If his buddies ever found out about this particular bit of sentimental nonsense, they would laugh him right out of town. All except Jesse Colter and Adam Sinclair. They were so head-over-heels in love with their wife, Sarah, and weren’t ashamed to show the world just how much, he knew instinctively that, not only would they understand, they would give him a kick in the ass and tell him to go for it.
Clay studied the photograph in his hand. So that’s what she looks like when she smiles. It was a beautiful smile, wide and genuine, revealing, even white teeth. It lit up her entire face. He reacquainted himself with the features on that face. The face that, even though it appeared nightly in his dreams, had begun to fade over time. He found himself smiling at the beautiful sea-green eyes filled with intelligence and humor, the tip-tilted nose, the soft, full lips, the long, graceful neck.
When Burke saw the smile on the other man’s face, he permitted himself to relax just a fraction of an inch. Perhaps this was going to work out better than he’d had any right to hope.
“Who is she?” Clay asked without looking up from the photo.
“Her name is Leah Stanhope,” Burke replied.
Something deep down inside of Clay just…released. As if he’d been waiting for this information and could now relax.
“She your wife? Your mistress?”
“She was my ward.”
Clay scoffed. “C’mon, Burke, nobody is anybody’s ward! This is the 21st century, not Victorian England!”
Burke inclined his head. “Nevertheless, when her father, my business partner, died twelve years ago, she was only sixteen. He named me her legal guardian in his will, which made her my ward, which she remained until she reached the age of twenty-one.”
Which would make her twenty-eight now, Clay calculated quickly.
“So what does all this have to do with me?”
“You recognize her, don’t you?”
“I might have seen her before,” Clay hedged.
“Three years ago,” Burke said. “She had just found her degenerate husband in their bed with another woman and had driven to her favorite beach to mourn the loss of her marriage and her dignity. She met you.”
Trying to hide his shock, Clay looked down at the photo, then back at Burke. “How’d you know?”
“She told me about the man she’d met on the beach. A Native American man wearing a U.S. Navy T-shirt. She told me that he had just held her and let her cry. That, for the first time in three years, since she had married Richard, she had felt…safe…with a total stranger, she’d felt safe! She told me how kind he’d been to her and how awful she’d been in return, running off without even thanking him or asking his name. She wanted me to find him so she could thank him properly. I hired a private detective. It took him about a week to find you, but by that time you had been deployed, destination classified.”
Destination Kazakhstan. Clay grimaced. The armpit of the world, along with all the other ’stans. They’d been deployed to rescue an American businessman being held hostage by a terrorist cell. Fuckin’ tangos. There’s something fundamentally wrong with people who insist that their way is the only way, and that disagreement must be punished by death. “All right, yes, it was me. So, what am I doing here? You in the matchmaking business now?”
Everett Burke took off his glasses, closed his eyes, and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “I made a judgment call three years ago. I told her the P. I. hadn’t been able to find you.” He opened his eyes again and put his glasses back on. “I now realize that that was probably wrong.” He met Clay’s gaze squarely. “Six months ago, she told me she felt like she was being followed. Whenever she left the gallery she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.”
“She works for you?” Clay asked.
“She runs my gallery. She’s my top appraiser. And she is a gifted artist in her own right. Her sculpted fabric pieces and clothing items are highly sought after by an elite clientele. But I digress. After the feeling of being watched, her phone started ringing at all hours of the day and night. She answered at first, thinking it might be a customer, but no one was ever on the other end. So she stopped answering calls from numbers she didn’t recognize. Three weeks ago, she started getting these…” He shoved some papers across the desk.
Clay picked them up and shuffled through them, reading aloud, “Look over your shoulder. Someone’s watching you. You’re not alone.” All were short, written in neat, block letters, all vaguely threatening, but nothing specific.
“They were all hand delivered, shoved under the front door of the gallery or under her apartment door, usually after business hours or when she wasn’t home,” Burke continued, “all in envelopes with no return address. That’s when I called the police, but we were told that unless this person was caught in the act of actually doing something to endanger Leah’s life, there was nothing they could do. A friend of mine dusted them all for prints, but of course there were none. We installed surveillance cameras, but the letters stopped.”
“Again,” Clay said, tossing the papers back onto the desk, trying to convince himself he didn’t want to get involved, “why am I here?”
Everett Burke sat back in his luxurious, leather office chair. “Because last week, she found a dead cat outside her front door. Not just dead. Mutilated. And three days later, she was nearly run down while crossing the street in front of the gallery on her way to lunch. Whoever is responsible for this is escalating and I think Leah’s in serious danger.”
Clay’s chest constricted. “Any idea who it is?”
“Richard Gordon, her ex. Who else could it be? He was a rising lawyer in a very prestigious law firm, on the fast track to becoming partner. They knew he was sleeping around and cheating on his wife, but they didn’t care, as long as he continued bringing in wealthy new clients. Until he made the mistake of sleeping with one of his subordinates, who filed charges against him for sexual harassment. When three other associates came forward and made the same allegations, he was summarily dismissed. For the past three years he has been unable to find a position, since no reputable law firm will touch him.” Burke’s lips twitched. “He even managed to get himself fired from Burger King.”
