Their Soul Mate [The Hot Millionaires #5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (10 page)

“He doesn’t know where she is, does he?”

“I’ve no idea, but he has the phone number so if he really wants to try, what’s to stop him?”

“She’s so damned vulnerable. She’s not used to being on her own or in the country.” Cody swiped at his thigh in frustration. “If he turns up, making promises and sweet-talking her, goodness only knows what she might do.”

“We need to try and clear things up in New York as quick as we can and get back to her.” Zac sipped at the drink that had just been placed in front of him. “I have a nasty feeling about this.”

“Agreed, but aren’t we rushing ahead here?” Cody picked up his drink as well, using it as an excuse to pause and think about what he wanted to say. “We feel this way about Justine, but part of me thinks we took advantage of her vulnerability. She’s still not over the jerk, whatever she might say to the contrary, and probably did what she did with us to restore her wounded pride. I very much doubt if she’s developed any sort of feelings for us, other than gratitude because we gave her what she wanted.”

Zac flexed his jaw as though trying to relieve the tension in it. “Then perhaps it’s not such a bad thing that we left her alone. She needs time to sort out how she feels about us—about everything.”

“She doesn’t know what to expect from us. We did leave her rather abruptly last night after I fucked her.”

“Only because we’d have kept her up all night otherwise, and that wouldn’t have been fair on her.”

“You think she understands that?”

“I dunno.” Zac sipped at his drink. “Now I know why I avoid relationships.”

“Too late for that.” Cody sighed. “She had a good job with the jerk, right in the heart of London where she felt right at home. Her job with us isn’t permanent, so if the jerk turns up and offers to reinstate her in her well-paid job, what’s she gonna do?”

“That, my friend, is a question neither of us can answer. But I’m pretty sure that even if she does decide to go back to London, she won’t just pack up and leave us in the lurch. She’s got too much integrity for that.”

“No, I’m sure she won’t.” Cody managed a half-hearted smile. “If push comes to shove, I’ll just have to vandalize Malcolm to keep her with us.”

Zac laughed. “A case of
déjà vu,
if ever I heard one.”

* * * *

Justine worked even longer hours now that the boys had gone Stateside. She needed to keep busy, to keep her mind off the things they’d done, because she wasn’t yet ready to make sense of it all. There was plenty to occupy her. The builders had a constant stream of questions that needed answers, and the phone rang all the time, mostly with queries for Zac and Cody regarding their various projects. She dutifully took messages and put them into e-mails that she sent twice daily to Zac, resisting the urge to pick up the phone and speak to him. She absolutely would
not
invent excuses to cling.

It took two days of hard labour, interrupted by the phone and builders, to empty the last of the boxes from the loft. She flattened the final one with a sense of deep satisfaction and put it out with the rest of the recycling. All the piles of papers were now neatly in place, and it was time to start looking into the life and times of Mary Elizabeth Everton.

She found it distressing to read the reports from the various rehab clinics that her parents had sent her to. The places had been expensive, but the Evertons clearly hadn’t given up on their daughter, no matter how many times she regressed. She’d been arrested twice for shoplifting, presumably to feed her habit, but had been left off with fines and probation.

Talk about sweeping the problem under the carpet, Justine thought. She felt great sympathy for a weak-willed young woman who’d gotten in with the wrong crowd when she was at her most impressionable. Justine herself had never had a problem resisting drugs, even though they seemed to be everywhere she went in London. Jason, she knew, was an occasional user, but she’d never had any desire to experiment. The in-crowd often made fun of her because of it and called her prudish. Some even spitefully suggested that it would help her control her weight. If Mary Elizabeth had been subjected to the same pressures at an even younger age, was it any wonder that she gave in? It was no fun being the odd one out, as Justine had good reason to know.

She wondered if she could trace Mary Elizabeth through her police record but quickly dismissed the idea. Her arrests were decades ago, probably before these things were computerised. Besides, they’d be confidential. So where did that leave her? She had Mary Elizabeth’s maiden name and date of birth. Perhaps she ought to verify that she was still alive first. She logged on to the official government website and found a bewildering number of services available to her. Her best option was to research family history on the general register.

She input Mary Elizabeth’s name and date of birth. There was no record of her having given birth to Zac. How could that be? Justine imagined all sorts of explanations. If she’d been at that peace camp, perhaps she gave birth there and the baby was whisked away by his American father before Mary Elizabeth could register his birth? Perhaps Mary Elizabeth’s disapproving parents, who obviously had money at the time, somehow managed to protect their daughter’s name by not registering the birth? Being an unmarried mother back in those days still carried a stigma.

All Justine had learned was that Mary Elizabeth was still alive. No, scratch that. Her death hadn’t been registered, much as Zac’s birth hadn’t.

A whole day had gone past and she’d gotten precisely nowhere. Why did tracing missing people always look so easy in the movies?

“We’re off then, love.”

Justine had been lost in thought and the foreman’s voice made her jump.

“Okay, Larry, thanks then. See you tomorrow.”

“You sure you’re all right here all on your own?”

Justine rolled her eyes. Ever since the guys had left, almost all the builders had tried it on to varying degrees. She didn’t know whether to feel flattered or pissed off because they looked upon her as a pushover.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

She locked the door behind them and made an inspection of the work they’d done that day. They’d started on the ground-floor rooms this week and didn’t appear to be slacking just because Zac wasn’t around, which pleased her. Not that it was anything to do with her cracking the whip but more a case of not wanting to hit the penalty clauses Zac had written into their contracts. Still, the smell of new wood and fresh paint filled her with a sense of vicarious achievement.

