Shameless

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “I need you to leave.”

  “I’m not going to leave. I need to touch you again, Faith. I need to kiss you.”

  “You will never touch me again. Leave or I’ll call the police.”

  “Nothing your uncle told you about me is the truth.”

  “Nathan Marks isn’t your father?”

  “He is, but it’s complicated. I’ll explain everything. Let me come in.”

  “No. You’re still you. You still affect me and that just makes me angry. I am not as stupid as you made me. And I’m not ever going to be stupid again. Leave, Nick.” She shuts the door.

  I press my hands to the door frame, and lower my chin. “Damn it.” I sit down next to the door. Eventually she will figure out that I’m not leaving.

  Fifteen minutes later, it’s clear that she gets that point when a police car pulls into the driveway.

  I stand up and walk to meet the officer, and after some smooth talking, I get in my car and drive to my rental house down the road. I don’t dry off. I walk in the door, skip the lights, and head to the huge brown leather chair in the living room, where I sit down to think through what comes next.

  Because I’m still not leaving. Because I have to touch her again. I have to hold her close to me in our bed. I have to put that ring on her finger and call her my wife. And I want to watch her paint every day for the rest of my life. I need to think. I can figure this out. I know I can figure this out.

  Time ticks by: seconds, minutes, an hour. I’ve been in this damn chair an hour with no good plan when my cellphone rings. Hoping like hell it’s Faith, I yank it from my soaking wet pocket to find Abel’s number. “The autopsy report,” he says immediately.

  I sit up straight. “Tell me.”

  “It’s not logged yet, but my insider says it’s being sent to the DA. It wouldn’t be sent to the DA if they didn’t come to the same conclusion we did.”

  “My father was murdered. I need to call Beck.”

  I end the connection and knowing I can’t get close to Faith right now, I auto-dial Beck, with one thing in mind. Making sure Faith is not next.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Faith

  I wake Saturday morning with the same thought I fell asleep thinking, and the same thing I’m thinking now standing at the kitchen island: I can’t believe I called the police on Nick. Just seeing him made me weak in the knees, and he stood in the rain for me. I wanted to believe that meant we had something real, but he lied to me. Over and over, he lied to me. That is not the kind of “real” I want in my life. But Lord help me, I wanted to open the door and feel him, taste him one last time.

  The sound of rain pattering on the windows sends a chill down my spine as I walk to the bedroom to pull a V-neck black sweater over my black tank that I’m wearing with black jeans. Apparently, I’m back in funeral mode. The doorbell rings and I race down the hallway and inhale on a rush of nerves before reaching for the door. I open it to find Bill standing there in khakis and a button down, a jacket over the top that has rain droplets all over it.

  “Come in,” I say, backing up, but he shrugs out of his jacket and leaves it on the porch rail.

  He joins me inside and I motion toward the kitchen, hurrying that way. He shuts the door and follows, his footsteps heavy behind me. I round the island and he claims the spot across from me, and his tall frame and broad shoulders, paired with his blue eyes, which are so like my father’s that it hurts my already broken heart.

  “Coffee?”

  “I’d love some, but you stay where you are. I can see your supplies here. I’ll mix me up a cup.” He rounds the island and I have this odd sense of claustrophobia, but maybe it’s not odd. I have spent a lot of years distrusting him, hating him. That won’t go away overnight.

  It’s not long and we are sitting on stools across from each other. “What have you done about Nick?”

  “I left him.”

  “What about the winery?”

  “It’s mine,” I say. “It’s handled.” But as I assure him of this, I realize I’ve not thought about this at all myself. Nick doesn’t own the winery, but maybe he just did that to seem honorable and planned to convince me to sell?

  “Really?” Bill says, pulling me back into the moment. “It was that easy?”

  “Yes. It’s handled.”

  “Well, I don’t know how you managed that, but I’m damn glad. I’m concerned about his connections on this mercury though. I have some people looking into it.” He gives me a level stare. “It’s okay to want to focus on your art and just sell. You know that, right?”

