Chapter Three

Up on the hill overlooking town, Kathryn paced back and forth on the richly carpeted floors of the house the locals called the Morgan Mausoleum. Building had begun on the Morgan family mansion when Ket’s grandfather’s wife, Alice, was pregnant with his son. No expense was spared—the finest building materials, exceptional craftsmanship, and a billion-dollar view over the distant Atlantic Ocean. An added bonus was the inhabitants of the house were able to look down on the town and the people who lived there.

That first Mrs. Morgan had not lived to move into the mansion. She had died of injuries after a fall down the stairs at the more modest family home in town when her son—Ket’s father—was less than a year old. Rumours had flown around the town that her husband, known for his bad temper, had pushed his wife during an argument. At the inquest into her death, Mrs. Morgan’s housekeeper, dressmaker, masseuse, and hairdresser had all chimed in with tales of the woman’s clumsiness—how she had often fallen, bumped into doors, tripped over the cat, all with resulting bruises.

In any other jurisdiction, these stories in themselves would have sounded a domestic violence alarm, but in Lobster Cove, the Morgans were the equivalent of royalty and no-one voiced such thoughts. The coroner, a local doctor, registered a verdict of accidental death.

Thinking these thoughts, Kathryn shivered. The sad and shameful story could, to her mind, account for the cold and unwelcoming feel of the house. No wonder the locals called it the Morgan Mausoleum.

She knew firsthand the terrible Morgan temper. Fury could erupt in both Ket and his father at the slightest thing, and usually, the most vulnerable felt their wrath. Kathryn had experienced pinches and occasional ‘friendly’ slaps to her behind that left fingermark bruises for days. These relatively minor physical assaults were bad enough, but the psychological abuse was unbearable.

Like now, for example. Ket had taken little Alex out with him, without leaving any message or a time they would be back. Her husband knew it would be sheer torture for her to not know where the boy was or how he was being treated. Ket often belittled the boy for being a baby.

One more glance at the clock; it was past ten o’clock. They’d been gone more than five hours. Kathryn ran into the hallway to collect her coat, bag, and car keys. She would go looking for Alex and Ket. She was just scribbling a note for the housekeeper when the door opened and she whirled around to see her husband crossing the threshold.

****

Ben spent the afternoon browsing through old files, ostensibly familiarizing himself with the police activities in the town. Tess, who’d taken quite a liking to her temporary new boss, was perfectly happy to fetch and carry files, coffee, and exchange local gossip with him.

His real target was anything that was remotely connected to the Morgan family, anything at all about their financial affairs or the behavior of their employees and ex-employees, that would point to a tiny tear in the non-stick Teflon suits Ket Morgan and his father seemed to wear.

That tear is there. He knew it and was determined to find it and rip it wide to reveal the festering mess that lay beneath. Two years ago, the FBI had sent agents to Lobster Cove to investigate allegations that had come to light against the Morgan family. The Agency suspected the Morgans were using their business enterprises, including the Morgan Bank and the Morgan Quality Shoe Factory, to launder money for organised crime gangs.

The agents had met with a wall of silence so thick it seemed impenetrable. When Ben’s boss at the FBI heard he was from the town, he mused that maybe a home boy would be able to penetrate the wall. Investigations had shown the town sheriff, Lynn Lawton, was a straight arrow type who most likely was frustrated in dealing with the powerful family who owned the town. In true serendipity style, Lawton had announced wedding plans and was easily persuaded to take an extended honeymoon while Ben went undercover to investigate.

Ben cursed silently. He told himself there was no vengeful side to his determination to prove that Ketler Morgan, Senior and Junior were crooks who deserved to be behind bars for their orchestration of human misery in drugs and other forms of organized crime. He tried to convince himself that his judgement wasn’t colored by the way his own family, and many others, had been treated by the arrogant Morgans over the years. And he told himself that his hurt over Kathryn had nothing to do with the depth of his desire to see the Ket Morgan punished. But he knew he was lying.

These thoughts brought him back to Kathryn, back to the tidal wave of desire that had almost undone him when she had glided so familiarly into his arms. He’d been shocked by the ease with which the old need had risen up, reminding him of the heat when he’d held her that first time so long ago, and later when they’d made love and he couldn’t seem to get enough of her. He’d thought her a virgin when they first came together, and he’d thought he’d die of his hunger for her—wrong on both counts. Seven years later he was alive and well—and if his calculations were correct, innocent little Kathryn had already been carrying another man’s child when she’d lain in his arms.

The buzzer on his desk phone sounded, jolting him out of these thoughts.

“Mrs. Morgan is here to see you, Sheriff,” Tess’s disembodied voice floated up to him from the intercom.

“Does she have an appointment?” The question was only to give him a few moments to banish his earlier thoughts and to don the mask of acting sheriff before facing the woman who’d broken his heart without a second thought.

He could hear a quick conference going on in the next office, and then Tess’s voice came through the intercom: “She doesn’t have an appointment but she says it’s important she see you.”

Ben debated. He could refuse to see her, saying he was busy. But that would no doubt cause gossip in the town. Refusing to see the wife of one of the most influential men in Lobster Cove would certainly set tongues wagging.

“Give me a few minutes, then send her in. And, Tess, maybe you could rustle up some coffee.”

He should have known she’d come to see him. Women like her treated men like something they’d wipe off the soles of their shoes. Once a man got them out from under his skin, they ran back to try and get that old itch scratched again.

He schooled his expression to show none of these thoughts as five minutes later one of the deputies, Roy Webb, showed a pale-faced Kathryn into the office. Ben thanked the deputy, then silently indicated that Kathryn should sit on one of the hard, uncomfortable visitor chairs before returning to the file he was reading. Or pretending to read—the sight of her took his breath away, and he watched her covertly from under his brows. Dark rings under her eyes accentuated her paleness. She was thinner than he remembered, dressed in an expensive designer suit in a pale oyster color that accentuated her pale skin and luminous green eyes. Her features had matured and she had developed a poise that suited her. The pretty girl he had known had become a stunningly beautiful woman.

