Alpha's Baby: A Secret Baby Romance

by Lauren Landish

  Andrea studies my face for a minute, then nods. “Hold on... I've got something in my room you can start with.”

  She jogs back to her room and comes out with a book. “Here. He's become a bit of a hack, and I don't want you running off like a madman with it, but take a read, and if you want... I'll be around to answer questions and talk with you.”

  I look down at the title. “Rich Dad, Poor Dad? Okay... looks easy enough.”

  “It is. Not trying to say you're an idiot, Jackson... but you've been fucking off for the four years since high school finished for you. It's a decent refresher. In the meantime though, let's get some breakfast. I thought you were all about protein loading after lifting or whatever it is you call it, and if you don't mind, I'll share an egg or two with you.”

  I keep the book with me while we eat, then Andrea goes off to class. I've got a while before my afternoon swim, and I was planning on getting out during the evening, so I find a comfortable chair in the downstairs den and start reading. I'm caught up pretty quickly, and I find that I'm in chapter four when Mom comes in, pretty much ignoring me. Not that unexpected, really. “Hey Mom, is Pops around?”

  Mom shrugs, not caring, and goes over to the liquor cabinet in the corner and pours herself a straight bourbon. I glance at the clock and shake my head. It's just after eleven. “A little early, even for you, isn't it?”

  Mom downs half the bourbon and glares at me. “Considering you caused it, you have no room to say a damn thing,” she hisses. “Do you know what the doctors just told me?”

  “That you have a surgical addiction?” I shoot back. “That you need a psychiatrist more than you need more collagen in your lips? By the way, you're dribbling.”

  It's something that's happened to Mom since her most recent round of lip injections. She doesn't seem to be able to close her mouth properly all the time, and is constantly dribbling drinks from the corner of her mouth. Mom wipes away the bourbon with a swipe of her free hand and glares at me some more. “They said they can't do anything else for my waistline. According to them, their ethical guidelines prevent it.”

  “Maybe they have a point,” I say, turning back to my borrowed book. I can feel Mom glaring at me for a little while longer before slamming back the rest of her bourbon and leaving the tumbler on the table. I finish the chapter I'm working on and go looking for Pops. Maybe he's in his office.

  Before I get there, though, I hear something crash on the wall. What the hell? I rush down the hall the last little bit and go in, ducking as a paperweight comes flying by my head. “What the fuck?”

  “I want her dead!” Pops screams, his face an angry, nearly purplish red. “I want that bitch found and her throat slit!”

  I see that Nathan's in the room too, his face grave, but he remains silent. “What's going on? Is this over the photos still?” I ask.

  “No, you ignorant, spoiled little shit!” Pops hollers, picking up a tablet and throwing it at me. I'm glad I've got good hands, he just bought this one after breaking the last one with the discussion we had the day after Kat's little limo trick. Even still, I barely manage to catch it, cradling it in my arms while I give the sensors inside a chance to try and figure out which way is up. “That's what I'm talking about!”

  The screen stops revolving, and I see that a gossip website is up with a story it lists as “Breaking News! New Orleans Social Magnate Has String of Mistresses Even While Being Named Family Man of The Year!”

  I read quickly. Most of the affairs are older ones, ones that I've known about for years, stretching back to my high school days. This time there are pictures though, which I am surprised about. There's Pops in the casino, a couple of girls on his arm... Pops going into a hotel room with what looks like a very young girl, I'd be surprised if she was a month over eighteen at the time... damn. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, in my opinion. I'm also glad that Kat seems to have at least somewhat listened to my request, since this leaves the rest of the family totally out of it.

  “You knew that accepting the award would bring greater public scrutiny, sir,” Nathan says, trying to calm Pops down. “That the press would run with old rumors and play up some photos is expected.”

  “Bullshit! You know exactly who leaked this, Nathan. If you'd done your fucking job like I ordered you to do, there's no way the press would've gotten hold of those pictures. Hell, I'm friends with the owner of that casino! But now security camera footage of the night they gave me the award is out there. How the fuck does that even happen?”

