by Mae Clair
“Well?” Aren asked, when she continued to stare speechlessly at the gown.
Veronica fingered a glove. It had tiny pearl buttons running from elbow to wrist. “It’s beautiful.”
At her side, Morgana smiled. “You and Caith will make a perfectly romantic couple in these costumes.” She patted Veronica’s arm. “Derry isn’t the only one who’d like to see the two of you together. I’m still young enough for more grandchildren.”
Veronica flushed. Was she that obvious? Mortified, she glanced at Aren. “What about you and Melanie? What are you wearing?”
“She’s going as a 1920s flapper, and I’m”—Aren grabbed a pen off his desk and stuck it in the corner of his mouth, talking around it like a cigar—“a mob boss, ya see? One a da Chicago boys, packin’ heat.” He mimicked holding a tommy gun. “Rat-a-tat-tat.”
Veronica laughed. “Your tough guy persona needs work. Maybe you should—”
Before she could finish, the door banged open, cracking loudly against the wall. Caith barreled into the room, Aren’s frazzled secretary trailing on his heels. “Sir, Sir! You can’t just… Mr. Lairen, please! Your brother is in a meeting.” She looked imploringly at Aren. “I’m sorry, Mr. Breckwood, but your brother—”
Discarding the pen, Aren held up his hand. “It’s all right, Patricia. I’ll take care of it.” He waited until she left the room, closing the double entry doors behind her before he focused on Caith. “Well? Now that you’ve secured the floor, what’s this about?”
“We’ve got a problem.” Caith scowled and paced to the window. Digging his hands into his pockets, he stared out the glass. “Where’s Merlin?”
Looking perplexed by the question, Aren glanced at his watch. “He should be here soon. He usually gets in around nine-thirty. What kind of a problem? What are you talking about?”
Caith kept his eyes turned out the window. “I need you to call a meeting. Get Dad, get Merlin, but keep Galen out of it.”
Aren blinked. “Why not Galen?”
“Just do it.” Caith glanced over his shoulder. He noticed the costumes for the first time. “What are those?”
“Something for later.” Veronica wheeled the portable rack to the side, hoping to make it less conspicuous. Caith’s body language indicated he was keyed up, functioning in high gear, his mind latching onto and dismissing information with breakneck speed. He wouldn’t waste time with anything frivolous. Hopefully, Aren realized that, too.
“At the house,” Caith said, returning his attention to Aren. “Set it at the house so Galen doesn’t wonder what’s going on.”
Aren frowned, but moved to the phone and punched in an extension. “Dad,” he said into the receiver after a slight pause. “Caith wants a family meeting. Without Galen.”
* * * *
Two hours later, Caith observed the members of his family gathered in the living room of the Breckwood home. His father roamed restlessly, hands in his pockets, his face set in a perpetual scowl. His mother and Veronica sat together on the couch while Merlin sprawled in a high-backed wing chair. Aren blew out a breath and slumped into a seat, sending an impatient glance his way.
“You’ve got the floor, Caithelden. Why are we here?”
In the two hours since leaving BI, Caith had managed to shower, shave, and scrounge up new clothes. Operating on less than three hours sleep, the changes helped him feel halfway human. He was exhausted, but wired. As his gaze swept the group, he noted the expressions of the people he’d summoned. His mother and Veronica appeared curious, Aren wary, and Merlin bored. His father would be the problem. Plainly annoyed, he paced back and forth behind the sofa like a caged bear.
“I want to talk about Galicorp,” Caith announced.
His father exhaled noisily. “We’ve already been through this. And why the hell isn’t my CEO here?”
“Give me a minute.” Caith held up a hand to stave off his anger. He tried to keep his voice level and controlled. “You said before Stone Willow is mostly a Breckwood investment. BI’s ownership is marginal. You don’t need your CEO to discuss that.”
“But I need my son. The last time I looked, he hadn’t changed his name.”
