Savage Grace (A Sydney Rye Mystery, #12)

by Emily Kimelman Gilvey

  The Her prophet had emerged from the bloodlands of the Syria-Iraq war zone. Initially an inspiration to women abused by Isis to seize control of their destinies, she’d become a global symbol of female empowerment. She’d also saved my life.

  “It’s a real battle of the sexes,” I say. “A war between men who can’t get laid and women who are sick of being told all they're good for is fucking.”

  Merl frowns. “It’s a bit more nuanced than that.”

  “Is it?”

  He sighs, his zen-like attitude often tried by my insistence on seeing the world in absolutes. “The Her prophet calls for the equality of women; that’s more than just not being seen as objects of sexual release. She is insisting that women rise up and take their place next to men—as equals. And the fact that she says God is telling her to preach this philosophy makes it a solid argument to a lot of women who’ve been told by religious texts that they are second-class citizens.”

  “Okay, so, maybe her message is broader. But what about the Incels? They literally named themselves after the fact that they can’t get laid.”

  “But their complaints are broader as well,” Anita says. A former reporter who now heads our public relations and marketing, Anita always likes to nail down facts. “They complain about women automatically getting custody of children. That men’s roles in the world have changed too quickly, leaving them and many others behind. That women say they want equality and nice guys but go after macho assholes. Just look at romance books.”

  Anita waves her hand, almost smacking Dan in the face as she dives into her topic. “The hero is always some alpha a-hole who is slightly softened by a woman’s willingness to submit to him.” She rolls her eyes.

  No one responds. “What?” She looks at Dan, who shrugs, and then back to the screen. “I’m the only one here who read Fifty Shades?”

  “I did,” Lenox answers. “And you’re right. Women like men to take control in the bedroom.” And he would know. “Even my most powerful clients enjoy giving up power once we—”

  “I think we’ve gone off topic,” Dan says. “We are trying to figure out who is attempting to kill Sydney, not unravel the mystery of male, female relationships throughout the ages.”

  “I’ll talk with Declan,” I say. “But I doubt he’ll tell me anything. Last I checked, he hated me.”

  “He did save your life,” Anita points out.

  I shrug. “Worth a try.”

  “I’m still in his computer,” Dan says, his attention drifting to another screen. He hacked in after Doyle saved my life—he was following me, hoping to catch me in one of my more vengeful moments. The man has had a hard on for taking me down since I escaped New York. But when an Incel member attempted to assassinate me, Doyle stepped in. Dan never trusts a knight in shining armor, one of the many things we have in common. “I can dig around. But he’s smartened up and doesn’t put much work stuff on there anymore.”

  “I think Ian is concentrating on Petra and me at the moment,” Lenox says. “He’s not exactly a big thinker. His brother, Michael, was the brains. I think Ian will take his revenge before anything else. I’m not saying the threat to Joyful Justice is over, just delayed.”

  Comforting.

  “Ian was working with the Incels,” Dan says. “Providing them with sex slaves. It’s possible the two are still working together to try to kill Sydney.”

  More comfort.

  “Yes,” Lenox agrees.

  “Maybe they weren’t even after me,” I say. “Maybe they were trying to kill Robert.” Everybody nods. Robert does piss a lot of people off. “I’ll talk with Declan,” I say. “Dan, you check out his computer. Lenox, you’ll continue to monitor the situation there. What’s next on the agenda?”

  We go over details about an addition Merl wants for the Costa Rica compound. Dan and Anita catch us up on the ongoing missions and a few that might become active soon. I try to pay attention, but it feels like all I’m doing is not telling them about my pregnancy. I want a chance to speak with Mulberry first…that’s the excuse I’m using at the moment to justify my silence.

  But eventually I will have to tell them. Not today, though. No, not today.

  Robert comes in as I’m putting away my computer. “Everything to your satisfaction?” he asks.

  “Yes, thank you for letting me use your office.” I can play the polite friendship game. I stand up and heft my backpack onto one shoulder. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

  I come around the desk and start for the door. Robert watches me go, a shock of electric something leaping between us as I step past him.

