Return to Sender

by Fern Michaels

  Feeling extremely tired, Nick remained in bed. He would start the recruiting process by phone. He dialed Trevor McDermott’s private number, one that was only to be used for emergencies. Nick figured saving his life certainly constituted an emergency.

  “Yes.” Trevor picked up on the first ring.

  “Trevor, it’s Nick.”

  “Yes. What can I do for you this fine morning, Nick?”

  “What I’m about to ask has to remain confidential.”

  “I’m your attorney, Nicholas. Our conversations are always confidential.”

  Nick lowered his voice. “Yes, of course. However, if the public were to get wind of this, Pemberton Transport could be in big trouble. My name has to be kept concealed at all costs.”

  “What is it you want me to do?” Trevor asked.

  For the next half hour Nick explained to his attorney what he wanted. Hell, no sense beating around the bush, what he needed. He had to tell him of his illness because Trevor knew him well enough to know he wasn’t the most charitable person in the world, excluding the orphanage. He contributed to them because it looked good, and it was a hell of a tax write-off. Other than that, his generosity was zip.

  “All right. I’ve never attempted something of this nature, but as the saying goes, there is a first time for everything. Nicholas, you have to do exactly what your doctor says. I’m very familiar with your disease,” Trevor said.

  “You are? Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I’m saying it now. My daughter-in-law’s brother had the disease a few years ago.”

  “And how is he doing now?” Nick asked.

  Trevor hesitated a moment before speaking. “He died.”

  Nick was shocked and, for a minute, was at a loss for words. “That’s terrible. How…Did he have proper medical care?”

  “Yes, he had the best medical care. He did everything by the book, just like his doctor told him. This disease is treacherous, Nicholas. You feel fine one minute, and in the next you could…Well, I’m sure you’re quite aware of the severity of your illness.”

  Nick took a deep breath. Suddenly his future didn’t look so damned bright. “I’m doing all that I can to fight it. That’s why I want to do the donor drive. If I need the stuff, I want to have it as soon as possible. I’m not screwing around with this, Trevor. You know me.”

  “Good then. I’ll get started right away. I’ll e-mail you the details as soon as I have them.”

  “Thanks, Trevor. This just might save my life.”

  Nick hung the phone up. For the first time since he’d been diagnosed, he seriously considered that there was a chance that he could die. And to think his father thought money could buy anything and everything, as it had for most of his life. Was this the proverbial straw that would break the camel’s back? Was he being punished? No, he’d been decent, hardworking. Hell, he had married a scheming, social-climbing gold digger just because he had been fooled into thinking that Chelsea had been carrying his child. Deciding that thinking about his wife and what a fool he had been was getting him bent out of shape, Nick tossed the covers aside, got out of bed, and stepped into the shower.

  He would conquer the goddamned disease, or he would damn well die trying. He wasn’t a quitter. Twenty minutes later he was dressed in his favorite Savile Row suit. Though it hung on his bony frame, he didn’t care. If he acted normal, as if nothing had changed, then it would take his mind off the nightmare disease he wanted no part of.

  Nick called Herbert. “I’m going to the office. I’ll need you to meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes.” It would take him that long to walk to the elevator in the kitchen.

  “Yes, sir,” came Herbert’s usual reply.

  An hour later Nick sat at his desk. Rosa was acting like he had the plague. Gerald filled him in on a few matters that only the CEO could handle. He signed several new contracts, read his private mail, and was pleasantly surprised when he saw there was a letter from…the woman he’d met in Chicago. Karen Hollister. Maybe when his life returned to normal, he’d arrange for another rendezvous. If he remembered correctly, she was one helluva piece of ass. He smiled. Already things were looking up. He’d never once thought about sex since getting sick. This had to be a good sign. He recalled their passionate day in bed and felt himself harden.

  “Hell, yes!” he shouted into the empty room. At least that part of his anatomy hadn’t betrayed him.

  A tap on the door brought him down to earth.

