Neck & Neck (39 page)

She thumbed the volume button on the remote just in time to hear that the issue of the
Investigator
hitting news-stands today was reporting an exclusive story it insisted was absolutely true, citing a “confidential but extremely reliable source” and their own, still ongoing, investigation. And her jaw dropped when she heard the particulars of what that story was. That Russell Mulholland, reclusive billionaire and the genius behind the mega-selling GameViper system was neither a billionaire nor a genius. Natalie could have told them he also wasn’t especially reclusive these days, either, but that was neither here nor there. At least, he wasn’t the genius behind the GameViper. That honor would belong, according to the
Investigator
, to his son, Max, who had designed the game system when he was all of twelve years old. The money Mulholland Games had made since then belonged to him, not his father, who had put it all into a trust fund for his son that Max would be able to tap upon graduation from college. Yes, the elder Mulholland was, technically, CEO of the company and still designed many of its games. And yes, he still raked in a generous seven figures annually himself. But it was young Max who was now the real brains behind much of the operation.

“Holy cow,” Natalie muttered as the story concluded. That was the big secret, she realized. The one Russell and Finn had worked so hard to keep under wraps. The one that explained why there was so much missing about Russell and his business on the Web. The one Finn feared Natalie had figured out that night the two of them—

The bottom dropped out from beneath her when she remembered that conversation. Finn thought she’d uncovered something about Max. He was going to think she was the one who had broken the story to the
Investigator
. That she was the “confidential but extremely reliable source” they cited. If he’d thought she could falsify a news report for monetary gain in the form of a simple party, he’d sure as hell believe she’d sold a story like this to a national publication that was notorious for sensationalizing, well, everything.

She tossed the remote onto the couch without even turning off the TV and ran to the kitchen for her phone. She told herself the only reason she had Finn’s number memorized was because she’d called him so many times in an effort to get to Russell. But really, she knew it was because of another reason entirely. It was because . . . because . . . because she’d wanted to know everything she could about him, and since he only offered up snippets of himself in small portions, learning his phone number was one way of adding to the meager pile of knowledge.

Yeah, that was it. She’d just been curious about him, that was all. It had nothing to do with those pesky
feelings
she’d thought she had for him. Those
feelings
that had turned out to be nothing but some misguided notion that the two of them could create something beautiful together. Those
feelings
she didn’t
feel
for Finn at all. She didn’t. Really. No way.

Just because she wanted so desperately to make him realize she hadn’t been the one to betray his trust didn’t mean anything. That was just Natalie saving face. Defending herself against an unwarranted charge. Clearing her name. Maintaining fairness and balance in an otherwise topsy turvy world. It had nothing to do with her being unable to stand the idea of Finn thinking less of her than he already did. And it sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with caring about him and wanting him to care for her, too.

Saving face. That was all Natalie was doing as she punched his number into the phone. Defending herself. Clearing her name. But when she heard the buzz of a busy signal hammering her ear—all six times she tried calling him back—when she realized he was probably on the phone right now with those West Coast attorneys, telling them what a deceitful, conniving opportunist she was, she felt something welling in the pit of her stomach that felt very much like terror. But it wasn’t the terror of being sued, or of confronting a cadre of attorneys, or being financially and professionally destroyed. It wasn’t even the terror of having to date Dean Waterman exclusively for six months.

It was the terror that she had lost forever the one man she might very well be in love with.

FINN FOLDED HIS CELL PHONE CLOSED AND SOMEHOW managed not to hurl it out the hotel window and into the building across the street. But within seconds, the damned thing was ringing again. He glanced down at the number—by now he had the number of every media outlet in town memorized—and when he didn’t recognize it, decided not to answer. Instead, he shut the phone off, shot a longing look at the window, and tossed the cell onto the bed instead.

