Matchless

by Brynley Bush

  Emma sets her orange juice down slowly. “Holy shit!” she breathes. “Do you think Camille has been working with Dominic all along? Maybe Gavin thought they were cutting him out of the picture. Or maybe her dating Dominic had nothing to do with the research at all! Maybe they just like each other.”

  Beckett looks at her like she’s gone insane.

  “That would be quite a coincidence, Angel,” he says drily.

  She shrugs. “It could happen,” she says.

  “There are rarely coincidences,” Griffin interjects. “I found some papers when I was snooping around Dominic’s office last night. He’s on the board of directors of Coker Pharmaceuticals also. He was elected about six months ago.”

  We all look at him, stunned.

  “That’s what you found when you were in his office?” I ask, shocked. I realize that with everything that had happened in between, I’d never asked Griffin about what he’d found in Dominic’s office.

  “I took pictures of the documents,” he says.

  “They’ll be inadmissible,” I say, my mind immediately turning toward the legal ramifications.

  “But helpful,” he counters with a cocky grin.

  “Agreed,” I say, smiling back.

  I would love nothing more than to take down this woman who is quite possibly the most manipulative and evil individual I’ve ever met. But I’m determined to do it within the limitations of the legal system, even if Griffin isn’t. That’s the only way the Blacks will ever truly be free of her machinations.

  “How long have you known Dominic?” I ask Beckett curiously.

  “Close to ten years,” Beckett replies thoughtfully, “although he’s an exceptionally private person. I’ve referred quite a few of my patients with prostate cancer to him. He’s a phenomenal oncologist.”

  We all absorb the ramifications of Beckett’s last comment.

  “So he would know a fair amount about cancer research and even be able to provide tissue samples if say a pharmaceutical company needed them for product development?” I prod.

  Beckett nods.

  “Isn’t that illegal?” Emma questions, her shock evident.

  Beckett shakes his head. “Not under current law. Particularly if his patients have signed a consent form before surgery allowing their tissue to be used for research. It’s not uncommon, and most people sign off on that without question.”

  “So Dominic is probably working with Camille and Coker to either develop the cancer drug Coker has already been working on or to try to piggyback off of your dad’s research,” Emma says.

  Beckett sighs heavily. “We can’t prove that, but it certainly looks that way.” He looks at me. “Does this change anything?”

  My mind is racing. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I’ll need to think about it.”

  Griffin scoots his chair back, getting to his feet. “We’re going to head back to Dad’s to shower and give Mila a chance to process this. We need to get Dad up to speed also. We’ll see you guys at the courthouse tomorrow.”

  Emma and I offer to do the dishes while Griffin and Beckett go to Beckett’s study to download and print the documents Griffin photographed in Dominic’s office.

  “I’m surprised Dominic is with Camille,” Emma says, carrying the plates to the sink.

  “Me too,” I agree. “From what I’ve seen, Camille doesn’t seem to have a submissive bone in her body.”

  “Well, there’s that,” Emma agrees. “But you never know. Sometimes the strongest women are precisely the ones who want a strong man they can let go with and submit to.” She gives me a pointed look. “Look at us.”

  I laugh. “You have a point.”

  “I don’t know why,” she continues thoughtfully, “but for some reason I always thought Dominic was gay.” She shakes her head. “But who knows? I only met him that one time at the club. Speaking of the club, how did it go? Was everything okay?”

  “Well, it was until I got separated from Griffin and found myself being auctioned off for charity,” I admit wryly, grabbing a towel to dry the plate Emma is washing.

  She gasps. “Oh my gosh! That’s horrible. I mean, I think it’s horrible, although with the right bidder it might not be horrible at all. What happened?”

  I laugh. “Luckily, Griffin found me just as the bidding started. I was starting to panic and then there he was.” I sigh at the memory. “Needless to say, he won the bid.”

  “Definitely hot,” she says with a dramatic sigh.