  “Maybe it's someone else,” I try to add, knowing it sounds lame as soon as it comes out of my mouth, but I have to try. Katrina, I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into. “There have to be a lot of people who might have an ax to grind with you, Pops.”

  He ignores me, still staring at Nathan. “I don't care what it takes, I want that bitch found. Not next week, not tomorrow, not this evening. I want her found now. I don't give a shit if she's left New Orleans, left the States, or is hiding in the deepest shithole in the darkest back corner of the world. You find her, Nathan. You find her, and... take Jackson with you. He obviously thinks this is all some sort of fucking joke, so you take him with you. And when you find her, you force her on her knees, and you slit her fucking throat right in front of Jackson here. Show him what a real man does.”

  A real man? So a real man is a guy who pitches a tantrum and throws things around his office, his potbelly hanging out and his face looking like he's about to have a goddamn coronary? A real man is someone who acts like a preschooler when his shit's exposed? Or is a real man the guy who's cheated on his wife so many times it's fucked with her head to the point she's a fucking basket case, and then when his shit's brought to the light of day, can't even handle it himself, but orders someone else to take care of it for him? All these thoughts flash through my mind, but I keep my mouth shut, even if I can't keep a look of disgust off my face.

  Nathan looks disgusted as well, but nods. “I understand, Mr. DeLaCoeur.”

  “Then both of you get the fuck out. Actually, no, Jackson... you stay here. I want to talk with you.”

  Nathan gives me a glance, and in his green eyes I see a message. He'll wait for me to finish my conversation with Pops before anything else. I nod just a fraction of an inch, then turn my attention to Pops as Nathan closes the door behind him. “What do you want, Pops?”

  He slams his hands down on the desk and screams, his breath stinking and spewing over the space between us. “What the fuck are you doing, disrespecting me like that in front of Nathan? How dare you contradict me in front of the staff!”

  Contradict? What the fuck is he talking about? I was trying to deflect him, calm him down. “Pops, that wasn’t my…”

  “Shut the fuck up!” he yells again, at least taking a seat. “Jackson, it's bad enough that you embarrassed yourself, and yes, embarrassed me. You've been a disappointment your entire life, really. At least Andrea has enough sense to try and make something of herself, even if she does refuse to act like the proper daughter I've tried so hard to get her to be. But you had your uses. It's time to grow the fuck up, and that means seeing that life isn't all parties and limos and threesomes with sluts. Sometimes it means making hard decisions and doing hard things.”

  “Like ordering your attack dog to do your dirty work for you?” I ask before I even realize what's coming out of my mouth. Pops starts to turn red again, and I decide to just fucking go with it. “You've made your own bed. Now you're upset that someone's calling you on it? What about the rest of the family, Pops? Did you ever think about us in your little tirade?”

  He slams his fist on the desk, sending a pen cup flying. He's staring daggers into my face. “I promise you, Jackson, if you ever disrespect me like that again... you'll find that Katrina Grammercy isn't the only person who can have her throat cut in front of someone she knows. Get the fuck out.”

  I get up, and I make my way out to the hallway. I immediately go looking for Nathan... once ag
ain, I have to know.

  I find him in the back after twenty minutes of searching, where he's indulging in his other hobby, animals. The plantation still has a stable attached to it, and while it doesn't hold horses any longer, the Great Dane that Nathan keeps there is nearly as big as a pony. “Nathan.”

  He holds up a hand, and I see in his right hand he's holding a stiff-bristled brush that he's currently using to brush down the dog. “Yes, Maverick, you're a good boy. I know, I promised you a walk this morning, but I've got some business to attend to, so I'm going to have to keep this short. Tonight though, you and I can go for a romp in the back acres all you want. Wouldn't you like that?”

  Maverick obviously does, as the giant dog wags his tail briskly. Nathan looks over at me, then back at Maverick. “You think it'd be okay if Jackson comes along?”

  Maverick wags again, settling the issue. Nathan reaches over and unsnaps the long lead attached to Maverick's collar, and rubs his head. “Well, come on then. Maybe only a mile or so, then we can head back.”

