan was evidently trying to be sociable. "This humidity is something," he added, changing the subject. "I don't know how you stand it for months on end."

  "I was born here," replied Jake drily. "And so were you, little brother. You've gotten too used to being pampered. Juggling figures instead of people has made you soft."

  Nathan scowled. "Yeah, well, I wasn't born with a yen to save the world," he remarked shortly. "It's no wonder you're still stuck in this hell-hole. Why don't you give yourself a break and find a decent job?"

  "I have a decent job," declared Jake evenly. "Everyone has the right to a defence."

  "Even crackheads and losers?" asked Nathan disparagingly, but he offered a conciliatory smile when his brother didn't respond.

  Wiping his damp forehead then with a slightly unsteady hand, he unwittingly drew Jake's attention to his flushed face. A face that was amazingly like his own, Jake reflected as he had on many other occasions. How could two men who looked so alike be so different? Even at forty-two, their likeness to one another was still unique.

  There were subtle differences, of course, he acknowledged as Nathan pulled out a handkerchief to mop his sweating brow. He guessed his brother was perhaps twenty pounds heavier, and his hair had been
cut by an expert hand. It didn't hang straight or show the after-effects of his nails like Jake's did when he had been raking his scalp.

  "So—how's Caitlin?" he asked at last, deciding it might be easier if he began the conversation. He'd never met his brother's wife, but he had seen her picture. She'd seemed strangely subdued for a man like Nathan. He'd have expected his brother to want a fashion model for a wife. But, of course, she had had money—

  "She's okay," said Nathan offhandedly now, making a careless gesture. "She lives her own life. I live mine. We don't see an awful lot of one another."

  Jake stared at him. "Are you kidding?"

  "No." Nathan looked resentful. "Anyway, that's another story. D'you want a beer?"

  Jake hesitated. "A beer would be fine," he agreed, and his brother left the booth to go and get it. Jake had the feeling he was glad to put off admitting the reasons why he'd come to North Carolina. But unlike Nathan, he didn't have time to waste.

  Nathan came back with the two beers and took some time taking a drink before he got to the point. Even then, Jake had to prompt him, and Nathan scowled at his brother for a moment before starting to speak.

  "I wanted to talk to you," he said grudgingly. "It's a long time since we talked with one another, man to man." He hunched his shoulders. "How have you been? How's the new apartment? Fletch said it overlooked the ocean, out at Pine Bay."

  "You didn't come here to talk about me or my apartment," said Jake quietly. "And I don't know about you, but I've got work to do."

  "And you'd rather do that than talk to your own brother," said Nathan peevishly. "It doesn't occur to you that I might need your help."

  "And do you?"

  "Damn right." Nathan rested his forearms on the table. "Like I said, I need to talk to you. I just—don't know where to begin."

  Jake's nostrils flared. "Try the beginning," he suggested drily, and Nathan pursed his mouth.

  "I'm in trouble." He expelled a heavy breath. "Deep trouble." He gave an uneasy snort. "Hell, I'll probably end up in jail, if I live that long."

  Jake looked disbelieving. "Who?" he said. "Who's going to send you to jail?"

  "A guy I know," said Nathan in a low voice, his eyes dark with bitterness. "If I don't do as he says, he'll probably kill me."

  Jake frowned and backtracked. "Who is this guy?" he asked crisply, and Nathan shook his head.

  "He's someone I owe," he said heavily. "I owe him and he has to be paid." He took another drink of his beer. "One way or the other."

  "In blood?" Jake couldn't keep the sardonic note out of his voice, and Nathan gazed at him with angry eyes.

  "Oh, yes," he said. "I knew you'd find it amusing. But it's my life that's on the line here. And there's nothing amusing about it."

  Jake sobered. "You're exaggerating."

  "Am I?" Nathan gazed at him with accusing eyes. "You may think you're tough because you deal with criminals every day, but Carl Walker is a serious menace. He plays for keeps."

  "I don't think I'm tough." Jake defended himself mildly. Then, taking a reluctant swallow of his beer, "I take it you owe this Walker some money, am I right?"

  "Haven't I just said so?" Nathan's tone was peevish. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. He says if I don't do as he wants, he'll tell Cat's father, Webster, what's been going on."

  Jake was growing impatient in spite of himself. "For Christ's sake, Nate, stop talking in clichés. Get a hold of yourself. And why are you short of money? You married a rich woman. Or was that an exaggeration, as well?"

  "No!" Nathan was indignant. "She was. She is. Her father is anyway. But I can't ask her for money. I can't tell her what I've done. Don't you understand, that's why Walker's got me by the balls. If Cat ever found out about—well, the situation, our marriage would be over."

  "And that matters to you?"

  "Of course it matters to me." Nathan gave him a resentful look. And then, his expression becoming wary. "What the hell do you mean?"

  "I mean, you said you and your wife lived separate lives," Jake reminded him quietly. "It was an innocent question. Do you love your wife, or don't you?"

  "What does it matter whether I love my wife or not?" Nathan sounded incredulous. "For Christ's sake, Jake, what's this with the hearts and flowers? I tell you my skin is on the line, and you ask me if I love my wife!"

