Sutherland as benefactor to the needy and underprivileged, any more than her mother was. Hell, your father was as close to charity as the woman ever came, and she worked his ass into the ground.”
Only because Rafe had been there, and only because he’d suffered as much, if not more, at the hands of his own past, was he comfortable speaking so frankly. But Mac wasn’t thinking about his father, or Louisa, or any of that.
He was too busy staring at the picture and thinking about Kate. Even though they’d been teenagers when they’d last laid eyes on Louisa Sutherland’s only daughter, and almost two decades had since past, Rafe was probably right in his assessment about people changing. But then Rafe had never had much patience for Kate, the unflappable, unapproachable, and most certainly unattainable sleek, blond princess of their youth. Mac had pretended the same indifference, but the truth was he’d spent many a fevered night dreaming about her…and hating himself for it. She represented everything he both envied and abhorred. But that didn’t stop him from sporting an almost constant, raging hard-on every time she swung through camp. The grainy black-and-white newspaper photo proved that the ensuing years had done little to diminish her impact on him.
“Did you see that part about the developers sniffing around? What do you want to bet this is all some kind of scam to pull one over on some investment group or something? I wouldn’t put it past either one of them.”
Mac’s attention caught on the last line. Despite several episodes of vandalism and rumors of an attempted buyout by resort developers, Ms. Sutherland hopes to open her camp as scheduled next spring.
“Maybe Shelby,” Mac said. Kate’s stepbrother had always been a creepy little weasel. Mac doubted any amount of time would have ground that out of him. “Kate might have been a little stuck up, but I doubt—”
“A little?” Rafe let out a harsh laugh, then stopped abruptly and tilted his head.
Sirens were closing in.
“Your colleagues are about to show up and we’re standing here in broad daylight with our thumbs up our collective asses. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Rafe tried to take the paper away from him again, but Mac stuffed it in his pocket and took off along the edge of the decaying pier, Rafe right beside him, both of them moving swiftly toward the abandoned sugar refinery where they’d stashed their car from sight.
Mac knew he should let the whole thing go, but his mind was already working, analyzing. It was the cop in him, or so he told himself. But something about that story didn’t add up. As much as he hated to admit it, Rafe might be right; it might all be some scam, a way to get out of paying estate taxes or something. He wouldn’t put it past Shelby. And yet, his detective instincts said otherwise. And what was that part about the vandalism? Where did that come into play?
Rafe reached the car first and jumped in behind the wheel. Mac was still shutting the passenger door as they swung around the back side of the lot and edged out into traffic, two blocks away from the scene of what was now a crime.
“Wonder what Finn will think of this latest twist.”
Mac realized Rafe was talking about the Fortenberry case, not the sudden reappearance of Kate Sutherland. “Finn will think we should figure out where the hell Frank is hiding, pin the bomb-happy asshole to the nearest wall, get Mr. Fortenberry’s ashes back, then get the hell out of here and back to Virginia.”
Rafe maneuvered through traffic heading toward the interstate. As the silence stretched out, he finally said, “It’s that last part that’s bugging you, isn’t it?”
Mac pretended not to understand. “Going back to Virginia? Or getting our hands on an urn full of dead guy? Because I’ve grown to like Virginia. And dead guys don’t bug me much. It’s the ones who are still alive and shooting at me I have a problem with.”
Another few minutes passed; then Rafe sighed and said, “You know, I can handle the rest of this cluster. Finn should be done with the Thomason deal, so he’ll find someone to help me or come up himself. He’d be the first one to tell you to go check this out. Why don’t you just—”
“Why don’t you just mind your own goddamn business, okay?” Mac kept his gaze firmly forward. Rafe knew him far too well. Which, most of the time, was a good thing, since it had saved his ass on more than one occasion. At the moment, however, he’d be more than happy to toss his best friend right into the Hudson if it meant shutting him up about Winnimocca, Kate Sutherland, and anything having to do with their collective past.
Rafe drove on in silence, letting Mac stew.
“No one asked for our help,” he finally bit out. “And I doubt it would be welcome.”
“Probably not,” Rafe said, far too agreeably. “But you and I both know you won’t be worth a damn until you at least dig some on this. No one says you have to see her.”
Mac cast a quick glance at his partner and caught the slight lift at the corner of his mouth. Son of a bitch. He’d probably known all along what effect Kate really had on him. Of course, Rafe had been the first one to explain what they were looking at when Mac had discovered his father’s stash of Penthouse magazines, too. They couldn’t have been much older than nine at the time.
After another long, tension-building silence, Mac swore under his breath. “It would have to be as part of Trinity. Totally professional. A case just like any other we decide to take on. Or not at all.”
Rafe said nothing, just stared ahead as they rolled along with the traffic on Grand Central Parkway. “Whatever works.” He cut across two lanes and took the expressway heading toward JFK.
“Where do you think—?” Mac snapped his mouth shut and shifted his gaze out the side window. “Turn around,” he said flatly, in a tone that used to make even the most desperate, hopped-up scumbag take note. “I need time to prepare for this. Let’s go round up Frank first, finish this job.”
“No,” Rafe said, just as flatly. “Every minute you take right now will be time spent talking yourself out of doing what you know you have to do.”
“I don’t have to do shit. This is not my problem.”
Rafe swung into the airport entrance. “I know it’s not. Trust me, if it were up to me, I’d steer far clear of the whole Sutherland clan.”
“Peachy. Then we’re on the same page.”
“Except it’s not up to me. This one is yours. I’ll square everything with Finn. We’ll get you whatever you need.” He pulled to a stop at the entrance to the car rental counters. “Check in with me later and I’ll bring you up to speed on this mess.”
Mac looked at his partner, fully intending to tell him where he could take his Father Knows Best attitude and stick it, but was caught off guard by the real regret he saw in his partner’s eyes.
“I really am sorry—” Rafe began, but was immediately shut down.
Mac raised a hand. “Don’t. Being an asshole worked better.”
Rafe grinned. “Suits me. Tell Katherine hello from the remaining two-thirds of the Unholy Trinity.” He popped the locks on the doors. “And get some new clothes, man. You smell bad.”
Mac said nothing, just got out of the car and trudged into the rental agency without so much as a toothbrush to his name. The irony didn’t escape him.
You ain’t never gonna escape your roots, boy, no matter how far you run from ’em. Can’t escape your genes, neither. You’ll see.
His father’s wheezing cackle rang in Mac’s ears.
“Looks like you were right about some things after all, Pops.”
Chapter 2
Going into the city had been a complete waste of two of Kate’s most precious commodities: money and time. She’d suspected Shelby wasn’t going to