A Very Private Merger

by Day Leclaire

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, swooping over to give him a quick, energetic hug that pressed that huge, rather scary baby bump tight against him. “You have no idea how upset we’ve all been over Dad neglecting to write Mom a letter. I can’t believe it didn’t occur to any of us that it might simply have gone missing. And I can’t tell you enough how much we appreciate the fact that it did occur to you.”

  Laurel, TKG’s long-distance PR Director now that she’d married her husband, Rakin Abdellah, fixed Jack with a shrewd gaze. “Nikki was right all along. You’re one of the good guys. You have no idea how relieved we all are to discover that.”

  “I’m not one of the good guys,” he instantly denied. He turned on Nikki. “You have to stop telling people I am. Why would you lie to people about that?”

  While his Kincaid sisters laughed as though he’d said something funny, Nikki smiled. “Because you are a good guy.”

  Before he could prove otherwise, Lily chimed in. “We’ve been so worried about your intentions toward The Kincaid Group. Thank goodness we can put that concern to rest.” Her hand rubbed distressing little circles across her distended belly, her wedding rings flashing in the sunlight. With luck her soothing touch would keep the kid right where it was until well after the reception. Jack opened his mouth to explain in no uncertain terms just how wrong she was when she added, “That sort of stress isn’t good for the baby.”

  He clamped his back teeth together and altered course slightly. “There’s still the outstanding ten percent,” he warned. “Nothing’s decided until we determine which way the final shareholder plans to vote.”

  Laurel offered a smile that appeared uncomfortably genuine. “True. Of course, if you throw your vote to RJ, those shares become moot.”

  Crap! Five sets of feminine eyes stared at him with various degrees of warmth, from Elizabeth’s sweetness, to Laurel’s friendliness, to Kara and Lily’s delight, to Nikki’s open relief. Her eyes filled with a distressing combination of love and tears while the mouth he couldn’t seem to get enough of quivered into a hopeful grin.

  How the hell did she do it? How the hell did she keep arranging events so he ended up on the receiving end of Kincaid gratitude? Well, it wouldn’t last long. Not when they found out he had no intention of throwing his forty-five percent in RJ’s corner. Then all those lovely smiles would fade and they’d rip him to shreds. At least then their relationship would return to normal.

  “Time to go,” he announced, slipping his hand under Nikki’s elbow.

  Before he could escape, the Kincaids descended once again, giving him an endless stream of farewell hugs and well wishes. He’d almost reached the breaking point when they finally let go. Without another word, he spun on his heel and moved at a rapid clip across the patio. Nikki had to practically run to keep up.

  “Slow down, will you. And don’t forget we need to collect your mother.”

  He turned on her. “No, I will not slow down, not until we’re out of earshot of all those damn Kincaids.” He continued moving until they rounded a corner and were clear of viewing and hearing range. “I warned you about interfering, Nikki. I told you I have no interest in establishing any sort of familial relationship with them. But did you listen? No.”

  She jerked her arm free of his hold. “Wait just one minute, bubba. That lovefest back there had nothing to do with me. You were the one who suspected Reginald left a letter for Elizabeth. You were the one who called Harold Parsons. And you were the one who didn’t correct your sisters when they assumed you’d vote for RJ at the annual meeting.”

  “For the last time, they are not my sisters.”

  “You know something, Jack? I’ve had it with your denials. Whether you like it or not, they are your sisters. And the reason you didn’t correct their assumption is because you didn’t want to hurt them. Now quit dumping your B.S. on me and try smelling what you’re so busy shoveling for a change. Until you do, I’m going home.” She jabbed a finger to his chest to emphasize her final words. “Alone.”

  Spinning around, she struck off down the driveway toward the street. He stood there a minute, too stunned to move. What did she mean “try smelling what you’re so busy shoveling”? He’d never been anything but completely up-front about his feelings toward his brothers and sisters—not his brothers and sisters. He lowered his head and swore beneath his breath. When had he started referring to them as brothers and sisters? Because somehow, at some point, that’s precisely how he’d begun to feel about them.