  “Mulberry isn’t right for you,” he says as I reach the door.

  I turn back to him. Sunlight spills in the windows, filling the office, and melting into the fine wool of Robert’s suit, tailored to every sharp line of him.

  “He’s the father of my child,” I say, the first time I’ve spoken the truth out loud.

  “But he doesn’t see you the way I see you.” Robert’s voice is low, almost stern, his fists clenched by his side as if he’s struggling not to do something with them. Grab me? Punch the wall?

  I’m staring at his hands now. At the blue veins running over the tops, the corded tendons, the whitening knuckles. He plays piano beautifully.

  “No,” I admit. “He doesn’t see me the way you do.”

  The fingers relax just a little, my acknowledgment giving him some kind of peace. “He can’t make you happy.” Robert’s voice is a low thrum, a deep bass.

  “No one can make another person happy.” I bring my eyes up to meet Robert’s, and he’s waiting there for me. Those blue-green eyes that reflect the warmth of the Caribbean and the ice of the Arctic holding my gaze the way those two bodies of water cradle a ship. I must be careful not to drown in them.

  “You don’t think people affect each other?” His lips twitch into a half smile—mocking and victorious.

  My back straightens, and his half smile turns into a full one. “We are all responsible for our actions.”

  He nods slowly, his gaze dropping to my stomach. “Yes.”

  I expect him to go on, but his lips close into a tight line instead.

  “What?” I ask, knowing there is more he wants to say.

  He gives a small shake of his head and turns away, walking to the far side of his desk, putting the glass and metal between us. I don’t want anything between us. The thought is quick, cracking and illuminating as a bolt of lightning.

  My hand rises to my belly, the fingers splaying protectively across it in a new gesture that is foreign and yet so natural. My mother did this, and her mother. I am struck suddenly by the magnitude and yet mundanity of this…of being an expectant mother. So many women have done this, and yet to each of us, it feels as if we are the first. The only.

  It is as if I can see the line of women behind me who labored my bloodline into existence—and a spidery filament of women who will come into existence because of my own labor. Because of this hand across my belly. Because I will do anything to protect this child and make sure that it, too, can one day parent.

  The urge for survival is a taste in my mouth, a scent on my skin, a sensation in my chest—it is everything.

  And Robert Maxim is a man who can help me survive.

  Chapter Five

  Sydney

  I wake up gasping in terror, wrapped in a bundle of sweaty sheets. I’m scared.

  Blue’s teeth nip at my heel, grounding me.

  The last five years I’ve invited danger, but now…I want safety. I want to stay alive. Even as the thrill and calm of battle gives me comfort, apparently it also gives me nightmares. Thanks, hormones.

  Lightning cracks outside, blaring white light through the strange bedroom, illuminating the modern lines of the furniture and washing out the bold colors of the art on the walls. Rain pelts the windows in a rat-tat rhythm of impatience.

  Responsibility for my unborn, unformed child chokes me—fear tightening my chest.


  This spark inside me is not more important than the lives I’ve saved…or the ones I’ve taken. But it’s mine. Mine even more than my life.

  A sickening sensation in my stomach blooms. I owe my mother a phone call. I owe her the chance to reconcile. For both of us to find peace.

  I don’t have her phone number. But Robert will have it. God, he looks after me—a trait that has rankled me in the past and that I’ve come to accept, without grace, in the present.

  I’m an asshole.

  A soft knock on the door…think of the devil. Blue gives a wag of his tail, confirming that it is someone we know.

  “Yes?” I say, pulling the sheets straight.

  The door eases open, and Robert’s trim shadow enters. “I heard screaming. A bad dream?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” The word comes out curt. I suck in a breath. “Thank you.” I try to recover some class.

  He nods and goes to leave. “Robert?”

  “Yes, Sydney?” He turns back into the room. Another crack of lightning throws the room into sharp relief, catching Robert in the doorway, his bed clothes pressed and hair rumpled, eyebrows raised, waiting for me to speak…always waiting for me.

