What Belongs to Her (Harlequin Superromance) (10 page)

“In the meantime, I’m supposed to do what?”

“Work with me. Wait for me.”

Wait for him?
Why did her heart just skip a beat? Why did it sound so intimate every time he said anything like that? She swallowed and pursed her lips, trapping any response for the sake of her sanity.

He cleared his throat, his gaze wandering over her face. “What if I decide to stay? What if I move to Templeton and make my life here?”

She tensed.
No, no, no.
He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t. Not here. Working where she was every day. She was strong, but not that strong. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a teacher at an elementary school.”

“A teacher?” Well, that was surprising. “You work with kids?”

He smiled. “Is that so hard to believe?”

She closed her eyes. “Why couldn’t you be a nerdy scientist or a lecturer in quantum physics? Why kids?”

He laughed. “You’d like a nerd more?”

“No, I’d like you less. At least it would mean we have nothing in common.” She opened her eyes. “You’re making it hard for me to keep fighting you, John Jordon.”

He grinned. “Good.”

A smile tugged. “I can’t believe this. I’d laugh if I had the energy.”

“I’m sorry.” His smile dissolved. “I’m sorry that what I’m dealing with isn’t your problem, but you’re stuck in the middle. So’s Freddy. And no doubt, tens of other people. I want to know exactly how many people Kyle has screwed over and then I’ll decide what to do. I promise.”

“I won’t lose another chance to get the fair back where it belongs.”

“In your family, right? All this passion, it’s all about family?”

The uncertainty in his tone was undeniable, and Sasha’s stomach knotted. Why was he looking at her in such a knowing way all of a sudden? Why did it feel as though he could see deep inside her? That he knew she had nothing but the fair. That her family was segregated and barely spoke. Did he realize she feared if she washed her hands of the fair, she’d have no clue where to go or who to be?

Dread rippled through her as she stared at him. She opened her mouth to respond but couldn’t think past the panic that he knew what had happened to her. That Matt Davidson’s abuse made her find purpose in the one place she should hate more than any other. Did he think she was crazy to want to make Funland as it was before: good and wholesome, before that despicable excuse for a man came along and ruined it?

She raised her hands in surrender, fighting the terror rising like a rumbling volcano. “I need to go.”

“Fine. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He wandered to his desk and picked up some papers.

She had to do something to make this nightmare go away. She couldn’t let the fair slip through her fingers. Not after all this time. “It’s my day off tomorrow. I won’t be here.”

He looked up and smiled wryly. “I was under the impression you worked seven days a week.”

“I do...did. Until you came into my life and started a war you’ll lose.”

His smiled disappeared. “This isn’t a war.”

“No? That’s what you think.” She spun around and strolled out of the office, leaving the door wide open behind her.

* * *

J
OHN
WOKE
THE
next day with a banging headache. The partially full bottle of Scotch sitting on his dresser was a cruel reminder of why he felt as if a hatchet had been buried in his skull. Groaning, he hauled his ass from Kyle’s bed and padded into the enormous en suite bathroom. He gripped the sink and stared into the mirror. He looked like crap. Felt like crap—and all too aware the majority of his misery wasn’t caused by the Scotch. The defensive hurt in Sasha’s eyes when she stared at him in the office had haunted him all night.

One minute anger, the next a lingering fondness shone in her gaze, making his breath catch and his arms yearn to pull her close. Time and again when they argued, he’d had the urge to hold her against his chest just to absorb some of her weakly veiled vulnerability. She tried to hide it behind the loaded glares and fiery retorts, but he’d been around enough kids—and adults—to recognize a painful past when he saw one. The vibrations coming from Sasha were more painful than most. He closed his eyes.

For the first time in a long time, he was aware of another person’s potential to understand him. To reciprocate his need for comfort and validation. The notion was scary and unwanted—and happening under the worst circumstances possible. Intellectually, it was a sign to deal with the contract clause so he could hand over the papers to Sasha and get the hell back home to Bridgewater.

