Chapter 14
John Cameron was panting and dripping with sweat as he neared the top of the Empire State Building’s 1,860 steps on his home gym’s StairMaster when the doorbell rang. Anne was still asleep and the housekeeper had left for her weekly trip to the local farmers’ market. There was no one there to see who was at the door but him. He grabbed a plush white towel and wiped the sweat from his face as he took the stairs two at a time.
When he opened the door, a stocky deliveryman was ambling back to a van, double-parked outside the Cameron’s red brick townhouse.
“Wait!” John shouted and the man stopped and reversed direction. “Sorry it took me so long to answer the door.”
The messenger grunted a reply as he thrust a manila envelope into John’s hand along with a clipboard and pen. “Sign theyah,” he said, his speech tinged with a thick South Boston accent.
John scrawled his name, grabbed a bill from the tip dish on the hall table, and handed it to the messenger.
“Tanks,” the man said, a grin spreading across his pockmarked face as he noticed the bill was a five and not the usual single. Some people didn’t tip him at all. He’d be happy to make more deliveries to this ritzy Louisburg Square address.
John brushed aside the desire to resume his short-circuited workout or shower, and instead headed directly to the wood-paneled library on the townhouse’s second floor. The room was a masculine oasis with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, worn leather furniture, a faded Oriental rug, and lighting designed for reading. He felt at peace in this quiet space, where Anne never ventured and the scent of sweet tobacco smoke lingered. The ritual of filling one of his many pipes with fragrant brown leaves, tamping it all down, and finally igniting it always helped him to relax. Anne and the housekeeper thought it was a filthy habit, but he didn’t care. A man could do what he wanted in his home and this house was very much his. Camerons had lived in it for generations. Some day it would have been Will’s. He closed the door and turned the latch to ensure that he wouldn’t be disturbed, then settled his tall frame in a well-worn, brown leather chair, lifted his feet to the matching ottoman, and laid the envelope on his lap.
Minutes passed as he drummed his fingers nervously on the innocent-looking packet. He knew who’d sent the envelope by its distinctive seal, but this was the first dispatch he’d received since Will’s death and this particular missive filled him with dread. He didn’t have to open it to know he was fucked. He’d prayed they’d never find out what he’d done, or if they knew they would let it go. He’d been deluding himself and he knew that once he slit open this envelope his life would be irrevocably changed. He’d been expecting something — he wasn’t sure what — that would clarify, explain...either ease his guilt or send him to purgatory. He turned the envelope this way and that as if he could divine its contents simply through touch. He was sweating, nauseous, breathless, and his heart was racing. He almost wished for the massive coronary that his anxiety mimicked. A quick death, yes, that would be best. But his body didn’t cooperate.
When he could no longer stand it, he broke the flap’s archaic wax seal and half expected the thing to blow him to bits. He set his shoulders and tried to prepare himself for whatever was inside. His fingers shook as he frantically flipped through the envelope’s meager contents and then he froze, unable to tear his eyes away from a photo of Will, his son, his baby boy, lying on the ground, sightless eyes open wide, staring at nothing. Blood was pooled around his head. “HE DIED FOR YOUR SINS!” was scrawled across the photo in bold, black letters, large enough for a blind man to see. Will was dead because of him. It was true.
He fell to his knees and the agonized scream that emerged from the depths of his soul sounded inhuman to his ears. He blindly seized the nearest object — a heavy crystal ashtray — and hurled it across the room, but the damn thing was too solid to break. He wanted to smash something or someone, to tear himself limb from limb, to hear the sound of glass or even bone shatter. He scanned the room, desperate to find some outlet for his raging anguish and began to pull books from the shelves and fling them wildly in every direction.
