by Maggie Thom
Her hand clutched her chest as she sprinted on. How long she continued she didn’t know but at one point she became aware of pounding feet behind her. Stopping, she whirled around. The person following behind grasped her shoulders as they collided. He spun, landing on the ground with her on top. Bailey shrieked, her elbow digging deeply into a well-muscled belly as she scrambled upward.
“Ooommph.” He jerked upright and then flopped backward, his arms cradling his gut.
She backed up as the person curled on his side, gasping for breath.
“Sorry,” he finally managed to croak out.
“You’re the guy from yesterday.” Bailey moved back a few more steps, balancing on the balls of her feet.
“Yes. Give me a minute.”
“You’re stalking me.”
“No.” He shook his head emphatically as he sat up and draped his arms over his bent knees. “Uuugggghhhh.”
“Why are you following me? Was there a problem with my mother’s funeral?”
The guy frowned.
“You’re from the funeral home, right?”
Wary ocean blue eyes stared back at her. Secrets were hidden in those depths. That, she would bet on. She was sick and tired of the games people played. Her mother had been a master player. Bailey moved a few more steps back and spun on her heel.
“Wait. Please don’t go.” He sucked in some air and rolled onto his back. “I promise I won’t hurt you... at least not physically.”
She paused, the toe of her right foot barely touching the ground. She glanced around before slowly turning. There still wasn’t anyone around. It was a rather secluded area of the park which wound down toward the river that ran through the city. Her mom had described it as overly popular, a crowded area in which she’d been unable to go for a walk without running into someone. She’d been thinking of moving again.
Great. So where in the hell are all those people today?
Bailey swung her gaze back to the guy, realizing that she probably shouldn’t be taking her eyes off him. If he made a move, she wanted at least a little bit of warning.
“Look. I need to talk to you.”
“So you tackled me?” Bailey glared at his bent head. “Are you freakin’ nuts?”
“Right now, I’m thinking so.” He continued to breathe as though he’d had the wind knocked out of him. He lifted his head. “Look, you were upset and I guess I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”
Cute. He’s cute. Why are all the nut jobs cute?
He placed his hand behind him and made a move to rise.
“Don’t get up.” Bailey’s hand flew up like a cop directing traffic. “If you want to talk stay there or I’m out of here.”
“My butt’s getting wet.” He raked his hand through his thick hair but it fell back into place as though he hadn’t touched it. “I don’t know how to say this.”
“Good. Then I’m gone.” Bailey spun around and started walking quickly.
“You’re not you,” he called out after her.
CHAPTER TEN
He quietly lifted the cane from its resting place across the desk. The walking stick was old but there was nothing spectacular about it, other than one side of it was well-worn and didn’t match the maple brown of the other side. The ferrule was a bit larger than most but not so large as to draw attention to it. That’s why it had taken him so long to figure out where she’d kept the key hidden all these years. Setting down his flashlight so it faced him, he pinched the rubber ferrule and gently pulled. His large garnet ring flashed in the light, prompting a smile at the gift his first lover had unknowingly given him. He never knew how she’d managed to explain to her husband that his piece of jewelry was missing.
The stopper slid off the wood with a gentle pop. The devil’s smile crossed his face as two keys dropped into his hand. He walked around the desk.
There was a creaking sound from just outside the door. He froze with one foot still firmly on the ground while the other half was raised to step forward. He knew it couldn’t be the old bat—that’s how he’d always seen his sister, even though she was only a few years older than him—she slept like a drunken sailor. The snort that automatically rumbled up from the back of his throat was barely muffled by his hand. A long moment crept by before he dared to move. Since he heard no more noises, he imagined the odd sound as that of an old house settling its bones. The mansion had been built in the 1800’s and although it was as solid as any mountain, it still had its moments. When he’d been younger, he remembered believing that the ghosts of the house were awakening to take vengeance for all the wrongs that had been done.
He knew of many of them. Actually, he was responsible for a lot of them and had been a party to many more. There was no question in his mind that he was going to hell. That just meant his time on earth was going to be anything but that. He sat in her chair, sinking into the luxury of the soft leather. His mind wandered to what he would have done had he been given this role that was rightfully his. It didn’t matter in theory he was in charge of everything. He’d never been given the title or acknowledged as ‘the one’.
She’d always gotten the credit.
He ignored the voice from the past reminding him he had no real right to even be there, let alone be given an opportunity to run the family business.
He pushed away his thoughts before sliding the key into the lower left-hand drawer, pulling it open. Knowing what he would find, he quickly flipped through the files—My Will which he’d read many times; account ledger—something he’d reviewed and was thankful she had no idea it wasn’t totally accurate; Baby Cassidy—. He jerked back as though a snake had struck at him. He pressed his hand to his chest, trying to still the frantic racing of his heart as he stared at the open drawer.
Baby Cassidy. That hadn’t been there before. Slowly leaning forward, he pinched the document between his thumb and two fingers and lifted it out with a straight arm. He carefully laid it on the desk before reaching into his inside breast pocket. Pulling out a handkerchief, he wiped his forehead, damp with perspiration despite the cool temperature of the air-conditioned room.
