Haunted Heart (5 page)

He needed to be proactive to shake himself out of this glum state of mind. And right then he knew exactly what to do.

“O
H
,
SO
you’re Kerr? Ruben warned me you might be coming by.”

“I see.” Gritting his teeth, Duncan reined in his temper at the words, spoken in a casual tone that in his mind belittled Ruben and his plight.

The man chuckled, busy placing pictures on the empty white walls of an art gallery in the heart of the Seattle’s art district. “Ruben tends to overreact at times. It’s not his fault. I’m sure you’re not the boogeyman.” He winked as he said it, but the gesture left Duncan cold.

Benjamin Winterbottom—or Ben Winters as his pseudonym stated—was an extremely good-looking man with styled dark hair, a rich tan (probably from a bottle), and blue eyes that held a seductive charm. The guy knew he was sex on a stick, and he wasn’t ashamed to show it. With obscenely tight black jeans that hung low on his hips, a crisp white button-down, a gray vest, and a gray silk tie loose around his neck, he was the epitome of trendy, artsy chic.

Duncan wasn’t impressed. Did the guy really not care about his brother at all?

“I was hoping you might tell me a little bit about Ruben,” Duncan said, doing his best to sound polite and even amiable.

Benjamin nodded absentmindedly. “Come on. We can talk on the roof.”

With that said, he led the way to the feeble-looking freight elevator in the back of the building, Duncan on his heels, and once both were inside, Benjamin pressed the top button. The old lift shuddered violently and made an unholy racket, but at least it moved upward.

Once out of the elevator, they had to take the last flight of stairs to the roof access, the metal door creaking as Benjamin opened it. Duncan was greeted by the lush, green sight of a roof garden, with flowerbeds, wooden walkways, and a couple of lounge chairs here and there under huge parasols. There was even an airy greenhouse at the end of one of the wooden walkways.

“Nice,” Duncan complimented, though he didn’t think Benjamin was responsible for the beauty around them.

“Thanks. My girlfriend Lissa and I, we built this a few years back. She’s one of the financiers of the gallery downstairs.” Benjamin sat down on one of the rickety chairs and gestured for Duncan to do the same, which he did. “So. My brother.” Benjamin’s gaze was suddenly very sharp and intense. “What’s your interest in him?”

Duncan didn’t want to tell the man anything, but he went with honesty, as he always did. “He works for me. Book covers. On a freelance basis.”

Benjamin’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really? Hmm.”

Duncan bristled, jumping in Ruben’s defense. “He’s a great artist. EP is proud to work with him.”

“EP?”

“Enamored Press. I’m the director of the art department there.”

“Good gig?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

Suddenly, Benjamin chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “There’s no need to get so worked up, Mr. Kerr. I know my brother. Ruben does have a habit of bringing out protective instincts in people.”

Harsh words dangled on the tip of Duncan’s tongue, but he bit them back. “You two aren’t close, then?”

Benjamin leaned forward, his gaze locked with Duncan. “That’s not what you want to know.” When Duncan said nothing, Benjamin went on, his tone lowering. “Look. You’re right about Ruben. He’s exceedingly talented. Way more than me. I was never one for drawing or painting. He has the touch, you know. But….” He paused and rubbed a hand over his mouth, as if trying to decide what to say and how. “His situation…. No, his condition has little bearing on his skill set. If you have doubts—”

“Not a single one about his artistic talent,” Duncan cut in firmly.

Benjamin nodded, his expression grave. “Ruben’s agoraphobia has proved to be, well, problematic for employers in the past.”

So Duncan had been right. Ruben had a deep-seated phobia. “How long has he been like that?”

“Five years.” Benjamin sighed, resting back in the chair. “How much has he told you? Has he confided in you? No, he hasn’t, has he? You wouldn’t be here if he had. Mr. Kerr, I won’t tell you that story or—”

“Will he be likely to tell me?” Duncan interjected again. “Who can I ask if he won’t trust me enough to tell me?”

Benjamin frowned. “If you have no problem with his artistic output, why does it mean so much to you to know? Your publishing house. It’s one of the new electronic publishers, isn’t it?” Duncan nodded. “You and the staff there don’t always meet the people working or writing for you in person, right?” Again Duncan admitted this was so. “Why is Ruben’s story so important to you?”

