by C. B. Clark
Swallowing over the rising lump in her throat, Athena groped in her purse and tugged out her wallet. Slipping her driver’s license from the leather slot, she handed the identification card to the other woman.
The lawyer studied the license. “Your legal name is now Athena Reynolds?”
Athena nodded.
“But your birth name was Margaret Anne O’Flynn?”
Again, Athena nodded, like a bobble-head doll. Admitting the truth went against everything she’d believed all these years, but what was the point of hiding her identity? The lawyer knew who she was.
“What year were you born?”
The questions, requesting minor and unthreatening details, flowed one after the other, and Athena relaxed. Maybe the meeting wouldn’t be so awful, but she still hadn’t learned why the lawyer had sent her the letter.
“How long did you live on Shelter Island?”
Athena jerked alert. “How…?” She coughed and tried again. “How did you—” Of course. The lawyer had searched the news databases and found the old stories. She knew everything.
Jennifer Smythe met her startled look with a knowing one of her own. “That’s one of the reasons I asked you to come here today.”
The walls of the large office closed in around Athena. She struggled to swallow, her throat rough as if filled with sand. Man, she needed a drink. Real bad. Really, really bad. “This…this was a mistake.” She shot to her feet.
Jennifer stood. “Margaret…Athena, wait, please. Give me a chance to explain.”
Athena blocked out the woman’s pleas. There had to be a bar close by, somewhere dark and quiet where no one knew who she was, and she could lose herself in the bottom of a bottle. She lunged across the room, flung open the door, and walked into a wall of solid male flesh.
“Athena, or should I call you Margaret?” Russ’s voice rumbled in the smooth, velvety tones he’d used earlier, but underlying anger sharpened the words, so they cut like a knife. “Where are you going?” Gone was his bone-melting engaging grin, replaced by a cold sneer. “Are you taking your loot and running, Maggie?”
She was speechless at his unfounded animosity. Her gaze locked with his, and she shivered at the iciness in their hazel depths.
“Mr. Crawford. I wasn’t aware you’d arrived,” sputtered an obviously flustered Jennifer Smythe. “I was just confirming a few details with Ms. Reynolds.”
“Crawford? Your last name’s Crawford?” Athena reeled. The lawyer’s next words receded in a drone of meaningless sounds. Her breath rasped through a throat that threatened to close. The blood drained from her head, and the room spun in circles. Her legs wobbled, and she sagged.
Russ cursed and gripped her by the arms, holding her steady as he guided her across the room to a chair.
Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the padded chair, her mind whirling. The lawyer had called Russ Mr. Crawford. Was he connected to Angus Crawford? Of course, he was. One thing she’d learned over the years—there was no such thing as a coincidence. She gripped the sides of the chair and held on, fighting to breathe, two thoughts paramount—this meeting was a big mistake. She should have ignored that damn letter.
Her second thought—Oh man, she needed a drink.
Chapter 8
Russ studied the pale, trembling woman. His instinct was to offer her a cold glass of water, a handkerchief, his shoulder to cry on, anything to ease her distress. But then he remembered who she was, and instead of comforting her, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets and fought the urge to strangle her. He faced the hovering lawyer. “She’s Margaret O’Flynn? You’re sure of that? She’s the woman we’ve been looking for?”
Jennifer nodded.
He scrubbed his hand over his whiskered chin. What were the odds? The most attractive woman he’d met in years was the one person he’d vowed to despise. Fate must be having hysterics.
When he first laid eyes on the owner of the big, shaggy, gray-haired dog that had run in front of his bike and caused his crash, he’d been instantly attracted. She was one good-looking woman. No question. Under the afternoon sun, streaks of gold shone in her short auburn hair. Add her luminous blue eyes framed by long dark eyelashes and a full, soft pink mouth unadorned by lipstick, and you had his full attention.
Her skin-tight black leggings did more to reveal than cover the long lines of her shapely legs. Her ample breasts swayed under her baggy T-shirt with its logo of the local Calgary hockey team printed on the front.
