Paul pushed even further, knowing he had to. "And if it never completely returns?"
She blanched, swallowing visibly, but she met his eyes. "Then we'll deal with it. If…"
"If?"
Trepidation registered in her eyes along with a trace of fear. "If that's what you want."
"Why wouldn't I want that?" he questioned, wondering at this turn in the conversation.
Uncharacteristically she ducked her head. "I wasn't sure you'd still want me."
Unable to stay the motion, he cupped her chin, gently tipping it upward. To his amazement tears swam in her violet eyes. "Why would you say that?"
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "If you don't remember what we shared…"
"I already told you it was me, not you," Paul reminded her, his conscience engaged in full battle.
Jessica and Rod returned to the table just then, both laughing and out of breath as Rod pulled out a chair for her and then sat down, as well.
"Don't tell me you two haven't been back on the dance floor!" Jessica exclaimed.
"We couldn't stand the competition," Paul joked, seeing that Katherine was trying to compose her features and hide the burgeoning tears. "But now that you're not out there showing us up, we could take a stab at it." He stood, holding his hand out to Katherine, offering an escape.
Accepting it, she followed him. Fortunately it was a slow number. Katherine hid her face against his chest. He guided them around the floor, struck by the trust she showed him. As the music continued, she finally lifted her head. "Thanks. I didn't want to ruin Jessica's evening."
He wiped away the last lingering tear that rested just beneath her lower lashes. "And I didn't intend to ruin yours."
She pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. "You didn't!"
"Well, that's not a smile I put on your face." He pulled her a fraction closer.
She didn't resist, instead sinking against him. The music cooperated, velvety and low, a romantic number that kept them in each other's arms. Their movements slowed until they were swaying together, the rest of the crowd forgotten.
As the music changed subtly, Paul released Katherine just enough to look into her eyes. She reached up, her fingers pausing to stroke the hair that rested on his collar. In the dusky light her unusual eyes resembled smoke. But it was her words that threw him. "How did I get so lucky? To have found someone I love so much?"
Again she nestled against him, saving him from replying, but not shielding him from the thoughts that refused to be stilled.
* * *
Lost opportunities. Paul leaned back in the study chair, the darkness of the night shrouding the windows. Like the mounds of paperwork surrounding him, those lost opportunities seemed to mock him. Why hadn't he picked up the phone and talked things out with Matthew? Why had they let a woman – especially someone as shallow as Susan – break them apart?
Paul gripped a pen, his fingers white with the pressure. Would it have killed him to let go of his anger, to take the first step toward reconciliation? His stubborn pride had been at stake, Paul remembered with regret. And what was that pride worth now? Bitterly he realized once more that he had only himself to blame. Matthew had extended the olive branch more than once, but Paul hadn't been able to find it in himself to forgive – and certainly not to forget.
Having taken such a resolute stand as the betrayed brother, Paul had found it difficult to relinquish any of his anger. He'd held on to it with a vengeance. And for what? So he could sit alone in his brother's house and try to learn what had happened to him?
Paul wanted to keep the hope alive, but the voice in his heart had been silent for too long now. He no longer felt the nudges that had been with him since birth, the instincts that spoke from his other half.
Dropping his head into his hands, Paul let some of the agony possess him. From the beginning it had been too dangerous to give in to the emotions. He hadn't wanted them to overpower his reason. Slowly he raised his head, staring beyond the study door. From his vantage point he could see the curve of the stairs, and as easily he could picture the bedroom that lay just above. And in that bedroom…
Tortured, Paul raised his head. While his heart filled with pain over his twin, he still couldn't forget his brother's wife. The invitation in her eyes had been abundantly clear, as was the pain when he'd reluctantly refused the offer.
Tearing his gaze away from the stairway and what it led to, Paul glanced down at the latest computer reports the accounting firm had provided. If there was truth, or even a trail to be discovered, it was here. And despite the dullness in his heart, it was a trail he couldn't abandon. He had failed his brother while he was alive. He wouldn't do it again now.
