GRIPPED (Romance Mystery & Suspense Box Set)

by Abbott, Alex

  Worse, his love for Gracie hadn’t diminished one liter. On the contrary. If possible, he pined for her even more.

  And his mood got an even bigger jolt when the police returned his cell phone and he discovered that in the course of the evening, he’d sent Gracie no less than twenty text messages, indicating he loved her more than life itself, and would she please forgive an old skunk like himself.

  Sensibly, the girl of his dreams had ignored them all except the last. With extreme economy and efficiency, she had decided to make matters perfectly clear by advising him to ‘Rot in hell.’

  The message had apparently amused Bill Rattner a great deal. His old frenemy had decided to check in on Jack while he slept off his bender and had had a good laugh at his expense by flipping through his phone messages. He’d even attached a Post-it to Jack’s phone thanking him for “Not burning down the station house this time around. Asshole.”

  After staring at Gracie’s message for five minutes, Jack crumpled up Rattner’s note and decided that enough was enough. From now on, Gracie Travers was dead to him, no matter how much willpower it took.

  And please, for the life of him, no more alcohol or drunken texting.

  His dignity having taken a serious wallop, he woke up Mike, and the two men staggered from jail wiser, better men, Jack with but a single purpose in life: forget all about Gracie, and spend the rest of his life far away from her.

  In order to accomplish that simple goal, he decided on the spot to vacate his house in Paris, and to permanently move to Brussels.

  If only he never saw her again, he might finally be able to flush her from his system.

  With a new sense of purpose, he called Kate, his personal secretary, and told her to put his Paris house up for rent, and find him a decent flat in Brussels. No more Carlton for him. It was time to put down some roots in the EU capital.

  Chapter 35

  Jack was feeling miserable again. He’d stayed away from Paris for a couple of weeks, leaving Rufus in Magali’s care, but now business had required him to return to the City of Light, as had his father’s grumbled complaint he never saw his youngest anymore and inquiring whether Jack was going to live under a rock from now on?

  Jack had explained that Brussels wasn’t a rock but a major city, but Carter Sr wouldn't’ be appeased. “Brussels is a foul provincial town. Ugly as fuck and probably the filthiest place you can find in that godforsaken part of the world. Why you want to live there frankly beats me.”

  “Well, I like it.”

  “Better you than me. How a true Parisian can voluntarily go into exile in that vile town is beyond me.”

  Now he was sitting in a bar sipping from some horrid green drink, staring at a woman probably more gorgeous than any he’d ever gone out with, and still he couldn’t help feeling sorry for himself.

  “Tell me about yourself, Jack. What do you do for a living?” Natasha asked.

  “Banker.”

  She laughed, though he failed to see what was so funny about his chosen profession.

  “I’m a model myself,” she declared. “Mostly nudes.”

  If this was intended as a preamble for the more intimate part of the evening, its intention was lost on Jack.

  “Oh?”

  She licked her lips, and Jack remembered an article he’d once read about women eating almost four pounds of lipstick in their lifetime. He stared at the scarlet lipstick Natasha had smeared on her lips. It went well with her flaming red hair and her remarkable emerald eyes.

  “Where do you model? At the academy?”

  “Used to. Nowadays I work for a selected group of artists. ”She grinned. “Better pay. And I’ve started to do some shows as well. And shoots, of course. Things,” she concluded with infectious optimism, “are going great.”

  He smiled economically. “That’s fine.”

  “And how’s business in the banking world?”

  He shrugged. He didn’t care one iota about the banking world. “Not too shabby. More money coming in than going out, so I guess that makes us bankers happy.”

  She had to laugh again, throwing her head back and eliciting a whoop of mirth. It truly was infectious, and he found his spirits lifting. He took another sip from his cocktail. Perhaps this was the ticket to restoring his equanimity. Having drinks with a funny, pretty girl. Not as pretty as Gracie, of course, but then nobody was.