  Okay, maybe not RJ. But the others…

  He knew how dangerous it was to open himself up like that. He was a bastard and nothing would ever change that. If they considered him kin, it was on those terms and those terms alone. It wasn’t because they liked or respected him. They were simply stuck with him.

  And yet… He couldn’t help but recall Matt’s friendly smile, and the way he’d greeted Jack today with a slap on the back and a one-armed hug. Of course, his brand-new marriage made him so euphoric he’d probably have done the same to a pink-haired baboon with bad breath and a coat full of fleas. And then there had been Elizabeth’s effusive greeting. Also understandable considering her emotional state after reading the letter his father had left for her. Same with his sisters. They were so excited about the letter he’d been briefly swept into their circle of love.

  Still…it felt good. Too good.

  Jack shot his hands through his hair and groaned. How had it happened? When? Somehow a door opened and he didn’t have a clue how to slam it shut again. Of course, it would slam shut at the annual board meeting. Then he’d see how chummy his “family” remained. Which brought him to his next problem.

  He stared in the direction Nikki had taken. He refused to let her leave. Not until they straightened out a few vital details, such as why she refused to wear his ring. He’d also demand she tell him what secret she continued to keep from him. Not to mention forcing her to explain once and for all why she was so determined to reconcile him with the Kincaids. Granted, he’d also apologize for acting like a prize jerk. But something was going on here and he wanted to know what.

  He reached the street and didn’t see her. But if she was busy walking off her mad, he could make an educated guess which way she’d gone in order to return to her Rainbow Row home. He set off in that direction, moving at a ground-eating pace. Rounding the next corner, he saw her a couple of dozen feet ahead of him. She approached an alley running along the back of the homes occupying that block—including the Colonel Samuel Beauchamp House. The narrow access road connected to the main boulevard and she spared a quick glance toward the alley before starting across.

  Jack heard the screech of tires the exact second Nikki did, her head jerking toward the alley. He couldn’t say what warned him of her imminent danger. He simply knew that—like with Alan all those years ago—she was about to be hit by a speeding car. He didn’t think. He broke into a flat-out run. A few paces ahead of him, Nikki froze, everything about her communicating intense alarm. He reached her a split second before the car and snatched her backward with such force they both hit the pavement, and hit hard.

  They rolled toward the street and dropped into the gutter. He tried to cushion the impact, but had a feeling she’d collected more than her share of scrapes and bruises. The car skidded around the corner onto the main street, so close he could feel the heat from the exhaust and the stinging kick of dirt and gravel. The engine gunned and it took off without stopping.

  “Nikki!” His hands swept over her. “Sweetheart, how bad are you hurt?”

  She trembled against him. “I’m…I’m okay. I think.” She struggled to stand. If they’d been anywhere else other than in a filthy street, he’d have made her lie still while he examined her for injuries.

  “No, not yet,” he insisted. “Don’t get up until I check you out.”

  Gently, he eased her to a sitting position on the edge of the curb and ran through a curtailed version of the basic A through E p
rimary examination his mother had taught him. Nothing broken. No indication of a head injury. Just some general scrapes and bruises.

  “Okay, you pass,” he said in relief.

  “Oh, Jack!” She threw her arms around his neck and clung.

  “Easy. Easy, honey.” He could feel the dampness of tears against his dress shirt. “What happened, do you know?”

  “He came at me. He almost hit me. If you hadn’t gotten there in time…” She began to cry in earnest.

  “Who, Nikki? Did you see the driver?”

  She pulled back a couple inches. A painful scrape rode her cheekbone and along her chin where the metallic sequins from her purse had connected with her face. “Oh, Jack. It was Alan. Alan tried to kill me.”

  Nine

  By the time Nikki and Jack returned from the police station, she barely had enough energy to pull herself from the car.

  Between her various aches and pains from her tumble to the street, and her mental and emotional exhaustion from the endless rounds of questions Charles McDonough had asked, all she wanted was to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. One look at Jack warned he felt the same way.

