Slow Burn

Chapter Twenty-nine

Morning came all too soon, and she awoke with no regrets. After the night they'd shared, she probably should feel a little awkward around him, and when she thought about all the things he'd done to her and she'd done to him, she should at the very least find it difficult to look him in the eye. But regrets? No, there were no regrets.

She was thankful she woke up before he did. He was sleeping on his stomach with one arm hanging off the bed. The pillows and sheets and blankets were on the floor. It had been a wild night, all right. And glorious.

Kate didn't start worrying until she was in the shower. Had she said something she shouldn't have in one of those passionate moments when he was driving her out of her mind? Had she told him she loved him? Dear God, she didn't, did she? She couldn't remember. She prayed she hadn't. But if she had… what then? Pretend she hadn't? She couldn't think of anything better to do, and so she settled on that. Senators did it all the time, and under oath no less. They pretended they hadn't known… whatever. And if lying was good enough for a congressman, by God, it was good enough for her.

Okay, it had finally happened. Dylan had made her completely crazy.

She'd never get out of the shower if she didn't stop thinking about him. There was so much she needed to get done today. She had promised Anderson that she would look through the binder. He wanted her to understand how the uncle had amassed his fortune, she supposed. And his advisors and accountants would be on hand to answer questions. No choice, she decided. She had to read the thing.

But there were also the photos of her father. She'd been too weary last night to look at them.

Kate hurried to get dressed. She packed her makeup and toothbrush in her bag and opened the door.

Dylan was just getting out of bed. He didn't look awake, though. His hair was tousled and he was naked. As he walked toward her, her stomach quivered.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully.

He grunted a reply. Obviously not a morning person, she decided.

He passed her, grabbed her arm, and before she had time to prepare, he kissed her. She wanted to put her arms around him and lean into him. His body was so warm and…

She pulled back. Her thoughts were going to get her in trouble. "I've got reading to do, and you need to wake up."

With the least amount of coaxing she would have gone back to bed with him. She rushed to the table and grabbed the binder and the envelope of photos. She heard the bathroom door shut, and she relaxed. She was safe from acting out her lustful thoughts, and hopefully when he came out of the bathroom, he'd be dressed.

She went to her bed, kicked her shoes off, and sat with her back against the headboard. Ready now, she opened the binder and began to read… and became sick in no time at all. That horrible old man had documented each acquisition with boastful notes in the margin, and after reading about fifteen pages word for word, she understood the pattern and skimmed over the rest.

He made his fortune buying companies, stripping them, and selling off what was left.

If Anderson had told her that Compton had been a shrewd businessman and had carefully built his portfolio by buying and selling properties, Kate probably wouldn't have thought much about it, and she doubted she would have been repulsed. Lots of clever, driven men and women made their fortunes wheeling and dealing, and Kate would have assumed Compton fit into that category. But seeing what he had done, and how he had done it, on paper, made all the difference. He used deceit and false promises, anything, it seemed, to get what he wanted. He certainly didn't have any scruples. The number of lives, the dreams he'd destroyed over the years, the jobs and security of faithful employees he'd snatched away… all that meant nothing to him, nor did the families of those who were dependent on the income of the companies he closed. The human element wasn't his concern, and compassion wasn't in his nature.

The only thing Compton MacKenna ever cared about was money, and how to make more.

What he had done wasn't criminal. But it was immoral. And he had gone to his grave proud of his accomplishments. Had he compiled this testimonial to his conquests just to impress her?

Dear God, he believed she was like him.

Reading his financial history validated her initial decision. She could not and would not spend a single dollar of his money on herself, her family, her company, or her future.

Compton MacKenna was a selfish, cruel man. She was not like him, and she meant to prove it. Whatever she decided to do with the money had to be perfect, and when she was done, she hoped Compton would roll over in his grave.

Shoving the binder aside, she reached for the envelope and opened it. Her mood immediately improved. There were ten photos, all black and white.

