Laurel didn’t believe for one second Nathan was bluffing the other night when he’d put her on decision deadline. Nonetheless, when she stepped out of the Tremayne Investments and Securities building for the second time in as many days after being told Nathan wasn’t in the office, she had to wonder if she was wrong. Here she was, ready to throw herself to a particularly protective wolf, and he’d picked up and disappeared.
Laurel hitched up her shoulder bag and smoothed the waistline of her white linen dress, the narrow silver belt catching against her fingers. What game was Nathan playing with her now?
She spotted a coffee cart on the corner and felt her stomach rumble. Between Nathan’s ultimatum and having to send yet another update to Alastair—she’d neglected to mention Nathan was aware Manville was involved with his father’s precarious circumstance—she’d all but lost her appetite. But she could do with a good dose of caffeine.
As she stepped away from the building, she caught sight of an odd-looking man across the street lounging in the doorway of an under-construction bakery. Laurel stared. That sickly brown suit he wore was hard to forget. She’d seen him before, yesterday, she recalled, in that same position outside Lorezo’s Café when she’d emerged from perusing the shelves at Pages Unlimited, the kitschy indie book store. Her shopping excursion had produced a new edition of Little Women to add to her collection—she’d nearly revealed to the owner she’d named Joey after Louisa May Alcott’s Jo, but being a single mother wasn’t part of the role she was playing in Lantano Valley. Alastair had told her he had someone else in town.
All the same, the knowledge she was being followed tied her stomach in knots.
Laurel slipped on her sunglasses. Maybe she was overreacting. But to be sure, she took a hesitant step in the man’s direction. The second she did, he pushed away from the doorway, but he suddenly shifted and darted down the street, glancing over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner.
As the museum was closed today to gear up for a new showing, she had nothing to do except wait for his highness Nathan Tremayne to make an appearance at the office. Coffee it was.
There was something to be said for California summers, especially mild ones, which it seemed Lantano Valley was famous for. The town might be up-and-coming when it came to businesses setting up shop, but she liked how the city had a natural break between areas, reminding her of New York with its various concentrations of cultural and social communities. Lantano Valley boasted tons of restaurants, art galleries, and studios; the warmer, middle class neighborhoods contained grocery stores and cute little gift shops while the upscale and higher end offerings could rival Rodeo Drive in all their elegant—and unaffordable—splendor. Anyone could fit in here. Even her.
She was so lost in her admiration, she didn’t realize the woman ahead of her in line had spun around and stopped short of barreling into her. Laurel jumped back as dark coffee spilled out of the plastic lid and just missed her shoes.
“I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay,” Laurel tried to laugh it off, relieved she wouldn’t have to send her dress to the dry cleaners. “I wasn’t paying—Sheila?”
“Laurel.” Sheila Tremayne said her name in a way that put Laurel on alert. “Ugh. Today just gets better and better.” She swiped a hand down the front of her turquoise blouse as Laurel stepped away, her face heating. Obviously Nathan had given his sister an earful. But Laurel had never been one to care about what people thought of her. What was different now?
“I’ll come back, later,” Laurel told the barista behind the cart.
“What?” Sheila’s chin popped up as her eyes went wide. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean you, Laurel. Please, let me get you something and you can join me.”
“Join you?” What had she missed? Sheila sounded almost . . . friendly.
“I’m not up for going in there just yet,” Sheila said and to Laurel’s shock, tears welled in Nathan’s sister’s eyes as she looked at the office building. “Please. Callie, put whatever she wants on my tab, okay?”
“Sure thing, Sheila.” The barista nodded. Laurel’s ears buzzed as she gave her order, then carried her coffee and oversized white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookie over to Sheila’s table under a café umbrella. “Are you sure—”
“Sit, please.” Sheila eyed Laurel’s cookie as Laurel joined her. “Fair warning, those are addictive.”
“All the more reason to split it with someone, then.” She broke it in half and handed part of it over. Tears plopped onto Sheila’s cheeks. Laurel let out a long breath. Oh, boy. She did not do well in situations like this. She always said the wrong thing. “Is everything okay?”
Laurel fought the urge to roll her eyes. She’d just proven her own point. Of course everything wasn’t okay. A melancholy hovered over Sheila Tremayne as heavy as a storm cloud. Laurel cleared her throat, attempted to change the subject. “I’ve been trying to meet with Nathan since yesterday morning. Do you happen to know if something came up?”
