Chapter Eleven
When Nick pulled into Charles’s long sandy driveway on Monday evening, it was full. Amanda’s car was parked at the end, so she was on duty. But there were eight cars there; apparently all the siblings would be there for this . . . this . . . whatever the fuck this introductory meeting would be. He’d been dreading it all day. The dread had simmered in his veins since he’d woken up that morning. An early, brutal workout hadn’t made it go away. A quick trip to the hospital to give more blood and talk again with the doctor and his team had only made it more acute. A big lunch and vegging out in his suite watching TV hadn’t made that feeling of dread disappear.
He wasn’t afraid to meet Charles Roger Harrison II, for fuck’s sake. Nick slammed the car door closed a little more forcefully than he’d intended. All his senses were on alert, like when he was on the job and in a potentially dangerous situation. That’s exactly how he felt now, and he tried to chip away at why as he stood there and gazed up at his half brother’s enormous mansion.
He wasn’t afraid; what he was . . . was uneasy. On guard. Because he knew what kind of man his biological father was, and by all accounts, this wouldn’t be a pleasant encounter. No one liked walking into what they knew ahead of time wouldn’t be a pleasant encounter. No one sane, anyway.
He was pretty sure Daddy Dearest wasn’t going to be opening his arms for a big hug. No, Daddy was likely planning to take him apart, thinking like his eldest son originally had—that Nick was there for money and blackmail. Add to that getting caught on his shenanigans with the Latina housekeeper, bringing a smudge to his highly esteemed name? Charles Harrison II was likely more than livid, maybe rabid.
Blowing out a harsh breath, Nick raked his hands through his hair and stared up at the mansion. All he’d wanted to do was be a bone marrow donor for a sick kid. How had his life turned into this ridiculous drama?
He closed his eyes, took another breath, and reminded himself of who he was. Just plain old Nick Martell, sergeant on the Miami PD, from a modest background and close-knit family . . . his eyes opened as it hit him. Jesus, that just wasn’t true anymore. And it never would be again. He was a Harrison, of the famous New York Harrisons, and even if he never did a damn thing with that, it didn’t make it any less true. He was a member of one of the most wealthy and powerful families in the Northeast . . . hell, the whole country. He still hadn’t figured out what that meant for him. It was insane.
Shaking his head, he marched up the stairs and rang the doorbell. He just wanted this done. Every muscle was a little tense, every nerve lit up and jangling, ready for whatever went down. He’d gone on undercover jobs over the past year where his life had actually been on the line. This meeting was pure bullshit in comparison. He had this.
The door opened, and both Lisette and Charles stood there.
“Great,” Charles said. “We’ve all been waiting for you.”
“Like a firing squad,” Nick muttered under his breath in Spanish. “Let’s fucking get this over with.”
Charles blinked, stared at him for an extra beat, then looked to his wife. “What did he say?”
“He wants to get this over with,” she said. “Can you blame him?”
Now it was Nick who stopped, blinked, and stared in surprise as he looked into Lisette’s dark eyes. Well, goddamn.
“It’s not a firing squad,” she stage-whispered to him and winked.
“My wife is fluent in several languages,” Charles said with open pride and a hint of a smirk on his face. He was clearly amused at having caught Nick off guard. “I guess you’re glad you didn’t curse me, huh?” Moving aside, he gestured inside. “Come in, please.”
Nick had to chuckle. “What other languages do you speak?” he asked Lisette in Spanish, hoping both to hear her speak it in return and to irk her momentarily smug husband.
“Spanish, Portuguese, French. Little bit of Italian. But English is my first language,” she said, answering in Spanish. “A long time ago, I was planning to be a translator for the government. I majored in linguistics in college.”
Jesus. He felt like an idiot. “I’ve spoken both languages my whole life,” he said, fumbling for something to say. “First at home, now at work too.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
“I guess it wouldn’t. But I admit, I didn’t think anyone in this family would speak Spanish. That was wrong of me. I assumed. Sorry about that.”
“No offense taken. You’re kind of right, for what it’s worth. None of them do, really. Just me.” She grinned. “I’ve always spoken Spanish with Tina, who works here and is a close friend of mine, when we didn’t want the kids to know what we were saying. But Ava started taking it in middle school so she could understand us. Be careful around her.”
“Good to know,” he said in English, noting the half-amused, half-curious look on Charles’s face. “Thanks for the tips.” He shot a glance at Charles and added, “Your wife’s impressive.”
“Damn right she is.” Charles smiled and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead before saying to her, “I’m going to bring him to the firing squad now. You’ll keep the kids away from the living room?”
“Of course.” She looked up to Nick and said, “Good luck. I wish I could say you didn’t need it, but . . . Charles II and I had some bad blood ourselves, back when he found out about my dating his precious heir. He usually comes out swinging.”
Charles scowled briefly at the memory, then leaned down to give his wife a kiss. “See you after.”
“Tell Myles I said hi,” Nick said to her. “Maybe I can hang out with him again soon. How’s he doing?”
