Blood of His Fathers (Sinners and Saints) Page 3

  Her eyes swept scathingly over the piece of paper lying on the floor, then back to his. “Like I said. Letters can be forged. Graham Wright was my father. Sean is my brother,” she snapped. “No letter in the world will ever change that. And I’ve never in my life heard of Alexander McCormack.”

  “Sit down, Jessica. Please.”

  “No!”

  “Very well,” he said. “But at least hear me out.”

  He closed his heart to her hurt and brushed a hand through his hair. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Hell. He pivoted back toward her and leveled his gaze on her stern countenance. She stood rigid. Her hands clenched at her sides, her lips pressed in a thin line, her eyes wary.

  “Graham Wright was your father in every way that mattered, but what you’re refusing to accept is apt to get you killed.”

  Her face paled and her voice sounded barely above an incredulous whisper. “What do you mean get me killed? You said this was about Sean. I’ve co-operated with you every step of the way. Where’s Sean?”

  “Sean is dead. The moment he found that letter he signed his own death warrant. And yours.”

  Jason made to take a step toward her, but she backed away from him. She put the sofa firmly between them and wrapped her arms defensively about her body.

  “You’re lying,” she whispered.

  “I didn’t mean to tell you like that, Jessica.” He hadn’t wanted to tell her at all. “But time isn’t on our side and I promised Sean I would protect you. That’s why I brought you here tonight, so you would be safe.” He had to make sure they weren’t being followed.

  “Protect me from what?”

  “The same fate that befell Sean. You are in danger, Jessica, but not from me.”

  “Then, from whom?”

  “From the same man who stole your inheritance and killed Sean. My father.”

  Her eyes widened and he saw her fear. He drew a reluctant breath.

  “My name is Jason McCormack. Alexander McCormack is my father.”

  Time suspended them and emotion distanced them. Yet he sensed her next move long before she was ready to act on it. She hadn’t taken more than a few steps toward the door before his body blocked her path and prevented her escape. She stumbled a few steps backward, inching the hem of her dress higher to prevent her stumbling again. Her gaze darted past him to the door. He easily read her mind.

  “I can’t let you leave, Jessica. We have to talk about this.”

  He watched her intently—her disbelief, her fear, her confusion etched on her face. He fought the urge to pull her to him and enfold her in his arms. He wanted to kiss away the tears glistening in her eyes and yet stubbornly refused to fall. He wanted to tell her everything was going to be all right. But he didn’t know if everything was going to be all right. His father was a powerful man in the political world who knew how to cover his tracks. He had contacts enough to make his enemies disappear. Sean’s death had been carefully manipulated and finitely executed.

  “I have to get out of here.” She pleaded with him. “I can’t breathe. I have to think. I have to get out of here.”

  “And go where?” he challenged. “You’ll get frostbite the moment you step out the door. You can’t escape to anywhere, Jessica. You can’t escape this.”

  “You made sure of that, didn’t you?” she shot back. “Bringing me here. I know nothing about any Thomas plantation in the Bahamas. My name is Jessica Wright. It has never been Thomas. It doesn’t matter what that letter alleges as truth.”

  She took a cleansing breath and let the hem of her gown fall. “Tell your father he can have the plantation or estate or whatever the hell it is. I don’t want it. I don’t even want to know about it.”

  His voice was quiet when he spoke. “I wish to God it was as simple as that, Jessica. My father already thinks you’re a threat to him. He believes Sean has already shown you the letter, which means he’ll stop at nothing until he finds you and kills you.”

  “I’ll sign anything. I’ll do whatever he asks.”

  “You’re a risk my father can’t allow. He doesn’t know how much you already know.”

  “I told you, I know nothing.”

  “And I believe you, only you’ll never get the chance to see my father and convince him of it…Unless you trust me.”

  “I’m supposed to trust you because you purport to be Sean’s friend? How do I know that? How do I truly know that? God, I thought you were bringing me here to kill me. I thought you worked for Tom. I don’t know you to trust you.”

  Jason’s voice was steady and controlled when he answered. “Fair enough, but what if I am telling you the truth, Jessica? What if the letter is not a lie? Let’s say, for argument’s sake you have a father named John Thomas. That the Thomas plantation at High Rock is your inheritance. And you have an aunt named Carolyn who sold an eighteenth century indenture corroborating that very fact to my father twenty years ago. Let’s say, for argument’s sake this letter is telling you the truth. That there’s an original deed, written in George McCormack’s hand and witnessed by Ben Thomas, which proves the document Sean took from my father and showed to me was a forgery—”

  “And your father thinks I’ll expose the fraud and reclaim the estate.”

  “You read the letter. There’s a legal document stipulating John Thomas signed over the rights to the land at High Rock to my father. Despite the fact my father has the original indenture he needed a legal transaction. But it should’ve been your name on the document, Jessica, not John Thomas. That is where my father made his mistake.”

  “Why aren’t you listening to me? I don’t care about any property in the Bahamas. I don’t want it.”

  “For some reason you were never meant to find out about it, but now that you have there’s no escaping the consequences.”

  “Consequences?” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t ask for this. What about my son? Tell me my son won’t be harmed.”

