Page 35 of A Bed of Broken Promises

The whole, long drive South, she thought about it, and with each mile, she became more and more convinced that she was doing the right thing. Maxie loved Grandma Rose, and wherever they lived, they could make sure it was closer to her. She was their only family, and Katie missed her, too.

Maxie fell asleep somewhere on the drive, and Katie carried him upstairs, marveling at the grown up little face in repose. Her baby boy was a thing of the past now, and he looked so very mature all of a sudden. She snuggled him in his bed, pressing a kiss against his forehead, and then crept downstairs.

Her mobile began to ring almost as soon as she’d filled the kettle, and her pulse skittered in the stupid hope that it was David. Or whatever his name was. Only it wasn’t. Ryan Macaulay’s voice came through to her. “Hey, Katie, how you doing?”

“Fine thanks, Ryan. And you?”

“Yeah, good. Good weekend?”

Katie leaned against the bench, her eyes shut. Before she’d met David, she’d actually thought about going out with Ryan. But now, the idea was anathema to her. The idea of kissing another man, making love to someone else, it filled her with a physical sickness. Nonetheless, she’d known Ryan for years, and she went through the motions of polite chit chat before disconnecting the call on the flimsiest of pretences. If they moved, she doubted she’d ever hear from him again.

Tea in hand, she made her way to the office and pulled the contract of sale up on her computer. It had been sent through the lawyer who had initially approached her. She scanned the documents and pressed print, waiting for the pages to spit out of her not-long-for-this-world inkjet. It was as simple as signing her name on the dotted line, and she’d be able to move on, find somewhere new to hang her hat, so to speak. Or in this case, her pervasive anger and sadness.

For the hundredth time, she scanned the contracts. Only this time, the buyer’s name sounded vaguely familiar. Brycus Inc. Surely just because she’d read the same name a hundred times now.

Then, with a start, she refocused her attention on the computer screen. With fingers that weren’t completely steady, she typed in the login for her internet banking and waited, impatiently, for her statements to load. Only they didn’t! The damned computer froze and she had to suffer the excruciating delay as it restarted and slowly came back onto the internet.

Her tea was ice cold by the time she finally got into her bank accounts and scrolled down to the recent transactions.

Blinking at her in black and white was the very same name. Brycus Inc. The amount was clearly the largest in a while, because the man who’d paid it had stayed for a week.

Whoever he was, he was connected with the company who wanted to buy her home.

She let out a sound of surprise and clasped a hand to her mouth. She had thought she couldn’t feel any worse than she had yesterday, when she’d discovered that he’d lied about his identity. But now… she felt as though her head was about to explode.

A ball of tension clawed at her gut as she typed B-R-Y-C-U-S I-N-C into a search engine, and waited for it to show the results. At the top of the page was the website for the company and she clicked on it desperately, hungry to know who the hell he was.

It was the usual sort of page you’d expect from one of those slick multinational investment incorporations with far too much money. All savvy design and boasting about their humanitarian work to assuage their corporate consciences.

“About us.” She clicked on the link and there, at the very top of the page, was David. Except he wasn’t David at all. His name, she read in disbelief, was Marcus Harris, and he was co-founder and now sole owner of the bloody thing.

“It can’t be true,” she whispered to no one in particular, standing and pacing across the room. But it couldn’t be anything but, could it? There, undeniably, on the ancient computer screen, was his face. Not smiling, staring straight at the camera, with those eyes that always seemed a little sardonic. Eyes that had bored straight into her soul.

Hating herself, she moved back and, not bothering to sit, leant forward to read the information.

Marcus Harris has been fascinated by the corporate world for as long as he can remember. Here, she let out a snort of derision. Truly, who’s fascinated by the corporate world? What a pithy and boring remark. When he graduated from college and had the opportunity to take over his first company (What company and how?) he had no idea he’d be setting in motion a course of events that would lead to his becoming one of the visionaries in global development in five short years. With business partner Bryan Watson by his side, he quickly became head of a global empire that has constructed notable projects in Europe, America, Asia, Australia, as well as replacing important infrastructure in the Middle East.

That was it. She itched to Google more, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t let herself.

She scrolled down further, and there was Bryan Watson. She skimmed his bio, guilt lancing through her at the smiling photograph of the man her lover had seen murdered. Beneath them both was a woman, a glamorous woman who was head of American operations, and beneath her, a man, Andrew Harris. He was a dead ringer for Marcus and she knew this must be the brother he’d referred to.

With a snort of disgust, she shut the browser and returned to pacing.

She’d been busy falling in love with him, believing every lie he’d fed her, and all the while he’d been talking her into selling Wadeford House. Jeez, what a gullible, naïve, stupid idiot she was!

Why the hell did he want her house so badly that he’d been willing to sleep with her to get it? To lie to her about their relationship? It didn’t add up. But she was so furious that she swore to herself she was going to get the answers she needed. And rather than go straight to the source, she was going to start with this brother.

CHAPTER TEN

Andrew had always liked London more than his brother.

The weather didn’t bother him. The people he found delightfully proper. But he would have given his eye teeth not to be here today. Cecilia only had a few weeks to go and he was damned if he was going to risk missing their baby’s entrance to the world. He wanted this wrapped up, and fast.

No word from Marcus for a week, and even Andrew was starting to worry. He placed his bag on the floor inside his five star hotel suite in Mayfair and picked up his mobile. He’d left messages for Marcus but the bastard was clearly dodging his calls. Which left only one thing. He had to ambush him.

He opened his laptop, and began an email to Marcus’s hardworking assistant, to get a copy of his diary. He was just about to send it when his mobile rang. Crossing his fingers that his brother had finally had the decency to respond to his million and one messages, he swiped to answer before checking the caller ID.

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