Aching to sweep her in his arms and run his fingers through those fiery curls, he’d fantasized about kissing her lips and finding out just how sweet they tasted. Instead, he’d stood, shuffling from one foot to the other, gaping like a gawky, acne-faced teenager meeting the queen of the high school prom. He swore he’d drooled.
To hide his embarrassment, he’d torn his hungry gaze from her and focused on her dog. He liked dogs. Good thing, because the damn beast slobbered, drizzling gobs of drool over him, and shed clouds of coarse gray hairs that floated in the air and stuck to his cycling shorts.
He’d intended to get her phone number and ask her out for dinner and drinks. He was in town on business and only had the one night free, but he had to see her again, had to explore the sparks shooting between them. But then his phone rang, and when he saw Jennifer Smythe was calling, reality intruded, and he forgot the drop-dead gorgeous redhead and focused on his lawyer.
When he hung up a few minutes later, both the red-haired beauty and her dog were gone. He’d hefted his damaged bike over his shoulder and limped after her. His hip throbbed from where he smashed into the hard ground, and the best he managed was a slow hobble. By the time he rounded the bend in the trail, she’d vanished. He hadn’t thought he’d see her again, except in his dreams.
Until today.
When he heard the light footsteps approaching down the hall outside the offices of Smythe & Sons, he’d turned. And that’s when Fate laughed. The woman of his dreams was approaching. He studied the trembling woman in the chair and grimaced. Woman of his dreams? His lip curled in a sneer. More likely, the woman of his nightmares.
“I think it would be better if you left us alone.”
Jennifer Smythe’s soft voice broke through his whirling thoughts. “What?”
“Ms. Reynolds—”
He cut her off. “Ms. O’Flynn, you mean.” The name left a foul taste in his mouth.
“Her legal name is Athena Reynolds, has been for years.” Jennifer’s brown eyes filled with sympathy. “She’s distraught. I’m sure you can imagine how difficult this is. Let me explain to her what’s at stake. I’ll call you when I’m finished.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to snap that Athena Reynolds wasn’t the only one who found the situation challenging, but he bit back the words. Anger wouldn’t get him what he wanted. His scrutiny strayed to the woman huddled in the chair, and an unwelcome spurt of pity softened the ragged edges of his fury.
As soon as the receptionist called her by name, and he realized who she was, every cell in his body alerted. She was the bitch who’d stolen his inheritance. He scowled, directing the full force of his disappointment and outrage on her.
As if she sensed his glower, she struggled to sit up straight. Her hand shook as she smoothed a shiny lock of auburn hair off her forehead. “Your…your last name is…is Crawford?”
Soft lips. Soft, kissable pink lips. In spite of everything, he still wanted to kiss her. What the hell was wrong with him? “Russell Crawford.” He stepped closer. “And you’re Margaret O’Flynn.” The full scope of the irony settled in. “You’re that girl, aren’t you? You’re the girl from Shelter Island.”
Her slight body seemed to fold in on itself, and she crossed her arms over her chest and shivered as if she were chilled. “How…how do you know who I am?”
Before he could answer, Jennifer cut in. “Mr. Crawford is my client. He hired me to find you.” Her words hung in the room like specters.
“You…you we
re looking for me?” Athena’s voice was a thin whisper. “Why?”
“You didn’t make it easy. We were searching for Margaret O’Flynn. We didn’t know you’d changed your name,” Jennifer said. “Seems no one else did either.”
His lip curled. “I should have known you were a phony. Who has a name like Athena?” She visibly flinched under the onslaught of his harsh words, and for a brief second, he regretted his outburst. But he was too worked up, and the angry words kept spilling. “What was wrong with Margaret? Too plain for you? Too pedestrian?” He pushed out a breath. “I’m surprised you didn’t choose a name like Bambi or Tootsie. Those names would suit a gold digger like you better than Athena.”
Her eyes widened, and twin red patches flared on her pale cheeks. “Who the hell are you? Why are you here?” She swung to the lawyer. “Why is he here?”
