Here Comes Trouble (12 page)

Jackson hadn’t said two words since he’d knocked on Malcolm’s door. The last time she’d seen an expression similar to the one he wore now was when they’d gotten word about Catherine’s car accident. The bone-crushing hug he’d given her when she’d strode out of Malcolm’s bedroom looking like a drowned cat a few minutes before had put Malcolm’s panicked reaction in the car to shame. It had taken her at least five murmurings of “I’m okay” before her father released her. And then subjected Nathan to the same embarrassing treatment.

Jackson turned to face them. “The last few hours have been some of the worst I’ve spent, imagining what had happened, what could have happened by you being so careless. We had a deal.” He focused his anger on Nathan. “We are a team. What we do, we do together. We agree on together. We don’t go off on a whim and blow up buildings that will be the lead story on the morning news.”

“Been a bit hard to do with your frequent disappearing acts.” Nathan’s observation was made as casually as if they were discussing holiday plans. He’d already demolished one burger and was moving on to the second, but stopped to glance at Malcolm. “What do you have to drink?”

“Fridge. Help yourself.”

Sheila recognized Nathan’s indifference as controlled rage and moved to intercept. “I think what Nathan’s saying is—”

“I’m capable of interpreting your brother’s thoughts, thank you, Sheila.”

She slumped back, catching Malcolm’s pointed look at her burger. She stuffed the burger into her mouth and took a huge bite, narrowing her eyes at him as if to say, “Happy?”

“We’re fine, Dad.” Nathan returned with a bottle of water. “Not so sure I can say the same for Malcolm, what with all that healthy food in the fridge.” He shuddered and addressed his father. “Look, I found some useful information on Chadwick and ran with it. That’s what I’m supposed to do, remember?”

“You’re supposed to think things out and then we agree on how to proceed.” Jackson stared at him.

“I called you three times and you didn’t answer. When I checked with Corrine, your secretary informed me you’d taken the plane north again and that you wouldn’t return until morning.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation as to where I spend my time,” Jackson said.

“Yes, you do.” Sheila wasn’t sure if it was the burger talking—man, was it tasty—or if she was tired of dancing around whatever her father was keeping from them. “Especially if it means Nathan and I have to take chances we wouldn’t otherwise.” Time to put all the cards on the table before it was too late to fold all together. “Nathan and I did what we thought we had to do. As he reminded me, we’re running out of time if this plan is going to work. With Chadwick leaving the country, this is it, Dad. It’s the one shot we have to give Levia what never should have been stolen to begin with.”

“Hold on.” Malcolm set his plate on the black-and-glass coffee table and wiped his mouth. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but could you all stop talking in code and tell me what all this is about?”

Jackson ducked his head, angled a look first to Nathan, then to Sheila, which he held significantly longer.

“It’s okay, Dad.” She laid a hand on Malcolm’s arm and squeezed and felt him jolt in surprise. “He proved himself tonight.” With this. Where other things were concerned . . .

Jackson nodded and took a seat in the chair at the end of the coffee table, crossed an ankle over his knee and looked at Malcolm. “About two years ago I met with your father in his office about his investments with Tremayne Investments and Securities. Nothing but a check-in and consult on how he wanted his accounts managed for the foreseeable future. It was clear he was thinking about retiring, wanted things in order before he made any kind of announcement. During our meeting, his assistant notified him that a shipment he’d been waiting for had arrived. Seems Chadwick had left instructions he be called down to verify the package. Chadwick being Chadwick, he invited me down so he could show off his latest acquisitions.”

“Dad does love showing off his latest and greatest,” Malcolm said.

“He should have resisted the urge,” Sheila said, and plucked a fry off Malcolm’s plate. “Do you remember me talking about Aunt Levia, Mom’s older sister?”

“Yes. Your grandfather adopted her after the war, didn’t he?”

