The Kincaids: New Money

Now he knew his assistant was a sensual woman, with passion flickering behind the jade of her eyes and excited breaths quickening in her lovely chest when he looked at her, the temptation was irresistible. He’d never have dreamed anything could take his mind off the hailstorm of disaster raining down on the Kincaid family over the last few months, but when he was with Brooke, all his burdens seemed lighter. It was such a relief to be with someone whom he could totally trust.

He heard Brooke’s breath catch as the plane lifted off the runway, but she soon relaxed as they rose high over the Charleston suburbs, heading toward the sunset and the distant shadow of the mountains. If only they could fly away from all his troubles and worries. Those were hitchhiking along, but with Brooke by his side they’d stay in check.

“How’s your mom doing?” Brooke’s soft question revealed her natural empathy.

“She’s hanging in there. She’s a brave woman and she doesn’t want us to worry. I visited her this afternoon and took her some books she wanted. I told her we’re doing everything we can to get her out. The police have been pretty closemouthed so I hired a private investigator to work full-time on the case, and he’s going to work with Nikki Thomas, our own corporate investigator. The lawyers are still trying to negotiate bail. They keep promising she’ll be released but it gets shot down at the last moment. Apparently someone saw her in the office that night. Hey, are you okay?”

Brooke’s face had turned so pale, even her lips lost color. “Sure, just a little queasy. I’ll be okay.”

He squeezed her hand. It was easy to dismiss your own problems, but you couldn’t always help the ones you cared about. Lately that made him feel powerless, an unfamiliar experience he hated. At least he could show Brooke a glorious and relaxing weekend in the country. She deserved the best of everything and he intended to give it to her.

Brooke gripped his hand tightly during their descent into the airport at Gatlinburg, then exhaled with relief as the plane taxied to a halt.

“See? You survived.”

“Only just. And my nails have probably left permanent scars on your hand.”

“I’ll wear them with pride.”

RJ was pleased to see the caretaker had dropped the familiar black Suburban off at the airport then discreetly disappeared. The first sign that his plans were going smoothly. He’d told the caretaker he didn’t need any staff on hand, as he suspected Brooke might be spooked by the presence of other people. Much better that they enjoy peace and privacy.

A now-familiar pang of grief hit him as he climbed behind the wheel. His dad usually drove, maintaining the familiar patterns of father-and-son even though RJ had been driving for nearly twenty years. “Dad loved it up here. He always said the whole world fell away if you got high enough up into the mountains.”

“It’s beautiful. The light is different here.” That light illuminated Brooke’s hair and her delicate profile as she looked out the window. For a split second he longed to press his lips to hers and lose himself in a kiss. Instead he started the engine.

“Dad wrote me a letter when he made his will.” He frowned. He’d never spoken to anyone else about it. “Said he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d live and he wanted to make sure the lodge would be mine.”

“Oh.” Brooke turned sharply, shock written on her face. “Sounds like he almost knew he was going to die.”

“He never said a word to anyone.” He shook his head. “His lawyers told me he redrew his will every few years, so they didn’t think much of it. He included letters each time. But when he died there was one for everyone in the family … except my mom.”

“Did he leave any hints of who he suspected?”

“That is odd. Nothing I could figure out. He does mention his other family that none of us knew about. Well, except Mom.”

“Your mom knew about his other woman and her children?”

RJ swallowed. “Apparently so. She didn’t say anything to us. She learned about them while he was writing his will. She found a copy in his desk.” It was good to get that awkward truth off his chest. He knew he could trust Brooke not to tell anyone. “She didn’t want any of us to know.”

“Is that why police think she has motive?”

“I suppose they think she wanted revenge.” He heard Brooke’s intake of breath. Did she think it was possible that his mom could wield a gun against her husband of nearly four decades? “You do know she’s innocent.”

“Yes, of course.” The color had fled her cheeks again. “It’s just a shame she had to find out that way.”

Brooke seemed distracted, staring hard out the window, not even noticing the bait and tackle shop and the quaint country inn he’d intended to show her.

“I brought Dad’s letter with me because he mentions something in the lodge.” He paused while a big truck crossed at the intersection ahead. “Something else he wanted me to have.”

“An object?”

