Running Scared (12 page)

“It’s what I
hate
about you,” she clarified.

“Then let me point out that you’re a part of it whether you like it or not.” Stuart’s smile held zero warmth. “Sit down and shut up.”

“I will not—”

“Do it,” Collin ordered, and Alicia, in all her self-righteous rage, refused, stood her ground, and rested a hip on the polished surface of a babygrand piano. Her jaw was set so tight the skin over her chin was stretched thin. “I think Stuart’s right.”

“You always think he’s right,” Alicia charged. “Use your own brain for once, Collin. That is, if you have one.”

“I am always right.” Stuart seemed to be enjoying himself and he sent an unreadable glance to Collin.

Daegan’s skin crawled. There was more going on here than just his personal humiliation; people’s emotions were involved—emotions that they all tried to hide and hold secret.

Collin cleared his throat and settled into a club chair near the window. “It’s probably time we all got to know each other—”

“No way! I didn’t come up here to freeze my ass off and meet the son of some gutter—”

“Don’t!” Collin warned, his lips flattening over his teeth in what Daegan assumed was an unusual display of anger. Then, in his most cultured voice, the modulation the perfect mimicry of his sisters, he intoned, “Come now, Alicia, let’s not sound common.”

“Like him?” She pointed a long finger at Daegan. “He’s the son of Daddy’s whore, or don’t you remember?”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Daegan said, unable to hold his tongue any longer. Usually, in a new situation he was quiet, just listened and watched, waiting until he discovered which way the wind was going to blow, but he’d had enough insults for one night. His patience was running thin and anger shot through him. These people—his
family
, if that’s what you’d call them—were just a bunch of bickering, petty snobs looking for a night’s entertainment to disrupt the boredom of their perfectly planned lives. Who needed it? Curiosity satisfied, he tossed back the scotch, hoping it would be smooth and smoky, but it burned a hot path down his throat and splashed into his already roiling stomach. It was all he could do not to cough and he felt that invisible noose around his neck tightening another notch.

Bibi laughed nervously, but Alicia was far from amused. “I suppose this was your idea,” she surmised aloud.

“Yeah, but I was only joking.” Bibi tapped the ash from her cigarette into a silver tray.

“So was I,” Stuart said with that naughty-boy twinkle in his eye and Daegan decided he wasn’t going to stand around and let people talk about him as if he wasn’t in the room. He strode to the fireplace, where he warmed his shins and ran a finger along a dark wood mantel that was decorated with antique lanterns and candles. “Who owns this place?”

“Daddy,” Bibi said.

“That’s open to debate, isn’t it?” Collin stared at Daegan with mild curiosity. “The firstborn son of our parents’ generation was Uncle William, a war hero in World War II, and killed three weeks before he was going to be married. Since he left no issue, the next in line was Robert, quite a bit younger, but older than the youngest brother. My father. Yours, too, if the local gossip can be believed.

“So, I guess, if we follow the same traditions that have been in the family ever since the old country, most of the estate will pass on to Stu because of his birthright or some such rot.”

Stuart laughed and the sound rang through the cavernous rooms. “Unless I die first. Then…well, either Bibi gets it or Uncle Frank does. I’m not sure how Grandfather’s will was written.”

“Like hell,” Alicia said, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “I’m willing to bet that you know where every dime, nickel, and penny of the estate is and who it goes to. You know, Stuart, just because you’re lucky enough to be the firstborn male of the firstborn male—”

“Second born. Remember poor Uncle William,” Collin interjected.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m just saying that just because Stuart was born first doesn’t make him smarter than the rest of us.”

“Just luckier,” Stuart said. Collin stepped closer to his older cousin, as if Stuart needed protection from Alicia’s wicked tongue. Stuart seemed unruffled; if anything, he appeared amused by this little party he’d put together.

Collin finished his drink and set the glass on the bar. “Arguing and picking at each other isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“Amen,” Bibi said under her breath and offered Collin a fragile smile.

“What’s the point?” Alicia demanded.

“The point is that we all have a bastard in the family,” Stuart said, “and I was just wondering what we’re going to do about him.”