“Your doing, no doubt.”
Burke’s smile was modest. “One does what one can. It pays to have influence, even if it is only at Burger King. Anyway, he blames Leah for ruining his career and, subsequently, his life. I believe he’s extremely dangerous and will stop at nothing until she’s dead.”
“Again,” Clay repeated. “Why me? Any of the operatives at SinclairTech could do this job. And why now, after all these years of nothing but silence from you?”
“I called SinTech because they’re the best. And I asked for you because you’re Rosemary’s cousin and I know you to be a man of unquestioned integrity. And because you once made Leah feel safe. I want her to feel safe. Thanks to Richard Gordon, she hasn’t felt that for six years. Not during their marriage, and certainly not since.”
“Has she agreed to having a bodyguard?”
“Well…”Burke gave a little half smile, “Not exactly. She’s adamant about my not hiring a bodyguard. We had a rather significant altercation about it just last week. So I’ve arranged a slight subterfuge. To get her out of Richard’s grasp, I’m sending her to my estate in Palm Beach, Florida. I just inherited it from my sister upon her death seven months ago. She doesn’t know I own the property. She only knows that she’s going there to appraise everything in the house to get it ready for an estate auction. I’ve told her that I’ve hired the former housekeeper to look after things as long as she’s there and that she will be met at the airport by my groundskeeper, Julio Rodriguez. But I want you to meet her instead. Tell her Julio had to have emergency open heart surgery and you’re taking his place. And I want you to keep her safe.”
Clay’s throat tightened, as did his grip on the photograph of Leah Stanhope. He wanted to keep her safe, too. That
day at the beach three years ago, she had touched a place hidden deep inside him and left her image there. A place no other woman had ever even come close to touching. That had made her unforgettable. And that had made him alone in the middle of endless nights with nothing but the memories of how she’d felt in his arms. Oh, yes. I’ll keep her safe. “I’d have to see the place first, check the security layout. I may have to install additional surveillance devices.”
“I’ll email you a complete set of blueprints,” Burke responded. He reached into his jacket pocket and held out an American Express card. “Use this to buy whatever additional equipment you feel you need. If you leave tonight that would give you nearly two days to get things set up to your specifications.”
Clay took the card. “I don’t like lying to her,” he said.
“If she finds out I hired you to protect her from Richard, she’s stubborn enough to just turn around and fly back to San Francisco and put herself right back in danger. Unless…”
Clay’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Unless what?”
Burke met his gaze squarely. “Unless you give her a good reason to stay.”
Clay just stared back at him incredulously. “You old goat, you are matchmaking!” He got up to leave, adjusting his Stetson on his head. He’d known this was going to be a colossal waste of time. He never should have allowed his curiosity to overrule his common sense. “I’m outta here.”
“Sit down, Clay. Please.” Again Burke took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, waiting patiently for Clay to resume his seat. Then he put his glasses back on and sank back into the sumptuous padding of his leather chair.
“For the past three years I’ve watched Leah go about reclaiming her life after her fiasco of a marriage with Richard. And for all intents and purposes, she has done just that. She’s successful, she has plenty of friends, lots of interests. But it’s all surface. As if she’s been on automatic pilot this whole time, with no real emotional connection to anyone or anything. She doesn’t date. Seems to have no interest in men.”
Clay snorted. “This surprises you? After what Richard Gordon put her through?”
“It’s not Richard. It’s not even normal caution after being burned. No, this is different.” Burke shook his head. “Something is missing, the desire, even the need to connect emotionally with someone. Ever since I told her my P.I. couldn’t find you, it’s like she’s been in some kind of”…he shrugged, gesturing vaguely…“I don’t know, deep mourning. As if she’d lost something precious with no hope of ever getting it back, and she’s struggling to live life without it.”
“Yeah, her asshole of a husband.”
“No,” Burke persisted. “It’s something else. Sometimes I catch her just staring out into space, her face soft and almost glowing, a tiny smile hovering around her lips, as if she’s remembering something beautiful. And then”…one shoulder lifted…“then this look of utter despair kind of sneaks up on her, stealing that smile and replacing it with an expression so sad it rips my heart out.”
“Again, her asshole of a husband.”
“Trust me, she has never looked that way when thinking of Richard. In fact, I’ve only seen that expression one other time on one other face.”
Clay didn’t want to ask. He was not going to ask. “Whose?” he asked.
“Yours. Just now. When you saw Leah’s picture.”
Clay froze.
The older man leaned forward over his desk. “Something happened that day on the beach. Something rare and precious that has, I see now, haunted you both ever since.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I don’t think so. Because I saw another expression on your face, too, just now, when you saw Leah’s picture.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Hope.”
Clay just sighed. “It’ll never work. I’m a sexual dominant. She just came out of an abusive relationship with a controlling asshole. I’d scare the shit out of someone like Leah.”
Burke nodded. “True, you’re a dominant. But you’re not a sadist. And you’ve never harmed a woman, not even when administering punishments.” At Clay’s startled look, he just smiled. “You think that just because you’re my cousin—”
“Only by marriage.”
