Red Flags (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-eight

Two hours later, in the Bonaventure Hotel's California Ballroom, I stared at Ryan, dumbfounded. “You bid on that.”

“And won.” He was smug.

“How much does the—your job pay?”

“I have some family money.” He patted my hand. “Don't worry about it. It's a donation to a great cause.”

“You're right. Thank you.”

I abandoned him to the approaching auction helpers wanting his credit card. The live auction continued around us, and I studied the man of mystery I'd brought as my date. When others asked, he referred to himself as an operational efficiency consultant, which didn't invite follow-up questions. I guessed that was the point. I hadn't asked why he didn't say he was with the FBI, but I started to wonder if I was sitting next to James Bond.

The auction helpers left, and Ryan fielded congratulations from others at our table. Two auction items later, the formal part of the evening was over. A ten-piece swing band resumed, and the small dance floor at the side of the room saw its first couples.

“Come on.” Ryan hauled me to my feet.

“What? No, I can't.”

“I'll teach you.” He swung me into his arms. “Step, step, step-step. Repeat. Kate.” I looked up from my feet to see him smiling. “If you can heel-and-toe downshift, you can do this. Feel the rhythm of the steps, like you'd feel the rhythm of an engine. Follow me, and don't look down.”

“You
are
James Bond.”

His chuckle made heads turn. “Not exactly. I went through cotillion as a kid.”

Halfway through the next spin around the floor, Ryan led me to the nearest table. “I got a ‘Come here' look from your father,” he said into my ear.

We were only a few feet away from my father's table when I saw red. Edward sat between Holden and my father's wife in a chair that had been empty when I'd visited earlier in the evening. I struggled to stay calm. It wasn't enough that my father, his wife, and Coleman and Holden were all in attendance—plus Elizabeth Rogers, though she wasn't as problematic—but now the man who never passed up an opportunity to harass me? Why would my father let that happen?

Edward was red-faced and scowling, but it wasn't the sight of me that made him furious. He struggled to his feet, glaring at Ryan. “What are
you
doing here?”

My father knew Ryan from the Daytona race where we'd met more than a year ago, but of course, Edward knew him better, since Edward had driven on the team Ryan worked for undercover.

Ryan extended a hand to my father. “Mr. Reilly, good to see you again. Ryan Johnston.”

My father's eyebrows went up. “Are you here officially?”

“He's my date.”

“I'm based in Los Angeles now,” Ryan added.

“How interesting,” my father replied. “It's good to see you again. I think you know some of the people here.” He led Ryan around the table to meet my stepmother, Amelia.

Elizabeth watched them, as she held Holden's hand in both of hers. Holden, meanwhile, glared at me, stony faced. Coleman, hand on his bowtie, stared disdainfully at Elizabeth and Holden before turning my direction. Edward seethed, and the two other guests at the table acted like timid rabbits, shrinking into themselves and darting frantic glances back and forth.

Edward moved toward me, stopping three inches too close for comfort. I held my ground, lifting my chin higher and trying to convey indifference.

“You are a fraud,” he hissed. “Think you're an investigator? I'm going to enjoy watching you try, so I can see you fail. Again. Think you're a driver? You're not good enough. Worthless, and I'll expose you. Why didn't you die instead of my boy?”

Ryan and my father returned in time to hear Edward's last question. Ryan put an arm around my waist, holding me up as much as offering solidarity.

My father clenched his jaw. “Edward, I told you to stay away from Kate.”

Edward bent forward, his shoulders shaking. “My boy,” he choked out. I was almost moved by his emotion, but Edward looked at me from the corner of his dry eyes and smiled.

I crossed my arms over my chest, trembling. He'd wounded me with his words, but I refused to let it show.

My father gestured to Coleman to help Edward.

“I'm not doing this. We're out of here.” I moved away.

“Kate…” my father began.

I took a deep breath, but I didn't speak.

