Epiphany (Legacy of Payne) (17 page)

I realized then how little I knew about him. I knew what was in his heart, of this I was certain. The elevator dinged and the heavy doors slid open. Rendered speechless, I followed him down the hallway, my feet gliding along polished tile. Two doors faced each other across the hall.

The one on the right swung open before Aidan had a chance to knock. “Long time, no see.” A man, shorter and stockier than Aidan, pulled him into a bear hug. “How’ve you been? I heard you quit the paper.”

“I wouldn’t say I quit . . . exactly,” Aidan said. “More like forced into a leave of absence.”

“Come on in.” His brother ushered us into a living space that put the word “opulent” to shame. Immaculate hardwood floors, granite surfaces, and accents of chrome and crystal made my apartment ghetto-worthy. A wall of glass spanned one corner of the room, presenting a spectacular view. We were elevated high enough to see the treetops as the Willamette River journeyed through them.

“This is Mackenzie,” Aidan said.

“It’s a pleasure. I’m Logan.” He took my hand. “My brother always did have excellent taste in women.”

Aidan rolled his eyes. “Cut it out, Logan. It’s not what you think.”

Logan’s grin disappeared. “Yeah, neither is this get-together, I’m afraid.” He gave his brother a wary look. “Don’t blow up, okay?”

Aidan stiffened. “I know that look. Dad’s here, isn’t he?”

“In the library. He’s waiting to talk to you.”

A smile was the only feature Logan Payne shared with his brother. He flashed that familiar grin now and said, “I hope they don’t kill each other in there.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t be worried?” I couldn’t make out the muffled words filtering through the library door, but I doubted Aidan and his father were exchanging pleasantries.

“Nah. Their roars are bigger than their bites.” He pocketed his hands and stood in front of the fireplace. Artificial flames danced, casting him in a warm glow that brought out the highlights in his dirty blond hair. How odd that there were no pictures on the mantel. Like Aidan’s place on the beach, the penthouse had a shell-of-a-real-home feel to it. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

“No, thanks.” Drifting to the windows, I tried to pinpoint why Logan Payne unsettled me so. The never-ending gray had deepened, and I craned my neck to glimpse a portion of the skyline. Skyscrapers twinkled in the emerging twilight north of Ross Island Bridge. “You’ve got an amazing view.”

“Thank you. I guess I’ve been here long enough to take it for granted.” He joined me at the windows. “So, how did you and my brother meet?”

Who knew such a simple question could be so loaded. I could tell him about the night of Halloween, or the night we found Six, or—

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

I tilted my head and peeked at him. “It’s complicated.”

“Usually is.”

I smiled at that because he was right. When was it 
not
 complicated? “We met in a bar,” I said, holding back a snicker at the cliché answer.

Logan failed to see the humor. “He’s been drinking again, hasn’t he?”

That go my attention, and I wondered what landmine I’d stumbled upon. “Not really.” Not if you didn’t count the anniversary of his wife’s murder, or the night we shared our first whiskey-induced kiss.

Logan sighed. “What you’re not saying is coming through loud and clear.” He leaned against the glass and leveled me with his scrutiny. I was wrong. A smile wasn’t the only trait they had in common; they also shared the same intensity. “Seriously . . . is he okay?” He punctuated the question with a note of hesitancy, as if he wasn’t sure he should be asking me about his brother’s well-being.

“I don’t know. We haven’t known each other long.”

“But you know about his wife.” It wasn’t a question. “He must have told you, or you wouldn’t be so worried about him.”

His insight gave me pause, and I had to dig deep to uncover the truth. I worried about Aidan more than I wanted to admit. I brought my fingers to the window and traced the raindrops as they squiggled down the glass, all the while remembering his bipolar behavior on Halloween. Consumed with guilt and grief, he hadn’t cared if he lived or died. I shivered, unable to conceive a world without him.

“You love him.”

My heart stuttered. The way he said it—with absolute certainty—stole my breath. How could he be so sure of something I wasn’t even sure of? Where was he coming up with this? He’d just met me.

The library door flung open, and Aidan stormed in. “You should’ve told me he was going to be here.” He shot his brother an accusing glare.

“Hey!” Logan threw his hands up and stepped back. “You know how he is. He insisted.”

