Tailspin (12 page)

Will scraped a hand over his face and around his neck.

“It's okay,” she said. “You're going to be fine. Other than the staff, no one is even here. So what are you worried about?”

“This brings everything to a whole new level, Sylvie. Why didn't you tell me?”

“I mentioned he's a powerful man. That he could afford to pay someone to sabotage the plane and send people after me. You didn't believe me?” She watched him. “Don't tell me you're backing out already.”

“No. Never. I'm in this until it's over. If I had known it could have helped me to prepare myself. We're in over our heads. What if this is more than murder or a crime of passion that someone wants to keep hidden? Maybe it's corporate espionage stuff. If so, this case is something more for the FBI than local law enforcement, don't you think?”

“Not yet. No, I don't think. I was in Alaska when someone tried to kill me. That doesn't link anything back to my stepfather's corporation.” Per se. Could her mother have found something out that was bigger than Sylvie had imagined? Something that could have huge repercussions for her stepfather's company? Two men who Will thought were Feds had followed them.

“And yet you're here, at the house, believing you'll find answers to where it all started.”

Sylvie couldn't argue with that. She rubbed her eyes then blinked over at Will. “I brought my bodyguard with me.”

She'd hoped to elicit a smile, but Will had anything but a smile on his face.

“Men have tried to kill you. This isn't a game.”

“I know that. Just... I know that. Consider this a covert operation. Nobody has to even know what I'm looking for. We pretend we're here for a quick getaway...” How else would she explain Will's presence?

She saw the same question in his eyes.

“We'll get in and get out quickly.” She hadn't wanted Marguerite, who oversaw the housekeeping and meals, to make a big fuss over her. Though her stepfather's meager security detail would know of her arrival as soon as she'd entered through the gate, she'd try to keep this as low-key as possible.

She opened the door to exit the car, but leaned closer to Will. “We can't sit here all day.”

Sylvie climbed out of the car, quietly shut the door then waited for Will. Together they marched up the steps. She feared he might turn around and hightail it back to the car, but she resisted the urge to grab his hand and drag him forward with her. He'd wanted to act as her bodyguard, after all.

Before she reached the massive front door, it swung open and a familiar form stepped into view.

Damon Masters, Sylvie's stepfather.

THIRTEEN

W
ill grabbed the hand Damon Masters offered after Sylvie performed the introductions. The grip strong and sure, the man measuring Will, just as Will measured him. In his midfifties, Masters exuded the power that one would expect from someone who ran an international corporation. He was also a handsome sort, looking like the type of man that could have any woman he wanted—if not with money and power, then with looks. His dark eyes continued to study Will as he greeted them in a friendly manner. But suspicion and questions lurked behind his gaze aimed at Will.

On the other hand, the man was clearly pleased to see Sylvie. “I didn't realize you'd be here.” Her tenuous smile could give them away.

Masters chuckled. “You sound like you're not happy that I'm here.”

“Just surprised, that's all. I thought you were supposed to be in Asia.”

His eyebrows edged together. “I had to come back for some unexpected business. But there's always a silver lining, isn't there? And you're it. I'm grateful for the serendipitous meeting. Two ships passing in the night. Unfortunately, I'm tied up with a conference call this evening and then leaving quickly after that, but I'd love to spend a few minutes with you.” Behind Masters, a woman entered and smiled at Sylvie, stepping over to give her a hug.

Sylvie's face brightened. “Ashley, it's good to see you.”

The young woman, in her early thirties, if that, was stunning. “And you, as well. I just arrived an hour ago, myself. Damon and I needed to prepare for a meeting.”

“Would you please have Marguerite bring refreshments?” Masters said.

Ashley's face clouded but she recovered with a quick smile, then disappeared around a corner. Following her with his eyes, Will caught sight of the walls of windows displaying a breathtaking mountainous view.

Will had never seen anything like it, except, well, from his bird's-eye view in the sky when he flew. Sylvie dragged Will through the house after her stepfather, leaning in to whisper, “Ashley's Damon's assistant. She was close to my mother. I can talk to her while she's here.”

“There's no need for refreshments,” she said next, turning her attention to Masters. “Don't treat me like a guest.” Sylvie moved away from Will and stepped down into a sunken, spacious living area with sleek sofas and chairs. She trailed her finger over the spines of books lining the wall.

“I see you so rarely.”

“I still have a room here.”

Now what? Would Masters block her efforts to go through her mother's things? Or would Sylvie's life be in more danger now? Will wanted to be prepared for anything, but he was pretty sure he wasn't. After everything she'd told him about her stepfather, he'd not been prepared for the man he saw now, nor Sylvie's reaction to him.

“Of course you're not a guest, but your friend is. And either way, I'd like a few minutes with you before I have to leave.”

