He nodded. “A possibility.”
“It’s a little out of the way, but some folks like a quiet place to vacation.”
This wasn’t his problem. He just wanted to do his time here and get the hell out. And if the beautiful Rori Hughes wanted to help him pass the time—solving a computer mystery and sharing his bed—he’d be the happiest inmate in the history of probate incarceration.
“C’mon, let’s get something to eat first.” He took her hand and led her through the huge dark dining room into the big kitchen.
“This is like heaven.” She ran her fingers over the golden marble countertops, peeked in the double-wide refrigerator, then sat on one of the chairs at the counter.
“Like heaven? You said you don’t cook.” He leaned on the counter across from her.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a room this awesome.” She swung her gaze back and forth. “Look, you can see out both sides of the house.”
He hadn’t noticed that before. Big windows framed the lake on one side, and on the other, French doors opened onto the pool deck that glowed with the blue of the pool lights. “Yeah. It’s a showplace.” He opened the refrigerator. “What’re you hungry for?”
A half-hour later, full of reheated leftover Mexican food, they waddled down the hall toward Dusty and Theresa’s offices. “I haven’t checked out his computers. Or his office.” He felt a sorrowful tightening in his chest. His dad was dead, and no matter how angry Jackson was at him for his deceit, he’d loved the guy. He’d miss him.
As if she could sense his mood, Rori ran her hand up and down his arm. “I’m sorry. If this is too much too soon, we can wait.”
“No. I’m good. It just didn’t seem right before, but now that we have a purpose, I think it’d be wise to get this figured out before I leave.” He glanced at her.
Was that a wince? Had Rori winced when he mentioned leaving town? Or was it a little smile of relief? Hell. He had to get his shit straight. Just because she was the most interesting woman he’d met in as long as he could remember, and just because sex with her was friggin’ outstanding didn’t mean it would be that way forever. Did it?
He stopped outside Dusty’s office and snapped on the overhead light. Rori walked in, moving around the desk then tapping on the keyboard. The monitor came to life and she rolled Dusty’s modern leather chair closer and sat. The desk looked like it could have come from an old cowboy movie, and the room’s dark paneling gleamed like it’d been in place for a hundred years.
She kept typing as he wandered around the room, looking at the western and landscape paintings that looked original, a framed one-dollar bill, a tall bookcase filled with books on geology, and finally the refrigerator-size safe that stood open. Had Dad’s attorney opened it? Or had Dylan last week?
“Nothing.” Rori shook her head, her nose less than a foot from the monitor. “I don’t find anything with the same name, and nothing unusual.” She turned in the chair. “Do you know where his laptop is?”
They spent a few minutes searching until he found it in a briefcase in the safe. Rori took it and got busy while Jackson looked through the safe. Papers, legal stuff dealing with the company, the house and land, the airplane, and other holdings. A thin black leather box containing paperwork for Dusty’s four houses around the country was hidden among other similar boxes.
Evidently his dad hadn’t let his wife see inside the safe. On the bottom, a big box with a cover on it sat at an odd angle. Jackson pulled it out and set it on a side table. He lifted the cover and found a stack of big scrapbooks, the top one with a D on it. He pulled it out and flipped open the cover.
A baby picture, an announcement with Dylan’s name on it, a picture of a baptism with a minister, his dad, a blonde woman holding a blond baby. “Holy shit.”
“What is it?” Behind him, the desk chair squeaked.
He turned and held up a hand to stop her. “Nothing.” The word came out too sharp.
Rori stopped halfway-standing, then plopped down again. “Okay.” She swallowed before going back to the laptop.
He’d offended her, but he sure as hell wasn’t ready to share this. With anyone. The next book in the pile had an R on it. Rogue? He’d like to look through that one, see what kind of woman named their kid that. But he wasn’t ready to see one with a J on it. Not tonight.
Sliding Dylan’s book back into the box, he reset the cover and tucked the box back into the safe. He strolled over and sat on the desk next to Dusty’s laptop. “Find anything?”
