- -
- 100%
- +
There was a pause before his breath rasped down the line. “I see.”
Sasha glared. Was that a whiff of laugher or disdain in his tone? She’d bet a hundred British pounds on the former. “Are you laughing at me...Mr. Jordon?”
“John, please.” This time he definitely laughed.
Her stomach knotted as a blush dared to warm her cheeks. She steadfastly bit back her smile. “Clearly, there are some things we need to get straight if we’re going to start off as civilized individuals tomorrow.”
“Meaning we’re likely to get uncivil?”
The heat at her cheeks hitched up a notch. His voice was like liquid velvet, making the suggestion of incivility almost sexual. She shifted in her seat. “Fine. If you want our working relationship to start off on the wrong foot, who am I to argue? Could you just let Freddy know I called and that I’d appreciate a call back?”
“So you’d still rather ask him rather than me why I’m here?”
Damn it. She stared at the fair again. This man, with his smooth voice, handsome looks and, though she hated to admit it, masculine charm, was making her feel the need to fully arm herself before she set a single foot inside the fairground office tomorrow morning.
“Miss...Sasha? You still there?”
“Of course. I’m going nowhere.” She picked up her wineglass and drained it before reaching for the bottle. Strength in grapes.
He cleared his throat. “I need you to work with me. This isn’t a fight to the death.”
She sniffed. “That’s what you think.”
“Pardon me?”
Her hand stilled around the wine bottle before she released it and drove her clawed fingers into her hair instead. Clearly, more alcohol was not advisable. Her damn tongue was running away with her.
“Look, tomorrow’s another day.” She sighed and focused on dragging up a little dignity to battle her desire to poke out the man’s eyes. “I’m just put out I wasn’t told about your arrival. I’m sure tomorrow won’t be as onerous as I’m thinking it will be right now.”
“I’m quite a nice guy...sometimes.”
She scowled. “And I’m quite a nice woman...sometimes.”
He laughed and her stomach knotted again. Damn it, why were her guts going all stupid every time this man laughed?
“I need your help.” He inhaled a heavy breath. “I don’t particularly like that fact, but I’m man enough to admit it. Kyle told me you know the fair better than anyone. I can’t do anything without you.”
The humor in his tone had vanished, leaving behind a rough, masculine assurance that conflicted with his words.
Slow and steady wins the race, Sasha. Slow and steady wins the race.
She rose from her chair and approached the barrier surrounding the balcony. The swish of the tide lapping the beach a mile down the road drifted to her ears on the gathering breeze, and she inhaled. “And what is it you want to do exactly?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
Sasha closed her eyes as her heart turned to lead. Once again, she was fighting. The threat of another battle clinked like crossing swords in her head. “You know something, John?”
“What?”
“If anyone, including your father, had any respect for how long I’ve worked at the fair or what it means to me, they would’ve given me a heads-up about you coming. That didn’t happen, so I’m wondering what you want from me. If you intend to do something with my...the fair, you should at least have the decency to tell me about it.”
Her heart beat out the seconds of silence, broken only by his heavy exhalation. “Nobody knew I was coming.”
She squeezed her eyes tighter. “I don’t believe you.”
“Nobody knew.”
“Was this Kyle’s idea? You turning up like a phantom menace?” She snapped her eyes open and choked out a wry laugh. “Stupid question. Even from behind prison walls, the guy likes to play the great puppet master.”
“I am not Kyle’s puppet.”
His ice-cold tone sent an involuntary shiver down her back. The knee-jerk reaction to apologize lingered on her tongue, but she decided against it. The silence stretched until she was forced to say something. “Look, it’s late and I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be a little more amicable. Let’s just say good-night, shall we?”
“How well do you know my father, Sasha Todd?”
The soft, British upper-class way he said her name rolled down the phone line and licked softly over her skin. Why the hell did the man have to talk that way? Why couldn’t he talk with the rough abrasion of some of the dock workers she knew at the harbor?
She pushed away from the barrier. “Not very well.”
“Yet you’ve worked at the fair your entire life. He bought it from your grandfather. How could you not know him?”
Her heart hitched into her throat. “You know about that?”
“Yes.”
“You know my granddad sold the fair to him? Do you know for how much?”
“Does it matter?”
