Remember Me (24 page)

They headed toward Barrett’s offices, and Seth broke the silence. “You made more than a good faith effort to reach her, Brandon. I’m sorry we didn’t. But if we’re going to get this in our papers for tomorrow, I need to write. I’m fast, but I’m not careless. I want to make sure this has gone through several sets of eyes before we print.”

“Go ahead, Seth. If all it does is get the people away from her house so she can get inside, then it will have served some good purpose.”

* * * *

Mason Hatch didn’t waste time, Lucy thought after she pulled up in front of a modern home, not far from Annapolis and nestled in a grove of trees with a spectacular view of the bay right behind it. She parked the rental car in the driveway and palmed the house keys Mason had given her. Angelina had sent her off with some loaner clothes and handed her a pay-as-you-go cellphone.

“You call me when you get there,” she had ordered.

Lucy had stared at the phone. “You didn’t need to do this.”

Mason stood nearby, his dark eyes somber. “Yes, we did. There’s no phone at this house and I don’t want you there by yourself with no communication.” His mouth quirked. “How can I ride herd, making sure you get work done, if I can’t hound you by phone?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “No potting wheel, remember?”

Mason had just smiled.

As she stood outside his house, she decided her idea of little and Mason’s were definitely not the same. The place looked like it could sleep an army. He had mentioned a sunroom in the rear she could use for a studio if she wanted. Deciding to get a look at it first, Lucy wandered around to the shore side of the house and gasped. Almost the entire wall was glass, but she could see the room he meant. More casual than the rest of the house, it appeared to be set up as a porch right now, kind of like how she had done her studio at her house. Tears stung her eyes for a minute. Damn. She blinked. Angelina was right. She was learning a whole lot about having friends who cared for her.

The shadows were lengthening around the house when she let herself in and toured the interior. Mason had warned her he used it to get away to fish and sail, so it was kind of a man cave, not set up to entertain. Lucy laughed out loud a few minutes later when she walked into a living room dominated by a large screen TV at one end and a pool table at the other. After she walked to the rear of the room where the pool table was, Lucy stopped to enjoy the view again. That was when she noticed the little dinghy bobbing at the end of the dock. Somehow, the boat wasn’t quite what she’d envisioned when Mason mentioned sailing, however, she was more than comfortable with the dinghy. Maybe he’d let Lucy take her out. She hadn’t sailed in years, but Lucy was sure it would be like riding a bike.

Shaking herself, she fetched her groceries in from her car, stowed everything, then made a salad for dinner. Her appetite wasn’t keen, but she forced herself to eat. Because the day had been so hectic, she had managed to keep thoughts of Brandon at bay, but when the night and the quiet settled over her, that was no longer the case.

For a moment, they had connected. His kiss had been gentle, exploring, ardent…like the kisses they’d shared in Colorado. The press of his arousal along her hip had mirrored her response. And when her emotions had overwhelmed her and he’d tasted her tears, his voice had soothed. Then it had all blown up in their faces with the arrival of Seth and Brandon’s secretary.

Lucy rolled out of bed and curled in a chair near the window, staring at the smooth, dark water of the bay. She knew from past experience she would get scant sleep, and now she sat with no studio in which to work, nothing, in fact, to help take her mind from her memories.

She knew she looked like hell the next morning. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror had told her in no uncertain terms, and even an early morning run had done little to energize her. She was finishing a morning cup of coffee at the table in the breakfast nook of the kitchen when she heard what sounded like a truck engine rumble up the drive. A knock sounded a moment later, so she set the cup down and stood just in time to hear the door open and Mason’s voice.

“Lucy? You awake?”

She walked into the entryway and stuck a hand on her hip. “Awake and already back from a run.”

Mason’s expression turned concerned, and she was sure he must be seeing the same dark circles beneath her eyes that she’d seen reflected earlier. “You’ve seen the papers, haven’t you?” he growled.

“No. I look like shit because I couldn’t sleep last night, but now I guess I’ll be able to blame it on something else.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Why don’t you show me these papers.” Mason looked so abashed, she squeezed his arm. “It’s okay. I would have seen them at some point.

“Pour me some of the coffee I smell while I get them.”

When he returned, Lucy was waiting for him at the table, sipping another cup of coffee while his steamed across the table from her. The number of papers he carried made her cringe. This was so much worse than she might have imagined. Mason sat and slid them toward her. She turned the top one over.
National News
, Barrett Newspapers’ flagship publication. The story wasn’t front page, thank God for that, but it was on the inside cover.
Barrett COO Finds Plane Crash Heroine in Local Club
, the headline read, and beneath it was the byline Seth Barlow-Barrett.

Lucy realized the paper had begun to shake in her grasp when Mason removed it from her hands. “You don’t have to read it. The articles are pretty much the same thing. They’re in most of Barrett’s major dailies around the country. After seeing it in
National News
and the Boston paper, I checked their websites.”

Lucy shook her head, her gaze intent on the bay beyond the windows until it began to blur and she realized she was crying. “He told me he didn’t do it, that he wasn’t the one to release my name,” she whispered, “but those papers tell a different story.” With a sweep of her hand, she knocked them on the floor and jumped to her feet. “He lied. Jesus, Mason, his own brother wrote these stories!”

Mason pulled her into his arms. Weary beyond measure, Lucy leaned her forehead on his shoulder. While sobs shook her, he stroked her hair. “God knows, Lucy, the last thing I want to do is defend any Barlow-Barrett but this isn’t about you. These articles by Seth, they’re an attempt to take away the ammunition from all of their competitors and put the whole story to bed. I know you don’t want to read them right now, but they put you in a very flattering light.”

She snorted and pulled from his arms to wipe her face. “No doubt they put Brandon in a good light too.”

“Yes. That’s part of the game.”

