Here Comes Trouble Page 5

  “That’s when you and mom got married.” Morgan’s smile was both wistful and sad as she lifted her head. “April the sixth.”

  “Best day of my life. Well, maybe I had three more.” He walked over to Morgan and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I’d be happy to share that date with you if you’d like.”

  Sheila kept the sigh of relief to herself as she watched the doubt and uncertainty fade from Morgan’s face. Once again, their father handed out an effortless solution to a problem. She’d hit the jackpot when it came to her family. Unlike some people, and an image of Malcolm swam through her mind.

  “Do you mean it?” Morgan beamed. “But . . . that was yours and mom’s special day.”

  “Which makes it all the more perfect from my perspective. It’s the last thing we can give you together.” Jackson wrapped his arm around Morgan’s shoulders and pulled her in for a hug. Over her head, he gave Sheila a bittersweet smile. “It seems an appropriate way to include her. What do you say?”

  “I say I think I’d better go tell Gage we have a date.” Morgan narrowly escaped a sloshing mug of hot coffee as she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. “Thank you. I’ll see you both on the Fourth?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Sheila lied and saluted her with her water as Morgan dashed out of the kitchen. When the door slammed, Jackson turned his attention to her, a sly smile on his face. She knew that look. “What?”

  “I hear Malcolm Oliver’s in town,” he said.

  “Someday I swear I’m going to understand your sense of humor.” But her dismissal did nothing to stop her stomach from doing the higgly jiggly. What was it about wedding talk that turned everyone’s, including her normally logical and staid father’s, brains to mush? It didn’t help that Jackson had always liked Malcolm. In fact, Jackson had been as upset over what had transpired five years ago as she had been. But disappointment and a broken heart were dealt with differently.

  Not to mention one was more easily forgiven—and forgotten—than the other.

  “That wedding date discussion resolved itself pretty quickly, Dad. You wouldn’t happen to have been approached by a certain soon-to-be in-law, would you?”

  “Theresa might have come by the office this week to suggest Morgan needed a little, well, nudge.”

  “That woman.” Sheila offered silent pity toward her sister. “The wedding is only going to be the beginning.”

  “And with the way you danced around my mention of Malcolm, I’d say those years of ballet lessons have finally paid off.”

  Sheila stuck her tongue out at him. Jackson chuckled and smothered a yawn.

  “Tired?” Sheila asked and got a small nod in return. “When are you going to fill us in on these mystery trips of yours?” Sheila asked.

  Jackson stiffened for long enough that Sheila knew she’d struck a nerve.

  “When it’s time,” he said, as if she’d asked him about nothing more interesting than the weather. “When I know you and your brother and sister are taken care of.”

  “Dad—”

  “When it’s time.”

  This was getting ridiculous. The last-minute flights, the unscheduled days away. He’d been out of the office more in the last month than he had been the last year and yet he hadn’t seen fit to bestow any information on any of his children. His secrecy had made Sheila begin to wonder if maybe he was seeing someone, a thought that didn’t necessarily sit well with her. A girlfriend? Oh, like she needed to think about that.

  The front door opened again and this time it was Nathan’s deep, brooding voice that came booming down the hall into the kitchen. “Nine a.m. on a Sunday morning was not a good idea.”

  “Oh, I think you’ll change your mind when I tell you what I found out at Alcina’s, or should I say Chadwick’s party the other night.” Sheila headed over to pour Nathan a cup of coffee as he strode in, grey T-shirt tucked haphazardly into worn jeans and nicked-up tennis shoes.

  “What did you find in Chadwick’s safe room?” Jackson asked as he led the way out the double glass doors into the rose garden beyond. Catherine’s haven. The soft tinkle of delicate wind chimes, one of the last purchases her mother made before her death in a car accident, dinged and rang as if to reassure them she’d always be around. “Don’t suppose he had the paintings waiting for you?”

