Jake could hear Nathan’s voice in the background, but he didn’t bother asking to speak to him then. On the rare occasions that Fletch and Nathan had met, their mutual dislike had always coloured the proceedings. Fletch despised Nathan because of his parentage; Nathan thought Fletch was an ignorant old bastard.
Which was ironic really, Jake reflected now, as he got out of the Blazer and locked the door. If anyone was a bastard around here, it was him or Nathan. Only his brother preferred to forget who his real mother had been.
It was dark in the bar, but as his eyes adjusted to the light, Jake saw Nathan slumped in a booth at the far side of the room. There were already a couple of empty bottles in front of him, and Jake reflected that Nathan and Fletch weren’t as different from each other as they’d both like to think.
Nathan saw him, and getting to his feet, he gestured for Jake to join him. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded with his usual lack of restraint. “I’ve been sitting here for God knows how long. I thought you said you were coming right down.”
“Some of us have work to do,” remarked Jake mildly, sliding into the booth across from the other man. “In any case—” he indicated the empty bottles “—you look as if you’ve been busy. You won’t forget you’re driving a motor vehicle, will you?”
Nathan scowled. “Don’t start shitting me, Jake. I didn’t come here for one of your lectures. Okay, I’ve had a couple of beers, but I’m still sober. Don’t treat me like you treat your old man.”
“Fletch isn’t my old man,” Jake corrected him tautly, his fingers flexing on the table between them. The trouble was, he didn’t feel as if Jacob Wolfe was his father, either. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost out on both counts.
“Well, okay.” Nathan seemed to realise that whatever had brought him here wasn’t going to be helped by starting an argument. “But I honestly don’t know how you put up with him. It’s not as if he ever cared about you. He’d have thrown you out years ago if he could.”
Jake arched a dark brow. It was true enough, he supposed. From the moment Fletch had realized that he wasn’t the boy’s father, Jake’s life hadn’t been worth living. Not that it had been worth that much before, he reflected ruefully. A man who thought little of beating up on his wife thought less than nothing of beating up on his son.
But, from the time he was old enough to wield a yard brush, Jake had done everything he could to defend his mother. He’d had more than his share of grief, and occasionally the teachers from school formed a delegation to protest about the bruises that regularly appeared on his body. Mostly however, they stayed away. It was well known in Blackwater Fork that Fletch Connor had no respect for authority, and only his friendship with Sheriff Andy Peyton had saved him from certain prosecution.
Yet Jake had known from an early age that Fletch was proud of him in his own strange way. He used to say the boy reminded him of himself at that age, and although it didn’t save him, Jake sensed Fletch admired his spirit.
Fletch’s attitude had changed when Jake was eleven years old. He’d gashed his knee playing football, severing the main artery, and neither Fletch nor his mother had been able to give him the blood transfusion he needed.
There’d been one hell of a scene, he remembered. His mother had turned up the next day wearing a black eye, and Jake had been as stunned as Fletch to learn that they were not actual father and son. And then to learn that he had a twin brother…
Jake supposed he’d guessed even then there had to be more to it than they told him. Fletch wasn’t the type to be philanthropic, and money had to have changed hands for his twin to have been adopted by someone else.
It was only later that his mother had explained that the man who had taken his brother was his real father. And by then, he’d had to come to terms with the fact that his relationship with Fletch could never be the same. Indeed, if it had been left to Fletch, he’d never have come back to the house in Jackson Street. But for once, his mother had put her foot down: either her husband accepted the situation as it was, or she’d take her son and go.
“He’s old,” said Jake now, as if that explained everything. “So what is it you want to talk about? The last I heard, things were pretty much going your way. Don’t tell me you’re having marital problems already.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” Nathan was evidently trying to be sociable. “This humidity is something,” he added, changing the subject. “I don’t know how you stand it for months on end.”
“I was born here,” replied Jake drily. “And so were you, little brother. You’ve gotten too used to being pampered. Juggling figures instead of people has made you soft.”
Nathan scowled. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t born with a yen to save the world,” he remarked shortly. “It’s no wonder you’re still stuck in this hell-hole. Why don’t you give yourself a break and find a decent job?”
“I have a decent job,” declared Jake evenly. “Everyone has the right to a defence.”
“Even crackheads and losers?” asked Nathan disparagingly, but he offered a conciliatory smile when his brother didn’t respond.
Wiping his damp forehead then with a slightly unsteady hand, he unwittingly drew Jake’s attention to his flushed face. A face that was amazingly like his own, Jake reflected as he had on many other occasions. How could two men who looked so alike be so different? Even at forty-two, their likeness to one another was still unique.
There were subtle differences, of course, he acknowledged as Nathan pulled out a handkerchief to mop his sweating brow. He guessed his brother was perhaps twenty pounds heavier, and his hair had been cut by an expert hand. It didn’t hang straight or show the after-effects of his nails like Jake’s did when he had been raking his scalp.
“So—how’s Caitlin?” he asked at last, deciding it might be easier if he began the conversation. He’d never met his brother’s wife, but he had seen her picture. She’d seemed strangely subdued for a man like Nathan. He’d have expected his brother to want a fashion model for a wife. But, of course, she had had money….
“She’s okay,” said Nathan offhandedly now, making a careless gesture. “She lives her own life. I live mine. We don’t see an awful lot of one another.”
Jake stared at him. “Are you kidding?”
“No.” Nathan looked resentful. “Anyway, that’s another story. D’you want a beer?”
Jake hesitated. “A beer would be fine,” he agreed, and his brother left the booth to go and get it. Jake had the feeling he was glad to put off admitting the reasons why he’d come to North Carolina. But unlike Nathan, he didn’t have time to waste.
Nathan came back with the two beers and took some time taking a drink before he got to the point. Even then, Jake had to prompt him, and Nathan scowled at his brother for a moment before starting to speak.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he said grudgingly. “It’s a long time since we talked with one another, man to man.” He hunched his shoulders. “How have you been? How’s the new apartment? Fletch said it overlooked the ocean, out at Pine Bay.”
“You didn’t come here to talk about me or my apartment,” said Jake quietly. “And I don’t know about you, but I’ve got work to do.”
“And you’d rather do that than talk to your own brother,” said Nathan peevishly. “It doesn’t occur to you that I might need your help.”
“And do you?”
“Damn right.” Nathan rested his forearms on the table. “Like I said, I need to talk to you. I just—don’t know where to begin.”
Jake’s nostrils flared. “Try the beginning,” he suggested drily, and Nathan pursed his mouth.
“I’m in trouble.” He expelled