Grabbing the top side of the file, he gently flipped it open. Guy’s name jumped out at him.
That bastard is out to ruin me!
He knew his sister had been hiding something from him. His hands clenched, his body rigid, his breathing shallow and rapid as he stared at the words he had feared for almost thirty years.
Somehow, the old bat had found her.
He’d hoped he was home free, since nothing had surfaced in such a long time. After all, no one knew his secret and it was much older than that. Sitting back, he took a few deep breaths before reaching into his jacket for his cell phone. It had been a call he’d repeatedly rehearsed the first couple of years. When nothing had happened, he’d accepted that he’d gotten away with what he’d done.
Unfortunately, he’d become complacent.
Dialing the number he knew would go to the grave emblazoned on his brain, he waited for the clicks that revealed it was being rerouted. He never understood all the technology but he’d been smarter than the old hag and he’d at least kept up with how to use it. The call would be hard to trace, even for the FBI with all their fancy equipment.
He’d been leaving the man regular messages for thirty years now, but he never thought there’d be a need to change their relationship. John had come into his life at a time in which he’d needed him. John had taken care of his biggest problem—or so he’d thought.
After he thought Mary and baby Cassidy had perished, he and John had struck a new bargain. He still wasn’t sure how they’d reached that point but John had brought him the best, cleanest and most creative whores there were. Discreetly, of course. It had solved his second biggest problem.
His hand shook as he dialed. They hadn’t talked face to face in twenty-nine years. Their weekly arrangement was done through untraceable voicemail messages, a system that deleted all information once listened to. No o
ne would have understood the inscrutable messages anyway; their enigmatic code had served him well for a very long time. This call would change all that. This time he called the number intended for emergencies only, a number he’d never had to call before.
“John, it’s me.”
There was silence and then, “I take it there’s a problem.”
“Yes. Babies are cute, aren’t they? After twenty-nine years, having one come back from the grave is rather disconcerting.” He filled John in with all he knew. His anger was palpable over the phone.
“She took Mary’s life. She won’t be an issue for long. But this will cost you.”
“Really? You’re the one who screwed up.”
“If you want me to take care of it, it will not be cheap. Take it or leave it.”
With reluctance he’d agreed to John’s exorbitant fee, knowing after this they’d be severing ties. That meant he’d have to find someone else to feed his particular, or was that peculiar, habits.
The line went dead.
His hand shook so badly, he had a hard time hitting the end button. He mopped his forehead, again cursing his mother and father. It was their fault he was in this bind. If his father had kept his pants zipped, he wouldn’t have become the Caspian’s dirty little secret—and he wouldn’t have been treated like the bastard he was. Anger infused his body, clenching his fists and tightening his muscles.
It took several moments of refocusing, using mind control techniques he’d practiced over the years. He’d hated the moments when the anger controlled him; it had nearly destroyed him a time or two. He had big plans, necessitating bringing himself down from the brink. Taking a final calming, deep breath, he let the tension ease from his body.
He put the folders back in the drawer, closed and locked it. The keys slid easily back into their hiding spot in the tip of the cane.
A steady humming sound startled him and he flinched, shooting the rubber ferrule out of his hand. Listening closely, he realized the staff was vacuuming the front foyer. To be the least intrusive, they often worked in unoccupied areas after everyone had gone to bed. Swearing silently, he peered around the dark room. He shined the flashlight slowly across the floor but it was too difficult to see much of anything with the thin beam of light. He might have been tempted to open the draperies but knew that would undoubtedly draw attention in the middle of the night, particularly by the night guard. Not knowing what else to do, he made his way to the door and flipped on the overhead light. If someone discovered him, he’d just have to make up some story—and then make sure the servants were so frightened of him, they wouldn’t dream of mentioning it to Dorothea.
Wherever the damned piece of rubber, it wasn’t in the open. Cursing, he went to the far corner and slowly walked forward, rhythmically searching from side to side. A snapping sound from outside the window caught his attention. He stepped to the window and peered through the small gap between the curtains. The light from several lampposts lit the groomed, expansive gardens. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. He waited a long moment but nothing stirred He came to the conclusion that it been one of their twenty or so outdoor cats.
He was ready to get down on his hands and knees—something he’d never done in his life—to look for the rubber tip. Being 6’2” and twenty pounds overweight meant kneeling and rising wasn’t something he was looking forward to but it had to be under something. As he stepped back from the window, something bumped his shoulder. He jerked around, almost falling over. The large potted tree he’d backed into annoyed him to no end. He was about to turn away when he glanced down and there, sitting in the pot, was the rubber tip.
“I guess I shouldn’t hate you after all, you grotesque, disfigured excuse for a tree. You just saved my ass.”
He quickly replaced the tip and then gently set the cane across the desk. Making sure everything was in place, he walked to the door, shut off the light and stepped out of the room.
