I followed him out the front door.
“How are you feeling?”
“That’s urgent?”
He hung his head. “No. I’m sorry. Listen, I got an urgent call from my sister, um, Sloane.”
“I remember.”
“There’s something going on at home. It was hard for me to hear her. Anyway, she asked—begged—me to come back to the States as soon as I can.”
“Then, you should go.”
“I hate leaving you, Tara.”
“Because your being here kept me safe?” I saw him flinch and regretted the words as soon as I said them. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I deserved that.” His voice was clipped, but in the same way he didn’t know me well enough not to doubt me, I didn’t know him well enough to know if he was hurt or angry.
He held up the tube. “I wanted to ask…You don’t have to say yes, but the painting. Can I still have it?”
“It’s yours, Knox. I painted it for you.”
“Thank you.” He looked up at the sky and then back at me. “There’s so much—”
I shook my head. “There’s nothing.”
“Tara, I care about you. More than that.”
I put my hand on the door. “Don’t do this. Don’t embarrass yourself further. Goodbye, Knox.”
“Wow. Okay. Goodbye, Tara.”
I stepped inside, closed the door behind me, and went back to where my father sat. From the window, I could see Knox studying the farmhouse. It was as though he was taking one last look at a place he’d never see again.
I’d hurt him with my cruelty. While part of me wanted to race outside and beg his forgiveness, another part knew it was pointless. We were from two very different worlds. How many times had I thought that once Knox got to know me better, he’d realize I wasn’t as interesting as he thought? He’d said that I’d figure out I was way out of his league.
He was so wrong; it was the opposite. Knox was one of the good guys. People like Ava and Aine, Quinn, and even Penelope deserved the good guys. I didn’t. I was a spoiled rich girl whose daddy took care of my every material need and want. I’d graduated from college, but the first real job I’d had was the few days I worked with Pia in the winery tasting room.
I thought back to what Knox had told me his friend said. They’d survived a plane crash; they should go out and grab every bit of happiness they could.
Well, I’d survived two kidnappings. Instead of grabbing happiness, I had to make a life for myself where I could be happy. Be fulfilled. Find a way to be more than I was, so the next time I met one of the good guys, maybe I’d believe I deserved to be with him.
It was too late for Knox and me. In the short time we were together, we’d seen as much of the worst in each as we had the best.
I’d never forget him, though, and I hoped he’d never forget me. That’s why I wanted him to take the painting. Something to remember me by. Something I was good enough at that he’d admired me for it.
I brushed away my tears as I watched Knox drive away.
“Sweetheart?” My father held his hand out to me.
“It’s okay, Daddy.” I sat on the floor and rested against his leg. He stroked my hair.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked a few minutes later.
“All the things I want to do with my life now that I’ve finally woken up enough to realize what’s possible.”
“Everything is possible. You’re extraordinary, Tara.”
I smiled up at him. “You’re the only one who’s ever thought so.” That wasn’t exactly true. There’d been a time Knox thought I was extraordinary too.
28
Tara
Three months later
“Knock, knock.”
“You can come in, Pen.”
“Oh my God, I love it. Even more than the last one.” She spun around and looked at the row of paintings that were lined up against the far wall of my studio. “I don’t know, it’s too hard to decide. I love them all equally.”
I smiled and hugged her, being careful not to drip paint on her shirt. “You don’t, but I appreciate your support anyway.”
“All those years, and we never knew how talented you were.”
I shrugged. It was more that they’d never known how much I lacked enough confidence to share my work. The only person I had shown, before Knox, was Brand.
While Penelope studied the paintings, I thought about the man who I now knew was my half-brother.
Thanks to my dad, restitution was made to all the people who had purchased forgeries from Brand or bought fake shares in masterpieces. I wondered if the money to do so came out of the trust fund or if my father had simply paid it all. Either way, it was none of my business, and I’d never ask.
Quinn was the one to tell me that Brand had been sentenced to six years in prison for his crimes, even after the restitution was made. It didn’t seem nearly enough, but as she’d explained, Brand wasn’t the one who’d kidnapped my father or me. He also hadn’t been the one to kill the AISE agents who were protecting me. While, to some, it may seem that he should pay for the indirect consequences of his actions, as Quinn said, it wasn’t the way the law worked.
I found myself intrigued by the original idea of the business Brand and my father had started, and quietly opened a retail space of my own. I’d named it the Catarina Benedetto Fine Art Collection and Gallery. It was only one of the businesses intended to operate under the umbrella of the Tribe of Five Corporation, whose board members included Quinn Bryant, Ava McNamara, Aine Ellis, and Penelope Ramsey. We’d voted four to one to make Quinn our chairwoman.
I hadn’t sold any of my own art yet and, secretly, wasn’t sure I ever would. However, the gallery was beginning to gain in reputation for selling quality Italian works of art.
