Suspicious Ways (3 page)

The name tasted like bile on his tongue. Not a day passed when Zane Peterson didn’t enter his mind. Zane Peterson. Sydney’s most notorious entrepreneur. The man Jack hated with every molecule in his body.

That Ali was sailing for the evil bastard made Jack sick. If he’d known before now that Peterson was preying on her, he would have been back in the country in a heartbeat. Instead, he’d been farting around in Florida, pretending he wasn’t thinking about her, doing everything in his power to forget her. He’d left her defenseless to Sydney’s biggest predator, and the bastard had made his move. The first of many that would get Peterson exactly what he wanted. And according to Mike, exactly what he wanted currently was Ali.

Jack’s gut twisted at the thought.

“Listen, mate—” Mike rested his elbows on his knees, fixing Jack with a pinning stare, “—I don’t know what you did after I dropped you off at the bank, but be careful. Peterson turned up here about forty-five minutes ago lookin’ mighty pissed an’ askin’ if you were around.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “You truly think I’m scared of Zane Peterson?”

“No, I don’t. But since you left, he’s got more contacts in his pocket than Rupert Murdoch, an’ he gets more powerful with every dollar he makes.”

The knot in Jack’s stomach tightened. “You don’t have to remind me who Peterson is, Mike. I know all about his
contacts
. It was my niece they found dead aboard his motorboat, remember.”

As always, the thought of his niece was like a knife sinking into his heart. He’d promised his sister he’d look after her only child when she’d come to study at Sydney University. Instead, Trudi had become Peterson’s plaything. And then…

Mike’s eyes grew worried. “What’s goin’ on, Jack? I saw Ali earlier and she didn’t look happy. Not at all. And now Peterson’s lookin’ the same and it’s your name he’s sayin’. What have you done to piss ’em off? What are you up to?”

Removing his glasses, Jack rubbed at his face, his gut tight.

Was what he’d done to Ali anything to do with his feelings for her? Or was it all just retaliation?
Vengeance?

Or something as tortured as redemption?

Christ. Where the hell was his mind?

Lost. Somewhere in his jealousy, he guessed. He had no damn right being jealous anyway. Ali Graham meant nothing to him anymore. And she’d made it perfectly clear he meant nothing to her.

Except for the kiss. The kiss they’d shared on
Wind Seeker
that afternoon blew that theory right out of the water.

Lifting his head, he stared at the surrounding boats, seeing nothing but an image of Ali. Smiling, laughing, stubborn Ali. Gut twisting, he turned back to Mike. “Are they involved, Turps? Is Ali more than just on his sailing crew? Is she also in his—”

“I’ve told you already, Jack,” Mike cut him short. “I don’t know. Ali rarely talks to me anymore. Hell, she rarely talks to anyone.” He scratched at his whiskers. “Since Andrew’s funeral she’s changed. Too many idiots around her sayin’ idiotic things. She hardly mixes with anyone at the club, an’ the only time she’s down here now is when she’s on
Wind Seeker
.” He paused for a second, studying Jack with a wary frown. “Or on Peterson’s boat.”

Before he could stop it, an image of Ali and Zane Peterson flashed through Jack’s head, surreal in its vivid clarity. Peterson’s hairy, meaty arms wrapped around her slim waist, the flashy gold rings on his pudgy fingers glinting as they snaked over her sun-kissed flesh, roaming over her body, groping the sublime curves of her bare—

He shook the image out of his head, his chest unbearably tight. Replacing his glasses, he looked at his old friend. “You were right, mate, when you said her business was in trouble. She’s almost bankrupt.”

“Bankrupt? I didn’t know it was that bad. She’s copped a lot of unfair muck-slingin’ from the old blokes around here, I have to say. They still reckon she’s the upstart, brash American teenager they first met when the Grahams moved here, no matter how polite and courteous she in on the water. The fact she still has an accent doesn’t help her either. Not with the old salts and not with overseas visitors. Tourists sailin’ on Sydney Harbor don’t wanna hear a Yank talkin’, no matter how well she says g’day. But bankrupt? What happened to Andrew’s life insurance?”

