“You brought her into it. You exposed all of us to danger. The reverberations are still lingering, even now. You were always blind to her, Jack. Blind to her faults. Blind to her actions. Even after she died, you kept the blinders on. You’ve never wanted to see what’s been right in front of you.”
Jack’s fist connects with Elliot’s nose and blood spurts. Elliot stumbles backward, both hands to his face, blood pooling through his fingers.
“You fucking asshole.” He flings the droplets to the ground, wipes his hands on his trousers, and lunges toward Jack.
Jack steps forward, too, happy to brawl this out like they used to as kids, but Brice reacts lightning fast. He grabs Jack’s arm and hauls him out of Elliot’s space.
“Stop it, both of you. Fighting isn’t going to solve anything.”
“He started it.”
“Elliot, don’t be a child,” Brice says, and Elliot rolls his eyes but sits down, a snowy white linen napkin held to his nose. It grows increasingly red, and Jack feels a terrible sense of satisfaction at bloodying his brother.
“I don’t think the data has been wiped for good,” Brice continues. “Someone’s stolen it. Moved it to their own server and wiped ours clean. They’re holding it until we respond to the threat.”
“What’s been accessed?” Elliot asks, gamely trying to gain control.
“All of it,” Brice replies.
“Does someone want to clue me in on what we’re supposed to be admitting to in the next twenty-four hours?” Jack asks wearily.
Elliot begins to speak but Brice holds up a hand. “It doesn’t matter. We say nothing. We don’t respond to blackmail. I’ve planned for this very situation. I have a self-destruct mechanism built into the personal servers. Within an hour, if a passcode isn’t entered, the files will kill themselves. The passcode is generated from a keycoder that I carry on me at all times and is controlled with my personal biometrics. It’s an automated process, the passcode resets every sixty minutes. So, it doesn’t matter. This will all be over, and the joke’s on whoever thought they could hold us hostage.”
Elliot throws the bloodied linen to the floor. His nose has stopped bleeding, but his face is puce with anger, his nose swollen and bruised. Won’t he look charming in the photos, Jack thinks.
“You never told me that. What if something happened to you? I need to have access to these files, too. I mean, God forbid, but what if one of our enemies decides to drop you off the cliffside? Without your active biometrics, the files are useless. Besides, whoever has them can still read the files right now.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence, El,” Brice says drily, pouring himself an espresso. “I have contingency plans in place should something happen to me. But without the physical evidence, there will be no proof. And someone smart enough to crack our encryptions and break through our firewalls will know that without proof, they have nothing. This will all go away.”
“Who’s done it, though? Who managed to get into our system in the first place?” Jack asks.
“That’s what we’ll need to figure out. Karmen will get to the bottom of this.”
“Karmen is a bit overwhelmed, don’t you think?” Elliot says. “She’s already dealing with the situation in Nashville.”
“Fuck off, Elliot. They’re tied together, obviously,” Jack says. “The break-in, the servers, finding Morgan’s body... It’s all tied together. The question is, what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to sleep on it,” Brice says. “There’s nothing you can do right now anyway. The SOC and Karmen are handling things. We don’t respond to threats. We’ll figure this out tomorrow.”
Jack has always been astounded by his father’s calm in a crisis. Brice claps his eldest son on the shoulder.
“It will all be okay.”
“Doubt it,” Elliot says.
“Stow it, Elliot,” Brice snaps. “Go tend to your wife. I have this under control.”
Elliot storms from the room, passing Ana and Claire as they return. Ana watches him go, then looks at Brice. “Everything okay?”
“We’re fine. Just a misunderstanding. I’ll fill you in upstairs.”
Ana hugs Claire, then Jack.
“Good night, my dears. We’ll see you in the morning.” She leaves with Brice, and Jack blows out a huge breath. They are finally alone. Claire breaks a breadstick in half and nibbles on it.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Dad has things in hand, of course.”
“Elliot looked pissed.”
Jack laughed, sharp and short. “Elliot is being a dick.”
“They’re getting divorced. He and Amelia.”
“Mom told you that?” She nods. “I suspected as much. He’s been on edge for weeks. And Amelia looked terrible.”
“Are we going to be okay?” Claire asks. “I mean, the servers, surely there’s something important... Are you still okay with everything? I know—”
He cuts her off with a kiss. “Hey, bride. Wanna get drunk under the stars? It might be our last chance to be alone for a while.”
The way she smiles at him makes his entire body light up. “Yes, please.”
“Good. Follow me.”
22
Making Love Out of Nothing at All
We go down the hall to the library again. I hadn’t noticed the French doors on the near wall. The curtains are drawn, huge, thick sheaves of oyster Dupioni silk draped in front of the doors. He pulls them back with a schwing and I can’t help myself—a gasp flies from my lips.
“Oh my God, the view is incredible from here. Why would you ever close these?”
“Light can damage the books. We’re on the edge of the island. Doesn’t it feel like we’re dropping off in the sea?”
“Is that the infinity terrace we saw from the boat?”
