Red After Dark: A Romantic Thriller (Blackwood Security Book 13)

by Elise Noble

  “Great. We’d better get started, then. Don’t you have a TV interview to do?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’ll have an associate stop by. Her name’s Daniela, and she’ll speak to your ranch hands and the nurse. Any idea where I can find Kyla?”

  “You’re going to talk to her?”

  “Know thine enemy.”

  Ah, shit. Now Emmy was paraphrasing Sun Tzu. The Art of War was Black’s favourite book, and if he was pulling the strings from behind the scenes, then things had the potential to turn ugly. Uglier. Was it too late to go back to Thailand?

  “She has an estate near here,” Hegler said, ever the helpful one. “It used to belong to her parents before they died, although I hear she remodelled extensively. But I don’t think she’ll be there right now—all the candidates have a debate this afternoon.”

  “Where?”

  “The new convention centre in Frankfort.”

  Gee, guess where they’d be heading next? Although it could be interesting. Alaric had never seen Kyla Devane in person, and he was curious to see how she acted when the cameras weren’t on her.

  “What time?”

  “The formalities start at four.”

  “Then we’d better head over there.”

  “I think it’s ticketed, but I know plenty of people,” Hegler said. “You’d better give me your number, and I’ll find someone who can get you in.”

  Access really wouldn’t have been a problem, but it was a nice gesture. Alaric handed over a business card and Emmy followed suit. Sirius Consulting and Blackwood Security. In the intelligence field, the two firms were the equivalent of a minnow and a blue whale respectively.

  “Thanks.” Emmy pocketed Hegler’s card in return and turned back to Harriet. “So, what are you planning to say in this interview? Are you going to endorse Biggs?”

  “Ugh, no way.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, ashamed of her gut reaction. “I mean, no, I’m going to avoid that.”

  “What’s so bad about Biggs?”

  “He’s been to a few of Daddy’s gatherings. At the last one, he followed me out to the barn and propositioned me while his wife was inside with the children. My father might have made mistakes, but I’m fairly certain he never tried to take advantage of a friend’s daughter. His only transgression was with Dominique, and my mother drove him to that.”

  “She was the neediest woman I’ve ever met,” Hegler muttered.

  What a family.

  “So you’ll be voting Democrat, then?” Alaric asked, half joking.

  “If I vote at all. Aidan O’Shaughnessy’s a centrist, and so am I. Our views aren’t a million miles apart, but I can hardly come out and say that, can I? I’ll come across as bitter if I back the opposition, and besides, I don’t want to upset Daddy.”

  “Go with your heart,” Emmy told her. “You’ve never considered running for your father’s seat? It sounds as though you care.”

  “Me, run for office? Are you joking? I’ve seen enough politics to last me a lifetime.”

  CHAPTER 8 - EMMY

  “THERE SHE IS,” Alaric murmured. “Kyla Devane.”

  To give Stéphane his credit, he’d got us decent seats. We were three rows from the front, at eye level with Devane’s stilettos as she strode to her podium with a tablet computer. She was wearing a pair of Giuseppe Zanottis if I wasn’t mistaken—Bradley had educated me well. Those were thousand-dollar shoes, perhaps not the best choice for an audience made up of mainly blue-collar workers. The five-thousand-seat arena was full of red shirts for Biggs, blue shirts for O’Shaughnessy, and a particularly vocal contingent of yellow-clad supporters for Kyla. Thank goodness I’d worn black. I’d also worn a brown wig, which was itching, and a pair of plastic-framed glasses that could have been borrowed from Clark Kent.

  “This is San Pellegrino,” Kyla hissed at someone offstage. “I said Evian.”

  A young blonde dashed forward. An intern? “Ms. Devane, I’m so sorry.”

  “Just get rid of it. The Italians are not our friends right now.”

  Was she referring to the Italian ambassador trashing her plans for an import tax on Parmesan cheese and prosciutto? And if so, did she realise where her shoes came from?

  I spotted Aidan O’Shaughnessy in the wings, sitting on a plastic chair with a laptop balanced on his knees, jacket off and tie loosened. Still tweaking his speech? Tsk tsk tsk. Surely he should have come prepared?