  "I just wondered what we're supposed to be protecting here," remarked Jake idly. "Your marriage—or her money."

  Nathan started to speak and then seemed to think better of it. Or perhaps he realised he was in danger of incriminating himself still further. There was silence for a while as he searched for answers in his beer. Then, lifting his eyes, he said passionately, "Of course I love her, dammit. Why do you think I'm here?"

  "I thought you were here because this man, Walker, is after your ass," Jake said flatly. "What has Caitlin got to do with it?"

  Nathan hesitated. "It's me he's after. I'm not denying that. But don't think Cat'll be safe if I don't do what he says."

  Jake sighed. "You still haven't told me what he wants you to do," he pointed out in exasperation. "You say you owe him money. So—what kind of money are we talking about?"

  Nathan hesitated. "Half a million—give or take."

  "Dollars?"

  Nathan grimaced. "Pounds."

  "Pounds?" Jake whistled. "You owe this guy half a million pounds? For God's sake, Nate, what have you been buying? Coke?"

  Nathan started at his brother's words, and the line of red crept slowly up his cheeks. But when he spoke, his answer was resentful. "I don't do drugs," he retorted. "What do you take me for? I'd have thought one dopehead in the family was enough."

  Jake coloured now. He could feel the heat in his face, feel it deepening his tan. It was typical of Nathan to throw that at him, typical of him to use any weapon when he was in a corner.

  "If you want my help, you'll have to do better than that," he said at last, and even Nathan had the grace to look ashamed.

  "Just don't bug me, Jake," he muttered, swallowing a mouthful of his beer. "We're neither of us perfect. We take after our old man."

  Wasn't that the truth?

  "Okay." Jake heaved a sigh. "So, how come you owe this guy half a million?"

  "Well…" Nathan expelled his breath noisily. "Look, Jake, are you going to help me or not? I need to know if I'm wasting my time."

  "I don't know what you want yet," Jake declared evenly. "It sounds like you've been embezzling money from the company. I guess that might explain why you can't ask Caitlin for help."

  His brother's expression was almost comic. Or it would have been if it hadn't been so serious. "How the hell did you find out?" he demanded jerkily. "Are you psychic or something? How long have you known? Have you told the old man?"

  Jake blinked, too stunned for a moment to work out what he meant. "What old man?" he asked blankly, and Nathan gazed at him with suspicious eyes.

  "My old man—our old man," he exclaimed irritably, and Jake suspected his brother had had more to drink than just a few beers. How the hell could he have told their father anything? He hadn't known there was anything to tell.

  "I haven't told Jacob Wolfe a thing," Jake assured him flatly. "How could I? I still don't know what's going on." He took a steadying breath. "For Christ's sake, Nate, what have you done?"

  Nathan's hand was gripping his beer so tightly, Jake was amazed the bottle didn't shatter. "I'm trying to tell you, aren't I?" he snarled. "It's all that old man's fault. He should be dead!"

  At Jake's look of surprise, Nathan explained, "Matt-Matthew—Matthew Webster. The lying bastard! He's been supposed to be dying for years."

  Jake watched him. "You're talking about Caitlin's father? The man you hoped would make you a director of his company when you married his daughter?" He paused. "What happened? Did he change his mind?"

  "Hell, yes." Nathan jerked back. "That is, no—no. I am a director. And I deserve it, believe me, after what I've gone through. I've spent the past thr
ee years sucking up to that old devil. And what have I got to show for it?" His mouth twisted. "Fuck all!"

  Jake shook his head. "What did you expect?"

  "I expected to be running the company by now," said Nathan, chewing the inside of his lower lip. "Like I said, the old guy was supposed to be dying. I was supposed to be his successor." His lips curled contemptuously. "Me. Nathan. The son he never had."

  "So what went wrong?"

  "Nothing." Nathan grunted. "Everything." His fists clenched again, and Jake wondered if he was imagining they were around Matthew Webster's neck. "I'm still no nearer to taking control of the company than I ever was. He's taken on someone else to do the job I was supposed to do."

  Jake frowned. "So—you decided he owed you, hmm?"

  "I needed the money," said Nathan defensively. "Webster barely pays me enough to live on as it is. Can I help it if I get into difficulties?"

  Jake took a deep breath. "How the hell did you get your hands on half a million in the first place?"

  "It's a long story." Nathan was evasive. "And I'd have gotten away with it, too, but that bastard's not going to let me."

  "Walker?" Jake tried to be patient. "But how does he know?" He paused. "Did you tell him about it?"

  "Don't be stupid!" Nathan gave him an aggravated look. "It was his idea, wasn't it? I couldn't have done it at all without his help."

  "I thought you said you owed him."

  "I did. I do." Nathan emptied his bottle. "Okay. Okay. I was gambling, right? I—got in too deep, and Carl fished me out."

  Jake groaned. "A loan shark."

  "Sort of."

  Jake grunted. "So—okay," he said. "This guy's got you over a barrel. Why don't you do what he says and quit feeling sorry for yourself?"

  "Because I can't."

  "Why can't you?" Jake stiffened. "What does he want you to do?"

  Nathan sighed. "They want me to carry an extra suitcase back from New York."