The Billionaires: The Stepbrothers: A Lover's Triangle Novel

by Calista Fox

  Bayli’s radiant smile filled the screen. “You wicked, wicked woman!”

  “’Bout time. Good grief. It should be a crime to go as long as I have without sex. Great sex. Mind-blowing, core-shaking sex, to be exact.”

  “Ooohh, the best kind. But … Uh … Speaking of crimes, girlfriend … You just slept with a person of interest in a case you’re working.”

  “Yeah, there is that.” Scarlet wandered the vast room and located the in-suite iPad that featured touch-of-a-button butler service. She shot off a note to the designated attendant, requesting a pot of coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. As she scooped up her clothing that was strewn about, she told Bayli, “I will confess to a lapse in morals. In my defense, however…” She blew out a long breath. “He was worth every unraveled scruple. And then some.”

  “Wow. Coming from you, that’s saying something. What’s going on with you two?”

  “I have no idea, honestly. Just that last night was sensational and I wouldn’t be opposed to a repeat performance. But he’s on his way back to New York. And I need fresh clues to pursue.”

  “Well, you’re in luck there, too,” Bayli excitedly said. “The official FBI report has finally arrived—so much more conclusive than the vague snapshot provided by the insurance company. I printed a hard copy and FedExed it to you.”

  “Knowing you the way I do, you’ve read it from cover to cover already.”

  “Twice.”

  Scarlet laughed. “Naturally. So, what exactly was Michael’s entire statement?”

  “Let me pull up the PDF.” A few moments ticked by; then she gave the alibi verbatim. Nothing different from what Michael had told Scarlet, just a bit more detailed, including the names of the women he’d been pleasuring while someone was ripping off his stepmother’s art collection.

  Which reminded Scarlet that Michael had mentioned his stepbrother last night. “Tell me more about Sam Reed.”

  “Total enigma. Same age as Michael, thirty. Also went to Princeton. He studied architecture. Never joined a firm, though. A year after the paintings went missing, he was in a car accident with his fiancée. Very tragic story. They were returning to the Hamptons estate from a local charity function when their car was struck by a drunk driver on the passenger side. Sam was driving. He was hospitalized for numerous injuries.”

  Scarlet’s stomach suddenly churned. “And the fiancée?”

  “DOA.”

  “Shit. That’s harsh.” She sank onto a plump sofa cushion.

  “Doubly. She was pregnant.”

  “Oh, Christ.”

  “Yeah,” Bayli concurred with a tinge of dismay. “Sad stuff. According to one of the news articles I found when I started researching him, Sam had just broken ground on a house in Montana that they were going to move into following the wedding. I dug around a little more and discovered he went through with the plan. He has an equestrian estate not far from a little town called Lakeside. Pretty impressive layout. I Google Mapped it and there’s some serious acreage there with a gorgeous lodge-style home and modern horse facilities.”

  Scarlet frowned. “Where’d the money come from for all of that? Michael claims he doesn’t have access to family funds until he’s forty. If Sam was granted some sort of trust when his mother married Mitcham, I can’t imagine Sam would be able to get his hands on it anytime sooner than Michael.”

  “And Sam’s mom did not come from money. She was a waitress and also a volunteer docent at a gallery when she met the senior Vandenberg. Struggling, from what I gather.”

  “Though clearly committed to her passion for fine art.”

  “Which makes it incredibly difficult to believe she’d be involved in the disappearance of a coveted collection.”

  Scarlet contemplated this further as the butler entered the suite and set out the coffee and her breakfast, then served her. She dismissed him with a smile and a mouthed, Thank you. She took a couple of sips from her cup, then asked Bayli, “Did you come across anything of note with Sam’s financials?”

  “Haven’t gotten to them yet, sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. Seriously. Everything you’re doing is such a huge help. I really need to hire a research assist—”

  “I’m your research assistant.”

  Scarlet grinned. Set her coffee aside. “Bay, I know you dig all this cloak-and-dagger stuff, and trying to unearth whatever you can for me, but you do have a job.”

