Legacy of the Highlands (16 page)

He fell to his knees and the agonized scream
that emerged from the depths of his soul sounded inhuman to his
ears. He blindly seized the nearest object — a heavy crystal
ashtray — and hurled it across the room, but the damn thing was too
solid to break. He wanted to smash something or someone, to tear
himself limb from limb, to hear the sound of glass or even bone
shatter. He scanned the room, desperate to find some outlet for his
raging anguish and began to pull books from the shelves and fling
them wildly in every direction.

Then his eyes zeroed in on the portrait of
his father above the mantel. “You bastard,” he growled. “This is
your fault! You killed your own grandson! How could you do this to
him? How dare you do this to me!” He grabbed the painting and
pulled until it came off the wall. He drove his knee through the
middle of his father’s likeness in a frenzy of madness and grief.
Finally, he pounded his fists into the wall until it was stained
with the blood of his knuckles. It was only then that he allowed
himself to stagger to his chair as grief surpassed his anger. “Oh,
God. Oh, God,” he wailed over and over until, finally spent, he
filled a water glass with whiskey and, as always, chose the easiest
course — he drank himself into oblivion.

One floor above, the racket in the library
woke Anne from her drug-induced slumber. She lay in bed,
half-asleep, and smiled. He’d murdered their son. She’d known it
all along and she was glad that now he knew it too. It was all his
fault.

When Alex woke to the smell of coffee and bacon on
Diego’s second day as her houseguest, she didn’t make the mistake
of thinking that it was Will puttering in the kitchen.

“Good morning, Alessandra,” Diego greeted her
cheerfully as she shuffled into the sun-filled kitchen while she
tightened the sash of her green silk robe. It was the same one
she’d thrown on the night the police came to tell her Will was
dead.

“Coffee?” Diego asked, raising a dark brow in
question.

“Thanks.” Her voice wasn’t quite ready for
full-fledged speech. “You’re up early,” she mumbled between sips
from a large mug of steaming coffee. It would take another few
swallows before she’d be fully awake, but her eyes were working
fine as she studied the man leaning back against the counter, legs
crossed at the ankle. He was wearing shorts, a sweat-soaked black
T-shirt and, since he also had on running shoes, she didn’t need
caffeine to figure out he’d already gone for a run.

“I think I got up around five. I couldn’t go
back to sleep so I decided to work off the other night’s gluttony.
The four of us ate like pigs.” He patted his flat stomach and
grinned.

Ooh, you’re so obvious Navarro, she thought,
but she wasn’t going to be manipulated into commenting on his body.
She was all too aware of his muscular thighs and the way the fitted
T-shirt hugged his sweaty torso. She battled the all but
irresistible impulse to glance at his crotch.

“You made bacon? I didn’t know you could
cook.”

“I can do a lot of things you don’t know
about,” he replied smugly as he used an oven mitt to bring her the
plate of bacon and scrambled eggs he’d kept warm in the oven. A
basket filled with muffins and scones appeared as if by magic.

“You’re going to spoil me. You made
incredible coffee and cooked breakfast,” she said as she shook her
head in amazement.

“Since food prep seems to impress you, I’m
tempted to take credit for your meal, but I brought it back from
the café down the street. I ate mine there a couple of hours ago. I
did, however, put yours on a plate and I made the coffee myself,”
he said proudly.

“Well at least you’re honest and you get
points for thoughtfulness. It’s delicious.” She wanted to tease him
about his lack of culinary skill, but instead asked, “Why have you
started to call me Alessandra? You’ve never done it before.”

He hesitated for a few moments while he
decided how much to reveal. “I think the Italian version of your
name suits you. You always smiled when my mother called you that.
And when I use
Preciosa
, it seems to make you uncomfortable.
If you prefer Alex, tell me.” Will had always called her Alex and
he wasn’t going to admit that he was trying to differentiate
himself from Will in her mind. Her husband wasn’t the man he’d want
her to think about when and if he had the chance to whisper her
name in her ear.

“It’s not a big deal. I’ve been Alex for so
long that Alessandra sounds strange, but I like it actually. And
you’re right about
Preciosa
. I understand that you mean it
innocently, but to other people it’s the kind of name a lover would
use.”