  Actually… My phone pinged, and I almost choked on my popcorn. Black had tasked Nate with keeping me updated on Devane-related developments, and it seemed that Harriet had taken my earlier words to heart and backed O’Shaughnessy. I showed the news article to Alaric.

  “Whoa. I thought she was gonna hedge her bets?”

  “All or nothing, Prince.”

  And in that case, I’d forgive O’Shaughnessy for the last-minute adjustments. Perhaps he wanted to add something about cross-party support. A small smile played across his lips. Yeah, he’d seen the news.

  Biggs, on the other hand, looked tense. He’d claimed the space at the other side of the stage, and every so often, I caught sight of him as he paced. Was that his wife with him? She seemed more concerned with keeping out of his way than with offering support.

  The moderator appeared, microphone in hand, and Kyla smoothed the curtain of sleek mahogany hair that hung just past her shoulders. The front had been artfully twisted away from her face and pinned to the side. She’d gone with a navy-blue pantsuit today, which might have come across as conservative without the cleavage-baring top underneath. And was that necklace a real sapphire?

  Tap tap tap. Sound check. The two men filed onto the stage and took their places either side of Kyla. Out of the three of them, she looked the most self-assured. Biggs had to be on the back foot after the twin snubs from Harriet and her father.

  “Welcome, folks. It’s great to see you here at the Jincheng Arena”—yes, Kentucky’s newest venue was sponsored by a Chinese beer brand—“for what promises to be a historic debate. With the polls for the senatorial election balanced on a knife-edge, this is your chance to hear from our three candidates. We’ll let each of them introduce themselves, and then we’ll challenge them with questions on the issues y’all want to hear about. Kyla Devane, would you like to start?”

  “Thanks, Marty.” Kyla gestured towards the audience. “And thank you for coming today. It’s wonderful to see so many friends from the place I call home.” Cue rabid cheering from the yellow section. “So, why am I here on stage today? Well, there’s nothing I love more than my state, my country, and the people who make it great. When I’m elected senator, I’ll make real changes to the lives of Kentuckians. My background isn’t in politics. I’m not a pencil pusher. Let’s do away with all the red tape that stifles business and remove the wasted layers of bureaucracy. Mr. O’Shaughnessy wants to tighten up regulations, and Mr. Biggs… Well, he’s a lawyer. What can I say?”

  Laughter answered her question, and she carried on, flipping and flopping from point to point, ad-libbing from a speech somebody else obviously wrote. She wanted to increase police numbers but cut costs. Improve medical care yet do away with the rules governing health insurance. Give families more money in their pockets yet abolish the minimum wage. Did she give any specifics on how she might achieve these objectives? No, but she did throw some barbs at her opponents. Biggs’s father-in-law was a crook, apparently, and O’Shaughnessy once punched a man in a college bar brawl, which clearly meant he was a violent thug. Good grief. Didn’t everyone get into bar brawls? Oh. Just me? Okay then. Anyhow, Kyla was nasty. Even Biggs looked uncomfortable when she laid into O’Shaughnessy.

  I tuned out during Biggs’s spiel. Man, I hated politics. Even when I’d been screwing around with James, I’d avoided listening to his speeches. He used to practise them in front of the mirror, then ask me what I thought, and I’d thank my lucky stars Black had taught me to lie so well. How was Dan getting on? Her email update said she’
d interviewed the ranch hands, and neither of them remembered anything useful. The agency was trying to get ahold of the nurse who’d been on duty that day. Irvine Carnes was sleeping, but Harriet had agreed Dan could speak with him when he woke up.

  That was the popcorn finished, and I was still hungry. I laid my head on Alaric’s shoulder.

  “Is it over yet?” I whispered as Biggs handed over to O’Shaughnessy. “I’m so bored.”

  “You were the one who wanted to come.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve made my assessment now. Kyla’s a bitch. Harriet was right.”

  We should’ve taken the opportunity to nose around Devane’s place, not Carnes’s. Maybe we’d find an art gallery? A row of stolen paintings, hidden away in— What the fuck? Alaric spat a mouthful of cola, and the entire auditorium gasped.

