Rich and poor.
Have and have-not.
No matter what Rann had told him, he still considered himself a member of the have-not club. But all of that was forgotten the moment he’d seen regret in her eyes when she’d tried to brush past him back in her room. He’d kissed her again, the feel of her damp skin under that towel almost dropping him to his knees.
So while he accepted her silence, welcomed it actually, he found himself listening when she did talk. Mainly to herself when they walked from room to room while she made sketches and took notes. A few times he thought she was actually talking to the house itself.
And now, finally, to him. He didn’t know why she’d suddenly decided to address him or where she was headed with this unexpected conversation.
But it was a good thing. He had to talk to her too. He had to find out if she was keeping information from him.
The light tread of sneakered feet told him she was right behind him. Years of training kept him perfectly still, but his senses were on full alert. A clean, ocean scent clung to her skin, mixing with her signature lush floral fragrance. Her skin radiated warmness and the silver bracelets she wore jangled against her wrists.
“Hello?” Cassandra said. “Are you awake?”
“Yes, I’m awake. A happy place,” he repeated and continued to face the window, but this time not seeing the churning waves of the ocean. “You think so?”
“Don’t sound so brooding, Mr. Murdock.” Cassandra moved to stand next to him. “Seeing this house in the daylight had the same effect on you it had on me.”
Brood? He preferred the term concentrate. Unable to stop himself, he turned to look at her. “What effect was that?”
“Well, you didn’t babble away like I did about the grounds, the wonderful porch and all these windows when we pulled into the drive, but I read you like a book.”
She smiled and it went straight to his gut. Then lower.
“I was on the porch, already making notes. I turned around and you were still at the car,” she continued, “staring at the house. Almost like you were hypnotized.”
“Hypnotized?” He took a sip of his now-cold coffee. “By an oversized beach cottage?”
“You can protest all you want, but I know you felt it too.”
He did, even if he refused to put a name to it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do.” Cassandra tapped his forearm with the end of her pencil. “As soon as we walked inside…even last night in the dark it was there. It’s like a magical sensation that comes over you as soon as you enter this wonderful place.”
Cassandra glanced at the fireplace. He guessed she was thinking about last night, not the house. About the two of them in front of a roaring fire with drop cloths for a bed, and again, this morning, the fire gone except for the faint glow of embers as the first rays of sun filled the room.
Hell, for someone who claimed to be a bodyguard, he was certainly taking his job literally. And that wasn’t a good thing. He needed to concentrate on protecting Cassandra and put what had happened between them last night out of his mind for all the reasons he’d already recited.
But she was right about the effect of seeing Heaven’s Gate for the first time in almost twenty-two years. It had come into view in the shimmering daylight when they’d entered the circular drive, the yellow roses on his mother’s bushes swaying in the breeze. The first thought that came to him was the two-story structure looked smaller than he remembered.
Now he was looking at it through the eyes of a man instead of a boy. The rush of memories, as powerful and strong as they had been last night, filled him, causing a tightening in his chest. He stopped and stared at the house, his house, and forced himself to acknowledge how good it felt to be back.
Then he made himself remember he was supposed to be protecting the woman who stood waiting on the front porch. So, he followed her from room to room, trying to keep his eyes off her blue sweater and snug-fitting jeans. What he couldn’t stop was his mind’s eye seeing the house as it used to be, fully furnished and decorated all those years ago.
When they got to the master suite on the second floor, the sight of the king-sized sleigh bed stopped him in his tracks. How his mother had loved that bed. She’d always had dozens of pillows on it, more than enough for the three of them to have a morning pillow fight when he and Rann would come barging in to wake her up.
He glided his hand along the smooth, dark finish.
One summer he’d realized she was usually already up long before him and his half brother, and only pretended to be asleep when they woke her. He’d seen her from his bedroom window downstairs. She’d left the house in the early morning hours and had hit the beach running. The first time he’d watched her disappear on the horizon, a crazy fear had filled him. She wasn’t coming back.
But she had, she always had.
And when his stepfather had threatened to sell the house, his mother had protested so violently, the elder Carrington had backed down. He’d forgotten that until just now.
“Well, I think he had a happy and fun childhood here.”
Reilly pulled himself back to the present to find Cassandra had moved near the fireplace. “Who?”
“Carrington.” She gave him a puzzled look. “You know, the man who owns the house and is paying me to redecorate it.”
He had to tell her. Yesterday, his mind had been too occupied making sure they weren’t followed. Then with everything that had happened last night…well, he had been occupied in other ways.
“Is the magic telling you he was happy here?” he asked instead.
“No, just look at this place!” Cassandra spun around with her arms open wide. “Can’t you imagine what it was like in the summer time? All the windows open, a tangy sea breeze blowing through the house. The kitchen in the front corner isn’t closed off from this main room, thanks to the bar area, so whoever is cooking is still part of the action.”
She walked backward, hugging her notebook as she looked at the beamed ceiling. “It’s big enough for a large family, but still intimate for small gatherings. These hardwood floors are perfect for dealing with beach sand and the few pieces of furniture still here are well made, but not stuffy or pretentious. They were made to stand up to sun, fun, and kids.”
