Chapter 12
Twelve
The next morning, Nic left Cam with a kiss on the sidewalk in front of the Federal Building.
Cam had offered to accompany him to Dennis’s office but dealing with his father’s estate was a purely legal exercise.
An exercise that hinged on the outcome of their case against Vaughn.
Nic had asked Cam to spend his morning on the latter instead.
That’s where Nic needed him most right now.
Hailing a cab, he slid in, gave the driver the intersection nearest Dennis’s office, then spent the drive down to Financial typing an email to Eddie, giving him notes on the FBI Stout while editing out the NSFW bits from last night.
He squirmed in his seat, ass still sore and dick perking back up at the memory of how it got that way.
Nic couldn’t wait for all this mess to be over, for the FBI Stout to be released, for more nights like last night.
Years of them, he hoped, making love with Cam and making plans for their future.
A phantom tingling on his left hip reminded him of another plan he needed to make. He jotted off another quick email to his local tattoo artist, asking to schedule some sessions. It would be a nice surprise for Cam. He hit Send just as the cab reached its destination.
While most of the big law firms filled multiple floors in the downtown skyscrapers, the more specialized practices—defense, family, immigration, estate, the ones that had been in the city for decades—had long ago claimed the older, smaller buildings dotted among the metal giants.
Holdouts mostly, owned by the law firm itself, local real estate companies, or by wealthy Bay Area families who’d invested in properties in San Francisco before it had become one of the most expensive places in the States.
Truth be told, Nic preferred the older buildings.
They were architecturally distinct, inside and out.
Old San Francisco at its finest, or at least those that had survived the earthquakes and fires.
He entered a two-story building with brownish-red masonry work, hand-carved crenellations, and an arched doorway trimmed in patina brass.
Bypassing the older-than-time elevator, Nic scaled the stairs to the second floor of office suites.
Dennis’s had the best view, away from the street and overlooking the green space between buildings in the back.
The receptionist greeted him kindly and gestured for him to take a seat in one of the waiting room chairs.
Through the glass wall, Nic spotted Dennis at the head of the conference room table, speaking with a woman whose back was to Nic.
She had silvery white hair, thick and beautiful, and beside her was a younger woman with blond hair who he guessed was her daughter.
On the other side of the daughter, back ramrod straight, sat a Marine.
An officer. The black-and-blue uniform was a dead giveaway as was the man’s high and tight crew cut and the black-and-white cover on the table, its gold insignia ornament and gold-and-red rope visible above the brim.
The woman’s son, he presumed, and the cup across the table probably belonged to their other parent, up from the table to use the restroom maybe.
A family here to get their estate in order.
“Dominic.”
Nic startled at Mary’s voice, not expecting her here. She appeared out of the hallway that led to the restrooms, drying her hands. The cup on the table was Mary’s? But those weren’t her—
He looked back to the conference room at the same time the officer—the major, a gold leaf shining on his shoulder—rotated in his chair.
Nic glanced from his shoulder to his face, and if he hadn’t been seated, his ass would have hit the floor, the crumbling foundation of his world that had only recently been shored up blown to bits.
The major stood, headed for the conference room door. He looked and moved like a distilled version of the boy Nic had fallen in love with decades ago.
Gone was the slot receiver with crackling energy and shaggy chestnut hair.
In his place stood a compact fighting machine.
There was no other way to describe this man.
Bearing rigid, movements efficient, a hard, combat-honed body the uniform did nothing to hide—solid arms and broad shoulders, a cut torso that led to a trim waist, and muscled legs that strained the seams of his navy dress pants.
But those eyes. While his body had filled out and changed, Garrett Scott’s eyes had not. Framed in long dark lashes, catching the morning sun reflecting off the glass, the every-color hazel shimmered and Nic was as captivated now as he had been as a teen.
“Dominic,” Mary said from lower at his side, a few steps back.
The fact that he’d stood and moved toward the conference room snapped him out of his daze. Dennis was also up now, rushing past Garrett and over to him.
“What’s he doing here?” Nic asked low.
“I think you better come into the conference room,” Dennis said.
He said something else too, but his words were drowned out by the blood rushing in Nic’s ears.
