by Andrea Kane
"Dammit." Nancy had run both hands through her hair, feeling as if the world was closing in on her.
"Hang in, Nance. Stephen will be home soon."
She'd raised her head and met Connor's gaze with growing trepidation. "And then what?"
She was still asking herself that, only now it was an hour and a half later, and there was still no sign of Stephen.
"Where's Dad?" Brian asked, looking up from his math problems. "It's late."
Nancy opened her mouth to reassure him, for the third time, that they'd be hearing from Stephen any minute.
Connor's cell phone rang.
He looked up, meeting Nancy's uneasy stare. "Business," he predicted, tugging the phone out of his pocket "Remember that it's morning in places like Australia."
She nodded.
"Connor Stratford." A long pause. "Yeah. Everyone's fine. I'm positive. Right here. Okay. Where?" Another pause. "I'm on my way."
He punched the end button and unfolded to a standing position. "That was your dad," he told Brian. "He's having car trouble, which explains why he isn't here. I'm going to run over and help him out."
Brian scrambled to his feet. "How come he called on your cell phone?"
An offhanded shrug. "He had trouble getting through on your home line, so he called me."
"That's a lot of trouble, Connor," Nancy noted quietly. "Car trouble. Phone trouble."
Connor looked at her and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "That's the digital age," was all he said aloud. "Filled with glitches." He turned to Brian. "Listen, ace, let Mom help you with that last problem. Then get ready for bed. That way, you'll be able to spend more time with Dad when he gets home. Okay?"
"Yeah, okay," Brian agreed.
"I'm on my way, then."
Nancy followed Connor into the hall. "What is it? What's happened?"
"I don't know," Connor replied in a tense, worried, tone. "Whatever it is, it's not good." He grabbed his jacket, keeping his voice low. "Nancy, get Brian into bed. Stephen doesn't want his son to see him—not right away. I'll drive him here. We'll leave his car in the lot."
Nancy watched as Connor dashed out the door. She wrapped her arms around herself as if to ward off the all too obvious truth. Stephen doesn't want Brian to see him in his current state, she thought numbly. Just like the othernight. He's drunk. That's his 'car trouble.'
Feeling half-dead inside, she turned and walked back to the family room.
She had to be there for her son.
* * *
15
Connor's Mercedes tore into the parking lot and came to a hard stop beside Stephen's Explorer. The drive had been emotional hell. His mind was racing, trying to figure out why Stephen had demanded that he come alone and that he explain it away as car trouble to Nancy and Brian. He was protecting them, but from what? He wasn't drunk. That would be the logical conclusion, the one Nancy had undoubtedly drawn. But Connor had heard the pained sound of his brother's voice. Stephen was hurt, physically hurt. His speech had been forced, as if every word was costing him. And he was scared. He'd insisted on knowing if Brian was okay—he'd asked Connor that twice—before pressing Connor to drive down to the municipal building and get him before a patrol car cruised by and spotted him.
Whatever the hell was going on had come to a head.
Connor sprang out of his car and over to Stephen's, peering through the passenger window. Stephen was sprawled in the driver's seat, which had been pushed back into a reclining position. His head, propped against the headrest, was turned away from Connor, hiding his face from view.
Connor rapped on the window. "Stephen, it's me."
His brother swiveled his head stiffly in Connor's direction. Even through the tinted glass, Connor could see that Stephen's face was puffy and caked with blood.
Bile rushed to his throat. "Open the door" he commanded.
Stephen nodded, fumbling beside him until he found the button that opened the power door locks.
Connor leaped in on the passenger side, assessing his brother's physical state as he did. "Shit." His gaze shifted from Stephen's face to his rumpled clothing and stiff posture. "I've got to get you to a doctor."
"No." Stephen shook his head, wincing as he did. "It looks worse than it is. Nothing's broken. Just a few bruised ribs and a messed-up face." He drew a slow, painful breath. "But Brian would freak if he saw me like this. I can't go home, not till we get me cleaned up." A frightened, searching look. "You're sure Brian's okay? You were with him when I called?"
