She had always blamed her grandmother for the entire fiasco.
"Thank you, Mr. Willoughby. Please, don't forget to have Judith fax the contract."
"She's already pulled it. If you need anything else, please don't hesitate to call me."
With that, Mr. Willoughby disconnected the call, and silence descended throughout the office as Brianna wrapped her head around the information.
Brianna eyed the woman she had once thought of as an ally. To discover that had never changed warmed her heart. At least one family member cared about her, and she should have trusted her grandmother. "You really didn't know?"
"No."
God, why hadn't she confronted her grandmother years ago? All of this could have been settled back then.
"How did this happen?"
A deep sigh followed her question, and her grandmother finally met Brianna's gaze. "Because I trusted your father."
She almost blurted, 'and I trusted you,' but bit the inside of her cheek to keep the words from forming. Another thought slammed into her, one she needed to know. "Do you still trust Father?"
"Oh, that trust was broken years ago. This is just another in a long line of his bad decisions."
Shell-shocked, Brianna licked her suddenly dry lips. "Why did you even need a contract? I would have played the role of Briony until Mother was well."
Grandmother rubbed her temple. "Your father convinced me you were leaving come hell or high water. And I understood, truly I did. Briony had been gone for over a month. The private investigator was getting nowhere with tracking her—"
"He must not have leaned on Christopher because that was who she snuck out to meet."
"He talked to Christopher and Briony's drug dealer after getting the name from Christopher. But your mother was getting worse…" Grandmother lifted her hands. "I had planned for only a year and to release you. By then, either Briony would have been found, or Bianca would have been stable enough to handle the disappearance."
"Yet, father had other plans."
Grandmother frowned. "It seems so. He's always been very protective of Bianca, but this is beyond the pale."
"I just don't get why you didn't trust me—"
Grandmother held up a hand, effectively shutting Brianna down. "You need to think back to that time, Brianna. You were ready to flee. The second you graduated, you would be gone. Off to California to attend college and after the heartache, your parents put you through, I couldn't trust that you wouldn't get fed up and leave in the middle of your mother's recovery. The only things you cared about were the Donaldson farm, Callie, and leaving that house." Grandmother shook her head. "No, I couldn't trust you."
Brianna spun through all the revelations dumped in her lap today; she had more questions than answers.
Why had the accounts been frozen? Why had her grandmother never pushed about Brianna continuing to play Briony? Why had her grandmother seemed to wash her hands of Brianna after Briony was gone?
Her stomach churned more with each question that cropped up and her fumbling with which one to ask next. "Why did Mother try to kill me? Did she hate me that much?"
That wasn't at all what she meant to ask, but something inside her cried out for an answer.
Her parents had always been socialites, craving the limelight. Brianna preferred the company of animals or herself, as opposed to others, Callie being the lone exception.
Briony had been similar to her parents, but with a mean streak a mile wide when crossed. The meanness had only gotten worse when Christopher had introduced Briony to drugs, cocaine being their preferred choice. Still, other drugs filled the gap if they ran out of their top product.
Narcotics were the primary reason she hadn't thought Briony run off. Brianna imagined her sister in a drug den somewhere, and after finally hitting so low, their father had cut all ties.
Their mother was different. She would have given Briony anything and had given her more than even Brianna's father probably knew about.
"Make no mistake; your mother cares for you. She just lost her way." Grandmother rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I think that's why she snapped. She wanted you two for so long when she had you, she threw everything she had into you."
"You mean Briony."
"No, when you were babies, she cuddled you both equally. But even back then, you both were very different. Briony loathed being put down, whereas you were happy to be in the playpen, bassinet, or by yourself. Briony liked to kick and wiggle too much. I was always worried I would drop her, so I held you the most whenever I visited."
"I never knew." When did that change? When did Mother begin to focus wholly on Briony? Brianna wanted to ask but doubted her grandmother would have those answers since the woman hadn't lived with them and only visited a few times a month. Her father might, and the next time she saw him, she would ask.
Her grandmother waved a hand between them. "It's in the past. Now, we need to find out how to break this contract, so you can move on with your life."
"Oh, that's easy. I need to pay off the loan—"
"Loan?" Grandmother frowned. "For an entertainment contract to be valid, the entertainer must be paid. Therefore there shouldn't be a loan."
Huh, wonder if good old Dad knew that when he changed out my deal? "Does that invalidate the contract?"
"I think the fact that you and I signed two different contracts invalidates the agreement. But I won't feel better about any of it until I talk with those entertainment lawyers."
That made sense because Grandmother's contract was a lot fairer than the one Father had crafted. And Brianna didn't have a loan at all. However, she also didn't have two other farms attached to the Donaldson farm. Firming her resolve, she tapped the edge of the folder with her fingers. "I still want to pay the loan off. I don't want to be indebted to Father for anything, and I don't want to feel as if he had a hand in my animal sanctuary."
Call her prideful or plain stubborn, but no matter what her grandmother said, Brianna was not close to her parents. And she wanted nothing from them.
