Trouble with Nathan

by Anna J. Stewart

  Titles by Anna J. Stewart

  Asking for Trouble

  Here Comes Trouble

  The Trouble with Nathan

  The Trouble with Nathan

  Anna J. Stewart

  InterMix Books, New York

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  THE TROUBLE WITH NATHAN

  An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2016 by Anna J. Stewart.

  Excerpt from Asking for Trouble copyright © 2015 by Anna J. Stewart.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  For more information about The Berkley Publishing Group, visit penguin.com.

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-18315-5

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  InterMix eBook Edition / April 2016

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  For my grandmother,

  Ruby Florence Hunker.

  I miss you every day.

  Contents

  Titles by Anna J. Stewart

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from Asking for Trouble

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  When Nathan Tremayne was nineteen he held his little brother’s hand as he died.

  When Nathan was twenty-four he held his college girlfriend’s hand in the ambulance after firemen extricated her from her mangled Mustang.

  When he was thirty, he held his sisters’ hands as they lowered their mother’s body into her grave.

  Two years later, there was no hand to hold as he stood by himself outside an interview room at the Lantano Valley Police Precinct wrapping his mind around the fact his father was being questioned for a crime he hadn’t committed.

  Well. Not alone at least.

  Guilt niggled around the edges of his empty stomach. His father might be the brains behind Nemesis, Lantano Valley’s notorious cat burglar with a social conscience, but Nathan and his sister Sheila were the brawn. Correction—Nathan was the brawn. Sheila’s words. Sheila was more the creative influence, putting her artistic talents to use as an expert forger when needed. They were a team. And yet here his father sat, on the other side of the grimy, venetian blind–obscured glass, possibly taking full responsibility for something the three of them had done together.

  Frustration built on the edge of unease. When had Nemesis gotten so out of control?

  “Nathan.” Lantano Valley’s district attorney Evan Marshall strode down the narrow hall and stopped beside him, an expression Nathan could only define as irritation on his strained thirtysomething face. “Thanks for coming down so quickly. I can’t imagine this is the way you wanted to start your weekend.”

  Far from it. Nathan winced. He’d had to cancel a meeting he’d been planning for weeks.

  “Dad’s lawyer is on her way.” Hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tailored slacks, Nathan felt his fingers tingle as he clenched hard fists when his phone vibrated yet again in his jacket pocket. Sheila, no doubt, wanting an update. As if he had anything to tell her.

  “Wonderful,” Evan said with a responsibility-laden sigh Nathan himself was all too familiar with. “Because what’s missing from this ridiculous scenario is a high-priced defense attorney.”

  That Veronica Harrison had shifted her talents from the courtroom to the boardroom a few years ago wasn’t something Nathan needed to remind Evan about right now. Instead, Nathan took a deep breath and nearly choked on the stench of disinfectant topped with over-brewed coffee within the confines of the precinct. The breeze from the overworked air unit brushed against his chilled skin and embraced the anger building inside of him. Anger would keep the fear from bubbling over like some toxic witches’ brew. “If this scenario is so ridiculous, why is my father being interrogated?”

  “Because evidence I can’t ignore crossed my desk,” Evan said. “Since I’m neck-deep trying to work with the Feds on the fallout from the Chadwick Oliver case, one of my eager beaver assistants got impatient and got the paperwork rolling before I had time to properly review the information.” As much as Nathan wanted to bombard the D.A. with questions, keeping the conversation light, not to mention civil, would garner him more information than showing his temper. “Chadwick still giving you problems?”

  “Can you believe the son of a bitch is hoping to weasel his way out of serving time by coughing up the names of fellow collectors who bought stolen World War II artwork? And as if that case wasn’t scandalous enough, the Crown of Serpia was stolen from the museum the same night all hell broke loose with Oliver.” Evan shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the exhaustion creeping across his face. “Lantano Valley’s back in the media spotlight. And not in the best way. The absolute last thing I needed was for your father to go waltzing into the commissioner’s office and declare he’s the burglar who’s been stalking the wealthy citizens of Lantano Valley for the last two years.”

  “Wait a minute.” Nathan’s stomach pitched even as he grasped hold of the disbelief ringing in the district attorney’s voice. “I thought Dad was being questioned. What do you mean he turned himself in?” Then, realizing how that question could be interpreted, he added, “You don’t believe him, do you?”

  “Of course I don’t believe him.”

  Evan’s exasperation set Nathan’s lips twitching in relief. He wouldn’t smile. Not until he got his father out of that room and maybe not even then.

  “Not that what I believe matters,” Evan continued. “The problem is, while your father might be many things—”

  “Including one of your biggest campaign contributors,” Nathan slid in.

