“Pop, what is it?” I open the door to his home office and march inside. I place my palms on his desk.

“Calm down. Take a seat.” As usual, he’s leaning back in his chair with his elbows on the armrests and his fingers interlocked in front of him.

I frown. Why is he so calm? When I got that text message, I thought some kind of catastrophe had happened.

“Why did you call me?” I sit in the chair across from him.

He doesn’t usually call me to his home office in the middle of the work day. He knows I’m usually busy juggling all kinds of things that are critical to keeping the business running smoothly.

Besides the timing, there’s also the message itself.

That must be a bad sign, right? Pop works really closely with Uncle Nathan. As far as I can tell, anything one knows, the other one knows as well.

“I need you to do something for me,” he says.

“That much is obvious.”

“Remember when I asked you to find an old friend of mine, Bertha Jones? How’s that going?”

“My guy found her address, and we took care of the loose ends around her dead daughter’s case. Then you got sick and I got buried in work.”

“Go pay her a visit. Tell her I want to see her.”

“Is she an old girlfriend, Pop?” I squint at him. I know what “friend” means, coming from him. He’s always been a bit of a ladies’ man, but I can’t believe he’s taking me out of my work day to hunt down some woman. “Did she dump you? Maybe you should find a new one.”

“It’s not like that.” He scowls. “Look, I just want to meet her again. When you’ve almost died, you realize how important old friends are.”

I sigh. I swear, for such a tough guy, Pop can be a little dramatic sometimes.

“Okay, but let me get this straight. You want me to take time off work to track down this woman, when you’re out of commission and there’s a ton of work at the office?”

“Well, yes. You don’t want me to strain my elderly body looking for her myself, do you?”

Interesting. It seems he’s developed a taste for relaxing at home. This was an unusual request when he first asked me last week, but now it’s even weirder.

I ignore his question and counter with another one of my own. “You just want to know if she’s doing well?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to keep this a secret from Uncle Nathan?”

“Yes. Keep him busy and just tell him you need to take care of something somewhere else. A business trip.”

“Why can’t he know about this?”

“Oh, you know how he is.” Pop waves his hand dismissively, as if the answer is obvious. “He’s not going to let you go just to take care of personal matters.”

“What do you mean ‘oh, you know how he is’? The you that I know wouldn’t have sent me on this weird mission.”

“Well, I’ve been reformed.” Pop smiles. “Again, her name’s Bertha Jones. Let me know when you find her.”

He’s so sly. I never know if he’s telling the truth. I wonder if this Bertha Jones is one of the many lovers he’s had since Mom died. Maybe Uncle Nathan is into the same woman?

Or maybe… Could it be someone from his past, from when Mom was still alive? Their relationship was always strained, now that I think about it. If that’s true, it would make sense for Pop to keep this from Uncle Nathan, seeing as he was such good friends with Mom.

“Who is she?” I ask Pop point blank.

“I’ll tell you everything at the right time. Just do what I tell you to do.” From the tone of his voice, I know Pop means that. He’s not going to tell me, no matter how many times I ask him to. He’s going to stubbornly refuse to talk about it.

He knows I’m going to do it anyway. I always do. Pop’s an asshole, but I have a soft spot for him.

Unlike Cole, I listen to him. Cole’s wrong—I’m not Pop’s favorite; he just finds me more useful.

I don’t mind that. I like being useful for him, for the family. That’s what the old man’s life has been about, also: the family. He always tells me that’s all that matters, that’s all that always stays with you, no matter what.

That’s why, unlike Cole, I’m sticking around, no matter how difficult things get. I’m sure as Pop gets older, it’ll get harder to deal with him. He’ll get even more unpleasant, maybe even obnoxious, but he’s family.

That’s why I’ll do it. I’ll track down this Bertha Jones for him, no questions asked. That’s what family is for.

“Okay, Pop. I’ll get it done.” I take a deep breath and sigh.

“Good. I knew you would,” he says.

“How’s the nurse doing?”

“It’s nice having her around. I forgot how good it is to have some feminine presence in the house,” he says.

“Don’t sleep with her, Pop. It’s hard to find a good nurse.”

“I don’t intend to,” he says defensively.

I ask him a few questions about his health, how he’s progressing after being released from the hospital. He seems to be doing better than I expected.

When I finally walk out the front door, I see two big bodyguards in black suits talking to one guy, blocking him from the entrance.

Jesus, not this guy again.

“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” I ask as I walk down the stairs.

“Caine,” the guy says with a smile, as if we were old friends and I was going to get him inside.

“Paul.” I nod at him, but don’t return the smile. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want. I just want to see your dad,” he says.

“The last time you came, he got so stressed out he had to go get checked up at the hospital,” I remind him, maintaining my outer calm while anger is boiling inside me.

“Maybe he had reason to feel guilty,” he says.

“Fuck off, Paul. We don’t do anything illegal.”

“Are you sure?” Paul sneers. “Do you know everything that happens in the business? I know you’re your father’s favorite, you’re the crown prince of the family, but how much do you really know?”

“There’s no reason for the police to be here, Paul. Believe me.” I manage to speak with certainty, although I’ve sometimes wondered the same thing.

“Oh, I believe you, crown prince. I believe you believe what you’re saying. But I don’t believe you know everything you need to know.”

“What does that mean?” I frown.

“That means your dad has secrets. You may want to think about anything strange that has happened lately. I bet you can think of a few things, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Paul, but you’re barking up the wrong tree. Now, do you have a warrant or not? If you don’t, this is a private property and I can refuse to let you in.”

“Come on, Caine. Don’t be like that.”

“No warrant, huh?” I smirk. I turn to the bodyguards and give them an order. “Please escort Mr. Brent here to his patrol car. He has no right to be here.”

The men grab Paul’s arm, flanking him as they take him down the driveway to the police car parked by the rose bushes.

Pop has always insisted on a manicured landscape, even though he doesn’t do any gardening himself. The long driveway to the mansion is lined with tall trees on both sides.

As I drive away from the home where I grew up, I wonder if the cop is right. Is there something Pop is hiding from me? Something illegal and dangerous?

I don’t think he’d knowingly endanger the family, but what if he misjudges the risks of an illegal enterprise? Things are not like they used to be back in his day.

The only secret I can think of, the only strange thing that has happened recently, has to do with this sudden lunchtime meeting.

Who’s Bertha Jones?

Sure, I’ve discovered some facts about her from my private investigator, but facts and figures rarely tell the whole story. I already have her address, though, so now it’s just a matter of paying her a visit.

Bertha Jones has been living in the small town of Ashbourne for the last forty years, so she can’t be one of Pop’s recent lovers. He doesn’t tell me much about his affairs, but he doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d get into a long-distance affair.

Bertha Jones’ life seems boring on the surface, except for two things.

One, she has a dead stripper for a daughter. The daughter was killed by her boyfriend, a piece-of-shit owner of the strip club where she worked.

Word on the street was, the guy was hell-bent on going after the girl who’d ratted him out, as well as Bertha Jones. So, we paid his posse a little visit and gave them a strongly worded warning to stay away from both women.

Two, Bertha Jones seems to have no past before moving to Ashbourne four decades ago. There are no records of her early twenties, her teenage years, or her childhood.

What secret is Pop hiding, and who is this mysterious woman?