  “Do you know where my mother is?”

  “Yes.”

  I swallow the lump trying to form in my throat—trying to keep the words contained, the request at bay. “Can I have her number? I think I owe her a phone call.”

  “You don’t owe anyone anything.” His words rumble along with the distant thunder.

  “Thank you, but I want to—”

  “Her phone is bugged. Homeland Security suspects she is involved in the bombing of the Incel group in Savannah.”

  “Was she?” I ask.

  “I don’t believe so.”

  I sigh. “So I can’t reach her.”

  “Of course you can.” Robert sounds insulted. He takes a step into the room. “We can drop her a burner phone. We can go see her. Whatever you want. We can make it happen.” This is a man who built an empire from nothing, designs his own weapons, does whatever he wants whenever he wants.

  “Do you know where Mulberry is?” I blurt out. Robert doesn’t flinch. He knows. “Don’t lie to me.”

  “Yes,” Robert says quietly.

  I can’t see his face in the darkness. “You know I need to talk to him.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You suppose?” My voice rises with anger. A fresh wave of rain slaps at the glass, seeming to back me up.

  “He abandoned you.”

  “I’m not going down this road with you again. He has a right to know I’m—” My voice cuts off. I still can’t finish that sentence. Not yet.

  “Pregnant,” Robert finishes for me. He doesn’t sound afraid of it. There is almost something possessive in his voice.

  “Right. I need to tell him. You know that.”

  Robert shrugs, all casual about this shitshow. “If you want. Which contact should I make for you first. Your mother or…”

  “The father of my child,” I finish for him this time.

  “Yes.” Curt, cold…bordering on cruel.

  “Where is he?” Silence stretches between us. “Dammit, Robert. Tell me!” I stand up, the sheets falling to the floor. Blue leaps to his feet, Nila rising next to him, while Frank continues to snore peacefully.

  Robert doesn’t flinch. I stalk over to him, anger making me brave and reckless. I want to punch someone. Fear is gone, replaced by my near constant companion over the last half decade—righteous rage.

  Lightning flashes, illuminating Robert’s smug smile and blazing eyes. “You’re gorgeous like this,” he says, reaching out and snagging me, using my forward momentum to pull me close.

  “Screw you,” I growl, stepping into him, placing a foot behind his ankle and pushing him into it. He goes down, dragging me with him. We hit the floor, his hands on my waist, mine on his shoulders. My hair falls around us, creating a shadowed, intimate world between just the two of us as thunder rolls through the room in thrumming waves.

  Blue and Nila watch, hackles raised, waiting for my command. Frank stirs, his collar jangling.

  “Please do,” Robert says.

  Stupid, arrogant bastard. My hands bunch into fists, gripping his soft pajamas. “Why are you like this? You have to hold everything over me. You can’t ever just…” I run out of words.

  Robert’s body tightens under me and his eyes shutter, but the man doesn’t speak.

  “Well?” I shake him a little. “Why? Why can’t you just help me without there being some strings attached? Something in it for you.”

  His eyes narrow now, anger sparking. Good. I hate being the only angry asshole in the room.

  “What more could I do for you?” Robert asks, his voice even, void of the emotion in his gaze. “How much more could one man offer a woman? I saved your life.”

  “You’ve tried to kill me.”

  He ignores my point and goes on. “Provided protection, luxury, and a place to heal. You were broken, Sydney, I stayed with you. Fought for you. I am the one who is by your side. No one else.” He blinks. “Except Blue.”

  “Selfless martyr doesn’t suit you.”

  “No. It doesn’t.” He grabs my hair and pulls me in, crushing his lips to mine. But I’m not falling for this again. I rear back, open my fist, and slap his fucking face. The crack of skin against skin is louder than the lightning. His head jerks, and when he looks back at me, there is blood on his lip.

  Fuck.

  Robert slowly smiles, his split lip oozing. He explores the wound with his tongue. “Nothing great was ever easy to obtain.”