“Just the same file he had on his work computer.” She touched the screen a few times and the screen went black. Closing the laptop, she handed it to him. “Would you feel comfortable looking at Theresa’s computer?”
He took the laptop from her and walked to the safe, setting the computer back into the briefcase. Although he didn’t know Dusty’s wife, it felt odd to look at her personal stuff. But if it would help solve the mystery of the bank accounts… “We should, since Dusty had named that file Theresa.” He gestured for her to go ahead of him, and they walked down the hall to the next room.
Theresa’s office was done in light oak, more modern than Dusty’s by about a century. Her desk looked delicate, and her pink floral chair matched the curtains. Rori slid right in and fired up the computer while Jackson looked for a safe, but found none. He opened the desk drawers to see if she had a laptop, but didn’t find one. He’d ask Marliss about it in the morning.
“Got that printout?” Rori held out her hand to him.
He tugged the folded papers from his pocket and handed it to her, and she spread them flat on the desk and started typing again.
Jackson would love to go back into his dad’s office and do more snooping, but it could wait until tomorrow. He glanced at Rori. Unless she didn’t have work, and wanted to stay here with him for the day.
“Okay, she doesn’t have that same file.” Rori practically buzzed with excitement. “But I searched documents around the date of the first entry on Dusty’s list.” She turned the monitor toward him. “See this document? It’s an invoice. From a private detective.”
Chapter Seven
Rori watched Jackson’s face as he read the invoice on Theresa’s monitor.
Then he read it again. His brows dropped. “What does this mean?”
She pointed to the date on the monitor. “Eight years ago.” Rori turned and shuffled through the papers Jackson had printed at this dad’s office, then she pointed to the first date. “A week after the first payment Dusty made.”
“Or received?” Jackson sat on his heels next to her chair. “We didn’t think of that. Could he have been the one getting this money? Not paying it?”
“It’s possible.” She caught Jackson’s gaze. “But he has a heck of a lot of money in the bank. Liquid assets that total millions.” She pressed her lips together for a second. “Chances are better that he’s paying this, rather than receiving it.”
“You’re right.”
“But it’s a possibility he was getting this money. Taking it out of the bank in cash.” Which smacked of money laundering.
Jackson pulled out his phone and typed. “I’m gonna have Abby pull bank records for a few months and look for these amounts.”
“Good idea.” She opened another window. “Let me search on this guy’s name and see what else comes up.” Typing in Harold Logan, she clicked search and found only an e-business card. “He’s from KC. Want me to print this stuff out? Or email it to you to save a part of a tree?”
He grinned. “You and your new-age cloud crap.” Getting to his feet, he leaned over the desk and turned on the small printer. “Best keep my email out of this computer.”
She pressed print. “Now you’re thinking like a true detective.”
After reading the papers, he folded them with the rest and stuck it back in his pocket. “Until we hear back from your hacker, I guess we’re done detecting?” He set his hand on her shoulder and twirled his thumb in a sensua
l circle on her collar bone.
A blast of arousal rallied deep inside her, spreading to her breasts and all the way down to the needy lips between her thighs. He was diverting her from her curiosity about what they’d found on Theresa’s computer, but she could understand his need to keep it private.
She shut down the computer and stood, sidling in and getting right in his space. “We’re done computering and detecting. We’ve already eaten, and I don’t like watching TV.” She licked her lips and set her hands on his hips.
“There’s a gaming console or ten in the billiards room.” Jackson tugged her close, his hands sliding to her lower back, his hips working against hers, pushing the hard flesh behind his zipper into her belly. “You wanna do that?”
“I don’t wanna do anything in the billiards room.” She leaned forward, brushing the hard points of her nipples against his chest, the layers of cloth between them practically nonexistent, the way her body responded.
“Skinny dip?” He leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth.
