Birthright (31 page)

And still she grieved for the old townhouse with its funny rooms and pretty views.

The fire department had soaked the houses on either side of hers, and what had been trim lawns were now churned-up mud filthy with debris. Smoke pumped out of broken windows, out of the roof and into the clear summer night sky.

Dozens of people had come out of their homes or stopped their cars to watch.

She saw the young family of four who lived in the second-floor apartment of the house next door. They looked terrified as they huddled together with whatever belongings they'd grabbed on the way out. As they waited to see if their home would be destroyed.

“Lana.”

“Roger.” She nearly broke. Seeing him there with his pajama top stuffed into trousers, with slippers on his feet, nearly broke her. Instead she gripped his hand and held on.

“The sirens woke me,” he told her. “I got up, got a glass of water. Finally glanced out the window. I could just see the smoke. Were you in there?”

“No. I was with Doug. Somebody called the house, told my baby-sitter. He called me. Oh God, don't let it spread. Just don't let it spread.”

Roger glanced over at Doug. “Maybe we should find a place for you to sit awhile.”

“She won't,” Doug said. “I already tried that.”

“I don't know how it could've happened. I had everything inspected when I rented the building. The wiring was brought up to code. I've been careful.”

“We'll just wait and see,” Doug said, and Roger felt a little weight lift off his heart when he saw his grandson lean down to press his lips to Lana's hair.

C
allie heard about the fire at six-fifty the following morning when Jake shook her out of sleep.

“Go away or I'll kill you.”

“Wake up, Dunbrook. Your lawyer's office burned down last night.”

“What? Huh?” She flipped over on her stomach, shoved at her hair and blinked up at him. “Lana? Jesus. Where is she?”

“She's okay.” He stopped her from leaping up by clamping a hand on her shoulder. “I didn't get a lot of deets, just what they came up with for the early local news, but they reported no one was in the building when the fire started.”

“God.” She rubbed her hands over her face, plopped back down. “If it's not one thing around here, it's two dozen. Do they know how it started?”

He sat down beside her sleeping bag. “Arson's suspected. They're investigating.”

“Arson? Well, who the hell would . . .” She trailed off as her mind caught up with the rest of her. “She's my lawyer.”

“That's right.”

“Records of our search would have been in that office.”

“You got it.”

“It's still a big leap.”

“Not so big from where I'm sitting. Maybe it'll turn out to be kids playing with matches, or it'll come out that the landlord's got a gambling problem and torched it for the insurance money. And maybe, somebody doesn't like the idea of you digging up information about what happened to you twenty-nine years ago.” He touched a fingertip to the raw skin on her brow. “We're already not so popular around here.”

“I guess I should go see how she is, then fire her. She's got a kid, Jake. I don't want her or that little boy in any sort of danger because she's helping me find answers.”

“I don't know her very well, but my impression is she's not the type to back off easily.”

“Maybe not, but I'm going to give her the first shove. Then I'm going to Atlanta. Go away, I need to get dressed.”

“I've seen you get dressed before.” He sat where he was as she rolled out of the bag. “You want to tackle Carlyle's son, face-to-face.”

“You got a better idea?”

“No, which is why I know there's a Delta flight to Atlanta in just over two hours, with a couple of seats.”

She looked at him as she reached for jeans. “I only need one seat.”

“Good thing, as that's all you're getting. I'm in the other one. I'm going, Callie,” he said before she could speak. “I don't need your permission. We can waste time arguing and I will win this one, or you can accept defeat gracefully for a change. You're not going alone. That's all there is to it.”

“We need you here on the dig.”

“The dig can wait. Deal with it, or I'll make sure you miss the flight. I'd enjoy that,” he said as he got fluidly to his feet. “Because I remember just how interesting a sleeping bag can be when I get you naked in one.”

Since she was wearing nothing but an oversized basketball jersey, she figured he already had the advantage. “If
we're going, you'd better contact Leo. I'll be packed and ready in ten. We can swing by Lana's on the way to the airport.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He started for the door, then paused. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you. That's all there is to it. That's another thing you'll have to deal with.”

“We both know I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, we know it. What you never figured out is that it doesn't always have to be that way.”

N
o, it wasn't kids playing with matches.”

Lana sat in her kitchen drinking the latest cup of an endless stream of coffee. Her voice was raw with fatigue.

“They're telling me the point of origin was my second-floor office. They were even able to tell that the point of entry was the rear door. The lock was jimmied. What they can't tell me is what, if anything, might have been taken out of my files, off my computer, before the son-of-a-bitching firebug doused the floor and the desk with accelerant, laid a trail of it and paper into the hall, down the stairs, then lit a match and walked out.”

“That's how they see it?” Callie asked her.

“Arson one-oh-one, according to the firefighters I was able to talk to. The arson inspector may have a little more. Good news is, it didn't do more damage to the neighboring buildings. The bastard didn't think about the families sleeping next door, the businesses that might have been ruined when he decided to screw with me.”

She shoved the coffee aside. “Something else he didn't think about was the fact that I have a copy of every single file here at home. That I back up everything on my computer daily, on disk, and bring them home.”

“So.” Jake stepped behind her, rubbed her shoulders. “You're saying he didn't know you were anal.”

“Exactly. Oh, thanks.” She breathed a sigh of pleasure as he unknotted the first layers of tension. “I'd kiss you for
that, but I can't get up. And I don't think Callie would like it anyway.”

“His lips are his business,” Callie said. And yet she watched the way he kneaded Lana's shoulders. It was instinctive, she realized. She had a problem, he automatically stepped up to lend a hand.

“I'm sorry about all this, Lana. Really sorry. And you're fired.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Send me a bill for services rendered, and I'll cut you a check. I'm sorry to drag Sven the masseur away, but we've got a plane to catch.”

