Full Force Fatherhood (8 page)

For one long moment, Kelli considered his words. She had been excited at the idea that Mark had files that could lead them to who was behind Victor's death and attempting to steal his journal. Yet it wasn't until that moment that she realized the past was neatly packed up a few inches from her. Was she ready to face tangible proof of the past instead of the memories that still haunted her at any mention or sight of smoke?

“No, I need to do this,” she decided. “If not to find justice for Victor, then to ensure Grace's safety.”

“Then, here we go.”

Chapter Ten

“So give me
your
summary on all of this.” Kelli waved her hand over the papers and pictures on the coffee table. They had spent the past half hour in silence, each combing through what Mark had collected. Most notable were the copies of the police report on Darwin McGregor, the rough sketch Mark had drawn of the man he claimed was responsible, and Orion's origin file on Victor and Kelli. She'd only glanced at that last one, pushing it to the side to look at later.

Mark ran his hand across the stubble on his chin and put down the pictures in his hand. They were of Victor's family cabin the day after the fire. She'd already glanced at those, too, but decided to keep her distance. On her darkest days, she could sometimes close her eyes and see the flames devouring the structure during the dead of night.

“On the surface it's simple,” he started. “A dumb kid who likes starting fires sets fire to a cabin. In the process he blows up the propane tank. Which sets off a chain reaction that eventually destroys the entire place...and a man is killed because of it.” He didn't pause, and Kelli was grateful for it. “He confesses in court that he intended to set the fire and—bonus—it's not his first one, so he's tried as an adult and sent to prison. Then everyone forgets about it. Well, you know what I mean.”

He put his hand on the paper closest to him—the sketch of the man. “But I saw a man in black, bigger than the boy, spreading the fire. A man no one else thought existed.” His eyes rounded a fraction. “A man I now realize bears a striking resemblance to the man who broke into your house last night.” Kelli tried to interrupt, but Mark continued. “He set the fire,
intending
to have no survivors, and then disappeared. Darwin wasn't caught until the next morning, miles away from the cabin. Do you remember how he acted in court?”

Kelli didn't have to think hard. “Crude.”

Mark nodded. “He certainly wasn't trying to sell that he was sorry for what he'd done. Even with his grandmother looking on the entire time.”

Kelli remembered the young man's lack of empathy as he recounted setting the fires, later answering without pause that it wasn't the first time. He hadn't shown an ounce of regret despite claiming that he knew exactly what his actions had cost Kelli and her unborn child.

She cleared her throat. “I remember hearing her cry,” she said. The sound of the older woman crying had created a background noise that had competed with Kelli's own sobs. Before Grace had been born, she hadn't always been rock solid. Then again, no one had expected her to be.

“She raised Darwin,” Mark said. “I think he was the only family she had. I looked her up out of curiosity a few months after the trial. She's holed up in some lakeside retirement home.”

That caught Kelli's attention.

“Lakeside retirement home?” she asked, pulling out her phone. “Do you know the name of it, by chance?”

“Uh, something about an apple? I can't remember, but I know it's just outside Wilmington, North Carolina. Darwin was a local there.” Kelli pulled up the search browser on her phone. “Why?”

She put up a finger to tell him to wait. Her heartbeat started to speed up. Close to a clue? Reaching? She didn't know which was more accurate. But when she found what she was looking for she made a noise that was caught between an
aha
and a gasp.

“Appleton Retreat,” she said, handing her phone over. The website for the retirement home was pulled up. Its gallery of photos were on a slideshow on the homepage.

“Okay...what am I looking at, exactly?”

“Darwin didn't hire a lawyer. One was appointed to him, right? Do you remember why?” She knew the answer but wanted to verify what she
thought
she knew.

“They couldn't afford one. Something about her medical bills before the fire.”

Kelli motioned to the phone.

“And now, less than two years later, she's living in a retirement home for the wealthy?”

Mark quieted as he looked through the pictures.

“Darwin and she lived in an apartment together before the fire. I remember him being asked about his residence while on stand.” She held back a shudder. She didn't like recalling so many details about the trial. Yet here she was trying to remember all of the pieces. “If she was in debt with medical bills and Darwin was truly her only living relative...”

“Then how did she get the money for Appleton Retreat?” Mark finished.

She snapped her fingers. “Maybe that's why you saw a different man spreading the fire, and why Darwin didn't argue with what was going on.”

Mark raised his brow before he voiced it.

