“You sticking with that lame argument?” Callen didn’t bother to hide the amusement in his voice.
“Yes.”
“Fair enough.”
“You’re conceding a fight?”
“No, lawyer boy. I’m giving you one more week to figure out what’s going on with her and figure out what she’s really looking for, then I’ll take over.” Callen tucked his hands in his jeans pocket and rocked back on his heels.
And he would. Callen was the boss type. Since Beck had gone years without seeing his older brother, years wondering what happened to drive him away and leave home with Charlie when he was ten, Beck refrained from fighting the impromptu chain of command that dumped him at the bottom. It was more important to have a relationship with Callen than win every argument.
But that didn’t mean Beck didn’t get a punch in when he could. “Tell me why you think you’re in charge again?”
Callen tapped on his temple. “Older and wiser.”
“You’re half right.”
Callen smiled. “And your time is ticking.”
Chapter Three
Sophie’s feet thudded as she jogged down the stairs. She slid around the bottom banister and across the inlaid hardwood floor of the open foyer. With her head down and mumbling, she stepped through the kitchen doorway. The glasses chinking together didn’t register until she was halfway in the room and about a foot away from smacking into furniture.
The bigger issue was the person on the other side of the square butcher block island, leaning against the country sink. One Leah Barton, Declan’s girlfriend who had recently been upgraded to live-in, very serious girlfriend. She stood there, switching between smiling and blowing on whatever liquid steamed out of the top of her mug. Never mind that it was summer and she wore a sleeveless purple shirt and shorts. She drank something hot.
This was not their first uncomfortable kitchen meeting, but Sophie still had no idea how to read Leah. She’d become a regular fixture at Shadow Hill thanks to Declan dragging her upstairs to bed every two seconds.
And Sophie understood why. She didn’t suffer from extreme bouts of low self-esteem—just the normal levels of glossy magazine-inflicted low self-esteem now and then—but combine Leah’s long red hair, gray eyes and perfect skin with her enviable curvy figure and Sophie felt positively troll-like. Her arms grew and knuckles started dragging against the floor the longer she stood there.
Yeah, time to leave. “Sorry, I can come back when you’re done.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Come in and sit down with me.” Leah maneuvered her way around the island and dropped into one of the chairs around the kitchen table, waving Sophie closer the entire time. “It’s nice to see a female face around here, though the male ones are awfully pretty.”
“Including Callen’s?” The words rushed out before Sophie could stop them. “Well, I mean, of course he’s objectively good-looking.”
“They all are. When I first met Declan I turned stupid just from staring at him. I almost convinced myself Charlie had made some sort of pact with the devil to get those genes and pass them to his boys.” Leah settled further into the chair. “Heaven knows that guy would have done anything to make an extra buck.”
Sophie knew all too well about Charlie and how he left a trail of schemes and victims across the country before dying a year ago. The folks in town and everyone in the house talked about him. Then there was the information from her aunt.
Sophie was also very familiar with the oldest Hanover brother and how annoying he could be. “I try to stay away from him.”
“Who?”
“Callen.” She gripped the back of the chair at the head of the table in a white-knuckle clench as she waited to see what Leah would say in response.
“Ah, yes. The grumbling thing. But don’t kid yourself. He’s as mushy on the inside as the other two. It all comes from not being around for his brothers before and being overly protective of them now.”
Not the answer Sophie expected. Sounded like Leah was talking about a totally different guy. “If you say so.”
“I do.” Leah held up her mug. “Want a cup?”
No way was Sophie sticking around. Leah could live in whatever fantasyland she wanted as far as Callen was concerned, but she could do it alone. “I have to get back to work.”
“Nope.” Reaching across the big table, Leah grabbed a packet of sugar and ripped it open. A rich caramel-flavored scent fell over the room as she stirred. “You need to sit down and tell me why you’re flushed.”
That fast Sophie’s hands went to her cheeks. The skin under her palms was on fire and she had no idea how she’d missed that sorry fact. “What the hell?”
Leah gave an exaggerated nod, suggesting she knew something important and private. “Ah, I see.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know the look.” Leah pointed her spoon at Sophie’s face. “Dizzy, confused, shifting between rage and an attraction that’s kicking your butt.”
“That’s not . . . well, I don’t know what it is. I’m thinking flu.”
Leah clanked the spoon on the side of her mug one last time before making a show of putting it down and setting it up in a perfect line with the edge of the table. “You’ve got Hanover fever.”
The chair creaked under the force of Sophie’s hold on the wood. When she tried to respond, laugh off the comment, maybe add in a “you’re ridiculous” kind of thing, only a puff of air escaped.
“I recognize the symptoms. Beck, right?” Leah dropped her little verbal bomb then sipped on her coffee like the most regal of queens.
Words finally sputtered out of Sophie. “He’s my boss.”
“Only in the most technical sense.”
“That still counts.”
Leah’s eyebrow lifted. “Uh-huh.”
“There’s nothing there. Nothing between us at all.”