He couldn’t stay away. He crossed the room, stopping when he stood directly in front of her. “You got all that from being here for a few hours this morning?”
“And spending the night here last night.”
Before he could think of how to respond, Cassandra stood on tiptoes and placed a hand on his chest. She kissed his cheek, and her lips lingered for a long moment. He fought the desire to turn his head and capture those lips with his own.
“What was that for?” His voice bristled when she finally eased away from him.
“To thank you for coming here with me,” she whispered. “For saving my life. Twice.”
“Cass—”
“And for last night,” she continued, cutting off his words. She backed up a few steps, her tone still husky. “For the first time in a long time, I felt safe and warm…and wanted. It’s been years since I’ve felt all those things.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s the truth. Oh, I guess I’ve been wanted in the past.” She turned away from him, her attention back on her notebook. She walked around the long counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area. “But it wasn’t me they wanted to get close to, it was the Van Winter money. Third generation millionaires, that’s the Van Winters. The Mayfields weren’t bad off either, that’s my mother’s family, but nothing on the level of dear old Dad’s family tree.”
He heard a false exuberance, a forced casualness in her voice. “You sound bitter.”
“Do I?” She looked over her shoulder. “I guess I shouldn’t. After all, I was raised with the best of everything. Hand-picked schools, hand-picked clothes and hand-picked friends. Even the boys I dated had to
pass Daddy’s rigorous inspection. It had nothing do with whether we had anything in common or if I was even attracted to them. As long as his family could keep up with the Joneses—”
“Or the Van Winters.”
Cassandra turned and offered a brittle smile. “Or the Van Winters, it was enough for Daddy. Do you know how it feels to be kissed just because it might get you a coveted position with Bancroft and Van Winter?”
Not hardly. Everyone in Bellow Falls, Texas, had known he had no influence at RannCarr Oil and treated him like an outsider, despite the fact he was born there and who his mother married. “No, I can’t say that I do.”
“Well, from what little you’ve shared of your childhood, it wasn’t a cheerful experience. I guess being poor isn’t any more a guarantee of happiness than being rich.”
Reilly shifted at her words. To him, he was still poor. Less than five thousand dollars in his bank account. Oh yeah, and a few choice pieces of real estate and stock holdings in one of the country’s richest oil companies that made him a millionaire more times over than he wanted to think about.
He was going to have to deal with that. Later.
“But you’re an adult now.” Reilly set his unwanted coffee on the counter. “Not a child still under your father’s control. He’s gone and you’re rich, single and beautiful. Why aren’t you happy?”
“I’m not—” Cassandra visibly checked herself. She pressed her lips into a tight line and turned away.
“What is it?” he asked. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I-I don’t know what you are talking about.”
She moved deeper into the kitchen and Reilly followed. His internal radar was up and flashing. “Yes, you do. You’ve been holding something back from the first moment we met. If it has anything to do with the necklace and what’s been happening, I need to know.”
She didn’t turn around. “And if it has nothing to do with the events of the last couple of weeks?”
“Let me decide that.”
He moved up beside her. She stood in front of the large window over the kitchen sink. The sun highlighted her elegant profile, contorted in conflict and pain. He could see her fighting with whatever she was keeping deep inside her.
“Cass, please. Don’t hold back from me. Not now.”
“And what are you holding back from me?” She turned to face him. “The messages waiting for you at the inn, do they have anything to do with me?”
He’d meant to tell her this morning when he got to her room. But finding her door unlocked had scared the hell out of him. All he’d been able to think about was getting to her. When she’d surprised him by walking out of the bathroom dressed in only a damp towel, he’d only had enough time to shove his gun back into its holster and assume a casual stance at her door. Then all thoughts had disappeared from his head once he got his hands on her.
“As a matter of fact, they do.”
“Well?”
She wasn’t going to back down. He could see that. Maybe the best defense was a good offense. “A few days ago, I asked Jake Griffin to do some digging. On Willard.”
Cassandra closed her eyes and dropped her chin. “Oh, no. Not this again. You know, I wish you would lay off—”
“Did you know he owns a penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue? The Breckenridge building?”
Cassandra’s head snapped up, her face pale. “That’s the most expensive piece of real estate in the city. He couldn’t afford a place there, even with his income.”
“What about a trust fund?”
“He doesn’t have one.” She leaned back against the counter. “I mean he does, but he can’t get his hands on it until he turns thirty-five or until he…”
She looked away. Her teeth caught her bottom lip.
“Until he what?”
“Gets married,” she finally said.
Reilly crossed his arms over his chest. “If that’s all it took he could’ve married and divorced five times over by now.”
“It’s not that simple.” Cassandra sighed, and looked at him again. “Willard’s father has to approve of the woman Willard chooses for a wife. I know that’s a bit archaic these days.”
One eyebrow rose. “No, really?”