Impressed he remembered, Sheila nodded. “Levia’s father was an artist. Not a renowned one, but he had a following and his pieces had begun to sell in the early thirties. One of the last paintings he completed before the family was interned at Buchenwald was a family portrait. A portrait that until recently everyone believed had been lost or destroyed in the war.”

“Levia always believed, or maybe hoped, something of her father’s survived,” Nathan cut in as he polished off his fries. “All these years, we assumed it was her way of dealing with what happened to her, losing her entire family. Something she could cling to. I remember when we were kids, she had found a copy of a European art book and she gave it to Sheila as a birthday gift. One of the photos in that book showed a portion of her family portrait.”

“She’d stare at that one photo in the book for hours.” Sheila could remember the mingled look of pain and memory on her aunt’s face. “It was so tiny, you couldn’t even see the entire painting in the photograph, but she was convinced it was her family.”

“That photo in that book was taken in 1953,” Nathan said.

“And that’s the painting you saw in Dad’s office that day?” Malcolm asked Jackson.

“I didn’t make the connection at first. A few weeks later, Catherine had her accident and, well.” He cleared his throat as his gaze dropped to the floor. “I wasn’t thinking too clearly for a while. It wasn’t until last Hanukkah when Sheila had the book rebound as a gift for Levia that we were looking through it again and I remembered. At the time, Chadwick had no qualms about telling me about its rumored providence, that it had been hidden away for years, and that a contact of his in the black market in France had been able to procure it for him. His crowning glory, he called it.” Jackson chuffed out a disgusted breath. “As if owning a piece of stolen artwork is something to be proud of.”

“Dad’s perceptions have always been a bit skewed,” Malcolm agreed. “The idea of owning something no one else could or should would be obsessively appealing to him.”

“Yeah, well, I put the pieces together a few months ago. I told Sheila and Nathan about the painting and we decided to dig deeper. I reached out to some of my contacts in Europe and ICE, confidentially, so nothing got back to Chadwick or his fellow collectors.”

“There’s more of him?” Malcolm grunted.

“Oh, there’s a circle of them, always interested in one-upping one another,” Jackson said. “Over the last three months we managed to track down the grandson of the original curator of the Marmount Museum, where Levia’s father had taken his work for safekeeping. The curator’s family survived the war unscathed, physically at least, but by the time the war was over, they were destitute. The paintings had been listed as lost, and yet there they were, along with their documentation, hidden in underground tunnels that at one time had been used to hide Jewish families from the Nazis. And while they returned the majority of those paintings to France, a number of them were sold to collectors in an effort to stabilize the family’s income.”

“And one of those sold was the one of Levia’s family.”

“Last week Levia managed to get in contact with a docent at the same museum,” Sheila said. “They’ve located the original records of the painting, that her provenance, should she claim one, is valid. They’re on their way now.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Malcolm glanced between her and Jackson. “Find where he’s keeping the painting and call the authorities?”

Nathan shook his head. “We don’t have the greatest faith law enforcement would do what needs doing.”

“We did consider it,” Sheila said with a warning glare at her brother. “But if we went that route it could be months, maybe even years before Levia . . .” Her throat caught and she coughed, trying to cover.

“Levia’s going blind,” Jackson finished for her. “It’s happening faster than the doctors predicted and Sheila’s taken it upon herself to make sure that before that happens, Levia sees her family again.”

“So what? You’re going to steal it and hope my father doesn’t report it?”

“As much as I would love to see your father report it, he can’t,” Nathan said. “Not without admitting he had the painting in the first place. And while depriving him of that painting would be a decent kick to his ego, it doesn’t go far enough. He needs to be stopped and exposed. And he’s given us the perfect arena in which to act. What better place to expose him as a fraud than during his own auction?”

“The ultimate goal, however,” Sheila reminded her brother, “is to retrieve Levia’s painting. Which is why we need the diversion of him fighting off charges of selling forged artwork—which will be proven when the authorities search his office safe room and find the original paintings.”