  “Obtain this, jackass.” I go to slap him again but he catches my wrist this time.

  “I plan to.”

  “Tell me where Mulberry is.”

  His eyes narrow and his fingers tighten on my wrist. “Florida.”

  “Florida?”

  “Gulf coast. Dan knows too, I’m sure.”

  They both lied to me. But Dan doesn’t know why I need to speak to Mulberry, and Robert does. “Dan was protecting his friend’s privacy; you’ve been protecting your own interests.”

  “And you, I’ve been protecting you.” Robert says. My jaw tightens at his words. I can’t count on him to survive. I need to be on my own. Take care of myself for a while. “I keep telling you Mulberry is wrong for you. I honestly believe that. He’s not nearly strong enough to handle you. All your darkness…all your passion.”

  I shake my head and go to stand, but Robert still has my wrist. He sits up, pulling it close so that I’m sitting on his freaking lap now. I twist my hand, breaking his hold and rise, standing over him. “I’m leaving,” I say.

  It’s too dark for me to see his face clearly but I hear a soft intake of breath. He doesn’t try to stop me when I step away from him and move toward my backpack. Blue and Nila follow me. They have my back.

  “I will take you to Mulberry,” Robert says.

  “I need to do this alone.” I start grabbing my clothing off the floor and shove it into my bag with my laptop and hot spot. Frank stands up and shakes, sleepy eyes searching out his sister for some direction. I can’t keep leaning on Robert Maxim. He’s dangerous. And so am I. Two dangerous people don’t make a safe place.

  “As you wish,” Robert says.

  He closes the door when he leaves, and I let out a long, slow breath. Blue’s wet nose taps my closed fist. We don’t need Robert freaking Maxim.

  Robert

  If you love them let them go. If they return…

  The advice of losers. I let Sydney walk out of my apartment. Even gave her Mulberry’s location. But I’m not letting her go. No, this is all a part of the plan. Show her what it’s like to move through the world without me.

  Getting to Florida is going to be a challenge with three giant dogs and no access to my private aircrafts.

  When she does get there, she’ll realize tha
t Mulberry can’t handle her. I’m the only man who can last that particular storm. I’ll go see Mulberry myself and talk to him…talk.

  “Sir.” I glance up from the tablet in my lap at the secretary interrupting my train of thought. Dowdy and efficient, her eyes meet mine with just the right amount of fear in them. “The Frangellicas are here.”

  “I’ll meet them in the conference room. You’ve offered them refreshments?”

  “Of course, Mr. Maxim.”

  She leaves to escort our guests, and I lock the tablet in my desk drawer before heading to the conference room. The Panama City office is not as large as the one in Colombia, but we needed to evacuate. Not the first time I’ve fled that nation.

  Josh and Amy Frangellica sit with their backs to the wall of glass windows, pale blue eyes trained on the door—a healthy suspicion in their gaze.

  We were cast in the same crucible.

  They rise as I enter. “Thank you for coming to Panama City,” I say. “Sorry we didn’t get to see each other in Colombia.”

  Amy steps forward and we embrace. She wears the years well. Only a few months younger than me, her hair has maintained its rich chestnut tone, and the wrinkles that line her face are elegant, giving her an air of sophistication. The scar on her neck is faded—but my eyes are drawn to it anyway. If you didn’t know it was there, you might not notice it. But I was there when it happened and will never forget.

  Her brother, Josh, clasps my hand, pulling me into a hug. “Good to see you, Robert.” Five years my junior, Josh could barely grow a beard when we met. Now, his whiskers are peppered with silver.

  There are few men I let hug me. But when you’ve survived captivity and escaped together through a jungle rife with danger, an embrace is appropriate.

  We take our seats. “Tell me,” I say. “What can I do for you?”

  Josh and Amy glance at each other before Amy speaks. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “I assumed as much,” I say with a shrug. “Usually we meet for dinner and drink too much fine wine.” I smile. “Wanting to meet in my offices clued me in that this wasn’t a social call.”