“I don’t know. It’s rather mysterious. He said to look in the third drawer down, but he didn’t say what piece of furniture.”

“Hmm. I guess you’ll just have to open every third drawer down in the house, and hope for the best.”

He didn’t mention the other things his dad had said in the letter. For now those were between Reginald Kincaid, Sr., and his namesake, and maybe it was better that no one else knew about them.

Brooke was lost for words when they pulled up at the lodge. Then again, what had she expected, a shack with an outside toilet? This was a Kincaid residence. The vast log home rose up out of the surrounding woodlands, high gables braced with chiseled beams and walls of windows reflecting the sunset. RJ strode up the steps and unlocked the impressive double doors, then ushered her inside.

Golden sunlight illuminated the foyer from all directions. RJ put down their bags then walked through a door in the far wall. “Dad named it Great Oak Lodge. Come see why we built the house here.”

Brooke followed him into another grand room, decorated in an updated, minimalist interpretation of hunting-lodge chic: pale sofas with muted plaid accents, a painting of a stag and an impressive stone fireplace. The last rays of sunlight blazing in through a wall of windows largely obscured the view, until RJ opened a pair of patio doors and she saw an endless vista of tree-cloaked hills.

She walked out and stood beside him. There were no signs of civilization at all, just peaks and valleys filled with more trees. “It feels like we’re on top of the world.”

“Maybe we are.” He stepped behind her and slid his arms around her waist. Her belly shimmered with arousal. They hadn’t kissed since their date two nights ago, and on the plane she’d been too nervous to think much about kissing. Or any of the things that might follow.

RJ bent his head and pressed his lips to her neck. “You smell sensational.” Excitement trickled through her, peppered with anxiety about where this was all going. Now his hot breath warmed her ear, making her shiver with anticipation.

“Shouldn’t we put our bags away?” She could hardly believe that was her voice interrupting the sensual moment.

RJ chuckled. “Trying to delay the inevitable?”

“Just being practical. That’s why you hired me.” Ouch. Why did she have to remind him—and herself—that she was his employee?

“Let’s leave the office at the office.” RJ still held her tight in his embrace, and his mouth had moved barely an inch from her skin. “Do you think any of those trees care about memos and meetings and deadlines? It’s a whole different world up here. Breathe in some fresh mountain air.”

“I think I am.” Surely if she wasn’t she’d have passed out by now. Which was a distinct possibility the way RJ was tantalizing her earlobe with his tongue and teeth.

“Mountain air is restorative. Draw it all the way to the bottom of your lungs.”

She drew a breath deep down into her belly the way she’d learned in yoga class. Evening cool, scented with pine and fresh soil, the rich air filled her lungs, and she exhaled with gusto. “That does feel good.”

“Standing up here restores perspective. Out here it seems like time doesn’t exist—the sun rises and sets and everything stays the same except the slow change of the seasons.”

“RJ, you’re turning out to have more dimensions than I expected.”

“And you’ve known me five years already. Just shows how important it is to step out of context. Now kiss me.”

Before she could protest he spun her around and pressed his lips firmly to hers. Her eyes slid shut and her hands rose to his shoulders. The kiss was delicious, golden and heady as the sunset warming their skin. The slight stubble on RJ’s chin tickled her and she felt his eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as he deepened the kiss.

She hugged him, enjoying the closeness she’d craved, letting go of her worries and losing herself in the powerful sensation of his strong arms around her waist, holding her tight.

When they finally pulled apart, by only a feather’s depth, his eyes sparkled and she knew hers did, too. Happiness swelled in her chest and the moment felt so perfect.

“You’re a very beautiful woman, Brooke. The sunset suits you.”

“Maybe I should wear it every day.”

“Most definitely. And I have a feeling that sunrise will become you, as well.”

“I guess we’ll have to get up early and find out.” A tiny blade of anxiety poked her stomach. By morning they would have slept together.

Or would they?

After they disentangled themselves from each other’s arms, RJ took her to a bedroom with panoramic views and invited her to unpack. Then he disappeared. Maybe they weren’t going to sleep together at all. The closet was empty, except for a few hangers and a plain white terry bathrobe. The room had an adjoining bath, with freshly unwrapped soap and tiny bottles of expensive Kiehl’s shampoo and conditioner. The rustic yet elegant bentwood bed was covered with a thick, soft duvet and the whole room was decorated in neutral colors that complemented the jaw-dropping view out the window. It was like being in a very high-end hotel.

