Chapter 13
Kat
I can feel Jackson's eyes burning into me as he tells me that he wants me to be part of his life. I'm lost in those eyes, and the honesty of what he just revealed to me. It's nothing that I didn't already know, I've spent nearly ten years learning everything I could about the way Peter DeLaCoeur and the way he's run his business and family, but to me, it sounded like it was the first time Jackson has ever said it out loud. The way he just opened up, and the weight that drops off his shoulders as he tells me about the pain of growing up in his life... it touches me.
So when his hand covers mine, I feel myself being pulled toward him by his eyes, and I want to lean in toward him. I want to tell him how just hours ago, I was dreaming about him, and about the fact that since he's come back into my life, I feel like there's a chance at a future.
My computer beeps, saving me. I take my hand off Jackson's arm and get off the bed, trying to keep the trembling out of my knees as I cover the short distance. I sit down in my chair gratefully, and see that Andrea has messaged me.
BS- You there?
CDG- I have a visitor. Your brother.
BS- Half-brother. He's making strides, but he's got a way to go before he's my full brother.
CDG- Your choice. What's up?
BS- You know you're not the only one researching Peter's past, right?
CDG- I figured as much. What, did you learn something helpful?
BS- Yes, but it's not something I want to release to the press.
CDG- What?
BS- Can you receive a file?
CDG- Yes. Format?
BS- Encrypted document.
CDG- Send it.
I get a file transfer notice and analyze it quickly. I know Jackson's sitting behind me, but he's being quiet, probably still absorbing everything that we've said to each other over the past few minutes. The file transfers quickly, and I give it another scan before dropping it into a virtual box.
CDG- Encrypt code?
BS- My full name.
CDG- English or Japanese?
BS- English. I'll be in touch after you read it. Goodbye.
Andrea Julia DeLaCoeur... the file unlocks, and a document along with a subfolder pulls up, unzipping and opening for me. I read quickly, and realize what Andrea meant. “Oh my God.”
Jackson's next to me in an instant, looking at me closely. “Kat... Katrina? What is it?”
I point, unable to speak. Jackson looks at the window, his lips moving silently as he reads, something he did even as a kid.
Samuel Grammercy, detective lieutenant, New Orleans Police Department. Thirty-eight years old at the time of his death, no suspects ever identified in his death by car bombing.
Michael Ball, forty-eight years old, bartender. Alcohol server's license states that he works in the Miami area.
The pictures aren't great, all taken from public sources, but there's enough there to verify what Andrea's document tells me.
“They're alive,” Jackson says after he finishes clicking through the files. “They... they never were blown up. How?”
“I don't know,” I whisper, finally finding my voice. “But Jackson... I remember. I remember the fire, the boom, I remember it all. How is that possible?”
Jackson shakes his head. “I don't know either,” he says. “Katrina, can you trust this information? Who sent it to you?”
“Someone I can believe,” I reply, not sure why I won't tell Jackson the truth about his half-sister. I just don't think Andrea would want it yet. “But I need to verify this.”
Jackson gives me a look. “Katrina, this changes everything. I'm not saying it makes Peter any less of an animal, or any less of a threat to you. But you've spent nearly half your life vowing revenge for something that may never have happened. And if your father’s in Miami... you're going to need help.”
“Whose?” I ask, shaking my head. “Darcy... but she's got a family now. Virginia's taking care of two new foster kids herself now, she can't help me... I'm alone.”
“No you're not,” Jackson says, kneeling down next to me and taking my hand. “Kat, you've got me. I already told you that I was going to try and deflect Peter off you... now we've got something else to do.”
“You mean it?” I ask, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “It's going to involve money, deception, and lying to Peter. You'd be signing your own death warrant if he finds out.”
Jackson nods, then smirks. “Nathan told me this morning that I need to stand up. Be a man, he said. Maybe this is just my way of doing it.”
I nod, then smile. “I like that. Okay, so we work together on this. But I don't have a lot of details. Miami's a big city, and there are a lot of bars there. All I have is a name for him.”
