25
The wind was fresh and the sky was blue the following afternoon as Carter and Kat rode Kala through Westhampton. Once again, he’d kept her in the dark about where he was taking her, loving the way she grumbled about not knowing every detail. Apparently, Kat Lane didn’t like surprises. She’d changed her outfit three times just to prove a point, slowly driving him mad. It was a good thing she was cute as hell, or he’d have had to spank the sass right out of her. He’d told her as much, causing her to laugh beautifully and kiss him so hard he was rendered mute.
They rode for nearly an hour before Carter began to see other bikes ahead of them, heading in the same direction.
Slowing down so he could turn onto a large stone road, Carter smiled when the thick scent of diesel hit his nose and the sound of heavy rock music echoed around them. Amid large marquees and smaller stalls lay row upon row of muscle cars as far as the eye could see and, next to those, were the Harleys, Triumphs, Yamahas, Ducatis, and any other erection-causing piece of two-wheeled metal Carter could think of.
He pulled to a stop next to a glorious yellow ’69 Corvette and switched off the engine. He unfastened his helmet and pulled it off. Kat shifted at the back of him. He turned to look at her. She was adorable, with pink cheeks and sleepy eyes.
He caressed the apple of her cheek with his thumb. “You fall asleep on me again?”
She hummed and removed her helmet. “It’s so relaxing, just holding you while we ride. It’s great.”
Her words melted into secret, silent parts of him.
Kat glanced around. “What is this place?”
Carter stood from the bike, pulling his leg over carefully, and stretched. “This is heaven.” He held out his hand to help Kat up, and placed both of their helmets in the detachable holder on the back of Kala’s seat. “A gear head’s mecca.”
“Those cars are beautiful,” Kat murmured, gazing down the line of Mustangs and GTs.
Carter pushed his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “Max and I used to come here when we were kids with his dad. I wanted to show you where my love for all this grew.”
Kat took a small step toward him. “Then show me.”
They walked and talked, and explored the cars and the crazy people around them. Carter pointed out his favorite cars and bikes, explaining their model, torque, and horsepower like a kid in a candy store, drooling over a rare Vincent Black Knight.
“What are the stalls and marquees for?” Kat asked as they meandered past a hot Ford Torino.
“The bigger ones belong to the car dealers and specialists: GT, Harley, and GMC. They sell parts cheaper than in the stores. They use it for promotion and to hire mechanics, things like that.” He gave her a smug sideways glance. “Riley used to have his own marquee here, you know.”
“Really?”
Carter answered with a squeeze of her hand. “He’s a crazy motherfucker, but he’s a shrewd businessman. He’d never gloat about it, either. He got me some amazing deals on parts and helped me with my other bikes and stuff.”
He pulled her toward the rest of the stalls. He smiled when, after walking for ten minutes, she stopped at the opening of one specific tent Carter knew well. Kat remained quiet while they stood watching a young blonde girl have a tattoo inked across her right hip. It was a Big Dog Motorcycles stamp, and Carter had to admit it was sexy as hell.
“You thinking about getting one?” he asked as he wrapped his arms around her. She made a kind of coughing sound and shook her head under his chin. He laughed. “Shame. I think you’d look fucking amazing with some ink on this gorgeous body.” He rubbed himself against her ass.
“Don’t they hurt?” she asked, taking a couple of steps closer with Carter still attached to her like a damned limpet.
“Nah. Of course, it depends where on your body you get it, but really it’s more of a discomfort than a pain.”
“Where did yours hurt most?”
“Under my bicep.” That one had smarted. The ones on his chest had been sore, too, but Kat didn’t need to know that. No fucker with a needle was going anywhere near her tits.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, grinning when she slid her palm into the back pocket of his jeans and led her back into the crowd toward the food and beer tent. Petey, a guy Carter had known his whole metal-loving life, stood at the humongous grill, serving chicken legs, steaks, burgers, ribs, sausages, lamb chops, and chili that he ladled out of a giant pan. He was a huge mammoth of a man with tattoos and a bald head, which he always wrapped in a red bandanna.
He grinned wide, showing off three gold teeth. “Carter!”
Carter shook Petey’s hand. “Mr. Yates.”
“Long time no see, my friend! I heard you were in Kill.”
“Unfortunately. Got parole a few weeks ago.”
Petey smiled. “So, are you here with Max? I haven’t seen his ass in forever.” His face grew somber. “I heard about Lizzie. That shit was rough.”
“Yeah, it was.” Carter turned to see Kat looking more than a little awkward, and took her hand, pulling her to his side. “But no, I’m here with my …”
What the hell was he meant to say? My Peaches. My Kat. My woman. My tutor?