  “It probably will be,” I admit with a sly smile. “Although it was a little terrifying at the time. But I’m feeling terrible about how much it cost him. It was for charity; all proceeds were going to benefit the American Cancer Society. But still. The final bid—his bid—was a hundred thousand dollars.”

  At Emma’s look of shock I add, “Real dollars.”

  “Wow,” she finally manages.

  “I know.” I take the dripping plate out of her hand and dry it. “I’ve offered to pay him back but he won’t hear of it. Stupid male pride. I know he seems to have a lot of money, but how can someone just drop a hundred thousand dollars like that?”

  “Don’t worry too much about that,” Emma says reassuringly. “Griffin has more money than God thanks to his settlement.”

  “Settlement?” I look up, confused.

  “From the oil company. The one responsible for the oil spill that caused his cancer.”

  I stop drying and stare at her. “Cancer?”

  “His leukemia,” she says. She looks at me closely. “You didn’t know Griffin was the boy,” she breathes slowly.

  “What boy?”

  “The boy from the Amazon with leukemia.”

  I shake my head, trying to deny what Emma is saying. Griffin is so strong and healthy; he’s practically invincible. He can’t have had leukemia. But snippets of conversations crowd my head. Marcus mentioning that Dr. Black first realized the guanabana tree’s potential for fighting cancer because of a little boy in the Amazon tribe who had contracted leukemia as a result of an oil spill in the area. Griffin telling me he’d been sick a lot as a child. The Blacks obvious wealth. But it doesn’t make sense. Griffin is Dr. Black’s son. He grew up in Houston, not the rainforest! And with his distinctive hazel eyes and dark blond hair, Griffin doesn’t look anything like the pictures I’ve seen of people from the Amazon region. Surely she’s wrong.

  “He can’t be from the Amazon,” I say stubbornly. “He doesn’t have brown eyes.”

  “Apparently his mother had pale skin, blond hair, and green eyes. She’d been kidnapped from Peru and taken to be the wife of the chief of the tribe. Dr. Black told me that unfortunately that wasn’t uncommon.”

  I remember thinking how Griffin didn’t resemble his brother, Drake, or his dad at all. Beckett, on the other hand….

  “What about Beckett?” I ask, still stunned.

  “He’s his blood brother. The one who fed him the guanabana fruit and probably saved his life.”

  “You’d better start from the beginning,” I say with resignation.

  “I’m sorry,” she says heavily. “I thought he’d already told you.” She takes a deep breath. “Griffin is the boy that Dr. Black met in the neighboring tribe just before he left the Amazon after his first tenure there, the child that had leukemia. When Dr. Black returned to the Amazon several years later and found Griffin not only still alive but thriving, he started asking around, trying to figure out how he had survived. It quickly became evident to him that the boys had become the outcasts of the tribe. Their mother had died of malaria during the time that Dr. Black was gone, their father was heartbroken by her death and left the boys to their own devices, and the rest of the tribe was leery of the boy with the unusual green eyes who had cheated death, particularly when other children in neighboring tribes hadn’t fared as well.

  “Dr. Black spent a lot of time with both boys and he and Beckett developed a bond. He and his wife ultimately adopted them and brought them back to the
States. Dr. Black had done some research as soon as he’d noticed the disproportionate cases of childhood leukemia in the area and discovered that Laredo Oil had been drilling nearby and there had been a huge accident. It had resulted in a lot of illnesses, not unlike the Three-Mile Island accident, although it had largely been covered up by the company who thought none of the tribespeople would ever be the wiser. Dr. Black later filed a class action suit on behalf of all of the children who had contracted leukemia. From what I understand, Griffin got quite a big settlement.”

  “How convenient,” I observe sarcastically. “When he adopted Griffin, he gained legal control over the boy whose tissue samples might hold the key to a medical miracle that could make his career, and he got a huge settlement from the oil company in the process.”

