Twisted Lies

by C. B. Clark

  He backed away from her all-too-tempting presence and sank onto the couch, keeping a safe distance so he didn’t do something idiotic. Setting his mug on the side table before he spilled the hot drink all over his lap, he focused on slowing his racing heart. What was it about her that made him act like a geeky adolescent?

  Shaking his head in disgust, he asked the question guaranteed to cool his ardor, “What are your plans?” With those four words, he forgot her soft lips and focused on his anger at Angus’s betrayal.

  “My plans?”

  “You’re a wealthy woman now. What are you going to do with your inheritance?”

  She pursed her soft lips and blew on her steaming drink.

  His heart skipped a beat. Okay, so he was still entranced. The thought of the millions of dollars and the company he’d lost hadn’t cooled his passion. Maybe a cold shower would do the trick, or a swim in the bay. The frigid waters of the North Pacific Ocean would shake some sense into him. Either that or kill him.

  “I’ve already told you. I didn’t want anything to do with Angus Crawford’s money. That’s why I followed you to the marina. I was planning to turn everything over to you.”

  “And now?” He held his breath.

  “I don’t know. I mean, I still don’t want anything from that man, but I’d like to find out why he left me his fortune; why he left me anything at all. I was the daughter of his tenants. I didn’t even know him. Not really.” Her eyes narrowed, and her penetrating gaze pinned him to the couch. “Do you know why he made his will the way he did?”

  “No idea.” He struggled to keep the hurt out of his voice. “He led me to believe I’d inherit his money and his business. After my parents died, he took me in. After a year, he offered to make our relationship official and adopted me. I was the closest thing he had to a relative.”

  “No wonder you’re upset.” She sat forward, and her breasts swayed under the thin cotton of her blue shirt. “Angus betrayed you.”

  The realization she wasn’t wearing a bra smacked him like a blow to the solar plexus. Anger fought with desire. The last thing he wanted was her pity. “It was his money. He could do what he wanted with his assets. I’ll get over it.” He swallowed back the bitter taste of the lie.

  “He left you Shelter Island.”

  “Yeah. Shelter Island, this cottage, and some shares in the company. Lucky me.” He shot to his feet and stomped across the room to the window and stared out at the raging storm.

  Dark, low-hanging clouds scudded across the sky. The wind howled like a wild beast as the gale blasted the trees. Branches swayed, creaking and snapping. The lawn was littered with fallen limbs and leaves. The waves pounded the shore with a resounding roar.

  “He was wrong.” Her soft voice reached him over the storm’s fury. “You were his son. He should have left you the bulk of his estate. He shouldn’t have left me anything.”

  He turned from the window. “We’ll never know what was going through his mind when he made out his will.” Suddenly, he was exhausted. The emotional turmoil of the past days overwhelmed him, and it was all he could do to stumble to the couch and sag onto the cushions. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

  “Jennifer Smythe told me you’re contesting the will.”

  Her voice, all velvet and cream, broke through his exhaustion. He opened his eyes and pinned her with a sharp look. “She told you that?”

  “I won’t fight you. The estate’s yours. All of it.”

  “You made that offer before.” He tightened his jaw. “Are you telling me you were serious?”

  She nodded.

  He studied her. Suspicion and confusion edged into his lust. Was she for real? He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. What could he say when she was offering him everything he wanted, everything he’d dreamed of? He rubbed his eyes. Don’t be a fool. She was up to something. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what that was, but no question—he couldn’t trust her.

  The storm raged, but the house was warm and cozy. The only sounds in the large room were the cheerful crackling of the fire and the creaking of the house as the gale force wind buffeted the sturdy walls.

  “What will you do with the island?” Her soft voice punctured the tension.

  He exhaled. “Sell it, I guess.”

  “What if I were to offer you a deal?”

  “What sort of deal?” He sat up, all tiredness forgotten.

