Synopsis | Reviews | Excerpt
Jason Hawk only came to his father’s funeral to spit on his grave. That was the best the old man deserved from the bastard son he’d never given a damn about. The son whose plan for revenge had now been derailed by Aaron Hawk’s death. Or had it?
Kendall Chase was Aaron Hawk’s smart and efficient executive assistant, and had come to know a side of the old man that few saw. But convincing Jason there had been more to his father, more to his whole life’s story than Jason knew, wasn’t easy. He was as tough as the father he hated. And more compelling than any man she’d ever met.
Convincing him the mysterious Hawk family book, a history now chronicling treachery and murder, had answers even for things yet to occur, was a much bigger job. Despite his attraction to her, the only part of Kendall’s stories Jason believes is that his father’s vicious widow is determined to see that Jason gets none of the inheritance left him.
In the end, Jason has to make a decision. Is the magic real? Or more importantly, is the revenge he’s wanted for nearly 30 years, worth losing Kendall?
Author of more than sixty books, Justine Dare Davis is a four-time winner of the coveted RWA RITA Award, and has been inducted into the RWA Hall of Fame. Her books have appeared on national best-seller lists, including USA Today.
Find out more at her website and blog at justinedavis.com, Facebook at JustineDareDavis, or Twitter @Justine_D_Davis.
Coming soon!
Chapter One
IT SNOWED IN Sunridge for the first time
in twenty years the day they put the old man in the ground, and Jason West knew
damned well the bastard had summoned it up himself.
He wondered what
they would do, these people in their somber dark dresses and respectable suits
and ties and coats, if he gave in to the urge to spit on the old man’s grave.
They were already staring at his jeans and boots, noses up, as if only good
manners prevented them from sniffing disdainfully.
Or maybe it was
just him they were staring at; he knew from a youthful photograph he’d seen of
Aaron Hawk in a business magazine— accompanying one of those stories in which
the old man had boasted of the Hawks’ extraordinary history—that he bore a
strong resemblance to the man who had fathered him. He’d resented it then, but
he was enjoying it now. He liked knowing that everyone was wondering who he
was, and that those who knew or guessed were wondering why he was here.
He lifted his
head to look at them all, barely stifling a smile as he thought of their
expressions if he were to follow through on the impulse to spit.
Or maybe not;
there wasn’t a single one of them who looked like they were here because they
wanted to be. They might have come, but it wasn’t to say a sorrowful good-bye.
Good riddance, maybe. The smile threatened again. Then he wondered why he was
bothering to restrain it, and let the smile loose. And savored the shocked
looks he got.
Icy water from
the rare snow, caught and melting in his hair, trickled down his neck. Yes, the
old man had probably made a deal with the devil already, he thought as he
tugged the collar of his dark, heavy coat up around his neck. But then, that
shouldn’t surprise him; Hawks had been making deals with the devil for
centuries. By all accounts the old man had been proud of it. If the stories
were to be believed, they’d even sometimes beaten the devil at his own game.
Jason had often suspected there were things in the Hawk history that were
better left unexamined.
But no more.
That history would come to an end. His plans were being buried along with that
old man today, but he could still see to the end of it all. He’d made his own
deal, not with the devil but with life—if there was any difference, Jason
thought sourly—long ago. On the day he’d buried his far-too-young mother and
sworn that someday his father would regret what he’d done.
But he’d left it
too late. He’d been planning for that day of atonement for twenty years, and
now it would never happen. He’d barely made it to the cemetery in time for the
end of the funeral service. And the unexpected snowstorm that had hit the
little town in the western foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. He wasn’t sure
which was colder.
He watched as
the old woman standing closest to the edge of the grave stepped forward. She
wasn’t weeping. Her face was stiff beneath the wide brim of the black hat that
accented the somber elegance of her dress. A dress that probably had cost
enough money to feed a family for a month, he thought, recognizing a public declaration
of wealth when he saw it.
And the lack of
grief when he saw it. It didn’t surprise him; he doubted that Alice Hawk had a
tear in her. She wore the expression of a woman
who’d lost the capacity for any soft feeling long ago. The only thing that showed
in her face was hatred. And she looked as if she’d be very, very good at it.
Better, perhaps, than anyone, except maybe the man in that hole.
And, he thought
with grim satisfaction, his son.
The thin,
straight woman lifted a hand clad in a black glove. Jason’s eyes narrowed when
he saw what she held: a single yellow rose. She tossed it into the open grave.
He heard the faint sound as it hit the polished cherry-wood surface of the
coffin. He looked at her face, in time to see the flash of rage that, for a
brief moment, distorted her features.
And then he did
the unforgivable.
Jason West
laughed out loud.
Alice Hawk’s
head whipped around. She stared at him. The hand that had tossed the rose came
up in a sweeping movement, tearing off the hat as if the wide brim blocked her
vision, or she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. He saw heads turning, felt
the puzzled looks, but he never took his eyes off the old woman’s face as she
came toward him in a rigid-backed walk.