“Maybe another time. You’ve got to get me home before sunrise, you know. Else we give the whole town even more fuel for the gossip fire.” Not that he cared, but she did. She had to live here.
“So you’re saying, all my efforts to entertain you are just a waste of time?”
Rori nodded.
He grabbed her ass and pulled her up along his body. “Good.” He kissed her, quick and thoroughly.
She nearly melted into a soft blob as his tongue took what he wanted, gave her everything she needed. In minutes, they were upstairs in his bedroom, peeling off each other’s clothes. She grinned. “This is all the entertainment I was hoping for, Jackson.” She grasped his cock in both her hands and knelt. “And consider this…my favorite version of recreation.”
****
Jackson sat in his father’s chair in the home office, the box of scrapbooks on the desk, front and center. The sun poked above the horizon, shining through the window right onto the box, as if a sign from above.
He’d gotten Rori back to her building and safely inside an hour ago, but when he’d arrived back at the lake house, he couldn’t rest. The box kept calling to him, but he wasn’t motivated to dive in yet, so he’d been sitting and staring.
Which was less appealing? Looking through his own book, or those of his brothers? Jackson wasn’t in a place where he was ready to forgive his dad yet, and he sure as hell wasn’t prepared to get to know every damn detail of his half-brothers’ lives.
Footsteps padded along the hardwood floor outside the door. Marliss walked past, then backed up and looked at him. The blue of her cotton top and pants was broken up only by her white apron. “Good morning.” Her gaze shifted to the box on the desk. “Or is it?” She pulled a sorrowful face.
“I don’t know, ma’am.” He should call his mother, get some guidance from her, but as long as Marliss was right here and seemed to know what was in the box… “What’s the story behind these?” He gestured to the scrapbooks.
She walked in and perched on the arm of one of the guest chairs. “Your dad had a PO box in Kansas City.”
A secret PO box. “That was how he had his baby mommas contact him?” The words snapped out of him before he could temper them some.
She fiddled with the hem of her apron. “If that’s how you want to put it, yes.” Her gaze met his. “But if I were a bettin’ woman, I’d wager they were more than that to him. That you were more than that to him. Especially with the care he took with those scrapbooks.”
This woman and her husband had been with Dusty and Theresa since the beginning, since Dusty married Theresa and took over her family’s company. “You knew about us.”
With a nod, she let out a breath. “We did.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and texted.
He waited, a little irritated that the conversation they were having was less important to her than whatever she needed to communicate through her phone.
Tucking the phone away, she sat in the chair. “What questions do you have for me?”
Jackson opened his mouth, then closed it. What kind of questions did he want to ask a complete stranger about things his father had shared with her?
“What was Theresa like?” That was safe.
Marliss talked about the woman, about how she’d changed over the years from a quiet, determined woman to a very proper, cool, well-mannered socialite, connecting with other wealthy women in the area, and traveling often to Kansas City for events. Jackson could understand it happening, especially when Theresa realized that Dusty would be gone ninety percent of the time.
“Jackson.” Marliss’ eyes looked moist. “Ms. Theresa didn’t want children.”
He felt the blood drain from his face. That’s what Benner had said, too, but it just didn’t make sense. Why marry a woman who didn’t want kids, when Dusty evidently did? Desperately enough to father four.
She shifted in her chair. “Lou and I knew this from hearing them shouting at each other. Ms. Theresa didn’t tell him until after they were married, after they’d built this big house, and Mr. Walker was running the company. I think it made your dad a little crazy.” She waved one hand. “Not in a bad way, but that’s when he started traveling a lot. Staying away from home most of the time.”
Jackson could almost commiserate with his dad. Almost. Not to the point of forgiving him for deceiving five women the way he had done.
Footsteps sounded, then Marliss’ husband, Lou, stood in the doorway holding a heavy-laden tray.
So that was who Marliss had texted.
“Heard there was a party in here?” Lou gave a crooked smirk and stepped inside, his long, fit body and handsome face—even for a sixty-year-old—giving him the appearance of a movie star. Especially with that full head of gray hair.
