Never Goodbye (The Barrington Billionaires Book 7)

  Never Goodbye

  The Barrington Billionaires

  Book Seven

  Ruth Cardello

  Author Contact

  website: RuthCardello.com

  email: [email protected]

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  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Ruth Cardello returns with a hilarious addition to the Barrington Billionaire series.

  In the Barrington family, Ian is the fixer. He lives a double life—one that has provided him with the skills to save his family more than once. Reuniting with the brother they’d all believed was dead has shaken him to the core. He is driven to find the responsible party regardless of the consequences.

  Claire Wendell’s best friend recently married into the very powerful, very troubled Barrington family. When she stepped away from her own life to help Annie and Kade settle into theirs, she had no idea it would put her on a possible suspect list.

  She’s bold enough to stand up to Ian and intuitive enough to see past his anger, but love may not be enough to protect the family when the truth about the woman who raised Kade is revealed.

  How important is the truth?

  Is it worth losing everything?

  Copyright

  Kindle Edition

  An original work of Ruth Cardello, 2018.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To my brother Gerry. Thank you for always being there for me.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter One

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Kade and Annie’s Wedding Reception, Present Day

  Sorry Grant, there is no way in hell either of your wife’s brothers will survive what I will do to them as soon I get my hands free. Ian Barrington was in pain, but it wasn’t from the duct tape that bound both his wrists and ankles. Nor from the strip across his mouth. He wasn’t suffering from a concussion nor was his body bruised from the pummeling one would expect to accompany a kidnapping. Even the physical discomfort from being slung over the shoulder of one of the Neanderthals who’d carried him into the hotel’s staircase wasn’t what bothered him the most.

  No, what was slowly killing him was how the two men had completely taken him by surprise. Closer to seven feet than six, Connor and Dylan were born to wear plaid, not twins but so similar in appearance most assumed they were and dumb enough that they should have been harmless.

  Idiots could be confident little fuckers.

  What do they want?

  Ransom? They already know they’ll never be homeless, and with our support their father’s business is booming.

  But for some, no amount of assistance is enough. They want it all.

  Or did someone hire them to take me out? And if so—who?

  Ian wasn’t naïve to how far his enemies would go for revenge. Unfortunately, he’d crossed enough people in his life that the list of who would want him gone was too extensive to be useful.

  How deep was his family compromised? He didn’t want to imagine Viviana, his brother’s wife, could be involved. Grant had never looked happier and the two had a child together.

  This was more likely a crime born from opportunity and temptation. These two might have been approached by someone connected to the Columbian drug baron Ian had helped the Mexican government crack down on. The one who was currently being extradited to New York for the crimes he’d committed there as well.

  Loyalty could be bought.

  No, if Rojas wanted me dead, he would have used his own men.

  The same was true for any one of the dictators Ian had helped the US government topple or the foreign companies he’d negotiated against, if they were wise to his involvement, which he’d been careful to ensure they wouldn’t be.

  Even his CIA connections knew only what he wanted them to. His official title was International Political Consultant, but his relationship with the government was much more complicated than it looked in their database. He brought them information. When he agreed with the cause, he used his connections to sway the outcome of an event. Sometimes, when no one else could, he resolved a situation himself.

  A much younger Ian had followed his father’s footsteps and gone into politics, only to discover that very little was actually decided by the elected officials. Presidents came and went. The house and the senate debated, but little was accomplished. When he realized that so much in the news was a circus meant to entertain and distract, he sought out the company of those truly shaping the global landscape.

  He watched.

  Learned.

  Made sure many of them owed him a favor.

  All the while, his own wealth and influence had grown until he’d earned his own seat at the table. Most of his peers were less hands-on. They met under the strict Chatham House Rule: exchange information and formulate plans, with the understanding that nothing that was said would ever be attributed to any of the participants. It all sounded nefarious, but more often than not it was a bunch of old, rich men grasping for ways to retain their piece of the pie. There were some however, like Ian, who’d come for the power rather than the wealth.

  The CIA considered him dangerous but necessary.

  Somewhere between a traitor and a hero.

  He didn’t like the term vigilante. Simply put, his allegiance had always been first to humanity then to his country. So yes, when it was in the best interest of the innocent, he could orchestrate the fall of a world leader or get a political prisoner released.

  And when it wasn’t . . . he could be intentionally ineffective.

  He’d built a network of influence that knew no boundaries, but he used it only for what his conscience allowed. In his youth he’d been a helpless witness to his mother’s suffering. His one goal had been to never feel that way again.