Brooke hung her few items in the cavernous closet, then changed out of her work suit into her favorite jeans and a green shirt that highlighted her eyes. The carpets were soft pure wool, so she left her feet bare to better enjoy them and show off her rather daring jade-green toenails.

She peered out into the hallway. She followed the sound of whistling and found RJ in a similarly spacious bedroom, with a large bed made of rustic planks, checking his phone. “Settled in?”

“Perfectly.” There was his bag, half-unpacked, on top of a pine chest of drawers. So they were sleeping in separate bedrooms. She should be relieved, but instead she felt disappointed. Maybe she was hoping for a whirlwind romance and he just planned to cast some flies and kick back in the sunshine.

“I’ve never seen you in jeans before.” His eyes roamed down her legs, heating her skin through the denim. “Clearly, I’ve been missing out.”

“I’ve never seen you in jeans before, either.” She smiled, glancing at the pair peeking out of his duffel bag.

“Mine don’t hug me quite the way yours do.” A dimple played in his cheek.

“Shame.” A sudden vision of RJ’s body flashed in her mind. Even in his suit—the jacket hung over a corner of the wardrobe door and his sleeves were rolled up—you could see he was built and muscular. He played a lot of tennis and squash and sailed competitively. No doubt his muscles were bronzed by all that time in the sun. Hopefully soon she’d get to compare her imagination to reality.

If that was really a good idea.

“Are you hungry?” RJ’s expression suggested he wanted for something entirely different than food.

“I am. All that shaking with terror on the flight built up an appetite.”

“Good, because I’m making dinner.”

Her eyes widened. RJ Kincaid in front of a stove?

“Don’t look so shocked. You should know by now that I’m a man of many talents.”

“I’m impressed.”

“One of my talents is delegating to skilled professionals.” He strode out of the room, leaving his phone on the bed. “Frankie Deleon owns the best restaurant in town and this afternoon I had the fridge stocked with provisions.” She followed him into a bright kitchen with gleaming professional quality appliances. He pulled open one door on the fridge. The inside revealed a collection of smart earthenware dishes, each labeled with a Post-it note. “Let’s see, jambalaya, baby back ribs, black-eyed peas and greens—hey, those need actual cooking. Poached salmon, sesame noodles.” He moved a dish aside to reach behind it. “Macaroni and cheese, rice salad, green salad, beet and goat cheese salad … Where do you want to start?”

Brooke’s mouth was already watering. She could get used to this Kincaid lifestyle. “It all sounds sensational. What are you in the mood for?”

His blue gaze settled on her face and she read her answer loud and clear. A smile crept across her mouth as her nipples tightened under her green shirt.

“You decide.”

A challenge. She knew RJ liked people who could think on their feet and make executive decisions. “Ribs with sesame noodles and green salad.”

“I like.” RJ pulled the containers from the shelves and placed them on a butcher-block island large enough to have its own sink. Brooke turned on one of the stainless steel ovens, and RJ pulled some fine china dishes from one of the cabinets. They picked a chilled white wine to sip while waiting for the ribs to bake.

“Did you check the drawers yet?”

RJ looked up from the bottle opener. “What drawers?”

“The one mentioned in your dad’s letter.” Maybe that was too personal. He probably wanted to search for the item alone.

He looked back down at the bottle. “I’m not sure I’m ready yet. I still hardly believe he’s gone.”

“I can’t imagine what a shock it must have been.”

“I keep expecting him to walk around the corner and say it was all an elaborate hoax.” He gestured toward a wing-backed red chair in the great room adjoining the kitchen. “That was his favorite chair. I feel like he’s going to get up out of it and rib me for not catching any fish yet this year.”

The cork popped out with force, almost making Brooke jump. “I know he’s proud of you for how you’re handling things.”

RJ nodded. “He’s got to be watching from somewhere.”

