by Karen Rose
He shrugged. Improvised. Lied. “I’m a big guy. You’ve been hurt before.”
She held his gaze for so long that he wanted to run away. She saw too much. But “Okay” was all she said before closing her eyes and within minutes was breathing steadily. He’d thought her asleep until she put her hand in his, threading their fingers. “Rest, Grayson. I won’t ask you any more questions that you don’t want to answer.”
He should have been relieved. And he very well might be, once he could breathe again. But that wasn’t going to be tonight.
Wednesday, April 6, 6:30 a.m.
Adele woke to Darren shouting, “Goddammit, Rusty! What did you do?”
She hurried down the stairs. “Darren, what’s wrong with—” She stopped abruptly at the bottom of the stairs, the stench turning her stomach inside out.
Darren stood in the kitchen doorway. Garbage lay strewn around the trash can. Vomit and diarrhea covered the floor.
“Oh God.” Adele had to fight to keep from retching. I don’t need this. Not today.
“Where is that dog?” Darren demanded. “God only knows what he ate.”
Rusty had the most sensitive stomach of any dog she’d ever heard of. The least bit of human food had him runny for a week.
“You go find him and put him in his crate,” Adele said. “I’ll start cleaning up.”
“I’ll put him in his crate,” Darren muttered. “Then I’ll send it to Abu Dhabi, one way.”
It was his usual threat, but Rusty was safe. Darren would never give the dog up. He’d fought his ex-wife for custody of Rusty in what had been a toxic divorce after his ex had cheated. Rusty was a permanent fixture. Luckily Adele liked him.
But not today. She began sweeping the trash when she noticed the box. Oh no.
It was the box the chocolates had come in, the chocolates that had come from a client she hadn’t dealt with in six months. She’d thrown the box away, too paranoid to even risk keeping them around. But the box was empty. Rusty had eaten the chocolates.
Relax. This is normal. Chocolate made Rusty spew, but he was always fine after.
“Adele!” Darren’s panicked shout came from the den. He ran into the kitchen, Rusty’s limp little body in his arms. “I can’t wake him up. He’s unconscious.”
“Take him to the emergency vet. I’ll take Allie next door and meet you there.”
Wednesday, April 6, 9:30 a.m.
Paige looked up from her notebook, reaching for the china coffee cup on the very expensive table in Grayson’s dining room. She’d checked in with Olivia and Clay and was now trying to plan her day, but the man sitting across from her was openly staring, unnerving her.
Grayson had brought her here to change his suit, then wait while he met with the cops. She had dead bolts and a dog, he said, but his place had a security system.
Apparently a critical component of the system was its installer, Grayson’s “brother,” Joseph Carter, who had been tagged for babysitting duty until it was Paige’s turn to face IA as a confidential informant. Thinking about the questions they’d ask made her feel sick, so she looked at Joseph instead.
Grayson’s brother wore a gun holstered at his side and gave off a darkly menacing vibe. She didn’t feel threatened—she had Peabody at her feet as well as all of her weapons—but she didn’t know what to make of the man. He had one of those faces that wasn’t exactly handsome, but still… compelling. About Grayson’s age, Joseph was tall, dark, and broody.
Just like Grayson. Who was in one hell of a surly mood. He still couldn’t remember where he’d met the shooter and hadn’t even managed an hour of sleep.
Paige hadn’t slept much longer, waking to find him holding her hand, watching her with a desolation that made her eyes sting. They’d exchanged only the most necessary words. He’d walked Peabody while she’d showered. His surly mood appeared when she’d emerged from the bathroom, clean and clothed. He’d been snapping and issuing orders ever since.
But the desolation in his eyes had remained, so she forgave him the rest.
She closed her eyes, waiting for the tightness in her chest to recede. She’d known him one day. Technically less. But walking away was going to hurt. It already did.
So don’t think about him now. She needed to think about Elena and Ramon. She needed to think about Logan’s mother. And Crystal Jones. She needed to figure out who on her long list of names she’d talk to when she was done with the cops.
