When You Are Mine (15 page)

“Everything’s fine.”

Walsh made his way down the steps with dragging feet, unsure when he’d be able to return.

“Promise we’ll see you again soon.” Kristeene Bennett walked Walsh out to where Jo waited in the car, on the phone.

“Mom, I told you Dad’s got me working on this acquisition.” Walsh set his luggage on the ground, linking his arm through his mother’s.

“You don’t fool me.” She peered up at him, a small, knowing smile playing around her mouth. “Like you’re not enjoying every minute of your work with Bennett.”

Walsh couldn’t suppress the grin that split his face. She did know him after all.

“It’s fantastic.” He laughed, too, shaking his head. “This company really would be much better off under the Bennett umbrella, Mom, and persuading them to our way of seeing things has been incredibly challenging.”

“Just don’t forget you’re not only your father’s son. You’re also your mother’s.”

“Hey, I’m an equal opportunity son.” He held up his hands in defense. “Unc is sending me to Haiti in a couple of months to scope out a potential orphanage. With all the corruption there, we may be better off just building our own, putting our people in place, and starting from scratch. Won’t know until I get there.”

“That’s my boy,” she said, obviously pleased that he wasn’t neglecting his philanthropic responsibilities. A small frown pulled her brows together. “I don’t like what I’ve been hearing, Walsh. I’ve always liked Sofie, but if she’s influencing you to do these things I’ve heard about in the papers…well, I just don’t know about that girl. Although she’s Ernest’s daughter, and he and your father have been arranging your marriage since kindergarten, I—”

“Stop right there.” Walsh couldn’t help but groan, his patience so thin on this subject. “If one more person implies that I’m marrying Sofie, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“Well, what are you doing with her?”

“Mom, I honestly don’t know.” He sighed, running a hand over the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension that had gathered there. “I never should have gotten involved with her.”

“Then why did you?”

Walsh looked at the house behind them, looked up at the sky, even at his shoes. Everywhere but into those omniscient eyes.

“It was a mistake, one I wish I could take back. I hate myself for it.”

“Hating yourself never gets you anywhere.” She reached up, pushing a maverick lock of hair back off his forehead. “All you can do is make it right, ask for forgiveness, and move forward. Stringing her along only makes it worse, son.”

“I know. I don’t want to do that, but I don’t want to hurt her. She’s a great girl. Just not the one for me.”

“Well, you have to let her know that. As kindly as you can. And you’ll know the one when you find her.” His mother ran her hand down the side of his face. “Cam did.”

Walsh stiffened, the smile congealing on his face. He turned away, picking up his luggage and stowing it in the back of the luxurious midnight blue Land Rover.

“Is this Jo’s new Rover?”

He hoped to set his mother on a different course. She was too much of a bloodhound not to sniff out the fissure in his friendship with the man she saw as her second son.

“No, it’s actually mine.” Her smug smile cajoled him to smile back. “I told Jo if she loves it so much, she needs to get her own. She drives it more than I do. Cam loves it more than both of us combined.”

“That’s Cam. He loves a good car.”

“Walsh.” She put her hand on his arm to stop him before he climbed into the passenger seat. “It’ll all work out.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He looked no higher than the patch of ground between them.

“I do know you.” Voice quiet, she lifted his chin and forced him to look into her eyes. “You and Cam are like brothers. Nothing’s worth ruining that, son.”

He froze, horrified that his mother might know about his traitorous heart. Might think, after what his father had put her through, that he would violate anyone’s marriage vows.

“What makes you think I’m ruining anything?” He swallowed shame and guilt. “I’m not.”

“I know you’re not. You’re loyal and honest. In that way, you’re your mother’s son. Don’t forget it.”

Before he had time to respond, Jo leaned over, pushing the passenger-side door open and bumping Walsh’s hip.

“Get in. It won’t be my fault if you miss your flight.”

“Okay, Mom,” Walsh said, glad to escape her piercing stare, but reluctant to leave her again since he wasn’t sure when he’d be back.

He reached for her, surprised at how fragile she felt in his arms. He leaned back, noting how her beautiful face had narrowed. There were lines around her eyes and mouth he hadn’t noticed before.