  “I don’t think it was like that, Mila,” Emma says reproachfully. “Dr. Black put the full settlement into a trust fund for Griffin. As far as I know, he didn’t keep a cent of it. Besides, I think he has plenty of money of his own. Even Griffin hasn’t touched it other than to buy his condo in San Diego and some investment property with his brothers. Well, and maybe you,” she says with smile. When I don’t smile back she adds sympathetically, “I know it’s a lot to absorb.”

  “Why didn’t Griffin tell me?” I ask uncomprehendingly.

  “I don’t know,” she says gently. “From everything Beckett’s told me about Griffin, he doesn’t like to admit to anything that he considers a weakness. But if it makes you feel better, Beckett didn’t originally tell me either. I actually found out during the course of my interviews with Dr. Black. When I finally asked him about it, Beckett told me it was because in his mind his life didn’t really begin until Dr. Black adopted him. Griffin was even younger. His life here is probably all that he remembers.”

  I run my fingers through my hair distractedly, the dishes forgotten. “Maybe,” I agree skeptically.

  I don’t buy it. It’s just another example of how little I actually know Griffin. Our relationship has been built on nothing but lies and deceit since the beginning. I may know Griffin’s body intimately, but I don’t know the man inside it at all.

  Emma puts her arm around me comfortingly. “Just give him a chance to explain,” she says.

  Griffin and Beckett emerge from Beckett’s study and we say our goodbyes. No sooner are we in the car than Griffin says grimly, “Alright, let’s have it. Emma mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ to me as we were leaving and now you’re looking at me like I just killed your puppy. What did Emma tell you to make you so mad at me?”

  “She told me who you are,” I say bleakly.

  “You already know who I am,” he says evenly.

  “I don’t know who you are at all,” I say sadly. “You haven’t been honest with me from day one. Emma told me you’re the boy with leukemia. The one from the Amazon whom all of Dr. Black’s research is based on. Is it true?” I have to hear it from him. Maybe somehow this is all just a terrible misunderstanding.

  “Shit,” he mutters, pulling onto the highway. We drive in silence for a few minutes before he answers.

  “Yes, it’s true,” he says heavily. “What difference does it make?”

  “You lied to me!” I say accusingly. “Just like you’ve lied to me about everything.”

  “Dammit, Mila, I haven’t lied to you about anything. I didn’t lie to you about this; I just didn’t mention it.”

  “Not telling someone something is the same as lying,” I say. “What if I was pregnant with your child and I just didn’t tell you. Would you consider that lying? Would you be okay with that?”

  Although his eyes are still glued to the road, every muscle in his body has tensed. “Are you pregnant?” he asks. His eyes leave the road for less than half a second to meet mine, but in that moment I swear I see something that looks like hope. Of course that’s ridiculous. He doesn’t even want a long term relationship; he can’t possibly want a baby.

  “No! I’m not pregnant!” I say adamantly. “I’m just trying to make a point. If I was and I didn’t tell you, it would be the same as lying. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it doesn’t matter. Because I vowed to never let being the kid with leukemia define me. Because I never wanted to see pity on your face when you look at me.”

  I look at him, my eyes flashing. “Make no mistake, Griffin Black,” I say angrily. “This isn’t pity you see on my face. This is pissed off!”

  Inexplicably, he laughs and puts his hand possessively on my thigh. “That may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he says with a smile.

  I move his hand. I refuse to be distracted by his charm. Not this time.

  “Seriously, Griffin, did it not occur to you that this was important to tell me?” I ask incredulously.

  “No,” he says stubbornly. “It’s not important. It’s not who I am.”

  I groan in frustration. “It is who you are, Griffin. People in a relationship tell each other important stuff about themselves, like that they used to have cancer! But we don’t have a relationship, so I’ll let you off the hook on that one. But didn’t you realize I might need this to know this as your attorney?”

  “We do have a relationship, whether you want to admit it or not,” he says with steel in his voice. “And I have no idea why you would need to know this as my attorney.”

  “Because this changes everything! Because all of the tissue that is at the heart of this lawsuit is yours! It’s possible that we can make a claim asserting that the tissue samples used in the research are your property, and as such you get to say how they are used. This could be the key to protecting your dad’s research!”