Nausea whirled hot and heavy in her stomach and she stumbled toward her vacant chair and collapsed onto it. “That matters to me more than anything.”
“Why?”
Frustration surged through her. “All I’ve ever wanted is to get the fairground back where it belongs. It was in my family for generations and then my grandfather had a complete change of heart and let Kyle buy it for a song. Now you turn up and—”
“That’s not strictly true, is it?”
“What isn’t?” Her body trembled with suppressed rage.
“Your parents didn’t want the fair. Your mother, your grandfather’s daughter, is ashamed of it, isn’t she? So, whether or not you ever get the fair back, it would’ve skipped a generation anyhow.”
She gripped the phone until blood pulsed through her fingers. “So?”
“So what is it about the fair that makes you want it so badly? Does the need come from you or your family?”
“That’s none of your business. I want it and, one way or another, I’ll get it. Do you have any idea what it feels like to care about nothing else in the world but for the one thing out of reach? I really, really don’t want to have to fight you, but if you refuse my offer tomorrow—”
“Your offer?”
“Yes, Mr. Snooty Nose, my offer.”
Silence.
Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as she trembled some more.
“Fine. I’ll listen to your offer.” He blew out a breath. “And then I’ll decide whether or not you still have a job.”
The phone line went dead.
Sasha swallowed the hard lump of panic in her throat. Whether or not I still have a job? Is this guy insane? She snapped her phone closed and struggled to fight the horrible sense of foreboding stealing over her. She’d been aggressive, angry, dismissive and disrespectful—all things she’d been careful to avoid with Kyle and his cronies.
Stupid, stupid woman.
With an infinite amount of self-control, she’d bided her time and waited. Saved her money and kept a smile on her face so Kyle had no reason to push her out.
Now she’d snapped and a complete stranger had splintered her facade. He held the ability to rip away everything she wanted in one fell swoop. Why did John Jordon care why the fair meant so much to her? He didn’t know her. He didn’t know Templeton. He knew nothing.
She slowly stood on shaking legs and snatched the wineglass and bottle from the table. Even Kyle held a quiet, if not misplaced, fondness for the fair. The man was a criminal mastermind. A drug pusher and money-laundering bastard who’d finally been caught and thrown in jail, yet at least something inside him made people second-guess if deep down he was a decent man.
None of those same feelings emanated from his son. What John Jordon had in looks and physique, he lacked in warmth and understanding, which his father used unashamedly to blind people to his real motivations.
She opened the French doors and walked inside, welcoming the warmth of her apartment as a way of combating the chill of the unknown permeating her soul.
* * *
JOHN STARED AT the phone, heart beating steadily and mind messed up with a million conflicting emotions. Sasha Todd was something—or someone—he hadn’t accounted for when he’d agreed to come to Templeton Cove. He hadn’t expected a woman as beautiful as her to shake the deep and unyielding barrier around his determination to expose his father for the man he really was.
Worse, he hadn’t anticipated the stark pain of betrayal reflected in her eyes when she stood in front of him, or in her voice on the phone. The little that Kyle’s letters told John about the fair circulated in his mind on an endless reel.
Freddy was Kyle’s trusted second-in-command, and John was aware the fairground was a legitimate cover for the crux of his father’s criminal activities. Sasha Todd had a family history with the place. He remembered his father’s words—“The chick works like a Trojan for shit pay. She should be out there living her life, not stuck in a small English seaside town like Templeton Cove. She needs to let the fair go, son. She needs to meet a decent bloke who puts a different kind of fire in her belly. Brings a damn smile to her face....”
“Who was that on the phone?”
John blinked and pulled his expression into a scowl as Freddy wandered into the converted barn that served as the fairground’s office.
Freddy glared. “More to the point, why are you answering my phone and sitting at my desk?”
Irritation pulsed at John’s temple and he tossed the phone at Freddy, who caught it deftly in one hand. “Sasha Todd just called.” John stood. “I took care of it, so there’s no need to call her back.”
He walked to what was once Kyle’s desk but was now his. The weight of Freddy’s glare on John’s back followed his progress. He whipped his jacket from the huge leather swivel chair. Even the size of Kyle’s chair reflected the size of his damn ego.
