Chapter 7 #2
“Chicken marsala,” Nic said, the aromas of red wine, mushrooms, and seared chicken taking him back to his childhood. It had always been one of his favorite dishes, second only to Mary’s cioppino.
“Oh God, the marsala we used to get in North End,” Cam said, practically moaning, his accent more pronounced, something that had faded since they’d returned from Boston. Nic realized how much he’d missed it and how much that trip had changed them for the better.
Using the hand in his, Nic yanked Cam to a halt.
Other hand around his neck, Nic hauled him in, stealing a quick, hard kiss.
“You are a good boyfriend,” he whispered against his lips.
“I wouldn’t want to go through this with anyone else, or alone.
” That’s what the old Nic would have wanted, but the one holding Cameron Byrne’s hand, the one who knew he had someone to call, someone to tell his story to, someone to go home to after a no-good horrible day, wanted this man with him, always.
Cam’s dark, heated eyes stared back at him. “I’m with you, baby.”
As was his family.
And Nic wanted to be with them tonight too, more than he even wanted sleep.
Hand in hand with Cam, walking into Mel and Danny’s condo to the smell of marsala, to Danny flirting with Mary by the stove, to Mel scowling at the bottle of whiskey Lauren offered, Nic relaxed for the first time since they’d left the house that morning.
Cam closed the door behind them, and Mary eyed them over her shoulder. “Cameron, kitchen now.”
Cam’s eyes twinkled. “The chef calls.” He loosened his fingers, gave Nic a smacking kiss on the cheek, then hurried into the kitchen like a kid at Christmas.
Mel appeared at Nic’s side, two glasses of whiskey in hand. “He took to Mary quickly,” she observed, offering him a glass.
Nic took a sip, smiling as two dark-haired, six-foot-plus Irishmen took orders from a five-foot-nothing slip of an Italian woman. “She’s actually a lot like Cam’s mom. And she cooks.”
Mel laughed. “Same reason Danny has taken to her.”
He glanced to the side, a streak of worry running through him. “Not you?” He was the one who’d encouraged this arrangement. He’d hate to hear it wasn’t working out for Mel too.
“Oh, I’ve taken to her. That woman has made my life a million times easier. I owe you.”
“Glad to hear it.” He tilted his glass for a clink, the toast capped by a “We’re ready” from Cam in the kitchen. Nic threw back the rest of his drink, set the glass aside, and followed Mel to the kitchen.
Mary wrapped him in a big hug. “Eat first,” she said. “We’ll talk after about arrangements and anything else.”
Arrangements, fuck. Nic had skipped right over that in favor of the case and the estate disposition. Something else to add to the list. For after. After was good. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure how much he’d actually eat, and he didn’t want to miss out on the food or this bright moment with his family.
Dinner was a loud affair once everyone got past their first mouthwatering bites.
Danny baited Cam into an East Coast-West Coast football debate, Mel and Aidan entering the fray to plead the Miami Dolphins’ case, while Lauren ignored that debate completely, discussing with Mary TV shows she’d marathon-watched.
At some point, Aidan began pitching Mary on coming to work for him, drawing a death glare from his brother.
“Why the hell do you need help?” Danny argued. “Jamie’s practically a chef.”
“Yes, but he’s also the messiest person alive.”
“Let me answer this now,” Mel interjected. “No.”
Laughter erupted, and the conversation moved on to Q he wasn’t about to entertain a public service.
And if anyone wanted to send flowers or condolences, they could do so in the form of a donation to a charity Nic would designate.
He and Mary had it sorted in less than ten minutes.
Yet there was something unsettling about being the last Price, the last of his immediate family.
Not exactly grief, but a vague sense of emptiness, of being untethered like when they’d been out to sea with no other ships or land in sight.
He rubbed his hip, reminding himself of his strongest tether to the here and now, to the reality and future he wanted, one where he wasn’t alone.
But still that uneasiness lingered. Perhaps also because Nic couldn’t avoid the hard stuff any longer.
“I need to ask you some things related to the case, but I can’t go into all the details.”
“I work for a bounty hunter, Dominic. I’m used to half stories.”
He swung his legs around, facing her with his feet on the ground, elbows resting on his knees. “Did you know Victoria before she came to work for Dad?”