  “Will your mother be okay?” she asked.

  “Should be. McDonough said they wouldn’t charge Mom for lying to cover for Alan, not if she testifies against him.”

  Deep lines of pain carved a pathway across his face. More than anything Nikki wished she could ease that pain, but there was nothing she could say or do that would change the reality that Jack’s brother had killed his father. Worse, his mother had lied to protect the son she sincerely believed innocent.

  In fact, it hadn’t been until Charles had shown the video from the parking lot the night of the murder that the pieces fell into place. There was no dent on the Aston Martin that drove onto the lot, proving it couldn’t have been Jack’s car. Between the accident pictures he pulled off his cell phone, and the receipt for the repair provided after a single phone call to the mechanic, it became clear that the car in the video wasn’t Jack’s.

  Even more damning was the hat and coat Alan wore that night. One look and Angela burst into tears. She’d bought Alan both items and finally confessed she had no idea what time Alan returned home that night since she’d fallen asleep on the couch while reading. When she awoke he’d been sitting in a nearby chair, also reading, and claimed he’d been there for hours. She had no reason to question his statement until recently.

  By the time they left the station a warrant had been issued for Alan’s arrest. Nikki suspected that once they checked his bank records and credit card statements, they’d find the necessary evidence proving he’d rented the same make and model car that Jack drove. Knowing Charles and his bulldog tendencies, it wouldn’t take him long to build all the circumstantial evidence into a strong case against Alan.

  “I just wish Mom could have come home with us,” Jack said.

  “Don’t you think she’ll be safer in protective custody until Alan’s been apprehended? I hate the thought that he might go after her now.”

  “Mom’s safety is one of the few points McDonough and I agree on, otherwise I’d have insisted they release her.” He nudged Nikki toward the flight of stairs leading to the bedroom. “Come on. Maybe it won’t seem so bad if we drag each other up.”

  Together they climbed, tugging off clothes as they went. By the time they hit the bedroom, they were both naked. Nikki beelined toward the bed, brought up short by the hard, powerful arm Jack wrapped around her middle. He swung her off her feet and headed for the bathroom.

  “Shower first. I want to make sure all those abrasions get cleaned out again.” Jack reached into the stall—a huge tiled expanse with multiple jets—and turned on the water. “Plus, it’ll help take the edge off our poor aching muscles.”

  Hot, steamy water blasting out and Nikki stepped into the middle of the pulsating jets and groaned in sheer delight. “Oh, God, I just died and went to heaven.”

  “Brace yourself against the wall,” he instructed. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

  She followed his directions. She didn’t think she could love him more, but the next few minutes proved her wrong. He carefully soaped every inch of her body, beyond gentle when he found and cleaned each scrape and abrasion. His hands kneaded the various bands of muscles from ankle to neck, his thumbs digging in and soothing tendons she didn’t even realize had become knotted into throbbing tangles. And then he finished his self-appointed task by drawing her up for the sweetest of kisses, causing more knots to develop, but ones from a far different cause.

  She wrapped her arms around him and lost herself in the steam from the shower and the more intense steam from his kiss. He fumbled behind her and the spray of water subsided. Somehow he found towels and wrapped them up in a delicious cocoon of damp bodies and soft cotton. She couldn’t begin to imagine where he found the energy when she barely had enough to find the bed. He even managed to dry her with swift, brisk strokes that left her skin tingling, before applying the towel to himself. Together they fell into bed and into each other’s arms.

  “Will they find Alan?” she asked.

  “Eventually.” He tucked her against his side, a sweet alignment of curves and angles that fit together as they had from the start…with utter perfection. “I doubt Alan went home to Greenville, not once he calmed down and considered the ramifications of attempting to run you over. Since he missed, he had to suspect we’d go to the cops and report him. He also can’t access much money from his bank account since it’s the weekend. I guarantee Charles will have his funds frozen first thing Monday morning.”