“Um, yeah. Actually, something did.” Sheila glanced away as the cookie crumbled in her fingers. “One of Morgan’s foster kids was hospitalized down in Los Angeles. Nathan just got back late last night. I can call him if you—”
Laurel’s stomach dropped, bile rising in her throat. “No, please, don’t do that.” Oh, God. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Shame swept over her. The world didn’t revolve around her and her problems. Or around Alastair’s weird agenda. Given the last thing he’d said to her the other night, she should have known the only thing that could have distracted Nathan was something with his family. “I saw them in the park the other morning,” Laurel said, calling to mind the tiny Wonder Woman and her duo of henchmen as she set her purse on the table. “The little girl and boys?”
Sheila shook her head, a small smile on her lips as Laurel caught the sheen of fresh tears in her eyes. “No, Kelley and the twins are fine. Thank goodness. No, um, there’s another little girl, Lydia. She has an inoperable brain tumor among other issues. Long story.” She tried to laugh, but Laurel recognized grief when she saw it. For an instant, Joey’s smiling face flashed in her mind and once again Laurel counted herself fortunate her daughter was healthy and happy. Even if she wasn’t quite as safe. “There’s nothing more they can do.” Sheila swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “They don’t think she has very long.”
“Doctors can be wrong.” Her words sounded so meaningless. What was the right thing to say when discussing the imminent death of a child? It was so . . . unnatural.
“Not in this case.” Sheila swiped fingers under her eyes and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to get this under control. I’m sure you didn’t expect this when you sat down.”
“Honestly?” Laurel flexed her fingers and resisted the urge to reach across the table to squeeze a comforting hand around Sheila’s. “I expected you to dump your coffee in my lap.”
“You mean because of your less-than-reputable past?” Sheila’s green eyes sharpened and cleared and Laurel understood instantly Sheila was grateful for the distraction. Respect struck Laurel dead center of her chest.
“We’ve all done things we’d rather not have or aren’t proud of.” The tears vanished behind the flash of heat in Sheila’s gaze. “Believe me, I’m not about to pass judgment. But if you plan to hurt my family, you and I are going to have a different conversation.”
“That’s not my intention.” At least it hadn’t been, but there wasn’t much Laurel was sure about any longer. These days she didn’t feel like just a pawn, but an expendable one at that. Not that she was going to admit that to Sheila. Or Nathan. Between the two of them, however, she’d bet Nathan would figure it out before his sister did. Strange how she didn’t have any trouble being less than truthful with Sheila, but with Nathan . . . “Nathan and I probably aren’t on as friendly terms as we were a few days ago.” With the way he’d walked out of her hotel room the other night, she may as well have been He Who Must Not Be Named to her Harry Potter. Why that should matter to her, Laurel couldn’t reconcile. As long as he kept her close, she was obeying Alastair’s orders. Except it did matter. Despite the situation, she didn’t like the idea of Nathan not thinking well of her.
“Ironically enough, Nathan has issues with honesty,” Sheila said.
Laurel frowned. Ironically enough? What did that mean?
“It’s rare for someone to sneak past Nathan’s well-honed defenses, Laurel. In fact, you’re the first woman I can remember capturing his attention this completely. Your past is a part of you. Everyone does what they need to survive. If you’re in trouble, you can trust him. Even if you don’t trust the rest of us, you can trust Nathan.”
Aside from Poppy, Laurel couldn’t remember the last person she’d trusted. It seemed strange someone with Sheila’s advantages and privileges should understand survival. Then again, the Tremaynes had faced more than their fair share of reality. Laurel had needed reminding of that, it seemed.
“He’s protective, that brother of mine. And whether he tells you this or not,” Sheila continued, “it’s not what you did in the past that matters. It’s what you do from here on out.” Sheila’s phone buzzed and Laurel watched as Sheila licked her lips before she picked it up. “Hey, Morgan. What’s the word?” Laurel tried to look away, but she couldn’t pull her gaze from the emotions crossing Sheila’s face as she listened. “Okay. We’ll, um.” Sheila looked up and pressed her lips tight, blinked her eyes. “You want me to move the party up to this Sunday? Will she—Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m fine. We’ll be fine. Give Lydia a hug from me, okay? Tell her I’ll stop by after work. Love you, too.” She clicked off, pressed fingers against her lips and this time, Laurel couldn’t stop herself. She reached over and gripped Sheila’s free hand in hers. “Sorry,” Sheila tried to laugh again as tears spilled free. “They’re sending Lydia home.” She pressed two fingers against her temple.
