Bannon Brothers

by Janet Dailey

  “Ah—certainly. One copy or two?” the clerk asked, quickly scooping up the bill and putting away the forms.

  “One oughta do it.”

  The other man gave him a conspiratorial wink and walked away.

  Bannon settled into an uncomfortable plastic chair and waited. The clerk returned in twenty minutes with a photocopied birth certificate. “Here you go. I added an official seal in case you need it. And oh—here’s the one you gave me.” He put both certificates side by side on the counter for Bannon’s inspection.

  The names and sex and dates were different, but one thing was not. Bannon drew in a sharp breath. The footprints were identical on both forms. He muttered a thank-you to stall the clerk and looked again, hard, to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

  He wasn’t. The footprints were exactly alike. Tiny toes in the same position. Every fine crease in the same place on the soles.

  There was only one explanation for that. One of the certificates had to be a forgery. The footprints of one baby had served to legitimize another, born a few years later.

  Bannon’s intent gaze moved over both certificates and picked up another difference, more subtle than the first. The official seals were not identical—the emblem was, but not the Latin words of the state motto. He wasn’t going to give the officious clerk a reason to remember him by pointing out the discrepancy. Bannon folded Erin’s document and put it into his pocket. “And thanks for the gold seal,” he added offhandedly, picking up the certificate for Erin’s brother and squinting at it. “What does it say? I never was too good at that state stuff—the flower, the bird, and all that.”

  “Do you mean the motto?”

  “Yeah.”

  The clerk’s thin chest puffed up under his shirt. He looked like a kid who had the answer to everything and was about to spout off in front of a classroom. “The official motto of the state of Virginia is Sic Semper Tyrannis. I believe it means ‘Thus Always To Tyrants.’”

  “Oh. Interesting.” Bannon folded up the second photocopy and put it into his shirt pocket. He didn’t know what the Latin words on Erin’s seal meant, but they were different, that was for damn sure. And he was going to find a translation website the second he got home.

  He drove fast, stopping only once at a drive-through place for a bucket of chicken à la grease. That got left on the kitchen counter while he booted up his laptop and found a free Latin translation site.

  Bannon typed in the words that circled the seal on Erin’s birth certificate. Veritas Temporis Filia. The thin line of the cursor blinked in the blank space for the translation.

  Preoccupied, he heard the bucket of chicken move on the counter a second before it hit the kitchen floor. “Babaloo! Damn it!” He jumped up and went in to deal with the cat, whose green eyes sparked as he crouched over a deep-fried thigh, prepared to defend it tooth and claw. The rest of the chicken was scattered on the floor. Bannon cursed a blue streak and picked the pieces up with paper towels, throwing them back in the bucket and stuffing the whole mess into the metal garbage can, then slamming down the lid.

  He washed his hands under the sink tap as the cat slunk off to feast somewhere else; then he returned to the living room.

  The translation was waiting for him. The cursor blinked at the end of the sentence. He read it aloud.

  “Truth is the daughter of time.”

  Bannon blew out a long, slow breath as he sat back. What the hell did that mean?

  CHAPTER 12

  The sunny room was too warm. Unsteadily, Montgomery sat down on the couch in his study, overwhelmed by dizziness. Attempting to summon up the strength to fight it, he told himself not to lean back and realized that he had. He tried to focus on the mantel clock when it chimed. Several seconds ticked away until the blur resolved itself into an antique face and slender hands at a right angle. Half past two.

  Vaguely he thought that a man his age was allowed an afternoon nap. He stayed where he was. Cradled in soft cushions, his head seemed too heavy for him to lift. The sensation was disturbing.

  Distantly, he heard Caroline’s shrill voice calling him but he ignored it and let his eyes close.

  The drapes were drawn when he awoke, feeling groggy. There were voices in the room and people behind him. Who? Montgomery focused on the clock’s face. The slender hands had joined at six-thirty.

  Silky hair brushed his cheek and a subtle fragrance stimulated his memory.

