Trouble with Nathan

by Anna J. Stewart

  He studied her, the passing moments ticking loudly in her ears. “On one condition.”

  She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

  “From here on out, no more lies. Plead the fifth, zip your lip, whatever you need to do, but no more lies. Understood?” All she wanted to do was sag into a puddle under the table. That she could work with. “Understood.”

  “Okay then. So. The crown,” Nathan said and resumed eating. “Give me the rundown.”

  Her lungs expanded as if she were taking a deep undersea dive. “Long lost treasure, contested ownership, battle over which country and which group could claim rights to which piece. Valuable.” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Nice CliffsNotes version. How about some detail?”

  “The Serpians were nomads, numbering in the thousands, and managed to lay claim to certain land areas throughout Europe over the course of a few decades. But it’s their artwork and treasure that’s been of interest to most scholars and archaeologists. Those other pieces at the museum, they’re only a fraction of what was uncovered thanks to the efforts of a group of archaeologists back in the late seventies and early eighties who traced the Serpian Trail to where they were defeated in a battle on the border of France in 1412.”

  “After this Princess Kasha was dead.”

  “Legend has it her murder left a curse on her treasure which was why they buried it as they attempted to escape from their enemies. If it hadn’t been for a man named Elliot Larsen, the leader of the expedition, the Serpians might have faded into history without anyone ever hearing about them.”

  “A curse? Like King Tut?”

  “That was microbes, not a curse. You don’t believe me?”

  Nathan shrugged. “Not for me to say.”

  She waited, hoping, watching Nathan’s face for a flicker of recognition. “You’ve never heard of the Serpians, have you?”

  “History’s always been my father’s interest, not mine.”

  Something she and Jackson had in common. If she’d had the chance, she’d have loved to have gone to college to study. Maybe even teach. She shook her head. The time for dreams was over. She had real life to deal with. “Well, trust me, plenty of people still believe in that curse. Supposedly it feeds on people’s weakness and drives them mad.” It would certainly explain her interactions with Alastair. “Romantic, huh?” She ate another fry even though she was no longer hungry. “You sure you hadn’t heard of them or the crown before all this started?”

  “Not a word. You were going to look into that SylEctus group on your trip down south.” For the first time since they met, she felt as if her past wasn’t wedged between them like a force field. Is that what honesty—what trust, however fragile—did? “Did you find anything out?”

  “Not much.” She shook her head. “My official request for information is still pending approval. It’s not one of my usual requests, so I’m betting my motivations are being put under a microscope. What about you?”

  “Malcolm broke through a few walls but he probably didn’t learn anything you don’t already know. The SylEctus Group is a multi-conglomerate think tank that sticks their noses and bank accounts into various enterprises around the world.”

  Laurel smirked. “Translation?”

  “A bunch of rich people with too much time on their hands.”

  “Interesting coming from you.”

  Nathan pushed his plate away and wiped his mouth, staring hard at her as he tossed the napkin aside. “My family’s worked very hard for every penny we’ve earned. I’d appreciate you not lumping us in with individuals who have little interest in anything other than expanding their already overloaded bank accounts and stock portfolios.”

  “Sorry.” That had been an interesting button to push. The Tremaynes really weren’t at all like she’d expected. “I’m having a little difficulty figuring out exactly where we stand with each other in all this.”

  “Right now we’re standing on the side of finding the Crown of Serpia. I want my father cleared. I want this mess behind us, I want the Nemesis case closed. I don’t see where there’s room for interpretation. Not if you want your past to stay in the past.”

  Nemesis? Where did Nemesis fit into this? Time to think about that later. Right now, she couldn’t let his threat pass unanswered. “Are you going to threaten to expose my past whenever we disagree?” Given the threat she’d lived under for the past few years this felt negligible. But he didn’t need to know that. “That doesn’t really lend itself to the whole trust issue you’re pressing.”

  “Let’s see how often we disagree and go from there?”