  “I’m on hiatus, Scarlet. We wrapped the preseason of the travel and cooking show and are evaluating all the responses from the test audiences, though the network has already picked us up. I’m just trying to dissect what the viewers really connected with—pertaining to the locales, the food Rory prepared, the chef challenges, and of course my hosting skills. I’ve been pretty OCD about it all, so a distraction is much appreciated.”

  “I’d feel better if you let me pay you.”

  “I don’t want you to pay me. And I certainly don’t need the money now that I have the show. I don’t want Jewel to pay me, either, when I do research for her acquisitions. A girl should have a hobby, Scarlet. And for me, it can’t be Christian and Rory. They have their own work to focus on.”

  Scarlet said, “Yes, I can imagine it’d be difficult to not be twenty-four-seven all about two incredibly sexy men who are more than happy to do your bidding both in and out of the bedroom. I’d still be absurdly jealous if I wasn’t deliriously happy following multiple orgasms.”

  “Understandable. I will say I’m surprised that you pulled an overnighter.”

  “That would make two of us. I was prepared to put my clothes back on and get the hell out, but Michael was in no particular hurry to see me go.” She smiled again. “In fact … He has a very sweet side.”

  “Didn’t see that one coming.”

  “Nor did I.” Scarlet’s heart fluttered at this more sensitive Michael Vandenberg. It was as appealing as every mysterious aspect of him.

  Bayli asked, “So what does that mean, exactly?”

  Scarlet shrugged. “I suppose it means I have the hots for the guy. And he might be a little partial to me as well.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me in the least. He just needed to let you pickup his trail and catch up to him. Do you intend to see him again?”

  “He said he’d call.” Scarlet is teeth sank into her lip for a moment. She said, “Single women all over the world are currently cringing right now, yes?”

  “I don’t know. On the one hand, Rory told me he’d contact me after that disastrous first meeting with him. And he didn’t. On the other hand, Christian was right on it. So … There’s no telling.”

  “Well, either way, I have to keep my attention on this case.” Though Scarlet felt, deep in her bones, Michael was not the answer to solving it.

  “What else can I do for you so that I don’t go stir-crazy in this huge apartment while Rory is creating a new menu for the next restaurant Christian’s plotting in New Orleans?”

  “New Orleans? Sweet!”

  “Yes, Rory is currently fixated on crawfish—the lobster of the South.”

  “Um … I’m not really sure what to say about that.”

  “I hear ya,” Bayli quipped. “But he’s into creating a dozen varieties of hot sauces and making crawfish cool outside of southern boundaries. He might be on to something. You know, once you get past snapping their little heads off.”

  Rory St. James was a celebrity chef, and his business partner was brilliant restaurateur Christian Davila. Bayli had applied for a position in their newest establishment, Davila’s NYC, an upscale steakhouse on Lexington Avenue. She’d wanted the part-time job to help supplement her less-than-bill-worthy income as a sometime model. What she’d ended up with was a TV show starring her and Rory.

  And that was just the tip of the iceberg. What Bayli had ultimately gained was the love of two fiercely protective men who were hopelessly devoted to her.

  Bayli wasn’t the only one graced with good fortune. Jewel had lande
d her dream hotel and a vineyard … not to mention her own hopelessly devoted men.

  Admittedly, Scarlet had been living vicariously through her friends of late. But last night had given her a new burst of enthusiasm and excitement.

  Though she was smart enough to play the hand cautiously, not fully knowing Michael’s true agenda, even if didn’t involve missing artwork.

  Bayli cut into her thoughts, asking, “Want me to comb through the stepbrother’s accounts? See what I find?”

  “That’d be great—particularly around the period when the insurance company cut the check. I need to take a shower and then get back to my hotel to check out and get my car.”

  “I’ll call you if anything fishy pops up.”

  “Perfect. Thanks.” They disconnected.

  Scarlet went into the bathroom. Once dressed, she called the valet for transportation to the St. Francis.

  She’d barely stepped out of the elevator and into the alabaster-marbled lobby when Bayli phoned her.

  “You are not going to believe this!”

