Wild Hawk (33 page)

“What do you mean?”

“What you wouldn’t let me finish on the phone. I’ve only been able to confirm it in two cases, but I’m willing to bet on the rest.”

“Confirm what?” Kendall asked, her voice taking on a sharp edge as both her anger and her apprehension grew.

“How many seats are there on the Hawk board?”

“Seven, counting Aaron . . . Alice, now.”

She started to ask why, but stopped when a possibility hit her. A possibility that, she realized, she should have seen the moment she had found out how much Jason was worth. Alton’s next words confirmed her hunch.

“Then I’d say your friend here controls four of them.”

Kendall stared at Jason, searching for any sign of the truth of this in his face. He was closed off to her as he’d never been before, utterly unreadable.

“Paul Barker is here already, I see. He and Mr. West go way back.” Alton’s gaze shifted to Jason. “You helped his son out of a bad spot, about ten years ago, didn’t you? Rumor has it the kid was on drugs and in big trouble with the law. You gave him a job and kept him straight until he could do it on his own. And in return, Paul fronted for you in your first buy into Hawk Industries.”

“Oh, God.” Kendall knew where this was going. She sensed it like a weary fox sensed the hounds closing in.
You may not like what you find.

“And then there’s Marty Burr, in Phoenix. You floated him a loan five years ago, when no one else would, because he was on the verge of his second bankruptcy. And in return, he’s been holding another chunk of Hawk Industries for you, hasn’t he?”

Kendall held up a hand to ward Alton off when he would have gone on. The hounds had caught her, and she wasn’t the least surprised to see that these particular hounds had originated in a very unique kind of hell. A hell she had only now tumbled into, and had little hope of escaping.

“Enough,” she said, her voice devoid of any emotion now.

Alton shook his head. “It’s my fault. That buddy of mine in Tacoma knew about this Jason West early on, but I told him it wasn’t likely, and to concentrate on the others. I’m sorry about that, Kendall.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” she said. “Thank you, George.”

“Are you all right?” the investigator asked.

“I will be,” she answered, hoping to God it was true. “Will you wait for me outside, please? I’ll need a ride.”

He hesitated, but when Kendall turned back to face Jason, who stood unmoving, his face registering nothing, he nodded and left them.

“How much do you hold?”

“Kendall—”

“Paul has been on the board for seven years, Martin for five, and we never suspected. I suppose Corelli is yours, too? Or did you somehow manage to subvert Hartfield or Boldt?”

“Don’t do this.”

“No, I doubt you managed that. Why should you waste time convincing a couple of stubborn old men when you could find an easier way?”

Before he could answer, something else registered, a fragment of his conversation that day on the phone a few yards behind her.
Alexander has the largest block.
The Alexander investment group. The group that held the closest thing to an outside controlling interest in any Hawk company.

“The Alexander group,” she said. “The untaken seat on the board is yours?” His jaw tightened, and he didn’t speak, but she knew the answer. “Very . . . patient of you, to let Aaron just vote it all these years. And the others . . . they never fought with Aaron, not really. But then, as long as he made good decisions, why should they?”

“Damn,” he muttered. She ignored it.

“Who got the profits, all those years? Did Aaron help build North Pacific Marine Services?’

“No,” Jason said sharply, prodded by that to speak at last. “Not a cent came from Hawk. Ever.”

She lifted a brow at him, thankful for the blessed numbness that had descended on her, allowing her to talk about this as if it was of no personal concern to her at all.

“So that was part of their payment? They just sat there and collected all those dividends over the years, while they waited for you to call in the debt? I presume you did bankroll their buy-in?”

“This is pointless—”

“What were you going to do? Just stroll into a board meeting one year and take over? Was that to be your revenge on Aaron?”

Something flickered in his eyes then, and she knew she’d struck a chord.

“It was, wasn’t it? That’s what you’ve been planning, all these years. And then he died, and ruined it. But you couldn’t give it up, could you? So you switched to another target. Alice.”

“You defending her now?” His tone was biting. “After what she did to my mother, and tried to do to you?”

“She deserves what she gets,” Kendall said, meaning it. “But don’t try to convince me your mother has much to do with this, Jason. Revenge was not her way. What she did when Aaron wouldn’t marry her and when Alice threatened her proves that. No, this isn’t for your mother. This is for you.”

