A Collateral Attraction: A Romantic Suspense Novel (Fire and Ice Book 1)

by Liz Durano

  I don't even realize that he has taken me into his arms in an embrace that leaves me sobbing against him and he gently guides me into the hangar office and shuts the door. It's as if the dam that held all my emotions in check since Blythe left me in that New York bar finally crumbled under the pressure of it all, and there's nothing I can do but let it all out: my anger at her and our unresolved past, my frustration at being on the constant defensive, and my helplessness against the games people play.

  12

  An Even Bigger Pond

  "I need a Xanax," I say as I slump against my seat. We're up in the air at whatever-thousand feet playing tag with Ethan's plane and at this point, I'm beyond caring.

  "No, you don't."

  "Do you think your crew has some that I can, you know, take to relax?"

  "No," Heath replies as he places his hands on the armrests and leans forward, his face so close to mine. "And even if they did, they know better than to distribute prescription medication to someone who clearly does not need it."

  "And how do you know that I don't need it? You barely know me."

  "I know you well enough to see that you're not a pathetic copy of Blythe," he pauses as he sees me look away. "And I also know that you heard most of my conversation with Harris though I don't understand why you had to lie to me—not when you're the only one left for me to trust, just as I am the only left for you to trust as well."

  "I didn't mean to lie to you; I just panicked," I say as Heath settles into the VIP seat across from me. "My conversation with Blythe didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.”

  "I'm sorry to hear that. But I hope you understand what I mean, Billie, that there's no one else for us to trust but each other."

  "Harris just accused you of orchestrating this whole thing with Blythe," I say. "Are you really that hated, Heath, that even a fellow board member accuses you of blackmail?”

  "What if I told you that I'm not Edgar Kheiron's son?"

  "Aren't you?"

  He shakes his head. "My older sister Jessica, who is married to Harris’ oldest son, Daniel, is 35, Ethan is 32, and I'm 28. The only reason I'm telling you our ages is because shortly after Ethan was born, unknown to my mother, Edgar had a vasectomy. Do you know what that is?"

  I nod.

  "Apparently, it's an outpatient procedure and one that he didn't feel anyone else needed to know about, not even my mother. That way he could have a woman in every port and not worry about little girls and little boys running around carrying his name. Aunt insert-name-here became the subtle nod to the position they held as his mistress, whether she was in Paris, Rome, San Francisco, or Midtown Manhattan. They all had their apartments, houses, staff, shopping sprees, and monthly allowances. They could do anything they wanted, as long as they were discreet about it and in no way, embarrass or confront his wife. Also, no kids. That was his rule."

  "When did you first find out?"

  "I was seven. Ethan was already in England for his studies and Jessica was in finishing school in Switzerland," he says. "Mom and Dad were having an argument in their room — something about the women he had in every city he went to, and she wasn't going to have any of it anymore. I think one of them confronted her at Saks, flaunted some jewelry that Edgar got her and my mother lost it and wanted a divorce, one that would have left him with an allowance of $120,000 a year—as detailed in their prenuptial agreement. That's when he told her that he knew I wasn't his, and that he had a vasectomy right after Ethan was born."

  “So he blackmailed her,” I whisper. “That’s awful. That must have been horrible for you to hear all that.”

  He shrugs. "Such was life in the Kheiron house. It was either all silence or all arguments. Sometimes I preferred the arguments because it was the only way the truth would ever come out of both of them. But that night, that’s how I learned exactly where most, if not all, of Kheiron Industries' money, came from. It wasn’t from Father or his business partners.”

  “Business partners, as in Harris? So where did it come from?"

  "My mother's family. She’s an Ettinger.” When I look at him blankly, he continues. “They’re like the Vanderbilts or the Rockefellers, though not as rich as the Rockefellers. My great-grandfather and my grandfather, her father, made sure to protect family money by putting it in certain trust funds—all twelve of them."