“Please, wait. You need to speak with the others. Amelia and our two friends are very interested in your future plans.”

I didn't even process his underlying message of potential sponsors. I got stuck on him telling me what I was required to do. “You think you can tell me what to do when you obviously don't care about me at all?” My voice rose by the end. I was breathing hard.

“Steady,” Ryan murmured, stepping forward to put an arm around my waist again.

My father looked shocked. “Don't be ridiculous.”

I drew a deep breath and might have screeched something damaging, but Ryan stopped me, herding my father and me to a doorway the servers had been using. “How about you two discuss this in a more private space?”

He guided us into a serving corridor, around a corner, and through a door into a small, unoccupied meeting room. He squeezed my hand before he left. “I'll be nearby.”

When we were alone, my father started to pace. “How can you think I don't care about you? I brought potential sponsors tonight. How can you be that blind?”

“How dare you hold the sponsorship over my head to make me deal with your family? Is that all family is to you? People to do your bidding? If so, I want no part of it.” My voice shook. “How could you bring him here?”

My father stopped moving and looked at me. “Edward?”

“He hates me. Why would you make me deal with him?” I refused to cry.

He frowned. “I'm sorry. He's part of the bank and part of the family, and the family always shows up to support bank initiatives. Always.”

“Maybe you should have told me interacting with him at every turn was a condition of the sponsorship or of being part of your life. Then I would have had a choice.” I hoped I sounded as bitter as I felt.

“I know we've all had our differences in the past, but we need to put it behind us.”

“Are you
kidding
me?” I shouted it.

My father stared at me, silent and shocked.

Now I was the one pacing. Ranting. “How can you be that oblivious, James? You say I'm part of your family, but you don't think about what I need. You don't care that he hates me and takes every opportunity to tell me so. We talked about this and you said you're also mad at him for thinking I'm a whore like my mother. But now you're not? Then he tells me I'm—” I didn't want to repeat what Edward had whispered. I leaned my forehead against the gold-patterned wallpaper of the conference room, welcoming its cool, scratchy feel.

“Kate, what he said just now, comparing you to Billy. That's his grief talking. I'll address it with him.” My father's voice was quiet. “He and I talked earlier today about the things he said in the past about your mother. He apologized. He was acting out of old information and habit. He doesn't think that now.”

Yes, he does.
“Did he apologize for paying my grandmother off, too?” I laughed. “You really think he's changed his mind? Then why did he tell me just now that I'm worthless? That he'll expose me for a fraud? Why did he look at me like I'm dirt?”

My father gritted his teeth. “I'm sorry. I'll speak to him.”

I pushed away from the wall. “What good will that do? Are you the school principal about to discipline the bully? Except you're not. Or maybe you'll try, but he'll ignore you. You'll roll over, ‘put it behind you,'
like you've done before.
He's already screwed up your life once. And now you think talking to him will make him stop going after me?” I shook my head. “You know what I still can't believe?”

My father grew more still and self-contained the angrier I got. “No.”

I stepped close to him and looked him straight in the eye. “I can't believe with all that your precious brother Edward and his pal Coleman have done, you still choose them over me. You choose the family over me. You've done it for twenty-six years now. You're still doing it. You've never chosen me.”

“What do you mean, what they've done? What does Coleman have to do with this?”

I unloaded, telling him everything I'd learned about Coleman's second family, Billy and Coleman's unethical and illegal dealings with Jenny, the apartment Edward and Coleman used for affairs, and the “big dog” businessmen that Edward and Coleman ran with. I told him the information came primarily from one source inside Frame Savings, with verification from outsiders. I didn't—and wouldn't—tell him my sources.

I could tell the news shocked him and made him as angry as I thought he should have been on my behalf. He spent a minute sifting through the information, a muscle in his jaw twitching, before he regained control. “I'm having a hard time believing this.”

