The hell with that. The hell with him. She wasn't going down that easy.
Twenty minutes later, after two turns off the main road, her mother's home came into view. Styled in a Grecian Revival theme, the massive structure sat right in the center of a manicured lawn consisting of no less than ten acres. A forest sat behind the well mowed grass, all a part of her mother's land holding. The driveway stretched toward the homestead, which glowed gold thanks to hidden lighting obscured in the hedges. A broad set of stairs ascended to a high porch that ran the length of the building, supported by pillars that always reminded her of the Pantheon in Rome. Her mother had loved the grandiose scale of the homestead, preferring this residence to all the others she owned. Kate had grown up here and had a love-hate relationship with the property.
Kate loved the memories of the times her mother baked cookies in the oven with her or decorated easter eggs on the expansive kitchen island. There were daffodils, hydrangea and jasmine planted in the solarium which had been done by both a mother's and daughter's hands. Those were just a few of the things she loved about the 'Grecian' house.
What she hated was how her mother changed every time company came over. In her younger years, Anna had gone from adoring mother to dismissive debutante the second a socialite stepped through the door. It grew worse when Anna brought Anton home for the first time. Although older and wiser, Kate had still experienced the same annoyance at her mother's ridiculous dedication to her lover. Anton had all but taken the residence over, moving into a spare office to do his 'work' during the day, while haunting her mother's room at night.
Exiting the limousine, caught in a well of memories, Kate watched Anton strut up the long staircase toward the front doors and realized nothing had changed. He still acted like he owned the place, owned her in place of her mother.
Kate greeted Jones, the butler, with a solemn smile. With a slight paunch and comb over, ruddy cheeks and bright, sparkling eyes, Jones was a staple of the household.
Anton ignored Jones with typical arrogance, strolling into the grand foyer while spinning his coat from his shoulders. He tossed it to a waiting maid and spun on a heel to eye Kate expectantly. Kate ignored Anton and strode right past for the double stairway leading to the upper floors. He could stew in his own self importance for all she cared.
“Kate.”
She didn't look back.
“Kate.”
At the top of the landing, she set a hand on the elegant alabaster banister and turned to stare down at Anton and the small collection of staff gathered at the edge of the foyer. Anton's two guards hovered near the door, hands behind their back.
In a sudden fit of fury, Kate decided she'd had enough of Anton's terrorizing. “Jones, can I see you for a moment, please?”
“Are you just going to ignore me?” Anton said in an incredulous voice.
Kate turned from the railing and headed down the hallway toward the room she kept in the house as her own. The décor inside matched the outside: marble floors, gilt trimmings, neo-classic statues of half nude gods with slightly imperfect bodies.
She had another residence in Manhattan that served as her home base. Now the Grecian wonder was all hers, she reminded herself. Anton was in her house now, not her mother's.
“Kate!” Anton bellowed. His voice bounced off the walls of the hallway.
Jones bustled up the stairs and hurried in her wake.
At the bedroom door, she paused with her hand on the knob. “Jones, I want you to--”
“I won't stand for this. Jones, get back to your post,” Anton shouted as he ascended to the second floor, shoes pounding out a fast, hard rhythm.
Kate knew her time was limited. She met Jones's eyes. “Call the police. Immediately. Tell them there are intruders and two of them might be armed. Anton can't have bought off the entire police force. Even if he's got the chief in his back pocket, it'll buy me some time.”
Jones, with a shocked look on his face, nodded and spun away from Kate without another word. He passed Anton and disappeared down the stairs.
Anton glared at Jones, then turned his anger on Kate.
Stepping into her room, she closed the door and threw the bolt. All she needed was a few minutes lead time. Running to her closet as Anton tried the knob, then banged on the door with his fist, Kate pushed back a row of clothes on hangers and got into her personal safe. Fingers shaking on the dial, she recited the numbers under her breath.
“Open the door! Kate!”
After two tries, the safe opened. She grabbed two stacks of bills, a credit card from a bank no one knew about but her, and a set of keys. A hard kick at the door startled her. The lock and door frame held.
For now.
Snatching one of many purses off a line of shelves, she shoved everything in except the keys and zipped it closed. The purse was an over the body type, not too big and not too small. Placing the strap over her head, she let the purse dangle against her hip and ran to the french doors leading to the balcony.
“Kate!” Anton kicked again, the wood groaning under the strain.
She fled to a small iron gate at the far end of the balcony and flung it open. A small staircase led down to the ground, the banisters on both sides covered in thick, climbing ivy. Careful not to trip and fall—a fatal event, surely—she went down as quickly as she dared and hit the grass running.
A boom overhead told her that Anton had finally breached the bedroom.
Praying that Jones had called the police, and that someone was on duty who wasn't on Anton's bribery payroll, Kate ran alongside the house until she came to one of four doors leading into the garage. It opened freely under her hand.
Sweeping in, she forewent the overhead lights and used a penlight on her keychain to navigate through a single row of cars until she came to a shiny, new Camaro. Cherry red, the metallic paint in perfect condition, the car had been an impulse buy four months ago.