“Because Darwin McGregor was paid to take the fall,” he said.

Kelli nodded so adamantly that her hair swished back and forth along her cheeks.

“How much do you want to bet that her medical bills disappeared, too? How can we even find that out?” Kelli's thoughts were going faster than her reason. She certainly didn't want to give the woman a call and ask. First, that would sound alarm bells for whoever was behind this newly formed yet becoming-more-real theory. Second, Mark and Kelli definitely were the last people who should be the ones to talk to her. Even if her grandson hadn't actually committed the crime, he was definitely paying for it. Just thinking about talking to the woman started a soft loop of her sobs from the courtroom playing in the background of her memory.

Mark rubbed at his facial stubble again, falling into deep thought. He was picking his words carefully when he finally spoke.

“I may have a friend who can help us answer those questions. Though...I don't know how legal it will be.”

Caught off guard, Kelli chuckled.

“Let me guess, another bodyguard friend?” she asked, already picturing the imaginary man sitting behind one of the desks she had seen in Orion earlier.

“Close, but no cigar.” He handed her back her phone and pulled his out.

“So, no Orion agent?”

“No. His wife.”

* * *

“A
CUITY
I
NVESTIGATIONS
.
Darling Quinn here.”

Mark cleared his throat as a voice he hadn't heard in half a year floated through the earpiece.

“Hey, Darling, it's Mark. Mark Tranton.”

There was a noticeable pause on the other end.

“I'm not going to pretend I'm
not
surprised right now,” she replied. Her tone was light and, if he wasn't mistaken, he could hear a smile in her voice. Mark relaxed his shoulders a fraction. Oliver Quinn's wife had always been a vocal woman—even before they'd married the year before—never shying away from her opinion. If she had wanted to scold him for his lack of communication with Oliver, Darling wouldn't have held off to be polite. Instead, the light tone turned concerned quickly. “Is everything all right? Is something wrong with Nikki?”

“No, no! Everything—and everyone—is fine,” he assured her. “I just have a favor to ask. I know I probably don't deserve one, but if you could at least hear me out, that would mean a lot.”

There was less hesitation in her reply this time. Instead of concern or cheer, Mark could hear the woman slip into work mode. Darling Quinn was a private investigator and a damn good one.

“Shoot.”

“We're looking into an old case,” he started. Kelli's eyes were wide with anticipation. “We think someone might have been paid off to take the fall for a fire. But...well, we don't have proof. Just the theory.”

“So where is the fall guy now?”

“Prison.”

Mark could almost hear Darling's gears turning. He remembered the first time he had met the private investigator. He had flown to her town in Maine to celebrate Orion's impending expansion as well as Oliver's promotion to head of the new freelancer branch. Darling had been kind, hilarious and unstoppable. It was apparent that Oliver had found his other half—the perfect partner in crime. A thread of longing started to unravel in Mark as he remembered the thought. His eyes traveled to Kelli's. Swirling pools of green and gray stared evenly at him.

Could Kelli be a perfect partner for him?

Where had that thought come from?

“Mark?” Darling asked, bringing his attention back. He looked away from Kelli.

“Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”

“I said, why do you think he was paid off, then?”

“His grandmother—his only family and the woman who raised him—went from close to poverty to living in one of those retirement homes that price gouge. You know, the ones that have the resort amenities. All after the guy's trial happened and he was found guilty.”

“Curious,” Darling whispered. “So you need to see the grandmother's and grandson's financials to know if he got paid and then gave it to her, or if she maybe got directly paid.”

“And, if you can, the person fronting the bill.”

“I guess I shouldn't remind you that tracking financials on a case I'm not currently on and without permission isn't the most
ethical
thing to do.”

Mark nodded, though she couldn't see. “I wouldn't ask if it wasn't extremely important.”

Darling let out a long exhalation that he didn't miss. There was movement, and soon he heard the sound of fingers clicking against a computer keyboard. “You're lucky that Oliver is working something with Deputy Derrick right now. He'd tell me to ask more questions before I agree.”

“Do you want to ask more questions?”

Darling snorted. “Too many questions sometimes degrade the degree of anonymity I like working under. Just give me the names of the grandson and grandmother, and the date of the trial.”

Mark did as he was told. He gave Kelli a thumbs-up in the process.

“Thank you for this, Darling,” he said after she repeated the information for accuracy. “It means a lot.”

