Craig's Fake Wife

Chapter 1

God had forgotten him. It was that simple or that complicated.

God had turned his back, thrown up his arms (if he had any!), and washed his hands clean of Craig Sean Muldoon. How else could he explain his crappy run of bad luck?

It all started when he was shot at in Mexico over a card game gone bad and had barely escaped with his life. That was followed by his cover being blown in Rome when he tried to get some kids to safety.

Now this.

His luck was all for crap. He was half Irish, but luck seemed to have deserted him.

"Craig?"

He had almost forgotten about the precise and tidy man standing at the other side of the room. The idea about shooting the messenger filtered through his mind.

"Are you certain?" he asked abruptly.

"I wouldn't be here if I weren't. Your grandfather has a little less than two months, and he wants to see you. To settle things."

"How did you find me?"

In the six years since he had brushed off the dust from his home, he hadn't looked back until now. He had been in a seedy motel room in the Cayman Islands when the message had come through.

Before he had time to gather his things, he was being hustled to a waiting car and onto the company's private jet.

William Grayson III had been with the family for over fifty years, having started out as a legal assistant to the family's then-lawyer, William Grayson II. He had taken over as head of the legal team ten years ago, when the old man died of a stroke.

He was excellent at his job and loyal to the Muldoon family, a family that had made him rich beyond his wildest dreams. His third marriage had disintegrated without much fuss, only a minor inconvenience, with his third wife accusing him of having more affection for his position than for her.

He concluded she was right.

"We have the best resources in the world. Cecil has been keeping tabs on you. I trust you're fully recovered from that unfortunate incident in Mexico?"

'That unfortunate incident,' as the man put it, had almost cost him his life, but what the hell did that matter in the grand scheme of things.

"Why does he want to see me?"

William merely lifted a brow and used the snowy white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his immaculately tailored jacket to wipe the gold-framed glasses, before perching it on the bridge of his nose.

"You will discover that when you meet with him." William flickered a look over the beard and the filthy clothing.

"I suggest you get cleaned up. I had someone bring you some suitable clothing and a shaving kit. Your grandfather is expecting you in thirty minutes."

"Tell me something, William." Craig said between his teeth when the man turned away.

"Aren't you tired of jumping through hoops for the old man?"

If the man was offended, it did not show in his placid expression.

"Not at all. Thirty minutes."

With that, he left the room, closing the door behind him with a snap.

Alone in the hotel room, one that belonged to his family, Craig paced the length of the spaciously elegant bedroom. He was trapped.

After escaping years ago, he was now back. His grandfather was dying, and that could only mean one thing.

Craig was going to have to take up his rightful place as the head of the company.

He wanted to, of course. He had things he was burning to do, but could only accomplish them by being at the helm.

He was a different person from the one who had hightailed it out of town. He was older and more mature now, and had seen things that had left him feeling helpless and filled with anger.

He wanted to make a difference, and was going to. But he was afraid of what the old man had in store for him.

Cecil Muldoon was ruthless and inflexible, and loved nothing more than to flex his muscles. He had complete control over the fortune and did as he saw fit.

The fact that he was on his deathbed made it no less true.

Dragging a hand through his disheveled hair, he turned and went into the bathroom. It was time.

*****

Cecil Muldoon sat in his chair behind the large mahogany desk and swallowed his medication gamely. Dismissing the nurse with a curt nod of his head, he barely waited for the woman to leave the room before walking over to the cabinet to pour a finger of his favorite Irish whiskey.

Not mixing medication with alcohol seemed foolish to him, and he was not a man who took orders from others, much less a woman. And the damn nurse was getting on his bloody nerves.

But the boy was home. A sly grin split his weathered face.

Taking the drink back to his desk, he sat down creakily and swirled the drink around in the thick glass. He had been running from his destiny and had to come right back home.

There would be no fatted calf, of course, not after the fact that he had left so abruptly and stayed away without a word, but there would be rules. Cecil was nothing if not thorough, and he had put someone on his grandson since he left the country.

He knew all about his shenanigans, the fights, the brawls, the stints into underground recoveries of children that had been destined for human trafficking.

