adjusting to his new life, determined to do everything right this time. A week ago, his life had been looking up. He’d found the perfect job. He was going to go to school to learn a trade. He was becoming a good father.
Now, not only had he gone and lost his damn job before he’d even started it, he had Payne Kincaid breathing down his neck. Yes, James had screwed up. Royally. He’d botched a deal for the man, cost him a customer. Fifteen grand and one client didn’t amount to much in the Kincaid scheme of things, but there was always the principle of the matter. Employees who f-ed up paid for it. But James knew Kincaid was torn about how to deal with him.
Kincaid the businessman was ruthless, calculating, merciless. When people let him down, they paid.
Kincaid the family man was supportive, compassionate, kind. When people he cared about needed him, he was there.
With James, the two vastly different sides of Kincaid had become one. James—and perhaps Kincaid himself—didn’t know which set of rules applied anymore. The family rules called for forgiveness and support. The work rules dictated either his own death or the pain and suffering of someone close to him. Since James wasn’t laid out on a marble slab at the morgue right now …
No. No way.
James was sure … no, he was positive that Kincaid wouldn’t hurt Bailey or Austin. The man hadadopted them as his own. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt them.
But that didn’t loosen the tight, aching knot in his gut. If Bailey and Austin weren’t targets, that left James. Kincaid might not have the heart to kill him or have him killed, but he would make him suffer. Somehow.
James bounced a fist off the steering wheel.
Damn it, he should have known it would fall apart, should have seen it coming. Life had been improving, and that could mean only one thing: It was going to explode in his face.
Chapter 7
On the sofa, a hand pressed gingerly to the ache in her side, Bailey tried to survey the damage with detached emotion. The police were in the next room finishing up. They’d already questioned her and ordered her not to touch anything.
Seeing her possessions, material and personal, strewn carelessly about the room, some of them shattered, some of them covered with black, fingerprinting dust, broke her heart. She had already determined that only her MacBook was gone. The burglar had left her TV, microwave and iPod, though all had been viciously destroyed.
The destruction of her photos was the worst, though. On the floor just a few feet away lay the picture she’d taken at age twelve featuring four generations of Chase women—herself, her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother—all smiling and alive. She’d painstakingly set the shot up, positioning everyone just so. She’d set the timer on her first camera, her dad’s old Nikon, hit the button, then moved like mad to get into place between her laughing mother and grandmother before the flash went off. Good times.
Now, replacing the torn and scratched photo would be impossible. Filing away negatives of important photos hadn’t occurred to her until well after the negative for that one had been tossed in a drawer and forgotten. And she’d never gotten around to scanning a digital copy.
Emotion closed her throat. She was the only one from that photo still living, and now it was ruined.
A glittering smudge of glass on the wall drew her attention, and she glanced down at the baseboard to see the red, purple and pink bits of glass from the vase her father had brought back for her from Venice the year before the accident.
Before she could choke up further, she shifted her gaze and saw among the ruins a photo of Austin balanced precariously on his first bike. She’d snapped it despite the scrapes that had marred the then-three-year-old’s face from a tumble down the concrete steps in front of her apartment building. She’d told James that he’d have to get used to his kid having
Now, not only had he gone and lost his damn job before he’d even started it, he had Payne Kincaid breathing down his neck. Yes, James had screwed up. Royally. He’d botched a deal for the man, cost him a customer. Fifteen grand and one client didn’t amount to much in the Kincaid scheme of things, but there was always the principle of the matter. Employees who f-ed up paid for it. But James knew Kincaid was torn about how to deal with him.
Kincaid the businessman was ruthless, calculating, merciless. When people let him down, they paid.
Kincaid the family man was supportive, compassionate, kind. When people he cared about needed him, he was there.
With James, the two vastly different sides of Kincaid had become one. James—and perhaps Kincaid himself—didn’t know which set of rules applied anymore. The family rules called for forgiveness and support. The work rules dictated either his own death or the pain and suffering of someone close to him. Since James wasn’t laid out on a marble slab at the morgue right now …
No. No way.
James was sure … no, he was positive that Kincaid wouldn’t hurt Bailey or Austin. The man hadadopted them as his own. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt them.
But that didn’t loosen the tight, aching knot in his gut. If Bailey and Austin weren’t targets, that left James. Kincaid might not have the heart to kill him or have him killed, but he would make him suffer. Somehow.
James bounced a fist off the steering wheel.
Damn it, he should have known it would fall apart, should have seen it coming. Life had been improving, and that could mean only one thing: It was going to explode in his face.
Chapter 7
On the sofa, a hand pressed gingerly to the ache in her side, Bailey tried to survey the damage with detached emotion. The police were in the next room finishing up. They’d already questioned her and ordered her not to touch anything.
Seeing her possessions, material and personal, strewn carelessly about the room, some of them shattered, some of them covered with black, fingerprinting dust, broke her heart. She had already determined that only her MacBook was gone. The burglar had left her TV, microwave and iPod, though all had been viciously destroyed.
The destruction of her photos was the worst, though. On the floor just a few feet away lay the picture she’d taken at age twelve featuring four generations of Chase women—herself, her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother—all smiling and alive. She’d painstakingly set the shot up, positioning everyone just so. She’d set the timer on her first camera, her dad’s old Nikon, hit the button, then moved like mad to get into place between her laughing mother and grandmother before the flash went off. Good times.
Now, replacing the torn and scratched photo would be impossible. Filing away negatives of important photos hadn’t occurred to her until well after the negative for that one had been tossed in a drawer and forgotten. And she’d never gotten around to scanning a digital copy.
Emotion closed her throat. She was the only one from that photo still living, and now it was ruined.
A glittering smudge of glass on the wall drew her attention, and she glanced down at the baseboard to see the red, purple and pink bits of glass from the vase her father had brought back for her from Venice the year before the accident.
Before she could choke up further, she shifted her gaze and saw among the ruins a photo of Austin balanced precariously on his first bike. She’d snapped it despite the scrapes that had marred the then-three-year-old’s face from a tumble down the concrete steps in front of her apartment building. She’d told James that he’d have to get used to his kid having
Similar Books
Enid Blyton
MR. PINK-WHISTLE INTERFERES
The Prefect
Alastair Reynolds
A Necessary Sin
Georgia Cates
Matters of Faith
Kristy Kiernan
Clallam Bay (A Fresh Start #2)
L. C. Morgan
Ravenspell Book 2: The Wizard of Ooze
David Farland
The Clockwork Wolf
Lynn Viehl
Prizes
Erich Segal
Broken Trust
Leigh Bale
What Is Visible: A Novel
Kimberly Elkins