Proof (Targes Executive Protection Book 1)

“Mr. Ashby,” the man who opened the door said as he motioned for me to enter the house. I figured he’d been expecting me since I’d had to check in with Owen, the guard who’d been working for the Ashbys for as long as I could remember. He was in charge of who got past the heavy iron gate that kept what my father had always called riffraff from entering the sacred Ashby family compound.

It had ended up taking more than ten minutes before Owen had gotten the okay to let me in. He’d even insisted on scanning my ID before letting me past. He’d blamed the whole thing on red tape, but I hadn’t cared because that open gate meant I at least had a chance to be reunited with the only Ashby who’d ever truly loved me.

The mansion had looked exactly like it had from the first time I’d seen it through the lens of a fifteen-year-old kid who’d finally come to understand that the people outside my world weren’t riffraff at all.

After handing the keys to my Mustang over to a valet who’d seemed to appear out of nowhere, I’d walked up the wide front steps that had huge marble lions sitting outside the doors as if they were truly there to guard it.

The door had opened before I’d had to knock.

“Renly,” I said in reply to his greeting.

The butler had been with the Ashby family for as long as I could remember. He was a good deal younger than my grandmother, but his manner of speaking and grace while he worked solidified his commitment to his job and the people he served. As a child, I’d always wondered if Renly was his first or last name, but I’d never dared to ask him. Even though he wasn’t an Ashby, he’d become one of my grandmother’s closest confidants after my grandfather had passed away and he was always tight-lipped when it came to the family, my grandmother especially.

“Please do come in,” Renly said with a graceful motion of his arm. As always, he was impeccably dressed and well groomed. I hadn’t seen much of him since I’d joined the military when I’d turned eighteen, but he looked pretty much exactly the same as he always had. His hair was a little grayer in spots and a few more wrinkles lined his face, but at fifty years old and single, he was the epitome of what some would call a catch.

“Your grandmother is in the garden,” Renly said with a slight nod. The Ashbys were in no way officially royal, but he often dipped his head to show his respect. He’d withheld the gesture from most of the Ashbys, though.

Stepping into the house was like stepping back in time; just not the time I would have liked. Despite wanting to focus on the good things that had happened in that house as my grandmother had raised me, the bad things always had a way of taking up the majority of real estate in my brain.

Although I hadn’t seen much of my father as I’d been growing up, the times I had seen him were ones I’d wished I hadn’t.

It had been my grandmother who’d read me bedtime stories, scolded me for running over the gleaming marble floors with dirty shoes, bought me toys, made each holiday special, and everything else that had come with raising a rambunctious child.

Since I hadn’t known the truth about how my grandfather had treated my grandmother until after he’d died, I’d always considered myself lucky when I’d gotten to spend some time with him during the last few years of his life. He’d been the one who’d take me to the cabin in the mountains nearly every weekend. He’d always been happy to arrive at the small and very un-Ashby-like residence, but he’d also carried a mantle of sadness with him that I’d never been able to draw him out of, no matter how hard I’d tried. To this day, I still hadn’t been able to figure out why a place he’d clearly loved had also brought him such sadness.

Memories consumed me as I followed Renly to the back of the spotless mansion. Expensive artwork hung on the walls and the decor still had the timeless beauty that came from a mix of modern and antique furniture and fixtures. Not much had changed, though I hadn’t really expected it to. Even when I’d been little, my grandmother had always refused any recommendations from various family members to move things around or replace outdated furniture. Instead, she’d made sure that every inch of the house had been scrubbed, buffed, and polished so that the floors and furniture all gleamed.

Strangely enough, it didn’t feel warm to me now. There was no sensation of coming home after all the years I’d been gone. Nothing about the house felt like I belonged there. It wasn’t home.

Not like Sully and JJ’s house.

The mere thought of JJ left me with a profound feeling of loss. It was greater than any feeling the gorgeous mansion and privileged life I’d once led could offer. Even the excitement about seeing my grandmother for the first time in many years couldn’t compare to the pain of losing JJ.

