Til Death Do Us Part

by Beverly Barton

  “No one is blaming you, Roy,” Cleo said.

  The short, stocky Roy relaxed his tense stance. “Why anybody would want to harm Ms. McNamara, I don’t know, but I’d stake my reputation on the fact that those brown recluses were deliberately brought into this house.”

  “Brown recluse spiders!” Aunt Beatrice gasped. “In the house? In your rooms?” She turned her concerned gaze on Cleo. “When? How?”

  Cleo reached across the table and laid her hand reassuringly over Beatrice’s. “Last night Roarke killed half a dozen spiders that someone had placed inside one of my bath towels.”

  “Who on earth would have done something so despicable?” Oralie rested her hand over her heart.

  “I think Mr. Roarke is accusing one of us, Mother,” Trey said. “Isn’t that right? You believe that planting the spiders was another scare tactic to try to frighten Cleo into selling McNamara Industries.”

  “Mr. Bendall, I want every inch of Mrs. Roarke’s suite inspected and then sprayed,” Roarke said. “Pearl will clean up when you’re finished and air out the rooms.”

  Before Pearl could escort Roy Bendall back inside the house, Ezra appeared in the doorway.

  “The sheriff’s here,” Ezra told them. “Said he’s here to see Cleo Belle…er…that is, he’s here to see Mrs. Roarke.”

  “Please ask Phil to join us for breakfast,” Cleo said.

  “You’ve called in Phil Bacon?” Perry Sutton set his cup down on the saucer so hard that coffee splashed over the sides.

  “Someone is trying to harm my wife,” Roarke said. “When I spoke to Sheriff Bacon, he assured me that his department has been involved since the day someone took a shot at Cleo. He wants to get to the bottom of this and arrest the person responsible.”

  As Roy Bendall exited, Sheriff Phil Bacon entered. Pearl poured the tall, robust young man a cup of coffee and handed it to him. Accepting the coffee with a gracious nod, the sheriff sat down beside Cleo.

  “’Morning, folks.” Phil greeted the entire family with one of his wide, toothy grins, then focused his attention on Cleo. “Your husband tells me that there was an accident at the plant yesterday and you nearly got run over by a forklift. And this wasn’t the first ‘accident’ McNamara Industries has had since your uncle died.”

  “This is simply awful.” Beatrice halfway rose out of her seat. “Cleo could have been killed.”

  Cleo eased her aunt down, petting her as she did so. “I told you that I wasn’t hurt. I’m fine. Just a few scratches and bruises.”

  “And I understand that last night, you had a scare when you found a bunch of spiders in your towel,” Phil said.

  “Where do you suppose someone could get hold of half a dozen brown recluse spiders?” Roarke asked.

  “I don’t have any idea,” the sheriff said. “But I sure as hel—heck, intend to find out. Whoever’s causing trouble for Ms. McNa—that is, Mrs. Roarke isn’t going to get away with it. Not in my county. I’ll have a couple of my deputies look into those plant accidents.”

  “Thank you, Phil,” Cleo said. “We’d appreciate all the help you can give us. You know how many jobs depend on my keeping McNamara Industries a family-run business. If anything happens to me, Aunt Beatrice won’t have enough voting power to block a sale.”

  “Believe me, I understand.” Phil gave Trey Sutton a hard stare, then turned his displeased look on Daphne.

  “As soon as you have something to report on those spiders, I expect to hear from you,” Roarke said. “Knowing where they might have been acquired could give us a clue to the culprit’s identity.”

  “Oh, my.” Sighing loudly, Oralie rubbed the sides of her forehead, pressing her fingertips into the edges of her salt-and-pepper hair. “Pearl, would you please bring me my stomach medicine? All this talk about spiders and accidents at the plant and suspects and culprits has made me quite nauseated.”

  Pursing her lips in a pout, Pearl tapped her fingers on the serving cart and gave Oralie a disgusted glare. “You want the liquid stuff or the little tablets?”

  “The tablets, please. And do hurry.” Holding her hand out to Perry, she looked at him, her expression pleading. “You know what a weak disposition I have. My greatest regret is that I’ve always been rather delicate.”

  Perry patted his wife’s hand as if it were some inanimate object, his touch gentle and yet emotionally detached. “Yes, my dear.”