Emotionally, he wondered if Kyle might have kick-started so much more than he realized. John was eager to get to know a woman who attracted him, fascinated him, inspired him and made him falter from a path he’d thought would be simple and entirely fueled by vengeance. He’d come to Templeton for one reason and one reason only—to see what the hell his father had done with his godforsaken life. What had been so important to prevent him ever contacting his only living family?

John cursed and pushed away from the sink.

Kyle had shot and killed the man who’d murdered his wife and then forced an estrangement from their child. Why? What would have driven him to make such stark and final decisions?

John strode to the shower and turned it on.

What the hell was he going to do today? Tomorrow? Next week? Did he really think he’d ever understand Kyle or his motivations?

Sasha’s pleas and fiery temper sparked something inside him that made John ponder the impossible. To stay for a while. To explore this new and exciting attraction for a woman so different than any he’d met. He longed to know more about her and the deep, dark passion that stormed in her eyes whenever the fair was mentioned. It was as if Funland was the source of her entire life’s purpose.

He stepped into the shower and his mind whirled. A day apart from Sasha would do him good. He needed to take action and deal with his anger toward Kyle before he’d have anything to offer anyone. The last thing he wanted to do was upset a woman already suffering—but that’s exactly what he was doing.

The shower woke him and washed any weakness down the drain. He stepped out and snatched a towel from the rack. Everything in Kyle’s home was lavish. From the towels to the parquet flooring that swept the entire lower level of his huge five-bedroom house, to the huge kitchen, with its gleaming surfaces and gadgets. Everything screamed of money and success.

He tied the towel at his waist and grabbed a hand towel from the stack neatly folded on solid pine shelving beside him. Scrubbing his hair, he left the bathroom and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window in the master bedroom. He whipped back the drapes. It was obvious Kyle had chosen his abode carefully. Whereas John would’ve chosen to live close to Cowden Beach or maybe the town center, with its constant activity and warm sense of community, Kyle lived on the outskirts of Templeton. Close enough he could get to where he needed to be within a half hour’s drive, but far enough away he had the isolation he clearly craved.

Away from unwanted attention, no doubt.

John stared at the enormity of his father’s domain. The back of the house faced the ocean, but not the beach. Below spanned a huge back garden with a paved patio and furniture so luxurious, it belonged inside someone’s living room. In one corner stood a barbecue large enough to cook for the entire street and in the other, a hot tub that could comfortably seat six people and their champagne. The gate at the very end of the green lawn led to a planked wooden pier, where Kyle’s speedboat glinted in the hazy sunshine. A boat named after his mother.
Fiona Forever.

John gritted his teeth.
And they say crime doesn’t pay.

The front of the house faced a tree-lined avenue that John had learned was fondly referred to as “millionaire’s row.” The houses were all unique. Some brick and traditional, others art deco or contemporarily stylish. It was a strange mishmash of the owners’ personalities. The whitewashed magnificence of his father’s five-bedroom, balconied and minimalistic home told him nothing of who Kyle was today any more than it would have nineteen years ago.

Fiona Forever.

As far as he was aware, Kyle hadn’t remarried and, based on the bundle of papers John had received from him, his son was the only next of kin who could lay claim to Kyle’s fortune.

He turned from the window and pulled out some of his clothes from atop Kyle’s in the dresser. It irked him that everything his father touched John now touched, too, but the alternative was to stay in a bed-and-breakfast. A boardinghouse couldn’t give him any clues into unraveling the enigma otherwise known as “Dad.” There was a small chance his home would sooner or later.

Once dressed, John left the bedroom and headed downstairs. The kitchen matched everything else in the house, with its over-the-top opulence and blank, white walls. No aspect of Kyle marked the walls nor chrome fittings. Not as much as a splash of paint, print or photograph marred the blank canvas. Not a plant, vase or flower brightened the glass-topped dining table.

The house was as cold and impersonal as Kyle.

Flicking on the coffeemaker, John pulled his cell phone from the charger on the countertop and flicked through his emails. Nothing of any importance. Certainly no voice mail from Kyle, Sasha or anyone else. Was their silence a reflection on him or them? John couldn’t be sure.

