Burned Hearts (31 page)

I'd also have to devote some time to my own family drama. Try to help my father and keep his reputation intact by extracting Mommie Dearest from our lives. Perhaps when she discovered Dane had survived the Lux blast she'd run for the hills again. One could only hope. Though I couldn't count on it and my fear was that, any day now, she'd land a book deal and then all hell would break loose.

Too, I wondered incessantly what she'd done or was doing with the money Dane had given her to stay away from me. Had she blown through it already? In a year?

Honestly, I had no clue as to how my mother's mind worked, what her ultimate goals were, and why she simply wouldn't just exist the way she used to without me in her life.

The remainder of the flight was just as unsettling as the beginning of our day had been. I tried to keep out of Dane's head, for the most part. And he urged me to sleep, since we'd be landing around seven in the morning, East Coast time.

But I was too keyed up to get my mind to shut down. How had everything gotten so fucked up this past year? Dane's dream of 10,000 Lux had been shattered. Our life together had been shattered. Now his trust had been shattered.

That had to rub him raw.

I was certain his mental state wasn't the best, and that hurt me all the more. I didn't know exactly how to comfort him. I couldn't assure him everything would be okay. I'd learned that from the onset, from the first time I'd met him.

The bottom line now was that I hated the constant torment. Even as he tried to hide it from me. I could fully comprehend the demons taunting him and that broke my heart. Made me even more apprehensive when we made our descent into Philadelphia.

What would we find here?

 

chapter 16

The Bax estate was comprised of a Colonial-style mansion sitting majestically on thirty acres of manicured grounds with three pools and several fountains, gardens, and courtyards. Tennis courts, a solarium, a greenhouse, the list went on and on. All of it was surrounded by shiny black wrought-iron fencing that was shrouded by tall, lush foliage.

The house itself was more like a hotel. Or the Louvre. The marbled corridors were wide and stretched endlessly in various directions, depending on to which wing you were headed. I needed a compass to navigate it all, though I'd still get lost.

I didn't exactly grasp the need for three formal dining rooms and four casual ones. Thirteen bedrooms and nineteen bathrooms. More living rooms, studies, and sitting areas than I could process as we passed them. A ballroom. A conservatory with a grand piano and various other instruments. That wasn't the only grand piano. I counted six others as we made our way to one of the back staircases that curved both upward and downward from the main floor.

As we went downstairs, I asked Dane, “You seriously grew up here?”

“You get used to it after a while.”

“I can't see how. I'd have to leave bread crumbs to find my way to the bathroom. God forbid I should attempt to find one of the kitchens. You'd have to send a search and rescue team for me.”

He chuckled, though it was a bit strained. The dark thoughts lingered—or likely intensified when it came to what we might discover in his father's vault.

I followed along as Dane headed into a mammoth library with floor-to-ceiling shelves, similar to what we had in our great room in Oak Creek Canyon, but this room was nearly the size of our entire home and the shelves spanned about twenty feet in height.

There were numerous metal railings with ladders attached for retrieving books. I figured there had to be a computer system that kept track of all the titles and their locations—or one just randomly climbed a ladder and scanned the novels until they found something of interest.

The room was also filled with sofas and chairs, end and coffee tables, lamps of varying sizes and heights, interesting artifacts and knickknacks. A bookworm could move in and never be heard from again.

And not mind the solitude.

Dane crossed to the far wall and selected a novel that he pulled out of its slot. Then he hooked his fingers in the side of the unit and gave a swift yank so that a narrow portion of the shelves opened like a door.

“Oh, no way.” I scurried across the hardwood floor, instantly intrigued. “A secret passage?”

“The vault.”

I joined him and stared at the massive metal door with a keypad along the side. Dane plugged in a series of numbers, got a green light and a beep, then repeated the process. The lock sprang free and he slid the metal pocket door to the side. We entered the vault, which probably could have doubled as a panic room or a fallout shelter. It was bigger than my first apartment. And obviously fully secure.

As I took in all the drawers and titanium-looking containers, Dane sought out a series of cabinets and entered another code. Then he started sifting through drawers.

Exhilaration pumped through me. “Can I help? I'm really good at discovering stuff I didn't even know I was looking for.”

“Yes, you are.” He opened another cabinet and said, “We're searching for anything related to the NOS, Ethan and the others, or even the summits my father might have attended.”

“What about anything on Yale, in the event Ethan made visits there—or, for all we know, taught or even guest-lectured there?”

“Sure.”

We dug in. Thankfully, we'd eaten on the plane with fresh catering or I'd get a little worried about the afternoon ahead of us. As it was, four or five hours slipped by with us finding absolutely nothing of value related to our quest.

There were some pretty interesting theories and documentaries Dane's father had drafted, and he kept just about everything related to primaries and elections on-hand—for decades. Not just locally and nationally, but worldwide. He had correspondence from some of the most famous leaders of the twentieth century and even had a healthy stack of information on Nixon and the Watergate scandal, which I would have devoured if Dane and I weren't on a more specific, imperative mission.

A TV or movie producer would have a field day in this room, with infinite possibilities screaming at them.

Unfortunately,
we
didn't find much benefit to our trip.

And I was starving.

“Can we take a break?” I asked.

He left his chair at one of the small tables and joined me on the other side of the vault. He kissed me, then said, “Of course. Let's eat.”

While we had lunch on one of the many patios I did a little Web research, even though I knew that was likely pointless. But there had to be something we were missing—there had to be a clue somewhere that would give us a direction in which to go.