  “Monty? Talk to me,” Caroline said anxiously. “Dr. Ehrlich is here.” She was bending over him, standing behind the couch. A middle-aged man moved into his field of vision, which seemed to have narrowed.

  “Ms. Loudon asked me to stop in,” he said, almost apologetically. “She said she couldn’t wake you.”

  “I’m awake,” Montgomery said.

  “That’s good,” the doctor said. “Very good. But just to be on the safe side, I’d like to take your blood pressure.”

  “No need.”

  Caroline came around to where he could see her, with her arms folded across her chest. “Please cooperate, Monty.”

  “Why?” he asked dully. “You probably tried to poison me.”

  Her eyes widened with shock and she dropped the pose, turning to the doctor, whose gaze moved over the older man in quick assessment. Then he put a calming hand on her shoulder and guided her away from the couch.

  Did they think he was deaf? He heard every word of the doctor’s low reply. But the sense of it escaped him.

  “Confusion is one symptom. . . . He’s a little aggressive. . . . No telling what . . .”

  Caroline answered the doctor in a whisper as Monty closed his eyes again. He stayed awake. He could feel their footsteps through the soles of his feet as they returned.

  “It was a joke. Lunch was too heavy. There’s nothing much the matter with me.”

  Caroline eased onto the couch beside him. “I’ll be the judge of that,” she said with feigned warmth. “Now that the doctor’s here, I’m sure you don’t want to go to the emergency room. You know how long it can take sometimes.”

  He’d had his share of tumbles from riding, and the occasional broken bone. The thought of being parked on a gurney until some snot-nosed intern got around to examining him roused Montgomery out of his torpor. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Dr. Ehrlich went to the chair opposite, where he had set a large, multipocketed briefcase, its flap opened wide. He took a curled stethoscope out of one pocket and unfolded it, putting it around his neck. Then he removed a portable blood pressure monitor and came to where Montgomery was sitting.

  With deft fingers, Caroline removed his cufflink and began to roll up his sleeve, stroking his bared skin as if she wanted to soothe him. He found her touch intensely irritating. Montgomery pulled his arm away and finished rolling up his sleeve himself.

  A tiny frown settled between her perfect eyebrows as she gave up and moved aside. The doctor wrapped the cuff tightly around Montgomery’s upper arm and held the cold disk of the stethoscope against the inside of his elbow, not saying anything as he listened and watched the readout.

  Caroline was silent. Montgomery was grateful for that.

  The doctor frowned when the display beeped. “I don’t like that number.” He lifted the stethoscope disk and took the earpieces out. “I’m afraid we need to have a little talk, Mr. Montgomery.”

  Montgomery ripped off the blood pressure cuff. “You’re not my doctor.”

  “Your pressure is sky-high. Caroline told me that your cardiologist recommended medication. Have you been taking it?”

  He wouldn’t answer. Caroline did it for him.

  “No, he hasn’t.”

  Montgomery threw her a contemptuous look. “Did you count the pills, Caro?”

  She lifted her beautiful head high. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Will you excuse me for a moment, Dr. Ehrlich?”

  The doctor nodded and put away the tools of his trade, avoiding Montgomery’s steady gaze. Both men heard her heels clicking a
nd, far away, the faint sound of a cabinet door slamming. It wasn’t long before she’d rejoined them. Her long fingers clutched several pill bottles. Visibly shaking, she tossed them onto the coffee table.

  “I don’t know what to do. He just won’t take them.”

  The doctor glanced down at the jumble of bottles, then gave her a puzzled look. “But these are mostly empty. Someone has—” He stopped when he caught her furious glare at Montgomery.

  “You dumped them,” Caroline hissed.

  Montgomery only shrugged.

  The doctor studied his reluctant patient for a long moment. “You do know that you’re flirting with disaster.”

  Montgomery’s response was cold. “Maybe I don’t care.”

  “You should.”

  Caroline gave him a pleading look. “He’s right, Monty.”

  Making a fierce effort, Montgomery rose from the couch, refusing the helping hand the doctor extended to him.

  “As you can see, I’m fine,” he said in a low voice.