  Though I have no idea what he means by the twelve trust funds, I have a suspicion it has something to do with keeping the wealth within the family. By locking up their assets for 20 or 30 years and setting up a fixed amount in charitable donations, whatever is left at the end of the term would go the beneficiaries without any tax bill…or something like that.

  "My mother’s family made their fortune in shipping. Of course, we’ve diversified since then, but after her older brother died in a boating accident, my grandfather set up most everything in charity trust funds just before he died, which was around the time I was born."

  "Do I even have to ask how much these charity funds were?”

  "Let's say that with just one of those funds, its return on investment, or what we call ROI, was big enough to support Father's entry into energy, metals though they’ve since diversified into oil,” Heath says.

  "So basically, you're saying your mother’s family’s got a ton of money.”

  “Basically," he says, smiling sheepishly. "But that's not my point in all this. My point is that Kheiron Industries was funded primarily by my mother's money, and she holds—or held—millions of shares that are handled by someone other than Father or anyone affiliated with him."

  “Okay.”

  "That night, when I was seven, I learned about Father's many mistresses, my mother's misery and guilt and her shame—me,” he pauses, takes a deep breath and exhales, "Edgar told her that he wasn't going to tell anyone about what she'd done—”

  "Wait just a minute," I retort, holding my hand up to stop him from continuing. "No offense, but how can he have a woman in every port and your mother can't even do the same thing, even if it's just one man to his ten mistresses?"

  “He had six. Luisa, Melinda, Connie, Daphne, Yuki and Brooke, and every one of them an aunt," Heath says, hooking his index and ring fingers to emphasize the word aunt. "But yes, he expected her to be a loyal wife, and when she wasn't—he had her diagnosed with clinical depression complete with suicidal tendencies, and she was committed to a mental institution for about four months all because she threatened to divorce him."

  I reach across the table to hold his hand, grateful that he doesn't pull away.

  "When my mother returned from the mental hospital—they'd subjected her to electric shock therapy and heaven knows what else—I promised her I'd take care of her,” he says, his jaw clenching. “And I don't intend to break that promise, even if I have to jet halfway around the world to get a piece of paper that will tell the world that someone other than Edgar Kheiron fathered her youngest son."

  "How does that make you a fraud?"

  "Just semantics, nothing more. A fraud is defined as dishonesty calculated for advantage, and to Ethan, who may not know the version of my mother's mistake that I know, my appointment to the board is just another one of those dishonest acts, though my appointment wasn't exactly an accident. They didn't have a choice."

  "What do you mean?"

  "After Father died, Ethan and Jackson were appointed to the board, along with Harris and Aaron Gates, who's since retired and is now Chairman Emeritus," Heath replies. "Ethan was never cut out for the job, but I couldn't have cared less. I had my company, and I was making my money."

  "Yet here you are," I say, "on the Board of Kheiron Industries."

  "Father almost ran the company into the ground just before he stepped down. When Ethan stepped in, he almost signed its death warrant. When you find yourself having to use company stock to cover outside investments and sell millions of shares in the process, it's a message to everyone that there's blood in the water."

  "And that's when you came in," I sa
y.

  "That's when Tyler and I came in," Heath says. “To save the company my mother helped build with her family money, she asked me to do whatever I could to save it, even after what Edgar did to her. She didn’t want her legacy destroyed, not when there was a way to save it. So she passed on her shares to me which made me majority shareholder.”

  “Just you? What about Ethan and Jessica? Don’t you think that’s unfair?”

  He shrugs. “They have their shares of the trust, Billie, while this was primarily a business decision. As Chairman of the Board, I’d also own the majority of the shares which would have made any hostile takeover bid next to impossible.”

  I wish I understood everything Heath just said, and I think I do. As the flight attendants serve lunch, I realize Heath made it as simple as possible for even a child to understand and for that, I'm grateful. But most of all, I'm grateful for his honesty, and I hope that when it comes down to it, when it's finally my turn to talk, I hope I can be just as honest with him as he has been with me, no matter how painful.

