and yet the feeling did not dissipate as she stepped into Easterlys cool, quiet interior.

She had bled after Richard had been done with her. But shed al- ready attended to that need with a panty liner.

No, shed come inside for a different reason.

And she knew just where to go.

The last time she had had sex in this house" excluding that brief hookup in the garden the other evening and what had just happened in her bedroom earlier" had been well over two years ago: She had ended most of her Easterly romps and excursions as soon as Amelia had gotten old enough to know what a slut was.

No reason for the dear girl to witness in person what others were going to tell her about her mother. At least that way, Gin had always thought, mommy might be able to sport a credible denial.

But . . . two years ago, on a random Thursday evening, after an un- eventful sit- down dinner, she had found herself slipping up.

In the wine cellar.

Proceeding down to the staff hallway, she went past Rosalindas and Mr. Harriss offices" or rather, where the butlers still was and the con- { 284 }.

23494.

trollers had been" and opened a broad door to reveal the stairwell to the basement.

She was entirely unsurprised to find the glow of a light down at the bottom.

There was only one reason for it to be on, especially as all of the bourbon, champagne and chardonnay for the brunch had been delivered to the staging area"and in any event, no part of the familys private collection would ever be used for such an occasion.

Her descent was silent, the pattern of squeaking boards long since memorized from back in her days as a teenager stealing bottles out of the depths of the tremendous basement. As she came to the bottom of the steps, she slipped off her shoes and put them aside. The uneven con- crete was a cold relief on the soles of her feet, and her nose threatened a sneeze as the mustiness registered in her sinuses.

Passing by the bomb shelters that had been made in the forties out of lead walling set at right angles, she padded along, wrapping her arms around herself" although that was mainly a reflex, something she did because she should have been chilled down here.

She still felt nothing.

The wine cellar was separated from the larger basement by a fire- and bulletproof glass wall that was outfitted with polished wood supports and a door that had a code to it. Inside, the gleaming, mahogany- paneled room was fitted, floor to ceiling, with handmade bottle shelves, thousands of lots of priceless wine, champagne and liquor protected from both shifts in temperature and thieves of the human variety.

There was also a tasting table in the center surrounded by oxblood club chairs" and she was right, the thing was being put to use.

And there was a tasting of sorts going on.

Samuel T.s sacrificial lamb was stretched out on the glossy surface, her blond hair spilling all over to hang off the tables far end, her naked body gleaming in the low lighting from the brass fixtures. She was completely naked, her peach dress having been thrown carelessly on the top of one of the chairs, and Samuel T.s head was between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips as he worked her.

{ 285 }.

23494.

Stepping back into a dark corner, Gin watched him finish what he was doing and then rear up over the woman. With rough hands, he freed his erection and mounted her.

The woman cried out loud enough so that her hoarse voice could be heard on the other side of all that glass.

For once, Gin did not put herself in the females position.

She had seen him have sex many times before" sometimes when hed known about it, sometimes when he hadnt" and inevitably, her body had always responded as though she were the one beneath him, on top of him, pushed up against a wall by him.

Not now.

That would have been too painful.

Because she knew she was never going to have him again.

You win.

After all their years of battling, she had put down her armaments first" and he hadnt believed her. And when he finally had taken her seriously, events had conspired against them.

He was not going to play this game with her anymore. Shed seen the hints of resolve when hed blown off her declaration of love the day before" and the final nail in the coffin had been put in out in the garden.

It was done.

Gin stayed where she was until he orgasmed, and she had to blink away tears as his head jerked back on his spine, and his neck strained, and his body pumped hard four more times. Perhaps unsurprisingly, his face showed no evidence of pleasure, the release having apparently been something generated only by his body.

Throughout the bucking, he remained as grim as she felt, his ex- pression blank, his half- open eyes unfocused.

Meanwhile, however, the female went into spasms that were too ugly to have been faked: No doubt the darling girl would have preferred to impress him with more artful expressions of passion in hopes of this being the start to something, but movie- star sex poses were hard to maintain when Samuel T. was inside of you.

{ 286 }.

23494.

Gin stepped even further back, until the cold, damp wall informed her there was no more retreat permitted.

She knew he was going to leave fast.

And he did.

Moments later, the vapor lock was sprung as the door was opened, and Gin curled in on herself, dropping her eyes and not breathing.

Sure, Samuel T. said in an even tone. Id love to.

Will you help me do up my dress?

You can reach it. He was already striding off. Come on, we better go.

Wait! Wait for me!

Giggles. Jiggles, too, no doubt, as the sound of high heels clipping along the concrete echoed around like the woman was running to catch up to him.

Hold my hand? the female asked.

Sure. Id love to.