For that Duncan had no one answer to give. Even honesty aided him little here. He sighed. “I guess… I want to help him.”

“Cure him?” Benjamin’s eyes flashed intently. “Ruben’s not sick. Not really. Not even in the head. He’s just shy.”

“If he has a phobia—”

“If?” Benjamin huffed, incredulous and pissed off, all of which seemed to indicate he did care about his brother after all. That made Duncan reevaluate his first impressions of the man.

“—then he’s afraid. That’s a little more than being shy. What’s he afraid of?”

Benjamin let out a hollow, mirthless laugh. “You. Me. The mailman. The weather. The world. Everything.”

“He wasn’t always like this,” Duncan said slowly, recalling the lively pictures on the mantelpiece. “He’s been outside. I saw the pictures in his house.”

Benjamin started, jumping on his seat. Then he leaned forward in a flash, his elbows resting on his knees and his gaze boring holes in Duncan. “You’ve been to the house?”

Duncan didn’t like the direction this conversation was going. “Yes,” he replied warily. “Ruben invited me for coffee.”

Licking his lips, obviously rattled, Benjamin asked, “Tell me everything.”

But Duncan wasn’t willing to go that far with a new acquaintance, even if he happened to be Ruben’s brother. “Tit for tat, Mr. Winters.”

Clearly getting frustrated and angry, Benjamin huffed out a restless breath. Then he sighed in resignation and slumped back into his chair. “I don’t get you, Kerr.”

“You just said it was easy to understand because Ruben inspires protective instincts in other people,” Duncan reminded him dryly.

Benjamin actually smiled and chuckled at that, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “You know, Kerr, when Ruben called me frantically, rambling as usual, and warned me about you, I thought you were a reporter.”

To that Duncan had little to say as he was utterly surprised. Somehow, he had a feeling any visits from journalists to Ruben’s little safe haven had nothing to do with his artistic talent. No, there was a different kind of story buried here.

Suddenly, Benjamin shook his head, as if shaking loose thoughts jumbled in there. “Listen, Kerr. I need to think about this. Just because he’s chosen to push me out of his life, just like everyone else, doesn’t mean I don’t love him and want to keep him safe. He may not like it, but I will protect his interests and his privacy.” His gaze sharpened again, glinting like hard jewels. “Time for us to part ways, Mr. Kerr.” Duncan could tell from Benjamin’s harsh expression that he expected Duncan to be gone in ten seconds flat.

Little did Benjamin know that because of his words his estimation had gone up a notch in Duncan’s eyes. Despite the distance between the brothers, clearly neither had forgotten the other.

Duncan was fine with leaving. He had other, newer fish to fry.

T
WO
HOURS
later, Duncan was busy researching Ruben Winterbottom for the second time. If there had indeed been reporters asking questions about Ruben before, then his story was out there somewhere. All Duncan needed to do was find it.

And in fact, he was relatively sure he had. Back at the office, he had searched what he could online. No results came up from five years ago relating to Ruben. Duncan had a sneaky suspicion his grandmother, the influential Rose, had had something to do with that.

But a minor reference to the house where Rose had lived and where Ruben lived now had yielded a slightly better result. And now Duncan was in the Seattle Public Library’s newspaper archives, going over magazines and newspapers from five years ago.

And there it was. The story Rose had buried. An obscure piece of writing in the
Seattle Times
from five years back, a small article about the house, how it had been robbed during a night when Rose had been at a fancy soirée—and how the seventeen-year-old boy sleeping there had been raped and beaten to within an inch of his life.

Duncan’s heart broke.

A
FTER
A
whole week, Duncan still wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to address the issue of what he knew. About the brutal assault on Ruben five years ago. The child who had been broken, brought into a violent world, and who now carried the weight of that so heavily he couldn’t even leave his house and home.

Why Ruben had even stayed at that house was beyond Duncan.

His head hurt with all the emotions inside. They were like feverish shards, stabbing him hotly, trying to get him off his ass to do something—when he was at a loss as to what to do.

