“Yes. Just please be discreet. She doesn’t know yet what’s going on.” Andrew swallowed hard, thinking about Miranda, his brother’s widow. She’d played a crucial role in Andrew’s decision to stop the plan against Sterling Enterprises. Only she didn’t know it.
Andrew had gone to see her two weeks after Johnathon’s death, and that visit had been nothing like what he’d expected. She’d had every reason to be angry with him or send him away. Andrew had missed Johnathon’s funeral, too shell-shocked to deal with the avalanche of emotions that came with his brother’s sudden death. Instead, Miranda had been welcoming, inviting him into her showpiece of a home. Not that she let him off the hook completely. She told him flat out that his absence at the service had hurt. Andrew did his best to explain, but it was complicated. Then Miranda did what very few people had ever done—she forgave him.
Once the air was cleared, Miranda happily spent time with him, telling him about her life with Johnathon and, most important, about her baby on the way—the child his brother learned of on his death bed. Andrew dismissed the too-shiny version of his brother in the stories Miranda told. Johnathon had always created his own reality, twisting things until he could not be considered at fault. But Andrew did listen carefully when Miranda pondered her future, the one in which her child would never know its father. That part of the conversation had stuck to Andrew like glue. When it was time to go, she hugged him, kissed him on the cheek and referred to him as family. She’d placed her hand on her pregnant belly and told him that she hoped her baby would be part of his life. Even now, over two months later, the entire experience haunted him. He’d always known that family was important, but he’d never seen it. Or felt it. Not like that.
That made his decision for him. He immediately returned to Seattle and told Victor that the scheme to hurt Sterling Enterprises was over. Johnathon was gone and any revenge to be exacted was his. He’d come up with the plan to prevent Sterling Enterprises from winning the bid on a project for San Diego, the renovation of the Seaport Promenade, a large public space overlooking the bay. Andrew had chosen that project for very personal reasons, as he was certain Johnathon had done the same. It had been the site of a particularly painful chapter in the long rivalry between the two brothers—the day Andrew was left at the altar, or more precisely, the Seaport Promenade wedding pavilion.
“Please let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary,” Andrew said to Pietro, forcing himself to shake off the unpleasant memories threatening to take hold.
“Of course, sir.”
“I’d like you and the team to continue surveilling Victor’s home here in San Diego, his usual haunts and the airports, as well. Please let me know if he bubbles to the surface.”
“You’ll be the first to know, Mr. Sterling.”
Andrew saw Pietro to the door, closed the door behind him and latched it, then pulled out his phone to call a woman named Sandy. She’d played a key role in the plan as a mole placed inside Sterling Enterprises to help run the Seaport project aground. Sandy readily agreed to stop when Andrew asked her, but then Victor managed to lure her away with a great deal of money, and she went right back to work. Andrew had never pegged Sandy to be a person who cared only about money, but apparently she was.
Unfortunately, Andrew reached her voice mail. “Sandy. It’s Andrew. Again. This is getting old. You won’t answer your phone and neither will Victor. We need to put this foolishness to an end. If I need to pay him off or buy out your contract, I’m willing to negotiate, but we can’t do that unless one of you calls me back.” He didn’t relish the idea of drawing a line in the sand, but he was desperate to dictate at least a few rules of this game. “And I want to make sure that neither of you are entertaining any idea of retaliating against Miranda Sterling. If either of you harm a hair on her head, all bets are off. This is about business. Nothing else.”
He pressed the red circle on the screen, ending the call. For a moment, he stared at his phone. Thinking. The late-day sun streamed through the window sheers and over his shoulder. His heart began pounding. Had he just made a mistake? Tipped his hand by letting on that Miranda meant something to him?
He sank down onto the couch and ran his hand through his hair. It would all be fine. It had to be. Pietro and his team had eyes on Miranda and her house. She would be safe, and he would fix the problem. Then he could get on with the business of forging a relationship with her and the baby. It might help him come to terms with the death of Johnathon, the brother he’d both loved and hated. It might help him bury so much unhappy history. Right now, it felt like the past was coming back at him, full speed, hell-bent on destroying him from the inside out. He wasn’t about to let that happen.
