Secrets of the A-List, Episode 10 Page 2

  “You’re being naive. How can you be so sure he—or she—is not a threat? Whether it’s an audit of those unreported funds, or outright criminal behavior, or simply the fact that Harrison didn’t trust me, that’s all damage.”

  “You have enough on your plate. Concentrate on keeping the business running until Harrison wakes. Then we’ll worry about the Fixer.”

  She shook her head, pushing away. “No. I have to find him now. I have to destroy the Fixer before he destroys us.”

  * * *

  Traffic was heavy on the way back to Casa Cat, leaving them trapped in the limo with their thoughts. Mariella seemed lost in her plans to uncover and obliterate the Fixer while Gabe struggled with whether to tell her the truth—that he was the Fixer and had every intention of protecting the family’s interests until Harrison came to.

  Which included sidelining Joe, if necessary.

  Her bleakness was to be expected, he supposed, along with her need for comfort. He was as worried as anyone, and that talk about implanting something in Harrison’s brain wasn’t any more palatable to him than it was to her.

  But he didn’t like the way she was turning to her husband’s best friend. The fact that Joe was moving in when Harrison was so vulnerable put him at the top on Gabe’s watch list. Joe had always been part of the inner circle, but now Gabe thought some distance would be a shrewd move. His Fixer wheels began turning at high speed, wondering what sorts of skeletons Joe had in his closet.

  Whatever was going on between Joe and Mariella had to stop.

  His atavistic thoughts must have shown on his face. Mariella said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Thinking about Harrison’s treatment,” he prevaricated, smoothing his expression. “When Dr. Aebischer said radical, I didn’t think it would be that drastic.”

  She made a noise of agreement, reaching to squeeze his hand. “I know. And you’re so good to me, offering comfort and supporting me when Harrison is the only father you’ve ever known. You must be very troubled yourself.”

  If he let himself think about it too deeply, yes, he was. Harrison was his confidant and mentor, the man who had taught him how to be a man. Harrison had set an example of ruthlessness covered in velvet, success at any price and an ability to pay the cost. Where Harrison’s own sons had refused to be molded into their father’s image, Gabe had emulated him intentionally. He had always wanted to be Harrison 2.0. The advanced version for a new generation.

  Maybe Harrison had been flattered by Gabe’s boyhood hero worship, but he’d also seen Gabe’s potential and encouraged him. When it came to the money machine of fixing, he had pulled Gabe into it. Not Luc or Rafe. This was their enterprise. Their secret. These days it was Gabe’s personal success story, the one that Harrison condoned but didn’t run or even ask many questions about.

  Gabe had taken that as a sign of confidence in him. Certainly there was deep satisfaction in Harrison’s nod of approval when the bank statements climbed.

  So, yes, he was deeply disturbed if he let himself consider Harrison might not recover, but he had learned as a child to sublimate his deepest, most anguished feelings. That’s why he was so good at fixing.

  He wished he could sublimate the guilt over keeping that side of himself from Mariella. Because, where Harrison was his surrogate father, Mariella was the nurturing maternal figure who had mended the hole in his heart that Ana had torn open. Mariella treated him as her own flesh and blood, sometimes even chose his side over that of her own children. That sort of acceptance meant everything.

  He felt such a tug of divided loyalty! Yes, Harrison had taken women on the side over the years, but they were very much out of the spotlight. He understood how to be discreet. For Mariella to take up with Joe, of all people... Harrison would expect Gabe to put the brakes on that.

  To fix it.

  Which was why he had hesitated to reveal himself to Mariella. He wouldn’t be able to do his job if he told her who he was. He hated to see her worry, but he had to protect both her and Harrison—from each other, it would seem, and from himself.