  She hesitated, just long enough to sound believable. “The other night you mentioned a name. An Alastair something.”

  “What about him?”

  “It sounded as if you think he’s involved with this crown situation and your dad. Is there something I should know?”

  Nathan stared at her for a long moment, as if debating whether he could follow her lead when it came to admissions and truths. “He’s an old acquaintance of my father, but not someone Dad’s overly anxious to reconnect with. They have a history.” He gestured to their waitress for a refill on his water.

  “What kind of history?” Her blood started pumping. Was she finally going to get an answer she could use?

  Nathan sat back in the upholstered booth, his eyes scanning her face more effectively than a security screener at the airport. “Let’s just say my father’s past could be even more colorful than yours. Ivy.”

  Lunch churned in her stomach. “That’s not who I am anymore.”

  “Then tell me who Ivy was.”

  She did not want to go through this again. “I told you. Ivy is, was, found abandoned in a park in Roseville, a suburb of Sacramento. The woman who found the baby took her, took me, to a firehouse and said she found me in—”

  “Ivy,” Nathan finished, and to his credit didn’t flinch. “And every time you had to change your name you chose a flower or plant?”

  “Don’t get all Sigmund Freud okay?” Laurel shoved her plate away. She didn’t like people digging into her past; she sure as hell didn’t want him digging into her head. “It’s been my way of claiming an identity, something that’s hard to do when you didn’t arrive with a birth certificate.” Hell, even Cabbage Patch Kids had certificates. “Quid pro quo.” Why was she feeling like Clarice Starling interviewing Hannibal Lecter? “You think this Alastair Manville is behind what’s going on with your father?”

  Nathan’s hand tightened around his glass, his jaw clenched and unclenched half a dozen times before he finally responded. “I think he’s framed my father for the theft of the crown for reasons known only to him.” Nathan leaned across the table and, for the first time, Laurel couldn’t decipher the expression on his face. The charmer was gone; the angry son and family protector was gone. Both men she’d encountered disappeared behind a blank slate of determination she suspected rivaled her own. They needed each other if either of them was going to succeed. He needed her to clear his father and she needed him to get Alastair Manville out of her life once and for all.

  “It doesn’t sound out of the realm of possibility that Alastair framed your father. But let’s not forget your father was caught on camera at the museum at the time of the robbery and his prints were found—”

  “Print,” Nathan corrected, holding up one finger. “Only one, remember? And the one that was found was compromised. And as far as I know, taking a walk in midtown isn’t illegal. Alastair is gunning for my father and he’s using the crown as his weapon. The longer it stays missing, the more jeopardy my entire family is in.”

  “Wait a minute.” Laurel’s stomach pitched. “I thought this was about your father.” Her mind raced. “The other night you accused me of stalking your family. That’s why those photos on my wall freaked you out. What’s going on, Nathan. What don�
��t I know?” Even as she asked the question, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know just how far Alastair was willing to go to take his revenge on Jackson Tremayne. Or the part she might have played in it. Then again, if Johnny Saxon had been murdered to keep him quiet about stealing the crown, she was already in too deep to get out.

  “My father’s received photographs in the mail and via email. Pictures of all of us, including Morgan and Gage’s kids. We’re being watched. And Alastair—or whoever is behind it—wants Dad to know it.”

  Laurel’s stomach churned around her lunch. “That’s . . .” Unfathomable. Horrific. Petrifying. She suspected Alastair was capable of a lot of things, but bringing children into this? Her face went cold as she thought of Joey. Her hands trembled. She’d stayed sane all these years believing Alastair would never hurt her daughter. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  “They even caught Malcolm and Sheila coming out of his doctor’s appointment up in San Francisco.” He’d lowered his voice, leaned across the table. “Whoever it is is determined to make my father suffer, and believe me, there’s no better way to do that than to go after his family. What?” He frowned. “You don’t believe me? I can show you the pictures.”

