AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He picked up her hand and sensed her anxiety. He could see the fear in her eyes. To counter that, he lifted her hand to his lips, calmly placing a kiss on her palm. “This plan was always risky. Nothing is sure fired. To get results, sometimes you need to roll the dice to see how the other guy reacts.”
“What if he doesn’t buy Beckett as his brother?”
“I don’t see how a man as condescending as Chad would buy that scenario for long. Or put up with it.”
“Do you think he’ll know you’re bluffing?”
“Nope. I think Chad is scared shitless that he’s dealing with someone who wants a piece of his pie. Chad might be a lot of things, none of them good. But one thing I know for certain—he’s consistently greedy. That kind of attitude never changes.”
Six dogs began barking at once. The German shepherd mix Journey was the first to growl, then Mia. They raced in a pack to the dining hall’s huge picture window to get a look outside.
Alerts began to shriek from Birk’s phone and then Beckett’s.
“Looks like Pollock decided to arrive eighteen hours earlier than you thought,” Birk noted, getting to his feet.
“That’s okay,” Beckett said to everyone. “Let’s get this party started.”
22
Chad Pollock swooped into the lodge wearing what looked like a cape, a dark blue wide-brimmed Cyrano hat on his head, a monied dark gray suit with a pale blue silk shirt, and a navy ascot tied around his neck.
The valet-polished dapper look meant to impress had Brogan doing a double take. Her first thought was that Chad must have misunderstood and thought he was going to a costume party. He looked like a fussy House of Lords aristocrat who’d stepped out of the pages of a Sherlock Holmes novel with help from his personal steward. The British influence was evident. Had the mighty Samson turned into Pollock’s complete lackey? Or was he playing dual roles as the butler, too? She couldn’t quite tell for sure.
The man known as Samson wore what could only be described as a classic chauffeur’s uniform—a black jacket, matching pants, high black boots, and a black hat. He stood behind his boss in a haughty stance that looked straight out of the military. But she didn’t think the other Special Forces chaps from his past would be all that impressed with Samson’s current state of employment.
The owners, Dale and Mandy, greeted Chad like royalty. They ushered him into reception like the new king of pop. It wasn’t every day a guest parked a Bentley in their lot.
“Your hat needs a feather,” Brogan heard herself say.
“Oh, well, I wanted to look my best when I met this ‘newfound sibling,’ as Lucien termed him. One shouldn’t dismiss first impressions,” Chad said, glancing around the room, trying to pick out his brother.
Beckett stuck out his hand. “Julian Carter. Nice to meet you.” He spat the name out fast before he choked on the rest. He gestured toward the dining room behind him. “We were finishing dinner. Would you like to join us?”
“Lodge guests dine with total strangers in the mess hall?” Chad asked in gestating wonder as he took in the three people who remained at the table. “My, my, we are informal tonight.”
“What can I say?” Lucien remarked. “The place boasts a friendly, relaxed vibe. At least join us for a drink. Give it a try. They have an impressive wine list.”
Without waiting for Chad to respond, Brogan looped her arm through his and tugged him toward the bar. “You’ll love the chardonnay. Or maybe you’d prefer something bolder, say acabernet?”
“Yes, I believe I’ll try that.” Eyeing Julian, or rather Beckett, he let himself get dragged into the pub area to the long dining table. But he seemed oblivious to Kelly, Birk, and Jade, who sat at the opposite end watching the show unfold.
Chad couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Beckett. “You look nothing like Frank Pollock.”
“Thank God for that,” Beckett said agreeably. He sat down as close to Chad as he could without crawling into the man’s lap before adding, “I’m a dead-ringer for my Irish mother. Julia Carter. That was her name.”
“But the name Julian isn’t Irish,” Chad said. “It has Greek and Latin roots.”
Beckett shrugged. “Mom was an unconventional sort, a free spirit. She went her own way. I suppose I could’ve been a Julius. She thought it was cute naming me after her. Julia/Julian. Get it?”Suddenly understanding dawned on him. No longer repeating lines Lucien had come up with, he finally got the name Julian Carter and winked in Lucien’s direction.
“Julia/Julian,” Chad repeated, shifting away from Beckett. “Not many men can pull off that name. Actors or musicians, maybe.”
“Football players,” Beckett asserted. “Lots of football players with that name. My mom was a helluva woman, a single mom, my mother, bless her little heart, was the salt of the earth. I remember a time when she worked three jobs just to put food on the table. Most times, it was the two of us against the world.”
“Did she ever talk about your father?” Chad inquired.
“Never mentioned the son of a bitch,” Beckett replied as he picked up his beer bottle and slugged down the contents. He let out a loud belch watching Chad remove his silly hat. “I didn’t know anything about my wealthy, estranged father until Lucien sent me an email. At first, I thought it must be a joke. Then I called the number he’d provided in the email. We must’ve talked on the phone for a solid hour. That’s when he told me about DNA, genealogy, and how he’d forensically tracked me down through a—what was that you called it?”
“A genetic genealogist,” Lucien provided.
