Dangerous Temptation (4 page)

Jake shook his head. "What did you expect?"

"I expected to be running the company by now," said Nathan, chewing the inside of his lower lip. "Like I said, the old guy was supposed to be dying. I was supposed to be his successor." His lips curled contemptuously. "Me. Nathan. The son he never had."

"So what went wrong?"

"Nothing." Nathan grunted. "Everything." His fists clenched again, and Jake wondered if he was imagining they were around Matthew Webster's neck. "I'm still no nearer to taking control of the company than I ever was. He's taken on someone else to do the job I was supposed to do."

Jake frowned. "So—you decided he owed you, hmm?"

"I needed the money," said Nathan defensively. "Webster barely pays me enough to live on as it is. Can I help it if I get into difficulties?"

Jake took a deep breath. "How the hell did you get your hands on half a million in the first place?"

"It's a long story." Nathan was evasive. "And I'd have gotten away with it, too, but that bastard's not going to let me."

"Walker?" Jake tried to be patient. "But how does he know?" He paused. "Did you tell him about it?"

"Don't be stupid!" Nathan gave him an aggravated look. "It was his idea, wasn't it? I couldn't have done it at all without his help."

"I thought you said you owed him."

"I did. I do." Nathan emptied his bottle. "Okay. Okay. I was gambling, right? I—got in too deep, and Carl fished me out."

Jake groaned. "A loan shark."

"Sort of."

Jake grunted. "So—okay," he said. "This guy's got you over a barrel. Why don't you do what he says and quit feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Because I can't."

"Why can't you?" Jake stiffened. "What does he want you to do?"

Nathan sighed. "They want me to carry an extra suitcase back from New York."

"Are you crazy?"

Jake's gut was churning now at the sudden realisation of where this was leading. He didn't have to ask what would be in the suitcase; he thought he knew.

"Keep your voice down," said Nathan hastily. "For God's sake, Jake, do you want to see me in jail?"

Jake's jaw clenched. "Maybe I don't care," he said. "If you're even considering smuggling drugs, maybe that's where you belong."

"You sanctimonious bastard!"

Nathan glared at him furiously, and feeling in need of some fresh air, Jake got abruptly to his feet. "Thanks for the character reference," he said. "But I'm not the one who's screwed up my life." He was tempted to shove one of the empty beer bottles down his brother's throat. "Get real, Nate. You're in deep trouble. And you can't blame anyone but yourself."

"I know that." As if realising he had spoken recklessly, Nathan got unsteadily to his feet. "Jake—" he caught his twin's arm "—I'm sorry. But you've got to help me. I'm desperate. If you don't, I'm afraid of what they'll do to Cat."

Jake jerked his arm out of Nathan's grasp, but he didn't move away. Even though all his instincts were urging him to get out of there, some innate sense of loyalty kept him where he was. Maybe it was the memory of that picture of Caitlin that caused him to hesitate. The realisation that whoever she was, whatever she was like, she didn't deserve to suffer because of Nathan's selfishness. Whatever his motivation, he felt himself weakening—ignoring his own misgivings, trying to justify his restraint.

"Go to the cops," he said as Nathan slumped over the table, and his brother gave him a strangled look.

"You're not serious! Carl would kill me."

Nathan's face was streaming with sweat, and with a sinking feeling, Jake sat down again. "Even if I wanted to help you," he said, and as he spoke, he knew it was definitely the wrong thing to say, "there's nothing I could do—"

"There is, there is." Nathan didn't wait for him to finish before breaking in. His eyes blazed now with a frantic light. He grasped his brother's hand. "You could do it. You could go to England on my return ticket. You could use my passport. No one would know you weren't me!"

Jake pulled his hand away and pressed himself back in his seat. He stared at Nathan as if he'd never seen him before, and although they'd never been close, something intangible died inside him. This was what Nathan had really come for. Not to see him, not to talk, not to share anything except this dirty secret. Nathan was prepared to make Jake an accessory to a crime, uncaring that if he was caught, he could go to prison in his place.

His distaste showing in his face, he said simply, "No."

Nathan's eyes narrowed. "You refuse?"

Jake shook his head. "Didn't you expect me to?"

"Frankly, no." Nathan gazed at him with bitter eyes. "After all, it's what you did when you came back from Vietnam, isn't it? I don't recall you having any crisis of conscience because you tried to beat the system then."

Jake bit back the ugly retort that sprang to his lips and made to get up again, but this time Nathan stopped him. "Please," he said imploringly, the veins standing out on his forehead. "Please, you've got to help me. If—if I screw up, they'll involve Cat, and it could kill Pa. I know you don't care about him, but he's not as tough as you think."

Jake's contempt was plain. "You son of a bitch," he said harshly. "You'd do anything, say anything, so long as you saved your own rotten hide! My God, you disgust me. Well, tough, but I won't do it. Find some other nut to screw!"