  “I like you, Jack,” she stated with sparkling eyes. “You’re funny.”

  “First time anyone has ever called me that. Usually the first thing that comes to mind when describing a banker is stuffy.”

  She cocked her head, scrutinizing him. “No, that is not the adjective I’d choose. Hot, perhaps. Smoking, maybe. But stuffy? I’ve seen stuffy shirts, Jack, and you’re not it.” She nodded curtly, her scrutiny completed. “Definitely not.”

  “Thanks, I guess. You’re pretty pretty yourself.” He shook his head, the alcohol starting to affect his mental faculties.

  She grinned broadly. “Thanks, Jack. No one has ever called me pretty pretty before.”

  “I’m sorry, I meant to say—”

  She waved a deprecating, perfectly manicured, hand. “It’s fine. Wanna get out of here? I know a great place where we could have some fun.”

  Fun was something he desperately craved, so he quickly agreed.

  Once they were out on the street, she slung her arm in his and they started walking down the boulevard.

  “Where are we going?”

  “My place. Where else?”

  He felt he should protest. He didn’t really want to get involved with this pretty pretty lady, and he started muttering an excuse, but she yanked him along. “Come on. I just want to show you where I live. You’ll love it, I swear.”

  He was too far gone to resist her endearing invitation, so he decided to play along. After all, he had to start dating sooner or later, so why not tonight?

  He glanced over at Natasha, and decided she was a nice person, not the cold-blooded vixens he used to date back when he was still Jack the killer bachelor. He didn’t know what kind of Jack he was now, since Gracie had pretty much spoiled him for the dating scene, but he intended to find out.

  “All right,” he finally agreed. “Let’s go to your place and have some fun.”

  She patted his arm. “Now you’re talking, Jack. Not so stuffy after all, huh?”

  He grinned. “I guess not.”

  A short taxi ride later, they stepped out into a part of town he hadn’t visited in ages. Faubourg Saint-Antoine was where the artistic set lived and worked, and since he hadn’t an artistic bone in his body, he’d rarely hung out here.

  They walked up to an industrial style building that had recently been converted into lofts. “You live here?”

  “Sure I do. Why, don’t you like it?”

  “No, it’s just that it’s...” He wanted to say expensive, but that seemed hardly the kind of thing to say to a woman who’d just invited him to spend the night.

  She winked. “I know. That’s why I’m sharing it with a friend. Her daddy is super-rich, you know, and since she wants to be an artist, he got her this place in the heart of the artistic neighborhood.” She threw up her arms. “And I get to live here as well! Can you beat it?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  He briefly wondered who this super-rich daddy might be, but then decided not to ask. It was none of his business how other people led their lives after all.

  They stepped into a wide freight elevator, and Natasha suddenly draped herself all over him, her lips seeking his with a hunger that surprised him. He tasted lipstick and a hint of mint julep, and then her hands were curled up in his hair and her tongue exploring the space beyond his teeth.

  He felt... invaded for some reason, and the experience left a bad taste in his mouth.

  Frantically, he sought for a way to disentangle himself from this unwanted affair, but he found none that would leave them both unscathed.

  Finally, he took a firm
hold of her arms, and pushed her back.

  “Natasha,” he said softly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think I can go through with this.”

  Her lips turned into a pronounced pout. “Why? Don’t you like me, Jack?”

  “I do. It’s just that—”

  “You think I’m ugly, is that it? Too fat?”

  “No, absolutely not. You’re gorgeous, honey. Absolutely stunningly beautiful, but—”

  “It’s another woman, right? You love somebody else?”

  He sighed, and drew a weary hand across his face. “Yes. I’ve been seeing this girl, and... I thought we were over and done with, but...”

  “You can’t get her out of your head.”

  The elevator jerked to a stop, and Natasha slung the door open with surprising ease. For such a skinny girl, she was quite strong.

  He hesitated, really wanting to ride the car down again and disappear into the night with his sorrow and his pain, but she stood waiting for him, so he relented.

