Here Comes Trouble Page 30

  “I’m thinking I hate you.” Morgan scrunched her face, but her eyes were shining. “Honest to God, I’m going to look like a lump at my wedding next to you.” She looked over at Veronica. “Maybe you should be my maid of . . . Nope. Never mind.”

  “Shut up,” Sheila laughed, grateful for the distraction. The girls’ day had been a welcome respite after her fight with Malcolm, but relaxation time was over. “Liza, I think you and I should head on over and check on the caterers—”

  “Already on site and all ready to go.” Liza shot to attention and grabbed her notepad, dislodging a content Sherlock from her lap. “The four-piece orchestra is due to arrive in”—she glanced at her watch—“twenty minutes, and the tech guys finished installing those last-minute fairy lights you requested along the walk. Chairs and tables are set up and our mom is already there overseeing everything, so yep. We can head out at any time. Right, Morgan?”

  “Uh-huh.” Morgan glanced at her own watch. “Oh, I did do one teeny little thing I hope you don’t mind.” A horn honked outside. “Ah. Right on time. Man, why didn’t that ever work when I wished George Clooney into my bedroom? Limo time!”

  “You don’t need George Clooney,” Sheila reminded her. “You’ve got super cop.”

  “Ex–super cop.” Morgan tossed the last of her pizza into the empty box and ripped off the napkin. “Fix your makeup, put your shoes on, and let’s get this party started.”

  “And then we can start planning your wedding,” Sheila called as Morgan headed downstairs, followed by the twins.

  “Don’t remind me,” Morgan yelled back.

  “Sisters,” Sheila said to Veronica as she returned to the bathroom and brushed foundation powder over her nose.

  “You doing okay?” Veronica lounged against the doorframe, eyes wide as she visually gobbled up the bathroom. “And can I move in here?”

  Sheila smiled. “I’m doing fine. Nothing like being in love with an . . .”

  “Idiot, yeah, I told him as much a few weeks ago. He didn’t mean to hurt you, you know. He loves you.”

  “I used to think that was enough.” She didn’t want this melancholy following her tonight, not when they had so much to celebrate.

  “He’s been alone a long time, Sheila. Until this trip home, I think the concept of family completely escaped him.”

  “Well, he’s had more than enough of it now. I’m glad he had you—has you, going forward.” Sheila set her brush down, washed her hands, and did a final smoothing of her hair. “He’s going to need someone.” And whether he liked it or not, she was going to make damned sure it was her.

  “I agree. And who knows? He might surprise you and come around.”

  “I wouldn’t if I were him.” Sheila wished she could take back every word she’d said last night and just tell him the one thing, the only thing, that mattered. That she loved him. “I kind of hit him with both barrels.”

  “Good for you.” The horn honked again. “Guess we’d better go. Morgan said something about picking up your aunt? Levia I think her name is.”

  “Oh.” Sheila blinked back tears. “That’s a nice thought. She’ll love riding in a limo.”

  “Then let’s get to it. I’m ready to party.”

  ***

  “God, we’re late. I’m late. It’s my event and I’m late.” Sheila bounced on the back seat of the limo. “What is wrong with you guys? We should have been there fifteen minutes ago.” Instead they were stuck at a red light two blocks away from the center and Morgan’s cell phone hadn’t stopped chiming text alerts for the last three miles.

  “Relax,” Liza said, kicking a giggling Gina in the shin. “Mom’s there. She’s handling everything, remember? She lives for this kind of thing.”

  “No kidding,” Gina muttered.

  “I don’t understand why we needed to bring her in,” Sheila said. “I thought I had everything organized . . .”

  “That’s why everything’s fine,” Morgan reminded her. “Oh, look.” She leaned toward the driver’s window and raised her voice. “The street’s clear now. We can go.” The car lurched forward.

  “Have you been drinking?” Sheila asked.

  “Not yet, but I plan to very soon.”

  “I’m way ahead of you.” Veronica waved her champagne glass in the air and nudged Levia, who was all wide-eyed wonder at the experience. “Levia, you look beautiful. I love that cameo bracelet.”