Climbing in, she used a remote on one of three garage doors and started the engine.
If Anton thought she was going to sit around and play the victim, he was crazier than she imagined.
Reversing out of the garage, she hit the lights and stomped the gas, veering away from the house. Anton swerved into view, running across the grass the same direction she'd just come from. He pointed a finger and shouted.
She sped along the drive without stopping and hit the brakes hard just before turning onto the main road. So far, she saw no other cars coming or going in either direction.
The police either weren't coming or were still en route.
She didn't plan on sticking around to find out.
Gunning the engine, she left the house behind, relieved to see that no other headlights were barreling out of the open garage. Yet. She knew Anton wouldn't give up that easy. His meal ticket had bolted, again, and by his actions already she knew he was too desperate to just let her go.
Living in the area most of her life, she knew all the short-cuts and back roads. Kate, glancing in the rear view mirror often, got lost as quickly as she could. In the dark, it would be easier for them to track her by the glow of tail lights and the thinner traffic night time brought.
Desperate to figure out where to run, she got on the freeway heading south and west.
The answer came as she merged into the fast lane, setting the cruise for seventy miles an hour.
She would drive across the country to Montana, where, as far as she knew, Chayton's staff still thought she was his wife. A widow now, if Anton's secretive conversation could be believed. She needed the security she hoped to find there while she tried to put her life back together again.
Some how, through lawyers or arrests or restraining orders, she had to get the upper hand over Anton. She couldn't quite claim to be a witness to a murder, but she knew enough information that someone would have to listen. If she was lucky, she would put Anton behind bars for life.
The grief she experienced over Chayton was a haunting ache that accompanied her acr
oss the miles.
Chapter Twelve
Two days later, Chayton hung up from a call with his lawyer. Leaning back in his office chair, he pressed the pads of two fingers over his eyelids and rubbed the sting of exhaustion away. He hadn't slept since arriving home from Hawaii, and didn't think he would be sleeping any time soon.
Not after that phone call.
His situation was as bad as he thought. Without a pre-nuptial agreement, Kate could fight him and take a good portion of everything he owned. It was what she might do with his stake in the family business that bothered him more than anything. It could upset an already fragile system, and his father—Chayton didn't want to think about what his father would do when he found out. Skin him alive, for starters.
The waiting for Kate and Anton to contact him—or for their lawyers to contact his—was unpleasant to say the least. He wouldn't know exactly what they were going to try to leverage out of him until then.
Kate. He remembered the allure of her mouth, the fiery response to him in bed. The sweetness she'd displayed in the aftermath, curling against his body while skimming fingers over his chest. Her lips had found his jaw often, and he'd allowed himself to enjoy the feel of her pressed against him. He'd allowed himself the stray thought or two that he wouldn't mind doing it again. Seeing her again.
Not typically given to falling for women at a moment's notice, he couldn't deny that his heart was involved this time. The sweetness had turned into a bitter pill he found difficult to swallow. He prided himself on reading people, on trusting his instincts. Instincts that had apparently failed him spectacularly this time.
He glanced at the phone after a last rub of his eyelids. The handset blurred in and out of his vision while he refocused. With a sudden push, he stood from the chair and departed the office.
Now wasn't the time to call his father and explain. He needed another day, maybe two, to figure out what to say. To see if his lawyers could come up with a way to save him.
“Mister Black, your--” The maid paused in the foyer, a curious look on her face. She didn't get anything else out before another voice cut across hers.
“You should have called.”
Chayton continued into the foyer, bringing his father into view. Cursing beneath his breath, he released the maid from her duties with a nod, never looking away from the elder man. With hair to his shoulders, as black as Chayton's with a few salt and pepper strands near the temples, Waya Black stood an inch shorter than Chayton but no less honed and muscular. Clean shaven, dark skinned, his features eerily echoed his son's. Today the elder wore a sharp suit of gray with white and dark blue accents. He extended a hand; in it, he held a printed piece of paper he obviously wanted Chayton to take.
“Father,” Chayton said by way of greeting. He picked the paper from his father's fingers and turned it around for a better view. The print out depicted one of the online magazines with his and Kate's wedding picture featured prominently on the site. Someone had printed it out and given it to his parents. Or his father, at least.
There was no getting around it now. No delaying the inevitable.
Chayton folded the paper over, strangely pained to see the proof of his bad judgement. Just as strange, he found himself at a loss for words. Not a man known for his verbosity anyway, Chayton could always be counted upon to rise to the occasion when it mattered.
“Nothing to say? Your mother is devastated,” Waya said. He slid his hands into his pockets and lifted his chin in a way that suggested affront at the lack of knowledge about the wedding.
“It's a long story,” Chayton said, buying time to think.
“I've got nothing but time.”
Chayton gestured back the way he'd come. To his office. It was a room Waya knew well.