Who were going to make her tell… everything. Panic began to rise and she forced it back down. She’d be professional. Concise. She’d tell the story like it happened to someone else. She’d answer their questions and get their help.
She jumped when her pencil lead snapped. She looked at her notebook, at the dark scribble she’d made while thinking about all the things she wasn’t going to think about.
She looked up, found brother Joseph still staring at her, his dark brows lowered.
“I’d appreciate if you’d stop watching me like I was about to steal the family silver,” she said.
“I never thought that at all,” he said quietly, his voice a deep rumble. “I was actually thinking that you’re holding up pretty well, considering.”
She touched the bandage at her throat. It hurt, still. “I’ll live. Unlike the others.”
“Damn straight, you’ll live. Grayson made it pretty clear that if anything happened to you, my ass would be toast. So thus, the watching.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not a child.”
He lifted his forefinger. “Don’t ruin my opinion of you by saying, ‘I can take care of myself.’” He said it in a slightly mocking, singsong way.
“I wasn’t going to say that,” she said flatly. “Because it’s no longer true. But way to rub my face in it. Thanks so much.” She looked back to her notes as her eyes welled up, embarrassingly.
“Hey,” he said. He leaned forward, tapped the table next to her book. “Aren’t we feeling sorry for ourselves?” he asked, the mocking tone back.
She looked up, furious. “You’re…” Then she shrugged, depleted. “You’re right.”
“You used to take care of yourself very well,” he said, “but lately not so much.”
“Right,” she said glumly. “And now I have to be babysat. By you. No offense.”
“None taken.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a roll of Life Savers. “Butter Rum. Haven’t been opened, so no pocket lint. Want one?”
It was so unexpected, she had to laugh. “Why not?” She popped the candy in her mouth and took a minute to study him as he’d studied her. There was something stiff and unyielding about the man, but his eyes were kind. “Who the hell are you anyway?”
“Just Grayson’s brother,” he said mildly.
“He said you’re government,” she said. “But the question is, whose? Ours?”
His lips twitched. “Yes, ours.”
“FBI? CIA? NSA? I think we can safely cross off the Library of Congress.”
He chuckled. “I read. It’s FBI.” He shot her a warning look. “Please don’t ask.”
“Damn. I got me a high-priced babysitter.”
Joseph shrugged. “Grayson called me last night after you went to sleep. He was worried. I’d say he had a right to be. And that was before the kid incident.”
“He told you about what’s going on?”
“The series of events, yes. You, specifically? Not a word. So when he asked me to stay with you, I was curious. Naturally.”
“Naturally,” Paige murmured. Unwilling to satisfy his curiosity, she met his eyes squarely. “So what do you think about the Muñoz case?”
“I think you two have one hell of a mess. Where were you going with the scribbles?”
She glanced at her notes with a frown. “I was thinking about the scope of all this. All of these names on my list. Somebody had to have a lot of money to pay off all the people involved. We know Sandoval at the very least was paid off. A person would have to have si
gnificant money to be able to write that kind of a check and not miss it.”
“Most of the guests at that party would have considered fifty Gs pocket change.”
“I can’t imagine considering fifty grand to be pocket change.” She looked around her. Grayson’s town house was prime real estate, filled with expensive antiques. The thought was disturbing. “Do you?”
“Do I what?” Joseph asked blandly, but his eyes had grown cool once again.
“Consider fifty thousand dollars to be pocket change?”
“No.” He paused, watching her. “Neither does Grayson.”
His meaning was clear and it made her angry. “I’m not after his money. I may have to work two jobs to make ends meet, but financially I can still take care of myself.”
“I know,” he said calmly, watching her over his coffee cup. “Because I checked you out. I find it exceedingly odd that Grayson didn’t.”
