No Limits. Lori Foster
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back into his lungs. Jesus. Cannon pinched the bridge of his bruised nose, annoyed by his over-the-top reaction. But then, with Yvette, it had always been that way.
The lawyer went on. “And in fact, Mr. Sweeny has evenly divided his assets between the two of you.”
No way. “Between Yvette and me?”
“Yes.”
Blank, Cannon sat on the edge of his seat and tried to sort it out—without success. “I don’t get it. Why would he do that?”
“He left you a letter.” The lawyer handed over an envelope. “I trust it will explain what I can’t. But what I can explain is that Mr. Sweeny came to me three years ago with very detailed instructions on the distribution of his assets in the event of his demise. He revisited once a year to amend and further clarify as his financial status fluctuated. I saw him for the last time two months ago when his health started to decline.”
“He had a stroke?”
The lawyer nodded, hesitated, then again folded his hands on the desk and dropped the officious attitude. “Tipton had become a friend. He was alone and I’d just lost my wife....” Whitaker shrugged.
“I’m sorry.”
He tilted his chin to acknowledge that. “Tipton’s blood pressure was high and he knew he wasn’t well. He seemed to dismiss the first stroke, but the next was worse and the third worse still. That’s when he finally closed up the pawnshop.”
So he hadn’t closed up shop three years ago, after the vicious attacks, as Cannon had always assumed.
“He was being treated, seeing the specialist on a regular basis, but he figured it was only a matter of time....”
Seeing the sadness on the lawyer’s face sent guilt clawing through Cannon. Damn it, he should have gone to visit Tipton more. He’d known about the first stroke, but not the two after that—and then he’d been in Japan when Tipton’s body gave up the fight. “Yvette was with him?”
Shaking his head, Whitaker said, “He didn’t want to burden her.” A measure of easiness showed on his face as he collected his thoughts. “I gather all of you shared an experience. Tipton never shared the details, but I assume it was something life altering?” He didn’t wait for Cannon to give details. “His granddaughter moved away because of it and Tipton didn’t want a sense of responsibility to bring her back, not, he said, when he knew her trips home were still difficult for her. He wanted her to return on her own terms, not out of a sense of obligation.”
Bombarded with uncomfortable emotions, Cannon got up to pace the small office. Yeah, he imagined Yvette struggled anytime she had to be in town. No girl should ever have to suffer what she had. There were times when the memory of it hit him like a wild haymaker, leaving him dazed, angry, in a cold sweat.
And he wasn’t the one who’d been threatened in the worst possible way.
Remembering softened his voice. “She didn’t know Tipton was sick?”
“Like you, she knew of the first stroke. But Tipton felt strongly about carrying his burden alone.” Chagrined, the lawyer shook his head and said, “No, I’m afraid that’s not precise. He wanted you to share his burden. He said you could handle it.” The lawyer gestured at the letter. “It’s in there.”
A burden? More confused than ever, Cannon tapped the letter to his thigh. “So what are the rest of those papers?”
“Deeds, bank statements, debts to be paid, retirement funds.” He shook two sets of keys out of a padded envelope. “Responsibilities.”
Chewing his upper lip, Cannon stared at the papers—and had the god-awful urge to hand back the letter. His plate was full, and then some. He could handle it, that wasn’t the problem.
It was Yvette.
Could he handle her, the way she affected him?
More to the point, could he resist her now if she needed him? Just thinking about her, hearing her name, had his muscles tightening in that familiar way. “You said deeds?”
“One for the house, one for the business.”
“The pawnshop?”
“Yes.”
“The last I’d heard,” Cannon admitted, “he was going to sell it.” After what had happened, he’d expected Tipton to sell the house as well, but he’d stayed put.
“No. He continued to work until the health issues forced him to retire. Said it was cathartic for him to stay busy. He also redecorated the house.” The lawyer shrugged. “It was home to him.”
Home. Cannon nodded in understanding. His mother had felt the same, refusing to budge from her house, the neighborhood, even after they’d lost his dad to extortionists.
Her insistence on staying put was Cannon’s number one reason for learning to fight. He’d lost his dad, so he had been determined to protect his mother and sister. And he had—until his mother had passed away with cancer. Now it was just him and his sister, and...whatever it was Tipton had embroiled him in.
More than a little intrigued, Cannon asked, “So now what?”
“You sign a few papers and take ownership alongside Ms. Sweeny. Fifty-fifty. The two of you can decide to stay put, sell or one can buy out the other.”
Cannon shook his head. “Have you seen Yvette?” He couldn’t imagine her wanting the house, but even if she did, where would she get the funds? She’d be...twenty-three now. Still young for such responsibilities.
But finally old enough...for him.
“She was in yesterday.”
Had Yvette expected him to be there, as well? Looked forward to it?
Or maybe dreaded it?
He hated the thought that seeing him might dredge up a past better forgotten.
Whitaker turned the papers, placed an ink pen on top and pushed them toward Cannon. “If you wouldn’t mind?”
He wasn’t about to sign anything until he’d read it all and figured it out.
The lawyer sighed, pushed back his chair and stood. “Read Tipton’s letter. I’m sure it’ll all make sense then.”
“You know what’s in it?”
Whitaker looked away. “No, of course I don’t. Tipton gave it to me sealed.”
Suspicions rose.
Clearing his throat, the lawyer met his gaze. “I know...knew Tipton. He had a strong mind right up to the end. He knew what he was doing, what he wanted.”
And he wanted something from Cannon.
Coming around his desk, the lawyer clasped his shoulder. “I’ll give you a few minutes.” And with that he stepped out of the office, closing the door behind him.
Walking over to a window, Cannon leaned a shoulder on the wall and studied the envelope. It was sealed, all right, closed with tape wrapped completely around it. He tore off one end of the envelope. With a sense of foreboding, he pulled out two neatly typed, folded papers. Opening them, he skimmed over the type to see Tipton’s signature at the bottom.
Going back to the first page, he began to read. Each word made his heart beat heavier with trepidation—and anticipation.
Yes, Tipton knew what he wanted. He’d spelled it all out in great detail. One particular paragraph really got to Cannon.
This is her home, Cannon. No matter what, she should be here. She always trusted you and you were always there, such a good boy.
Despite the enormity of what Tipton wanted, a touch of humor curved Cannon’s mouth. Being that he was twenty-six, only a grandpa would call him a boy.