  Scarlet’s heart launched into her throat.

  “Please, God, let this be about Sam,” she couldn’t help but say, because she needed a different thread to pull that wasn’t wrapped around Michael.

  “It is,” Bayli assured her. “I only had to look specifically around the time frame you mentioned, and lo and behold, his net worth increased by five million not more than three weeks after Michael’s did.”

  “Which could effectively mean … there’s ten mil from the eighteen the claim paid out.”

  Except that Michael had insisted his money had come from a real estate transaction. And she believed him.

  But damn it. This little revelation—this coincidence—did not bode well for anyone.

  Bayli said, “Perhaps the remainder went to whoever actually removed the paintings from the grounds?”

  Scarlet’s heart sank. “Could be,” she reluctantly said, though she was no longer convinced of this theory.

  Bayli latched onto it, however. “So the brothers said ‘screw you’ to the old man and each turned his portion into an infinitely larger fortune? Without pad’s help?”

  Scarlet halted at the double doors of the hotel entrance, not passing through them. She said, “That was an initial inclination I had. It honestly doesn’t sit right with me anymore. I need more information. I have to see this Sam Reed guy face-to-face. As with Michael, I need to gauge who Sam is, what he’s looking to achieve, what he really and truly wants. He’s too much of a mystery to me at this point.” And Scarlet wanted desperately to cross Michael off her list of suspects.

  There had to be a viable explanation as to how both men had ended up with the same financial disbursements back-to-back.

  Bayli said, “I’ll track down a Skype number for Reed, if he has one.”

  “Thanks, but that’s not enough. I have to go to Montana.”

  “Scarlet.” Bayli’s tone was suddenly filled with concern. “It’s the dead of winter.”

  “And this can’t wait. I only have a few weeks, Bay.” The sense of urgency hit her hard. “Then all the work I’ve done will go to waste and I’ll fail this assignment. I’ll fail my client.” Something she simply couldn’t abide.

  Bayli said, “You’ve never even been to Montana! Come on, Scarlet. I know you’re an overachiever by nature, but this ranch is not going to be easy to find. You could drive for days before you figure out where the hell you are!”

  The panic exuding from her friend aside, Scarlet had already made up her mind. She shoved through the lobby doors before a bellman could assist her and stalked toward a valet, saying, “Scarlet Drake. There’s a car here somewhere for me.”

  “Yes, Miss Drake. At the front of the line.”

  “Excellent. Thank you.” The driver appeared and Scarlet slid into the back of the vehicle as she told him, “The St. Francis.” Then to Bayli on the phone, she said, “Look, I’m not trying to get crazy here. But this is a cold case for a reason—the good leads have all been exhausted. Yet something in my gut tells me there’s more to the story. I want to learn it.”

  And fully exonerate Michael.

  Bayli paused, and Scarlet knew she was stewing over Scarlet’s tenacity. She wouldn’t be the first; wouldn’t be the last.

  Finally, Bayli said, “I’ll send you all the info you need. But, Jesus, Scarlet. Be careful. Please.”

  With a soft laugh to ease some of the tension, Scarlet told her, “Relax. It’s not the Wild, Wild West. It’s just Montana.”

  “With light flurries later this afternoon, according to my weather app.”

  “I’ll rent a Jeep or an SUV or something. I’m sure they’ll put chains on for me or whatever. And again, it’s modern civilization. I’ll bet they even have snowplows.”

  “Guess you’ll find out.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Yeah, right. Like I wasn’t stressing when you went on your super-secret date last night.”

  “I kept you guys in the loop. Thanks for having my back, by the way.”

  “Oh, we’ll be doing that all right,” Bayli assured her. “I have new GPS solutions for both you and Jewel, for when she’s tracking down her elusive unicorns for negotiations and trading power on acquisitions. The two of you are a bit too Jane Bond for comfort.”

  “Speak for yourself, danger magnet. I’ve never been kidnapped before.”

  “Uh, well, that was just … I mean … It wasn’t so much a kidnapping as—”

  “You were trapped, Bay. And it was incredibly hazardous to your health.”

