Читать книгу Missing - Jasmine Cresswell - Страница 11

Megan had known that Liam would be upset when he heard about the existence of another will, but she hadn’t anticipated the depth of his self-blame.

“It’s not your fault that Dad wrote a will leaving everything to the Chicago family,” she said when they finally managed a few moments alone on the porch. “For heaven’s sake, Liam, why are you responsible for the fact that Dad seems to have been pretty much a major asshole?”

“Because I knew about Avery Fairfax,” Liam said, leaning down to scratch Bruno’s belly. “I knew and I still kept Dad’s secrets. Dammit! I let him manipulate me precisely because I wanted to prevent this sort of thing happening—and now he’s screwed Mom over anyway. The son of a bitch must be laughing in hell.”

“I don’t think you get to laugh in hell,” Megan said. “That’s kind of the point.”

“He’ll be the exception.” Liam stared broodingly at a cloud of dust on the horizon. The dust resolved itself into a small panel truck, barreling down the driveway at a spanking pace.

“God, I hope that’s a reporter.” Liam got up from the swing. “I’m so in the mood to punch somebody out.”

Judging by his scowl, Megan was pretty sure her brother wasn’t joking. She ran down the porch steps in order to prevent him from throwing the threatened punch. Violence might soothe Liam’s feelings for a couple of seconds, but she could just imagine the vicious media reports if he was hauled into court on assault-and-battery charges.

As soon as the dust cloud settled, she realized the truck was from a package-delivery company. A middle-aged man climbed out, extending a special-delivery envelope toward her. “Ms. Raven?”

“Yes, I’m Megan Raven.”

“This package arrived in our Jackson Hole office yesterday and should’ve been brought out right away.” The man’s voice was high-pitched, making him sound oddly tense. “We were shorthanded and didn’t get to it. Sorry about the delay.”

“That’s okay. Thanks.” Megan took the package and turned to go, but Liam grabbed the envelope from her and scanned the shipping label.

“This isn’t designated for Saturday delivery, much less Sunday,” he said.

To Megan’s surprise, the driver immediately looked guilty. “I don’t know anything about that,” he mumbled.

Liam squinted at the corner of the label. “According to the date and time stamp, it only arrived at Jackson Hole airport four hours ago.”

“Is that so?” The deliveryman shot an anxious glance in the direction of his van, feet scuffling in the dust. “I was just told to bring it out here—”

“I’ll bet you were. But who told you?” Liam shoved past the deliveryman and leaned into the panel truck, hauling out a man who’d been hiding in the windowless rear compartment, camera angled to take pictures through the front side window. The photographer tumbled out, clutching his camera to his chest.

“Whoever you are, you’re trespassing.” Liam’s voice was lethal in its cold fury. “The sheriff has already warned members of the media about staying off our land.”

The photographer apparently wasn’t smart enough to realize that Liam’s cool tones masked blazing anger. He held up an ID card and smiled with patent insincerity. “Hi, there. I’m Brad Stratford with Media International. No hard feelings, I hope? I have some questions for your family—just to set the public record straight, you know? I asked Kevin here to deliver this package right away so that I could—”