He cleared his throat. “My friend Kat Lane. Kat, this is Petey. He’s a legend ’round these parts, been here since the dawn of time.”
Kat smiled at Petey and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” Petey eyed Kat appreciatively. “Well, I can certainly see why you’re his friend. You’re a stunner, kid.” He glanced at Carter. “I’ve never seen Carter here with a girl before. This fucker must like you a whooooole lot.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He responded with his middle finger, making both Petey and Kat laugh. “Shut up and feed us, asshole.”
With food on their plates and a draft beer each, they sat on a picnic bench and talked, ate, and watched the world go by. Kat asked him questions about the time he’d spent with Max and Max’s father and what trouble they’d gotten into. He told her stories about the first time they’d gotten shitfaced in the back of Max’s dad’s vintage first-generation Camaro, and how Max had spent the following morning hungover, cleaning the vomit he’d splattered on the wheel trims.
“You two sound like you got into a lot of trouble,” Kat stated with a smile into her beer. “You care for him very much, don’t you?”
“Max is a force to be reckoned with sometimes. But he means well. He’s been through shit I wouldn’t wish on anybody.” He took a deep breath, willing himself to tell her the full story, praying that she wouldn’t run away. “You know that it was coke I got caught with that sent me to Kill for three years, right?”
Kat nodded.
“It wasn’t mine.”
“What?”
“When we were sixteen, Max saved my life,” he explained carefully. “Pushed me out of the way of a bullet during a car boost that went wrong.”
“Jesus.”
“I owed him.” Carter stared out across the field. “Before I was sent down, Max had a woman, Lizzie. They’d been together for years. He worshipped the ground she walked on.” He sipped his beer. “Long story short, Max managed to get into some messed-up shit. Drugs. The coke I was arrested for was a setup. It wasn’t his; he had nothing to do with it. Neither of us did, but some asshole dealer with a grudge tipped off the cops. I took the heat and the thirty-six months.”
Kat blinked. “Why?”
Carter exhaled heavily. “Lizzie was pregnant.”
“Oh.”
“With his history with the cops, if Max had been caught with that shit he’d have been sent down for years. I couldn’t let that happen. Man should be with his woman while she’s pregnant with his kid.”
“So you served time for him.” Kat’s eyes shimmered. “Just like that?”
Carter worried his lip with his teeth. “Didn’t have much going on at the time. Nothing important, anyway.”
Not like now.
“That was … Wow, Carter. I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say.” He shrugged. “It didn’t make much difference. Not long after I arrived at Kill she left him.”
“What about the baby?”
Sadness gripped Carter’s heart. “He died.”
“He?”
Carter bobbed his head solemnly. “Christopher. Max’s son.”
“Oh God.”
“Engaged, pregnant, planning their lives together, and then …” Carter closed his eyes. “Just like that. Lizzie took it so hard. They both did.” Carter rubbed a hand across his head. “So she left. After promising that she’d be with him forever, she left without a word, no note. Nothin’. Max never got over it, losing Christopher and then Lizzie. Now he tries to find the answer to it all in booze, blow, and women.” Carter shook his head. “He’s on a downward spiral, and I have no fucking idea how to help him. He won’t admit that he needs help. Sad thing is I lost something the day Lizzie walked away, too.”
“What?”
His eyes met hers. “My best friend.”
Kat slid her hand across the bench and clasped Carter’s pinkie. With no words said, her touching him was enough.
For the next hour, she sat with her chin in her palm, watching Carter intently, never judging, never interrupting or commenting on the things he told her. It was liberating, cleansing, almost like therapy, to be so open and honest with her. He stopped talking and smirked in embarrassment. He’d been boring her to death with his life story.
“Jesus, sorry. Just tell me to shut the hell up.”
“Never.” She sighed. “I love listening to you. I want you to tell me everything. Carter, you’re … you’re like no one I’ve ever met.” She glanced at their hands, linked on the tabletop. “I have something to ask you.”
“Hit me.”
“You know I told my grandmother, Nana Boo, about you … and me.”
“Yeah,” Carter replied, feeling his heart give an appreciative thump. He liked that she’d done that. It made what they had together feel more real, like what they shared was valid and true.
“Well.” She hesitated and looked away.
“What is it?”
Kat dropped her chin and spoke in one long breath. “She’s invited you to Chicago, to her house, to spend Thanksgiving with her, with us … I mean, you and me, she’s invited us both, and I’d really like to take you and have you meet her, but I understand if you don’t want to. I get it; I do—”
Carter cut off her adorable blathering with a searing kiss. He pulled back and smiled when he saw that her eyes remained closed and her lips were still in a needy pout. “You’re cute as hell when you ramble.”