  I looked up. Holy mother of…

  O’Shaughnessy’s facts and figures about Kentucky employment rates had been replaced by a video. Two men, grunting away as one thrust into the other’s ass. Actually, scratch that. The one on the bottom was more of a boy. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Fucking hell. It wasn’t a cheap home movie, either. No, it looked professionally produced. The room was furnished expensively, even opulently, and both of the participants were well-groomed. The throes of…not passion exactly, because the boy didn’t look happy to be there…whatever, they carried on for about ten seconds before someone hit pause. On a close-up. Testicles the size of gym balls filled the screen.

  “Still bored, Cinders?” Alaric whispered, and I snorted before I could help myself. Some old woman in a scarlet jersey gave me a dirty look.

  Up on stage, the candidates and the moderator were all frozen. The colour drained out of O’Shaughnessy’s face, as was to be expected with his election hopes circling the drain. And perhaps his freedom too if that kid was underage.

  But Kyla… Kyla’s lips twitched in the faintest smirk.

  Pleased at the death of her foe’s political career? Or satisfied with her handiwork?

  Her gaze flicked to the left, and I followed her line of sight. She was looking at a man. I only caught a glimpse of him, but he seemed familiar. Where had I seen him before? I was still puzzling over the question when the auditorium came back to life, and so did the AV techs. The screen went dark as the moderator stuttered into his microphone.

  “Well, folks, I, uh, think we’ll take a short break here.”

  The lights over the stage dimmed. Kyla strode off, chin high, and Biggs shuffled along behind her. O’Shaughnessy didn’t move. Was he in shock? Eventually, when the jeers from the crowd started, the moderator steered him away.

  Who was that guy?

  I used the confusion to slip past a security guard—not one of Blackwood’s, I hasten to add—and headed to the spot where I’d seen him last. Where had he gone? A set of nearby stairs led down into the bowels of the building, and I trotted in the most likely direction.

  “Why are we backstage?” Alaric asked from right behind me.

  “I saw someone.”

  “Anyone in particular? Or just ‘someone’?”

  “A guy.”

  “That narrows it down.”

  “Where did Kyla go?”

  Alaric stopped a harried-looking girl passing in the other direction. “Where can I find Kyla Devane?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Aaron Meister, Bowling Green Daily News. We have an interview scheduled. I’m not sure quite what happened out there, but it looks as though the debate finished early?”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure either. Her dressing room’s along that hallway, first door on the left.”

  “Thanks, ma’am.”

  I didn’t waste time hanging around. If Kyla was going to have a conversation about the incident on stage, then I wanted to be first in line to overhear it. I spotted a clipboard on a nearby table and tucked it under my arm to give myself some cover. Was I too old to be an intern?

  We rounded the corner, and I spotted my target ahead. Dark grey suit, shortish blond hair with a fringe that flopped over his forehead, an aquiline nose, broad shoulders, and only six feet from the emergency exit. Shit.

  “Ma’am, you can’t come down here.”

  A two-hundred-pound gorilla stepped out in front of us, and I held up my clipboard.

  “I’m just taking a journalist to Ms. Devane.”

  “She’s not speaking to any journalists today.”

  “But my boss said—”

  “In here, I’m the boss. And I’m telling you, she’s not doing any interviews today.”

  Didn’t matter. I had what I needed. The blond guy had turned, curious, and I recalled who he reminded me of. A guy I’d seen at a Navy reunion dinner I’d attended with Black, had to be five or six years ago now. Ridley? Radley? Something like that. He’d been Black’s commanding officer before he joined the SEALs, and according to my husband, a Grade A asshole. Last I heard, he’d started up his own security company, although he operated at the other end of the market to us with cut-rate, dubious-quality contractors who I wouldn’t trust to give out parking tickets.

  “Sorry, there must have been a miscommunication. I’ll go get it smoothed out.”

  And I also needed to call Black. I had a feeling he’d be very interested in the latest development.

  CHAPTER 9 - SKY

  “THERE’S BEEN A change of plan,” Black said.