Under Jake's hands, Lana's shoulders turned to rock.

“If you think you can pay me off and lock me out because you're speculating the fire was related to the work I'm doing for you, then you hired the wrong lawyer to begin with. Keep your goddamn money. That way you don't tell me what to do or what not to do.”

“The rock meets the hard place,” Jake declared, and kept rubbing. Behind her, he decided, was the safest place for a man to be.

“If I don't want you poking around in my business, then you don't poke around in my business.”

“If I don't work for you, you have no say in it.”

“For Christ's sake, Lana, if this is connected to me, you don't know what might happen next. You've got a kid to think about.”

“Don't presume to tell me how to be a mother or how to care for my son. And don't assume I'll step away from an agreement because it's getting sticky. Somebody burned down my goddamn office, and I'm going to make sure they pay for it. One way or the other.”

Callie sat back, drummed her fingers on the table. “So what the hell am I paying you for if you're going to do the work anyway?”

“Fair play.”

“Graystone will tell you I don't mind playing dirty.”

“She loves it,” he agreed. “But she'll play fair with you
because she likes you. She's just pissed off right now because I told her you wouldn't shake off.”

“Shut up.” Callie shot him a single hot glance. “Who asked you?”

“You did.”

“Children, no bickering at the table. What plane are you catching?”

“I'm—we're,” Callie corrected as Jake scowled, “heading down to Atlanta to talk to Carlyle's son.”

“Why do you think he'll talk to you when he wouldn't talk to the investigator?”

“Because I'm not going to give him a choice.”

Jake leaned down, spoke in a stage whisper close to Lana's ear. “She nags until you either run screaming or give in.”

“I do not nag. I persist.”

“I hate to tell the two of you this, but you're still very married.” She felt Jake's fingers dig and jerk on her shoulders, and saw Callie grimace. “In any case, I think it's a very good idea. It'll be more difficult for him to refuse to give you information. If he wants to speak to me, give him my cell and the number here. I'll be working at home until I can find other office space.”

T
hey didn't speak on the drive to the airport. Had nothing but the most cursory conversation through the airport. The minute they were airborne, Jake kicked back his seat.

He'd be asleep in about ten seconds, Callie knew. It was one of his most enviable skills, in her opinion. He could drop into sleep instantly on a flight, whether they were in a full-sized jet or in a five-seater tuna can with props. If he went by his usual pattern, he wouldn't stir until they announced the final descent, then he'd sit up, alert, refreshed.

It just killed her.

She pushed her seat back, folded her arms and tried to think of something besides the next two hours in the air.

Beside her, Jake kept his eyes closed. He was as aware of her thoughts as if she'd spoken them. And he knew in
about two minutes she'd be sitting up again, restless with the inactivity. She'd flip through one of the in-flight magazines. She'd curse herself for forgetting a book, then poke around in his bag to see if he had one.

She'd check her watch every five or six minutes, and think dark thoughts at him because he was asleep and she wasn't.

. . . you're still very married.

Lana, he thought, and tried to tune out his hyperawareness of the woman who sat beside him, you don't know the half of it.

C
arlyle's offices in tony Buckhead had the hue of Southern grace and pricey exclusivity. The reception area was done in dark wood and deep tones, appointed with antiques all polished to a glossy sheen.

There was a hum of quiet efficiency in the air.

The woman manning the huge oak desk looked as graceful and pricey as the furnishings. Her smile was warm, her tone molasses-sweet. And her spine steel.

“I'm very sorry, Mr. Carlyle's calendar is completely full. I'd be happy to make an appointment for you. He has an opening on Thursday of next week.”

“We're only in town today,” Callie told her.

“That's very unfortunate. Perhaps I can schedule a phone consultation.”

“Phone conversations can be so impersonal, don't you think”—Jake glanced down at the brass nameplate on the desk, boosted up his smile, looked back at her—“Ms. Biddle?”

“That would depend on who's doing the talking. Maybe if you gave me an idea of the nature of your business, I could direct you to one of Mr. Carlyle's associates.”

“It's personal business,” Callie snapped, and earned a mild glare of reproof from Ms. Biddle.

“I'll be happy to give Mr. Carlyle a message for you and, as I said, to make an appointment for you on Thursday of next week.”

“Personal family business,” Jake added. Deliberately he stepped on Callie's foot, kept his boot planted there while he gave Ms. Biddle his full attention. “It has to do with Marcus Carlyle, Richard's father. I think if you could free up just a few minutes for him today, he'll want to talk to us.”

“You're family to Mr. Carlyle?”

“There's a connection. We're only in Atlanta a short time. Those few minutes would make a big difference to us and, I think, to Richard. I'm sure he wouldn't want us to fly all the way back to Maryland without seeing him.”

“If you give me your names, I'll tell him you're here. That's all I can do.”

“Callie Dunbrook and Jacob Graystone. We certainly appreciate that, Ms. Biddle.”

“If you'd like to wait, I'll tell Mr. Carlyle as soon as he's off his conference call.”

The minute her foot was free, Callie gave Jake a quick kick in the ankle, then walked over to sit in one of the wing-back chairs. “I don't see how lying's going to get us through the door,” she grumbled at him.

“I didn't lie. I prevaricated. And it loosened her up enough to have her tell him we're here.”

She picked up a magazine, immediately tossed it down again. “Why do you have to flirt with every female you come in contact with?”

“It's genetic imprinting. I'm a victim of my own physiology. Come on, babe, you know you're the only one for me.”

“Yeah, I've heard that one before.”

“You heard it, but you never listened. Callie, we've got a lot to straighten out. After you find the answers you need on this score, we're going to find the answers between us.”

“We found the answers between us.” But the trouble was, she thought on a spurt of panic, she was beginning to think some of the answers she'd found had been the wrong ones.