Raven caught the sleeve of Cian’s jacket and tugged, a signal to stay behind. When Trev looked back at her in question, she said, “Run along with my father. I promise he won’t bite. I’ll be there in a minute. I wanted a word with my brother.”
Cian waited until the others were out of earshot before asking, “So what’s up, little sister?”
“It has to do with Melissa. Or, rather, might have to do with her.” When her brother frowned, she snapped, “Don’t give me that look. I couldn’t care less that you keep that ice bitch as your secretary. You can even boff her—though I would prefer to think my brother has better taste.”
“Who I do or don’t see in my private life is none of your business. So butt out, you little meddling Montgomerie.” Cian tapped her nose with his index finger to soften his words.
“Put a sock in it, Cian. I’m trying to tell you I think I saw her with Alec a couple days ago.”
Cian’s brows lifted. “‘Think’?”
“I didn’t see the woman’s face. Just the back of her head. I went to the restaurant down the street to get lunch for everyone. While I was waiting, I met Annalee—”
Her brother nodded. “She called. I gave her an appointment for an interview next week. She sounds good. I have a receptionist going out for maternity leave soon. From what Annalee said, she could step into the job without too much training. If she works out there, I’ll find her a permanent position.”
“Like Melissa’s job?” Half jest, half seriousness, Raven couldn’t resist. “Anyway, while I was waiting for my order, I noticed Alec sitting in a booth with a woman. They were on the far side, and I could only see the back of her head, but I am fairly sure it was Melissa. I figured you’d want to know. I tried to follow her and get the license number, but Alec jumped me.”
“Raven, you should have called me about this.” Cian looked ticked off, but she knew it was directed more at Alec than herself.
Raven rolled her eyes. “I tried. You were out of town. I left a message with your secretary to have you call me. Hello? I guess Melissa didn’t tell you?”
“Sorry. I’ll deal with her. The injunction from years ago on Alec may still be in effect. I’ll check with our solicitor. I want him to stay away from you.”
She nodded, crossing her arms against the sudden breeze that had sprung up. “We had a prowler at the cottage. He slashed the tires on Trevelyn’s car and scratched up the paint. Trev believes it was Alec.”
“Damn it, Raven! I want you to move back to Colford. I don’t like Alec starting up with this nonsense. Not now. Now with…” Disgusted, frustrated, Cian stalked away a few paces until he had control of his temper again.
Raven pressed. “Why not now?”
Cian threw up his hands and turned around. “I think Mac may have the right of it. We lost control of you females when Mum dropped her trousers. I’m not sure. Just some disturbing things have been happening around the edges of Montgomerie Enterprises. Stock shifting hands. I cannot run it down, yet, but I’m getting a sense of someone trying to destabilize the corporation.”
“Stocks are sold every day, aren’t they?” she asked.
“Yes, but these are longtime shareholders doing quiet sales. From what I gather it’s been going on for months, not trading on the open market but off-the-grid sales, private stuff done on the Q.T. Don’t worry. I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“You think Alec might be behind it? He sounded very bitter, saying Mac and you were ruining him financially.” A sense of unease settled over her with her brother’s revelation. She’d never taken any interest in the shares she owned of the family corporation. All the children had a percentage, but allowed Cian to vote them as he needed. “Cian, that makes Alec’s meeting with Melissa even more important, don’t you think?”
“If it was Melissa. Remember the time you got that wild hare about the chauffeur for old lady Brennan? You were convinced he’d done her in and buried her body in their tool shed?”
Raven chuckled, giving him a playful grin. “Well, she did drop out of sight for nearly the whole summer, and there actually was a mound in the dirt floor of that locked shed.”
“But it turned out—after you called Scotland Yard, mind—that she’d been visiting her sister in Edinburgh, and the mound was where Jacobs had buried her dog who’d died of old age.” Cian smirked.
Trevelyn came back, looking between them. “Anything wrong?”
Raven smirked. “Nothing a big toe couldn’t cure.”
“You deal in business rumors to zero in on investments, don’t you?” Cian asked.