  Roarke wondered how many times Perry Sutton had spoken those three words. Hundreds? Thousands? How many times during his two-year marriage to Hope had he said, “Yes, honey,” trying to comfort and pacify a woman who could not be consoled?

  Pearl took her time leaving, her slow departure proclaiming her opinion on the true state of Oralie’s health.

  “I’m sorry if our discussing this nasty mess in front of you has upset you, Miss Oralie,” Sheriff Bacon said. “I sometimes forget that there are still ladies around with delicate sensibilities. My daddy would never have made such an error. Please accept my apologies.”

  “Certainly, Phillip.” Oralie lifted a trembling hand, then let it fall helplessly to her side. “I quite understand that a man in your position is exposed to all sorts of people.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s true,” the sheriff said.

  Opening the French doors, Pearl stepped outside, then cleared her throat. All eyes focused on the housekeeper’s face, everyone noting her closed-mouth smile.

  “Where is my medicine?” Oralie demanded.

  “I’ll get it in a minute,” Pearl said. “Just thought Mr. Roarke would want to know that there’s a Mr. Morgan Kane here to see him.”

  “Who?” Beatrice asked.

  “What the hell is this—Grand Central Station?” Trey shoved back his chair and stood. “What’s going on, Roarke? Have you called in the damn marines now?”

  “Not the marines,” Roarke said. “The navy. To be specific, a former SEAL.” He motioned to Pearl. “Tell Kane to come on out and meet the family. After all, he’ll be staying here at the house and working at the plant. So there’s no time like the present to introduce him.”

  “I’m afraid that I, for one, don’t understand what’s going on.” Perry Sutton stiffened his spine and sat straight up in the padded patio chair.

  “I think it’s perfectly clear.” Trey gripped the back of his wife’s chair, his fingers biting into the cushion with white-knuckled intensity. “Cleo’s husband is bringing in a professional.”

  “A professional what?” Oralie asked naively.

  “Yes, Roarke, do tell us exactly what Mr. Kane does for a living.” Daphne glanced at the doorway, where Pearl stood, a large shadow looming behind her inside the house.

  “Kane.” Roarke’s command thundered in the sudden eerie quiet.

  Everyone looked toward the French doors. The moment Morgan Kane appeared, Cleo’s mouth fell open and Daphne gasped, then purred. Cleo thought that Morgan Kane was probably one of the most devastatingly handsome men she’d ever seen. Almost beautiful, in a totally masculine way. Younger than Roarke by a few years, perhaps somewhere around thirty-five, the tall, broad-shouldered blond filled out his Armani suit like an athletic cover model.

  He strutted out onto the patio with a military-trained bearing, his body honed to perfection. He stopped at the far end of the table, directly behind Perry Sutton, removed his dark sunglasses and stared at Roarke with cold, intense gray eyes.

  “Morgan Kane, meet my wife’s family. Everyone seated at this table is a suspect, with the exception of Aunt Beatrice.”

  Beatrice smiled shyly and nodded. “Are you from the Dundee agency, Mr. Kane?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Kane said, his voice a deep baritone, his accent decidedly Southern.

  “Just what is the Dundee agency?” Daphne slid back her chair and stood, giving their visitor a full view of her long, bare legs and her large, braless breasts. Her orange terry-cloth short-shorts and matching halter top only enhanced her dark, exotic beauty.

  “Priv
ate security and investigation, ma’am,” Kane said.

  “I’m Daphne Sutton.” She rounded the table slowly, making her way toward Kane and giving him ample time to appreciate the view.

  “I’ve hired Kane to find out who’s behind the accidents at McNamara Industries and to prevent any future problems,” Roarke informed them.

  “I resent the way you’ve taken over,” Trey said. “At the plant and now here at home. Just who the hell do you think you are, running roughshod over all of us?”

  “I’m—” Roarke said.

  “He is my husband,” Cleo told them, her voice deadly calm. “He has every right to go to whatever lengths he feels necessary in order to protect me and to protect McNamara Industries.”

  “For God’s sake, Cleo, if you’d just sell the damn plant, none of this would be necessary.” Trey’s hazel-brown eyes glittered with fury. A dark, angry flush colored his cheeks. “Your stubbornness is putting your life in danger and destroying this family.”