Could he call or e-mail Ruben brazenly and tell the boy he knew and understood? No. Then Ruben would think Duncan was snooping into his private business, or worse, stalking him or something. Could Duncan steadfastly go up to the house and coax the boy to speak with him, about anything and everything? No. Back to the stalker problem.

“Dammit!” He accentuated his loud curse by banging his desk with his fists, followed immediately by his head. “Shit. Fuck. Damn.”

“We may be selling words here at EP, but perhaps less of
those
words,” Maggie needled from the doorway as she strode in like she owned the place. As his assistant, she sometimes did. “What’s wrong, hon?”

“Maggie!” Duncan mumbled, chiding her with a tone far angrier than his actual mood.

“Well, ‘fuck’ actually does sell books, considering we are into erotic romances.” She was totally baiting him now.

“Did you want something, or did you just come in here to torture me?” Duncan refused to raise his head from the desk, and an annoying, throbbing pain waved through his body from his banged-up forehead.

“Can’t both be true?” Maggie was using her most irritating, cheerful, singsong voice that grated on Duncan’s nerves like nails on chalkboard.

“You’re fired!” He actually partially meant it too.

Maggie snorted amusedly. “Yes, of course I am. Now, I have updated the list of urgent book covers….”

Duncan sighed tiredly. “Who’s behind on his or her schedule?” He meant the artists and the authors both. Delays could happen for a lot of reasons. Sometimes the vision of the artist didn’t mesh with that of the author or vice versa. Other times what an author wanted was impossible or what an artist had created sent the wrong message for an erotic story. Or, worst of all, there were legal issues at play, like accusations of plagiarism and whatnot. Thankfully, EP had never been the target of one of those. The most common problem was time, or lack thereof. The art department had several dozen covers on their to-do list at all times, and deadlines were deadlines.

Maggie hesitated, and that sure wasn’t a good sign. “It’s Ruben.”

Startled, Duncan’s head came up so fast he felt lightheaded for a second. “Ruben? But he’s always on time. He’s never missed a deadline yet.”

“His first proof was due yesterday. Since he is always on time, as you say, or early, I figured this was something to be concerned about.” Maggie studied him with deliberate scrutiny. “Would you like me to get him on the phone?”

“No. He won’t answer.” Duncan let out a frustrated grunt, going over his options in his mind. “I’ll go see him.” He got up in a hurry and rearranged the papers on his desk. “I won’t be gone long. I think. One day isn’t going to kill us. I’ll be back—”

“Just go.” Maggie all but shoved him out of his own office. “You can work from home if need be. I’ll take care of everything.” She shooed him toward the elevators.

“Mags?” Duncan called back, and Maggie turned to face him questioningly. “You’re not really fired.”

Maggie flashed an irreverent grin. “What else is new? Go on. We’ll talk about my raise when you come back.”

Duncan couldn’t help but let out a laugh as he headed out.

D
ARK
CLOUDS
welled above Duncan as he drove up to the house in the woodsy hills. It was going to rain. How much, he could only guess. Probably a lot. The air felt thick enough for a downpour, and the wind from the sea all but confirmed it.

Parking and turning off the ignition, Duncan waited in place for a moment, making sure Ruben would be able to see him before Duncan went about knocking on the door. As much as he longed to dash to the house, burst in, and hug Ruben close, Duncan knew that wouldn’t go over very well. That vision had police at the end, not orgasm.

Finally, he got out and walked, not ran, to the porch despite the fact it had started to drizzle. Safe from the weather under the awning, Duncan shook his coat to get rid of most of the moisture clinging to the fabric.

The locks clicked behind his back. Duncan prayed Ruben had opened them instead of closing them. Then the door opened a crack with a rusty creak.

A dark head of hair appeared in the slit, half hiding a pair of widened eyes. “Dun—um, Mr. Kerr…?”

Duncan had to admit he was relieved Ruben had even answered the door. “Hello, Ruben. It’s good to see you again.”

Ruben’s pale cheeks pinked, and he frowned. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I’m not here to harass or stalk you or anything,” Duncan assured in his most soothing tone. He remained where he stood, not advancing toward the boy no matter how much he yearned to do just that. “I realize I could’ve called or e-mailed, but…. The book cover you were contracted to do was due yesterday. Has there been some kind of unforeseen delay, maybe?”