Caith felt the blow like a punch to the gut.
“Stuart!” His mother swiveled on the sofa, sending her husband a withering glare. “Can we try and get through this without snarling, please? Will you at least listen to what Caith has to say?”
His expression black, his father said nothing.
Recovering, Caith plowed ahead. “I talked to Nick Fontaine the other day and he told me Kelly Rice was seeing someone rich and powerful. Someone she claimed was going to change her life forever.” Caith paused, allowing silence to settle over the room. “Someone with the initials GB.”
Alarmed, Aren sat forward. “Caith, you don’t think Galen—”
“I did at first, but that’s before I knew about Galicorp.” Warming to the subject, Caith rushed to explain. “You had an offer from Galicorp. A substantial offer. One that didn’t make sense given the lodge isn’t overly profitable. When BI declined that, a higher offer was brought to the table. When it became clear you didn’t want to sell, problems started at the lodge.”
His father stopped pacing long enough to shoot him a glare. “I told you Duke Cameron said it was unrelated. We’re wasting our time with this.”
“Duke Cameron never looked into Galicorp, or he’d have realized the connection,” Caith snapped. “It’s a paper company. A tax shelter. Registered on the books, but as functional as that lamp.” He jerked his thumb, indicating a table light. “It has one principal owner. Galina Brady.”
“GB.” Merlin looked interested. “Who the hell is she?”
“She’s Lew Walden’s daughter,” Aren said, thunderstruck.
“She’s also a VP with Roth-Deckman,” Caith continued. “I knew there was something about Galicorp being in Pittsburgh that bothered me, but I didn’t make the connection to Lew’s daughter until today. Kelly Rice wasn’t having an affair. She was meeting with someone who could advance her career. Someone ‘rich and powerful who’d change her life forever.’ Galina Brady wants Stone Willow, and Kelly is doing her part to make sure she gets it.”
“By printing unflattering articles in the Herald?” His mother looked skeptical.
“Yes. And helping stage paranormal events at the lodge. Whoever was walking around the lake in phosphorescent body paint was flesh and blood, not an apparition. I’d lay money it was Kelly.”
“But she’d need someone on the inside,” Veronica protested. “She couldn’t possibly have gotten into the lodge without help, and she couldn’t have pulled off that stunt in the lobby. What about the dog and the food poisoning? Kelly couldn’t have done those things.”
“Not alone,” Caith agreed. “But she could have done it with Lew’s help. And Galina Brady, through Roth-Deckman, would be able to supply them with high-tech special effects equipment. The hand in the fireplace, the woman sobbing, even the face Alma saw at the kitchen window. Lew would have the knowledge to make it work. He spent a year with a film crew in LA.”
Merlin’s brows drew together. “Lew?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about him.” Caith took a moment to fill them in on Lew’s background and also the background of Dean Porter. Afterward, he told them about his morning meeting with the journalist. “So Kelly helps Galina get the lodge, and Galina gives Kelly a high-profile position with Roth-Deckman.”
“But why would she want Stone Willow?” Veronica persisted. “Why would anyone put all that effort and money into a run-of-the-mill lodge?”
“It isn’t run-of-the-mill. It’s a landmark of Tolar activity.” Caith dragged a hand through his hair. “I have my own theories involving the Tolars, but they’re pretty farfetched. I’d rather not go into them right now. I think with the information we have, we should be able to get Kelly or Lew to supply the rest. We just have to trick them into it.”
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“Tricks.” His father snorted at the suggestion. “So, basically you’ve got nothing to back up this elaborate claim of yours.” His voice cut through the room like the crack of a whip. “Information on a tax-shelter and a lot of theory. You were always good at make-believe, Caith. Maybe now you can tell me why you’ve excluded Galen from this session of earth-shattering deductions.”
Caith’s face grew hot. It took every effort he had not to snap beneath his father’s mockery. “I’m not certain he isn’t involved.”
