I felt my lips twitch with the sudden urge to smile. "And how exactly did they start popping up?"
Jack shrugged. "I might've mailed a few copies."
"To who?" I asked.
"A few lawyers, a couple of law clerks, their janitorial service–"
"But wait, why them?"
"Because they clean the court house," he said. "And, they've got plenty of employees. The point was, I wanted the guy to panic."
I recalled what I'd read in that first news story. During the last couple of weeks, the judge had been accusing all kinds of people of being "out to get him."
Between his strange behavior and the photos popping up in random places, it didn't take long for officials to open an investigation. And when they did, they quickly found more than they anticipated, including several judgments, along with sizeable bank transactions, that didn't make much sense.
I looked to Jack. "So who was blackmailing him? And how did you even know this was happening?"
"It wasn't just blackmail," he said. "He was accepting bribes, too. The guy had a pretty good business going."
"But still, how did you know?"
"It wasn't hard to figure out," he said. "If you saw some of the rulings this guy made, you'd know something was off. Then you see who benefits, and there's your answer."
He made it sound oh-so simple. But I knew it wasn't. "And how did he even come to your attention?"
"Because I’m a curious guy. When I see things that don’t add up, I want to learn more." He gave me a look. "Funny, I know somebody else like that."
"You can't mean me."
"I can. And I do."
"But I'd never do anything like you did."
"Good," he said.
"Why is that good?"
"Because I don't want you anywhere near this."
"Oh, so it's good for you, but not for me?"
"Hell yeah."
I was almost offended. "Why?"
"Because for one thing, I'm better at it. And for another…" He leaned his forehead against mine. "You get in enough trouble already."
I wasn't even sure if he was joking. "Hey, can I ask you a serious question?"
"What?"
"This mission of yours, did it have anything to do with your dad?"
"Maybe."
"What do you mean, maybe?"
"It's complicated."
I had no doubt of that. "So you're not gonna tell me?"
"I will," he said. "But first, there's something I want to show you. And it's not here."
Chapter 76
Jack
Becka's mind was racing.
I could see it in the brightness of her eyes and the parting of her lips as she gazed out over the panoramic view. I wanted to pull her close and kiss her hard and heavy. But I'd been doing plenty of that already, and watching her reaction now felt nearly as satisfying.
Nearly, but not quite.
Still, we had plenty of time for that later. I smiled at the thought. If I had my way, we'd have years. No. Decades. A lifetime.
We were standing in my living room, gazing out through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my mountain-top home.
With laughter in her voice, she said, "So you call this a cabin, huh?"
"Hey, it's made of logs."
She snickered. "Yeah, but it's got like ten bedrooms."
"Oh yeah?" I teased. "How do you know?" It was a valid question. We'd been here for less than five minutes, and during that time, Becka had barely moved from the window.
She was smiling like a kid at Christmas. And I loved it.
She asked, "How many miles can you see?"
"On a clear day? Fifty-six."
She turned to face me. "Seriously? You know the exact number?"
I shrugged. "Hey, I'm not one to guess."
"I believe that," she said, turning once again toward the view. Outside the window, the fall colors were on full display in patches of orange and red in the trees below.
At this elevation, autumn came early, and spring came late. And, as far as winters, well, let's say it was a good thing I kept the place fully stocked for those times when the road became nearly impassable, even for me.
She said, "I bet this is great for entertaining."
"I wouldn't know."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I mean, you're only the second guest who's been here."
"Oh come on," she said. "You can't be serious."
"Wanna bet?"
She turned to study my face. After a long moment, she said, "Actually, no. I think I'll pass on that whole betting thing."
I smiled. "Smart girl."
"But only two people, huh? So who was the first? Imogen?"
I laughed. "Hell no."
"Really?" she said. "You dated her for a while, so I guess I just figured–"
"Sorry, but you figured wrong. You want the truth? You're the first girl I've brought here."
She beamed up at me. "Seriously? Why?"
The answer to that was easy. I reached out and took her hand in mine. "Because they weren't you."
She leaned forward and laughed against my shoulder. "Hah! I bet they just chickened out."
I knew what she meant. This place wasn't easy to get to. The private road leading up to the cabin was narrow and dangerous by design.
Unless the weather said otherwise, it wasn't dangerous to me. Over the years, I'd driven it hundreds of times. By now, I knew it like the back of my hand. But to someone else? The road was a good deterrent.
And if that didn't do the trick, I had hidden steel shutters, solid iron doors, and the best security system money could buy – plus a few other tricks here and there.
The place was virtually impenetrable, even if the log construction might suggest otherwise.
Becka pulled back and said, "So if I'm only the second person to visit, who was the first?"
"You wanna guess?"
She paused. "Flynn?"
I smiled. "See?"
"So, why all the seclusion?" she said. "Is it so you can write in peace?"
"It doesn't hurt," I said. "But no. That's not the reason."
"So….is it to avoid the media?"
