Page 118 of The Lilac River

The building backed onto the trees that bordered town, as if Dad couldn’t quite bear to live too close to the rest of us.

“Come on,” Gunner said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s stop admiring Dad’s ego trip and find the damn deed.”

“You take his bedroom,” I said. “I’ll check the office.”

He nodded and veered off. I scanned the hallway ahead. The first door was open just a crack, light spilling through onto the marble-tiled floor.

“Pretty swanky in the lounge, too,” I called out.

Gunner’s laugh echoed from deeper inside. “Funny how neither of us knows our way around our own father’s house.”

“Well, he’s not exactly warm and fuzzy, is he?”

“Nope. Which is why I’m so damn looking forward to nailing his ass tonight.”

I grinned grimly, the thrill of it sparking in my chest. “Let’s do this.”

Gunner opened a door and cursed. “Bathroom. We’ll leave that to the last.”

I moved on, checking the next door. Jackpot.

“Found the bedroom,” I called. “You’re up, Gun. And wait till you see the bed, it’s fucking huge.”

He chuckled from down the hall. I didn’t want to know what he was imagining.

I kept going, through a formal dining room so over-the-top it looked like it belonged in a European castle, a guest bedroom, and finally, the office.

Now this looked more like Dad.

Rich mahogany furniture, thick, imposing, and far too polished. Everything about it screamed authority. Or insecurity. Probably both. A shiny Mac sat on the desk like an afterthought. He probably didn’t even know how to turn it on.

The pièce de résistance? A massive, framed portrait of himself hung directly opposite his chair, so he could stare at his own smug face all day long.

I stood in front of it, arms crossed, baring my teeth in a mock grin.

“You’re living like a king while trying to sell our land out from under us. Not happening, old man.” And I set to work searching through every drawer and cabinet, grateful that he didn’t seem safety conscious and locked them.

“Anything?” Gunner asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway after a while, still tapping his foot like a caged bull.

“There’s nothing in here, so far,” I said. “Just the usual shrine to himself.”

“Bedroom’s the same,” Gunner added with a grimace. “Except for a stupid number of condoms for a sixty-year-old man. Can’t unsee that.”

“Did you put everything back exactly how you found it?”

“Yes, I’m not an amateur,” he snapped.

“Right,” I muttered. “Because you’ve broken into dozens of places before?”

“You’d be surprised.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I’ll check the lounge,” he added.

“What if he already destroyed whatever we’re looking for?” I called after him.

“Then we’re fucked,” came his reply. “But I’m not giving up yet.”

Neither was I.

But the deeper we dug, the less hopeful I felt.

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