LITMIR.BIZ

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looked back down at the bottle. “I’m not sure I’m ready yet. I still hardly believe he’s gone.”

      “I can’t imagine what a shock it must have been.”

      “I keep expecting him to walk around the corner and say it was all an elaborate hoax.” He gestured toward a wing-backed red chair in the great room adjoining the kitchen. “That was his favorite chair. I feel like he’s going to get up out of it and rib me for not catching any fish yet this year.”

      The cork popped out with force, almost making Brooke jump. “I know he’s proud of you for how you’re handling things.”

      RJ nodded. “He’s got to be watching from somewhere.”

      She fought an urge to glance over her shoulder. She wasn’t sure she wanted RJ’s dad watching the things she hoped to get up to with him tonight. Then again, maybe she should think more about how this would look to all the other people around them. What would RJ’s siblings think of her spending the weekend with him? She worked closely with his brother Matthew in the office—would she be able to look him in the eye on Monday? And what about his mom? Would she see sleeping with his assistant as somehow beneath a Kincaid?

      Of course Elizabeth Kincaid had much bigger problems to worry about right now. Partly due to information that she, Brooke Nichols, had provided to the police. She really needed to get that off her chest. Maybe now was a good time. She could casually say she’d seen his mom in the building and then … No. Better to say the police had interviewed her and she just happened to mention—

      “I’m glad you’re here with me.” RJ’s soft voice jolted her from her fevered ruminations. He handed her a cool glass of clear white wine and she took a hasty sip. The moment for telling him had passed. Now he was getting romantic and she’d ruin it all if she said anything. “I’ve been wanting to come up here for a while, but didn’t know how I’d feel.”

      “How do you feel?” She squeezed her guilt back down. He wanted a relaxing weekend, not more to worry about. It was probably better if she didn’t mention it until they were back in the everyday world of Charleston.

      “Okay. It’s as beautiful as ever, peaceful and a perfect escape from reality.”

      “Can you ever really escape from reality?” Somehow it kept sneaking back into her consciousness.

      “Sure.” He smiled. “You file it away in a drawer.”

      “The third drawer down, perhaps?”

      “Maybe that one, maybe another. Maybe more than one.” He raised a brow. “Then you lock it and lose the key until some later date.”

      “That does not sound like the RJ I know.”

      He laughed. “It doesn’t, does it? Maybe I’m trying to change.”

      “I don’t think you should change.” She said it in earnest, then wondered if she’d revealed too much about herself. “You’re up-front and honest. You tackle things head-on and don’t beat around the bush or try to people-please.”

      “And you’ve been the victim, more often than not.”

      “I’d much rather have you tell me what you think than have to guess it.”

      “I suppose that’s one thing I got from my dad.” His expression darkened. “Or I thought I did. He was blunt and truthful, and I never doubted a word he said.” He swirled his glass of wine and peered into its depths. “Now I can see I should have been wary of all the things he left unsaid. Maybe you can never really know anyone.”

      “I don’t suppose you can, but most people don’t have secret families, so I don’t think you could have seen it coming.” It was hard to know what to say without overstepping the mark.

      “No? My mom knew about them, and she kept quiet, too.”

      “She was probably trying to protect you from pain.”

      “Instead, she accidentally set herself up as a possible murderer.” He shook his head and took a swig from his wine. “There’s no justice in this world.”

      Brooke’s stomach clenched. She hated to see RJ sounding so bitter. He was usually the most upbeat and positive person she knew. “There will be justice, but it might take some time.”

      “I wish I believed you. How can there be justice in a world where the Kincaid Group, the company I’ve devoted my working life to, is now forty-five percent owned by a half brother—” he said the word with a growl “—that I never knew existed.” He looked up at her, eyes cold. “And who despises my entire family and the company he’s just been handed.”

      Brooke put her wineglass down on the island. “It’s all very strange and hard to understand right now.” How could his father have been so cruel as to take away the company RJ saw as his birthright and hand it to an unknown rival?

      “You know what?” RJ’s voice was low with anger. “I do want to see what’s in that third drawer. I want to see exactly what Dad wrote that would help me to understand why he stopped seeing me as his eldest son and heir.” He slammed open the third drawer down on one side of the kitchen island. “Napkins and napkin rings. Can you see the significance?”

      Brooke swallowed. She wanted to laugh, just to ease the tension, but it wasn’t funny. “Did he have a desk?”

      “Yes, there’s a study.” He strode from the room. Brooke glanced at the oven and saw the ribs still needed a few minutes. Always the trusty assistant, she followed him.

      RJ marched into a bright study with cathedral ceilings and a leather-topped desk. “Ha. Two rows of three drawers.” He pulled open one bottom drawer and rifled through the interior. “Bullet casings, ballpoint pens, paper clips, a broken golf tee.” He slammed it and pulled open the other. “Reginald Kincaid letterhead and matching envelopes.” He lifted the papers. “What’s this?” He pulled out a manila envelope. “It has his name on the front. Or my name—since according to my birth certificate I’m Reginald Kincaid, as well.” The envelope was sealed. Thick too, like it had a wad of papers, or even an object. “It’s heavy.”

      “Are you going to open it?”

      RJ hesitated, weighing it in his hand. The oven timer beeped in the kitchen.

      Four

      “I’ll go check the ribs.” Brooke seemed relieved at the excuse to leave him alone. Once she’d gone, RJ glanced down at the envelope in his hands. The writing was his father’s familiar script, neat and commanding. He slid a finger under the sealed flap and ripped the paper carefully, aware he was frowning.

      Then he lowered the open envelope to the desktop and eased the contents out onto the desk. Papers, mostly, a pair of cuff links, a ring he’d never seen his dad wear and some old photographs.

      “They’re done. I’ll just toss the salad,” called Brooke from the kitchen.

      “Great.” What was this envelope of things supposed to mean? He picked up the ring and looked at the design. Gold with a flat top, it was shaped almost like a class ring. As he stared at the shield he realized it was probably from his dad’s time in special forces. He recognized the bird holding a lightning bolt. The ring was worn, the gold scratched by use, but he didn’t remember ever seeing it on his dad’s finger. A relic from another lifetime, the lifetime in which Angela had been the woman he loved—and unbeknownst to him, the mother of his firstborn son.

      “It’s ready.” Brooke’s voice tugged him back to the present.

      There was a lovely woman waiting for him in the other room, and painful memories could wait. He pushed the items back into the envelope and slid them into the same drawer. “Coming.”

      Brooke looked so beautiful standing silhouetted against the last rays of light. Her lush body beckoned to him, promising an evening filled with pleasure. Much better to tuck all

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