job?” Rogan asked.
“I guided a bloke named Thom Perry last year. He was on our Mount Blanc trip. Perry owns Greenmoor Studios in Los Angeles. Serena Hightower is starring in some big blockbuster they have coming out after Christmas. She’s marrying her boyfriend right before the premiere, and he doesn’t want any bad press.”
“Bad press?”
“This is her hen party. She and her bridesmaids want one last fling before she gets married, and Perry wants to make sure they don’t create any problems for the studio.”
“So it’s your job to get her safely to the altar so this bloke’s movie can make more millions?”
“That’s about it,” Ryan said. “How hard can it be? Five women on a tropical island.”
“So, will you be hiring the male stripper or are you providing those services yourself?”
“It’s not like that,” he said. “Ms. Hightower wants an adventure. According to her instructions, she doesn’t want to spend every minute working on her tan. I expect we won’t be sipping mimosas by the pool the entire time.”
“So you’ll be doing a lot of shopping?”
“Definitely not on the itinerary. Perry has a man in Fiji who will help me with the arrangements. Arthur Cawaru. He’ll meet up with me there.”
“We’re splitting the fee with him?”
Ryan shook his head. “Nope. Like I said, the studio is paying all the bills. And this isn’t a Max Adrenaline job. I’m freelancing on this.”
“Wow,” Rogan muttered. “Mal isn’t going to like that.”
“This isn’t a guiding job. I’m not using company equipment or money. And I don’t care what the hell Mal does and doesn’t like these days,” Ryan muttered. “He’s been so caught up in planning the Everest trip that he’s not interested in anything else.”
Max Quinn, their father, had died nearly twenty years before while guiding a group of climbers to the summit of Everest. Before his death, he’d parlayed his considerable fame as a mountaineer into an adventure business with his Aussie friend and business partner, Roger Innis—who had taken total control of the company, and its profits, after Max’s accident.
And now, with the recent discovery of their father’s body on Everest, there had been a push for his three adventuring sons to make a pilgrimage of sorts to Max Quinn’s final resting place, to retrieve his effects and bury him properly. Mal, Ryan’s older brother, was all for the trip, along with publishing a biography that he and his fiancée, Amy Engalls, were writing about his father.
But not everyone was so enthusiastic about their expedition to Everest. Roger Innis was mounting an expedition of his own to recover their father’s effects, including his climbing journal, which Innis considered company, not personal, property. Mal suspected that Innis was afraid he might be blamed for the mistakes made that day. And Ryan and Rogan knew there were other secrets that might be exposed if their father’s journal got into the wrong hands. The secrets in that book could shatter their perfect memory of their father —and destroy the family he’d left behind.
Ryan drew a deep breath. “We need to tell Mal about Dad and the Montgomery woman. He can still call an end to this.”
“There’s no stopping him,” Rogan said. “The trip is a go.” He paused. “And I’m going with him. I’m not going to let Roger Innis use his expedition to make himself look like the hero.”
“But you said it was morbid.”
“Yeah,” Rogan said. “But I’ve had a change of heart. Claudia has pointed out that I can’t really get on with my future until I deal with my past. Maybe this trip is what it will take for me to understand who he was. And who I am.”
“You know who he was,” Ryan countered. “He was our father. A philanderer.”
“That’s not all he was. Listen, someday I’m going to be a father. And I won’t have Dad around to talk to about it. So I’d like to know him a little better. And I want the truth of why he died on that mountain.”
“And what if the journal’s not there? What if he just died there on the mountain, without anything important to say to his family? Or what if he mentions that Montgomery woman? How do you think that will make Mum feel?”
Rogan drew a deep breath. “I don’t know. But it’s time we found out.”
“You and Mal can go right ahead.”
“It’s something we should all do together,” Rogan insisted.
“Count me out. I’m happy with what I know. I don’t see the need to stir it all up again. It almost destroyed us once already.” Ryan’s chest tightened and he swallowed back a wave of emotion.
His family had never really dealt with his father’s death. At the time, Ryan’s mother, Lydie Quinn, had been so emotionally fragile herself that she hadn’t been able to help her children through the tragedy. Ryan had stood by helplessly as all the happiness had drained out of their lives.
Along the way, Ryan had learned to control his emotions, to stop caring about anything that might make him happy. He’d lived his life waiting for the next disaster to befall their family and building a high wall around his heart to protect himself from the pain.
Malcolm and Rogan had found happiness. They’d fallen in love and were looking forward to rosy futures. But Ryan would never allow himself to be that vulnerable. He couldn’t bring himself to trust that deeply.
“You’re going to have to make a decision soon,” Rogan said. “We leave in three months.”
“Have a good trip,” he muttered.
An uneasy silence fell over the interior of the Range Rover. As if he didn’t already feel like an outsider in his own family, this didn’t make things much better. He and his brothers had always agreed on most subjects, but since Amy and Claudia had come into the picture, that had all changed.
“Is that your plane?” Rogan asked.
Ryan looked up and saw a small jet appear out of the darkness. It rolled to a stop about twenty meters from the car.
“Jaysus, you will be traveling in style,” Rogan said, laughing softly.
“Thanks for the lift,” Ryan said. “I’ll see you in a week.”
The door to the plane dropped down, and Ryan jumped out and grabbed his gear from the rear seat. “Wish me luck,” he said.
“I don’t think you’ll be needing any,” Rogan said. “Stay out of trouble.”
Ryan waved and swung his bag over his shoulder, then jogged across the tarmac to the waiting plane. A young man appeared in the doorway as Ryan climbed the steps.
“Mr. Quinn?”
“Yes,” Ryan said.
“Welcome aboard. I’m Miles DuMont. I’m the studio publicist. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Ryan shook his hand. “A publicist?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he whispered. “You’ll barely know I’m here. I’m just along to make sure we control the message. And get a few good photos.”
“The message? What does that mean?” Ryan asked as he moved past him.
“Ms. Hightower tends to find herself in the middle of a media firestorm wherever she goes. I’m the one who carries the fire extinguisher.”
The interior of the plane was dark and silent. Ryan stowed his gear in a locker and glanced toward the back of the plane. “They’ve all had plenty to drink,” Miles said. “Come on back. I’ll introduce you to Serena.”
Ryan followed Miles down the