Primal Bargains

by Raleigh Davis

  Bishop pinches the bridge of his nose. “That explains so much of what you did right after. Jesus, Raven thought you were having a nervous breakdown. Or that you were pissed at her. At her.”

  Cassian runs the tip of his tongue over the edge of his teeth. “No, it makes sense. No one else knows about the books; no one else would care. And what does Gideon have that the rest of us don’t? Tynan’s notebook. That’s why you asked if any of us had decoded ours.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Gage says.

  Archer merely watches all of us.

  “You really thought of us first. You immediately thought we’d turn on you.” Bishop’s stance is cold, hard.

  “It’s not like we’ve stuck together all these years out of brotherly love.” I don’t back down. “Remember why we have to stick together?”

  “Didn’t we?” Archer asks softly.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Gage snaps. “We’re all stuck in this shit together, thanks to what we did.” His gaze swings toward me. “Fine, you trust us now. Do we really have all the information? Anything else you’re holding back?”

  “No.” I hold his gaze, steady as he is.

  Cassian inhales long and sharp, clearing the atmosphere. “So we’re back to blackmail. But who?”

  “Or something valuable hidden in the notebook,” I point out.

  Bishop lifts a hand. “So what does the book say?”

  We look to Archer.

  “I don’t know.”

  We all groan.

  “Look, it’s much more complicated than any other puzzle Ira made for us. I’ve identified some repeating elements through the books, meaning that he probably used the same cipher for all six of them.”

  My expression sags. “He could have invented six different ciphers?” Fuck, we never would have cracked that.

  “Potentially. But he doesn’t. There’s a key, I just… I have to think about what Ira would have done. How he thought.” His tone is strained. “It’s been a while.”

  The entire room is tense because we all miss him and we’re all responsible for him being gone.

  I want to snarl, to roar, to place all this… darkness somewhere else.

  I want Tess. Somehow all this doesn’t seem so fucking awful when she’s around. It used to be that these guys also made it less awful.

  I sigh and turn my head slightly. The picture on the laptop is still there. Still eerily familiar.

  “We’re all doing what we can,” I say. “And maybe we’re all freaking out over nothing. It’s been only two break-ins; nothing got taken.”

  “You got your ass kicked.” Gage is cheered by the thought. “Twice, it looks like.”

  “Is that a mark for or against freaking out?” I ask.

  “It’s a mark for celebrating,” Cassian says. “Your getting taken down a peg always is.”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” I say with supreme dryness. But the dark weight in my chest has lightened up.

  “Speaking of getting taken down a peg,” Bishop says, “is your gala still on? Raven was wondering.”

  After this recent break-in, I’m tempted to cancel the whole damn thing. Just hole up here with Tess and tell my parents to fuck off like she wants me to.

  But my team would be devastated, my clinic would lose out on great publicity, and my gala promises to bring a thousand potential donors swarming through the hospital. These guys are supposed to be there too, along with Raven and Morgan. I’m sure Axel will come along, checking his angles for Instagram.

  Tess would come if I ask her to. She’d know these guys, so it wouldn’t be awkward. And she’d know me.

  She’d be on my arm. My date, my partner, smiling next to me as everyone told me how fucking amazing I was. She’d believe it too.

  “Of course it’s still on,” I say. “I can’t cancel. Are you going with Raven?”

  Bishop flushes. “We’re not going together.” The muscles in his shoulders bunch. “I offered her a ride. She doesn’t like driving in the City.”

  “Does Tess like driving in the City?” Cassian asks me, so very neutrally.

  “Fuck off,” I say. “And be nice to her at the gala.”

  Chapter 30

  I’ve hardly seen Tess today, and I’m grumpy as all hell about it. I was busy with all kinds of bullshit, and she was finishing up the install of the security system and getting the drones together. I can hear one overhead now, a steady, low buzz in the air. A low-flying robot spying on me from above is kind of creepy when I think about it too long, so I don’t.