That was precisely what Diego intended, so he
said nothing.

Lover wasn’t a word to use in this man’s
presence so she quickly changed the subject. “Are you up for a
meeting with John Cameron today if he’s free or do you have other
plans?”

“Your wish is my command, madam.” He bowed
from the waist with a flourish and flashed that devastating grin at
her again. “Of course I’ll go with you. I already gave you my word.
Besides,” he paused as if choosing his next words carefully. Alex
watched as his grin disappeared and the sparkle left his eyes as
his mood abruptly shifted. “I’ve got a few questions for Mr.
Cameron too.” He turned and headed toward the guest room. “I need
to shower and shave, but I can be ready to leave whenever you are.
Call Cameron and let me know what he says.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” she responded
sarcastically, but he didn’t notice. She munched on a piece of
bacon and hoped the protein-rich breakfast would provide the
strength she’d need for the day ahead.

Fueled and caffeinated, Alex knew she couldn’t
postpone making the phone call any longer and quickly tapped the
number for John’s office.

“Cameron and Associates,” the chirpy
receptionist answered. Although a lawyer by profession, Will’s
father spent most of his time managing the family’s investments and
overseeing their charitable foundation.

“John Cameron, please.”

“May I tell him who’s calling?

“It’s Alex. Alex Cameron.”

“One moment, please. And may I say Mrs.
Cameron that I’m so sorry about your husband. We were all very fond
of him.”

“Thank you.”

She listened to some unrecognizable canned
classical music during the thirty seconds it took John to pick
up.

“Alex! I’m so happy to hear your voice. It’s
been too long. How are you?”

“I’m fine, John. How’re you and Anne?” Crap,
what hypocrites we are. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about me and
I don’t care how he and his bitch wife are coping, she thought, but
she kept the hostility out of her voice.

“We’re all right. Thank you for asking. I
assume you’re back in Boston? Your friend Francie told us that
you’d gone away to...well, to recuperate, I suppose. We were
concerned because you disappeared. We didn’t know where you
were.”

“I’m sorry that you were worried. I should
have...well, but I didn’t.” Damn it, he wasn’t going to make her
feel guilty. They’d probably been anxious to know where she was so
they wouldn’t look clueless when, or if, their friends asked about
their son’s widow

“I’d like to stop by to see you today. What
time would be convenient for you?” she said, bringing an abrupt end
to the niceties. She didn’t want to give him a chance to say no,
and his response indicated he was as eager for this meeting as she
was.

“Tell me what time works for you and I’ll
clear my schedule. Shall we meet for lunch or a drink or do you
want to come here to the office?”

“How about the bar at the Ritz Carlton at
about two?”

“The Ritz it is. I’m looking forward to
it.”

You are? You won’t be when I’m through with
you, she thought cynically.

“Fine, see you then. Oh, and John? I’m
bringing Diego Navarro with me.” Alex ended the call before he
could respond.

Francie the fashionista had persuaded Alex to rev up
her wardrobe during one of their therapeutic shopping marathons. As
she dressed for the dreaded meeting with her father-in-law, she was
grateful to have accepted her friend’s advice. The obscenely
expensive purple silk designer blouse she’d bought at Neiman’s with
its deep V neck, ruched bodice, raw edges, fitted sleeves and
pleated French cuffs was exactly the sophisticated look she wanted.
It was chic and feminine, but with cutting-edge style that was
definitely not proper Bostonian pearls and cashmere. She paired it
with well-cut black trousers and kidskin stiletto pumps. Diamond
stud earrings and her wedding band were her only jewelry. She used
styling gel to emphasize her hair’s deliberately disheveled look
and applied subtle makeup. She felt like an actress slipping into
character.

“Holy Mary Mother of God,” exclaimed Diego
when he saw the results of her efforts. He lapsed into rapid
Spanish as he rose from the sofa and slowly looked her over from
head to toe.

“May I say, Mrs. Cameron, you are
spectacular? You take my breath away.”

“You may, sir.” Delighted, she twirled and
made an exaggerated curtsy. “Does your reaction mean that I usually
look ordinary?”