  “No, no.” She waved a hand in the air, relieved he’d misread her expression. She didn’t need him reading her mind. “I’m just wondering what this has to do with the crown.” Her mind circled the information she had with the speed and acumen of an Indy 500 champion and skidded to a stop as if a warning flag had dropped. “This is why your father confessed to being Nemesis.” She leaned forward until their faces were so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. What was Jackson trying to do? Put himself out of reach? Or . . . in harm’s way?

  Nathan’s eyebrows inched up as if she’d impressed him. “That’s where things get”—he hesitated— “complicated.”

  Funny how they kept coming back to that word. “I’m a smart girl.” Laurel didn’t want to feel offended. Here she thought they’d be making progress and yet the mention of Nemesis once again triggered . . . something. Of all topics to be skittish about, that just seemed odd.

  “Just because we’re going to work together doesn’t mean I’m going to make you privy to every Tremayne secret.”

  “Wow.” Laurel’s eyes went wide. “So lies are a no-go, but secrets are still in play.” Interesting. What did Nathan know about Nemesis that he wasn’t telling? “Okay.”

  “Dad confessed because given the proclivities of our local law enforcement and district attorney, he hoped the cops would keep an eye on him. People Alastair wouldn’t want to interact with. So in the meantime . . .”

  “In the meantime, it puts Manville off his game and leaves him scrambling to regroup.” No wonder Alastair was so pissed off. Jackson had definitely one-upped him. She was beginning to like Jackson Tremayne more and more. It occurred to her she should tell Nathan about the backup Alastair had in place, the man who was keeping tabs on all of them. But now didn’t seem the time. “We’re in agreement then. Alastair Manville hired Johnny Saxon to steal the crown in order to set up your father?”

  “That’s our best guess.” Nathan shrugged. “Another option is the SylEctus Group is trying to cash in on a huge insurance scam. But my money’s on option number one.”

  “You’d win either way.” Personally, she understood the desire for revenge. She also related to the need for profit. “While I was in the home office the other day, I got a look at my boss’s email inbox.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Please. His password is his dog’s name and his birthday. I saw a couple of emails marked as important from a Miles L. Trailavan at the SylEctus Group. They were cc’d to Manville. Tells me the two men are connected.” She was taking a chance, sharing the one connection she’d made on her trip to Los Angeles. Maybe it wasn’t the connection Nathan was looking for, but it was something they could explore further. Together.

  “You’re sure?” Nathan didn’t look convinced. “That seems careless of them.”

  “Unless you factor in that Alastair has an office in the SylEctus headquarters in San Francisco. I think that’s something we should look into further, don’t you?” Nothing like seeding the trail in the direction she needed to go. A private office in a secure building might be the perfect place to keep any incriminating evidence Manville had on her. If she could get ahold of it and help Nathan get his father out from whatever bull’s-eye Alastair had him under, it would be win-win for both of them.

  “So, what? You’re thinking we waltz into their offices and ask for a private meeting with Alastair Manville?” Given the way Nathan was looking at her she may as well have sprouted another head.

  “Of course not.” Because that would be suicide. For both of them. She could only imagine what havoc Alastair would wreak on Nathan as Jackson’s son. “But we can meet with SylEctu’s CEO, Miles Trailavan.” She plucked another fry off her plate and nibbled, liking her plan more and more. Nathan would make an excellent distraction. If things played out the way she hoped, she’d have the finders’ fee, Nathan’s money, a new identity and Alastair Manville would be SOL when it came to hurting Jackson and his family. “They don’t take walk-ins, by the way. I already checked.” She grinned as Nathan sat back. “Which is why I made an appointment. Want to go to San Francisco with me next Tuesday?”

  Chapter Eleven

  “We have a problem.” Nathan slid into the corner booth across from Malcolm at Murphy’s Pub and earned an irritated glare from his brother-in-law as he shifted one stack of files onto another, no doubt ruining Malcolm’s “system.”