"You bastard,”
she hissed.
"Exactly,” he
agreed mildly. The epithet had lost its power over him years ago, when he’d
come to terms with who—and what—he was.
"How dare you
come here!”
He laughed
again, finding her fury very satisfying. Her face reddened even more, and the
hand that had held the rose came up as if to slap him.
"I wouldn’t,” he
whispered, just loudly enough for her to hear and doing nothing to leash the
menace in his low tone. "You just might wind up in that hole with him.”
She cursed, a
low, graphic obscenity that seemed out of place with her elegant appearance,
yet fit utterly with her obvious rage.
"Yellow roses
were my mother’s favorite,” he said softly, again just loud enough for her to
hear. "How many do you suppose he bought her in all those years?”
"You bastard,”
she spat out again.
"I thought we’d
covered that already. Surely you can come up with something better to call me.
Son, perhaps?” he suggested in a tone that did little to conceal his laughter.
For an instant
he wondered if he’d pushed too far, if his threatening words might come true.
The woman’s face grew redder as he stared levelly back at her, and the
not-too-upsetting thought of an impending heart attack or stroke crossed his
mind. What irony, he thought, should Alice Hawk actually topple over into the
yawning hole that held her bastard—in the finest figurative sense—of a husband.
"Alice, please.
Calm down.”
The woman
whirled on the source of the soft, quiet voice, none of her fury abated. The
other woman—girl? Jason wondered, eyeing the slight figure he hadn’t noticed
before—didn’t even flinch as Alice snarled at her.
"Calm down? Look
at him! It’s obvious who he is. He dares to show up here, now, and you have the
nerve to tell me to calm down?”
The shorter
woman never moved, nor did she raise her low, pleasant voice. Impressed with
anyone who could face down Alice Hawk so coolly, Jason looked at her with a bit
more interest than before, trying to see past the shadowy black veil that hid
her face. He really hadn’t seen her amid the small gathering, and wondered where
she’d been; it wasn’t like him to overlook any details. Even small ones like
this petite woman.
"It’s not worth
making yourself ill,” she said.
"As if you care.
You probably had something to do with this outrage.”
"Of course I
care,” the woman said, ignoring the accusation. And it was a woman, Jason
decided; that voice was too low and rich. And no mere girl would have the nerve
to stand up to the old battle-ax like this.
"Then go get
Carver to throw him out. I will not have him here!”
"Why don’t I
just handle it?” the younger woman suggested coaxingly.
"I know what
you’re up to, and it won’t work.” Jason wasn’t sure who the ominous words were
directed at, himself or the woman who was handling the older woman’s venom so
calmly. "Just get him out of here.”
Jason stood
motionless as his father’s widow stalked away. Then, as the smaller woman
turned and began to come toward him, he crossed his arms over his chest, tilted
his head, and watched her approach with interest. She was even smaller than
he’d thought; of course, at six-two, many women seemed small to him. And as he
saw the way she moved, he wondered how he’d thought for even a moment that she
was just a girl. No, this was definitely a woman. Definitely.
And you’ll find
me a bit harder to face down than Alice Hawk, he promised her silently as she
came to a halt before him. She pulled back the veil that had hidden her face,
looked up at him with a pair of huge, sad gray eyes beneath a fringe of dark
bangs. There was no mistaking the grief there. Here, then, was at least one
person who genuinely mourned the passing of Aaron Hawk. That it would be this
somewhat fragile-looking woman surprised him.
And then this
woman he’d never seen before spoke, and proceeded to startle him into a moment
of unconcealed surprised reaction.
"I’m sorry,
Jason. She’s very upset. But I’m glad you’re here. I’m Kendall Chase. We’ve
been looking for you for a very long time.”
KENDALL WATCHED
his eyes, in the way Aaron had taught her. Eyes that were so much like the old
photos she’d seen of Aaron; eyes that gave the lie to anyone who would
challenge this man’s parentage. Eyes that were like his father’s in another way
as well; they held as much cold harshness as those of the man who had
bequeathed them. Perhaps more.
But for a moment
they had held surprise. At least she thought so; the impression had been so
fleeting, she couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t think he wouldn’t be recognized,
not when, except for the nose, which in Aaron’s face had been much more
prominent than his son’s nicely chiseled feature, he was the living image of a
young Aaron Hawk. So it must have been something else she’d said. Perhaps he
hadn’t expected her to know his name? Perhaps he hadn’t expected to be
approached at all, not here, not now. Or perhaps, she thought, she was wrong
and he hadn’t really been surprised at all.
"It is Jason,
isn’t it?”
"And just how,”
he said, his voice ominously tight, "do you know that?”
Kendall
smothered a sigh. She’d known this wouldn’t be easy, but now, as she stood
looking up at eyes that were also as brightly, piercingly blue as his father’s,
as she stood looking up into a face that was set in lines of cold hatred, she
began to see just how big a task Aaron had left her.
