Byron-4 (3 page)

She was perhaps an hour into it when she realized she had written the same number more than once. Frowning, she scrolled the ledger back up and found the number. After checking the account, she was surprised to find it was the same exact number. Then she noticed it twice more. Hitting control F, she put in the number, including the cents, and had it search—nine hundred thirty-three dollars and twelve cents. It found twenty-six entries with the same number. Curious, she took off the change and had it do another search for just the dollar amount and when the number popped up, she sat back in her chair hard, causing injury to her thigh. Three hundred and fifty times, and the change difference was only a few pennies off with each different entry.

Taking out one of her steno pads, Taylor began writing down the account number and the amount each deposit was. She was just thinking about how much was being deposited in this account when she came across a name she knew. Mary Jane Stone—

she had made six deposits into the account since May. Six deposits made as a dead woman. Randomly, Taylor picked another name and did an Internet search for them.

Roger Steward died two years ago and hadn’t missed a single payment. She did this for three more names and came up with the same results, their deaths long ago or as recent as eighteen months.

Going to the huge file cabinet armed with the account numbers, Taylor took the five names she had discovered and pulled their files. She wasn’t a lawyer and she knew nothing about the files and what she was reading, but she knew how to run a copier.

Taking the files over to the little machine, she made copies of every piece of information in the file, including the death notices, and put them into her backpack.

Sitting back at her desk, all she could think about was that movie, The Firm and the scam that those lawyers had been running. And Wilford Brimley and that white-haired guy chasing Tom Cruise all over the place trying to kill him. She was afraid, terrified really, knowing that whatever she had discovered wasn’t only illegal, but with the amount of money they were collecting off the dead, it could get her dead. Of the three hundred and fifty times she had found it for just this year, an amount of over three hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars, she wondered how many others there were for different amounts.

At five o’clock, she locked everything down and started to pack up her computer.

Biting her lip, she opened the file and pulled out her thumb drive. She made a copy of everything on her computer that was the firm’s and put the full drive in her sock. On the way home, she was picking up another drive and opening a safety deposit box at the bank too. From now on, she was making copies of everything.

Thanksgiving morning found Taylor at work at eight. She hadn’t slept well the night before, pain and embarrassment being high on her list of stress. Then there was the added knowledge that she had those files in Jamie’s house. She was terrified that at any minute someone was going to break down the door, storm into her room, and demand what the hell she was doing with company files. After tossing and turning for hours, she decided that she was going to put everything back, shred the copies she had made, and keep her mouth shut.

At nine-thirty, there was a knock at the office doors and a delivery man stood there in the blustering cold. The snow had started at around three in the morning and it was now covering everything in a thick coat of white fluff.

“I’m sorry,” she told Tim from ‘Rachel’s Roses.’ “There isn’t anyone here today, just me. Could you maybe take them to the owner’s house for me?” Jason and Paul Freedom often got flowers and other things delivered to the office, mostly from the flock of women that they hung out with.

“Sure, but aren’t you Taylor Bennett? These are for you, honey. If you want, I could take them to your house, but I think the guy who sent them wanted you to enjoy them today.”

She squealed. Never in all her life had anyone sent her flowers before. Excited beyond reason, she grabbed Tim’s arm and practically threw him into the entrance hall.

The long, white box was heavy when she took it from him after signing for it. And after kissing him on the weathered cheek, she skipped to her desk and opened the box.

White tissue paper covered the contents and the card on the top had her name on it in a very bold script that she recognized immediately. Opening it with shaky hands, she read what Jamie had to say.

To my best friend on this day of Thanksgiving. Have a lovely holiday and I promise to bring you back some mashed potatoes.

Love, Jamie

Crying openly now, she opened the paper and burst into tears. He was perhaps the sweetest man she knew and he would remember that she loved mashed potatoes above everything else. There nestled in the paper wasn’t long stem roses, because he knew that she was allergic, not carnations, not even daisies, but a large turkey and dressing frozen dinner, a box of her favorite tea bags, and a plate with silverware. There was a long, tapered candle and even a holder for it. Also, deep within, there was a mug and a lighter—and another note.

