Page 59 of Part of Your World

Chapter 26

Octavia smiled as the two Erickson men approached. Her stomach had lurched slightly when she'd first identified Horace Erickson's features from several yards away in the dying light. Dealing with an inexperienced pup would've been far easier than scrapping with a full-grown bulldog with all his teeth and a battle-tested stubbornness. But the fact that Horace was here told her something very important—he cared more about his son than about keeping her ledger. So what if he'd bested her once before? She outnumbered the Ericksons three to two, and both of her accomplices carried weapons. Horace didn't strike her as the type to be proficient with guns. Money and position were his weapons of choice. Neither of which would do him much good out here on the dunes.

"Horace," she purred. "I'm surprised to see you. My business is with your son."

The man raised a brow. "Your business became my business the moment you planted that female imposter in my son's life and attempted to turn him against me. I told you what you had to do to earn your precious journal back, yet you insisted on playing games. You gambled and lost, my dear. Time to end the charade."

The jackal. Depict her as the villain, would he? Well, two could paint with that brush.

Narrowing her gaze, she took a step forward. "I find it quite ironic that you accuse me of playing games, sir, when we both know that you are the master of cheating the system. You come to my house under false pretenses, lie to me about paying off your wife's account, bribe my butler into betraying me, then steal my belongings. You are the one who set this series of events in motion, Horace. Until you interfered, I was simply a businesswoman using my social connections to form advantageous marriages."

The younger Erickson winced a bit at her recounting. So he didn't know the full story. Well, she was happy to expose his father's duplicity. She'd already recognized cracks in their relationship. Creating a few more could only help her cause.

"Let's not whitewash your business practices, Octavia. You deal in blackmail, pure and simple."

"Nonsense." She turned to Zane. "Men like your father are too small-minded to admit that a woman can possess just as much business acumen as any of the gents hobnobbing at the Lodge. If a man operates in the gray areas of what is legal and ethical, he's considered shrewd. A woman, however, is considered a schemer. Just look at your father." She gestured to Horace with a flourish. "He actively manipulates the cotton market, making himself and his cronies richer while stealing money from hardworking farmers." The edge of Zane's mouth tightened. Excellent. She batted her eyes with manufactured innocence. "Wasn't your grandfather a cotton farmer? I can't imagine he'd be too happy to learn of his son's machinations. And just think of your poor mother's shame if the story made it into the papers. The Erickson name is so respected in these parts."

Oh, the boy was riled. Just look at the tension radiating through him. He'd gone utterly rigid at the news of his father's unethical dealings. How delightful. Octavia swallowed a cackle.

Dirk Grossman, one of the men she'd hired for this evening's work, cleared his throat. "Night's a-fallin', ma'am. Best be gettin' on with your business."

Instead of snapping at the underling for interrupting her, as he deserved, Octavia pasted a smile on her face and waved her hands as if to clear the air.

"Quite right, Mr. Grossman. As much as I'm enjoying our little tête-à-tête, we have a transaction to conduct." She held her palm out to Horace. "My journal, Mr. Erickson."

Zane stepped forward, jostling her hand. "Not until Fletcher Doherty is returned to us. Have him brought ashore. We won't return the journal until we see that he is unharmed."

The pup had teeth after all.

Well, so did she. "You're in no position to make demands." She gave him her most disdainful glare. "Is he, boys?"

On cue, two pistols cocked. Such a lovely sound. The sound of power. So nice that her hirelings' reputations for being adept at coercion had not been exaggerated.

Horace raised his hands. "Hold on, now," he said. "No need for violence."

The coward.

A laugh escaped her. She couldn't help it. "There is if it speeds your compliance." She scoured all amusement from her voice. "Now hand over my journal."

Motion to her left drew her gaze to Zane as he reached for his coat pocket. "I'll retrieve it if you tell your men to hold their fire."

"Zane, no." An actual wobble modulated Horace's tone.

He was afraid. Afraid that if his son gave up their leverage, Dirk and Gunther would rid her of the evidence of this encounter. Which they would. Couldn't have them carrying tales back to town, after all. That little guttersnipe Muriel might make a stink, but a few rumors of a gold-digging young woman seeking revenge after being rejected by the man she'd targeted should blacken her name sufficiently. Octavia could even arrange for the police to find the murder weapon in the young lady's home. It would be easy enough to plant.

Zane ignored his father, however. Kept his gaze locked on Octavia as he worked his jaw and waited.

"Very well," she said. "Hold your fire, gentlemen. Let him retrieve my property."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the journal. Octavia's pulse leapt at the sight of the familiar brown leather.

"What are you doing?" Horace rasped.

"She's won, Pops," Zane said. "This game of horseshoes is over. We got close, but she scored the ringer."

She had won. And they'd soon learn there'd be no second place.

"I'm not letting you forfeit just yet." Horace pulled something from inside his coat. Another journal.