  “Yeah. Including that.” Evan glared through the window. “I don’t know what Jackson’s thinking. There’s no evidence linking him to Nemesis, Nathan. Not that we know of, anyway. But there’s strong evidence he might have been involved with the theft of the crown.”

  “What evidence?” Nathan looked anywhere but at the D.A. The truth was, given Jack
son’s recent solitary and secretive behavior, not to mention his father’s penchant for historical artifacts, Jackson could very well be responsible. Guilt slipped in around the doubt. Was it possible his father was guilty? Had he used Nemesis as an alibi to get what he really wanted? This Crown of Serpia? No. His father would never intentionally jeopardize his children’s futures by exposing Nemesis for his own personal gain. There had to be something else going on.

  “Surveillance footage puts Jackson outside the museum around the time the crown was stolen,” Evan said. “True, he wasn’t inside during the crime, but . . .”

  Nathan’s stomach took another dip off the deep end. Dammit. Why did there always have to be a but? A stress headache that might very well leave a dent in his skull pounded behind Nathan’s eyes. “But what?”

  “His print was found on the crown’s display case.”

  “Dad can’t have been the only one who touched the case.” Finally, something he could explain. “Besides, you’ve seen his office at Tremayne Investments and Securities, not to mention our house. He’s always collected antiques. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s visited the Serpian collection numerous times since it opened last month.”

  “Visitors don’t leave prints on the inside of a display case, Nathan. And then there’s the Nemesis case, which he seems to know more details about than he should.”

  “You mean details like the thank-you cards Nemesis leaves behind for the people he’s stolen from?”

  Evan’s gaze narrowed.

  “He was in this same room with my sister Morgan when she was questioned about accepting money from Nemesis,” Nathan reminded him. “She identified the note cards she received with the cash for the foundation, remember?”

  “And told you apparently,” Evan muttered.

  Morgan didn’t need to tell him. Not when it had been Nathan who had included the notes in the first place—notes that matched the thank-you cards he left behind after each theft thanking their targets for their donations to the less fortunate. One of those cocky moves of his that might have contributed to their father’s current situation.

  “Of course we talked about what happened,” Nathan lied. “It’s not every day a Tremayne gets arrested for suspicion of collusion.” Of course it was Nathan’s fault Morgan had been exposed for accepting stolen money in the first place. But how was he supposed to know the cash he’d stolen had been part of an undercover FBI operation from years before?

  Nathan glanced through the blinds at his father as the fear he’d been trying to hold at bay surged and triggered a momentary flash of panic. Was this his fault? Had he missed some sign his father was in trouble? Had he been so preoccupied with Nemesis and making a difference that he’d taken one too many risks and exposed his father? Only last week Sheila had warned him he was moving too far away from their father’s altruistic intentions, that he was headed off book and endangering their mother’s and sister’s legacy and work. Nathan had dismissed Sheila’s concerns as nothing more than unease at change, while he itched to take things to the next level. Now it seemed as though she’d been right. “My father did not steal that crown, Evan.”

  “I’ve known your father most of my life, Nathan,” Evan said. “I consider him a friend. Hell, it was his idea for me to run for D.A. in the first place. Nemesis is already getting enough attention and I’m guessing we can agree neither of us wants the Tremayne family name associated with him.”

  Nathan nodded. “Not to mention having Dad confess to the one case your task force can’t close puts you in an awkward reelection position.” Playing on Evan’s future political hopes might help get Jackson out of that room sooner than later. “So which Evan called me?” Nathan asked. “My father’s friend or the district attorney?”

  “Both,” Evan responded without hesitation. “Look, things are about to get dicey around the theft of the crown. TransUnited Insurance has assigned yet another new investigator to the case. Some higher-up with a reputation for being a hard-ass when it comes to uncovering inconvenient truths. Given they also insured a number of items stolen by Nemesis, I’m going to assume this investigator plans to look into more than just the crown. Lantano Valley, not to mention all of its law enforcement departments, are about to get a reaming, which makes my job even harder. It also makes me wonder . . .”

  Nathan frowned as Evan hedged. “You’ve never been one to dance around, so out with it, Evan.”

  “Is it possible Nemesis has targeted your family for some reason?” Nathan could see even as Evan said the words he had trouble believing it. “Could Nemesis be framing Jackson for the theft? Forcing him to confess?”