“Oh, knock it off,” an older man snapped as he entered the room. “I’m still your father, whether you like it or not. If you’d answer your damn phone, I wouldn’t have to resort to such tactics.”

Aidan jerked around to face him. “I’ve been busy.”

“No, you’ve been foolish.” His steely gaze swooped over me before landing on his son again. “Is she the one who got you arrested?”

I gaped at him, my eyes ping-ponging between him and Aidan.

“Leave her out of this. And while you’re at it, stay out of my damn business.”

“You’re my son, a fact which makes this my 
business
.” He stood a few inches shy of Aidan’s six feet, though his imposing presence made up for the deficit. His expensive charcoal suit didn’t hurt either.

Aidan folded his arms. “Sounds to me like you’re the one who hired the tail.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t employ incompetent fools.”

“Well you’ve obviously been talking to someone.”

“Damn right I did! I hear my son’s got a PI on his ass . . . you bet I checked into it. What are you hoping to accomplish in that wretched town?”

“You shouldn’t have a problem figuring it out.”

“Going after him won’t bring her back. Deb is 
dead
.”

Aidan lurched forward. “Don’t you dare say her name,” he warned, hands balling at his sides.

“Dad!” Logan jumped between them. “A little harsh, don’t you think?”

“Stay out of this.” Aidan shoved his brother out of the way and stood face to face with his father. “You wanted this little get-together, well you’ve got it.” He jabbed a finger in his face. “You never liked her, a fact you made abundantly clear when you didn’t show at her memorial.”

I held my breath, certain he was about to pummel his father.

“Dad . . .” Logan shook his head, his face saturated with guilt. “You need to go.”

“I own this building, and I’ll go when I’m good and ready.”

Logan wedged between them. “You might own the building, but this is my apartment and I’m asking you to leave.”

Hamilton’s face turned to stone. “Fine,” he said through tight lips, “but don’t come running to me when your brother ends up in jail.” He threw one last hardened glance at Aidan before storming from the penthouse. The door slammed in his wake, his ire echoing off the walls. Now the three of us stood motionless, fearful of aftershocks.

Logan broke the silence first. “I’m sorry about the ambush. I used Payne-Davis resources to find the info you wanted, and Dad caught wind of it. He froze me out, wouldn’t tell me who hired the PI.”

“So you and Dad are chummy now?” Aidan asked with an edge to his tone.

“Hardly.” Logan let out a dry snort. “I try to keep contact with the ole Payne-in-the-butt to a minimum. Why do you think I jumped at the chance to work in the Portland office?”

“But you guys must have talked about me.”

“He mentioned that you disappeared from Boise a couple of weeks ago. I guess Mom’s so worried, she’s got her panties in a bunch—his words, not mine.”

Aidan dragged a hand through his hair. “I should call her.”

“Probably.” Logan stuffed his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “What were you thinking, leaving in the middle of rehab like that?”

My gaze flew to Aidan’s, but he looked away. “What do you think?” he asked.

Logan walked to the granite bar that sectioned off the kitchen. He grabbed a newspaper. “It’s been all over the news. So it’s not a copycat?”

“I don’t think so,” Aidan said. “He left a picture of Deb in Mackenzie’s apartment. It’s him. No doubt about it.”

“Dad’s not completely in the wrong here, you know. Do you really wanna end up in jail?” Logan’s contemplative gaze darted between Aidan and me. “The best thing you can do is move on. Get your life back.”

“I just want him caught.”

“No.” Logan shook his head. “You know better than to lie to me. It’s rolling off of you in waves.”

“Don’t go there, Logan.”

“Trust me, I try not to.” He stared at the paper for a moment before tossing it back onto the counter. “Did Dad at least tell you who hired the PI?”

“Yeah.” Aidan’s jaw twitched. “He said it was the sheriff.”

* * *
 

Trying to get out of Portland during rush hour was a nightmare. Bumper-to-bumper traffic congested I-5 for miles, and an accident ahead worsened the chaos. The emergency lights flooded the night in whirling color.

Aidan’s silence was more stifling than the heat coming through the vents. He hadn’t said two words since leaving the penthouse. I stole a look at him and wondered what was going through his head, wondered if he was as mystified as I was at discovering the sheriff had hired the PI. In fact, I had enough questions to fill a page.