Jennifer patted Athena’s shoulder and clucked her tongue. “I told you. He’s my client. If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll explain everything.” She faced Russ, sparks flashing in her eyes. “Give us some privacy, please.”
He scowled. Fine, treat him like a schoolboy being sent out of the classroom for shooting spitballs at the cute girl. “Okay. I’ll leave—” He glared at Athena… Margaret…whatever the hell she called herself. “—but we’re not done here.” He nodded at Jennifer. “I’ll be expecting your call.”
Relief washed over her round face. “Thank you. I know how to reach you.”
He marched across the room and out the open door into the outer office. Anger propelled him through the reception area and into the hallway. His boots pounded on the carpet as he stormed toward the elevator.
He was still seething when he burst out of the building onto the sunny street. Fishing in his pocket, he tugged out his sunglasses and slipped them on. He glanced up at the gleaming high-rise. What the hell had just happened? Who was that furious, bitter man who’d made such a damn fool of himself? He was usually even-tempered, and rarely angered, but Athena Reynolds, with her fresh-faced beauty, punched his buttons. Big time.
He scrubbed his fingers through his hair. Who could blame him for being furious? She’d used her feminine wiles and stolen his birthright. Damn her and damn Angus Crawford. Shouldering his way through the people crowding the sidewalk, he marched down the street to the parking garage.
Chapter 9
The lawyer’s office felt like an airless vacuum after Russell Crawford stormed out. His anger had crackled like lightning, filling the air with the scent of ozone. Athena rubbed her damp palms on her skirt and fixed her gaze on Jennifer Smythe. “Okay, he’s gone. Now tell me why I’m here and why that man hates me.”
The lawyer strode to a teak table set against the far wall and hefted a metal carafe and poured water into a glass. She removed the lid on an insulated container and used a pair of metal tongs to lift out a couple of ice cubes and plunked them into the water. She handed the glass to Athena. “You look like you could use a drink.”
Athena agreed. She definitely could do with a drink. Just not the water the lawyer was offering. “Thank you.” Condensation filmed the cold glass, and the ice cubes clinked when she raised the glass to her lips and sipped, fueling her desperate need for a highball. The water soothed her parched throat, but not the ravenous beast lurking inside. She drained the glass and set it on the desk. “I really do have to get going. I left my dog in the kennel, and he won’t be happy if I’m not back tonight.”
Jennifer exhaled a deep breath. “How well do you know the Crawfords?”
“The Crawfords?” A bitter laugh escaped Athena’s mouth. “I only know one Crawford—Angus Crawford—and believe me, that’s enough for a lifetime.”
Jennifer eyed her, and Athena had the uneasy certainty the lawyer was trying to peer into the depths of her soul. She wouldn’t want the woman to cross-examine her on the witness stand. Not if she was guilty of a crime. She’d spill everything she’d ever done wrong.
Jennifer marched around her desk and sank onto her chair. She studied Athena for another long moment. “As I said, Russell Crawford is my client.”
“I…I don’t understand. His last name is really Crawford? Is he related to Angus Crawford?” As soon as the question formed, she knew the answer. Of course, he was related to Angus. It was too much of a coincidence that a man named Crawford just happened to be visiting the same lawyer at the exact time as she was. And what about their accidental meeting in the park in Calgary? Was that staged? Was he the person who’d been following her these past months, whose eyes she felt on her back? She shivered. “I didn’t know Angus Crawford had any children.”
“Angus Crawford adopted him when Russell was fourteen.” Jennifer’s voice was calm and soothing as if she feared further upsetting Athena.
Athena’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “He’s Angus’s son?” The handsome hunk was Angus Crawford’s adopted son. “Really?” But that unfortunate filial relationship didn’t explain Russ’s animosity. There had to be more to the story.
“He was.” The lawyer nodded, her glossy brown curls bouncing with each bob of her head.
Wait a minute. Was? The lawyer said Russell Crawford was Angus Crawford’s son. “What are you saying? Is…is Angus Crawford dead?”
“He passed away six months ago.”