I reminded myself that I’d see JJ again, even if it was from a distance. I’d been reminding myself of that from the moment I’d left the cabin and made the long walk to the highway which led to one of many tourist areas that dotted the roads leading in and out of Yosemite National Park. As much as I’d tried, I’d spent most of the hike thinking about the moment when JJ was finally safe, and I’d have to let him go for real. I had no fucking clue how I was going to be able to do it.

I’d seen him leave the cabin with the guy he’d been partnered with on the actress’s case. Since the satellite phone belonged to Sully’s company, it had made sense that the built-in GPS had shown the man exactly how to find us.

Letting JJ go had been one of the hardest things I’d ever done in my life, but I’d known there was no other choice. I hadn’t bothered to call Sully to come get me because I’d felt too raw and exposed to deal with anyone. I’d figured the guy with JJ would let his boss know about picking up Sully’s kid brother in the middle of the night from the cabin that was supposed to have done only one thing.

Give JJ time to sift through all the information about my case, official and unofficial, so he could determine for himself what the truth really was.

I hadn’t planned to visit my grandmother, but I really hadn’t known what else to do. The fact was that there was a chance that someone in the Ashby family could have been responsible for shooting JJ and framing me. My grandmother wouldn’t know anything about it, of course, but she’d be the only way I could ingratiate myself back into the family so I could look for evidence.

In truth, it was a weak excuse because I was looking forward to seeing the woman who’d raised me for so long, but I wasn’t certain if she would be happy to see me.

Patricia Ashby was a gleaming diamond among an assortment of fake, cheap costume jewelry. When I’d been a little boy, my grandmother had always been the one Ashby who’d carried herself with grace and dignity. She’d used her status, wealth, and the Ashby name to give back to those who’d needed it most. I’d never heard her say an unkind word about my grandfather or father even though I’d overheard stories from my grandmother’s staff about how overbearing both men had been.

As I’d grown up, my grandfather had always treated me well, but after he’d died, my grandmother had finally told me the truth about the emotional and sometimes even physical abuse she’d endured at his hands. That was when I’d learned about the harsh realities of the world—that people, even the ones who claimed to love us the most, hid behind masks.

My grandfather had worn one of those masks and I’d never seen it. After learning the truth about what kind of man he’d really been, the memories of the times I’d spent with him at the cabin had become tainted with betrayal. I hadn’t returned to the place until I’d taken JJ there.

It didn’t take long to find my grandmother in the huge garden because she was only fifty feet or so from the entrance to the massive collection of flowers and greenery. There’d always been a gardener whose sole job had been to maintain the garden, but my grandmother had often taken it upon herself to root through the dirt to plant bulbs and trim back the prickly vines of her favorite flowers.

Roses.

That was what she was doing when I opened the black iron gate near the entrance of the garden. Instead of kneeling on the ground, she was seated on a small stool with a cart of some kind on her other side. I figured it was for remnants of the rosebushes she was cutting off.

Oddly enough, the rose garden had been one of the few things that had been off-limits to me as a child. I hadn’t really understood why, but I hadn’t dared ask my grandmother that. Like most kids, the curiosity had become too much one day, so I’d followed her into the garden. I’d gotten caught, of course, but I hadn’t expected more than a lecture similar to the quiet but firm ones I’d always gotten when I’d done something wrong. The trip to the garden had been different. I’d never seen my grandmother as angry as she’d been that day. I hadn’t even recognized her. Her fury had been that out of control. It was the first and only time she’d ever struck me. She’d never apologized for what she’d done but that had only left me feeling more guilty. I’d been so afraid of losing her, I’d never once disobeyed her after that.

I remained by the entrance to the garden and let out a discreet cough. It took another one to get her attention. When she looked up, she had to cover her eyes to shield the sun so she could see me. Something inside of me broke open when she put her hand over her mouth and began sobbing.

“Cassius,” she whimpered as she tried to stand.

Despite my natural inclination to stay out of the garden, her reaction had me hurrying to her and gathering her in my arms. I wasn’t sure if the lengthy embrace was more for her or for me. She sobbed against my shoulder, and I clung to her like she was the only lifeline I had left in the world. She was still slim and fragile, so I made sure not to put too much pressure on her body.

