Sea Glass Sunrise (26 page)

“I—” He wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“She left when I was a little girl, with a man who apparently thought she had more to offer than whether or not pleated chiffon drapes looked good as a backdrop when paired with Meissen china.”

So there’s a minefield you wandered into. Nice.
He stalled with a sip of coffee, then said, “I’m sorry to hear that. I take it you and your mother aren’t close, then?”

“I haven’t seen or heard from her since the day she left.”

He was sure he looked as shocked as he felt. “That’s— harsh. I’m sorry, it’s not my place to say,” he added. “I don’t know the circumstances, but if you were young—”

“I was three. I don’t remember her. And don’t hold it against my mother. I thought for years she simply didn’t want us, me or my father. I found out later that she’d been paid rather handsomely in the divorce to leave me with my father.” Her smile could best be described as acid. “Part of the property settlement, no doubt.” She set her teacup down, very carefully, and just as carefully schooled her features back to something softer . . . or as soft as she was capable of. She even added that little hair-lifting laugh. “I shouldn’t speak so ill of the man. After all, he was just trying to do right by me. Any woman who would run off like that—how was he to trust her with his only child?”

Calder suspected she was reciting Brooks’s exact explanation, word for word. “That was some time ago. Your father never remarried?”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t handle failure well.” She waved a hand. “Not in business, of course, because one can always turn failure there into a success elsewhere, not that he has many failures. But when it comes to life outside of business, it’s not so easily controlled, or manipulated.”

I don’t know about that,
Calder thought. Brooks Winstock seemed to be pretty damn good at doing just that. Both with men like Calder, whom he’d been jerking around like a puppet on a string, and with his own daughter, whose life he’d seemingly gone out of his way to control and neatly map out as well.

“He doesn’t like it when life doesn’t go according to plan,” Cami went on.

I bet he doesn’t,
Calder thought, and wondered what that might mean in regard to the boathouse burning. Winstock’s life had taken an unexpected turn when Ted hadn’t won the mayoral race, and had lost his council seat as well. Was that why he’d made the desperate attempt to harm Jonah in the only way that could benefit Winstock’s future plans? Was he tired of waiting, afraid of something else unraveling his carefully made plans, and taking illegal shortcuts now?

“Ted’s loss must have hit him hard then,” he said, trying not to show his own avid interest in her response.

“You could say that,” she said, mildly. “In fact, that’s one of the reasons I’m here this morning. To discuss . . . options.”

“I’m sure it’s very frustrating. What will Ted do now? What does he want to do?”

“I don’t know,” she said, then took another sip as a contemplative look crossed her face. But that look was quickly usurped by a slow smile. A smile that was completely at odds with the hard glint in her eyes as she looked at him and said, “It’s not my problem. I’ve informed him I’ll be seeking a divorce.”

Calder’s eyes widened at that. “I’m—sorry to hear that. As you said, it’s never an easy thing.”

“No,” she said, quite matter-of-factly. “No, it’s not. But, as I’ve long known, life isn’t fair. Sometimes you’re dealt a raw hand, and tough choices need to be made.” She blotted the corners of her perfectly painted lips with the linen napkin that had been spread in her lap, and dropped it unceremoniously on the tea service tray. Calder couldn’t help but think it appeared she was discarding her husband with the same careless indifference.

“True, I suppose,” he said. “I am sorry, though.” Then another thought struck him, and suddenly, things began to make a lot more sense. “How long has he known?”

Her gaze narrowed very briefly at the question. He thought he might have overplayed his hand, but she seemed to shrug off her suspicion and lifted a casual shoulder. “Several days ago. He’s experienced a number of losses of late, so I knew he wouldn’t take it well.”

Calder wondered if that was the reason, or one of them, that Winstock had continually postponed their meeting. Ted apparently didn’t work for Brooks, and Cami didn’t seem overly emotional about the situation, or at all emotional, actually, but a divorce still had to be something that father and daughter would have to discuss at length. If for no other reason than it would be big news once the word got out. Naturally they’d want to control the timing and manner the news was disseminated.