  “Yes?” he snapped irritably. He’d told Rosa he was not to be interrupted.

  “Andrew Miller is here to see you, Mr. Pemberton. Are you ready to see him, or would you like me to schedule another appointment?”

  Damn! He’d almost forgotten about Andrew and his accounts. There had been more important issues to deal with of late. Like his possible impending death.

  “Sure, send him in,” Nick said agreeably.

  Andrew Miller was young, late thirties. It was hard to tell. Handsome in a clean-cut way. Boy-next-door type. Brown hair combed to the side. Not a blemish or mark on his face. He looked every bit the consummate professional, just the way his father did.

  “Nick, good to see you’re back at the helm.” Andrew sat down without waiting for an invitation.

  “Yes, and it’s good to be back. A lot to catch up on. That damned E. coli about wiped me out.” Nick dared a look at the man seated across from him. If Andrew suspected something other than E. coli, it didn’t show on his face. Nick suspected it wouldn’t have shown on his old man’s face, either.

  “Makes you want to forgo red meat.”

  “It does. So what brings you out among the working class?” Nick asked.

  Andrew removed an envelope from his inside jacket pocket. “Here. These are the new access codes for your accounts. While we’ve yet to find the culprit who did this, the fraud unit is still investigating. They released these codes just this morning. When I called your secretary, she said you were in the office. Thought I’d drop them off to you myself. Once you gain access, of course, you’re free to change the codes. I would if I were you. As a matter of fact, I’d change them every few days. It’s a pain in the ass, but technology is making it easier and easier for thieves these days.”

  “I appreciate the personal attention.” Nick peered inside the envelope. “I’ll change these right away.” Nick stood up and held out his hand to Andrew. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  Andrew shook his outstretched hand. “Anytime, Nick. I’ll see you around.”

  Nick walked with him to the door. “Count on it.” One more affirmation of his life: positive thinking.

  The minute the door closed behind Andrew, Nick booted up his computer, logged on to his accounts, and changed all the passwords. He was sure Chelsea had something to do with the temporary inconvenience, but he had no proof. He checked the balances and saw they were as they should be. Why would Chelsea do something like that? Wouldn’t she have taken a large chunk of money, or at least written a check? One never knew with his wife. Since nothing was lost, he wouldn’t mention it to her unless she brought it up. But from that moment on, he’d keep his eye on things.

  Checking his e-mail, he saw that Trevor was on the ball already. He’d contacted an ad agency to advertise the upcoming donor recruiting. No mention of money. Nick thought he’d made it perfectly clear that there was a reward of sorts just for donating. If there was nothing to gain, he’d be lucky to assemble even a handful of donors.

  He sent a reply to Trevor explaining that. Money was everything to most people. He knew that. Hell, Nick thought, laughing, he’d been raised on the principle that anything or anyone could be bought for a price as long as the price was right. He still believed it, so with his life on the line, he was going to find out if it was true or false.

  With Gerald in control, albeit somewhat reluctantly, Nick made arrangements for Herbert to meet him downstairs in twenty minutes.

  “I’m leaving for the day. Expect me in the morning unle
ss I call you. Make sure you have tea. No more coffee. I can’t stand the stuff anymore.” It was his last order of the day to Rosa.

  “Of course, sir. It will be good to have you back,” Rosa said.

  Nick doubted she really meant it, but it was expected of her, and Rosa always did what was expected. There was something about her that was niggling at him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe it was time for a raise. Yeah, yeah, that was probably it.

  “Tomorrow.” Nick casually strolled to the bank of elevators in front of the reception area. Wiped out, he didn’t want anyone to observe his unusually slow gait. Just a slow stroll to the elevator, down twenty floors, and then he could relax in the car or pass out, whichever came first.

  For some reason he couldn’t explain, he was more tired than he had expected. That was not a good sign. If he didn’t feel more energetic in a few days, he’d call Reeves.

  The doors to the main lobby swished open.

  “Nicholas, how are you? The rumor mill says you’re dying and hell is beckoning,” Jason Vinery said to his former client.