All hell was breaking loose where Russell and Max were concerned, and Finn didn’t even know where in the hell Russell and Max were. Nor did he know how in the hell all hell was breaking loose in their lives. The
National Investigator
, for God’s sake. Of all the ways he’d played out the possibility of Max’s secret getting out, the
Investigator
was the last place Finn would have expected the news to break. Yeah, they liked to dish the celebrity scandals, but they generally confined their trawling to Hollywood and professional sports. If Max or Russell had suffered some Botox accident or been arrested for ’roid rage, he could see the
Investigator
jumping on it. But something that would rock the business and technology worlds? Who’da thunk?

Damn those
People
magazine lists, anyway.

He crossed to the hotel phone and picked it up to call Russell again. He’d told the desk not to put through any calls, knowing Russell would use his cell phone to contact him, but everyone else was trying to contact Finn through that number, too, so the hotel phone would have to do. He could punch in the numbers without even looking at this point, so often had he dialed them this morning. Hell, his fingers cramped up when he did it, so often had they made the route. But, as always, after one ring, Russell’s voice mail came up instead.

“Dammit, Russell, where are you?”

As if cued by the question, there was a sudden, muffled thump from the suite next to Finn’s, sounding very much like a door opening and closing. By the time he crossed to the connecting door, he could hear Russell and Max talking on the other side, and he expelled a long, lusty sigh of relief. Then, forgoing the courtesy of knocking since, hell, Russell didn’t deserve any courtesies at this point, Finn turned the knob and pushed the door open with enough force to send it crashing against the wall on the other side.

“Where the hell have you two been?”
he bellowed by way of a greeting.

A twinge of guilt pricked him when he saw how Max flinched at the question, but his anger returned in a rush when he looked over at Russell and saw him looking in no way troubled. That was Russell. Even in the face of disaster, he could hide behind the carefree facade he’d been perfecting since Marti’s death.

“Well?” Finn demanded, still standing on his side of the room. “Where the hell have you been?”

In response to the question, Russell extended a hand toward the door, then curled his fingers toward himself a few times in a
come on over
gesture to someone out of Finn’s line of sight. At the same time Finn crossed the threshold into Russell’s suite, a young woman who was pretty and wholesome-looking came into view. She was followed by a girl, an adolescent version of herself, and then by an older woman who resembled her not at all, but who reminded Finn, for some reason, of Nurse Ratched from
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

“Come on,” Russell said softly, as if he were talking to a litter of puppies out for their first walk. “He won’t bite you, I promise. It’s his job to be scary. This is Finn. He’s my head of security.” At this, Russell looked back at Finn. “And also my best friend. And the only person in the world I’ve been able to trust.” Now he looked back at the young woman and smiled in a way Finn hadn’t seen him smile for a very long time. As if he were genuinely happy. “Until now, I mean,” he added softly.

The three women looked at Finn but clearly didn’t take Russell at his word. So Finn did his best to smile at them, relaxed his stance a little, and said, as politely as he could, “Ladies.” Then, to Russell, his smile turning more to gritted teeth, he added, “You have me at a disadvantage. Russell? Would you care to make some introductions?”

“Absolutely,” Russell replied. He curled an arm around the shoulder of the pretty woman beside him, pulling her close, something that made Finn arch an eyebrow. “This is Ginny Collins, a very nice girl I met in Louisville last week.”

A nice girl?
Finn echoed to himself.
A very nice girl?
What the hell had Russell been doing this week that would put him in the path of a very nice girl? Nice girls were the last type of woman he wanted to meet.

“And this,” Russell continued, indicating the girl next to Ginny, “is Ginny’s daughter, Maisy.”

Finn had pegged them as sisters. Ginny didn’t look old enough to be the girl’s mother. Not to mention that mothers were right up there on the list next to nice girls when it came to Russell’s Women I Don’t Want to Get Near list.

“And this,” Russell said, gesturing toward the older woman, “Is Hazel Lenksi. She’s Ginny’s, ah . . .”

Hazel seem fully able—and more than willing—to answer that question herself. “I’ll kick the ass of any man who tries to take advantage of Ginny,” she announced in a coarse, no-nonsense voice. She looked pointedly at Russell and added emphatically, “
Any
man.”

In response to this, Russell looked back at Finn and smiled that oddly happy smile again. “Isn’t she delightful?”