  She sipped hot chocolate. “I’ll give you my share of Angus Crawford’s estate, everything free and clear.” The pink tip of her tongue slipped out, and she licked the chocolate from her lips.

  He struggled to focus on what she was saying instead of getting lost in thoughts of kissing the chocolate off her mouth. “What do you want in return? How much money?”

  “Don’t you get it?” She plunked down her cup with a clatter and jumped to her feet. “I don’t want anything to do with Angus Crawford’s money. His estate is yours. All of it. Every damn penny.”

  Now she had his full attention. “Why would you do that?” Yes. Why would she give up a thriving business and a fortune worth millions? A thousand conflicting thoughts raged through him. He’d spent his life training so one day he could take over Angus’s business. Hell, he’d even gotten that MBA just to make his adoptive father happy. He’d worked hard to help Angus build the company to the success it was today.

  At Angus’s suggestion, he’d agreed to change his name so the company would remain in the hands of a Crawford after Angus passed. Was it any wonder Russ was shocked when the will was read, and he learned everything he’d worked for had been left to a stranger? Now that stranger was offering him a reprieve. He sat forward. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “You bet I am. That’s why I followed you to the marina. I needed to talk to you face-to-face, so you’d know I was serious.” She clasped her hands. “What do you think? Will you accept my offer?”

  “I’d be a fool not to.” Hope flared, but he tamped down his eagerness. Angus had cautioned him that when something sounded too good to be true, it was too good to be true. “You do realize what you’d be giving up?”

  “I do. Jennifer Smythe explained the full extent of the inheritance.”

  Maybe she was serious. Maybe she felt guilty for inheriting so much wealth from someone she purported to hate. Yeah, and maybe pigs could fly. He didn’t know what her game was, but she was playing him. No one—absolutely no one—gave up a fortune. Two could play her game. He plastered a shit-eating grin on his face. “Then what else can I say? I accept. Thank you.”

  “There is one condition.”

  And there it was. He’d known the deal was too good to be true. There had to be a catch. “What’s that?”

  A furrow formed between her brows. “I’ll sign over my share of Angus Crawford’s estate if you’ll help me find out what happened to my parents.”

  He blinked. He’d expected her to demand any number of conditions—his first-born child, the skin off his back, his left nut—but not this. “Why do you think I can help? I’m not a detective.”

  “You have access to Angus’s house, his office, his personal papers, this island. You can search places I can’t. You knew him better than anyone.”

  He studied her, trying to see through her guileless gaze to her real reason for offering such a one-sided arrangement. “What if I can’t find what you’re looking for? Will that void the deal?”

  “The police didn’t find answers, nor did the private investigator my aunt hired.” Tears welled in her eyes. “No one found out anything; yet my parents vanished without a trace.” She wiped the back of her hand over her eyes. “Someone kidnapped my mother and father, or murdered them, I don’t know, but something bad happened. I want to—” She licked her bottom lip. “—I have to find out what happened.”

  “I’m not a trained investigator. Why do you think I’d have any better luck solving the mystery of their disappearance?” He
shook his head. “It’s been twenty-three years. Any evidence would have long since been destroyed.” He hated to dash her hopes, but what she was asking was impossible. Whatever occurred on the island that long-ago day would forever remain a mystery. He couldn’t accept her offer and not uphold his end of the bargain.

  He wanted to. Damn straight he did. But he wouldn’t.

  “The police didn’t know Angus, not like you did. You lived with him.” The pulse in her throat fluttered like a hummingbird’s delicate wings. “You’re my last hope. If you search Angus’s papers, check his filing cabinets at his office and his home, maybe you’ll find something that’ll prove he was responsible for what happened to my parents.”

  What she was asking was impossible. He’d loved Angus. There was no way in hell his father harmed her parents.

  The ridiculous pants bagged around her ankles and pooled at her feet. The tips of her bare toes peeked out. She steepled her hands in a pleading gesture. “Will you help me, Russ? Can I count on you?”

