Sloan still didn't have a clue as to what secret Vance expected him to keep, but there was little doubt in his mind that Vance knew his.

He knew. But how could he?

Suddenly exhausted, Sloan dropped his head into his hands. "I'm still confused about all this, but you obviously think I'm lying about something, so I'll promise to keep quiet about...whatever it is you have to hide. Your secret's safe with me."

"As is yours," said Vance gently.

Sloan closed his eyes against images that once again threatened to overwhelm him.

When Sloan opened his eyes again he found Vance standing before him. "I must ask you again, will you join Perry and me in continuing your father's legacy?"

Perry? He found it odd that Vance mentioned his name at that point. Did Perry know as well? The thought of someone else knowing Sloan's secret sickened him, and merely added to the threat. Or perhaps that was exactly the intent. He felt an innate trust for Vance. Vance always kept his word, but Sloan wasn't so sure about his younger son. If Perry knew the truth of what had happened that night, what would he do with the information? Sloan felt as if a series of concentric rings were being drawn on his forehead. And Vance Elliott held the pistol.

In answer to the question, he shook his head. "I'm happy with my life, such as it is. And while I appreciate the offer, I can't see my way clear to accept it."

"That saddens me. You would have been a valuable asset."

"I'm sorry," whispered Sloan, but he wasn't apologizing for the refusal.

"I know you are," said Vance gently. "I know you are."

Chapter Twelve.

Sloan tipped back the highball glass and drained the last of the Grand Marnier. He regarded the empty glass with regret.

It had been years since Sloan had tasted the liqueur. It had always been a favorite of his. And his father's. Since the tender of age of sixteen, whenever there was something to celebrate, or something important to be discussed in his family, Jonathan would pull out the amber bottle with the bright red seal, and pour out generous portions for himself and his son. His mother rarely indulged, usually leaving her men to their own devices while she headed out in search of much-needed female companionship.

He vividly recalled the last time he had shared such a drink with his father...

"So?" asked Janelle eagerly. "How was it?"

Sloan speared the last piece of potato on his plate and popped it into his mouth. He crunched down into

its half-cooked flesh and rolled his eyes in fraudulent delight. "A masterpiece," he said through a tight grin.

"It wasn't...overdone?" she asked as she glanced ruefully at the still half-full platter of charred meatloaf and underdone potatoes.

"No, no," interjected Jonathan as he stood and carried his plate to the sink. "It was all perfect."

She beamed, her huge brown eyes sparkling. But abruptly her face fell. "I'm sorry there's no dessert, but I realized too late that I had used salt instead of sugar in the peach cobbler."

"That's okay, Mom. I'm stuffed," lied Sloan on a sigh of relief.

She stood and began to gather plates, but her husband stole up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Let us clean up. You've done enough."

Sloan snickered quietly. She'd done more than enough.

"And aren't you picking up Lydia to go see that movie you've been talking about?"

Janelle glanced at the clock. "If I go now I'll be a bit early."

Jonathan nudged her toward the door. "Don't be ridiculous. It's not as if you and Lydia ever run out of things to talk about. And, besides, I need to discuss something with Sloan."

"Oh, that's right. I forgot about that."

She pecked her husband on the cheek, and Sloan wondered what conspiracy the two lovebirds were cooking up.

She grabbed her purse that hung on a hook beside the back door. "And actually it would be nice to have some time alone with her before Lois arrives."

"Lois is coming?" Sloan asked. "I thought it was just the two of you."

"Oh, Lois heard about it and invited herself along. One thing about Lois Elliott, she always gets her way.

Marie is busy tonight so we don't even have her around to dull Lois's edge."

Jonathan opened the cupboard and pulled out a pair of liqueur glasses. "You'll have fun anyway."

"Oh, I know. I always do." She directed her words to Sloan. "And you have fun with Bree, later. But not too much. I want my grandchildren to be legitimate." His mother winked at him, and he felt a hot flush of embarrassment.

"Bye, Mom."

"Bye, sweetie." And she was gone, leaving behind only the soft lilt of her laughter.

Sloan leapt from the table and began foraging in the cupboard.

"That was a fine performance, my boy. She never suspected a thing."

"Yeah, well, I've had lots of practice. When she wasn't looking I slipped most of my stuff back onto the

serving dishes." Everything would be safely in the garbage and at the curb by the time the chef returned home. Janelle often bragged that her men were so considerate, always offering to do the dishes and clean up her messes. She never suspected the real reason for their urgent need to get her out of the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

Sloan pulled out his hand and held up his prize.

"Peanut butter?" laughed his father. "You usually go for the ham."

"I'm feeling adventurous today." He reached for the bread and slathered on the creamy rich substance

that would soothe his protesting stomach. "You want some?"

"I don't know. Does peanut butter go with Grand Marnier?"

"Peanut butter goes with everything."

Five minutes later they were seated back at the table with their culinary creations and their aperitif

glasses.

Sloan sank his teeth into his sandwich and sighed. "So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Actually it was your mother's idea. She said you've seemed a little...distant lately. Maybe even a little

depressed."

Sloan finished chewing and swallowed, but the peanut butter stuck to his throat even more than usual. He shrugged. "Don't give me that," chided Jonathan. "She's not the only one who's noticed. Obviously something is bothering you. You've never been one to hold out on me before. What is it?" Sloan gazed at the remainder of his sandwich, his appetite having suddenly abandoned him. "It's nothing. Really. I'll be fine. I just need a little time to..."