The erratic shuffling of papers and the opening and closing of drawers made John turn and face Freddy. The man was checking over his desk in the manner of a dog hunting for blood. John shook his head as he shrugged into his jacket. “I haven’t touched anything so there’s no need to have a coronary on me.”
Freddy grunted. “I don’t like you sitting at my desk. Kyle never had any need—”
“Kyle’s not here. I am.” They locked gazes. “I’m leaving for the night. I assume I don’t need to ask you if you’re okay to close up.”
Silence.
John tensed. He was more than ready for a showdown with the man who had only too clearly shown John his arrival at Templeton was as equally unwelcome as it was to a certain dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty.
Guilt over his harsh responses to Sasha Todd crept up his body, fuelling John’s frustration. “Well?” He snatched his keys from the desk and stared directly at Freddy.
Freddy stared right back, his eyes bulging. “What’s the game here?”
“Game? I’m not playing any game.”
“I ain’t going to lie to you. When Kyle was sentenced, I assumed the baton would pass to me.”
“Why would you think that?” John raised his eyebrows. “Have you ever known Kyle to do the decent thing? Did he regularly reward his loyal followers for their hard work?”
Freddy straightened. “Hey, Kyle’s been good to me.”
“Really? So when did he suggest in any way, shape or form that the fairground was coming to you?” The seconds ticked by as Freddy glowered. John shrugged. “As I thought. My father doesn’t give a crap about anyone. I would’ve thought you’d know that...being his right-hand man and all.”
“I don’t understand why Kyle’s drafted you in to oversee things when he hasn’t seen you for years.”
“How much do you know about my relationship with him?”
Freddy leaned his considerable weight onto his fists on the desktop. “Not much, but—”
“Well, then, from now on, I wouldn’t think too much if I were you. Until I know what’s what at Funland and who the people are Kyle’s got working here, I’ve no idea what will be happening in the future.”
“What future? The fairground ain’t going nowhere. Kyle wouldn’t want anyone taking over who doesn’t know the business like he does.” Color seeped into Freddy’s cheeks, and a vein zigzagged across his temple. “I saw Kyle only last week and he never mentioned your coming. He mentioned you in passing, nothing else. I don’t buy that he’d want you turning up and changing things.”
“You knew he had a son, though?”
Freddy’s gray eyes turned colder than steel. “I’ve known Kyle for fifteen years and the first time he said a word about you was when I last saw him. You two estranged or something? Does he even know you’re here?”
Resentment tipped like paraffin through John’s blood, fuelling his constantly simmering rage against Kyle. “He knows I’m here. Did you meet my father in prison when he was there the first time?”
A muscle worked in Freddy’s jaw. “Yeah. So?”
“And you met up again upon his release nine years ago?”
Freddy nodded, his gaze steady.
John stared. “And he never mentioned me in prison or after?”
“No.”
“Then I guess I’m a big surprise to you in more ways than one.” John smiled, even as his heart beat like a bloody hammer against his rib cage.
Freddy crossed his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, first, you didn’t know about me, and then you find out Kyle has a son. I’m betting a bloody fortune you didn’t expect his sole heir to speak and act like me, either, did you?”
“Your accent don’t mean shit. I’ve met some pretty evil posh bastards inside prison. As for the rest of you?” Freddy’s smile was slow and suggestive. “You scream of being Kyle’s offspring. You’ve got a mean look in your eyes, no matter how much you might smile and want to make friends. People ’round here ain’t going to take too kindly to Kyle’s son turning up, regardless of what plans you’ve got for this place.”
John slid a stack of files off his desk and pushed them under his arm. He grinned. “Worse than that, Freddy, my man, I’m not even sure what I’ve got planned yet, so people are going to wonder—or worry—more than ever what I’m up to, aren’t they? See you tomorrow.”
He strolled to the door and left it wide open behind him. It was nearing eleven and the fair was drawing to a close. The beat of a nineties dance track matched the stomp of John’s boots as he made his way to his car. He unlocked it and slid into the leather seat of Kyle’s Mercedes convertible. Placing the files on the passenger seat, his gaze lingered on the top file emblazoned with Sasha Todd’s name.
“I’ve got my bedtime reading, Kyle. Let’s see what other nightmares you have in store for me.”
Drawing in a long breath, he yanked on his seat belt and gunned the engine. Time to get himself comfortable in his father’s well-made bed.