* * *
Chapter 11
«^»
John Lewis looked decidedly uncomfortable as three small children stared at him over the back of the booth. One offered him a bite of a sticky Tootsie Pop, which John declined.
Paul glanced from his friend to the children, enjoying the unlikely scenario. Then he slid into the booth, one brow edging upward as he saw the unlikely ice-cream float John had apparently ordered for him.
"Sorry," John said. "I thought the place would be deserted."
"An ice-cream shop right after school's out for the day?"
"Point taken," John admitted with a reluctant grin. "I haven't been on the ice-cream circuit for a while."
"I wondered why you picked this place," Paul said, glancing around, seeing that all the booths were filled with either mothers and their young children, or high-spirited teenagers.
"Just following procedure. Didn't want to meet in the same place too often," John explained ruefully.
Steeling himself, Paul took a deep breath. "Have you learned anything?"
John's face was shuttered for a moment, then he met his friend's eyes. "Nothing positive, but so far the conclusions aren't good. We haven't located Matthew, but the initial findings point to a nonsurvivor situation."
Matthew, a nonsurvivor. Not in anyone's wildest imagination. Why was it, when one of your own was involved, the terms seemed clinically cruel? Paul searched John's face. "I suspect there's more."
"The chief has scaled back the recovery operation."
Paul winced as the sharp pain he had held at bay surfaced. The fragile hope he'd harbored for his brother's survival crumbled. It was all but official now. "Does that mean your assignment has ended?"
John fiddled with the root beer that had foamed up and pooled at the edge of his glass. "No. The chief's still committed to learning exactly why and how the plane crashed."
Paul looked more closely at his friend. "He's not leaving that to the FAA? It seems to me the official cause of the crash falls under their auspices."
John shifted uncomfortably. "Usually. But you were scheduled to go on that plane with Matthew. In fact, that information was logged on the flight plan and could easily have been leaked. That puts it back in our arena."
Stunned, Paul could only stare at him. Did they think the accident was meant for him?
But John spoke before be could. "Don't go leaping to any conclusions here. There's nothing to point to you as the target yet. But you know the chief – he likes to play it safe. So don't go beating yourself up before we know anything. It won't help your brother – or his family. And you could compromise your investigation."
Paul knew he had to catalog what he'd just been told and not allow himself to feel the emotions the news had caused. At least not yet. "I'm still not sure about Katherine. On one hand I see evidence that makes me believe she has to be connected to the crash. On the other…"
John waited patiently, but Paul didn't conclude the thought. "Any particular evidence?" John prompted.
Paul tried to push aside his pain and collect his thoughts. "A lot of cash was spent – large amounts that aren't accounted for. It could have been foolish overspending. I can tell by the records that the catering company threw some pretty lavish parties to launch the business. Too lav
ish. And frankly Matthew was never good with money. He liked to make everyone around him happy, regardless of the costs or how proportionate they were to his income. And I understand he withdrew cash that he never recorded, which could explain the missing amounts. But the accounts show a steady loss that's continuing."
"When did they start?"
"I can't be certain. I'm trying to run down unrecorded loans or out-of-pocket cash expenses, but I don't have a handle on that yet."
"Any gaps in the losses? Or have they been consistent?"
Paul paused, remembering. "There have been gaps. In fact, the losses stopped for a while, but they picked up again recently, with the amounts increasing. Which points to Katherine."
"Sounds like it. Anything else?"
"Matthew's spending tripled when he met Katherine. He must have felt she wanted him to spend that money."
"So you think she's a gold digger?"
Paul flinched. Baldly stated, it sounded so ugly. "I thought I'd know by now, but I don't have anything definite yet."
"How's her spending now?" John asked. "She hasn't been doing any obvious spending outside of the business."
"She could be squirreling the money into a hidden account," John suggested.
