Secrets of the A-List Box Set, Volume 1 Page 17

  Joe sat down, leaned forward and rested his arms on his strong thighs. “The real question is, do Elana and Thom still want to go through with it?”

  Mariella flicked a finely arched brow and sighed heavily. “Harrison has been terribly worried about Elana and that adúltero Jarrod Jones. So am I.” She shook her dark head. “She is...obsessed with this man. A man that belongs to another woman. What kind of woman does that make my daughter!” She jumped up from her seat and began to pace as she spoke. “Elana must settle down.” She pointed her finger toward the floor for emphasis. “Thom is the right man for her. He is like the anchor to her ship.” She shook her head, her lustrous dark hair spilling across her shoulders. “I still have nightmares about the near-miss scandal with Elana and him at the Fortune 500 gala a few months ago. Imagine getting caught in a stairwell with your Herve Leger dress halfway up your spoiled ass! What if it had been someone other than Rafe who walked in on them! Dios mío!” She threw up her hands in frustration.

  Joe totally understood Mariella’s concerns. He and Harrison had spoken about his concerns as well. But between Harrison and Mariella, neither of them had been able to stop Elana. If anything, much like her mother, she dug her heels in and only became more secretive. Jarrod was certainly a problem in the overall scheme of things, but pushing unwilling people down the aisle wasn’t the answer, either. He had a problem with that. But it wasn’t his place, and he knew that even though she asked, Mariella didn’t really want to hear an honest opinion other than the one she’d already settled on.

  “Have you talked with Elana?” Joe gently asked, slowing down her tirade.

  Mariella came back to herself. She heaved a breath and lifted her chin. “Elana doesn’t know what’s good for her. She’s in some fantasy world. This marriage is the best thing. If she does not go through with the wedding, I know that she will go back to that man. He’s like a...a drug that she can’t seem to shake. Harrison would agree with me. It’s what he wanted for Elana. Thom is what she needs.” She walked to the table and took a long sip from her flute of champagne.

  Joe’s brows drew together. He knew that when Mariella made up her mind and she had Harrison’s backing there was no turning her around. They wanted their daughter married off to someone respectable and single, as if marriage was the cure for what ailed Elana. He knew all too well the feeling of desperation when what you wanted was constantly out of reach.

  “Sometimes, Mariella, you can’t help who you fall for, who you love,” he said, knowing that he’d just stepped into dangerous territory.

  Mariella swung toward him. “Love? This is pure lust.”

  “Oh, there you are.” Elana burst into the room, a bit breathless. She looked from one to the other.

  Mariella’s breath hitched the instant she saw her daughter. She’d been with that man. It was splashed all over her—the puffy lips, the flushed skin. She’d deal with Elana later. This was certainly not the place for a scene.

  Elana breezed over and kissed her mother’s cheek and did the same with Joe. She pranced to the long table that was lined with the open boxes and samples. “My, my, my.” She lifted one of the flutes from the box and held it up to the light. “Nice. I like it.” She spun around and turned bright eyes on her mother and Joe.

  “Where’s Thom?” Mariella asked, noticing that her daughter only had on one earring.

  Elana blinked then frowned in confusion. “I thought he was meeting me here.”

  “Elana!” Mariella took Elana by the arm and pulled her off to the side out of earshot of Joe and the staff.

  Joe could only catch a few words here and there that fluctuated between English and rapid Spanish. “You will do this...think of your future...su padre...no more of your screwups...stay away...comprende...”

  Joe shook his head. He didn’t know whom he felt most sorry for, Mariella or Elana. Both were hotheaded and stubborn. Elana’s problems were heightened by her impulsiveness, and of course this thing she had going on with Jarrod Jones totally pushed Mariella over the edge. Mariella was accustomed to having what she wanted done without question. She was focused, meticulous, above reproach, professional, everything that her daughter was not. Elana went against her mother’s grain on so many levels, and it drove Mariella crazy.