Jonathan sipped from his glass. "Time to what?"

Sloan lifted his eyes to really look at his father. The same intense blue eyes that he saw every day in the mirror stared back at him. "How come I'm in the hot seat? You haven't exactly been yourself either the last few weeks. I heard Mom complaining that you've been neglecting the books, and even forgot to pay the hydro bill."

To Sloan's surprise, Jonathan's face darkened, and when he spoke his voice had an edge that startled Sloan. "We're not talking about me," he snapped. "Now, please answer the question."

Sloan frowned. It wasn't like his father to be evasive, or to lash out. His own temper sparked in response. "All right. If you must know, I hate my job." He took a healthy sip of his liqueur, and relished the spicy heat as it slipped down his throat. "There. I've said it."

"You hate it?" To Sloan's surprise his father sounded neither surprised nor upset by the news that his only son had no taste for the family business. "I suspect that is not entirely accurate. I've seen the way you look at the rubies and the gleaming gold settings. There is no malice in the way you polish and care for our stock."

"Okay. I don't hate everything about it," he confessed. "The buying is okay. And learning the appraising end of it is interesting. And lately I've been helping some high-end patrons with custom design work, but the day-to-day grind of managing all the stores, and dealing with employees is killing me."

Jonathan's eyes twinkled. "You crave a little excitement, do you?"

Sloan sensed a breakthrough. He leaned forward. "Yeah. Like the buying trips you go on for the Auction House. Ordering cookie cutter jewelry out of catalogues and at conventions doesn't exactly light my fire. Cruising the estate sales, bargaining with vendors and finding things hidden in old attics-now that sounds interesting. Why don't I come along next month and you can show me the ropes?"

Jonathan seemed to consider it and Sloan's hopes were kindled.

"I confess," he began slowly, "I've noticed your interest, and you have a keen eye for such things. Not that it's a surprise. You have the Carver taste for the beautiful and the fiery." Jonathan's eyes twinkled. "In both jewelry and women."

Sloan tapped the table impatiently.

His father continued. "It's no secret that I've always hoped you'd continue on in my footsteps, both with the stores and with Lakeside House."

Sloan spread his palms. "Well then?"

"It's just that lately things have become...complicated. I had hoped to have you along on my trips months ago, but I've had to postpone your introduction to that end of the business."

"Complicated? What does that mean?"

Suddenly Jonathan pushed away from the table and paced to the far side of the room. He gazed out through the wide picture window that looked out over the bay.

Sloan's confusion was mounting, but he didn't know what else to say so he remained silent and sipped from his glass.

Finally Jonathan turned around to face him. "I have to ask you to be patient, Sloan. I know that managing so many stores can be...tedious, and I can't say that I haven't shared your frustrations. But it's necessary, and, in the right context, can be very fulfilling. You'll just have to trust me that better things are still to come. But not yet. I have to ask you to wait a little longer."

Sloan groaned. "Christ! How much longer?"

Jonathan crossed back to the table and laid a firm hand on Sloan's shoulder. "Not too much." He squeezed. "I promise you that things will be resolved soon, and when they are I'll let you accompany me on my trips, and I'll show you all sorts of wonders and excitement. This business has nuances and challenges that you've never imagined."

Sloan's heart sped up. "Challenges?"

Jonathan chuckled and resumed his seat. "Patience. It's a virtue with more value than you know."

"Well...what about these complications you're talking about. Can't you let me in on that?"

Jonathan shook his head, and Sloan thought he had suddenly grown very sad. "I can't tell you about it now, but rest assured, Sloan, one way or another my difficulties will be resolved soon." He drained the last of his liqueur. "And then you can get on with things." He smiled but it seemed forced. "One way or another..."

Within three weeks Jonathan Carver was dead, and Sloan had figured that was how he had finally decided to "resolve his difficulties". Sloan had always assumed he had been conflicted about something internal, like perhaps an issue from his childhood he had never been able to share. It had never occurred to Sloan that a business problem could have led to his suicide.

After all, they were hardly in the middle of the Depression. They had plenty of money stashed away. Even without the stores their lifestyle was secure. But now, considering Vance's questions about things that his mother might have told him...

His mother. She'd been a partner in every aspect of her husband's life. They had no secrets from each other. So, if whatever had been troubling his father had stemmed from some sort of financial or business trouble, likely she knew about it. But if that was so, why had she never told him?

He scrubbed his hands over his face and let his head flop back onto the cushions. He would likely never know. She certainly couldn't tell him now.

Dammit! Vance's questions and the threat of exposure had Sloan teetering on the edge. There were so many questions. What the hell was going on? Why was everybody being so mysterious? Why had his parents kept things from him? What had they been involved in that had driven them to do these things? And why did they do this to him?

He just wanted it all to stop. He didn't want any more questions. He didn't want to have to lie anymore, or pretend anymore. He felt completely overwhelmed and alone. No one knew what he was going through. No one.

Was this how his father had felt at the end? Had he just wanted out? Sloan wiped his hands on his pants. The cold sweat soaked into the cotton, but nothing could wipe awaythe cold knot of fear in his gut.

He heard a key in the lock. The door swung open and in stepped his ever-ready scapegoat.

"Where the hell have you been?" he barked.

Craig slammed the door closed and stood in front of it. "Gee, it's nice to see you too."

"Cut the crap, Sternberg. I'm not in the mood for witty dialogue right now."