“You mean like bank transactions?”
“I did that back in Mississippi and I’m trying to make more connections now from here—bank transactions, buying and selling stock, deposits in her accounts and withdrawals, too. I made copies of all that. When I was in Mississippi working on the case, my investigation led me to a Charlene Pickett. I thought something about her looked familiar. Then it came to me. Charlene Pickett and Charlotte Robinson looked an awful lot alike. I believe they’re the same person. Let me show you.” He turned his laptop toward Cassie. He had a split screen with a photo of Charlene on one side, and Charlotte on the other.
“Those photos do look like the same woman—a younger version and an older version,” Cassie agreed.
“A substantial amount of money disappeared from a major bank. I connected that to Charlene Pickett. If Charlene, now Charlotte, used that money to fund Gerald’s rise to fame, he could be guilty, too.”
Cassie looked him squarely in the eye. “If you’re undercover, why are you telling me this?”
“I have to be undercover from the Fortunes, but I don’t want to be undercover with you.”
“Oh, Nash.” Her voice held the same longing that he felt.
She was leaning toward him and he was leaning toward her. But they were both aware of that laptop between them. He had work to do and shouldn’t be distracted. He’d hoped that by telling Cassie the truth, he would put an end to his distraction. But he could see immediately he’d just created more of a bond between them.
She was looking worried and she asked, “Is something wrong? You’re putting an awful lot of trust in me. Why?”
Wasn’t that a good question? For now, he’d give her a relevant answer. “Because I think you can handle it. You’re not involved in the investigation. If I don’t have to hide anything around you, then I can be myself. I can relax in between research jaunts, and maybe be able to think more clearly. I have to find incontrovertible evidence against Charlotte, not supposition.”
“You have a hard road ahead of yourself. The Fortunes have power and influence. Gerald Robinson is rich. He can buy anything he wants, probably anybody he wants. Men like that don’t get prosecuted. If they do, they get out of it, and the same would go for his wife.”
Cassie sounded a bit bitter, which wasn’t like her at all. “I suppose that’s true some of the time, but I’m trying to prevent Charlotte Robinson from hurting anybody again.”
“I suppose that’s what being prosecuted for a crime is all about,” Cassie murmured.
That thought seemed to energize her. She gently pushed his laptop off her lap and onto the hassock. Then she went back to the sofa, grabbed her glass of iced tea and took a few sips. He saw her hand was shaking a bit. Had he scared her?
Still sitting forward on his chair, he closed his laptop and then he asked, “Should I have kept this to myself?”
She instantly answered his question. “No, Nash. No. I’m glad you told me. Really, I am. I just...” She sighed. “I’m just not sure what it means for us.”
“I’m not, either,” he admitted. “But I didn’t want half-truths to stand between us.”
She nodded as if she understood. He so wanted to scoop her up from that couch and carry her up to his bedroom. But the way she’d moved away, she obviously wasn’t ready for that. He didn’t know if he was. So he remembered the other reason he wanted to talk to her. “I just didn’t want to tell you my secrets,” he said with a smile. “Are you busy? Is there something you need to be doing right now?”
“Not at the moment,” she concluded, giving him a smile of her own.
“The light is still decent. Would you like me to take photos of your paintings? Since we both have the time—” He left the sentence open-ended. He wasn’t about to force her to spend time with him, though he really wanted to do this for her. “If you want to stay down here I could do it on my own.”
“No, I’ll come to the attic with you. I can pull out the ones that I think have the most merit.”
“They all have merit. Have you worked any more on the one on the easel?”
“A little. But it’s not finished yet.”
“And you wouldn’t want me to take a photo of your best painting before it’s finished.”
“Exactly.”
“My camera’s in my room. I can stop there on the way.”
* * *
Cassie was nervous as she waited for Nash in the attic. She felt honored that he’d trusted her with the real story behind his visit to Austin. On the other hand, she was scared. He was a cop first and foremost. Her mother had committed a crime, whether it was unintended or not. Cassie couldn’t imagine he’d ever understand what had happened or her feelings for her mother, or the fact that she still loved her even though her mother wouldn’t communicate with her. Her mother thought she was protecting Cassie, and maybe she was. Maybe Cassie didn’t want to know about the reality of prison and her mother’s life there. But she’d been without a father most of her life. She didn’t want to lose her mother, too.
How could Nash understand any of that when his feelings about right and wrong were so solid? She remembered all too well how Cody had ended their relationship after he’d found out about her mother. Why should she take a chance on that kind of heartache again?
She heard the steps creak as Nash climbed them. When he appeared with his camera, she wondered if she should rethink this whole thing.
But she didn’t get a chance to do that because he asked, “What do you want to start with?”
Concentrate on your paintings, she told herself.
“I’ll just pick out a few,” she said.
“Nonsense. We’ll do them all, then you can decide which ones you want in your portfolio.”
