That was the great thing about Pierce. He never pushed. Never challenged. Casey never had to worry about him digging deep enough to unearth her big secret. And she’d never been tempted in the least to tell him. Wasn’t that the kind of man it’d be smarter to build a forever with—if she wanted one? A man who wouldn’t poke and prod at her to reveal her feelings, worries, fears, joys...anything, really...
Smarter, yes. Kind of boring, also. Good thing she wasn’t in the market for forever with anyone.
Chapter Ten
Zane uncapped a bottle of sparkling water. Kicked his boat shoes up on the leather seat across from him. He didn’t need the perks of being a New York Times bestselling author. He was, however, aware that fame was fleeting, and he’d better enjoy them while he could. Because back at Seneca Lake, he was driving a cramped rental that still reeked of pine, even though he’d ripped the offending air freshener off the mirror and tossed it out the window on day one. This limo, on the other hand, smelled of the rose in the crystal vase affixed to the side wall.
“Jeremiah, you sure know how to live.”
“Don’t think this ride is because of the paltry fifteen percent we make on you.” His agent patted the gelled-into-crunchiness helmet of his hair. Jeremiah lived in Los Angeles, but didn’t look anything like a surfer. Or an actor. He was lanky and pale and at only forty, already had a perpetual squint. Zane thought it was from staring down publishers until they folded. The man was famous for his ice cold brass balls and the ability to hold out for an impossibly better deal long after everyone else cried uncle.
“What’s the story behind this sweet ride? Not to mention the private plane the publisher sent to bring me to Albany. That twenty-three-minute ride through the sky was the best commute I’ve ever had.”
“You’re a hard man to pin down, Zane. You globe trot to places that don’t even have wifi.”
Which was precisely how he wrote the books that put the aforementioned fifteen percent in Jeremiah’s pocket. Seemed like an odd thing for the guy to complain about. “You found me easily enough this week.”
“Why we flew you in. Miller Mencken Publishing’s having their annual retreat up here in Lake George. Once we found out you were so close, it seemed wise to lasso you and bring you to the party.”
“Party? You flew me up here for a party?”
“Manner of speaking. I mean, yes, there is a party. And I think you’ll have a good time at it tonight. There’s a great crop of new associate editors this year. A man with a career like yours, not to mention your good looks, will be like chum in the water to those girls.”
“I’m not here for a feeding frenzy.” Irritation flattened his voice. “I’m here because my agent, publicist and publisher all ganged up on me and insisted I take a meeting in the middle of nowhere. I think it’s time you told me why.”
“Ah, we’re here.” Jeremiah launched himself at the door as they pulled up in front of a vast white clapboard resort. “We’ll get to business over a drink.”
Zane got out, happy to stretch his legs. The air smelled of freshly cut grass. A family played croquet on the rectangular lawn beyond the cluster of rosebushes in the center of the drive. There were mountains not too far away, and lots of trees. Peaceful. Idyllic. A really odd place to drag him to for a meeting that probably could’ve been covered over the phone.
Jeremiah hustled him through the front door and across a wide lobby full of cut flowers and gleaming wood floors. The entire back wall was glass. Probably because the resort fronted a big-ass lake. Guess this was his month for them. The bellman must’ve taken Zane’s overnight case God knows where. The other people milling about the large space fell into one of two camps: dressed for the pool or dressed to shop/golf, depending on the gender.
Zane spared a moment to glance down at his multi-hued blue plaid shirt and wonder if it was casual for whatever dress code had all the men in leather loafers the same highlighter bright pinks, reds and oranges as their shorts. Then they were out on the rounded portico facing one heck of a view of terraced lawns and multiple pools that led straight down to the deep blue lake.
Nathan Finkelstein waved at them from a row of high-backed rockers. It was a miracle he’d squeezed his eighty-pounds-past-ample bulk into one, so Zane hurried forward to shake his hand without making the man pop out like a cork. “Welcome to the Sagamore and Lake George!”
