Secret Vows

“Jason’s the antithesis of Tinseltown. He built a nice little house on an eight-acre parcel that sold for more money than some people make in two or three years. It’s not as ostentatious as a few of the others. I overheard someone say it’s somewhere around five thousand square feet.”

“How large are the others?” Greer asked. In her opinion five thousand square feet was definitely not a little house.

“Anywhere from ten to fifteen thousand.”

She scrunched up her nose. “Unless you have a tribe of children, what would you need with fifteen thousand square feet of living space?”

“I wouldn’t know. When Stella and I bought our house, we’d planned to have at least two kids, but I suppose the good Lord knew what He was doing when He didn’t give us any with both of us working around the clock.”

Reaching across the table, Greer patted his forearm. “He did give you kids, even if it was only part-time. You have me and Cooper.”

Bobby grasped her hand, pressing a kiss on her knuckles. “That He did.” A wry grin twisted his mouth. “I loved taking you and your brother camping in the woods, teaching you guys how to fly-fish and shoot. Cooper was always pissed off because you were a better shot.”

“He eventually got over it after he joined the bureau.”

Greer’s thoughts drifted back to Jason. She wanted to ask her uncle, if Jason was really a nice guy, then what was his connection to Chase? She found it odd that Chase never shared his table, and only on a rare occasion did he sit and talk with anyone for any appreciable length of time.

“I’m going to call it a night. After I soak my feet, I’m going straight to bed,” Greer said.

Standing up, she kissed Bobby’s cheek, and then walked on sock-covered feet to the kitchen, leaving the mug in the stainless-steel sink for Danny to put in the dishwasher.

Returning to the table to put her shoes back on with a groan, she exited the building and headed to Bobby’s vehicle, on loan to her for as long as she was here.

All thoughts, of Chase, Jason and why she was working in Stella’s, faded as she started up the ancient truck. The engine to Johnny B. Goode II roared to life, shattering the quiet of the night. The year she had turned fifteen, Bobby had taught her to drive. He’d bought the 1956 Ford F-100 from a farmer and named it after his favorite Chuck Berry song. Greer had stalled out a number of times until learning to ease off the clutch slowly while depressing the gas pedal. The classic truck had a rebuilt engine and was fitted with power disc brakes. It sported a new coat of red paint, and black leather seats had replaced the tattered cloth ones.

She preferred a standard shift car to an automatic because it forced her to concentrate on the narrow road winding around the lake. Several times each year a motorist would speed, fall asleep or miss a sharp turn and end up in the lake. Fortunately there were few that drowned. She passed the sign leading to Bear Ridge Estates, noting the gatehouse and towering massive iron gates protecting the residents living in the exclusive community with multimillion-dollar homes.

She still couldn’t shake her nagging suspicion that Charles “Chase” Bromleigh was more than a ne’er-do-well that didn’t have to concern himself working as a nine-to-fiver. He wouldn’t be the first wealthy psychopath that embarked on a life of crime, and if her instincts were right, then Greer knew—in order to get close to Chase—she would have to befriend Jason. And she had the perfect secret that was certain to get Jason’s attention.

Maneuvering into the driveway of the house that had become her temporary home, Greer punched a button on the visor of the pickup and the automatic door to the two-car garage slid up. She parked beside an outboard motor boat resting on a trailer. The boat, also named Johnny B. Goode, was several years older than the pickup, and she had lost track of the number of times she and Cooper would take the boat across the lake to Stella’s before either of them had driver’s licenses. Bobby had issued a firm mandate that they wear life vests when riding in the boat although they’d become proficient swimmers.

She unlocked the door leading from the garage into a mudroom, disarmed the security system, then activated it again before slipping out of her running shoes and leaving them on a thick straw mat. It was time she traded the running shoes for a pair of shoes that gave her legs the support needed for her to be on her feet for hours at a time.

The moment Greer climbed the staircase to the second floor, she knew why her uncle had decided not to continue to live at the house with awesome views of the lake and valley. It was too quiet. Even now that her aunt was gone, her presence lingered along with the scent of her favorite perfume.

Greer had programmed the lights in the house to come on and go off at different intervals, giving the appearance that it wasn’t unoccupied. The crime rate in Mission Grove wasn’t what it would be in a more densely populated area, but there was enough criminal activity to warrant having a four-man police force. There had been a time when the small town was patrolled by the county sheriff, but that had changed once the residents of Bear Ridge demanded more of a police presence and were willing to underwrite the cost of having around-the-clock police protection beyond what they paid for private security. Anyone, other than residents, entering or leaving was subject to go through a security checkpoint.

Greer turned on the water in the bathroom, added a generous amount of scented bath salts and stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a large wicker hamper. By the time she’d brushed her teeth and washed her face, the water had reached the level she needed for a leisurely soak. Removing the elastic band holding her hair in a ponytail, she combed it out and secured the chemically relaxed strands in a topknot.

All thoughts of why she was in a small Oregon town faded when she stepped into the warm water, sat down and closed her eyes. The water cooled and Greer still did not stir. It was when she found herself falling asleep that she picked up a sponge and a bottle of bath gel and soaped her neck and shoulders.