  "Would you step down, if it means that your mother's affair won't be exposed?" I ask after the flight attendants have cleared our table.

  "Who's to say it's not going to be exposed anyway? Or that people aren't already talking about it?" he asks. "This game between Ethan and I, with him stealing letters addressed to my mother from my real father even if he doesn’t name himself, is just a game between brothers. It's nothing new under the sun as far Ethan and I are concerned. What does he care about letters that won't have any impact on the company’s profits other than giving people something to talk about at their fancy parties?”

  "The embezzlement involving your sister, on the other hand,” Heath adds, “is a game that has nothing to do with Ethan and I. It was going on long before Blythe came into the picture—for at least four or five months.”

  “So you lied about the fraud starting only when she started dating Ethan?”

  “Not exactly. It just worsened after she came into the picture,” Heath replies. ”Before Blythe, money was already being funneled into fake companies with made-up invoices and tracking numbers, all under Ethan’s name. Some of them were angel investments to businesses that didn’t exist, but with Ethan investing in so many things, it wasn’t that unusual to have something lose money. Unfortunately, the companies that don’t even exist also affects annual returns.”

  “And no one caught it?”

  “Not while the company was in the midst of a restructuring right after Edgar died, and after Ethan’s three-month tenure as President,” Heath says. “It was a madhouse then.”

  “And Blythe?”

  “She just made it easier for the discrepancies to be spotted, what with the $25K monthly allowance Ethan gives her on top of everything else—only, this time, he's using company funds."

  "But why would he do that? You told me he was worth a hundred million. Four million is a drop in the bucket for him."

  "An oversight maybe?" Heath says, shrugging. "After all, ever since his polo ranking fell from top 20 to top 100 when he thought he could play CEO for three months, I'm sure his focus is only on his game now. That's the one thing Ethan and I have in common. We're obsessive when we want something, even to the point of sacrificing things we love. He lost a few sponsorship deals because of that brief excursion into big business. And whenever Ethan puts the blinders on to get something he wants, nothing else matters."

  "Not even something that could put away the woman he's supposed to marry?"

  “Maybe. But he's also very insulated from the rest of the world, Billie, and he has been since he was a child. Everything is done for him, and right now, he’s got Jackson Denman, whom you've met, and Jackson's wife, Charlene," Heath says. "They both work with Ethan, along with Richard Pressman, Ethan's long-time assistant. Richard used to play polo but he never really got as good as Ethan. Never even broke the top 100."

  "Who else?"

  He thinks for a moment. "Four bodyguards."

  "Why aren't you traveling with any? You’re president of a multi-billion dollar company-”

  "This trip isn't on my calendar."

  “So if this little trip isn’t on your calendar, what is?”

  "Santa Barbara, which is where we’re headed, in case I forgot to tell you since it’s also where Ethan and Blythe are heading,” he replies. "Once we're there, I hope you can get Blythe to see what's happening and just get her out of the way. After that, I can have you both flown home to Nevada City, and I'll have your things shipped to you from New York."

  "So this charade ends after Santa Barbara then."

  He nods. "Whoever's behind the fraud has got to be on Ethan's team. It could be Jackson, Charlene, Richard, or someone else he may have working for him in the office back in New York. It could even be Blythe herself."

  "What guarantee can you give me that she won't get charged with fraud?"

  "I can't guarantee you anything," Heath replies. "You just have to get her out of Ethan's circle, so she doesn't end up collecting four million dollars from her Swiss bank accounts, which according to their flight plan, is where they're going to next."

  Heath shows me a sheet of paper detailing Ethan's flight plan. He doesn't even have to point out the name and the date for it's the first thing I see. Geneva in five days, right after the polo tournament.

  "If she's really behind it, then she'll need to pay for it, and there's nothing I can do to stop it even if you hide her away. But if she isn't, she's not going to last very long in the game, not after whoever's responsible gets that money and will no longer have any use for her."

  "But won't Ethan defend her? Protect her at least?"