Malcolm seemed frozen for a moment. And then he blinked. “That’s . . . diabolical. Genius.”

“Thank you.” Sheila grinned as a feeling of pride washed over her. She shifted her legs to tuck them under her, hoping she’d shake off the tingles from the storage-facility debacle.

“It’s also impossible to pull off.” Malcolm huffed and Sheila tried not to deflate in offense. “I mean, it sounds great in theory, but it would take a crew of criminals and a slew of what-ifs to be able to pull something like that off. And unless you’ve got a team of thieves in reserve in your offices, Jackson—”

“It’s not our first rodeo.”

“Yeah,” Malcolm said. “I’m sure the three of you have been spending your nights scouring buildings and breaking into art galleries and . . .” He trailed off, glancing at each one of them. “I’ve circled back around to that piece of the puzzle I missed before, haven’t I?”

“We’ll have a little help from Nemesis.” Jackson asked and folded his hands in his lap.

“The Greek goddess of vengeance or the . . .” Sheila watched as the light dawned and Malcolm’s eyes widened. “Oh, fuck me,” he laughed. “You’re talking about the Nemesis who’s been stalking Lantano Valley for the last couple of years.” He shifted on the couch. “You’re working with Nemesis? You’re a thief?”

She shrugged, warming under the combination of admiration and surprise shining in his amber eyes. “No. I’m a replicator.”

“Forger,” Nathan corrected, and Sheila scrunched her lips. “Why do you keep changing your title?”

“Creative license. He’s the thief.” She pointed at Nathan. “Although by tonight’s standards I think he might be losing his touch.”

“You’re both working with Nemesis.” Malcolm faced Nathan.

“No.” Jackson said. “We
are
Nemesis. And by we I mean you are now as well.”

“Welcome aboard, buddy.” Nathan stood, walked over, and slapped him on the back before he perched on the arm of the loveseat.

“One of us. One of us,” Sheila monotoned.

“Wait a minute, hold on.” Malcolm got to his feet and started to pace as Sheila’s nerves returned. “Didn’t I read earlier this year about some brouhaha with the Feds and Nemesis, something to do with Morgan and the foundation helping break a drug-cartel case wide open? Wasn’t she brought in for questioning about the case?”

“Which explains our determination to avoid collateral damage,” Nathan said. “We’ve learned the hard way.”

“Morgan doesn’t know about any of this, Malcolm,” Sheila said.

“And it’s vital that she not.” Jackson’s voice could have cut steel. “Ever.”

“I don’t think Morgan would necessarily have an issue with her family exacting revenge on the wrong doers of society,” Malcolm said.

“Can’t take the chance. Besides, she’s marrying an ex-cop. The same cop who was determined to put Nemesis behind bars.” Once again, Sheila saw the flash of regret on her father’s face. “We’re not putting anyone else at risk. Nemesis stays here, among the four of us, Malcolm. Agreed?”

“Yeah.” Malcolm’s nod was accompanied by glassy-eyed shock. “Yeah, agreed.”

“Great.” Nathan slapped his hands together. “So what’s for dessert?”

“You did not have to walk me home, Malcolm.” Sheila slid her key into her front door before she faced him.

“I think we both needed the fresh air.” He leaned a hand against the doorframe beside her head. “Besides, three a.m. in Lantano Valley isn’t the safest place to be.”

“Still prone to exaggeration, I see.” He always could make her smile. “Are you sure you’re okay with all this?”

“You mean finding out my sexy ex and her family are career criminals out to avenge the wrongs of society?” He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Barely a blip on the radar.”

She shouldn’t be this relieved. Or this charmed. “Thank you for not disappointing me.” She pushed his hand away.

“I’m sorry I did in the past.”

“So am I.” She cleared her throat. “Well, good night. Or rather, good morning.”

“I could come in,” Malcolm said, and lounged against the doorframe. “You know, take a look around, check to make sure everything is okay inside. No monsters under the bed.”