This time Leah frowned from behind the mug she seemed determined to hold throughout the entire conversation. “Oh, please.”
“He’s not—”
“What exactly happened upstairs?”
“Nothing.”
Leah leaned back in her chair. “I’ve got all day, and I guarantee you after hanging around the Hanover men I can out-wait you. It’s better if you just give in and tell me the truth.”
Sophie took in the lifted chin and fire in Leah’s eyes and knew there was no way she’d let go of this topic. Oh, yeah, that stubborn streak fit in just fine with the males in this house, but Sophie couldn’t back down just yet. Just as she was about to launch into a new round of denial, Leah sighed and, well, that ended that.
The rest of Sophie’s carefully crafted act fumbled seconds later . . . so did a bit of her confidence. Her shoulders slumped as the breath blew out of her lungs. She pulled out the chair and sat down hard on the seat. The position put her perpendicular to Leah and far too close to hide.
“I walked in on him coming out of the shower.” There. Short, clear and now it was out.
Leah smiled. “Well, now. That sounds promising.”
“He was naked.” Oh, so naked and delicious . . . until he started talking.
Leah finally put the mug down. Even offered what looked like an encouraging hand pat against the table. “I had hoped that’s where you were going with this story.”
“What would you—”
“I mean, I figured you two had a run-in, but Beck without clothes is better.” Leah’s hands were in constant motion now. “For you, of course. Not me. I’m happy with Declan.”
Of course she was. Declan was the easy one, and his eyes all but glowed with love every time he looked at Leah. No wonder the woman chose him. Not that Declan ever gave Leah much of a choice on that decision. The guy had the chasing-his-woman thing down.
“Beck isn’t Declan.” Sophie bit back the rest. The part
where she kind of liked Beck the way he was, big talker, over-analyzer and all.
Leah nodded. “True. They’re very different yet exactly the same.”
Wait . . . “I’m not sure those things can co-exist.”
“May I ask you something?” Leah’s head tipped to the side.
Sophie dreaded the rest of the sentence. “Anything except for a description of Beck and his—”
“Hell, no.” Leah’s smile flatlined and the shine in her eyes dulled. “I think of him as a brother, so a black horror just descended over my mind at your comment.”
For some reason Leah’s disgust comforted Sophie. “Sorry.”
“I’m talking about you. Why are you really doing this job?”
Sophie’s defensive wall clicked right back into place. “There’s nothing wrong with honest work.”
“Whoa.” Leah held up her hands in mock surrender. “I’m not knocking the job. Honestly, I know cleaning is hard work. It’s a job I wouldn’t want to do and would suck at. If these guys didn’t pay you, I’d probably be stuck as housemother around here, because we both know there is just enough Neanderthal in the Hanover men to assume I would pick up after them. And, again, I suck at anything remotely related to cleaning.”
Sophie doubted Leah sucked at anything. Many in town had lined up against the Hanover brothers when they first arrived, including Leah’s father, yet she stood up to them all and even now was estranged from her father as a result. She did marketing for the town’s tourism and basically blackmailed everyone into backing off, or at least not being so publicly vocal about their Hanover hate.
The strong stand made her a bit of a legend among the women of Sweetwater. They cheered her on. Declan moved her in.
Sophie’s troll knuckles dragged even lower.
“You can stop evading the question now.” That was it. Leah made the comment then commenced staring. She didn’t move. Hell, it didn’t even look like she was breathing.
Something about Leah sitting there with her in the comfortable kitchen pulled at Sophie. The pros and cons of telling the truth battled inside her. But she barely knew the other woman and this wasn’t Sophie’s story to tell. The task that put her at Shadow Hill and straight in Beck’s path grew out of loyalty and love and a lifetime of debt. She just couldn’t betray any of that.
She went with a reasonable response. “I needed the work.”
“And?”
Clearly Leah didn’t buy it, but Sophie refused to waver. If she used any extra words, the woman across from her was smart enough to latch on to a stray one and start picking.
Sophie cleared her throat. “That’s it.”
“You might feel better if you confided in someone.” Leah’s traced her finger around the rim of the mug until it squeaked.
“You sound like Callen.”
Leah’s hand froze and the tiny noise stopped. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”
“I mean the part where you assume I’m hiding something.”
“Are you?”
Sophie shrugged. “Isn’t everyone?”
“Nice comeback. I can see why Beck is itching to get his hands on you.”
The sense of winning the argument evaporated before Sophie could take a mental victory lap. She was too stuck on Leah’s throwaway comment. “Wait, what?”
“You may be able to lie about who you are and what you’re really doing here, for now at least, but when it comes to Beck you’re transparent.”
Sophie’s brain misfired. The comeback forming in her brain died on her lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She knew how often she thought about Beck, but that didn’t mean she wanted anyone else to figure it out. Especially not Beck. She depended on him being clueless.
“Join me the day after tomorrow . . . no, make it Friday, for lunch at my friend’s store,” Leah said in the ultimate conversation zigzag.