“You’ve lost weight. You taking care of yourself?”

“No.” Jo leaned forward from the driver’s seat. “She’s been losing weight and is tired all the time. I’ve been trying to convince her to see her doctor, but she won’t.”

“I’m fine.” Kristeene leaned down until she could see into the car. She quelled whatever Jo would have said with a warning glare.

“Mom, please go see your doctor.” Walsh felt bad for not noticing the signs before. He’d have to dig with Jo later for more intel. “For me. Please.”

“All right, all right.” Kristeene patted his shoulder, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “For you, baby. I’ll make an appointment this week.”

Pulling out of the driveway, Walsh couldn’t shake the feeling that things were shifting inevitably on every front of his life. He wanted to make Jo stop the car and turn back around so he could run to his mother, huddle in the safety he’d always found in her as a little boy. She’d always known just what to say, just what to do to make it better. Watching her stately figure getting smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, he was afraid that this time, even a mother’s love couldn’t hold back the dark tide he sensed coming.

T
hank God that’s over.” Walsh sliced into his filet mignon. Delmonico’s made a mean steak.

“Your first acquisition.” Martin Bennett raised his glass. “Congratulations. Merrist is now a Bennett holding.”

“You knew it would be,” Walsh said around the tender, rare meat nearly falling apart in his mouth.

“I know you’re my son.” Martin flashed his pirate’s smile. “Despite all that charity your mother has infected you with, my genes are still under there somewhere.”

Walsh snorted, flicking a grudgingly admiring glance across the elegantly set table. The man had a killer instinct, he had to give him that.

“I was hoping to avoid the threat of a hostile takeover,” Walsh said, watching his father sip his merlot. “But you were right. They didn’t want to tangle with us.”

“You’d done a masterful job winning them over already,” Martin said, the rare compliment freezing Walsh’s hand on its way to deliver another mouthwatering bite of steak. “They just had to be reminded that if it came down to playing dirty, they wouldn’t fare well.”

“It worked.” Walsh shook the shock of his father’s approval off and took his next bite. “I’m just glad we got it all sewn up before I leave tomorrow.”

“Where are you going again?”

“Haiti, Dad. You know that.”

“Oh, yeah, Haiti. St. Tropez? No. Paris? No? Dubai? No. Destination Haiti.”

“Don’t try to talk me out of it.” Walsh set his fork down, giving his father a warning look. “I’ve busted my ass for the last year getting this Merrist deal done. I’m entitled to some time off.”

“Time off?” Martin cocked his head, pretending to consider this alien concept. “I remember time off. I took some once. I found it overrated.”

“Well, I’m taking some. And I’m doing with it exactly as I choose.”

“And you always choose orphans in the most godforsaken places.”

Walsh let his father’s chiding roll right off his back.

“Don’t complain until I ask you to come along.”

“How does your mother feel about this trip to Haiti?” Martin didn’t look up from his steak.

“Mom?” Walsh frowned, still disconcerted when his father asked him about his mother after years of stoic silence. “She thinks it’s great.”

They continued eating for a few moments, each occupied with their own thoughts.

“And she’s doing well?” Martin finally asked.

“Who?” Walsh sipped his cabernet sauvignon, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation.

“Your mother, Walsh. For God’s sake, keep up.”

“She’s okay. I haven’t been back much lately.”

“I noticed. Nothing’s ever kept you from Rivermont in the past. Something you avoiding down there?”

“Avoiding?” Walsh’s voice was sharp enough to slice through his succulent steak. “I’ve been working hard on Merrist, Dad. There’s nothing to avoid in Rivermont, but now that you mention it, I’m actually concerned about Mom.”

“Why? Something wrong?” Martin went still and glanced up from his plate.

“She’s lost some weight. Tired. Not feeling her best.”

And Jo hadn’t given up any information on the ride to the airport, though he’d sensed she’d wanted to.

“What’d the doctor say?”

“She hasn’t been to see her doctor,” Walsh said, his mouth an exasperated line. “Jo and I have been trying to get her to go.”

His father threw his napkin over his plate and drummed his fingers on the linen-covered table.

“That woman never took care of herself.”