That made sense, but it would take longer. They’d be up here together for a while. Just the two of them. She could handle it. She’d just make sure she stayed at least three feet away from him at all times.
As she quickly thought about the best way to photograph her paintings, she suggested, “Let’s do them in batches—landscapes, then animal paintings, then symbolic works.”
“Sounds good.”
His gaze locked to hers, and she decided maybe four feet between them might be better than three.
Turning away from him, she went toward the corner where her landscapes were located. He, of course, followed. She lifted first one, then the second, then the third and positioned them against the wall. It didn’t take long for him to photograph each one.
He said, “I’ll take two photos of each painting. That way, if one isn’t exactly the way you’d like it, you’ll have a choice.”
Again, that sounded very reasonable.
Eventually they came to the last series of paintings. She turned around the hummingbird and butterflies and then the wildflowers. For these, instead of zooming in, he moved closer to each painting. As she turned the last one to reveal a gazebo with twinkle lights set against the backdrop of a full moon, he moved in again. They were only about a foot apart.
His voice was a bit husky when he told her, “I have a spare flash drive. I’ll put together a file with the photos and you can have the drive. That way you can have them printed in whatever size you’d like.”
He was watching her and she was watching him. The movement of his lips as he spoke was mesmerizing.
She cleared her throat. “I have a company that I send photos like that to. They do a good job.”
“Terrific.” He came even closer. Cassie was against the wall so she couldn’t back up. She could scoot out around him, she supposed, but she didn’t want to.
Nash was looking at her lips, his gaze intent and suddenly hungry. He moved and she anticipated his kiss. Instead, he bent to place the camera on the floor. She closed her eyes and let out the breath she was holding and that was when she felt it. The tingling sensation
of his hand on her neck, sliding under her hair. Reflexively she turned her face up to his. As he came even closer, she could smell the lingering scent of aftershave. It was masculine and spicy, and she wondered if she opened her eyes what she would see in his. But the thought fled as she felt his breath on her lips.
Their other kisses had been fast and hot. She felt the heat now, too, but more than that, she felt Nash’s sensuality meeting her own. After he kissed her cheek, he let his lips trail to her mouth. He was coaxing her into passion and she didn’t need to be coaxed. She sighed and when she did, she could feel his tongue touch her lips. Although the kiss was slow, there was a rawness about it. When his lips finally took hers, she grabbed onto his shoulders and held on tight. Kissing Nash was all that mattered in the world.
She’d never felt such a disturbing desire to be one with someone, to be one with Nash. His arms were around her, and hers were around him. She slid her fingers into his hair and as the kiss went deeper, he groaned. They were both eager and hungry. She felt Nash’s heat all around her, or maybe that was her own meeting his. Their tongues searched each other’s mouths, and all Cassie thought about was both of them without clothes, in bed, doing what was coming so naturally to them. Maybe it was that picture that made her hesitate.
A small moan escaped her lips as she set her palms against his chest. When she opened her eyes, she thought he looked as dazed as she felt. She knew now that she was undoubtedly falling for him.
“You want to stop?” he asked in a gravelly voice.
“We have to.” She knew she sounded a little desperate, but there it was. She wanted him, yet she knew she shouldn’t want him.
Nash backed away. “That got more intense than I intended it to.”
She simply nodded because she couldn’t seem to find the words to speak.
“I think we’re finished up here,” he said with a wave at all the paintings.
“We are,” she agreed.
He asked, “Do you want me to find another place to stay?”
She had to be honest with him. “No.”
This time he nodded. “Are you coming downstairs?”
She took refuge in the talent she’d taken refuge in as a child. “No, I’m going to stay up here and paint awhile.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll give you the thumb drive then.”
“Thank you, Nash. For everything.” He’d made her feel like a woman again.
His smile was wry when he said, “No thanks necessary.” Then he descended the steps onto the second floor.
Cassie had fully intended to paint, maybe to finish her work in progress. Instead she found herself reaching for her sketchbook and drawing the profile of Nash Fortune Tremont.
Chapter Eight
Maybe because Nash was chasing after the Fortunes most of the day, he looked forward to getting glimpses of Cassie, to eat with her and her guests, even to help her clean up the dishes. Most of the time they didn’t talk much, but there was a connection between them. He certainly couldn’t understand it.
Tonight as they were clearing the table, Cassie said to him, “Soon I’m going to have start paying you for helping me.”
“No chance of that,” he responded. “It’s good for me to wind down this way.”
“Tonight I especially appreciate the help.”
“Do you have an art class?”
“No. A Chalk in the Park event for kids.”
He’d seen the sign Cassie had hung at the front desk, but he hadn’t known exactly what it meant. But anything she promoted had to be good for children and families.
“What’s that all about?” he said, very curious about the event.
She stacked plates and added silverware on top of those. “The volunteers from the art center put containers of those big sticks of colored chalk at intervals on the sidewalks in the park. There’s a volunteer at each station. The kids draw what they like on the pavement.”