“Edwin Bancroft is old-fashioned, very rich and a bit…strange. Willard can’t do anything about the conditions, so I guess he’s staying single until his thirty-fifth birthday.”
“Or until he gets you to marry him.” The words popped out of his mouth the moment they entered his head.
Cassandra’s green eyes blazed. “I am not marrying Willard Bancroft.”
Reilly tried to ignore the sensation her staunch words created. Was it relief? If so, did it matter? He forced himself to give attention to the subject at hand. “He purchased the property six months ago. Only a few weeks after your father’s death.”
“But he lives in a wing of his parent’s mansion.”
“He’s had a slew of contractors working on the penthouse.”
“No, your information must be wrong.” Cassandra shook her head and turned her back to him, moving into the dining area. “Willard and I are good friends. He wouldn’t keep something like this secret from me.”
Reilly silently considered Cassandra’s words. He knew his facts were correct. He and Jake had talked this morning, and he trusted the police detective’s information. His first thought had been Cassandra had kept this from him. He could tell from her reaction that she had no idea about the property. So why hadn’t Willard told her? Something to ask the lawyer when they got home and Willard returned from Chicago.
“There’s more.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Cassandra closed her notebook and dropped it to the counter. “Now what?”
He ignored her glib tone. “I contacted a friend who works for the Bureau of Diplomatic Security after you told me about that little Russian trinket you’ve got locked up in your vault. We spoke this morning, too. He got in touch with his contacts in the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service—”
Cassandra paled. “You mean the KGB?”
Reilly nodded. “They keep changing their name. Anyway, he did some checking on the Russian mafia. There’s been an increase in activity in the New York City area over the last six months.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Oh, come on, Cass.” Reilly laid his hands on the counter that separated the two of them. “You’ve got one of the treasures of their country. Didn’t it ever occur to you that someone who isn’t a collector might want to get his hands on it? Someone who isn’t willing to pay three million dollars for it?”
“But I didn’t know the necklace’s value until a few days ago.” Cassandra backed up into one of the dining room chairs. Before it fell, she caught it and jammed it back under the edge of the large rectangular table. “I didn’t even know the necklace existed until a month ago.”
He joined her in the dining area. “That doesn’t mean someone else didn’t know about it or hasn’t been looking for it.”
“No, wait.” She held out her hands to ward him off as she continued to back away. “Look, I know you’re just doing your job. The rational side of me does, anyway. But this is too…too much all at once.”
She pulled in a deep breath. “Willard lying to me? The Russian mafia? Oh, and let’s not forget the surviving members of the imperial family.” Cassandra folded her arms over her stomach. “Maybe they’re behind all my problems. I’m sure they find selling off a piece of their history to the highest bidder quite offensive!”
Reilly heard the almost hysterical rise in Cassandra’s voice. Damn. He’d screwed up this one. He headed toward her. “Cass, I know this is a lot to handle right now, but I wouldn’t have asked Rann to call you if I didn’t really believe your life was in danger. I wanted—”
“Wait a minute. You asked Rann to call? What are you talking about?”
Open mouth, insert his size twelve Laredo boots. “Let me explain.”
“Are you saying you got me this decorating opportunity?”
Doubt and suspicion blazed in her flashing green eyes, but at least she’d stopped moving away from him. He closed the distance between them, joining her in front of the fireplace. “Yes.”
“But how? I know both you and RannCarr Oil are based in Texas, but that hardly puts two of you in the same circles—”
“He’s my brother,” Reilly interrupted her. He could tell by the look on her face he wasn't going to get away with anything less than the truth. “My half brother actually.”
He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Cassandra was quickly putting two and two together and coming up with his butt in a sling.
“He’s your what? Wait, let me get this straight. You asked for a favor from Ranndolph Carrington to get me out of the city, and he, being family, agreed. I don’t believe this! Is everyone in the world lying to me?” She poked at his chest with her finger. “Did you really serve in the Marine Corps? Are you a bodyguard with the training you claim? I don’t even know if your last name is Murdock or Carrington.”
Her words stung, but he couldn’t blame her. He hated to see the anguish and shock in her eyes, but he’d done what was needed to keep her safe. “My last name is Murdock,” he said. “The senior Ranndolph Carrington was my stepfather. He never adopted me after he married my mother.”
“Stepfather?” Cassandra’s mind whirled with what Reilly was telling her. Both Willard and the Russian mafia disappeared from her thoughts. “You mean, the story you told me about being left in jail—that was Ranndolph Carrington, Sr.?”
“My mother was a cocktail waitress, a single woman with a seven–year-old son, when she met, then married Carrington. He never let me forget I was the son of a drifter who took off as soon as he knew my mom was pregnant. He also never bothered to adopt me.” Reilly glanced down at where the tip of her finger still pressed over his heart. “Why should he when Rann, my half brother, was born less than a year later? He has his father’s name.”
Cassandra dropped her hand. Reilly’s voice was so cold and lifeless. As if he were reciting data from a report instead of talking about his life. “Ranndolph Carrington really is your half brother?”
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