  Her fear was tangible and justified. He ached to ease it. His chest tightened at the sight of the single tear escaping down her cheek.

  “I’ll not let my father hurt you or your son,” he said.

  “Why?” she challenged. “You would go against your own father to help me? Why?”

  “Because I didn’t help Sean.”

  Well, that was part of the truth anyway. Jason moved slowly, retracing his steps across the room, trusting her to stay—to listen.

  “Sean came to see me five days ago. He’d accused me of stealing your inheritance. He even gave me proof of it. This—” Jason stooped to pick up the letter she’d let slip from her fingers. “He showed me the indenture he’d found among my father’s personal papers, although this letter categorically refutes the document. Until five days ago I’d never set eyes on the title deed. I’d absolutely no idea I owned that property.”

  “Then, your father obviously went to great lengths to keep this secret from you for twenty years.”

  “Yes, and that’s exactly what worries me. Sean must’ve known he’d stumbled onto something big because he gave me this—for you.”

  He raised his hand and opened his fingers to show her the thin gold chain he’d wrapped about his middle finger. A small child’s ring dangled against his palm.

  “Sean told me to give this to you if anything should happen to him. He said you would know what it means.”

  She crossed the room toward him with slow, rigid steps until she stood close enough for him to breathe her in and smell the delicate scent of her shampoo in her hair. To kiss her and nibble on the tempting curve of her neck. She stood close enough for him to reach around to her chignon and remove the pins that kept her looking so severe—to hear the heart-wrenching sound of her anguish rising in her throat. She gingerly fingered the ring lying against his palm, although she was careful to avoid any contact between them.

  “Sean kept it,” she murmured.

  “Look at me, Jessica.” Jason waited for her eyes to finally reach his. “I know Sean cho
se his path a long time ago, but he loved you. He wanted me to protect you. Let me do that.”

  “How did my brother die?”

  “Sean organized post-match fixtures—”

  “What’s that?”

  Jason elaborated. “He planned fights between hardcore rival supporters so they could beat the crap out of each other after football matches without police interference. His last fixture was two days ago. The day he was killed.”

  “Don’t you mean murdered?”

  Jason unraveled the thin gold chain from about his finger.

  “His death hasn’t been treated as a murder, and it won’t be. The police aren’t going to look past what they already see. Sean was a gangbanger, like the rest. He was killed in an illegal fight, which he prearranged.”

  “So, no one’s going to miss him, right?”

  Jason dangled the gold chain between them.

  “No one’s going to miss him, Jessica.

  She opened her hand beneath the ring and he lowered it onto her palm.

  “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, I believe you,” she whispered. “Now what?”

  From the moment he saw Jessica the promise he’d made to Sean had become his, although that now meant dragging her into his father’s world just to keep her alive. He stepped closer compelling her gaze back to his. She stared at him, patiently waiting, her dark eyes vulnerable but guarded. He wasn’t even sure if she was breathing.

  “Marry me,” he said.

  Chapter Three

  The request was soft, calculated and wholly unexpected. Jess placed her fingers to her temple in an attempt to dull the sudden ache there. Yes, she was drawn to this man, but marriage? At any other time she would’ve laughed at the absurdity of the suggestion. Only, the serious undertone in Jason’s voice prevented her from doing just that.

  “My father is a man who moves in the shadows, Jessica. And as my wife your death would raise too many questions and lead to an investigation, unlike Sean. Something my father can’t afford to have happen,” he’d said. “The closer you are to him, the safer you will be. We have a small window of opportunity and we must use it.”

  Her eyes lifted tentatively back to his.

  He threw you a lifeline, Jess. It was hardly meant to be a declaration of love.

  She remembered her speech therapist’s advice and drew in another steadying breath.

  “Is there no other way? I mean—marriage? Why don’t we go to the police? Tell them your father killed Sean. That he intends to—” She drew a deep breath in. “—kill me for a piece of land I know nothing about.”

  Jason’s face grew taut and his eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t readily decipher.

  “My mother belonged to the McKinney’s, one of the oldest, elite families in Scotland. Madeley was her family home. McKinney wealth and social position guarantees my father the best of everything, including a vantage point above the law. If he’s guilty of anything the evidence we find must be as concrete as it is damning. Do you understand?”

  Jess nodded slowly, at least she thought she moved her head.

  “But there’s another reason why I can’t go to the police, Jessica.”

  She waited as he seemingly searched for words to speak.

  “The indenture Sean showed me five days ago isn’t complete.”

  “Meaning?”

  “An indenture is a legal document between two parties,” Jason explained. “It’s written in duplicate on the same sheet of paper, with the copies separated by cutting along a jagged line so that the teeth of the two parts could be later refitted to confirm authenticity.”

  Jess frowned. “Yes, I know that.”

  “The letter states there ought to be two halves of the same contract signed over two centuries ago. One half belonged to the Thomases, and the other half to the McCormacks.”

  “And there isn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps your father hid the McCormack counterpart somewhere else,” Jess said.

  “Why would he do that?” Jason countered. He shook his head and rubbed his hand across his face. “Besides, I’ve looked just about everywhere I can think of for it and I can’t find it. But that’s not all.”