“That’s good news, isn’t it?”
“Not really. It means they’re out of options. I hate when history repeats itself.”
Laurel didn’t want to pry, but given what she did know about the Tremayne’s past, she could only imagine what Sheila was referring to. Nathan’s sister’s pain was obvious, making Laurel feel . . . useless. What was Alastair thinking, heaping even more pain on this family? How evil did a man have to be to want to add to their suffering? What had Jackson done to him to elicit such vengeance? “I’m so sorry.”
“So am I.” She squeezed Laurel’s fingers tight. “God, so am I. I’m glad I ran into you.” She laughed and pulled a smile out of Laurel.
“I didn’t do anything.” Laurel attempted to pull away, as Sheila’s misplaced gratitude hit her like a physical blow.
“You listened,” Sheila said. “You were here. Trust me, that’s a lot.” She gave Laurel’s hand a last squeeze before using a napkin to blot her eyes. “Whew. Okay. Enough tears for today. I have a party to finish planning.” She got to her feet, gathered her purse, but before she moved away, she stopped. Seemed to consider. “In case you’re interested, on Friday mornings Nathan teaches boxing down at Fielding’s Gym. Teens, mostly, throwing in some self-defense for the girls. It’s also where he goes when he’s angry at the world. Given the last couple of days, I’d bet he won’t be coming into the office before Monday.”
“I wouldn’t want to bother him.” Laurel frowned. Another two days? Could she let things simmer between them that long?
“Fielding’s is a good place for a workout if you aren’t into yoga or Pilates. I took a wild guess.” She chuckled at Laurel’s blink of surprise. “You don’t look the type.”
“I’d sooner throw myself off the Golden Gate Bridge,” Laurel admitted. Was this what friendship felt like?
“Nathan’s the same.” Sheila shot her a knowing look Laurel chose to ignore. “He’s also the type to punch out his anger and frustration on inanimate objects. In case that helps you plan the rest of your morning.”
“Thanks.” Laurel couldn’t figure out Sheila’s angle. It didn’t make sense to her that if Nathan’s sister had read her background file that she should be so accommodating. Or nice. Nice, in her experience, came with a price. Then again, she was overdue for a workout.
***
“Take twenty on the treadmill,” Nathan told Drew Palmer, his pseudo nephew, who looked more than a little relieved to be able to step out of the ring and away from Nathan’s over-attentiveness. Wiping the sweat and hair out of his dark eyes, Drew gave a sharp, short nod—enthusiastic thanks for the teen of few words, and ducked under the ropes while Nathan focused his attention on the sand bag at the far corner of the room.
His meeting a few hours ago with Kyle had been more productive than he’d anticipated. Somehow the time he’d spent in L.A. with Gage and Morgan had erased any doubts he had about buying the gym. But that would have to wait, he’d told Kyle, who had set up Fielding’s Gym with his father over twenty years prior.
It would take time to do everything Nathan wanted to do with the space, which would include buying the vacant buildings on either side so he could do some major expansion. It was time to step up and give back at least as much as his sisters—as well as his parents—had. But it meant changes. Big changes. Too many changes.
Despite the open space, the walls closed in on him. There weren’t enough hours in the day to push through everything that needed doing, but he wasn’t going to let his volunteer work at the gym slide. Drew—and the handful of other teens who counted on him for a vigorous workout and a few hours of attention—needed the release and the relief as much as he did. They also needed to have someone to count on. Besides, the gym had been Nathan’s idea when Drew had asked Morgan and Gage about wanting to learn how to box. As a Type 1 diabetic, Drew was on an insulin pump, and while physical activity was encouraged, it didn’t usually include being pummeled by another human being. Nathan had offered the compromise and, after the last few months, found he enjoyed the downtime, which led him full circle to what he’d originally wanted to do with his life.
Before he’d felt obligated to accept the job his father had offered him. Before he’d all but lost himself in Nemesis. Nemesis. The crown. Laurel. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the life he knew was about to be obliterated.