CHAPTER THREE
SASHA LEFT MARIAN’S Bonniest Bakery with a vanilla latte in hand and gripped the handlebar of her bicycle. She waited for the road to clear and then steered it across to the other side. After parking her bike against the railings overlooking Cowden Beach, she lifted the lid off her coffee, and a plume of gray steam split the runners and dog walkers dotting the sand.
At 8:00 a.m. she would normally have been cycling through the fairground gates, the excitement of the day ahead running through her blood like oxygen. This morning, raw anxiety washed through her at such a rate she couldn’t help thinking she’d be in danger of crashing her bike the moment she got back in the saddle.
She sipped her coffee and contemplated the last time she’d jogged across the beach. Who needed to run when she cycled everywhere she could? All day and half the night, she scrambled on and off rides, climbed ladders to fix broken overhangs or change lightbulbs. She smiled.
Not to mention the innumerable amount of times she’d jumped on the carousel horses under the guise of accompanying a kid riding solo, while their mother rode with their toddler sibling.
Loving the local kids and wanting to make the park a happy, safe place for them was once again out of reach for the foreseeable future. How would the fear of history repeating itself ever go away if she wasn’t in charge? How could she ascertain suspicious behavior from innocent if Funland was overrun with Kyle’s criminal contacts? If only her family would join in the fight for their ancestral piece of history. How could they stand by and let something that had been in their hands for more than a hundred years slip into such undeserving ones?
Didn’t they want the place made good again? To help her wash away the evil?
“That fairground won’t run itself, you know.”
Sasha quickly swiped at her face and pulled on a smile. “Hey, Marian. What are you doing out here?”
Templeton Cove’s favorite—and scariest—baker stood beside her, holding Sasha’s phone between her thumb and forefinger. “You left this behind. Thought you might need it...and a big ol’ shoulder to cry on.”
“Thanks.” Sasha took the phone. “For the phone. The shoulder will have to wait. No tears today.” She nodded toward the bakery. “You’ll be overrun with angry customers wanting coffee and your famous honeycomb muffins in two seconds flat at this time of the morning.”
Marian waved her hand dismissively. “You’re more important. The girls can cope without me for a while.”
“I was just about to head off.” Sasha pulled her bike from the railing, but Marian pushed it back.
“Sasha Todd, talk to me. Now.” Marian lifted an eyebrow and leaned her ample backside against the railing, pinning Sasha with her unrelenting stare. “I’ve never known you to be so distracted when my George was chatting with you. You know how that husband of mine relies on you young girls to brighten up his aging ego. The man’s heartbroken over there.”
Sasha laughed. “I’ve got things on my mind. Tell him I’m sorry and I’ll make it up to him tomorrow.”
“You think he’s going to listen to me? He’ll want to know what’s going on with you...as do I. Spill. Now.”
Sasha hesitated. If she said out loud what had happened between her and John Jordon last night, that would make the situation real, and part of her was still holding on to the hope that when she got to Funland, John would turn out to be nothing more than a figment of her imagination.
“Well?” Marian crossed her arms. “I’m waiting.”
Sliding her coffee into the bottle holder on her bike, Sasha gripped the railing and stared ahead. “Kyle Jordon’s son turned up last night to take over the running of the fair.”
“What?”
Inhaling a deep breath, Sasha turned. Marian’s face had darkened to a worrying shade of scarlet and her eyes bulged wide open.
“His name’s John.” Sasha sighed. “And he speaks with some stupid posh accent as though he’s a member of the Royal family.”
“What?”
Sasha laughed at the pure disbelief on Marian’s face. “Can’t you say anything else?”
Marian blinked. “Kyle Jordon’s son? Here? In Templeton? I don’t believe it.”
“Well, you’d better believe it. He’s here and, from the little time I’ve spent with him, I’ve worked out he’s dangerous. I’m not sure if he’s ‘Kyle Jordon’ dangerous yet, but he’s dangerous all the same.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did he hurt you? Threaten you? What did he do to make you think he’s dangerous?”
Sasha glanced toward the beach. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
She turned and pushed the hair back from her eyes, considering John Jordon and the unsettling effect he’d had on her mentally, emotionally...physically. She swallowed. “The man has more anger in the tip of his little finger than I’ve got in my entire body, so there’s trouble on the horizon whichever way we look at it.”