We’ll be eating at six, sit down with your fake dinner and join me at that time. I’ll be thinking of you.

Love you, Jamie

The rest of her day went by quickly. She kept thinking about the dinner now in the mini fridge that she had purchased second hand when she had gotten her first and only raise six months after working for the Fighters. The phone never rang, for which she was grateful, and at four, she gathered up her gifts and her things and left the office for home.

The weather had gotten considerably worse and it took the bus over an hour to move along the slick roads to his house. She was exhausted and sore by the time she kicked off her shoes and slipped out of her coat. Taking everything to the kitchen, she put on the kettle of water and went to change.

The wound on her thigh looked bad. It was hot to the touch and she could barely stand to have anything, including her flannel pants, touch it. Taylor was sure now that he may have broken the skin because there was something oozing from it and onto the padding she had put there before leaving for work. She took three pain killers and went to finish her tea and start her dinner.

At six, just sitting down to her fake dinner, as Jamie called it, the phone rang. She didn’t answer it. No one knew she lived here but him and whoever he had told and they had yet to set up any kind of ground rules as to where that sort of stuff lay. When she heard his voice over the answering machine calling her name, she smiled and picked the receiver up.

“Oh, Jamie, you are so wonderful. You couldn’t have picked a better thing to pick me up with.”

“Hey, kiddo, are you having a rough day? Those bastards you...why don’t you try and find another job, maybe after this weekend? I’ll help you.”

“I think you might be right. I don’t think this one is going anywhere.” She looked over at her backpack and thought about the files in it.

She hadn’t taken them out, nor had she erased the thumb drive. Something wasn’t right and she knew it. Whether or not she did anything about it...well, that was a different matter altogether. It took her several seconds to realize he was saying something.

“...due in June. Mom is over the moon with happiness. And Meggie is so excited about having a little sister than she is about to bust.”

“I’m so happy for them. Jamie, are you sure about me and this dinner thing? I mean, I’m not exactly the rich and famous type of person, more of a beer and pizza kinda girl. And your family, what do they think about you bringing a nobody with you?” As soon as she said it, she knew that she shouldn’t have.

“You’re my friend, Taylor, and I won’t have anyone, not even you, putting yourself down. Now. Is your dinner ready? We are about to say grace and I’m going to bring you along with us.”

She could hear everyone being seated and the children talking excitedly. Taylor could hear Jamie talking and, also, she recognized his brother Byron. Her stomach hummed with the sound of his voice and that surprised her more than anything.

The man was gorgeous. His hair was a darker brown than Jamie’s and saying it was brown was like saying that she was a girl. There were colors that defied description, and it curled ever so slightly at the ends. He had a classic face, long nose, heavy jaw, and full, pouty lips that didn’t make him look feminine in the least. His pierced tongue had surprised her, but the diamond stud in his ear didn’t. He was taller than Jamie’s six-foot-four by probably another two inches and he was bulkier, more muscular across his chest. She knew he was a potter and figured that was why—all the upper body movements. When he had invaded her bedroom, his dark t-shirt was tucked into faded jeans that looked as if he had been melted down and poured like hot sex into them.

Taylor wondered if his chest was smooth and what color his nipples were. The tear at the knee of his pants and the other on his thigh were not a product of style, she was sure, but of a man who worked at living and lived to play.

“Okay, everyone, tell Taylor happy Thanksgiving and I’ll be right back.” The entire family yelling to the phone had her smile and then it was quite. She assumed that he left the room.

“Are you okay, sweetie? I mean with this charity thing? I don’t want you to go if you don’t feel comfortable.”

Tears prickled her eyes and she closed them. “I’m fine, I promise. I just...you know how I am with strangers. Promise you won’t leave my side and I won’t embarrass you overly much, all right?”

“Never. I’ll stick to you like glue. I’ll pick you up at six and don’t eat much. There will be tons of food and decadent desserts. Love you, Ta. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Love you too. Night.”