Trevelyn nodded. “Coin of the realm. Who is buying—”
“And who is selling?” Cian finished. “Ever hear of Trident Ventures?”
“Not offhand. Why?”
“Oh, the name just popped up in a business deal Mac is doing, and I was seeking information on them.” Cian shoved his hands in his pants pockets.
“I can ask around if you like,” Trevelyn offered.
Cian nodded. “I’d appreciate it.”
They turned at the sound of a truck backfiring. The rickety red vehicle puttered up with Josephine’s Custom Signs painted in white on the side. In the back was a huge silver tarp covering something.
“Sign-maker?” Brishen nearly groaned as he came hurrying outside, followed by Paganne. “No one said I needed a sign.”
Cian grinned. “Relax, this is well in hand. My contribution to the effort. Wait until you see. I think you’ll be pleased.”
Josephine—at least Raven took it to be the proprietor herself—hopped out and began unlashing the tarpaulin. She flipped it back to reveal a large sign, already completed and with wrought-iron posts attached. It had a carousel pony on one side of the name, Steeple Hill Studio, and a Gypsy wagon on the other. Brishen Sagari, Owner was centered near the bottom. They had to move closer to read the underlying small print: Resident artist and vampire slayer.
Cian chuckled at his bit of playfulness. “I figured it couldn’t hurt to draw some people in with that hook.”
Short and squat Josephine grinned at her handwork. “Turned out quite nice, if I say so myself.” Pulling out a posthole digger from the truck bed, she grinned. “I’ll dig the holes while you big braw men position the sign. You might grab your landscaper over there, and see if he wants to dress this up with a couple small shrubs and such.”
Raven stood back with Paganne, watching the men in their lives wrestle the huge sign into the holes Josephine dug. It was one of those special, quiet moments, so perfect, so rare, that Raven’s mind captured the images and pressed them into the pages of her memory.
Chapter Eighteen
“If that phone call to Desmond in Scotland left me with more questions than answers, it’s nothing compared with my call to Jago in Kentucky,” Trevelyn told Atticus. He folded the cell phone and looked down at the bird fussing around his feet. The silly seagull was begging for another chunk of shortbread. Trev broke off a piece and dropped it for the insistent creature before adding, “But then, I suppose if Jago knew I was holding a conversation with a one-legged seagull that thinks he’s a cat, my brother would be quite concerned about me as well.”
The bird bobbed his head up and down, and then partially raised his one good wing.
“I’m not sure if you’re agreeing with me or doing a happy dance because I’m sneaking you junk food. Remember—a bird that pecks toes doesn’t get Twiglets or Walkers Salt & Vinegar Crisps.” The bird was a junk food freakaconus. Having discovered Atticus’s weakness, Trev wasn’t above slipping him bribes.
The family dinner at Colford Hall had gone surprisingly well, and Trev found himself liking both Cian and Mac. Thus, the start of Sunday found him in a mellow mood. Trev glanced over to the two cats, dead asleep, melted into puddles on the floor of the sunshine-filled greenhouse. The allergy pills and nasal spray seemed to keep his cat problems at bay, so he’d risked making love to Raven before the fireplace last night. After they’d finished puttin
g up Brishen’s sign for his studio, everyone decided to call it quits for the day. They still had time before the art people came to look at Brishen’s ponies; and as Raven had pointed out, it didn’t have to be perfect, just give the impression of Brishen being serious about his work. Brishen even suggested Raven should send over some of her paintings to hang on the walls, to display her work along with his.
Trev had stopped on the way back, picked up a bottle of wine and a couple cheeses, and when they got home, built a fire in the fireplace. Tossing the cushions from the sofa onto the floor, they’d proceeded to spend the whole evening talking and making love. At times, he’d just held Raven close, feeling her heart beat under his hand, savoring the peaceful purity of those moments.
He checked the grandfather clock in the entry now, taking note of the hour again. Their presence was expected at Colford at 1 p.m. for Sunday dinner. Facing a boardroom full of upset stockholders he took in stride. Conversely, being tossed into the middle of the meddling Montgomeries was a daunting prospect. It had been part of the plan, getting him close to Colford and Cian. Now that everything was falling into place, unease was multiplying within him. Thus, the unplanned call to Jago.