  Mariella would be appalled by some of the actions Gabe had taken as the Fixer. The hand that clasped hers wasn’t visibly stained, but he knew it was dirty. Even Harrison didn’t know how far he was going with his side jobs these days. It had always been a slippery slope, one Gabe had descended because it was so easy. He got away with everything he did. All the while, the dollars climbed like points on a scoreboard, quietly proving to himself and Harrison that he was the most valuable player in the Marshall family.

  But he knew the difference between persuasion and blackmail, between a gift and a bribe. Sometimes there were parties on the other side of his fixes who were less than enamored by his methods and results. Harrison took a don’t ask, don’t tell attitude about it, but Mariella would feel differently.

  Keeping her ignorant was best for all of them.

  The car turned up the driveway to Casa Cat.

  His condo in the city had never been home the way this place was. What would his life look like if not for his life here, he reflected briefly?

  The permanence of Casa Cat had grounded him, which was ironic considering the grandeur of the home itself. It sat upon a tall knoll, giving it stunning 360-degree views of the mountains, city and ocean. When he was ten, he had written a book report on Greek gods, identifying with the mortals who visited Mount Olympus.

  He valued the permanent place he’d been granted here. He had vowed long ago never to be cast from this place again.

  “Problem?” Mariella asked as she noted he was lagging behind, staring off to the glitter of the horizon against an intense blue sky.

  “Wondering where I would be if you hadn’t let me live here,” he admitted, moving to join her on the wide steps leading to the front doors.

  “Best decision we ever made,” she assured him with a kiss on his cheek. Then she rubbed her lipstick from his skin with her thumb.

  It was such a motherly thing to do, regressing him to the child he’d been, he smirked, holding still to allow it. And he felt a fresh kick of guilt for keeping her in the dark. He hated that tension around her eyes. Letting her worry, when he could ease her stress, rather than contribute to it, seemed cruel.

  He felt ungrateful.

  “Tía—” he began as he held the door for her, seesawing with indecision.

  “Where have you two been off to so early?” Ana was coming down the interior stairs wearing a peignoir of ice blue, breasts nearly falling out the V of lace. She struck a pose halfway down, as she liked to do, as though making an entrance to a ball, even though her hair was only finger combed and last night’s makeup had left smudges under her eyes.

  Gabe bit back a curse of impatience. Her presence in this house was a ticking bomb. Always had been. It wasn’t just the sense that her true reason for being here—whatever that might be—would explode at the most unexpected and inopportune moment. He had the old, niggling sensation from his childhood that when she did leave, she would try to drag him with her.

  “It’s noon,” Mariella pointed out coldly. “We went to visit Harrison. And that,” she gestured to the La Perla negligee that clung to her sister’s body, “is mine.”

  “Harrison?” Ana queried with false innocence, causing the temperature in the air-conditioned home to drop to subzero. “Or this?” She plucked at the lace on the lapel of her silk wrap, leaning on the rail to taunt, “Sisters share everything. Don’t they?”

  The tension condensed into an icy fog so tangible, Gabe could taste it. A dim memory came to him of another fight he’d overheard, years ago, when Mariella had been pushing for him to stay here.

  I know why you want him. Does Harrison know you’re still carrying a torch?

  That has nothing to do with it.

  You’re off the mark, anyway. Whatever you think you
see in my son, whoever, it’s not there.

  I’m surprised you have any idea, one way or another, Mariella had countered bitterly.

  Elana had come along, interrupting Gabe’s eavesdropping. He hadn’t completely understood what he was hearing anyway, aside from being certain they were talking about him. Now the old, jagged pieces fell into a picture he saw more clearly. It made his heart pound. Hard.

  Had they fought over a man back then? His father?

  Gabe shifted his gaze between them. Mariella looked ready to spit nails. Ana flicked her hair behind her shoulder and cocked her hip.

  “I’ve shared my son with you all this time. Surely you can lend me a nightgown.”

  Gabe waited for Mariella to tell Ana to hit the road. She didn’t. Because if Mariella had a fault, it was weakness for family, even the ones who didn’t deserve her generosity.