Then his eyes zeroed in on the portrait of his father above the mantel. “You bastard,” he growled. “This is your fault! You killed your own grandson! How could you do this to him? How dare you do this to me!” He grabbed the painting and pulled until it came off the wall. He drove his knee through the middle of his father’s likeness in a frenzy of madness and grief. Finally, he pounded his fists into the wall until it was stained with the blood of his knuckles. It was only then that he allowed himself to stagger to his chair as grief surpassed his anger. “Oh, God. Oh, God,” he wailed over and over until, finally spent, he filled a water glass with whiskey and, as always, chose the easiest course — he drank himself into oblivion.
One floor above, the racket in the library woke Anne from her drug-induced slumber. She lay in bed, half-asleep, and smiled. He’d murdered their son. She’d known it all along and she was glad that now he knew it too. It was all his fault.
Chapter 15
When Alex woke to the smell of coffee and bacon on Diego’s second day as her houseguest, she didn’t make the mistake of thinking that it was Will puttering in the kitchen.
“Good morning, Alessandra,” Diego greeted her cheerfully as she shuffled into the sun-filled kitchen while she tightened the sash of her green silk robe. It was the same one she’d thrown on the night the police came to tell her Will was dead.
“Coffee?” Diego asked, raising a dark brow in question.
“Thanks.” Her voice wasn’t quite ready for full-fledged speech. “You’re up early,” she mumbled between sips from a large mug of steaming coffee. It would take another few swallows before she’d be fully awake, but her eyes were working fine as she studied the man leaning back against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle. He was wearing shorts, a sweat-soaked black T-shirt and, since he also had on running shoes, she didn’t need caffeine to figure out he’d already gone for a run.
“I think I got up around five. I couldn’t go back to sleep so I decided to work off the other night’s gluttony. The four of us ate like pigs.” He patted his flat stomach and grinned.
Ooh, you’re so obvious Navarro, she thought, but she wasn’t going to be manipulated into commenting on his body. She was all too aware of his muscular thighs and the way the fitted T-shirt hugged his sweaty torso. She battled the all but irresistible impulse to glance at his crotch.
“You made bacon? I didn’t know you could cook.”
“I can do a lot of things you don’t know about,” he replied smugly as he used an oven mitt to bring her the plate of bacon and scrambled eggs he’d kept warm in the oven. A basket filled with muffins and scones appeared as if by magic.
“You’re going to spoil me. You made incredible coffee and cooked breakfast,” she said as she shook her head in amazement.
“Since food prep seems to impress you, I’m tempted to take credit for your meal, but I brought it back from the café down the street. I ate mine there a couple of hours ago. I did, however, put yours on a plate and I made the coffee myself,” he said proudly.
“Well at least you’re honest and you get points for thoughtfulness. It’s delicious.” She wanted to tease him about his lack of culinary skill, but instead asked, “Why have you started to call me Alessandra? You’ve never done it before.”
He hesitated for a few moments while he decided how much to reveal. “I think the Italian version of your name suits you. You always smiled when my mother called you that. And when I use Preciosa, it seems to make you uncomfortable. If you prefer Alex, tell me.” Will had always called her Alex and he wasn’t going to admit that he was trying to differentiate himself from Will in her mind. Her husband wasn’t the man he’d want her to think about when and if he had the chance to whisper her name in her ear.
“It’s not a big deal. I’ve been Alex for so long that Alessandra sounds strange, but I like it actually. And you’re right ab
out Preciosa. I understand that you mean it innocently, but to other people it’s the kind of name a lover would use.”
That was precisely what Diego intended, so he said nothing.
Lover wasn’t a word to use in this man’s presence so she quickly changed the subject. “Are you up for a meeting with John Cameron today if he’s free or do you have other plans?”
“Your wish is my command, madam.” He bowed from the waist with a flourish and flashed that devastating grin at her again. “Of course I’ll go with you. I already gave you my word. Besides,” he paused as if choosing his next words carefully. Alex watched as his grin disappeared and the sparkle left his eyes as his mood abruptly shifted. “I’ve got a few questions for Mr. Cameron too.” He turned and headed toward the guest room. “I need to shower and shave, but I can be ready to leave whenever you are. Call Cameron and let me know what he says.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” she responded sarcastically, but he didn’t notice. She munched on a piece of bacon and hoped the protein-rich breakfast would provide the strength she’d need for the day ahead.