Her movements were slow, mechanical, when she finished bathing. Wrapping a thick bath sheet around her body, she returned to her bedroom and fell across the bed. Within minutes she’d fallen into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Chapter 4

Jason woke at three the following morning, but forced himself to remain in bed. He fell asleep once more and didn’t wake again until daylight came in through the bedroom skylights. He knew his first day would be spent settling into Serenity West. He had to be up and dressed by nine. He’d contacted a cleaning service before leaving Florida to send a team to dust and air out the entire house.

His to-do list also included shopping for groceries to stock the refrigerator/freezer and pantry. Jason was as deficient when it came to housecleaning as he was proficient in writing music. He’d continued the tradition of Cole men whose mothers had taught them to cook so they wouldn’t have to rely on a woman to feed them. He knew it would take another day before he’d get into the routine of rising and going into the studio.

Going up on an elbow, he glanced around the bedroom. He’d lingered long enough the night before to remove dustcovers from tables, chairs, the armoire, triple dresser and highboy. Jason had worked closely with the architect that his interior decorator aunt had recommended, and it’d taken more than three months before he had finally approved the house’s design.

He wanted a house that would fit into the forest setting. It was to be constructed from a log-timber frame, with a broad sheltering roof and using lots of natural materials. The design brought the upper and lower decks close to a forested area, and the generous overhangs kept rain off the windows while protecting the siding and foundation. The lower level was an open gallery of rooms, the media center separate from the primary family living space and the recording studio accessible by a stairway leading to the basement level.

His cell chimed a familiar ring tone. Reaching across his body, Jason picked up the phone. “Good morning, Mrs. Jones.”

Ana’s giggles came through the earpiece. “Good morning, Jay. How are you?”

Jason smiled. “Wonderful.”

“I’m calling because Mom claims she hasn’t heard from you.”

His smile vanished quickly. “Tell your mother that I’m okay.”

“I’m not going to act as a go-between—”

“But you are, Ana,” Jason accused his twin sister, “when you accuse me of not checking in. I shouldn’t have to tell you how old I am because we share the same birthday, and at thirty-three, I don’t believe I should have to check in with my mother. You never did when you went away.”

There came a beat of silence. “It’s because I didn’t live at home at thirty-three. Within months of graduating law school, I moved out and got my own place, while you’re still living at home. It’s about respect, Jason. Mom didn’t even know you were gone until she spoke to Diego who told her that you’d made arrangements with him to fly to the west coast. You could’ve left a note.”

Jason ran a hand over his cropped hair. He knew Ana was right. And it was because he still lived under his parents’ roof that his mother felt he was obligated to let her know if he planned to be away for a while. All of his siblings had moved out in their twenties, and he’d stayed much too long. Recalling what Chase had said the night before—about not having a wife monitoring his coming and going—brought everything into focus.

“I’ll call her, Ana, and let her know that I’m okay.”

Jason knew his mother’s apprehension came from the alleged feud between Serenity and Slow Wyne Records because Ana had won the bidding war to sign singing phenom Justin Glover. Basil Irvine, humiliated because he’d lost to a woman, had taken a contract out on his rival. The assassin hired to kill Ana had missed his target. Tyler Cole had taken a bullet to the head intended for Ana. Fortunately Tyler recovered, and Ana had gone into hiding where she’d married her protector.

“Thanks, Jay. Mom hasn’t been herself since we discovered one of our employees was spying for Slow Wyne Records.”

Jason nodded although Ana couldn’t see him. “That’s over, Ana.”

“Is it really?”

He heard the apprehension in her voice. “Of course it is. Basil’s six feet under, so he can’t bother anyone again.”

The carefully orchestrated plan to take out the CEO of the L.A.-based record label was reminiscent of a plot from a cold war spy novel. The operative was in and out of Basil’s palatial Beverly Hills mansion in fewer than twenty minutes, having never been seen. Basil’s houseboy discovered his boss’s lifeless body. He called Basil’s brother and then the LAPD. The medical examiner’s report confirmed Basil had died from a massive coronary, attributing it to a combination of alcohol and antianxiety medication. Basil’s younger brother Webb had assumed control of the label and, unlike the deceased CEO, had elected to stay out of the spotlight.

Jason chatted with Ana for another two minutes before ending the call. He touched the cell’s screen for his mother’s number, holding the phone away from his ear when she launched into a tirade about how his disappearing act was hastening her demise.

Waiting for a pause in the ranting on the other end of the line, he said in a calming voice, “Mom. I’ve never known you to be so melodramatic.” His attempt to placate Serena backfired when she switched from English to Spanish, the words tumbling over one another. His mother was born in the States, but raised in Costa Rica after her mother had married a Costa Rican government official. Jason heard his father in the background asking his wife to calm down. Jason was tempted to hang up when David’s voice came through the earpiece.

“What did you say that set your mother off? She’s hysterical.”

“Dad, come on. You know how she is nowadays.”

“No, I don’t know how she is,” David countered defensively. “All I know is my wife and your mother is having an emotional meltdown.”

Jason repeated the conversation he’d had with Ana. “It’s apparent your wife and my mother is under the impression that I’m a child who has to check in as if I were on work release. Would it make her feel better if I wore an ankle monitor?”

There came a beat. “Jason, I want you to try and understand where your mother is coming from. We came very close to losing Tyler, when we all know that bullet was meant for Ana. This is the second time Martin and Parris have found their children’s lives at risk, and that is a situation no parent should have to experience.”