Zinnia by Jayne Castle Page B

his fortune on his own and had no interest in their wealth.
    The Chastains were accustomed to controlling people with money. Nick’s failure to ask anything of them made him, in their eyes, uncontrollable and therefore dangerous. Nick understood. He was, after all, a Chastain, himself. He figured that his own need to be in command of any given situation was probably stronger than that of all the other members of the clan put together.
    â€œI didn’t come here to reminisce about the past, delightful as that no doubt would be,” Nick said. “I want to know about your interest in the Chastain journal.”
    â€œWhat about it? If my brother’s private journal exists, it belongs in the family.” Orrin’s mouth tightened. “The legitimate branch of the family.”
    â€œI’ve done a lot of thinking since last night. No offense, Orrin, but it’s difficult to believe that you’ve suddenly developed a keen interest in family history, especially the part my father played in it.”
    â€œJust what in hell is that supposed to mean?”
    Nick smiled. “We both know that it was the fact that my father died out in the islands that made it possible for you to take over the reins of the family empire, wasn’t it?”
    â€œBastard,” Orrin hissed.
    â€œYes, but that’s old history. As I was saying, if Bartholomew Chastain had lived, you wouldn’t be sitting where you are today. What’s more, he would have married my mother and I would have become the heir apparent to Chastain, Inc. Funny how things work out, isn’t it?”
    â€œBartholomew would never have married your mother.” Orrin’s face worked furiously. “He knew his duty. He would never have given the Chastain name to some cheap hooker he met in a Western Islands bar.”
    The blood suddenly pounded in Nick’s ears. He was on his feet before he had time to think. He rounded the corner of the desk and seized a fistful of Orrin’s expensive shirt.
    â€œMy mother was not a hooker,” he said very, very softly. “Don’t ever call her that. Do you hear me, Uncle Orrin? Don’t ever call my mother a hooker or, so help me, you and everyone else on the legitimate side of the Chastain family will pay.”
    Orrin’s mouth opened and closed. His eyes bulged. “I’ll have my secretary summon security.”
    â€œMy parents planned to marry when my father returned from his last expedition. But Bartholomew Chastain didn’t make it back alive.” Nick leaned closer. “No one knows exactly what happened, but we all know who benefited, don’t we?”
    Orrin’s mouth opened and closed twice more before he managed to put a coherent sentence together. “How dare you imply that I might have had anything to do with Bart’s death or that I was glad he never returned. That’s a goddamned lie.”
    â€œIs it?”
    â€œFace the facts, Nick. There never was a Third Chastain Expedition. It’s just a legend. The most likely explanation for Bart’s disappearance is that he walked off into the jungle one afternoon and committed suicide. He was a matrix. Everyone knows they’re not real stable.”
    â€œIf you believe that there was no Third Expedition, why are you after his journal?”
    â€œLook, I’m not saying that Bart didn’t leave a personal diary of some kind,” Orrin snapped. “God knows, he was obsessive about keeping notes on everything. But it couldn’t be a record of the Third Expedition because that venture never took place.”
    The roaring in Nick’s ears diminished. He noticed that his hand was clenched much too tightly around the fine fabric of Orrin’s shirt front. Disgusted with the loss of self-control, he released his grip and took a step back.
    A glint of gold caught his eye. He glanced at Orrin’s expensive cuff links. They were each elegantly embossed