Sophie shook her head, trying to figure out how they jumped topics. “Why?”
“Because you strike me as someone who needs a friend.”
Sophie tried to remember the last time she had a girls’ night out or sat around with other women and sipped wine and talked about something, anything. She’d been on this quest for her aunt for so long, starting in other towns and other residences, that real life took a backseat. Switching her priorities, if only for one meal, didn’t sound too horrible. In fact, it tempted her step out. “You’re volunteering for the role of friend?”
“Do you know anyone else in town?”
“Tom.”
Leah made a face. “Who is that?”
“My landlord.” And a friend, almost a mentor. He was older, wiser, and Sophie trusted him completely.
Leah smiled. “Then I’m perfect. Besides that we share something in common.”
Sophie wondered how many times Declan had gotten tripped up by that innocent look of Leah’s. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“The Hanover boys.”
Sophie exhaled on a loud sigh. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m hearing lots of denial.” The chair screeched across the floor as Leah stood up. She dumped her mug in the sink and leaned over the counter to look out the window above.
“I’m just trying to do my job,” Sophie said.
“And I need to find Declan before he picks up a power tool and wipes out an innocent raccoon or something.”
Sophie had to laugh at that because she could totally see it happening. “I’m thinking Beck is more likely to do that.”
Leah spun around as she wiped her hands on her khaki shorts. “He’s handy. He just pretends not to be.”
Sophie tried to remember if she’d ever seen Beck do hard labor at Shadow Hill. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy?”
“Yeah, he hides it well. And on purpose.” Leah tapped her forehead. “I blame the big brain.”
“It’s the mouth that drives me crazy.” That time Sophie felt the heat rush to her cheeks.
“Interesting.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You did.” Leah’s knowing look seemed to dare Sophie to deny it again. “Noon at Gossamer on Friday. That gives you more than two days to get your story straight.”
“The art place in the center of town?”
“My best friend, Mallory, owns it and it’s the perfect place for a girl lunch. You’ll love it and her.”
Sophie debated taking the time away. She needed to be at the house and continue her search for the jewelry. “I really can’t.”
The smile faded from Leah’s mouth. “Trust me, Sophie. These boys have a high tolerance for nonsense thanks to having loads of it shoveled on them by their idiot father, but they don’t like being lied to.”
The words hit Sophie hard enough for a clunking sound to echo in her ears. She wondered if her heart and lungs had stopped working. “What does that have to do with lunch?”
“I figure when whatever you’re doing blows up in your face you’ll need someone on your side to plead your case. I plan to be that person.”
Sophie tried to block out the words, ignore them, but . . . “Why?”
“Because I know what it’s like to have Hanover fever. And you, my soon-to-be friend, have a big-time case of it.”
Chapter Four
Hours later Beck hung up from another call with only dead air on the other end. That happened at least once a day, which was down from about ten times a day when they first moved in. But this one sounded more perv than angry thanks to a heavy-breathing issue.
Beck tried to imagine some fat dude scratching his belly as he called to make his silent threat. The thought made Beck smile. The piles of paper outlining the long table he’d set up as a makeshift desk in the middle of the large second-floor library didn’t. Leah called the thing, all five feet of it, a sofa
table. Beck had no idea what the right name was or how women knew stuff like that. He just knew the piles on top of it grew taller every week.
Charlie Hanover pissed off a lot of people before he died a year ago at fifty-six and on the run. He’d left a string of women from Seattle to Boston. Four wives, including their mother, and numerous fiancées. Women who once believed the stories he told. Beck didn’t share that burden since Charlie cut out when he was four and didn’t even bother with birthday sightings starting a few years after that.
Beck scanned the separate stacks—lawsuits, angry letters and the criminal file from the prosecution that was upended by Charlie’s untimely death. The old man apparently told a good story. He’d conned women out of their jewelry and savings accounts, businessmen and businesses out of their investments and more than one town out of their building funds.
Between the smile and easy charm, women proclaimed Charlie irresistible. He’d focus all his attention on one then take everything on his way out. Days, sometimes weeks, passed before the reality of all a woman lost hit her.
So, there should be money somewhere. Other people’s money that Beck could find, turn over to authorities and ensure its refund. But no. Despite all the searching Beck hadn’t found a stack of cash anywhere. The FBI didn’t believe that was possible and neither did Beck. The money trail was there. He just had to find it.
On the surface, Charlie died with less than ten thousand dollars to his name or tied in any way to his social security numbers, the real ones and the ones he “borrowed” when he borrowed everything else. The limited assets included a small bank account, a car in someone else’s name and a fancy watch Charlie likely stole in his travels but wore until his last day. Little else.
Beck shuffled through the papers that proved how none of Charlie’s money traced to the purchase or running of Shadow Hill. People wanted to believe the house was the answer, but Grandmother’s accounts showed Grandfather’s insurance money going into her bank accounts shortly after his death and that chunk then being used to purchase Shadow Hill. Nothing from Charlie.
A Simple Twist of Fate Page 3