Chayton (16 page)

He glanced at the phone after a last rub of his eyelids. The handset blurred in and out of his vision while he refocused. With a sudden push, he stood from the chair and departed the office.

Now wasn't the time to call his father and explain. He needed another day, maybe two, to figure out what to say. To see if his lawyers could come up with a way to save him.

“Mister Black, your--” The maid paused in the foyer, a curious look on her face. She didn't get anything else out before another voice cut across hers.

“You should have called.”

Chayton continued into the foyer, bringing his father into view. Cursing beneath his breath, he released the maid from her duties with a nod, never looking away from the elder man. With hair to his shoulders, as black as Chayton's with a few salt and pepper strands near the temples, Waya Black stood an inch shorter than Chayton but no less honed and muscular. Clean shaven, dark skinned, his features eerily echoed his son's. Today the elder wore a sharp suit of gray with white and dark blue accents. He extended a hand; in it, he held a printed piece of paper he obviously wanted Chayton to take.

“Father,” Chayton said by way of greeting. He picked the paper from his father's fingers and turned it around for a better view. The print out depicted one of the online magazines with his and Kate's wedding picture featured prominently on the site. Someone had printed it out and given it to his parents. Or his father, at least.

There was no getting around it now. No delaying the inevitable.

Chayton folded the paper over, strangely pained to see the proof of his bad judgement. Just as strange, he found himself at a loss for words. Not a man known for his verbosity anyway, Chayton could always be counted upon to rise to the occasion when it mattered.

“Nothing to say? Your mother is devastated,” Waya said. He slid his hands into his pockets and lifted his chin in a way that suggested affront at the lack of knowledge about the wedding.

“It's a long story,” Chayton said, buying time to think.

“I've got nothing but time.”

Chayton gestured back the way he'd come. To his office. It was a room Waya knew well.

Retreating with his father, Chayton cursed inwardly and went straight to the sidebar to pour his father a drink. Water with lemon, no alcohol at all. He handed the drink off as his father took a chair opposite the desk. Chayton tossed back two shots in a row, hissing quietly at the burn and the sting.

“So it's true then. This is not a hoax,” Waya said.

“It's not a hoax. I married Kate Fairchild in a small ceremony here at the house. It was very last minute--”

“That does not excuse anything. Your mother and I—and all your siblings—would have taken the jet here immediately had we been out of the state.” He paused, then said, “Who is this woman?”

“No, it doesn't excuse anything.” Chayton paced alongside his desk, then sank down into his chair. He stared at his father, considering the best way to put it all into words. “A woman broke into my room while I was in Singapore a couple of weeks ago. There was a big misunderstanding, and it turns out in the end that we grew...close. To help her out of a bad situation, I offered to marry her, since it would solve her problem.”

“What problem could she have that a good set of lawyers won't solve?” Waya frowned. His gaze turned shrewd. “You
did
sign a pre-nuptial agreement, yes?”

Chayton stared at his father. He knew the instant Waya understood there was no agreement, and that it was currently a source of concern for him.

Waya banged his glass down and stood up. Using both hands, he ranted and paced the room, gesturing this way and that. “How could you have forgotten such a thing? Do you realize what you've put at stake? Was
nothing
else important at the time but helping a veritable stranger, even your family's well being? Hell—your
own
well being?”

Chayton endured the lecture because he knew he deserved it. Mattias and Leander had both tried to urge caution and he'd gone ahead and followed his gut anyway.

“Where is she? Why isn't she here--” Waya paused and faced the desk. His expression grew grim. He proved his mind was still as flexible as ever when he said, “She used you, didn't she? For your position, your money?”

Chayton should have known his father would figure it out sooner than later. “Yes. It appears she and another planned to extort my fortune or something along those lines.”

“So she's gone.”

“Yes.”

“Has she made demands yet?” Waya fished a phone from a pocket lining the inside of his suit coat.

