Stand By Me (8 page)

Pressing the center button, Jonathan typed in his code and waited to see her message. Kenya's warm whiskey complexion filled the screen as she held the hospital gown up showing her bare stomach. He ran a finger over the screen where his child lay snug and secure inside his wife. She'd thought of everything as usual.

“What is it?” Hines asked. Jonathan stared a while longer before acknowledging the question.

Jonathan tapped his foot under the table as pride coursed through him. “--Private!”

Randall said smiling, “Told you, in her eyes, no other man exists. Believe that if you believe nothing else I tell you.” He tapped the table. “Kenya's your woman.”

Kenya was his wife. Jonathan dropped to the metal chair shooting a harsh stare on Hines. “Get a guard on her...Spencer breathes too fast in her direction...” Hines got up from the table and tapped his electronic device. Minutes later, Randall and Jonathan watched him return to the table lowering himself absently onto the chair. It scraped the floor.

Hines set his electronic device on the table, the screen slowly fading. “Done. Now there's three at the estate. Kenya's nae gonna be too happy.”

Couldn't be helped.

Randall set some papers down sliding them closer to Jonathan on the table along with Hines. Jonathan flipped through the folders.

He flashed a glance at Randall, then tipped a chin to Hines. “Catching me up on your report,” he said. Randall turned in toward Hines. Rolling the cuffs of his dress shirt back, he propped an elbow on the table.

“Okay...Randall you know all this, but Jonathan...on the state of the body, allegedly, tagged as Graham Brennar it's not as clean cut as they make it out to be.” He cleared his throat. “The body was shipped to the family here in Ireland. According to this report, the family believed he came from Nigeria, because they met the cargo coming off a fishing boat in the harbor. Supposedly the captain was doing a favor for a larger ship that couldn't get in closer to deliver the body.”

“So they believe the body came from somewhere in Africa...cementing Brian’s claims of the place of death?” Jonathan said looking at Randall.

Randall shook his head and Jonathan looked between both men.

Hines said, “Yes and no. Your alibi, of being in the States celebrating your wife's promotion, just needs to be verified and I can't use any of Kenya's family that attended that night. The prosecuting attorney will just burn whoever I put up there spouting nepotism.”

“Have you heard from Brian or his lawyer?”

“No, these charges are from the families of the alleged victims.” Hines loosened his tie and got comfortable on the seat.

Jonathan said, “After hearing Fiona had been traveling to Nigeria often, I decided to go with her this last time, but I couldn't miss Kenya's dinner. Fiona was glad I changed my mind, she said she had a representative from the tourist board meeting her at the airstrip once she landed.”

“That must've been why she called me,” Randall interjected into the conversation. “I went that next morning.” Randall informed sliding a receipt across the table to Jonathan.

Hines angled his shoulders looking at the little carbon slip. He raised uncertain eyes to Randall. “You want me to believe independent, Fiona... Blakemore needed a travel companion?” he smirked and became serious. “Something between you and Fiona?” he asked his attention set on Randall then held a hand up. “If you two are involved, you'll need to cool it until this is over. Nepotism will be the prosecutors opening line.”

Randall ran a hand over his face, “I thought it was obvious, but I shouldn't assume you knew by my accent...I'm Nigerian.” Hines shifted in his chair giving Randall a narrow stare. “No one's gonna question why she had a Nigerian escort with her---in Nigeria?”

The arrogant stares continued. Jonathan didn't have time for posturing. He smacked the table. “Rub dicks together later, what about Fiona?”

Both men eased down, shoulders relaxed and Hines lowered his gaze to the files then shot Randall a fierce look. “Free advice...stop drooling when you speak of the woman and no one will think your sleeping with her.”

“Ye know me cousin, Hines,” Jonathan jumped into the heated conversation. “Nae, she travels alone plenty. She wanted me to go to show the faces behind Blakemore estates assuring those who doubted there was an heir to the estate as I'm not seen as much.”

“Okay this is good,” the lawyer told him, leafing through the contents of the folder, dancing his attention between that and his device. “We have a strong case to work with here.”

