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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Mistress and the Mouse

  Copyright ã 2004 JJ Giles

  ISBN: 1-55410-031-3

  Cover art and design by Martine Jardin

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2004

  Look for us online at:

  www.zumayapublications.com

  www.Extasybooks.com

  Dedication:

  For all of you who ache for something real

  Special thanks to my editor

  Nance Davis

  whose interest in this project was overwhelming

  Chapter One

  Under the entangled limbs of the ancient and graceful Trees of Heaven, Brian Abernathy throttled his broken-down pickup over the gently curving lane toward the top of Hideaway Hill. Only a few of the century-old mansions on ten acre lots had been razed to give way to modern sprawling homes reaching into the clouds. The gothic bricks on others still clung tightly to the framework.

  Gardeners labored under the soft sunshine of spring, their trucks laden with freshly chopped mulch, young trees and propagated perennials. One of Brian’s competitors nodded as he drove by, tossed his head and sniffed.

  “Move over, boys,” Brian whispered with a laugh. “The Boss is back in town.”

  Another quarter mile down the boulevard, he turned into the driveway where a stately old gentleman lingered in the shade of his home, waiting. Quickly, the old man turned, watched intently as Brian gathered up a laptop and swung the door closed. He smiled broadly as Brian approached, his gait unmistakable.

  “How the hell are ya, JD?” Brian asked happily with his hand outstretched.

  Heartily, JD grasped it and pulled Brian in. “Damnit, I knew that was you on the television.” JD grinned happily. “Helena said I was full of shit, but I knew that was you. Brian Abernathy. Where the hell have you been the last ten years?”

  Genuinely flattered, Brian smiled as he took the chair next to JD’s. “Long story, John. I’ve been kinda hiding out with one incredible woman.”

  “I figured that,” the old man teased as he looked over the neighbor’s kid, the bits of dirt and twigs clung to the filthy clothes. “But what the hell are you doing working, son? I mean...you’re an accountant...a businessman. You’re going to inherit the Throne of Abernathy Acquisitions.”

  “I’m still an accountant, John. I’m still a businessman. But Abernathy Acquisitions is someone else’s fate.” He peered across the street to the mansion he was raised in.

  “You’re a Harvard graduate,” John reminded him.

  “I’m also a landscape architect, my friend.” To explain the manner of his dress, he offered, “Unfortunately, my crews don’t know how to build stone bridges over streams so I get to help out quite often. And I love it, John. I’d much rather shovel shit than ledgers.”

  Incredible. Impossible, yet here he was...Brian Abernathy! “What are you drinking?” the old man asked.

  “I’ll drink a beer with you,” Brian said with a smile.

  The old man snapped his fingers and a man very nearly his age came hurriedly. The order was given, yet John’s attention stayed with Brian. “How are your parents?”

  Dismally, Brian looked into the sagging eyes of a very old wealthy man. “I don’t know. When I dropped out, I dropped out. I haven’t seen the old man for almost ten years. I try to keep better tabs on my mom, but most of the time when I call or stop in, she’s not even in the country. I can’t say I blame her, John. My father is a pain in the ass, you know that.”

  Sadly, JD nodded. But there was more to the story than Brian realized. Much, much more to the Abernathys, especially Brian’s father who was raised by a psychopath, whose great grandfather was the President of the United States. Rather than dwell on it, he continued, “Brian Alexander? I swear that’s what they said on TV?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned and swilled the beer. “I’ve found that changing your name is just as effective as a team of body guards. I can move through the world virtually unnoticed, do what I do and then go home to my woman. Even she doesn’t know who I really am.”

  “What the hell are you doing for money, boy? I know your father cut you off the day you walked out on him.”

  “What the hell do I really need, John? I live on a gorgeous estate out in the country. I got food, sex, a bed to sleep in and sometimes an orgy goes on there. I’ve been back to school to learn the finer points of what I do now. Besides, I’ve played on the Riviera, fucked all the Princesses, gambled in all the casinos, bullshitted with all the bullshitters, partied until my head throbbed. And when I get done taking your money today, I’m gonna go home and get laid and have dinner in bed. What the hell more could a man want?” He grinned delightedly. “I’m trying to convince her to marry me, but uhh...hell, we’ll get there.”

  “And Abernathy Acquisitions holds no interest for you?”

  “Absolutely none.” Brian’s vision traveled away from his childhood neighbor back to the Abernathy Mansion where some of the best days of his life were spent. A few of the worst ones happened there, too. “I can’t go through my life like that,” he said sadly. “Sitting in the middle of four walls all day, ruining people’s lives. It’s criminal.”

  “We’re all criminals, Brian. We wouldn’t be living up here if we weren’t.”

  Full of sadness, Brian drew in a deep breath remembering the day he sat at his desk at Abernathy Acquisitions drawing up the papers for a leveraged buyout of a corporation his father wanted. Just as he was about to finish, the call came to put them on hold because the CEO of the corporation had just committed suicide.

