Midnight Sun (Sinclair Sisters) (22 page)

Had Thad Baker joined the Stampeders and set off for the Yukon, hoping to make his fortune? Had he seen the terrible suffering? Could some of his memories have been passed down to her?

It was still a far stretch, but it gave her a shot of hope. She wanted to race into the other room and share her discovery with Call, but he was still busy, and she needed to see what else she could find. Wiping her damp palms on the knees of her jeans, she started typing again, trying to find out if any of Sean Doakes and Sarah Baker’s children were still alive.

She took each of the offspring one by one. Emma, her grandmother, Patrick, and Phillip were all deceased, but Annie Mae and Mavis, the eldest two children, had no date of death listed on their genealogy charts. She moved backward to where they’d been born and sucked in a breath.

Issaquah, Washington! Both Annie Mae and Mavis Doakes had been born in the West! Sean and Sarah must have lived in Washington for a while before heading east to Boston, where the rest of their children were born.

The women would be old, Annie Mae eighty-two and Mavis eighty-one, Charity calculated from their birthdates.

She glanced toward the door leading into the kitchen. Call would be flying to Seattle in the morning. Issaquah was only a few miles away. Charity chewed her lip. What would it take to convince him to take her with him? He wouldn’t want to, she knew, but dammit, this was important.

Charity set her jaw. Call was taking her—he just didn’t know it yet.

“Forget it, Charity. This is business, not a sightseeing trip.”

“Come on, Call. What difference would it make if I came along? There’s room on the plane, isn’t there?”

“It’s an eight-passenger jet. Room isn’t a problem.”

“Then what
is
the problem? I’ll stay out of your hair—I promise. You said you know the pilots. It’s not like we’re going to crash again or anything.”

He turned to her, planted his big hands on his hips. “Why is this so all-fired important?”

“You know why it’s important. I’ve finally had a breakthrough. I’ve found a link in my past—at least to the Pacific Northwest.” She explained about the two great-aunts she had discovered that she hadn’t known existed. “There’s a very good chance they’re alive and living near Seattle.”

He sighed, raked dark, suntanned fingers through his hair. “Even if they are, how are you going to find them?”

Good point.
“I’ll try the obvious first—long distance information. Maybe I can get an address before we leave. Or I can try to find them on-line. If that doesn’t work, once I get there, maybe I can track them down through old courthouse records or something.”

Call’s face looked grim. It was obvious he didn’t want to take her with him and it hurt to know he would rather go by himself.

“You’d be a whole lot safer right here,” he said, and suddenly she wondered if protecting her was part of his motivation for wanting to leave her behind.

Charity altered her strategy. “Are you sure I’ll be safer? I was on that plane, too. Until you know what’s going on, I don’t see how you can be certain of anything.”

She knew she had him. She could see the worry creep into his face. His sigh held a hint of frustration. “All right, dammit, you can go. We’re leaving early. The chopper will be here at six tomorrow morning.”

Charity hid her jubilation. “Thanks, Call.” She walked over to where he stood, went up on her toes and gave him a soft, nibbling kiss. “Maybe I can find a way to repay you.”

Call’s eyes turned a darker shade of blue. “Yeah,” he said, hauling her into his arms. “Maybe you can at that.”

She didn’t return to the cabin until a whole lot later.

Six o’clock came early, but at least the sun was already shining and she was beginning to get used to the early hours up here. The chopper, a fancy red-and-silver model—a Bell turbo, Call said—set down exactly on time, and the two of them raced under the still-churning blades. They threw in their overnight luggage, climbed aboard, and strapped themselves into one of the four wide leather seats. Call said something to the pilot and the helicopter began lifting away.

An hour and a half later, they were walking across the tarmac in Whitehorse toward a sleek private jet.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Hawkins.”

“Good to see you, too, Bill … Benjamin.” Call shook hands with both of the men standing at the bottom of the ladder. Bill Bandy was lean and good-looking. Benjamin “Bing” Wheeler was taller, heavier through the chest and shoulders, with dark brown hair and a ruddy, weathered complexion. He wasn’t handsome but he had a strong masculine appeal and Charity imagined neither man had ever had trouble attracting women.