My plan was never to conduct any private art deals, but the market segment was growing quickly as savvy collectors, corporations, and even institutions like museums, began to realize the benefit of brokering one-on-one deals rather than competing in the sometimes overwhelming world of public galleries, high-end auctions, online sales, and art fairs. When initially approached about brokering a deal, I’d been reluctant, but now had finalized close to twenty.
Some dealers were reluctant to do business with me, given the level of provenance I required for any artwork I brokered in a deal. I was intransigent in insisting my requirements be met before I would continue the sale. Not that I was the face of that part of the business. That was Penelope.
While she’d loved physical therapy, the long hours and difficulty getting time off resulted in her asking if there was a place for her at the gallery.
“I’ve decided. This is my favorite.” She stepped back and waved her hand at a painting of the Valentini Winery with rolling hillsides covered in vineyards in the background. I had to admit, it was one of my favorites too.
Pen walked over and sat on a stool by the window. “I have a crazy idea.”
The way she said it, reminded me so much of Pia that I put my hand on my heart and my eyes filled with tears.
“What?”
“It’s nothing. Just missing a friend.”
“That’s something else I want to talk to you about, but first things first.”
“It isn’t who you’re thinking,” I muttered.
“Don’t try to distract me.”
I folded my arms.
“It’s time you mounted a show.”
I shook my head. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not? Look at all of this. How many paintings do you have now? Thirty? Forty?”
It was closer to fifty, none of which I was ready for anyone besides Pen to see. I would’ve let the remaining three of the tribe see them, but Quinn lived in California and Ava in Oregon. I wasn’t sure whether Aine and her husband, also one of the K19 Security Solutions partners, had made a decision about where they planned to live full-time. The last I heard, they were leaning heavily toward Yachats, the town on the O
regon Coast where Ava and Razor lived.
When we heard the chime of someone at the intercom at the front of the gallery, Pen eased out the door of my studio. “This conversation isn’t over,” she said, before closing it behind her.
No sooner was she gone than my cell phone rang. “Hi, Daddy.”
“Hey, princess. How are you?”
“Busy painting. How are you?”
“That’s what I like to hear. I’m hoping someday you’ll let me see some of them.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“I wanted to let you know that the charges against me have been dropped. We can now put all of this behind us.”
Could we? Would it be that easy? I grew up not knowing that my friend, my father’s secretary’s son, someone who I’d looked up to all my life, was really my half-brother.
That same man had almost gotten himself, my father, and me killed. And for what? Revenge that he’d been fathered by a man who’d secretly taken care of him his whole life? Who gave him a trust fund worth millions of dollars?
I shook my head. It was always too easy for me to get caught up in what Brand had done and wonder what role I’d played in it. I’d finally accepted that I hadn’t played any role. The choices he’d made were his own, and he would pay their price.
“Tara? You still there?”
“Sorry, Dad. I’m trying to finish a painting.”
“I’ll let you go. I love you, sweetheart.”
“You too, Daddy.”
29
Halo
Didn’t matter what day it was,; the routine was the same. I’d roll out of bed with the sunrise, have a cup of tea, stare at the painting—the only thing that hung on the walls of my new apartment.
I’d moved back to Boston shortly after I returned from Italy, so it wasn’t exactly new anymore. It just didn’t feel like home. Had there ever been a place that felt that way to me? If there had, I couldn’t remember it.
The night I’d landed in Boston, my sister picked me up at the airport. She drove to an out-of-the-way restaurant and, through many tears, told me she was pregnant. What she wouldn’t tell me was who the baby’s father was, or what her plan was for having him in her and the child’s lives.
I was frustrated, but ultimately, all Sloane wanted from me was my support, which I agreed to give her. I moved from DC to Boston, held her hand when she told our parents, and went to her doctor’s appointments with her. So often I saw her pain, the haunted look in her eyes that reminded me of Tara when I’d first met her. I wished she’d confide in me the secrets she felt she had to keep, but until she was ready, I’d be the best brother I could to her.
Yesterday, I’d received an email from Doc Butler, saying he’d be in town today and asking if we could meet. I’d anticipated hearing from him. In fact, I was surprised it had taken him this long to rescind the partnership offer made to me at the end of last year. I knew it was merely a formality, but once it happened, it would mean any ties I might have to Tara, even vicariously, would be gone.
I wondered if Doc was also meeting with Tackle, but not enough to ask. I’d see him later on the job site of the project we were working on together for his dad’s company.
I took one more look at Tara’s painting after I’d taken a shower, gotten dressed in the same crappy clothes I wore every day, pulled on my work boots, and left for work.
“Did you hear from Doc?” I asked Tackle when he parked next to my truck and climbed out.
“About?”
“He’s in town. Wants to meet.”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Did you ever give them a final answer one way or the other?”
“Not yet.”
I dropped the subject and went to work on the cabinet installation that was slated for today. A little after noon, my cell rang.
“Hey, Doc. You in town?”