It wasn't the primary reason, but it was a nice bonus, especially now.
The story of my real identity was still front-page news. Yesterday, we'd left Romania to a swarm of reporters, thanks to Imogen telling the whole world exactly where I was – and who I was with.
The Trollop.
Aka the girl of my dreams.
Becka.
In reply to her guess about the media, I said, "Nope. You wanna try again?"
"Actually," she said, "I'm out of guesses. You should probably tell me."
"All right," I said. "The truth is, the place wasn't paid for. And I don't mean with money."
Chapter 77
Becka
It wasn't paid for?
As I stared up at him, I tried to figure out what he meant. This wasn't as easy as it should've been.
We'd left Romania late last night and had spent most of the hours since then in the air. Oh sure, I'd slept a little on the plane, but not nearly enough.
Our first destination had been Michigan, where we dropped off Anna and Flynn before refueling and flying straight out to Montana, where Jack had a rugged SUV waiting in the airplane hangar.
The drive from the small, private airport had taken nearly an hour, and the last thirty minutes of that drive had been truly terrifying with steep drop-offs, single-lane roads, and unexpected curves in the strangest places.
But then, when we reached the top, it was all worth it. The first thing I'd seen was a small cabin nestled among trees within view of a nearby cliff. And the second thing? It was the largest, most elaborate log cabin I'd ever seen.
In fact, to call it a cabin was a massive understatement.
From the outside, it was absolutely stunning. And from the inside, it was even more impressive, with lofty ceilings, massive windows, and a s
urprising amount of warmth, given the size of the place.
But it was the view from the main living area that took my breath away. I swear, I could've stood at the window for hours, if not for the fact that Jack had just piqued my curiosity.
He'd just said something about the place not being paid for. But not with money? What did he mean?
I asked, "So if you don't owe money, what would you owe?"
"Deeds."
"You mean like property deeds?"
"No. The other kind."
I shook my head. "Like…good deeds?"
"Or bad deeds," he said. "Depending on how you look at things."
I tried to laugh. "Now I'm really confused."
"Lemme back up," he said. "This mountain – I own it."
"Seriously? The whole thing?"
He frowned. "Oh yeah."
I studied his face. "But isn't that a good thing? I mean, your books did really well, so it's not like you didn't earn it, right?"
Jake gave me a serious look, but said nothing.
As the silence stretched out between us, I suddenly realized what he was getting at. "Oh." I winced. "Unless you bought it before your books took off?"
He nodded. "Good guess."
"So I'm right? But that must've cost a fortune."
"It did."
"So…whose money did you use?"
He grimaced. "I think you know."
"Your dad's?"
"Right." As I listened, Jack went on to explain that when he left home as a teenager, he'd had access to one of his dad's many off-shore accounts. He'd drained it dry and then used the money to buy his own private mountain through a private trust.
I stared in shock. "Why a mountain?"
"I wanted to be alone." He gave a low scoff. "And I was a dumb-ass."
"Why? Don’t you like it here?"
"I love it. But I don’t like how I got it."
"You mean, because you took money that didn't belong to you?"
"No. Because I took money that didn't belong to him."
"You mean your dad?" When Jack nodded, I asked, "So who did it belong to?"
With a tight shrug, Jack replied, "Hell if I know."
"So what are you saying? He stole the money?"
"I'm saying that however he got it, it was earned off the misery of others." Jack's jaw clenched. "That fucker's hand was in everything."
I recalled everything I'd read. Jack's dad sounded more like a mob boss than anything else. But of course, if the stories were true, he practically was.
To Jack, I said, "But if it bothers you so much, why don't you just pay it back? I mean, you have the money, right?"
"And who would I pay?"
I tried to think. "Actually, I don't know."
"Yeah. And neither do I," he said. "That's the point."
At last, I understood what he meant. "Well, you could always just donate the same amount to charity or something."
"I could. And I did." He shrugged. "I still do."
"See?" I tried for a smile. "Then your account's settled, right?"
"It is now."
"How so?"
"The book tour," he said. "That was my payback."
And with those words, everything finally clicked into place. "So you were righting wrongs? As what? Some sort of penance?"
"Something like that."
"How many wrongs?" I asked.
"As many as I could. I had sixty people on my list. But some nights – hell more nights than not – I came up empty."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, there was nothing to find. Like maybe the person wasn't as crooked as they looked. Or maybe they did a better job of covering their tracks. Or maybe they kept their stuff somewhere off-site. You never know 'til you get there."
I was staring now. "So on that book tour, you went out sixty times? Really?"
"More if I count repeat visits."
I was beyond stunned and just a little horrified. Sure, I'd known that he'd been slipping out, but I hadn't realized the full extent of it until now. "So you were doing this like what, three times a week?"
"Give or take."
By now, I hardly knew what to say.
At something in my expression, Jack said, "Hey, you noticed more than you missed."