“I see.” Marian looked toward the bakery across the road. “Does DI Garrett know he’s here? We should call her. We’ve just gotten rid of one Jordon and another turns up.” She faced Sasha again. “Did you know he had a son?”
She shook her head. “Nope. And he says Freddy didn’t, either. I’ve got no idea what this is going to mean for the fair or Templeton.”
Marian pushed away from the railing. “Well, whatever it means, DI Garrett should know he’s here. I’m going to call her right now.”
When she spun away, Sasha clasped Marian’s arm. “Wait. I want to get an idea of what he intends to do first.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said.” Sasha straightened and pulled her bike upright. “There’s something about him that intrigues me. Something’s just not right. He doesn’t exactly look ecstatic to be here, any more than I am to see him.”
Marian gave an inelegant snort. “How can anyone be right in the head if they’re the product of Kyle Jordon’s bodily fluid? Answer me that.”
Sasha wrinkled her nose. “Seriously? Bodily fluid?”
Marian gave a hoot of laughter and patted Sasha’s cheek. “Be careful and call me as soon as you know anything. DI Garrett should be told what’s going on and she trusts my judgment, as I trust yours. The minute you tell me this man is up to no good, I’m on it.” She brushed her thumb over Sasha’s cheek. “I know what that fairground means to you and what it meant to your granddad. Watch your back, okay?”
Fighting to keep her composure, Sasha covered Marian’s hand with hers and lifted it from her face. She squeezed the older woman’s fingers. “I will. Now get back to the bakery before the inspector turns up because of a riot over honeycomb muffins, let alone anything else.”
Marian smiled despite the lingering concern in her gaze. “I’m going. Just remember where I am.”
Sasha saluted, and Marian hurried across the street. Once she’d disappeared inside the shop, Sasha inhaled a deep breath and drew a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of her jeans. She opened it and stared at her carefully typed letter to Kyle, offering him every penny she had for the fair. The amount included the money her grandfather bequeathed her from Funland’s sale to Kyle seven years before, plus some savings.
Of course, there was still the glaring problem of the contract clause that gripped and twisted at Sasha’s heart...confused and irritated her mind. Why had her grandfather written in a clause to say that the fair wasn’t ever to be resold to anyone in the Todd family? She stared ahead at the growing numbers of locals and holidaymakers gathering on the sand to enjoy another day of the school holidays.
Why would you do that, Granddad? Why would you keep something from me when you said so many times you wanted it back in the family?
It was a long shot, but she just hoped and prayed her suspicion that with Kyle imprisoned and her grandfather having passed, the clause would be deemed invalid. She tightened her jaw. Every hope was pinned on the money she’d accumulated being enough. She couldn’t allow this clause to cut her dream to a million pieces. Her plan to ask Freddy to give the letter to Kyle when he next visited him had given her something to hold on to. She finally had a decent sum that even Kyle surely wouldn’t outright dismiss.
Now John was here, and it was time to find out what his reaction would be to her offer. Clause or no clause. She slid the paper back into her pocket, straddled her bike and pushed onto the road. It was time to face the music...or maniac.
* * *
IT WAS ONLY eight-thirty when Sasha stowed her bike at the back of the fairground offices. She locked it to the iron bars of a sad, decrepit and very much disused kiddie ride before smoothing her hands over the rumpled cotton of her shorts. Rare self-consciousness overrode her, the same as it had in the bathroom that morning. Cursing, she tidied her shirt and ripped the band from her hair.
She shouldn’t give a crap what John Jordon thought of her, but his gaze was unnerving and...baring. Yesterday, there were times he’d studied her with such intensity, she wanted to glance at her chest to see if her nipple had popped over the vee of her shirt. She couldn’t let him see the way he made her aware of her body whenever she was within two feet of him.
Tipping her head upside down, she scrunched her hair before standing straight and swinging it over her shoulders.
Her long hair was the only thing she had going for her in the way of armor. If Kyle’s son thought she hadn’t seen the way his blue eyes swept back and forth from her hair to her eyes last night, he was a damn fool. Every man she knew was a sucker for her hair. Why, she had no idea, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t use the phenomenon to her advantage.