After hanging up, Christian sat staring at his mother’s bedroom wall. He had a sense of unreality. He couldn’t believe his cousin had just given him a hundred thousand pounds. Joseph Sinclair junior didn’t even know him. He didn’t know Christian was his illegitimate cousin—he had no idea at all who he was—and yet he had given him the money without question. Something his own father, who did know who he was, couldn’t be bothered to do. Anger began coursing through Christian’s veins. Christian Jeremy Sinclair had tossed them out like worn-out shoes years ago, not caring if they lived or died, and now he had tossed them out again. He didn’t care what happened to him or his mother. And now, Christian thought, it was time for him to pay for his indifference.
After making a quick stop at the hospital to see the doctor and tell him the money end was taken care of and then going in to see his mother, Christian went back to his apartment. He drank a few shots of scotch and then, securing his SIG Sauer P220 forty-five-caliber gun in his belt, he drove to his father’s house. He had every intention of killing the man. The butler answered the door and was taken aback by the young man standing there.
“Get Lord Glenenshire,” Christian said.
“Sir, do you have an appointment?”
Christian brought the gun from out of his belt. “This,” he said, lifting it under the man’s nose, “is my appointment card. Now get him.”
“I will not,” the butler said, starting to close the door, but Christian kicked it open with a booted foot.
“Then just get the fuck out of my way,” he said, moving through the doorway. He stepped into the house and walked toward the study, as if sensing that was where his father was. He was right. Jeremy was just coming out to investigate the noise in the entryway when his son stepped up to the door.
“What is going on out here?” Jeremy said as Christian backed him up into the study.
“This is going on, Father,” Christian said angrily, brandishing the nasty-looking gun.
Christian didn’t notice Sarah Sinclair in the room until she gasped in horror at the gun in his hand. Christian turned to her and grinned. “Bet you thought the guy was faithful, huh?” he said cruelly. “Of course, you weren’t either, were you?”
“What are you talking about?” Jeremy asked indignantly.
Christian looked at his father, his expression mocking. “That night I was here with Geneva—you know, the night you fucked her—well, I fucked your wife the same night.” Jeremy just stared at him, his mouth hanging open in shock. Then his eyes went to his wife, who had gone pale. “Don’t look at her, you son of a bitch. It’s not like you fucking Geneva was the first time you’ve been unfaithful. Hell, you fucked your maid and conceived me, didn’t you?” His light blue eyes blazed in an almost crazed way. “Didn’t you?” he yelled, wanting an answer.
Jeremy stared at the gun pointing into his face and nodded, his eyes wide.
“Well, you finally met him,” Christian said, nodding, his face contorted in rage.
“Met who?” Jeremy managed, his breath barely coming through his constricted throat.
Christian grinned evilly as he raised the gun. “The devil himself,” he said, and pulled the trigger.
Later, it was hard to discern what had happened next. Christian remembered watching his father’s face, seeing the look of sheer terror. He heard Sarah scream and heard the door to the study crash open. The next thing he knew, he was being taken to the ground by rough hands. He didn’t resist; he’d done what he’d come to do. There were lights and sirens and people talking, but Christian didn’t pay them any attention. The only thing he heard was that his father wasn’t dead. Christian wasn’t sure if that made him happy or not.
Two hours later he found himself in a cell. He looked out through the bars and wondered if that was what he’d see for the rest of his life. He had inquired about his mother, but no one had anything to tell him.
The next day he was astounded when he woke to see a well-dressed man in his late fifties standing in his cell, looking down at him.
“You’re Christian Collins?” the man said, his accent sophisticated.
Christian nodded, his eyes narrowed.
“Come on then.” The man nodded toward the now open door. Christian stood slowly and followed him to a room down the hallway.
Inside, the man gestured for Christian to sit down, and Christian, still not fully awake, did.