~CHAPTER 3~

Byron couldn’t stop thinking about the woman living with his brother. The marks on her back, the way she looked, and the way she had felt for those few fleeting moments when he had fallen into her arms had him wanting to drive back to Columbus and hunt her down. His cock had been near bursting for two days and he wanted relief.

He knew of two clubs near his mother’s house on the north side of Columbus, had even called them to see if they were open tonight, which surprisingly, they were. But he couldn’t make himself go there. He wanted the little firebrand.

After stepping out onto the deck to cool off, he closed his eyes and thought about her. Taylor Bennett was a classic beauty from the top of her dark head of hair to the bottom of her feet. When she had stood in front of him, the towel draped over her breast, and her backside open to his view, he noticed the two dimples at the top of each cheek of her ass and salivated again at the thought of licking them. He thought there was a tattoo, but he couldn’t be sure if it was a bruise or not. He couldn’t wait to find out. Her ass was tight and full, and curved down to her sculptured thighs and muscled calves. When he had looked into her face, wide blue eyes stared back at him and he could almost feel the heat from her anger still when she had glared at him. Full lips, moist from the steam of the bath, beckoned his mouth to cover them, devour them.

Byron knew that her breasts were real, large and firm. When he had fallen against her, he had felt the natural bounce to them and had wanted to throw his brother out and break down the door when she had locked him out.

He had never had a reaction to a woman this way before. He had wanted them and usually never had problems getting what he wanted, but this woman was different. He didn’t want to think about what it could mean, but he was willing to play for a while.

When he heard the door open to the deck and his brother Nicky stepped out, Byron actually groaned.

“That bad huh? Who is she and how much of a background check do you want me to run on her?” Nicky smiled.

“None, and it’s not like that. She’s...keep this to yourself, but she’s Jamie’s roommate. Christ, I only met her and she already has me in knots.”

“Roommate? Wow! Do you think Mom knows? Well, that was a stupid question.

He’s still alive, isn’t he? He must really like this girl—wait! You! Holy Christ, Byr, you’re hitting Jamie’s girlfriend?”

“No! Shit, no. He says they’re just friends and that she is having some money issues. I think I believe him. But you should see this girl. Tall, dark hair, and a mouth that makes you think of sin and sex in a heartbeat. I don’t even like her; she called me a barbarian, for crying out loud. Don’t!” He knew as sure as he was standing there that Nicky was going to agree about the name, but didn’t want to have to hurt him for it.

“Okay, for now anyway. Jamie said she’s his date tomorrow night. Maybe you can charm her with your suaveness and impress her into liking you. It’s happened before.” Byron nodded, not really holding out much hope. She really didn’t like him.

Byron glanced at his brother and thought about the other time he’d done a background check on a girl Byr was seeing. Antonia Clay had been perfect. Good background, moneyed and well-mannered when it counted. His mother had taken one look at her and hated her. The feelings were mutual. He chuckled. That was an understatement.

Spencer had just gotten married and so had Nick, to his first wife. Damon was engaged. So one quick weekend in Vegas and he had ended up married to the bitch from hell. She had been all right at first, civil to his family and tolerant of Meggie when she was born. It wasn’t until Spencer got divorced a few years later that he realized that the women liked each other. They both couldn’t remain faithful if their lives had depended on it. When she had been caught for the eighth or ninth time with a man in a hotel room, he’d filed for divorce. The pre-nup was the only thing that had saved him from losing everything. He was more careful of his heart and his money.

~~~

Taylor woke at dawn throwing up. She was freezing one minute and burning up the next. And she ached. Calling off was out of the question, but she did call and make an appointment at the clinic. Luckily, her friend Angel said if she came in right now, she could look at her.

“You have a fever of a hundred and two and you’re dehydrated. I think you have the flu. But without further testing, I can’t say for sure. You need to go home and go to bed. Is your throat sore, how about your ears?” Angel asked as she took Taylor’s blood pressure.