Jack could only shake his head, a fact that angered him greatly. He should know. Andrew Graham had been his best mate, his sailing partner and his business partner. He shouldn’t have deserted his friend’s only child to life’s cruelties just because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Couldn’t control the way he wanted—

“So why is Peterson pissed at you?” Mike asked, his stare steady. “What did you do since I left you at Ali’s bank?”

A dull pressure thumped in Jack’s temples. “Stopped him.”

Mike sat back. “Stopped him what?”

“From getting something he wanted. I paid out Andrew’s loan and sent Peterson a message telling him Ali’s business was no longer hers.” Jack’s stomach rolled, the heavy harbor air making him sick. “As of this afternoon I own
Wind Seeker
and With the Wind Charters, and he can’t get her.” He swallowed, the slip bitter on his tongue. “He can’t get it, I mean.”

Stunned disbelief wrinkled Mike’s weathered face. “You what? Jesus, Jack, you’re meant to be Ali’s friend, not the guy who takes everythin’ she—”

“I know what I am,” Jack cut him short. “But believe me, Ali wants as little to do with me as I do her.”

Mike snorted. “Bullshit. You forget who you’re talkin’ too, mate. I know exactly how you feel about Ali Graham an’
little
has nothin’ to do with it. I think I’ve known longer than you have. An’ I can tell you the way you’re behavin’ now is not the way a man behaves towards the woman he—”

“It’s done, Mike. And I’m not changing my mind.”

“But—” Mike frowned, “—what about Ali? What about her business? Her father? Is this how you honor Andrew’s memory?”

Jack looked away, not wanting to meet the knowing look in his old friend’s eyes. Zane Peterson was a cancer. A cancer that devoured young women like Ali. The thought of Ali ending up like his niece—stretched cold and lifeless on the morgue’s metal slab—scared the shit out of him so much he broke out in an icy sweat. He’d do anything to prevent that from happening, whatever the costs. Even if it meant destroying any fragile remnants of a relationship he and Ali once had. “Peterson is evil, Turps,” he said, his voice close to a snarl. “You know that as well as I. I couldn’t stand back and let Ali become his next play thing.”

Mike gave him a long, serious look. “She may be already, mate. He’s the only bloke I’ve ever seen her with. And the way he looks at her, the way he talks about her…”

Jack shook his head. “No. I can’t believe that. She’s too strong willed. Too damn independent and stubborn.”

“Too spirited and too attractive,” Mike added. “Everything Zane Peterson finds irresistible in a woman.”

Jack’s gut twisted. Everything he found irresistible in a woman as well. No, not just any woman. Ali Graham. The only woman he’d ever found irresistible was Ali bloody Graham. So irresistible he’d run from her. Turned his back on her for his own sanity and hers. And now he was back and she hated him.

Christ, what the hell am I doing?

He scrubbed at his face with his hands. “I’ve spent years convincing myself I was over her.” He dragged his hands through his hair again, looking over to Ali’s empty yacht. “But God help me, Mike, all it’s taken is the mere thought of her in someone else’s arms for me to realize I’ve been deceiving myself all along.”

He let out a low sigh. Ali was completely and utterly under his skin.

And that was by far more dangerous than Zane Peterson could ever be.

Chapter Two

Ali flung her little Mini through the dark city streets with reckless haste, her stare locked on the road, her heart slamming in her chest.

What was she doing? She must be out of her mind.

“No.” She shook her head, her flat mutter like a shout in the silent cabin of her car. “Not out of my mind. Just desperate.” She gripped the steering wheel harder, skidding around the last turn that would take her to the opulent and ultra-expensive homes in Darling Point. In one of those homes was a self-serving, arrogant, smug yacht-stealing bastard. She hoped. She knew his brother had been house sitting while he was overseas, but surely now Jack was back in Australia, he’d go to his own home? If he’d checked into a hotel she was screwed.

She ground her teeth and pressed her foot harder to the accelerator. If Jackson McKenzie thought he could just waltz in and take everything from her he was wrong. She wasn’t giving up without a fight. And she would fight nasty if it came to it.