“Maybe you should have,” Walsh said, as shocked to hear the words aloud as his father obviously was.

“What did you say?”

Walsh forged ahead, never one to back down from a challenge like the one he saw in his father’s eyes. “I said maybe you should have taken care of her.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know the whole story. You never did.”

“Why did you marry her, Dad?” Walsh asked the question he’d held all these years. “Was she your meal ticket?”

Something violent flared unmistakably in his father’s eyes, firing a warning shot across the table.

“I loved your mother.” The words barely passed through his father’s clenched teeth. “Don’t ever forget that. Don’t ever question it. It’s actually none of your damned business.”

“You’re right.”

Walsh softened his tone, prepared to abandon the topic, even though he wanted to dig deeper and excavate answers to the questions that had plagued his mind since he was thirteen years old.

Martin’s phone vibrated on the table, drawing his attention and a subsequent scowl.

“I have to take this. Call Pierce and ask him to bring the car around so we can get back to the office.”

He sounded like he actually regretted having to cut the conversation short.

A
fter a long day at the shop, Kerris went into their home office and grabbed her sketchpad. She always seemed to have the energy to create, no matter how tired she was. Her fingers were tracing a pattern of intricate scrollwork on a necklace when the aroma of her favorite Earl Grey tea wafted in. Cam bowed at the waist, offering the delicate cup and saucer.

“Jo wanted to stop through and hang out. Is that okay?”

“Sure, of course.” Kerris accepted the tea and Cam’s kiss on her hair.

Jo was a regular at the cottage, always popping in. She and Cam often talked even after Kerris went to bed. Kerris couldn’t resent the closeness they’d shared for so long.

“Good, since she’s bringing Tony’s pizza with her.” A pleased grin split his face.

“So you get out of cooking again. No credit, mister.”

“Do I need credit?” He slid his arms around her and brushed her lips with a tender kiss. “You’re mine, right, Kerris? Only mine?”

She pulled back with a frown. She had never broached the Kenya trip or the gift Walsh had sent that Cam never delivered, even though she knew she should. That was a can of worms she didn’t want to get anywhere near.

“Why do you always ask that? Have I done anything to make you doubt me?”

“No, of course not.” Cam tightened his grip around her waist. “I just…I don’t know what I’d do without you now.”

“You won’t ever have to figure that out, baby.” She wished she could chase away the lingering shadows in his beautiful eyes.

“Promise me,” he said with swift urgency, pressing her closer still.

“I promise.” She didn’t even blink, making sure he saw the resolve in her unwavering stare.

He seemed to slump a little, satisfied at what he saw in her face. He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead, making his way over to his desk and opening his laptop.

“I can get a few things done on this design for our new client before the pizza gets here.” Cam turned on the small lamp Kerris had found for his desk.

“Me, too.” She returned her attention to the pad in front of her.

They both tuned inward, Kerris humming softly under her breath, and Cam slipping in his earphones and bobbing his head to a Tupac classic. He raised his head when the doorbell rang, slipping the buds from his ears and striding to the living room to let Jo in with their pizza. Their laughter drifted back, making Kerris smile. She continued sketching a few more minutes before gathering her tea to head inside. Their laughter tapered off when Jo answered the strident ring of her cell phone.

“Hi, Aunt Kris.” The residue of their laughter still colored Jo’s voice. “Slow down. I can’t understand you. What’s wrong with Walsh?”

Kerris couldn’t will herself to move. Every fiber strained toward Jo’s conversation with Kristeene Bennett.

“But how? Okay, okay. We’re on our way.” Jo jangled her keys and Kerris heard the door open again.

“What is it?” Kerris heard Cam ask the question, his anxiety clear.

“It’s Walsh,” Jo said, her tone clipped and strained, tears lubricating the words that cleaved Kerris’s heart. “He’s been kidnapped.”

The crash was probably small, but every shard of the teacup seemed to hit the ground, making Kerris jump. She looked down at the shattered cup at her feet, unsure of when it had slipped from her numb fingers. Her knees buckled, leaving her in a heap on the floor in the midst of the broken pieces. Her heart rattled against her chest. Fear wrapped around her, making every breath short and painful.

