by A. C. Arthur
A rush of emotion soared through his body with those thoughts, and Roark closed his eyes to its intensity. With his fingers still resting on the keyboard, he took slow, steadying breaths, hoping the waves of grief wouldn’t overtake him this time.
He could do this. He knew he could.
There’d never been anything he couldn’t do, and that was mostly because his father had told him repeatedly when he was growing up that he was a Donovan and could do and be whatever he wanted.
“We were meant to be kings,” Gabe Donovan would tell his sons as they’d sat with him in his home office or when he’d take them out for long walks. “The world will try to tell you differently. They’ll try to break you down, brainwash you to believe you’re no more than the slaves they created hundreds of years ago, but they’re wrong. We were more before they stole us, and we’ll be more long after they’re dead and gone.”
Roark believed every word his father had told him. As such, he’d studied and worked harder than anyone else in his classes, because he knew he was born to be more.
“You’ll take this company to places I never dreamed of, Roark,” Gabe had told him on his sixteenth birthday.
His father had come to his room early that morning, before Roark could get up and start his day with the celebratory breakfast his mother had orchestrated.
“You’ve got the passion for it deep in here,” Gabe had said as he’d reached out and touched a finger to Roark’s chest. “I’ve been so proud, watching it blossom inside you.”
Roark recalled sitting up in his bed, his father sitting on the edge beside him, looking as distinguished and debonair at seven o’clock in the morning as he did at one of their grand parties in the evening. “I won’t disappoint you,” he’d told his father, meaning those words with everything in his soul.
Gabe had shaken his head. “I know you won’t, son. You’ll make your mother and I proud. But most importantly, you’ll make yourself proud.”
Those last words hadn’t mattered to Roark, not as much as the part about making them proud had. Opening his eyes slowly now, Roark acknowledged that was what had pushed him through his entire life, making his parents proud and living up to the Donovan name. No matter what was going on in his mind or his heart, he had to push through. He had to make them proud.
He typed for another forty-minutes, stopped and re-read the memo twice, and then moved to his work email so he could send the document to his assistant for final editing. The insane number of unread messages in his inbox startled him and with a grumble, he decided to go through them first, just in case there was something else he needed to address with his assistant or ask her to handle. He could put everything in one email.
Roark started with the latest emails received since Friday afternoon when he’d left the office. Not even twelve hours later, and he had one hundred forty-two new messages. He was making steady progress when half an hour later he stopped at a message from a familiar sender: Tamika Rayder.
I get this may have been a jolt for you, so I’m attaching the letter just in case you want to read it again. If you come up with some explanation, here’s my contact info. If not, it was nice meeting you, Roark Donovan.
As he read the message silently, her voice echoed in his head. A little bit husky, and a lot sexy. Way too sexy for him to even contemplate while reading a message such as this. Who was this woman, and why was she so obsessed with this damn letter? Without a real answer in mind, Roark clicked on the attachment and re-read the lines he’d seen this morning. He had no idea who this man was, had never heard of him before and thus had no logical explanation for why his mother had sent this letter. Except for the most obvious—Maxine knew Lemuel Rayder.
Okay, so what? His mother had known a lot of people, and Roark wasn’t so self-absorbed to believe he had to know each person she’d known. She’d been an adult, and he hadn’t been in the business of keeping tabs on her.
That didn’t stop him from clicking to another screen and typing in Lemuel Rayder’s name. It was time to figure out who this guy was, even if just to give himself peace of mind.
Fire Chief, husband to Sandra and father of one—Tamika Rayder. Lemuel Rayder had been an upstanding citizen, born and raised in Arlington, Virginia. He’d attended community college for two years before entering the fire academy. After graduation he’d joined a station house, where he’d served for seventeen years before moving up the ranks to become first captain, then battalion chief and finally fire chief for the county. His wife was a social worker who’d retired two years before her husband’s death in a five-alarm fire the day before their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary.
A fire.
The same way his mother had died.
Roark stopped reading and took a deep breath. He lifted his hands and scrubbed them over his face.
It was a coincidence, that was all. Roark didn’t usually believe in coincidences.
But he was hungry. Closing the screen on Lemuel Rayder, he returned to his emails and closed out of the one from Tamika. He didn’t delete it but instead moved it to a folder marked “miscellaneous.” He’d think about why he’d made that decision later. After sending the memo and a few other assignments to his assistant, Roark closed down his computer and grabbed his jacket.
The walk from the clubhouse to the manor took only ten minutes, the cool evening air as refreshing as the dreary scenery filled with trees, rolling hills of grass, and dwindling daylight.
The lobby of the manor had less activity than when he’d arrived this morning, but there were two attendants behind the sleek black lacquer front desk. He’d changed out of his suit earlier and now wore jeans, boots, a black T-shirt and lightweight black jacket. His steps were muted as he moved across the gray-and-white marble floor and asked if there was a place he could have dinner.
