Dangerous Desire

Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

Satchel Rose sighed as someone knocked at his study door. He’d hoped not to be interrupted for the morning, so he could indulge in his favorite task: designing buildings. He’d gotten a couple of hours of drawing and planning done, but now his assistant was interrupting his flow, and he knew he wouldn’t get it back again. “Come in.”

Molly stuck her head around the door, an apologetic expression on her sweet face. “I’m sorry, Satch. I wouldn’t interrupt, but your father called again. Wanted to get your yes or no for Thanksgiving, and he insisted I come ask you. I think he’s worried you won’t turn up and referee.”

Satchel smiled despite himself. His father, Patrick, was a loving but weak-willed man who was terrified of his new wife, Janelle. Satchel, on the other hand, adored Janelle, although he jokingly called her his step-monster. The African-American college professor gave as good as she got, teasing Satchel mercilessly, and also ruling her husband’s life, challenging him, egging him on, not letting him rest on his laurels in his retirement. They’d been together for twenty years but had only recently tied the knot.

Satchel smiled at Molly now. “I’ll call the house, Mols. Thanks.”

“No problem, boss.”

Satchel called the house; both his father and Janelle refused to get cellphones, which Satchel found cute and annoying in equal measure. Janelle answered his call.

“Hey, Brat.”

“Hey, Monster. I have been summoned.”

Janelle laughed, her giggle mischievous. “Your dad is crapping his pants. I told him all my sisters and my mom are coming to Thanksgiving. It’s not true, of course, but he’s convinced he’ll be outnumbered.”

Satchel laughed loudly. “You really are evil. I love it.”

“Here’s your dad. Don’t rat me out…” she whispered before raising her voice slightly. Satchel’s dad was a little deaf. “Your son, or so he says. I think he’s actually the spawn of the devil.” She cackled with laughter, then her voice grew fond as she spoke to Satchel again. “Just kidding. Love you, Brat. Bye, sweetie.”

“Bye, gorgeous. Love you, too.” Satchel waited until his dad took the phone and said hello. “Hey, Pa, how are you doing?”

“Women.” Patrick said with a quiver in his voice. “There’s going to be women everywhere. She has six sisters, Satch! Six!”

Satchel grinned to himself. “Pa, most men would be grateful to be surrounded by women.”

“Six sisters, Satchel. Six. And the mother.”

“You love Janelle’s family, come on.”

Patrick harrumphed. “I love them… from a distance. Just promise me you’ll be there.”

“I promise, Pa. Calm down.”

That seemed to settle his father. “Bringing anyone? How about that Molly? She’s a sweetheart; I don’t know why you haven’t snapped her up.”

“Because, Pa, I possess something that she isn’t the least bit interested in.”

“What could that possibly be, son?”

Satchel grinned. “A p***s, Pa. I’ve told you before. Molly is very happily married to a wonderful woman.”

More grumbling and muttering from his father, and Satchel laughed. “Pa, look, there’s no one at the moment, and I’m fine with that.”

“There hasn’t been for a couple of years, Satch. I’m worried.”

“Pa… come on. I’m too old for you to be worrying about that.” Satchel swallowed the irritation that always bubbled up when his dad fretted about his son’s lack of love life. “I’m fussy, and I like my own space.”

“Hermit.”

“Yup, unashamedly so.”

There was a short silence on the end of the line. “As long as you’re not still blaming yourself for… you know.”

Satchel’s chest felt tight. “No, Pa.” A lie—and they both knew it. “Look, I have to go. I’ll be at Thanksgiving, I promise.”

“Good. Love you, son.”

“Love you, too, Pa.”

He hung up and rubbed his face as he headed to the small executive bathroom next to his office. Satchel worked from home as much as possible, but even his home was set out like an office, with Molly having her own private space in which to work. She was about the only person he could stand to be around for long periods, but even then, sometimes he felt the overwhelming need to be alone. Luckily, Molly seemed to sense when he was going through one of his hermit phases and would leave him alone as much as she could, running interference on people who wanted more time than Satchel was willing to give.

Satchel splashed water on his face and studied his reflection. At almost forty, he knew he had aged into a handsome man, but his looks were a hindrance as far as Satchel was concerned. Dark hair, swarthy skin from his late Italian mother, and bright green eyes were like catnip to both women and men. When he had been younger, he had been a beautiful boy and had made the most of it: sleeping around, enjoying life. Being sociable. When had that changed?

You know when, he told himself. He closed his eyes, scrunching them up. God, when he would he just get over it? It wasn’t your fault Callan Flint went crazy with that g*n. It wasn’t your responsibility to ‘save’ him.

So why did he feel like it was? Ever since the St Anne’s Mall m******e, Satchel had felt himself withdrawing from public life. Callan had been his best friend, and he hadn’t noticed how bad things had gotten.

No one had, but Satchel was the person closest to Callan, and even he hadn’t seen it. Twenty-seven people dead. Fifty three injured. Satchel had paid for every funeral and all the medical expenses and had to be stopped from giving away all of his money to the survivors. Callan’s parents had stepped in then. “Satchel, this isn’t your fault. We need to do something, too—make reparations.”

And so, the Flint family had paid out compensation to the victims. It wasn’t like they couldn’t afford it—both the Rose and Flint families were billionaires several times over. But for Satchel, it didn’t feel as he’d done enough. He became increasingly despondent and only found peace when he was alone.

He pushed those thoughts aside for now, knowing they would return as they always did to routinely haunt his days. To distract himself, he powered on the television and flicked through the channels. He stopped when he came to a food and cooking channel, his attention caught by the woman presenting. Autumn Mai. He knew that name all too well. The Mai family. Three sisters, Autumn, Summer, and Winter. Autumn was the only one of them left physically unscathed by the shooting. Summer had been killed by a single bullet to her throat. Winter, the youngest, had been the worst of the injured, shot six times in the chest and stomach at point-blank range and not expected to live.

Satchel, unbeknownst to everyone, had often sat by the young woman’s bed late at night, after visiting hours. It was time his money could buy. He didn’t know her at all and hadn’t spoken to her family, but there was something so vulnerable about her. Christ, she was just a kid.

Then, without warning, one day her family secretly transferred her to a different hospital, and he lost track of her. It felt like a death. He’d been channeling all his guilt into this one victim, and when she was removed from his life, his guilt had nowhere to go but internally.

He watched her older sister now, Autumn. A celebrity chef even before the shooting, she was confident and affable on screen and obviously loved her chosen profession. A stunningly beautiful woman, her Asian parentage obvious in her features and her dark hair piled up on her head as she moved gracefully around the set.

Satchel sighed. Maybe he could get past the guilt if he found out where Autumn’s sister had gone. If he could see her, apologize to her in person…

But that would be an incredible invasion of privacy and selfish of him, too. No, he had to face his demons on his own.

He just didn’t know where the hell to start.