  She gave him an inviting smile, her mood having miraculously turned sunny again. “Just one drink, and then I’ll let you go.”

  He stepped out of the elevator and followed her down a well-lit hallway. With its exposed brick walls and iron wall sconces, it looked quite stylish, and for a moment he thought they’d arrived at some night club.

  But then she entered her key in a wide iron door, and when it swung open, he was surprised by the homely spaciousness of the place.

  The room had been divided into several nooks, one of which was a TV corner, dominated by an apple blue and sea green color scheme, with several brightly colored sofas and an abundance of throw pillows.

  To the far wall, an open kitchen had been constructed with impressive butcher block island, all appliances sleek and modern, opposite a wide deal staircase leading up a cheerfully yellow wall to the second story.

  A myriad of plants placed in rattan and wicker baskets completed the picture of a real home.

  “Nice,” he remarked as he followed her inside.

  She slung her purse on the couch and walked straight through to the bar. “I need a drink. What’ll you have, Jack?”

  “Do you have bourbon?”

  “Sure. We have everything. My roommate occasionally objects, but I always say that if you want to entertain, you need to keep the liquor flowing.”

  Good policy, Jack thought, and briefly wondered where the roommate was. As if she’d read his mind, Natasha said, “We have the place to ourselves. My friend won’t be back till tomorrow. She moved in with her parents for a while.”

  “Oh? You two had a fight?”

  She chuckled. “Not really. She had an accident and needed to recover.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “She’s fine.”

  He ambled round the place, noticing several large paintings serving as decoration. They all depicted exquisite landscapes, executed in lively colors.

  “My friend painted those. You like?”

  He did. “She’s quite the artist. Does she exhibit?”

  “Not really. I don’t think she’s sold a single piece.”

  “I like em. Very… vivid.”

  “I’ll tell her you’re interested. She’ll be thrilled.”

  “Yeah. I would love to buy one of these. I just moved to Brussels, and my new place needs sprucing up.”

  Natasha returned holding two glasses and handed him one while she took a sip from the other. She gestured at the black leather couch, and he reluctantly settled back.

  “I’ll just stay—”

  “—for a couple of minutes. Don’t worry. I won’t jump your bones again.” His date’s eyes sparkled, and he thought he detected a triumphant expression on her face. He wondered why.

  “So, tell me all about this woman who broke your heart and ruined you for the likes of me.”

  “Not much to tell, really. She’s, uh, an artist actually.”

  “I might know her then?”

  “You might,” he conceded.

  “What’s her name?”

  He desperately sought for a way out of this conversation. He really didn’t want to share his most intimate secrets with a girl he hardly knew.

  “Come on, Jack. I won’t tell a soul. I’m a very discrete person.”

  He laughed nervously, then relented. What harm was there in mentioning Gracie’s name. After all, perhaps Natasha did know her, and could tell her how she was doing. “Gracie. Gracie Travers.” He looked up, curious to see the response in Natasha’s eyes, but she merely pursed her lips and shook her head.

  “Never heard of her. She must move in different circles.”

  Chapter 36

  “He’s what?”

  I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard.

  “Jack’s father couldn’t conceive, so he turned to Franklin, asking him for the ultimate favor.”

  I swallowed convulsively, all color draining from my cheeks. “Jack’s... my brother?”

  Mom’s eyes went wide. “Oh, God, no. Of course not.” She sighed. “I guess I better tell you the whole story.”

  We were sitting in the kitchen. As had frequently happened these past couple of weeks, I couldn’t find sleep, and had snuck downstairs for a glass of warm milk. Mom, who occasionally couldn’t sleep either, had joined me. As she told me the story, a lot of things became more clear to me. One of which was why I’d always felt closer to my mother than my father.