Raven had been out chasing the errant pony about the yard, intent on putting him in the barn before she came in to get ready for lunch at the Hall. With her occupied, he’d seized the opportunity, simply wanting to hear his brother’s voice. Of course, he hadn’t considered the difference in time zones. Kentucky was five hours behind UK time, so while it was elevenses here, over there it was still early morning. Even so, Jago had answered and claimed to not have been woken up. But also, instead of being happy to hear from him, Jago had been oddly short, maybe even irritated.
Everything was different than he’d expected, setting this plan in motion. “It seemed so bloody simple,” Trev muttered under his breath. But nothing was simple, and they should have known that going in.
Desmond had worked for years to see this takeover come about, this vengeance for Sean “Midas” Montgomerie’s failed pyramid scheme that caused his father’s suicide. He’d worked to take back Colford Hall, the horsefarm in Kentucky and Falgannon Isle—everything the man had used to obtain his ill-gotten empire, and that rightfully should have belonged to the Mershans and other fooled investors. Des had wanted to hand Sean the papers, show him everything he’d built on the blood, sweat and tears of others was about to be snatched from him; but then, as victory was almost in grasp, he’d been dealt a bitter shock: Sean Montgomerie died last May. Des was robbed of the satisfaction—the closure—of ruining the man he blamed for his father’s death.
Perhaps the Mershan brothers’ plans should’ve died there, too. Only, they were already locked into this juggernaut of destruction. For Des to toss up his hands and walk away would have meant he’d lose all. A multimilliondollar fortune was at stake. Everything he’d worked for decades to build would go down in flames. For a child who had grown up hungry, facing poverty again was something Des couldn’t accept. There was simply no pulling back. For any of them.
Without asking, Trev knew Jago was also having second thoughts. His brother’s conscience was likely gnawing at him even before he stepped off the plane in Kentucky. Now…now Jago said he was in love with Asha. Trev had wanted to laugh at that statement. It’d only been a few days since Asha and Jago met! From the start of the conversation Jago had been grouchy, pushing Trev to tease him about falling under Asha’s spell. Jago’s response had knocked the wind from Trev’s sails.
“No spells, no magic,” his twin had stated flatly. “I’m in love with her, and if all these Machiavellian plans don’t ruin my chances, I want to marry her.”
That rock-hard conviction irritated Trev all to hell. How could Jago be so bloody sure? Knowing his twin, Trev was convinced Jago hadn’t even slept with Asha yet. Being perverse, he’d tried to kid Jago, ribbing him about drinking too much Kentucky moonshine. He’d only ended up antagonizing his brother more.
“That saintly conscience of his,” Trev told the bird. “Sometimes, my oh so perfect brother irks the bloody hell out of me.”
Setting the last part of the biscuit down on a plant stand, he shoved his hands into his pants pockets and watched Raven play catch-the-pony. Marvin, the little devil, was fast for being such a small animal, and clearly enjoyed running circles around her. Currently they were going around and around the sundial at the head of the rose garden.
So many questions ricocheted around inside Trev as he observed the comical scene. He almost hated that Jago could be so sure about his course. Did everything Desmond had done, each and every sacrifice he’d made, mean nothing to Jago? One look at Asha, and Jago could forget the hardships they’d endured, how their mother had suffered—still suffered? Trev was angry at Jago.
“And I’m angry at myself, because I’m about to fall into the same trap.” Despair haunted the words Trev spoke to the bird.
With a sigh, he realized he’d been fingering the coins in his pocket. His eyes shifted to the fortune-teller’s box, and he felt an utter fool for wanting to see what a clockwork doll would say regarding his dilemma. Walking over to it, he leaned close to study the mannequin, which still bore a subtle resemblance to Raven. He fished a coin out of his pocket.
His mind flashed back to that old Twilight Zone episode where William Shatner kept putting pennies into a fortunetelling machine. The Mystic Seer spat out vague yet eerily uncanny replies to Shatner’s questions, seeing his character increasingly dependent upon the answers and too fearful to take his next step without the prediction.
