Here Comes Trouble Page 31

  “Including one of your biggest campaign contributors,” Nathan slid in.

  “Yeah. Including that.” Evan glared through the window. “We’ve got solid evidence your father wasn’t anywhere near the art gallery when Nemesis stole those paintings. But the Crown? That’s another story.”

  “You have evidence proving my father stole the Crown?” Nathan looked anywhere but at the D.A. The truth was, Jackson could very well have stolen it. His father had disappeared during Nemesis’ theft of the artwork—a theft he was supposed to be a part of. His vanishing act had very nearly destroyed their plans of exposing Chadwick Oliver as the immoral bastard he was. Even now, weeks later, Jackson had yet to confide in any of his children exactly where he’d been during those missing—and now all so important—hours.

  “There’s video of your father coming out of the museum at the time the Crown was stolen,” Evan said and Nathan’s stomach took another dip off the deep end. “The notion of Jackson Tremayne having anything to do with Nemesis is ridiculous. But . . . ”

  Damn. There was always a but. A stress headache that might very well leave a dent in his skull pounded behind Nathan’s eyes. “But what?”

  “We ran the prints he has on record with the SEC against the ones that were found on the Crown’s display case. They were a match.”

  Nathan shrugged and pounced on the opportunity to explain. “Dad can’t have been the only one who touched the case. Besides, you’ve seen Dad’s office at Tremayne Industries and Securities. He’s always collected antiques. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s visited the Serpian collection numerous times since it opened.”

  “Which is why I have our techs combing through all security footage since the exhibit opened. No matter what, you have to admit, your father’s behavior is damned strange, but that’s not what’s bothering me. He knows details about the Nemesis case that haven’t been released to the public. Details he’s happily sharing with us as we speak.”

  “You mean like the thank-you cards Nemesis leaves behind?”

  Evan’s gaze narrowed.

  “He was in this same room with my sister Morgan when she was questioned about accepting money from Nemesis,” Nathan reminded him. “She identified the note cards she’d received with the cash, remember?”

  “And told you, apparently,” Evan muttered.

  Morgan didn’t need to tell him. Not when it had been Nathan who had included the notes in the first place—notes that matched the thank-you cards he left behind after each theft.

  Why did it seem as though the harder he fought to keep his youngest sister away from Nemesis, the more he put her, not to mention the family’s charitable foundation, at risk?

  “Of course we talked about what happened,” Nathan lied. “It’s not every day a Tremayne gets arrested for suspicion of collusion.” Of course it was Nathan’s fault Morgan had been exposed for accepting stolen money in the first place. But how was he supposed to know the cash he’d taken had been part of an undercover FBI operation years before?

  Nathan glanced back at his father as the fear he’d been trying to hold at bay surged and triggered a momentary flash of panic. For months Nathan had worried Nemesis was too big a risk to continue with, especially with so much at stake. If he and Jackson and Sheila were exposed as the team behind Nemesis, there would be no end to the fallout; from his sisters’ relationships, the family charity, the Pediatric Cancer Treatment Center, and most importantly, their mother’s legacy. Everything the Tremaynes had done—everything they wanted to do—would crash around them unless Nathan found a way out of what Nemesis had gotten them into.

  Is that what his father was trying to do? Deflect focus and get them out of the line of fire? If that was the case, then why hadn’t he warned Nathan that this was coming? “My father is not Nemesis, Evan. And he didn’t steal the Crown.”

  “Yesterday I’d have agreed with you, but today?” Evan scoffed. “I’ve known your father most of my life. I consider him a friend. Hell, it was his idea for me to run for D.A. in the first place. Nemesis is already getting enough attention and I’m guessing we can agree neither of us wants the Tremayne family name associated with him.”

  On that they could definitely agree. “Not to mention having Dad confess to the one case your task force can’t close puts you in an awkward reelection position.” Playing on Evan’s future political hopes might help get his father out of that room sooner rather than later.