Nathan’s desire to pummel the crap out of the sandbag today was driving him ten times harder than normal. He barely gave himself time for a quick drink of water before he stepped in and slammed his fist into the heavy bag.
He felt the impact reverberate up his arm and down his spine. He punched again, again, pushing all his anger, all his frustration out through his fists. Sweat trickled down his face, trailed down his spine.
The smell of dank and hard work mingled in the half-filled second-story loft located above Spangle’s Sporting Goods, a good quarter-mile from his two-story town house. The home gym he’d set up in the basement might give him the privacy he preferred, but solitude today would only darken his already black mood.
Shoes squeaked against the polished, worn wooden floor. The life-sized black-and-white photographs lining the walls attempted to inspire with their displays of Muhammad Ali and George Foreman in their prime. The NASA-inspired treadmills were lined up to give their occupants a view of downtown Lantano; on them, feet pounded on the road to nowhere. Nathan watched as Drew plugged in his earphones and set an easy but inclined pace.
The clang of weights and grunts of exertion felt dull against his ears, unable to penetrate the furious roar that had settled in his head as he’d watched the doctors speak to his sister, Gage, and the Fiorellis about Lydia’s condition. The “we’ve done all we can” expressions and softened tones ate through him like a voracious parasite.
The light brown face of Lydia Cervantes framed with thin wafting curls and displaying the biggest, brightest brown eyes Nathan could ever remember seeing floated in front of him, shoving him off focus. He pulled his next punch and forced the air in and out of his chest with all the force he could muster.
He leaned forward, planted numb hands on his thighs as he took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried not to imagine what was to come. He’d been to so many funerals, so many gravesites of those who had died young. The thought of burying another child, a child who had brought nothing but light into his family. Grief and rage battled within him, neither one strong enough to overtake the other; both too overwhelming to let him escape. How many more losses could he take?
The thought pierced through him like an arrow and his breath hitched. There was nothing he could do about Lydia, about the fact they were on borrowed time with her. But he could damn well make sure his family was put back on even ground, even if it meant Nemesis was put to bed once and for all.
“Looks like you could use a spotter.”
Nathan angled his head up and found Laurel holding the back of the sandbag, her long hair tied up in a ponytail, face devoid of makeup. The model-pristine outfits were gone; she was wearing curve-hugging black spandex and a snug matching tank. Her skin shimmered under the fluorescent lights of the gym as she watched him with that same challenging gaze he’d seen the first day they’d met.
“What?” She asked, hitching her chin and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t want to work out with a girl?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.” The zing of her accusation brought him up to full height. He rotated his shoulders, the fabric of his own tank loose around his torso. He punched out. The chain holding the bag gave a pathetic creak as the bag swayed.
“That doesn’t even qualify as a tap.” Laurel stepped forward shaking her head and planted her hands more firmly against the sandbag. “Get your body into it.”
He punched again, felt the renewed tingling as his body found its rhythm. Right punch. Left. Right. Double left. Round about. A few times he heard her grunt, saw out of the corner of his eye as she adjusted her stance and started to push back.
“Stop babying me.” She glared at him in a way that made him want to kill and kiss her. “Stop babying yourself and let it out. Now punch!”
Embracing her challenge, emptying his mind, finally, of the memories of beeping machines and over-disinfected floors, the sound of too rough sheets over squeaky mattresses and the promises of nothing other than another life lost.
With every strike, every impact, he let loose, wanting nothing more than to pummel sickness, all illnesses, into the ground where he could stomp it out of existence. Cancer had taken his brother, had taken Brandon, was threatening his best friend. AIDS had been slowly stealing the life out of Lydia, leaving her a shell of what she’d been only weeks ago. It wasn’t fair. Punch. How much more . . . Punch. Was his family . . . Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam! Supposed to take?
He reared back. This time when his fist landed, Laurel was shoved back and the bag swung between them like a giant pendulum, nearly knocking him in the face before he caught it. He slid to the ground and rested his burning arms on his drawn-up knees, scrubbing the sweat out of his eyes with a duck of his head and a brush of his shoulder.
Laurel dropped down in front of him and he was grateful not to see a trace of sympathy or concern on her pretty face. In fact, she looked like she was ready to go another ten rounds with him. “Feel better?”