  Once we get to the bottom of all this, I can stop with the drones. I can stop with a lot of this bullshit.

  Tess texted me today to say she had less than a week until she was finished with the security system, which means she’ll be done in a month.

  It’s only been three weeks since I met her, but I don’t want her to go.

  I look at her in the bed. My bed. Her hair streams around her, a silken cloud of browns and golds and auburns. I never knew a woman’s hair could hold so many colors.

  I never knew a woman could hold so much of my heart.

  This is a serious problem, my falling so fast for her and right in the middle of a shit storm like this. But I don’t think I can stop it. Even if I wanted to.

  Tess stretches and blinks up at me. She smiles like she was just dreaming of me.

  “Come with me to the gala,” I say suddenly.

  Her eyebrows jump. “You’re going?” She sits up, pulling the sheet to her chest. “But this whole thing with the intruder… You’re going to leave the house?”

  “I’ll go if you do.”

  Her mouth flattens. “That makes it sound like you don’t want to go.”

  “I don’t.” I sit on the bed next to her. I can feel the warmth of her through the sheets. “It’s just going to be a bunch of rich assholes patting themselves on the back about how amazing they are for donating some money.”

  “Aren’t you one of those rich assholes?”

  I swallow hard. “My parents are going to be there.”

  Her face softens. “Oh Gideon.” She cups my jaw. Her touch is softly painful, cracking open that wound I’d thought was healed.

  “I’m not asking because of them. It’s not like I want you to meet them.” I wince. “That came out wrong. I don’t want you to have to deal with them.”

  I’m not to the point where I can tell them to fuck off, but I can handle them. Tess shouldn’t have to.

  “I don’t mind,” she says softly. “I can deal with anything. For you.”

  God, what those two simple words do to me… I have to close my eyes for a moment. It’s too much. She makes me feel too much.

  “Including a gala filled with rich assholes?” I ask, giving her one last chance to say no.

  “As long as you’ll be one of the assholes.” Her expression clouds. “I don’t really have a nice gown. And I don’t think my business suits will cut it. Not that I’m asking you to buy anything,” she says hurriedly.

  Gowns. She’s worried about gowns. “Buy as many dresses as you want. Get your hair done, your makeup—go balls to the wall.”

  “You’ve already given me too much.”

  I stroke her hair, which spills over her shoulders. So soft and thick, more luxurious than the finest silk. But not so fine as her skin. “I’m not giving you anything.” Although I’d give her whatever she might ask for at this point. “You’re buying it yourself. With my credit card.”

  Her mouth twitches. “You’re splitting hairs.”

  “It’s just money.”

  Her expression flickers. “That’s not something I’d ever think.”

  Christ, I shouldn’t have said that. Money’s not a joke to her. “Okay, well, think of it this way. I want you there with me. You need a gown to be there with me, as I’ve so selfishly demanded. So I’m forcing you to buy a dress. I’m being monstrous here, not nice. Does that convince you?”

  Her hand runs over my shoulders. “I like you better whe
n you’re beastly, so yes.”

  “You’re the only person in the world who does.”

  Heat flares in her gaze. “Did Gage find a name?” She’s trailing her fingers over my chest. Which makes it hard for me to think about anything but her.

  “No. He’s got her on a few security cameras in places overseas, including a bank. But nothing with a name on it. He’s checking the bank records now.”

  She blinks, slow and steady. “What’s in the notebook?”

  “We don’t know.”

  If she’s surprised by my response, she doesn’t show it.

  “They’re all written in a code,” I explain. “Ira was always giving us puzzles to solve. And he left us the biggest one of all in his will. We… After he died, we didn’t really want to do puzzles anymore. So we didn’t bother to decipher them.”

  “And Raven and Morgan got nothing?”

  “He didn’t make puzzles for them.” I frown. “It wouldn’t be them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Ira was always pushing us. He wanted us to live up to our potential, to do better, but we were also… projects to him. His girls weren’t anything like that for him. They were just… his kids.”