Fueled and caffeinated, Alex knew she couldn’t postpone making the phone call any longer and quickly tapped the number for John’s office.
“Cameron and Associates,” the chirpy receptionist answered. Although a lawyer by profession, Will’s father spent most of his time managing the family’s investments and overseeing their charitable foundation.
“John Cameron, please.”
“May I tell him who’s calling?
“It’s Alex. Alex Cameron.”
“One moment, please. And may I say Mrs. Cameron that I’m so sorry about your husband. We were all very fond of him.”
“Thank you.”
She listened to some unrecognizable canned classical music during the thirty seconds it took John to pick up.
“Alex! I’m so happy to hear your voice. It’s been too long. How are you?”
“I’m fine, John. How’re you and Anne?” Crap, what hypocrites we are. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about me and I don’t care how he and his bitch wife are coping, she thought, but she kept the hostility out of her voice.
“We’re all right. Thank you for asking. I assume you’re back in Boston? Your friend Francie told us that you’d gone away to...well, to recuperate, I suppose. We were concerned because you disappeared. We didn’t know where you were.”
“I’m sorry that you were worried. I should have...well, but I didn’t.” Damn it, he wasn’t going to make her feel guilty. They’d probably been anxious to know where she was so they wouldn’t look clueless when, or if, their friends asked about their son’s widow
“I’d like to stop by to see you today. What time would be convenient for you?” she said, bringing an abrupt end to the niceties. She didn’t want to give him a chance to say no, and his response indicated he was as eager for this meeting as she was.
“Tell me what time works for you and I’ll clear my schedule. Shall we meet for lunch or a drink or do you want to come here to the office?”
“How about the bar at the Ritz Carlton at about two?”
“The Ritz it is. I’m looking forward to it.”
You are? You won’t be when I’m through with you, she thought cynically.
“Fine, see you then. Oh, and John? I’m bringing Diego Navarro with me.” Alex ended the call before he could respond.
Francie the fashionista had persuaded Alex to rev up her wardrobe during one of their therapeutic shopping marathons. As she dressed for the dreaded meeting with her father-in-law, she was grateful to have accepted her friend’s advice. The obscenely expensive purple silk designer blouse she’d bought at Neiman’s with its deep V neck, ruched bodice, raw edges, fitted sleeves and pleated French cuffs was exactly the sophisticated look she wanted. It was chic and feminine, but with cutting-edge style that was definitely not proper Bostonian pearls and cashmere. She paired it with well-cut black trousers and kidskin stiletto pumps. Diamond stud earrings and her wedding band were her only jewelry. She used styling gel to emphasize her hair’s deliberately disheveled look and applied subtle makeup. She felt like an actress slipping into character.
“Holy Mary Mother of God,” exclaimed Diego when he saw the results of her efforts. He lapsed into rapid Spanish as he rose from the sofa and slowly looked her over from head to toe.
“May I say, Mrs. Cameron, you are spectacular? You take my breath away.”
“You may, sir.” Delighted, she twirled and made an exaggerated curtsy. “Does your reaction mean that I usually look ordinary?”
“Ah, fishing for compliments, are we?” he teased and then fixed his coal dark eyes on her. “No, you could never look ‘just ordinary.’ But today, in those clothes, you would turn heads in any city in the world. John Cameron will fall face first into his martini or whatever it is he’s drinking these days.”
“So you don’t think it’s too much? I really like it, but I don’t exactly feel like myself in this outfit. Francie made me buy it.” Why on earth did she need so much reassurance, she wondered, and then answered her own question — because she was jittery about the meeting and wasn’t comfortable as a femme fatale.
“If Francesca is responsible for that outfit, remind me to thank her.” He glanced at his watch. “We should go. I want to arrive first so that we can choose our seats at the table. In any confrontation — and that’s exactly what this is — position is everything.”
