by Riley Banks
It wasn’t too late to change his mind, to tell the boy it had all been a mistake. His grandson might question the packed suitcase and the sudden change of plans but he was an eccentric old man. Nobody questioned his desires.
Things have already gone too far…
Knowing Wilson would attack his granddaughter had been the hardest thing William had ever lived through. Knowing he could have stopped it if she’d just answered her damned phone…
It was torture no grandparent should endure.
He had turned a blind eye to the other deaths but he could no longer sit idle while Bill destroyed the family from within. It was time to act.
Anita was alive. Just. The knife had slid close to her heart but stopped just short of piercing it.
As a founding member of his family, he knew he should condemn Damon’s actions. What was he thinking spiriting his sister away? Did he want to be next?
Regardless of how much he knew he should side with Bill and BJ, William found himself cheering Damon on, hoping the boy was successful.
Sure, there would be ramifications. Bill’s plane would land any minute. When he found out, he’d go postal, lashing out at whomever was closest.
All right old man. Piss or get off the pot. Are you going through with this or not?
‘Granddad?’ Carl entered the dining room. ‘What’s wrong?’
Carl’s eyes travelled to the suitcase at William’s feet. ‘Are you going somewhere Granddad?’
Time to make a decision.
William’s throat constricted and his head almost tilted into a full nod but he stopped mid-downward motion. He had the answer. Downstairs. He could change all this in a heartbeat. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
You damned fool. Haven’t you caused enough problems with that infernal contraption? Haven’t you ruined enough lives? You can’t go back – ever again. There is only forward.
‘Yes Carl. I am going somewhere and I need your help.’
‘Really? You want my help?’ Carl’s eyes were hungry but he didn’t quite believe the claim, wondering if the carrot his grandfather handed him might be poisoned.
You created that. You created half the problems in this family. Now it’s time to fix them. Time to right the wrongs.
‘Where are we going?’ Carl asked, a grin breaking out across his face.
‘Australia.’
It took longer than Campagni expected. The bitch had made him wait most of the day, wasting nearly $50 in parking fees. But he knew she’d eventually run. Scare anyone enough and they all ran.
Getting her in the car was easy. Most people tend to do exactly as they are asked when looking down the barrel of a gun. Getting her behind the wheel took a bit more convincing but he needed his eyes and gun trained on her, not the road.
A couple of times it looked as if she might do something foolish, like crash the car or pull into a police station.
He was able to convince her it was the last thing she’d ever do.
‘I just want information. If you give me what I need, I’ll let you go.’
She’d believed him too. People needed some hope to cling to.
It was a forty-minute drive to the Jug Bay Wetlands Sanctuary and another five into the heart of the wetlands, to a secluded spot where they wouldn’t be disturbed.
Didn’t take her long to start singing like a fucking canary, though the information she’d blurted was nothing Campagni wanted to hear.
They’d spent years trying to retrieve the evidence Baker had stolen and this bitch had ruined all that in two minutes, photocopying the fucking documents and handing them back to Baker.
Despite his profession, Campagni did not consider himself a violent man. He took no pleasure in ending people’s lives. It was a job, pure and simple. He did only what he was asked.
Not this time.
He enjoyed every painful second it took her to die, eschewing the gun in favour of his knife.
It was a messy affair but he didn’t intend to stay in the US long enough for forensics to link him to the crime. It would be weeks before her body floated to the surface of the Patuxent River. By then, Campagni would be long gone.
Having changed into clean clothes, dumping his soiled suit in the river with the secretary, Campagni headed back to the Washington Executive Airport.
He took out his phone, not relishing the call he had to make.
‘Stupid fucking moron. Does he have any idea the trouble he has created?’
BJ held the phone away from his face as if a scorpion might crawl down the line. He wasn’t entirely sure which moron his father was talking about. There seemed to be a plethora of them at the moment.
First, his grandfather had disappeared. To where, God only knew.
Next there was the whole Baker/Robertson/paperwork fiasco. So much for having that mess all cleaned up. It was a bigger disaster than before because now Baker had the papers. He was on his way back to Australia with them.
Then there was Damon.
‘How could you let him get away with this? I sent you there to clean up the mess. Are you fucking incompetent too?’
Ah, the latter moron. Of course.
BJ should have guessed. Bill was going bat shit crazy, acting as if BJ were the one who’d signed the fucking transfer papers.
How the fuck did it become my problem?
He longed to remind Bill of his own fuckups. Grandpa and Baker weren’t BJ’s responsibility.
But truth be told, BJ was partially to blame for the Damon mess.
He should have accompanied his brother to the hospital. He should never have let the little dweeb out of his sight until he was safely on a plane back to England.
Fucking Damon. He just couldn’t help himself. His saviour complex was too deeply ingrained.
I swear to God, when I get my hands on that little shit, he’ll wish to God he’d never been born.
BJ knew he was angry with the wrong people. He shouldn’t be striking out at Damon and his sister for finding out the truth but at his father.