“Don't thank me—though you can later when I get back with the information. Thank Oliver. Although you've left him hanging, he hasn't stopped telling stories of the glory days.”

Mark wanted to say something—something that would take away the guilt her words brought—but he couldn't find an explanation for the fact that he'd pushed his closest friends away. Instead, he thanked her again.

“I can't guarantee I'll have the info tonight, but I should be able to score it by tomorrow,” she said, already typing again. “Like you, I have to call a favor in.”

“No problem.”

“And Mark, you know I can't keep this from Oliver,” she added, voice serious. “But...there's no need to call him while we're both working. I'll just wait until he comes by after work.”

“Thank you, Darling.”

It was her turn to say, “No problem.”

“So?” Kelli asked after they ended the call. “She'll look into the financials?”

“That's what she said.”

“Wow. Just like that?” Mark scanned Kelli's face when he thought he heard a touch of jealousy in her voice. She merely tilted her head in question.

“I think Darling just likes a good mystery.” Mark shrugged, hoping his expression didn't betray what he was feeling.

“Like the case against that millionaire in Maine?”

Mark laughed. “Exactly.”

“I can't just wait for her to call back,” she said with notable irritation. “I can't just sit still. I need to do
something
!”

Mark's thoughts led directly to the bedroom. It was so sudden and out of nowhere that he felt his expression change without the consent of his brain. How was it that the woman in front of him—wearing a zoo T-shirt and ready to pass out hell to anyone who threatened her family—could evoke such strong feelings apropos of nothing? How could he even entertain the idea of feelings for her, of any kind, when it was
his
fault that she was a widow?

Whether or not Kelli noticed the change in his demeanor, she didn't say. Instead, she slapped her hands together after a moment. A grin broke out over her lips.

“I have an idea!”

Chapter Eleven

“Can I go on record and say I really, really don't like this idea?”

Mark passed his binoculars back to Kelli, who was seated in the driver's side of her car. She was practically bouncing in anticipation.

“Believe me, you've already told me,” she said with a quick smile. “Just remember—you could have said no to coming along.”

Mark snorted. “Something tells me you would have still come.”

He was right. She probably still would have come. But would she have gone inside? Without any backup? Probably not. If something happened to Kelli, then Grace would grow up without a mother or a father. That idea alone kept Kelli on edge as she took in the three-story building in front of them.

The Bowman Foundation's office was housed in a modern-style building on the edge of the Design District. One of the many relatively new buildings that had sprung up in the past ten years or so, the slick white office stood like a beacon of hope that welcomed those who passed by on their way to visit a market or bar, yet still added to the urban feel the District had cultivated perfectly. It was one of the many reasons the Bowman Foundation had blossomed as much as it had since Victor's spotlight had been published.

The Bowman Foundation wasn't just a charity aimed at eliminating poverty in Dallas. It was a welcoming destination to all who wanted to create a difference in the world.

“It makes you feel good when you look at it,” Kelli commented, her eyes roaming the steel sans serif letters that composed the charity's name. “Doesn't it?”

Mark didn't bother lying. “It makes me want to help people,” he admitted.

Kelli nodded, frowning. Could such an inspiring organization really be connected to Victor's death?

Mark placed his hand on hers. The contact caused her to jump, but not so badly that he addressed it.

“But I don't need to look at a building to want to help you,” Mark said, squeezing her hand. The pressure started a fire that traveled up her arm and right into her face. With her cheeks fully heated, she gave him a small smile.

“We're going to find out what's going on,” he said, “and we're going to keep you and Grace safe. This—this building—is just drywall and paint. You are much more inspiring.”

Mark's voice was so firm, so sure, that it infused her with a feeling of confidence.

And something else.

He withdrew his hand and the moment, whatever it had been, was gone.

“Now let's go, as you said earlier, ‘snoop.'” He shook his head. “I can't believe I said that.”

The interior of Bowman was all clean lines, shiny surfaces and pops of color. It was more trendy than its exterior. Kelli almost forgot for a second that they were inside the office building of a charity.

A woman with a low scoop-neck black blouse and cheetah-print pencil skirt smiled at them from behind a desk that stood next to the open stairwell and single elevator. She broke her conversation with a man in a suit to greet them as they walked up.

“Welcome to the Bowman Foundation. My name is Karen.” She surprised Kelli by offering her hand to the two of them. They each shook. “How may I help you today?”

