The Heiress

Jack flushed with embarrassment and looked all the more chastened as he admitted reluctantly, “We were…uh, in the same cabin.”

The bad mood Tom had put on hold reared up again. Hands knotted in fists at his sides, he glared at Jack. “You spent the night in the same cabin with my daughter?”

Jack shrugged, the guilty look in his eyes increasing. “That wreck of a car she’s been driving lately broke down. She wanted to come here. I gave her a lift. She checked into cabin six. I checked into cabin five. She was upset and about to do something really reckless and crazy.”

“And you stopped her,” Tom guessed.

Jack looked away before admitting, “Yeah.”

“How?” Tom asked, not liking the sound of this, not one bit.

Silence.

“Don’t tell me you slept with her.”

What the hell was Jack supposed to say to that? He wanted to protect Daisy and keep what had happened between them strictly between the two of them. But he couldn’t lie to the man who he had looked up to as a trusted mentor. Especially when he knew, given her impetuous nature, that Daisy would probably announce the tryst to her biological father anyway.

Figuring it would be best coming from him, Jack reluctantly owned up to his mistake. “I—we—didn’t mean for it to happen,” Jack said, knowing all the while that even if the impulsive one-night stand had meant something to him, it had been nothing more than yet another form of payback for Daisy.

“The hell you didn’t,” Tom exploded as his fist came flying toward Jack.

Too stunned and disbelieving to duck, Jack took a right cross on the jaw. The impact knocked him off his feet and sent him flying into the exterior cabin wall. The next thing Jack knew, he was lying on the ground. Tom was standing over him, fists clenched, more angry and disapproving than Jack had ever seen him. Chest heaving, Tom instructed fiercely, “I don’t care what you have to do, but you find her, goddamn it. And when you do—” Tom paused, to let his words sink in “—you bring her to see me.”

BUCKY JEROME’S FATHER was waiting for him when he arrived at the Charleston Herald newspaper offices at five minutes after eight that morning.

With a pointed look at the clock to let his son know he was late and a jerk of his severely balding head, Adlai Jerome motioned Bucky into his office. Adlai gave Bucky another long assessing look, focusing on Bucky’s spiked black hair, rumpled khaki’s and trendy shirt, letting Bucky know he didn’t approve of his son’s “look” any more than he liked Bucky’s writing. Which was no surprise, Bucky thought, sighing inwardly. He and his “button-up-shirt-and-tie” father had been at odds as long as he could remember. “I’m putting you on the society beat,” Adlai said.

The society beat! His entire 5'8" frame stiffening with tension, Bucky plopped down on the leather sofa in the publisher’s office and stared at his father, knowing Adlai too well to think this was a joke. His dad was one of the original hard-asses, loaded with money in his own right but determined to own and manage the paper that had been in their family for generations, instead of selling out—for millions—to one of the big chains. Bucky respected his father’s determination to make it on his own regardless of their family’s personal wealth. He didn’t like Adlai’s theory that everyone—whatever their pedigree—must begin their work career at the very bottom.

Adlai shrugged and gave Bucky a look, like, What did you expect? “You said you wanted off the obits,” Adlai explained, “so I’m moving you to the society page. Specifically, the ‘Around the City’ column.”

He’d gone to Duke and worked his ass off for four years for this? “Shirley Rossey already writes that,” Bucky argued, not about to take what he considered a demotion lying down.

“Not anymore.” Adlai took a sip of inky-black coffee, poured from the pot in the newsroom that was, Bucky knew, almost never washed. Just filled and refilled and refilled again. Which, of course, made any coffee brewed in it taste like something from the bottom of a trash barrel.

“She’s being bumped up to lifestyles editor,” Adlai continued explaining in the don’t-give-me-any-crap tone he always used with Bucky. “I’m promoting from within instead of hiring from the outside. So you’re it, Bucky.” Adlai looked at Bucky over the rim of his Charleston Herald mug, which was washed almost as much as the pot. “I want you covering every event. And be sure you take lots of photos. The folks in Charleston like to see their pictures in the paper, especially when they are all gussied up.”

Bucky scowled at his father and gripped the double latte he’d gotten at Starbucks on his way over. “This isn’t fair,” he told Adlai grimly. “I want to do something important.”

Adlai dropped into his swivel chair and turned his attention back to the stack of papers on his desk. “You want to run this paper someday, you’ve got to learn it from the ground up, just like I did. And that means working every single department, Bucky.”

When Adlai had first laid out the deal to his son, Bucky hadn’t taken his father literally on that particular point. He’d figured after his initial mind-numbing stint in the classifieds sales office last summer that he’d work as a reporter for like a year, and then move into the editorial offices alongside his father. Too late, he was beginning to see that might never happen. That he should have tried harder to find a job on one of the big city papers when he had graduated from Duke instead of returning to Charleston.

Desperately, Bucky tried to change his father’s mind. “You promised me the police beat.”

“And you’ll get it,” Adlai agreed smoothly, taking another sip of coffee, “just as soon as you learn how to make even the most mundane interesting.”

Bucky scowled, knowing it would be futile to argue further. Once his father had made up his mind, that was that.

“And concentrate on getting as many under forty mentions as those forty and above,” Adlai cautioned as Bucky pushed to his feet. “We’ve had complaints recently that section of the paper is getting too stodgy.”