"I told you,
we’ve been looking for you for a long time. Will you walk with me, please?” She
gestured toward a narrow path that wound between the headstones and markers.
"So you can keep
me from causing a scene on the old bastard’s final day?”
"Partly,” she
admitted. "It won’t accomplish anything.”
"You don’t know
the first thing about what I want to accomplish.” His voice was calm now,
whatever other emotion she’d stirred vanished now behind that cool expression.
Kendall sighed
aloud this time. "You’re very angry, aren’t you?”
"No.”
The denial was
abrupt, and too sharp for Kendall to believe it was true. She studied his face
for a moment. She’d developed a knack for interpreting expressions, but this
man’s face was unreadable, as if he’d had as much practice as Aaron at hiding
himself from others, despite the fact that he was so much younger.
She wondered
what had happened to Jason in the almost thirty years since Aaron had lost
track of his son. Whatever the course of his life had been, there had been some
hard stretches, to put that kind of harshness in his eyes, Kendall thought.
That kind of coldness wasn’t inherited; it was learned. In unpleasant ways.
After a moment
she began to move away, in the direction she had indicated. Jason waited,
watching, and when she looked back at him he stayed motionless, long enough for
her to understand he was telling her she couldn’t assume he would do anything
she asked.
"This isn’t some
power play, Mr. Hawk,” she said, retreating into formality, hoping it would
convince him even as she acknowledged the oddity of addressing anyone other
than Aaron by that name. His reaction was immediate.
"My name isn’t
Hawk. It’s West.”
He didn’t raise
his voice, but there was no mistaking the biting undertone. West. So he had
been using his mother’s name, Kendall thought. Aaron had said his son had
carried the Hawk name, at least until they left Sunridge, and had even sadly
admitted it had probably been an attempt to force him to acknowledge the boy.
She wondered if changing it to West had been his own choice, or his mother’s.
Knowing it for sure would have sped up the search, but they hadn’t known which
name he’d be using now, and so had had to check both. But she didn’t comment,
sensing he was in no mood to discuss his name. Or his father’s. She went on as
if he hadn’t spoken.
"It’s a simple
request. I’d rather not talk to you with an audience.”
He glanced at
the several people who, although the service was over, had lingered, watching
him. Some curiously, some with open shock on their faces. After a moment he
followed her.
As
if the interruption had never occurred, Kendall went on speaking in a
speculative tone. "I think I understand. Admitting that you’re angry would give
him far too much power over you, wouldn’t it?”
Aaron
had always called the accuracy of her intuitive guesses uncanny; she’d always
laughingly said she just put together clues that were there for anyone to see.
But clearly she had startled Jason Hawk; this time he couldn’t hide his
surprise before she was certain of it. Jason West, she corrected herself; she
didn’t want to offend him before she had a chance to complete her task.
"That
old man,” he said, his voice flat, "never had any power over me. None. Not when
he was alive, and sure as hell not now.”
Kendall
shook her head, but said merely, "Then why did you come?”
He
gave her a level look that warned her she was about to hear a truth he thought
she wouldn’t like.
"To
spit on his grave.”
Yet
again he looked surprised when she wasn’t shocked. She simply nodded.
"Aaron expected that. He’d be pleased to know he was right.”
This
man who looked so much like the man they’d just buried stopped in his tracks.
His dark brows had furrowed at her use of his father’s first name, but he only
asked, "He’d be pleased that I came to spit on his grave?”
Kendall
nodded, her mouth curving into a slight smile. "It means he mattered to you.
One way or another.”
"He
mattered, all right. I’ve hated him all my life.”
She
was surprised he had admitted that, and he didn’t look very happy about having
done it either, so Kendall was careful not to let her expression change. Nor
did she point out that his words gave the lie to his claim that his father had
held no power over him.
"Aaron
could always appreciate a healthy hatred. And he’d be the first to admit he’d
given you ample cause.”
Jason
made an inelegant snorting sound. He backed up a step, and looked her up and
down. For a moment Kendall felt as she did after walking into a high-level
meeting, when the people present watched with careful nonexpressions as she
took a seat at Aaron’s right hand rather than starting to pour coffee or
sharpen pencils. But she forced herself not to flinch or draw back from his
intent study of her.
"Who
are you, Kendall Chase?” he asked at last.
"Your
father’s executive assistant.”
"Executive
assistant?” The words were followed by a disbelieving laugh. "You’re all
of... what, twenty-five?”
"I’m
thirty-three,” she said carefully. "I’ve had the job since I got out of
college.”
Something
flickered in his eyes, but she couldn’t tell if it was surprise or amusement.
"And just what
exactly did you do as his... executive assistant?”
She lifted a
brow at him. "I think the title is self-explanatory.”