  Idly, Brian raked through his soft brown hair, just long enough to curl a little at the ends. “Well, I realized a lot of years ago there isn’t that much I need in this life. A good beer, a lot of sunshine and Morgan.”

  “Morgan, huh?”

  Brian reached into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet. He opened it and handed it to JD. “Oh my,” JD gasped at the picture of them together, Brian’s arm firmly around her broad shoulder, the color of bronze flowing from the crown of her head. Startling green eyes, a full lush lower lip shimmering in the shade of her hair. A narrow nose and high cheekbones. “That is a beautiful woman.” He spied the layers of credit cards and turned it just enough to see it was stuffed with cash.

  “Yes, she is, my friend. And she’s encouraged me to do what feels good. I decided when I was twelve standing in the midst of the gardens at Versailles I was going to do that for a living. And here I am,” he said happily, grateful to be talking to someone he knew. Someone he often thought of as a grandfather. “And I’m gonna make your place look just as good. Problem is, you’re gonna have to remodel your house to go with your gardens.”

  That wasn’t exactly a problem. JD was more interested in the woman who could capture Brian’s attention and keep him from home for ten years. A prostitute who used to work for him. �
��What does she do for a living?” JD asked.

  Brian’s gaze locked onto the old man with a salacious grin. “She’s a sex therapist. More on the surrogate end of it, although she rarely has sex with them.”

  The old man choked on his own tongue. “Not what I expected to hear.”

  “You’d have to meet her to know what I’m talking about. She has a hard-on for wife-beaters and believe it or not, she’s had quite a bit of success. Gives ‘em a taste of their own medicine. I’m liable to bring her by sometime.”

  “When will that be?”

  Saddened by that, Brian looked away. “I don’t know,” he replied because Morgan was terribly content with the way things were. Only he wanted to get married. But hiding out with Morgan, away from cameras, body guards, and the attention the world wanted to lavish on him had been the best ten years of his life. “She, uhh...she doesn’t know who I am. I can’t sit here and claim to be proud of being an Abernathy anyway.”

  JD reached out and clutched Brian’s muscular forearm for a little hug. He understood well that things had never been easy in the Abernathy home. Too much money, too much attention and prestige. Brian’s grandfather, who had been raised in the White House, ran the family business like it was an avenging army that takes no prisoners, only assets. Brian’s grandfather ran the family home as if it were a military encampment and raised his sons as soldiers.

  But to dwell on what was past was futile. “How the hell did you end up on TV?”

  “I’ve been working with the local horticultural societies for awhile now. Trying to figure out how to get rid of the transplanted species like those Chinese elms that are so prolific they choke out the natural species. A guy in California heard about me and came here to find out what we’re doing. I took him on a tour of our gardens and the next thing I knew they were sending the cameras in.”

  “They were beautiful,” John whispered.

  “Thanks,” Brian whispered. “And I know you well enough to know you want something no one else has.”

  “Damn right, son. I don’t travel the world anymore, either. So you can bring the world to me.”

  Gently, Brian smiled. “How much money you got?”

  A grin stretched the old man’s thin, colorless lips wide. “Still an Abernathy at heart, I see.”

  “But when you talk about me...and you will, the name is Brian Alexander.”

  Filled with affection, the old man nodded as he stretched out his arm. “C’mon. Let’s take a look at what you got to work with.”

  * * * *

  Two hours later, having carefully examined the eight acres behind the house, Brian returned to the front with his newest client. “John, this is a huge vote of confidence and I appreciate it,” Brian offered sincerely.

  “Bullshit. I’ve seen your work. And the truth is, kid, you earned my trust a lot of years ago when you saved my daughter from that little bastard of a so-called boyfriend when he tried to rape her in his car one night. But I’m worried about you, too. You’re living a double life. Believe it or not, your father is worried about you. Very worried when I spoke to him at the Christmas party last year.”

  Bitterly, Brian grimaced. “He wasn’t always an asshole, was he?”

  “No, he wasn’t, Brian. I can clearly remember your father and his twin brother as being two of the most creative and charming kids I’d ever met. I can’t tell you what went wrong or I would.” The old man sighed heavily. “But I’m sure as hell glad you’re still around. Let me get you a check.”

  “John...wait. Give me a few weeks to do the drawings and I’ll put together a virtual tour we can watch on your TV. If you like what I’m thinking about, then we’ll talk about money.”

  The old man smiled. Maybe not an Abernathy after all.

  Together they peered across the street at the stately stone mansion covered in new slate with shining copper gutters. The windows had been replaced since Brian had seen it, to perhaps let a little light in for a change, but the door had only been refinished. JD could feel Brian’s reticence.

  “I think your mom’s home,” he offered.

  Feeling weary at the thought of it, Brian’s hand covered his eyes to rub at them. “Yeah, I should stop in,” he admitted. “So I’ll call you soon.” He offered an outstretched hand.

  The old man grasped it firmly and held it long enough to force Brian’s attention to him. Looking deep into Brian’s eyes, he whispered, “Your dad really is concerned about you.”