“Absolutely, Mr. Donovan.” Lily had come up behind him as he stood at the front desk. When he turned, it was to see her smiling, one arm extended in the other direction. “We have four five-star restaurants onsite with top-rated chefs. The Billiard Room is our premier steak house. We’re aware that steak’s one of your favorite meals. Correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” he replied as he followed her down three stairs into another area.
The floor here was a deep burgundy carpet, and in one corner there was a big glossy black piano, the man sitting behind it playing a jazzy tune. Wall sconces were lit along the dark-green painted walls as they approached double oak wood doors. Lily reached to open one, but Roark stepped around her and opened it instead.
“After you,” he said and watched as the woman’s smile grew more nervous than cheerful. She’d glanced around as if she thought she’d get in trouble for allowing him to open the door, and Roark had to hide his irritation. “It’s okay. I won’t tell.”
Lily walked into the restaurant, and Roark followed. She grabbed a menu and continued past the hostess stand. Roark smiled at the host dressed in all black who looked as if she had no clue what was going on. When he was seated at the table, Roark accepted the menu from Lily and immediately flipped to the wine list in the back.
“Would you like a Manhattan? We have Maker’s Mark 46.”
He shouldn’t be surprised that she knew his favorite drink, since she obviously had a list of his likes and dislikes programmed in her mind. “Yes. Thanks. And I’ll take the Delmonico, medium well, roasted potatoes and asparagus.” The sides weren’t on the menu, he knew, but it was what he liked, so he was certain Lily would make sure the chef accommodated him.
“Yes, sir. I’ll bring your drink and let the chef know of your order.”
He nodded in lieu of thanking Lily again and sat back with a relieved sigh when she was gone. Being born into one of the wealthiest African American families in the world, Roark was used to the finer things in life. Still, he’d never been comfortable with people waiting on him so attentively. When necessary, he tolerated it, but it wasn’t a part of his life he cherished in any way.
Hi
s drink was perfect, the ambiance in the restaurant that of many traditional steakhouses he’d been in before. Only this one had a more authentic feel. He wasn’t sure if it was the dim lighting or the luxurious décor, but the black tablecloth and sparkling crystal settings, the leather-backed chairs and the sterling silver stemware, all gave him an old, aristocratic feel, and he settled in to enjoy it.
“The place almost burned to the ground. It was an awful and amazing sight to see, especially here in Painswick.”
“I agree, but Mrs. Marks is beside herself with worry. Reports say there were two women inside.”
Roark had looked up from scrolling through his text messages when he heard the two men walking past his table speaking. They went farther back into the restaurant to take a seat at a table near the window, and he found himself wondering about the remainder of their conversation.
A fire? Here in Painswick?
His food arrived seconds later, and Roark pushed his phone aside and decided to forget about the overheard conversation. The steak smelled delicious, and his stomach growled in protest to the almost ten hours he’d gone without eating. After saying grace, he picked up his knife and fork and was about to cut into the meat when the words rolled in his mind once more: A fire in Painswick?
What were the odds?
Setting the knife and fork down, Roark picked up his phone and pulled up the internet. He typed in the words fire Painswick UK and waited.
Cottage in Golden Valley… Fire… Injured Tuppence Gregory and Sandra Rayder…
Roark grabbed his phone from the table and stuffed it into his pocket as he stood. He walked quickly out of the restaurant, intending to go to his car. But, of course, he bumped into Lily.
“Is there something wrong with your meal, Mr. Donovan? Something I can get for you?”
He was about to tell her no and keep walking, but then he turned back to her. “Where’s the nearest hospital to a place called Golden Valley?”
“Are you hurt, sir? I can get a doctor to come here to take a look at you?”
“No.” He shook his head impatiently. “It’s not me. Never mind, I’ll just look on Google or something. I need to get my car.”
“We can have it brought to the front door, Mr. Donovan. And I’ll get the address to the hospital for you. Just follow me up front.”
Lily was helpful, and more under foot than he liked, but again, Roark followed her. Minutes later he was running down the front steps of the manor and jumping into the driver’s seat of his car. With the address to the hospital already programmed in his phone, he attached it to the dash mount and then drove. He didn’t stop to think why it was so important that he get to that hospital; he just focused on getting there.
Tamika leaned over in the chair, her face buried in her hands, her mind repeating one thing—don’t cry.
She couldn’t cry, not here and not now. It wasn’t going to help anything if she did, and besides, she didn’t want to feel weak. The jury was still out on whether or not crying was really a weakness, but in her mind it was. And not just because Colin had said so, but because of how helpless she recalled feeling every time she’d ever allowed herself to cry over her circumstances.
No, she shook her head, took a deep breath and sat upright in the uncomfortable hospital waiting room chair. This was no time for tears. Running her fingers through her hair, she rotated her shoulders and declared she’d remain strong. No matter what those doctors said when they came to speak to her, she’d remain strong and she’d deal with whatever needed to be done. She really had no other choice.
