Suspended Read online

  SUSPENDED

  Taryn Elliott

  www.loose-id.com

  Suspended

  Copyright © February 2013 by Taryn Elliott

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  eISBN 9781623001001

  Editor: Jana Armstrong

  Cover Artist: Dar Albert

  Published in the United States of America

  Loose Id LLC

  PO Box 809

  San Francisco CA 94104-0809

  www.loose-id.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

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  Chapter One

  The paper in her hands trembled. Creases from the number of times she’d read and reread this single sheet of paper left it looking old and worn. But the summons was only two days ago and had come as a complete surprise. Lawrence Justice had been absent since her kindergarten graduation. Her only memory of her father was broad shoulders and blond hair so light it looked like goose down.

  The same hair she saw in the mirror every morning.

  Kendall Proctor adjusted one of the many pins it took to contain her hair into the knot at the base of her neck. Instead of highlights like most of the female population, she’d added in hints of honey gold to cut the startling near-white color. Ever the reminder that she was so very different from her mother’s dark, Italian features.

  She jammed the paper back into her bag and swung her feet out of the compact car she’d rented. Monterey, California was a far cry from Bradley, New York. Even the scent of water on the air was different—briny and metallic somehow. Maybe she’d sneak away after the reading of the will and find the coastal road she’d read about during her eight hours in the airport today.

  Three cars lined the moss-ridden half wall that hugged the hillside property. She climbed the steep walk-up, her shoes clicking on flagstone. Worrying the strap of her purse, she ducked under the trumpet-shaped blooms that hung from an arbor at the end of the path. Honeysuckle and jasmine scents drew her ever closer to the massive, dark house. She didn’t know quite how that could be possible with all the windows, but it was. It looked like a sterile page from Architectural Digest.

  The wide wraparound porch was slate-gray stone filled with shadows.

  Nothing said welcome. Not even a happy little wreath on the door.

  Not that this was a happy-little-wreath kind of place. Probably too passé for the California set. She had one for every season. What did that say about her?

  She stopped at the base of the stairs. What the hell was she doing here? The letter burning a hole in her purse was a formal request for her attendance at the reading of Lawrence Justice’s will. She wasn’t even aware her father remembered her name, let alone put her in his will.

  Hell, the only reason she knew he’d passed away was because of the letter. He might’ve been a big name on the West Coast, but in Bradley, New York, he damn well hadn’t rated a news bulletin.

  She tucked the unruly lock of hair behind her ear once more. This was a mistake. She should turn around and go back to the airport. Sitting by the ocean would be better. Another eight hours in the airport would be better. Anywhere but here. She wanted nothing to do with the man who skipped out on her mother—skipped out on her without even a good-bye. The only good thing he’d done for them was give them the Heron. She didn’t want anything else from him.

  But no, her mother had impulsively bought a plane ticket—nonrefundable, of course—to send her one and only baby girl to see what Kendall’s rich father had left her.

  She rubbed the tip of her middle finger between her brows, wishing away the brewing headache. She didn’t give a rat’s ass what her father had to say. As far as she was concerned, graveside admissions were bullshit. She’d never been his daughter in any way. Why on earth had he decided to add her to the will?

  If the Heron weren’t in such financial distress, she would have told the lawyer who’d contacted her to take a dive off the nearest cliff. And there were plenty in Monterey to leap off. Again, her mother had fielded that call.

  She’d been too busy on the trawler. Bradley Lake had a wealth of perfect spots for fishing. The lake had even been mentioned in a few fishing magazines. It was the only thing bringing any money into the bed-and-breakfast these days. All her dreams of lovely rooms and community evenings around the dinner table had been buried under fishing tackle and bait.

  She sighed and smoothed her hand over her hips to straighten any wrinkles in her suit. The flight had been eternal, and the flight back tonight would be even worse. But she couldn’t afford a hotel room. Not when her mother had cleaned them out to buy the absurdly expensive ticket to the frigging West Coast.

  Kendall took a deep breath and buttoned the hidden hook of her lilac jacket. The suit felt like a straitjacket. She was getting too used to cargo pants and T-shirts. If she kept this up, she was going to have to turn in her girl card.

  She lifted her gaze to the porch again and found disconcerting dark eyes studying her from the shadows. “Hello.” When he didn’t say anything back, she swallowed. “I’m Kendall Proctor.”

  He stepped forward, and the diffused light gave way to a furrowed brow with a week’s worth of stubble shading a strong jaw. Everything was so angular and harsh—everything but his mouth. No, his mouth was lush in comparison. Even with the unwelcoming pinch to it.

  She squared her shoulders and climbed the steps. “I hope you’re not the welcome wagon.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I just told you.”

  The front door opened, and a tall man in an expensive gray suit stepped out. “Ah, there you are. Miss Proctor, I presume?”