Jackson picked up the box and set it on the floor so Lou could set down the tray.
Lou poured three cups of coffee, handed one to his wife, set one on a coaster for Jackson, then took his and sat in the chair next to Marliss.
The scent of cinnamon and freshly-baked sweet dough hit Jackson, and he automatically reached for one of the rolls, the warm frosting coating his fingers. He stuffed about half of it in his mouth and couldn’t help the groan that escaped him.
Marliss patted her husband’s forearm. “Another satisfied customer.”
Lou sat quietly. The man didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to when his wife was around.
“Jackson was just wondering about the scrapbooks.” She crossed her legs. “We found out about you boys when you were just a few years old. Your father seemed almost glad that someone knew his secret. He talked with us about you…all of you.” Leaning forward, she stared into Jackson’s eyes. “He really did care about you.”
Jackson scratched his head. “The one thing I can’t figure out was why he didn’t let us know we had brothers.” The faces of his three siblings popped into his head. Killian, taller than the others, that black hair and black eyes matching the anger Jackson sensed rolling off his brother. The guy was a smartass, though, and Jackson had appreciated the way Killian had handled the attorney at the reading of the will.
Rogue’s hair had looked nearly the same color as Jackson’s, but the guy had those clear green eyes. Smart as all shit, Rogue had a cool aura around him, like nothing bothered him. And the youngest, Dylan, his hair almost blond, with that amusement in his hazel eyes. He’d blurted out a whole lot of the stuff Jackson had wanted to say, but couldn’t find words in his state of shock.
“Can’t rightly answer that.” Lou frowned. “While we were happy to listen, it wasn’t our place to question your father’s decisions.”
Jackson looked down at the box on the floor. These scrapbooks would let him get to know his brothers. But there was nothing that’d help him understand Dusty. Why he’d kept four women in different parts of the country, and why he’d kept his sons ignorant of each other.
Marliss stood. “Why don’t we give you some space, an
d if you have questions, just text us and we’ll come back.”
He looked up at the woman. She would have been an amazing grandmother to have around while he was growing up. “Thanks.”
Lou stood. “I’ll bring your breakfast in here.”
Jackson nodded. He’d confessed to Lou the morning before that he ate the same thing every morning: scrambled eggs, breakfast meats, and pancakes. Some days, like yesterday, twice a day. “Thanks, Lou. I’d appreciate that.”
The couple left, taking their cups with them. Jackson slid the computer over to one corner and pulled out the scrapbooks, laying them side-by-side according to the age of each Walker boy.
He set his jaw. It’d be Killian first, then Rogue. He’d skip his own and look at Dylan’s next. Save his own for last. He had the feeling it would be less traumatic reading his own after getting a look at the others. Or maybe he was just chicken-shit, and wanted to put it off as long as possible.
Refilling his coffee cup, Jackson shoveled down another one of Lou’s amazing cinnamon rolls, then settled back, sliding Killian’s scrapbook in front of him. He opened the front cover, and there was his dad, the woman who must be Killian’s mother, with her black hair and eyes, and baby Killian, maybe just a few days old with a shock of black hair. And the homeliest face Jackson had ever seen on a baby. Laughing, he sent a text to Abby at the office, telling her he’d be working from home for a few hours.
Flipping the page, he settled in to learn what he could about the three men he’d been thrust into brotherhood with. The thought didn’t upset him as much as it once had.
****
After a huge breakfast, a few more rolls at around ten, and a fantastic lunch of cheese-stuffed hamburgers and homemade fries, Jackson chose to set aside his own scrapbook and look at it later. He had enough to take in with the life history of his three brothers.
He stepped out of the house into the heat of the early afternoon. After the chill of the air conditioner, it almost felt good. As he walked across the grass, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed his mother’s number.
Jackson: The Sons of Dusty Walker Page 7