“You could.” Oh, he really, really could. She really, really wanted . . . “But not tonight.”

“Must get lonesome in that big place all by yourself.”

“How do you know it’s big?”

“I looked up the floor plans online. This one’s vacant, you know.” He jerked his head toward the door to 4B. “Would make a good investment property.”

“Except you don’t want ties to Lantano Valley, remember?” She patted a hand against his chest before she thought better of it. The tingling in her fingers had nothing to do with the way she’d been clenching her keys in her hand and everything to do with the man in front of her.

He stroked a finger down the side of her face. “Aren’t you tired of being alone?”

He stepped closer and she took a breath. Mistake number two of the evening. He smelled so . . . male. She licked her lips as she ducked her face clear of his grasp. “There’s a lot to be said for not being responsible to or for someone else.”

“There’s a lot to be said for using the time we’re given.” He dipped down, aimed his lips for that sensitive space behind her right ear but before he made contact, she turned the doorknob and pushed open her door. “Think about it.”

Like she’d be thinking about anything else.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You will?”

“Gran, remember?”

“Oh, right.” New knots twisted in her stomach. “Her funeral plans. I didn’t realize you were going to be there.”

“My presence has been requested, although I’m not sure why.”

“Because she trusts you and loves you?”

“And she’s playing matchmaker when she can. Which means you’d better be on your best behavior tomorrow when we’re with her.”

“Like I’d planned to jump you in the presence of your grandmother.”

“Trust me, she wouldn’t object. Oh, Sheila?” he called when she started to close the door.

“Yes?”

“Just one more thing.” He yanked her into the hall and kissed her, thoroughly. Completely. Past and present merged under the movements of his lips over hers, coaxing, teasing, taunting her to give as good as he gave and she did, letting out a small moan as she gripped the back of his neck, her fingers diving into his hair. “Yeah.” He lifted his mouth, just a fraction, their noses touching at the tips. “Yeah, that should hold me ’til later.”

“There won’t be a later,” Sheila called after him as he waved over his shoulder. She watched him walk away, appreciated the firm butt under snug jeans, the strong shoulders that she could have gripped and pulled on moments before.

One small tug inside that door and . . . “He’s right,” she sighed. “Being alone sucks.”

But at least it was safe.

***

“And where are you off to?” Veronica asked when Malcolm answered his hotel room door at just after eleven Thursday morning. She poked her head around corners as if waiting to be attacked as Malcolm finished tucking in his shirt and circled back through the suite. Her slim sapphire blue skirt and matching blazer was almost blinding in the cascading sunlight. “Is she going to pounce on me?”

“Sheila’s not here.” But from the moment he’d awoken, he’d wished she was. Thankfully he’d be seeing her soon. Even if it was in the presence of his grandmother. “And why would she pounce? She appreciated you bringing her clothes last night.”

“Oh, honey.” Veronica patted his cheek. “You don’t know anything about women. You’d better let her know we’re just friends.”

“You think?”

“Wipe that stupid grin off your face so we can celebrate. As of an hour ago, you are the majority shareholder in Oliver Technologies.” She inclined her head. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” He smiled as he rolled up his sleeves.

“Thanks?” Veronica set her briefcase down and crossed her arms, perching on the back of the sofa. “We just spent eighteen months practically cyber-stalking shareholders of your father’s company to get to this point and all you have to say is
thanks
? Malcolm, this is what you’ve been working for. Oliver Technologies is yours again. You did it. It’s what you wanted. Isn’t it?”

“Of course it is. It’s great news.” He kissed her on the cheek. “We’ll celebrate later. I have a meeting I have to get to.”

“So your plans to dismantle the company as soon as possible . . .”

“We’ll get to it. Soon.”

“Huh. This town must have supernatural powers I didn’t know about. I mean, it’s charming, sure, and has its share of nightlife and, let’s face it, exploding warehouses aside—”

Malcolm’s head shot up.

