Finding Summer - Suzanne Halliday Page 0,185

to be aired too.”

Arnie rose and left the room without so much as a nod at those gathered. Fuck ’em. He had to find his brother. Quickly.

Without questioning why or straining to formulate a plan, he let instinct take the wheel. Like a horse with blinders on, he headed to his guest suite and on autopilot, pulled a black shirt and pants from his bags.

It took no time at all to change his clothes. He put his phone in a pocket but nothing else.

Leaving the main house by a side door, he avoided the outside lights and slipped into the shadows. His feet led the way on a familiar route. He passed the long garage, and rather than walk a flagstone pathway in the open, he skirted behind a line of trees on his way to the tennis court.

Drawn to the small adjoining pavilion like a bee in search of nectar, Arnie crept closer until he found what he was searching for. Stan. Only he wasn’t alone. Giselle was there.

They were arguing. Arnie couldn’t hear their words, but their body language came through loud and clear. Spittle flew as they screamed at each other. Stan was the color of fruit punch, and Giselle appeared unusually agitated and quite the worse for wear. In fact, Arnie couldn’t remember ever seeing her with a hair out of place, much less looking like a madwoman.

She was waving her arms and pointing at Stan. It all reeked of threat. Anger burned inside Arnie. He didn’t need to know what was going on to wish for Stan to wipe up the floor with her evilness, once and for all. The kid earned it. She was a shit parent who used her only son to finance her life. It would do his brother a world of good to put his foot down.

Something happened in their confrontation that made Stan go off like a land mine. He went crazy, screaming in her face until she finally cowered.

Arnie watched Stan use his body to back her into a literal corner while he spat angry words in her face. It happened so quickly he wasn’t prepared when Stan’s hand shot out and grabbed his mother by the throat.

He froze. His brain screamed, “What the fucking fuck?”

Giselle fought back for a second, and then, unbelievably, she kneed her son in the nuts. Stan let go, and she jumped on him. There ensued a knock-down, drag-out physical confrontation. They appeared to be battling over an object. Arnie squinted for a better look, but the kerfuffle was spiraling out of control.

Stan was victorious over whatever they fought for control of. He waved something small in the air and slipped it in his pocket. A bloody collar was the result of scratches on his neck left there by his mother.

Giselle freaked. Her aggression turned to begging. Tears were involved. Stan pushed her away, and in the most awesome moment Arnie ever witnessed, his brother snarled at her and then spit. She appeared shocked out of her mind.

Without another word, Stan turned and walked away.

Arnie had only seconds to decide what to do. Make his presence known or follow his brother to see what happened next. He went with instinct and lurked in the shadows as Stan made a beeline for the main house. Right before he entered through a back door, he stopped, straightened his tie, and took a deep breath. Then he reached into a pocket, withdrew his phone, and made a call.

“Hi. Dad? We have a situation.”

25

Apprehension filled Arnie as he watched Stan and their dad argue from across the room. No matter what anyone said, his brother refused to give up what he took from Giselle. He just kept saying, “Not yet.” Not until Bruce Wells joined the conversation.

Something big hung heavily in the air, making it hard to catch enough oxygen to fill his lungs. The way Stan looked at Arnie made a squadron of butterflies go crazy in his gut, and his father’s unglued manner only added to the surreal vibe.

How the hell had he earned a starring role in this strange situation? Damn, if he knew.

Stan marched to the bar cart in Arnie’s suite and concocted a dirty martini. Panicked by what he thought was a front row seat watching his brother fall off the wagon, he was taken aback when the drink ended up pressed into his hand.

“Drink this,” Stan muttered. “You’re going to need it.”

“Do as he says, son,” their dad added, his face a