He knew he should be impressed. The sign they’d passed for the on-site spa, outdoor dining rooms, the towel service and waiters stationed around the pools all pointed to this being a high-end resort. A great place to relax and get pampered. Instead, Zane felt like he was cheating on Seneca Lake. He’d adopted it as his own over the past two weeks. As beautiful as Lake George was, it wasn’t home. Which was an interesting revelation. It made the whole trip up here worthwhile. Every single day Zane was more certain that cutting back on travel to hunker down with students in one place that resonated with him was the right decision.
“Winkler.” Nathan kept one hand on his head as he nodded, due to an expensive but still obvious toupee. Nathan had a habit of grabbing at it. Even if the breeze was nothing more than a fly zipping by.
Jeremiah inclined his head, too. About an eighth of an inch. “Finkelstein.” There was no love lost between the two men. Probably because they spent their careers in a state of perpetual war, each trying to wring another dollar out of each other. The nods they exchanged were the warmest greeting Zane had ever witnessed between the two.
Jerking a thumb backward at the door, Nathan said, “I’ve got a round of Arnie Palmers ordered. Hope that’s a good start. Don’t worry—we’ll be amping up to the hard stuff soon enough.”
It wasn’t even ten-thirty in the morning. Zane really craved another cup of coffee, if anything. Especially the coconut flavor available at Cosgroves every morning. He’d gotten into the habit of stopping by...and not just to try and catch an extra glimpse of Casey. “I’m not going to expire if we hold off on boozing it up until after we finish the business portion of the day.”
Nathan barked out a laugh as Zane and Jeremiah eased into rockers on either side of him. “Ha! That dry wit of yours is what makes your books fly off the shelves.” He rocked forward and tapped the arm of Zane’s chair. “Between you and me, cults are depressing. Those are some twisted people living sad little lives. But your voice makes all the difference. You make them...human.”
“Yay me.” He’d never liked Nathan. But liking someone rarely mattered when it came down to the nuts and bolts of contracts. Still, it pissed him off that Nathan would use such a wide brush to paint his derision.
Zane didn’t agree with the beliefs that drove cult members and leaders. But he respected them. They were people who made tough choices and stuck with them despite the hardships and challenges. Bottom line? They were just trying to find a reason for being in the world. Same as Nathan, actually. Except his reason was the pursuit of the almighty dollar. Which Zane also respected.
“We’re glad you made the trip out. You’re one of our favorite authors. That Hollywood project you did turned out real well.”
Man, Nathan was laying it on thick. Zane half expected a dancing girl in a harem costume to pop out of a cake and prostrate herself at his feet, wearing a sash that read Miller Mencken thanks you for your hard work. “This is a nice change of pace from the brick of my classroom walls.”
“Ah, yes. Your summer gig. How’s that going?” Jeremiah was as transparent as the plate glass windows behind them.
Zane propped one deck-shoe-clad foot on the opposite knee. “It’s rewarding. And I told you I’d be finished in time for the launch party and book tour in August.”
“Good, good.” Jeremiah rubbed his hands together. “We’re finalizing the cities right now. Toying with the idea of extending it another week so you can swing over to London. You a fan of fish and chips, Zane?�
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“Sure. Although not drenched in vinegar like the Brits do.” This must be the reason for the in-person meeting. They were trying to pump him for more time. If Jeremiah was coming clean about one week in London, he probably also had another two weeks lined up in the rest of Europe. “But I can’t commit to an extra week. I told you, this is my last book. I’m going to start teaching somewhere at the start of the fall semester. Either Arizona or Hobart. Big and prestigious or cozy and comfortable. Desert or snow. Weighing my options.”
Nathan used his elbow on the arm of the rocker as a pivot to cant the top half of his body toward Zane. “Not full time.” The words weren’t a question, but rather a flat-out denial.
“Haven’t gotten that far into the negotiations yet.”
“Don’t you want to hoard time to write your next book?”