I'd heard enough. “Of course you don't believe me.” I forced out a laugh. “Why would you believe me? I've never been good enough for you. Never in my life. Never been
enough
. Just once I'd like to be enough for you. For someone.”

“I believe you. But I need to look into the accusations. Have proof before doing something about it. Before talking to my sister.”

I fumbled for the doorknob, my vision blurred by tears. He put a hand on my arm, and I shook him off.

He kept talking. Pleading. “You're good enough. Don't let that into your head. I do choose you. I want you in my life. Stay, please. Talk with me and Amelia. Let's work this out.”

I stopped in the open doorway. “There's nothing to work out. You find your courage and trust me—pick me—for once in your life. Or nothing.”

I straightened my spine and raised my chin. Wiped the tears from under my eyes. “All I know is I won't do this anymore.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

I had my game face back on by the time I found Ryan inside the ballroom. I slipped my arm through his. “Thank you for your support.”

“Is everything all right?” He led me around the edge of the ballroom, away from the Frame Savings table.

“Family: easy come, easy go.”

“I heard some of what Edward said—”

“Not now, please.”

My mask must have slipped, because he curled an arm around my shoulders. “Another dance? It's a slow one, so I can kiss you on the dance floor.”

“Tempting.”

“Or we find a dark corner where I tell you how smokin' hot you are when you're angry.”

I laughed, grateful for his efforts. “I'd like to find a couple people and leave, if you don't mind.”

“I'm with you. Lead on.”

We'd retrieved his car from the valet and gotten in when I saw Coleman exit the hotel and hand over a ticket for a car. He was alone.

I stopped Ryan when he put the car in gear. “I have an idea.”

“Why do I think I won't like it?”

“It's nothing illegal, Agent Johnston.”

“Except it could be considered stalking, harassment, or invasion of privacy.”

“Not if he doesn't notice. I'm not going to talk to him, I only want to see where he goes.”

“What's that going to tell you?”

“I don't know. But I want something useful to come out of this mess tonight. Especially after Uncle Edward told me he can't wait for me to fail.”

“I never did like Edward. Okay, give me a kiss.” He tapped his cheek, so I leaned over and pecked. He spoke again. “Since you begged me to show you how we do car-to-car surveillance, I'll demonstrate. You pick a car. Any car.”

I grinned at him as Coleman pulled his vehicle around us and exited the hotel's driveway. “That silver Mercedes.”

He really did give me a lesson in tailing someone as we followed Coleman west to Santa Monica and into a neighborhood of small bungalows. We didn't make the last right turn Coleman made, but pulled over to the curb and doused the lights. Fortunately, Coleman wasn't hard to find. He'd pulled his car into a driveway halfway down the block.

After he'd gone inside, we cruised down the street, and I noted the address. “I'm betting that's the second wife.”

“And kids,” he added.

“What?”

He navigated out of the neighborhood toward Wilshire Boulevard, to take us back into Beverly Hills. “I don't think Second Wife is playing hopscotch on the sidewalk or riding the two kids' bikes.”

I turned to him. “You're good. I saw the bikes, but they didn't register. And I missed the sidewalk chalk.”

He smiled. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“How many times do I have to tell you how attractive you are before you'll look up ownership of the house for me?”

“You can't put a number on…wait, no. I'm not doing that.”

“Tara was going to find out Second Wife's name. What if you simply look up who owns the house and tell me yes or no?”

Ryan pulled the car over on one of the wide, quiet residential streets below the Beverly Hills Hotel. He turned off the ignition. “You know that information is public record.”

“It is?”
Learn something new every day.

“How about this? I'll look it up for you, and you cut back on playing private investigator.”

“I thought you understood why I was doing this.”

“I do. But I want you to be more careful. No stunts like tailing someone. No asking random people questions about the cabal of local businessmen.” He held up a hand. “I'm not telling you not to ask questions. I'm not trying to run your life. But leave anything active or dangerous to the pros. Turn the leads over to the cops and let them follow up. Tell me, and I'll see if I can help.”