He laughed
again. "Oh, it’s self-explanatory all right. I’ll bet you
were... indispensable.”
She drew herself
up to her full five-foot-two. She knew her size and gender sometimes made
people—especially men—tend to belittle both her position and her intellect. She
resented it, but hadn’t yet found a way around it other than working harder to
prove herself. And occasionally slicing the hapless offender to ribbons with
what Aaron had called a whiplash tongue commanded by a razor wit.
"I was your
father’s executive assistant for ten years, Mr.... West.
There wasn’t a move made in or by Hawk Industries that I didn’t know about,”
she said. "Aaron trusted me completely.”
"Went a long way
with pillow talk, did he?”
For a moment
Kendall didn’t understand. When his inference registered, she felt herself
pale, then redden as anger flooded her. With an effort, she fought it down,
drawing on the control she’d learned in the early years of dealing with Aaron
Hawk, who back then could have given even this arrogant son of his lessons in
rudeness.
"Now that was an
interesting parade of expressions.” Jason sounded mildly amused. "Can’t decide
between righteous indignation and insulted fury?”
"What I can’t
decide right now,” Kendall said, proud that her voice was steady, "is whether
you’re worth all the effort Aaron put into looking for you.”
His amusement
vanished. "That’s the third time you’ve said something like that.”
"Pardon me, but
it’s at the forefront of my mind, after spending all these months watching
Aaron so desperately trying to find you.”
She’d thought
his eyes hard before, but they’d been warm in comparison to the icy blue she
saw now. "To find me?”
"Yes.”
"Why?” he said,
in a tone that told her clearly he didn’t believe a word of what she’d said.
"You’re his
son,” she said simply.
"And you expect
me to believe he gave a damn about that?”
Kendall had to
remind herself of her purpose here in order to bite back a sharp reply. She
managed an even tone when she said, "I can show you the bills from the
investigator he hired, if you like.”
"Oh, I don’t
doubt you can. You don’t look stupid enough to say that if you couldn’t back it
up.”
She wasn’t quite
as successful this time in keeping the snap out of her voice. "Why, thank you.
You certainly are a flatterer, aren’t you?”
His mouth
quirked. "I’m sure you didn’t reach your position as—what was it again,
executive assistant?—by being stupid.” He looked her up and down in an
assessing manner that was cool enough to be insulting. "Despite your obvious
qualifications.”
"This is about
your father and you, Mr. Haw—West,” Kendall said tightly, his exaggerated drawl
of her title grating on her. "I would appreciate it if you would keep your
assumptions about me out of it.”
"And what makes
you think I care one bit about what you would appreciate, Ms. Chase? I’m not
the sucker for a pretty face that my father apparently was.”
She drew in a
breath. Forgive me, Aaron, she thought, but this is really too much.
"So that’s all
your mother was? A pretty face?”
He drew back
sharply. He stared at her for a long moment. His face held no expression she
could read, but his eyes held more than she could interpret.
"Touché, Ms. Chase,”
he said at last. "I think I begin to see why the old bastard kept you around.”
Something must have shown in her expression, because he added quickly, "In
whatever capacity.”
She wondered why
he bothered to ameliorate it, but decided not to pursue it; her feelings were
hardly the issue here. Aaron’s final wishes were.
"No matter what
you think, Aaron did try to find you. He’d been trying for months.”
"I repeat, why?”
"I told you—”
"And I told you
that I don’t believe a word of it. If you’re going to try and convince me that
old man had some kind of late in life change of heart, you can forget it. He
didn’t even have a heart.”
With an effort,
Kendall smothered a small sigh. "So most people think.”
Jason laughed
harshly. "I noticed.” He gestured toward the milling people around the
graveside. "Every one of them is here because they have to be, probably because
that old battle-ax ordered them to come. You can see it in their eyes. There’s
not a one who really mourns him.”
Kendall had no
answer; it was true and she knew it. She stood staring at the gathered group,
knowing each of them probably felt relief, if not actual joy, that the old man
who had ruled their lives mostly by intimidation was dead.
"Except you,”
Jason added after a moment.
"Yes,” she said
softly. "I do mourn him. I knew an Aaron Hawk most people here would deny
existed.”
"I’ll bet you
did.”
Her head snapped
around. He obviously hadn’t abandoned his theory of whom and what she had been
to his father. And she’d had enough of it. More than enough.
"Do you insult
any woman in a position of some power, or am I just lucky?”
"I never insult
a woman who’s earned a position of power, because I know she probably had to
work twice as hard as any man to get there.”
"I see.
Insinuating, I presume, that I haven’t earned my position?”
"Oh, I’m sure
you have. One way or another.”
She was known at
Hawk Industries for her level head and her even disposition, both having been
necessities for dealing with the irascible Aaron Hawk. She’d thought herself
prepared for this encounter. But while she’d expected Jason to be difficult,
she hadn’t expected him to be worse than his father. And she was rapidly losing
her grip on her temper.