“Shush,” she retorted, opening her eyes.
Carter laughed. “So you’re asking me if I’d like to spend Thanksgiving with you in Chicago, with your grandmother.”
Kat nodded. “I still have her car, which I need to take back, so we can drive there.”
Carter exhaled, a finger of anxiety creeping up his spine. “What about your mom? Will she be there?”
Kat shook her head. “No. They always spend Thanksgiving with Harrison’s family. She spends Christmas with Nana Boo.”
Carter nodded in understanding but couldn’t shake the wary feeling smack in the center of his chest. He had to hand it to Kat; she didn’t appear worried at all. She looked beautiful and hopeful that he would say yes, but Carter wasn’t entirely sure he could.
“You don’t have to make a decision now,” Kat said, seemingly sensing his unease. “Think about it.”
“I will,” he promised. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Of course.”
Shadows of unspoken words clouded her usually bright eyes. Carter frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was small. “I’m … I’m great. Really. I just want you to myself for a while. Can we go back to the house? Is that okay?”
Carter leaned across the bench and kissed her again. “I’m all yours.” He took her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
Austin Ford stared hard at his reflection in the gilded mirror of his office’s private bathroom and grinned at what he saw. He had to confess; he was a handsome son of a bitch. His hair was thick and dark with small flecks of gray that suggested sophistication as opposed to age. His face was firm, with laugh lines around his eyes adding warmth, and his figure was trim and fit, hugged fantastically by the Armani suit adorning it.
Overall, life was pretty damned good.
Yes, he still had issues with a family member who would forever be the thorn in his side. But that shit would be handled, too. With the friends Austin had and the favors he was owed, Wes Carter would soon be behind bars again. It was just a question of when.
A burst of auburn wavy hair and large green eyes flashed in the back of Ford’s mind.
Kat.
Austin had always considered himself a charming bastard, and to lose Kat’s affections to his shit-for-brains cousin stung more than he was willing to admit. What the hell did Carter have that he didn’t? Fuck if he knew. Besides, once her convict was back behind bars and she realized what a fuckup he really was, she’d appreciate having a strong shoulder to cry on, a knight to save the day. Austin’s pulse quickened and his palms perspired, but he reined his thoughts in swiftly. Now was no time for being anywhere but on the fucking ball.
He adjusted the large silk knot at his neck and took a deep breath.
Showtime.
He strode out of his bathroom and nodded sharply at Adam, who was, as always, looking like little boy lost.
“Get your shit together,” Austin snapped. He pressed the button for his secretary on the phone at the edge of his desk. “We need to own this.”
“Yeah,” came his brother’s reply.
“You can send him in,” Austin ordered.
Leaning against the desk, Austin looked squarely at his accounts manager and litigator, who both had straight business faces that would have made any normal grown man shit in his pants. Everything was perfect.
There was a sharp knock on the door before the handle turned and a tall blond man in a fabulous gray Gucci suit walked confidently into the office. Austin was a little taken aback by the obvious ease with which he entered, but he covered it with a commanding smile and an outstretched hand.
“Mr. Thomas,” he crooned. “Welcome.”
“Mr. Ford,” Ben replied.
* * *
Ben took Ford’s hand and shook it firmly, keeping eye contact the entire time. He wasn’t a pussy by any stretch of the imagination; he’d been in offices like this many times, and dealt with assholes like Ford on a regular basis, but what he was about to do was nothing he’d ever been involved in and, if handled badly, could be a complete and utter catastrophe. People he cared about were counting on him to keep his cool.
He swallowed and placed himself in one of the ridiculously luxurious chairs next to a huge glass table.
“Water?” Ford asked as he, too, sat down.
Ben’s mouth was dryer than the Sahara, but he wasn’t about to give Ford the satisfaction of seeing how uncomfortable he was. “No,” he replied casually. He opened his briefcase, keeping his eyes fixed on what he was doing. “I’m good. This won’t take long.”
He ignored the derisive snort that came from Ford. “Yes, I’m sure it won’t. But, alas, you were a little vague on the details when we spoke and arranged this meeting. Would you be so kind as to explain just exactly why you are here?”
“I am here on behalf of my client. Mr. Wesley Carter.” Ben’s gaze nailed Ford to his chair. He placed a folder on the glass table and watched as the color of arrogance and control slowly seeped from Ford’s face. “The reason I was vague about this meeting, Mr. Ford,” Ben began, while calmly steepling his hands on the table, “is because, as you can surmise, the situation is a delicate one.”
Ford remained stock-still. “How so?”