Jonathan leaned forward. “I don't want my wife anywhere Brian can get his hands on her. In addition, I want you to make certain Kenya has access to my funds. Get her cards, cash, set up an account for her personal use. I'll deal with the fight she'll put up later. I don't want my wife needing anything while I'm in here.”

Nodding, Hines tapped on the small keys on the electronic pad. “I'll take care of everything here.

“And Brian, where is he?”

“He's in the States. I'm certain he's searching for Ms. Morgan Claiborne or Blakemore, depends on whether the marriage license is valid,” Hines replied sliding his folder into his suitcase.

Randall said, standing to pull on his coat. “I need to get back to the states for work, but I'll send you whatever information we uncover, Hines. Jonathan, stay strong.”

Twenty minutes later, he sat quietly in his cell listening to the man in the bunk above him.

“I heard you're in for killing four men for looking at your girl?”

“Something like that.” The man leaned over the edge, his clean shaved head shining under the strip of light in the ceiling.

“We don't much care for men touching another man's woman in here. You need anything you let me know. I got contacts on the outside.”

He eyed the man with tattoos that told a violent story and an even more violent one as some of those were done without the proper needle. The scars were deep and wide. It was so easy to say yes and have Brian disappear, but he didn't want that lifestyle for his family even if it kept him from Kenya. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Chapter Seven

Climbing over onto the deck of the mini-yacht, Brian strolled around the polished teak planks watching the cold Atlantic waves swell, and sway, lapping at the sides of his baby. Salty sprays of seawater dotted the edge of the railing marring its high, pristinely polished, lacquered surface. Taking a step back, he avoided the splatter of sea salt on his hand tailored pinstripe suit. His shoes weren't so fortunate as the saltwater beaded across the toe. Grabbing a napkin from the table, he blotted the stain until it was a dark reminder to have them polished, then tossed the wad of paper in the wastebasket under the table.

Everything up to that point had gone according to plan until his wife escaped the estate meeting, leaving him with his balls in hand in front of his men. He'd find her and when he did she'd learn to never cross him again. Once he finds out whose helping her the minutes of their life, will be numbered. Nobody takes from him and Morgan had his child, the heir to Blakemore estates. She'd grown on him when he hadn't planned on keeping her, but something about her he liked...a lot.

“So ya dinna want me to go after yer wife's family? The American?” his guest asked.

If those sisters are working together, they’ll wish they’d never heard of the name Blakemore. “No—they have no effect on the castle--they're just the in-laws.” He eyed his watch, his men should have something on Morgan soon. “That's why I need your reports...Yer on the inside, me eyes, what’s going on in the castle?”

The rock glass clanked against the cup holder carved into the table when the man took a swig then set it down. Thick lines creased out from the corners around his eyes, as he squinted out over the horizon before leaning out on elbows propped on his knees. He gave Brian a skeptical stare. “Aye, the latest news in the castle…they’re planning a party.”

Brian grinned jerking his chin up in disgust. “Dinna take her long,” he accused. “Jonathan thinks his woman is pining away the days in her tear stained apron waiting for him to come home and instead she’s kicking up her heels in celebration.” Twisting at the waist he reached over sliding the silver tray closer. Picking up one of the cold shells resting on the bed of ice, he slurped down one fat oyster than a second before throwing back his whiskey. Licking the briny juice from his lips, he tipped his chin up in a quick motion. “Money changes people, remember that. And with Jonathan's bairn growing in Kenya, she has me fucking castle in a death grip, and me son with his head stuck between her thighs.”

The man cocked a brow. “Not this one, she's got other plans to help your son,” he argued before popping an oyster into his mouth, smacking his lips, the sound echoing around the boat. When did manners become outdated? “She’s rounding up testimonials to back Jonathan on the trial for Graham’s death. The lass is a fighter and has no given up beaten the pavement for yer son's freedom. She's shaken down everyone that's ever let the name Jonathan Blakemore cross their lips, stroking their ego, for a good word on yer son's behalf.”

Brian drew back then hurled his glass out over the bough of the yacht, it bounced over the dark surface before gurgling sinking into the inky depths. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he let out a groan. Does this woman never stop? “And your source is trustworthy?”