“I haven’t been in town long,” Calder said, “but I’m from a town only a little bigger than this one, and I know how challenging it is to keep that kind of news quiet.”

“Actually, other than Ted you’re the only person I’ve told.” She smiled then, and a bit of that predatory spark came back into her eyes. “I’m not sure why.” She leaned forward slightly, lips curving again, reminding him of a jungle cat circling its prey. “You’re very easy to talk to. And, of course, we share this painful life event.”

She tried to imbue the word “painful” with something he supposed was intended to look like discomfort, but it didn’t play exactly true, with the gleam still there in her eyes. She reached out a hand and curled those talons of hers around his wrist. “Perhaps you and I can share a drink, or dinner, before you head back to your river. Although, I suppose if you’re building Daddy’s little club, you’ll be spending a fair amount of time here.” She let his wrist go and leaned back in her chair, taking care to slowly cross her legs in a manner that wasn’t even trying not to be suggestive. He was only surprised she didn’t run a pointed toe up the side of his calf.

“I appreciate the invite,” he said, but that’s as far as he got.

The hallway doors opened and in strode a tall man with a well-groomed mane of silver hair, wearing a golf shirt and slacks that on anyone else might have been casual attire, but managed to make Brooks Winstock look as if he’d just stepped out of his personal tailor’s shop. In Milan.

“Daddy,” Cami said, instantly all smiles. She unfolded her legs and rose gracefully, in one sweeping motion that, given the snug fit of her skirt, Calder thought almost defied physics. She leaned in for a hug as her father paused at her end of the table.

He kissed the top of her hair, careful not to muss it, Calder noted, then stepped back. “Look at you,” he said, his lips curving, but his gaze more considering and observant than filled with fatherly affection. “Lovely as always. Fresh as a garden flower.”

“Thanks, Daddy. You look good too. Hope the game went well this morning?”

Game. So Brooks had put Calder off . . . for a golf game?
Calder had stood at the same time as Cami, tossing his linen napkin over the uneaten quiche. He silently hoped the steward and the chef didn’t come under some kind of reprimand for his lack of appetite.

“Mr. Winstock,” he said, extending his hand across the table as the older gentleman came to stand behind the chair opposite his, a polite smile on his face. “A pleasure to finally meet.”

Winstock took his hand in a quick, firm handshake, but there was no corresponding smile on his face now. Once he’d looked away from his daughter, he’d become the consummate businessman once again, golf attire or no. “My apologies for dragging this out so long.” He noticed the linen on Calder’s plate with a quick flick of his gaze. “If you’re done, why don’t we head to my office. Here,” he qualified, “in the house. Just across the hallway.”

“I’ll leave you two gentlemen to your business,” Cami said, then looked at her father. “I’ll be up in my rooms. We’ll talk when you’re through?”

“Absolutely. I’ll send up for you. I’m glad you’ve taken my advice and plan to stay here. It’s really for the best.” He stepped around the table and leaned in for another hug. “It’s good to have you home again, kitten.”

Her smile didn’t falter so much as a whisper, but Calder hadn’t missed the oh-so-slight mist that had sheened her eyes as she propped her chin on his shoulder during the brief hug. It was gone by the time Winstock straightened, but Calder knew what he’d seen. Maybe she wasn’t completely cold and calculating after all. At least where her father was concerned.

She turned to Calder and held out her hand again. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Blue.” Her lips curved more deeply. “I enjoyed our conversation.”

She’d extended her hand, fingertips curled downward, and once again he was left to consider just what she intended. He took her fingertips in a gentle grip, but didn’t nod this time. “The pleasure was mine. Good luck with . . . your future plans.”

She smiled then and it was at odds with the poor little girl look that had been on her face when her father had hugged her a moment ago, not to mention completely inappropriate given said father was standing just behind him, in clear view of what could only be described as a . . . hungry expression.

“Perhaps we can discuss exactly that,” she said, then curled her hand to run the side of her thumb up the center of his palm. “Dinner and drinks, then. I look forward to it.”