  By his early thirties, he’d surpassed even what he’d imagined possible. Although his name would never be in history books, the improved living conditions of the areas of the world he’d championed was gratification enough. Clean water, adequate housing, and access to medicine were basic human needs that far too many didn’t have. Wars were fought over oil and resources for the rich. He battled in the shadows, doing what he could to ensure those in power did more good than harm.

  He’d been riding high, feeling damn near invincible . . . until Grant had found the brother his family had been told had died at childbirth.

  Although Ian had been in grade school when they’d lost Kade, he cu rsed himself for never circling back to ask questions. Had he done any research at all, he would have discovered that the doctors and nurses involved in delivering Kade had all died soon afterward. One from a fatal car accident, one from suicide, two drowned. The truth was right there—so painfully obvious it sickened Ian that he’d missed it.

  He easily could have hunted down Pamela, the woman who’d run to Australia with his stolen brother and raised him as her own. He could have brought Kade home so much sooner. Even though he’d been young, he remembered his mother crying and vehemently saying again and again that she’d held Kade . . . that he was alive.

  No one had believed her. In retrospect, her subsequent mental breakdown made sense. She was right. She knew, but that hadn’t been enough, even for those who loved her.

  His family had spent the next thirty years mourning the death of a child who wasn’t dead and walking on eggshells around their mother, thinking her unstable when she was truly the strongest of them all. So much unnecessary pain that thus far no one had been held accountable for.

  So, yes, finding out what really happened back then had become an obsession of Ian’s. Is that why I’m duct-taped? Am I getting too close to the truth for someone’s comfort?

  The door to the hallway slammed shut behind Dylan. “That’s the biggest laundry cart you could find?” He shifted to adjust the weight of Ian.

  “He’ll fit,” Connor said with confidence. “Well, if we fold him up.”

  Oh, hell no. Ian threw his weight to one side, hoping to send Dylan off-balance, but he was remarkably sure-footed.

  “Easy, Ian,” Dylan growled. “We just need a minute to figure this out. What do you mean fold him up? He’s not going to work with us.”

  “Maybe you were right—we should have drugged him.”

  “You think?”

  “Don’t get all pissy. That’s not helping. We could knock him out, but I read that can give people brain damage.”

  “What if we cut off some of his oxygen just long enough for him to pass out? Does that do anything bad?”

  What the fuck?

  “I’m not a doctor, but it sounds like it would. No, try putting him in head first.”

  Ian shook his head back and forth. Dylan said, “He doesn’t like that idea. I wouldn’t either. Probably painful.”

  “Okay,” Connor scratched his chin. “Put him in feet first and see what happens.”

  As soon as his bound feet hit the solid bottom of the laundry cart, Ian found his balance. He stood straight up and glared at the two meatheads who were studying the situation like children confused about why a square block won’t fit through a circular hole.

  “Sit,” Connor commanded.

  Ian didn’t budge.

  “He’s not a dog,” Dylan snapped.

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  Ian was not shocked when Dylan didn’t.

  Am I already dead? Is this hell? Because it feels like hell.

  Hands on his hips, Dylan asked, “Hey, Einstein, even if we get him in there, how are we going to carry him up twenty floors in the cart?”

  “Shit, I didn’t think about that.”

  Twenty floors? Where are they taking me?

  Ian began to slowly, subtly twist his wrists back and forth. He’d fisted his hands when they’d bound them, so there was a little give to the tape, but for idiots they’d done a surprisingly effective job with the restraints. Not only had they gone around, but they’d circled between, which made it more difficult, although not impossible to break free.

  “You get him, I’ll carry the cart. We’ll figure out how to stuff him in when we get to Claire’s floor.”

  Claire? Maid of honor and the best friend of his new sister-in-law, Annie.

  The beautiful brunette who’d been circling around his family the last few months.

  Circling around his dreams at night as well.

  The same woman he’d caught listening in to a recent conversation he’d had with his brother Asher. He’d told Asher he didn’t trust her—said as much to her face afterward. Still, what would her motive be?

  Money?

  Revenge? They say hell knows no fury like a woman scorned, but this is a bit much.

  Pausing for a breath after ten floors, Connor said, “Hey, Dylan. Text Claire. Tell her to meet us at her room.”

  “Done. I can’t believe this was so easy. I mean, didn’t you think Ian would put up more of a fight?”

  Ian groaned. Yeah, that still stung.

  “He would have if we’d used chloroform like you wanted to. Good thing I looked it up on my phone. It’s not like in the movies. That shit takes five minutes to work. Plus, sometimes it’s lethal.”

  “I was joking about using it. Where would we have even gotten some? Do you think I fucking walk around with shit like that in my pocket?”