Mary shook her head. “She came by recommendation from the landscaper your father used for the commercial properties.”
“Do you know if she was seeing anyone romantically? Garrett’s father was out of the picture by then, but was there anyone else?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Did she know Duncan Vaughn?”
Mary’s relaxed posture evaporated. “I figured that’s where this was headed,” she said, resignation in her voice.
She straightened in her chair, pulled her knees up to her chest, and wrapped the blankets around her folded body like a shield.
“They grew up together. Duncan was her best friend, and he was in love with her.”
That fit with all the pictures in the lockbox, a collection of memories of the woman Duncan had loved, though none of the pictures had seemed romantic.
They were just shots of Victoria or of the two of them as friends.
No hugs, no kisses, nothing remotely date-like, and no pictures of Garrett.
What else had Mary seen that wasn’t in those photos? “What makes you say that?”
“He came to the house a few times once your father had started courting her. She’d been seen around town with him and Duncan was upset.”
“He was trying to talk her out of getting involved with Dad?”
She nodded, gaze drifting back out over the Bay. “When word got out they were engaged, he waited until your father left for a business trip, then visited one afternoon. They had a shouting match in the garden.”
“I don’t remember . . .”
“You and Garrett had gone to a ballgame.”
That made sense. With his dad out of town, Nic would frequently use the club level tickets that hadn’t been given to clients and sneak off with Garrett for an afternoon at the ballpark.
They made it to their seats only half the time, often diverting to a shadowed corner of the concourse to make out.
They’d never appeared as more than friends in the seats, afraid some of the regulars around them might say something to Curtis.
Which sounded like what Duncan had been doing too, only showing up to confront Victoria when Curtis was out.
“What happened?” Nic asked.
“He tried again to convince her to leave. Confessed he’d always been in love with her and proposed.”
Nic gasped. Until today, he’d never suspected that Victoria was at the center of the animosity between Duncan and Curtis.
“But he wasn’t the same Duncan Vaughn then,” Mary continued.
“And she had Garrett to worry about. He was her whole world.” And he’d become Nic’s too.
“She could take a chance on Duncan, who barely had a cent to his name, or she could provide a future for them with your father, who up until then had been nothing but good to her.”
“Was she in love with Duncan?”
“She was so upset after their fight that I thought maybe. I talked to her afterward and she swore she wasn’t. But he was her best friend; she didn’t have the heart to tell him that.”
“So he still thinks Dad stole her.”
All the pieces clicked into place. Everything was starting to make sense now.
Everything.
What Duncan had once told him Curtis had stolen. What Duncan had taken from Curtis. He’d set out to destroy Curtis the way he perceived Curtis had destroyed his life by cratering his chances with the woman he’d always loved.
“He’s the one your father was in debt to?”
“I can’t answer that.” Though he figured he’d done as much by his words.
“After Victoria disappeared,” Mary said, “Duncan confronted your father, demanding to know where she’d gone. He told Curtis one day he would pay for hurting her, for stealing her away from him.”
With his fortune, and now it looked like his life. Had he made Victoria and Garrett pay too? And if not then, would he now, thinking that removing Curtis would somehow impress her?
“Do you have any idea where Victoria and Garrett went? Did you ever hear from them?”
“Not a word.”
He needed to talk to Mel. Find and warn them.
He’d never intended to contact Victoria and Garrett again, afraid he’d only bring them more pain than he already had.
He didn’t want to disrupt their lives a second time.
But he’d never forgive himself if he let any harm come to them because of Vaughn’s vendetta.
Mary covered his hand where it had fisted on his knee. “He’s a dangerous man now, Dominic. Everyone here knows that. Vengeance has fueled him for thirty years.”
Had it fueled the murder of his father too? Almost certainly.
“Dominic!” Cam’s shout rang up the stairs. In his agent voice, this late at night, it couldn’t be good news.
By Mary’s wide-eyed look, she sensed it too.
He patted her hand, then stood and crossed to the stairs. Cam was at the bottom, hands braced on the rails.
“What’s going on?” Nic asked.
“Moore just called. We know why Harris Kincaid missed his meeting this afternoon. He’s dead.”