His confidence was reassuring, but the butterflies in her stomach had butterflies. Diego gripped her elbow to steady her as they walked toward the Mercedes limo that was waiting for them at the curb. “I guess these heels are higher than I’m used to. It would be awful if I toppled down my own front steps,” she laughed nervously.
She didn’t notice the weathered face of a panhandler weaving his way toward them, but Diego noted his approach. The man’s eyes were surprisingly clear and focused on them. Diego sensed danger and wanted to get Alex into the car quickly, but she had other ideas. As he was about to help her into the limo, she paused to study him. “I’ve been so focused on how I look for this meeting that I’ve paid no attention to you,” she said, as she stood in the middle of the sidewalk admiring the charcoal gray trousers that rode low on his hips and the sharp contrast between his immaculate ivory shirt and a fitted black blazer. He’d skipped a necktie and left the top button of his shirt unfastened. She liked that he was tall — the same height as Will.
“You look pretty snazzy yourself, Señor Navarro,” she commented as she ducked into the car. Her compliment brought an uncharacteristic blush to Diego’s cheeks and he mumbled his thanks as he self-consciously shot his cuffs.
“Why did you hire a car? The hotel’s so close that we could have walked.”
“I guessed correctly that you weren’t going to wear your running shoes and besides, I wanted us to arrive in style. Is that so terrible?”
“No, but it’s a bit extravagant, don’t you think? Will would never have...”
“I’m not Will,” he snapped.
“I know,” she said almost to herself.
When the driver pulled up in front of the Ritz less than five minutes later, the doorman not only helped them from the car, but also greeted Diego by name.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Navarro,” he said, touching a finger to his hat in salute.
“Why does the staff know you on sight?” Alex asked as they entered the lobby and her heels clicked across the marble floor. She was oblivious to the admiring looks directed their way until Diego possessively put his arm around her waist. “You’re attracting a lot of attention. We’re surrounded by hungry lions and you’re the prey.”
“Don’t try to change the subject. Why does the staff of this hotel know you?” She had no right to question him like some jealous girlfriend, but she couldn’t stop.
“Why the interrogation? I rented a suite here. You need your space and I require privacy for my business affairs.”
Alex didn’t wan
t to argue and decided to back off. “Of course. I know you have other things to do besides baby-sit me, but you don’t have to hide it from me either, okay?”
“Agreed. It was foolish not to tell you. Can we please stop sniping at each other? We’re on the same side.”
She nodded her agreement yet couldn’t help wondering whether Diego used the suite for more than business and was upset at the thought that he might need this private place to make love with some woman. She knew that Diego Navarro wasn’t the kind of man who could stay celibate for long. His sex life was none of her business, yet if that were true, then why did the idea of it bother her?
The luxury hotel’s bar was reminiscent of an exclusive gentlemen’s club complete with wood paneling, fireplaces, brass sconces, and paintings of hunting dogs. Diego had reserved a corner table away from the distraction of the windows facing the Public Garden. Schooled by Serge to never leave his back exposed, he instinctively seated himself facing the door with a wall behind him. Alex sat to his right. When the waiter approached, Diego told him they would wait for their guest to arrive before ordering. This wasn’t a tactic, Alex realized, but a reflection of his upbringing. Exquisite manners were second nature to him.
“Are we waging psychological warfare here?” she asked Diego, amused by his preparation for battle.
“It can’t hurt. I want a chance to study him before he puts on his public face. Don’t acknowledge him until he reaches our table.”
Alex thought he’d seen too many spy movies, but didn’t say anything. A few minutes later, Diego squeezed her hand as John entered and began to scan the room. Alex automatically began to lift a hand in greeting, but Diego held it down.
“Wait. Let him find us,” he hissed. His breath was hot on her neck, yet she shivered. Diego’s tension was contagious and it made her stomach lurch. Maybe it hadn’t been so smart to bring him to this meeting. Then John spotted them and plodded toward the table.
Legacy of the Highlands Page 12