She fought an urge to glance over her shoulder. She wasn’t sure she wanted RJ’s dad watching the things she hoped to get up to with him tonight. Then again, maybe she should think more about how this would look to all the other people around them. What would RJ’s siblings think of her spending the weekend with him? She worked closely with his brother Matthew in the office—would she be able to look him in the eye on Monday? And what about his mom? Would she see sleeping with his assistant as somehow beneath a Kincaid?

Of course Elizabeth Kincaid had much bigger problems to worry about right now. Partly due to information that she, Brooke Nichols, had provided to the police. She really needed to get that off her chest. Maybe now was a good time. She could casually say she’d seen his mom in the building and then … No. Better to say the police had interviewed her and she just happened to mention—

“I’m glad you’re here with me.” RJ’s soft voice jolted her from her fevered ruminations. He handed her a cool glass of clear white wine and she took a hasty sip. The moment for telling him had passed. Now he was getting romantic and she’d ruin it all if she said anything. “I’ve been wanting to come up here for a while, but didn’t know how I’d feel.”

“How do you feel?” She squeezed her guilt back down. He wanted a relaxing weekend, not more to worry about. It was probably better if she didn’t mention it until they were back in the everyday world of Charleston.

“Okay. It’s as beautiful as ever, peaceful and a perfect escape from reality.”

“Can you ever really escape from reality?” Somehow it kept sneaking back into her consciousness.

“Sure.” He smiled. “You file it away in a drawer.”

“The third drawer down, perhaps?”

“Maybe that one, maybe another. Maybe more than one.” He raised a brow. “Then you lock it and lose the key until some later date.”

“That does not sound like the RJ I know.”

He laughed. “It doesn’t, does it? Maybe I’m trying to change.”

“I don’t think you should change.” She said it in earnest, then wondered if she’d revealed too much about herself. “You’re up-front and honest. You tackle things head-on and don’t beat around the bush or try to people-please.”

“And you’ve been the victim, more often than not.”

“I’d much rather have you tell me what you think than have to guess it.”

“I suppose that’s one thing I got from my dad.” His expression darkened. “Or I thought I did. He was blunt and truthful, and I never doubted a word he said.” He swirled his glass of wine and peered into its depths. “Now I can see I should have been wary of all the things he left unsaid. Maybe you can never really know anyone.”

“I don’t suppose you can, but most people don’t have secret families, so I don’t think you could have seen it coming.” It was hard to know what to say without overstepping the mark.

“No? My mom knew about them, and she kept quiet, too.”

“She was probably trying to protect you from pain.”

“Instead, she accidentally set herself up as a possible murderer.” He shook his head and took a swig from his wine. “There’s no justice in this world.”

Brooke’s stomach clenched. She hated to see RJ sounding so bitter. He was usually the most upbeat and positive person she knew. “There will be justice, but it might take some time.”

“I wish I believed you. How can there be justice in a world where the Kincaid Group, the company I’ve devoted my working life to, is now forty-five percent owned by a half brother—” he said the word with a growl “—that I never knew existed.” He looked up at her, eyes cold. “And who despises my entire family and the company he’s just been handed.”

Brooke put her wineglass down on the island. “It’s all very strange and hard to understand right now.” How could his father have been so cruel as to take away the company RJ saw as his birthright and hand it to an unknown rival?

“You know what?” RJ’s voice was low with anger. “I do want to see what’s in that third drawer. I want to see exactly what Dad wrote that would help me to understand why he stopped seeing me as his eldest son and heir.” He slammed open the third drawer down on one side of the kitchen island. “Napkins and napkin rings. Can you see the significance?”

Brooke swallowed. She wanted to laugh, just to ease the tension, but it wasn’t funny. “Did he have a desk?”

“Yes, there’s a study.” He strode from the room. Brooke glanced at the oven and saw the ribs still needed a few minutes. Always the trusty assistant, she followed him.

RJ marched into a bright study with cathedral ceilings and a leather-topped desk. “Ha. Two rows of three drawers.” He pulled open one bottom drawer and rifled through the interior. “Bullet casings, ballpoint pens, paper clips, a broken golf tee.” He slammed it and pulled open the other. “Reginald Kincaid letterhead and matching envelopes.” He lifted the papers. “What’s this?” He pulled out a manila envelope. “It has his name on the front. Or my name—since according to my birth certificate I’m Reginald Kincaid, as well.” The envelope was sealed. Thick too, like it had a wad of papers, or even an object. “It’s heavy.”