  He pulls the car to a stop in front of his dad’s opulent mansion.

  “I’m sorry, Mila,” he says softly. “I had no idea it would matter to the case. Or to you. I’m not that boy anymore.”

  He twines his fingers through mine, and this time I don’t pull away.

  “But you are that boy,” I say. “Your strength, your fearlessness, the way you protect everyone, your commitment to your family regardless of what it costs you and whether they’re blood related or not, the way you take charge of everything that is important to you—everything you are today is because of the boy that you were. I just wish you had trusted me, and us, enough to tell me.” I open the car door. “It’s not too late to file a property claim for your blood and tissue. I’m going to see what I can put together before we go in front of the judge tomorrow. With your permission, of course,” I add.

  He nods. “Just tell me what you need,” he says in resignation.

  A shower has never felt as good as the long one I indulge in when I get back to my room, letting the steam cocoon me in its warm embrace. Thirty minutes later, dressed in comfortable jeans and a soft flannel shirt with my hair still damp from the shower, I call Marcus.

  “Did you know Griffin was the boy from the Amazon with leukemia that Patrick Black adopted?” I demand as soon as he answers the phone.

  “So nice to hear from you, Mila,” he says teasingly. “And I’m fine. Thanks for asking. Now, tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”

  I repeat my question and the stunned silence on the other end of the line answers my question. It makes me feel a little better that Marcus didn’t know either. Of course, Marcus isn’t sleeping with Griffin.

  “Are you sure?” he finally says.

  “Positive. Beckett’s fiancée, Emma, accidentally told me. Griffin confirmed it.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Marcus says admiringly. “Just when I think that kid can’t impress me more, he does.”

  “It impresses you that he withheld information that is critical to our case?” I demand incredulously.

  “No. I doubt that even crossed his mind. But it impresses the hell out of me that despite his past, he has made himself into arguably one of the best Navy SEALs I have ever met. He has faced death once and cheated it, and yet voluntarily and repeatedly puts himself in harm’s way for his count
ry and his fellow Navy SEALs.”

  “I suppose so,” I say slowly. “I just wish he’d trusted me enough to tell me himself.”

  “Griffin doesn’t like to show his vulnerabilities to anyone. He’s been that way as long as I’ve known him. I imagine it’s even harder for him to do with the woman he loves.”

  “He doesn’t love me,” I say miserably.

  “I don’t know what’s getting in the way of the two of you being together, but it isn’t that he doesn’t love you, Mila. I’ve seen the way he is with you. I’ve never seen him like that with anyone else. But then he’s never met anyone who’s as perfectly matched for him as you. You’re equally intelligent, strong, independent, bold, daring, intensely loyal…”

  When I don’t say anything he adds with a sigh, “And stubborn. Give him a chance, Mila. Judge him by his actions rather that his words, or in this case, his lack of words.”

  An hour later, long after I have hung up with Marcus, his words echo in my thoughts. Could Marcus be right? Could Griffin possibly love me?

  Chapter Twenty

  I spend the remainder of Sunday ensconced in Dr. Black’s study with my laptop and a steady stream of case law regarding tissue rights being e-mailed to me from Marcus and Jenna, who are working as hard in California as I am in Houston. The legal rights regarding tissue used for research is ambiguous at best. Although the courts have ruled against the individual in more than one instance, arguing that giving individuals ownership of their tissue samples will hinder medical research, there is one compelling instance where a man continuously sold his blood to various researchers looking for a cure for Hepatitis B. It’s an area of law that is ripe for a definitive ruling.

  I figure we have a fifty-fifty chance of the judge ruling in Griffin’s favor and granting him the sole rights to control who has access to his tissue in determining the effect the guanabana seeds had on his blood cells. I really need to know if Dr. Black has continued to use Griffin’s tissue over the many years that he has been researching the natural drug, but I’m too angry at the way he’s used Griffin to talk to him yet.