“—that I haven’t had you thoroughly checked out? I know, for instance, that you have quite a reputation in the BDSM clubs up and down the west coast for being fair and even-handed, strict, yet attentive, always giving your subs as much pleasure as they can handle. I know that a little over a year ago you were working in Thorne Cahill’s BDSM club in England as part of an undercover operation that took down Europe’s largest slave trafficking ring. Congratulations on that, by the way. I also know that you left England and came back to your ranch to decompress, telling Adam Sinclair that you might consider taking special assignments if he needed you, but otherwise you were unavailable.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Is this assignment special enough for you? If so, I’ll fly you to West Palm Beach tonight in my private jet. That’ll give you enough time to get back home, pack a bag and take care of whatever business you need to take care of before you leave. This isn’t a favor I’m asking for, Clay. I will pay you handsomely.”
“I don’t want your fucking money, Burke,” Clay’s voice was terse, “I don’t want anything from you. You destroyed my cousin Rosemary! She ran off to marry you and wound up committing suicide! Why should I help you?”
Everett Burke permitted himself a small smile. “Rosemary loved you very much, Clay. She thought of you as a brother and talked about you incessantly. She missed you so much.”
“Then why the fuck didn’t she ever call me?” Clay whispered. “Why didn’t you let her contact any of her family? Why did you keep her away from us?”
Everett Burke looked shocked. “I never kept her away from you! I begged her to stay in touch with you, urged her to call you, invite you for a visit—at the very least send you an invitation to one of her showings. But she always had an excuse. ‘Oh, he’s probably busy,’ or ‘oh, he’s probably out of the country’, or ‘he probably won’t want to come.’ So, after a few years I quit suggesting it.”
“I don’t understand. Why didn’t she want to see me?”
Everett Burke gave Clay a long, calculating look before answering with a sigh, “She didn’t want to see anybody who knew her. Because she was too ashamed.”
“What the hell did she have to be ashamed of?” Clay demanded angrily. “She never did anything to anybody!”
“No,” Burke agreed, “she didn’t. It was done to her.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to come right out and say it. Your cousin Rosemary was molested from the age of seven, first by her father and, after he died, by her older brother, Franklin.”
“That’s a goddamned lie!” Clay jumped to his feet and turned to leave. “You bastard, I’m not listening to any more of this.” He threw the photo and the credit card on the desk. They both slid across the smooth surface and fell to the floor on the other side. “Find someone else to do your fucking job. I’m done. I knew coming here would be a waste of time.”
“Wait!” Burke jumped up from his desk and came around to put his hand on Clay’s arm. “Clay, please. Think about it! Don’t you remember how unhappy she was? How withdrawn? It took her a year to work up the courage to tell me about her father, Mason Nighthorse. He was a drunk and a bully and abused all of his children, except Franklin, his oldest. Franklin was the golden child who could do no wrong, and when Mason died, Franklin took over. Surely you remember the bruises she always had. Didn’t you ever wonder?”
Suddenly Clay couldn’t breathe. He sucked in great gulps of oxygen, almost paralyzed by the sudden memories of his cousin, who was always sporting terrible bruises on every part of her body, including her arms and legs. Come to think of it, she’d suffered more than her fair share of broken bones, too—her arm, her wris
t, her leg—“She was such a tomboy,” he murmured, almost as if talking to himself, “playing as hard and rough as the rest of us. I just thought…”
“I’m sure that’s what she wanted everyone to think. Nobody likes to admit they’re being beaten,” Burke persisted. “Do you remember Ella?”
“Of course I do. Rosemary’s niece, born when Rosemary was fourteen and Franklin was in his early twenties. He’d been married to a local gal for around a year. It was their first child. Ella died when she was still a baby—heart problem, I believe.”
“Yes. Except she wasn’t Rosemary’s niece.”
What?
“She was her daughter.”
Clay recoiled as if he’d been struck.
“Fathered by her brother Franklin, who raped her over and over until she conceived because his wife was unable to give him the son and heir he demanded.”
Oh! My! God! Vehement words of denial sprang to Clay’s lips, but he never uttered them because the analytical part of his brain had taken over and he knew the old man’s words were true. When his mind stopped reeling, he began talking in a low, halting voice. “Rosemary was fourteen, supposed to be in the seventh grade that year. Except she wasn’t. She was off visiting relatives, at least that’s what Franklin told everybody. She showed up a year later, but she was…different. She seemed…sad. Broken. As if something bad had happened to her while she’d been away. But she refused to talk about it. She became almost reclusive, no longer wanting to play or even just sit around and talk like we used to.” As memories of his cousin came flooding back, Clay felt bile rising in his throat, vowing to make Franklin Nighthorse pay for the things he’d done to Rosemary. And he would do it, too, quietly, in the dead of night, like the wind spirit, leaving no trace behind.
“She was going to tell you,” Burke put his hand on Clay’s arm in a desperate attempt to get him to listen, “the day you completed basic training.”
Passion's Dream (The Doms of Passion Lake Book 1) Page 2