But BJ was well practised at ignoring his conscience, at hushing that small voice inside that told him the right thing to do. Emotions were for weaklings not for the strong.
‘If they’re in Europe, we’ll find them,’ BJ said, trying to reassure his father that he had this under control – even though control was the last thing BJ had. ‘I’ve got people scouring every hospital on the continent. I’ve cut off his company cards. He can’t get far on his own.’
‘Your brother is smarter than you give him credit for.’
‘He’s not that smart. He’s predictable. Eventually he’ll fuck up and we’ll be there waiting.’
Besides, Damon may have secreted Anita out from under his nose but in doing so, he’d left Charlotte Burke behind.
BJ intended to use her to full advantage to wreak revenge.
‘You better find them, son because if Anita wakes up and tells anyone what she knows…’
Bill didn’t need to finish his sentence. BJ knew perfectly well what was at stake.
Charlotte lay on the hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling, wishing she could get to sleep but for some reason, it continued to evade her. Maybe if she weren’t dreaming up her own brand of revenge – revenge against her father for everything he had stolen. Her mother, her childhood, her innocence, and now her best friend – sleep might come.
Knuckles rapped sharply on the door, startling her out of her vitriolic planning.
‘Charlotte, are you in there?’ The voice was muffled by the thick wood.
She glared at the door, annoyed at the intrusion into her black fantasy.
‘I need to speak to you…’ the voice continued but this time she recognised who it was.
He came back.
She swung her legs off the bed and rushed to the door, throwing herself into his arms.
‘Damon,’ she said, her arms around his neck and her lips on his and for just a second, it was true. Nothing mattered. Not her sil
ly pride that had driven him away or the real world that had intruded with such devastating suddenness. The only thing that mattered was that he was there.
He answered her kiss with a hunger that almost frightened her, his hands possessive on her back, crushing her against his chest.
It would have been easy to get lost in the moment but something wasn’t right.
Charlotte had no idea what gave him away. They were such carbon copies of each other, it would have taken a mother to tell them apart but there was something in the way he held her, in the way he answered her kiss, which screamed imposter.
She pulled away; her open hand that had seconds ago been scrunched in his dark hair ricocheted back, connecting with his cheek with a resounding crack.
He rubbed his cheek, which now bore her handprint, his blue eyes swirling with a thousand different emotions – and none of them good.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to slap you but you startled me,’ Charlotte said. ‘I thought you were Damon.’
‘Startled you? Look, I’m very happy to meet you and all but I usually like to know a girl’s name before I start kissing her. Not that I’m complaining. If that’s the kind of welcome my little brother has been getting then I’ll gladly go on being mistaken for him.’
He had an easy laugh, refreshing and carefree, like air-conditioning on a warm summer’s day.
He held out his hand. ‘I’m William Harvey but you can call me BJ.’
Charlotte stared at his hand, unable to bring herself to take it in hers, as if any more skin on skin contact with Damon’s mirror image would be tantamount to betrayal. ‘I’m Charlotte Burke,’ she said, keeping her arms folded and her body language defensive.
It was their first official meeting but Charlotte wasn’t about to roll out the red carpet.
BJ smiled but there was something smug and self-satisfied in his grin that made Charlotte’s stomach shrivel up. He lacked the warmth and tenderness of his twin.
‘Did you just come by to introduce yourself?’ She matched his cool exterior with frosty aloofness.
‘I just wanted to give you a heads up. We’re leaving Venice first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘We are? Why?’
It didn’t make sense. They were scheduled to stay in Venice another two days. What about his sister? What about Damon? What if he returned?
‘There is too much pain here,’ BJ said, his face such a picture of concern – and so like Damon’s - that Charlotte had to restrain herself from reaching out for him. ‘I think it best all around if we leave the death canals of Venice behind, don’t you?’
‘You’re right, of course.’
When it became obvious that he didn’t have anything else to say, the sadness fled his face like rats fleeing a sinking ship and his eyes gleamed with mischief. ‘I don’t suppose you say goodbye the same way you say hello?’ He raised a suggestive eyebrow.
Charlotte sucked in her breath, unsure whether to be angry or amused but at the last second, before she had to choose either path, BJ laughed.
‘I get it. I’m not Damon,’ he said, though his eyes told her that at that precise moment, he wished he were. ‘I’ll see you first thing tomorrow on the plane. I’ll save you a seat.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven:
‘Where the fuck is my daughter?’
‘Your daughter? You mean you’re acknowledging you have other children?’ Damon’s laugh was bitter, full of years of rejection.
‘Don’t sass me son. I want to know where you have taken her.’
Damon recognised the tone, and should have taken it as a warning that his father meant business. But right now, Damon was beyond caring what anyone thought.
Until he knew for sure why Anita had been targeted, he would protect her from everyone – even her own family.
Especially the family.
‘Like I told BJ, she’s safe. That’s all you need to know right now.’
His father swore. ‘You think I am footing the bill for you to play action hero? For you to risk your sister’s life…’
‘Risk her life? Someone tried to kill her. And until I know why…’
Both men had trouble finishing their thoughts.
