Chapter 2

Cameron slowly rosefrom his chair. “Thank you, Patsy.”

The assistant must have sensed his brother’s visit wasn’t the welcome relief she’d thought it would be, for her excitement dissipated and she glared at Zeke with unusual ferocity as she brushed past him.

“Protective,” Zeke observed.

“Steadfast.” He threw the word down between them, knowing the subtext wouldn’t be lost on his brother.

Zeke’s jaw tightened, and they stared at each other for a long, taut moment.

“Did something happen to Grams?” he asked, breaking the tense, visual battle.

“No.”

“Mom?”

“No?”

“Who then?”

Instead of answering, Zeke surveyed the elements that warmed up Cameron’s workspace. Framed certificates, newspaper clipping of his first solved case, the ubiquitous Smokey Mountain landscape, the stark cleanliness of his desk. His Academy graduation picture with his family, minus one.

Ever since Cameron left the Blackwells’ repo business to become a special agent, Zeke had made his hatred of the FBI clear. The Bureau had disrupted his brother’s vision of the future. A future that had included Cameron at the helm of a business for which he had no passion, with Zeke sitting in a comfortable position to his right.

Cameron’s so-called betrayal had set off three years of near radio silence between him and his brother. It wasn’t until the Bureau had yanked them both into the Lederman-St. Martin case, where Zeke had been forced to work with Liv Westcott, that rooms no longer iced over when they both entered.

By the end of the drug-smuggling case, Zeke had found the love of his life in Liv and Cameron had wedged his foot in the door before his brother could shut it again. Cameron wanted to be able to see his family without feeling like an outsider. Soon, he and Zeke would have to have a long, difficult discussion.

But that day wasn’t today.

“Ezekiel?” he prompted, tempering the frustration and fear roiling in his chest.

Zeke cleared his throat before crossing his corded arms over his chest. Then he scowled at Cameron, as if his dilly-dallying around were Cam’s fault.

“I need a favor,” Zeke growled out the words.

Cameron stared at him for a stunned moment, barely aware of the relief drowning out his thundering heart. Then he mentally shook himself, instinct telling him that whatever had dragged Zeke to his doorstep would alter his world.

“You have my attention.” He nodded toward an empty, adjacent cubicle. “Grab a chair and sit down.”

Zeke shifted on his feet, then glanced around again before hooking his thumb toward the exit. “Can you get out of here for half an hour?”

Checking the clock on one of his new 24-inch dual monitors, Cameron realized he’d missed lunch. Maybe some fresh air and food would stop the hammering that had set up shop in his head since his discussion with Lawson.

He snatched his suit coat from the back of his chair and shouldered past his brother. “You’ve got thirty minutes.”

They left the federal building and, as if by mutual consent, zigzagged their way to Carmel’s on Page Avenue and snagged an outside table. It was a beautiful spring day, not a cloud in the sky. A fact Cameron would regret within minutes.

His navy-blue coat absorbed the intense Carolina sun, making it feel like eighty-five instead of seventy. Removing his garment meant exposing his service weapon. Something he tried to avoid in public.

When the server arrived with their drinks, Cameron’s request to move inside dried up on his tongue when he keyed in on his brother’s already caged expression.

After loosening his tie and unfastening his shirt’s top button, Cameron prayed for a bank of clouds to roll in. When the sky remained a pure, unobstructed blue, he asked the server to bring out a pitcher of ice water.

Once they placed their orders, silence cratered around them. Cameron let it stretch out for a good two minutes before he prompted his brother. “What’s this about a favor?”

Zeke took a long pull of beer. “I need you to talk some sense into Kayla.”

What the hell? Was this Kayla Krowne Day?

“Me? I barely know her.” And what he did know of the lobbyist, he didn’t much care for.

“Which makes you the best person for the job.”

“I don’t follow.” Sweat gathered between his shoulder blades.

Zeke took another hefty drink, his irritation—or was it nervousness—palpable. “Aunt Joan visited Mom the other day.”

An image of the petite matriarch of the Steele clan came to mind. Like many his age, Cameron carried fond memories of the former elementary school teacher. He regretted that their families hadn’t been closer while growing up. It would’ve been nice having cousins to beat up.

“Something to do with Uncle Eddie?”

His mom, Lynette Blackwell, and her brother Eddie Steele had grown closer since his surprising return from isolation a few years ago.

Zeke shook his head. “What I’m about to tell you, I’m sharing with my brother, Ash, not that G-man prick Cameron.”

“That G-man prick has been pretty damn helpful to the Blackwells on some recent recoveries.”

“Promise me that you’ll listen as a family member, not the FBI.”

Family member. Right. It seemed Zeke only remembered that fact when he needed the Bureau’s resources, these days.

“I’m the same person, Zeke. You can’t get one without the other.”

“Promise me.” His brother’s knee jackhammered beneath the metal table.

Unable to do anything else, he nodded.

“A friend on the school board of a nearby county confided in Aunt Joan their belief that Kayla was attempting to influence a colleague’s vote on an upcoming agenda item.”

Déjà-Kayla-vu.

Coming from his Aunt Joan brought a helluva lot more validity to the accusation. His empty stomach knotted, and he forgot all about his melting body. “How?”

“According to this other board member, Kayla gifted her peer with an expensive Celtic artifact.”

