Page 67 of Sweet Sin

FALCON

Eight years earlier…

It’s not an easy thing, withdrawing that much money in cash from a trust fund.

And it’s not like a drug cartel on the border is going to take a cashier’s check.

Funny thing about banks. They don’t keep millions of dollars in paper money sitting around. Lucky for me, I have contacts.

The one person I know who will never let me down is my grandmother. Sandra Cooper Bellamy.

I take a drive to the far side of our ranch, to her mega-mansion.

My grandfather, Brick Bellamy, passed away a few years ago. Nana hasn’t remarried, and I doubt she will. She and my grandfather had one of those once-in-a-lifetime love stories. They were still holding hands in their sixties. It was equal parts cute and nauseating.

I didn’t tell her I was coming because she would’ve asked why. Not that I need an excuse to visit Nana, but I didn’t want to have to say anything about this over the phone.

I bring my car to a stop in the circular driveway that’s lined with majestic oak trees, parking behind Nana’s black Lincoln town car. Her driver, Jackson, is on call at all hours. Nana doesn’t go very many places anymore, so Jackson’s probably in his room in the mansion waiting for his phone to ring.

The house itself is a sprawling mansion, the exterior designed from limestone. It’s warm and earthy tones are welcoming, as is the wide southern veranda with ornate columns and a spacious wrap-around porch, home to three porch swings. As kids, my brothers, sisters, and I spent many happy hours out here eating Nana’s homemade treats and washing them down with fresh lemonade. I broke the swings more than once, and each time, Pops threatened to whoop my ass, but he never did. Nana wouldn’t have stood for that, and Pops would do anything for the love of his life.

I walk to the arched doorway and ring the doorbell.

Nana’s housekeeper, Maybelle, answers. “Mr. Falcon,” she says.

“Hi, Maybelle. I’m here to see Nana.”

“She’s in her library, reading.”

“Oh. She hates to be disturbed when she’s reading.”

“She does, but you know she has a soft spot for you and her other grandchildren. I’ll be happy to disturb her.”

“Thank you, Maybelle. I appreciate it.”

She holds the door open for me and I enter the large foyer, adorned with marble floors and a crystal chandelier hanging from a high, coffered ceiling.

To the left of the foyer is a sitting room where we kids were never allowed to go. I always longed to jump on the plush sofas and elegant armchairs, but now that I’m old enough to sit in the room, I have no interest in it. It’s too…formal.

To the right is the dining room with a huge cherry table and sixteen chairs. Who the hell needs sixteen chairs?

Maybelle clacks along the marble tiling and turns left down the hallway toward the library.

Nana’s house is on the north side of Bellamy Ranch. I live on the east side of Bellamy Ranch. Nana is far away from the old barn near the border.

A few moments later, Maybelle returns. “Go ahead into the library.”

“Thank you again.” I stop, trying to keep my cowboy boots from making horrible noises on the marble.

The house is decorated in a western Texas theme—lone stars, bluebonnets, and Texas landscapes everywhere. The oak double doors to Nana’s library are cracked open, and I knock softly and then enter. The walls of the library are lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and southwest artifacts and framed maps adorn the spaces between the books.

I inhale the crisp scent of parchment and leather bindings. I love Nana’s library. We spent many happy hours in here as kids as she read to us from the classics—Robinson Crusoe, the Swiss Family Robinson, Oliver Twist.

We were the best-read kids in Texas.

My grandmother sits in a brown leather recliner, a book on her lap, spectacles on her nose, and a smile on her still beautiful face.

“Nana?”

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