The Maxwell Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Alexander, S. B.

  “It’s hard to threaten a guy who doesn’t have the money,” Dillon said.

  “Did your father set up one trust or two?” Kelton asked.

  I looked at him cross-eyed. My parents and I had never spoken about trusts or wills. After Gracie died, we hadn’t talked about death at all, let alone any legal stuff.

  He straightened then began bouncing a knee. “You said at the beginning that your parents had 401Ks.”

  “Um. That’s right.” I checked on Dillon, who shrugged.

  “Last summer, when I worked at a law firm, I learned that 401K accounts could be handled differently. The client has to request a separate trust. Otherwise, upon death, the money is paid out in a lump sum payment to the beneficiary. This client I worked with set up a separate trust for his 401Ks so that his children would be paid in installments when they reached a certain age. If your parents have a separate trust for their 401Ks, Terrance can’t touch those. He could only touch the cash in your bank account.” He explained all this like a proficient attorney.

  Honestly, I couldn’t say for sure if my parents had one trust or five. I did, however, know that my father’s lawyer had given Terrance a binder of documents. Shortly after the funeral, Terrance and I had met with Mr. Pilkington. He’d gone through the details. The problem was I hadn’t listened close enough to remember much, except that I was set financially. It wasn’t until a week later when my head was a little clearer that I’d asked Terrance questions. He’d told me not to worry. He would handle college payments, depositing a monthly check into my bank account, and at twenty-one I’d have full access to all the funds in the estate. “You concentrate on graduating college. That’s what your parents wanted most for you,” he’d said.

  “I talked to Mr. Pilkington after I talked to the cops,” I said to Kelton. “He said he would contact Terrance, and then call me when he did. I haven’t heard back yet.” Then again, I’d tried him one last time before I left for Boston. His secretary had said he was extremely busy with a court case.

  I wanted to scream at myself for not paying closer attention. At the same time, I wanted to plant kisses all over Kelton. Then I had to get my hands on that binder. Well, binder first then plant kisses on Kelton.

  As if he knew what I’d been thinking, Kelton asked, “Do you have a copy of the legal documents?”

  “No. Mr. Pilkington had one binder with all the instructions for the Trustee. He said if I needed anything I could always contact him. And since Terrance had been following through on his duties as far as I could tell, I didn’t need to question things.” I bit the inside of my mouth.

  Kelton hopped off the barstool. “Then contact the attorney who drew up the documents. Have him send copies to you. I’ll go through them. In the meantime, I’ll find out from Zach where his old man is. Dillon, do you know any underground poker joints in Boston or the surrounding states, aside from the casinos? Sometimes the man is in the area without telling Zach. We ran into him once at a concert at a Connecticut casino when he was supposed to be in Florida.”

  “I can do some digging,” Dillon said. “But what do you have in mind when you find him?”

  I’d thought of many things to do to the man, but none of them were within the law.

  “I haven’t gotten that far,” Kelton said. “I really would like to see the legal paperwork first. And I want to talk to Zach. He can contact his old man.”

  I made the time-out signal. “Wait. If you tell Zach everything I just told you, he might tell his father to stay in hiding. How do you know he’ll help us?”

  “I don’t. But Zach has been trying to get his father to quit his gambling habit for years. And I don’t think Zach is even aware his old man has been stealing from innocent people. Which begs the question. If your father and his were friends, does Zach know you? Is that why you were in disguise?”

  “Zach and I met once, briefly, years ago. I doubt he would remember me. Still, I didn’t want to take that chance.”

  Dillon glanced at his watch. “Whatever I can do to help. Right now I need to pick up Allie and Bee from work.” He glanced at me. “Can I give you a ride back into Boston? Or you’re welcome to stay here.”

  I rose, taking my cup of tea to the sink. “I should get back to the hostel and try to call the lawyer.”

  “What?” Kelton asked. “You’re staying at a hostel?”

  “Lizzie,” Dillon said, opening the fridge door. “Please move out of the hostel and stay here. There’s an extra room. Allie and Bee would love it.”

