Trouble with Nathan

by Anna J. Stewart

  “He’s pulled the wall thing before?”

  “That was new, actually. Inspired, but he had been known to circumvent security with air-conditioning vents and small spaces.”

  “Isn’t this something we should have told the police?” Why wasn’t he taking any of this to the police?

  “Johnny Saxon is a dead end,” Nathan said.

  “Shouldn’t that be up to them—”

  “By dead, I mean dead, Laurel.”

  “Wh-what?” There was no way the shock he saw on her face was anything other than genuine. The color drained from her face, her eyes went wide. “The man you think stole the crown is dead?”

  “He’s been in the L.A. morgue for a little over a week. But at least we know who stole it. Now all we need to find out is who hired him.”

  “What makes you think—”

  “Saxon was a lot of things, but he wasn’t any kind of mastermind. He also wasn’t known for stealing things that didn’t have a fast payoff and offload. No way would he have gone after something as unique as the crown and then not sell it to the highest bidder. I have enough contacts out there to know if it had hit the market.”

  “Oh.” She blinked, nodded. “Still, that’s horrible.”

  “And more than a little terrifying, I’m sure. This isn’t a game, Laurel. Whoever is behind the theft of the crown is the same person who’s trying to frame my father for it. Now that bodies are turning up, we all need to be more careful.”

  “Yeah. Of course. If you don’t mind, I’m fine from here.” She gestured toward the elevator. “Thank you for one of the most unusual evenings of my entire life.”

  “I aim to please,” Nathan said, knowing his grin wasn’t at full strength. “Rain check on the rest?” She pressed her lips to his and he could feel her tremble.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Promise?” He caught her hand, stroked his thumb over her pulse and felt her shiver under his touch. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea, he thought, wishing he could take the action back. Wishing he didn’t know what his touch did to her.

  “I’ll call you when I get back.”

  “Back?”

  “Since we’re working together now I thought I’d head down to the TransUnited L.A. office to see what information I can dig out about the Serpian collection and the SylEctus Group, remember? The clock’s ticking on when we have to cut the insurance check, and somehow I need to convince them you’re my best bet in finding it. Good night, Nathan.”

  He watched her walk away, took an added extra beat of pleasure when she smiled at him as the elevator door closed. One step closer to proving his father innocent, he thought as he headed home. One step closer to finding the Crown.

  Guilt danced along Nathan’s spine, regret following, but he couldn’t take any chances. Not with his family’s future at stake. He had to protect them. Even if it meant using Laurel to do it.

  ***

  “Hello, ladies.” Nathan stopped at Corrine’s desk Wednesday afternoon on his way back from lunch and found Liza and Gina Juliano, his sisters’ assistants, bookending his father’s secretary. They popped apart like Legos the second he approached. “What’s going on?” If there was one thing he’d become acquainted with in the months since the twins had begun working for the Tremayne Foundation it was when they were up to something. “Are we planning another ambush of Morgan and her household repairs? Or maybe another surprise wedding?”

  “Hardly.” Gina’s chocolate-brown eyes swam beneath a mass of dark curls. “Just, um, wondering who you might bring to Lydia’s party on the twenty-first?”

  “Did I know about this party?” Nathan asked, glancing at Corrine, who gave him a look that told him he should have. “I don’t remember hearing about it.” But the twenty-first was over a week away. A lot could happen between now and then.

  “Because you’ve been locked in Mr. Tremayne’s office for the last two days.” Liza bounced on her sandal-encased toes.

  “It’s just been a few days since Morgan scheduled it,” Gina said, elbowing her sister. “Besides you know Morgan likes big family get-togethers . . .”

  “Sheila’s wedding doesn’t qualify as togetherness?” Probably not, since half the town had been at the last-minute nuptials, but after hearing from Gage that Lydia’s health was failing fast, he understood the rush. They wanted to celebrate Lydia’s eleventh birthday while they could. Even if it was five months early.