Then she was gone, leaving Calder to tamp down his body’s instant response to her unexpected little caress. Even if his body was one step ahead of his brain, her touch shouldn’t have had that effect on him. He turned to find Winstock looking at him with a decidedly calculating expression on his face.

The man missed nothing, and Calder was left grappling for the appropriate thing to say, knowing such a thing really didn’t exist.

“You’ll have to forgive Camille,” Winstock said, taking pity on him, if the half smile now curving the corner of his mouth was any indication.

Incredibly, that was even more unnerving than the look his daughter had just given him.
What the hell was with this family, anyway?

“She’s always been rather . . . assertive. I’m afraid she gets that trait from her dear old father. Unfortunately, she also has her mother’s impulsiveness.” He let out a short half laugh and lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “What’s a father to do? She’s my only and I find I can never bring myself to deny her anything. It’s my one failing, I’m afraid.”

Calder knew he must have looked alarmed, at least momentarily, because Winstock let out a sharp, almost delighted laugh.

“Don’t worry, my boy. I won’t feed you to that particular lion. Or should I say, lioness. I’ll need you to stay sharp and focused for our little project. Although she might have something to say about that, so be forewarned.” He stepped past a gaping Calder and walked through the double doors Cami had left open upon her exit. “Just this way.”

Calder stayed right where he was a moment longer, trying to process what had just happened, and what in the hell he planned to do about it.
Good damn thing I have no intention of working “our little project,”
he thought.
Jesus.
And here he’d thought there wasn’t anyone who could make fatherhood look less palatable than his own father. How wrong he’d been about that.

He shook his head, straightened his shoulders, and followed Winstock into the hallway, which was more like a grand foyer, complete with twin arching staircases that led to a second-floor balcony, and two separate wings of the house. He knew this, as his room the night before had been located in the one that angled off to the left. He had another thought that if Cami had indeed been under this same roof the night before, he was damn lucky she hadn’t known he was also in residence. A shiver of what could only be described as revulsion rippled through him as he thought once again about there being eyes in the wall. Cami . . . and her Daddy dearest.
Dear God, don’t even go there.

Winstock crossed the beautifully restored and polished cypress plank foyer and the blue stonework that had been inlaid in the shape of a star in the center of it, the soles of his leather golf shoes making not a single sound.
Lion raised by a panther,
Calder thought.

Winstock had just opened the matching double doors leading into a room that looked as if it might rival the Library of Congress for the sheer volume of leather-bound books from the floor to rotunda-like ceiling of the room, when a commotion at the massive front door caught his attention instead. Both he and Winstock turned as Hannah pushed her way past, well, Calder didn’t know what to call him. The butler? Majordomo? Whatever his job description, he hadn’t been able to stop the determined woman presently striding toward them.

Calder grinned. She was in uber-attorney mode, at least her expression was. What she was wearing was anything but classic D.C. lawyer garb. She had on wrinkled tan khaki capri pants, thin, no-heeled flats, and a peach-colored pullover. Her hair was down and reminded him of their walk on the shoreline the day before. His body responded instantly, to all of it.

“Brooks Winstock. Just the man I need to see.” She spared a glance at Calder. “I’m glad you’re still here. You haven’t signed anything, have you?”

“Hannah?” Brooks asked, stepping forward, looking mildly concerned. “What is the emergency, Ms. McCrae? I’m assuming, given your brazen entrance into my home, there must be one.”

She looked at Calder a moment longer and he gave a quick shake of his head, which she seemed to understand was in response to her question. So she turned to Winstock and drew herself up to her full, defense counselor magnitude, which was striking no matter what she wore. “I know you’ve been questioned in regard to the arson that took place Thursday night on Jonah Blue’s pier.”

Winstock’s agitated expression remained, but his stance relaxed somewhat. “Ms. McCrae, I’m well aware of your brother’s—or, I should say, Chief McCrae’s interest in Calder. No need to come barging in here in some misguided attempt to save me from myself. I can assure you, I’ve been in business longer than you’ve been alive, and am quite capable—”