He caught me staring, and some of the tension melted from his shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to witness the Payne family freak show.”

“It’s okay.”

“No,” he said with a burst of dry laughter, “it’s not. My dad and I . . . we’ve never meshed.”

“How come?”

It was a simple question, though from the way he frowned as he turned down the heater, I guessed his father and the word “simple” didn’t mesh either. “It’s complicated.”

Usually is.

Irony played at the corner of my lips. “We have time.” I gestured to the road in front of us.

“I guess we do.” Traffic inched forward a few feet and then stopped as an ambulance came onto the scene.

“Well, I won’t twist your arm," I said, "but if you want to unload it’s not like I’m going anywhere for a while.”

“If I don’t tell you, you’ll probably just dream about it anyway.” He shot me a teasing grin.

“Always a possibility.” Especially when it came to him.

He eased onto the gas pedal, and we rolled forward at a snail’s pace. “I guess it all came to a head in high school,” he said. “My father already had my future mapped out for me. Harvard, a degree in business, a job at Payne-Davis.”

“I take it you had other ideas?”

“I didn’t know what the hell I wanted. I just knew I didn’t want 
his
 life.” Aidan stomped on the brake to avoid rear-ending the Escalade in front of us. “Jeez, I forgot how crazy traffic gets up here.” He let out a breath and tightened his hold on the steering wheel.

Gripping the leather seat, I waited for him to continue.

“He cheated on my mom constantly, was never home . . .” Rain splashed across the windshield, making visibility difficult. The wipers flapped back and forth to keep up. “And when he was home he made certain we all knew who was in charge. Bastard could’ve used a cattle prod and it wouldn’t have been enough for him.”

I didn’t know what to say. He looked so lost in the memories of his past. Lines of hurt crisscrossed his face; I could have sketched them in charcoal.

“I met Deb my junior year of high school.” He paused, and his face relaxed in the memory of his wife. “It was something else to see her so focused on her dreams. She knew exactly what she wanted, right down to the school she wanted to teach in. I had a habit of editing her essays, and one day she told me to join the school paper so I’d stop torturing her.”

A lump formed in my throat. His wife might be gone, but his love for her wasn’t. A part of me ached for him—for his pain, for what he’d lost. The other part ached for me. How could a ghost inspire such jealousy?

“So I did it,” he went on, “and I never expected to like it so much. Dad flipped when I told him I wanted to go into journalism. Said he’d yank my college fund if I didn’t follow his plan.”

“From what I saw of your father today, I can imagine.”

“Yeah, those weren’t happy times, not that there were a lot of them anyway. Mom supported me, but he’s always had her stringed like Pinocchio. I refused to back down.” His expression turned impish. “Got a scholarship and shoved it in his face.”

We passed the scene of the accident then. A pickup truck had pinned a sports car to the median. What was left of it. I cringed. The path of life was much too tenuous for my liking. The flow of traffic picked up, and I steered the conversation to more recent events.

“Why would the sheriff hire a private investigator?”

Aidan shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve thought about it, but something’s off. My father said he looked into the guy. Turns out he’s a personal friend of McFayden’s.”

“But he’s a PI?”

“Yep.”

“Maybe he’s worried you’re gonna do something stupid.”

“I already got the third degree from Logan.” A hint of warning crept into his tone.

“Yeah, about that. He asked me if you’ve been drinking.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything. Aidan . . . you were in rehab?”

Muttering something about his brother’s “big mouth,” he nodded. “I didn’t handle Deb’s murder very well. Took to drinking for a while. Logan, he’s just worried.”

“Should I be worried too?” As if I wasn’t already.

“No.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him, and it was clear his bother didn’t either. In fact, Logan’s insights set me on edge. “Speaking of your brother, what is up with him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s . . . I don’t know how else to put it, but he’s kinda odd.”

Aidan laughed. “He’d be heartbroken to hear that, I’m sure. What else did he say to you?”

No way would I admit how he’d guessed, with matter-of-fact certainty, the extent of my feelings for Aidan. I settled for a vague answer. “He just had an uncanny way of getting into my head. It was disturbing.”