"I will say this
once, Mr.... West”—she drew the name out in the same
exaggerated way he had said "executive assistant”—"I worked for your father. My
duties were varied and extensive. But at no time did they ever include anything
of a sexual nature. Your father loved only one woman in his life. And that
woman was your mother.”
A chill swept
her at the look that came over his face then. Had Aaron still been alive, even
he would have shivered, Kendall thought. She had never in her life seen a man
look so grim.
"You may be
beautiful, Ms. Chase, but you are also either a fool or a liar. And I don’t
suffer either gracefully.”
He turned on his
heel then, and never looked back as he walked away.
Chapter Two
"HE’S BEEN USING
the name West as you suspected. That should help. All of the other information
is the same. And he’s here, now.”
"What?”
The startled
query from the private detective Aaron had hired echoed in Kendall’s ear. She
understood his surprise. Despite what had seemed to be a genuine effort on her
part to remain hidden, and the extreme coldness of the trail, George Alton had
managed to methodically trace Elizabeth West’s movements with her son up until
her death in a traffic accident in Seattle twenty years ago, news that had
devastated Aaron.
And he had discovered
that after her dreary, meager funeral, her sixteen-year-old son had literally
disappeared. When the county child services agency had gone to their small
apartment to pick up the boy, he’d been nowhere to be found. No one had seen
him since. He had, quite simply, vanished.
Alton had been
unable to find even a thread to follow; he’d had to resort to simply searching
out men of the right age, going on the assumption that the boy had stayed in
the Seattle area. He had found a couple of Jason Hawks, whom he’d soon
eliminated as possibilities, and far too many Jason Wests to check out easily
or quickly. No footprint, paper or digital, seemed to match. He’d kept trying,
but had honestly told Aaron success was unlikely for a long time. Time Aaron
hadn’t had.
"He’s here,”
Kendall repeated. "In Sunridge. He showed up at the funeral.”
There was a
pause. "If you know where he is, why do you need me?”
"First, I need
to know where he’s staying. And then, I want to know who he is.”
Another pause. Kendall waited; Alton, a onetime homicide investigator, was usually a
very perceptive man. She knew he had understood her request when he didn’t ask
her to explain what she’d meant.
"Where he’s
staying should be easy enough to find out, especially if it’s in Sunridge. Who
he is could take some time. I’ll get on it. Do you know how he got here? Or
where from?”
"Afraid
not. But he left the funeral in a dark gray coupe. It looked like a rental from
the sticker on the bumper, but I couldn’t see what company.”
"What
kind of coupe?”
She
thought for a moment, trying to remember. She’d watched Jason West pull off his
dark, heavy coat, revealing a black sweater over black jeans and boots, toss
the coat into the back seat, and fold his tall, lean frame into the car. She’d
been so intent on him, more than a little fascinated by the fluid grace with
which he moved, that she hadn’t really noticed the car.
"I’m
not sure,” she said at last, regretfully. "Something racy, though.”
"Not
a bottom of the rental scale compact, then.”
"No,”
she said, "definitely not.”
"Interesting.”
She
supposed it was, but she wasn’t exactly sure why at the moment. "Maybe he’s
just too big for a compact. He’s over six feet tall, I’d say.” And nicely
built, she added silently, with that kind of rangy muscularity that had always
appealed to her.
"Maybe.
Can you give me more of a description, now that you’ve seen him? It might
help.”
She
laughed. "Use any picture of Aaron from thirty years ago, pare down the nose to
a nice size and shape, and you’ve got it.”
"That
much of a resemblance?”
"Yes.
There’s no mistaking him.”
"I’ll
get to work on it. I assume now that Aaron is gone, you’ll be wanting the
report?”
There was nothing in the man’s tone except polite
inquiry, but Kendall found herself a bit touchy lately, for reasons she hadn’t
yet had time to explore. She had a feeling it was more than simple uncertainty
about her position now that Aaron was dead. She felt a jab of pain as shethought the word. Dead. That final, irrevocable, and last word. It put
an edge in her voice.
"Is
there a problem with that, Mr. Alton?”
"Not
at all,” the man said easily. "Aaron told me at the beginning that if it came
from you, it came from him. I was just checking.”
"Oh.”
Kendall felt a bit deflated, and more than a little silly for her reaction.
"Thank you. Yes, I want whatever you find out. And I need to know where he’s
staying right away. I don’t want him to leave before I have the chance to talk
to him again.”
"Again?
You’ve already talked to him?”
"Yes.
Briefly, at the funeral.”
"But
he didn’t tell you where he was staying?”
"Jason
West,” Kendall said dryly, "stopped just short of telling me to go straight to
hell.”
She heard a
chuckle, and could picture the expression she imagined was on Alton’s face.
While he had adequate computer investigative skills, he preferred a personal
touch when possible. The silver-haired, rather rotund ex-cop looked like
everybody’s ideal grandfather, a fact she suspected he used to wheedle
information out of people who instinctively trusted his benign face and jovial
personality.