“Just landed and got your email. Al Dente in the North End sounds fine.”
I walked a few feet away from where my friend was working. “I know this is none of my business, but what about Tackle?”
“First things first. I’ll see you tonight, Halo.”
I walked up to the restaurant at a little before eight and saw Doc already seated at a table. He stood when he saw me walk in.
“How are you, Knox?” he asked, thumping my back when we hugged.
“Feelin’ my age. Construction work is a lot harder than I remember it being. How are you? Merrigan? The baby?”
He laughed. “The baby isn’t so much anymore, but thanks for asking.” He pointed to a bottle of wine. “Can I interest you in a glass, or would you prefer something else?”
“Wine’s good.” That it was a Brunello di Montalcino made the ever-present ache in my chest hurt a little bit worse.
“How are you, Knox?”
“Been better. Been worse too.”
Doc studied me. “Come back to the work you do best, Halo.”
“Pretty sure that’s what I’m doing.”
“It isn’t and you know it.”
“Look, I appreciate this very much, but I screwed up seven ways to Sunday with Tara Emsworth.”
“I’d say you’ve got a pretty good record, then.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mine is way worse. I’d say my clean ops versus the ones I’ve screwed up are about fifty-fifty.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
Doc smiled. “I know you didn’t. But, Halo, we want you with us.”
“Maybe this is none of my business, but I gotta ask. Why not Tackle?”
“First things first.”
“Second time you’ve said that. What do you mean?”
Doc went to rub the back of his neck, but stopped short. “Tackle has some things in his life that he needs to deal with. He knows the offer we made him remains on the table.”
Tackle had things in his life he had to deal with? Things I knew nothing about? I hated to admit it, but maybe our friendship would never be what it once was.
The waiter approached the table with a platter. I glanced in his direction and then did a double-take.
“I took the liberty of ordering antipasti,” said Doc.
“White bean and prosciutto bruschetta,” the man said, setting it between us.
When I looked up at Doc, he shrugged. “It sounded good. We can order something else if you don’t like it.”
“It isn’t that,” I mumbled, taking a piece after Doc had.
“Before we get back to the subject you don’t want to talk about and I do, I want to give you an update.”
I took a bite, marveling at how much it tasted exactly like what Nonna Bella had made for us the first night I met Tara. “On?”
“Brand Ripa was sentenced last week, and the charges against Richard Emsworth were dropped.”
“Glad to hear it.”
The waiter came back by and filled our wineglasses. “Are you ready to order?”
“Give us another minute,” said Doc, not looking at the man. As soon as the waiter walked away, he leaned forward. “Get your ass back to work. And by work, I mean with K19.”
I leaned forward like he had. “I gotta admit I don’t understand why you’re pushing so hard, but okay, I give. Under one condition.”
“And that is?”
“My sister has some…stuff going on that I’m…helping her with. That has to come first.”
He nodded like he knew what I was talking about. Shit, this was Doc. Maybe he did know. “Done,” he said.
“Then, I’ll sign.”
Doc smiled. “Yeah?”
“Yes, sir.”
He reached over to the chair beside him. “Let’s finalize this.” He handed me a copy of the offer they’d presented to me before. “Red line anything you want to negotiate.”
“Is this the same as it was before?”
“For now.”
I took the black pen from Doc’s hand, flipped to the back page, and signed my name. When I hand
ed it back to him, he smiled and reached over to shake my hand.
“Know what you want?” he asked, signaling the waiter.
I didn’t bother opening the menu. “It’s always better if you just let them bring whatever.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah.”
We were between the second and third courses when Doc leaned back in his chair. “There’s something else we need to talk about, Halo.”
I refilled my wineglass from the second bottle the waiter brought to the table. “How is she?” I asked.
“On the surface, Tara is doing really well. She’s still living in New York with Penelope. And she opened her own gallery.”
“Seriously?”
Doc nodded. “She named it the Catarina Benedetto Collection, or something like that. Anyway, I understand from Quinn that she’s been doing a lot of painting.”
“I’m really happy to hear that.” Both that she was painting and the name she’d chosen. It meant her memories of the time she spent in Italy weren’t all bad. “Where is it?”
“In Manhattan. One of those places where you need an engraved invitation to even get in the door.”
Good to know, not that I would’ve considered just showing up.
Doc rested his arms on the table and leaned forward. “It’s only because I love my daughter that I’m doing this. Got it?”
“Understood.”
Doc reached over to the chair beside him like he had when he pulled out my K19 offer, and handed me an envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Your engraved invitation.”
“To what?”
“Tara’s first show.”
I opened the unsealed envelope and pulled out the card inside. “It’s tomorrow night.”
Doc nodded. “We’ll all be there. Expect you to be too.”
I put the card back inside. “Does Tara know I received an invite?”
When Doc shook his head, I tried to hand the envelope back to him.
“Then, I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Halo (K19 Security Solutions Book 8) Page 16