“This is Ms. Sinclair. She’s going with us.”

“Welcome aboard, Ms. Sinclair,” Bing Wheeler said.

“Thank you.” They climbed the metal stairs and stepped into the cabin of the jet. It was luxurious, with five deep, taupe leather seats, a sofa that seated three, a bathroom, and a refreshment bar. Charity settled herself in a seat facing Call, her heart pumping with excitement, and listened for the roar of the engine. She had never been in a private jet and this was definitely a thrill. Call seemed unimpressed.

For the first time, she got a glimpse of what his life must have been like before the accident, of the man he had been back then. She cast a glance in his direction. He was wearing a clean pair of jeans and a yellow cotton polo shirt, the kind of clothes he might have worn at home. But his gaze was fastened on the
Wall Street Journal
the pilot had handed him when he first sat down and he was already completely absorbed.

There was something different about him today, had been since the moment he stepped out of the chopper in Whitehorse and crossed the tarmac toward the chartered multimillion-dollar jet. His strides seem to lengthen, grow more purposeful, and beneath the yellow shirt, his shoulders looked wider, straighter than they were before. There was power and authority in each of his movements, and a solid, unshakable confidence in the planes of his handsome face.

This was once Call’s world and she saw how perfectly he fit into it. It occurred to her that no matter how much he loved the Yukon, some part of him must miss this and want to return.

The Seattle-Tacoma airport, one of the busiest in the country, was teeming with people when the jet rolled to a stop at the executive terminal.

“Nice ride,” Call said to Bill Bandy, who stood at the door of the cockpit.

“We’re scheduled to depart at ten A.M. tomorrow for the return trip to Whitehorse, but we’re keeping things flexible, as you requested. Let me know if there’s a change of plans.”

Call nodded. Setting a hand at Charity’s waist, he urged her down the aisle and out of the plane.

A long black stretch limo waited at the edge of the field. The chauffeur opened the door and Call watched her slide onto the soft gray leather seat. He followed her in and closed the door.

From behind a copy of
Newsweek,
Call saw Charity surveying the cavernous interior of the car, the tiny white lights illuminating the dark wood paneling and the crystal decanters in the built-in bar. “I can’t believe this.”

Call looked at her over the top of the magazine. “Can’t believe what?”

“If someone had told me the first time I met you that I’d be flying in a private jet with you and riding in a big, black limo I would have thought they were insane.”

A corner of his mouth edged up. “What? You mean the beard and the long hair fooled you?”

“That and that nasty disposition of yours.” She cocked a golden eyebrow. “Sometimes you’ve got a really bad temper, you know.”

He smiled at her teasing tone, then gave her a slow perusal that made color wash into her cheeks. “That’s not all I’ve got, honey.”

Charity laughed. Some of the tension he had been feeling began to ease and he set the
Newsweek
aside. “Ever been to Seattle?”

She shook her head. “I’m really looking forward to seeing it.”

He relaxed even more, settling into the deep leather seat. “Good, because I’m really looking forward to showing it to you.”

“You are?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” He’d meant to get his work done and leave, but if things went as planned, there was no reason they couldn’t enjoy themselves a little before they went back home.

Charity looked at him and a brilliant smile broke over her lips. It was warm and sweet, and something expanded in his chest. It was a feeling that unnerved him and for a moment, he wished he hadn’t volunteered. But the truth was, he wanted to show her the city.

He just hoped like hell his meeting with Wild Card would ensure it was a safe thing to do.

They checked into the Four Seasons Hotel in downtown Seattle, a magnificent, historic structure with a sumptuous lobby, marble columns, and an exquisite spiral staircase leading up to the second floor. After her weeks of living in the wilds of the Yukon, Charity felt like pinching herself to be sure she wasn’t dreaming.

They crossed the lobby and walked up to the long black-marble registration counter.