Cam walked in, his eyes roving the devastation of Kerris’s face.

“You okay, Ker?”

She picked up a few pieces of shattered porcelain, laying them in her palm.

“Be careful.” He rushed to the corner for the dustpan she often used to sweep in the office. “You heard?”

“Yeah, I heard,” she said, lips barely moving. “What do we know?”

“Only that he was taken in Haiti. We’re heading over to Ms. Kris’s now,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know you’re tired. You don’t have to come. I can update you later.”

Kerris shot a sharp look at her husband. She rose, slowly wiping the last drops of spilled tea from her hands, running her palms down her denim skirt.

“I’m coming, too.”

Her flinted tone left no room for challenge. If Cam thought he could keep her away from the Bennett house, she would have to disappoint him.

“Come on then.” He ran a finger down the side of her face, wiping away the tear she didn’t realize had streaked its way down her cheek.

Kristeene Bennett was pacing when they walked in, clenching her fists against the flatness of her stomach. She ran a trembling hand to smooth her hair in its already-perfect chignon. She sat down on the leather-covered stool at the kitchen counter.

Kerris trailed Jo and Cam into the kitchen, her face frozen into a mask that hid her thoughts.

“What have we heard?” Jo faced Kristeene, their profiles like two sides of the same coin.

“It’s not good.” Kristeene walked over to the refrigerator. “Water, lemonade, anything?”

Kerris realized the small rituals of hospitality occupied Kristeene, grounded her in some reality other than this nightmare. No one was playing along, though. Everyone refused refreshment. Kristeene sighed, turning to prepare jasmine orange tea for herself.

“He was kidnapped yesterday, we think.” She steeped her bag in the steamy water. “Locals. Thugs who knew he was American, and they’ve requested a ransom. Martin should be here soon to tell us what he knows. He called from the air.”

“How are you holding up, Aunt Kris?” Jo kept her eyes on Kristeene’s thinner-than-usual face. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m fine.” Kristeene diced up the words, narrowing her eyes at Jo. “Don’t fuss. It’s Walsh we need to worry about now.”

“But Aunt Kris—”

“I said stop it.” Kristeene hurled the words through the air like a knife. “I’m sorry, Jo. Just…we’ll talk about…other things later. I’m worried about Walsh and won’t rest until he’s home.”

“Neither will I,” a deep male voice commented from the kitchen doorway.

The man looked so much like Walsh, Kerris almost rubbed her eyes. This had to be Martin Bennett, and he was so much a picture of what Walsh would be in twenty years, Kerris wanted to lift her hand to trace his features, reaching through time to touch Walsh.

“Martin.” Kristeene swallowed visibly. She walked over to her ex-husband, stopping just short of actual contact. “What do we know? Was the embassy any help?”

“No help at all.” Martin’s lips thinned with his disgust. “They have no clue where Walsh is, but I’m working on it.”

“Just pay them the ransom, Martin.” Kristeene grabbed his sleeve. “Whatever they’re asking, just give it to them as soon as you can. Get Walsh back.”

“I have no intention of paying any damn ransom.” He looked fearlessly into the horror Kerris saw in Kristeene’s eyes. “And I am
not
relying on an inept government, Haiti’s or ours, to get my son back. You can believe that.”

“Martin, this isn’t one of your hostile takeovers.” Kristeene didn’t back down from the man towering over her. If anything, she seemed to rise an inch or so. “This is our son. Don’t play the hero. I want him back home, alive. Not in a box.”

“You don’t think I want him alive, Kris? That’s exactly why I refuse to leave my son’s safety to bumbling idiot locals.”

“Well, what then?” With her hands on her hips, Kristeene’s eyes dueled with Martin’s. “And this better be good.”

“I have some military connections,” Martin said, his voice low but confident. “I’ll get my son back, and make sure those presumptuous bastards who took him pay the highest price.”

“Martin, don’t—”

“Don’t ‘Martin’ me. They need to be taught a lesson, and I’m more than happy to do the honors. My contacts are analyzing the information we’ve received.”

“What information?” Jo stepped into the fray for the first time since her uncle arrived.