"Like father,
like son, is that it?”
"Precisely,”
Kendall agreed, although she wasn’t sure if the son wasn’t worse than the
father had been.
"Usually people
cheer up at the mention of that much money.”
"We never got
that far.”
"Really? I find
that surprising. You could charm a vulture out of his feathers.”
Kendall laughed;
Alton was given to absurd flattery couched in down-home observations that
invariably made her smile. He was also very observant, and she supposed he had
sensed her tension earlier and was trying to ease it.
"Well, that
sounds like a very useful knack,” she said. "But Jason West would have to
improve his disposition a bit before I’d lump him with the vultures.”
"That bad?”
"Worse,” she
said ruefully. "You’d swear Aaron raised him, and then he went bad.”
Alton, who had
dealt with Aaron by simply ignoring his explosions of temper, letting the old
man run down before he went on as if it had never happened, laughed.
"Well, if anyone
can get through to him, you can. You had that old curmudgeon wrapped around
your little finger.”
"No one,” she
retorted, "ever had Aaron Hawk wrapped around their little finger. I just knew
him better than most people.”
And it hadn’t
been easy, she thought as she hung up the phone. The man who had been a
powerful, charismatic figure as he’d built his fortune had become a
set-in-his-ways despot as he’d aged. It had been a long, difficult trek to get
from the somewhat starry-eyed girl she’d been, thrilled to get a high-level job
right out of college at a place the size of Hawk Industries, to the
coolheaded, unflappable woman who took Aaron Hawk’s temper in stride and got
results when everyone else had given up on making the old man see reason.
The
question was, was she cool-headed and unflappable enough to deal with Aaron
Hawk’s son?
She
didn’t know. Her complex relationship with Aaron had been built over ten years;
she had only a very short time to convince Jason West to listen to her. And he
didn’t seem to be in a very receptive mood. He’d laughed, hadn’t he? At a
funeral. Out loud, and in front of the entire gathering. Not the act of a man
who was sorry or grief-stricken. But then, why would he be? He’d never known
Aaron. Had never known even the gruff, quarrelsome man the rest of the world
knew, let alone the gentler man she had known, or the man who had become
nothing less than repentant in those final months.
Jason
West had never seen the softer Aaron, the man who had given an inexperienced
girl the chance of a lifetime, the man who had taught her more than all her
years of college ever had, the man who had spent hours in the evenings telling
her incredible tales, legends of magic and the Hawks through the years, as if
the two were inextricably and forever linked. Fanciful legends of his
ancestors, and wizards and magic books, that she was half convinced the old man
truly believed.
With
a sigh, she went back to work. Her desk was cluttered with files, and papers
buried her computer keyboard. She felt as if she were swimming madly through a
sea infested with unknown threats. And one very large, very well-known shark.
Aaron had warned her she’d have to move fast, because it wouldn’t take long for
Alice to begin circling.
"She
won’t even wait until I’m cold, girl, so don’t you either,” he’d said the day
he’d begun to dictate to her the lengthy and involved list of things he wanted
her to do when the inevitable happened.
By
that time she knew he was truly dying, and hadn’t wasted any breath on efforts
to deny it. And if he suspected that at night she wept in her room, he never
let on. She knew he wouldn’t have welcomed her tears. Aaron Hawk had never had
time for such soft emotions as grief and pain—or love—in his life. Except for
once, years ago, in the affair that had resulted in his son.
She
brushed at her eyes; crying was not going to get all of this done. But she
found she missed the temperamental old man more than she would have thought
possible. Aaron might have been considered a bullheaded, intractable tyrant by
many, but he’d always been fair to her. More than fair on occasion, she
thought. There had been times when Aaron had been nothing less than kind and
generous to her, although few would believe it.
Especially
Jason West.
He
would never believe the Aaron she’d known, the Aaron who had one day called her
into his office, telling her to put on the voice mail and close the door after
her. She’d known he hadn’t been feeling well, knew he’d been seeing several
doctors in the past few months, fearing a recurrence of the cancer that had
cost him a lung two decades ago, so she’d been appalled but not shocked by his
first announcement.
"I’m
dying,” he’d said in his typical blunt manner. Then, before she could even
react, he had gone on to add the words that had startled her into not being
able to react at all. "I only have a few months. I have to find my son before
then.”
She’d
gaped at him. "Your son? You have a son?”
He’d
given her the patented Hawk glare, which had lost its power to intimidate her
the day she’d discovered the softness at the core of this ill-tempered man who
had become so much more to her than a boss.
"You
don’t know everything there is to know about me, girl, even though you think
you do. This goes at the top of that list I gave you. Nothing else matters as
much as finding that boy. Nothing.”