Justine tried to return to her pile of papers, but the words blurred before her eyes. She needed to knock off for the day and take her mind off the problem with some mindless television. She hit the shower, put on loose clothes, and went in search of something for supper. The fridge was loaded with stuff, but she couldn’t be bothered to cook and made do with a tuna sandwich and a glass of wine. For the first time, she found the penetrating silence of an old country house soothing rather than alarming and didn’t immediately break the mood by switching on the TV.

She was about to do so when the phone rang for what had to be the twentieth time that day. She picked it up without bothering to check caller display, a mistake she regretted when Jason’s voice echoed down the line. She hadn’t heard from him since she’d hung up on him several days ago, and hoped he’d gotten the message.

“What can I do for you?” she asked briskly.

“No need to be so uptight, babe. I was just calling to make sure you’re okay.”

“Since when did you care?”

“I’ve always cared,” he said, dropping his voice several octaves. “You know that.”

“You seem to think that I give a damn.” She wondered why she was prolonging the conversation. It gave the impression that she cared. “If this isn’t a business call then I have to go.”

“Have you thought about my proposition?”

“There’s nothing to think about.”

“Justine, I need you.”

“You need me or the company does?”

“Both. I’ll admit that things don’t run so smoothly round here without you, but that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Oh really?” Justine could hear the sarcasm in her own voice.

“The Mansell showing. I’m worried about it.”

Justine expelled a long breath. She absolutely didn’t need this crap. “It’s all under control.”

“But Mansell isn’t. He’s in London now, prowling round the offices like a caged tiger and demanding to see you. You need to come back.”

Justine had spoken to Mansell just that morning. He was up in London but seemed fine with her not being there. “Oh yeah, and live where? I’ve given up my flat.”

“You’ve what!”

Now Justine got it. He’d never really thought she wouldn’t go back and presumably imagined she was just playing hard to get. She’d be less than human if she didn’t feel a tiny little thrill of satisfaction at his stunned reaction.

“That’s it, I’ve left London.”

“What about us?”

“Grow up, Jason. You dumped me, remember?”

“Yes, but I—”

“If you need input regarding the Mansell thing, get Sasha to call me but don’t bother me yourself again.”

“Don’t give me orders, babe, you’re not the type. You still work for me, and I’ll call you any time I damned well like.”

“Suit yourself.”

Once again she hung up on him. She’d let him have the final word but knew she’d said enough out-of-character things to rattle him. Well, perhaps now he’d finally believe they were through. And they were through—she definitely didn’t want to go back to him—so why the hell had tears sprung to her eyes? She must be feeling lonely and sorry for herself, which was pretty pathetic.

Justine poured herself a second glass of wine, annoyed with herself for being such a wimp. The silence was no longer quite so soothing, and she switched the kitchen television on, just for company. Then she ran upstairs and grabbed her latest pile of papers. She would look at them down here in the familiar, old-fashioned kitchen, a room that she found surprisingly comfortable. The builders hadn’t touched it yet, and Justine had a feeling that even after they’d worked their magic on it, she’d probably prefer it the way it was now.

“Where are you, Mary Elizabeth?” she asked aloud, getting down to the final bundle of papers that she hadn’t properly looked through yet.

Mary Elizabeth hadn’t been at her mother’s funeral, Justine knew at least that much. The solicitors who handled Julia Everton’s estate had told Zac they had no idea where their client’s daughter was and, since she wasn’t mentioned in the will, had no reason to look for her. But Justine was sure Julia knew her whereabouts. Why hadn’t she told her solicitor to let her know when she died, and why hadn’t she remembered her daughter in her will? Justine tapped her pen against her teeth.

“Come on, Julia, talk to me. What was going through your head?”

The question that kept going round in Justine’s head concerned that letter Julia had written to Zac less than a year before her death. She was definite that Mary Elizabeth was still alive. How did she know if she didn’t have any contact with her?

There must be clues here somewhere. Julia didn’t appear to have thrown anything away—ever. Justine had found letters dating back forty years. She longed to delve into them, but now wasn’t the time. First, she needed to find Mary Elizabeth.

Greenham Common was in the West Country, but all the clinics Mary Elizabeth had been in since then, and all her arrests, had been in the southeast. People tended to remain in the areas that made them comfortable, so at least Justine had potentially narrowed the search down to one huge swathe of the country. She shrugged. Much good that would do her. Unless she could be more specific, it was needle and haystack time. She could hardly contact every rehab clinic, halfway house or support group in the area. There had to be something obvious that she was missing. Zac hadn’t even looked at these papers, so she couldn’t ask for his help. Besides, that’s why he’d employed her. He wanted to know—sort of—but didn’t want to do the detective work.

“Think, Justine, think!”

She pushed aside the pile of papers with a frustrated sigh. She hadn’t found anything in them to help her. A third glass of wine merely slowed her thought process and Justine found her mind wandering.

To Zac and Cody, of course.

It seemed to do that all the time, no matter how hard she tried to focus it in other directions. She wondered what they were doing at that precise moment, and with whom. Jealousy surged through her.

“Get a grip,” she said aloud. “It’s just a bit of fun they want with you. Nothing more. They’re bound to have women come on to them everywhere they go. Don’t think about it.”

Justine forced her mind back to the problem of Zac’s missing mother and sat bolt upright as a thought that should have been obvious long before now suddenly hit her like a ton of bricks. Julia had loved her daughter enough to keep paying for rehab. Money was the key. If Julia knew Mary Elizabeth was still alive, it must be because she was paying for her continued care somewhere. Justine hadn’t even looked at Julia’s financial records. She hadn’t thought they were anything to do with her, but there were bank statements somewhere in the office upstairs.