“He’s, um . . .” Any light that had been in Lisette’s eyes faded. “He’s starting the conditioning on Wednesday. He’ll be pretty sick from that afterwards. . . .”
“How about tomorrow?” Charles suggested. “Some video games with his favorite new buddy might be just the thing.”
Nick noticed Charles had gone all tense too at the mention of Myles’s health. Damn, he felt for them. Amanda had told him how Myles would be prepared for the transplant: by flooding him with high doses of chemo and radiation, called “conditioning.” He didn’t even want to think about it. He noted how Charles reached out to caress Lisette’s cheek for a minute, catching her eyes as they looked at each other. They must be so worried, so . . . no, he couldn’t imagine how they felt, knowing what was ahead for their child. “Sure. You tell me what time. I have no plans tomorrow.”
Two minutes later, he followed Charles down the hall to the living room.
Charles stopped him right outside the door, a hand on his shoulder. “Listen . . .” His voice was low, his gaze intent. “Whatever my father says, know that we’re behind you. He’s full of bluster, gets nasty, and loves to manipulate. Don’t let him get to you.”
“I’ll be fine.” Nick’s adrenaline levels were kicking up again; he could feel his blood in his veins, feel his pulse start to pound in his neck. “Let’s just do this.”
Charles opened the double doors wide. Tess and Dane sat on the couch to the left, Pierce was sprawled out casually on the couch to the right. But Nick couldn’t take his eyes off the older gentleman in the big armchair by the fireplace, who slowly rose to stand as he stared right back at him.
Jesus Christ. He did look like the old man. It was devastating.
Charles II’s hair was gray and thin, but impeccably groomed, no bald spot. His pale skin was weathered, lines on his face . . . goddamn, Nick realized that was his nose. And his square jawline, and the arch of his brows . . . all the contours of his face, even the shape of his eyes. But Charles Harrison II’s eyes were cold, steely gray—like those of a hawk, shrewd, glittering, sizing up its prey. And as they focused on Nick like lasers, for a few seconds, the whole thing stole his breath.
“Jesus Christ,” Charles II said softly. “He does look like me.”
Nick’s mouth went dry.
“Told you so,” Pierce said, a hint of neener-neener-neener in his smug tone.
“Pierce,” Tess whispered, a warning.
But it broke the tension for Nick, and he looked over gratefully at Pierce. He was going to have too much fun with this. Eh, why not?
“Hello,” Nick said. And that was it. He was at a loss for words all of a sudden. What the hell was he supposed to say to this man? He was a stranger. They gazed at each other, assessing.
“How’s it goin’, man?” Pierce smiled and got up to shake his hand in greeting.
Dane also rose and leaned in for a handshake, giving Nick a pointed look and an extra clap on the arm as if to say, You got this. Tess went to him and kissed his cheek hello. Charles gave him a pat on the shoulder and walked to the wet bar in the corner. “Scotch for me. Want a drink, Nick?”
“No thanks.” Nick wanted all his wits about him.
“I see you’ve already become friendly with your half siblings,” Charles II said. “Isn’t that nice.”
Nick’s mouth curved. That bothered the old man. Okay. “So far, so good.”
“But you had no interest in coming forward to meet me,” Charles II said. His tone was mild, but Nick could still feel the poison drip from it.
“Nope.”
“Really. Why is that?”
“Simple, really,” Nick said. “I already have a father. And if my mother thought you were a horrible enough person to leave the state and hide your identity from me for my entire life, that didn’t exactly make me want to seek you out for a meeting.”
The mere mention of her had made something shift in Charles II’s eyes. Bloodthirst. “Then let’s stop with the pretense. Who is your mother?” he demanded.
The open animosity toward his mother made a chill rush through Nick’s veins. But he wasn’t having it. Let the old man twist in the wind a bit longer. “You don’t know?”
“I want to hear it from you!” Charles II huffed. “Not to mention I believe I have the right to know. And if we’re going to prove your preposterous claim—”
“Preposterous?” Pierce laughed. “You just said yourself he looks just like you. Give it up, old man.”
Charles II whirled on him, pointing down at him with an accusatory finger. “You haven’t spoken to me in years. Don’t start now. In fact, why don’t you shut the hell up?”
Nick kept his cool, but his heart started pounding. There was the man Pierce had told him about in excruciating detail.
As if reading his mind, Pierce looked to Nick and said, “There he is. The real Charles Harrison the second. So polished and refined . . . father of the fucking century.”
“Shut your damn mouth,” Charles II growled at him.
“Don’t you speak to him that way,” Tess said sharply. “You shut your mouth.”
Charles II looked at her with a combination of ire and hesitation. His lips pursed, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his tailored slacks.
Fascinating, Nick thought. The man clearly, openly hated Pierce . . . and adored his daughter so much she could put him in his place with a few strong words. The layered family dynamics here were a psychologist’s wet dream.
Pierce sent his sister a wink. “I’m fine, Tessie. But thanks.”
“Dad,” Dane said, “just gotta say, this is not a great way to make a first impression on your newest son.”