  “So who was it who called me?” Nathan asked. “His friend or the District Attorney?”

  “Both,” Evan responded without hesitation. “Look, things are about to get dicey around the theft of the Crown. The insurance company has assigned a new investigator to the case. Some higher-up with a reputation for being a hard-ass when it comes to uncovering inconvenient truths. You add Nemesis to the mix and Lantano Valley, not to mention all of its law enforcement departments, are about to get a reaming, which makes my job even harder. It also makes me wonder . . . ”

  Nathan frowned as Evan hedged. “You’ve never been one to dance around, so out with it, Evan.”

  “Is it possible Nemesis has targeted your family for some reason?” Nathan could see even as Evan said the words he had trouble believing it. “Could Nemesis be framing Jackson for the theft? Forcing him to confess for some reason?”

  Nathan coughed to give himself the excuse to walk away for a cup of water from the nearby dispenser. The water felt slick on his tongue as his head spun around impossibilities he couldn’t have imagined before today. Finally, something he could be certain about. If his father was being framed, it definitely wasn’t by Nemesis. “That exposé on Nemesis the Lantano Valley Times ran after the Chadwick Oliver case was closed quoted you as saying it was your belief Nemesis only targets those individuals who have wronged others in some way. Was that true?”

  “It was. Is,” Evan corrected. “Gage Juliano was able to prove that during his team’s investigation before he resigned. Despite the fact he’s engaged to your sister Morgan now, I don’t have any reason to doubt the evidence he produced. Especially considering it was Nemesis who exposed Chadwick Oliver’s involvement in the stolen art ring.”

  One of the many good things to have come out of Nemesis’ ventures. Then again, what was the saying? Pride goeth before the fall? “You can dig into our family all you want,” Nathan bluffed. “You’re not going to find anything in our history that would attract Nemesis’ attention. Nemesis is a Robin Hood, someone who fights for those who can’t fight for themselves. He evens scores.” Nathan returned to the window. But maybe, just maybe, Nemesis had finally gone too far.

  Jackson’s graying blonde hair was stark beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the interview room, the perfectly tailored Hugo Boss suit and bloodred tie worn as casually as most men wore khakis and a polo shirt. There was age in his face now. At nearly sixty, Jackson was heading into his senior years with an elegance that had often reminded Nathan of Cary Grant in his heyday. And there was also sadness . . . even after almost two years, for the wife he’d lost.

  Times like this, Nathan wished their mother were still alive. She had a special way of dealing with their father that the Tremayne offspring hadn’t quite mastered. Then again, neither Nathan nor Sheila was convinced Catherine Tremayne, or Morgan for that matter, would have approved of the rest of the family donning the mask of vengeance and wreaking havoc on their wealthy neighbors.

  Jackson had been more than a father to him; he’d been a mentor and most recently become his friend. He was always there. Supporting. Encouraging. Nathan couldn’t have asked for a better father. Or protector.

  Protector. Nathan shivered as if he’d been doused in ice water. At his core, Jackson Tremayne was a protector. Son of a . . .

  “Gentlemen.” Five foot eight inches of feminine confidence headed toward them in the form of Veronica Harrison, chief legal attorney for TechInter Network.
“My apologies for the delay.” Her voice carried the barest hint of a British accent. Light auburn hair fell in perfect waves around the shoulders of her crisp yellow designer dress, an ode to femininity that was reinforced with a spine of steel. “Has my client been advised of his rights?” she asked Evan in a tone that was part scorn, part charm and Nathan had the notion to move a safe distance away.

  “Your client isn’t under arrest.” Evan rapped his knuckles on the window. A few seconds later, the two suited detectives stepped out of the room. “You’re welcome to speak with him—”

  “This is for you.” She withdrew a folded document from the outer pocket of her leather case before she stepped into the doorway. “Mr. Tremayne, we’re leaving.”

  Nathan stood to the side as his father stepped into the hall.