He reached down and unfastened my seatbelt, then took hold of my shoulders and pulled me closer. He spoke the next words a couple inches from my face. “You're good at handling danger on the track because that's what you're trained for. You're not trained for handling danger in the criminal world. Leave that to the experts. That's all I'm asking.”

I couldn't argue with his reasoning, nor, with his eyes staring into mine and his lips that close, did I want to.
But I don't always know what questions might get me in trouble.

Ryan moved closer, whispering, “Agreed?” with his mouth an inch away from mine.

I ignored the voice in my head and kissed him. Enthusiastically.

A few minutes later, I wandered the hotel again, finally settling on a chaise at the deserted pool. I felt too unsettled to prepare for sleep, but I wasn't sure what weighed on me. I shifted my feet up onto the chair and reclined, looking up at the night sky and admitting I was lying to myself. I knew what caused my unease. I was still furious at my father.

I frowned at the sky.
Be honest. You're angry, but you're also hurt.

I had to get my pride out of the way and admit it. I was hurt by his actions, current and past. My grandparents had done everything they could to make me feel loved. But having no father and no mother, even though she was lost to death, left a hole where the doubting voices whispered,
You're not good enough.

I wrapped my arms around myself. Edward's words had ripped open the protective covering on that hole inside me, and I'd lashed out in defense at both him and my father.

Your father isn't handling things well, but neither are you.

I felt sorrow deep in my chest. I hated disappointing myself. I felt good about expressing the anger I'd harbored for years and still believed he asked too much of me and not enough of his brother. I couldn't deny how exhausting every interaction with my father and his family was. Something had to change. I couldn't stay on the emotional rollercoaster.

The next morning, I got myself on a more even keel, working out, eating breakfast, and downing my first cup of coffee before dealing with the world, starting with Holly's voicemail.

“Good news is you looked spectacular last night, and so did Ryan. Bad news is, you're all over the Internet. I'll send links.”

I didn't bother looking for her e-mail. The stories weren't hard to find.

“New Girlfriend Cheating on Lucas Already?”

“Girl Driver Two-Times Movie Heartthrob”

“World's Sexiest Man Not Enough for Her?”

Each was accompanied by the same photo of me and Ryan on the dance floor, looking at each other and laughing. I enlarged the photo. Holly was right, I did look great. So did Ryan. I scanned the articles and tried to be calm about what I couldn't fix. While I didn't like the notoriety focused on my love life instead of my driving, and I really didn't like “girl driver,” they'd gotten my name right and accused me of nothing worse than dating two men. One even included a photo of me and Alexa with the Beermeier Racing car. Ryan had gotten off lightly, being referred to as “an unidentified man.”

While I was online, I clicked over to my nemesis, Racing's Ringer, a racing gossipmonger who was anonymous to most of the world. I knew his identity, but the knowledge rarely helped me. Not only did he have a tidbit about the supposed love triangle of me, Ryan, and Lucas, but he'd also posted an item titled “Kate Reilly: Racing's Problem Child.”

In it, the Ringer detailed the crimes—from cheating to murder—I'd been “involved in.” He mentioned I'd been responsible for clearing them all up, but wondered why all the bad news swirled around me. He even mentioned Billy's murder, though he was good enough to skip the family connection, labeling Billy only “a key player at her newest sponsor.”

But the worst was the feedback he included from unidentified members of the paddock. That chaos followed me around. That my driving wasn't worth the problems that accompanied it. The article intimated the opinions were widespread and continuing to proliferate.

I slumped back in my chair, closing my eyes, giving in to self-pity for a moment. I could deal with complicated family problems. I could handle a racecar. I could even manage to look for murderers. But I wasn't sure I could cope with the loss of my reputation and my sponsorship in a single evening. All of it together was too much.
It's quite a talent you have for chaos.