“I’m Robert Debenshire,” the man said, extending his hand. Stunned, Christian took it. “I was contacted by Commissioner Bartelt; he told me you were here and that you claimed to be Jeremy Sinclair’s son. Is that true?” Robert watched the younger man with his deep blue eyes, easily seeing the Sinclair family resemblance. He’d known the Sinclairs long enough to pick out their build, jawline, and most outstanding, their unique eye color. Christian was just a very dark version of Joe.
Christian looked back at Robert Debenshire, surprised the man was there, and further surprised that he seemed to be on his side. He nodded to Robert’s question.
“Your mother is in the hospital, is that correct?” Robert asked.
“Yes,” Christian said, sitting up straighter as his chief concern was addressed. “I need to know how she is, please, sir.”
Robert grinned at the sudden intensity in the young man. He found it ironic that Christian’s mother seemed to mean as much to him as Joe’s parents had meant to him sixteen years before. Robert remembered that Joe’s main concern when he awoke in the hospital had been his parents. “Your mother is comfortable, Christian. Her treatment was started early this morning.”
Christian sat back in the chair, nodding, then his light eyes, so much like Joe’s, turned to Robert. “Does she know about this?” He gestured to his surroundings.
“No,” Robert said, again noting the relief on the younger man’s face. “Why did you do it, Christian?”
“Don’t call me Christian,” the younger man said, his eyes flashing angrily. “My name’s Blue.”
“I see.” Robert nodded. “And why did you shoot your father, Blue?”
“Because I hate the son of a bitch. It’s that simple.”
“Did you contact him last night? Before you spoke with me?”
Christian didn’t answer; his eyes gave nothing away. This kid’s as cool as Joe was when he was younger, Robert thought. He remembered Joe in his rebellious days, when he and Rick would stay out all hours of the night. Rick would come in smelling of alcohol and women. It was a scary time for Robert as a parent; he was always waiting for that phone call telling him his son was dead in an alley somewhere. Joe’s parents had had the same worry over their son; he had discussed it often enough with Joseph Sinclair senior. And now Robert was sure he was looking at Joseph Michael Sinclair’s rebellious youth reincarnated.
“Chris—I mean, Blue?” Robert prompted. “Did you contact your father before you called me last night?”
“If you’re lookin’ for somethin’, why don’t you come out and ask?” Christian said coldly. “Are you asking if I think I was temporarily insane at the time I shot my father?”
“I suppose I am asking your state of mind at the time, yes,” Robert said, surprised by the young man’s quick mind.
“My state of mind…” Christian said, pursing his lips mockingly. “My mother was in the hospital, possibly dying at the time. That bastard was sitting in his fucking castle, with all the money in the world. He’d already tossed my mother out on her backside when she made the mistake of getting pregnant with me, and now he had the nerve to deny her the money to save her life. I guess you could say I was a little pissed off, yeah.” Christian’s voice had remained calm during his litany, his eyes focusing on Robert’s face on the last line.
“Are you curious as to your father’s health at this time?”
“Only if you’re going to tell me that the bastard’s dead,” Christian said, deadly serious.
“He’s not. He is, however, calling for your head on the most convenient platter availab
le.”
Christian didn’t even blink, staring back at Robert. “And you’re here to give it to him?”
“I’m here to try and save your life, Christian!” Robert said, his tone indicating his surprise that Christian hadn’t already realized that.
Again, the young man’s face didn’t change, but after a minute he nodded, as if reluctantly accepting Robert’s help.
“I need to make some phone calls and meet with Commissioner Bartelt,” Robert said. “I am going to do everything I can to get you out of this, I promise.” He sounded so earnest that Christian suddenly found himself looking at the man very differently.
His eyes widened in surprise, but then narrowed suspiciously again; he was ever a child of the streets. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Because,” Robert said, sitting down in front of Christian, staring directly into the younger man’s eyes, “your cousin is like a son to me, and you’re his family, and therefore part of mine.”