Lucy picked up her coffee mug. “You’d think I would have learned my lesson years ago. I dated a guy, Edward Montgomery, who showed up at the club. He courted me, was a gentleman, but then when push came to shove, I wasn’t good enough for his blueblood family. This is the same shit, different day, different year, but I still fell for it just the same. It hurts, Mason.”

He eyed her with an understanding she’d never encountered before. “You’re not the only one to be looked down on by families like the Barlow-Barretts. But I want you to do me a favor. Save these papers. When you’re calmer, I want you to read them, particularly the commentary Seth wrote on the editorial page of
National News
. It might give you some insight into what’s going on.”

She gave him a wry grin. “What are you, their champion now?”

“Not at all.” Mason’s glance was cold and sending off definite no-trespassing signals. He picked the papers up and set them on the counter near the door. “Come on. I got a couple of guys coming over after they get their catch sold to help unload the goodies I brought you. Want to see what I’ve got on the truck?”

“Definitely.”

When Mason opened the box truck he’d driven, Lucy laughed. “Good heavens, Mason. It looks like you cleaned out my studio. You even have the kiln in here!”

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I’ll move everything again when you decide you want to go home.”

She touched his cheek. “You are amazing. Why hasn’t some smart female snapped you up?”

“Maybe you and I are more alike than you think, in that respect,” he muttered. “Come on, we can get the lighter stuff until the strong backs show up.”

“I love you, Mason,” Lucy told him.

He arched a brow at her. “If that were the truth, both of us would have a lot fewer problems.”

* * * *

“Your mother is on line one, Mr. Barrett,” his secretary told him via the intercom.

“Great.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“I said I can’t wait…to speak to her.” Brandon made a face, feeling a little like he had as a boy when he’d been called to her sitting room. His mother wasn’t the spanker. That had been his father. No, Patricia Barlow-Barrett dressed him down without ever raising her voice, but making it crystal clear how very disappointed she was in him. In some ways, that had always been much worse than a smack on the ass.

“Good morning, Mother.”

“Good morning, Brandon. Your father and I would like you to join us for dinner this evening.”

Yup. He was in for the adult version of being called to her sitting room. This was no invitation, it was a command performance. “Of course, Mother. What time shall I be there?”

“Six will be fine. That will give us time for a before-dinner drink and some catching up.”

More like time for either interrogation or remonstration, or a combination of both. “I look forward to it.” Like he would look forward to a root canal or a visit to a proctologist.

He pulled the stack of papers in front of him, beginning with
National News
. He couldn’t fault Seth on the article he’d written. It was fair and factual, but as he read it, he knew Lucy would have a tough time seeing it that way. Damn. He wished he’d had a chance to talk to her beforehand. He’d gone by her house again this morning. There were fewer news vehicles there, but still one or two unmarked ones he’d spotted. The house appeared deserted other than her car, which still sat in the same location. Where was she?

He turned to Seth’s commentary:
Heroes Come From All Walks of Life
. The gist of his message was judging a person by their character, not their occupation. He used Lucy for one example, but brought up others too. Brandon could have added commentary about crossing the line between good journalism and simply being intrusive. The profession had lost something vital–its humanity. He recalled the framed plaque on Seth’s wall.
The Journalists’ Creed
, written by Walter Williams, the first dean of the University of Missouri School of Journalism. One line had always stood out for him: “
I believe that no one should write as a journalist what he would not say as a gentleman…
”

Lucy had become the victim of a reporter who didn’t follow Williams’s creed. Brandon looked out over the city around him, wondering if she was out there somewhere hating him for what had happened. He had been angry and hurt, but he’d never intended to throw her life into such complete chaos. He tried calling Mason Hatch again later in the day, but was told the man was out of town.

The havoc he’d wreaked on Lucy’s life preyed on him that evening when he drove down the long, manicured drive to his parents’ estate. There was no other way to describe the massive Barlow-Barrett home. Sure, it had needed to be large enough to contain six active children, but this went way beyond, complete with a very stiff-upper-lip English butler. That gentleman greeted Brandon at the door with an impassive smile.

“Mr. and Mrs. Barlow-Barrett are in the living room, Mr. Brandon.”

“Thanks, Forbes. I can find my own way.”

“Of course, sir.”

Brandon stopped outside the doorway, took a deep breath and checked to be sure his tie was straight. After smoothing a hand over his hair, he pasted a smile on his lips and stepped through. His mother was seated in a chair near the window, so he knew she must have observed his arrival. His father stood nearby, his hands behind his back.

He crossed the room, leaned down and kissed his mother’s proffered cheek. “Good evening, Mother.”

“Brandon.” Not a good sign.

He turned to his father and stuck out his hand. Alexander squeezed his hand a bit when he shook it. “Son.” Brandon met his father’s steady regard. Was it his imagination, or was there a glimmer of feeling there?

“Dad.” He was the only one of his brothers who addressed their father as anything other than
Father
. “You’re looking much better.”

“Feeling that way too. I understand you’ve gone ahead with your proposal to head into e-publications.”

Brandon smiled. He’d swear he saw a twinkle in the old man’s eye. “We are pursuing the research, but I’m waiting for your return to implement.” There was no mistaking it. Somewhere deep inside the old curmudgeon, something had changed.

His mother cleared her throat. All it took was a raised brow, and his father shifted. “Your mother and I wished to discuss this unfortunate incident with the stripper.”

Brandon’s mother made a pained sound. Apparently, the word was enough to overwhelm her sense of propriety.

Through stiff lips he muttered, “Her name is Lucy. While it might be true she danced at a strip club, she is also the woman who saved me after the crash in Colorado.” He turned to stare at his parents with narrowed eyes. “I realize the purpose in calling me here is to rake me over the coals, but I would like to know one thing.”