He had to think about it, had to settle the electric buzzing in his head before he could answer. “Not really.” He unwrapped the tape from around his hands.
Their gazes met and locked. For the longest moment he watched her struggle, search, as if wanting to say something but unable to find the right words. Only then did he begin to understand.
He’d been so caught up in his anger—that she’d lied to him from the moment they’d met—but he hadn’t called himself every kind of hypocrite as he’d done the same. Nor had he taken the time before the hours he’d had to kill waiting at the hospital with Gage and Morgan to consider Laurel’s past beyond the words on the page. The number of foster homes, the juvenile charges, the admissions into emergency rooms for what he suspected, but couldn’t confirm, was abuse. Only now did he see the woman in relation to the history. He glanced back at Drew, who had experienced a number of the same issues growing up. Except he’d been lucky. Morgan had found him in time and his family had been working to get his feet on the right path.
Maybe if someone had done that for Laurel, her life would have been different. Maybe she’d have been willing to trust him. Then again, if her life had been different, he might never have met her. And that, he found himself thinking, would have been a shame.
In that moment, because of her pushing him, all his anger and resentment gave way to gratitude. He let out a long breath. “Thank you.”
“Happy to be a target for your frustrations.” She sat on the floor, stretched out her legs and leaned back to look at him, jerking her chin at his clenching hands. “You’ll probably bruise.”
“Bruises fade.” At least the exterior ones. “How did you find me?”
“I saw Sheila outside your office this morning.”
“Shit.” Nathan squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long hiss of breath. How could he have forgotten his ultimatum after what he’d found in her hotel room? It hadn’t taken long to realize she was one revelation away from discovering their secret—that the Tremaynes and Nemesis were one and the same—and yet here he was, punching the hell out of a heavy bag instead of finding a way to distract her. He needed to get his mind under control. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” She tilted her head, frowned. “You were perfectly clear the other night that your family is your primary concern, and it should be. Your sister told me about Lydia. She also said there wasn’t much hope.”
“There’s no hope.” Nathan felt the grief surge, but he pushed it back down. He needed to get ahold of himself; he needed to get his family out from under what felt like a specter of death that kept creeping closer. “Except for the end to be as painless as possible. Sheila sent you to look after me, didn’t she?”
“She suggested I might find you here. And that we might have similar ways of coping with difficult situations.” She glanced around. “I like it here. It’s all business. Speaking of business.”
Ah. Here it comes.
“I’ll help you. But I’m going to want a little negotiating room for what I get in exchange.”
Nathan frowned.
“Don’t worry. It won’t be too painful. In the meantime, it’s your turn to spot me. Unless I wore you out?”
Oh, he could definitely wear her out. “You feeling secure enough to taunt me?”
She grinned and for an instant, all he could think about was pulling her to him and kissing her full, curving lips. “Okay, Supergirl, show me what you’ve got.”
“Supergirl?” Laurel seemed offended until she clicked her tongue and nodded, shoving herself up off the floor. “Right. Wonder Woman’s already taken. But challenge accepted. Hop to, Iron Man. I’ve got my own anger to burn off.”
***
“Confession time,” Nathan said two hours later as they ate lunch at the Front Street Deli. Laurel looked at him over the second half of her corned beef on rye, grateful she hadn’t taken another bite as her mouth went dry. “You have a second stomach, don’t you?” He gestured to the half-finished pile of fries as she set her sandwich down and leaned over to sip her soda. “Or a dog. Did you bring a dog in here and I didn’t notice?” He leaned over to look under the table, his hair brushing against the shoulder of his T-shirt. Funny. She couldn’t quite figure out which Nathan she was dealing with today. It was as if the man who had been lurking in the dark of her hotel room had vanished. She certainly hadn’t expected to end up on his good side after a battle of the punching bags at the gym. Maybe this was a new angle he was taking; one to keep her on her toes, force her into making a mistake or an admission she couldn’t bear to make. Yet.
“No dog. I learned early on to eat fast before everything was gone. Or someone took my plate from me.” She sat back and forced herself to slow down. “Guess it’s one of those things that stuck with me.”
“No wonder you work out like a demon.” Nathan turned his attention to his classic club and coleslaw, but not before she caught the flash of sympathy on his face. The idea of anyone—especially Nathan—feeling sorry for her, kicked her temper into gear, but she swallowed around it. She might have been dealt some hard knocks, but she fought her way through them. She always had. She always would.