He pulled open the patio doors and walked outside. The view was phenomenal, but he remained determinedly aloof as he sank into one of the three heavily cushioned settees. Keying in the web address of a search engine, he found the number for the local police station. In a town the size of Templeton Cove, he was pretty confident trouble was rare. No doubt Inspector Garrett would welcome some interest to break up the monotony of her day.

He took a deep breath and waited for the duty sergeant to answer.

“Good morning, Templeton Police Station. How may I help you?”

John leaned his aching head back on the cushions. “Is it possible I can speak to Inspector Garrett, please?”

“Good morning, sir. Can I ask what this would be regarding?”

“My name is John Jordon. I’m sure my name will be enough for her to understand it’s a good idea we meet whenever she deems convenient.”

There was a momentary silence before the duty sergeant cleared his throat. “One moment please, sir.”

If there was nothing else he’d gained from being Kyle’s son, it seemed the mention of their surname opened doors in Templeton...although that didn’t mean the people on the other side greeted him with open arms. Clicks were followed by a few bars of some classical music, then another click. “Mr. Jordon. Inspector Garrett. What can I do for you?”

Her no-nonsense, down-to-business tone made John open his eyes and sit upright. He cleared his throat. “Good morning, Inspector. I’m calling in the hopes I’ll be able to infringe on a few minutes of your time today.”

“May I ask why?”

Surprised she wasn’t biting his hand off to get him into the station to be interrogated and then put on the first ferry out of there, John contemplated his next words while watching the white-foamed trail of a Jet Ski out on the water. “I thought after yesterday, it would be best if we speak privately.”

“As opposed to Marian breathing fire down your neck, you mean?”

He smiled. “Exactly.”

Her exhalation rasped down the line. “Well, good. I think that’s the intelligent way to move forward, considering who your father is and the fact you’re going to be running the fair. Start as we mean to go on.”

John narrowed his eyes. “Absolutely. What time shall I come in?”

“How about after lunch? Say one-thirty?”

“Great. See you then.” He ended the call and tapped the phone against his bottom lip.

The only way forward was to create a picture. Piece together the puzzle of Kyle and why he’d chosen Templeton Cove as his home. The file box of names he’d given John meant nothing on their own. Kyle hadn’t provided much information to work from or histories to learn. John glowered unseeingly ahead. Instead, the man had asked his son to make his acquaintance with each in case he should need them in Kyle’s absence.

His father insisted his wealth had been accumulated with only his son in mind. Claimed John’s paid education would now be put to better use outside a classroom. The only problem was, John didn’t want the lifestyle Kyle had so carefully orchestrated for him, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the bastard would be disappointed his son hadn’t hardened in the same way as the man who’d sired him.

Thankfully, the years had hardened Kyle only. John loved his classroom full of kids; he loved his friends and associates. True, he’d yet to allow a woman into his life, but who knew what the future might hold?

Did Kyle really think the son he abandoned so many years before would stand by and allow him to ruin more people’s lives?
Does he think I’ll carry on his filthy, illegal work and then just walk away when I’ve had enough?

He pushed to his feet as Sasha’s face filled his mind’s eye.
Over my dead body.

John walked into the hallway with every intention of grabbing his keys and heading into town for breakfast, when a white envelope lying on the doormat caught his eye. He tightened his jaw. The printed crown in the upper center could only mean it was from Kyle.

John snatched it up and ripped it open. His eyes scanned the text...and the floor shifted. What was this? He dropped into the antique chair beside him and reread the letter. The words leaped and jumped in his vision....

Cancer...liver...bones...inoperable...

The paper slipped from his hands and fluttered to the stone floor. John stared at the staircase. Was Kyle telling the truth? What did he have to gain by lying that he was dying from terminal cancer? John waited for the grief, waited for the sense of loss to overpower him. It didn’t come—only a strange pain stabbed deep in his gut. A pain he couldn’t name as regret or revenge or anything else. Kyle had made himself a stranger—and soon John would be entirely alone.