  “It was around the time we were celebrating our tenth wedding anniversary. For a long time, I’d been wanting our union to be blessed with a child, but Franklin kept brushing me off. So finally, one night, I confronted him, telling him that unless he told me why he didn’t want children, I’d leave him—I was really desperate at this point. I loved him dearly, but I’d always dreamed of having a family and now it seemed as if he was denying me this heartfelt wish.”

  “What did he say?”

  Mom’s fingers absently curled around her empty glass of milk. “He told me he already had a child and didn’t want a second. Something in the way he told me seemed off, so I pressed on.

  “I knew Franklin had been married to Francine Müller before we ever met, but I didn’t know he’d fathered her a child before they broke up. And since he refused to divulge any more, I decided to find out from the horse’s mouth.” She looked up. “So I paid a visit to Francine. I felt I had a right to know, and she seemed like the only person who could tell me.”

  “When I was in Jack’s place, I saw a picture of his mom. And when he played me some of her music, I immediately recognized it. Dad used to play it over and over.”

  “He did. She was the great love of his life, and through a tragic event, he lost her.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “He got drunk one night, and hit her. She was already with child, and fearing for both her own life and that of her unborn baby, she fled from him into Jack Carter’s arms, who had loved her from afar ever since he first laid eyes on her.”

  I gasped in surprise at this. “So that’s when Jack was born.”

  “Frank. Jack’s older brother. When Francine desired a second child, Jack’s father discovered he was infertile. Not wanting to break his wife’s heart, he came to Franklin.”

  As Mom explained what had expired between the two former friends, I had tears in my eyes. In spite of their animosity, Dad had decided to do the right thing and help the woman he loved conceive a second son.

  “He never told her?”

  Mom shook her head. “Francine died without knowing Jack was Franklin’s. Nor did she have to know.”

  “But what did you feel about all this? It must have been terribly hard on you.”

  Mom cast down her eyes. “Franklin and I had split up by then, over his refusal to father me a child, and Francine’s story of the way he had treated her.”

  I brought my hands to my face in surprise. “You and Dad split up?”

  Mom nodded. “I met another man. A
n artist. It was a very brief affair. Passionate, yes, but brief. He didn’t treat me very well, and after a few weeks I returned to Franklin.” She smiled. “Your father kept begging me to come back to him. Said he’d made a terrible mistake with Francine and since that day hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol.”

  “It’s true. Dad never drinks.”

  “He always said drink awoke the devil in him, and damn near destroyed his life. Only when he was sober, did God send him an angel as acknowledgment for turning his life around. He said that the angel was me.”

  “That’s so sweet.”

  “Your father may be a bit rough around the edges, but he really is a very tender-hearted man once you get to know him. And I’ve known him for close on thirty years now.”

  “You haven’t told him about me.”

  Mom touched my face, and gazed into my eyes. “After the affair, I discovered I was pregnant. Rather than have the baby aborted, Franklin and I decided to keep it.” She trailed a finger along my cheek. “Your father, Gracie, is the artist I met that summer. His name is Bruno Gartner.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “The Bruno Gartner? The famous painter?”

  Mom nodded. “After we broke up, he became quite the celebrity.”

  “Did-does he know about me?”

  “He doesn’t, and neither does anyone else. Bruno... well, he’s a bit of a prick if you must know. Not really a father figure.”

  I knew what she meant. From all accounts, the man exuded an attitude of je-m’en-foutisme in the extreme. The only person in the world Bruno Gartner liked was Bruno Gartner. I doubted if he’d have been a great father to me. Unlike Franklin, he’d probably have abandoned me without a second’s hesitation.

  “Franklin is your father, honey. He raised you as his own, and we never discussed the matter again after that summer. We never had to. I realized I loved him and he loved me, and I had everything I needed right here.”

  Suddenly, something occurred to me. “Does Jack Carter know about you and Bruno?”

  Mom shook her head decidedly. “No, he doesn’t. Franklin never told anyone and neither did I. It’s our little secret and we would like to keep it that way.”