“No. I haven't heard from her since I left Hawaii three days ago. You don't need to call your lawyers. I've got mine on the--”

“Your lawyers can't touch what mine can do. And I've got connections to judges you don't.” Waya turned from the desk and engaged in rapid conversation with someone on the line.

Chayton listened to his father take control of the situation, unsure whether he was relieved or annoyed.

“Does your lawyer have your annulment paperwork?” Waya asked Chayton.

“I haven't filed for an annulment or a divorce.” He waited to hear his father blast him for that, too. His lawyer had been confused and concerned at the delay as well. Chayton couldn't pinpoint why he'd declined to take that action yet. Part of him stubbornly hung onto a distant hope that he was wrong, that everyone was wrong, and that Kate hadn't used him like the would-be assassin said she had. Yet the evidence pointed to the contrary. The fact he hadn't heard a thing from Kate in days proved all was not as he wished it to be.

Waya's mouth compressed into a line and he paced once more while returning to his conversation. Five minutes later, he ended the call.

“What possessed you to wait to file for an annulment? Or a divorce?” Waya asked.

“Because my gut instinct still tells me I don't have the whole story yet. I don't feel like it's over, or that she used me as it seems.” Chayton used specific wording to express his feelings. In their family, much was made of intuition and instinct. His father was a great believer in it, and many times allowed it to rule his decisions about family and business.

“Did she tell you herself that she'd used you?”

“No. Someone...close to her, who knows her, did.” Chayton couldn't mention the Elite or his role in the ranks. His father thought Chayton shunned the family business because he didn't like managing the resorts, which was true to a point. Chayton needed more out of life than boardrooms and stiff suits and endless problems that came with owning part of an empire. He needed mystery and danger and challenges to make him feel alive.

“It seems to me as if you should trust the person who knows, then.” Waya wavered, however. His belief in trusting one's instinct was strong enough to make him reconsider.

“I guess I'll have my answer in another day or two. I don't imagine it'll take her longer than that to get in touch with me. One way or another, I'll find out what she wants.” Chayton hoped Kate didn't leave him hanging longer than that.

. . .

On her fourth day of driving, somewhere in the middle of Illinois, Kate pulled into a rest area and parked the car. Darkness had set hours ago and she was bone tired from too many hours behind the wheel. She'd never been a great long distance driver anyway, and the endless miles were wearing her down.

Resting her head against the steering wheel, she succumbed to tears. The last five hours of driving, she'd begun to wonder if showing up at Chayton's home was the right thing to do. What would she say to his staff? If they were still there, anyway. Perhaps, with his death, his family would release them from duty and lock down the house. What would she do then? She might as well find a hotel nearby and hole up there while she tried to put a stranglehold on Anton. Thus far, she hadn't had time to search for a new lawyer, one not compromised by Anton. She'd been too busy evading his thugling employees to take any kind of time for herself. With any luck, she'd lost them back in New York. So far, she hadn't noticed a tail or anything suspicious the times she'd stopped for food or gas or lodging at night.

Either way, she would need another room tonight, too. And maybe that's where she would stay until she had things under better control. Swiping a tear from her cheek, she sat up and used the rear view mirror to study her bloodshot eyes. She looked fresh from a wicked hangover. Resetting the mirror, she started the car and pulled out of the rest stop. The first decent looking, reasonable hotel she came to was the one she would call home for the next few days, at least.

The thought of Chayton's home, as much as she wanted to find comfort there, wasn't the option she needed to take. It pained her to give up on it, yet as she pulled off the freeway eight miles later, and into a hotel parking lot, she knew it was the right choice. It would take her the better part of five or six days to reach Montana with her frequent breaks and stopping early due to burnout.

After bribing the night clerk to let her rent a room for the night with no identification, Kate toted her purse and one duffel bag into the elevator and got off on the third floor. As weary as she was, she still started in surprise when a door opened behind her in the hallway.

It was just a guest, ice bucket in hand, heading the opposite direction.