  “I don’t want to sell,” I say, making that decision as I speak the words. This place is stability for me. I need it, but what I say to him is also true. “I will protect this place, just like my father wanted to protect it. And I have a good team. I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure? Because I could buy it and protect it for you. And heck, I’ll do some improvements and get a tax write off.”

  He says it so lightheartedly that it feels innocent, but I don’t know. He does like money and he too might find a hundred million dollars appealing. “I’m not selling. More now than ever, I know that’s the right decision.” A thought hits me. “You know, you sent me that Vegas photo with a note.”

  “I just wanted you to know that yes, your father did some things with, and for, your mother that went against his grain, but he loved her deeply. And she loved him, too. She just had issues. And as much as I hated to see him hurt, I often thought that few people love like he loved.” He knocks on the counter. “I forgot a meeting I have this morning, but I wanted to see you. I am going to leave you to enjoy your Saturday on your own. If you need me, I’m here. I’ll show myself out.” I stare at his spot for several moments, remembering a conversation with my father. It had been just him and me at the kitchen table:

  “I want to go to Vegas for my twenty-first birthday and I want you to come,” I’d said.

  “Honey, I hate that place. I went once when I was twenty-five and bad stuff we won’t talk about happened. It’s bad luck. I won’t go back. Ever.”

  “But Mom loves Vegas.”

  “Yeah,” he’d said tightly. “I know.”

  He’d gotten up and given me his back as he walked to the sink.

  I grab my cellphone and tab through the photos Bill sent me and there is only one of my mother and my father, and that’s the Vegas shot. I study it now, and I can’t be sure that’s my father and not Bill. Did Bill send me a photo of him and my mother, cheating on my father, as a way to lure me into meeting him?

  Nick’s words come back to me: Nothing your uncle told you about me is the truth. Was Nick telling the truth? I shut my eyes in frustration. He’s Nathan Mark’s son. That is the absolute truth and Bill told me that truth. I shove a hand through my hair. “Stop, Faith. Stop looking for a reason to forgive Nick.” No matter what, I add silently, I remind myself that Nick lied to me. I know he knew that his father was my enemy. So the bottom line is that Nick feels right and good while Bill still feels bad and even a little scary. But Nick is the one whose carved out my heart.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Faith

  Nick haunts me the rest of the day.

  I can’t get him out of my head, but I try. I spend most of the day packing up the house even though there really isn’t much of what I pack that I want to take with me. I don’t go to my studio, but once I’ve thrown on dressy jeans and a sweater for dinner with Kasey, I am ready early. I walk upstairs and stand in my studio. And I see Nick everywhere. I painted him here. I got naked with him here. I fought with him here. God, I love him. This is gutting me. I need to understand. Maybe then I can move on.

  I sit down against the wall and unblock Nick’s number on my phone. I sit there, trying to decide if I really want to do this, and the answer is yes. I’m ready now to do this. I dial Nick. “Faith. Sweetheart.”

  I love his deep, rich voice and I love when he calls me sweetheart. “I need to understand
.”

  “Let me to come to you.”

  “No. Because when you touch me I forget everything else and don’t tell me that’s a good thing. It’s not. Not right now.”

  “I need you to look into my eyes and see the truth.”

  “Please just tell me.”

  “My father was giving your mother large sums of money. It made no sense. And then he was dead, and he’d never had a heart problem in his life. It didn’t add up. I thought your mother killed my father, but then she was dead of the same cause.”

  “Oh God. You thought I did it and yet you fucked me?”

  “I knew you didn’t do it as soon as I met you.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes. I felt it. I didn’t want to admit it at first, but I know now that I felt it from the beginning.”

  “You thought I was a killer,” I press, still stunned by this news.

  “For a hiccup of a moment, Faith. But no more lies. I didn’t come to you with good intentions and I damn sure didn’t come to you planning to fall in love. But I did. I love you, Faith Winter. So fucking much. Which is why I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Lies are not love,” I say, unable to even try and mask the anger and pain in those words.