  Nick stopped dead in his tracks. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t paid attention to who was in the lobby.

  “You’re good at spreading venom around. As you can see, I am alive and well. Spread that around and see what comes of it,” Nick snarled as he escaped through the revolving doors.

  “Looking at you, I’d say just barely,” Jason observed to Nick’s retreating back.

  Something was seriously wrong with Nicholas Pemberton, and Jason planned to find out. He speed-dialed Mabel Dee. “I want you to put a tail on Nick Pemberton. Call Dave Williams. He’s the best. And, Mabel, not a word to Lin.” Jason clicked off.

  Whistling, Jason walked through the same revolving doors and stepped out onto the street. A gleeful smile on his face, he took a minute to watch as Nick’s limo pulled away from the curb.

  There was definitely something seriously wrong with the smug bastard.

  Could be payback time.

  Chapter 12

  Monday, October 22, 2007

  New York City

  It took Jason’s contacts at both the Times and the Post more than a week to publish the story of the Pemberton abuse. It made the front pages of both papers, and both included the photograph he’d provided, plus a few others they’d dug up themselves.

  Even though it was barely six in the morning, Jason dialed Lin’s cell phone. She’d been on pins and needles all last week, waiting, fearful that she would be found out.

  “Hello?”

  “Get a copy of the Post and the Times, read them, and then call me back.”

  “It made the paper,” Lin stated flatly, the breath leaving her body in one wild swoop.

  “Oh, yeah, and above the fold. Anything concerning the Pembertons is news.”

  “Oh, my God! I never thought…Let me get the papers, and I’ll call you back.” Lin hung up the phone, slid into the same pair of jeans she’d worn the previous day, an NYU sweatshirt, her Uggs, and she was out the door.

  The corner Starbucks had become her hangout for the more than a week she’d been waiting. She hurried to get copies of the papers and a latte.

  After paying for her coffee and papers, Lin hurried back to her apartment. She didn’t want to risk a public reaction. No, this was something she had to do in the comfort of her own home, apartment, whatever. She simply had to be alone.

  Sitting on the sofa, she read the twisted headline in the Times first.

  LIKE SON, LIKE FATHER!!!

  Apparently, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in the Pemberton family. Sources close to the family say abuse was an everyday occurrence in Nicholas Sr.’s household.

  A former employee, who wishes to remain anonymous, told our source that the violence was so bad, the now-deceased Naomi Pemberton would hide in her room for weeks at a time. The employee said she not only feared for her life, but for that of her young son, Nick Jr., as well…

  Similar to the first story, the article continued with information on Pemberton Transport, which was then followed by a sketchy family tree.

  The Post’s story was more of the same.

  Lin tossed the papers aside, took another sip of coffee. She dialed Jason’s cell phone.

  “What do you think?” Jason asked, not bothering with a greeting, because he’d seen Lin’s name on his caller ID.

  “Part of me feels sorry for Nick Sr. since he isn’t alive to defend himself. Another part of me is incredibly sad for Naomi.” Then there was the part of her that burned with wild, hot, mind-blowing anger that she’d allowed herself to get involved with Nick. Then it always came back to Will. But she couldn’t voice those thoughts to Jason.

  “That’s it? No ‘Job well done’?” Jason inquired in what was supposed to be a teasing tone, but Lin heard a trace of annoyance in his words.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Jason. I’m overwhelmed, that’s all.” Was this it? Was this what she’d lied, connived, and spent a small fortune for? Smearing the Pemberton family name? Lin felt let down, as though there should be something more satisfying or final.

  “We’re not through, Lin,” Jason said.

  She wasn’t so sure of that. What was the point in slandering Nick if he didn’t know who was doing it and why? She felt nothing close to personal satisfaction. If anything, she felt like a fool.

  “Lin?”

  “Yes. Sorry. I was thinking.”