  “Remember when we used to come here to drink beer and play darts?” Malcolm moved his files onto the seat beside him. “I miss those days.”

  “We’ll get back to them,” Nathan said and aimed a grateful smile at the Amazonian redhead who ran Lantano Valley’s premier sports bar as she approached the table. “Hey, Regan.”

  “If it isn’t two of my favorite men.” Regan Murphy shot them that million-watt smile she was known for. “What can I get you? Other than another club soda with lime.” She arched a dubious brow at Malcolm’s drink and planted a hand on her jeans-clad hip. “You need to eat something, Malcolm. And I don’t mean our snack mix.” She plucked the empty bowl off the table and dropped it onto the tray of a passing server. “Pounding on that keyboard like you’ve been doing the last two hours takes energy. Liam’s cooking some mean steaks back in the kitchen. I’ll bring you one. Nathan?”

  “Steak sounds great, thanks, Regan.”

  “Better make that three.” Malcolm glanced over Nathan’s head. “Problem number two just walked in the door.”

  Nathan glanced behind him and added his father’s arrival to his shit list for the day. “Since when is your father a problem?” Regan asked as Jackson sidled up beside her looking as if he’d breezed over from the office rather than capping off the ninety-minute drive from Malibu. “I’m thinking this is my lucky night. Great to see you, Mr. Tremayne.”

  “How many times have I asked you to call me Jackson, Regan?” He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze as he slid into the booth beside Nathan.

  “I try, but it doesn’t sound right.” Regan shrugged. “Sorry about that. Drink?”

  “Scotch, straight up. Hold on.” Jackson caught Regan’s arm as she moved away. “What’s this?” He rotated his hold and turned her palm up to expose the Celtic knotted heart tattoo on the inside her of her wrist.

  “That would be Brodie Crawford’s work.” Regan’s cheeks went bright pink despite the shadowy light in the pub. “He, ah, we’re, well—” She raised nervous fingers to the claddagh charm around her neck. “Let’s just say he’s changed my mind about tattoos along with some other things.”

  “That’s one way of making things permanent,” Nathan teased at the spark of happiness in her Irish green eyes. It wasn’t every wo
man who could oversee a brood of six siblings, run a pub, and find a happily-ever-after before the age of thirty.

  “If you ever want some work done, tell him I sent you.” Regan winked. “Special discount. I’ll be back with your drinks. And dinners.”

  “I thought we agreed you’d stay in Malibu for another week,” Nathan said once Regan was out of earshot. Not that she’d have heard him with the heavy din of conversation and the raucous participation of local baseball fans. Odds were by the time they left he’d be deaf.

  “I asked him to come back.” Malcolm closed his laptop. “I need his help—both your help—with something. But that can wait. What’s this problem you mentioned?”

  “Problem?” Jackson asked. “What problem and why is this the first I’m hearing about this?”

  Nathan resisted the urge to squirm in his seat. After all these years his father could still make him feel like a naughty six-year-old who got caught throwing rocks at the neighbor’s greenhouse windows. “Because I’ve spent most of the day trying to convince myself I was wrong about something. But I’m not.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Laurel is working for Alastair Manville.”

  Malcolm sagged back in his seat while Jackson sighed. “You’re sure?” His father asked.

  “She slipped. I don’t think she realized it.” Which he could use to their advantage. It didn’t take the sting out of the fact she’d lied to him after promising not to. He shouldn’t be surprised, not when he was still lying to himself. “We had a long conversation over lunch about the crown and how she’s agreed to help me find it. Never once did I mention Alastair’s last name.”

  “But she did.” Jackson frowned. “You think she’s a plant?”

  “I think I was right and she knows a lot more about what’s going on than she let on.” And damned if that didn’t twist the knife deeper. He could have accepted she was a con artist; given his own illegal proclivities, it would be hypocritical of him to condemn her for it. He also didn’t have any issue with her wanting to collect the substantial finder’s fee. Given her background, money could provide stability she’d never had before.