"True," Paul admitted, wishing he didn't feel like a traitor for agreeing. "I've wondered if there might be jewelry, too."
"Have you checked?"
Paul nodded, remembering the day he'd opened her small jewelry box. There wasn't much inside, only a few simple trinkets that looked more sentimental than valuable. "She has a flashy engagement ring and a few decent pairs of earrings. But I'm guessing that if she has any major stones, they're hidden away in a safe-deposit box."
"Do you want me to check?" John asked.
"Yes, I have to know." Paul wasn't making much progress on his own. Perhaps a third party could learn more.
"We can put a trace on her bank accounts, as well," John said. "Sounds as if you need hard proof at this point."
Paul met his friend's eyes, allowing the professional in him to take over. "Bank accounts, deposit certificates, stocks. I need to match up the losses I've found in the records with corresponding investments."
John's gaze sharpened. "I'll get right on it." He hesitated. "Do you feel you've gotten to know the woman very well?"
Paul nodded cautiously. "Somewhat."
"Do you think she could be what she appears?" John paused. "That is, not considering the missing money."
"But how can I forget that? Death row is lined with men who thought it was motive enough for murder."
"Right." John stabbed at the maraschino cherry in his melting float. "So you've established a definite pattern from the books?"
Paul shook his head. "It's not a pattern. It's very random, which makes me wonder if that's deliberate, to throw off suspicion. But the end result is the same – the cash is missing."
"Always cash?"
"I'm not certain. It could be in the form of checks that were purposely never recorded. But cash is easiest to steal, hardest to trace."
John frowned. "True. But as co-owner of the company, couldn't she put her hands on the funds at any time?"
"Yes."
"Then why take cash? That's kind of risky – it would be easier for someone to notice. A bundle of cash is a lot more obvious than a check or two."
"True. But checks leave a paper trail."
"That's where I come in, friend." John picked up his glass and tipped it in Paul's direction. "If she's put together a hot drop, we'll find it."
Paul drew in a breath, forcing down the pain.
"And we'll be one step closer to knowing what happened to Matthew."
* * *
Katherine kicked at the small mound of sand, dislodging a few broken shells. But she wasn't beach-combing today. Even the lure of finding a bit of treasure from an ancient shipwreck didn't interest her. No, she'd come down to the shore for some sense of release.
The wind was a touch cooler than usual, a brisk breeze that carried the scent of the ocean. Breathing deeply, Katherine closed her eyes, flooded by memories. Although her rigid family hadn't been close, once a year they had taken a trip to the shore. That was why she'd bought this home on the beach. It kept her connected to the good times.
"You walk around with your eyes closed like that and you're liable to walk off the end of a pier."
Katherine's eyes flew open at the sound of Elliott's voice. "Oh, I was just thinking," she mumbled, embarrassed. "Besides, we're practically in our own front yard, no piers to worry about."
"Looks more like daydreaming," he countered, falling in step beside her.
"Guilty," she admitted.
"Anything in particular?"
"Just thinking about when my family used to vacation at the beach. It was one of the few times we were almost like a real family."
"Almost?"
"You know they're not a warm group," she responded, then paused. Did he know? So much of his memory seemed to be missing.
"That part of my memory's kind of fuzzy."
She laughed humorlessly. "Lucky you. You're not missing much."
"We hitting on something pretty touchy?" he asked.
Meeting his gaze. Katherine saw something smoldering there, and she instantly remembered the feeling of being in his arms the previous night. The memory of their last kiss sprang to mind. The kiss alone had left her limp with desire. But had it affected him that way?
"Katherine?" he urged when she didn't reply. Shaking her head to clear the thoughts, she replied. "You could say that. I've always wanted the kind of family you and I have made with Dustin. Mine was such a poor example…" Her voice trailed off for a moment. "I just hope I do better by Dustin."
In his eyes, Katherine saw something else, but she couldn't define it. "You're a good mother to Dustin," he said.