Ben smirked at the attempt at nonchalance and opened Carter’s file. “As you’re aware, your largest shareholder is Mr. W. Carter of New York, as was directed by his”—Ben looked up with a sparkle in his eyes—“your grandmother’s will.”
Ford sat back in his seat and crossed his right leg over his left, ready to pounce. “I’m very well aware of that, Mr. Thomas. What’s your point?”
“My point is that my client has on several occasions asked for his share within the company to be acknowledged with an appropriate salary and input on all company decisions, including those at board level.” Ben waited. He was met with nothing but stern, unforgiving eyes and silence. “He hasn’t been granted either.”
“Mr. Thomas,” Ford began in a careful tone. “Your client has been in and out of prison for the past twelve years on charges ranging from drug dealing to carjacking. As I’m sure you can appreciate, it isn’t in the company’s best interest to advertise such unsavory behavior.”
Ben smiled stiffly. “Of course, but still, regardless of the other shareholders knowing—more of which I’ll come to in a moment—do you not think it important to pay my client accordingly or at least offer a gesture of goodwill?”
Ford shifted in his seat. “And what exactly would a gesture of goodwill look like?”
“A sixty-percent increase on his current yearly income, input on all decisions at board level, and an assurance that his shares will not be diluted with or without the threat of blackmail.”
The air around the two men became stifling. One of the suits standing at the back of the room twitched uneasily. There was the sound of a throat being cleared.
“I’d be careful which words you choose, Mr. Thomas,” Ford warned. “Walls have ears, you know.”
“Oh,” Ben answered unwaveringly, “I know.” He dropped a handful of black-and-white photographs on the desk.
Ford, with eyes like granite, stared hard at him. “What’s this?”
“Insurance,” Ben answered smoothly. “To make sure that these requests are met without comeback on my client.”
“Comeback?” Austin repeated.
“Yes.” Ben placed a finger on the top photograph, which showed Austin smiling over dinner and shaking hands with Raphael Casari, a convicted felon known by the FBI for money laundering and drug trafficking. “As I understand it, Mr. Casari is not the kind of character one would have involved in a business such as yours, unless there were more, shall we say, dishonest things at hand.” Ben smiled.
“Pictures prove nothing,” Ford said indifferently.
Ben smiled. “True. Although these might.” He slapped another two folders down.
Ford’s eyes flickered over them. “And these are?”
“Statements.” Ben sat forward. “Monetary statements, which, for some reason, were harder to find than your others. Mr. Ford, does the word ‘embezzlement’ mean anything to you?”
With that heavyweight punch, Ben knew the ground under Austin Ford’s two-thousand-dollar loafers became unsteady. He glanced once more at the photographs and folder and pressed a palm down the front of his tie. He stared hard at Ben. The menace spreading through his features, pinching and sharpening, was truly terrifying. He was no longer the big dog. He had his ass against the wall, and he didn’t like it.
“What. Do. You. Want?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Ben met Ford’s glower. “My client owns sixty percent of WCS Communications, with a value of six hundred million dollars.” He cocked an eyebrow. “If he were to cash in those shares, it would be one hell of a blow for your investors, right?”
“What. Do. You. Want?” Ford repeated in a breath that reeked of anger.
“I want you to honor the goodwill proposal for Mr. Carter, effective immediately. I want written confirmation of said honoring in triplicate, signed by yourself and your CFO, faxed through to my office and to my client by the end of business today. I want funds transferred to an account of his choosing by the same time and his name put back on the public shareholder list.”
It was Ben’s turn to sit forward. He dropped his chin and glowered at Ford. “If that doesn’t happen, Mr. Ford, I’m sure the police would be interested to know just what business it is you do with Casari.” He held up a picture. “Considering he’s wanted by the Feds for crimes dating back some thirty years.”
Ben released the photograph so it sailed elegantly back down to the table, drifting from side to side in graceful silence. He picked up his briefcase and stood from his seat at the same time Ford sprang from his own chair, moving so close to him, Ben could feel Austin’s breath on his chin.
“You’re playing a very dangerous game here, Thomas,” Ford growled. “You and Carter. And you’d better know one thing: I don’t lose. I always win. I always fucking win.”
“Well,” Ben answered quietly, standing toe to toe with him. “It doesn’t seem that way in this case, now, does it?” Ben edged closer. “And on a more personal note, stay the fuck away from Kat.”
After a beat of tense silence, Ben turned from Austin Ford and walked toward the office door.
“This is not over, Thomas,” Austin seethed. “You tell your client this isn’t over!”
“I will,” Ben remarked casually. “Oh, and by the way,” he said cheerfully, pulling the door open. He turned back. “You can keep those photographs and statements, Austin. I have copies.”