The man in the suit was polite enough to pull out his phone and seem busy. Kelli cleared her throat, jumping into the plan they had agreed upon on the ride over.

“Hi, my name is Kelli Crane and this—”

Karen's eyes widened in recognition. That also surprised Kelli.

“As in, wife of Victor Crane?” she asked. The suit looked up from his phone.

A twinge of sadness hit her as she answered, “Yes, once upon a time.”

Karen sobered. “I'm so sorry for your loss.”

Kelli shared a look with Mark.

“Thanks,” she responded. “Forgive me, but I'm a little surprised you recognized me.” Unless Karen was in on whatever was happening, Kelli thought a second too late.

Karen dropped her head a fraction. “To be honest, it was the name. I pass by that picture every day.”

Kelli was confused. “The picture?” she asked.

Karen was clearly taken aback. “You haven't seen the press hallway?”

Kelli shook her head. “This is the first time I've been here,” she answered honestly. She'd been invited to take a tour after their building opened to the public, but memorizing Victor's last article had been a lot different than visiting Bowman. Reading the words was easier than seeing the physical place they related to. But now that was the plan. “That's actually why we're here.” Kelli motioned back to Mark. “This is my friend Mark Tranton. We both realized we had never taken a tour and were wondering if we could now?”

“Of course! Give me a quick second, if you don't mind!”

Karen hurried to the man in the suit, handing him a file before using her phone to call someone Kelli assumed was in the building. Not wanting to appear as though she was snooping—the whole reason she'd come—she fell back a step to Mark's side. The ex-bodyguard had gone tense. Kelli didn't know if that was because he was nervous or preparing himself. For what, she also didn't know, but she was grateful he was on her side.

“The press hallway?” he said through the side of his mouth.

“Yeah, I'm definitely curious now.”

They waited as Karen spoke softly into the phone and the man in the suit retreated into the elevator. His interest in Kelli's name seemed to have only been a momentary thing. He didn't look up from his file as the door slid closed in front of him.

“Okay, if you're ready,” Karen almost sang as she stood back up. “I'd like to start the tour by showing you the press hallway.”

“All right.” Kelli followed beside Karen while Mark was a few steps behind her. She recognized his reflex to keep her safe. She wondered if that was a reaction specifically for her or if he would do it with anyone who might be in danger.

“The main floor of the Bowman Foundation is perhaps the most popular with the general public,” Karen began, apparently
not
waiting until they got to the press hallway to start. “Bowman's CEO—Radford Bowman—believes that not only being out in the public but also interacting with them on a daily basis can make all the difference in keeping a community aware of its problems without bombarding them with guilt or scare tactics or propaganda to do the right thing.”

The hallway they had been walking down opened into a large room. With floor-to-ceiling, wide, frameless windows on the opposite exterior walls, the space made what was clearly designated as a lounge area feel bright and airy. As though all your troubles wouldn't stand up against such cheery surroundings. Even the occasional art piece with a quote about compassion, helping people or volunteering didn't distract from what the place was trying to accomplish.

Subtle awareness. Ample comfort.

“Wow,” Kelli said as they stopped to take it in.

“The Bowman Foundation allows for this space to be open to the public for a place to relax, hang out or chat with foundation employees about what they can do to help. As you can see, we have a game area that's being utilized right now.” In a sectioned-off corner of the room were a Ping-Pong table, two chess tables and a foosball table. Two young guys sat at one of the chess tables, heads bent in concentration. “We host free events with the options of donating or volunteering here, as well. The community never ceases to surprise us. We've gotten more in terms of donations from our free events than those you have to pay to get into. I know it's a little strange to give free rein to nonemployees, but by the same token, it's helped build a mutual trust and respect with those who come and take advantage of what we're offering.”

“What
is
it you're offering?” Mark asked, not a curious inflection in the sentence, just a flat question. He didn't seem to approve of the grandeur, or maybe of Karen. Kelli thought she spoke of Bowman and their method of getting their community aware as a cult leader might. Sure, their end goal seemed admirable, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something felt off about it all.

Karen didn't bat a perfect eyelash at the underlying current of criticism in Mark's voice. Instead, her smile grew.

“The information to change the world without leaving your comfort zone.” She turned back to the room and sighed, starting to walk again. “Isn't it wonderful?”

Mark was suddenly next to Kelli's ear.

“It sure is something,” he whispered. His breath brushed against her neck and ear with such electricity that she had trouble making her feet follow Karen.