He adjusted his powder blue canvas shorts, trying to figure out how to get them to back off without sounding ungrateful. Or pissed, which was the more immediate emotion rasping through him. This whole trip looked like a waste of time. Time away from Casey. “Look, Nathan, I told you before. This is it. Whichever college I end up at will expect me to get academic papers out there. And an idea might come to me for another book in a few years. But it won’t be on the scale of the Unmasked series. I’m done running around the world exposing cults.”
“I’m just going to come right out and say it.” Nathan thumped his chest and cleared his throat. “It’d be a crime to let a talent like yours come out with some rinky-dink college press. Let us have your next book. Let that one be your last. Go out with a bang.”
Enough was enough. This was a money grab, pure and simple. Zane had no respect for that. Yeah, he liked the royalty checks. But he wrote his books as a service. To expose what was complicated and twisted and make sense of it. To open people’s eyes to the dangers of cults. To explain to the relatives of people who got sucked in that they weren’t crazy. That they deserved to be forgiven and to never stop trying to get them out. To educate.
In an almost growl, Zane said, “There is no next book!”
Nathan’s cheeks mottled red. “Don’t play coy.” He’d barked the words out in a shout. Unlike Zane, he didn’t seem to care if the elderly couple rocking on the other side caught wind of their conversation. “I brought you here in good faith.”
Talk about revisionist history. Although, could you really call two and a half minutes ago history? “No, you brought me to the Sagamore to strongarm me.”
A perky co-ed with a smile as big as the lake delivered their drinks, along with a bowl of mixed nuts. Nathan shot his hand out to clench a palmful. Almost delicately, he popped a single cashew into his mouth. “Jeremiah’s here to be sure your interests are well covered. We can haggle over lunch and be done in time to take a dip.”
Zane dropped his foot to the ground. Put his elbows on his thighs and let his wrists cross in what he hoped came off as an earnest posture. “This isn’t hardball. This isn’t a negotiating tactic. I swear, I don’t have another book planned.” And no time if he did want to start one. He’d been out of the classroom for years. As good as Zane was at winging it, he should probably invest a decent chunk of time into developing a syllabus for the courses, along with weekly lesson plans. This new job would keep him busy. Not burning the candle at both ends like the last few years, but not twiddling his thumbs, either.
To his surprise, Nathan let out a snort. “You’re one of our biggest authors. You think we don’t monitor your Twitter feed?”
Ah. So this, this was the real purpose of this meeting. God, Zane was an idiot. A short-sighted idiot who’d bragged on Twitter with all the restraint of a teenybopper. He’d been so pumped after reading those journals in Cosgroves. Casey and her friends hadn’t responded with a sufficient level of enthusiasm for the magnitude of his discovery. So he’d put it out there hoping his fans could be excited with him at the possibilities. All Zane had wanted was for someone to—metaphorically—jump up and down with him.
Denial was pointless. And, Zane had to admit, he couldn’t blame them for jumping to the wrong conclusion. “You saw my mention of the Sunshine Seekers? That I might have a lead on the Lone Survivor?”
Jeremiah clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Of course we did. Didn’t you once tell me that’d be your Holy Grail?”
“Yes, but—”
“The book you’ve got coming out in August is good, don’t get me wrong.” Nathan sped through the peremptory compliment. “But this—this would send shock waves through the country. This would be like a football player retiring right after a Super Bowl win.”
“These schools want you.” Jeremiah jabbed his straw in the air to punctuate his words. “They’ll wait for you. Defer the job for a year. Or even just a semester.”
It was an option he’d never considered. An intriguing option, at that. What if he was the one to break the full story on the Sunshine Seekers? Due to the murder conviction that had come in for the leader, this was a guaranteed media sell out. He could be on the cover of any and every news magazine in the country. It wasn’t as good as finding the missing World War II sub, but still, even his dad might be impressed if he pulled this off.
Another roadblock zapped into Zane’s head. “What about the lawsuit?”
“That’s about your last book. This new one coming out in a few months—there’s nothing objectionable in it, right?”
You’d think his own publisher would be at the front of his defense phalanx. “There wasn’t anything objectionable in the last one,” huffed Zane.