  The reality was you can’t control how people feel, what they want, who they love. If he knew nothing else, he knew that firsthand. His two marriages had been failures because he married for all the wrong reasons—hoping that marriage would help him forget. Trying to force Elana to marry Thom was a mistake in his mind, but he could never tell Mariella that—not exactly. What he did want to tell her was that her husband was not the saint she thought he was. Even though he’d been in two loveless marriages, he prided himself on the fact that he’d never cheated. Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same for Harrison.

  It was a miracle that none of the parade of women over the years had made themselves known. He had no idea how Harrison managed to keep them all under wraps. Probably the Fixer had a hand in that as well. But as long as they stayed put and out of sight, Joe would keep his own counsel and let Mariella keep her illusions.

  Harrison’s most recent indiscretion—at least to Joe’s knowledge—had been less than six months earlier, when they’d visited Miami on business and decided to blow off some steam with the nightlife in South Beach. Of course, Harrison had rented the most expensive, flashy car he could get his hands on, a red Pagani Zonda that turned every head. As much as Harrison came off as simply charismatic, there was a part of him that bought into his own hype, who’d changed over the years from the man who was led by a moral compass to one who lived to feed his own passions. And his passion was beautiful women.

  From the moment they checked into the Fontainebleau in South Beach, Harrison wasted no time in hitting the nightclub Liv. He’d changed his clothes from the Tom Ford business suit and tie to an open-collar black shirt and slacks, a classy casual look that seemed to cut his age in half and at the same time telegraphed success. No one could miss the platinum Vacheron Constantin watch, the expensive haircut or the imported Italian leather loafers. And he drew women to him like moths to a flame.

  Joe enjoyed a good time as much as the next guy, but the issue that he had with Harrison was that he was married to an incredible woman and somewhere along the line he’d seemed to have forgotten that, or at the very least he took Mariella for granted. The next morning when Joe opened the door to his suite to get the newspaper, he saw one of the women from the bar leaving Harrison’s room. Harrison stepped partially out of the door to kiss her goodbye and turned to see Joe standing there. Rather than being embarrassed, he’d winked. It had taken all Joe had not to go over there and slam Harrison against the wall. But, of course, he didn’t. He closed his door and they never spoke of it.

  At least for now—he wasn’t sure for how much longer—he would continue to keep his thoughts to himself. But much of what he ultimately decided depended on whether Harrison pulled through.

  Mariella continued to lecture her daughter while Elana ignored her. Joe felt it a good time to make a brief exit and call the detective on the investigation of the accident. He slipped out of the private dining hall, walked through the main area and out front, away from prying ears.

  Joe rounded El Acantilado and went out back to the private parking lot. He got in his car and shut the door. He removed a business card from his jacket pocket, took out his cell and tapped in the numbers. The doctor’s toxicology report had already come back, showing no indication that drugs or alcohol had played any role in Harrison’s accident. The doctors speculated that he’d had some health crisis that they hadn’t pinned down yet. Barring some kind of medical emergency or driver error—highly unlikely—the only other conclusion that Joe could come to was the unthinkable. His stomach knotted. He needed to know how close the police were to turning over that stone.

  The
phone rang several times, and Joe was sure it would go to voice mail, when it was finally answered on the other end.

  “Detective Burns,” he barked into the phone.

  “Detective Burns, this is Joe Reynolds.”

  “Oh, Mr. Reynolds. I’m on my way to a scene right now.”

  “I won’t take too much of your time. I wanted to know if there have been any updates on the Harrison Marshall investigation.” Joe heard some shuffling and voices in the background, then the noise grew distant, as if Burns had gone into another room. He heard a door shut.

  Burns cleared his throat. “Listen, this is totally off the record. Understood?”

  “Understood. What is it?”

  Joe listened with growing dread.

  Chapter Five

  “I don’t believe this, Elana! You specifically said to meet here at the house. I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

  “No, Thom. I’m sure I told you to meet here at the restaurant. Why would I tell you to meet me someplace where I knew I wouldn’t be?”