  “It’s not your fault, you know,” she said gently.

  Her comment caused lines to bracket Jack’s mouth, grief settling into the deep grooves. She’d found the source of his pain and cut straight through to the heart of it. “I’m not sure the Kincaids will see it the same way.”

  “Reginald’s murder was your brother’s fault and no one else’s. Not Angela’s. Not Reginald’s. And not yours. There’s something wrong with Alan at the core.” She rolled onto her hip and cupped Jack’s face. Whiskers rasped against her palm in a tantalizing abrasion, while tension built along his jawline. “Reginald had six children and not one of them turned out like Alan. Every last one of you has made something of your life. Alan received the exact same benefits the rest of you did—more even than you were willing to accept. And he wasted the opportunity. He has the attitude that the world owes him a living instead of his owing the world for his existence and giving back in some productive way.”

  “Maybe if—”

  Nikki shifted her hand so her fingertips covered his mouth. “Don’t. All the ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ in the world won’t change anything and will only make it worse. We can’t know what might have happened if we turned left instead of right. Gone backward instead of forward. Jumped instead of ducked. We can only deal with what is, not what might have been.”

  Jack’s tension eased ever so slightly. “I would have stopped him if I’d known how sick he was.”

  “None of you realized the extent of it because he hid his true personality so well. Everyone thought Alan was charming. People liked him. I know I did, at least at first.” She shrugged. “He has a talent for hiding the darkness inside.”

  Jack grimaced. “I knew it was there.”

  “Did you ever worry that he’d harm your mother or father?”

  “No, of course—” His breath escaped in a long sigh and he pulled her close, simply holding her while he accepted the same truth his mother had. He hadn’t wanted to believe Alan capable of such evil because he’d judged his brother by his own standards of decency and morality, standards Alan had rejected long ago. “No, of course not, or I’d never have left him alone in the house with my mother.”

  She hugged him tight. “And you would have warned your father.”

  Jack traced a finger along the curve of her cheek. “How do you do it?” he asked in a rough voice. “How do
you manage to take something that’s so dark and bleak and turn it around?”

  She smiled. “I just show you the same problem from a slightly different angle. You do the rest.”

  “Like with my…my brothers and sisters?”

  It was the first time she’d heard him use those terms of his own volition. She shut her eyes, tears pressing hard. She gave herself a few seconds to gather her control before replying. “That’s right, Jack. I’d already met most of your family so I knew they were good people. It was only a matter of showing you that side of them.”

  “Well…most of them,” he said with a sour edge. “The jury’s still out on RJ.”

  Her laughter contained a hint of the tears she fought so hard to temper. Exhaustion. No doubt they came from exhaustion. “Then my job’s almost done.”

  “It will be as soon as you uncover the missing shareholder.”

  She burrowed against him. She couldn’t handle this. Not now. Not when she could barely keep her eyes open. A heavy bank of fatigue hit her with such force she couldn’t even think straight. “Jack—”

  Before she could say anything more, he kissed her, a kiss of passion tempered with tenderness. And though she shifted against him, eager for more, she could feel herself fading. The delicious taste of his kiss was the last thing she remembered before sleep claimed her, a lovely drifting into dreams where Jack held her safe and secure and all was well with their world.

  She woke to another kiss, a kiss of tenderness edged with passion. Her instantaneous response hit before she fully surfaced, and she gave herself to Jack without hesitation. Her eyes flickered open at the same moment he mated their bodies and the air escaped her lungs in a soft gasp of delight. She couldn’t imagine a better way to greet the morning and she moved with him, their rhythm one of sheer perfection.

  Only a few more days. Just a handful. Just a handful left to change his mind about taking over The Kincaid Group. From taking revenge on brothers and sisters who’d never harmed him. How could she possibly get him to see this final problem from a different angle, to somehow turn it all around? Simple. She didn’t. There wasn’t an angle in the world that would convince him to hand the running of TKG over to RJ, any more than there was any possible angle which would make her ownership of those crucial TKG stock shares more palatable.