Christian was stunned into silence by Robert’s words. His mother had always told him he was a Sinclair by all rights, but he had never believed it. Now here was this man, a barrister to the richest people in London, and he was telling him he was Joe Sinclair’s cousin, and his family. Christian had no reply to that, so he simply nodded.
****
Joe Sinclair was enjoying a quiet evening with his wife. He and Randy had been kissing like teenagers on the couch when their phone rang. Joe dropped his head back on the couch as Randy started to laugh. She moved to get up, but Joe pulled her back to him. “Don’t answer it,” he said, moving to kiss her again.
“Joseph Michael…” Randy said, grinning up at him, but she allowed herself to be pulled back, her lips welcoming his.
The answering machine picked up and moments later they heard Robert’s voice. “Joseph, it’s Robert. Look, we have a situation here. Now… it’s about that young man I called you about last evening. I do hope—”
“Robert, I’m here,” Joe said, picking up the phone. “What’s going on?”
“Well, it seems that there was a little more to that young man’s story than he told me in the beginning.”
“And what would that be?” Joe asked, sitting up again and pulling Randy back into his embrace, holding the phone with his shoulder.
“A number of things. First of all, it seems that the reason his mother came to know your father is that your uncle is the father of her child…”
“And that child is the young man that called you,” Joe said, easily following the logical chain of thought.
“Yes. It’s interesting, however, that he didn’t tell me that information last night. It was as if he didn’t want to blackmail you in any way into giving him the money.”
“Yeah, honor is a Sinclair family trait, you know,” Joe said, grinning. He knew what Robert was doing. “You sold me on the kid already, Robert. So what’s happened?”
“Well, it seems that he contacted his father before contacting me about the money, I guess in hopes that your uncle would have the same honorability that your father did.”
“He didn’t,” Joe said, remembering his uncle well.
“No. And after securing the funds for his mother’s treatment, the young man went to his father’s home and attempted to kill him.”
“Oh shit,” Joe said, the tone in his voice making Randy sit up and look at him.
“Well put,” Robert said. “His saving grace would be luck—your luck, that is. It seems that Inspector Bartelt—do you remember him?”
“Yes, I do,” Joe said, nodding. He easily remembered the name of one of the men who had accused him of trying to kill his parents so he could inherit their money.
“Yes, well, he is the head of Scotland Yard now. When he heard the story about this young man, and heard from the servants in the house that he had claimed to be Jeremy’s son, he decided to contact me.”
“And why would he do that?” Joe asked, his brow furrowing, confusing Randy further.
“I guess he still feels he owes you for the agony he put you through after your parents were killed. He contacted me and told me what was happening, and I went down to the station and spoke to the young man in person.”
“And what did you find?”
“First of all, Joseph, let me assure you, there is no question as to this boy’s heritage. He has many Sinclair family traits, not the least of which is your father’s eyes, like you.”
“Okay…” Joe said, having already accepted that the young man was his uncle’s son, but reassured all the same.
“He told me that he was angry about his father throwing his mother out into the street when she was pregnant with him, and his anger was further fueled when the man refused to help with her treatment.”
“So what you’re saying is that you can maybe get him off on a temporary insanity plea?” Joe said, surmising Robert’s plan.
“That was my thinking, yes, but an interesting wrinkle has developed. The boy has a couple of champions here in England that don’t want to see this even come to trial.”
“Who?” Joe asked, wondering if there was ever going to be an end to the surprises in this story.
“One is Geneva Glasstone. Do you remember her?”
“Jesus Christ. Yes, Robert, I grew up with the woman. She’s one of them? Who’s the other?”
“The other, oddly enough, is Sarah Sinclair,” Robert said, knowing it would shock Joe.
He was right. “My aunt is defending this kid? Has she finally come to her senses about old Jeremy?”
“I think she has been more aware of Jeremy’s indiscretions than any of us realized, but she has a definite desire to see this young man freed, and I’m not sure it all has to do with Jeremy…” Robert trailed off discreetly, and Joe found himself coughing as he choked back the guffaw that came naturally at the conclusion his mind had jumped to.