“Uh, yeah,” Finn agreed. Mostly because Hazel Lenski would have probably kicked his ass if he didn’t. “Delightful.” Then he hurried on, “Look, as nice as it is to meet all your new friends, Russell, we have a problem on our hands. A big problem. I’ve been trying to call you all morning. Since last night, actually, when we had another problem on our hands. But that one doesn’t seem like such a big deal now, in light of the—”

“
National Investigator
,” Russell finished for him.

“You already know?”

“Since breakfast this morning. Hazel’s a subscriber.”

Wow, Finn thought, now there was a shocker. “It’s all over the networks, too,” he said. “And the Internet has become a living thing. There are already web pages set up and conspiracy theorists.”

“Oh, I do so love technology.”

“Um, yeah. Look, Russ, we’re going to have to release a statement ASAP. I’ve already been on the phone with your attorneys and your PR people. They’re all waiting for word from you.” He tried to smile reassuringly at Max. “And Max, of course.”

Max asked, “Could you tell them we’re on a retreat with Tibetan monks in the Himalayas and can’t be reached?”

“I wish it were that easy,” Russell told him. “To just go someplace else—or become someone else—and hide.”

And then, doing something Finn hadn’t seen him do since Max was a toddler, he put his arm around his son and pulled him close. The gesture seemed to surprise Max even more than it did Finn, but he didn’t balk. He only slung his arm around his father’s waist and leaned into him. Finn hadn’t realized until now that Max was nearly as tall as his father. He’d grown a lot in the last couple years. And not just on the outside, either. The next few months weren’t going to be easy for him, being thrust into the media spotlight, fielding interviews and photo ops, and running from the paparazzi. But he wasn’t as young as he used to be. And hey, he had his dad now to watch his back.

“But you can’t hide from things just because they’re difficult to face,” Russell told his son. He looked at Finn, smiled sadly, then turned back to Max. “Oh, maybe you can for a little while. Maybe you can for years. But, eventually, you have to accept that things change, often in life-altering ways. And you have to learn how to cope. And accept. And move on.” Now Russell looked at Ginny. “Because if you don’t,” he said, tilting his head to press his forehead against hers, “you close yourself off to the possibility of something wonderful happening.”

Man, Finn thought. Where had Russell been spending his time this week? He realized he’d fallen down egre giously on the job since coming to Louisville—or, more specifically, since meeting one Natalie Beckett—but he hadn’t realized just how lousy his job performance had been. Not only had he not been keeping tabs on Russell, he hadn’t known who the guy was even running around with.

Although, judging by the way he was looking at Ginny Collins, Russell’s “running around” days were winding down.

“So, Russell,” he said, “where did you and Ms. Collins meet, anyway?”

“That’s what I’d like to know, too,” Hazel Lenski chimed in. “ ’Cause this guy just shows up for breakfast this morning out of nowhere, and Ginny’s not the type to bring home strays. Then I see his face on the cover of the
Investigator
, and I don’t know what to think.”

Russell and Ginny exchanged a look that Finn was hard-pressed to interpret. Then Ginny smiled, and Russell smiled, and together, they said, “Vincenzo’s.”

The restaurant? Finn thought. He’d known it was one of the places Russell wanted to visit, but . . .

“Why did you go there alone?” he asked. “Why didn’t you take me or Danetta or Moseby or Hernandez?”

“Well, at the time,” Russell said, “I wanted to be alone.”

“And all those other times you went out without security?” Finn asked pointedly.

Russell smiled. “Those times, I
didn’t
want to be alone.”

Hazel strode around from the other side of Ginny’s daughter and stood face-to-face with Russell. “Am I gonna have to kick your ass?” she demanded.

“No,” Russell assured her. “Because I have no intention of taking advantage of Ginny. In fact . . .” His gaze skittered from Hazel to Finn to Ginny. And then there was that smile again. Jeez, the guy was grinning like an idiot. “In fact,” he said again, “Ginny and I have a lot to talk about.” He shot his gaze toward Max and Maisy. “We all do.”