There was no one but her. She had no siblings, and her father was gone. Tamika was as alone in life as she’d been in this large waiting room for the last five hours. Tuppence didn’t have any family either, so that was another weight on her shoulders right now. What was she going to do if the woman didn’t make it? While she’d been allowed to ride in the ambulance with her mother, Tamika had no idea what Tuppence’s condition was. No doctors had come to speak to her yet, so all she could do was sit here and wait.
She stood and walked instead.
Folding her arms over her chest, she walked from one side of the waiting room to the other, back and forth. She looked over to the window periodically, seeing that the sky was now dark, lights from the street and other buildings prickling through the night. She continued to walk. Her feet were hurting, so she kicked her shoes under the chair she’d been sitting in and continued pacing.
No police had come to the hospital. That didn’t make a lot of sense. Didn’t they have questions? Wouldn’t they want to know more about the two victims who’d been in the house? She definitely had questions, but they were buried somewhere beneath the heavy fog of fear for her mother’s life.
What was she going to do if her mother died? How was she going to go on?
Shaking her head vehemently, Tamika kept walking, this time picking up her pace as if moving faster would get her somewhere. Anywhere but here.
“Ms. Rayder?”
She spun around at the deep voice, expecting to see a doctor standing in the entryway. Her already pounding heart paused and then thudded as she looked into the searing russet-brown eyes of Roark Donovan. “What are you doing here?”
“I came as soon as I heard about the fire. Can you tell me what happened?” He took a couple of steps closer to her before stopping. She was still a few feet away from him and decided to stand still. He looked different from earlier. His jeans were dark, his shirt molded to his chest. But that wasn’t the only difference—there was something about the way he was staring at her.
“I don’t know anything,” she replied when she remembered he’d asked her a question. Or had he asked two? “I don’t understand why you’re here.”
“The reports said your mother was injured. Is she going to be alright?” He pushed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, his legs were slightly parted, his brow furrowed.
“I don’t know. The doctors haven’t come out to speak to me yet.”
He moved an arm, looked at his watch and frowned. “How long have you been waiting?”
“Hours,” she replied.
“Too long.” In seconds, he was gone, as quickly and dramatically has he’d appeared. Tamika didn’t know what to say, but she blinked as if maybe she’d just imagined that entire weird exchange.
Why would Roark Donovan show up at the hospital?
After deciding she was probably losing her mind, Tamika resumed her pacing, this time moving closer to the window as she found the warm glow of the outside lights strangely soothing.
“Ms. Rayder, I have an update for you.”
Again, she was spinning around to another strange voice. This time it was a woman, a nurse, she presumed by the scrubs and stethoscope around her neck.
“Ms. Gregory is still in surgery. It’s believed she fell trying to get Mrs. Rayder out of the house, and there was a laceration and internal bleeding that needed repair. Mrs. Rayder is being treated for first-degree burns and smoke inhalation. You’ll be allowed to see her in another hour or so, as they’re still trying to get her stabilized.” The nurse stood next to Roark, speaking as if she were under some type of duress.
“Thank you. Can you please come and get me the moment I’m able to see my mother?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll come get you personally.” The nurse cleared her throat before glancing at Roark again. “And the moment the doctor is available, I’ll send him down here to speak with you both.”
Roark’s stern facial expression remained unchanged. “Thanks.”
At what seemed like his dismissal, the nurse hurried out of the room.
“Did you threaten her?” She didn’t know why that was the first question to come to mind, but his shrug said he wasn’t bothered.
“No. I just suggested she do her job.” He was coming closer to her again, and Tamika wondered if she should take a seat or step out of his way, because he looked so determined, so intent. It was an odd sensation she
was experiencing, as just watching him move kept her still and maybe a little bit aroused.
“I don’t understand why you’re here.”
He stopped just about a foot away from where she stood. “Because I don’t believe in coincidences.”
And neither did she, which was why she’d sought him out in the first place. “My father. Your mother…”
“And now, your mother,” Roark finished for her.
“I wasn’t allowed in the house, so I couldn’t tell if it was arson. But I know my father’s was. I investigated that case until...” She paused and shook her head.
“You investigated? Are you a firefighter like your father was?”
So he did know who her father was. Or had he looked him up after he’d walked away from her this morning? “I used to be. Well, I mean, I was part of a station for about eighteen months before I figured out it wasn’t really what I was meant to do. Then I took the courses to become an investigator.”
“And you investigated your own father’s murder?”
Hearing the question in someone else’s voice sort of solidified the reason her boss had fired her. It was not only unethical for her to research her father’s death, but it was against the insurance company’s policy, because neither her father nor the city of Arlington were their clients. Which meant for the year since her father’s death, she’d been abusing company time and resources to pursue a personal vendetta. That was the gist of it, but Tamika was convinced that sounded far worse than it really was. “I needed to find out what happened.” It took every ounce of strength she had to keep her voice from cracking with that admission.