Dissonance (6 page)

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You do that,” Cam snapped.

The pause on the other end of the phone was longer this time. “You may want to speak to Jim Stanton,” his uncle said at last.

“Jim? Why? I haven’t done anything worth speaking to him about.” He didn’t need a lawyer.

“I’m only suggesting you speak with him.” Duncan’s condescending tone had insecurity inching its way up Cam’s spine like a snake. He started tapping his foot again.

Something in Cam’s brain shouted that this was bad. Really, really bad. “I’ll call him. See what you can do about wiring me some money.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” This was the second time Duncan had used that phrasing, and it didn’t reassure Cam. But what choice did he have?

“I’ll check back with you in an hour.”

“Cameron.” Again with the full name.
Getting worse at an alarming rate.
“It’s nearly midnight here, and I need to get some sleep. I’ll speak to you in the morning. With a bit of luck, you’ll reach Jim and—”

“Fine.” He didn’t need a lecture. He needed action, and he bloody well needed it
now.

He hung up and glared at the phone as if it might stick its tongue out at him, then shoved it back in his pocket. None of this was the least bit amusing. He wondered how long he could last here without money. He had an account at several grocery stores so Luisa could purchase food when he was in town. He doubted whatever hold had been placed on his money extended as far as those accounts. The company paid his rent and Luisa’s salary. But could he even purchase a ticket to fly home to England if he had no credit cards?

He returned to the apartment and paced the living room as he gazed out the window. The sun hung low in the sky, barely visible between the high-rises to the west.

He pulled his phone out and scrolled through his contacts. Bailey, Barnes & Stanton would be closed on a Saturday evening. No mobile number. Worse yet, he’d have to wait until Monday to do anything about it.

He told himself Monday would be a better day and flicked on the telly.

M
ONDAY
MORNING
arrived on the heels of a night spent tossing and turning. When Cam awoke, sweaty and shaking, at 4:00 a.m., he knew sleep wouldn’t come again. “Jim? It’s Cam. Cameron Sherrington.” Cam paced the living room once more, this time in his pajama bottoms. He supposed he should get dressed before Luisa arrived, but he’d been too distracted to do anything but wait until the law offices of Bailey, Barnes & Stanton opened.

“Cam, I’m glad you called.”

Now that was a first. Jim Stanton had always been cordial on the phone, but he’d never seemed overly thrilled to hear from Cam. “Duncan seemed to think I should speak with you. My accounts are frozen. I need money.”

Cam heard the sound of shuffling papers through the receiver.

“That’s something you’ll have to discuss with Duncan. I received a call from the FBI. An Agent Peterson.”

“FBI? I thought they were just interested in Raice’s records.” This was getting worse by the minute.

“I’m not sure.” Jim sounded as uncomfortable as Cam had ever heard him. “But they want to serve a subpoena for your bank records.”

“My
personal
records?”

“Yes. All your personal banking records for the past ten years.” Jim paused, then asked, “What’s this all about, Cam?”

Ten years?
Cam ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “I have no idea. Duncan mentioned subpoenas for Raice, but now…. Shit.”

“What do you want me to do? I could move to quash the subpoena, but it’s unlikely you’d win. Best we can hope for is to find out why they’re poking around.”

“What do you recommend?” He had to get this done with quickly so he could move on.

“Do you have anything to hide?”

Cam took a long breath in a futile effort to bite back the nasty words that threatened to fly off his tongue. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“A question any good lawyer would ask his client,” Jim replied, clearly unperturbed. “But I need an honest answer, Cam, or I can’t do my job.”

“I don’t have anything to hide.” Cam knew Jim was right, but he sure as hell didn’t have to like it.

“Then I recommend you cooperate. Turn the records over.”

“Do it.” The sooner the better. Then he could move on, go home with his tail between his legs, and try to forget Aiden.

“I’ll take care of it. If anything comes up, I’ll be in touch.”

Cam disconnected the call and tossed the phone onto the couch.
What the hell is going on?

He shook his head and paced the living room a few times. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, it had begun to rain again. He pressed his fingertips against the cool glass. The rain made everything look gray and only served to darken his mood.

He stalked back to the couch, retrieved his phone, and tapped it a few times. “I need to speak to Duncan,” he told the secretary when she answered.

“I’m sorry, Lord Sherrington. He’s away from his office at the moment. May I have him ring you back?”

“Don’t bother. I’ll call his mobile.” Cam ended the call before the woman could respond. Another tap. Duncan’s voice mail played. “The party you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone. Thank you.”

“I need to speak to you as soon as possible,” Cam said. “Call me.” He slammed the phone down on the coffee table and paced the room several times. Something niggled at the back of his sleep-deprived brain. In spite of Duncan’s obvious disdain for everything Cam stood for, he’d never avoided Cam’s calls before.
What the fuck is Duncan up to?

“Lord Sherrington,” Luisa practically squeaked as she opened the door to the apartment, carrying groceries, just as Cam walked by the foyer. “Is everything all right?” she asked tentatively.

“Perfectly all right, Luisa.”