She’d made herself a promise four years ago as she scattered her dad’s ashes over the waters of Sydney Harbor from the bow of
Wind Seeker
. She’d promised she would keep his business going. She would keep his dream alive, regardless of what people said, regardless of what it took. Sydney’s tightknit sailing community had opened their arms to her dad, accepted him as one of their own—a man who knew boats, who respected the water and could drink like a true sailor. When Ali had been at the helm the night he’d died—a nineteen-year-old from Connecticut who most of the yachtsmen deemed reckless and cocky—they’d turned their back on her, holding her responsible for her dad’s tragic death.

Ali hadn’t cared.

The old salts and pretentious boaties alike could whisper behind her back, mock her gender and accent and age as much as they liked and do their best to destroy her spirits, but she’d sworn to herself she could do it. She would do it. For her dad, her mom and herself. She’d worked her butt off, had invested so much to keep that promise. And she had kept it. She’d kept With the Wind Charters afloat. Until today.

She shifted gears, the engine of her Mini groaning with protest at its brutal treatment. “Damn you, Jack.”

Why it was Jack’s fault her car wasn’t handling this trip well, she couldn’t tell. But then, she’d never driven like this before, so it had to be his fault.

Childish, Ali. Very childish.

She let out a sigh.

Six hours of pacing her small unit in Bondi had passed since the annoying bane of her existence turned up at the marina. Six hours spent trying to figure out what the hell she was going to do. The option she kept falling back to was Zane Peterson and his Solomon Island charter job, a solution that made her stomach roll. Six hours pacing, thinking and wondering how the hell she was going to tell her mother what had come to pass.

A lump filled Ali’s throat at the thought of that conversation. ‘Hi, Mom. Sorry, but all of Dad’s money’s gone. Oh, and the bank just took away his yacht and business too. Sorry. Guess we’ll have to cancel that MS treatment next week. I mean, you don’t really want to get better, do you?’

She swallowed, her throat tight. No, she couldn’t tell her mother that. It would destroy Jenny if she did. But Ali couldn’t accept Jack taking away her business and yacht either. She had to do something, so here she was, speeding towards Darling Point at ten o’clock at night with no other plan in her head but to get her yacht back. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I’ll beg if I have to.”

Really? When have you begged for anything?

Ali bit back a snort. Never. But she never wanted anything like she did this.

Directing her car into a quiet street, she slowly approached Jack’s house. Her stomach twisted into all sorts of knots and her throat grew thick. The last time she’d been here… She swallowed, shutting down the thought. She didn’t want to think about the last time she was here. It wasn’t wise. Or safe.

The Mini’s dull yellow headlights fell on a very low, very red car parked in the driveway and her mouth fell open. God, was that a Ferrari? She knew Jack was rich, but this rich? What kind of person owned a Ferrari?

One rich enough to buy out your life.

Dragging in a shaky breath, she brought her car to a halt. Here she was.

Oh, Lord.

Almost as large as her whole apartment complex, the house was utterly modern and at the same time breathtakingly timeless. She sat frozen, her hands wringing the Mini’s worn steering wheel.

It had been over four years since she’d stepped foot inside Jack’s home—four years that felt like a lifetime—but she could still remember every detail about the massive six-bedroom mansion, including its gorgeous, multi-million-dollar views of Sydney Harbor. She’d spent more than one day with her father at this very house, leaning against the back deck’s stainless-steel railing, watching the yachts sail by and dreaming foolish teenage dreams of a life where she and Jack lived in blissful happiness. A life where she stood in the same spot every night while Jack ran his hands over her body and his lips over her neck. That was before her father’s death. Before his funeral.

Christ, what a stupid, immature idiot she’d been.

With a strangled sob, Ali turned the key in the ignition, killing the engine. The sudden silence was heavy and oppressive, highlighting just how loudly and quickly her heart was beating. She sat motionless in her seat, studying the house. Where was Jack at that very second? In the living room? The master bedroom? She gnawed on her bottom lip a little. What would he do when he heard her voice on the intercom?