  “Sheila’s mother gave it to me years ago.” Levia held up her wrist. “I thought it the perfect accessory for the evening.

  “Finally,” Sheila sighed as the car pulled up to the driveway. She looked out the tinted windows and saw masses of twinkling lights from one end of the driveway all the way up and into the lobby of the center. “Well, they did a spectacular job on those, didn’t they?” At eight at night, the sun was still peeking over the horizon, but the twilight effect was the perfect accompaniment to this evening’s fundraiser. She pulled the handle. Nothing happened.

  “Would you let him come around and let you out, please?” Morgan crawled her way toward the door, her dress slipping and twisting as she maneuvered. “You know, there’s a special place in hell for whoever invented strapless bras.”

  “At least you need one,” Liza countered, looking down at her small chest. Gina snorted.

  The door unlatched and Morgan all but tumbled out face-first.

  “Ever so graceful.” Sheila laughed as her sister righted herself, jerked her dress into place, and then spun around to block the door. “Hey. Let me out.”

  “Can’t. Girls, you first.” She hustled Liza and Gina out, followed by Veronica, who waited and escorted Levia free. “Okay. Wait.” Morgan looked over her shoulder. “Um, yeah. Okay. Now you can come out.”

  “Forget drinking, what are you smoking?” Sheila scooted across the padded bench and swung her feet out, smoothing the dress before she rose and took the hand that was offered.

  “Hey, sis.” Nathan, in full tuxedo, grinned at her. “You look amazing.”

  “Thank you?” She glanced around and saw her father on the other side, the smile on his face warming her heart. “Hey, Dad.” She wanted to ask if he was ready to talk about what had happened last night, but it wasn’t the time. Or the place. Whatever sadness hovered last night had vanished this evening.

  Most of the guests had already assembled inside. She saw heads bobbing and bodies moving about, the telltale hint of her favorite Bach music emanating from inside. “What’s with the tux?”

  “Dress code. Theresa’s orders.”

  “Theresa,” Sheila laughed. “That woman.” She stepped gingerly, as the dress was a bit more confining than she was used to these days. “I, oh.” She stopped at the entrance to the walkway. “Well, hello everyone.” And by everyone she meant Gage and his family, Kelley dressed in a sparkly red dress that glittered in the lights. Drew and Lydia stood nearby, each dressed to the nines, and Cedric and Aiden, decked out in little tuxedos, the smiles on their faces showing every one of their tiny teeth. “Don’t you all look great. But shouldn’t you all be inside?”

  “Not just yet.” Morgan stuck her fingers in her mouth and let out a whistle that had everyone cringing.

  “How ladylike,” Sheila muttered.

  “You’ll forgive me. Okay, everyone, take your places please.”

  “Places for what? It’s not like this is a . . .” She stopped talking. She stopped breathing. She stopped . . . everything as Malcolm rounded the corner, wearing the most beautiful tuxedo she’d ever seen in her life. The tie, the snug cummerbund, the perfect fit of the jacket, but it was the look on his face, the glow in his eyes that had her mind going blank. “Malcolm,” she whispered as he approached.

  “Can you give us a moment?” he asked Jackson and Nathan, who to Sheila’s surprise moved away without a word. He glanced around as if needing to make sur
e they were out of earshot of everyone. “Last night you said—”

  “I said a lot of things,” she said. “And I shouldn’t have.”

  He pressed a finger against her lips, narrowed his eyes. “You had your say last night. It’s my turn. Okay?” She should bite him and, given his expression, he knew what she was thinking. “Go ahead. I deserve it.”

  She inclined her head, but stayed silent.

  “You were right. And this isn’t something I’m going to repeat in public, so accept it here, now, between us. I was scared. I am scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen, Sheila, but I do know whatever it is, I don’t want to face it without you. I need you.”

  Her heart tipped as every door she’d felt closed on her the other night began to open. “You don’t have—”

  “My turn, remember? I’m almost done. Jeez, this is more stressful than I thought. The other night you said you’d marry me tomorrow if I asked. Well. I’m asking.” He lowered himself onto one knee, clasping her hand between his. “This idiot needs you, Sheila. He loves you. And he doesn’t want to wait until tomorrow. Will you marry me?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring that had Sheila gasping. “Tonight?”