I considered some of Dane's investments—the ones that actually were linked to a few
Wall Street Journal
and the like articles he hadn't felt inclined to remove. That made me say, “Your father didn't necessarily have to be connected to Ethan via the society, though that would make sense, since Ethan later recruited you. But very simply, they could have been involved in joint ventures together. Business opportunities. No secret-society ties necessary.”

“Most of his holdings are under his corporation, not joint ventures.” Dane gave this more thought as I went back to surfing.

Neither of us came up with anything more significant to ponder. We spent a few more hours in the vault, with no substantial results.

After dinner, Dane showed me to his bedroom. He employed full house staff who maintained the mansion and grounds and kept clean linens on the beds and in the bathrooms. There were plenty of spirits and wines stocked throughout and food in the freezers and pantries, all in the event Dane dropped in unexpectedly, as he said he was prone to do from time to time. Whenever he traveled abroad, he flew out of Philadelphia so he could spend the night at the mansion.

I got the feeling he missed it. Mostly, he probably missed his aunt Lara. But since he'd grown up here, I could see how the memories would anchor him to the estate.

We showered, then got ready for bed.

As we settled under the covers, I asked, “Did your parents have this house built?”

“No, it's a family estate. My great-great-grandfather bought the land and constructed the main portion of the mansion. My great-grandfather added the west wing. My grandfather added the east wing. My father built the solarium and greenhouse.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“So much family history,” I mused. “Generations intricately connected. Seriously, Dane, it would only make sense for your father—and maybe his father and so on—to be involved with the society.”

“Too bad there's no one I can covertly ask. My ancestors are dead and I don't trust anyone in the network at this point. We're pretty much on our own, baby.”

My fingertips glided over his temple and chiseled cheekbone. “You're not used to this. You're more accustomed to knowing exactly who to call in any given situation.”

“It was a lot different having a network at my disposal. Especially one I helped to build.”

“Is there any chance network members would come after us at this point?”

He was quiet a few moments. His silence did not bode well for my nerves.

“Dane,” I eventually prompted, unable to handle the suspense a second longer.

“There's always a chance of something like that. Even Tom turned on me, when his back was to the wall. Others could feel threatened by what I might have offered to the FBI, the IRS, and international agencies.”

As much as I'd convinced myself that Dane returning home meant the end of the danger, I should have known it wouldn't be that easy. That cut-and-dried.

With all the sinister machinations to brood over, I decided now was as good a time as any to give Dane some potentially happier news. Maybe something to take his mind off the chaos for at least a few minutes.

So I told him, “All those holes on your office wall weren't just for my web or the nursery decorations. I had another project I started while you were away. I removed all the evidence before you returned.”

One dark brow lifted. “I'm not going to like this, am I?”

“Hear me out first. Then decide.” I remained cuddled alongside him, my head on his chest, my fingers gliding lightly over his warm skin and hard muscles.

“I'm listening,” he said. “Though you know how much you're distracting me, right?”

“I can't resist touching you.”

“I'm not complaining. But you'd better tell me what's on your mind, because mine's wandering in a totally different direction.”

The sensual tinge to his voice almost made me forget what I had to say. Almost.

I bucked up. Dove right in. “You know that when we all thought you were dead everything you owned became mine. All that money, all those investments.”

“You started another foundation,” he guessed. “Ari, that's not a problem. I told you, my money is your money, whether I'm alive or not. If you found another cause you want to support, I'm fully behind you. In fact, I'm impressed with your philanthropic nature.”

“I am extremely grateful I was able to set up the autism and low-income, single-mom foundations to help others, Dane. I have you to thank for that, because, at the end of the day, it's your cash flow supporting both.”

“No, Ari.” His arm about my shoulders held me tighter. “Baby, I told you. It's yours. Ours. And you dedicating funds to something meaningful and worthwhile is never, ever going to be an issue with me. You don't have to ask. You don't have to worry about getting my approval. I trust you. Implicitly.”

Emotion welled within me. As of now, I was just about the only one he trusted, aside from Amano and Jackson. So I knew what a monumental statement that was for Dane to make.

“You really deserve some sort of reward for all that you've done,” I told him. “For all that you've sacrificed. That's why I wanted to do something for you, Dane. I wanted to give you something. But what do you give the amazing man who has everything?”

“Are you pregnant again?”

The spark of hope in his eyes lit my insides. And my heart skipped a few beats.

“Would you mind?”

“Are you kidding? I was thinking another two or three or four would be just fine.”

My eyes bulged. “
Four
more?” I wasn't sure how I felt about that many kids. Luckily, I didn't have to dissect that conundrum at the moment. But I did say, “I would love to have a daughter. Have a real relationship with her, you know? Not the atrocious one I have with my own mother.”

“Oh, God.” He grunted. “Not her again.”

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Believe me, she's the last person I want to discuss right now. And for the record, no, I'm not pregnant. That would be like one of the quickest conceptions in the history of the world.”

“I've always been an overachiever,” he said with a cocky grin.

“I'm well aware of that—and the fact that your arrogance knows no bounds. But currently, stud, you haven't knocked me up a second time.”

“Hmm. I'll have to work on that then.”

He made a move to roll over and position himself between my legs, but I pressed a hand to his chest.

“Just wait. I'm not done.”

His lips brushed mine and he murmured, “Can you make it quick? I have a lot of lost bedroom time to make up for.”

My stomach fluttered. “Glad to see that's a top priority for you.”

“Never doubt it.”

He kissed me. Seductively. Enticingly. Igniting a slow burn that spread outward from my core, making my inner thighs quiver and my pussy thrum. Need and excitement rippled through me as his tongue slid over mine, curling and teasing.

My hand shifted from his pecs and threaded through his hair. I pressed my body to his, wishing I'd bypassed the satin nightgown so I could feel his skin against mine.