The imaginary rope around his neck snapped with the flare of Daegan’s temper. “Nothing.” He’d seen enough. These people were pathetic, all consumed with their family’s wealth and not giving a damn about anyone else. He slammed his empty glass onto the mantel and glared pointedly at his eldest cousin. “There’s nothing you can do about me and I’m sick of this. If you want some cheap entertainment, go out and watch a porno flick, or laugh at the poor or torture a cat or something but leave me alone.” He turned and strode quickly out of the room, his heels clicking loudly against the gleaming wood.

“Wait!” Bibi ran after him.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Stuart said confidently as Daegan strode out of the room and down the hallway. He couldn’t catch his breath in this stuffy old house filled with antiques, hot air, and inflated, prejudiced opinions. What had he been thinking when he’d slid into the seductive interior of the Cadillac?

“Idiot,” he ground out, his fist clenching. He slammed it into one of the walls, splintering the old plaster. What a fool he’d been to come here! Why hadn’t he listened to his own gut feelings? What twisted sense of curiosity had lured him here? Every instinct had warned him to avoid the Sullivans like the proverbial plague and yet he’d allowed himself to be seduced; he’d wanted to be a part, just for a few seconds, of the family. Well, now he knew what they were made of and he didn’t like any of them. Including Bibi.

She caught up with him and grasped his arm. “Look, Daegan, please. Just stop for a second.”

He didn’t break stride, just threw her off.

“I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.”

“No, really, Daegan—”

Spinning around so quickly his body slammed up against hers, he grabbed both her arms and pushed her against the wall. A picture of Rose Kennedy rattled and fell to the floor, glass shattering everywhere. Bibi’s eyes widened in fear. “I don’t want your apologies,” he growled, feeling not the least bit of remorse when she tried to pull away and he only pinned her in his punishing grip. “I don’t want your excuses, and most of all, I don’t want your pity.” He let go of her then. “I should never have come here.”

“Why did you?” she demanded.

Good question. A damned good question.
“I was stupid and couldn’t help myself.” Walking through the front door, he heard other voices getting closer. Great. Stuart and his flock of ninnies were following after him to see what the poor, pathetic
bastard
would do. “It won’t happen again.” As he strode down the icy steps, he thought about “borrowing” one of the Sullivan fleet, but decided against it. With his luck, one of them would press charges. It galled him to think that for even one second he had envied them and wanted to be accepted. Well, not anymore. For all he cared, everyone bearing the last name of Sullivan could rot merrily in hell.

The path that led behind the lake house to the indoor tennis court was covered with snow, a smooth white blanket glazed with ice. Cool, pristine, glossy, much like the facade of the Sullivan family.

But that facade was now marred by the appearance of Daegan O’Rourke, the bastard son who had reared his head like the straggly brown weed that poked through the snow cover, corrupting the serene winterscape. Yes, he was an insipid weed that threatened to crack the smooth veneer of the family.

Not that the Sullivans were perfect. They had their share of blemishes. Liars and adulterers, drinkers and cheats. But Father O’Meara was always reminding the parishioners that no one was perfect, that God had made man a flawed creature. Original sin started with Adam and Eve in the Garden. Maybe that explained Frank Sullivan’s incredible lapse to have conceived a bastard out of wedlock, let alone encourage the kid by continuing to mess around with his mother.

No sin goes unpunished. But now, were they all going to have to pay for Frank Sullivan’s sin? Was this bastard son planning to insinuate himself into the family?

The tennis court was chilly inside, but light flooded the shiny floor at the touch of a switch. A basket of balls would help ease the tension brought on by the unwanted bastard. The nerve of Daegan O’Rourke, coming here and thinking he could possibly belong, thinking he would ever be accepted as a Sullivan when in truth he was a mistake of nature, a stupid accident. Well, he would be hard-pressed to pass himself off as a Sullivan.

A tennis ball lingered in the air as if suspended, then went soaring over the net.

A second ball hovered for a moment before it, too, was slammed onto the court.

Each serve a blow to Daegan O’Rourke.

Each forceful swing a strike at his skull.

Each direct hit a vow of the violent pounding he would suffer if he ever dared tangle with the Sullivans again.

“It won’t happen again,”
Daegan had promised during his hasty exit.