Whoa
, Kelli thought, body heating. A simple whisper had stirred something she hadn't realized could stir. At least not yet. Shaking her head to try and rid herself of the unexpected feeling, she moved forward and tried to focus.

They walked the rest of the way through the lounge and then into another hallway that turned right. Kelli thought back to Victor's article as Karen slowed. The Bowman Foundation walked a fine line between the give-everything-we-own-to-help-people and let's-make-money-to-give-money mentalities. He had written that this struggle was a rare one for an organization headed by a wealthy man like Radford Bowman to have. A man like that—working his hands to the bone to rise from poverty and mediocrity, proving to everyone around him that he wasn't defined that easily—was a champion to those less fortunate. An everyday man who had become much more and could go live on an island drinking mai tais for the rest of his life but had chosen to try to make his city—his home—a better place for everyone to live. That was what made Radford Bowman a good man, and that's what made the Bowman Foundation a good organization.

Just recalling Victor's words gave her goose bumps. He had been a talented writer. He had also been a good man.

Now he was dead, and somehow the two were connected.

“The press hallway was originally supposed to be a room open to the public,” Karen said as they took another turn. It brought them to a hallway that must have run parallel with the front lobby. More wide, wall-length paneless windows lined the wall to their left, while the wall to their right was covered in plaques, framed articles and pictures. “But Mr. Bowman thought it would be a better this way. He said that seeing what the foundation could accomplish shouldn't be a destination. It should be part of the journey—seeing what we can do, whom we can help—while on the way to meeting the team who could do it.” She motioned to the door at the very end of the hallway. “Mr. Bowman's office.”

“He doesn't use one of the other two floors?” Mark asked, clearly surprised.

Karen shook her head. Pride was evident in her reaction. “He wants everyone to be able to reach him. Sure, he could have a much bigger, better office suite upstairs, but that's just not his style.” She practically beamed as she continued down the hallway to that door, pointing out a few of the articles on the wall. But Kelli had eyes only for one picture.

“Mr. Bowman thought it appropriate to dedicate a different space for this,” Karen said, voice tender. They had stopped in front of a stretch of wall that squeezed Kelli's heart before she even could take it all in.

In Memory of Victor Crane was written above Victor's entire article, printed directly on the wall. Beneath that were inscribed the years he had been born and died, like his tombstone. Below that was a note that he had been survived by his wife and daughter, names excluded.

However, it was the picture that hung above it all in a beautiful golden frame that caught and held her attention so raptly. Without thinking, without being given permission, Kelli moved closer and touched the glass.

Victor Crane, frozen in time, smiled back.

And suddenly Kelli was crying.

* * *

“I'
M
REALLY
,
REALLY
sorry again,” Karen said. “I thought it would—I don't know—make her happy to see that we honored him, you know?”

But it hadn't. Kelli had broken down, only barely excusing herself to a nearby bathroom with tears streaming down her face. It was outside that bathroom that Mark and Karen now stood. Karen, despite her cult-like love for Bowman, seemed genuinely upset in turn that she'd upset Kelli.

“Can you give us a second?” he asked, nodding to the closed door.

“Oh, yeah, sure. I need to check the front anyway.” She pointed to a door in the middle of the hallway. “That leads back out to the lobby when you're ready.”

“Thanks.”

Karen cast one more worried look at the door before walking away. She pulled out her cell phone, already placing a call as she went through the door she had pointed out. Mark waited a few seconds before knocking on the bathroom door.

“Kelli, it's just me,” he said, voice low. Mark marveled at how, after only a few days, he thought using “just me” would work. Seeing Victor's picture...seeing Kelli's reaction...reminded him that if he had saved Victor, too, he could have spared her the heartache. Ready to stand back and give Kelli her space, Mark was surprised when the door opened a crack.

“Come in,” she said, voice low like his.

He did as he was told.

The single-occupancy bathroom was small but clean. Kelli backed up to the wall next to the sink and ran a hand over her eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she said, voice still a little uneven. Mark shut the bathroom door behind him and moved uncertainly in front of her. He hadn't noticed until then that she'd been wearing mascara. Some of it had run beneath her eyes. “I just—I couldn't take it. Seeing that picture...” She put her hands over her eyes and bowed her head.

Mark, compelled by an emotion he couldn't quite define, closed the space between them. He put his arms around her. Never a man to put too much stock in his intimate actions, he hoped the contact—the embrace—would bring her a dose of comfort.