  “You sounded serious.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “And you’re weak if you thought Ian’s heavy. I could carry him up forty floors without breaking a sweat.”

  “I didn’t say he was heavy. I just don’t like to carry men around.”

  “You think I do?”

  “I don’t know what you like, and I don’t judge.”

  “You’re going to eat my fist in a minute.”

  “Bring it.”

  “I will if you don’t shut up.” Connor spun on the step, knocking Ian’s head against the wall as he did. Ian swore beneath the tape.

  “Hey, don’t kill him,” Dylan said. “I actually like him. I mean, it’s annoying how he thinks he’s better than us, but it’s not his fault he was born with a silver stick up his ass.”

  Connor started walking up the stairs again. “A spoon.”

  “No one puts a spoon up their ass.”

  “I don’t think anyone puts a stick there either. It’s a saying: silver spoon or stick up your ass. Not silver stick.”

  “Don’t pretend you know the difference. A few etiquette lessons from Claire doesn’t make you an expert on everything.”

  “Whatever. You’re not going to put me in a bad mood, Dylan. I feel like Robin Hood.”

  “What?”

  “Taking from the rich and giving to the poor.”

  “That doesn’t even fit what we’re doing.”

  “Yeah, in my head it made more sense. What I’m saying is I feel good about this.” Connor stopped and lowered Ian to his feet, leaning him back against the wall. “I have an idea.”

  Dylan placed the cart beside Ian. “Okay, shoot.”

  No, don’t shoot.

  “Is there a bag in the bottom of the cart? We could put it over his head and just carry him to her room like that. Forget the cart.”

  With the duct tape almost loose enough to free his hands, Ian bent into a seated position.

  “Just a towel, but I think he wants to sit in the cart,” Dylan said.

  Connor sighed, picked Ian up, and placed him inside the cart. Ian sat down, his head showing above the top, and used the position to completely free his hands. He kept them tucked behind him, though. This time he was the one who would have the element of surprise on his side. Connor placed the towel over his head and one of them opened the door to the hallway. Completely concealed as he was wheeled, Ian undid the tape from around his ankles.

  He was about to remove the tape from his mouth when a knock on a door was followed by the cart moving forward abruptly enough to send him off-balance.

  He was still trying to right himself when he heard Connor say, “Claire, we have a present for you . . .”

  Chapter Two

  Kade and Annie’s Wedding Reception, two hours earlier

  Weddings were supposed to be a time of celebration. They were all about sharing the joy of a loving couple.

  Claire Wendell slipped out of the main reception area into a quiet hallway. I am happy for Annie and Kade, I just need a little fresh air.

  The hallway led to a small garden courtyard. Claire pushed a glass door open and b reathed in the mix of flowers and night air. Most people probably used the area to smoke, however Claire didn’t have that vice.

  Annie teased her about being regimented, but Claire’s childhood had been full of uncertainty and chaos. Nothing and no one would ever take her back to that place. Structure made her feel safe. Routine brought her calm. Neither her success with her business nor her dress size had come to her easily. She’d fought for both.

  No sugar. No alcohol. Nothing that could be described as unhealthy or unproductive. She’d built her business, Claire’s Accountability Coaching Agency, on the idea of confidence via control, and she lived that mantra. Life was full of the unexpected. It often wasn’t fair, and it showed no mercy to the weak, but if a person kept their life structured and free of distraction, they could survive the worst of it.

  She was a living example to her clients, many of whom had catapulted to success before reaching out to her, yet were plagued by doubt. Everything changed when people came into money or fame. Relationships changed . . . even solid ones were tested. There was a reason so many people fell apart when they made it to the top . . . you can’t take everyone with you, and it’s a whole different world up there.

  A person either adapted or imploded.

  People thought they wanted fame until every move they made was dissected—and fed to the masses often harshly and inaccurately. Demon or saint, the media chose how to portray someone, and many people fell into the trap of defining themselves in terms of how the public saw them.

  Claire taught them how to focus their energy inward toward proactive, achievable goals and to define themselves in their own terms.

  Focus on what is within your control to affect and not on the noise of what you cannot.

  The calm she’d cultivated for herself and marketed to others, however, was being challenged by a growing fear that stepping away from her business might have damaged it more than she’d imagined it could.

  Almost daily, she received another email from a client who had, in her absence, come to the conclusion they didn’t require her services. None of her assurances that her time away was coming to an end swayed them. Apparently stepping away had given them time to see she’d organized their lives enough that they were self-sufficient. A few had found alternative support and didn’t want the disruption of switching back.