  Kendall nodded.

  He held out his hand and helped her up the last step. “I’m Jonas Murray, Mr. Justice’s lawyer. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  She spared a glance at her phone. “I’m not late.”

  “No, we’re just anxious to get started. It’s been a long week.”

  “Right, I’m sorry.” She followed the lawyer inside but could still feel the man’s deep, dark eyes on her. What? Did she have a stain on her skirt? On her jacket? She glanced down and paused at the entryway to the house. Dark wood floors spread as far as her eye could see. More dark wood climbed up stairs and around the doorways like a greedy vine. All of it spoke of money and the obvious influence of Frank Lloyd Wright.

  California crawled with his houses. The few design courses she’d been able to take were filled with the fascinating architecture. But this didn’t have the same magic s
he’d imagined while poring over her textbooks. She’d been in museums with more warmth.

  She was led into what had to be a study. More of the dark wood flowed from floor to built-in bookcases. A huge conference table in the same hue dominated the space. Hadn’t they ever heard of complementary colors? The constant darkness was claustrophobic. Mr. Murray waved her to a chair beside a sandy-haired man in his fifties who looked like he’d just stepped off a construction site. The lawyer settled opposite her with a fat sheaf of papers before him and a smaller stack to his left.

  She lowered into the chair. The brooding grouch from the porch came in finally and settled into the chair beside her. Oh, why did he have to sit there? Intensity rolled off him like a scent. The tips of her fingers tingled in response, and a rush of goose bumps swamped her skin.

  Not good.

  Mr. Murray cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming. I know it’s been a very difficult few days. Lawrence’s sudden passing left all of us a little stunned.”

  She glanced at the stranger beside her. His jaw clenched once, and his hands went very still on the table. He was almost wooden both in stance and lack of emotion. His face was completely blank. His eyes, however, were not. No, they burned with anger. Just who was he?

  “I have his will. It was very specific. That’s why there are only a few of you here to witness the reading.”

  “We’re all very interested in the cryptic letter that was sent out, Jonas,” the sandy-haired man said.

  “I know, and I’ll explain everything in a moment. Now, would you like me to read the will aloud?”

  “I can’t wade through that legal mumbo jumbo, Joe.”

  The slip of familiar in the sandy-haired man’s voice gave Kendall pause. Maybe they weren’t as distant as it felt. Everything about this mausoleum screamed cold and remote. She may not remember much about her father, but she did recall a booming laugh and charm. So much charm.

  The lawyer looked at her. “Miss Proctor?”

  “The gist of things would be fine.”

  “Shane?”

  Shane. So that was his name. He nodded curtly. Her gaze drifted to the subtle tap of his forefinger on the conference table. Not so stony. She had the strangest urge to cover his hand and curl her fingers around his. Ridiculous, of course. He’d probably snap her hand off at the wrist.

  “Lawrence had a new will notarized six months ago, so there are some changes to the terms you knew before.”

  “What kind of changes?” Again, the sandy-haired man spoke up.

  “Justice Construction has been through some ups and downs. The latest venture has hit a few…hitches.”

  Shane stopped tapping. “What kind of hitches?”

  Kendall dropped her hands into her lap and twisted them tight. Shane’s voice was biting and hoarse. What exactly had she walked in on?

  The lawyer straightened his spine. “Financial hitches, Shane. There’s no good way to say this. Justice Construction will be dissolved to pay back taxes, the double mortgage on this house, and the company’s outstanding debts.”

  “What?”

  “Now, Gerry. Hear me out.”

  The sandy-haired man—Gerry—stood so fast the chair scraped over the polished floor. “What’s to hear out? What do you mean dissolved? I’ve given twenty years to this company!”

  “I understand that. Larry did everything to make sure there would be no burden to the shareholders. But I’m sorry, that’s all he was able to do. There will be just enough to cover the sale of the business and the house.”

  Shane stood and paced. She couldn’t drag her eyes away from him. Paced was too passive a word; no, he was prowling. His jaw was granite, and his eyes blazed with a rage that crackled in the room.

  Kendall turned back to the lawyer.

  As if reading her mind, Mr. Murray turned his gaze to her. His voice slid back into the professional and distant lawyer mode. “Miss Proctor, you also have one of Mr. Justice’s remaining properties.”

  “No.” Kendall’s lungs emptied, and a thick buzz filled her head. All her work. Her home—everything she’d done to keep her mother safe and taken care of. “No, you can’t.”

  Mr. Murray lifted his hand. “No, you don’t have to sell the Heron.”

  She pressed her forehead to the cool wood. Relief opened the buckles that had snapped around her chest. She dragged in a breath.

  “As Lawrence’s sole blood relative, you will share the property with Shane Justice, his son.”

  Her head snapped up, and Shane came to a stop behind her chair. Blood relative? Wouldn’t his son be a blood relative?