“Yep.”
He leads me out, positions me at the stone’s edge. The sun has slipped away now, and the sky is a few shades darker than the lavender of our bathroom ceiling. The clouds are ominous, but still holding themselves back. Jack pours champagne in our glasses, then tips his glass to mine. “To my bride.”
“To my groom,” I reply, taking a sip. I hadn’t noticed the label, but it is excellent, of course. I expect nothing less.
“To your 30 percent. I hope you aren’t too taken aback by our little arrangement,” he says, voice now laced with amusement. He sounds himself again.
“Jack, you know I’m not interested in your money. But a little heads-up would have been nice. I felt foolish.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Oh, you surprised me, all right.”
A small smile quirks the edge of his lips. “I’m to take note that you don’t like surprises, correct? Marriage lesson number one?”
“Yes. Marriage lesson number one. Marriage lesson number two... It’s too much, Jack. A third of your estate? What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Buy a small country?”
“Ha-ha.”
He brushes a piece of hair back from my cheek, tucks it behind my ear. “Claire. Listen to me. I love you. I want you to be taken care of, no matter what. As you might have just noticed, being a Compton can come with certain...constraints. This is your safety net. If something happens to me, I wanted you to be covered.”
“If something happens to you?” The sentence ends on a shrill squeak. “What do you think might happen?”
He hesitates, and I have the strangest sense he is about to say something huge and important, but the moment passes.
“Darling. Monday should have been the first clue. Tonight, another. We are often targets. This is the world we live in. We have no idea what might happen from one day to the next. I have no intention of being parted from you willingly. But should the unexpected happen, I want you taken care of, no matter what.
Yes, the terms of the settlement are generous, but the NDA is quite stringent and serious. You can’t break it, Claire, or there will be nothing, and the family can prosecute you for breach of contract. I don’t have any control over this. And I want you to have everything. You deserve everything. Okay?”
“Of course. I have no intention of mentioning anything private about the family. Like I told your parents, it’s no one’s business.”
“Good. Are we friends again?”
“Yes. Good friends.”
He kisses me, startling me again with his intensity. It’s like we are never going to kiss again, and he needs to memorize every inch of me. I quickly realize he’s doing more than kissing me. One hand is wound up in my hair, and the other has travelled to the button of my jeans.
“Jack, stop. Not here. Let’s go to our room.”
“Yes, here,” he replies, silencing me with another soulful kiss. “No one can see. This is a very private terrace.”
“No no no no. I’m not so much of an exhibitionist that I’m going to drop trou right here in front of God and your parents and the library door. But if there’s someplace close by that affords a bit of privacy...”
I trail my fingers along the buttons of his jeans, and he groans.
“Come with me.”
He marches purposefully down the stone stairs to a long, fragrant path. In the gloaming, it is so vividly green I can practically hear the breath of the trees, feel their heartbeats thudding, growing, soaking up the dripping wet from their leaves. Or maybe it’s my own, thundering in my ears, a physical expression of the desire coursing through me.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
We are moving fast—the path is well trod; one Jack clearly knows intimately. I see a corner ahead, and the grimacing face of a stone Medusa on a pedestal.
“Is this another entrance to the labyrinth? Your mom took me through it earlier, but I didn’t realize there was more than one way in or out.”
“It’s a safety thing. Four corners, four entrances. One day, we’ll sit down with the layout and I will show you exactly how to navigate it from every angle. In the meantime, if you find yourself lost in here, turn left. Always turn left. For the moment, just follow close.”
We speed through the turns, left, right, left again, then we’re back out into the clean sea air and we’re approaching the cottages. They sprout like mushrooms from the forest floor. They need work.
“Why haven’t your parents done a restoration on the artists’ colony?”
“We thought maybe you’d be interested in working on it.”
“Me?”
“Who better to restore and recreate an artists’ colony than the world’s greatest artist herself?”
I think perhaps this is something I can do for the family. Clear the area, get the cottages restored—revive the artistic tradition of the island. I can hold retreats, bring in other artists—painters, writers, filmmakers—work with them, create with them. I’ve been here only a day and I’m already inspired—a week in the colony and I might come out with a new mission statement entirely.
“I would love to.”
“Good. Mom will be thrilled.” He stops walking at the first cottage. “Private enough for you? It better be.”
He pulls me to him, kissing me intently. I’m weak with desire already, his kisses always turn me on, and our flight through the labyrinth has left me short of breath. Being here, with him, on the island, outside in the salty air and frangipani breeze, turns me on even more. He brushes a warm hand against the skin of my stomach, and this time I murmur my assent. He unbuttons my jeans and slides down the zipper roughly, his long fingers finding their way inside my panties. I collapse against him, reveling in the sensations rippling through my body. It isn’t long before one leg is free, hooked around his hips, and he has my back up against the cottage wall. I take advantage of the position to reach between us to free him of his jeans, and he groans as they slide down. He takes me there, against the stone. It doesn’t last long, for either of us.
