Bethany Campbell - One True Secret

Merriman narrowed his eyes as he continued. “You know what I think? I think you’re attracted to her. And you blew your chance with her—big time. Smooth, Garner.”

Merriman’s words annoyed Eli because they were true. Emerson was a beautiful woman. But more than that, she had spirit, she was smart—and loyal to a fault. He didn’t want her to be guilty, but he feared she was.

He wanted her to have a reasonable, moral excuse for the games her family played. He didn’t want her to hate him. But it was too late for that. The damage was done.

Eli was relentless; it went with his job. He could go beyond relentless to ruthless when he had to, and he had been ruthless with Emerson.

She would talk to him again tomorrow, because she had no choice.

And he would show her no mercy, because he couldn’t.

Dear Reader,

People often ask if my characters are based on real people. In One True Secret, the answer is yes and no.

Most of the characters are composites of the real and the imaginary. The heroine, Emerson, owes her beauty and boldness to one of my friends who has the good fortune to have both. But Emerson’s other qualities are drawn from a number of different people, some of them members of my family. And part of her is pure imagination.

Still, I confess that one character is drawn completely from reality. The only thing that is made up about him is his name.

This character is Bunbury, the overweight gray cat who chirps rather than meows. Bunbury is nearly identical to my overweight gray cat, Hodge, who chirps instead of meows. Hodge could sue me for invasion of privacy and libel, but he couldn't care less about being in a book. Outrage, even mild irritation, would be a waste of his preciously hoarded calories.

His passions are (a) eating (b) coveting the food of others and (c) being petted. He hates the vacuum cleaner, all doors that shut him in or out and, most of all, travel.

As this is being written, Hodge is lying on the dog’s cushion, hogging it as he manages to look both sleepy and superior. He will not answer to the name Bunbury, but he won’t answer to the name Hodge, either. He’s a real cat, but he’s also, in every sense of the word, a real character.

Best wishes,

Bethany Campbell and Hodge, a Very Fine Cat Indeed.

Bethany would love you to visit her at her Web site, www.bethanycampbell.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Wheels and Mrs. Wheels with affection and gratitude.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“I DON’T WANT to talk to those men,” Claire said. She sat under the buttercup tree, glumly feeding almonds to the parrot.

“Then don’t.” Emerson lay stretched on the chaise longue beside the pool. She wore a purple bikini and a green baseball cap. “I’ll do the talking.”

“For them to come barging in this way? I think it’s just—rude.”

“Arrak!” said the parrot. “Rude! Rude!”

“They’re journalists. It’s their job to be rude. Pass me some almonds, will you? I’ve got the munchies.”

Claire rose and handed Emerson the bowl. Then she paused, furrowing her smooth brow. “What’ll you do if they get—you know—too pushy?”

Emerson shrugged disdainfully. “Cut ’em into little pieces and feed ’em to Gollum.”

Gollum was the alligator who lived in the pond on the back of the property, the acres their grandfather kept untouched and wild. Gollum was six feet long and had only one eye. It was yellow and gleamed with malevolence.

“That’s a thought,” Claire said, all seriousness. She moved back to the low stone wall under the yellow blossoms of the tree and sat beside the parrot again, crossing her legs. She put her chin on her fist and stared pensively at her sister. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll say the wrong thing?”

“Nope.” Emerson popped an almond into her mouth.

“Not at all.”

“I’d be,” Claire murmured. “I know I’d say too much. Strangers make me nervous. This whole situation makes me nervous.”

“Yarrk,” croaked the green parrot. “Nervous.” He climbed to a lower branch of the tree and hung upside down, cocking his head from side to side.

Emerson peered over her funky sunglasses to scrutinize Claire. Her younger sister was a pretty girl with a sweet face and a gentle air. The Florida sun had streaked her light-brown hair with gold, and her hazel eyes had a faraway look in them.

Emerson loved her sister, but she worried about her. Claire had always been shy, but lately, Emerson thought, her shyness was overpowering her. Claire went outside the estate as little as possible these days and then only to certain places on the Lower Keys.

She stayed home and saw to the needs of their grandparents, Nana and the Captain. She worked in the garden and walked on the beach and played with her pets.

Claire seemed content with her lot, almost serene. But Emerson didn’t want her to hide away from the world, like the Captain. One recluse in the family was more than enough, thank you very much.

After Emerson had fended off the damn journalists, she needed to get to work on Claire’s social life. That would take some first-class scheming and wheedling. Well, Emerson was up for it.

A fat blue-gray cat with a white belly and paws waddled out of the coleus and began to rub against Claire’s ankles. “Ah,” Claire said with real delight, “it’s Mr. Bunbury. Hello, Bunbury.”

Bunbury flopped onto his back, offering up the considerable expanse of his stomach for petting. Claire rubbed him, ruffled and smoothed him, then lifted him onto her lap and scratched his jowls. The parrot, wary, righted himself and climbed several branches higher in the tree.

Claire looked at Emerson over Bunbury’s ears. “When do you go to New York again?”

Emerson sat up and began to coat herself with a fresh layer of sunscreen. “In ten days.”

“How many paintings will you take?”

“Only the two small ones. I’ll take slides of the rest. See what Krystol thinks.”

“Krystol’s a very good dealer,” Claire said. “But Nana’s worried about him.”

“Why? Because he’s asking questions?” Emerson kept stroking the lotion on her thighs. “It’s all right. I can handle Krystol. I’ve been doing it for years, haven’t I?”

“Yes, but so many people are asking questions,” Claire said, hugging the purring Bunbury. “And now these men—”

Emerson sighed, put the sunscreen aside, and took off her cap. She pulled the pins from her hair, shaking it loose. Unlike Claire, Emerson had dark hair, nearly black, and it was so long it tumbled halfway down her back.

She took off the sunglasses, revealing eyes as dark as her hair. She narrowed these striking eyes at her sister.

“Look, I promised Daddy on his death bed that I’d take care of this family and the business. And I’ve done it.”

“Done it,” echoed the parrot, “Family. Done it.” He shot Bunbury a suspicious glance and edged still higher.

Emerson leaned forward. “And I’ll keep doing it. I know what’s at stake here. These paintings aren’t just paintings. What we have are works of genius. We have a legacy to protect. And I will protect it. So, relax.”