"We were sitting on the family-room floor doing math. He's fine." Connor bit back his myriad questions. First things first. They had to get Stephen fixed up and out of there.
He spotted a half-empty bottle of water perched in the cup holder between them and a pile of bloodstained tissues lying on the floor. Clearly, Stephen had already begun the cleanup process.
"I've got more water in my car," Connor said tersely. "I'll get it."
"Good." Stephen jerked his thumb toward the rear of the Explorer. "There's a roll of paper towels back there and a first aid kit. Nancy keeps it there for Brian. I tried to get at it, but it's buried under a ton of stuff. And it hurts so damned much when I try to lift things ..."
'Then don't. Don't even move. Just sit still." Connor sprang out of the car, dashed around back, and got what they needed.
"Hurry," Stephen urged as he returned. "A patrol car's bound to make its rounds soon, especially with the escalation in auto thefts. I can't let them see me."
"Yeah, right." Connor fell silent, concentrating on mopping the blood off Stephen's face. He treated the deeper cuts, then helped him straighten his clothes, trying to keep them from pressing against his bruised ribs.
When the job was finished, Stephen still looked somewhat swollen and pained, but he was a lot closer to presentable. "Good enough for now," Connor declared. "The rest we'll take care of at home." He peered around, relieved that mere were no patrol cars in the area. "You can't drive, that's for sure. We'll leave your car here. You supposedly had car trouble, so the story we'll use—not only for Brian but for the public in general—is that you hurt yourself climbing around under the car. I'll drive you home and get you back here tomorrow."
He shoved open the door, then came around and helped Stephen out Draping Stephen's arm around his shoulders, he slowly guided his brother to the passenger side of the Mercedes and eased him in. He tossed the bloody tissues and paper towels into the trash and was just about to scribble a note to leave on the dashboard of the Explorer when a patrol car rounded the bend and rolled up to them.
"Is there a problem?" the officer at the wheel asked, glancing over at the mayor's car, then at Connor. There was no suspicion in his eyes, only curiosity and a firm resolve to display top-notch performance. He recognized the mayor's vehicle, and the resemblance between the Stratford brothers was too strong for him not to realize who Connor was.
"Actually, yes," Connor answered smoothly. "I was just about to put a note on the windshield explaining. The mayor's car was giving him some trouble, and he banged himself up pretty badly trying to fix it. I came over to give him a lift home." A questioning look. "I'm not thrilled about leaving the car here overnight, especially since my brother fixed the loose wires, making the car fully operational for wannabe thieves. But I don't want him driving; he's in a fair amount of pain. Would you guys mind keeping an eye on the car overnight? I'd really appreciate it."
"Yeah, sure, no problem." The other cop, a middle-aged guy with a worried expression, climbed out and crossed halfway over to the Mercedes. "You okay, sir?" he called out to Stephen.
Thank God for tinted glass, Connor thought. Without it, there'd be no way to mask Stephen's half-closed eye and swollen lip and no way, even at this distance, that they'd be able to convince trained police officers that the wounds they were seeing were the result of Stephen's tinkering under a car.
No one knew that better than Stephen. And pained or not, he managed to summon up
the consummate politician that was so much a part of him. Forcing a wave, he gave the officer one of those charming, charismatic smiles that were his trademark. "I feel like I've been in a brawl," he called back. "When the car companies say SUVs have punch, they mean it. I won't be crawling under one of those again any time soon."
The officer chuckled. "I know what you mean. Anyway, you and your brother go on home. We'll send for an extra patrol car. Between us, we'll keep an overnight watch on your vehicle."
"Thanks. Thanks a lot." Stephen held the smile until Connor had offered his good-byes, climbed in, flipped on the ignition, and zoomed off.
Then he sagged back against the seat. "Damn, it hurts."
"No kidding." Connor handed Stephen the remaining contents of the bottled water. "Drink the rest of this. Then tell me what the hell's going on. Who did this to you, and why?"
"I'm assuming you heard from Dad. When's he coming?" Stephen asked instead.