“Love you, Claire. Love you so much.”
He is talking into my hair, stroking me. My back is scraping against the rock. He must have felt me flinch because he pulls away and gently, so gently, lays me down in the grass.
“Open your eyes, Claire.”
I do, and the naked fear on his face almost makes me cringe. It shifts to sweetness and love the moment his eyes lock on mine.
“You’re mine now,” he said. “Forever.”
* * *
We dress, straighten ourselves, giggling a little at the headiness of being in love. Then we stand together, staring out at the sea. I sense the dogs moving near us.
“Do they live outside?”
“No. Well, yes, technically, but their kennels are the size of your sister’s apartment in New York. Heated, cooled, cushy beds. There’s even a therapy pool in case one of them needs work. You know these larger breeds often have hip dysplasia as they get older.”
“So they’re not spoiled at all.”
“Lord, no.”
I take a deep breath, blow it out. I am suddenly exhausted.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Jack asks, so solicitous, so warm.
“Just...worried about my parents and Harper getting here okay.”
“Ah. Don’t worry. They’ll all get here in time.”
Tell him your fears. Admit your obsession. It’s time he knows everything about you.
“It’s a funny thing, Jack—”
“Wait. What is that? Hold on.”
He dashes away, leaving me standing alone on the edge of the grove. I follow slowly, picking my way through the brambles and stones. While the labyrinth path is well tended, the cottages and the grounds surrounding them have been left to decay. I don’t know why they would have let it go, unless it’s something to do with Jack’s grandfather, and his dementia.
I find Jack at the farthest cottage. He’s gone inside—the door is propped open. A musty scent emanates from inside. I look closer at the eaves above the door. All of the wood has been left to rot, we’ll have to restore them, too. Olive wood or Cyprus would be good, both are rot resistant.
“Damn it.”
“Jack? What’s wrong?”
He emerges from the darkness, turning off his cell phone’s flashlight.
“Don’t come in here.”
“Why not?”
“Someone’s been camping in here. It’s disgusting. The cottages are closed—they’re unsafe, as I’m sure you can see.”
“Someone? Like who?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to have a conversation with Karmen. We can’t have strangers wandering the grounds. She should have a tighter hold on things.”
“Is she here?”
“Everyone’s here, darling. But she’s not a part of our wedding party. She’s tucked away in her lair, handling security.”
I wonder, just for a moment, how many of our thirty guests are Compton staff. Henna handled the list, as she handled most everything else.
Compton staff are family—long-term, well liked, privy to all the little secrets. I’m sure they’ve all signed the same nondisclosures I have.
Jack wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt. “We need to go back to the Villa. I need to let them know. It’s probably someone from the restoration team who didn’t want to go back to the mainland over the weekend—there’s food and trail clothes in there, plus a sleeping bag and blankets—but everyone who isn’t family or staff are supposed to have left the grounds to give us our privacy. We don’t want any media sneaking in—you know that.”
Oh, boy, do I. The Comptons are notoriously private when it comes to family affairs.
I have to stop thinking about the family this way. I am about to be a Compton. I belong to this serva
nt-laden, helicopter-flying, island-owning, yacht-sailing, computer-mogul-gazillionaire privacy-at-all-costs family.
“Jack?” A voice is calling from up the path, and I scramble to make sure I’m truly decent. Private, my ass. My God, anyone could have come out and seen us in flagrante delicto in the colony. I’m mortified at the thought. I’m no prude, but I’m not entirely comfortable around the Comptons yet. I always feel like I’m about to make a misstep. Boinking the heir in the shadow of the Villa counts.
“We should go,” Jack says. I twist my hair back from my face in an effort to smooth it just as Fatima appears at the entrance to the labyrinth.
“There you are. Karmen needs to speak with you.” She looks amused and I have the most horrible feeling she knows exactly what we’ve been doing.
Despite myself, I yawn, a jaw-cracking yawn, and Jack grabs my hand.
“Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s get you back to the Villa.”
23
Somebody’s Watching Me
The library is clearly the staging area for the family. Fatima disappears discreetly after showing us to the door, which feels so damn weird. I mean, Jack knows the way around his house, he hardly needs to be escorted. Especially with Malcolm and Gideon lurking around.
Ugh... I’d forgotten myself outside. Bet they got an earful. How mortifying.
Karmen Harris waits for us. She has taken a seat by the fireplace. Two chairs sit opposite her. I look for Brice or Ana, but we’re alone. Jack closes the doors behind us and we take our seats.
Up close, I’m surprised to see how small she is. She can’t be more than five feet tall, but she commands the room. She has a large gun in a holster under her jacket. I suppose if I had that kind of firepower, I’d reek of confidence, too.
“Jackson,” she says by way of greeting. “And this must be Claire. Lovely to meet you.”
“You, too. I’ve heard good things.”
She smiles but doesn’t offer her hand, and I don’t offer mine.
“Karmen, someone’s been camping in the cottages. You need to look into it,” Jack says.
Her Dark Lies Page 11