  Mariella’s gaze lowered, as if she felt guilty for taking him in. Perhaps it had cost his mother to lose him, but he didn’t care. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  “We should finish our conversation,” Gabe said to Mariella.

  They weren’t in the middle of anything, but she got the message that it was an excuse to walk away. She nodded jerkily. “Let’s take it into my office.”

  “Wait. We have a problem,” Ana said, coming down a few more steps. “Reporters have been calling me. They want me to comment on the rumor the family is falling apart. That we’re broke. Is that true?”

  We?

  Gabe narrowed his eyes, skeptical. Ana was fishing, he was sure of it. He was tempted to tell her it was true, in hopes she would leave, but Mariella beat him to the punch.

  “None of your fucking business,” she muttered under her breath, surprising even him.

  “What was that, hermana?” Ana’s voice gurgled with glee at getting her sister to curse. “Surely I didn’t hear your pretty mouth say such an ugly word?”

  Mariella turned back with vibes of hostility crackling like lightning bolts off her rod-straight body. “The state of the Marshall coffers is no concern of yours.”

  “Oh, I think it is. My son has a stake, therefore I do.”

  Gabe had more than a stake, but he only growled, “Leave me out of it.” If it came to a catfight—or worse—he would take Mariella’s side, every time.

  His phone buzzed from his inside pocket, the ringtone telling him it was the line he used for fixing.

  “I should take that,” he said to Mariella, flashing her a look that asked if she would be all right.

  She swept her lashes in disdain, as if to say the day she lost ground to her sister was the day she was six feet under it.

  Reassured she could handle herself, he ducked into Harrison’s office and shut the door, escaping the pressure-cooker atmosphere.

  His caller was a woman. “I was given this number by a friend.” She sounded uncertain, as many did with their initial call.

  Before speaking, he double-checked to be sure his voice distortion software was working. “I see.” He didn’t ask which friend. “Why?”

  “I understand you’re a problem solver.” She waited a beat, but he didn’t say anything. “I have a situation I would like corrected.”

  With one ear still straining past the closed door, he absently prompted with another, “I see.”

  At the same time, he set his fingertip against the pad on the wall, quickly entering the hidden room and its insulated walls, so he could speak more freely. Gabe wasn’t sure if the family knew about the secret room. If they did, they didn’t know he had access. With the Fixer such a hot topic, he couldn’t reveal the room or his ability to come and go from it.

  “What sort of situation?” he asked.

  “I believe my fiancé has a distraction. A woman.”

  “These things happen. How is that my business?” He deliberately used the word business as he turned on the security monitor. The camera was hidden in the frame of that painting Harrison and Mariella hated so much. It gave a fish-eye view of Harrison’s study, his laptop for his legitimate work sitting in the middle of his desk.

  The Fixer computer was in here, in need of Harrison’s fingerprint or password to access.

  “I’d like her out of the way. Gone,” his caller said.

  “Perhaps make that suggestion to her yourself.” He relaxed into the nearby armchair and set his feet on the ottoman.

  “Not possible. I understood that’s what this number is for.”

  His mind went again to Mariella and her worries over the Fixer. He should probably refuse this job, but he’d never refused one yet. Things were changing, however, with Harrison in the hospital. He had to be extra careful.

  “Such solutions don’t come cheap,” he warned. “They usually involve a plane ticket and a healthy nest egg for a fresh start on the other side of the country.” And then there was his fee.

  She snorted. “Cost is not the problem. She is. Get her out of his life and I’ll make you a very wealthy man.”

  He smiled, tone edging toward patronizing as he rocked back in the chair. “I’m already wealthy. This is a hobby.” Others could be bribed. Not him.

  At the same time, he hated to say no. The Fixer existed because he accepted the hard jobs and got them done. After Harrison woke, the Fixer would still be needed. He couldn’t afford to lose the valuable reputation he had built.