  Maybe he’d get lucky and have everything settled and solved well before then. That would definitely be cause for celebration. If not, being among his family would be the slap-in-the-face reminder of what was at stake if he didn’t prove his father innocent and track down the man stalking his family.

  “Your messages, Nathan.” Corrine handed him a stack of paper. “Kyle Fiedling called twice to reschedule your appointment, so I put that on top. I can look at your calendar—”

  “I’ve got that one, thanks, Corrine.” Nathan slipped Kyle’s messages into his pocket and avoided all three pairs of curious eyes. “It’s an investment opportunity,” he said to stave off future questions. “I’m thinking about—”

  “Liza, Gina?” Sheila walked down the hall toward them. “Do you have that list of bands your brother was interested in for Morgan’s wedding?”

  “On my desk,” Gina said. “You need it?”

  “Yeah, thanks. And the updated guest list from your mother if you have it.”

  Gina rolled her eyes, grabbing Liza’s arm and dragging her toward their offices. “She was still tweaking it last night. I’ll call her about it now.”

  “Is Malcolm here yet?” Sheila asked him once the twins were out of earshot.

  “No. Is he done with the background checks?” The sooner he had more information on Laurel the more at ease he’d feel. The sooner they could get down to . . . business.

  “He said he had some news.” She angled her eyes toward Corrine, who, despite not seeing Sheila’s expression, got the message and gathered up some files and headed down the hall.

  He didn’t like the guarded expression on his sister’s face. “Good news or bad?”

  “Who can tell? He’s been glued to that damned computer of his for the last two days, mumbling curses and I swear, incantations.”

  “Kind of like you when you’re painting,” Nathan teased. “Come on. We’ll wait for him in Dad’s office.”

  “Did you talk to him today?” she asked.

  “Dad? This morning. He’s bored out of his mind, so I have him looking into the crown’s more recent history. With his interest in archaeology and history, I figured it was an appropriate task.”

  “The student becomes the master.” Sheila jumped when Malcolm came into the office and closed the door, the look on his face sending chills down Nathan’s spine. “Well, in answer to your question, Nathan,” his sister said, with a glance at Malcom’s expression. “I can tell you right now, the news Malcolm has is bad. How bad is it?” Sheila asked her husband.

  Malcolm waved a file folder in the air. “You’d better sit down. Both of you. Now.”

  ***

  The drive back from Los Angeles Wednesday night took nearly twice as long as Laurel expected, which capped off a crap couple of days that had started with a less-than-stellar conversation with Alastair, though that had actually ended with the good news that he’d be out of touch for a while. Not that she hadn’t been inundated with a handful of insistent and cold “give me a progress update” emails and an even cooler “tick tock” reminder. It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask Alistair if he’d heard of Johnny Saxon, but that would be stupid. And probably dangerous. If Alastair did have something to do with Saxon’s death, she didn’t want him knowing she knew about it. Not until she had a plan in place.

  At least TransUnited had been understanding about her request for additional information on SylEct
us. Not that any info had been forthcoming yet; the request had to go through its usual red tape, but they had proven Nathan right about one thing: they didn’t give two hoots who helped her find the crown as long as she did, which meant they had no problem with Nathan coming on board.

  That she could worry about tomorrow, after a pint of anything ice cream, an hour of mindless television, and a night burrowed under the covers.

  She parked in the underground parking lot at the Empire and extricated herself from the rented Mercedes. Grabbing her overnight bag out of the trunk, she slung her purse over her shoulder and headed to the elevator. The thought of that king-sized bed, whatever condition it was in, sounded like absolute bliss. She must be getting older than she realized. When did nine p.m. start feeling late?

  Once inside her room, she dumped her bag and purse onto the carpet and, dropping her head back, let out a long sigh of relief. Finally. Sanctuary.

  The desk lamp switched on.

  “Nathan!” She leaped back and bashed her elbow on the TV console. He was sitting in the chair at her table, feet propped on her bed. Given he was in a dark suit and matching shirt, he must have broken in after work. “What the hell? How did you get in here?”