“Why else would anyone work out?” She popped off the top of her sandwich and squirted more spicy mustard on the perfectly pink beef, moving past the need to shove his pity back in his face. “I hate every second of every workout, but when I do it, I don’t have to worry about what I eat. I took it easy on you, by the way.” She grinned at his skeptical expression. “Seriously. We can give it another go if you don’t believe me.” At his sheepish grin, she felt her face go hot. A “workout” with Nathan Tremayne, while ill-advised, was definitely on the tempting side of the menu.
“Challenge accepted, Supergirl.” He snagged a fry off her plate.
His teasing kept her on edge, the use of a nickname setting off unfamiliar pangs of emotion she didn’t quite know how to process. Getting personal, getting close like this, his attempts to put her at ease, all led somewhere she couldn’t afford to go. This had to be business. This had to be about the crown. And Alastair Manville. “So, about this deal you offered—”
“Which one?”
“Both.”
“You want the cash and you want to disappear?” Nathan leaned his arms on the table and pinned her with that look. “Just what kind of trouble are you in?”
“The kind I’d rather you not ask me about. I will admit the offer to double my finder’s fee is tempting.”
“I would hope so,” Nathan muttered.
“But if we find the crown and I claim the fee, you’d be off the hook for that amount. So I’m going to counter offer. I’ll help you find the crown if you pay me half over the finder’s fee and make Laurel Scott vanish.”
He studied her, the passing moments ticking loudly in her ears. “On one condition.”
She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“From here on out, no more lies. Plead the fifth, zip your lip, whatever you need to do, but no more lies. Understood?” All she wanted to do was sag into a puddle under the table. That she could work with. “Understood.”
“Okay then. So. The crown,” Nathan said and resumed eating. “Give me the rundown.”
Her lungs expanded as if she were taking a deep undersea dive. “Long lost treasure, contested ownership, battle over which country and which group could claim rights to which piece. Valuable.” She raised her eyebrows.
“Nice CliffsNotes version. How about some detail?”
“The Serpians were nomads, numbering in the thousands, and managed to lay claim to certain land areas throughout Europe over the course of a few decades. But it’s their artwork and treasure that’s been of interest to most scholars and archaeologists. Those other pieces at the museum, they’re only a fraction of what was uncovered thanks to the efforts of a group of archaeologists back in the late seventies and early eighties who traced the Serpian Trail to where they were defeated in a battle on the border of France in 1412.”
“After this Princess Kasha was dead.”
“Legend has it her murder left a curse on her treasure which was why they buried it as they attempted to escape from their enemies. If it hadn’t been for a man named Elliot Larsen, the leader of the expedition, the Serpians might have faded into history without anyone ever hearing about them.”
“A curse? Like King Tut?”
“That was microbes, not a curse. You don’t believe me?”
Nathan shrugged. “Not for me to say.”
She waited, hoping, watching Nathan’s face for a flicker of recognition. “You’ve never heard of the Serpians, have you?”
“History’s always been my father’s interest, not mine.”
Something she and Jackson had in common. If she’d had the chance, she’d have loved to have gone to college to study. Maybe even teach. She shook her head. The time for dreams was over. She had real life to deal with. “Well, trust me, plenty of people still believe in that curse. Supposedly it feeds on people’s weakness and drives them mad.” It would certainly explain her interactions with Alastair. “Romantic, huh?” She ate another fry even though she was no longer hungry. “You sure you hadn’t heard of them or the crown before all this started?”
“Not a word. You were going to look into that SylEctus group on your trip down south.” For the first time since they met, she felt as if her past wasn’t wedged between them like a force field. Is that what honesty—what trust, however fragile—did? “Did you find anything out?”
“Not much.” She shook her head. “My official request for information is still pending approval. It’s not one of my usual requests, so I’m betting my motivations are being put under a microscope. What about you?”
“Malcolm broke through a few walls but he probably didn’t learn anything you don’t already know. The SylEctus Group is a multi-conglomerate think tank that sticks their noses and bank accounts into various enterprises around the world.”
Laurel smirked. “Translation?”
“A bunch of rich people with too much time on their hands.”
“Interesting coming from you.”