Her father had been a handsome boy. He looked dashing in his school uniform. He was definitely a child of privilege, she thought, as she studied one photo of him in a polo outfit standing so proudly in front of a horse. In another photo he was about four or five years old, and he was standing on a lawn, smiling into the camera. In the background was a house-no, not a house, a mansion. Had he lived there?

There weren't any photos of him with his parents or other relatives. She thought that was odd and wondered if there were other pictures of her father packed away somewhere. She made a mental note to ask Anderson to find out.

She was just tucking the last photo back into the envelope when Dylan joined her.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Almost."

She put the envelope and binder in her overnight bag.

Dylan was folding linens and placing them back on the bed with the pillows he'd already picked up. He noticed what she was doing and asked, "Don't you want to take that binder in the car so you can look it over?"

"I've already looked through it."

"Were you impressed? I got the idea that whoever put it together for you thought you would be."

"I wasn't."

She checked the bathroom and closet to make sure she hadn't left anything behind, but Dylan had already straightened them. Even the damp towels in the bathroom had been folded and left on the vanity.

They stopped for breakfast at the hotel coffee shop, but neither one of them was very hungry. As soon as they were back in the car, he checked the map again so he could avoid highways as they made their way toward Silver Springs.

"I should call Anderson," she said. "I don't want him to plan on seeing me at three."

"But you might see him at three," he said. "It all depends on how we work things out."

"We're going back to Savannah? Won't that be dangerous? That's a terrible idea. I'm warning you now. If we walk into that office and I see a basket of flowers anywhere in the vicinity, I won't be responsible for my actions. I'll do something terrible. I just know I will. I don't know exactly what that will be, but I assure you I cannot endure getting blown up again, and I won't let you get hurt. No, it's out of the question. We simply can't go back there. My mind's made up."

He did try to interrupt her during her tirade, but she was on a roll and wouldn't be stopped. When she finally had to take a breath, he said, "We don't know yet if we have to go back to Anderson's office. He might be able to bring the papers to us."

"Oh."

"Oh? That's it?"

"I might have overreacted…"

"Might have?"

She reached behind her seat for the briefcase. "If you had mentioned this sooner, I wouldn't have gotten upset." She found the file folders she was looking for and pulled them out.

"What's all that?" he asked.

"Loan papers my mother signed. I want to read them again. The other folder is from one of the hospitals. In the last year of her life she spent more time there than at home."

Kate took the next twenty minutes to read each paper, each bill, and each receipt, and she at last understood. Tears clouded her vision. What little insurance her mother had, had run out, and in desperation she'd signed away everything so that her daughters wouldn't be saddled with her debt.

The hospital bills alone were astronomical. How she must have worried, but in silence, telling no one and keeping the heartache and fear inside.

Tears streamed down Kate's face. She turned away so Dylan wouldn't notice. She found a tissue in her purse and quickly wiped the tears away.

"Kate, do you want to tell me what's going on?"

"I need information," she said. "And fast."

"All right."

"Do you think Anderson is ethical? If he's going to become my attorney, I'll need to know he has scruples. Is there a way to find out quickly?"

"I've already got someone looking at him. We'll know something soon."

"I like him. But he did represent Compton MacKenna, and that worries me."

"He's an attorney and obviously a good one or your uncle wouldn't have hired him. It's naive to think Anderson had to like or respect him or any of his other clients."

"There are other people I want checked out. Who would give us the name of a good investigator?"

"I could do it for you. This is about your company, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said. "But you've got enough to deal with, and I need this information soon."

He didn't argue. "Let me think about it," he said.

She put the folders in the briefcase and sat back. Her mind was racing with details she needed to take care of.

"After you sign those papers, what are you going to do with all that money?" he asked.

The question reminded her of yet another errand. "I need to go to a bank in Silver Springs."

He thought she meant she would transfer the money there. "Anderson will do that for you."

"You don't understand. I need to get a loan."