  “Well, everyone can stand to be a little bit richer, can’t they?” Again she waited a beat, as though wanting his confirmation. Maybe his commitment. “Where do we meet?” She sounded spoiled, used to getting her own way by simply assuming she could have it.

  He bristled. Such arrogance could be more trouble than the job was worth.

  “We don’t.” He was hypervigilant about his anonymity, the cock-up with Thom notwithstanding. This whole thing with Harrison had shaken him enough that he’d been a little sloppy that one time, but it wouldn’t happen again. “I’ll need more details before we can proceed. Can you call back later?”

  They set a time and ended the call. Then he checked the number. As he suspected, it was untraceable. Probably a disposable phone.

  He replayed their conversation in his head, thinking something about her tone had sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. All his clients tended to be someone he had met in passing through his front job, though. She was probably an acquaintance of Elana’s or some other socialite who turned up at the Marshall parties.

  He shrugged off the impression and glanced at the security camera—which showed Mariella moving to the door of Harrison’s office, effectively locking him into this room.

  Chapter Two

  “Are you out of money? Is that why you’re still here?” It wouldn’t be the first time Mariella had had to pay Ana to leave.

  She started to open the door to Harrison’s office before she remembered Gabe was in there.

  At the same time, Vanessa appeared, folded hand towels in her arms, heading for the main-floor powder room.

  “I beg your pardon,” Vanessa said, hesitating when both women looked at her, appearing to sense she had interrupted more than a casual conversation. She looked at Mariella with the expression Mariella often caught on her face. It was somewhere between awe and fear, as if she had a guilty conscience, was dying to clear it, but was too intimidated.

  Now was certainly not the time, especially as Ana spoke down to Vanessa.

  “I was looking for you. Serve my breakfast on the south terrace. Coffee, fresh orange juice, poached egg with smoked salmon and a fruit cup. Tell the chef I don’t want any of those horrid little berries with the seeds. Or melon. Or grapefruit. Actually, make the orange juice a mimosa.”

  “Of course.” Vanessa’s neat bun bobbed as she hurried back the way she’d come.

  “How long have you
had her? She looks familiar, but acts like she doesn’t know what I like,” Ana said.

  “Perhaps, like the rest of us, she’s wondering why you’re still here.” With an impatient gesture, Mariella waved Ana into the lounge across the hall.

  Her sister sauntered across the silk rug to drape herself into the corner of the buttery leather of the sofa. “I’m here to be with my family in their time of need. To reconnect with my son.” Her tone pressed a small emphasis into my.

  “The son you abandoned,” Mariella reminded. “Don’t act like we share him, Ana. The only times you came to see him, you really wanted to see one of these.”

  Mariella opened a drawer in the Chippendale escritoire and pulled out a leather portfolio. Then she dug in her pocketbook for her custom-made, diamond-encrusted rose gold pen.

  “How quaint,” Ana disparaged. “But I don’t walk into banks with a piece of paper like a Victorian merchant. Electronic transfers, darling.” She eyed her manicure. “Welcome to the twenty-first century.”

  Oh, she loved to bring up the age difference. Mariella didn’t know when, or why, it had begun to bother her. Her fiftieth birthday? She liked to think she was above being self-conscious about her age. She was confident that she looked considerably younger than her birth certificate said she was and possessed only a healthy amount of vanity.

  Still, Ana’s remark grated. She told herself it was because her sister was as mercenary as ever.

  “So you are here to top up the bank balance.” She scribbled a generous figure across the slip. “What happened?” As if it mattered.

  “I’m here to see my son,” Ana insisted, dropping her hand and lifting her pointed chin. “It’s the only reason I’ve ever come back to this mausoleum. How much does it cost to keep this place running, anyway?”

  “See? There. You’re proving your interest has never been Gabe. You came for money, and we always knew where it went.” Mariella touched her nose, then threw up her hand in disgust. “If you’d been a more stable influence in his life, we might have encouraged you to stay, but you were a horrible example.”