Here Comes Trouble (28 page)

“Define all?” He arched a brow at her.

“You.” She touched his cheek, smiled through happy tears. “Just you.”

She loved his crooked, quirky grin.

“Wanna get married?” he asked again.

She pulled him up as he slipped what she recognized as Alcina’s engagement ring on her finger, the antique setting glistening in the fairy lights, and pressed her lips against his. “I do.”

“I never thought I’d see them again.” Levia sat on the edge of her grey-and-green flowered sofa in her apartment at the nursing home, staring at the portrait of her family that had been delivered just that morning.

Sheila had been waiting for Nathan to give her the all-clear that he’d retrieved the painting from its hiding place in the bench in the showroom and had it delivered, along with specific instructions from Nemesis, to Levia.

Sheila sat beside her while Malcolm watched from across the room, Nathan holding the painting steady on the coffee table as Levia traced her fingers over her father’s face. “Who would have thought someone like this Nemesis would have done something like this for me.”

“From what I hear he’s always hoping to right wrongs,” Malcolm said. “Your father was incredibly talented, Levia.”

“He was. They all were. And now they’re home.” Tears spilled from her eyes, but there was no sadness today, no melancholy that Sheila hated seeing all these years. “I’m so glad you had me follow up with the museum, Sheila. Now no one can take them away from me again.”

“No, they can’t,” Sheila said. “They’re here to stay.” And that was all that mattered.

As they were walking back to their cars a while later, Sheila asked her brother, “So, what do you think is next for Nemesis?”

“Maybe we’d better ask Dad,” Nathan said. “I’m not doing another job like that one. Either he’s all the way in or we’re done.”

“What happened to the other paintings?” Malcolm asked as he opened the car door for Sheila.

“They were delivered to the FBI with copies of the files your father had on them. They’ll see to it they’re returned to the rightful owners and heirs.”

“Perfect ending.” Sheila beamed up at Malcolm, who, much to her relief, two weeks after their spur-of-the-moment wedding, had yet to show any hint of regret. Their first trip to San Francisco together for his consult with Dr. Chapman had gone well, but they’d agreed that with his pending move to Lantano Valley, Dr. Collins would be overseeing Malcolm’s upcoming chemotherapy and subsequent experimental treatment. The prognosis was good. It would be a fight, but one they’d wage together.

“We’re meeting Dad for lunch,” Sheila said to Nathan. “You want to join?”

Nathan’s phone rang and he held up a hand to take it. “Hold that thought.”

“You know,” Malcolm said, turning her into his arms. “I found this beautiful house in Monogram Hills that’s for sale. Five bedrooms, amazing gourmet kitchen, and the most beautiful garden I’ve ever been in. I think your father might be willing to cut me a good deal.” Malcolm stroked a finger down her cheek. “What do you think?”

Her heart swelled. “I think you’re always finding new ways to take my breath away.” She kissed him, tangling her fingers in his hair. “I bet Sherlock will get lost for weeks. Hey, what’s wrong?” She caught Nathan’s shocked expression as he hung up from his call.

“Um.” He sighed, shook his head as if trying to process whatever he’d heard. “That was Evan Marshall.”

“The D.A.?” Malcolm asked.

“Yeah, it seems they’ve just issued an arrest warrant for Dad.”

“What on earth for?” Sheila demanded.

Her brother stared at her. “For being Nemesis.”

If everyone had the support system I do, the world would be an even more amazing place.

Thank you so much to my critique partners in crime, Melinda Curtis and Cari Gunsallus. You hold me together when I need it and tell me the truth when I don’t want to hear it. As a writer, and a friend, I couldn’t ask for more. Special shout out to Judy Ashley for her unwavering sense of humor.

Thank you to Leis Pederson, editor extraordinaire, and her fabulous team at Berkley InterMix, for giving the Tremayne family a home.

Thanks to Margaret Bail, my agent at Inklings. Every day I find we have more and more in common (is it me, or is it getting a little scary?). I’m thrilled to be on this journey with you.

And lastly, to my spectacular family and friends, especially my mother, Marjorie McLetchie Stewart, who never let me give up or forget that writing was my dream. That’s what the best moms do . . . and you are truly the best.