The two women had turned around.
The older one was Victoria, which made sense as Garrett was here.
Her strawberry blond hair had gone white, but her face was as kind as ever, if a bit more wrinkled.
She smiled wide, like she couldn’t be happier to see him.
The younger woman, taller than Victoria, shared her mother’s features, but her smile was cautious, guarded, not quite reaching her eyes.
Her eyes.
Not the same warm, sparkling hazel as her mother’s and brother’s.
Blue, like ice.
Like his.
Everything fell into place.
The Unknown calls from Camp Lejeune, home to the US Marine Corps, in which her brother was a major.
The Unknown calls that had started when the money Nic’s father had been depositing into an offshore account had stopped, the calls resuming again when news of Curtis’s death broke.
Victoria and Garrett disappearing completely off the map twenty-seven years ago. The age of this young woman, if Nic had to guess.
Vanished because Victoria had been protecting her unborn daughter.
From her abusive father. From Nic’s father, who’d died. And now they were here, showing themselves to him. Victoria and Garrett, ghosts back from the abyss, and the sister Nic never knew he had.
“Dominic,” Mary urged, shaking his arm. “Maybe you should sit back down.”
The world snapped into a flurry of motion. Garrett turning to his mother and sister, herding them back into the conference room. Dennis hurrying his receptionist out and closing the doors behind her. Mary grabbing a bottle of water off the reception desk and shoving it in Nic’s hands.
Dennis appeared back in front of them. “Nic, if you’ll join us in the conference room, I’ll explain everything.”
Nic saw red, fire prickling the underside of his skin, a sandstorm tearing apart his insides, but his mouth was too dry to utter more than a seething, “You knew.”
“I’m your father’s attorney, Nic. Not yours.”
Shaking off Mary’s hand, he guzzled back half the water, then threw the bottle aside. While the water had quenched his parched mouth, it did nothing to douse the betrayal, hot and bitter, coursing through his veins.
This man was supposed to be his mentor. Someone he considered a trusted colleague and friend. He took a step closer, getting in Dennis’s face. “You knew I had a sister and you didn’t tell me!”
“Nic—”
“We’ve been in the local bar together for years.”
“I urged Curtis to tell you, but he thought they’d be safer if no one knew, including you.”
Safer.
Fuck!
There was another Price heir now. Another point of leverage for Vaughn to press, either directly or against Nic.
Nic stepped back, turned, and covered his face with his hands, hiding a moment from this new, upside-down reality.
He wished like hell Cam was with him, because fuck if he wasn’t coming untethered, the past unmooring him from the present, from the reality they’d been building.
Their future had seemed right there for the taking last night and now it was hurtling away at warp speed.
A hand landed on his back; it wasn’t the one he wanted.
“Dominic, where’s Cameron?” Mary asked, as if reading his thoughts. “Do you want me to call him?”
“No, he’s at the office.” Nic dropped his hands. “Did you know?”
Her eyes could have shot daggers. “How dare you ask me that?”
She was right; how dare he. It was completely inconsistent with their conversation Monday night, with every conversation and shared tear since the day Victoria and Garrett had left. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her into a hug. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her hair.
She held him tighter. “If I’d known, I would have told you. You’d keep them safe like you did me.”
But they weren’t safe. Not since he’d gone after Vaughn, hastening the inevitable confrontation.
He hadn’t thought there was anyone but trained professionals in the line of fire, and hell, he’d tried to keep them out of it for over a year.
Now, though, his sister, Victoria, and Garrett were all targets.
All because of his goddamn pursuit of justice.
Fuck, he should’ve just tapped into his retirement and paid Vaughn off.
Made the problem go away before the gangster ever got wind of this.
Maybe he still could. The logical part of his brain knew sharks like Vaughn never truly stayed gone.
He’d have paid off a criminal, and whenever Vaughn wanted something—a case swung his way, a charge dropped, an opponent taken legally out—he’d dangle that fact over Nic’s head and make him dance.
Just like he controlled Bowers. But the protector part of Nic was scrambling, any and all scenarios back on the table.
In any event, he couldn’t keep them safe as long as they were here, right under Vaughn’s nose. He had to get them into hiding.