“This place is really expensive,” Charity whispered. “I never thought about that when I asked to come. Maybe I could stay in a cheaper—”

“Dammit, you don’t have to pay for a room.” His eyes moved down her body in a way that made the nerves beneath her skin come to life. “You’ll be staying with me. Until this is over, I want you close enough so I can keep an eye on you.”

Charity didn’t protest. They might have had sex, but she had been spending her nights alone in the cabin. She wanted to sleep with him, curl up in his arms. She wanted to wake up next to him in the morning.

The reservation had already been made. It didn’t take long before they were walking behind a bellman into a magnificent corner suite on the tenth floor. It was spacious and beautiful, with deep beige, over-stuffed sofas and chairs, and a polished mahogany dining room table big enough to seat six. Charity grinned when the bellman showed her the two marble bathrooms and Call said she could take her pick.

“In that case, I want the one with the Jacuzzi.”

“Fine,” Call said, a wicked glint in his eyes, “as long as I get to share it.”

They had a marvelous afternoon. Call insisted she buy something special to wear to dinner and she chose a simple black knit dress from one of the hotel shops. When she reached for the price tag, he caught her hand.

“It isn’t important. I can’t wait to see you in that dress.”

She picked a pair of black high heels from the shoe store next door and they returned upstairs to the suite. A before-dinner soak in the Jacuzzi tub led to a slow round of lovemaking, which led to another.

In the end, the dress stayed on its hanger in the closet and Call had supper sent up to the suite.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said as if he knew she was thinking about the cost of the dress and shoes, which, of course, she was. “You can wear them tomorrow night.”

Her head came up. “I thought we were leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

He shrugged as if it weren’t important. “One more night won’t hurt. If everything goes right, once this is over we can relax and enjoy ourselves.”

She went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “That sounds wonderful.”

They went to bed early, made love, and she drifted into an easy sleep. Once, in the night, she awakened to find Call standing in front of the window.

“Can’t sleep?” she said. He was worried about the meeting, she knew, and considering how much was at stake, she didn’t blame him.

He padded naked toward the bed, his strides long and rangy. “Maybe you can help me,” he said. She purred as he joined her in bed, came up over her, and slid himself inside her. When they finished making love, this time both of them were able to fall asleep.

Charity awakened the following morning later than usual, her muscles a little sore, her body pleasantly sated. Call was already gone.

She found a note from him on the dining room table.
Had some errands to run. Meet me downstairs in the lobby at one o’clock.
It was signed simply,
Call.

She had hoped to see her aunt in Issaquah. Tracking down the older of the two Doakes sisters had been surprisingly simple. Mavis Doakes was listed in the Issaquah phone directory. Apparently the woman had never married. If she had moved to Boston with her family as a child, at some point in time she must have returned to the place of her birth.

Charity hadn’t phoned her yet. She had intended to do it this morning. She stared down at the message, which seemed an odd request. Call’s business meeting was scheduled for one P.M. Surely he didn’t mean for her to go with him.

Just in case, she dressed in the blue linen suit she had brought, one of the few New York outfits she had taken with her to the Yukon, and mentally postponed her meeting with her aunt until later in the afternoon.

Call was waiting in the lobby when she got there, an expensive belted leather briefcase in one hand. She almost didn’t recognize him. His hair was shorter and perfectly groomed, and he was wearing what could only be Armani, a charcoal gray pinstriped suit, white shirt, and yellow power tie. He looked as comfortable in the expensive clothes as he did in his jeans and flannel shirt, and she couldn’t help thinking of Max Mason, who wore a tux as easily as he did a camouflage commando uniform.

Call reached down and caught her hand and a little zing went through her.

“Come on,” he said. “We need to get into that meeting.” He tugged her forward and she hurried to keep up, her low-heeled blue pumps tapping on the marble floors.

“Surely you’re not taking me with you?”

“Actually, I am.”

She set back, forcing him to stop. “Why?”

He sighed and turned to face her. “Because I want to make it extremely clear that you’re under my protection.” He started walking again and this time she didn’t slow him down. He paused for an instant outside the door to the conference room, seemed to collect himself, then reached for the heavy brass doorknob.