* * *
After a long day at her interior-design company, MS Designs, Miranda Sterling was nearly home. She pulled her Range Rover into her La Jolla neighborhood, thoughts fixated on her most pervasive fantasy—a generous bowl of lobster ravioli prepared by her personal chef, followed by a leisurely bubble bath in her enormous soaker tub. Pregnancy had its perks. She was going to take advantage of every one.
She turned into her driveway when her phone rang, the caller ID lighting up the screen—Tara Sterling. Tara was a friend and business partner, but she’d also been the first wife of Johnathon, Miranda’s recently deceased husband. Tara and Miranda shared controlling interest of Sterling Enterprises with Astrid, Johnathon’s second wife. Johnathon had willed his shares of the company to his three wives, apparently as a testament to how much he’d loved them all. Johnathon had never been anything short of dramatic. “Tara, hey. I just got home. Is this important, or can we talk later? I’m starving and dying to take off these shoes.” Miranda eased into the first bay of her four-car garage and killed the engine.
“I’m on my way over to your place with Astrid. We need to talk about Andrew.”
Miranda hated the way she kept getting pulled into Sterling Enterprises’ drama. Everyone was convinced that Andrew, Johnathon’s brother, was somehow meddling in the business. Miranda wasn’t convinced. Yes, he and Johnathon had reportedly had a lifelong rivalry, but Andrew didn’t seem nearly as evil as people tried to portray him. “What now? We’ve already talked about this. I have serious doubts about your theory. Do you really think he’s the reason there have been so many mistakes on the Seaport Promenade bid?”
“Yes, I do. Astrid and I are almost to your place. We’ll talk about it more when we get there.”
Miranda didn’t love the way Tara and Astrid invited themselves over with very little notice. It was just another sign that everyone knew she had no life beyond work and the baby. Then again, she loved having people over. Tara and Astrid had become true friends, even if it was an unconventional sisterhood. “I hope you like lobster ravioli.”
“Are you kidding? I love it.”
Miranda made her way inside the house. She’d never get used to how big and empty it felt now that Johnathon was gone. Eight thousand square feet was a silly amount of space for two people to occupy, let alone one person, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with their home. It not only had a breathtaking view of the Pacific, but Miranda had also painstakingly decorated every inch of it. The house brought Miranda comfort on the days when she found it hard to dig out from the depths of her grief, and it made her happier whenever she found the courage to simply look ahead to the good things on the horizon, like Thanksgiving, Christmas and, after that, the arrival of her baby girl.
Miranda popped three servings of the ravioli into the oven, thankful she’d had the foresight to ask for extra. Tara and Astrid arrived mere minutes later.
“Come on in.” Miranda stepped aside as the two women entered the foyer. Tara, with her bright blond bob and determined stride, led the way, followed by willowy Astrid, the natural beauty and former model. As Miranda closed the door, she couldn’t help but notice how she was the short one, especially since she’d kicked off her pu
mps, while Tara and Astrid were both in heels. At five-seven, Miranda was no shrimp, but the other wives towered over her.
Astrid stooped down and gave Miranda a warm hug. “How are you feeling? Everything good?” Astrid always showed great enthusiasm for the baby on the way, even though she’d suffered years of infertility with Johnathon. Now that she was engaged to Miranda’s brother, Clay, Miranda wondered if they would pursue IVF, or perhaps Astrid would choose to focus on becoming a mom to Clay’s daughter, Delia.
“I’m mostly just hungry all the time.” Miranda waved them both through her spacious living room to the gourmet kitchen, where the heavenly smell of ravioli perfumed the air. “Thankfully, we should be ready to eat in about fifteen minutes. Can I offer either of you a glass of Chablis?” Miranda pulled a bottle from the wine fridge in the center island.
“I’d love one.” Astrid perched on one of the barstools.
“Me, too. But I’d really like to address the Andrew situation right away if we can.” Tara took a seat next to Astrid.
Miranda cut the foil from the neck of the bottle. “Okay. Shoot.”
“He’s back in town. I have a friend who saw him at the Grant downtown. I don’t think we can wait around to see what he’s going to try next,” Tara insisted. She then went on to remind Miranda of the misdeeds they were sure he’d committed, including having someone at the city feed misinformation about the project specs to the team at Sterling. “We need to go on the offensive.”
Miranda poured two glasses of wine, fighting the frustration she was feeling right now. She’d spent some time with Andrew when he’d come to San Diego a few weeks after Johnathon’s death. He might not be perfect, but she didn’t see any way he could be the force of evil everyone else seemed to think he was. “I fail to see where I come into all of this. I don’t even work at Sterling.”