“While the volunteers make sure everything’s kosher with no disturbing graffiti,” Nash guessed.
“Exactly.” She carried the dishes into the kitchen. “I knew I wouldn’t get there until later tonight so I’m not taking one of the stations. But I’m going to help with general monitoring, and if any of the kids need any assistance, I’ll be there.”
“That sounds like something I could use right now. A night in the park with kids and colored chalk.”
“You’re not having any luck with your research?” She sorted the silverware and placed it in the dishwasher.
“That depends on what you mean by luck. Maybe I’m finding out too much.”
“Anything specific?” Cassie asked.
He joined her in the kitchen. “You want to get going. You don’t need to talk about this now.”
“We don’t need to talk about it at all if you don’t want to.”
Cassie broke eye contact and moved away from him to load the dishwasher. He didn’t want her to think he was shutting her out. This time he wasn’t. He followed her and placed his hand on her arm.
Turning toward him, she assured him, “I really don’t mean to pry. But if you need a listening ear, I’m here. I don’t have to worry about being late because no one expects me at a specific time.”
Nash took a towel from the counter and folded it in half. “I wanted to see how some of the Fortunes live. Not all of them are rich, and don’t want to be from what I read. And I really had no intention of doing this.” He stopped.
“Something to do with your biological father?”
“Yes. I went to his estate and parked down the street from the gate. And it is an estate, not just a property.”
“I don’t understand the difference.”
“It’s surrounded by a stone wall and has an electronic iron gate and a long winding driveway. According to aerial shots I’ve seen online, it actually looks like a Mediterranean castle.”
“Stone walls and iron gates mean he wants to keep people out...or his wife does.”
Cassie’s suspicions were very much like his own. “I guess it makes sense if he’s rich. He can have any kind of house he wants...any type of security he thinks he needs.”
“I’m not sure anyone needs a house like that,” Cassie decided.
“My investigative training taught me a lot about fishing around the internet. I found other aerial shots that showed multiple wings, a pool and a whole lot of trees that hid pretty much everything else.”
Cassie admitted, “I’ve read several articles written about Gerald Robinson.”
“There have been many articles written about him. In one, there’s a photograph of him in his library, where there are rows and rows of books, and even a rolling ladder.”
After studying him carefully, she asked, “Do you resent it all?”
“You mean the butler and the Persian rugs? Those were mentioned in one of the articles, too. I don’t know if resent is the right word. I think he’s a despicable man who doesn’t deserve any of it. And if I’m right about his wife, she certainly doesn’t deserve it, either. But I imagine she’s done everything in her power to keep it.”
“You said you saw a photograph of him. Do you see yourself in him?” Cassie asked softly as if the question might irk him.
“I saw some resemblance. Fortunately, I take after my mother.”
Taking off her apron, she perceptively suggested, “With a house like that, it sounds as if he might be afraid of the outside world.”
“You mean paparazzi finding out all of his business? Maybe how many more illegitimate children he has?”
“Possibly that,” Cassie confirmed. “But maybe it’s his way of having a quieter life inside. You can read all the articles in the world about him, Nash, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to know him from them.”
She was so right about that. “Thank
you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For letting me vent a little.”
“I think about ninety percent of that venting is still inside you. But you’re welcome if it helped.”
“I think what would help more is the kids and the chalk in the park...and you.”
She looked flustered. “Me?”
“You’re a breath of fresh air in my life right now, Cassie. I appreciate that more than you know.”
She looked a bit embarrassed, as if compliments were foreign to her. He couldn’t imagine why. She was a beautiful woman.
“I have to go get dressed,” she said. “Jeans and a T-shirt will be a better outfit for kneeling on the pavement and getting covered with chalk. I’ll meet you down here in ten minutes?”
“Ten minutes is good. I’ll be waiting.”
* * *
A half hour later Nash had parked his SUV in a public lot and he and Cassie walked to the park. It was a beautiful night.
“Are there lights in the park if this goes on for a while?”
“Oh, yes. There’s a gazebo in the middle and that’s all lit up. There are gas lights down each of the sidewalks leading to the gazebo.”
“Do parents stick around?”
“Some do and some don’t. It depends on how old the kids are, and how much freedom they have on their own.”
“If I were a parent, I’d want to be there. Even with volunteers, I wouldn’t want to leave my kids in anybody else’s hands.” When he glanced at Cassie, he saw that she was looking at him. “What?”
“I believe you’ve seen a side of life that I haven’t.”
“That’s true. I’ve seen kids getting hooked on drugs too soon. I’ve seen men approach kids who shouldn’t be anywhere near them. I’ve broken up domestic fights because adults can’t act like adults. So I don’t see the world as a safe place.”
Cassie was frowning now and he didn’t have a chance to ask her about that. As they entered the park, a boy about eight years old came running toward her. “Cassie, Cassie. Come see my drawing. Micah says it’s terrific.”
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