  Maverick goes bounding off, acting for all the world like a two-hundred-pound puppy, heading for the door. His dog out of earshot, Nathan speaks to me for the first time. “Your shoes will get muddy. And I'd appreciate it if you'd limit the unpleasant talk around Maverick. He's a big baby, but he's my baby.”

  I look down and shrug. “I can get others. It's not as important as what you and I need to discuss.”

  Nathan nods and takes the lead, his long legs eating up the ground. We leave the stables and head north, into the unkempt scrubland that used to be indigo fields two hundred years ago. It's now mostly fields, with a little bit of wild indigo still covering areas of the property, but most of it disappeared after later attempts to turn the fields into tobacco and then cotton before the Civil War broke out. For Maverick, the open spaces are wonderful, even as I feel the first squelch of mud underneath my foot. “So why'd you brush him before this run?”

  “We start every day with a brushing, even if it's just a few minutes,” Nathan says, and I notice that he's changed into what looks like old combat boots, albeit unlaced. “Like I said, he's my baby, since I've never had children of my own. Lots of nieces and nephews, but none of my own.”

  “How often do you see them?” I ask, surprised at this insight into Nathan's mind. It's like when we sat down for tea, I'm finding depths to the man that I never knew existed.

  “Not often enough,” he admits. “Some of it is because I'm pretty busy working for Peter, but also... well, I'm not the sort of uncle that is exactly welcome at the family Thanksgiving table. How do you explain to a five-year-old that the richest member of the family got that way because he's put enough men in the ground to populate a small village?”

  “Yet you keep doing it,” I say quietly. “I'm not accusing you, just saying.”

  Nathan nods, his eyes following Maverick as the dog goes sniffing around. “Maverick! Leave that rabbit alone!” he hollers with a laugh, then sobers. “I do. It's all I've ever known, and to try and make myself out to be something more than what I am... I think the ghosts of my past would condemn me even more if I pretended to be something I'm not. But there's a part of me that would like to go back if I could, back to when I was a Green Beret. Yeah, there was a lot of killing then... but we did more than that. I can remember going into what some people call Kurdistan. We were working a black ops mission, this was when Saddam was still in power, just after the Mogadishu op that I told you about. We were supposedly there to reinforce the no-fly zone Clinton insisted on, but really we were there to help the Kurds get on their feet. I spent ninety days in that area, and never fired a shot. But what I did do was help them build three schools, and we dug two wells for villages that were struggling. I'll never forget the look in the eyes of those Kurd children when I pumped the handle, and fresh, clean water flowed out of that pipe. They thought I was Santa Claus and Allah all wrapped up in one that day. I use that image a lot when I meditate, trying to find inner peace.”

  “And how much meditation will it take for you to find inner peace with what Peter just told you?” I ask. “Hours? Days?”

  Nathan stops and turns to face me fully, his scarred eye wide, his right eye arched. “Peter? I think that's the first time I've ever heard you call him anything other than Pops.”

  “Considering the man just told me that if I ever talk back to him again he'd have my own throat cut, I think that disqualifies him from being referred to by a fatherly name, don't you?” I ask. “But my question stands, Nathan. What are you going to do?”

  Nathan turns and watches Maverick bound along. “Did you know the average Great Dane lives only six to ten years? It's why they're also called the Heartbreak Breed, because they're so affectionate, but they die so quickly. But it's also part of the reason I chose Maverick. He's already four, I've had him since he was a puppy. But I know that if I ever piss off Peter DeLaCoeur... there are other men who will do what I will not. Including dropping my corpse into the Gulf. Oh, not that I'd make it easy for them, it'd be a very expensive operation for sure. But I wouldn't want to rob an innocent dog of love and affection, or of too much of his life. You know your... that Peter would have Maverick killed first. It's a poor way to soothe my conscience, but I wouldn't be robbing Maverick of too much of his life if that happens.”

  “What are you even saying?” I ask, hot. “What type of monster have you become, Nathan?”