“He’s really dead?” Could it be true? The man she blamed for murdering her parents, the boogeyman of her nightmares, was dead? Shock struck first, followed by a tidal wave of relief. Hallelujah! No longer did she have to fear she’d run into him on the street, or that he’d show up at her door. Angus Crawford was dead. There was a just God.
“I’m afraid he is. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Athena snorted. “My loss?” She snickered, a brittle crack of sound. “I suppose it’s too much to hope he died a slow, painful death.”
“Mr. Crawford suffered a massive heart attack. I believe it was quick.” Jennifer frowned and clasped her hands on her desk. “Would you like me to continue?”
Athena nodded, but for the life of her she couldn’t imagine what the lawyer wanted with her. If the meeting was to tell her of Angus’s demise, then the trip was worth it. But there was something in Jennifer’s steady gaze that set her on edge with the certainty more shocking news was on the way. She clasped her hands on her lap and squeezed until her fingers ached. “Go ahead.”
“As you can imagine, an estate the size of Angus Crawford’s takes time to settle, especially in a case where there’s…er…the potential for contention. There are also numerous legal procedures—”
Athena held up her hand. Corporate law was her specialty, but she knew enough about Estate law to know she wasn’t going to like where this meeting was heading. “I’ve heard enough.” She stood and gathered her purse. “I appreciate you contacting me to let me know of Angus Crawford’s demise, but you could have phoned and saved me the trip.”
“Wait. Please. I’m afraid I haven’t been clear.” Jennifer tugged on her earlobe. “Angus Crawford named you as a beneficiary in his last will and testament. He bequeathed you the majority of his estate.”
Athena froze. “He left me his estate. His entire estate?”
“For the most part, yes.” Jennifer cleared her throat. “Aside from a sizable bequest to his son, and a few relatively minor endowments to his long-time employees, and various charitable organizations, he left you everything.”
Athena pressed her fingers to her temples and rubbed. Had she fallen into an alternate universe? None of what Jennifer Smythe said made sense. Why would Angus Crawford leave her anything? She hardly knew him. All these years she’d both feared and hated him, blamed him for her parents’ disappearance. And now this?
“It’s a substantial amount.”
“How…how much?” The question slipped out. She didn’t want to know, didn’t want anything of Angus Crawford’s.
The lawyer’s eyes flickered as she named a vast sum of money.
Athena rocked back on her heels. �
��That much. Wow.” She didn’t know what else to say. Her head ached as she struggled to make sense of Jennifer Smythe’s shocking revelation, but she couldn’t wrap her brain around Angus Crawford, her sworn enemy, leaving her his fortune. She swallowed, her mouth arid dry. To hell with sobriety. If she’d ever needed a drink, she needed one now. The second she walked out of there she was hitting a bar.
“There’s more.” Jennifer tapped the papers on the desk in front of her. “He also left you his shares in his privately held company, Crawford Industries.” She smiled. “Congratulations, Ms. Reynolds, you are now a very wealthy woman. Angus Crawford must have cared for you a great deal.”
Nausea roiled in Athena’s gut, and beads of perspiration popped out on her brow. She ignored her discomfort and zeroed her scrutiny in on the other woman. “That doesn’t make sense. I didn’t know him, not really. Why would he leave me so much?”
Jennifer shrugged, the movement sending her curls dancing about her plump face. “I’m not privy to that information. I wasn’t the attorney who drew up the will. That’s why I wasn’t aware of your name change or your current home address. If Angus Crawford knew your current name, he chose to keep that fact a secret, or he was unaware of the change.” A sympathetic look crossed her face. “The person to ask would be the executor of the estate.”
“Executor?”
The woman nodded, and the coil of tight curls danced. “You met him today.”
Athena stiffened. “Russ—I mean, that man who was in here—he’s the executor of Angus Crawford’s estate?”
Jennifer nodded, initiating another wave of bouncing curls. “Russell Crawford hired my firm’s services to locate the main beneficiary of his father’s estate—” She paused and stared pointedly at Athena. “—you.”