  “You have got to be kidding me.” Evan scanned the paperwork. “Really?”

  “Feel free to confirm with his doctor of record,” Veronica said in a breezy voice as she guided Jackson ahead of her. “Oh. And here’s my card.” She plucked one out of the thin pocket on her hip. “If you have any further questions for my client, please call to arrange a time. Nathan, Mr. Tremayne. Shall we go?”

  Not about to contradict her, Nathan trailed silently behind as she led the way out of the station house, her thin heels tapping along the linoleum as they stepped out into the late afternoon sun.

  “Veronica—” Nathan began, only to have her spin around and aim laser-hot eyes on the two of them.

  “Whatever you two have to discuss, I suggest you take it far away from here.” She flicked her gaze up to the black surveillance camera over the double-paned glass doors. “And you.” She pointed a finger at Jackson. “No more confessions without your lawyer present, do you understand me?”

  “I do.” For the first time, Nathan heard an unease in his father’s voice that did nothing to quell the nerves circling in his own system. “Thank you, Veronica.”

  “Craziest damned family I’ve ever met,” she muttered, giving them a wave and swishing her way down the street.

  “Are you sure you and she—” Jackson said to Nathan with an arched brow.

  “Don’t go there, Dad,” Nathan said. Some days he felt as if he’d adopted another sister since Veronica had hit town. “But she’s right.” He cocked his head to the side and led the way down Santiago Street toward the Tremayne Investment and Securities building.

  “Do your sisters know what’s going on?” Jackson asked.

  “I don’t know what’s going on.” Nathan cringed. “But if you mean do they know you’ve confessed to being Nemesis, Sheila was there when I got the call. The only reason she didn’t come with me is because we didn’t want to look panicked. What the hell, Dad? Exacting revenge as Nemesis not enough for you? Now you’re pulling jobs on the side? You stole the Crown, didn’t you?” He kept his eyes pinned on his father.

  “Nathan—” There it was. The tell he’d been watching for. His father’s slight askew glance, a darting of blue eyes that eased the pressure building in Nathan’s chest.

  “Someone set you up.”

  Jackson let out a long breath. “And here I was thinking I would have to explain.”

  “You still have plenty to explain. They found your prints on the Crown’s display case. You aren’t careless, you think out every detail of everything you do. And until recently you did that as part of the team. So what’s changed, Dad? Whatever it is had you turning yourself into the police and that puts all of us at risk.”

  “I’m afraid I did that a long time ago, Nathan.” The lines around his father’s tired eyes revealed the strain he was under. “I was hoping this would work itself out, that I could keep you and your sisters out of this, especially now that they have families to consider.”

  “You let me worry about Sheila and Morgan.” Nathan waved away his father’s concern with a dismissive hand. “Just tell me what’s going on. If it wasn’t to steal the Crown, why were you at the museum that night?”

  “To meet someone,” Jackson said in a low voice. “Someone who never showed.”

  Only now did Nathan realize what he’d previously identified as grief in his father’s eyes was more of a hovering ghost.

  “When I first talked to you and Sheila about the idea of Nemesis, of doing some good with what we have available to us, making a difference to people who needed it, I told you I was looking for something to focus on after your mother died. But that wasn’t my first foray into that arena. Everyone has a past, Nathan.” Jackson took a deep breath, dropped his head back for a moment to look at the cloudless sky. “And mine has come back with a vengeance.”

  Anna J. Stewart, author of the Tremayne Family Romances, including Asking for Trouble, can’t remember a time she didn’t have a book in her hands or a story in her head. Early obsessions with Star Wars, Star Trek, and Wonder Woman set her on the path to creating fun, funny, and family-rich stories with happy endings for her independent heroines. Anna lives in Northern California where she deals with a serious Supernatural and Sherlock addiction, surrounds herself with friends and family, and tolerates an overly affectionate cat named Snickers (or perhaps it’s Snickers who tolerates her).

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