"Consider it done." Grandmother lifted the phone from its cradle.
"You can't help me." If there was any doubt her grandmother had known about the contract, this settled it.
"What do you mean? I have the money, I just need—"
"No, I'm not allowed to accept any money from you or Father in order to pay the loan off." No way would Brianna take a dime from her grandmother just in case the contract ended up being valid. She would lose the Donaldson farm, plus the two adjacent farms as well as any animals currently sheltered there since her father would have them carted away the second he came into possession of the sanctuary.
Grandmother slowly lowered the phone back to the cradle. "What do you mean?"
"Father said that after the whole fiasco with Briony, you wanted to make sure it wasn't repeated. I never understood what 'it' was because every time I asked, he would go into some explanation about Briony's drug habit, then her using the company plane, then money, and so on. I gave up on getting to the bottom of it since it didn't help in digging me out of the contract." She sighed. "So, the long and short of it is I am responsible for the loan. And back then, I couldn't get a loan to save my life. I didn't know about the frozen accounts…" she trailed off with a shrug.
"Christ." What little color remained in grandmother's cheeks disappeared.
What are we supposed to do now? It was all Brianna could do to keep from shouting the question. The only reason she remained silent was the low snarl her grandmother released. That sound signaled danger, and Brianna could hardly wait to watch her grandmother eviscerate any who kept them from ending this farce of a contract.
"I had to freeze the accounts, thanks to your father's ineptitude in reining in Briony."
"What?"
"Oh yes, he'd been dipping into the company coffers for over a year before I found out." Her grandmother sighed. "If Briony hadn't used the corporate plane for her jaunt to Las Vegas, I'd still be in the d
ark."
"Holy shit," Brianna whispered. "How? I thought she rented a plane."
"No, she used the company plane and left three executives stranded. They rented a plane, and I received an irate phone call from the chief financial officer about company expenses during their trip. I left a strongly worded message to the pilot since none of us had any idea what was going on. Imagine my surprise when Steve, our company pilot, told me my granddaughter had threatened not only his job but his reputation as well if he didn't fly them."
"Reputation?"
"Yes, she told him she would claim he molested her."
"Bullshit." Brianna would never believe Steven would do anything with Briony. He adored his wife, anyone with eyes could see how much he doted on her. He wouldn't look twice at another woman, let alone a teenager. Especially since he had two teenage girls of his own and would kill anyone who threatened them. "Briony might have the police believing her when they landed, but the second you caught wind of it, you would have come to his defense."
Her sister was a conniving bitch who would stop at nothing to get her way. Even screw up a good man's reputation.
"Exactly. But he was worried I would believe her lies. It wasn't until he was flying that he finally calmed down and called me the second he landed. Because of that incident, I began to look at the day-to-day operations. I noticed your father rarely came into the office. And our vendors and contracts were slowly dwindling."
"I didn't know."
"I never thought you did, hon. You were all of eighteen and still in high school." Grandmother tapped her finger absently on the file. "So, if we can't get you out by me loaning you the money … "
"Derrick and Callie will help me." Brianna knew Callie was salivating at yanking Brianna out of that contract.
"May I ask, why now? Why are you just now deciding to shove this off of you?"
Brianna blushed.
"Oh, you've met someone." Her grandmother smiled slyly.
Having not interacted with her grandmother in years, Brianna had forgotten how perceptive the woman could be. It was what had pushed her to the top in business. Especially, business in the Southern Boys' Club.
Shifting, Brianna tried to bluster through. "Why would you think that?"
"You're blushing and answering a question with a question." Her grandmother leaned forward, the smile growing as it crinkled her eyes and cheeks. "Who is it?"
She had to lie so often as Briony that she had become brutally honest as Brianna. Meeting her grandmother's gaze head-on, she returned the smile. "He's the sheriff's deputy, and I want to tell him everything, but with the non-disclosure agreement plus the contract … It's complicated."
"NDA? There wasn't any NDA attached to…" Grandmother huffed and slammed her glasses on her nose. "Okay, I want us to go through every blasted inch of this contract. When I know where we stand, we'll get Willoughby's help."
It was like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Brianna hadn't been able to afford the entertainment firm's steep fees after pouring every bit of her profits back into the Sanctuary and the loan, so she'd done what she had to do within the confines of the contract.
But now, with her grandmother's vast resources on her side and Callie and Derrick willing to help any way they could, Brianna could all but taste freedom.
She stepped next to her grandmother, and they began wading into the shackles that bound Brianna to Briony.
Chapter Three
Mondays were usually quiet as the sheriff's department recovered from the various weekend calls. Which Jackson needed after walking down memory lane Saturday. Nightmares, he had thought buried long ago, plagued him. They morphed between his parents shooting Rafe's father to them, shooting Brianna. Jackson had woken in a cold sweat when Brianna had fallen into a grave with Briony's name on the marker. With his heart thumping faster than a racehorse's hooves, Jackson had left his bed at midnight and roamed his house. Pacing until he could finally come into work without anyone asking a boatload of questions.