“Then we find out together,” Jackson says with a smile. “After all, who'd think that Prince Douchebag would actually be trying to do something worthwhile with his time? I mean, besides reading Rich Dad, Poor Dad.”
“Good book. Myopic, but a decent book,” I comment to Jackson's surprise. “You'll find as we spend time together I know more than just martial arts, hacking, and seduction.”
“Okay. So where can I start first?” he asks. “This isn't something I have any experience with, so I'm going to be putting myself in your hands.”
“First... I need to know more. I need verification, and there's only one person who can do that for me that I know of.”
“Who?”
“Nathan Black.”
Jackson shakes his head emphatically at first, but then the shakes slow as something dawns on him. “He told me... he told me that he didn't kill your father.”
“Not that he didn't set the car bomb. So find out what happened. Meanwhile, I'm going to go to some of my other sources, help narrow down the Miami end of things.”
Jackson thinks for a moment, and I understand. He suspects how dangerous Nathan Black is, but I know exactly how dangerous he is. On the other hand, Jackson knows more about Nathan's state of mind than I do right now, which is why I'm asking him to talk to Nathan directly. It's still dangerous, however.
Finally, he hums, then grins. “Deal. How do you want me to pass along what I know? I mean, coming here all the time is great for me, but puts you in more danger, right?”
I nod, then hold out my hand. “Phone.”
He takes out his phone, and I quickly go to his address book. “Here, under Grace Miseria. It's another one of my aliases. Jackson... not too many people have this number. I normally give out one of my rotating SIMs.”
He nods, and looks at the number for a moment, then puts his phone back in his pocket. “I understand. Let me talk to Nathan, and I'll be in touch as soon as I have something.”
Jackson walks to the door and unlocks it. In a moment of deja vu, I'm up, running to the door before he leaves, this time though catching him before he gets the door all the way open. “Jackson... wait.”
“What is it?” he asks, turning back to me, his face still full of concern. We were yelling at each other at the beginning, and now I want to kiss him. Weird.
“Just... I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry about getting your junk in the papers.”
Jackson smiles and shakes his head. “Thank you for the apology, but I'm not angry about it anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because it brought you back into my life. I think that's more than worth the price of a few pictures. Goodnight, Kat.”
“Not Kat. Not for you, at least,” I reply, taking his hand and give it a squeeze. “I was thinking, after you used it a few times... I kinda like hearing you call me Katrina again.”
“I like that, too. Goodnight, Katrina.”
Jackson leaves, and I watch him for a moment before closing and locking my door. My computer beeps again, and I see that it's Andrea.
BS- You okay?
CDG- Yeah. Took me a minute to read it over, and then to discuss what to do next with Jackson.
BS- He knows?
CDG- He
knows the info. Not who sent it. That's up to you.
BS- Thank you. Maybe in time, but I've my own plans. Not sure if he's to be included.
CDG- I understand. Do me two favors?
BS- I can try.
CDG- He's going to talk to Nathan about the bomb. Keep an eye on him.
BS- If I can. And two?
CDG- Rich Dad, Poor Dad? Really?
BS- LOL. I just gave him that to give him some easy fluff to see if he was serious. It seems like he’s been snapped back to reality.
CDG- It does, doesn’t it?
BS- You sure you're okay with this?
CDG- I'll try and be. Hey, I just thought of something. If there's an emergency... call me on Viber. 864-885-9073. I check it often. Goodnight.
BS- Goodnight. And thank you.
Chapter 14
Jackson
I'm unsure of how to approach Nathan as I get back home. The sun went down hours ago, and Peter is probably gone. Growing up, he almost never spent evenings at home, usually going to see “friends,” as he would put it. So there's a chance that Nathan might be with him if he's actually conducting business.