  He couldn’t tear his gaze from the earnest appeal in her sapphire eyes, and he struggled to swallow over the stone stuck in his throat. God help him. He wanted to say yes, but he seriously doubted he could help. “Okay. You have a deal.” He caught his breath. What the hell? Had he just agreed to help her solve a twenty-three-year-old mystery? What was he—one of the Hardy boys? Was he that entranced by her bedroom eyes?

  Oh man. He was in some deep shit.

  “I knew I could count on you.” Her cheeks flushed. The soft mounds of her breasts swayed against the thin material of the T-shirt.

  He struggled to breathe, shoved his libido down, and focused on her astounding offer. “I’ll do what I can to help you find what happened to your parents, but I refuse to accept Angus’s money or his company.” He scrubbed his hand over his whiskers. Had he lost his frigging mind? She’d offered him everything he ever wanted, and he turned her down?

  A look of bewilderment crossed her pretty face. “I told you I don’t want Angus Crawford’s money. Or his business.”

  “You shouldn’t make such a big decision until you’ve talked to a lawyer.” He was giving up his chance of retaining Angus’s company, but it was the right thing to do.

  “I am a lawyer.”

  He blinked. “Are you? I didn’t know.”

  She nodded.

  “Still, you should discuss this with an estate lawyer. Aside from the funds Angus left you, his business is worth a hell of a lot. Only then will you understand the full scope of what you’d be giving up.”

  “Okay.” She nodded again. “I’ll talk to the lawyers, and then I’ll give you back your company. Either that or I’ll sell the company and donate the money to charity.”

  He rolled his eyes at her stubborn persistence. Was she for real? Was she willing to give him everything she’d inherited if he helped her with her hopeless quest?

  Her chin jutted out, and her mouth set in a firm line. “You don’t sound like you want the money. Why is that?”

  He shrugged. For the life of him he couldn’t figure his reasons out either. He should accept her proposition and run like hell before she came to her senses. She’d offered him the world he dreamed of, the one he’d been led to believe was his right, and he’d turned her down.

  Chapter 21

  Athena shuffled along the dark hallway and into the living room. Faint traces of light filtered around the edges of the curtains covering the two large picture windows. Had the storm passed? Would they be able to leave in the morning?

  A part of her wished that after Russ had shown her to a spare room and helped her make up the bed, he’d stayed with her. But like a gentleman, or an Eagle Scout, he’d said good night and left to sleep in Angus’s old room.

  She’d crawled into the comfortable bed and slipped under the covers. Alone. A thousand thoughts, mainly about Russ, whirled through her mind. From the moment she saw him in Beaton Park, he’d caught her attention. He was one fine-looking hunk of a man. Over six feet of lean, sculpted muscle, dark, curly hair, mesmerizing hazel eyes, and when he smiled… She blew out a breath.

  She crossed to the window and swept the heavy drapes aside. The cold light from a full moon shone through scattered clouds. The wind still raged, but its force had weakened. Broken branches littered the manicured lawn, and puddles glimmered in low-lying dips on the shell path. A shadow detached from the gloom under the trees, and a figure—a person? a large animal?—darted across the lawn, disappearing behind the thick trunk of a cedar tree.

  A frisson of unease trickled along her spine. She pressed closer to the window, her breath fogging the glass.

  The trees swayed, their branches waving in the wind, and dark shadows shifted within the thick undergrowth.

  What had she seen? A deer? The island used to have lots of deer. Her mother was in a constant battle to keep the ravenous beasts away from her vegetable garden. She stared at the dark patches under the towering trees. All was still, but the unsettling sensation someone—or something—was out there in the dark watching, set her on edge.

  She shivered and snapped the curtains closed. She was imagining boogeymen where none existed. No wonder, with all that had happened these past stressful days. She was exhausted and emotionally drained. A drink would help. The second the craving sneaked into her brain, she couldn’t stop thinking about alcohol. Had Angus been a drinker? Maybe there was a bottle stored somewhere in the cottage. Only one way to find out.