  Daphne sauntered close to Morgan Kane, inspecting him as if he were a prized piece of horseflesh. “I would just love for you to personally investigate me.”

  “I intend to personally investigate every member of your family,” Kane said. “When I get through, I’ll know who flosses his teeth and who doesn’t.”

  “Cleo, I object to this man’s presence here. It’s bad enough that your husband is a trained killer. Now, with Mr. Kane’s arrival, we’ll have two in the house,” Oralie said, then glared at Pearl. “For goodness’ sake, will you please go get my medication!”

  Pearl hesitated momentarily, then slowly walked into the house.

  “I’m sorry if my husband’s and Mr. Kane’s backgrounds bother you, Aunt Oralie,” Cleo said. “But Mr. Kane isn’t leaving until he completes his assignment.”

  “You’re determined to make this situation as difficult for everyone as possible, aren’t you, Cleo?” Perry Sutton asked.

  “I don’t want to make anything difficult, Uncle Perry, but I’m not going to let y’all have your way. Not this time.” Jumping to her feet, Cleo flung her napkin down on the table. “There’s a lot more at stake here than my getting my way on this issue. There are hundreds of jobs on the line. Doesn’t anyone else care about these people? Are all of you so selfish that you aren’t capable of seeing past your own needs?”

  “Daddy cared about his workers,” Beatrice said. “And that’s why he left you in control. Because he knew you’d take care of his company and all his employees.”

  “Uncle George was getting senile,” Trey said.

  “He was not!” Beatrice screamed.

  “Cleo was always Uncle George’s favorite,” Daphne said. “Senile or not, he would have left her in control. I just think it’s amusing that he made sure she found herself a husband before he turned over all the power to her.”

  “I’m afraid Cleo would never have married otherwise.” Oralie sighed dramatically. “Most men abhor aggressive, domineering women.” She cast her sorrowful gaze at her niece. “I tried to guide you the way I did Daphne, instilling in you both all the ladylike virtues, but I’m afraid I failed.”

  “You did the best you could, my dear.” Perry patted Oralie’s hand.

  “Good God, Mother, I believe you’re getting senile yourself.” Trey balled his hands into fists and pressed them against the sides of his thighs. “Don’t you realize what the issue is? Unless Cleo sells the damn company, we’re going to lose millions and wind up stuck with an unprofitable business.”

  “That’s it!” Cleo marched around the table, halting directly in front of Trey. “McNamara Industries is not an unprofitable business! And no one is going to lose millions. Not in the long run.” Cleo whirled around and glared at Oralie. “And I never married before now because I chose not to.” Turning slowly, she smiled at Daphne. “Mr. Kane is staying to do his job. And if you get in his way or try to interfere in what he has to do, I’ll kick your butt out of this house. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Jealous, Cousin? Are you staking a claim on Mr. Kane?” Daphne grinned. “Isn’t your husband enough for you?”

  Cleo closed her eyes and counted to ten. She would not allow Daphne or anyone else in this family to push her over the edge. Uncle George had kept an uneven peace for as long as she could remember, his powerful personality as strong a deterrent as the threat of cutting someone out of his will. Since his death, the family had begun falling apart. The bitterness, anger and hatred that had been simmering just below the surface had finally bubbled to the top and boiled over onto everyone’s lives.

  “Phil, I apologize for my family,” Cleo said. “Please let me know when you have any information on those spiders.” She looked directly at Trey. “Mr. Kane will be leaving here shortly to go to the plant. I want you to give him your full cooperation and assist him in any way you can. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly clear.” Scowling, Trey clenched his jaw tightly shut.

  “You’re enjoying finally getting to play Lady of the Manor, aren’t you?” Daphne brushed by Cleo, deliberately shoving her.

  Temporarily losing her balance, Cleo swayed dangerously close to the pool’s edge. She fought the unnatural fear, reclaiming her senses at the last moment.

  “Grab her, Perry,” Beatrice cried out. “Don’t let her fall into the water!”

  Perry Sutton, who was the closest to Cleo, knocked over his chair as he stood and reached out for his niece. He grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him and steadying her.