  “Or,” Kelton said as he drew closer, “you can stay with me. You saw the mansion Zach and I are in. That place has five bedrooms.”

  I volleyed my gaze back and forth like a spectator at a riveting tennis match until my mouth fell open at Kelton’s offer. Me stay with Kelton? Not a chance.

  He gave me one of his toothy grins. My belly erupted with fluttering butterflies. Nope, not happening.

  Dillon laughed. “Yeah, and you two would be fighting like caged animals. Besides, given that Maxwell lives with the enemy’s son, not the brightest idea.”

  I agreed. Not only that, I was tired of the hostel. More importantly, I wouldn’t trust myself with Kelton. I’d be the one to slink into his room at night, if only for him to hold me. Yeah, right. There’d be a lot more than holding.

  “Dillon asked first, and he’s right,” I said. “It would be awkward to wake up to find Terrance in the house if he showed up to see Zach.”

  Kelton studied me with steely blue eyes. The family atmosphere between Dillon and the girls was something I hadn’t had in quite some time, and I could use the quietness of my own bedroom to think.

  “Good,” Dillon said with a smile that warmed my heart. “Use my office in the basement to call the lawyer. I’ll be back later.” He shifted his gaze to Kelton. “You’re welcome to hang.” Then he grabbed a set of keys off the desk and slipped out through a doorway at the far end of the kitchen.

  Once we were alone, silence hung heavy in the room as Kelton sized me up. Suddenly, my pulse was all over the place. Seven years of separation. Now, six feet. My gaze roamed over him—up then down and back up. When our eyes met—or more like collided—a beam of tingles shot straight to my toes. Need, want, hurt, and confusion were written all over his handsome face.

  I cleared the emotion in my throat. “Cat got your tongue?”

  He just stared, cocking his head slightly as though he had a thousand questions. No doubt he did. But if he wasn’t going to talk, I had things to do. More like I had to regroup. The kitchen walls were closing in on me. At any moment, seven years of my life were about to combust, and I wasn’t ready for the aftermath. Not yet, anyway. So I went in search of Dillon’s office.

  Chapter 13

  Kelton

  Lizzie walked away, her backside swaying, her long, dark hair almost touching the waist of her jeans. Once she was out of sight, I pushed all the air out of my lungs. I was a complete jackass for staring at her as if I wanted to strip her naked. Even if I did, I wasn’t there to get Lizzie in bed. No fucking way. What scared me? She and Dillon weren’t an item. That door was open. Fucking wide open. I didn’t trust myself. I couldn’t risk what would happen if I kissed her. Nor could I risk the rejection if she pushed me away. Yet every muscle in me wanted to taste her sweet lips. I also wanted to comfort her for the loss of her parents. I wanted to hold her in my arms and tell her everything would be okay. Like I did when we were kids. It was clear she didn’t want pity. I got that. I hated that emotion myself. But my desire to hold her was far from pity. I wanted to protect her. Yeah, alone with her in this house spelled disaster on all levels.

  Pulling out my keys, I jogged to my Jeep. The cold was a relief from the heat radiating off me. As I pounded the pavement, I sifted through her story—Zach’s loser father, a million dollars, her parents, a hostel, her p
lan to hold Zach hostage. Holy hell. This was like something out of a movie, only not one with a happy ending. And I thought Lacey’s Italian mob grandfather and Russian mob uncle were screwed up.

  I growled. A headache was lurking. I was reminded of Kade when he ended up in the hospital from one of his migraines. Not that I was prone to migraines, but fuck. Dillon was right. Confronting Zach’s father wouldn’t work. He wouldn’t fork over the money, especially if he didn’t have it. Just like an alcoholic wouldn’t give anyone his bottle of booze. Lizzie said she’d already gone to the cops. I wasn’t surprised the law was slow to react, if at all. They probably had more urgent cases to solve. Then something dawned on me. She was enrolled in art class. Had she been at BU all this time? Focus, numbnuts.