On the other hand, if Peter's out with any of his current mistresses, he'd leave Nathan behind. Now that I've admitted to myself and to Katrina that he’s a philandering, lying son of a bitch, I'm able to recall little details about the way he does things, things that I'd overlooked or never really cared to think about before. Like dyeing his hair, or the fact that he changes secretaries on a roughly yearly basis. Or the fact that when he's going out to fuck around, he leaves Nathan behind.
I'm encouraged when I see that Peter's Porsche is gone. That thing only has two seats, and unless Nathan’s riding shotgun, he’ll be home. Of course, Peter never lets anyone else drive that German showpiece. I park my Audi and go inside. And here I thought my car was pretentious...
The first person I find is Andrea, sitting in the dining room with her textbooks in front of her. She's stripped out of her power suit and looks more like the twenty-year-old that she is. Shows me how fifteen hours can change someone, I guess. “Hey, Andrea.”
“Whatcha want, Jack?” Andrea asks, grumpy. Studying must be going bad for her. She's always been moody, but normally she's never outwardly hostile to me unless I'm being a jerk to her. “Don't tell me you finished Rich Dad.”
“No, I got to chapter four before everything sort of kicked off this morning. Since then, I've been... well, busy. How was your day?”
“Sucked. Got my midterms back.” Oh yeah, she said something a while back about preparing for her summer midterms.
“Andrea, you go three semesters a year, you've been doing that since junior high school. Don't you think, well, maybe you can let go of a test or two? Nobody can throw perfect games each time out. I've had bad lift days, shit like that. Besides, what'd you score?” It is one of the things that I've never grasped about Andrea until meeting Katrina again. Her drive is superhuman, and she's getting her MBA at twenty because of it. Still, it can't be healthy, having graduated high school at sixteen, getting her bachelor's at nineteen and now being more than halfway through her MBA. I've never worried about it before, mainly because I've been too much of a self-absorbed manchild to give a damn. Well, that's going to change. “Come on, Andrea. What'd you score?”
“Only 83 and 87,” she grumps, slamming her book closed. “Happy now?”
“Whoa, whoa, Andrea. I wasn't trying to piss you off,” I hurriedly apologize. I want to snap at her in return, but something, maybe something that rubbed off from Katrina's talk with me, holds me back. “Okay, so you didn't get As in them. And I know, the shitstorm I've raised this past week and a half or so hasn't helped much.”
Andrea takes a deep breath, then nods. “Thank you, oniichan. Sorry, too. Margaret was bitchy when Peter left tonight. We had an argument, which is why I'm out here instead of in my room. She's insisted that she hold court over the entire family wing of the house, and threw me out. It was either study here or in the kitchen, and the kitchen's too hot.”
I smile and pat her shoulder. “I understand, thanks for the heads-up. I'm sorry you had to deal with that.” She looks started at first, then nods gratefully. Mom's always treated her like shit, but I've never really bothered to empathize before, I guess because I was always too wrapped up in my own bullshit. That's going to change. “Quick favor. Have you seen Nathan?”
Andrea nods. “After Peter left and Margaret's blow-up, I heard him say something about getting a workout in. You'll probably find him out there, or maybe in his workshop.”
“Thanks. And I owe you a hot chocolate later or something, something to help you stay awake while you study.”
“Sounds good. And Jackson...”
“Yeah, Andrea?” I ask, already heading out the door. I pause, and look back.
She looks like she's going to say something, then shakes her head. “Just... when you get back, if you'd like to talk about what you read, I'll make some time.”
“Thanks. We'll see.”
I leave the dining room and run up to my room, changing clothes quickly. I didn't get a second workout in today yet, and I could use a sweat myself. It only takes me three minutes, and I jog outside. I can hear Mom drunkenly singing to herself in her room, so slurred I can't even make it out, but it sounds like blues. I leave the drunken singing and the main house behind, heading out to the gym. Andrea's right, I find Nathan inside, stripped down to just some compression shorts and pounding on a heavy bag. He puts a lot of thirty-year-old athletes to shame. He’s still pretty ripped, and I can only hope to be in that kind of shape at his age.