Call settled a hand at Charity’s waist, keeping her close to him as he ushered her into the conference room. As he had planned, the others were already there.

Bruce Wilcox stepped forward, a well-dressed man with sandy brown hair and perceptive green eyes. “Good to see you, Call. I hope this flight went better than the last one.”

He smiled. “Much better, I’m happy to say. Good to see you, Bruce.” Wilcox had been told about the plane. Being next in line at Datatron, the threat might reach him as well.

Besides Bruce, Charity, and Call, there were three other men in the room—two on one side, one on the other—big, brawny types who kept their backs to the wall and their eyes on the doors and windows. Two had arrived with Ransitch; the other, a man named Ross Henderson, with a thick neck and shaved head, had worked for Call before and was there as security for him and Bruce.

Wilcox introduced him to the small, black-haired man standing a few feet away, Fredrico Ransitch.

“I am happy to meet you,” Ransitch said.

Call looked past him, searching for the missing man, taking in the elegant boardroom with its potted palms, gilt-framed pictures, and long mahogany table surrounded by twenty overstuffed chairs. “Where’s your brother? He was supposed to come with you.”

Bruce Wilcox answered. “Apparently at the last minute Marco Ransitch couldn’t make it.”

“Really? Well, then, I guess this meeting is over.” Call picked up the leather briefcase he had set down on the table. “Perhaps another time.”

“Wait!” Fredrico moved in front of him. “Surely you realize I have the authority to speak for my brother.”

“Do you? The deal was for both of you to be here.” Call eyed the small, dark-skinned man and a thought suddenly struck him. “Unless, of course, Marco isn’t aware of the problem.” He watched Fredrico’s eyes dart nervously away and knew without a doubt that was exactly what was going on.

“My brother … he is not involved in this side of the business.”

Translation: Marco Ransitch didn’t know about the tampering being done on the Wild Card sites. Fredrico was pocketing the extra money and he was there to keep his brother from finding out. Call relaxed a little, knowing the odds had just shifted in his favor.

He gently urged Charity forward. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine … a very good friend … Ms. Sinclair.”

Fredrico made a polite bow of his head. “A pleasure, Ms. Sinclair.” But he looked annoyed that she was there. The fewer people who knew about the cheating he had been doing, the better for him, as far as he was concerned.

Too bad, Freddy, old boy. You should have thought about that when you nearly got both of us killed.

“All right, now that the niceties are over,” Call said, “why don’t we get down to business?” Seating Charity in a comfortable beige chair, he took a seat beside her and pinned his gaze on Fredrico.

“We all know why we’re here, so there’s no need to go into detail. Suffice it to say that my employees’ illegal intrusion into your business has ceased and will not be resumed under any conditions. Their actions occurred without my knowledge or anyone else’s. Whatever information they gleaned is in this briefcase. It’ll be returned to you … on one condition.”

Fredrico stiffened in his chair. “So now you want more money, is that it?”

“I don’t want any of your money, Ransitch. I’ve got plenty of my own. And the business you’re in is making you plenty rich, too.” Call opened his briefcase, lifted out a thick manila file, and set it down on the table. “What I want is for you to cease your illegal manipulation of gaming software. I want you to run your gambling sites by the book, all nice and legal.”

Small black eyes fixed on Call. Ransitch gritted his jaw.

Call tapped the manila folder. “Oh, and there’s one more thing. If anything should happen to me, anyone at Datatron, or anyone in any way under my protection”—he cast a meaningful glance at Charity—“a copy of the information collected will fall into the hands of the authorities … and also your brother.”

One of Fredrico’s hands fisted on top of the table. For long seconds he said nothing. Then he made a faint, jerky nod of his head. “I will do as you request.”

Call pushed back his chair and stood up. “That’s it, then.” He didn’t mention the plane crash or make any accusations. He had no proof and Ransitch would only deny it. “We shouldn’t have any more trouble. Right, Fredrico?”