“What the hell do you know—”

“I know you hated your father. That you felt betrayed by him, until you came to hate the very name Hawk, and anything it stood for. And I know that your reaction to betrayal is to destroy the source. In that, you are very much Aaron’s son.”

He didn’t deny it. “What are you going to do?”

She looked up at him, at his face, at his set, determined expression. She tried to remember how he’d looked in those moments of extreme, explosive pleasure, when he’d looked down at her with wonder in his eyes. She wondered if that man had ever really existed, or if she’d made him up somehow, woven him out of the threads of childhood dreams and wishful thinking.

“How much do you hold?” she repeated, even though she knew the answer, or close enough; like his father, he would never make this move unless he was very, very certain of winning.

“Enough,” he said, in the tone of one surrendering to the inevitable. “As long as you don’t side against me.”

She felt something shift inside her, as if something had broken or crumbled. She prayed the numbness would hold, because she knew, deep in her soul, the answer to the question that was coming. But she had to ask it anyway. She had to hear him say it.

“And that’s what this was all about, wasn’t it? You and me? To make sure I wouldn’t . . . side against you?”

“Kendall, don’t. It wasn’t like that. It might have started out that way, but—”

She cut him off as another realization came to her. “You decided after you saw Alice that night, didn’t you? That it was time to make your move? Only stupid little Kendall was in the way. So you turned on the charm. And she fell for it. You must have been proud that it worked so well. And so fast.”

“I had no choice,” he said. “But I didn’t mean to—”

She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “And all those questions you asked. About Aaron’s work, and the company, and the board . . . you were pumping me, weren’t you? It was all part of the plan.”

“I had to be sure of my position before I moved. You were the only one who could tell me that.”

A tiny burning sensation had begun somewhere inside her, and she knew it was the beginning of the pain. And she knew it was going to get much, much worse.

“Why didn’t you just . . . ask?”

“You were loyal to Aaron. Everything you’ve done has been because you were loyal to Aaron.”

“Not everything,” she said, remembering the moments of pure rapture she’d found in his arms. Regret flashed across Jason’s face. She looked away, willing herself not to be a fool yet again and believe he was feeling any remorse. The pain was expanding, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before it overwhelmed her.

“You don’t understand, do you?” she said, hearing that pain in her voice. “You’ll never understand. What Alice did removed any obligation I ever had to her. And Aaron . . . Aaron would have wanted me to help you in whatever way I could.”

“To take down his company? I doubt that.”

“It’s not his anymore. And I think he’d rather see it destroyed than in Alice’s hands.” She bit her lip, trying to fight back the oncoming tide of anguish. “So you see, you didn’t have to . . . seduce me for whatever information I had. I would have given it to you. Freely.”

Jason was shaking his head. “Why should you help me? The only thing you had to gain out of this was trouble.”

She shook her head in turn, sadly. “And that’s the bottom line for you, isn’t it? Nobody helps anybody unless there’s something in it for them.”

“That’s the bottom line for most of the world,” Jason retorted, sounding a bit angry.

“Maybe. But not for me. I would have helped you, Jason. But you didn’t trust me. So you had to . . . make sure of me. And you did, didn’t you? Very sure. I guess I’m the naive little fool you thought I was after all. Because I believed you. I saw in you what you wanted me to see. What I wanted to see. And I’ll pay for that for the rest of my life.”

“Kendall, it wasn’t—”

“You know what’s really sad?” she said, fighting off the pain for one more moment. “You’ve hurt me. Badly. But I’ll heal. Someday I’ll be over it. And I’ll look back and remember what I learned. What I learned about trusting and not trusting, what I learned about myself. And”—she took a quick breath and bit her lip for a moment, needing the sharp physical pain to enable her to go on—“what I learned about need and love and sex and how incredible it can be.”

He moved then, just slightly, as if his muscles had gone suddenly tight on him. He didn’t speak, but for one brief moment he looked like a man to whom her every word was a lash across his bare skin.

“But you’ll never learn,” she said. “Vengeance has been your motivating force all your life, hasn’t it? I’ll even bet, in his way, Aaron is responsible for where you are today. Because you had to succeed, to get into a position to where you could have your revenge. Well, you’re going to get it, and then it will be over, and what will you have? What will drive you then, Jason?”

She turned away then, unable to bear this any longer. The pain was crushing her now, and she would die before she would weep in front of this man. But she glanced back at him one more time.