Perfect, because never would be too soon to see the dark, handsome face that resembled Frank Sullivan more than any of his children—his
real
children. If Daegan O’Rourke was smart, he would keep his distance and stay far, far away from the Sullivan clan. He would learn that the Sullivans were a family to be reckoned with.

And if he didn’t?

He would have to be stopped.

Daegan didn’t see any of the Sullivans for two months. After hitchhiking back to the city from the mansion on the lake, he avoided any place he thought a Sullivan might show up. Which wasn’t hard. Before Stuart’s little get-together, the whole tribe had acted as if he hadn’t ever existed. As far as he was concerned, they could go back to that scenario.

His good luck ran out one blistering cold day in February. He worked after school for a fuel company. Shoveling coal, pumping oil into huge trucks, and stacking cords of firewood were his primary jobs—backbreaking labor that helped keep him out of trouble and honed his muscles.

He didn’t expect Bibi to show up, but as he walked away from the manager’s office, his meager paycheck folded in his back pocket, he blew on his fingers for warmth and saw her leaning against the fender of a silver Corvette. Several of the guys changing shifts slowed their stride. Whistling, they eyed her long legs and big bust along with the sleek lines and wide tires of her car. Daegan didn’t know which was likely to give them more of a hard-on—Bibi’s sultry pout or the menacing throb of the Corvette’s engine.

“Daegan!” She flagged him down, waving frantically.

Homer Kroft, a forty-year-old guy with a beer belly and oil on his hands, glanced over his shoulder and winked at Daegan.

“Looks like you got yourself an admirer,” he said with a low, leering laugh. “Boy what I wouldn’t do to ride in that—or on her.”

“Enough,” Daegan said swiftly though why he chose to defend Bibi’s honor was beyond him. She only spelled trouble. Sullivan trouble. After Homer and the rest of the workers had left the shipping yard, Daegan approached her warily. “Slumming?”

“Maybe.” She managed a smile.

“What is it you want?”

“To see you.”

“Why?”

“I wish to God I knew,” she admitted with a vexed little frown that showed how perplexed she was with herself. “I just didn’t want you to think that we’re all horrible.”

“Aren’t you?”

She smiled a little and gnawed at her lip. “Not all the time.”

“Humph.” What was he doing talking to her? “If that’s all you wanted to say—”

“No! I mean I’d like to make it up to you.”

“Don’t bother.”

“I—I think we should try to—”

“To what? Be friends?” he demanded, angry all over again. “What is it with you, huh? Didn’t you get enough kicks last time?”

“Whether you like it or not, you
are
part of the family.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” he snapped, shoving his face close to hers so he wouldn’t have to shout. His hand fisted and he wished he had something, anything, to hit. “My old man has never said one word to me. Not one, Bibi. Oh, sure, he gives Ma some money for the rent, but he never seems to find it in his heart to see that she’s promoted to a better job, and when he shows up at the apartment, I make sure I’m out. It’s easier that way. He isn’t reminded of his mistake and I’m not faced with the fact that my old man is ashamed of me. Almost as much as I’m ashamed of him. And just so we’re clear on this. I don’t like you or anyone else in the family. I think you’re all a bunch of shallow, greedy, overbearing snobs who have nothing better to do than plan your next tennis match and argue about what stupid charitable committee you plan to be a part of. All anyone in the family cares about is money. The truth of the matter is that if I’d had a choice, I’d rather be related to pit vipers!”

She wasn’t the least bit unnerved. “Frank’s an asshole.”

“You got that right.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he barely speaks to his other kids. But not everyone’s so bad.”

“Of course not,” he mocked. “You’re all a bunch of goddamned saints.” With that he stalked off and felt his paycheck in his back pocket. Wages for two weeks’ work. Probably not enough to make one payment on Bibi’s flashy car. Not that it mattered.

His breath, a short burst of angry air, fogged. In his wake, he heard a car door open and slam shut. An engine roared. Gears clicked. Tires squealed in a sharp U-turn. Within seconds she was driving in the alley next to him, wheeling around the trash cans and crates, her window rolled down. “Can I give you a lift?”

“Oh, sure. How about to Jamaica?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”