Kate let herself into the room via a card key and closed the door behind her. Done in shades of peach and cream, with a single queen bed, a small table for two and a flatscreen television, the room served its purpose. She dropped her purse and bag on the bed and rifled through the duffel for pajamas. During the drive, she'd stopped twice to purchase the bare minimum she needed in clothes and undergarments.

After taking care of personal business, and hitting the shower, she emerged with a towel on her head and simple pajama pants with a matching shirt. Right away she turned on the television and sought the news stations. As the reporters droned about this report and that, she plopped in a chair at the small table and opened the complimentary newspaper.

Every day she took the time to seek news of Chayton's death. He wasn't royalty or someone who sought a high public profile, but she figured she'd hear
something
about it somewhere. His death deserved a mention in the paper, at the very least. Yet every day, she found nothing. No article, no news, not even speculation.

She wasn't sure how it made her feel. Was his family withholding information while an investigation was under way? She knew they had the power—as long as the media didn't catch wind.

Running a finger along her lower lip, she got lost in the memory of Chayton's mouth, his touches, the way he looked at her so intently. Kate fought back more tears and closed the paper. Guilt was a beast and a burden she couldn't shake. His death was her fault. She should have never left the beach house, never went searching to make clandestine deals in the rain.

Turning off the television, she climbed into bed and pulled the sheets to her chin.

Tomorrow, she would start the process of retribution.

. . .

When morning came, and she'd had a good night's rest, Kate had the desire to shirk her former idea and start driving for Montana. She wanted to be near things that had once belonged to Chayton, wanted to raid his closet for a shirt to snuggle up in at night.

Instead, she got out the phone book from the night stand and started perusing the yellow pages. It took her four hours and eight phone calls before she found someone she liked. What was more, Mister Espinosa of
Espinosa and White
Law firm out of Las Cruces New Mexico, knew who her mother was. He'd heard about Anna's death through a co-worker and agreed to meet her in the conference room at the hotel in two days time. All she had to do was lay low and keep out of sight. Kate spent the hours in between digging up all the information she could about Anton, including making notes about her suspicions that he'd had a hand in her mother's murder. She knew it would be all but impossible to prove, but she made the notes anyway.

Every morning she turned on the television and went downstairs to the lobby to get a newspaper. Searching—in vain—for news of Chayton's death.

On the afternoon of the second day, she met Mister Robert Espinosa in the conference room that she'd reserved just for the occasion. Neat and tidy in a navy suit with a crisp white shirt and blue tie, Mister Espinosa turned out to be efficient, professional and courteous. Hair slicked back away from a strong featured, handsome face, Espinosa was the epitome of a successful businessman. He listened to every detail Kate had to tell. About her mother's insistence on
not
marrying Anton, and Anton's persistence in the matter. She brought up Anton's debts, his pursuing of her before and after Anna's death, and the entire situation in Hawaii. During her explanation of overhearing Anton tell someone on the phone to 'dispose of the body', she'd been forced to pause and take a sip of water. Mister Espinosa took notes with a shiny platinum pen, asked pertinent questions, and reassured her that he could—and would—help her.

With instructions to stay put at the hotel for now while he built a case against Anton, Kate saw the lawyer to the double doors, shook his hand, and teared up a little at the kindness she saw in his eyes.

Back in her hotel room, she paced back and forth in front of the window, restless and nervous. Hopeful, too, that Espinosa could once and for all bring an end to Anton's reign of terror.

Three days after her first meeting, Espinosa called to say that Anton was no longer staying at her property. He'd departed shortly after her, according to the staff, taking off for parts unknown. Espinosa reinforced his wish for her to remain where she was, and to not contact anyone from home. No friends, no employees. Nothing. He didn't want to give Anton any way to find her. Over the next week, he'd told her, he would be turning his investigation to Hawaii and what had happened there.

For now, he was finishing conducting interviews at her New York homestead and securing the property from any further visits by Anton.