“I’ll heal,” she repeated. “But you never will. And I feel sorry for you for that.”

She turned away again, and began to walk, her eyes fastened on George’s familiar car, waiting just outside the doors. It took every bit of self-discipline she possessed to keep from running.

JASON STARED AFTER her. He concentrated on her, because not to would leave him open to whatever that was welling up inside him that felt so much like pain. He noted the straightness of her spine as she walked, and thought of her nerve and courage. He noted the quickness of her step, and thought of the tears that had been brimming in her eyes in those last seconds.

I’ll heal, but you never will. And I feel sorry for you for that.

Yes, she would heal. She was strong, and had more nerve than anyone he’d ever known, including himself, he thought as the pain he was denying began to hammer at him, demanding he acknowledge it. He should be thankful for her strength; he hadn’t really wanted to hurt her. He’d only meant to—

To what? Coldly seduce her, getting what he needed? And then what? Walk away? Leave her here, with the ruins of Hawk Industries settling into the dust around her?

He’d warned her, he told himself. More than once. He’d warned her it was nothing but sex, warned her never to think it was anything more. He had no reason to feel guilty. No reason to feel this agony that had suddenly engulfed him despite his efforts to fend it off.

And he had absolutely no reason to feel like it was his own world crumbling into dust around him.

Chapter Twenty-three

THIS WAS RIDICULOUS. Why was he sitting here in a damned hotel room, staring at the walls, feeling like a boat whose mooring lines had all been cut? What he was here for hadn’t changed. And it was going to happen; he’d met with everyone, and everything was in place and ready. He would see retribution made. He’d worked for it all his life, and the fact that it would now take Alice Hawk down instead of his father didn’t bother him. Aaron was beyond his reach, but the woman who had killed his mother wasn’t.

This isn’t for your mother. This is for you.

He got abruptly to his feet, slamming the chair back against the wall. He needed to move, to ease the pressure building inside him.

She was wrong. It was for his mother. He owed her that much, to see that the woman who had arranged her murder would pay, in one way or another. It wasn’t for him. It wasn’t all he had. When he finished here, his life would go on. Only he’d have the satisfaction of knowing Aaron Hawk was dead, and his murderous widow had paid by losing what was most important to her. He couldn’t think of a more fitting ending.

He wasn’t doing this for himself, he insisted silently.

He took a deep breath. Then another. Then he laughed out loud at himself for thinking some faint, sweet scent lingered in this anonymous hotel room, for thinking there was some trace of Kendall left behind to taunt him.

She’d had no right to look at him like that, he thought as he wheeled and strode across the room. He’d told her from the beginning, it was nothing more than sex. And damn it, that’s all it had been, just like it had always been in his life.

He whirled again and came knee to edge with the bed. The bed where he and Kendall had spent long, fervent hours trying to slake a need that seemed to grow instead of ease with every encounter, a need that was so far beyond anything he’d ever known; it had shaken his belief in that very concept he’d just been touting to himself. A need that had almost convinced him he was wrong, had always been wrong about need and love and sex.

I learned about need and love and sex and how incredible it can be . . .

Love. He’d been right, he thought with a determined effort at his old cynicism. She’d had to dress it up as love to accept the fact that she’d gone to bed with him. And she was trying to hang the guilt on him. Well, he wasn’t buying. He just wasn’t. He’d come here to accomplish one thing, the one goal that had driven him all his life. She’d been part of that, a tool he’d had to use, like others he’d used before.

But they had known they were being used. Yes, he’d charmed a woman or two for a purpose before; he hadn’t seen any other reason to exert himself. It had been part of the game, a piece of information dropped here, a name there. And he was good at it. He was generous and amusing and made sure they had a good time. But those women had always known who he was, and had a good idea of what he was after.

Kendall hadn’t. Even though he’d warned her, he knew she hadn’t.

“I had no choice, damn it!”

He spun on his heel, unable to stand there any longer, just staring at the bed where it seemed he’d lost himself, lost his certainty of what life was, what it held and withheld, and his assurance that trust was a fool’s game and love worse than that. He spotted the box that sat on the desk, and with a vicious, sweeping motion of his arm he shoved it, sending it flying.

It hit the dresser and spun to one side, falling open on the floor, spilling papers and the envelopes marked with his father’s bold scrawl.

And the book. It skidded across the carpet to stop nearly at his feet. He stood there, staring at it.