He could admire his grandson's need to right the wrongs of the world, but by God, he was going to take up his rightful place. He had done his research, or rather had tasked that to the head of his legal team, and William was thorough.

The man earned his exorbitant fees.

The boy was a do-gooder, and his expectations were high. What he wanted to accomplish was going to take a hell of a lot of money, and that was precisely what Cecil was counting on.

It simply meant that when his grandson heard what was required of him, he would have no choice but to fall in line, like it or not.

Tossing back the drink, he tensed when he glanced at the monitor. It was showtime.

*****

Craig felt the familiar tug of anxiety as soon as the car turned into the private lane leading to the long sweeping driveway. Nothing had changed, or at least, not that much had.

The hedges were trimmed to precision because the old man would accept nothing less. But the old pile of stones and bricks set atop an incline was not as daunting as when he was a kid.

Craig recalled that in happier times when his parents were alive, he had thought it was a castle and how fortunate he was to live here. That was before he discovered that his grandfather was a tyrant who was determined to have his own way.

His heart pounded like a jackhammer, and he could feel his armpits sweating. Mentally shaking off the acute tension building up inside him, he took a deep breath as the car glided to a stop at the edge of the sweeping steps leading to the porch.

As soon as he opened the door, the scent of honeysuckle and roses assailed his nostrils. It was the height of summer, and even the breeze waving through the palm and towering oak trees did nothing to alleviate the intense heat.

The familiar fountain, a whale with its mouth agape, spewed water that dribbled down its peeling structure. Gardeners, three of them, were busy clipping hedges and maintaining the lawn.

The drive from the hotel had been done in utter silence, with William attending to some paperwork inside his briefcase, which had been fine by him, Craig mused grimly. He had been in no mood for small talk.

Before they could mount the steps, the huge double doors swung open, revealing a woman wearing a starched black-and-white uniform. Her face was creased by years, but she still wore that familiar smile that managed to dissolve some of the tension around Craig's heart.

"Millicent!" A genuine smile touched his lips as he went straight into her open arms.

Eyes damp and lips trembling, she held him for a moment before easing back to take a good look at him.

"You're thin," she tutted, a frown creasing her forehead.

He merely grinned. "And you're still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Her dark eyes, moist, brightened instantly. She had been around since before he was born, and had helped to take care of him.

The African-American woman was one of his more pleasant memories. Her presence here was enough to take the edge off his ragged nerves.

If Millicent was still here, things couldn't be that bad.

She patted his cheek, her smile warm and welcoming. "You must be hungry."

"I-" Before he had time to agree, the lawyer interrupted them.

"Mr. Cecil is waiting."

Millicent's smile cooled as she turned to give the man a glance. Without a word, she started down the hall, turning at the end of it to smile at Craig.

"Please find me when you're through."

"Count on it."

"Your grandfather will not like you associating with the help," the man told him as he preceded him along the narrow passageway.

Craig's mouth tightened.

"'The help,' as you called her, practically raised me. And unlike you, I don't do everything to please my grandfather."

For his blunt statement, Craig just received a measured glance. "He'll be in his study," he said, pushing open the solid oak door.

Craig had no idea what he'd expected, but it wasn't to see the old man shrunken and looking older than he remembered, behind a desk that dwarfed him. A jolt went through him as he took in the similar features.

It had always pissed him off that he looked more like him than he did his own father: the same handsome, regal bearing, rich, thick auburn hair, and intense jade-green eyes.

Cecil's hair was all white now, and his face was creased.

"So, the prodigal has returned." He waved a hand at William, who shut the door and took a seat at the front of the desk.

"More like bundled up and forced to come back." Craig stood stiff as a board in front of the desk.

"Sit, boy," Cecil ordered. "I have no intention of craning my neck."

Craig took the sofa at the window and sat on the very edge of it. "You don't look like a man who's dying."

The silence in the room went on for a few seconds before Cecil burst out laughing.

"Blunt and rude as usual. I am dying. Just don't think I should spend whatever little time I have left despairing or looking the part. I've ordered refreshments."