Keep reading for a preview of the final Tremayne Family Romance

THE TROUBLE WITH NATHAN

Available February 2016

When Nathan Tremayne was nineteen he held his little brother’s hand as he died.

When Nathan was twenty-four he held his college girlfriend’s hand in the ambulance after firemen extricated her from her mangled Mustang.

When he was thirty, he held his sisters’ hands as they lowered their mother’s body into her grave.

Two years later, there was no hand to hold as he stood by himself outside an interview room at the Lantano Valley Police Precinct wrapping his mind around the fact his father had confessed to a crime he hadn’t committed.

Well. Not alone at least.

Guilt niggled around the edges of his empty stomach. His father might be the brains of Nemesis, but Nathan and his sister Sheila were the brawn. Correction—
Nathan
was the brawn, but he hated that term. Sheila was more of a creative influence, putting her artistic talents to use as an expert forger when needed. They were a team. And yet here his father sat, on the other side of the grimy, venetian blind–obscured glass, supposedly taking full responsibility for something the three of them had done together.

“Nathan.” Lantano Valley’s District Attorney Evan Marshall strode down the narrow hall and stopped beside him, an expression Nathan could only define as irritated on his strained thirtysomething face. “Thanks for coming down so quickly.”

“His lawyer’s on her way.” Hands shoved deep into the pockets of his Tom Ford slacks, Nathan felt his fingers tingle as he clenched hard fists.

“Wonderful,” Evan said with a responsibility-laden sigh Nathan himself was all too familiar with. “Because what’s missing from this ridiculous case is a high-priced defense attorney.”

It was on the tip of Nathan’s tongue to tell the D.A. that Veronica Harrison had shifted her talents from the courtroom to the boardroom a few years ago, but what Evan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Nathan took a deep breath and nearly choked on the stench of disinfectant topped with over-brewed coffee within the confines of the precinct. The breeze from the overworked air unit brushed against his chilled skin and he embraced the anger building inside of him. Anger would keep the fear from bubbling over like some toxic Stygian witches’ brew. “What’s going on, Evan?”

“Honestly, I haven’t got the faintest clue,” Evan said with a slow shake of his head. “Your father confessing to being Nemesis is beyond baffling and frankly, it’s a waste of my time. I’m neck deep trying to work with the feds on the fallout from the Chadwick Oliver case. The son of a bitch is still coughing up fellow collectors who bought stolen World War II artwork in the hopes of weaseling his way out of serving any time. Add to that, the theft of the Crown of Serpia at the museum the same night all hell broke loose with Oliver has put Lantano Valley back in the media spotlight. And not in the best way. The absolute last thing I needed was for your father to go waltzing into the Commissioner’s office and declare he’s the burglar who’s been stalking the wealthy citizens of Lantano Valley for the last two years.”

“Dad’s always had a sense of the ironic,” Nathan agreed and grasped onto the disbelief ringing in the District Attorney’s voice. “You don’t believe him, do you?”

“Of course I don’t,” Evan said with such a sound of exasperation Nathan very nearly smiled, but he wouldn’t. Not until he got his father out of that room. “It doesn’t matter if I believe it, Nathan,” Evan said. “It only matters what I can prove and while your father might be many things—”

“Including one of your biggest campaign contributors,” Nathan slid in.

“Yeah. Including that.” Evan glared through the window. “We’ve got solid evidence your father wasn’t anywhere near the art gallery when Nemesis stole those paintings. But the Crown? That’s another story.”

“You have evidence proving my father stole the Crown?” Nathan looked anywhere but at the D.A. The truth was, Jackson could very well have stolen it. His father had disappeared during Nemesis’ theft of the artwork—a theft he was supposed to be a part of. His vanishing act had very nearly destroyed their plans of exposing Chadwick Oliver as the immoral bastard he was. Even now, weeks later, Jackson had yet to confide in any of his children exactly where he’d been during those missing—and now all so important—hours.

“There’s video of your father coming out of the museum at the time the Crown was stolen,” Evan said and Nathan’s stomach took another dip off the deep end. “The notion of Jackson Tremayne having anything to do with Nemesis is ridiculous. But . . . ”

Damn. There was always a
but
. A stress headache that might very well leave a dent in his skull pounded behind Nathan’s eyes. “But what?”