  I grasped the back of my neck when my phone buzzed. Leaning against my Jeep, I snagged it out of my jeans pocket. “What’s up, bro?”

  “Did you talk to Lizzie?” Kade asked. “Are she and her family up to visiting Mom?”

  “Uh. I don’t think it’s a good idea.” I didn’t think it would be the best for my mom to hear that Lizzie’s parents were dead.

  “Kel, this isn’t about you. This is about Mom. Visiting with Gracie and the Reardons could help close the door on the past.”

  Or it could blow it wide open in a bad way. I shrugged, thinking we could never close the door on the past. Death wasn’t something one got over, not as deeply as it was implanted in my family.

  “I know that.” I gritted my teeth. “Lizzie has bigger problems at the moment. Her parents died in a boating accident, and the trustee of her parents’ estate ran off with her money. And the kicker? The trustee is Zach’s old man.”

  “What the fuck? And Gracie?”

  “Not sure.” I was still processing everything Lizzie had told Dillon and me. However, she’d said Gracie hadn’t been with her parents. If that was the case, then where was she?

  “Bro,” Kade said, “I know I’ve been a dick about you not seeing Lizzie. I’m sorry. I panicked. Mom is… You get it. Anyway, what can we do to help?”

  “I’m still thinking.” Although running out on her wasn’t helping. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.” I righted my ball cap as I trudged back into the house. I had to put aside my own fears. This wasn’t about me, and as much as I loved my mother, Lizzie needed our help.

  Dillon’s house was quiet save for the heat kicking on. I found my way down into the musty basement. As my feet touched the cement floor, Lizzie’s voice trickled out of a room directly ahead of me. Butterflies swarmed in my stomach at the way she giggled, bringing back memories of summer, the tree house, and her.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said. “Sure. It’s a date.”

  I balled my hands into fists. Cool your jets. She isn’t yours. Tell that to my heart. Walking into the room, I expected to see her sitting at a desk. She was relaxing on a chaise longue similar to the one my mom had in her bedroom, picking at something on the chair. I stopped, drinking in every inch of her. Her long legs were crossed at the ankle. Her boots were off, exposing rainbow-striped toe socks. When she wiggled her toes, I had the urge to rub her small feet and keep going all the way up to explore, massage, and have my way until she was putty in my hands. Man, I was screwed. I cleared my throat before my blood shot south. It wouldn’t look good if I stood there like a moron with a fucking hard-on.

  Her thick eyelashes swept upward. “I got to go.”

  The place wasn’t exactly an office but more of a game room with a foosball table, a pinball machine, and a dartboard as well as a small home theater with a TV, the chaise longue, a beanbag chair, and a loveseat. The only piece of furniture that could be classified as office material was a glass table with a computer on it against the back wall. Overall, the room reminded me of our boathouse turned man cave at the lake.

  I settled against the foosball table. “So you’re not dating Dillon? Find another so soon?” Dickwad. Those questions didn’t help her.

  “What about you and Chloe? Why was she crying outside your apartment this morning?” Her tone was light with a sprinkle of sarcasm.

  I cocked my head. “Come again? Chloe was crying? This morning? At my place?” Was she looking for me? Did Zach upset her? Or… No, they weren’t dating. Zach and I had a friend code. We didn’t date each other’s exes.

  She picked something off her leg. “Didn’t you break up with her?”

  “Yes.” I was about to drill her for more information, but then I shoved Chloe to the back of my mind. I wasn’t there to discuss my former girlfriend. I’d ask Zach about Chloe later. “Any luck with the lawyer?”

  “He was in court. His secretary said she’d relay the message.”

  “How’s Gracie?” I lost my attitude. “You said she wasn’t with your parents. Is she in college?” Gracie would be nineteen now.

  She brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. Suddenly, tears cascaded down her cheeks.

  Panic coursed through me. Please, please don’t say something happened to Gracie. I pinched the bridge of my nose. She tucked her head down and began to cry.

