Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [103]
“Thanks, I might’ve missed that,” he chuckled.
Colin punched the button and started talking, “Oo-it’s Wash-o-rama. You pay it, we spray it. What can I do you for?” A big grin spread across his face and his eyebrows lifted. “Ah, Trevelyn . . . yes, the hired help is here, and yes, you may speak to him. However, remember this is a business, and we frown upon personal calls, just so you—”
Jago jerked the phone out of Colin’s hand, shooting him a glare. The quirky man sniggered playfully. “Trevelyn? Bet he wears shorts, too.”
Jago frowned at Colin, clearly indicating he should go away and not eavesdrop, but the pest just blinked his intelligent eyes and played innocent. It was too much to resist: Jago finally pressed the lever on the hose and let loose with the spray.
“Hey, hey!” Colin danced out of range. “Just for that, I’m going to go find your cat, kidnap him and hold him for ransom.”
“Well, while you’re torturing him, see if he’ll reveal his name.” Laughing, Jago finally put the phone to his ear. “Hello, brother dearest. I’m rather busy at the moment, so make it short, please.”
“Yeah, they’re getting ready to put you in a padded cell. I leave you alone for a few weeks and you get into trouble. Oo-it’s Wash-o-rama? Kidnapping and torturing your cat? What cat? Even more pressing, what the bloody hell is an Oo-it?”
The voice on the other end of the phone sounded different, the Brit accent stronger now. Also, Trev’s tone resonated with a tension, though being Trev the Omnipotent, he was trying to screen it. Someone else might miss these small changes, but not Jago; attuned to the man who was his mirror image, he always knew when Trevelyn was trying to hide something. Judging by his own situation, he figured that ‘something’ had to do with Trev being around Raven Montgomerie. Curiosity ate at him, made him ponder just how involved Trev was with Asha’s twin.
“Oo-it is the nickname for a quirky but strangely endearing character who works at The Windmill. Whole place is full of them.”
“Similar to Falgannon Isle. When I talk to Des, he sounds like he’s hip deep in oddballs. He’s also getting a hint of a Scottish burr; and you, brother dear, are acquiring a Kentucky twang,” Trev teased.
“While you are growing veddy Brit. Consider yourself lucky you didn’t go to Falgannon or here and escaped the local color. Your finicky temperament couldn’t handle it.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say I avoided eccentric people. There’s a small band of Gypsies camped on the Colford property. I’d think people living in wagons in this day and time ranks up there with out of the ordinary.” Trev exhaled, obviously stressed or tired. “How are things going?”
“I detect a note of concern,” Jago said.
“I wish this was all done. The pretense of being Trevelyn Sinclair wearies me. I’ve been buying up Montgomerie Enterprise stock left and right all week, yet keeping it slow enough not to draw attention. We’re gaining inroads. Still, I’d prefer the takeover to be a fait accompli. I dislike not being in contact with Des or you. I ring and ring and can’t reach either of you. I keep having dreams of the sisters getting together and comparing notes—then all hell breaks loose.”
“Between us, I’d prefer we just drop the plans, tell them the truth, now, before your dream becomes a reality . . . a nightmare.”
“Knowing what it would do to Des? It’d not just ruin him financially, but also what it would do to him. This isn’t about money. You know that,” Trevelyn argued. But there was less conviction to his words than there had been three weeks earlier.
Jago’s hand gripped the phone, fighting to keep from tossing it against the nearby tree. “There should be another way. The takeover will happen; Des has the wheels in motion and there’s no stopping it. Only, we can come clean first. Lay all our cards on the table. Do the deal straight on.”
“Des wants it this