Nathan pushed his plate away and wiped his mouth, staring hard at her as he tossed the napkin aside. “My family’s worked very hard for every penny we’ve earned. I’d appreciate you not lumping us in with individuals who have little interest in anything other than expanding their already overloaded bank accounts and stock portfolios.”
“Sorry.” That had been an interesting button to push. The Tremaynes really weren’t at all like she’d expected. “I’m having a little difficulty figuring out exactly where we stand with each other in all this.”
“Right now we’re standing on the side of finding the Crown of Serpia. I want my father cleared. I want this mess behind us, I want the Nemesis case closed. I don’t see where there’s room for interpretation. Not if you want your past to stay in the past.”
Nemesis? Where did Nemesis fit into this? Time to think about that later. Right now, she couldn’t let his threat pass unanswered. “Are you going to threaten to expose my past whenever we disagree?” Given the threat she’d lived under for the past few years this felt negligible. But he didn’t need to know that. “That doesn’t really lend itself to the whole trust issue you’re pressing.”
“Let’s see how often we disagree and go from there?”
She hesitated, just long enough to sound believable. “The other night you mentioned a name. An Alastair something.”
“What about him?”
“It sounded as if you think he’s involved with this crown situation and your dad. Is there something I should know?”
Nathan stared at her for a long moment, as if debating whether he could follow her lead when it came to admissions and truths. “He’s an old acquaintance of my father, but not someone Dad’s overly anxious to reconnect with. They have a history.” He gestured to their waitress for a refill on his water.
“What kind of history?” Her blood started pumping. Was she finally going to get an answer she could use?
Nathan sat back in the upholstered booth, his eyes scanning her face more effectively than a security screener at the airport. “Let’s just say my father’s past could be even more colorful than yours. Ivy.”
Lunch churned in her stomach. “That’s not who I am anymore.”
“Then tell me who Ivy was.”
She did not want to go through this again. “I told you. Ivy is, was, found abandoned in a park in Roseville, a suburb of Sacramento. The woman who found the baby took her, took me, to a firehouse and said she found me in—”
“Ivy,” Nathan finished, and to his credit didn’t flinch. “And every time you had to change your name you chose a flower or plant?”
“Don’t get all Sigmund Freud okay?” Laurel shoved her plate away. She didn’t like people digging into her past; she sure as hell didn’t want him digging into her head. “It’s been my way of claiming an identity, something that’s hard to do when you didn’t arrive with a birth certificate.” Hell, even Cabbage Patch Kids had certificates. “Quid pro quo.” Why was she feeling like Clarice Starling interviewing Hannibal Lecter? “You think this Alastair Manville is behind what’s going on with your father?”
Nathan’s hand tightened around his glass, his jaw clenched and unclenched half a dozen times before he finally responded. “I think he’s framed my father for the theft of the crown for reasons known only to him.” Nathan leaned across the table and, for the first time, Laurel couldn’t decipher the expression on his face. The charmer was gone; the angry son and family protector was gone. Both men she’d encountered disappeared behind a blank slate of determination she suspected rivaled her own. They needed each other if either of them was going to succeed. He needed her to clear his father and she needed him to get Alastair Manville out of her life once and for all.
“It doesn’t sound out of the realm of possibility that Alastair framed your father. But let’s not forget your father was caught on camera at the museum at the time of the robbery and his prints were found—”
“Print,” Nathan corrected, holding up one finger. “Only one, remember? And the one that was found was compromised. And as far as I know, taking a walk in midtown isn’t illegal. Alastair is gunning for my father and he’s using the crown as his weapon. The longer it stays missing, the more jeopardy my entire family is in.”
“Wait a minute.” Laurel’s stomach pitched. “I thought this was about your father.” Her mind raced. “The other night you accused me of stalking your family. That’s why those photos on my wall freaked you out. What’s going on, Nathan. What don’t I know?” Even as she asked the question, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know just how far Alastair was willing to go to take his revenge on Jackson Tremayne. Or the part she might have played in it. Then again, if Johnny Saxon had been murdered to keep him quiet about stealing the crown, she was already in too deep to get out.
“My father’s received photographs in the mail and via email. Pictures of all of us, including Morgan and Gage’s kids. We’re being watched. And Alastair—or whoever is behind it—wants Dad to know it.”