  Motherfucker. I ran to her, sat down, then reached out to pull her to me whether she wanted me to or not. Maybe I needed to hug her for my own sanity or my own dire need to feel her again. I gently grabbed her arms. “Come here,” I said softly.

  She adjusted herself against me without a fight, sobbing.

  “Shhh. Everything will be okay. I’m here for you,” I whispered as I rested my chin on her head, stroking her hair. Her in my arms felt so right, yet so wrong. At that moment, I was at peace with my demons. But as soon as she left my arms, I would be a complete fucking mess. It didn’t matter. I had to help her, even if that meant putting my feelings on the line.

  She hiccupped. “I’m sorry.” She pressed her hands to my chest and pushed weakly.

  I didn’t move.

  “I’m getting snot all over you.”

  I whipped off my jacket then pulled up the bottom of my T-shirt and wiped her tears. “You can blow your nose if you’d like.”

  She regarded me with a fragile smile. “How many girls have you offered your shirt to?”

  “Only you.” Honest answer. I couldn’t handle girls who cried. But with Lizzie it was different, natural. Like she was part of me or had never left me.

  She sucked in a breath then shivered before she accepted my offer.

  “I can take it off,” I said.

  “Please, leave it on.” Her voice was nasally and strangled. After she patted her eyes and wiped her nose, she adjusted her position, moving to sit cross-legged. “Thank you. I don’t mean to dump my life on you.”

  “I told you I want to help. Do you want to talk about Gracie?”

  She shuddered. “Gracie died when she was fourteen. Overdosed on pills.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I had no words other than that. I wasn’t sure I was breathing or if blood was even pumping through me.

  She waved a hand in front of me.

  I blinked.

  “She couldn’t handle life anymore. She was never the same after that day. We tried to get her help. But medication, therapy, love, nothing got through to her.”

  Shooting a friend had to be more traumatic than anything I could imagine. Death alone was traumatic. Finding a dead body was traumatic. My mom and Lacey both understood that more than anyone. But accidentally killing a friend and then watching her die had to supersede all else. I stood up, took off my ball cap, and tugged on my hair. Here I was worried about my own fucking feelings. This girl lost her entire family, and loser Malden had stolen her inheritance. I went over to the pinball machine, lost in a sea of what-the-hell. When I turned, she was standing in front of me with doe-like eyes and about to say something. Before she did, I let go of my ball cap and cupped her face
in my hands, her soft skin heating my palms. I mapped my gaze from her lips to her eyes before fixating on the gold speck in her left eye. After a long moment, I lowered my head, a thread separating us.

  Her long lashes fell, sweeping the tops of her cheeks. As if that was my cue, I brushed my lips across hers.

  She whimpered. My stomach flip-flopped. She grasped my hips before she slipped the tips of her fingers inside the waist of my jeans, moving closer.

  Sirens went off in my head. My blood boiled in a good way. I yearned to strip her naked. Not here. Not now. Not while she was vulnerable, and not when I was trying to protect myself from getting hurt. So I silently chanted Patriots, football, Super Bowl, anything to keep the madman in me from bursting free. But fuck if her hot touch and delicate fingers didn’t send the fire straight to my groin.

  My chest rose, meeting hers. “You’re so damn beautiful. Just like the day I met you.” I slowly pressed my lips to hers. Sparks ignited somewhere. Or maybe it was the throbbing in my ears.

  She licked her lips. I groaned then nibbled on her bottom lip before easing my tongue inside her mouth. The world crystalized. Gone was the haze that had been clouding me for the last seven years. I buried my hands in her hair, exploring her mouth. She tasted like summer and bubblegum.

  She slid her hands around to my back as she sucked on my tongue.

  Patriots. Football. Super Bowl. Stop. Break it off now, my subconscious yelled. The problem was my body wasn’t obeying. I wanted more of her, mind, body, and soul. Reluctantly I broke away, kissing along her jaw until I settled on her ear.

  She pressed her hips into me.

  My body hardened, every fucking inch of it. “I love your toe socks,” I whispered as my hands—almost of their own accord—traveled down to grab her butt, firm yet soft.