  Nathan turns back to me, gives me a studied look, and shakes his head. “You miss my point. I can't go after Katrina, not this time. I found her like you asked, and in the course of my investigation, I found out things... well, I found out things that only she should tell you. The only thing I could give you was an address. But I can't go after her for this. I'll delay, and I'll do what I can, but eventually Peter's going to reach out to someone else as well. I can't stop that.”

  I nod and watch Maverick romp around the fields while we talk. “What am I going to do?” I mutter to myself, the mud squelching as we reach a turn in the little path we're following, and Nathan stops. “What can I do?”

  “I don't know if you're asking for my advice or just muttering to yourself, but here it is anyway, Jackson. Stand up. Be a man. I saw how you were last night, coming home from seeing her, and don't try to say that you didn't. But she isn't going to be interested in a playboy. If she's going to be interested at all... it's in the man you could be. You're not dumb, even if you pretend to be for whatever reason. So stand up. It's dangerous, but like you said when you approached me before... it's the right thing to do.”

  I shove my hands into the pockets of my pants and think. Nathan studies me for a bit, then turns. “Maverick! Let's head back now!”

  As the dog goes running by, heading for the stable, Nathan stops next to me. “Don't think too long. I guarantee you, Peter will contact others about this. I've seen him this angry before. You've got a couple of days’ head start. At most.”

  Chapter 11

  Kat

  CDG- You found me again.

  BS- This time it wasn't that hard. You practically were advertising your presence online, if you know where to look.

  CDG- I had a reason for that.

  BS- I see.

  I'm in a chat room, one of my hacker rooms, and I close the main window, dropping into just private chat with Blue Sakura, aka Andrea. I've been looking for her today, hoping she can give me insight into how Peter DeLaCoeur is handling the news that hit the Internet today. Unfortunately, with such stuff, I couldn't get the newspapers to put it out, but in this digital world, it should still carry weight.

  BS- What are your reasons?

  CDG- I was wondering how Peter took the news.

  BS- And how would I know that?

  CDG- You know who I am. You don't think I don't know who you are?

  There's a silence on the screen for a bit, then Blue Sakura comes back.

  BS- Okay, let's lay our cards out. It's been a long time since we used to play in my room.
/>
  CDG- Yeah, it was fun. You had a pretty awesome Barbie collection. It seems that we've both changed since we thought that Ryan Reynolds was cute.

  BS- What do you mean thought? I still do.

  CDG- TMI. So how did Peter react?

  BS- Your timing is off today. I haven't been home yet, and I had a nine a.m. class. I haven't heard from anyone at home.

  CDG- What's got you out so late? It's nearly seven.

  BS- Checking some things. Your reappearance had me chasing some stuff down.

  CDG- Anything I'd be interested in?

  BS- Perhaps. If I figure it out, I'll drop you a message. Peter certainly doesn't trust me, even less than Jackson. Spoils me rotten, wants me to be his little princess, but he doesn't trust me.

  CDG- Speaking of that... I have verification on your history, too. I'm holding it in reserve, it's the sort of bomb that could be spun to hurt Peter badly. But maybe you, too?

  BS- We can discuss that later. I need to go for now. Thanks.

  CDG- For what?

  BS- Discretion.

  Blue Sakura logs off, and I sit back, sighing. Discretion isn't my strong suit, and I'm no closer to finding out if I'm closer to my goal than I was when I started looking for Andrea online. I want firsthand verification, I need it. The depression is bad tonight, even though I was able to read all about the social reaction to what I'd dropped on Peter DeLaCoeur's lap. My workout wasn't enough to alleviate it, my endorphins were not enough to push it all back, and for some reason, I can't take my pills. I'm sitting here, staring at them in their plastic bottle, and all I can think about is how I made fun of Jackson for his own self-medication. How can I accuse him of running away from reality when I'm taking my own collection of mind-altering stuff?

  Angry, I grab my bottle, get up, and shove it into my dresser, out of sight. I'm going to handle this the old-fashioned way, the same way that the old masters advised. Purity is something that cannot be attained except by piling effort upon effort.