“Cassius,” she repeated as she leaned back and framed my face with her hands. “It’s really you,” she said in disbelief.

“It’s really me,” I responded as I let her look me over. I’d been fit before I’d joined the military, but years of training had made me stronger. Even in prison, I’d kept up my boot camp workouts, both to stay in shape and to keep my sanity.

“You should have told me you were coming,” my grandmother chided gently as she stepped back but continued to hold my hands. “My poor, sweet boy,” she said just before she broke into another fit of sobs.

“I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me, Mother Ashby,” I explained. Although I’d been calling my grandmother Mother Ashby because that’s what she’d told me to call her from the time I’d started talking, saying it now as a grown man sounded strange to my own ears. My grandmother had told me countless stories of my actual mother and how much she’d loved me, and yet my grandmother had given herself the title of mother. A title no one else had ever called her. As a child, I hadn’t questioned it because she, for all intents and purposes, had been my mother. Being framed for murder had taught me to never stop asking questions until I had the answer.

“Oh, my darling little rose,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’ve missed you so much.” Her voice was crackly and breathless. “Renly!”

“Yes, mum,” Renly said from behind us. He was standing less than twenty feet away.

“Why didn’t you tell me my little rose was here?” she groused as she linked one of her arms with mine. I’d never been overly fond of her nickname for me, but the rest of the family had taken full advantage of it. My father, in particular, had never missed a chance to throw some taunting version of the flower nickname at me, even when I’d been in my teens.

“My apologies, mum,” Renly responded. “Shall I fetch you some tea?”

My grandmother shooed him off with a wave of her hand. When I’d been a child, she never would have simply waved someone away. Whenever my grandfather had been absent, her eyes had always done the talking for her, and on the rare occasion when she’d used her voice to reprimand someone, her words had been spoken cooly and quietly. I hadn’t been entirely immune to her disinterest and steely silences. I suspected she would have been able to bring even the most powerful of men to their knees with her sharp tongue and cutting looks.

My grandmother also hadn’t looked anything like the ones I’d seen on TV commercials: the sweet, elderly women who held a plate of fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies for all the excited kids waiting around them.

My grandmother had been too refined to make something as unimportant as cookies, and based on her upbringing, I doubted she even knew how to cook. She employed people to do things like that for her. Mother Ashby was proper, dignified, and always presented herself with grace and class. The woman walking slowly next to me was a stranger. My grandmother wore a simple, long white cotton gown that was smudged with dirt. Her normally neatly styled hair was loosely braided and had numerous flyaway strands sticking to her damp neck.

“I’m so glad you made it home safely from that awful place,” Mother Ashby said as she leaned against me. “When your father told me you’d decided to stay in the army instead of coming home, I’d been certain I’d never see you again.”

“The army?” I asked. My grandmother knew I was a Marine and that my last tour had ended shortly before I’d been arrested.

Before my arrest, she’d praised me for my accomplishments despite the fact that she’d never wanted me to enlist in the military in the first place. It hadn’t been only because of the danger I’d be in, but she’d hoped I would learn to run the family business alongside my father and eventually take over the reins of the Ashby empire, just like all the Ashby men who’d come before me.

“Oh yes,” my grandmother said with a slight nod. She relied on my support to step up the single stair that led into the house. I suspected we were headed for the solarium. It wasn’t a large room, but it was lined with the more delicate kinds of roses and had a sweeping view of the outdoor rose gardens. Just like the garden, she’d never let me join her in the room because it had been her “quiet place.”

As we walked, my grandmother prattled on about how proud and scared she’d been while I’d been in the military, but she never once mentioned my time in prison.

Was she just waiting until we were sitting down to berate me for the cloud of shame I’d brought down upon the Ashby name? Would that be when she’d tell me how disappointed she was in me? That she no longer wanted me to be her grandson?