Connor slanted him a look. "Not till Thursday. More than enough time for the swelling to go down. You'll be able to pull off the car-fixing story."
"Good." In agonizing relief, Stephen's eyes slid shut. He put the bottle to his lips and gulped.
"Forget Dad. He's not the issue—other than keeping him in the dark. You're not ducking this one, Stephen," Connor warned, turning the car onto Main Street and heading toward home, "Not from me or your wife. Nancy knows something major is wrong. And not just because of your bizarre behavior. Julia called her today. She's worried about Brian. Really worried. There've been new developments. Forget my chances of sidetracking her. They're not going to cut it anymore. This problem isn't going away. You can't stick your head in the sand."
Stephen had tensed beside him. "What new developments? What happened to make Julia more worried about Brian? Did someone do something to him?"
"No." Connor offered the requisite taut reassurance. "She just talked to him about an essay he wrote. Clearly, he's a mess about his home life." His jaw clenched, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach intensifying. "Who do you think might have done something to Brian? The same son of a bitch who did this to you?"
"Yeah. Not 'done something' in the sense of hurting him, but maybe paying him a visit. I'm probably being paranoid. It's just that the way they talked about him, it was like they'd seen him, like they'd taken something that belonged to him. It scared the hell out of me."
"His baseball cap." Connor's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel 'That's why Brian said what he did."
"His baseball cap? What about it?"
"It's missing. Brian put it by the fence with his coat during recess, and when he went back, it was gone. He said something about seeing a guy drive by wearing it. We all dismissed it as a coincidence, a red cap that just looked like his. Obviously, we were wrong. Whoever that guy was, he was leaving you a message."
All the color drained from Stephen's face. "Christ."
"I'm going to ask you one more time," Connor bit out. "And you'd better answer me before I lose it. What's going on? Who's after you? Some high-powered goon you owe money to? Is that what this is all about? More gambling? Even after you swore to me that you wouldn't..."
"No." Stephen gripped his head with both hands, wincing at the resulting throb. "I haven't bet a dime since you gave me the five hundred thousand. This isn't about money. Not anymore. I wish to God it were."
"Goon."
A weighted pause. "Connor, I don't think you should get involved in this. It would make you an accessory. That's the last thing I want. And I can't go to the police with this. It would be the end of everything—and I don't just mean me. I mean our entire family, everything we've built."
"You mean everything Dad's built."
"Not just Dad. You, Nancy, and Brian—my son's life would never be the same. I can't let that happen."
"I'm already an accessory, Stephen. I became one the minute I bailed you out by giving you that five hundred thousand dollars, knowing full well you'd borrowed campaign funds for personal use. That's a criminal act. So, unless you've embezzled money outright or murdered someone and want me to hide the body, I won't be getting in any deeper than I already am."
Stephen released a weary breath. "Fine. What I told you about the money I owed, that was only part of the story. The rest of it is about the man I owed most of it to."
"Who is?"
"Philip Walker."
"Philip Walker." Connor's brows drew together in thought. "That name sounds familiar."
"He's a pretty big commercial real estate developer. He's also a lot dirtier and more cold-blooded than I realized." Quietly, Stephen filled Connor in on the details of what had taken place from the time Walker gave him the hundred-thousand-dollar campaign donation to his current attempt to blackmail Stephen into getting him the municipal parking contract. "I have no idea how he found out about my gambling," he concluded. "But he's got enough details to ruin our family and put me in prison."
"And you didn't bother mentioning this to me? Not even the night he first put the squeeze on you, when I came to Leaf Brook to find you stinking drunk and passed out?"
"I'm responsible for this nightmare; I wanted to be the one to end it. I really thought I could do that alone. But I never realized the lengths Walker would go to to get what he wanted."
Connor frowned, trying to assimilate everything he'd just been told. Something was nagging at him. He just couldn't figure out what. "Is Walker behind all the car thefts, or just Kirson's?"
"Good question. I don't know."
"It's worth finding out. Especially in the cases where the stolen cars were parked in independently owned lots—lots with corporate owners who could be scared into turning over their contracts to Walker, since he offers security as well as management. If that's the case, he's an even shrewder bastard than we realize. He's offering quite an incentive for companies to switch over."
