Page 44 of The Heartbreaker (Chandler Brothers 3)
He sat up straighter, every journalistic nerve ending on high alert. “What do you mean?”
“It seems that my grandfather, my mother, Jacqueline’s father, threatened Samson with something strong enough to get him to leave my mother and he took money to do it.”
Chase blinked, startled by the admission. Bribery? And did Senator Carlisle have anything to do with it, Chase wondered. He held back accusatory-sounding questions for now, in favor of keeping Sloane calm and rational. He was worried about her feelings and her bruised emotions.
He shook his head, knowing that wasn’t the path any self-respecting journalist would take. But he’d never felt less like a reporter and more like a man than he did around this woman. “Let’s go under the assumption that Samson had good reason to take the money. At least until we know otherwise, okay?” He wasn’t sure if he believed his own words, but Sloane looked as if she needed hope. The least he could do was give it to her. “If it’s any consolation, Samson never lived like he took money from anyone.”
“I know. I saw the house before the explosion. I walked inside.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “It was scary. And sad.”
He nodded. “I can understand why you feel that way.” He pinched his nose, trying to assimilate his thoughts. “Why did you come looking for Samson now?” he asked, taking her back to the beginning. With her father’s campaign under way, this had to be the least opportune time for her to seek out her real father.
“Because I just found out. The night we met, actually.” She rose from the bed and began to pace. “I was supposed to have dinner with my parents and had arrived at the hotel room early.” She twisted her hands together as she spoke, the rapid movements and perpetual motion obviously necessary for her to work up the nerve to continue.
“Go on.”
She cleared her throat. “Michael and Madeline weren’t there, but his campaign manager was, along with an assistant. Men I’d grown up knowing. They were talking in hushed, frenzied whispers about Michael not being my real father and needing to eliminate a threat to the campaign. Frank never makes idle statements or promises.” Her shoulders straightened, her path clear. “And so after I stopped reeling from the news that Michael wasn’t my real father, I realized I had to come here and warn this man I’d never met. The man who is my … father.”
And the man whose house had just exploded, Chase thought. Either that fire was one hell of a coincidence or Michael Carlisle’s men had carried through with their threats. He clenched his hands around the bedsheets, realizing how serious this situation really was. Apparently, Sloane wasn’t as concerned about danger to herself as she was about finding Samson. Which meant he’d have to be concerned for her.
She was too busy focusing on other things and he had a hunch he knew why. The truth about Samson was still raw and fresh. “So you heard the news and you ran.” He rose, coming up beside her and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Right into your arms.”
She turned toward him and tipped her head upward.
He grinned. “Good thing I was there to catch you.”
“Yeah.” She smiled back. “Good thing.”
“You said when you finished reeling, you decided to warn Samson. But I don’t think you have.”
“Have what?”
“Finished reeling.” He curled his fingertips into her skin, brushing the pad of his thumb over her soft flesh. “Because it would be perfectly normal if you hadn’t.” And he wanted to help her through the conflicting, confusing feelings.
“I haven’t had time to worry about myself. I’ll deal with all these leftover feelings once I find Samson.”
“I think you need to deal with your emotions, Sloane. It’s not like Samson’s here now or you can do anything about finding him. At least not this minute.” He caressed her cheek and her eyes sparkled with gratitude, and thankfully a hell of a lot more. “Why don’t you let me take care of you?”
“Because I bought you breakfast so I could do the same for you. Take care of the man who’s always taking care of everyone else.”
“Who told you that?”
“You did.” She laughed, her gaze never leaving his. “I can take care of myself, but I appreciate the offer.” Standing on her toes, she pressed a quick kiss on his lips, one not nearly long enough to suit him. “Your French toast must be cold. Let me warm it in the microwave.”
She turned for the door, but he caught her hand in time. “I’m not hungry.” He didn’t want her running from her feelings. She’d already glossed over her emotions as unimportant, then changed the subject to food.
He wasn’t buying her nonchalance. She was hurting and Chase didn’t want her suffering in silence. “Even self-sufficient people need a shoulder every now and then.”