  “Ethan can’t be everywhere all of the time to keep her safe, Billie,” Heath says, leaning his elbows on the table. “Not only that but if word does finally get out that she’s stolen all that money, abusing his trust in her, he wouldn’t be caught dead with an accused felon, even if in the end, she’s found innocent — not when he stands to lose all his sponsorship deals.”

  “So much for true love,” I mutter.

  “I don't care how you do it, Billie, but get her out of Santa Barbara and out of harm's way for now. There's a bigger game that's at play, and we're all just damn pieces on someone's chess board—even me. And unfortunately for you and Blythe, some pieces are more expendable than others."

  13

  Sensitivity Chip

  "Have you ever been to Santa Barbara?"

  I look up from the touchscreen in front of me as Heath closes his laptop and puts it away. With thirteen hours of flight time from Saint Lucia to Santa Barbara, not including a stop somewhere along the way for fueling and rest for his flight crew, we've both been busy. Heath worked on his computer and made a few phone calls, two to his sister, who had yet to return his calls. I spent my time reading and rereading the fraud report on Blythe, only to fall asleep and dream of the man who had stood between us for the last three years.

  By the time we’re scheduled to land in Santa Barbara, it will be ten at night of the following day, and I wonder how bad jet lag will be for me. I’ve never traveled this much in my life, and already the time and even cabin pressure changes are driving my body crazy. And that’s not including the emotional roller coaster I’m on, with my mind imagining every worse scenario to befall Blythe, and I have yet to figure out how on earth I can pry her from Ethan.

  I'm also not happy that Heath knew the embezzlement had been going on months before she came along though the fact that her name is on those Swiss accounts tells me that it doesn't matter if Heath withheld bits of information from me in the beginning. It doesn’t change the fact that Blythe is in trouble.

  "Earth to Billie, come in," Heath murmurs, grinning, as I look at him again. Somehow my gaze had drifted down to the iPad screen where the credits of some movie I don't remember now are scrolling past. "Somehow I lost you there."

  "Testament to your conversational skills, perhaps?”

  “Ouch
,” he says, running his fingers through his thick dark hair. “I did warn you that I'm not as smooth as my brother."

  "Oh, you're smooth enough—or at least as far as this little town girl is concerned,” I say, laughing. “Back home, smooth is someone who wows me with his knowledge of my chakras and can't wait to show off his recently learned crystal healing skills, at the same time telling me to forgive the burn he suffered on his nose because he lit up his bong too early in the morning—and missed."

  Heath bursts out laughing, and I can't help but smile as the dimples make their appearance along his cheeks. They don't make their appearance often enough, and they need to.

  "But as far as having been to Santa Barbara before this, the answer is yes," I continue. "When I was twelve, we stayed in this little motel, but we didn't stay there, like stay there. It was just a place to crash. We hung out at Henry's Beach and Shoreline Park a lot, and we went window-shopping and people watching on State Street. We fished for halibut at Stearn's Wharf and Blythe and I were even recognized as junior oceanographers at Ty Warner's Sea Center. It was fun."

  "Did you catch any halibut that day?"

  I smile, nodding. "Two halibut and quite a few mackerel. Dad loved to fish so whenever he was near the coast, he did what he could. Do you fish? Not like you look like someone who’d have the patience to sit there with his pole and wait for fish to bite.”

  He chuckles. "What are you implying, Billie? That I don't know how to fish?"

  "I'm sure you do, just not from some pier with a fishing pole. If you ever did fish, I'm sure it's either deep sea fishing or one of those fly fishing things up in Montana or somewhere."

  “That’s quite judgmental of you, but I've done both of those."

  "I knew it," I exclaim, laughing as Heath blushes. "Nah, my family's style is just a bucket and fishing poles and live bait, whatever you can get at the tackle shop on the pier. And a hat. You have got to have a hat, and a jacket, in case you're still there till dark. But we didn't stay that long fishing, though. It was just a day, hanging out at the pier, doing regular people stuff. So that's my Santa Barbara story. What's yours?"