She
had stared at him for a long moment, her only coherent thought being that he’d
done it this way on purpose, delivered the news of his impending death quickly,
then followed it up with what he knew would be a shock that would take her mind
off of that news before she could react with any kind of unwelcome emotion.
Then
a series of things had clicked in her mind, like the last number of a
combination causing the lock’s tumblers to fall into place. All the times when
she’d come upon him sitting silently in his office long after the rest of the
staff had gone home, looking at a photograph he always hid the moment she came
in, all the times when she’d seen him searching crowds with eyes that had lost none
of their quickness with age, when she’d seen him look sharply at a blond woman
on the street, or in a restaurant, or a hotel... and what she
had finally realized was a ritual on October twenty-seventh every year.
"The
yellow roses,” she had whispered.
Aaron
had stared at her as if stunned. "I swear, girl,” he’d muttered at last,
"you’re as fey as that crazy grandmother of mine was.”
She
wished it were true, she thought now. She could use some supernatural
foresight. Or maybe a little magical help, out of one of Aaron’s Hawk family
legends. Help to get this list of Aaron’s completed. To keep Alice at bay until
she did. To figure out what she was going to do with her life now that Aaron
was gone.
But
she had a feeling she was going to need magic the most to deal with Aaron’s
son.
"HE’S
HERE.”
"Who’s here?”
Idiots, Alice Hawk
thought. She was surrounded by them. And this lawyer was no different.
"Aaron’s bastard,” she snapped.
"Oh?”
Alice’s grip
tightened on the telephone receiver. She was paying Whitewood obscene amounts
of money, and all she got was "Oh?” She reined in her fury; the man was the
best she could do on such short notice.
"You’re certain
it’s him?”
"Certain? Of
course I’m certain. It was like looking at a young Aaron all over again. The
eyes, the hair, the jaw, everything but the nose was Aaron—”
She broke off
abruptly, hating herself for the pain that had crept into her voice. She
steadied herself and went on.
"We have to move
now, quickly.”
"Move? We have
the will, and the—”
"I’m not talking
about that, you fool. I want him followed. I want to know where he goes, what
he does, why he’s here.”
"Wasn’t he here
for the funeral?” Whitewood asked, sounding puzzled.
The man was a
bigger idiot than she’d thought. "For a man he hasn’t seen in thirty years? If
you think he doesn’t have more than that in mind, you’re a fool.”
"You think he’s
after something?”
"I know he is.
Especially after he talked to that bitch of Aaron’s.”
"Kendall?”
"Yes, Kendall,”Alice spat out, sick of the effect that woman seemed to have on men even as
stupid as Whitewood.
"Do you think
she told him?”
"I don’t know.
They didn’t speak long. But I can’t take any chances. There is far too much at
stake.”
There was a
pause before the man said hesitantly, "What do you want me to do?”
"I want you to
use those contacts you’re always bragging about. Find someone to follow him. I
want to know where he is at all times, in case we have to take action.”
Another pause
before a nervous query. "Take action?”
"Yes,” she said, her tone biting. "A concept you’re no doubt unfamiliar
with.”
"Well, I—”
"Never mind
that. Just do it.”
"Why don’t you
just hire someone to—”
"I have. You.”
"I meant—”
"I know what you
meant. And I don’t care to discuss it. You’re being well paid, now earn it.”
Slamming down
the receiver did little to ease her rage. If she’d been on her cell phone she
probably would have thrown it across the room. The man was too dense to realize
she couldn’t hire someone who might be compelled to reveal her involvement
later, or be tempted to blackmail her. She couldn’t allow herself to be
connected to this in any way. She shouldn’t have lost her temper with the
bastard at the funeral, but she’d been so startled—and outraged—at his
unexpected appearance that she had, for one of the few times in her life,
reacted impulsively.
But now she was
back to her cool, far-sighted self. She would be prepared for anything, and
she would deal with this as she dealt with every roadblock. Swiftly. And if
necessary, permanently. Aaron’s bastard had made a big mistake, coming here. He
should have stayed away, stayed out of her life.
But then, he
also should never have been born. And she just might have to see that he paid
for that mistake, as well.
JASON DIDN’T
KNOW why he was hanging around. He should have gone straight back to the motel
after the funeral, packed his things, and headed right for the airport.
Instead, he’d found himself driving around the small town, up and down streets
he hadn’t seen since he was five years old. Not surprisingly, nothing looked
familiar; even if the town hadn’t changed, the perspectives of a five-year-old
and a thirty-six-year-old were very different.
And he wasn’t
scared now.
It hit him
strangely, that sudden gut-level realization. He didn’t know where it had come
from. But he knew it was true, knew that the five-year-old he’d been when he’d
left Sunridge had been frightened. Very frightened.
Why?
He sat at the
stop sign he’d halted for, turning the sudden insight over in his mind
dispassionately. He felt no particular empathy for that child, felt nothing but
a scornful disdain for his foolishness and naiveté. His vague curiosity was as
much about what had brought on the revelation as the cause of that long-ago
fear.