  “I’m in security, remember?” His cool eyes left her and circled the room, skimming across what she’d left on display.

  “And that gives you the right to break into my room?” She stalked over and shoved his feet off the mattress. “I should call the police right now and report you.”

  “Go ahead.” The corners of his lips quirked, as if fighting a smile, but there was no humor on his face. He flicked his gaze to the wall across from him. “I’d love to see you explain that.”

  She swallowed hard, her stomach clenching as she glanced at the charts and notes tacked up on the walls; the stacks of files, printed-out articles and the piles of scribbled notes she had scattered on the table and desk. The photographs of his family. “I can explain.” She took a step forward but stopped when she recognized that frozen, angry look in his eyes as one she’d seen all too often growing up. Familiar fear descended, but she stood her ground and grabbed hold of the anger still swimming in her system.

  “Take a seat.” He pointed at the chair across from him. She didn’t move. She wouldn’t move. Sitting would be a sign of weakness. An admission of guilt and surrender. And Laurel never surrendered. She stiffened her spine and resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest as she forced herself to meet his ferocious gaze.

  “I’m fine right here.” She hoped she sounded calmer than she felt. Her pulse jackhammered so loud she thought for sure the guests in the next room would hear.

  “Suit yourself.” Nathan tossed a file folder onto the bed and Laurel watched as a copy of her juvenile arrest record slipped free to stare her in the face. “How about we start with who you really are.” He crossed an ankle over his knee. “Then you can tell me what the hell you want with my family.”

  Chapter Nine

  Well, hell. “Obviously my prints came back.” What Laurel wouldn’t give for a three fingers of Scotch right about now. She settled instead for gripping the console behind her and holding on for the not-wholly-unexpected ride. “My name is Laurel Scott. It has been for the last five years.” Give or take a few months. Shit! I’m not ready for this conversation yet. This was why she hated dealing with people. They were so damned unpredictable. “Be sure to give Malcolm my compliments. That cover’s held up to FBI and police scrutiny. He’s definitely got mad skills.” So much for Alastair’s assurances he’d provided her a solid, unbreakable cover.

  “Your file is genius,” Nathan said with a flicker of admiration in his voice. “Honestly, it’s one of the best covers I’ve seen in over a decade in security work. Deleted files, altered documents, a very thorough job—except for those pesky prints of yours. Nice to know you told me the truth about one thing at least: you’ve definitely been around.”

  “I like to travel.” Keep it light, don’t get defensive. That would only show him he had something to worry about.

  He leaned forward and flipped open the file. “Rose Hartford, Lilly Elsworth, Pansy Preston. Pansy? Really?”

  “I was sixteen.” And no one took a girl named Pansy seriously. She shrugged. “Alliteration fascinates me.”

  “And your real name would be?” He looked at her as if he expected her to lie.

  “Ivy.” She didn’t hesitate.

  “This is going to be a very long night if you can’t even be honest with me about your name.”

  “Ivy Doe.” She crossed her arms over her chest as uncertainty descended. “A woman found me abandoned in a thicket of ivy in a park.” She braced herself for the sickening sympathy, the “oh, you poor little thing” tilt of his head.

  Instead, all she got was a long silence, a dropping of his gaze and a soft, “You were a foster kid.”

  Laurel started then followed his gaze to the photographs of his sister’s foster children.

  “That explains the attitude,” he muttered. “And the distrust. You racked up a nice list of charges by the time you were seventeen.”

  “Every talent has its learning curve. And there’s nothing illegal about changing your name.”

  “There’s plenty illegal about credit card fraud and identity theft.”

  “I don’t steal people’s identities,” she snapped. “I just become who I need to in order to achieve the objective.”

  “And what’s that exactly? Seduce me? Charm your way into my bed, ingratiate yourself into the family and then—”

  “I told you what I’m after.” Laurel swallowed and tried to convince herself of the lie as it spilled out of her lips. “The finder’s fee on the crown is enough to set me up—”

  “I’d refrain from using that term for the foreseeable future,” Nathan said. “You work for Alastair, don’t you?”