He might not like Brianna duping her parents with her act, but something in her tormented gaze called to him as if she needed to be rescued.
Jackson waved at Mildred as he pushed past the swinging half door that separated the front of the station house with the bullpen. Mildred's counter that looked more like a long bar top worked well as a barrier between the public and the private areas while still having a welcoming feel Jackson had come to associate with the deep south.
No beeping metal detectors greeted him at the door. No six-digit code or keycard swipe was needed to move between various public spaces to private offices. And the only major security hurdle was the metal detectors at the main entrances manned by a few guards at each station.
The bullpen consisted of four desks, Jackson and the other deputies shared, and ancient computer screens that crouched on each of the dinged-up wooden desks while file cabinets, printers, and a fax machine lined the walls.
Past the bullpen and down the hallway was the sheriff's office, two interview rooms, a break room so small there wasn't even room for a table and a conference room. At the end of the hallway was the back entrance where they brought in their arrests.
The booking area and drunk tank took up the entire right side with another counter that was operated twenty-four seven to the left.
It was vastly different from Chicago, and for that, he was glad. He missed his old precinct sometimes, including the adrenaline rush of a major take-down and the bustling activity on a Friday or Saturday night. That made for some funny cop stories. Like when he and Chase answered a call at a seedy motel where most guests paid by the hour and ended up arresting a guy wearing tinfoil and only tinfoil. The poor schmuck claimed the full moon was when the aliens' powers were at their peak, and they were searching for him. Jackson had no idea why the aliens would want the guy since, based on his sheet, he had been in and out of mental asylums most of his life.
However, after two years, he had begun acclimating to the slower pace, and he loved how the locals would stop him to chat about what was going on, whether it was the little league game, a fishing story, or about how one of their kids was doing in college.
He ignored the ringing phones leaving them to Mildred to handle; her tone was brisk as she answered whatever question the caller was posing quickly and efficiently. After tossing the evidence bags, his satchel, and his cell phone on the desk, Jackson booted up the computer and then headed for the break room.
He needed coffee before he chucked his cell in the nearest toilet. His friend, Rafe, had been trying to reach him since last night. Jackson knew he wanted to check up on him after his visit to the Spencer mansion on Saturday, but he didn't have it in him to deal with Rafe just yet.
The coffeepot was already cleaned and full. Mildred had been busy this morning.
After he poured the brew into one of the mugs lining the shelf above, he dumped enough sugar and cream in to mask the taste. Mildred did her best to make the stuff drinkable, but no matter what she did, it still tasted like day-old swill. Not that she drank any of it. She was a hardcore ice-cold-sweet-tea-only woman, as she pointed out to anyone who asked. He grabbed a few napkins as he mentally sorted through what reports he needed to proof before sending them to the sheriff for his signature and what he needed to type up from Saturday's notification.
He absently blew on his coffee as he meandered back to his desk. Exhaustion beat at him like bongo player pounded on his drums, between his throbbing head and aching body Jackson should have called in, but then he would have been stuck in his house with only his memories to keep him company.
Just as he set his coffee down, his cell rang. Lifting it from the edge of his desk, he growled as he clicked Ignore.
Why won't Rafe take a hint?
Jackson wasn't ready to relive his past right now. He swung toward his desk and forced the memories back to the dark corner of his mind. He'd call Rafe when he finished his shift.
Signing his name at the bottom o
f the first form in the report, he dated it and placed it in the Briony Spencer case file. With that done, maybe he could finally stop thinking about Brianna.
He scrubbed a callused hand over his face, scraping the scruff that shadowed his jaw, and wished he could wipe the memory of her innocent blue eyes from his mind.
She was just his type with her full pink lips, long gold-tipped lashes, and shiny gold hair with a hint of curl that couldn't quite be tamed. And her voice, just the memory, caused his blood to heat. Soft and sultry. It brought to mind lazy summer evenings in bed with a breeze blowing across her glistening skin. Would she be golden everywhere? Or would there be clear tan lines he could explore?
"McCord, my office," Sheriff Brigston stated, the jangle of his keys and his heavy tread made Jackson jump.
Glad for the distraction his boss presented, Jackson locked his computer and shut off the screen in case any visitors came into the bullpen. No way would he get involved with a liar again, no matter what her reasons were.
Snatching up the evidence bags and the file, he trailed his boss into his office and shut the door. Jackson settled into one of the dark gray chairs across from the beat-to-hell desk.
Files, paperwork, and a chipped coffee mug that had 'Shelby County Sheriff's Department' stamped across it topped the old piece of furniture.
Sheriff Thomas Brigston was a bear of a man that easily matched Jackson in height and weight, though his boss had gone a bit soft around the middle. His wife's cooking probably attested to that.
"I'm surprised to see you here," Jackson said. "Shouldn't you be home with Shirley? She did just have surgery… you know, last week."
Brigston squinted at Jackson. "Don't be a smartass. I swear you get more like your dad every day."
"Ray's a good man, so I'll take that as a compliment," Jackson smirked.
The Twin Contract (The Contract Series Book 1) Page 4