  “Hardly. But these should be enough to convince you they were there until recently.” Sheila pulled her phone out of her pocket and popped open her picture app. “Forward these to that safe email account you have while you’re looking at them.” She handed him the phone. “Empty frames. Tons of them, which is to be expected since he wanted a good portion of them reframed before the sale. But it’s the files I found that tell the story.”

  “He does have it, then?” Jackson asked.

  “Oh, he has it. Where it is is still the question, but Chadwick wouldn’t have a file on a work he didn’t still own.” Sheila reveled in the morning air as the breeze brushed against her chilled skin. “According to his auction list, he’s holding back three for a special group of potential bidders. We need to find out which ones before he leaves the country.”

  “When is this happening?” Jackson took a seat beside Sheila and leaned his arms on the table.

  “At the end of the month. I don’t think it’s common knowledge,” Sheila said. “Malcolm seemed shocked when he found out about it.”

  “Wait.” Nathan’s head popped up as he narrowed his gaze. “You’ve seen him? Malcolm?”

  “Asked the family security expert,” Sheila muttered. She’d have thought her brother of all people would know since he and Malcolm had been college roommates and practically inseparable. She tapped the phone. “Yes, he’s here, but pay attention to the task at hand, not the incidentals.” Although the way thoughts of Malcolm Oliver had been keeping her awake the last two nights made him far from incidental. “You know, all those years ago I thought Malcolm had been exaggerating about how he and his father hated each other, but after what I saw at the party, there’s definitely no love lost between the two of them. The fact he caught me coming out of Chadwick’s office and didn’t say anything to his father is proof of that.”

  “He what?” Nathan’s spine all but turned to steel right in front of her as he sat up straight. “And you didn’t think to say anything before now?”

  “I just said all there was to say about it.” So much for slipping that tidbit of information into the conversation unnoticed. Sheila avoided her father’s curious stare. “It’s a bit of a complication, I’ll admit. He knows I’m planning something. Not that he plans to stop me, but he made sure to tell me that Chadwick is dangerous.”

  “He is,” Jackson agreed. “But about Malcolm. How much do you think he knows? And do you trust him?”

  Funnily enough, she didn’t hesitate before answering. “When it comes to potentially embarrassing his father? Yes.” Saying otherwise would only create more problems than they needed. Besides, Malcolm knowing she was up to something could work to their benefit. The enemy of my enemy and all that . . . Chadwick’s eldest son could prove a fount of information for Sheila. And Nemesis.

  Jackson cleared his throat. “This is your job, Sheila. I’m going to trust you know what you’re doing with Malcolm.”

  Were those undertones of doubt? “There’s more to his coming home than attending his grandmother’s birthday party.” Sheila pressed on. “Whatever it is, it’s enough to make him suffer through one of the coolest welcomes I’ve ever been witness to.”

  “Alcina must be happy to have both grandsons home,” Nathan said, flipping through the photos, the frown on his face deepening. “She deserves a better son than Chadwick.”

  “What about you, Sheila?” Jackson asked. “Did you welcome him home?”

  “Dad, please.” Now it was Sheila’s turn to bury her face in her hand. “Don’t start.”


  “Malcolm was a big part of your life—”

  “For six whole months,” Sheila interrupted, but tightened her lips when she got “the look.”

  “That was a pretty intense six months,” Nathan added without looking up from the phone. “Only time I can remember you coming out of your art studio for something other than a sale at Nordstrom. And then there was that time I walked in on you painting—”

  “Enough,” Sheila cried, holding up her hands and hoping the blush on her cheeks wouldn’t give her father more reason to pounce. The last thing she needed her father finding out was that she’d experimented painting the nude male form with Malcolm as her model. Or that he’d returned the favor. “You promised.”

  “Did I?” Nathan blinked too innocent eyes at her. “Looked pretty serious from where I was standing. Remind me again, who have you dated since then?”