There was a smack of two sets of lips meeting and then the sounds of footfalls on concrete diminished into the distance.

After a while, Gin stepped out of the shadows. The light had been left on inside the wine cellar" which was very unlike Samuel T. What most didnt know about him was that he was a slave to his compulsive need to have things in order. In spite of the fact that he was a hard- living playboy, he couldnt handle things out of place. Everything from the suits he wore to the cars he kept, from his law practice to his stables, from his bedroom to his kitchen to his bathrooms, he was a man with control issues.

She knew the truth, though. She had seen him get stuck in rituals, had had to talk him out of them from time to time.

It was an intimacy she was willing to bet her only childs life on that he shared with no one else"

Now, she shivered. But not because of the cold air and the damp.

The inescapable sense that she had well and truly ruined something robbed her of breath. Tucking in upon herself, she retreated back against the wine cellars glass wall, slid down to the concrete floor . . . and wept.

{ 287 }.

23494.

THIRT Y- THR EE.

A s Edward listened to Lanes report on the familys finances, and then the further news that their mother had been de- clared incompetent, and finally the details around the hemlock suicide, he found himself . . . curiously detached from the whole story.

It wasnt that he didnt care.

He had always worried about his siblings, and that kind of regard didnt go away, even after all he had been through.

But the string of bad news seemed like explosions happening far off on the horizon, the flashing and the distant roar something that cap- tured his attention, but didnt affect him enough to get him up out of his chair" literally or figuratively.

So I need your help, Lane concluded.

Edward brought the gin bottle to his mouth again. This time, how- ever, he didnt drink. He lowered it back down. With what, precisely?

I need access to the BBCs financial files" the real ones that havent been scrubbed for the Board or the press.

I dont work for the company anymore, Lane.

Dont tell me you couldnt get into the servers if you really wanted to.

{ 288 }.

23494.

Lane had a point. Edward had been the one to set up the computer systems.

There was a long silence, and then Edward followed through with another hit of the liquor. Theres still plenty of money around. You have your trust, Maxwell has his, and Gin only has a year or two to go"

That fifty- three million dollar loan with Prospect Trust is coming due. Two weeks, Edward.

Edward shrugged. It has to be unsecured, otherwise Monteverdi wouldnt be so worried. So its not like theyre going to come for the house.

Monteverdi will go to the press.

No, he wont. If he did make an unsecured loan of that magnitude using Prospect Trust funds, hed had to have done it behind his Boards back and in violation of federal trust company laws. If its not repaid on schedule, the only thing that will happen publicly is an announcement that Monteverdi is taking early retirement to spend time with his fam- ily. Edward shook his head. I understand your wanting to know more, but Im not sure where you think thats going to get you. The debt is not yours to worry about. You live in Manhattan now. Why the sudden interest in those people who live at Easterly?

Theyre our family, Edward.

So?

Lane frowned. I get that you dont feel like William Baldwines son. After the way he treated you all these years, how could you? But . . .

what about the house? The land" the business? Mother?

The Bradford Bourbon Company has a billion dollars in yearly revenue. Even if you go net, not gross, on that figure, whether the per- sonal debt is fifty or even a hundred million, that is not a catastrophic event considering how much stock the family owns. Banks will loan between sixty to seventy percent of value against an investment portfolio" you could finance the payback of that amount on your own right now.

But what if that isnt all thats been borrowed? And shouldnt Fa- ther be held accountable? And again, I ask, what about Mother?

{ 289 }.

23494.

If I went down the rabbit hole of wanting some kind of justice against that sire of ours, Id be flat- out insane. And the last time I heard, Mother hasnt been out of her bed except to take a bath in three years.

Whether shes at Easterly or in a nursing home, she wont notice the difference. As Lane let out a curse, Edward shook his head again. My advice to you is to follow my lead and distance yourself. I should go even farther away, actually" at least you have New York.

But"

Make no mistake, Lane" they will eat you alive, especially if you follow this avenging road youre on. As he fell silent, he felt a brief moment of surging fear. Youre not going to win, Lane. There are . . .

things . . . that have been done in the past against people who tried to come forward about certain issues. And some of them were done against family members.

He should know.

Lane went over to the bay window, staring out as if its drapes were not closed. So youre saying you wont help me.

Im advising you that the path of least resistance is best for your mental health. Physical, too. Let it go, Lane. Move past, move on. That which you cannot change must be accepted.

There was another stretch of quiet, and then Lane looked across the stale air between them. I cant do that, Edward.

Then its your funeral"

My wife is pregnant.

Again? Congratulations.

Im divorcing her.

Edward cocked an eyebrow. Not the typical response of an expectant father. Especially given how much child support youre going to owe.

Its not mine.

Ah, that explains it"

She tells me its Fathers.