A timer goes off, and Nathan stops, stepping away and seeing me for the first time. “How goes your warnings?” he asks, surprised when I don't answer. “What?”
“Did you?” I ask, surprised at how calm I say it, despite my anger. “Did you set the bomb?”
The timer goes off, and Nathan turns back to the bag. His first punch is a jab, but still, the hundred and fifty-pound bag jumps like it's just been shot, only to be followed up almost immediately by a thunderous right hand that shakes the beam the bag is attached to. The foot-thick wooden beam groans and I see dust shake down around him as Nathan continues with his assault on the bag, driving fists, elbows, knees and his bare feet into the leather sides. When the timer goes off again, he looks surprised that I'm still standing there watching him.
“I'm going to repeat myself, Nathan. Did you set the bomb that blew up the Grammercys’ car? No matter how much you want to try and scare the shit outta me by beating up the bag, I'm going to get an answer.”
“You sure about that?” Nathan asks. The timer goes off again, but he ignores it, still looking at me. “You think you can beat an answer out of me?”
“I'll do what I have to, succeed or not. I thought you were a better man than that. Why'd you lie, Nathan, when I asked you about the bomb before?”
“I didn't lie,” Nathan says, stripping off his gloves. “What I said was that I didn't kill Katrina's parents.”
“Considering her father's alive and running a bar in Miami, no shit. Now, are you going to tell me what really happened?”
Nathan goes over to the locker that contains the boxing equipment and pulls out one set of sparring gloves. “Let's see if you really are ready for the answer. You survive two rounds, and I'll tell you a bedtime story.”
“What are the rules?” I ask, catching the gloves as he tosses them to me.
“Boxing. I don't want to actually hurt you, Jackson. But you'll have to earn the truth if you want it. Coming in here and demanding things from me doesn't show me that you're ready for the truth. So I will test your resolve.”
We walk over to the matted area, which is about the closest thing we have to a ring without throwing down outside on the grass. Nathan sets the timer, then pulls his gloves on. “On the bell.”
“No mouthpieces?” I ask. Nathan shrugs, and I get his point. I don't even have one here in the gym, and i
t doesn't matter anyway. If something gets knocked out, I'll go to the dentist.
The electronic bell goes off, and I come out. I've got size on him, at least twenty pounds, and I'm an inch taller, but I'm taking nothing for granted. He might not want to hurt me, he might be tired and sweaty, but he's not an idiot. In fact, he's perhaps the deadliest man I know.
I lose track of what's happening after his first combination comes whipping toward my head. All I know is that he's a whirlwind, fists coming through every gap in whatever defense I set up. I keep my hands high, protecting my head, hoping that all the crunches and other stomach training I do can keep me from getting put down with a liver shot.
Nathan does notice, and I'm eating punch after punch to my stomach and sides, and I run, dancing and shucking and jiving as best I can. I had decent moves in my last fight, easily avoiding the guy I fought then, some football player from Tulane who thought he was a little tougher than he actually was.
But Nathan's no college football player with more balls than brains. He's trained, he's a professional, and as the bell beeps to signal the end of the first round, I'm already staggering as I head back to the corner.
“You can't take an ass whipping like that again,” Nathan says, barely breathing hard while I kneel in my corner. “Give up.”
“Not until you tell me what you did to the Grammercys.” I get to my feet, my stomach on fire and my legs shaking. “Come on, I won't just be a punching bag this round.”
Nathan's eyes gleam with something that I think is either respect or perhaps pity, or maybe he just thinks I'm out of my fucking gourd. The bell rings and I step out, flicking a jab. It's not much, but I hope it's enough to keep him from just steamrolling me again.
No such luck. In a sweet little move, he switches his stance, his right hand becoming his lead and catching me over my punch, his fist crashing into my jaw. I feel something work loose, and the coppery tang of blood fills my mouth. I stagger back, trying to duck away, covering up. The world is spinning, and suddenly I hit the mat, knocked down.
Alpha's Baby: A Secret Baby Romance Page 34