Page 36 of Complete Me

“Your father often worried about the responsibility he would leave you. I'm not surprised that he gave his life to protect you. If he could have given you a choice, he would have.”

This was news to me. My father had always loved the power his position afforded, it seemed to me. The idea that he somehow understood the personal sacrifice if required made me question everything. If my father had been the man Rachel claimed he was, then he was a stranger to me. But maybe that was what he wanted. How do you look your child in the eye and tell them that someday they will bear the weight of the world on their shoulders? I dreaded the day Elizabeth discovered the duty laid before her. Unlike my father, I would be behind her for as long as God allowed.

“Tell me about him,” I requested in a soft voice. Rachel had made her wishes clear, and after I left here today I would respect them. Whether my father wanted to give Anders a life free from duty or not didn't matter. Not to me. I might never meet this man. But I could do him one service as his brother. I could forget about him. I could give him the life I would never have. Still, I couldn't quite do that without knowing who he was.

“He is responsible for this.” She pointed to the gray in her hair, and despite the seriousness of our prior conversation, I laughed. “He's a daredevil. I think that a boy who grows up without his father has something to prove. He's awfully proud of Todd, but I wouldn't allow him to join the service. I like to think I'm a reasonable mother. I just couldn't stomach the thought of him on the front. He respected my wishes and took up motorcycle racing instead.”

“I'm not certain that's any less dangerous,” I pointed out. I couldn't help but think I might like him. I knew a thing or two about having something to prove. I also understood the rush of danger.

“It's not,” she assured me. “I was the one who chose Silverstone, though. He grew up around it. At least he's crashed fewer bikes than cars.”

“Is he married?” A wife might be the prescription he needed to finally settle down. It had been what healed me.

She shook her head, a sadness flitting over her features. “A mother can hope. Right now, he seems married to the road. I pray fate will intervene.”

“It did in my case,” I confessed. We sat there for another hour as she shared stories of schoolyard fights and car crashes. She painted a picture of a brother I had never known and would never know. At noon, I stood to take my leave.

Rachel saw me to the door. But before I could leave, I caught sight of a small table by the entry. A dozen framed photos clustered on it. The older ones I knew were of her husband. In a few, she was young and quite beautiful. No wonder she had caught my father's attention. Then there were the newer photos. I picked one up and stared. Anders and I shared the same eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. He was tall and broad shouldered with light blonde hair and an easy smile. In this photo the scruffy beginnings of a beard appeared on his jaw. In others, he was clean-shaven. But in all of them, he looked happy. I had never had family photos like this. My adolescence had been recorded by tabloids and newspapers. Rachel was right. My father had given him what he couldn't give me.

I placed the frame back on the table, and a strange wave of nostalgia swept over me. Perhaps, it was for a life I had never had. Turning to her, I gave her a hug.

“Watch out for him for me?” I asked her

She reached up and ruffled my hair. For a moment, a fleeting memory darted through my mind, but it was gone before I could latch on. “I always have.”

That would be enough for a lifetime. It had to be. Anderson Stone might never know the truth, but that didn't mean he wasn't my brother. With her help, he didn't need to know. Taking one final look at the house, I left this family secret behind.

17

It was his father's gun. He hadn't kept it for nostalgic reasons, although that would have been understandable. Smith had kept it with him during his employment with Hammond, and after he had been burned by his former employer, he had carried a single round with him.

He was saving it.

The day Brexton Miles showed up on his doorstep asking questions about Hammond's murder, Smith had shown him that bullet and explained its significance. He hadn't been the one to kill Hammond. Smith supposed it was some type of beautiful irony that the bullet he had saved to kill Hammond would now kill the man responsible for Hammond's death. He didn't act out of revenge. He knew he owed Hammond nothing.

Yes, Oliver Jacobson had left Smith and Belle alone for over a year. All signs pointed to the veracity of Hammond's claim that no one would come after him or his wife. But smith had learned a long time ago not to trust Hammond's word. Everything he touched, the man poisoned. In actuality, Smith had no idea where the conspiracy started. It was like a monster swallowing its own tail, never ending, never beginning, only a horror to behold.

He took Belle's car. The Mercedes was a slick, pretty ride for his wife—and it blended in on the London streets. In this town, a Merc was hardly noteworthy. Smith's Bugatti was an entirely different story. But he didn’t leave the Veyron because it was flashy for a getaway car, though of course it was. Simply, if things went wrong, and he imagined they might, he wouldn't have a second thought about disposing of the little sports car.

If he had to choose between the Veyron and his life, he wasn't sure which one would survive.

He pulled into an open spot a few doors down from the address Georgia had given him and turned the car's lights off. It was too cold in London for him to sit in an unheated car and not fog up the windows. The important thing now was not to draw attention to himself.

Smith studied Jacobson's London townhouse and grimaced. He'd been privy to a brief rant straight from his enemy's lips about the privileged class. Apparently, Jacobson didn't hold himself to the same standards as those he preyed upon. Smith knew a thing or two about real estate, and it was easily worth a few million pounds.

“No reasoning with mad men.” he said under his breath, as his fingers popped his collar up for added concealment.

He'd gone over the information that Georgia had given him a dozen times this evening, but now he ran through it again. Jacobson's family was in the country. Smith preferred it that way. The body would be found sometime around Christmas when he didn't arrive at the family estate, but not by his wife or children. Jacobson didn't deserve such consideration, but his family did. Some horrors a child could never unsee.

Smith's mind drifted to the swimming pool in the basement of his family's London home. He would never put a child through what he had been through, nor would he put his wife through what his mother had never been able to forget.

According to Georgia and her team of profilers, Jacobson was man of habit. When his wife and children were out of town, he'd retire for a pint at the local pub around 10:00pm. He'd stay for an hour before returning to his empty house. This was where Smith's plan deviated each time he considered it.

The rash side of him wanted to take Jacobson out at his first opportunity. He was ready to be done with this business, but he knew it might not be the best course of action. A far better plan would be to watch and wait for Jacobson to return home. If he did it on the street, there was the possibility it would be written off as a random act of violence. He could snatch Jacobson's wallet and make it look like a robbery. The only trouble was London itself. No city on earth had more surveillance cameras.

That left one final possibility. He could take care of Jacobson in his home and do his best to keep his face obscured. The murder of a member of Parliament would be a national scandal. No matter who Smith's friends were, if he was fingered for the crime, he wouldn't be able to get out of it. He couldn’t allow the fantasy of getting away with it to be part of his plan. If he was caught, he would take the blame. No one else.

Alexander would suspect there was more to it, but Smith doubted he would follow up on any inquiries into whether Georgia had shared classified intelligence. Once the King knew that Jacobson was responsible for the attacks on his family, any further interest in the case would disappear. Only one man would have to pay for the crime, and Smith had always been marked for something like this.