No kidding, Bucky thought, trying hard to think how to turn this situation around. The assignment might not be what he wanted, but he was certain if he was smart, he could make it work to their mutual advantage just the same. After all, where there was smoke there was fire and where there was a lot of money there was usually scandal. It was just up to him to uncover it. “Assuming I take this position,” rather than quit, “you’ll give me free rein? I can write it like the gossip columnists in the New York City newspapers?”

Already losing interest in the conversation, Adlai began booting up his computer. “You have to concentrate on the people who actually live here or are visiting the Charleston area. But yes, as long as it’s not actionable, or too editorialish, you can do what you want. Your goal should be to get people so excited about reading ‘Around the City’ that they’ll turn to that section of the newspaper the moment they pick up their papers.”

Bucky knew that was the same stock advice his father gave to all the journalists on his paper, with the exception of the obits. There, Adlai just cautioned that the items should be the best obits—the most concise, loving and compassionate—anyone had ever read. But Bucky was going to take Adlai’s advice to heart anyway, and use the column to make a name for himself.

“Who knows,” Adlai continued in an obvious effort to motivate Bucky to do his best, “if it’s good enough, snippets of your column could even get picked up and run in other papers, too.”

He was right about that, Bucky mused. They did have at least one national celebrity in their midst. Grace Deveraux. Who, rumor had it, was currently seeing some model-type half her age. If he could get something on that, something factual and not actionable, proving the relationship wasn’t just a platonic one, maybe it would get picked up by other newspapers. Or get him noticed by one of the big outfits in New York City.

Adlai handed Bucky a typewritten sheet of paper. “Here’s a list of society parties and other gala events this week. Make sure you put in an appearance at all of them.”

“No problem,” Bucky said, his spirits already lifting as he savored the excitement and notoriety ahead. Adlai might think he’d just given Bucky a low-level assignment, but nothing could have been further from the truth.

CHAPTER FOUR

“SO, SHE GOT YOUR SUV, your AMEX card and three hundred in cash from your wallet,” Harlan Decker stated as he sat back in his swivel chair and lit a cigar.

Jack nodded and looked over at the casually dressed private investigator, feeling damn embarrassed. As always, the burly ex-cop was dressed like a tourist, in a loud shirt, knee-length plaid shorts, wide-brimmed straw hat, knee-high crew socks and well-worn running shoes. He had a camera slung around his neck and a street map sticking out of his shirt pocket. His face and neck were sunburned, his gray hair damp with perspiration from the heat and humidity outside. Jack knew Harlan’s disguise worked like a charm—Harlan could wander in practically anywhere, look a little lost and distracted, and not be paid any mind. He was also an ace at both uncovering and keeping secrets.

Too tense to stay seated for any length of time, Jack got up to pace the P.I.’s office. Knowing he could trust Harlan to guard the Deveraux family and shipping company’s reputation the way he always had, Jack warned, “Tom doesn’t want any publicity. This is a private family matter. He wants it to stay that way.”

Harlan’s glance cut to the bruise on Jack’s face. Too discreet to inquire how that might have occurred, Harlan picked up his pen and asked, “How much money did Miss Templeton have on her own, do you know?”

“Probably not much,” Jack predicted, worrying a little about that. The lack of ready cash, combined with her need to stay hidden, could lead Daisy to some dives that were not necessarily safe. Jack didn’t want to think about anything happening to her, especially when he was the one who had prompted her to take off the way she had. If only he had been able to walk away from temptation and contain his lust for her…. The situation might be very different now. Jack let out a long, self-effacing breath, aware Harlan was waiting for him to continue. “As you probably already know, since you just got finished doing a job for Daisy yourself, the Templetons cut Daisy off weeks ago and she just returned from several weeks in Switzerland that, according to Amy, had Daisy down to her last couple of bucks.”

Harlan made a note on the pad in front of him. “I’ll start checking the airports and train stations, but my guess is she’s still driving your SUV.”

That was Jack’s theory, too.

“Less chance of her movements being traced.”

And more of a chance of being arrested and creating a situation embarrassing to both families. If there was one thing Daisy Templeton was interested in, it was payback. And Jack had the feeling she wouldn’t rest until she’d gotten it. Knowing how upset she still was and, Jack admitted reluctantly, probably had every right to be, he slid his hands in his pockets and looked out the window at the parking lot below. In retrospect, he knew he should have expected Daisy would pull something after they made love. He should have talked to her, tried to work things out verbally. Or at least try to discuss what had just happened between them. But like an infatuated fool, he had figured conversation could wait until morning and wrapped her in his arms and held her until she—they both—fell asleep.

Now, thanks to his lack of foresight, Daisy was out there somewhere, feeling the way he had for as long as he could remember—like no one had ever really loved her, or ever would. Like she was a source of shame, existing only to sully the family honor. And that was a miserable way to live, Jack knew.

“Eventually, though,” Harlan continued pragmatically, “she’ll start working somewhere and have to use her social security number, or she’ll have to start charging on your credit card.”

And that was how they would locate her. “I’ll check my American Express account daily for any transactions,” Jack promised, his customary confidence beginning to return.

“And I’ll start looking for her right away,” Harlan retorted with a narrow glance. “How fast I find her will depend on just how badly she doesn’t want to be found.”

PAULO LIFTED HIS LIPS from Grace’s breast, the frustration he felt evident on his face. “Why are you pretending?”

Grace’s skin warmed self-consciously. She shifted away from Paulo and tugged the sheet upward to cover her nakedness. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said in the cool polite voice she used to keep people at bay.

“Last night. This morning.” Like a scientist in the midst of a perplexing experiment, Paulo stroked his hand across her belly. “You merely pretended to feel pleasure. Why?”