I don’t like you, she wanted to say, but bit back the words. “Okay, look. You care about your brother and I can be all jiggy with that. But you can run back to your family and assure them that I’m not after his money. In reality, he and I are not even—” She broke it off when his eyes shifted, her temper going stone-cold. “You’re a jerk, you know that? You’re just baiting me to get information.”
He looked disappointed. “Now my sisters are going to be mad at me.”
“Like you’re afraid of them,” she said with a sneer.
“You obviously have no sisters,” he said.
“Like you don’t know that, too?” she demanded, then caught herself. Whoa. She hadn’t been angry when Grayson’s assistant had compiled a whole file on her. Why wouldn’t a family check out a woman who’d captured the interest of one of their own? She wondered if they’d be so interested if they knew nothing was going to happen.
Not unless one of us changes. And that can’t be me. She remembered the emptiness of all those relationships, how much she’d hated herself when they imploded. The pity she’d seen in the eyes of her friends. Poor Paige. Can’t pick’em.
And were they ever right. Still. Why can’t I meet a forever guy, just once? Although she knew she’d met them, many times, but had passed over them, going for the losers instead. And somehow she’d always known they were losers, right from the get-go. Looking back, she realized she’d picked them for exactly that reason.
But Grayson wasn’t a loser. She knew that. He carried something inside him, something large and dark and heavy. But it hadn’t stopped him from being kind. It didn’t stop him from seeking justice. It just stops him from being available to me.
She rubbed her temple, conscious of Joseph’s scrutiny. “Of course you know I have no immediate family. I’d want to know if I were you. I have friends, but no sisters. Or brothers. No parents. Just me.” She straightened her back. “For the record, I’m not interested in your brother’s money. I’d have been far more comfortable if he’d been poor.”
Joseph didn’t respond, instead pulling a ringing phone from his shirt pocket. He answered while keeping his eyes on her face. “Yeah?” he answered. “Okay. I’ll bring her to you. Where?”
“Is that Grayson?” she asked. “Ask him what I should do with Peabody.”
Joseph did, then said, “He wants you to leave the dog here. Anything else?”
Yes. What did you make your mother promise not to tell me? But she herself had promised to ask no more personal questions, so she shook her head. “No. Nothing else.”
Wednesday, April 6, 9:30 a.m.
His empty plate was removed and his coffee cup refilled. “Anything else, sir?”
“No. That’s all.” Once his maid had left him, he returned his cold gaze to the TV news. There had been a shooting, just hours ago. He recognized the building right away. Everybody who’d been near a TV yesterday recognized that building.
The boy who’d made the video was in serious condition. His mother was dead. State’s Attorney Grayson Smith had chased after the gunman, saving the boy.
Wasn’t that nice. He picked up his cup and sipped, barely noticing the coffee was hot until it burned his tongue. Silas, you fool. You just had to go back. Don’t tell me you were worried they got your face on film. You idiot. There was no way that the kid could have filmed Silas from where he’d been shooting. The angle was wrong and the distance would have made any facial features indistinguishable.
Silas was clearly rattled. And rattled men did really stupid things.
He dialed Silas’s cell, got his voice mail. Silas was gone. He’d cracked. But Silas was predictable. He’d never leave his wife and the girl he’d passed off as his own child.
On his laptop he opened his tracking program. Silas’s cell was at his home, just as he’d expected. Silas would know the phone was trackable and would leave it behind.
Silas’s van was also at his home. Again, expected.
He pulled up the third item and frowned. Silas’s little girl was on the move, headed north. At least her doll was. Predictably, Silas had been so shaken by finding the hamburger wrapper on Violet’s nightstand that he’d ignored the possibility anything else was left behind.
Idiot. How many times have I told him that he cannot run from me? He twisted the ring on his pinkie, contemplating how to proceed. He’d leave the wife and child alone for a little while, he decided. Not letting Silas know he knew where they were would fill his formerly trusted employee with confidence. With relief.
Because he knew Silas was coming back for him. I can identify him. And he me. It was time to terminate their business relationship.
Wednesday, April 6, 9:45 a.m.