  “If there was a murderer on the loose, I was afraid they’d turn to you. I needed you close. I needed to keep you safe. I knew you’d react like you did this week. I know you. And I don’t blame you, but, Faith…I had an autopsy done on my father.”

  “And?”

  “It’s being referred to the DA.”

  “He was murdered.”

  “Yes. Which means so was your mother.”

  “I don’t know how to digest that fact. My mother was murdered.”

  “I know. I feel the same way about my father. I wasn’t close to him, but nobody was supposed to take down that bastard but me. And full disclosure. Beck has men watching you. To protect you.”

  “I’m suddenly comforted by that news. You should have told me. I would have been angry but I would have understood. Finding out how I found out was pretty horrible. It cut me.”

  “I know. I don’t know if I’d do it differently though, Faith. Protecting you was everything in my decisions.”

  “The mercury?”

  “I knew nothing about that until you said something about it. And Beck thinks there’s a connection to a man I saw with a flag tattoo that afternoon we went to lunch.”

  “Flag? There was a flag on the money clip I found.”

  “Yes. We believe that was his.”

  “Which means he was at my house.” I don’t give him time to reply. “Who is he? What is he?”

  “Jess Wild is his name and he’s ex-CIA.”

  Alarms go off in my head. “Bill said he hired someone that was ex-CIA to help him with the men who wanted to buy the winery for the mercury. He came here today. He tried to buy the winery.”

  “As I predicted, he would.”

  “Do you think he wants to sell it for the mercury?”

  “Yes. I do. And sweetheart, he would have a strong claim to inherit if you were dead.”

  I shiver. “He gave me the creeps today. Are you sure Beck has someone watching me?”

  “Yes. He does. And Faith, before we move on. I can prove everything I’m telling you.”

  “I don’t need proof. I should have listened sooner, but you hurt me. You hurt me so badly. There was the club thing and people around me are never what they seem to be. You know this. I thought my heart was going to explode with the idea that you were one of those people.”

  “I know I hurt you, but if you give me the chance I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Let me come over.”

  The doorbell rings. “Oh God. I’m having dinner with Kasey. He was supposed to call first. I can’t cancel. Or maybe I can. No. We were just supposed to bond. I wanted to see how the winery is doing. But I feel nervous now.”

  “Talk him into ordering in. I’ll come over the minute he leaves.”

  “Yes. Come over.”

  The doorbell rings again. “I’ll text you when I head back here or when he’s gone if we stay in.”

  “Don’t have dessert.”

  His voice is raspy and affected. It affects me. “No dessert,” I promise and hang up.

  For a moment I stand there, and I can breathe again. The doorbell rings a third time and I hurry across the room and downstairs. I reach the door and peek out of the window. Sure enough, it’s Kasey. I open the door and motion him inside. “I thought you were going to call?”

  “My cell went dead and I didn’t have a charger on me. Are you hungry?”

  “I am. Where do you want to go?”

  “Freda’s?”

  “Oh yes. I love that place. What do you think about ordering in so we have more time to talk?”

  “That sounds good.”

  We head to the kitchen and I find Freda’s number. Once our order is placed, Kasey comments on the décor. “I love the place. And don’t you have an amazing studio here? I’d love to see it. I watched you grow up. This stuff makes me proud.”

  “Of course. Come on.” I motion him forward and we head up the stairs.

  Nick

  I am the luckiest fucking man on the planet. I hang up from Faith, relieved, and relieved. I’m so damn relieved, and considering I’d been jogging when she called, trying to calm my fucking mind, I head to the shower. I make it fast and dress in the closest pair of jeans I can find and t-shirt from the Art Forum. I open the nightstand drawer and pull out the velvet box there, opening it to display the ring: Classic, round, elegant and one of a kind, just like Faith. The important item, the ring, goes in my pocket. I’m proposing now, tonight.