  “Tonight?” She squealed and heard her family and friends laugh. “But the gala, and the guests . . .” She looked to the center, saw Theresa Juliano and her husband, along with Liza and Gina standing by the front entrance. “I should have known.” And then she laughed, every ounce of anger forgotten as she looked down at the man on his knee. “You’re sure? I’ll probably drive you nuts.”

  “No probably about it.”

  “There’s no going back. I want it all.”

  “Define all?” He arched a brow at her.

  “You.” She touched his cheek, smiled through happy tears. “Just you.”

  She loved his crooked, quirky grin.

  “Wanna get married?” he asked again.

  She pulled him up as he slipped what she recognized as Alcina’s engagement ring on her finger, the antique setting glistening in the fairy lights, and pressed her lips against his. “I do.”

  Epilogue

  “I never thought I’d see them again.” Levia sat on the edge of her grey-and-green flowered sofa in her apartment at the nursing home, staring at the portrait of her family that had been delivered just that morning.

  Sheila had been waiting for Nathan to give her the all-clear that he’d retrieved the painting from its hiding place in the bench in the showroom and had it delivered, along with specific instructions from Nemesis, to Levia.

  Sheila sat beside her while Malcolm watched from across the room, Nathan holding the painting steady on the coffee table as Levia traced her fingers over her father’s face. “Who would have thought someone like this Nemesis would have done something like this for me.”

  “From what I hear he’s always hoping to right wrongs,” Malcolm said. “Your father was incredibly talented, Levia.”

  “He was. They all were. And now they’re home.” Tears spilled from her eyes, but there was no sadness today, no melancholy that Sheila hated seeing all these years. “I’m so glad you had me follow up with the museum, Sheila. Now no one can take them away from me again.”

  “No, they can’t,” Sheila said. “They’re here to stay.” And that was all that mattered.

  As they were walking back to their cars a while later, Sheila asked her brother, “So, what do you think is next for Nemesis?”

  “Maybe we’d better ask Dad,” Nathan said. “I’m not doing another job like that one. Either he’s all the way in or we’re done.”

  “What happened to the other paintings?” Malcolm asked as he opened the car door for Sheila.

  “They were delivered to the FBI with copies of the files your father had on them. They’ll see to it they’re returned to the rightful owners and heirs.”

  “Perfect ending.” Sheila beamed up at Malcolm, who, much to her relief, two weeks after their spur-of-the-moment wedding, had yet to show any hint of regret. Their first trip to San Francisco together for his consult with Dr. Chapman had gone well, but they’d agreed that with his pending move to Lantano Valley, Dr. Collins would be overseeing Malcolm’s upcoming chemotherapy and subsequent experimental treatment. The prognosis was good. It would be a fight, but one they’d wage together.

  “We’re meeting Dad for lunch,” Sheila said to Nathan. “You want to join?”

  Nathan’s phone rang and he held up a hand to take it. “Hold that thought.”

  “You know,” Malcolm said, turning her into his arms. “I found this beautiful house in Monogram Hills that’s for sale. Five bedrooms, amazing gourmet kitchen, and the most beautiful garden I’ve ever been in. I think your father might be willing to cut me a good deal.” Malcolm stroked a finger down her cheek. “What do you think?”

  Her heart swelled. “I think you’re always finding new ways to take my breath away.” She kissed him, tangling her fingers in his hair. “I bet Sherlock will get lost for weeks. Hey, what’s wrong?” She caught Nathan’s shocked expression as he hung up from his call.

  “Um.” He sighed, shook his head as if trying to process whatever he’d heard. “That was Evan Marshall.”

  “The D.A.?” Malcolm asked.

  “Yeah, it seems they’ve just issued an arrest warrant for Dad.”

  “What on earth for?” Sheila demanded.

  Her brother stared at her. “For being Nemesis.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  If everyone had the support system I do, the world would be an even more amazing place.