The man gave a quick nod. “Oy, they’re in the pub every day. They're having a party alright. He says a large order of twenty loaves of Irish soda bread, pounds of sausages, fresh fish were placed, and they're serving whiskey and mineral. The woman can throw a party.”

Brian cursed flexing his fingers watching his knuckles bleach out under the setting sun. He flashed a look to his guest as the words filtered through his mind--a party to gain testimonials. “Och...they're doing this where?”

The man shrugged. “Me informant could nae say, just that they're keeping the location close to the vest.” The man informed him. “Any word on your wife yet?” At that moment a full-figured woman padded across the deck, a bottle of whiskey swung from her hands. She angled forward, her ample breast swallowing the necklace around her neck deep between her creamy flesh as she refilled their drinks. Brian reclined in his seat allowing the woman to ease down to his lap as she kissed him full on the lips. The woman’s thigh was warm under his stroking his hand up under the short skirt. She moaned, wiggling her hips over his groin. He’d had enough of the woman, uncertain why he even wasted his time having her on the yacht. Grabbing her hips, Brian stopped her grinding, pushing her to her feet and off his lap. She dipped her face, running her tongue over his lips; her black sweater clung to her lush curves puckering the fabric between her breasts. As her hips swayed, when she walked away, the skirt whipped up under her round ass behind each step down to the cabin. Brian found his mind wandering to Morgan. When had she become more than an element to work with his pursuit to gain the estate? No woman held his attention, why Morgan?

“I see yer keeping busy while the wife’s away,” the man spouted, raising the glass to his mouth for a deep slug of the fire in a glass.

“I donna pay ye for marriage counsel. I'll handle me wife you keep me son in prison and take care of Kenya Blakemore.”

The man snorted. “Which wife do yer want me to find?”

His world began to unravel. Brian opened his jacket the weight of the gun in his holster pressed to his ribcage. He let it tip forward so there was no mistaken who was in charge.

Brian raised one brow to the ocean behind the man. “The law has nae jurisdiction on the open seas,” tossing back the whiskey, he rolled the glass between his palms setting his stare at the man. “I could dump yer dead body over board and feed the precious marine life of the Atlantic.”

“That’s yer option,” he returned.

“But is it yer choice?”

Chapter Eight

The library in the castle, although flooded with sunlight, held a chill to it today. And Kenya couldn't blame it all on the old faded furnishings strategically placed around the massive fireplace. That was the only thing anchoring it to its past when the castle was rebuilt after the devastating fire years ago. The dingy sun-bleached creases in the drapes tied back with thick silk cording cast a stately elegance to the otherwise worn aura of the space. Even the threadbare section at the corner of the wool rug appeared regal under the morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows. The fact it had never been updated through the years gave it a personality almost a soul that enveloped you the moment you stepped through the double doors from the hallway. But something else left a chill to dance down her spine.

No, her mother, Katherine's words, still circled her mind from two days ago when she'd called. Her biological father was coming to Ireland with them. All her life this man's been MIA, and now Katherine mysteriously can get a hold of him out of the blue. Where'd she keep him stashed in one of her many QVC leather purses?

She gathered the skirt of her dress and knelt on the settee in the window. Holding the curtain back she watched a limo pull up with Steve Erickson, her biological father inside. Her pulse jumped behind every sound coming from the hallway behind the library doors.

A pressure on her shoulder and Kenya jerked around instinctively drawing a hand over her stomach. Sophie stood before her holding her cell phone.

“Oy, dinna mean to startle you, Kenya, but Carl just called and said the planes landed and everyone will be here soon. How are you doing?”

Dropping her head, irritated by how jumpy she'd become waiting to see her father, Kenya raised her eyes, then slowly her head. “I don't know, Sophie.” The cushions dipped as Kenya righted herself on the settee straightening the wool skirt of her dress beneath her hips. She'd gotten in the habit of wearing dresses more and more she noticed. “Meeting my biological father...It's not something I do every day.”

Sophie sat next to her on the antique piece of furniture. “Well, take my advice and hear him out. Men do things for reasons they don't always show or share.”