Holiday Homecoming. Mary Wilson Anne
Читать онлайн книгу.
and at this time of year, the extras for the holidays made his discomfort even worse. He suspected that was why he kept his penthouse sparsely furnished, without any great works of art or any antiques. There wasn’t a trace of gold in the place or a trace of Christmas. You could take the orphan out of the orphanage, but you couldn’t take the orphanage out of the orphan, he mused as he undid his jacket and headed toward a barely visible door in the paneling to his left.
He hit a button that exposed a security number panel, put in the code, then stood back, waiting for the elevator. He didn’t want to be here, but he’d see his friends, then he’d leave. For good. He couldn’t think of one reason to come back here again.
The elevator went directly to Jack’s living quarters on the third floor, and when the door finally slid open for Cain to get into the elevator, he wasn’t expecting to encounter anyone. If he had, he would have expected it to be with Jack, or possibly Jack’s second-in-command, a huge man named Malone.
Instead, Cain came face-to-face with a woman. She was tiny, barely five feet in height, he’d guess, almost drowning in a heavy navy jacket, jeans and huge snow boots. Fiery auburn hair was caught back in a high ponytail, and he could make out a suggestion of freckles dusting an upturned nose on a finely boned face. His eyes roamed her face. She didn’t appear to be wearing any makeup, not even lipstick on provocatively full lips. Then he met her gaze. Amber eyes, and they were staring at him.
For a second, she looked as though she knew him, and for some reason, that didn’t please her. Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth tightened, losing all the softness in her lips. She held his gaze almost defiantly and for what seemed forever, and he knew for a fact he’d never met her before. He had a gift for remembering people. It was in his best interests as a casino and hotel owner, to remember guests and clients. She’d never been either, and he’d never looked into those amber eyes before. He would have remembered. Any man would have remembered her.
The door started to slide shut and she reached out one slender hand to stop it. She exhaled harshly, then moved toward him, never taking her eyes off his. Before he could step out of the way, she veered to her right, ducked her head and was leaving. She headed for the door he’d just come through, and he was shocked that she could cover so much area so quickly without running.
This time, he reached for the elevator door before it could close and grabbed at the edge, but he didn’t glance away. She was at the side door as she pulled a bright yellow knit hat out of her pocket and tugged it on over her brilliant hair. That was when she glanced back at him, giving away no surprise that he was watching her. Then she opened the door and was gone.
He stared at the closed door, feeling oddly off balance from the encounter. He didn’t know why.
He got into the elevator. The door slid shut behind him, and he hit the Up button. He glanced at his reflection in the elevator door, halfway expecting to see that he had transformed into Mr. Hyde, or maybe grown a second head. No horns, no fangs, no warts. He’d had people not like him before, and he hadn’t cared. Maybe she was one of Jack’s friends, and they’d fought. Maybe she hated all men right now. He’d have to ask Jack what was going on.
The elevator stopped, the door slid back and Cain stepped into Jack’s office area. It fronted Jack’s private suite at the back of the turret he occupied. The plush leather, mahogany and leaded-glass windows were as mellow as Cain remembered. But the space was absolutely empty. There were no papers on the desk near the bank of windows that overlooked the slopes far below. There were no open books on the table by the chairs turned to face the massive stone fireplace. There was no fire in the hearth, and no sounds at all.
“Jack!” he called as he strode toward the partly closed door across the room. “Hey, Jack!”
He touched the door and it swung back. Jack was nowhere in sight. The expansive room, with a fireplace that matched the one in the office, was as empty as the rest of the place. Cain went to the right, into the kitchen, which was all stainless steel and ceramic tile, but there wasn’t even the ever-present coffee brewing in the coffeemaker. Back out in the main area, he crossed to the double doors that led into Jack’s bedroom. If Jack was in the bedroom, that meant that the woman had come from—
A noise in Jack’s office cut short his thoughts. Quick footsteps sounded, then Jack came through the door. He stopped and stared at Cain as if he didn’t recognize him for a moment, then his face broke into a huge smile. “Well, I’ll be,” he said as he walked to where Cain stood, his hands outstretched. “I didn’t believe you’d come.”
He grabbed Cain’s shoulders, and although there was no hug or anything that bordered on mush, Cain was touched by Jack’s greeting. “Good to see you, too,” he muttered. As Jack drew back, Cain awkwardly slapped Jack on his shoulder. “I pay off my bets.”
Jack eyed him up and down, then shrugged. “When you didn’t show up earlier, I had my doubts.” It was then that Cain realized Jack was in outer clothes—a denim, fur-lined jacket, with jeans and heavy boots darkened by clinging snow. “Sit, and let me get you a drink, then you can go over to number twenty.” Jack talked as he headed back across the room. He took off the denim jacket and tossed it on the nearest chair, then walked his way out of his boots as he crossed to a bar built into the wall by the bedroom door. “What do you want to drink?” he asked.
“Anything,” Cain murmured.
As a liquor bottle clinked against glasses, he spoke without looking back at Cain, “Did you get my message about Joshua?”
Cain had picked up the message moments before he’d left Las Vegas. Joshua Pierce, former cop in Atlanta and a widower for eighteen months, had suddenly found someone who had won him over so completely and quickly that he was getting married again two days before Christmas, right here at the Inn. “Yeah, I got it.”
“And?” Jack queried as he turned with two glasses in his hands.
“And what?” Cain asked while he shrugged out of his leather jacket and tossed it on the couch nearest him before sinking into the supple leather cushions.
Jack came to him, held out one of the drinks, and Cain took it, cradling it in his hands as Jack sat on the couch opposite him. “So, what do you think?” Jack spoke as he settled. “One of the Great Four bites the dust.”
Cain smiled at the title they’d given themselves so many years ago. Joshua, Jack, Cain and Gordie. “Yeah, the Great Four,” he murmured, and sipped the amber liquid. Brandy—good, smooth brandy—and it hit the spot. “But Joshua did it before with Sarah.” Cain shrugged. He’d only met his friend’s wife once, yet he’d known right away why Joshua had fallen in love with her. But that didn’t mean he understood why Joshua’d had chosen marriage then, or why he was choosing it again.
Jack lifted his glass, drank a bit, then sat back, crossing one leg over the other, his stockinged foot resting on his knee. “I didn’t think he’d ever get married again, but you never know.” He settled his glass on his thigh. “I’m aware of your aversion to weddings. You’ll be here for it, won’t you?”
He’d return for it. He’d decided that he would. “Sure, I’ll be here.”
Jack appeared pleased. “Good, so you’ll be here through Christmas. Great, great,” he murmured.
“No.” Cain shook his head, cutting off that assumption as quickly as he could. “I’ll come back for it. I can’t stay.”
Jack sat forward abruptly. “The deal was—”
“I’d come here around the holidays, and I have. I’m here and I’ll spend a couple of days around town, then I have to get back. This is the busiest time of the year for the Dream Catcher and—”
“Oh, stop,” Jack said with a frown. “Spare me. I remember the drill. You’re busy. You’re irreplaceable. You’re indispensable. You made the damn place, and it can’t stay standing without you there to support it.”
“That about sums it up,” Cain said with a smile, trying to lighten the tension starting in his