“We ran the prints he has on record with the SEC against the ones that were found on the Crown’s display case. They were a match.”

Nathan shrugged and pounced on the opportunity to explain. “Dad can’t have been the only one who touched the case. Besides, you’ve seen Dad’s office at Tremayne Industries and Securities. He’s always collected antiques. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s visited the Serpian collection numerous times since it opened.”

“Which is why I have our techs combing through all security footage since the exhibit opened. No matter what, you have to admit, your father’s behavior is damned strange, but that’s not what’s bothering me. He knows details about the Nemesis case that haven’t been released to the public. Details he’s happily sharing with us as we speak.”

“You mean like the thank-you cards Nemesis leaves behind?”

Evan’s gaze narrowed.

“He was in this same room with my sister Morgan when she was questioned about accepting money from Nemesis,” Nathan reminded him. “She identified the note cards she’d received with the cash, remember?”

“And told you, apparently,” Evan muttered.

Morgan didn’t need to tell him. Not when it had been Nathan who had included the notes in the first place—notes that matched the thank-you cards he left behind after each theft.

Why did it seem as though the harder he fought to keep his youngest sister away from Nemesis, the more he put her, not to mention the family’s charitable foundation, at risk?

“Of course we talked about what happened,” Nathan lied. “It’s not every day a Tremayne gets arrested for suspicion of collusion.” Of course it was Nathan’s fault Morgan had been exposed for accepting stolen money in the first place. But how was he supposed to know the cash he’d taken had been part of an undercover FBI operation years before?

Nathan glanced back at his father as the fear he’d been trying to hold at bay surged and triggered a momentary flash of panic. For months Nathan had worried Nemesis was too big a risk to continue with, especially with so much at stake. If he and Jackson and Sheila were exposed as the team behind Nemesis, there would be no end to the fallout; from his sisters’ relationships, the family charity, the Pediatric Cancer Treatment Center, and most importantly, their mother’s legacy. Everything the Tremaynes had done—everything they wanted to do—would crash around them unless Nathan found a way out of what Nemesis had gotten them into.

Is that what his father was trying to do? Deflect focus and get them out of the line of fire? If that was the case, then why hadn’t he warned Nathan that this was coming? “My father is not Nemesis, Evan. And he didn’t steal the Crown.”

“Yesterday I’d have agreed with you, but today?” Evan scoffed. “I’ve known your father most of my life. I consider him a friend. Hell, it was his idea for me to run for D.A. in the first place. Nemesis is already getting enough attention and I’m guessing we can agree neither of us wants the Tremayne family name associated with him.”

On that they could definitely agree. “Not to mention having Dad confess to the one case your task force can’t close puts you in an awkward reelection position.” Playing on Evan’s future political hopes might help get his father out of that room sooner rather than later.

“So who was it who called me?” Nathan asked. “His friend or the District Attorney?”

“Both,” Evan responded without hesitation. “Look, things are about to get dicey around the theft of the Crown. The insurance company has assigned a new investigator to the case. Some higher-up with a reputation for being a hard-ass when it comes to uncovering inconvenient truths. You add Nemesis to the mix and Lantano Valley, not to mention all of its law enforcement departments, are about to get a reaming, which makes my job even harder. It also makes me wonder . . . ”

Nathan frowned as Evan hedged. “You’ve never been one to dance around, so out with it, Evan.”

“Is it possible Nemesis has targeted your family for some reason?” Nathan could see even as Evan said the words he had trouble believing it. “Could Nemesis be framing Jackson for the theft? Forcing him to confess for some reason?”

Nathan coughed to give himself the excuse to walk away for a cup of water from the nearby dispenser. The water felt slick on his tongue as his head spun around impossibilities he couldn’t have imagined before today. Finally, something he could be certain about. If his father was being framed, it definitely wasn’t by Nemesis. “That exposé on Nemesis the
Lantano Valley Times
ran after the Chadwick Oliver case was closed quoted you as saying it was your belief Nemesis only targets those individuals who have wronged others in some way. Was that true?”

“It was. Is,” Evan corrected. “Gage Juliano was able to prove that during his team’s investigation before he resigned. Despite the fact he’s engaged to your sister Morgan now, I don’t have any reason to doubt the evidence he produced. Especially considering it was Nemesis who exposed Chadwick Oliver’s involvement in the stolen art ring.”