  “Alastair who?” She squeaked and hoped the dim light hid the color draining from her face.

  “Son of a . . .” He shook his head as if he couldn’t decide whether he believed her or not. She held her breath, watched as his eyes scanned her face, dipped to the pulse in her neck she knew he couldn’t see in the dim light of the room, but worried he could nonetheless.

  But he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he shifted forward in his seat, hands clasped between his knees. His voice, while calm, held a tremble of anger under the surface that set off every alarm inside her. “Did you know the FBI maintains a satellite office here in Lantano Valley? It’s not big, but the new agent overseeing it would probably be very interested in these prints of yours. He could use some goodwill with an insurance agency like TransUnited. I’m sure they’d be grateful to learn who they have working for them. A few cons here and there, cash, jewelry. There’s fraud, of course, given your penchant for stolen credit cards. Glad to see you gave that up, Laurel. If the warning bells aren’t already jangling at Quantico, I bet I could make them chime like the bells at St. Mary’s with one call.”

  “Go ahead.” Panic lodged in her chest like an unpopped balloon. “I’m reformed. And I think you underestimate TransUnited’s standards. I can spin my criminal expertise into a benefit of employment with one conversation.” As long as that conversation wasn’t with Nathan. She couldn’t break now; couldn’t let things slip. If she lost her connection to Nathan, to the Tremaynes, there was no telling what Alastair would do—to her or to Nathan.

  “Your new identity might be cemented like concrete, but I’d hardly call you reformed.” Nathan said. “Tell you what. If this is all about the money, as you claim.” Judging by the condescension in his voice he didn’t believe that to be the case at all. “I’ll make you an offer. I’ll double your finder’s fee. All in cash, untraceable. All you need to do in exchange is pack up and leave. Disappear. Something I’m sure you know how to do.”

  “There it is,” Laurel said with a twist of her lip
s. “That’s the Tremayne solution to everything, isn’t it? Throw enough money at a problem and it or she will go away. I’m not going anywhere, Nathan. I told you I have a job to do.” But the offer was tempting. That much cash could put a lot of distance between her and Alastair. It could also put a target on her back so huge she’d never outrun him. She couldn’t take that risk, not yet. Not with Joey and Poppy to consider. She needed to stay on Alastair’s good side for as long as possible, if for no other reason than to keep him off guard so when she did make a break for it, he wouldn’t expect it. “My job is to find that crown. Whether you believe me or not doesn’t matter. You’re the one who said we need each other, so like it or not, you’re going to have to trust me.”

  “No, I don’t.” Nathan’s declaration nicked her heart. “There’s something else going on here, something you’re not telling me.”

  “And you think this was the way to get me to open up? Sneaking into my hotel room to wait for me in the dead of night doesn’t exactly earn my trust, Nathan. I can still report this to the police.”

  He tossed his phone on the mattress and grinned, but there was nothing endearing about his expression. “Go ahead. I dare you.”

  Laurel’s throat clenched. She might have gone a step too far. “What do you want from me, Nathan?”

  “The truth would be nice. But right now, I’ll settle for the same thing I wanted the other night. I want your help finding the crown. Once I have that, if that’s all there is to this”—he added with that dangerous spark in his green eyes—“you can walk away. Malcolm will scrub his computer, I’ll destroy your file and Laurel Scott will cease to exist. In fact.” He seemed to have caught himself off guard. He paused. “I’ll even up my offer. I’ll make you disappear.”

  Nausea churned in her belly. “Going to drop my body down a mine shaft? Or drop me over the side of the family yacht?”

  “You of all people should know we don’t own a yacht,” Nathan said, jerking his chin toward her wall of stalking evidence. “I can have Malcolm create an all-new identity. New town, new life, new future. Poof.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. No one would ever find you again. Not unless you wanted them to.”