  I don’t have to elaborate—Tess immediately understands. “Then who? If it’s not Raven or Morgan or Archer or Bishop or Cassian or Gage, then who?”

  I stroke her hair and don’t answer. I don’t have any answers. Strangely, when I’m holding Tess, that doesn’t matter so much. All the bits and fragments of this thing that won’t assemble into something recognizable aren’t so looming. Gage will find a name and Archer will decode the books—the intruder can’t hide forever. And I’m willing to wait as long as it takes, as long as Tess is with me.

  Tess makes the past and its echoes manageable. She makes me want to look to the future. Like this gala.

  Suddenly I want this intruder problem gone and not simply because Tynan’s notebook is my sacred trust and no one will touch it. I want it gone because it’s standing between Tess and me and whatever we might have without that hanging over us.

  You know what? Fuck this intruder and whatever game she’s playing.

  I’m going to that gala, and I’m going to enjoy it. I’m going to enjoy the fuck out of it. I’m going to show off everything I’ve accomplished since Ira died, to my parents, to the guys, to the entire world.

  And I’m going to do it with Tess by my side.

  Chapter 31

  “I don’t think this is the place we should be looking.”

  I take in the rotunda and stained glass soaring above me, everything about the store—Neiman Marcus at Union Square—screaming that it’s not for someone like me.

  Victoria grabs my arm and drags me along. “You’ve got a limitless credit line sitting in your purse,” she says. “This place is definitely for you.”

  “Maybe I should get something I can wear again.”

  We pass a beauty counter that looks like the inside of a sci-fi lab. Like they’re ready to reprogram you at the cellular level to make you more attractive.

  “If it’s something you can wear again, then it’s not nice enough.”

  I can’t argue with that. “I never even had a prom dress.”

  “We had formals at West Point.” Victoria shudders but she never slows down. She’s on a mission. “There was a flipping PowerPoint explaining the dress code. I’m going to enjoy this vicariously at least.”

  My phone buzzes. As I read the text message Gideon sent, I start to smile. “Awww.”

  Victoria sighs. “Do I want to know? Can you even share it?”

  I hold the phone in front of her face. “Gideon wants you to come to the gala too. And he wants you to get a dress. His treat.”

  Victoria looks torn. “I really shouldn’t. I mean, he’s your boyfriend.”

  That catches me up short. Is he really? What we have feels more compressed and intense than simple dating, but there’s not a good word for it. “He’s my looover.”

  She snorts. “Please don’t ever use that word again. I almost lost my lunch. At any rate, your…” She pretends to gag. “Whatever he is, it’s improper for him to buy me clothes.”

  I stop in front of a shoe display that looks like it belongs in a movie about Marie Antoinette. “Did you get that from a Jane Austen movie?”

  “No.” She catches sight of the shoes and her eyes go wide. “I don’t think I could even walk in those, but I want them.”

  I nudge her. “And maybe a dress to go with them?”

  She pinches her lips together.

  “Come on,” I wheedle. “If you don’t go, I’ll be all by myself. Surrounded by the richest people in Silicon Valley with nothing to talk about. Like, someone’s going to talk about their latest jade-egg vagina-steaming session and how amazing it was, and I’ll have nothing.”

  Victoria is laughing so hard she’s doubled over. Some of the other shoppers are staring, but I ignore them.

  “Okay,” she says as she tries to catch her breath. “I’ll come, just to save you from vagina-steaming conversations.”

  I give her a half hug. “Thank you,” I say sincerely. “I didn’t want to go in there alone. And hey, we can do some networking. Wealthy people need security systems.”

  Victoria makes a noise that could mean anything. “You wouldn’t be alone,” she says carefully. “There’s always Gideon.”

  My heart sinks, although I understand. “You still don’t like him.”

  She starts to say something, rethinks it. “It’s not that. You’re so different with him than you ever were with any other guy. It’s hard to get my head around it because it’s not exactly a normal relationship.”