“No more trouble,” he said.

Call shoved the manila folder toward him across the table. “There’s a second copy of this in the hands of an attorney. He knows what to do with it if you don’t comply with our agreement.”

Ransitch picked up the file. “I understand.”

Call watched the smaller man walk stiffly out of the room, followed by his pair of oversized bodyguards that dwarfed his small frame even more.

“Congratulations,” Bruce said, once the door was closed.

Charity smiled at Call. “Yes, that was very impressive. You’re a real mover and shaker, Mr. Hawkins, when you put on a suit.”

Call smiled at Charity, then glanced toward the door Fredrico had just gone out. “I didn’t want to involve you in this, but the more I thought about it, the more I began to believe you’d be safer if they understood exactly where you fit into all this. To be honest, I felt a whole lot better when I realized what Fredrico was up to.”

“You mean that he was cheating his brother.”

“Exactly. Marco Ransitch has the reputation of being one tough customer.”

“I think we should celebrate,” Bruce said. “Have either of you had lunch?”

“I haven’t.” Call looked over at Charity. “You hungry?” In her pretty blue linen suit, her blond hair swept up and gleaming, she looked good enough to eat. Ah … but that could wait until later.

“I was hoping to see my aunt this afternoon,” she said. “But I suppose having lunch first would be all right.”

Call snapped the latches closed on his briefcase, feeling as if they actually did have something to celebrate. “The Georgian Room is fantastic, but I was kind of saving it for tonight.” Charity had wandered into the high-ceilinged room yesterday after they had finished their shopping and remarked on the magnificent crystal chandeliers. He had planned to take her there last night, would have … if they hadn’t gotten so pleasantly distracted.

He forced his mind in a different direction. “There’s a great little bistro down the block that’s usually good.”

“The Oyster,” Bruce said. “It is good. Charity?”

“Sounds wonderful to me. I’m getting hungrier by the minute.”

“When we’re done, I’ll take you over to see your aunt … that is, if you don’t mind the company.”

Charity gave him a dazzling smile and an odd pressure rose in his chest. “I’d love for you to come.”

He glanced away, uneasy with the feeling. “All right, then.” He turned his attention to the big man still standing, legs splayed, beside the door. “Thanks, Ross. That’ll be all for now. I don’t think the Ransitch boys will be much of a threat anymore.”

As he picked up his briefcase, he caught a glimpse of Charity’s smiling face and his pulse took a leap.

The threat from Wild Card was over.

The biggest danger he faced right now stood only a few feet away.

Thinking how magnificent Call had been in the meeting, Charity turned her attention to the visit with her aunt she hoped to make. Picking up the phone in the conference room, she dialed the number she had found for Mavis Doakes, then crossed her fingers, praying her aunt would pick up, and suddenly she did.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Doakes? Mavis Doakes?”

“Yes?” The voice sounded old and brittle but not unfriendly.

“You don’t know me. My name is Charity Sinclair. I’m your great-niece, your sister Emma’s granddaughter.”

A long pause on the other end of the line. “Well, now, isn’t it nice of you to call.”

“I was wondering …I’m in Seattle for a couple of days. I was hoping I might stop by and meet you.”

“Well, sure you can, dearest. Whenever you would like.”

Her pulse cranked up. “How about this afternoon?”

Mavis Doakes agreed and Charity could barely suppress her excitement. Lunch at The Oyster with Call and Bruce Wilcox was interesting and fun, but while the men talked business, her mind kept wandering, straying toward the woman she would meet that afternoon. What would Mavis Doakes be like? What would she know about the past that might help Charity prove she was somehow connected to the Yukon?

“Come on,” Call finally said. “I can see the two of us are no competition to a recently discovered great-aunt. I’ll have Joseph bring the car around and pick us up out front.”

The scenic drive to the base of the heavily forested Cascade Mountains didn’t take long. The views along the way were majestic, with ropy clouds clinging to the hillsides and the air thick with mist. They arrived at the address her aunt had given her and Call guided her up on the old wooden porch.