“You gotta be kiddin’ me?” he said disbelievingly. “You’re saying this kid and Sarah… that they…” He couldn’t even say the words. He remembered his aunt as so proper and conservative. He couldn’t even picture her with a man half her age, and certainly not in the way Robert was alluding to. “How old’s this kid, anyway?”
“Twenty-five. And believe it, Joseph. I can tell you that Geneva’s interest is not exactly about seeing justice served either,” Robert said lightly.
Joe shook his head, grinning all the same. “Kid’s doin’ ’em both, eh?”
“Joseph Michael Sinclair!” Randy said, seeing the look of pride in Joe’s eyes and having discerned some of the conversation from Joe’s side of it. Joe laughed out loud at the look on his wife’s face.
“I gotta meet this kid, Robert,” he told the older man jokingly, eliciting another outraged look from his wife as well as a slap on the arm.
“Well, that’s the thing, Joseph. Bartelt said that if Jeremy could be made to agree, he would happily push for the young man to be sent to the States in care of his cousin, one Joseph Michael Sinclair. That is, if you’d be willing to accept the responsibility.”
“The kid’s not exactly underage, Robert.”
“No, but he would have to be on some sort of probationary status for at least a year. Bartelt knows that you’re a police officer now, and he’s willing to appoint you as Christian’s probation officer, as it were.”
“Christian?” Joe said, hearing the young man in question’s name for the first time. “His mother named him after my uncle, even after what he did to her?”
“Yes, strange that, isn’t it?” Robert replied, nodding. “He uses his mother’s maiden name, though. And he hates his given name, goes by Blue.”
“Interesting,” Joe said thoughtfully. “Well, look, I gotta talk to Randy about this before I agree to anything. Can I call you back?”
“Certainly.”
They hung up a few moments later. Joe looked at Randy for a long minute, not sure where to start. He had told her the evening before about the phone call from Robert, but now things wer
e definitely more complicated.
“Talk to me about what?” Randy said, watching his eyes.
“Well, first of all, that kid that called Robert isn’t some stranger as we thought—he’s my cousin,” Joe said, his tone indicating that he wasn’t totally comfortable with the word yet.
“Your cousin?” Randy said, surprised.
“Yes, remember my uncle Christian? We called him Jeremy, and I had to explain that there was really only one uncle, that his name was Christian but he preferred Jeremy? I told you he looked a lot like my dad?”
Randy nodded. “Yes, I do remember him. He was very nice.”
“Yeah, well, he was really nice to a lot of women that weren’t his wife. Including this kid’s mother, a maid that worked for him.”
“Oops,” Randy said, understanding now.
“Yes, oops.” Joe grinned. “Well, he kicked the woman out when she got pregnant. Thinking on it now, I remember something happening when I was about eleven. My father, mother, and I had gone to visit my aunt and uncle and we had to come home early. My dad had been all time pissed off at my uncle and I never knew why. I think this was probably it. I think I might remember the maid too—she was a beautiful Spanish girl, if I remember right. Had my eye on her at one point…” He let his voice trail off as Randy punched him on the arm. “Sorry, love, it was long before I met and fell in love with you. Anyway, now I guess the kid has gone and tried to kill my uncle, and now he’s in jail.”
“And…” Randy prompted when he didn’t continue. She knew there was more to the story.
“And Robert thinks he can get him off, but there’s a condition to it. He wants to send him here.”
“To what, live with us?”
“Yeah…” Joe said, knowing this was a lot to dump on her.
“He tried to kill your uncle and now Robert wants to send him here?” Randy stated disbelievingly.
“Randy, that’s oversimplifying things a little bit, wouldn’t you say?” Joe said quietly.
“Yeah, okay, maybe. But Joe, we don’t know anything about this young man. We don’t know that he’s not just plain unstable.”
For all Intents and Purposes (MidKnight Blue Book 6) Page 12