"Yeah, I know." Stephen paused to regather his strength. "Connor, there's something else bothering me. Obviously, the guys who beat the crap out of me are Walker's response to my checking out his company. He could have found out I was doing that in any number of ways, I guess. But how did he find out so fast? I just got the process going this morning when I met with Cliff, Greg, and Marty."
"You're sure that's what prompted the beating?"
"Uh-huh. When my attackers walked away, they made sure to say, 'Due diligence is over.' Which means they're clued in to how I'd planned to play this. And that means Walker's network is widespread."
"It certainly seems that way." Connor's frown deepened. "Well, Cliff's loyalty's a given. What about Greg and Marty—do you trust them?"
A shrug and a wince. "I have no reason not to. Greg's done a great job as city manager since I took office, and Marty's been chief of police for twenty years."
"What about their contacts? Who did they speak to after leaving your office today?"
"My guess is that Cliff went over to legal records, Greg went to his office to pull whatever files we have on Walker Development from our previous dealings with them, and Marty went back to headquarters and started a criminal background check. But I plan to ask each of them that very question first thing tomorrow. Especially Marty. He's got a lot of territory to cover, even by computer. So he probably got some help."
Connor pursed his lips. "You think someone at police headquarters could be on the take?"
"It occurred to me, yes."
"Dealing with that could be very sticky."
"That's putting it mildly. But I can't stop now. Walker wants that contract in his pocket by the end of this week. I can't give it to him. I wouldn't even if I could—not at this point. The man's more than a dirty businessman. He's a goddamn mobster who hires goons to beat and threaten people. God knows what else he's capable of. I'm not about to commit Leaf Brook to doing business with him. No way. So I need to get something on him— fast. I've got to be discreet, but I've got to do it. The problem is figuring out who I can trust."
"You're p
laying with fire."
"What choice do I have? I've got to get the goods on this guy if I want to protect Brian." Stephen finished off his water.
"And how do you protect him in the meantime?"
A grim look. "By making sure he's never alone. It'll be home to school, school to home, period. We'll hand him over to Julia Talbot and pick him up at the end of the day. I'll take him to practice myself and wait there while he plays. We're only talking about a couple of days."
"And Nancy? Where does she fit into all this?"
"The same way she always fits in—by being an incredible mom. If you're asking about my marriage, I don't know where things stand. My guess is, my wife's on the verge of choking me. Right now, she probably assumes I'm drunk."
"Yeah, I'm sure she does." Connor slowed the car as he turned onto Stephen's street. "Nancy's pretty strung out," he admitted. "Go easy on her."
"I get the message. Right now, it's not Nancy I'm worried about. She's a survivor. She'll weather this in the same stoic way she weathers everything. Either that, or she'll cry on Cliff's shoulder."
Connor heard the tinge of bitterness underlying his brother's tone. "Cut it out, Stephen. There's nothing between Nancy and Cliff but friendship. You know that as well as I do."
"Do I? Cliff's a great guy. He's also my best friend. And, yeah, I know him. Too well, maybe. I trust him never to overstep his bounds. Not in actions. As for feelings, that's another matter entirely. Ever wonder why he still dates incessantly with no inclination to get serious? Why no woman's ever held his attention for more than six months? And, most of all, why he's so protective of Nancy? If not, let me fill you in. It's because he's in love with her."
"Has he actually told you that?"
"Of course not. He'd never insult our friendship or undermine my marriage by saying the words out loud. But we both know they're true."
"If they are, they're one-sided."
"Maybe, maybe not. At one time, I'd agree with you. Now? Who knows? Nancy leans on Cliff more and more these days. I guess I can't blame her. I'm not in the running for Husband of the Year." Stephen fell silent, watching as Connor rounded the drive and the house loomed into view. "The truth?" he muttered finally, assessing his home and his life with the same utter resignation. "Even if what Nancy's feeling for Cliff is starting to become more than friendship, I'm too worn out to do a damn thing about it."