  He swung her chair out. Kendall gripped the arms as it tilted, then slammed her down to face him.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Hazel eyes bore into her. The gold seemed to glow with all the seething anger that was boiling inside him.

  Her skin buzzed as if energy were roiling out of him in its purest form. “I’m Lawrence Justice’s daughter,” she whispered.

  He hovered over her. “He doesn’t have a kid. He only has me.”

  “You’re my brother?” She recoiled to the back of the chair. No. No, he couldn’t be her half brother.

  He reared back as if she’d slapped him. “No. I’m Larry’s stepson, but he raised me as his.”

  Her father had left her but stayed for this man? She hadn’t thought she could feel any more pain when it came to Lawrence Justice, but she’d been wrong. God, so wrong.

  Shane looked up at Mr. Murray. “She has no hold on anything of Dad’s. I didn’t even know about her.”

  “That’s because he left us when I was five.” She pushed Shane out of her space and stood. He was too close, too big, too everything. She focused on Mr. Murray, his face emotionless, his eyes steady. “Lawrence bought that house for my mother.”

  “Yes, he did. But Lily Proctor never signed the deed over into her name.”

  Kendall dug her fingertips into her brow. “No,” she whispered. It would be just like her mother to pull a stunt like that. She’d loved Lawrence and having his name on something would be the ultimate way to keep him tethered to her. Crap. Crap. Crap. As with everything that had anything to do with her father, Kendall would be paying for it.

  “It would be too much to hope for that he left us the Heron.”

  “No, not too much to hope for,” Mr. Murray said kindly.

  She fell back into her chair. “Thank God.”

  “But it’s a shared property with Shane.”

  “What?” Both of them shouted and stared at the lawyer.

  “He can’t.” The Heron had been the one constant in her life. “I’ve run the bed-and-breakfast since I was sixteen. That’s my life!”

  “Larry and I did everything we could to make sure the two of you would be taken care of. This is all he could do for you, Shane.”

  And as usual, all Lawrence did was take from her. She crossed her arms over her churning gut. She wanted to curl into a ball. Even twenty-two years later her father managed to take everything away from her.

  Again.

  SHANE JUSTICE BACKED into the bookcases that lined his father’s meeting room. Justice Construction never had an official home base. His dad liked the informality of his house with a touch of the grandeur to show off how well they’d been doing. Except it was all smoke and mirrors.

  Gerry sat heavily. The fight had drained out of him. Gerry had followed his father into every insane scheme and now had nothing to show for it. Shane had known they were in a little bit of trouble, but his father would’ve turned things around. He always did.

  It was the way of things for Larry Justice. Gerry had believed in him, and Larry had never let him down. Until now. Shane listened with half an ear as Jonas listed all the properties that were sold and the debt that would be absorbed. The only thing left was the lakeside B and B in Bradley, New York. And a woman he’d never heard of. He’d have happily killed to be his father’s flesh-and-blood son, but Larry had never made him feel less. And h
ere she was staring back at him with rum-colored eyes and his father’s angel-white hair. As frustrating as Larry Justice could be, one thing was always apparent. Family was his focus.

  The fact that he had a daughter he’d never spoken of was insane.

  Some of what Jonas was saying finally sank in, dragging him from the mystery woman sitting at the table.

  If the house was double mortgaged, there was no way to cover the expenses. He looked at his lawyer. Through every contract, Jonas had been there to keep his father on the straight and narrow. Larry with a wild idea was a dangerous thing. He could convince anyone to follow him.

  All except Jonas.

  He was the only source of reason in their life.

  Kendall Proctor’s wide, shattered eyes flamed up the anger brewing inside him again. More secrets, and more lies from his father.

  When Gerry stumbled out the door, Shane whispered, “Fuck,” and followed. “Gerry, wait.”

  Gerry got as far as the front door before he stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “Don’t, kid.”

  Shane shrugged out of the suit jacket and tossed it on the bench beside the door. “Dad fucked up. But you know he always tried to fix things.”

  “He didn’t talk to me about this at all, Shane. Not one fucking word.”

  Shane closed his eyes. “He didn’t talk to either one of us.”

  “I’m fifty-eight fucking years old, kid. It’s too late for me to start over.”

  “Come back inside. There’s got to be something more to this will thing.”

  Gerry shook his head. “I need air and a smoke. I’ll be in touch.” The door slammed behind him.

  “God dammit, Dad. What the fuck were you thinking?” He yanked at the noose around his neck. Formality was fucked at this point. He rolled up his sleeves. None of this made sense. He headed back into the room. “Jonas, I need more of an explanation. Obviously Dad talked to you.”

  Jonas’s friendly eyes flicked into lawyer mode. No emotion, not even a clue to the knowledge he held. “Larry didn’t want you to know the specifics, Shane.”