Lawson had said “artwork.” His own bungling of words? Or his cousin’s?

“The board member knows this, how?”

“Evidently, she overheard the two discussing the artifact, which she recognized from attending a recent event at Kayla’s home. A few days later, the other board member was gushing about the fact her curator son had managed to secure a ten-thousand-year-old artifact for the grand opening of the new natural history museum in Asheville.”

Cameron’s mind flashed back to the file folder sitting on his desk. “What do you want me to do, exactly?”

“Find out if there’s any truth to the situation and, if there is, convince Kayla to fix it.”

“Why not ask Liv? They’re best friends. If anyone can put the lobbyist straight, it would be her.” Investigating a potential pay-to-play scheme in an official capacity would be hard enough. Interrogating a family friend was another thing all together.

“No,” Zeke said, uncompromising. “I don’t want Liv involved with this. If Kayla has stepped over the line, it would stress out Liv. Something I want to avoid at all costs, right now.”

Cameron frowned. As a former special agent, Liv had dealt with far more stressful situations than this without falling apart. What was going on right now that had triggered his brother’s full-on protective mode?

He let it go for now. “Why do you think I’ll be able to get through to her?”

“I don’t know. Flash your badge. Impress upon her the seriousness of the situation.”

“Kayla’s been a lobbyist for a long time. I’m sure she understands the consequences of tampering with votes.”

They fell silent while the server delivered their lunch.

Once she was gone, Cameron said, “If this board member is right and Kayla’s putting her career on the line, she’s either taken a personal interest in the issue or there’s something much bigger at stake.”

“Agreed.”

“Did Aunt Joan indicate what the vote was for?”

“Something related to the book ban issue. A parents’ bill of rights policy.” His left knee pumped with the right now.

Did Kayla have a friend whose kid attended a school in Engel County? Was she on a crusade to protect young readers’ access to books? Or did she have an author friend whose book had been banned?

He didn’t know her well enough to answer his own questions. A result of spending the last few years avoiding the lobbyist.

“I don’t know, Zeke. I haven’t been exactly cordial to her during our few encounters. Phin might be better suited for feeling her out.”

“God knows why, but Phin’s enjoying the work he’s doing for her. I don’t want something like this jeopardizing their relationship.” Zeke tapped the blunt tips of his fingers against the table. “Will you talk to her? Kayla’s done a lot for our family. We owe her.”

Cameron’s jaw clenched at his brother’s invocation of family again.

His instincts warned him to keep his investigation professional, keep family out of it. But he couldn’t easily say no to his brother. Especially since Zeke had checked his ego and tamped down his tsunami of emotions in order to ask for his help.

Cameron tapped his forefinger against his condensation-slick glass. His mind buzzed with all the ways he could screw this up, personally and professionally.

But he couldn’t get around the fact that Kayla had tapped into her extensive list of contacts and extraordinary resources to assist BARS, several times, without recompense or apparent benefit to herself.

He glanced up, saw the storm of disappointment rising in his brother’s gaze. Before Zeke could bolt, he nodded. “I’ll speak to her, but don’t expect a miracle. Our feelings toward one another aren’t what you’d call conducive to discussion, let alone persuasion.”

Amusement lit Zeke’s eyes. “I have faith in you, brother.”

And with that bombshell, Zeke dropped money on the table and walked away, leaving Cameron drenched in sweat and a serious case of déjà vu.

At his apartment,Cameron set a take-home bag from Carmel’s on the smooth gray concrete countertop. Hands on hips, he stared down at the recycling bin at the end of the island for a long, procrastinating minute before stepping on the lid lever and reaching inside.

He pulled out a four-by-six linen card and did what he hadn’t bothered doing yesterday. He read the card’s elegant script.

You’re cordially invited

to a fundraiser for the preservation of the

Gorekin Cove natural area.

Special Guest Governor Victoria Stokes

Hosted by Gordon and Jillian Krowne.

CEO and CFO, respectively, of Krowne Hotels Resorts, aka Kayla’s parents.

After Kayla’s assist with the Lederman-St. Martin case, he’d started receiving invitations from her family for various events. He had no idea why. He’d never met Mr. and Mrs. Krowne and he couldn’t imagine Kayla orchestrating his attendance.

Why would she? They weren’t on friendly terms. Correction, he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. She’d caused him too much grief with her political meddling.

For whatever reason, he’d never been able to put on a professional game face around her. He’d smiled and shook the hands of crooked politicians, drug lords, arms dealers, and art thieves. He had no problem playing a part.

But not with her. A condition that seemed to amuse her.

He tapped the invitation against the countertop and worked to halt the conflicting emotions roiling through his body. He had no doubt the lobbyist would be in attendance. The über-wealthy Krownes were known to be a close-knit family and supportive of each other’s pet projects.

Stretching his neck left, then right, he worked to extinguish the building tension.

“You’re a professional, Special Agent Blackwell. You’ve dealt with far more difficult, more life-threatening cases than Kayla-fucking-Krowne’s.”

The pep talk didn’t help. Dread fermented in his stomach like a batch of kimchi.

Drawing in a resigned breath, he texted his RSVP to the number indicated before dropping the card in the trash again and heading for the liquor cabinet.

Tonight, he would have dessert before dinner.