“You know what I mean. This next one’s about some cult down in the South Pacific, right? Nobody from down there’s going to Kon-Tiki their way up here and try to sue us over anything. So there’s a built-in cushion against the current lawsuit.”
Current lawsuit? Like there was the possibility of another one cropping up? Zane didn’t like the sound of that at all. He was an academic. Who wrote facts, not a manufactured and spurious weekly column for a celebrity tabloid. “What if it goes badly? Could they slap a gag order on me? Keep me from publishing anything else?” He didn’t want to waste his time starting a new book if it legally wouldn’t ever see the light of day. Damn lawsuit.
Most of the time Jeremiah’s job description fell under either troubleshooter or negotiator. The cheesy, forced smile and conciliatory body language told Zane his agent had just put on his “handler” hat. And Zane hated being handled. “First of all, everything’s going to be fine. The lawyers are going to sweep the whole thing under the rug.”
Unacceptable. While it might solve his legal woes, it left the far bigger ethical issue unresolved. The mere idea that somebody thought they could muzzle him had to be addressed. Zane narrowed his eyes, and it wasn’t just against the sun bouncing in sharp spears off the water.
“That’s not what I want at all. I want Diggle to retract his accusations. To acknowledge that truth has an inherent right to be unleashed upon the public.”
Nathan popped a whole palmful of nuts. “Get off your soapbox. What you want is the lawsuit dropped. Period. Everything else is secondary.”
Good thing he hadn’t started on the Arnie Palmer sweating all over the table next to him, or Zane would’ve done a spit take. The truth was never a secondary consideration. Not to Zane. The world should be an open book. Knowledge was everything. Which probably explained why he’d devoted his life to finding and imparting it to people. Whereas Nathan and Jeremiah only cared about the truth if it made them bank.
“Now’s not the time to worry about the specifics. We’re still in the early stages. Lots of back and forth still happening.” Jeremiah looked as though he were laying bricks, the way he wiped his hand through the air with each sentence, mortaring over Zane’s concerns. He’d also started sweating along his hairline. “You’ll be consulted every step of the way. Remember, I’m not happy unless
you’re happy.”
Bullshit. The guy undoubtedly said that to all his clients. And it was categorically impossible to be that happy all the time. Zane knew he was being worked. He also knew this wasn’t the time to get into it. Pushing Jeremiah around was his right as the client. But it was close to impossible to accomplish in front of Nathan. Had to leave the guy some face.
“Miller Mencken wouldn’t throw away money on an unpublishable product. You get the goods from that survivor, write the hell out of it, and we’ll set loose a marketing blitz for it the likes of which you’ve never seen.”
It was tempting. Finally getting to tell the inside story of the Sunshine Seekers would be a thrill. A culmination of all his years of study and analysis. And yeah, it wouldn’t suck to be the one to break it to the world. But there were so many variables to consider. Zane stood. Braced himself on one of the fat white columns ringing the arc of the portico. “I haven’t found him yet.”
“But you think you can,” prompted Jeremiah.
“With time, yes.” The clues were all there, just waiting to be assembled. He’d been planning to comb through more of the mailbox journals. An accelerated timetable would make short work of that task, combined with interviewing the older town residents. The people of Seneca Lake all had secrets—the journals proved that. But he thought it also proved, to a certain extent, that they weren’t so great at keeping those secrets. The thing Zane was great at was getting people to open up. Reveal their deepest darkests. Getting the name of someone who suddenly appeared should be a cakewalk once he put his mind to it.
Nathan made a few prissy little tugs where his linen shirt lay in wrinkled folds over his belly. “And once you find this Lone Survivor, you can get them to tell all?”
Was Nathan questioning Zane’s abilities? Or just strategically poking his ego awake? Either way, it was working. If there was one thing Zane never backed off from, it was a challenge. “I’ve burrowed into the underbelly of every other cult I set my sights on. Sunshine Seekers shouldn’t be any different.”
All for You Page 17