“That does it!” His father stalked across the room, confronting him face to face. “It’s one thing to waste my time listening to conjecture about people I don’t know, or don’t know well, but when you imply my son is involved, you’ve gone too far. You’ve given no concrete evidence—”
“Someone from the family is involved,” Caith interrupted hotly. “Galen’s the only one who makes sense. He’s the only one who knew about the glu—” The word died in his throat. That would sound foolish. His father would make fun of the weakness and turn it into something mocking and demeaning. You want to blame Galen because you blow your guts over model glue?
“Knew about what?” His dad demanded.
Caith turned away. “Nothing.”
“What a waste of time.” His father strode from the room. A moment later, the door to his study slammed shut with a resounding bang.
“Caith.” His mother moved swiftly to his side. She gave him a compassionate look and trailed her fingers down his arm in a feeble attempt to soothe. “He didn’t mean it.”
“He meant every word.” He grew tired of pretending the rift could heal. He’d done everything he could to keep peace since he’d arrived. He had given his father every opportunity to see Derrick, and for Derrick’s sake, he’d buried his resentment. But he was beat and irritable. He’d be damned if he’d let his father make him look like a fool.
Stalking from the room, he stormed down the hall and into the study uninvited. His father was seated behind his desk, the fingers of one hand drumming restlessly against the top. At Caith’s abrupt entrance, his expression soured. “Get out.”
“Not this time.” Caith walked to the desk, stopping only when his thighs collided with the ornate edge. “You want a piece of me, you do it in private. Don’t destroy my credibility on a job your firm hired me to complete.”
“Hired without my consent. You’re not part of BI, and you made it damn clear when you changed your name, you’re not a Breckwood. Why am I even talking to you? I can go online and find a dozen down-on-their-luck PIs.”
Caith stiffened. “I might not have your money, but I’m financially secure. And I didn’t get there working for BI.”
“Of course not!” His father snarled the words in disgust. “Why would you do that? Why would you want to do anything to advance your career? Do you realize how far you could have gone? Galen, Aren, Merlin—they all excel at what they do, but not one of them can match you academically.” He sobered abruptly. “When you were a kid, I used to imagine how great it would be when you were part of the team. Then I realized I was shortchanging you. BI would have been a steppingstone, Caith. You could’ve been a national player, a world player.”
“Those were your dreams. Not mine.”
His father slumped in his chair. “Because of Trask.”
“I don’t know if it was because of Trask.” God, his head hurt. This was too much thinking, too much talking. Spurred by anger, he’d expected a quick confrontation, not this laborious, painful dredging up of the past. “Even if Trask had lived, I don’t think I would’ve fit with BI. I can’t see myself in an office, or jetting around the world, tackling corporate concerns. I like what I do, and I liked being a cop.”
“Liked it so much you took your son out of my life. Took my name from him.”
“Damn it!” Caith slammed his fist on the desktop. His head was splitting open, fire shooting into his neck and eyes. “I did that to protect him. I kept your name until he was born. After that it was about Derrick, not about you or me. I’d already been through hell. I wasn’t going to take the chance it could happen to my kid. Call me paranoid. I gave him a different name so no one would connect him to the Breckwood fortune.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck how you feel.” The pain in his head made his anger boil over. “You’ve treated me like shit since I was eighteen. So I don’t work for BI, and I changed my name. I’m still your son. You’re the one who disowned me.”
“Bullshit.”
Disbelieving, Caith stared. “So you’re saying all those years I struggled through college, you would have picked up the tab? That I didn’t have to work double shifts to make ends meet, or work to get scholarships?”
Looking uncomfortable, his father glanced aside. “I wanted you to ask. That’s all I wanted. To hear you admit you needed me. You’re so stick-in-the-mud stubborn, you had to do everything on your own.”