  “Let’s see how this plays out. I’ve had a tail on Nick for the past week. I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to get your hopes up, but something is going on with him, and it’s big.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This will be in the Times on Wednesday, so you’ll know about it, anyway. Pemberton Transport is sponsoring a bone-marrow drive.”

  “And why does that matter?” Irritation rang in Lin’s voice.

  “Two things. First, I ran into Nick the Monday after you came to the office. Secondly, and I’m pretty damn sure of this—actually I’m waiting for this to be confirmed as we speak—but when I saw old Nick, he looked like hell. His suits are tailored. They usually fit him like a glove. When I saw him, I would bet my last dollar he’s lost forty or fifty pounds. His clothes hung on him like wet sheets.”

  “Sorry, Jason. I still don’t see what this has to do with me.” Lin didn’t want to play guessing games.

  “Bone-marrow drive. Nick looks like shit. Come on, Lin, don’t make me draw you a picture.”

  She gasped. “He’s ill?”

  “That’s my guess. It gets better. This is what we’ll read in the Times on Wednesday. Got this from my contact, too. Apparently, old Nick is reaching out to his former alumni connections, because he’s recruiting bone-marrow donors. Everything is set up to take place on NYU’s campus. He’s even offering a five-hundred-dollar payoff for those who donate. I think there’s more to the story, but that’s all I could get. What I’m trying to say, Lin, is it could be that it’s out of our hands, and the good Lord above has stepped in.

  Sounds to me like the man could be dying. If looks are any indication, I’d say old Nick isn’t long for this world.”

  Lin’s hands began to shake, and her mouth was suddenly so dry, she couldn’t swallow. She almost choked on her own breath. A thousand different thoughts flashed through her mind, but none would come into focus.

  Nick dying?

  But wouldn’t that be the answer to her prayers? The end of all ends. Death, the sweetest revenge of all. She should be feeling victorious, satisfied, but all she felt was absolute, total, all-consuming fear.

  Fear unlike any she’d ever known. Her father’s beatings with the strap hadn’t struck such fear in her. The early days, when she’d struggled just to keep food in Will’s mouth, didn’t even begin to compare.

  “Lin, are you all right?” Jason asked.

  Trying to clear her head and focus on the conversation, she spoke in barely a whisper. “I’m not sure.”
>
  “Want me to come over?”

  God, no!

  “No, I just felt dizzy there for a moment. I wasn’t expecting to hear something like that. Death is…death is…so final.”

  “Oh, well then, if you’re sure. I’m expecting a call from Dave, my tail. As soon as I receive a full report, I’ll call you back.” Jason paused. “You’re sure you’re okay? I can send Mabel Dee over. She loves SoHo.”

  “No, really I’m fine. I appreciate your efforts, Jason.” Lin hit the END button on the phone.

  She needed to think. Unscramble the images assaulting her brain. One thought at a time.

  Will. Nick. NYU. Donors. Blood. DNA.

  What if Will were to participate in the donor drive? My God, it would be just like him to do that! He’d always been a charitable kid. Lin’s mind flashed back to all the blood drives the local blood bank had held when Nick was in high school. Since Nick had a rare form of blood, AB negative, he’d always donated when they asked him, explaining to her that he might save someone’s life one day.

  Never in a million, hell, never in a zillion, years did Lin think something like this would happen. Never. What were the odds? Oh God, oh God, oh God!

  She paced the small apartment, raking her hands through her hair. What to do? Call Sally. She’d have to come clean, tell the truth, but if Sally were the friend she knew her to be, she’d understand and offer her support.

  She glanced at the time. It was still early. Most likely Sally would still be asleep. It didn’t matter. This was life or death. Sort of. She grabbed her cell phone from the sofa and dialed Sally’s home number.

  Sally picked up on the second ring. “This better be good. Oh, sorry, Lin. Me and my big mouth. Is it your father?”

  Where did she begin? The beginning, of course. “No, he’s fine.

  Or he was when I saw him last. This is more important.”

  “Okay, explain. I’m getting up. Walking to the kitchen to flick the coffeemaker on.”