“Exactly why you’re the perfect candidate. He won’t suspect you,” Tara said.
“Plus, you have the best relationship with him. The rest of us don’t know him well,” Astrid added.
Miranda didn’t know Andrew that well, but none of the wives did. Andrew hadn’t really been a part of Johnathon’s life during any of Johnathon’s three marriages. Miranda did have the most recent experience with him, and she did like to think she was a good judge of character. There was a part of her that felt a need to clear Andrew’s name. “What did you have in mind?”
“Call him and see if you can get together. Try to find out what he’s up to.”
“He told me he’d reach out if he came back into town,” Miranda said. “He hasn’t done that. Maybe there’s a reason. Maybe he doesn’t want to see me.” Why that thought bothered her so much, she wasn’t sure.
“Or maybe he’s zeroing in on his plan. The city is weeks away from awarding the Seaport contract. If he’s trying to meddle with it, he has to act now.”
Miranda shook her head. “You all are crazy. I really don’t see it.”
“Maybe you don’t want to see it,” Astrid said, sliding her hand across the counter until her fingers brushed Miranda’s. “I didn’t want to believe it, either, but all evidence points in that direction. I know it’s hard. He’s our living connection to the man we all loved.”
Miranda took in a deep breath. As far as she was concerned, that was a reason to give Andrew the benefit of the doubt. But was she being naive? Johnathon had told her stories about bad things Andrew had done. Vindictive and cruel acts. Of course, Miranda was certain that Johnathon had always countered every mean-spirited jab with one of his own. He’d not been the kind of man who let a punch go unanswered.
No matter what, Miranda wanted to put this topic to rest. If Andrew was innocent, she wanted to be able to say that with certainty. Ultimately, she wanted her child to know as much family as possible. Miranda and her brother, Clay, had no memories of their father. She could not save her daughter that pain, but perhaps it would soften the blow if she was able to have a relationship with her uncle.
“Okay. Fine. I’ll call him.”
“You will?” Apparently, Tara had anticipated a much bigger fight.
“Yes. I’d like to put this question to rest so we can all move on.” Miranda grabbed her phone from the center island and pulled up Andrew’s information.
He answered after only a ring or two. “Miranda?”
A noticeable tingle ran down Miranda’s back when she heard Andrew’s voice. It must be her pregnancy hormones wreaking havoc again. She turned away from Tara and Astrid and wandered closer to the stove on the opposite side of the kitchen. “Andrew, hi. How are you?”
“I’m well. How are you? I’m surprised to hear from you.” Again, his voice was warm and soothing, much like the bath she’d been longing for.
Miranda closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. What she was about to say was going to make her sound like a stalker. “I heard you’re in town.”
It was so quiet on the other end of the line that Miranda nearly wondered if the connection had dropped. “Who told you that?” His tone was cold and clipped, no longer so comforting.
She had to scramble for an excuse. She couldn’t say that Tara and Astrid had provided her with the intel. “I have a friend who saw you. She’s the nosy type. I think she assumed that you and I would be seeing each other.” Miranda cringed at the sound of that. It was so presumptuous.
“I’m in town on business. I planned to call if I had any free time.”
“Oh, of course.” Miranda glanced over her shoulder at Tara and Astrid, who were both sitting on the edge of their seats, hanging on Miranda’s every word. The pressure was on Miranda to produce. “How long are you here?”
Andrew cleared his throat, making it apparent that she’d put him on the spot. “Not long.”
“Would you like to have dinner?” It was the logical invitation. Food was on her mind 24-7. “A man’s got to eat, right?”
“I suppose.”
“I recently did a full redesign of a steakhouse over in Harbor Island. It has a stunning view of the bay. I haven’t had a chance to see the restaurant at night yet.”
“Uh, sure. I can do that.”
Something about Andrew’s inflection made her wonder if he saw this as an imposition. Were Tara and Astrid right? Was Miranda deluded when it came to Andrew? Apparently, she was about to find out. “How about tomorrow night? Meet there at seven?”
Copyright © 2020 by Karen Booth
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ISBN-13: 9781488063268
The Sinner’s Secret
Copyright © 2020 by Kira Bazzel
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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The Sinner's Secret Page 17
