The Bourbon Kings

“No, orange is best.” There was a pop as if a cap had been opened. “Mmm … good.”

His father coughed again. “Better?”

“Much. Let’s go to the copy machine together, shall we?” she said. “Just in case I need help.”

“My pleasure,” William drawled.

“You know,” Sutton said more dimly, as she led the way out of the office, “you shouldn’t smoke. That stuff will kill you.”

Edward closed his eyes.

“Oh, the lights,” Sutton murmured. “Here, allow me. Once we get the copies, we should return to the party.”

“So eager to enjoy better bourbon than you produce?”

Everything went dark. “Yes, William. Of course.”

As the pair of them went off together, Edward listened to the prattle of their talk—and prayed, for his father’s sake, that the man kept his hands off Sutton. Watching that little show by the desk had required a kind of discipline he had not been connected to for quite a while.

What the hell kind of business deal were the pair of them executing?

God, he never thought he’d think like this, but he hoped Sutton wasn’t making any investment in the BBC—or trying to acquire it. She could well be pouring good money into a black hole.

Because, yes, even before he had started to get into those most recent files, Edward had suspected what his father was doing. He had never understood the why of it … but he did know where to look and exactly what he was going to find.

Some moments later, he heard Sutton say, “Well, I think this benefits us both. I’ll execute the wire transfer first thing on Monday morning.”

“Care to seal this with a kiss?”

Edward curled up a fist and thought of what his brother had said about Chantal.

“Thank you, but a handshake is more than sufficient—and even that, I don’t require. I’ll let myself out.”

A door opened and closed.

And then his father came back, the heavy footfalls striding in Edward’s direction making him wish he’d brought his own gun.

Lane knew where he was, however. If he didn’t make it out of here alive, Lane … would know.

Closer …

Closer …

Except his father just walked right by the desk and into his own office—where he turned on a light, pulled open a drawer and put the papers that had been signed back inside. Then he closed things up and took a number of puffs on his cigar, as if he were lost in thought.

When a coughing fit ensued, Edward rolled his eyes. His father had been an asthmatic all his life. Why anyone with that condition, even if it was just a mild case as William had, would ever smoke anything was a mystery.

As the man took out a handkerchief and covered his mouth, he also retrieved his inhaler and briefly replaced the cigar butt with the drugs. After a quick huff, he put the cigar back in place, turned off the light, and …

… proceeded by his assistant’s desk.

Edward didn’t move. Continued to hold his breath. Waited for the sound of one of the French doors opening and closing.

None of that came.

THIRTY-SIX

As Lizzie stood before him looking shaken, Lane wanted to take it all back. He wanted to return to the time when it was only his family’s wealth and social position … along with his lying, baby-killing, adulterous, soon-to-be ex-wife … who came between them.

Ah, yes, the good ol’ days.

Not.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. And that was true about so damned much.

“That’s all right.”

“Not really.”

When they fell silent, he found that the sound of the party annoyed the crap out of him—especially as he thought about all that money that his father had “borrowed.” He had no idea exactly what the costs of the brunch were, but he could do the math. Six or seven hundred people, top-shelf liquor, even if they got it wholesale, food that was out of a Michelin three-star restaurant? With enough parkers and waiters to take care of the entire city of Charlemont?

A quarter of a million, at least. And that didn’t include the boxes at the track. The tables in the private rooms at Steeplehill Downs. The ball that his family sponsored afterward.

It was a million-dollar event that lasted less than twenty-four hours.

“Listen, you better go.” He didn’t want her to see Edward. Mostly because he was guessing Edward wouldn’t want to be seen. “I’ll come to your place, even if I can’t spend the whole night.”

“I’d like that. I’m worried about you. Lot going on.”

You have no idea, he thought.

He leaned in to kiss her, but she ducked away—which was probably the right thing to do. A couple of groundsmen in a golf cart were coming up the lane from the lower part of the estate, and no one needed to see that.

“I’ll get there when I can,” he said. Then he leaned in. “Know that I’m kissing you right now. Even if it’s only in my mind.”

She blushed. “I … I’ll see you. Tonight. I’ll leave the door unlocked if you go late.”

“I love you.”

As she turned away, he didn’t like the look on her face. And it was impossible to hide the fact that he desperately wanted her to say those words back—and not because she was being polite, but because she meant them.

Because her heart was on the line … just as his was.

With his world so off-balance, Lizzie King certainly seemed like the only secure, steady thing on his horizon—