  I’ve just pulled on my boots when Beck calls. “Listen and listen carefully. I just pulled my man off Faith’s house. I had no option. Jess Wild is in play. He’s a bad dude and while my men are good, they don’t have his skill or nastiness. I can’t risk one of them without the other, with this guy. But he’s the dangerous one. We have him in our sights. Faith will be fine.”

  “Jess Wild, meaning, the ex-CIA flag guy?”

  “Yes.”

  I’m already walking toward my car. “Tell me what the hell you’ve been working on.”

  “My CIA pal connected us to the right people. Turns out the agency has had eyes on Jess and Bill for a while now but Jess went off radar several months ago. Jess disappeared after you saw him that day again but we have eyes on him tonight and they want us to detain him.”

  “Fuck me,” I say, climbing into my car and starting the engine. “I don’t like how this sounds. I’m going to Faith’s house just to be safe.”

  “And just so you know, there’s another player.”

  “Who?”

  “The guy who runs the winery. Kasey. But there is reason to believe he’s being blackmailed.”

  “Holy fuck he’s at Faith’s house.” I back out the drive, and disconnect Beck, dialing Faith. She doesn’t answer. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I dial again. And again.

  I round the corner and there are flames coming from the direction of Faith’s house. Everything goes into slow motion from there. I call 911 and the minute I turn onto Faith’s long drive, it’s clear the house is engulfed. I end the call and gun my engine, screeching to a halt in front of her house, and out of the door the minute I’m in park. I launch myself forward and up the stairs but I can’t get the door to open. I try the code. Still nothing. It’s jammed. Wasting no more time, I kick the window over and over, until it cracks. I yank the pieces away, my hands bleeding but I don’t care. I enter the house and holy hell the entire downstairs is on fire. “Faith!” I shout. “Faith!”

  “Nick! Nick, help! I’m upstairs.”

  I jump flames left, right, left, covering my mouth as I reach the stairwell that is all but consumed by flames. “Go to the window!” I shout.

  “It doesn’t open!”

  This is not good news and I study the top half of the steps that are
not yet engulfed. I don’t think. I act. I jump over the flames and grab the railing, launching myself over the top, flames scorching my jeans and my fucking hair and neck. I pat it out, or I hope I do, but keep moving. The minute I see Faith, I breathe out, relieved but I stay focused. “We have to break the window,” I say, the sound of sirens lifting in the air.

  “I tried,” she says, coughing, using one of her smocks to cover her face. “It won’t break.”

  “Call 911 and tell them we’re trying to break the glass.” I use my shirt to cover my mouth and run into the office and dig around, finding a tool kit, and grabbing a hammer. The flames are now at the door. I find the spot near the tree I know climbs her house and start pounding the glass over and over, harder and harder, and finally it cracks but not enough. And smoke is everywhere, the thick air, challenging my lungs, but I keep moving. I kick the glass again and repeat, and then go at it with the hammer again. Another crack follows. Then another.

  Finally, there’s a hole.

  That’s when there is movement and noise outside, shouts lifting in the air. A firefighter sticks his head through the hole I’ve created. “Stand back!” he shouts and I don’t miss how he looks ominously at the flames quickly encroaching on us.

  I pull Faith with me to the wall, flames a few feet from us. An axe hits the hole I’ve created and in a matter of seconds, I have Faith at that window handing her off to a firefighter. I follow immediately, and the minute my feet hit the ground, I grab Faith and we’re ushered away from the building. We collapse under another tree, and almost immediately, she’s grabbing my face. “You’re burned. Nick you’re burned. Your hair is scorched.”

  “I don’t care about my hair,” I say, pulling her forehead to mine, cupping her head. “God woman. I almost lost you. I can’t believe I almost lost you.”

  “I can’t believe you came after me. You could have died.”

  A paramedic squats beside us, quickly checking our vitals and then focused on me. He bandages my hand and neck. “Your neck needs to be treated at the hospital,” the EMT says. “And that hair of yours is going to smell to high heaven. Cut it off.”