"What have you got to lose?" cried Nathan, hanging on to his wrist and preventing him from moving away. "I'm not asking you to deal with this guy. Just take the case to London and leave it where I tell you. Then check into a hotel in London. I'll meet you there. I'll be on the next flight."

"No."

"Why not?" Nathan groaned. "It's so simple. You use my ticket, and I follow you. We'll switch passports at the hotel, and you can fly home."

"No."

Jake was adamant, and realising his persuasion wasn't working, Nathan let him go. "All right," he said, dropping his face into his hands. "Go, then. But don't think I don't know why you're doing this." His voice became muffled, but his words were still audible. "You want to get back at me. You've always been jealous of the fact that our father chose me instead of you."

"Jealous!"

Jake knew he shouldn't respond to Nathan's desperate accusations, but that one was too close to home. He couldn't deny that there had been times when he'd envied his brother. But it was years since he had thought of it, and he certainly didn't envy him now.

"Yes, jealous," insisted Nathan, sniffing. "You've always resented me. Resented the fact that I had a better life."

"No—"

"Yes. You're not telling me you were happy, being stuck with that moron, Connor? God, it wasn't me who came looking for you, big brother. It wasn't me who used to stand outside of your house, spying on you, wanting for us to be friends! Remember?"

Jake's jaw compressed. "You were glad enough to see me when I pulled those punks off you," he reminded him tightly, recalling their first meeting with an unwilling sense of pain.

It had been just before he left for Vietnam. He'd been in a camp not far from Prescott, and he'd had the crazy notion that he might not be coming back. He'd decided he wanted to speak to Nathan at least once before he embarked for the Far East, so he'd ducked out of camp and hitched a ride to town.

He'd trailed Nathan and one of his pals to a bar in the sleaziest part of town, and then been beaten up for his pains when a couple of thugs had cornered the two rich youths by the jukebox. He'd jumped in to help them, and his uncanny likeness to his brother had caused some confusion. In the ensuing struggle, Nathan and his companion had gotten away.

He knew Nathan had recognised him. He'd found out later that Jacob had never hidden the fact that he had a twin. But Nathan hadn't cared what happened to Jake, so long as he wasn't injured. He'd saved his own skin, and that was all he'd cared about then. Hell, it was all he cared about now.

It was one of those occasions when Jake wondered if he wouldn't have been better off not knowing he had a brother. Although his mother and Fletch had been reconciled before she died, he doubted she'd ever truly forgiven him and Nathan for being born. He'd always reminded her of Jacob—and of the way he'd betrayed her. Her life hadn't been easy before, but it had been a damn sight harder after Fletch found out.

Nathan combed his hand over his hair and looked up at his brother with cold, accusing eyes. "Okay," he said. "Forget it. Forget I ever came here. Forget I ever asked you for help. It was a crazy notion anyway. We're not really brothers. We just share a likeness, that's all."

"That's all it means to you, maybe," muttered Jake harshly.

Right now, he wanted nothing so much as to put this ugly scene behind him. He wasn't totally convinced by Nathan's story, even if his brother's cowardice was plain enough to see. What did Nathan really want, and did he, Jake, really care? It sounded as if his brother's future was as shaky as his marriage.

"What do you mean?" Nathan demanded now, and Jake winced at the sudden hope that had appeared in his brother's face. For once Nathan wanted a brother, so why did it sound so surreal?

"Get the case," said Jake at last, telling himself it was the lingering loyalty to his mother's memory that made him say it. He had plenty of free time due to him; hell, he never took a holiday, and he was making no promises. But perhaps there was something he could do to ensure that Caitlin wasn't hurt…

The hospital was teeming with people. Many of the accident victims had been brought to St Anselm's, and the doctors and nurses were working round the clock in an effort to keep up with the load. The lobby resembled nothing so much as a train station, with would-be passengers dashing from desk to desk, desperate for news, desperate for information.

Caitlin wasn't one of them. She didn't feel like one of them; she didn't look like one of them. The anxiety she could see mirrored in their faces was not her anxiety; the fear that some loved one had perished in the crash was not what had brought her here.

Yet, as she pushed her way through the press of bodies, she couldn't help an unwilling twinge of concern. Nathan might be all kinds of a bastard, but he was her husband, and for all her avowed indifference, she would not wish to see him dead.

And he wasn't dead. He was injured, but he wasn't dead. When the authorities had contacted her, to tell her that her husband had been one of the passengers on board the transatlantic flight that had crashed on take-off, they had instantly informed her that Mr Wolfe was one of the survivors. Like many of those who were injured, he had been taken to St Anselm's hospital in New York City, and if she required any further information, Caitlin should contact the hospital direct.

It had come as a complete shock. Caitlin hadn't even known Nathan was flying back on that plane. He'd left for New York over a week ago, ostensibly to visit his father in Prescott, New Jersey. He hadn't told her why he was going, and she hadn't heard from him since.

Not that that was unusual. These days, they rarely discussed personal things at all. It was only because her father expected it that they continued to share the same flat. But they had their own lives, their own friends; they might as well have lived apart.