  A sarcastic smirk broke Brian’s solemn expression. “Well...maybe I know him a little better than you do, John.”

  With a sad smile, the old man patted him and then released him.

  “I’ll call you in a couple of weeks,” Brian offered. “Say hi to Helena for me.”

  JD waved and resumed his vigil in the chair under the tree and watched as Brian continued around the circular driveway to creep across the street.

  * * * *

  Nervously, Brian lit a cigarette as he sat in his truck a moment. Probably a year since he had seen his mom. Only talked to her at Christmas. To have to see her now, listen to the wild ravings of a woman who’d lost her mind when he was a child wasn’t exactly what he was in the mood for. But she was his mother, he reminded himself. His ruminations were cut short by a startling, “What do you want?”

  Quickly, Brian turned to see a huge barrel-chested man at the driver’s side door, then glimpsed another at the passenger side. “I’m Brian Abernathy,” he scowled as he shoved the door open. “I came to see my mother.”

  Suspiciously, the guard looked him over yet Brian stood stoic and then dropped the cigarette on the guy’s shoe. “Your mother,” he stated suspiciously, “has retired for the day.”

  “Go tell her son is here,” Brian snarled, aggravated with the bullshit that goes along with being an Abernathy, reminding him well why he dropped out. But Brian had never seen this guy. It wasn’t this guy’s fault. Just doing his job.

  The man pulled out a cell phone and dialed. The brief conversation ended in a nod to the other security agent.

  “This way,” the man said.

  Brian huffed. As if he needed an escort to his mother’s rooms.

  Nothing inside had changed at all. The grand entrance hall of black walnut the length of a football field still shimmered in the high polish of clear wax. The black walnut banister was just as slick and smooth as the ice that coated the driveway in winter. The very proper swags and cascades still hung from the windows gathering dust. The patterned carpet upholstering the treads was just a little threadbare in the middle.

  Brian followed the guard down the wide corridor passing the room which was once his. The double doors at the end on the left were his father’s apartment, the wide single door on the right, his mother’s.

  A quick rap on the door and it was opened by a woman Brian didn’t recognize. Openly, she stared examining the filth that still clung to him. “Who are you?” she snarled.

  Rather than speak to her, Brian yelled out, “Mom?”

  “Brian!” The reply sounded weak and old.

  Glaring, Brian pushed past the woman and stepped into the anteroom. Again, nothing had changed. But he moved through and walked into the bedroom only to find his mother in bed, covered in bruises, a cast on her arm, bandages around her ribs and her foot in a contraption he’d never seen. Nothing ever seemed to change.

  Rage boiled in his stomach like lava ready to spew. “Mom, what the fuck happened to you?” he gasped, knowing only too well his father had beaten her again.

  “Brian. Brian,” she gasped barely able to draw air.

  “Mom,” he cried as he neared the bed, believing that one more beating would dispatch her.

  “Brian, it’s alright,” she insisted as she began to cry.

  “Ah, Mom,” he pleaded as he sat on the edge of the bed and saw her wince with the pain that caused. Tenderly, he stroked his fingers through her short platinum hair.

  “I’ll be fine, honey. Tell me about you,”
she whispered, because the pain in her ribs was too intense to breathe.

  “Did he do this to you?” Brian roared.

  She reached out to clutch at his filthy shirt with the little strength she had. “I fell down the stairs, honey.”

  “Yeah. That’s the company line, isn’t it?” His comment was filled with biting sarcasm.

  “Brian, baby, wait,” she whispered as she smirked inside knowing that this visit had already driven him to distraction.

  Brian hovered over her like a vicious storm cloud ready to burst. Her soft green eyes were pale, lifeless and it seemed she had only moments to live. “Mom, you gotta get out of here. You’re gonna die here,” he warned wanting to scoop her into his arms and carry her away. “He’s going to kill you. When did this happen?”

  “Last week.”

  “Mother! You need a hospital and I’m calling an ambulance now.” He reached for the phone boiling with rage.

  “Brian,” she rasped. Her head rolled on the pillow as best it could. “I’m comfortable here. I’m staying here.”

  “Then you need a psychiatrist to figure out why you put up with this shit.”

  “He’s my husband.”

  “Husband!” Enraged, he snatched the phone from the night table and dialed.

  “Brian,” she begged with the little strength she had. But he wouldn’t be stilled. She could feel him quivering, ready to lash out like his father often did.

  The phone rang only a few times before it was answered. “Aunt Colleen, this is Brian.”

  “Brian,” she said happily.

  But this was no time for pleasantries. “I’m with my mother right now...your sister. She’s been beat all to hell.”

  A heavy sigh emanated through the phone. “I’ve talked to her, Brian. I don’t know what you want me to do. There’s nothing you can do, either. Sooner or later you’ll understand that the money is more important to her than her life.”

  Stunned, Brian let the silence fall between them for a moment. And then he slammed the receiver back to the cradle. “Mother, I’m putting you in a hospital.”