I haven’t tried burning it yet, but give me time.

His own words came back to him. Maybe now was the time. He’d hold a match to this pile of dreams, and watch them burn. As all his mother’s dreams had burned. He bent to pick it up, seriously wondering where he might find a match. But the moment he touched the leather of the binding he knew he wouldn’t; that same feeling pumped through him, that feeling of comfort and understanding, as if an old, trusted friend had put an arm around his shoulders.

Something slipped from the pages as he lifted it. One of Aaron’s letters, he supposed, caught between the pages. But he realized even as he was reaching for it that it wasn’t; this wasn’t an envelope but a folded piece of paper, and it was quite different-looking, heavy and yellowed, as if it was as old as the pages of the book itself.

But it hadn’t been there before. He knew it hadn’t. He’d looked at every page of this book before, and there had been no loose paper, nothing folded between the pages.

But the minute he touched it, he knew it belonged with the book. He got the same crazy sensation, only this time multiplied a hundredfold. It was so powerful he caught himself nearly looking around to see if there was some physical manifestation of that gentle, welcoming sensation. Slowly he sat down on the edge of the bed. When he put the book down, the sensation eased slightly, as if it had been the combination that had been so overwhelming. Whatever it was, it radiated from the letter he held—he could see now that’s what it was—much more strongly than it ever had from the book.

It shook him, this vivid reminder. He’d been ignoring the book, had shoved it so far back into the recesses of his mind that he’d been able to forget about it for long stretches. He’d been so consumed with pulling all the strings that would make his plan come together, so wrapped up in dealing with the real world, the world he knew and lived in, that he’d been able to discount for the moment the book and its inexplicability.

But he couldn’t discount the strange feeling of connection that came over him when he touched it. Or the fact that it had led him to the truth about his mother’s death. And that put him back to wrestling with the real dilemma of the book: did he believe in it or not?

He was no more ready to deal with that than he’d ever been. With a wry grimace he unfolded the letter. With any luck it would be something even more confusing, enough to distract him from the book.

The writing looked as old-fashioned as the paper, long, sloping letters, but the few lines were bold and easily readable. But before he could begin to read, the even bolder signature at the bottom caught his eyes. He looked, and his breath caught.

Joshua Hawk.

That it would be this man seemed at first impossible, then inevitable. Of all the Hawks in the book, it had been this man who had called to him more than any other, this man who had made him feel part of something bigger than himself. Not Aaron, for no matter how much more he now understood about the man who had been his father, he could never forgive what loving him had cost his mother, and wanted no connection to him. But Joshua made him feel an unexpected and odd sense of guilt that he planned to put an end to the Hawk legend.

He dragged his gaze back to the top of the page. It didn’t take long to read.

I don’t know who or where or even when you are, or if this will ever reach you, but if I can spare you some of what I went through, I must try. If you are reading this, you are the last Hawk. If you are like me, you are fighting as all the last Hawks have fought. Don’t. The legend is true. The book is real.

Jenna and Kane Hawk are forebears to be proud of. I hope that, whoever you are, you might even find something in me to be proud of, little though there is. Don’t let it end. It does matter. Jenna and Kane and the others deserve to live on in you.

I wish you luck, and Godspeed.

Joshua Hawk

Jason sat staring for a long time, feeling a tightness in his throat he couldn’t explain away. These simple yet formal words got to him in a way nothing in the book ever had, and he couldn’t find it in him to deny it.

Moving slowly, as if the fog he was feeling was physically thick as well as mentally, he reached for the book. As if it knew, and at this point he wasn’t sure he could deny it did, it opened to the page he’d wanted to see. Not his own story, at the end, but Joshua’s, from well over a hundred years ago. He knew it would be the same, it wouldn’t have changed, not this; there was too much of that sense of inevitability to it.

It hadn’t changed. It was still there, in that lovely script, the entry of the name of the child who had assured the continuation of that bloodline, who had guaranteed Jenna Hawk and her warrior would live on in yet another generation.

Joshua’s son.

Jason Hawk.

He shuddered involuntarily, and moved to close the book. If his own story had changed, he didn’t want to read it. He didn’t want to read some crazy tale about how he’d become the first Hawk to blow it, the first one ever to drive away the woman the book said was meant for him. But, unable to stop himself, he found himself looking anyway. Braced, ready to see Kendall’s name and today’s date, the day she had walked away.