  Roarke flew across the patio and jerked Cleo into his arms. Her breath came in gasping swallows. She grasped the front of Roarke’s shirt, then laid her head on his chest.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” Why had his wife gone suddenly white? Why had the prospect of Cleo falling into the pool struck fear in Beatrice’s heart and frightened Cleo senseless?

  “You must be careful, Cleo, dear,” Oralie said. “It was unwise of you to stand so close to the edge of the pool. Anything could have happened.”

  Lifting her head from Roarke’s chest, Cleo looked toward the French doors, where Daphne stood watching, a slightly wicked smile on her face.

  “Nothing would have happened, except Cleo would have gotten wet and ruined her neat little blue suit,” Daphne said. “Her husband would have saved her from drowning.”

  Cleo whispered to Roarke, “I’m going upstairs to change, and then I’m going to the plant.”

  Roarke followed Cleo as she walked across the patio, her leather heels clipping loudly on the stone surface. The moment they entered the house, Roarke grabbed her and whirled her around to face him.

  “Want to tell me what that was all about?” he asked.

  “It was about Daphne playing childish games,” Cleo told him. “I embarrassed her in front of Phil Bacon and Mr. Kane, so she felt compelled to embarrass me in return.”

  “I understand that, but what I don’t understand is your reaction to almost falling in the pool.”

  “I used to be terrified of falling into the pool.” She lifted her chin defiantly, her gaze meeting his head-on. “A few months after I came here to live, when I was a very small child, I almost drowned in that pool.”

  “You were allowed to play in the pool all alone? No one was watching you?”

  “I—I don’t know. I have no memory of even getting into the pool. Pearl found me and saved my life. I’d still be scared of the water if Uncle George hadn’t forced me to learn how to swim. But everyone in the family knows about what happened years ago and that occasionally, I’m still wary of the swimming pool.”

  “Is it possible that someone tried to kill you all those years ago?” Roarke hated to ask, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone in this household had wanted to see Cleo dead long before George McNamara had left her in control of his fortune.

  “No. No. I—I…” Cleo slumped against Roarke. He wrapped her safely in his arms and stroked her back lovingly. “If that’s possible, then there’s more to the threat
s on my life than someone wanting me to sell McNamara’s. Someone hates me. Truly hates me.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  CLEO RUBBED THE bridge of her nose, then ran her hand over her face and down her neck. Her back hurt, her shoulders ached and she felt the beginnings of a headache. Laying aside the file folder Roarke had given her less than fifteen minutes ago, she shoved back her chair and stood. Things were worse at McNamara Industries than she’d thought. The sabotage was more widespread, and the damage far more extensive. Someone had truly created havoc with the company’s computer system. And it had all happened since Uncle George’s death.

  It had taken Morgan Kane less than forty-eight hours to discover the extent of the damage. He’d handed Roarke a complete report when he’d come in from the plant thirty minutes ago. And after reading the report immediately, Roarke had turned it over to Cleo and left her alone to absorb the information. He’d assured her that since Kane was now on the job and had already assembled a security force of two men and one woman, no one would have the opportunity to tamper with the computer system again. Right now, their main objective was to straighten out the present mess.

  At moments like this, Cleo wished she could escape from her own life, from the burdens of being CEO of McNamara Industries, from the responsibility of caring for others. If she could escape to some deserted tropical island, she would want Roarke to go with her. They could frolic in the ocean, bask in the sunshine and make love under the stars. No past. No future. No worries. Just endless happiness.

  But she couldn’t escape, couldn’t run away from the danger that threatened her and her company. She had little choice but to stay and face whatever lay ahead, to confront the person who wanted to destroy her life and ruin the family business. She had to fight and win this battle.

  There was another battle she wanted to win. But in her heart, she feared it was a lost cause. She wanted to win Simon Roarke, and she was willing to fight whatever demons plagued him, whatever tormenting memories held him prisoner. He stayed at her side during the day, guarding her diligently, and at night he held her in his arms and made mad, passionate love to her. But there was a part of himself that he held back, a private, tortured part of his soul that he would not share. He protected her and possessed her with equal fervor, but where she was unable to control her emotional response to him, he never relinquished complete control. Only in the throes of passion did she possess him as surely as he possessed her. And those moments were fleeting—an ephemeral ecstasy soon ended.