  “So’s the middle-of-nowhere Montana in a snowstorm—especially for a Cali girl.”

  Scarlet smirked. “I’ll be fine. Send the directions I need. And thanks bunches. I love you to pieces.”

  “Back at ya. And always have your cell close at hand, okay? Promise.”

  “I swear. Now, I’ve got to make air and car reservations, collect my bag from my hotel, and do a little winter apparel shopping so I don’t freeze my ass off.”

  “Water, blankets, first-aid kit, power bars, snow scraper, flare gun … Think you can get the rental company to pack all that in your vehicle?”

  “Along with ropes for rappelling, a pickaxe, snowshoes, and—”

  “Smart-ass.”

  “Really, Bay?” She laughed. “A flare gun?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Fat lot of good it did for the Titanic.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Scarlet insisted.

  “Just keep me posted.”

  “Of course.” They disconnected.

  Scarlet set about accomplishing all of her tasks and then drove to San Francisco International Airport.

  Excitement rolled through her as she boarded a plane.

  What might Sam Reed be hiding…?

  SIX

  “Good Lord, Sam,” Reva Travers said as she pressed a hand to her chest. “That saddle looks better than brand-new.”

  Sam Reed hoisted the restored saddle from the bed of his truck and carried it past Reva and into her heated tack room as she followed him in. He slung his latest project onto the only vacant stand and then stepped back, propping his hands on his waist.

  He said, “Took a little more work than I’d initially thought, but once I got started it became an all-or-nothing sort of deal.”

  “It sparkles brighter than ever before.” She reached for the large red satin bow sitting on a bench and settled it in the seat. “Layton will be so thrilled.”

  “He deserves this,” Sam said of her son, who’d be turning fifteen over the weekend. “He’s put huge effort into improving his jumping these past few years and he’s got a shot at nationals.”

  “And not only is he finally tall enough to ride his father’s horse, but he’ll be sitting high in that beautiful saddle that Hank loved so much.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “It was passed down from his great-grandfather. Now Layton can truly carry on the Travers family tradition.”

  “
Hank was a good man,” Sam said in a quiet voice as he gently placed a hand on Reva’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “I know.” She gazed up at him with watery brown eyes. Reva Travers was a pretty brunette who looked like she’d grown up on the Girl Scouts, the 4-H Club, and the advent of the organic veggie movement. And she had. “Been a rough time for Layton lately, especially with Hank’s illness incapacitating him for so long. But this will be a highlight after the dark times. Means a lot to him, Sam.”

  She got a bit choked up. Tried to cover it with a casual laugh as she swiped at her cheek with the sleeve of her sweater.

  Sam’s gut twisted. Though he told her in an even voice, “We’ll get back to training after Layton’s birthday. He needs plenty of time on his daddy’s horse before the competition season starts.”

  “It’ll help him to have something to focus on following the funeral.”

  “I agree. Now I have to get back to the ranch.”

  “Be careful. Couple of hours from now, the snow’s going to be fallin’ heavy.”

  Reva’s house in Whitefish was about an hour away from Reed Ranch, south through Lakeside. Sam said, “I’ll be in good shape before the storm really hits.” He gave her a grin. “But I’ll be back for Layton’s party on Sunday night, I promise.”

  “He’d be so disappointed if you weren’t there, He looks up to you, Sam. More so now than ever.”

  “I’m damn fond of him, too.” Sam gave her a quick, friendly hug, then turned to go.

  “Wait,” Reva said. “Let me get my checkbook.”

  Sam glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t you dare. This is something I wanted to do. It was a great idea you had, Reva. I’m happy to have been a part of it.”

  “Sam.” She frowned. “I know you have the equestrian facilities and your furniture making to occupy your time. This project took up even more hours.”

  “I enjoyed this, Reva. I started fixing up old saddles when I moved here, and I’m getting the hang of it.”

  “You’ve done more than that; trust me.” She gave him a grateful smile. “At least take the apple pie I made for you.”

  “Well, you know I’ll never pass that up.” He winked good-naturedly.