Martin Bennett looked hesitant, but still hoarded all of the room’s oxygen and energy for himself. Just like Walsh did without even trying.

Martin reached into his suit pocket, laying a grainy photo down on the marble countertop. Kristeene, Jo, Cam, and Kerris moved as one toward the picture, gasping aloud at the grisly sight. Walsh’s passport, his expensive Tag Heuer watch, and the bracelet Iyani made for him lay in a pile scattered on the scarred wood of a table. In the center lay a bloodied finger.

“No!” Kristeene turned her face into Martin’s chest, clutching the lapels of his impeccable suit. “Oh, God, Martin. No!”

“Kris.” Martin rhythmically rubbed comfort into the tense muscles of Kristeene’s narrow back. “He’s not dead.”

“His
finger
, Martin. They’ve cut off his finger. Oh, God, they’ll kill him. Just pay the damn ransom.”

“It’s exactly because of this that I’m not giving in to their ransom.”

Kerris watched Martin put enough distance between him and his ex-wife to look into her face so she could read the confidence in his.

“We can’t trust them to do what they say they will, Kris. We just can’t.”

Jo was weeping softly into Cam’s shoulder while he stood completely still, his eyes averted from the ghastly sight of the photo. Kerris leaned in closer, peering at the gruesome picture again, forcing the bile back down her throat long enough to concentrate all of her attention on the disembodied finger.

“That’s not his finger,” Kerris said, so softly no one acknowledged her comment for a moment.

When her words finally penetrated the chaos surrounding them, Martin Bennett looked at Kerris, sitting at the counter still as a corpse.

“What did you say?” Martin eyed the leather and wood bracelet, exactly like Walsh’s, wrapped around Kerris’s fragile wrist. “Who are you?”

To my son
.

Though he left the words unspoken, Kerris heard them, even if no one else did.

“I…I’m Cam’s wife. And Walsh’s friend.” She tugged on the bracelet that had garnered his full attention. “I said that’s not Walsh’s finger.”

“Of course it is, Kerris.” Jo’s voice was weary and thick with tears. “You know that’s his stuff.”

“Yes, it’s his stuff.” Kerris nodded and then shook her head, equally adamant. “But that’s not his finger.”

She glanced at Martin Bennett’s hand still stroking Kristeene’s back in an ancient rhythm of consolation.

“
Those
are Walsh’s fingers.”

Martin looked over Kristeene’s shoulder at his hands, holding them out for inspection. Walsh had his hands, his fingers, and the finger in the photo was too dark, too short, too stubby.

“She’s right.” Martin’s stern mouth hitched, his only concession since he’d walked in the room. “They placed someone else’s finger with Walsh’s things.”

Kristeene turned back toward the photo, studying it more closely before closing her eyes, tears streaking down her sunken cheeks.

“Not his finger,” Kristine mumbled through trembling lips.

“They’re playing games, Kris.” Martin grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. To look into his eyes. “Nobody mind-fucks me. Certainly not these pieces of shit. Forget the government. They can’t even balance a budget, much less fly under the radar long enough to find my son. We’ll work through my contacts.”

“Just bring him home.” Kristeene leaned forward until her forehead flopped against Martin’s broad chest.

Kerris watched, fascinated and bewildered by Martin’s tenderness. His hand stroked the soft hair constrained at Kristeene’s neck. These two people, whom everyone considered combatants, genuinely cared deeply about each other. The potential for battle crackled between them at every turn, yes, but the intimacy they had fallen back into was like a favorite garment lost at the back of your closet, once rediscovered still fitting, still beloved. Comfortable. Right.

Kerris could almost see Martin galvanize himself, squeezing his ex-wife’s hand before scanning the faces turned to him with varying degrees of expectation and despondency. His eyes settled, inexplicably, on Kerris, seated at the counter, resting her hand on the photo of Walsh’s effects, like it was a conductor to his soul, sending her strength and resolve and hope to him.

“I’ll bring him back,” he said to the room, but looking directly into Kerris’s eyes, every inch the buccaneer, ready to impose the violence of his will on all who opposed him.

Kerris took heart and almost felt a pang of sympathy for Walsh’s captors.

Almost.