He lifted his
foot from the brake and let the car begin to roll forward so he could see past
the bus stop on his right. The street he was at was a small, narrow one, and he
didn’t expect much in the way of cross traffic, but—
Gray Street.
The name fairly
leapt off the street sign at him, triggering a surge of memories. Down two
blocks to Simpson, just past the brick hardware store building and the
chain-link fence that held back Monty, the German shepherd that had—
The German
shepherd that had no doubt been dead for decades, Jason thought wryly, shaking
his head to clear away the unexpected rush of remembered images. One of his
earliest memories was toddling over to that fence, fascinated by the big black
dog he’d seen romping with the owner of the building, tongue lolling joyously.
He’d been lured by the sense of fun, a rare occurrence in his young life. But
his adventure had taken a nasty turn when as he rattled the fence to get the
dog’s attention, the animal charged him, barely missing his outstretched
fingers with snapping teeth.
His mother had
explained carefully that the dog was a guard dog, and that he hadn’t understood
Jason had meant to be friendly, but it was a lesson that had stayed with him a
long time: beware of smiling creatures of any kind. He’d encountered many
friendlier dogs since then—more dogs than people—but the wariness remained. He
figured it a blessing that he’d learned so early what many learned in a much
harder way later in life, in a lesson that usually chewed them to bits.
And some, he
thought as he made the turn, never learned at all. Some went through life
trusting, giving, loving, never giving up even when it was all thrown back in
their faces.
He hadn’t meant
to do this, hadn’t meant to make this turn, hadn’t made a conscious decision to
follow this old route. But now that he had, he kept going. He kept going,
remembering the day his mother had been so furious with him because he’d
slipped away from old Mrs. Brooks, who watched him during the day, and had gone
down to meet her at the bus stop. The bus stop he’d just driven past. It had
only been three blocks from their apartment, but she’d been alarmed when she’d
seen him there. He’d been very proud of himself, until he realized that he’d
somehow badly frightened her. Or something had.
And she’d been
frightened from then on.
He wasn’t sure
how he knew that; he’d been too young to really understand, but he didn’t
doubt it. It made too much sense. It must have been her fear he’d been feeding
on; at barely five, he hadn’t known enough to be afraid of anything except
Monty. And the nights when he heard his mother crying in the dark.
The hardware
store was still there, and a dog that could be Monty’s twin, and probably was a
descendant, raced along the fence line, barking at him warningly as the gray
coupe he’d rented at the airport slowed to make the turn onto Simpson Avenue.
He suppressed an instinctive shiver that made his lip curl in self-disgust, and
kept going. He pulled to a halt in front of the small, four-unit apartment
building on the corner, and for a time just sat there, staring. The building
was obviously old, the yellowing stucco that had once been pristine white was
laced with cracks like meandering lines on a road map, and the narrow walkway
that led around the corner to the tiny back unit where they’d lived was broken
and overgrown with weeds.
It had been
shortly after the day he’d sneaked out to the bus stop that they had left
Sunridge. It had been a rushed episode, carried out in the night, when he was
too sleepy to even respond to his mother’s attempts to make a game out of it.
But even then he had sensed her fear, her desperation as she told him he had
to be very quiet, because no one must know they were leaving. And her fear had
transmitted itself to him, scaring him as only a child realizing an
all-powerful parent is frightened can be scared.
He had his hand
on the door lever, in his mind already out of the car and walking up to the
building, before he realized what he was doing and slumped back in the seat.
"Jesus, West,
you’ve really lost it,” he muttered under his breath.
Going to indulge
in a little sentimental nostalgia after thirty years? Maybe go knock on the
door and do one of those emotional little displays human interest reporters
loved?
"Hi, I used to
live here, do you mind if I look around?”
Hell, anybody
who opened their door to that line deserved what they got, which was more often
than not a burglary later on.
Shaking his head
in disgust at this unusual bout of reminiscence, he made himself look at the
dreary little building clearly. It was dreary, old and run-down. It
hadn’t been new when he’d lived here; now it was a ramshackle structure that
looked on the verge of collapse. And his mother had worked herself ragged to
pay the rent for this place.
While his father
had lived in the huge, expensive house on the hill, with the big circular
driveway, servants to cater to his every whim, a fancy car to
drive... and Alice Hawk to come home to.
Jason chuckled
in savage satisfaction. Perhaps the old man had paid after all, he thought,
remembering the furious, embittered woman who had confronted him at the
cemetery. She was a forceful old broad, he admitted. She had to be—what—seventy
something? Aaron had been sixty-eight, the newspaper had said, and he knew she
was older. But she was as arrogant as her husband had been. More, even, judging
from the imperious way she had ordered him thrown out. He hoped the old bitch
had made Aaron Hawk miserable every day of his life.
And he wished he
hadn’t left his own little piece of retribution until it was too late.