  “Plenty of men,” she muttered, but for the life of her couldn’t remember anyone who had lasted more than two dates. Not that she was looking for permanence of any kind. It was just . . . none of them were, well, Malcolm.

  “He was important to you,” Jackson continued, his tone a bit more firm than teasing. “He could be again, especially considering what you’re hoping to take from his father will put you in close proximity to Malcolm. I just want to be sure you know what you’re getting into. And what might happen as a result.”

  “That’s code for ‘stay out of his bed,’” Nathan added.

  “No,” Jackson said sharply and earned a surprised glance from his son. “It’s me asking you to be sure you know what you’re doing, Sheila. I like Malcolm. I always have, but he hasn’t exactly been reliable when it comes to future plans. I don’t want to see you hurt again. And despite your best efforts to pretend otherwise, him leaving the way he did hurt.” He hesitated. “And since then it seems as if you go out of your way to avoid anything that might lead to something serious down the road.”

  Sheila rolled her eyes in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Morgan’s got the matrimonial target on her back, Dad, not me.” And she planned to keep it that way. Marriage, commitment, devotion—put them together and it meant love. Love meant risk. And in her experience, risk and love only resulted in pain and loss, both of which she’d had enough of to last her three lifetimes. “So please shift your paternal attention elsewhere.”

  Nathan held up his hands as if staving off a bear attack. “Keep me out of this.” Nathan set the phone down as he considered. “Why is Malcolm back now? Five years is a long time, but not nearly long enough for people to have forgotten what he did. Takes a certain amount of balls.”

  “Or, to Sheila’s point, the right motivation,” Jackson said.

  “We need to find out,” Sheila agreed. If for no other reason than to make sure he didn’t screw up her plans.

  ***

  Malcolm sipped his over-brewed double espresso, leaning against the aged brick wall outside the entrance to Oliver Technologies, and watched his brother climb out of the Lincoln Town Car. The aged driver gave a slight bow of his head before he closed the door.

  Ty’s resentment of him had been like a punch in the face, cemented by years of their father’s bombardment. That didn’t mean Malcolm wasn’t still holding out hope of breaking the spell of their father’s “truth.”

  It had taken him years to put together the pieces of what had really transpired, but once he did . . .

  Malcolm couldn’t blame Ty entirely. His brother had spent most of his life trying to get their father’s attention, which had been focused on Malcolm as the heir apparent. Ty had played every sport, made debate squad captain, gotten a full-ride scholarship to Harvard, all in the hopes of impressing a father who didn’t have the slightest inclination to care, which had increased Ty’s resentment of Malcolm.

  Guilt niggled and regret surged around the fact that Malcolm hadn’t paid close enough attention to realize just how desperate Ty had become for their father’s approval. By the time he did, it was too late to do anything about it.

  But circumstances—and Malcolm—had changed. He could help him now. Whether his brother wanted him to or not.

  Bitterness roiled inside Malcolm as his kid brother adjusted the navy suit that mirrored their father’s “uniform.” The impeccable tailoring, the starched and pressed burgundy tie, the not-a-hair-out-of-place appearance had Malcolm searching in vain for the fun, carefree boy he remembered. He’d caught a hint of him at the party the other night—when Ty had been with Sheila, which proved what Malcolm already knew to be true. She brought out the best in people.

  Dammit. The last thing he needed to be thinking about right now was Sheila Tremayne. Two and a half years of planning, of buying up scattered shares of Oliver Technologies stock, of monitoring the company from the inside out was about to pay off. All that was left was getting final access into the main computer system that was locked down from the inside. Well, that and putting his secret weapon smack dead center of the company’s majority stockholder meeting.

  He pulled out his phone and tapped open the app his lead researcher had developed that turned his cell into a wireless USB drive.

  Those contracts that had sealed Malcolm’s fate had to be somewhere, and he was banking on the fact they were in a locked file in the company’s computer system. All he had to do was point Ty in the right direction and maybe . . .