Retreating with his father, Chayton cursed inwardly and went straight to the sidebar to pour his father a drink. Water with lemon, no alcohol at all. He handed the drink off as his father took a chair opposite the desk. Chayton tossed back two shots in a row, hissing quietly at the burn and the sting.
“So it's true then. This is not a hoax,” Waya said.
“It's not a hoax. I married Kate Fairchild in a small ceremony here at the house. It was very last minute--”
“That does not excuse anything. Your mother and I—and all your siblings—would have taken the jet here immediately had we been out of the state.” He paused, then said, “Who is this woman?”
“No, it doesn't excuse anything.” Chayton paced alongside his desk, then sank down into his chair. He stared at his father, considering the best way to put it all into words. “A woman broke into my room while I was in Singapore a couple of weeks ago. There was a big misunderstanding, and it turns out in the end that we grew...close. To help her out of a bad situation, I offered to marry her, since it would solve her problem.”
“What problem could she have that a good set of lawyers won't solve?” Waya frowned. His gaze turned shrewd. “You did sign a pre-nuptial agreement, yes?”
Chayton stared at his father. He knew the instant Waya understood there was no agreement, and that it was currently a source of concern for him.
Waya banged his glass down and stood up. Using both hands, he ranted and paced the room, gesturing this way and that. “How could you have forgotten such a thing? Do you realize what you've put at stake? Was nothing else important at the time but helping a veritable stranger, even your family's well being? Hell—your own well being?”
Chayton endured the lecture because he knew he deserved it. Mattias and Leander had both tried to urge caution and he'd gone ahead and followed his gut anyway.
“Where is she? Why isn't she here--” Waya paused and faced the desk. His expression grew grim. He proved his mind was still as flexible as ever when he said, “She used you, didn't she? For your position, your money?”
Chayton should have known his father would figure it out sooner than later. “Yes. It appears she and another planned to extort my fortune or something along those lines.”
“So she's gone.”
“Yes.”
“Has she made demands yet?” Waya fished a phone from a pocket lining the inside of his suit coat.
“No. I haven't heard from her since I left Hawaii three days ago. You don't need to call your lawyers. I've got mine on the--”
“Your lawyers can't touch what mine can do. And I've got connections to judges you don't.” Waya turned from the desk and engaged in rapid conversation with someone on the line.
Chayton listened to his father take control of the situation, unsure whether he was relieved or annoyed.
“Does your lawyer have your annulment paperwork?” Waya asked Chayton.
“I haven't filed for an annulment or a divorce.” He waited to hear his father blast him for that, too. His lawyer had been confused and concerned at the delay as well. Chayton couldn't pinpoint why he'd declined to take that action yet. Part of him stubbornly hung onto a distant hope that he was wrong, that everyone was wrong, and that Kate hadn't used him like the would-be assassin said she had. Yet the evidence pointed to the contrary. The fact he hadn't heard a thing from Kate in days proved all was not as he wished it to be.
Waya's mouth compressed into a line and he paced once more while returning to his conversation. Five minutes later, he ended the call.
“What possessed you to wait to file for an annulment? Or a divorce?” Waya asked.
“Because my gut instinct still tells me I don't have the whole story yet. I don't feel like it's over, or that she used me as it seems.” Chayton used specific wording to express his feelings. In their family, much was made of intuition and instinct. His father was a great believer in it, and many times allowed it to rule his decisions about family and business.
“Did she tell you herself that she'd used you?”
“No. Someone...close to her, who knows her, did.” Chayton couldn't mention the Elite or his role in the ranks. His father thought Chayton shunned the family business because he didn't like
managing the resorts, which was true to a point. Chayton needed more out of life than boardrooms and stiff suits and endless problems that came with owning part of an empire. He needed mystery and danger and challenges to make him feel alive.
“It seems to me as if you should trust the person who knows, then.” Waya wavered, however. His belief in trusting one's instinct was strong enough to make him reconsider.
“I guess I'll have my answer in another day or two. I don't imagine it'll take her longer than that to get in touch with me. One way or another, I'll find out what she wants.” Chayton hoped Kate didn't leave him hanging longer than that.
. . .
On her fourth day of driving, somewhere in the middle of Illinois, Kate pulled into a rest area and parked the car. Darkness had set hours ago and she was bone tired from too many hours behind the wheel. She'd never been a great long distance driver anyway, and the endless miles were wearing her down.
Resting her head against the steering wheel, she succumbed to tears. The last five hours of driving, she'd begun to wonder if showing up at Chayton's home was the right thing to do. What would she say to his staff? If they were still there, anyway. Perhaps, with his death, his family would release them from duty and lock down the house. What would she do then? She might as well find a hotel nearby and hole up there while she tried to put a stranglehold on Anton. Thus far, she hadn't had time to search for a new lawyer, one not compromised by Anton. She'd been too busy evading his thugling employees to take any kind of time for herself. With any luck, she'd lost them back in New York. So far, she hadn't noticed a tail or anything suspicious the times she'd stopped for food or gas or lodging at night.
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