The man headed to the wet bar and poured himself a glass of amber liquid. He glanced over his shoulder. “Something for you, Mr. Pierson?”

“No, thanks.”

A woman who Will guessed to be Marguerite entered, holding a tray with two pitchers and fancy snacks that would pass for hors d'oeuvres. “It's a while until dinner, Sylvie. I hadn't expected guests, but I'll be sure to cook something nice for you and your friend.”

“Thanks, Marguerite. This will do for now.” Sylvie took the glass of lemonade the woman had poured.

She glanced at Will over the rim of her glass as she drank, determination, and not just a little fear, in her eyes. What was she planning? Will preferred the iced tea and drank up, not realizing how thirsty he'd been.

When Marguerite left the room, Masters turned to face them, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Why are you here, Sylvie?”

She set the glass on the tray. “I want to finally go through Mom's things.”

“I'm afraid you're too late. I've had Ashley box them up and put them in storage.”

Will imagined he felt Sylvie's pain. The man had sounded so cold with his pronouncement. Why hadn't he gone through her things himself? Treasuring each item, remembering his wife with each touch? And for that matter, what was the rush? The plane crash had been only two months before. Something definitely seemed off here. Except Will had yet to do that with his mother's things. He'd left everything in her home just as it was. He'd needed closure first. Needed to find the plane. Find his mother.

“How could you? You knew I wanted to go through them.”

“It's been two months.”

“Where are the boxes, then?”

“What's really going on, Sylvie? You can't expect me to believe you brought a stranger here to go through your mother's belongings with you.” He eyed the two of them.

Will bristled.

“I think someone murdered her. I want to look through her stuff to see if I can find any clues to find who might have wanted to hurt her.”

Will set his glass on the tray and moved to stand by Sylvie. Apparently, she wasn't all that great at the covert operations she'd mentioned. No matter, he'd stand by her regardless.

Masters set his glass down, too, his gaze slowly darkening. Then, in an instant, concern replaced anger. He moved to Sylvie and took one of her hands in both of his. “You're still grieving, Sylvie. Of course you are. It's only been a couple of months. I'm struggling to accept her death, as well. Please, sit down.”

Sylvie surprised Will by doing as her stepfather instructed. Did the man still have so much sway over her?

When Masters sat next to Sylvie on the sofa, Will felt like the proverbial awkward third wheel and might have left the room, leaving them to have their private conversation. Except Will believed Sylvie was in danger, even from her stepfather. Especially from her stepfather. It was easy enough for him to be wary of the man, but he understood how torn Sylvie must be.

“I can arrange for you to see a therapist,” Masters said. “The best in the country. I'm so sorry I didn't realize how hard this has been on you. But I know you. You keep it all inside. You wouldn't have shared it with me before this moment, even if there'd been an opportunity.”

“I've been afraid that you were involved.”

Masters flinched as though he'd been slapped.

Will wondered if he should intervene, but had no clue how to do it. Better to let things play out. He wished he had a weapon with him, if Sylvie's stepfather was the threat she believed.

The man glanced at Will. “Could you give us some privacy, Mr. Pierson?”

Um...no. “I need to stay.”

Masters gave a slight nod, letting Will know he wouldn't be underestimated. Then Masters turned his attention back to Sylvie, as if she were a stepdaughter he clearly loved as his own. “That's ridiculous. Shocking. I'm not sure how to respond, except I wish I could cancel my meeting and stay here with you. Of course...
of course
I didn't kill Regina. How could you think it for one second? She was my wife and yes, we argued, had our problems, but I loved her. I could never murder anyone, especially my wife. Someone I loved. She died in a plane crash, Sylvie. It's tragic, but it happens to people every day. There was no murder. What has gotten into you?”

The man sounded sincere. But didn't crimes of passion—murder of a spouse—make up for a big percentage of the world's murders every year? Even if he truly had loved his wife, that didn't mean he hadn't killed her.

“I have enough problems with everything going on at...” Masters didn't finish. Instead, he inched away from Sylvie and leaned against the sofa back. With a haggard expression Will imagined not many had seen the powerful man show, he swiped his hands down his face and stared at the carpet.

Tears slid down Sylvie's cheeks. Will wanted to be the one sitting there next to her so he could comfort her. Was she being manipulated and influenced by Masters? Was he putting on an act?

“Your mother wasn't murdered, Sylvie. I'm going to call someone who can help you realize that.” Masters stood and reached for his cell.

What was happening here? Their plans were crumbling before Will's eyes. Did he even have a clue what he'd walked into with Sylvie? He took a step forward, dark thoughts pushing him into dangerous territory. Did her stepfather have the power to whisk Sylvie away and have her institutionalized? He'd heard stories about how people were locked up by their families and never got out.

