The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings Book 2) (16 page)

“Tell me something. How much life insurance did Father carry?”

“Seventy-five million,” Edward heard himself say. “Key man insurance through the company. At least that’s what he had when I was there. I’m going to go now. I’ll call you.”

Edward hung up and took a deep breath. For a moment, the cottage spun around where he stood, but he willed things to rights.

“I need to leave,” he said.

Shelby glanced over her shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“It’s business.”

“The new mare you were talking about to Moe and his son?”

“Yes. Save me dinner?” As her brows lifted, the center of his chest hurt as if he’d been stabbed. “Please.”

“You gonna be real late?”

“I don’t think so.”

Edward was halfway to the door when he remembered he didn’t have
a car. His Porsche was gathering dust back in Easterly’s bank of garages.

“May I please borrow your truck?” he asked.

“Aren’t you going with Moe or Joey?” When he just shrugged, Shelby shook her head. “It’s a stick.”

“I’ll manage. The ankle’s already doing better.”

“Keys are in it, but I don’t think—”

“Thank you.”

Limping out of the cottage, he had no cell phone, no wallet, no driver’s license and nothing in his belly to sustain him, but he was sober and he knew exactly where he was going.

Shelby’s old pickup had a steering wheel that had been worn smooth, a faded dashboard, and carpets in the wells with so little nap that they were all but tile. The tires were new, however, the engine started with no problem and ran like a top, and everything was neat as a pin.

Hooking up with Route 42, he headed into the suburbs. The clutch wasn’t all that stiff, but it killed his ankle and knee nonetheless, and he found himself spending a lot of time in third. Overall, though, he was numb as he drove along. Well, emotionally numb.

After many miles, the houses started to get big and the land began to be professionally tended as if it were an interior space, not an exterior one. There were fancy gates, stone walls, and pieces of sculpture on rolling lawns. Long drives and specimen trees. Security cameras. Rolls-Royces and Bentleys on the road.

Sutton Smythe’s family estate was up on the left. Its hill was not as tall as the one Easterly had been built on, and the Georgian brick mansion had only been constructed in the early 1900s, but the square footage was well over thirty thousand square feet, making it bigger than Edward’s old haunt.

Approaching the gates, he rolled down the window by hand and then stretched out and entered in the pass code on a keypad. As the great iron bars split down the middle, he headed up the winding lane, the mansion unfurling before him, its tremendous footprint sprawling over the cropped grass. Magnolias framed the house, just as they did at

Easterly,
and there were other massive trees on the property. A tennis court was off to the side, discreetly hidden behind a hedgerow, and the garages disappeared off into the distance.

The driveway circled in front of the mansion, and there was a black Town Car, a Mercedes C63, a modest Camry, and two SUVs with blacked-out windows parked in a line.

He halted Shelby’s four wheels and a bed as close as he could to the front entrance and then hobbled out and over to the mansion’s carved door. As he put the brass knocker to use, he remembered all the times he’d come here in black tie and just walked right in. But he and Sutton weren’t like that anymore.

The Smythes’ butler, Mr. Graham, opened things up. As composed as the man was, his eyes peeled wide and not just at the fact that Edward was in jeans and a work shirt instead of some suit.

“I need to see Sutton.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but she is entertaining—”

“It’s business.”

Mr. Graham inclined his head. “But of course. The drawing room, if you will?”

“I know the way.”

Edward gimped his way in, passing through the foyer and by a study, heading in the opposite direction of the cocktail hour that was rolling out in the main reception room. Given that matched set of SUVs, it was likely that the Kentucky governor had come for dinner, and Edward could only imagine what was being discussed. The bourbon business. Maybe it was fundraising. Schools.

Sutton was very connected with just about everything in the state.

Maybe she would run for the big seat someday.

He would certainly vote for her.

As he entered a grand space, he glanced around and reflected that it had been a long time since he’d been in this particular room. When had he last walked in here? He couldn’t quite recall … and as he measured the lemon yellow silk wallpaper, the spring green damask drapes, the tasseled sofas, and the oil paintings by Sisley and Manet and Morisot, he
decided that, like luxury hotels, there was a certain anonymous quality to homes of pedigree: no modern art, everything perfectly harmonious and priceless, no clutter or knickknacks, the few staged family photos set in sterling-silver frames.

“This is a surprise.”

Edward hobbled around, and for a moment, he just stayed quiet. Sutton was wearing a red dress and had her brunette hair up in a chignon, and her perfume was
Must de Cartier
, as usual. But more than all that? She had on the rubies he’d bought her.

“I remember those earrings,” he said softly. “And that pin.”

One of her long hands snatched up to her earlobe. “I still like them.”

“They still suit you.”

Van Cleef & Arpels, invisible-set Burmese beauties with diamonds. He’d gotten the set for her when she’d been made vice president of the Sutton Distillery Corporation.

“What happened to your ankle?” she asked.

“Going by all the red, you must be talking about UC tonight.” The University of Charlemont. Go Eagles. Fuck the Tigers. “Scholarships? Or an expansion to Papa John’s Stadium.”

“So you don’t want to talk about your limp.”

“You look … beautiful.”

Sutton fiddled with her earring again, shifting her weight. That dress was probably by Calvin Klein, from his
maison de haute couture
, not the company’s mass-produced sector, its lines so clean, so elegant, that the woman who had it on was the focus, not the silk.

She cleared her throat. “I can’t imagine you came to congratulate me.”

“On what?” he asked.