She nodded and slipped into the kitchen. Half an hour later, the aroma of bacon and eggs wafted through the apartment. Cam’s stomach growled and he remembered he hadn’t eaten breakfast. He picked up the cursed mobile and went to change, emerging a few minutes later in a well-worn pair of jeans and a black Royal Opera House T-shirt that Aiden had bought him when he’d gotten his first contract there. The only T-shirt Cam owned. Cam knew wearing it would only remind him of Aiden, but with everything else threatening to come crashing down around him, it seemed morbidly fitting.

He sat at the breakfast counter, opened the
New York Times
, and tried to think about something other than the brewing storm. At least the coffee would improve his pounding head. He leafed through page after page without seeing them.

“Lord Sherrington?”

Cam looked up at Luisa. “Yes?”

“I know it’s none of my business,” she began, her voice quavering just a bit. “But you look tired. Are you not feeling well today?” She pressed her lips together and glanced away, then back again. “There’s been a nasty flu going around.”

“I’m fine. Really, Luisa.” He forced a smile and sipped his coffee. It tasted heavenly. The woman made the best coffee.

“I’ve worked for you for a long time,” she continued, rallying a bit as she set down a plate filled with food.

Cam schooled his features to avoid showing his growing irritation. His head hurt, his stomach had begun to growl, and he was in no mood for a casual conversation.

She returned his smile, her face lighting up, cheeks dimpling. How old would she be? Thirty-six? Not much older than he. When he looked beyond the basics—hair pulled severely back in a ponytail, the white smock she wore over her clothing, and the horrid plastic shoes she wore indoors—he realized that if she did a little with makeup, she’d be quite an attractive woman. He wondered vaguely why she was single.
Probably because she takes care of two children by herself and works two jobs.

“You know I’m happy to work for you,” she said, her cheeks pinking as she spoke.

“I’m glad.” He glanced back down at the paper, feeling uncomfortable. They’d never really had a conversation before. He’d left her generous tips at Christmas and on her birthday, but he knew very little about her aside from the pictures she’d shown him of her children. It was much the same with the servants at the castle. He’d only done what he’d learned from his mother: he treated staff well, but he kept his distance.
“Better service that way,”
his mother had told him.

“You know you can always talk to me… if you need to, I mean.” The blush on her cheeks deepened.

“Thank you, Luisa,” he said. “I’ll try to remember that.” He took a piece of the bacon and began to chew. He knew it was terrible for him, but he let her indulge him once in a while.

“I know it’s not my place,” she continued, “but since you arrived…. This trip…. You seem a little….” She hesitated once again as though doubting herself, then frowned and said, “Lost.”

Lost
. Was he lost? Worried? Of course. Disappointed? Definitely. But lost?

“Thank you, Luisa,” he said curtly. “But really, I’m perfectly fine. Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

F
OUR
DAYS
came and went with no word from Duncan, and Friday arrived without fanfare. In spite of the half-dozen messages Cam left on his cell, at home, and at the office, the bastard still hadn’t called. Cam puttered around the apartment, trying to focus on anything but what felt like a looming hurricane. He tried to do some work on his computer, reviewing documents for approval at the next meeting of the board of directors, answering e-mail. He tapped his foot against the desk and shifted in his seat. He couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think.

Luisa went out to do some marketing, and he almost offered to go with her, just to have something to keep busy. He picked up his mobile, debated whether to call Duncan again, nixed that idea, then ended up calling Daniel Bryce in accounting over at Raice.

“Accounting. Ron Welding speaking.” Welding was a twentysomething techie and Bryce’s second in command at Raice Corp. He’d spent the latter part of two years revamping the outdated accounting software, much to Bryce’s chagrin. Cam was quite sure Bryce worried the upstart with the full beard and heavy-framed spectacles was after his job.

“Ron, this is Cam Sherrington.”

“Lord Sherrington.” Ron sounded nervous. Then again, the few times Cam had had the opportunity to speak with Ron, he’d always sounded a bit nervous. High-strung, geeky type. Cam had hired him. In fact, he’d been thinking of recommending Ron for a technology project at Sherrington Holdings he’d been talking to Duncan about before he’d left London.

“Is Dan around?” Cam asked.

“No, sir. He’s on a conference call with your uncle. Can I have him call you back?”

“Tell him to call me on my mobile.” What the devil was Duncan doing, meeting with a Raice manager without including him? If he ever got Duncan on the phone, he’d bloody well give him a piece of his mind. Why was Duncan avoiding his calls?
Maybe he thinks he can pin whatever disaster is looming on you.
Cam clenched his jaw and fought a wave of nausea. “Tell him it’s urgent.”

“Of course. And if there’s anything I can help with, please—”

“I’ll be in touch.” Cam paced the living room as he disconnected the call, then immediately rang Duncan’s cell. No answer. Hardly a surprise, since he’d be on the call with Dan. He then left another message with Duncan’s office, still furious he hadn’t heard back. Finally, at the end of his patience—beyond it, really—he headed to the gym around noon.

The workout did him good—at least it helped him focus on something other than whatever mess was brewing at home.

Two hours later, having barely touched the bowl of soup Luisa had warmed up for him, he got himself a beer from the fridge and stalked into his study. He’d just booted up the computer when his mobile rang. Of course, he’d left it in the other room. He slammed the beer down on the desk, causing some of the contents to fly onto the keyboard—no doubt
that
would help things.