Jackson’s voice had an ominous, feral quality. “Okay, Dad. One more time. The reason you’ve been making these massive deposits into this mystery account is because you are being…blackmailed?”
“Keep your voice down,” Graham growled.
“Why the hell should I keep my voice down? Blackmail is illegal! Whoever is doing this to you can be stopped. Get yourself a good lawyer. I’m available. If you don’t want me, the family is loaded with them. Just ask Rand or Wyatt. I’m sure they can think of a way to bail you out of whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” Jackson’s voice was filled with the parental censure usually reserved for father to son and not vice versa.
Wyatt could hear the soles of Jackson’s shoes tattooing out an agitated beat that must have had him pacing in furious circles.
“That wouldn’t be prudent.”
“What, you don’t like Rand? Wyatt?”
“Has nothing to do with them. Or you.”
“Then what?”
“I’m being blackmailed by a member of the family.”
The echo of pacing footsteps stopped.
At this, Wyatt felt a warning tension grip the muscles at the back of his neck and he abandoned his position behind the giant potted palm and as casually as he could—given the circumstances—moved to the parlor door to listen. This was far too interesting to ignore.
Jackson sounded incredulous. “Come again?”
“I’m being blackmailed by a member of this family.”
“Who?”
“I find it difficult to say, as I don’t want to tarnish your image of someone you hold to be nothing less than a saint.” Graham sounded smug. Arrogant. A man who had not one whit of his brother, Joe’s, grace and maturity.
“I find your childish games tiresome, Dad. Why don’t you cut to the chase before I doze off?”
“Can’t have that.” The legs of a chair scraped against the floor. “Perhaps this will wake you up. I’m being blackmailed by Meredith.”
Silence.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Jackson snorted. “Why would Aunt Meredith blackmail you?”
Graham seemed to take great pleasure in dropping this particular bomb. “Because I’m Teddy’s father.” The snick of a lighter sounded and a haze of pungent cigar smoke filtered out to the foyer. “Surprised?”
Silence.
“Son, you seem a little dismayed by the indelicate truth.” Graham’s harsh laughter rumbled. “Having a hard time believing that Joe’s lily-pure wife could take pleasure in my bed? Or perhaps it’s finding out that you have a little brother that’s a bit off-putting.”
A sound of pure disgust issued from Jackson’s throat.
“Not so perfect after all, are they?” Graham sucked on his cigar for a moment. “Still have good old Uncle Joe and Aunt Meredith up on the damned pedestal?”
Wyatt’s mind raced. More than ever, he was convinced that Meredith was not Meredith. Emily’s situation seemed increasingly grave with every tick of the parlor clock. Clearly, Patsy Portman had a dangerous agenda. He couldn’t get to Keyhole soon enough. A sense of urgency had his mouth dry as day-old toast and his heart roaring like a wounded lion in his ears. He’d have to call Rand and Lucy from Keyhole and tell them what he’d overheard.
Outside, a car horn sounded. His cab. As quietly as possible, Wyatt retrieved his luggage and made good his escape. Fresh air filled his burning lungs as he opened the double doors that led out of the house. With a gentle pull, he closed the door behind him, then moved to the portico and handed the cabby his luggage.
“Airport,” he instructed.
As he left the parlor and headed for the dining room, Jackson Colton fought the bile that rose in his throat. His father’s confession disgusted him more than he could ever put into words. Although he couldn’t say he was surprised. His father was no choirboy.
And Meredith. Meredith had changed.
As a child, he’d adored his Aunt Meredith. In fact, he’d looked upon her as a second mother. But in the past years—before the time of Teddy’s birth, in fact—Jackson had noticed changes in Meredith that more than disturbed him. For so long, everyone had tried to pass these changes off as postpartum depression or the accident, but Teddy. was eight years old now and the accident happened a decade ago.
His sister, Liza, had once hinted that she believed something very amazing and unbelievable accounted for the changes in Aunt Meredith. At the time, Jackson had brushed off the wild notion. But now, as he reflected back on Liza’s crazy theory, a chill raced down his spine and he feared there might just be more than a grain or two of truth there.
When he arrived in the dining room, he was dismayed to discover that he was not entirely alone.
Meredith was seated at the head of the table with a cup of coffee, a croissant and the society page. Languidly, she lifted her gaze from the print and trained it on Jackson. A small smile played at her lips, and she sat up a little straighter.
“Good morning, Jackson.”
“Is it, Meredith?”
He could feel her watching him pick up a serrated knife and begin to saw his bagel in half.
“Something wrong, dear? You don’t seem quite yourself.”
Still holding the knife, Jackson turned to face her. “Funny, I could say the exact same thing about you.”
Meredith’s face hardened. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just this—If you don’t stop extorting money from my father, I will go to the police.”
Meredith laughed, playing it light, as if she thought he were joking. “Jackson, honey, what in heaven’s name are you talking about?”
Jackson had to hand it to her. She was as cool as the other side of a pillow on a hot summer day. “I’m talking about the fact that my father is paying you hush money because he’s afraid Joe will write him out of his will, if—” his voice grew steely “—Joe finds out that his rotten little brother is really the father of your son.” He ran the blade of the knife across his fingertip, testing its sharpness. “So, since my father is too much of a spineless jellyfish to call your bluff, I guess the dubious pleasure is mine.” Jackson stabbed his knife into the cutting board and turned to look her in the eye. “Back off. Do I make myself clear?”
Meredith blanched and clutched her cup till it rattled against the saucer. “Don’t you dare threaten me, Jackson Colton.”
“Or what?”
“Or you, my precious nephew, will be sorry.”
“I’m already sorry.”
Shaking with rage, Meredith watched Jackson stalk out of the room and frantically wondered exactly what he knew. He couldn’t know that she was an impostor. No one knew that—with the exception of Emily—and soon, that would no longer be a problem.
Meredith reached into the pocket of her robe for her ever-present bottle of tranquilizers. After several botched attempts, she was finally able to shake two into her palm. She tossed them into her mouth and chased them down her throat with a gulp of coffee.
She took