Adele found Darren pacing in the waiting area. “Is he… okay?” she asked.
“He’s not dead. But he’s really sick.” Darren shuddered. “All the times I said I’d send him away in a box, I never meant it.”
“Of course you didn’t.” When I tell you the truth, don’t mean it with me, either.
The vet tech beckoned them back. “The doctor can talk to you now.”
The vet wore scrubs and a face mask hung around his neck. He looked beat. “Your dog’s alive, but he’s very sick. Did you leave him outside for any length of time?”
“It was raining yesterday,” Adele said. “He was indoors all day.”
“Why?” Darren asked. “He ate the trash, right? That was in the kitchen.”
“I don’t think so,” the vet said. “Your dog shows signs of being poisoned.”
Poison. Adele grabbed blindly behind her, finding the edge of the examination table. The box of chocolates. Her name had been on the label.
Oh my God. They were for me.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Shaffer?”
Adele nodded numbly. “Poison? What kind? How could that have happened?”
“I don’t know yet, but if he pulls through, it’ll be because of his sensitive gut. He threw most of it up.” The vet patted Darren’s shoulder. “Why don’t you two go home and rest? We’ll call you the moment there’s a change. One way or the other.”
“Okay.” Darren slid his arm around her waist. “Let’s go home, honey.”
Adele let him lead her out. Her legs were like rubber.
It was clear. She’d made no mistake. Somebody really is trying to kill me.
Wednesday, April 6, 10:05 a.m.
“Thank you,” Grayson said to Joseph, who’d delivered Paige safely to the hotel where she was about to meet with the police department brass. “Where will you be?”
“Standing here in the hall,” Joseph said. “Call if you need me.”
Grayson turned to Paige, who stared at the door in front of her as if gathering her strength. He drew in her scent. He now knew it was the lavender soap in her shower.
He’d tormented himself, imagining her in the shower. All that golden skin. Bare. Knowing he’d never have her had put him in a foul mood. Which was squarely his own fault. She had a right to far more than he could offer. Than he was willing to offer, he thought.
> “Are you okay?” he murmured and she shrugged the question away.
“Why are we here? I appreciate the name of the place, but why a hotel?”
He’d gotten two suites at the Peabody Hotel. The suite next door would be hers. The meeting-room suite would later be used by whomever he hired as her bodyguard. Even with three dead bolts, he didn’t want her staying in her apartment alone.
And after last night, there was no way he could stay with her.
He wanted her with a desperation he’d never felt before and it scared the hell out of him. He could actually see himself telling her everything and that scared him even more.
“The Peabody has an elevator from the parking garage to the rooms,” he said. “It gets people up here without being seen.” He’d wait until after the meeting to tell her she’d be staying here. No use in stirring the pot unnecessarily.
She looked at the door. “How’d they take the news?”
“Like you’d expect. Not happy to be accused by Elena, who can’t be questioned.”
“Because she’s dead,” Paige muttered. “Did you tell them you knew him?”
“I did. They weren’t happy about that, either. Are you ready?”
“Sure,” she said grimly. “Let’s roll.”
The men in the room stood when they came in. Stevie remained where she was, perched on one of the stools at the counter between the kitchen and the living room.
Paige studied the face of each man, then nodded once. “I’m Paige Holden.”
Stevie’s boss inclined his bald head. “We know.”
“That’s Lieutenant Hyatt,” Grayson said. “He heads the homicide division. To his left is Commander Williams. To his right, Lieutenant Gutierrez of Internal Affairs.” He motioned to the man standing in the bathroom doorway. “Sergeant Doyle, also IA.” He pointed to the man standing off to one side. “That’s my boss, Charlie Anderson.”
Who insisted on coming, but had said uncharacteristically little during the initial hour. The uncertainty as to Anderson’s intent left Grayson feeling even edgier.
Paige slid her backpack off her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve all got places to be, things to do. Bad guys to catch. So if we could begin?”