The whole thing made no sense. I’d shamed the Ashby name in the worst way possible but instead of refusing to see me or, worse, allowing me to witness her disappointment, she’d cried when she’d seen me in her garden. Hugs weren’t something she’d ever freely given out, not even to me when I’d been a little boy. And hadn’t Renly announced my arrival to my grandmother once the guard at the gate, Owen, had notified him I was there?

By the time we sat down in front of a small table, it had been set up with an assortment of tea, coffee, and small pastries. I automatically began pouring my grandmother some tea and preparing it the way she liked it. It was only as I moved the tea closer to her that I remembered that maids were tasked with preparing tea. There was always one at the ready to do things at my grandmother’s bidding. Ashbys didn’t serve themselves. Other people did it for them.

A quick glance around proved that we were alone.

“A warm towel for your hands, mum?” Renly said, once again appearing out of nowhere. He had a silver tray in his hands. There were two steaming washcloths on it.

“Oh yes, of course, how silly of me,” Mother Ashby remarked as Renly put the towelette in front of her. She looked at it with confusion.

“And for you, sir?” Renly asked, his tone insistent. He shifted his eyes to my grandmother and back to me. I nodded. Renly immediately used his silver tongs to place the towel on a plate in front of me. My grandmother still hadn’t reached for hers.

“I missed these,” I said, pulling my grandmother’s focus to me. I began washing my hands with the washcloth. “While I was in the army,” I added.

Mother Ashby’s eyes cleared and then she was reaching for her cloth so she could wipe away the dirt on her hands. Renly stepped forward as soon as we were done so he could take the washcloths and then he disappeared again. He never did something as menial as offering guests warm towels.

My grandmother took a sip of her tea and then motioned to me. “Drink, eat,” she insisted. “The food must have been terrible over there.”

Over there.

Not in there.

Over there.

Dear God, she really did believe I’d been serving overseas all this time. How the hell was that even possible?

“So, um, who told you I was home?” I asked as I took a sip of my coffee.

“Renly did, of course. Just now, my silly little rose,” my grandmother said. She reached for one of the fancy little sandwiches on the serving tray. There were tongs, but she used her fingers to take it. My grandmother had always been a force to be reckoned with when it came to manners. Especially table manners. All of that had apparently fallen by the wayside.

“Your father must have wanted to surprise me,” my grandmother continued as she ate the sandwich. Another strict rule being broken. Never speak when one’s mouth is full.

The idea that my father would have wanted to surprise his own mother about her grandson’s reappearance was absolute bullshit. I kept my mouth shut, though, because it had finally dawned on me that my grandmother wasn’t the woman she’d been before I’d been arrested. Her mental state hinted at some kind of memory loss or dementia. It would have been easy for my father and all the other Ashbys to take advantage of her.

My greedy aunts, uncles, and cousins had been waiting for my grandmother to die so they’d all get their share of her fortune, but my father had the most to gain. As her closest next of kin, he’d get everything. All of the companies, all of the numerous properties all over the world, the countless number of cars, yachts, and planes and, of course, the money—they’d be his for the taking.

Mother Ashby wouldn’t even need to be dead for him to do it. All he’d have to do was have her declared incompetent and that would be it. There’d be no one standing in his way.

Except me.

I would be in his way.

Just like I would’ve been in his way two years earlier.

The idea that I’d been the target of the assassin’s bullet and not JJ had me wanting to throw up right there on my grandmother’s beautiful tablecloth. I jumped up so fast that I tipped my chair over, startling my grandmother so badly that she knocked over the cup of tea in front of her. Thankfully, none of it spilled on her, and a maid that hadn’t been present before appeared out of nowhere to clean up the mess.

“I’m sorry,” I blundered. “I, um, just need some air. Would you excuse me, Mother Ashby?”

“Of course,” my grandmother responded. As I turned on my heel and began striding back in the direction we’d come from, I heard her call out, “Should I call for a doctor, my little rose?”

“No, I’m fine,” I returned over my shoulder. “Just not used to being indoors.”

My stomach had settled by the time I reached the doorway leading to the gardens. Renly was waiting for me.

Good.

I needed to know what the hell was going on and Renly was going to be the one to tell me, whether he wanted to or not.