  The house loomed around her, cold and silent, and she shivered, wishing she’d worn the heavy sweatpants instead of just the voluminous cotton T-shirt. The cottage gave her the creeps. She didn’t like being alone in the dark at the best of times, but she’d walk through the very gates of Hell and face Cerberus, the three-headed dog who kept in the damned, if it meant she could have a drink. Just one sip of rye, rum, vodka…anything. Lord knew, she wasn’t fussy.

  Where would a man like Angus keep his liquor? Not in the living room. She’d have noticed last night. The kitchen? Or would he have a room dedicated to storing his fancy liquor collection? Some wealthy people did that. Her mouth watered at the thought.

  The hallway was dark, but she didn’t turn on the lights. A floorboard creaked beneath her bare feet, and she froze. The last thing she needed was to wake up Russ. She didn’t want him to witness her desperation. Or maybe being with Russ was just what she needed. His sexy presence would switch her single-minded drive for a drink to something else—like kissing him.

  Except for her rapid breathing, the cottage was silent and still. Placing one careful foot in front of the other, she shuffled down the dark hall. There. Just ahead. A closed door. Another bathroom? A study? Studies often had liquor cabinets. Her hand shook as she turned the knob.

  The door opened on silent hinges onto a dark room. Feeling along the smooth wall, she found a light switch. Blinding light filled the room, revealing a gleaming teak desk and a large leather chair. Seascapes lined the white walls. A teak credenza, the type of cabinet where people kept their liquor bottles, was against the far wall, a neat stack of highball and wine glasses set on the top.

  Yes!

  She crouched before the cabinet and swung open the door. A large cardboard box filled the dark space. She tugged it out and set the heavy box on the floor. Lifting the lid, she peered inside. Instead of a row of gleaming liquor bottles, the box was filled with stacks of photographs.

  Disappointed, she hefted the box to lift it back into the cabinet but stopped and set the box down with a thump. She picked up a photograph, her breath whooshed out as if she’d been punched, and she fell back on her butt. The picture slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the floor, landing faceup.

  The photograph was black and white, three inches by five inches. A young girl, her hair bound in tight braids, sat on a weathered log in the candid photo. A collection of seashells lay on the sand in front of the girl. A look of happiness shone on her heart-shaped, freckled face.

  The room swirled
and tilted, and Athena closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the face in the photo hadn’t changed. She was the girl in the photograph.

  A bone-numbing chill settled over her, and she lifted out another photograph. And another, and another until the floor was littered with pictures. The photos, taken over a number of years as the child aged from a young toddler to a girl on the edge of adolescence, had a single subject—her. No one else was in the photos. Just her. She swallowed, but her throat had gone to sand.

  The pictures looked as if they’d been taken from a distance, as if the photographer had used a telephoto lens. Her open expression and relaxed posture made clear she was unaware her picture was being taken. Another shiver rippled through her, and she rubbed the goose bumps on her arms.

  Who had taken the photographs? Her parents had owned an old camera, and over the years they’d taken her picture at Christmas, birthdays, and picnics. She had an old photo album filled with photos of her and her family. But neither her mother nor her father had taken the pictures she’d found in this little room. She was certain of that.

  Someone had spied on her, clicking pictures, as she played, unaware she was being watched. She shuddered, but no matter where she looked, she couldn’t escape her own face. A cry slipped from between her lips and filled the room like the wail of a wounded dog.

  “Athena? What the hell’s going on?” Russ stood in the doorway. Deep lines furrowed his brow. He crossed the room in a single stride and crouched before her. “I heard you cry out.”

  A tear dripped off her chin and landed on the blue cotton of her shirt. She swiped the back of her hand over her face.

  “Athena, answer me. Why are you crying?”

  “I…I didn’t mean to wake you. I…I…” She looked over his broad shoulder, and the nightmare reality of the photos struck her again. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “Look…” She gestured at the piles of photos tossed across the floor. “The photographs…”