  “You didn’t... Look, forget it. I’m on my way to the restaurant. Stay put until I get there.” He hit the end icon on the phone and wished he had a landline so that he could have the pleasure of slamming the phone down. Elana was seriously driving him crazy. She was erratic and irresponsible. He knew she was trying to find a way out of this whole marriage thing, but he couldn’t let that happen. Period.

  He shoved his cell phone in his jacket pocket and headed out. On his way to his car, he heard a familiar voice, but what he overheard stopped him in his tracks. Slowly he backed up so as not to be seen but still close enough to hear.

  “...from the Cayman account... Yes, I have Harrison’s authorization...the same way we always do... I’ll take care of it...no reason for concern...the accident is only a temporary setback...business as usual...have I ever let you down...good...the transfer is in play...don’t worry about the senator...you have my word...it’s what I do.”

  Thom dared not move. His thoughts spun while he listened to an engine kick on and a car drive off. He finally took a breath, and when he was certain the car was gone and he couldn’t be seen, he stepped out.

  All this time. Right here at the house under their noses all along. In a million years, he never would have guessed.

  For the time being, he would keep this tidbit of information to himself. He smiled as he opened his car door and got in. He gripped the steering wheel and stared off into the distance as a myriad of scenarios played in his head. Secrecy was clearly the bedrock of the Fixer’s success. Thom was certain the Fixer would do whatever was necessary not to jeopardize that anonymity. He smiled and turned the key in the ignition.

  In the meantime, he needed to get to the restaurant and corral his reluctant bride.

  * * *

  The beep of machines echoed eerily in the stillness of Harrison’s hospital room. Take away the machines and IVs and the ominous hospital bed, and the room resembled a top-tier hotel suite, outfitted with overstuffed seating, flat-screen mounted television, expensive art on the walls, a desk, recessed lighting, a private bath, a full sitting room for visitors and family, and a magnificent view of the mountainside and ocean beyond.

  From the doorway, Luc watched his father’s chest rise and fall beneath the pristine white sheet. The bruises on his face that were now deep purple, yellow and shades of brown stood in sharp contrast against his ghostly complexion and the bandages wrapped around his head. But it was the stillness that rattled Luc most. Seeing his father, a robust man full of life, vitality and always in motion, now reduced to... He shook his head, scattering away the images.

  The doctors informed him that the brain swelling had been reduced by surgery, but Harrison was still in a coma, and for the most part, the machines and tubes running from his body were keeping him alive. That didn’t begin to take into account the extent of his internal injuries. If he came out of it, he might never be the same.

  When Luc had spoken with Dr. Malone earlier that morning, the doctor had not been particularly optimistic, but he cautioned that anything was possible. He’d seen patients who’d had traumatic injuries come back, coma patients wake up after weeks or even months. Nothing was impossible. Luc understood that his dad’s injuries were still life threatening and the doctors were doing all that they could. And Luc was making fucking sure of that. The one suggestion that the doctor offered was for the family to keep talking to Harrison. As Luc knew, there was a long-held belief that coma patients responded to familiar voices, which might very well help to lift them from the depths of sleep.

  Luc stared at his father’s battered body, unable to step inside, and everything within him wanted to break. For his entire life Luc had toed the line, lived up to and gone beyond his parents’ expectations, but he’d especially yearned to please his father. He remained steady and levelheaded, and never let his family name and wealth go to his head or used it to his advantage. As his role model he looked to his father, a man who had started off with virtually nothing and built an empire. Although he’d chosen to venture out and pave his own way in medicine as a plastic surgeon—which his brother thought was frivolous—he still gave back. He volunteered the very skills that Rafe disparaged to heal the wounded who had been victims of war or disease.