Charles II’s face darkened, the red rising from his neck to his hairline as he looked back to Nick. “Have we established that without a doubt? That he is?”
“Yes, we’ve more than established that,” Charles said from behind the bar. With silver tongs, he dropped an ice cube into his glass. “You saw the paperwork. So why the bluster? Think you’re going to scare him into recanting his lie? It’s not a lie. The test proved it. And from what I’ve gathered so far, Nick doesn’t scare easily. So just stop.”
“He’s proof of it,” Tess said. “I knew it the second I looked at him, and so did you. Come on, Dad.”
“Here’s a good question,” Nick said. He shifted into his power stance, spreading his legs a bit and crossing his arms over his chest as he lifted his chin, something that was effective as a cop. “Charles told you that my mother worked for you, right?”
Charles II’s lips pursed again, and he gave a staccato nod.
“Well . . . then you should know exactly who she is.” Nick arched a brow, drawing it out. “Unless you were sleeping with more than one of your household employees.” He let a smirk play on his mouth. “Of course, I’m sure such an upstanding gentleman like yourself wouldn’t have done that, though. Right?”
Charles II’s face got even redder as Tess gasped hard. Dane and Charles both went very still.
But Pierce barked out a laugh. “Oh my God, he’s right! That’s . . . that’s priceless.” He laughed again and said to his father, “You fucking hypocrite. Raking all of us over the coals . . . You gave Charles hell because Lisette was his nanny. Someone who worked for him in his home, a middle-class girl, and so beneath him.”
“Stop,” Charles said, but he’d paled a bit. He knocked back half of his drink.
“How many maids did you nail over the years, Dad?” Pierce grinned with malicious glee. “Two? Three? More? You randy son of a—”
“Stop it!” Tess demanded. “Pierce. Stop.”
Charles II looked apoplectic. His obvious discomfort and rage pleased Nick more than it should have, but it did. “That’s not true,” the old man finally spat, but his voice seemed a little strangled.
“Know what? I don’t really care.” Nick shrugged. “Really, I should be thanking you for not being able to keep away from the hired help. I mean . . . I’m here. So thanks, you horny bastard who abused your position of power over my naïve mother, and God knows who else. Thanks to that, I exist.”
“Well,” Dane quipped from the couch. “This is going well, huh?”
Tess slumped, dropping her face into her hands.
“I’m sure you suspect who she is,” Nick said, “but I’ll indulge you, since you seem so . . . kind. Open. Since you’ve given me such a warm welcome, not at all wanting me to feel threatened or anything.”
Pierce laughed again. “Man, you’re good.”
Nick stood up straight, tall, and proud. “My full name is Nicolas Esteban Martell. But before I was adopted by the best man on earth, for the first five years of my life, my last name was Sanchez.” He made sure Charles II was looking into his eyes as he said, “My mother is Maria Sanchez. You got her pregnant in 1988. Do you even remember her?”
Charles Harrison II went stone-cold still. His face, which had been dark and mottled with growing rage, started to pale a bit as the blood drained. His mouth went slack, falling open for a few seconds. Nick watched him, fascinated, as the room went dead silent.
“Yes, I remember her,” Charles II finally said. “Of course I remember her.” He licked his lips, ran a hand along the back of his neck. “We were . . . involved . . . for a short time. Then she disappeared without a word.”
“Did you try to find her when she left?” Nick asked. “I mean . . . if the woman I’ve been involved with totally disappears, I know I’d be curious to know what happened to her. But hey, maybe that’s just me.”
“We’d stopped the affair,” Charles II said, “a few weeks before she left.” He drew a deep breath, recomposing himself. The other four were quiet now, transfixed. “She stopped sleeping with me, and she stopped talking to me. Soon after that, she was gone. Never heard from her again. Why would I go searching after her?” His eyes turned ice cold. “Fact was, I didn’t care. We didn’t have some big love affair, if that’s what she told you. No, it was just a few months of sex. And she was more than willing. A consenting adult. She was more than happy to get in my bed. Your mother’s no saint, Mr. Martell.”
Nick hadn’t expected the sickening gut punch from those words, but it was like a boot in his solar plexus. His heart rate accelerated in thick, heavy beats.
“But now that I know what she did? I’m going to find her, all right.” Charles II’s voice was menacing, each word deliberate. “I’m going to find her, and I’m going to destroy her for keeping my child from me. The law can’t do anything about it after all this time, but I sure can. She won’t get away with what she did to me.”
The whirring noise filled Nick’s head. Red rage, hot and consuming, rushed through him. Without thought, he flew forward, closing the few feet between him and the old man in seconds. With both hands, he gripped the lapels of Charles II’s jacket and yanked him close, taking pleasure in watching the old man’s gray eyes bulge with shock and a bit of fear. Through gritted teeth, Nick growled low in his face, “Hear me.” He gave the man a quick shake to make sure he had his full attention. “You lift a finger to hurt my mother in any way? I won’t just make you regret that I was ever born, but that you were.”