  Blackmailed by Nemesis? Nathan coughed to give himself the excuse to walk away for a cup of water from the nearby dispenser. The water felt slick on his tongue as his head spun around impossibilities he couldn’t have imagined before today. Finally, something he could be certain about. If his father was being framed, it definitely wasn’t by Nemesis. But it did raise the question . . . “That exposé on Nemesis the Lantano Valley Times ran after the Oliver case was closed quoted you as saying it was your belief Nemesis only targets those individuals who have wronged others in some way. Was that true?”

  “It was. Is,” Evan corrected. “Gage Juliano was able to prove that during his team’s investigation into Nemesis before he resigned. Despite the fact Gage is engaged to your sister Morgan now, I don’t have any reason to doubt the evidence he produced. Especially considering it was Nemesis who exposed Chadwick Oliver’s involvement in the stolen art ring.”

  One of the many good things to have come out of Nemesis’s ventures. Then again, what was the saying? Pride goeth before the fall? “You can dig into our family all you want,” Nathan bluffed. “You’re not going to find anything in our history that would attract Nemesis’s attention. Nemesis is a Robin Hood, someone who fights for those who can’t fight for themselves. He evens scores.” But maybe, just maybe, Nemesis was responsible for his father’s situation. Had they gone after the wrong person? Did someone know the truth? Nathan returned to the window. He needed to talk to his father.

  Jackson’s greying blond hair was stark beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the interview room, the perfectly fitted Hugo Boss suit and blood-red tie worn as casually as most men wore khakis and a polo shirt. There was age in his face now. At nearly sixty, Jackson was heading into what some would consider his twilight years with an elegance that had often reminded Nathan of Cary Grant in his heyday. And there was also sadness, even after almost two years, for the wife he’d lost in a car accident.

  Times like this, Nathan wished their mother was still alive. She had a special way of dealing with their father that the Tremayne offspring hadn’t quite mastered. Then again, neither Nathan nor Sheila were convinced Catherine Tremayne, or Morgan for that matter, would have approved of the rest of the family donning the mask of vengeance and wreaking havoc on their wealthy neighbors.

  Jackson had always been more than a father to him; he’d been a mentor and, most recently, he’d become his friend. He was always there. Supporting. Encouraging. Nathan couldn’t have asked for a better father. Or protector.

  Protector. Nathan shivered as if he’d been doused in ice water. At his core, Jackson Tremayne was a protector. Son of a . . .

  “Gentlemen.” Five foot eight inches of feminine confidence headed toward them in the form of Veronica Harrison, chief legal attorney for TechInter Network, one of the top technology companies in the country. “My apologies for the delay, but I wanted to have as much information as possible.” Her voice carried the barest hint of a British accent. Light auburn hair fell in perfect waves around the shoulders of her crisp yellow designer dress, an ode to femininity that was reinforced with a spine of steel. “Has my client been advised of his rights?” she asked Evan in way that was part scorn, part charm, and Nathan had the notion to move a safe distance away.

  “Your client is
n’t under arrest.” Evan rapped his knuckles on the window. A few seconds later, two suited detectives stepped out of the room. “Not yet at least. You’re welcome to speak with him—”

  “Then I take it you haven’t printed him either?” Her tone caught Nathan’s attention as she gave the odd-couple detectives—one was as wide as the other was tall—one of her “I know something you don’t know” smiles. “Gentlemen.” Veronica pulled a file out of her briefcase and handed it over. “This is a copy of Mr. Tremayne’s business license renewal from 2010. If you would be so kind as to compare these prints to the ones found at museum?”

  “You mean print.” Evan looked at Nathan.

  “One print?” Nathan breathed a sigh of relief at Evan’s clear confusion. “How does someone leave one print at the scene of a crime?”

  “An excellent question.” Veronica didn’t give any hint of surprise. “Mr. Marshall was kind enough to email me a copy of the evidence report. At my request, of course,” she added when the taller detective glared at the D.A. “I think once you compare the two prints, you’ll notice a significant anomaly. Mr. Tremayne?” Veronica shifted slightly and poked her head through the interrogation room door. “Would you join us?” The taller, older detective’s jaw tightened as his eyes narrowed.

  Jackson stepped through the door, eyeing her suspiciously.

  “May I see your right thumb, please?” The detective asked. Jackson held out his hand, as he seemed to avoid Nathan’s questioning gaze.

  “As you can see,” Veronica said. “The print found at the scene of the crime bears no scar. Mr. Tremayne, when did you sustain that injury?” Veronica asked as if she already knew the answer.

  “Thanksgiving, 2009.” Jackson rubbed at the scar. “Carving the turkey.”

  “My mother had neglected to thaw it before she put it in the oven,” Nathan added, the bittersweet memory bringing an amused smile to his lips. “We spent a good three hours in the emergency room.”