"I hope I'm creating something different for him than I had. I want him to know that I'll always love and accept him as he is. The trouble is, I didn't have a good example to follow."
"Some people don't need an example," he said. "Many of the world's leaders come from relatively humble beginnings. They didn't learn by example how to navigate among the power players. They had to find it somewhere deep inside."
She stared at him. He'd done it again – come forth with a profound thought. Where had it come from? For all of Elliott's wonderful qualities, he wasn't a deep thinker.
"What's wrong?" he asked, studying her, his expression somewhat wary.
She traced the strong lines of his face. "You continue to amaze me."
His expression changed to full wariness. "In what way?"
But she shook her head, unable to articulate her feelings. "You're really something, you know that?"
Confusion clouded his eyes and he didn't reply. Undaunted, she looped her hands behind his neck and kissed him.
His initial response was cool. Then the heat began. Fire from last evening still smoldered, waiting to be rekindled.
Although his return kiss ignited the same passion, she sensed something else, a bittersweet nearly poignant flavor. She pulled her head back to meet his eyes, and in them she saw an intensity she hadn't expected and couldn't decipher. Pain mixed with longing. Seeing that, Katherine felt an inexplicable pain of her own. Her pulse stuttered for a moment as she wondered what was causing this agony.
"Elliott?"
He didn't reply, only pulled her against his chest in a protective motion, one meant to comfort. But she couldn't decide whom he was protecting. Her – or himself.
As they stood locked together, the ocean continued its eternal pull, sending the tide out to unknown places, the lapping of the waves blending with the cries of gulls. And Katherine trembled as she felt the fingers of unexplained dread reaching toward her. Unable to face the fear, she snuggled against Elliott's chest, hiding from the unknown. Safe for the moment. And refusing to think beyond.
* * *
Chapter 12
«^»
Lush white sands warmed beneath the midday sun. Nearby, straggly wild grass struggled to cover the rising dunes. Katherine sat on a beach towel, facing the water. Dustin cradled her. The pull of the tide increased, bringing the water closer.
Elliott shifted the beach umbrella farther back on the sand, and then picked up the picnic hamper. "Can anyone eat another brownie?"
"I'm stuffed," Katherine moaned, then gave Dustin a rocking hug. "And if this one eats any more, he'll turn into a brownie."
"Aw, Mommy!"
"Dustin—"
"How about if we split a brownie, champ?" Elliott asked him.
Katherine wavered. "I suppose so. But when he's crawling the walls at bedtime, he's all yours."
Elliott shared a conspiratorial wink with Dustin. "I can handle that." Then he sank into the sand beside Katherine. Gleefully Dustin accepted half the brownie.
Katherine regarded the two men in her life as they devoured the brownie and shook her head. She hadn't counted on having them gang up on her. Not that she particularly minded. It was the first time in too long that Elliott had managed a genuine smile.
"Uh-oh!" Dustin hollered as he clambered from her lap. "Look!"
Katherine followed the line of his outstretched arm. "Oh, the tide's coming in."
"My castle!" Dustin shrieked. "My castle!"
"The sand has to go back to the sea," Katherine told him patiently, even though she'd explained tides to him dozens of times.
"Not this time!" Dustin objected.
"You wouldn't want to run out of beach, would you?" Elliott inserted. "If all the sand castles didn't wash back into the water, we wouldn't have enough sand for the beach. And if there wasn't a beach, we couldn't have a house close to the ocean."
"Yeah," Dustin agreed without much enthusiasm.
"Sand castles aren't supposed to last long," Elliott continued. "That's what makes them special. If you woke up every day and saw the beach filled with hundreds of the same sand castles, what would you look forward to? Wouldn't be much point in looking for shells, because the tide wouldn't wash in any new ones. And where would the sea turtles lay their eggs? And that's important because—"
THE WRONG BROTHER Page 9