  Thank you so much to my critique partners in crime, Melinda Curtis and Cari Gunsallus. You hold me together when I need it and tell me the truth when I don’t want to hear it. As a writer, and a friend, I couldn’t ask for more. Special shout out to Judy Ashley for her unwavering sense of humor.

  Thank you to Leis Pederson, editor extraordinaire, and her fabulous team at Berkley InterMix, for giving the Tremayne family a home.

  Thanks to Margaret Bail, my agent at Inklings. Every day I find we have more and more in common (is it me, or is it getting a little scary?). I’m thrilled to be on this journey with you.

  And lastly, to my spectacular family and friends, especially my mother, Marjorie McLetchie Stewart, who never let me give up or forget that writing was my dream. That’s what the best moms do . . . and you are truly the best.

  Keep reading for a preview of the final Tremayne Family Romance

  THE TROUBLE WITH NATHAN

  Available February 2016

  When Nathan Tremayne was nineteen he held his little brother’s hand as he died.

  When Nathan was twenty-four he held his college girlfriend’s hand in the ambulance after firemen extricated her from her mangled Mustang.

  When he was thirty, he held his sisters’ hands as they lowered their mother’s body into her grave.

  Two years later, there was no hand to hold as he stood by himself outside an interview room at the Lantano Valley Police Precinct wrapping his mind around the fact his father had confessed to a crime he hadn’t committed.

  Well. Not alone at least.

  Guilt niggled around the edges of his empty stomach. His father might be the brains of Nemesis, but Nathan and his sister Sheila were the brawn. Correction—Nathan was the brawn, but he hated that term. Sheila was more of a creative influence, putting her artistic talents to use as an expert forger when needed. They were a team. And yet here his father sat, on the other side of the grimy, venetian blind–obscured glass, supposedly taking full responsibility for something the three of them had done together.

  “Nathan.” Lantano Valley’s District Attorney Evan Marshall strode down the narrow hall and stopped beside him, an expression Nathan could only define as irritated on his strained thirtysomething face. “Thanks for coming down so quickly.”

 
“His lawyer’s on her way.” Hands shoved deep into the pockets of his Tom Ford slacks, Nathan felt his fingers tingle as he clenched hard fists.

  “Wonderful,” Evan said with a responsibility-laden sigh Nathan himself was all too familiar with. “Because what’s missing from this ridiculous case is a high-priced defense attorney.”

  It was on the tip of Nathan’s tongue to tell the D.A. that Veronica Harrison had shifted her talents from the courtroom to the boardroom a few years ago, but what Evan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Nathan took a deep breath and nearly choked on the stench of disinfectant topped with over-brewed coffee within the confines of the precinct. The breeze from the overworked air unit brushed against his chilled skin and he embraced the anger building inside of him. Anger would keep the fear from bubbling over like some toxic Stygian witches’ brew. “What’s going on, Evan?”

  “Honestly, I haven’t got the faintest clue,” Evan said with a slow shake of his head. “Your father confessing to being Nemesis is beyond baffling and frankly, it’s a waste of my time. I’m neck deep trying to work with the feds on the fallout from the Chadwick Oliver case. The son of a bitch is still coughing up fellow collectors who bought stolen World War II artwork in the hopes of weaseling his way out of serving any time. Add to that, the theft of the Crown of Serpia at the museum the same night all hell broke loose with Oliver has put Lantano Valley back in the media spotlight. And not in the best way. The absolute last thing I needed was for your father to go waltzing into the Commissioner’s office and declare he’s the burglar who’s been stalking the wealthy citizens of Lantano Valley for the last two years.”

  “Dad’s always had a sense of the ironic,” Nathan agreed and grasped onto the disbelief ringing in the District Attorney’s voice. “You don’t believe him, do you?”

  “Of course I don’t,” Evan said with such a sound of exasperation Nathan very nearly smiled, but he wouldn’t. Not until he got his father out of that room. “It doesn’t matter if I believe it, Nathan,” Evan said. “It only matters what I can prove and while your father might be many things—”