“Are you going to open it?”

RJ hesitated, weighing it in his hand. The oven timer beeped in the kitchen.

Four

“I’ll go check the ribs.” Brooke seemed relieved at the excuse to leave him alone. Once she’d gone, RJ glanced down at the envelope in his hands. The writing was his father’s familiar script, neat and commanding. He slid a finger under the sealed flap and ripped the paper carefully, aware he was frowning.

Then he lowered the open envelope to the desktop and eased the contents out onto the desk. Papers, mostly, a pair of cuff links, a ring he’d never seen his dad wear and some old photographs.

“They’re done. I’ll just toss the salad,” called Brooke from the kitchen.

“Great.” What was this envelope of things supposed to mean? He picked up the ring and looked at the design. Gold with a flat top, it was shaped almost like a class ring. As he stared at the shield he realized it was probably from his dad’s time in special forces. He recognized the bird holding a lightning bolt. The ring was worn, the gold scratched by use, but he didn’t remember ever seeing it on his dad’s finger. A relic from another lifetime, the lifetime in which Angela had been the woman he loved—and unbeknownst to him, the mother of his firstborn son.

“It’s ready.” Brooke’s voice tugged him back to the present.

There was a lovely woman waiting for him in the other room, and painful memories could wait. He pushed the items back into the envelope and slid them into the same drawer. “Coming.”

Brooke looked so beautiful standing silhouetted against the last rays of light. Her lush body beckoned to him, promising an evening filled with pleasure. Much better to tuck all that other stuff away in a drawer for now.

“Looks delicious.” He stared directly at her as he said it.

A pretty smile played around her pink mouth. “It sure does. Where do you want to eat?”

“There’s a table on the deck.” He served the ribs onto two plates, and Brooke spooned out the salad and noodles. He grabbed cutlery from a drawer, picked up the wine and glasses with one hand, and Brooke brought the plates. The last rays of sun lit the polished wood table and chairs in a fiery reddish gold. He lit the decorative hurricane lamps with the BBQ lighter, and topped up their wine.

“Okay, this really is paradise.” Brooke couldn’t stop staring at the view. “This must be the only house for miles around.”

“There are cabins and people out there, they’re just hidden by the trees.”

“The trees are kind to cloak everyone in peace and privacy.” Her sweet smile made his chest fill with emotion.

“They’re in charge around here. Dad always said that coming up to the mountains put everything into perspective. Problems shrink away and so does the human ego.”

Brooke laughed. “I can’t picture your father saying that.”

“He could be quite introspective when the mood caught him.” He could tell Brooke was rather intrigued by the new side of him she’d seen lately. Usually he didn’t think too much about the impression he made on people, but right now it pleased him to show Brooke he wasn’t just a hard-partying playboy. “It’s easy to see why, now we know his life was a lot more complicated than any of us imagined.” He took a bite of his food.

Being out here in the mountains brought a sense of equanimity that dulled the pain of recent events. He could think and talk about his dad calmly. Brooke’s peaceful presence helped. He couldn’t imagine her getting upset about anything. She was always the voice of reason in the office, ready to pour oil on troubled waters. “Did I ever thank you for taking me by the scruff of the neck and getting me out of trouble the other day?”

“When I marched you to your office and plied you with liquor?” Her pretty green eyes sparkled.

“Yes, that. A wise executive move.”

“More an act of desperation. Still, I’d like to be an executive one day.”

“You’d be good. You have an instinct for how to deal with people—getting them to deliver weekly updates so we know where everyone stands, for example.”

“I got the idea from a management video I watched.”

“I had no idea such bold ambition burned in your chest.” RJ took a swig of wine. Brooke probably was wasted as his assistant, much as it pained him to admit it. HR had recently informed him that she’d submitted her application for a management role in the Events department and he’d told them he couldn’t spare her right now. He needed an assistant he could trust with all that was going on in the wake of his father’s death. Still, holding her back for his own reasons was selfish. He’d have to look around the company for the right role for her.