Caith sucked down a breath, grinding his teeth. The air rattled dangerously in his lungs. To hear you admit you needed me. The headache was blinding, pounding with the force of a thousand drums. Light streamed through the windows, hurting his eyes, making him wish for darkness and sleep. Blessed mind-numbing sleep where he could block out emotion and memories, tumbling headfirst into dull oblivion.
“You backed out of the deal,” he said with rigid control. He balled his hands into fists, fighting the memory. “You lied.”
His father looked confused, annoyed. “What are you talking about?”
“When Trask died.” The clunk of his heart came faster. Opening the wound, digging into the past, left him unbalanced. It made him feel like a thirteen-year-old again. “You said you’d always be there. Always. You fucking promised me.”
Hearing the change in his voice, his father stilled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That first Halloween. You knew how I was feeling. You came to my room and told me you’d help me get through it. Was that just a platitude? A cheer-up slap on the back, get-on-with-your-life-Caith? You said you’d always be there, but the first time we didn’t agree, you laid down an ultimatum. About college. About my career.”
His father looked away, a glimmer of remorse flickering through his eyes. “I was angry. It’s not the same thing.”
“You’re wrong!” Furious, Caith leaned across the desk. “I chose a career I felt strongly about, and you didn’t support me. You think nothing of Balin going outside BI to make a living. You even joked about it. But when I did the same thing, I got blackballed for it.”
“Balin isn’t my son.”
“Well, I guess I’m not either.” There was such angry bitterness in Caith’s words, it made his voice crack. “You can’t fire me. I fucking quit.”
Chapter 17
Veronica shuddered at the sound of squealing tires. The high-pitched whine went through her like fingers on a chalkboard. A door opened and closed somewhere down the hall followed by the tramp of fading footfalls. She didn’t need a crystal ball to know what had happened. The ugly storm brewing between Caith and his father had finally erupted.
“Oh, dear,” Morgana whispered at her side.
Across the room, Aren swore softly and rubbed his temple. Merlin shook his head as if he’d expected the fallout all along. “That went well,” he grumbled. “If I were a betting man, I’d lay money Caith just quit. Stubborn as he is, he’ll head back to Boston as soon as Derry’s out of school.”
Veronica felt sick. It was happening again—Caith walking out of her life. She’d let him go once without a struggle, but he wasn’t going to abandon her a second time. Not when she’d begun to entertain hopes they might have a future together.
“Excuse me.” She walked briskly from the room, deciding it was useless to go after Caith. He’d only throw up walls, denying there was anything to talk about. Instead, she focused on Stuart. Judging from the
sound of footfalls, he’d already left his study. She followed the path to its logical conclusion, sprinting down a back stairway and out onto the lawn.
Stuart stood just off the sprawling veranda, hands stuffed in his pockets, staring moodily across the rear grounds. Stepping to his side, she nodded toward a wooded thicket. “I remember when you made us a play fort in those trees.”
He jolted, roused from his thoughts. “Veronica. What are you doing here?”
She moved closer, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him as her gaze swept the gardens and woods. “There.” Extending her arm, she pointed to a leaf-shaded path that wound into a cluster of sturdy oaks. “You made it because Caith asked you to. You could have hired someone, but you built it yourself. And when it was done, you stayed and played ogres and trolls.” She smiled faintly. “You were a great troll, Stuart.”
“Apparently, I still am.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“It’s his, too.”
“Then change it.” She touched his hand, curling her fingers around his. “It isn’t too late to start over with Caith. He needs to know you accept him for the choices he’s made. Is it so terribly hard to be proud of him?”
“You have no idea how I feel about him.” Gruffly, he tugged his hand free. “This isn’t your concern.”
“I don’t want him to leave.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re in love with him.”
“Yes.” If she made a fool of herself and Caith left tomorrow, she’d still declare it to the sky. “I’ve been in love with him since we were children. I’ve just been too cowardly to admit it. I don’t want to lose him. And I don’t want him to lose what he should have with you. You’re his father.”