The date was there, all right. But Kendall wasn’t. What was there was the ludicrous claim that on this day Jason Hawk made peace with his father.

HE’D ONLY MEANT to pick up his car and bring it back to the hotel. On a whim he didn’t quite understand, he’d taken the bus back the way they had come. It had been a mistake; all he could think about was how he and Kendall had sat there and laughed, and how he’d told her things he’d never told anyone about his life. At the time, he’d told himself it was to win her sympathy and trust, all part of his effort to charm her, but now he wondered if perhaps there hadn’t been more to it. But he’d been thinking that about a lot of things lately. Since the day he’d looked into Kendall’s grief-stricken gray eyes the day of his father’s funeral.

And now, here he was, on that damned road to the cemetery. And he wasn’t sure why. There would be no peace with Aaron, not for him. And he couldn’t believe that he was being somehow compelled by the book. Or didn’t want to believe it. Perhaps he just wanted to prove the book once and for all a lie.

. . . you are fighting as all the last Hawks have fought. Don’t. The legend is true. The book is real.

He shook his head. The words had rung in his ears as if spoken, in a deep, gravelly voice tinged with a wry, amused recognition. A voice he’d never heard before, even in his imagination. But a voice that matched the image that had once formed in his mind, of Joshua Hawk, blue eyes identical to his own gleaming with commiseration and understanding.

Maybe that was why he was going, he thought. He could never make peace with his father, but Joshua . . .

By the time he reached he big curve, it had begun to rain in earnest. He slowed, shivering as he glanced to one side and saw the crumpled guardrail where Kendall had nearly gone over. Now, here where he could see how vicious the drop was, he knew how perilously close he’d come to losing her that day.

And then he’d thrown her away.

I saw in you what . . . I wanted to see. And I’ll pay for that for the rest of my life.

What had she seen? What had she thought was there in him? He shook his head, trying to stop the fruitless speculation. Just because she’d found something in his father to love didn’t mean—

Love? Was that what he was thinking, even hoping? That he hadn’t just charmed her out of the information he’d needed, but that Kendall had somehow fallen in love with him?

You,
Jason told himself firmly as he slowed even more as the pelting rain continued,
are going out of your mind. You don’t need the book to drive you crazy, you’re doing it on your own.
Even if it was true, what the hell did it mean? Love was a crippling thing; it made you weak, made you do things you would normally never do.

Like Kendall had done. By going to bed with him.

He knew it was true, and not simply because of physical reasons, or the shocked wonder in her response. He knew it because he knew, at last, Kendall, knew that she was exactly what she’d appeared to be from the beginning.

And what does that make you?
he thought, fighting a wave of unexpected nausea. Kendall was who she was, playing by her own set of straight, honest rules, not the corrupted, distorted ones he’d used to his advantage so often. The fact that he didn’t run his own business that way did little to salve a conscience that wasn’t used to being pricked. His rationalization that people who played by those rules deserved to go down by those rules wasn’t working well this afternoon, either.

He pulled off the road into the parking lot of the small cemetery, and into an empty space. He wondered yet again why he was here, what he hoped to accomplish. He sat there for a while, staring at the rain, telling himself this was pointless, he had the board meeting of his life to prepare for.

But he was prepared. He was as ready as he’d ever been in his life. He knew that, knew that there was nothing more to do. Nothing more he had to do, except wait for it to all come together, the work of a lifetime.

He yanked open the car door, and was hit with a barrage of raindrops, the kind of heavy, harsh downpour he’d only ever seen here in California. They might not have the rain totals Seattle did, he thought wryly, but they sure got a lot of it at once.

He reached over and grabbed the book off the passenger seat, braced this time for that odd sensation of comfort, of connection. He wasn’t sure why he’d brought it along. Except maybe to leave it here. Now that would be an offering the old man would appreciate, he thought. Maybe he’d just bury the damn thing right beside the old man. Maybe that would get rid of it. He’d been the one to believe in the Hawk legend, after all.

The legend is true. The book is real.

Joshua’s words came to him again. They seemed to be haunting him, as the image of the man had ever since he’d seen it in the book. Between his words and Kendall’s, every one of which seemed etched permanently into his mind, his head seemed to be ringing with remembered phrases that seemed mostly designed to convince him he was either crazy or as heartless as his father had been.