  “You’re wasting your time.” Ty swept past him and pushed through the double-paned brass-handled glass doors. Malcolm pushed off the wall and followed, feeling instantly chilled at the cold and edgy décor of the once-comfortable home base of Oliver Technologies. “We said all there was to say at Dad’s the other night.”

  Grief tangled in Malcolm’s throat. Where was the espresso and snack bar he’d had installed? The warm and welcoming lobby had been replaced with suffocating silver grey partitions delineating low-walled cubicles. There wasn’t a sign of the plants and water features he’d originally included, but at least the open walkways and skylight-heavy ceiling remained. When he spotted the glass office on the second floor, an office that could look down on everyone else, he understood why. As if Chadwick didn’t already have a God complex. Malcolm may as well have been a ghost given the attention Ty paid him as he followed his brother to the reception desk where Ty accepted the stack of messages and mail from a severe-looking middle-aged woman. Malcolm attempted a smile at her, thinking she looked as if she’d escaped the extras call of a John Waters movie, but with a vacant stare.

  “What in the hell happened to this place?” Malcolm kept his voice low as he scanned the blank slate of employees. “It’s like a graveyard.”

  “That’s what happens when you almost kill a company,” Ty said as if they were discussing the weather instead of people’s livelihoods. “You have to cut out the dead flesh, and Dad and I decided that was anyone you’d ever worked with.” Ty punched the Up button for the elevator. “Clean sweep.”

  That clean sweep for Oliver Technologies had been an employee boon to Malcolm, who had hired at least thirty dismissed workers for his own company and nearly twice that as independent and telecommuting consultants, one of whom had developed the software that was going to help Malcolm overtake Oliver Technologies once and for all.

  “We have our annual stockholders meeting in a few minutes, so if you wouldn’t mind getting to the point of your visit?” Ty headed down the hall to the office at the other end of the second floor—directly opposite their father’s. Malcolm’s old office.

  The family photos he’d had lining the walnut-stained shelves had been replaced with tech awards and cold statuary. Nothing personal that he could see. No hint that his brother had any kind of life outside these walls. The only photograph he spotted was one of father and son as they shook hands with a former president of the United States, but even in that photo Chadwick was front and center.

  “I’m going to be in town for a while, Ty,
and I don’t want us at each other’s throats, especially around Gran.” Malcolm tapped the icon on his phone before setting it down behind the all-in-one computer on Ty’s desk.

  “Whatever you want, keep me out of it.” Ty didn’t spare him a glance as he tossed the mail and messages onto his desk and sank into his chair. “But don’t worry. Gran made it clear as long as you’re here I’m to at least be civil. But as far as I’m concerned, what you wanted five years ago nearly cost our family everything. There’s no place for you here now.”

  “Is that when you finally crossed over to the dark side?” Disappointment swelled despite having prepared himself for this reaction.

  “Nobody wants you here, Malcolm. Gran maybe, but—”

  “Oh, there might have been a few others who were happy to see me.” Sheila’s welcome-home kiss had been warmer than a slap to the face—which he would have deserved.

  “And there it is.” Ty pushed his chair back, the smirk on his lips all but tainted with arsenic. “We both know it’s against Sheila’s nature to be inhospitable to anyone, even you. I should warn you, she’s not the girl you left behind.”

  “Yes, I could see the other night the two of you have become . . . close.”

  “Sheila is a very attractive woman,” Ty said, the smirk staying in place, and Malcolm realized too late he’d walked into his brother’s verbal trap. “I imagine she’s been difficult to forget. Then again, some of us haven’t had to.”

  Malcolm’s fingers curled around the silver charm bracelet in his pocket. The bracelet he had yet to return. How many dreams had she invaded, those laser-sharp green eyes, the tumble of blond hair that made his fingers itch to dive deep. A soft graze of fingers over curved hips and the swell . . .

  Not the time. Not the place. And not in relation to his brother. “Gran’s requested my presence at some family events,” Malcolm said. “Is that going to be a problem?”