Finally, when he could put it off no longer, Ben signed his name with a flourish, placed the paperwork back into its file, and dropped it in his out basket. He leaned back in his chair, met her direct gaze, and asked, “What can I do for you, Mrs. Morgan?”

Something flickered across her face at his tone, at the slight emphasis on her married title. She pushed back a stray lock of hair with fingers that shook a little, but her voice was even as she replied. “I’ve come to you because I need help, Ben.”

It wasn’t quite what he’d expected; he had thought she’d have a more seductive approach. Studying her, he became aware of the tightly controlled emotions emanating from her, but still he didn’t speak.

She bit her lip, a habit he remembered but which seemed at such odds with her sophisticated rich lady image. So she was anxious. Good.

“Ben, when you left…”

He raised a hand to cut her off. “That’s all in the past. You’ve done well for yourself, and now you’ve got everything a woman could ask for. Certainly a hell of a lot more than I could have given you, so good for you. Marrying the boss is a lot better than a pension plan, eh?” He hadn’t intended to let her see the pain she’d caused him, but it spilled out in his words.

Her eyes, those lovely green eyes that he’d once wanted to drown in, widened. “There’s no…”

Once again he waved away any attempt she might make at explanation. He wanted no more of her deceit. The surety that she’d already been carrying Ket Morgan’s child when he’d slept with her, loved her, was like a poison ivy rash on his emotions, itching and refusing to heal.

“Just tell me why you’re here, and it had better be police business,” he said brusquely, and he enjoyed a little whisper of satisfaction when she flinched at his tone.

“My husband was very angry about last night…he completely misjudged the situation.” Kathryn swallowed nervously. “I didn’t come here to ask you for anything other than your help.” She chewed at her bottom lip again, and Ben noted her hands were tightly clasped on her lap. He steeled himself to ignore these signs of her distress.

“Oh, I get it.” He slowly sat up in his chair as if he’d suddenly seen the answer to a question that had been puzzling him. “You’re afraid that if your rich meal ticket gets the idea that maybe you have a past history with the town’s hired help, he’ll cut off the goodies you’re enjoying?”

She flew to her feet, her face turning red as she slapped her hands against his desk. “How dare you? How dare you talk to me that way, after what—”

“After what, Kathryn? Are you scared I’ll ruin your little gravy train by telling your husband you were sleeping with me while he was courting you?”

Kathryn subsided back into her seat as though the outburst had drained all her energy, and Ben had to lean forward to catch her words.

“He already knows about us. That’s why he was so angry last night.” She rubbed her upper arms through the light sweater she wore. He noticed her shiver even though the office was quite warm, and her voice was almost a whisper as she continued. “I need your help—if not as a…a friend, then as a law officer. My husband has kidnapped my son.”

Ben leaned back in his chair, studying her. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t this.

“Are you divorced or separated from your husband?” He tried to ignore the pounding of his heart at the implications, but she shook her head, the expensively-cut dark hair gliding over her face.

“Well, do you have a sole custody order of some kind?” Again, the ebony hair glided over her face as she shook her head. “Then what do you mean…how can he have kidnapped his own child?”

She flinched once more, and Ben’s chest tightened. Against his better judgment, he was accepting that her distress was real.

“As you know, Ket and I…well, we argued. He left me at the party, and I…I didn’t get home until this morning.” Kathryn stopped to take a deep breath and continued before he could ask any of the additional questions forming in his mind. “The housekeeper said Ket had taken Alex out early this morning. And now I don’t know where he is.”

“Didn’t your husband leave you a note? I bet the pair of them will come strolling home later today, fishing poles in hand…” Ben was using the same kind of jocular uncle tone he’d used dozens of times before when talking to frantic mothers. And most of the time, he’d been right.

“Ket never takes Alex fishing. Or anywhere else.” This frantic mother looked at him as though he’d gone insane. “My husband came home half an hour ago. He says he has no idea where my son is.”

“So why isn’t he here with you? He must be distressed if the boy wandered off while they were out together.”

Again, that look of incredulity. “No, he’s not distressed. He doesn’t care. I think he knows where Alex is and he’s using him to make me pay for what happened between you and I at the banquet.”

Ben stared. Against his will, his lips, heart, and soul remembered that kiss. He heaved a sigh. “Look, Mrs. Morgan, I don’t know what kind of games you and your husband play, but there is no role for me in all this.” He paused to let the double meaning of his words sink in. “So long as the child is being cared for, there is nothing I can do…even if your husband has taken him. You will have to get yourself a lawyer, get a custodial order from the courts, and then I can look for the boy if your husband still refuses to produce him. But I’d advise you to go home and talk to your husband—”

Kathryn laughed, a stark, harsh sound that startled them both. “Talk to my husband?” She spoke the words as if they were absolutely ridiculous. “Ket’s not that kind of man…he won’t listen to me. Talking won’t help…” the words trailed off as though she had already said too much.

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you, either.” The coldness of his voice surprised even him.

“You have to help us!” she tried again.

“Why? Because you’re married to a Morgan?”

“No, because…” She obviously had more she wanted to say but he didn’t know if he was ready to hear it.

“Don’t play these games with me, Kathryn. It’s too late. You made your choices, and now you’ll have to help yourself.”

She glared at him to hide the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks, then turned to leave. He had to admire the lithe grace she displayed, the womanly poise in her straight spine and head held high. Then, at the door, she turned on him, eyes blazing. “You have to help us—there’s nobody else!”