“Never mind. Why are you here?”

“I need you to perform on that mortgage.”

She arched a brow. “Oh, really. That’s a shift in priority. Last time you brought it up, you demanded that I rip the thing to shreds.”

“I have the account number for the wire.”

“What’s changed?”

“Where
do you want me to send the account information?”

Sutton crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “I heard about your father. On the news today. I didn’t know that he’d committed … I’m sorry, Edward.”

He let that hang where it was. There was no way he was going into the death with anyone, much less her. And in the silence, he measured her body, remembered what it felt like to touch her, imagined himself getting up close to her again and smelling her hair, her skin—only this time, he would know it was really her.

God, he wanted her naked and stretched out before him, nothing but smooth skin and moans as he covered her with himself.

“Edward?”

“Will you perform on the mortgage?” he pressed.

“Sometimes it helps to talk.”

“So let’s discuss where you can send that ten million.”

Footsteps out in the hall brought his head around.

And what do you know, he thought as the governor himself came into the ornate archway.

Governor Dagney Boone was, yes, a descendant of the original Daniel, and he had the kind of face that should be on a twenty-dollar bill. At forty-seven, he had a full head of naturally dark hair, a body honed by hours of tennis, and the casual power of a man who had just won his second term by a landslide. He’d been married for twenty-three years to his high school sweetheart, had three children, and then had lost his wife four years ago to cancer.

He’d been single ever since, as far as the public knew.

As he looked at Sutton, however, it was not as a politician would. That gaze lingered just a little too long, like he were respectfully enjoying the view.

“So this is a date,” Edward drawled. “With state troopers as chaperones. How romantic.”

Boone looked over—and did a double take, as if he hadn’t recognized Edward in the slightest.

Ignoring the jibe and smothering his shock, Boone strode forward with
an outstretched palm. “Edward. I didn’t know you were back in the Commonwealth. My condolences on your father’s passing.”

“Only a part of me has returned.” Edward shook what was offered only because Sutton was shooting daggers at him. “Congratulations on your November win. Again.”

“There’s a lot of work to be done.” The governor glanced over at Sutton. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but your staff was wondering whether you wanted to hold dinner? Or maybe set another place at the table? I volunteered to find out.”

“He’s not staying—”

“I’m not staying—”

“In stereo.” The governor smiled. “Well. I’ll leave you all to it. It was good seeing you, Edward.”

Edward nodded, and didn’t miss the way the man gave Sutton’s hand a little squeeze before leaving.

“New boyfriend?” he drawled when they were alone again.

“None of your business.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Where do you want the money sent—”

“Why don’t you answer the question—”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“So it
is
a date.”

The two of them crashed to a halt, the air sparking between them, anger and something altogether erotic charging the particles that separated them—or at least there was a sexual component to it on his side. And he couldn’t help himself. His eyes raked down her dress and he stripped her in his mind, seeing her naked in all her glory.

Except she deserved better than that. Better than him. She deserved a stand-up guy like the Shit Dagney with all his stand-up past and his pretty-boy looks and his power base. The governor was the kind of man who would stand at her side at all her functions and would pull her chair out for her and get to his feet when she had to hit the loo to freshen her lipstick. He would tell her what she needed to hear, but also what she wanted him to say. He would help her in her business and also with her
father. The pair of them would accomplish great things for the state, too.

And yes … the Shit Dagney would no doubt treat her right in ways Edward couldn’t bear thinking about.

He closed his lids and took a deep breath. “About the mortgage. Will you perform on the terms? There’s no reason for you not to. The interest rate is good and you’ll have a primary and sole secured interest on Easterly. You’re safe.”

“What’s changed your mind?”

“Is that a yes?”

She shrugged one of her elegant shoulders. “I made the deal in good faith, and I have the cash right on hand.”

“Good.”

As he heard himself calmly explain that Lane would text her the details, he thought about how the governor was waiting for her just down the hall, eager for her to return and look good and be tempting not because she was a loose woman, but because with how beautiful and smart she was, it was impossible for a man not to notice, covet, crave.

And what do you know, Edward was struck by the urge to go into that other room and commit capital murder by nailing the governor of the Commonwealth over the head with a tureen. Of course, he’d be shot in the process, rightfully so, but then a lot of problems would be solved, wouldn’t they.

“The funds will be there in the morning,” she said. “By eleven a.m.”

“Thank you.”

“Is that all?”

“Ten million is plenty, yes.”

Edward started for the exit to the room, but then he rerouted and went to stand in front of Sutton. “Be careful with our fair governor. Politicians are not known for their scruples.”

“And you are?”

He reached out and brushed her mouth with his thumb. “Not at all. Tell me something. Is he staying the night?”

Sutton pushed his hand away. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, he is not.”

“I
think he wants to.”

“You’re insane. And stop it.”

“Because I’m acknowledging that he finds you attractive? How is that an insult?”

“He’s the governor of Kentucky.”

“As if that makes a difference? He’s still a man.”

Tilting her chin up, she stared off over his shoulder. “You’ve gotten what you came for. You know the way out.”

As she went to step around him, he said, “When he tries to kiss you at the end of this party, remember that I told you so.”

“Oh, I’ll be thinking about you. But not like that.”

“Then think of me being the one at your mouth.”

A
s
Lane walked through Easterly’s rooms, everything around him was quiet. This was rare. When you had over seventy full-and part-time staff and half a dozen family members under the same roof, usually there was someone coming and going on every level at all times.