“Ari.” He stared at me for endless seconds. As though trying to figure out who I was.
I flinched. Okay, I’d officially done it. Gone to my own dark and dangerous spectrum, the way Dane sometimes did. The way I abhorred him doing if it meant he was about to cross a line he shouldn’t.
There was so much of me that was like him. I understood his need to protect me because I felt that same pull. With him. Our child. Kyle. My dad. This whole new family unit of mine.
I would have taken a step back from all of this, except for two things. One, Dane and Kyle had both come to my aid when my mother had threatened my reputation as much as my father’s. And two, I absolutely wouldn’t have him wrecked again by her. Not ever again.
This time, I’d put a halt to her scheming in a way that would ensure she never came back to haunt us. In fact, I should have thought of it sooner. Yet when she’d first turned up I hadn’t been deeply involved with Dane, nor had I fully grasped the concept of my own parent blackmailing me.
I got it now.
“Dad,” I said, projecting a calmer visage and tone. “I know what she’s after. Not just fifteen minutes of fame. She needs an ego boost because you ended up with a great post-pro career as GM of an exclusive, private club she’ll never get into and I moved on from her. She can’t afford country club memberships, and I’m sure that kills her. So she’s put out this ridiculous cry for help. We’ll give it to her.”
“I don’t want you handing over yours or Dane’s money, Ari.”
“Don’t worry about it, Dad. I just need you to do me a huge favor. I can’t access the Internet all that often—you know, with the whole making certain we’re not hacked/compromised thing we’ve got going on in this house. So I’ll need you to keep your ear to the ground and make sure she’s not leaking teasers about a book or, God forbid, stalking Oprah to read her tell-all.”
His head jerked back. “Oprah?”
“Yeah. Mother’s a fan. Anyway, just eyes and ears open. I can’t manage all of that.”
“No problem. I’ll Google Alert her.”
I started. “You know how to do that?”
“I have favorite PGA contenders to keep up on and that’s the best way when I’m on the course so often, rather than strapped to my desk.”
“Right. Of course. My tech-savvy dad.” Even I didn’t know how to Google Alert. “Anyway, we can double-team her. She’s not getting the best of either of us.”
He still didn’t look all that comfortable with my new, aggressive demeanor. But I’d been backed into the corner too many times to let it happen again.
* * *
Two days later, Kyle came into the office, wearing nothing but his white pants from karate class with Amano and a towel around his neck. His muscles seemed to be more sculpted with every day that passed. He plopped into a chair as I rushed about. Relatively speaking. I wasn’t exactly zippy in my pregnant state.
After five or so minutes, he asked, “Do I even want to know this time?”
“Probably not.”
“That’s what scares me.”
I glanced at him over my shoulder. “You need athletic outlets; I need mental ones.”
“Yeah, but why do I get the feeling you’re mock-auditioning for Castle?”
“Nothing like that. Not really.”
Liar.
Turning back to the wall, where I had photos and yarn from Rosa’s sewing basket strewn everywhere, I explained the method to my madness, partially coinciding with the Lux rebuild.
“So.” I gestured to the top row of four pictures. “Dane, Ethan, Qadir, Nikolai. Good guys of the secret society.” I indicated the level below them. “Hilliard, Avril, Casterelli, Wellington. Bad guys.” Then swept my arm to the right. “Bent and Vale. Dead guys.”
Kyle leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. “What’s with the two crescent moons abutting each other with the circle in the middle?”
My sketch. “That’s Wayne Horton. Asshole.”
Kyle snorted. “Nice depiction.”