“Is that what I’m doing?” After a moment, he shrugged. “In for a penny…” Dropping the coin into the slot, he watched, mesmerized as the life-sized doll awoke. It was damn spooky how alive she always appeared. “So, pretty Gypsy, do you have any wisdom to share on my predicament?”
With a click-clack-clunk, a card was ejected into the tray. Trev picked it up and stared. Death.
He couldn’t help it, a shiver ran up his spine. Turning the card over, he read the words written there:
Embrace sacrifice to effect change everlasting. The answers you seek can be found in dreams.
Arms slid around his waist as Raven placed her head to his back and hugged him. “You’re playing with my fortune-teller? Learn anything interesting?”
“Interesting? Perhaps, if one understands the meaning of the tarot.” He smiled, and pulled her around for a soft kiss. That wasn’t enough, so he kissed her again, and then kissed the tip of her nose. “You wouldn’t happen to have a divination book around? What’s the good of a fortune being told if you cannot understand it?”
“There are likely a couple books at Colford. We can swipe one while we’re there.”
Trev held up the card for her to see. “The latest bit of nonsense.”
“Trev, the Death card doesn’t actually mean someone is going to die. That’s Hollywood’s bit of Grand Guignol, putting forth that impression for impact.” Even so, he saw the color slowly leech from her face as she stared. “This card means the death of something, the coming to an end of a phase of life, an abrupt or complete change due to past events or actions.”
“So, I’m not going to get pecked to death by a crazy bird?” he teased.
She shook her head. “Many things can die, Trevelyn. Beliefs, emotions…relationships.” Her eyelids lowered to veil her thoughts. “Sometimes, a change can be for the better.”
Embrace sacrifice to effect change everlasting. Prickles crawled up his spine. He was sorry he’d showed Raven the card, for despite her protests that it held little ominous meaning, it scared her. Fear and worry were clear in her beautiful eyes.
Hoping to divert her, he asked, “So, is the Great Pony Roundup over?”
“For now. I do believe he thinks me chasing him is a big game. I don’t mind, but now I’m sweaty. Think I can entice you to come scrub my back?” A sparkle of mischief returned to her eyes.
He inhaled slowly as if considering the
offer. “There is a possibility—if you bribe me—that I might be drafted for such a chore.”
“A bribe? Such as?” Raven nipped at his chin and rubbed her knee up the inside of his thigh.
He ran his hands down her back, then over her rounded derrière in those tight stretch jeans, then nuzzled the hair over her left ear. “Hmm. I’ll wash your back if you wash mine.”
Her head dropped back so she could see his face. Waggling her eyebrows playfully, she said, “You mean, tit for tat?”
He laughed as she unbuckled his belt. “Ah, yes. Your tit for my tat. You do have the most wonderful suggestions.”
Pulling his belt free from its loops, she danced away. “Last one to the shower has to clean it out afterward.”
“Minx.” He watched her dashing up the steps, taking them two at a time. He glanced down to Atticus, then picked up the last of the shortbread and tossed it to him. “Guess I’m going to be scrubbing the tub, eh?”
Running after her, he followed suit and took the steps two at a time. He made it to the large bathroom just in time to see a flash of her bare sweet arse vanishing into the shower. Undressing in record time, he jerked the glass door open. Inside, Raven stood under the cool spray, water hitting her neck, breasts and belly.
The beautiful Celtic water goddess turned her head, watching him enter the stall. With a mysterious smile she picked up the bar of soap and washcloth, and held them up. “I believe you kindly offered to scrub my back?”
Trev tossed the washrag over his shoulder. “Why should a stupid piece of towel have all the fun?” Rolling the bar of soap around in his hands, he quickly created a froth of lather. “I did say I would wash your back—eventually.”
Raven turned, curving one arm around his neck. “It’s rather distracting to view your wonderful expanse of male flesh.” She ran her hand across his shoulder. “Such nice square shoulders—warrior’s shoulders. And then this broad chest and taut stomach…”
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