‘Where is Jacobs?’
‘Jacobs? How the fuck do I know? The last I knew, he was with you.’
‘He disappeared right after getting Zac Wilson out of a French jail. Strange behaviour from your most trusted employee, don’t you think? Sound suspicious to you?’
‘Suspicious? This isn’t some movie plot. There isn’t some grand conspiracy going on and you are no one’s knight in shining armour… boy…’
Bill had a way of cutting Damon down, making him feel like a small, inconsequential child rather than a grown man running part of a multi-billion dollar empire.
‘Don’t call me boy,’ Damon said, trying not to come off petulant.
He ran over the facts, as he knew them, in his mind. Wilson had attacked Charlotte. Okay, it could have been motivated by lust or rejection or just because he was a psycho. There was nothing ultimately sinister in that. But then Jacobs had got him out of jail, and he’d somehow ended up in Venice, where he’d killed Miranda and tried to kill Anita. Why? Lust again? They were both good-looking girls, sure. But why travel all the way to Venice for something he could have got back in France, or even the UK? Why didn’t he run home after his narrow escape from a French prison sentence?
‘Why did you kick me off the press junket? Why send BJ in my place?’
‘You were given a job - accompany Evans’ body back to her family. You couldn’t even do that right.’
‘I thought it was more important I stay with your daughter. Make sure she didn’t die. Nothing I did could bring Miranda back…’
‘Haven’t you stuffed things up enough? You went behind my back and got Anita involved. She should never have been there. It’s your fault she almost died. For someone that heads up our PR department, you have caused one heck of a PR disaster. I needed you out of there before you ruined our reputation completely.’
‘You’re blaming me for that?’ Damon was hurt by the accusation, but mostly because he already felt guilty.
‘Why not?’ His father’s voice was an open sneer of derision. ‘Where were you while your sister was being attacked? Oh, that’s right. Fucking one of the journalists.’
Warning bells screamed in Damon’s head. He was tempted to deny the accusation outright but why bother? It was obvious his father already knew.
‘So you’ve been spying on me?’
‘I always look out for my investments. Now I’m only going to ask you this once more. Where the fuck is your sister?’
‘I’m sorry… no… I won’t tell you. She’s safe at the moment. That’s all you need to know.’
Damon had planned to ask why his grandfather had called Anita but perhaps it was better to play his cards close to his chest.
‘I want your fucking resignation on my desk.’
‘You’re sacking me? For protecting my sister?’
‘Yes,’ Bill said without emotion. ‘I have also cut off your expense account. I will not foot the bill for you to defy me. You want to go out on your own, then do it on your own money.’
Dial tone rang in Damon’s ear. His father was gone.
Damon’s heart thudded like a tribal dance. It wasn’t the money. Damon had never cared about being wealthy. It was the realisation that his own father had just treated him with the same cold, callous efficiency he would treat a common employee.
It didn’t take long for the pain of rejection to be replaced with a steely resolve.
If he thinks I’ll back off, he’s damn crazy. I’m more determined than ever to find out what the hell is going on.
When BJ said they were moving on from Venice, Charlotte assumed he meant they were leaving Italy behind.
As the plane touched down at the Genoa Airport, Charlotte thought she’d been kicked in the throat by a rampaging mule.
She was back
in Portofino and with her arrival came a pain she had never experienced before. It was intense and deep, aching inside her chest before radiating out through her limbs and fingers until she was sure she was like one of those kitsch 1980’s static balls.
Was it really just yesterday that she had woken in Damon’s arms on the harbour? How could so much change in such a short amount of time?
It wasn’t enough just to miss Damon, to feel his absence like a canker on her heart. She had to be subjected to the cruellest twist of all – a constant visual reminder of him in his twin.
Every time Charlotte turned around, there was BJ. It was as if the Fates were somehow punishing her for sending Damon away by replacing him with an inferior copy.
To add to her cruel and unusual punishment, BJ was determined to keep her on a short leash. She couldn’t get three steps away without being tugged back, almost as if he were afraid to let her out of his sight.
It had started on the plane with his insisting she join him upstairs in his private quarters. And Charlotte got the feeling BJ Harvey was a man unaccustomed to the word no.
Still, she wasn’t about to capitulate just because he was used to getting his own way, joining the rest of the journalists in the main body of the plane.
Of course that just meant BJ had sat downstairs too, though he looked none too happy about it.
In Portofino, just like Venice, BJ insisted Charlotte be accommodated in the room right alongside his. It was supposed to be for her protection, to ensure Wilson had no access to her even if he did happen to find them.
And she got it – she might not like it, but she got it.
The problem was not being in the room next to BJ; it was being in a room with an adjoining door and the lock on his side.
She had every intention of moving the dresser in front of the door in case BJ got any funny ideas about coming into her room in the middle of the night, but she thought she’d at least have time to have a shower first.
When she emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her body and head, she realised she had again been caught out by her assumptions.