Maureen Child - The Highest Bidder

“Now how about you tell me why you tried it in the first place?” He heard the tightly leashed anger in his voice and didn’t bother to disguise it. “What’s got you so jumpy? So worried that you were thinking about stealing, even though you didn’t want to?”

She started talking then and the words rushed over themselves as if they’d been banked up too long and couldn’t wait to get out into the light of day. Vance listened without interrupting, though it cost him to keep his growing fury trapped inside. His grip on the water bottle tightened to the point where he half expected to crush the plastic container and be doused in icy water. And maybe that would have been a good thing. It might have gone a ways toward cooling off the fire of the rage pumping through his body.

When she finally finished talking, Vance couldn’t sit still a second longer. He jumped to his feet, paced off a step or two, and turned back to look at her. The hot wind teased the ends of her hair and sent leaf-painted shadows dancing across her face.

She stared up at him. “You’re angry.”

“Good call,” he said tightly. He tossed his nearly full bottle of water into a nearby trash can with such force it was like the crash of a gong.

It didn’t help any. Frustrated and furious, he shoved both hands through his hair. “Dammit, Charlie.”

“I wasn’t going to do it,” she said firmly, and stood up, grabbing his arm to force him to look at her. “You have to know that. I wasn’t going to sell Waverly’s out. To anyone. I wouldn’t do that to the house. Or to you.”

He snorted in disgust. “You think that’s why I’m mad?”

“Isn’t it?”

Vance looked down at her misery-filled eyes, and got mad all over again. “God, you must think I’m a real bastard.”

“No, I don’t,” she argued.

“Then why didn’t you tell me you were in trouble?” His demand was short, sharp and to the point. He couldn’t believe this. Any of it. He’d been suspecting her of betrayal when all the time— “You’ve been threatened by some creep and you didn’t say anything? Why the hell not?”

The wounded expression on her face faded and was replaced by grim resolution. “Because it was my problem.”

“That’s not an answer, Charlie,” he said, voice thick with the fury nearly choking him. “You’ve been scared for two weeks and never said a damn word.”

“What was I supposed to say?” she argued. “If I had told you that I was being blackmailed, what could you have done? You’d have assumed that I was going to betray you.”

One short, sharp bark of laughter shot from his throat. “That’s great, thanks. Good to know the high opinion you have of me.”

Stunned, she tilted her head and looked at him. “You’re saying you would have believed me?”

“I believe you now ,” he pointed out, irritated beyond belief that she thought so little of him. “The minute you finally told me what was going on, I believed you.”

“I had no way of knowing that. And besides, I didn’t need help. Or, I did,” she corrected, muttering now as her words came faster. “Okay, I did need help but I didn’t want to need help, you know? I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself and Jake and—God, I’ve made a mess of this.”

“Everybody needs help sometimes,” he told her, and realized that most of his anger was draining away. At least now he knew what was going on. Knew that she was being threatened and he could do something about it.

“You don’t,” she charged, and didn’t look happy about it.

“Wrong,” he said. “I need your help right now, to make sense of all this. You with me?”

She nodded and took another drink of water.

“So, someone you don’t know threatened you with losing your son unless you stole my files for the last five years?”

“Yes.” She huffed out a breath. Her pale blue eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but they were dry now. As if she had decided she’d spilled enough tears and now she was gathering her strength for whatever she might need. “I got the first email the day that article about Ms. Richardson was in the paper.”

“Probably not a coincidence,” he said wryly.

“That’s what I thought,” she agreed.

“The question is, why did this person think they could get Jake taken away from you?” He watched her. “I’ve seen you with him. Been at your apartment. You’re a good mother, providing a good home.”

“Thanks,” she said, a half smile curving one corner of her mouth briefly.

“There’s more going on here, Charlie. You haven’t told me everything.” The air was hot and still as the wind suddenly died away. The sounds of summer at the park were in the distance and in the lacy shade it felt as if they were alone in the world. “Tell me the rest, Charlie. Let me help.”

She tugged at the end of her long, blond ponytail, twisting the ends around her fingers in a nervous gesture. “I wish you could. Help, I mean. But you can’t help with this, Vance. Things are what they are. They can’t be changed.”

“Try me,” he said, steel in his tone. He’d never admit that there was something he couldn’t fix. Couldn’t set right. “You might be surprised at what I can manage.”

“Not even Vance Waverly can change the past.”

He stiffened at the words because he knew she was right—about that, at least. Vance was a take-charge guy. If something needed doing, he did it. In his world, things ran the way they were supposed to. Now. Of course, that wasn’t always the case.

If he could have changed the past, he’d have done it by now. He’d have saved his mother and sister from the car wreck that had killed them. He’d have somehow convinced his father to find Roark earlier so Vance could have known his brother before they were adults. Yeah, there was a hell of a lot he’d go back and change if he could. But if the past couldn’t be changed, then at least its impact on the present could be.

“If you don’t tell me, then for damn sure I can’t help,” he reasoned. “So what’ve you got to lose?”

“A lot,” she said so quietly he almost missed it. Then she looked at him again and he saw emotions crowding her eyes, so many he couldn’t separate them all. Whatever she was keeping locked away was tearing at her. And that ripped at him in turn.

“What’s this guy got on you, Charlie? What is it you’re so desperate to keep secret?”

She took a breath and blew it out. “Remember how I told you my grandmother raised me?”

“Yeah?” He led her back to the bench and sat down beside her.

“I didn’t tell you why.” She shook her head and a sad smile curved her mouth for a split second before disappearing again. “When I was five, my father robbed a grocery store.”

Vance hadn’t expected that. Her features were a mask of shame and humiliation, but he didn’t say anything because he was pretty sure there was more coming.

“He died in a chase with the police. Drove his car into a tree.”

“Charlie …”

“My mother left soon after that. I never saw her again.” She tore at the label on the water bottle, ripping one long strip off carefully, as if it were the most important thing in the world. “After that, my mother’s mom took me in and raised me.”

She lifted her gaze to stare out over the park again, deliberately keeping her gaze from his. “You know the old saying about ‘the wrong side of the tracks’? Well, that was us. Me. When Gran died, I left and came here and never told anyone where I was from.”

Vance felt for her. She’d had it tough and she’d come through to make something of her life. But none of this was enough to make for good blackmail.