  Day three of my new job, and I’d already drafted my resignation letter. The handwriting was a little shaky because I’d been too tired to hold the pen properly, but it was still legible.

  So far, I’d run the equivalent of a marathon while Alex rode a trail bike alongside, lifted weights until I thought my arms were going to fall off while Black watched over me, turned black and blue through fight training, and possibly broken a toe when I tripped up the stairs in exhaustion. My ears were still ringing from shooting, and the amount of damage I could do with plants terrified me. I was never, ever eating anything cooked by Sofia. Carmen was also trying to teach me Spanish, but I couldn’t remember anything except joder.

  And now Black wanted to change things?

  “Does it involve me running anywhere? Because I’m not sure I can crawl.”

  “I have to go to Kentucky.”

  Hurrah. Did that mean I’d get a lie-in? “Have fun.”

  “So you’ll have a new trainer tomorrow.”

  Fucking fantastic. “Is he a sadist in his spare time?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Oh, good. Then he can’t possibly be as bad as the last trainer.”

  “Tell me again why we hired you? Because it wasn’t for your charming personality.”

  “Right now, I’m not even sure.”

  Black’s lips quirked. Was that meant to be a smile? So far, he’d been a miserable bastard, all “do this, do that, die if you want, I’m not picking you up.” I had no idea what Emmy saw in him.

  “You’ll train with Alex as usual in the morning. Rafael’s currently in Colombia, but he’ll be back at some point tomorrow. He can pick up where I left off.”

  “How? By making me dig my own grave?”

  “No, that’s part of next week’s plan. If you breathe your last this week, we’ll just feed you to the cat.”

  Ah yes. The fucking cat. A woman like Emmy couldn’t possibly have a normal pet, could she? No, she had a bloody jaguar. It had a fancy jungle enclosure out the back, but it preferred kipping on the sofa and mooching around the kitchen in search of scraps. Everyone else acted as if this was normal.

  I was fairly sure Black was kidding about me being kitty chow, but I also didn’t want to test him.

  “Tell me again why I haven’t run screaming from this place?”

  “Because you like a challenge. Enjoy dinner, and I’ll see you in a few days.”

  Enjoy dinner? It was nine p.m. and even my taste buds had fallen asleep. I almost went straight to bed, but I knew if I skipped eating, I’d pay for it in the morning. At
least there was proper food at Riverley. Emmy’s nutritionist really cared about our diets. I’d spent so long living on junk due to a lack of cooking facilities that steamed chicken and vegetables was a tiny slice of heaven.

  I could have cried when I got to the kitchen and found I wasn’t alone. Tonight, I was too tired to pretend to be sociable. But I also couldn’t afford to alienate anyone in this new world, especially when I didn’t know who they were.

  “Hi.”

  “You must be Sky? I’m Hallie.”

  She knew who I was, yet I didn’t know who she was. “That’s me.”

  “It’s good to finally meet you. And weird not to be the new girl anymore.”

  “You work for Blackwood too?”

  “Yup. Started two months ago in the investigations division. Dan’s showing me the ropes, but she’s gone to Kentucky.”

  “Don’t you have a backup trainer?”

  “Nah, I just have a bunch of cold case files to dig into. You know, review them in light of new developments, blah, blah, blah.”

  I pulled the nearest pre-prepared meal out of the fridge without bothering to check what it was. The Post-it note stuck to the top said to heat for three minutes, and I used the time to open a can of energy drink and pour it down my throat.

  “Wish I had your job. Apparently, Rafael’s going to play drill sergeant tomorrow, so I might not make it through to the evening. Do you know him?”

  “Rafael? Yes, I know him.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Tall, dark, and grouchy. And also a little scary, but he has a kind heart.”

  “I’m not sure whether that description makes me feel better or worse.”

  Hallie forked pasta into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. She had a pile of papers spread out next to her—typed notes with what looked like photos peeping out from underneath. On the other side of the plate lay a notepad and pen.

  “You’re training with Emmy, right?” Hallie didn’t wait for an answer before she continued. “I guess if you want to learn all kinds of freaky stuff, Rafael would make a good teacher.”

  That was something, at least.