  He distanced himself before turning back to face her. “The letter speaks of a contract in which the land at High Rock had been deeded from my great-great grandfather, George McCormack, to yours, Ben Thomas.”

  Jess nodded.

  “In the indenture Sean showed me there’s no mention of the agreement between your great-great grandfather and mine. Except for this letter, there’s no proof the property at High Rock ever belonged to the Thomases. The title deed bears no name other than McCormack, which means my father may have already destroyed the original document and any trace of its existence. If anyone comes looking there’s nothing to suggest the land hasn’t belonged to the McCormacks for generations.”

  “Other than your father is a very clever man and hell-bent on taking back land I neither want nor care about, I’ve yet to hear reason why we shouldn’t go to the police,” Jess said.

  She faltered, taking in Jason’s puckered brow and shadowy gaze. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me? What are you holding back?”

  Jason pushed a hand through his hair and shot her a hesitant look. “It has to do with your stepfather, Graham Wright—”

  “He was my father,” Jess retorted. “What has he got to do with this?” she asked.

  Jason straightened, his eyes fixed steadily on hers. She narrowed her gaze as something like guilt etched across his features.

  “He didn’t commit suicide—”

  Her brain froze in her shock. Suspended in agonizing motion she could only watch Jason’s lips move and from somewhere far and distant hear him call her name. Then, it hit her. His words, impaling her heart like a stake.

  He didn’t commit suicide.

  “Jess—”

  Her heart missed a beat, then two.

  She remembered finding her father lifeless in his study, his body swinging heavily back and forth. She’d been sixteen years old. She remembered her father’s blue eyes and how they would light up with pleasure whenever he saw her. That day they’d registered nothing as the rope cut deep into the flesh of his neck.

  The coroner had ruled his death a suicide. Her father had suffered from depression so the verdict, although it came hard, hadn’t been a total surprise to many. But now, if Jason was to be believed—her whole life was unraveling at breakneck speed. She managed a tight squeak.

  “You think your father—”

  Deep down she’d always known her father wouldn’t leave her like that. Without saying goodbye. But—

  Jason closed the gap between them, his contrition written on his face. “Jessica, I’m sorr—”

  She didn’t want to hear it. Anger and fear coupled with confused and irrational sexual attraction erupted in a firm slap against his cheek.

  “Don’t you dare say it,” she cut in sharply. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”

  She went to slap him again, stunned by her reaction but too hurt to care. Jason caught her wrist pulling her firmly to him. His eyes sparked and his lips thinned in warning.

  “I’ll allow you one because I know this must be an unbelievable shock for you. But Sean is dead, your stepfather is dead and you’ll die too if you don’t marry me.”

  She barely heard him. Her brain acutely isolated the intense feel of his fingers about her wrist. She gasped at their powerful contact. Fire ripped down her spine, stimulating every nerve ending and igniting every shriveled fiber of her being like wild flames through a parched forest. Tears, her body was too tired to prevent and her mind too weak to control, spilled down her cheeks as she fought her innermost desire and struggled to think. She was exhausted. She wanted to go home, to take a bath and crawl into bed. She wanted to forget tonight. Forget John Thomas. Forget High Rock. Forget Jason McCormack.

  Jason breathed her name close to her lips and she sh
ook her head, blocking him out.

  “My father,” she cried. Her indignation gave her strength. “Why is that land so important to your father that he would kill mine, that he would kill Sean? Why?”

  “I don’t know, Jessica. But what I do know is that we need each other. I can protect you and you can help me clear my name. I need you to help me solve this.”

  Jason’s fingers tightened about her wrist. “My father has framed me for both Sean’s murder and your stepfather’s death. That’s why we can’t go to the police. We need to work together to keep you alive. Think about your son, Jessica. Believe me, I’m not the enemy here.”

  Her heart warred with her head. He was too close, his touch too physical, his dominance too appealing. She closed her eyes. She should go to the police. Why should she care if they arrested Jason McCormack and she never saw him again? Justice would be served, wouldn’t it? People she loved had died, and could die because of her. Because of Alexander McCormack, because of—her eyes opened directly into Jason’s intense gaze—his son.

  “I should hate you for this,” she said. “I should be running away from you as fast as I can.”

  “Do you hate me, Jessica?” He challenged her for the truth.

  He caught her chin between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand, compelling her gaze back to his and refusing to let her look away. She could feel his heartbeat resonate through the fingers gripping her wrist and heard her own pounding in her ears. Her lips parted on an audible sigh.

  No, she didn’t hate him, but these wild and wanton feelings racing through her had to stop. If she valued her father’s memory, and even that of her brother, she could let nothing come of the very real attraction she felt for Jason McCormack. Her voice felt brittle as she forced her answer past her lips.

  “Yes, I hate you.”

  He gave a wry smile and immediately released her, robbing her of his heat, his intensity, his essence. “Does that mean you’ll marry me?”

  Jess lowered her gaze to the child’s ring in her hand. “For the sake of my son,” she answered quietly. “I’ll marry you.”

  She raised her eyes back to his. “But it will be a marriage in name only,” she declared. “It ends at the bedroom door.”