  Yet it never seemed to be enough for his mother. Mariella doted on Rafe and simply gave a pass to Elana, yet she always expected that Luc would do the right thing, not seeming to notice that he too needed that extra hug or word of support and encouragement. Not to mention his cousin Gabe. His mother had taken her nephew into the family home and given him never-ending nurturing and support, while his father groomed Gabe to one day take over—the heir apparent.

  Many nights Luc would lie in bed and stare into the darkness, wondering why he bothered and realizing how tired he was. His spirit was tired of being the one in the family who had to remain above reproach. Rafe could be the one who never stayed at one job. Elana could screw someone else’s husband. But him, hell, he’d better not make a misstep. There were times when he seriously considered taking an overseas assignment and not coming back. But his loyalty to his family wouldn’t allow him to. And then, of course, there was Rachel.

  Luc sighed heavily, ran his fingers through his hair and slowly approached his father’s bed. When he reached the bedside, for a moment all he could do was stand there. Despite being able to detach emotionally at work, he felt his eyes cloud over and his throat burn. Tears slid down his cheeks. He gripped the rail of the bed, and his body shook with soft sobs.

  The sound of the door opening behind him jerked him upright. Quickly he wiped his eyes.

  “I’m sorry to disturb your visit,” the nurse said. “I need to check the Captain’s fluids and vitals. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  Luc cleared his throat. “Of course. Please, go ahead.” He kept his flushed face slightly averted and walked into the reception room.

  The adjoining room, much like the rest of the hospital, was designed to resemble a home away from home, with lush couches and chairs, antique table lamps and a flat-screen television. The one thing missing was a bar, because Luc could certainly use a drink. He fixed himself a cup of Turkish coffee instead.

  He took a seat by the window, crossed his long legs, took a sip of the hot brew and stared pensively out toward the horizon. He rested his chin on his fist. What would become of them if his father didn’t make it? Although he didn’t want to fathom the possibility, it had to be considered.

  His father’s enterprise was enormous and intricate. On the surface, the rest of the family believed that Luc was solely focused on his career as a plastic surgeon, but Harrison had made sure that Luc was well aware of how the Marshall empire was run.

  He remembered one day in particular. He must have been about fifteen at the time. His father woke him up one morning and told him to
dress quickly and be quiet so as not to wake the rest of the house. It was a father-son day. They were going out on his father’s boat.

  “What do you want for yourself?” his father had asked him as he expertly steered the boat into open water.

  Luc stood next to Harrison, already nearly as tall as him. Luc shrugged. “I want to be like you.”

  Harrison chuckled, gave his son a quick smile then turned his focus back to the water. “Like me? Why?”

  He wasn’t sure what the right answer was, so he answered from his heart. “I want to be successful, have people respect me, have my family respect me—like they do you.” He glanced at his father’s patrician profile.

  “Do you think that comes easy?”

  “No, sir.”

  Harrison nodded his head. “Everything I have, son, what this family has, started with a dream. My dream. I wanted to be a good chef.” He chuckled. “My vision was pretty limited at the time. I only saw what was right in front of me. Cook great food, take home a paycheck, maybe find a good woman and make enough money to take care of a family one day. That was good enough for me, because there was a part of me that thought it was all I deserved.” He drew in a long breath.

  “And then I met your mother, and I knew if I wanted to keep her, which I did, I was going to have to do more than have my name embossed on a piece of fabric. Cooking was and still is my passion, but I knew I would need much more than a great recipe to keep your mother. Her family came from money and prestige, and they didn’t take too kindly to some cook going after their precious Mariella. The Santiago name carried a lot of weight in California and back in Spain. It drove me to prove to them and to myself that I was worthy, that I had what it took. And from the day my name went up on the first restaurant awning, I never looked back.”

  He rested his hand on Luc’s shoulder. “Always look ahead, out to whatever is beyond the horizon. That’s what I want you to do, son, look beyond your horizon. Carve your path. Go after your dream, no matter what it is—just be the best at it.” He squeezed Luc’s shoulder. “And always remember to cultivate alliances in every circumstance,” he added with a steely look in his blue eyes. “I did.”