He never looked back. He’d never needed to. Being sneaky was something he prided himself on; after all, that was how he’d found out the truth about himself. And now he knew he had to get rid of Baby Cassidy. Again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bailey stopped so suddenly she wobbled. Who was this nut case? What could he mean that she wasn’t who she thought she was? That didn’t even make sense. Was that how he picked up women?
Slowly, she turned around. He hadn’t moved from his position on the ground but he was leaning forward as though he was planning on chasing her if she took off again. She stiffened. Her gaze raked over him; dark hair, blue eyes, pursed lips and a crooked nose—maybe broken once or twice. She couldn’t really tell anything from that. Broad shoulders were covered with a black leather jacket and jeans encased long and what she guessed were athletic legs. Normal. Her eyes wandered back to his face to discover hard lines there. His jaw clenched. The cords in his neck were taut as a newly cocked bow. He believed what he was telling her.
He has the wrong person. “Look. I don’t know who you think I am. But I do.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Know, that is, who I am. I don’t know who you’re looking for but it’s not me.” As she talked she stepped back slowly. She wanted to tear her gaze away but there was something compelling in the depths of his eyes; something that begged for her trust yet simultaneously urged her to run like hell.
“So good luck.” She balanced on the balls of her feet.
He jerked upward. “Wait!”
Every nerve in her body fired at his barked command but something about the desperation in his voice kept her in place. He hung his head and swore but didn’t make any move forward.
“I have something I want to show you.” His fingers slid into the pocket of his beige golf shirt. Bailey kept her eyes glued to his hand and took another step back.
“Stop.” He pulled out his hands and held them in the air as if under arrest. The gentle wind tugged at a paper he held in his hand. “You need to see this.”
“Uh...” She shifted her gaze around from the right to the left.
“Look. It’s not a trick. I’d set it down but the wind will take it away. I promise I won’t touch you.”
She looked at his hands. Soft calluses ringed the palms, the hallmark of a weekend handyman. Long masculine fingers gently held the item out to her.
“Who are you?”
He swore again.
She found herself almost smiling. “All I know so far is you have the kind of language that should have gotten your mouth washed out.”
“Actually it did.” His lip curled upward. “My name is Guy Turner. Please look at this.” His eyes were asking her to believe him and to trust him.
She could hear her mom screaming at her, ordering her never to trust anyone. Shaking that off, she looked around. Three young guys raced onto a grassy field, chucking a football back and forth.
Relieved, she said, “Don’t lower your arms or I’ll scream like there’s no tomorrow.”
He grimaced but didn’t move. At about four feet from him she sprinted forward, grabbed what looked like a picture and sprinted about twenty feet away. When she looked over her shoulder he was standing in the same ridiculous pose. She couldn’t believe he’d listened.
She watched him for a second before looking at the paper, an old black and white picture printed on new photo paper, thanks to modern technology. It was grainy and the woman’s face was faded. Her head was tilted back slightly as she looked off to her right. The dimple high on her right cheek deemphasized the regal look she was attempting. Bailey smiled in sympathy, tempted to reach up and touch her own cheek where she’d been afflicted with the same characteristic. The woman’s hair was neatly pulled into a high bun without so much as a single fly-away-strand. A gem-studded angled hair clip adorned the front.
“She looks affluent. After all not everyone could afford pictures back then.” She studied Guy, who still had his arms extended as though waiting for a basketball pass. She shook her h
ead. “Drop your hands but no sudden moves.” She almost laughed when she realized how stupid that sounded. Wild west here we come. “Okay. So what’s the deal?”
He stared at her for a moment before looking off to his right. Bailey followed his gaze. The three guys were hooting and hollering as two of them tackled the third. Testosterone at its finest.
“Look. I can assure you I do not have her crown jewels.” Bailey looked at the single row of gems. “Such as they are. I doubt they’re even real.”
His head swung back, his gaze intent. “Oh they’re real, all right. Those jewels are worth about five million dollars. Give or take a million.”
Her eyes widened to their fullest extent as she took another look at the classic cut of the diamonds.
“Since I don’t have any jewel thieves in my family, you’ve got the wrong person.” Bailey moved toward him to return the picture but stopped when he swore again. She arched her brow.
“Got it.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “I’m not here because those jewels are missing. I’m here because they’re rightfully yours.”
How the hell did I win this lottery? I didn’t even buy a ticket. “Okay. Game’s over. It’s been fun but this is too weird—even for me.” She thought she’d heard and seen it all, but this even surpassed her unorthodox childhood.
“She’s your grandmother. Actually, your great-grandmother.” He shifted his weight. “I’m a—I’ve been hired to find you.”
She felt a little light-headed. She reached out her arm for something to steady her. Guy’s smooth leather jacket wasn’t what she’d had in mind but she was unsteady enough to clutch it.
She had family. Could this really be her relative? She’d begged her mom on many occasions to tell her about them but she had staunchly refused, never sharing anything—no names, no stories and no pictures. She glanced again at the one in her hand. “Is this where I got my dimple?” For the first time in her life, the slight imperfection didn’t seem so bad.