"This isn't about me," I said. "It's about you. That was really dangerous. And for what? To pay some imaginary debt?"
"It wasn't imaginary to me."
"But—"
"But nothing," he said. "I made a promise. And I had to keep it."
"A promise to who?"
"Myself."
"But that doesn't count."
"It always counts."
"So the book tour was what? Just a cover story?"
"Pretty much."
"Speaking of books," I said, "how'd you get mine back from Darbie? You never did tell me."
He shrugged. "Eh, it wasn't hard."
"I don't believe that for one minute," I said. "And here's another question. Why didn't you return it to me right away? You know, on the night I saw you in the lobby?"
"Because I didn't have it."
"The book?" I said. "You did, too. I saw you carrying it, remember?"
Jack shook his head. "No. You saw me with the other one."
"Ohhhhh. You mean the replacement book? The one that wasn't signed? That's the one you were carrying?"
I smiled as I recalled the look on Darbie's face when she pulled that book from her suitcase, only to discover that Jack's signature was missing.
Disappearing ink? I gave a silent scoff. More like disappearing book.
Corny or not, it still made me smile.
Jack said, "That's the one."
"So why were you carrying it around?"
"That night?" he said. "Because I'd just picked it up."
"From where?"
"A used book store in Cleveland."
My jaw practically hit the floor. "Oh come on. You don't mean you flew to Cleveland to pick it up, do you?"
"Well, I didn’t walk to Cleveland. I can tell you that." With a grin, he added, "What's the use of having a private jet if you don't use it?"
I could hardly believe it. "But why'd you go so far?"
"It wasn't that far," he said. "And, it was the closest place that had a matching book. Same creases, same cover, same print date. You know the drill."
Actually, I didn't. But I was still blown away. "And you're just mentioning this?"
He put on his innocent face. "Is that a problem?"
"Definitely," I said. "I should've thanked you."
"You did."
"But not enough," I said. "And not for that." And now I couldn’t help but recall with embarrassment that I'd given Jack a pretty hard time about that very same book. "I'm surprised you didn't hate me."
He grinned. "Yeah. Me, too." But then, his gaze softened. "Trouble-maker."
I couldn't help but grin back. "You're one to talk. And you never did say. How'd you switch them out?"
"The books? It wasn't hard," he said yet again. "I just needed access to her suitcase, that's all."
I made a scoffing sound. "That's all?"
"Don't worry," he said. "She wasn't there. And with those locks? Hell, a kid could've done it."
"I seriously doubt that."
"Wanna bet?" he said. "Me? I could crack a safe by the time I was ten."
"You're joking."
"No joke," he said. "I learned all kinds of skills."
"From who?" I asked.
"My dad's associates."
I tried to laugh. "You mean criminals?"
"Hey, I was curious kid."
He made everything sound oh-so easy. But I knew it wasn't. It couldn't be.
Regardless, I was beyond relieved when he assured me that with the completion of the book tour and its related side missions, he considered his account paid in full.
Afterward, he gave me a tour of both cabins – the larger one and the smaller one that he'd built years earlier. I
loved them both. But mostly I loved the guy who'd made it all happen – back then and now.
In the end, we decided to stay on the mountain for a full month, soaking up the fall colors and precious time alone, free from prying eyes and media speculation.
I felt like I was living a dream.
And it wasn't over, not even close.
Chapter 78
Becka
During our month alone on the mountain, Jack was the same amazing guy I'd come to love during the book tour, except now, there were no more secrets between us.
No more late-night excursions.
No more dodging my questions.
No more mixed messages and things that didn't add up.
During this time, I even learned more about the scars on his legs. The story was actually pretty funny – and horrifying at the same time.
He'd been only twelve years old.
And he'd fallen through a window, all right – except he'd fallen into the house, not out, while he'd been breaking into his dad's mansion through a second story window.
"But why'd you do it?" I asked. "Were you locked out or something?"
"Hell no," he said. "By that age? I was never locked out."
"Why not?"
"Because I could pick a lock in under ten seconds." He made a sound of derision. "And forget the alarm system. That was child's play." He grinned. "Literally."
I had to laugh. "But still," I persisted, "that doesn't tell me what you were doing on some second-floor ledge."
He shrugged. "Practice."
"For what?"
"For whatever. I mean, it's good to keep up your skills, right?"
Like so many other times, I didn't know whether to laugh or scream. So instead, I let him pull me into his arms and make me scream and laugh in different ways.
And I loved every minute.
There was only one problem. I missed my sister like crazy. Oh sure, I talked to her all the time, and I'd just seen her in Romania, but that didn't change the fact that things were so much simpler when she and I lived in the same town.
Would I return?
I wanted to.
And I wanted to stay with Jack.
On the upside, Anna's wedding was just a few months away, and Jack and I were planning a nice long visit to help with the plans.
Plus Jack was scheduled to deliver that college lecture he'd promised Professor Greenberg way back in the beginning of summer.
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