  The doctor shook his head and packed up his briefcase. “High blood pressure is nothing to fool around with. I suggest you call your cardiologist as soon as possible.”

  Standing, Montgomery towered over him. “Thank you for coming.” His tone was anything but grateful. “Caroline will see you out.”

  She pressed her lips together, saying nothing as she ushered Dr. Ehrlich into the hall. Montgomery stayed upright, bracing himself with one hand on the back of the couch. He wasn’t sure he could get up again if he allowed himself the luxury of sitting back down.

  In another few minutes, she stalked back in. “You made a fool out of me.”

  He laughed harshly. “Did I ruin your dramatic scene? I’m not sorry. You should have looked at the bottles.”

  “Is that my fault?” she cried. “Why did you throw the pills away? I know you did, there were lots of them yesterday!”

  “To get you off my back. I knew you’d taken the bottles out of the cabinet. I had them arranged in alphabetical order. You didn’t put them back right.”

  “This is crazy. Monty, you could die if you don’t take them!”

  “I feel fine.” He didn’t. It cost him to keep standing. His hands tightened on the back of the couch. She didn’t seem to notice that his knuckles were white.

  Caroline waved that away, then pointed her finger at him accusingly. “You are going to your cardiologist tomorrow if I have to drag you there!”

  “You can’t make me.”

  A frustrated scream choked in her throat. “Damn it, Monty! Stop acting like a child!”

  He gazed at her calmly and kept his voice calm. It was ridiculously easy to get Caroline mad. “I think you just described yourself.”

  She began to pace the room, walking fast, working off her righteous anger.

  “Something is the matter with you,” she said at last. “I apologize for caring.”

  “I rather doubt you’re all that interested in my health, Caroline.”

  She whirled around, her hands on her hips. He liked her like this—ready to fight.

  “What if I hadn’t found you in time?”

  His shoulders moved in an indifferent shrug. “Nothing happened. Why are you carrying on like this?”

  “You heard Dr. Ehrlich. He’s trying to help you, but you just won’t listen—or—or let anyone help or get close—”

  He almost swayed where he stood, but forced himself to be still. Blood pounded in his ears. “Closeness is overrated. Someone always gets hurt.”

  “Monty, you can’t keep pretending that you’ll live forever.”

  “I have no such illusions,” he replied grimly.

  “Let me take care of you. Is that too much to ask after all this time?”

  He held up a hand. “Stop it. I don’t want anyone taking care of me, least of all you. We aren’t going to marry. Get that through your head.”

  “You’re behaving irrationally,” she snapped. “Dr. Ehrlich said so.”

  “A brilliant diagnosis, considering I never met the man before today.”

  “He’s a—a friend of a friend. And he was the only doctor who would come to the house!”

  “Ah, yes. I was curious about that. Do you mind if I ask how you persuaded him? He’s not your type. Not good-looking and too conscientious by half.” He smiled when she shot him a hateful look. “But he will send a bill. Are you going to pay it, Caro? Because I intend to rip it up.”

  “Monty, you need help!”

  His eyes glittered. “You can’t grab the reins. Don’t try.”

  “I’m not—”

  He took a deep breath and shifted the position of his braced hands before he spoke again.

  “I want you to leave, Caroline. Of your own accord.”

  Her beautiful eyes glowed with angry fire at the blunt challenge. “I can’t.”

  “You mean you won’t. Scared?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “It’s not that hard,” he taunted her. “Open a suitcase. Fill it up. Take whichever car you like—you can keep it.”

  “I live here. With you.” The reply was issued through gritted teeth. “It’s been years, Monty.”

  He sighed. “Not very happy years, were they? Why did you stay?”

  Tears shone in her eyes, and a few of them spilled over. She dashed at them, smearing her makeup, before she swallowed hard. “I stayed because I love you. And I still do.”

  Monty’s expression was bland. “No, you don’t. You never did.”

  Caroline turned her back on him and rushed out of the study.

  He waited another minute, then staggered to the armchair and collapsed.