  That’s very true, but the weirdness of how I met him and the crazy shit going on around him doesn’t change how I feel about him. “I like him.”

  “I know. And I have to admit I really like who you are with him. You’re… giddy.” She pulls a face briefly.

  “Giddy is bad?”

  “Giddy is good. And honestly, I am coming around to the idea of you two together. I’m glad you’re happy. Like, really glad.”

  That gives me a warm tingling all over. I squeeze her arm. “Thanks. It means a lot.”

  She bumps my hip, Victoria’s version of a bear hug. “If you’re happy, I’ll be happy for you.”

  My phone buzzes again. This time Gideon’s texted, Where are you shopping?

  Neiman’s, I text back. Is that okay?

  Suddenly I feel like maybe a dress from here would be too much, that I’ve overstepped by coming. There are probably more expensive stores in San Francisco, but I don’t know what those stores are. This was my idea of the most high-end place to go.

  Perfect, he replies. Get whatever you guys want.

  I release an exhale. “Okay, let’s do this thing.”

  By the time we find the formal wear, we’ve done an extended tour of the store, stopping to look at some of the price tags. I feel faintly dizzy every time I see what some of these things cost.

  “Ms. Robards.” A salesperson comes up to me right away, sleek and sophisticated. She’s wearing a blouse and skirt that fit her perfectly and are elegant without being flashy. I immediately feel very, very plain.

  “Yes? Is there a problem?” They know already that this is not my credit card, that I don’t belong in a place like this, and I’m about to suffer the utter humiliation of being asked to leave.

  Victoria comes to my side, chin up, ready to do battle.

  “No, not at all.” The woman’s smile never flickers. “I’m Gina Weatherby.” She offers to shake. We both introduce ourselves as we do. “Mr. Wolfe called and said you would be coming. We have a private room for you to view the gowns in if you’d be more comfortable that way.”

  A private room? I bet it comes with free champagne. And I guess that’s what Gideon was up to, asking me where we were.

  “Sure. We’d love that.” I try to be smooth but fail, because private room. All for me t
o look at fancy dresses.

  Becoming Cinderella is a fantasy I thought I’d left behind as a kid, but it turns out that living it out as an adult is pretty neat.

  Victoria and I exchange goggle-eyed expressions, hastily wiping them off our faces when Gina ushers us into our private room.

  I can’t help my gasp. It’s a perfect jewel of a room with tasteful wallpaper, low velvet couches, and a three-way mirror discreetly tucked into a corner. It’s a room to languidly lounge in, sipping champagne and eating chocolate-covered strawberries, and maybe, if you feel like it, trying on fifty-thousand-dollar dresses.

  Speaking of the champagne and strawberries, there’s an ice bucket with a bottle waiting and a tray of assorted tidbits.

  “Will this do?”

  It’ll more than do. I try not to look so stunned as I take a seat. “This is perfect.” I take a breath, wondering how I’m supposed to start this. Do I go out and point out the gowns I want?

  “Mr. Wolfe suggested something that would bring out your hair,” Gina says.

  I finger a strand of my hair, my face twisting up. This hair? It’s… brown. Not sable, not chocolate, not even dark blond. Plain old brown. Like a crayon straight from the box.

  “Um, I can’t—”

  “That’d be great,” Victoria says.

  “She needs something too. Something to bring out her eyes.”

  Victoria’s eyes, which are a lovely greenish gray, narrow at me. “Right.”

  I grin back at her.

  “I’m sure we have something that will work.”

  Five minutes later, we’re in the shopping montage from a movie. There’re a ton of gorgeous dresses hanging on a rack—no throwing these gowns on the floor—the champagne is delicious, and Gina is determined to make us happy no matter what.

  “I’m sorry that last one didn’t work out,” she says even though she has nothing to apologize for. The dress was beautiful on the hanger, and it was me that made it look like an overpriced sack.

  “I’ve got too many curves.” The champagne is making me giddy, because normally I’d never say anything like that.

  “Shut up,” Victoria says. “You know that’s not true.”