One of the many good things to have come out of Nemesis’ ventures. Then again, what was the saying? Pride goeth before the fall? “You can dig into our family all you want,” Nathan bluffed. “You’re not going to find anything in our history that would attract Nemesis’ attention. Nemesis is a Robin Hood, someone who fights for those who can’t fight for themselves. He evens scores.” Nathan returned to the window. But maybe, just maybe, Nemesis had finally gone too far.

Jackson’s graying blonde hair was stark beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the interview room, the perfectly tailored Hugo Boss suit and bloodred tie worn as casually as most men wore khakis and a polo shirt. There was age in his face now. At nearly sixty, Jackson was heading into his senior years with an elegance that had often reminded Nathan of Cary Grant in his heyday. And there was also sadness . . . even after almost two years, for the wife he’d lost.

Times like this, Nathan wished their mother were still alive. She had a special way of dealing with their father that the Tremayne offspring hadn’t quite mastered. Then again, neither Nathan nor Sheila was convinced Catherine Tremayne, or Morgan for that matter, would have approved of the rest of the family donning the mask of vengeance and wreaking havoc on their wealthy neighbors.

Jackson had been more than a father to him; he’d been a mentor and most recently become his friend. He was always there. Supporting. Encouraging. Nathan couldn’t have asked for a better father. Or protector.

Protector.
Nathan shivered as if he’d been doused in ice water. At his core, Jackson Tremayne was a protector.
Son of a . . .

“Gentlemen.” Five foot eight inches of feminine confidence headed toward them in the form of Veronica Harrison, chief legal attorney for TechInter Network. “My apologies for the delay.” Her voice carried the barest hint of a British accent. Light auburn hair fell in perfect waves around the shoulders of her crisp yellow designer dress, an ode to femininity that was reinforced with a spine of steel. “Has my client been advised of his rights?” she asked Evan in a tone that was part scorn, part charm and Nathan had the notion to move a safe distance away.

“Your client isn’t under arrest.” Evan rapped his knuckles on the window. A few seconds later, the two suited detectives stepped out of the room. “You’re welcome to speak with him—”

“This is for you.” She withdrew a folded document from the outer pocket of her leather case before she stepped into the doorway. “Mr. Tremayne, we’re leaving.”

Nathan stood to the side as his father stepped into the hall.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Evan scanned the paperwork. “Really?”

“Feel free to confirm with his doctor of record,” Veronica said in a breezy voice as she guided Jackson ahead of her. “Oh. And here’s my card.” She plucked one out of the thin pocket on her hip. “If you have any further questions for my client, please call to arrange a time. Nathan, Mr. Tremayne. Shall we go?”

Not about to contradict her, Nathan trailed silently behind as she led the way out of the station house, her thin heels tapping along the linoleum as they stepped out into the late afternoon sun.

“Veronica—” Nathan began, only to have her spin around and aim laser-hot eyes on the two of them.

“Whatever you two have to discuss, I suggest you take it far away from here.” She flicked her gaze up to the black surveillance camera over the double-paned glass doors. “And you.” She pointed a finger at Jackson. “No more confessions without your lawyer present, do you understand me?”

“I do.” For the first time, Nathan heard an unease in his father’s voice that did nothing to quell the nerves circling in his own system. “Thank you, Veronica.”

“Craziest damned family I’ve ever met,” she muttered, giving them a wave and swishing her way down the street.

“Are you sure you and she—” Jackson said to Nathan with an arched brow.

“Don’t go there, Dad,” Nathan said. Some days he felt as if he’d adopted another sister since Veronica had hit town. “But she’s right.” He cocked his head to the side and led the way down Santiago Street toward the Tremayne Investment and Securities building.

“Do your sisters know what’s going on?” Jackson asked.

“
I
don’t know what’s going on.” Nathan cringed. “But if you mean do they know you’ve confessed to being Nemesis, Sheila was there when I got the call. The only reason she didn’t come with me is because we didn’t want to look panicked. What the hell, Dad? Exacting revenge as Nemesis not enough for you? Now you’re pulling jobs on the side? You stole the Crown, didn’t you?” He kept his eyes pinned on his father.