“Ah, fishing for compliments, are we?” he
teased and then fixed his coal dark eyes on her. “No, you could
never look ‘just ordinary.’ But today, in those clothes, you would
turn heads in any city in the world. John Cameron will fall face
first into his martini or whatever it is he’s drinking these
days.”

“So you don’t think it’s too much? I really
like it, but I don’t exactly feel like myself in this outfit.
Francie made me buy it.” Why on earth did she need so much
reassurance, she wondered, and then answered her own question —
because she was jittery about the meeting and wasn’t comfortable as
a
femme fatale
.

“If Francesca is responsible for that outfit,
remind me to thank her.” He glanced at his watch. “We should go. I
want to arrive first so that we can choose our seats at the table.
In any confrontation — and that’s exactly what this is — position
is everything.”

His confidence was reassuring, but the
butterflies in her stomach had butterflies. Diego gripped her elbow
to steady her as they walked toward the Mercedes limo that was
waiting for them at the curb. “I guess these heels are higher than
I’m used to. It would be awful if I toppled down my own front
steps,” she laughed nervously.

She didn’t notice the weathered face of a
panhandler weaving his way toward them, but Diego noted his
approach. The man’s eyes were surprisingly clear and focused on
them. Diego sensed danger and wanted to get Alex into the car
quickly, but she had other ideas. As he was about to help her into
the limo, she paused to study him. “I’ve been so focused on how I
look for this meeting that I’ve paid no attention to you,” she
said, as she stood in the middle of the sidewalk admiring the
charcoal gray trousers that rode low on his hips and the sharp
contrast between his immaculate ivory shirt and a fitted black
blazer. He’d skipped a necktie and left the top button of his shirt
unfastened. She liked that he was tall — the same height as
Will.

“You look pretty snazzy yourself,
Señor
Navarro,” she commented as she ducked into the car.
Her compliment brought an uncharacteristic blush to Diego’s cheeks
and he mumbled his thanks as he self-consciously shot his
cuffs.

“Why did you hire a car? The hotel’s so close
that we could have walked.”

“I guessed correctly that you weren’t going
to wear your running shoes and besides, I wanted us to arrive in
style. Is that so terrible?”

“No, but it’s a bit extravagant, don’t you
think? Will would never have...”

“I’m not Will,” he snapped.

“I know,” she said almost to herself.

When the driver pulled up in front of the
Ritz less than five minutes later, the doorman not only helped them
from the car, but also greeted Diego by name.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Navarro,” he said,
touching a finger to his hat in salute.

“Why does the staff know you on sight?” Alex
asked as they entered the lobby and her heels clicked across the
marble floor. She was oblivious to the admiring looks directed
their way until Diego possessively put his arm around her waist.
“You’re attracting a lot of attention. We’re surrounded by hungry
lions and you’re the prey.”

“Don’t try to change the subject. Why does
the staff of this hotel know you?” She had no right to question him
like some jealous girlfriend, but she couldn’t stop.

“Why the interrogation? I rented a suite
here. You need your space and I require privacy for my business
affairs.”

Alex didn’t want to argue and decided to back
off. “Of course. I know you have other things to do besides
baby-sit me, but you don’t have to hide it from me either,
okay?”

“Agreed. It was foolish not to tell you. Can
we please stop sniping at each other? We’re on the same side.”

She nodded her agreement yet couldn’t help
wondering whether Diego used the suite for more than business and
was upset at the thought that he might need this private place to
make love with some woman. She knew that Diego Navarro wasn’t the
kind of man who could stay celibate for long. His sex life was none
of her business, yet if that were true, then why did the idea of it
bother her?

The luxury hotel’s bar was reminiscent of an
exclusive gentlemen’s club complete with wood paneling, fireplaces,
brass sconces, and paintings of hunting dogs. Diego had reserved a
corner table away from the distraction of the windows facing the
Public Garden. Schooled by Serge to never leave his back exposed,
he instinctively seated himself facing the door with a wall behind
him. Alex sat to his right. When the waiter approached, Diego told
him they would wait for their guest to arrive before ordering. This
wasn’t a tactic, Alex realized, but a reflection of his upbringing.
Exquisite manners were second nature to him.