Laurel’s stomach churned around her lunch. “That’s . . .” Unfathomable. Horrific. Petrifying. She suspected Alastair was capable of a lot of things, but bringing children into this? Her face went cold as she thought of Joey. Her hands trembled. She’d stayed sane all these years believing Alastair would never hurt her daughter. Now she wasn’t so sure.
“They even caught Malcolm and Sheila coming out of his doctor’s appointment up in San Francisco.” He’d lowered his voice, leaned across the table. “Whoever it is is determined to make my father suffer, and believe me, there’s no better way to do that than to go after his family. What?” He frowned. “You don’t believe me? I can show you the pictures.”
“No, no.” She waved a hand in the air, relieved he’d misread her expression. She didn’t need him reading her mind. “I’m just wondering what this has to do with the crown.” Her mind circled the information she had with the speed and acumen of an Indy 500 champion and skidded to a stop as if a warning flag had dropped. “This is why your father confessed to being Nemesis.” She leaned forward until their faces were so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. What was Jackson trying to do? Put himself out of reach? Or . . . in harm’s way?
Nathan’s eyebrows inched up as if she’d impressed him. “That’s where things get”—he hesitated— “complicated.”
Funny how they kept coming back to that word. “I’m a smart girl.” Laurel didn’t want to feel offended. Here she thought they’d be making progress and yet the mention of Nemesis once again triggered . . . something. Of all topics to be skittish about, that just seemed odd.
“Just because we’re going to work together doesn’t mean I’m going to make you privy to every Tremayne secret.”
“Wow.” Laurel’s eyes went wide. “So lies are a no-go, but secrets are still in play.” Interesting. What did Nathan know about Nemesis that he wasn’t telling? “Okay.”
“Dad confessed because given the proclivities of our local law enforcement and district attorney, he hoped the cops would keep an eye on him. People Alastair wouldn’t want to interact with. So in the meantime . . .”
“In the meantime, it puts Manville off his game and leaves him scrambling to regroup.” No wonder Alastair was so pissed off. Jackson had definitely one-upped him. She was beginning to like Jackson Tremayne more and more. It occurred to her she should tell Nathan about the backup Alastair had in place, the man who was keeping tabs on all of them. But now didn’t seem the time. “We’re in agreement then. Alastair Manville hired Johnny Saxon to steal the crown in order to set up your father?”
“That’s our best guess.” Nathan shrugged. “Another option is the SylEctus Group is trying to cash in on a huge insurance scam. But my money’s on option number one.”
“You’d win either way.” Personally, she understood the desire for revenge. She also related to the need for profit. “While I was in the home office the other day, I got a look at my boss’s email inbox.”
“How’d you do that?”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. His password is his dog’s name and his birthday. I saw a couple of emails marked as important from a Miles L. Trailavan at the SylEctus Group. They were cc’d to Manville. Tells me the two men are connected.” She was taking a chance, sharing the one connection she’d made on her trip to Los Angeles. Maybe it wasn’t the connection Nathan was looking for, but it was something they could explore further. Together.
“You’re sure?” Nathan didn’t look convinced. “That seems careless of them.”
“Unless you factor in that Alastair has an office in the SylEctus headquarters in San Francisco. I think that’s something we should look into further, don’t you?” Nothing like seeding the trail in the direction she needed to go. A private office in a secure building might be the perfect place to keep any incriminating evidence Manville had on her. If she could get ahold of it and help Nathan get his father out from whatever bull’s-eye Alastair had him under, it would be win-win for both of them.
“So, what? You’re thinking we waltz into their offices and ask for a private meeting with Alastair Manville?” Given the way Nathan was looking at her she may as well have sprouted another head.
“Of course not.” Because that would be suicide. For both of them. She could only imagine what havoc Alastair would wreak on Nathan as Jackson’s son. “But we can meet with SylEctu’s CEO, Miles Trailavan.” She plucked another fry off her plate and nibbled, liking her plan more and more. Nathan would make an excellent distraction. If things played out the way she hoped, she’d have the finders’ fee, Nathan’s money, a new identity and Alastair Manville would be SOL when it came to hurting Jackson and his family. “They don’t take walk-ins, by the way. I already checked.” She grinned as Nathan sat back. “Which is why I made an appointment. Want to go to San Francisco with me next Tuesday?”