Sylvie grabbed the cell away from him. “You're not listening. Someone's trying to kill me.”

Masters glanced at Will for confirmation. He was in it now. No going back. He nodded. “It's true. She didn't dream this up. I intervened when I saw someone attacking her. One of my friends was killed in the crossfire.” Will left out that Sylvie had been shot, too. He'd let Sylvie tell the man if she wanted him to know.

“Then you need protection.” Frowning at Will, Masters took his cell back. “Real protection.”

Cell to his ear, he spoke to Sylvie. “And the police should be involved.”

“They already are,” she said. “The Alaskan State Troopers are handling the case.”

“You'll need a bodyguard. I'll hire an investigator if the police can't get to the bottom of this.” He turned his back on them to speak into his cell.

Sylvie stood and rushed to Will. Things were taking a completely different turn than they'd expected. By the expression on Sylvie's face, she didn't like it, either.

“What's happening?” Will whispered. The question was stupid, but he didn't know how to react. Was this a good thing or a bad thing? Did she believe her stepfather was innocent now?

Sylvie leaned in as though she would give Will a peck on the cheek and whispered, “Just go with it, Will.”

Masters ended his call and turned his attention to them. “I've got people on it. Stay at the house, Sylvie. There's no reason for you to leave until your life is no longer at risk. You're more than welcome to stay as well, Mr. Pierson, though I imagine you have a job you need to return to.”

Will grinned. He was self-employed, which meant he had to work harder, but it also meant that he decided when he worked. And right now he wouldn't let Masters get rid of him so easily. “I'm with Sylvie until I know she's safe.”

The man ignored Will and gave Sylvie a hug, then grabbed her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “I don't want you hurt, do you hear me? I need you to promise you won't leave the house until I've resolved this.”

“I have a job, too.”

“In a roundabout way, you work for me, remember?”

“I don't want you to intervene. I don't want your favors there. Officially, I'm on vacation right now. This will be over before I have to go back.”

“You'll stay?”

“Yes, I'll stay.”

“Good. I'll take care of things. I know you don't like to hear that. You've always been so independent, but we're talking about your life.” He stepped back, tucked his chin. “Please tell me that you don't think I murdered your mother. That you don't think I would try to kill you.”

The man appeared genuinely crestfallen.

“I know you didn't. You're right. I've been upset about her death. I've not been thinking clearly these past couple of months. And now I'm scared for my life.” Sylvie pressed her hand over her mouth a moment then dropped it. “Thank you for your help.”

“I hope you'll never hesitate to come to me in the future. And... Sylvie—” he stood taller, like a man who'd taken control back “—don't bother looking for your mother's things. That would only upset you more. Fortunately, they've been packed away and I doubt you could easily find them. Don't bother enlisting Marguerite's help. I'm leaving her with strict instructions about that. I suggest waiting until you feel better. I'll make them available to you then. Please, try to get some rest while you're here.” His gaze found Will. “I'm trusting you to keep her occupied if you stay. There's plenty to do here. A heated pool. Trails to hike. Just stay close to the house and take the bodyguard even if you're staying on the grounds. I've already made the arrangements. Protection is on the way.”

He headed for the door then turned back to them. “If I didn't have this mess on my hands, I'd stay here with you.”

“What mess?” Sylvie asked.

“I'll explain everything when it's over. There's too much at stake and I have to go. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

And with that, the man was gone, leaving Will alone with Sylvie, his head spinning with the power the man wielded. Too much at stake. Something bigger than Sylvie's life? “Why did you agree to stay?”

She shook her head. “I don't know. What was I supposed to do?”

“You manipulated him.”

“Same as he worked me. If he thinks I'm tucked away safely here and that I believe he's innocent, then we'll have more opportunity to search for my mother's things.”

“What do you believe, Sylvie? Is he involved or not? He could be trying to hold us prisoner here while he cleans up this mess. For all we know, we're part of the mess he wants to clean up, and that's why he's pushing for us to stay where he can get to us.”

“You could be right. Or we could wait here where we'll be protected by the bodyguard he called and a private investigator searches for the truth for us.”

“You're talking weeks. Months. And that's only if we actually trust the investigator and bodyguard to do their jobs.”

“I'm talking tonight. We're not waiting around for anybody. We're going through my mother's things tonight, after my stepfather is gone, and then we'll get out.”

* * *

In her old room she sank onto the bed. Seeing Damon had shaken her, but his preoccupation with business troubles would give her the chance she needed to search. She and Will enjoyed a quick and simple pasta meal Marguerite had prepared, eating alone while her stepfather and Ashley took their conference call and then prepared to leave. This was a lot of work for after-hours. But with an international corporation, it was always business hours somewhere in the world.