  Much later, waiting up, Caroline heard him go into his bedroom. He had been unwell—they had been together long enough for her to know it for a certainty. She moved closer to his room from where she was standing at a turn in the upstairs hall, biding her time as he went through a pre-sleep ritual she couldn’t see but that was as familiar to her as her own.

  A brief shower, followed by a vigorous drying-off. Clothes and towels kicked to one side for the housemaid to deal with. The heavy door of his great-grandfather’s mahogany wardrobe squeaked open. That was another piece of furniture she hated—it reminded her of a huge coffin. She knew he was taking out a pair of monogrammed pajamas from a built-in drawer.

  Caroline could imagine his tall, still-fit frame properly clad in striped, piped flannel. All buttoned up. Safe from her, she thought angrily. She couldn’t hear him ease between the covers and lay his head on the pillow, but she knew that was next. He had a habit of staring at the ceiling before he fell asleep. She’d watched him do it often enough. But it had been a long time since her body had been next to his.

  No matter what he insinuated, she had never cheated on him. She regretted being so noble. Listening and waiting in the dim light of the hall, Caroline happened to catch a glimpse of her worried expression in a mirror on the wall and scowled. So much for getting her beauty sleep tonight.

  His attitude toward the doctor was no surprise. Monty hated to seem weak. No matter what, he had to be in charge.

  Don’t grab the reins.

  Her lawyer would do that for her. Caroline’s lips curved in a small but triumphant smile. It was high time Monty got taken down a peg. The Loudons were his social equals, but his fortune had tipped that balance.

  She had waited too long, played her game carelessly. Beauty hadn’t been enough. Unfortunately, her looks were fading fast and she was obviously replaceable. Caroline didn’t believe one word he said about that girl he’d hired to do a painting of his stupid horse. Erin Randall was way too pretty.

  It enraged Caroline that he had been so cynical about her last-ditch declaration of love. He could have let that slide, left her a little dignity, even if he was smart enough not to believe her.

  To hell with him.

  Insomnia was his new best friend. Sleep, when it came, gave him troubled dreams. Lying awake was preferable. Montgomery waite
d until he heard Caroline head for her own bedroom and listened to her close the door with a sharp click. He turned his head and looked at the smooth, plump pillow next to his. Without emotion, he tried to remember how long it had been since Caroline’s head had rested there. Quite a while.

  She wouldn’t come to him tonight either. But then that was the last thing he would want.

  Montgomery sat up, pushing the covers away and getting to his feet. A shot of hard liquor might do him good. He kept his favorite tipple hidden in a closet, just to make sure he’d always have enough. It was handmade bourbon, aged to perfection by the son of the fellow who’d sold the same stuff to his father—and every other local squire who was willing to ride half a day into the woods to buy it from him one unlabeled bottle at a time. The original maker was an expert distiller known to all the gentlemen in the county. Just not to the government.

  Montgomery went to the closet and reached in for the bottle, carefully stashed behind a jumble of decorative objects that Caroline had bought and then not liked. He pushed them aside, feeling his fingers touch the cool plaster of the interior wall. Not there—the bottle had been taken. Or moved.

  Then he remembered that he had moved it himself, to the large storage cabinet in his study that held miscellaneous family papers and years of correspondence, set aside for him to write a family history someday. It was safe enough there. He knew Caroline had already pawed through the letters some time ago. She was the kind of woman who could not resist snooping and he had obligingly left the accordion folders unsealed to give her something to do.

  He flicked open the latch and reassured himself that the bottle was there, moving aside a fat folder or two and circling the neck with his fingers to bring it out into the light. Excellent. There was more than enough in it for his purposes. He could sip and read something until he felt sleepy.

  Montgomery looked around. The coffee table held the usual magazines, stacked with don’t-touch precision, all about horses and hounds, socialites and snobs.

  On impulse, he grabbed an accordion file from the storage cabinet and tossed it onto the couch. Might as well see what was in it. The date on the label was decades old, from when people prided themselves on writing intelligent letters. A few bounced out when the thing landed. No one had rewound the string around the disk that kept it closed.