“Yeah, it’s me, remember.” She waggled her fingers at him. “You hired me because I’m
not
stupid. And I can just imagine the glee you took in watching your father have to comment to the press about how one of his storage facilities was destroyed in what’s being called a suspicious fire. His insurance claim is going to be a bitch.”

“I must have missed that.” He hadn’t even thought about watching the news this morning.

“My point. You’re missing out on that revenge you’ve been striving for. I think you’re missing a lot of things. Just to remind you, I’m behind whatever you decide you want to do with the company, but the longer it takes you to come clean about buying the shares, the greater the chances are he’ll find out about it and try to protect himself in the press.”

“So let’s get that press release drafted and ready to go.”

“Just like that?”

“You’re right. Finding the right time to release it will be the tricky part, but I want to send it out as fast as possible once I decide.” Funny. All this time, all this planning, and buying his father’s company paled in comparison to what Sheila and her family were planning, and the creative kick behind their plans just sounded more . . . fun, not to mention rewarding. Talk about hitting his father where he lived. “I’m going to stick around a little longer than planned. No harm in waiting, right? Oliver Technologies isn’t going anywhere.”

“This is quite a shift in thinking.”

He caught Veronica’s suspicious gaze. “Things with Sheila have gotten a little more complicated than I expected and—”

“And you’d like to see where things might go should you give them a chance to blossom?”

“Blossom? Really?” Malcolm nearly gagged and wondered why he’d said anything. “Sometimes your vocabulary astonishes me.”

“As does your ability to underestimate the power Sheila Tremayne holds over you. Not that that’s a bad thing, mind you,” she added. “I like her. I think she’s great for you. As long as she never finds out you’ve been lying to her again. Women don’t like being lied to.”

“I’m not lying to her.” Malcolm’s phone rang and before he thought better of it, he snatched it up. “I’m not,” he said again and answered. “Malcolm Oliver.”

“I guess Veronica gave you a stern talking-to about answering your calls.” The female voice on the other end sent a chill racing through his entire body. He avoided looking at Veronica as he wandered away, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stand, the humor that had been shining on her face moments before evaporating under a veil of concern.

“Hey, Doc.” He couldn’t seem to swallow. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

“Malcolm, if there’s one thing I understand it’s that people deal with health issues in different ways. But I am heading out of town for a few days and I wanted to talk to you before I left. So.”

Shit
. He scrubbed a hand across his forehead as his knees went weak. The back of his throat began to ache. “How bad is it?”

“As you expected, your blood work is a bit off.”

“
A bit
as in finish updating my will or as in the antibiotics could still work?” After overseeing his previous eighteen months of chemotherapy and radiation, she was used to his sense of humor.

“Off as in I want you in for some more tests. CT and PET scan, a physical exam.”

“When?” Was it normal to feel as if your heartbeat was a stop watch on countdown?

“I know you’re out of town, Malcolm, so I set up an appointment for tomorrow morning. Nine a.m.”

“I hadn’t planned to be back to the city by then.” He tried to remember his schedule, but his brain wouldn’t lock in. It sounded as if a jet plane was roaring in his ears.

“Which is why I made the appointment at Lantano Memorial.” She said. “One of the top oncologists researching Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma is working there. He and I went to med school together so I called in a favor. I know you’re trying to keep this under the radar so I made the appointment for you under the name Michael O’Connor.”

“Okay.” He pulled open the glass door to the balcony. The air hit his face like a sharp slap, but he welcomed the reminder he was still alive.

“How are you feeling otherwise? Any other symptoms other than the night sweats and fatigue?”

“No. Aside from an upset stomach most of the time, I’ve been feeling better.” Until now.

“That’s the antibiotics. Your numbers aren’t so out of whack that we can’t give them a chance to work, so keep taking them until they’re gone. In the meantime, keep to your routine. Get a lot of sleep, exercise when you feel like it. Eat well but try not to obsess over it. Those protein shakes you concocted make me nauseated.”

Veronica stepped outside, arms wrapped tight around her torso as she looked out over the city, giving up any pretense of pretending not to listen.

“How long until we know for sure?” he asked.

“A while still. Malcolm, I don’t have to tell you that even if the tests reveal a recurrence, we’ll look at every option,” Dr. Chapman said. “We knew this was a possibility and there’s no reason not to think treatment won’t be successful again.”

“Yeah, understood.” He leaned his arms on the iron railing and took a deep breath. “So next step is tomorrow morning.”

“I know we’ve talked about this, Malcolm, but having a strong support system around you can do so much good. If there’s family you can lean on . . .”

“I’ve got you, Doc.” But the last thing he wanted was to be the object of anyone’s pity. He didn’t want to be anyone’s obligation. Besides, the people he’d tell had more than enough to deal with. And the idea of telling Sheila he had had cancer once, let alone could be preparing to battle it a second time? He wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t protect himself from this illness, but he could sure as hell protect her. “Appreciate you calling, Doc. Have a good trip.”

He clicked off and leaned over, willing the panic to subside as he crouched down to ease the building pressure in his torso. Just as he felt as if he’d gotten things back on track, rebuilding his reputation, reclaiming the life he should have had, reconnecting with the woman he’d let slip away . . . Wham!

“Malcolm.” Veronica crouched down beside him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “What did she say?”

His head spun. He closed his eyes, squeezed until stars exploded as he tried to remember to breathe. Sheila . . .

“More tests,” he said. His heart fisted in his chest, seizing and expanding at the same time. “She won’t say for certain, but she’s made me an appointment for tomorrow morning at the hospital here, and then we wait. Again.”

“Do you want me to go with you? Or be with you when you tell Sheila?”

“I’m not telling her.”

“Malcolm—”

“I’m not having this discussion with you again, Veronica. She watched her baby brother die of cancer. I’m not putting her through that.”

“That’s not fair to her. She cares about you.”

“If you want to stick by me, great, but not if you’re going to lecture me every five minutes on what I should be doing. I mean it, Veronica. I can’t fight the cancer and you, too.”

“Okay,” she whispered, rubbing his shoulders. “Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t say another word about it.”

“And you won’t say a word to Sheila. Or anyone else in this town. I want you to swear to me.”

“I swear.” Her hand stilled. “I, um, hear my phone. I’ll be right inside.”

“Yeah. Dammit.” He sank into the wrought-iron chair behind him, rested his elbows on his knees and stared out into the town he’d called home most of his life. It just wasn’t meant to be, was it? He’d wasted too many years planning his father’s takedown. Focused too much on work, on money, on rebuilding a reputation that when push came to shove, meant jack shit in the grand scheme of things. He’d forgotten to live.

And from what he could tell, so had Sheila.

“That’s it.” The idea coalesced, images and ideas forming so quickly in his mind he didn’t know what to do first. He aimed a smile up to the sky and took a deep breath.

He knew what he had to do.

***

“We’ll get everything we discussed today settled in the next few weeks, Alcina.” Sheila closed her notebook, keeping her place in the upholstered chair in Alcina’s bedroom. Malcolm’s grandmother had settled herself in the chaise by the balcony door, the late-afternoon breeze billowing the gauzy sea-blue curtains, casting her bedroom in a tinge of the sea.

Alcina pulled the lightweight blanket up to her waist. “Nothing like putting down a retainer for a death watch.”

“Alcina, please.” Sheila clutched her hands together and tried to keep her voice light, but nothing was stopping the clamminess from claiming her. There weren’t many things that threw her off-kilter, but this was one of them. “Unless you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness, aside from stubbornness”—she clarified with a stern look at which Alcina laughed—“I think your time would be better spent focusing on living rather than dying.”