by Cari Quinn
Like right this instant.
Instead, I glared at Grace. “Do you have a button on your phone that summons him?”
“Asshole,” she muttered, turning away before she could see my raised eyebrow. Not that she would’ve minded getting a rise out of me. She did often enough that it was standard operating procedure now.
“Tension, girls and boys?” Jack asked, gliding between us and into the living room.
“Why are you here?”
“Better question.” He turned and smoothed a hand over his shirt. His tie was dangling out of his jacket pocket. “Why were you at a known mob hangout this evening?”
The front door slammed shut.
“A known mob hangout. That makes sense,” Grace said as she moved around me to join Jack in the living room. “Where else would we have our first date?”
“Your first date?” Jack looked between us. “Not to be indelicate, but usually office trysts and living together comes after those. But Blake was always backasswards.”
“How do you know where we were tonight?” I stepped into Jack’s space, not stopping until we were toe to toe.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I was having a late dinner with Vi when her brother called to ask if you were in trouble again.” Jack shook his head and walked away, deftly putting space between us. “I know why you were there tonight, but other people don’t, Blake. And they talk. With your background,” he cast a quick glance at Grace, “you have to be careful.”
“She knows,” I said, making him snap his gaze back to mine. Shock tightened his jaw.
“He told me under duress.” Grace sat on the couch and pushed her hands through her already windblown hair. “But yeah, I know about his father and how he could’ve taken a different road. But it sounds like Vi’s brother is thinking he’s going right back to his roots.” She cocked her head. “Why was he even there? If he knows it’s a mob hangout...”
“A very good question.” Jack removed the tie from his pocket and pulled it through his hands. To say he seemed on edge didn’t begin to touch the tension radiating from him. “He says that he and Marina have gone there for years. Interesting, since La Cucina has only been around for months.”
“Another restaurant in that space, maybe.”
“Doubtful. What are the odds of Danny and you being in New York on the same night, same place?”
I cracked my knuckles. “You tell me, since apparently it’s as odd as you showing up here when Grace was about to call you.”
Jack was involved with the security at the house. Maybe he knew exactly why it wasn’t standing up to the intruders who were so determined to get inside.
Perhaps he even had heard Grace summon him. How could I be sure what measures he’d resorted to in order to monitor my activities?
I couldn’t be sure of anything right now, except the need to send Grace far away.
“I just told you why I’m here. Between Danny asking too many questions about what you were doing in New York, and those goddamn dummy corporations in Brooklyn, along with Annabelle and Philomena’s names all over those damn files—”
Grace jerked to her feet. “Phil? What are you saying?”
“Gracie, you knew Phil was involved.” Jack reached out to rub Grace’s arm and I swear, it was all I could do not to strike out.
I knew my possessiveness had more to do with the break-in than Jack, but Christ, she was mine.
She was finally mine.
Absently, Grace brushed off Jack’s hand. “No, I didn’t. All I knew was that her acquaintance with my grandmother. They ran in the same circles, knew the same people. Now you’re saying another one of the people I trusted is a complete fraud?”
Her accusing gaze swung to me. In another moment, her fists would likely follow suit. “And were you ever planning on sharing any of that with me? Or were you just going to hide that like you’ve hidden everything else from me, you bastard?”
Eleven
Grace
No.
Not Philomena. I blazed past both men to the large picture window at the back of the house.
“Blondie…”
“Leave her,” Blake said softly.
At least this was one thing that made sense between us. I needed a second to assimilate all the information that had been thrown at me. He understood that about me. Probably because all he did was live in Thinkyville. Or was that Protectionlandia? Maybe Overbearing Park?
Right now I couldn’t look at either of them. Every time I thought we were finally starting to make sense, that something was growing between us that could last—boom, I discovered there was yet another lie eating away at us like rampant Spanish moss.
Could we do anything that didn’t start on a lie?
Everything I thought I knew was shifting and shattering with each lie that came to light. Phil had been my rock even before my grandmother had died. She’d sold my first piece. She’d held my hand when I’d been too afraid to put something on one of those marble pedestals.
The picture with Grandmother and her still rankled. They’d barely stayed in a room together unless it was absolutely necessary. And even then it was mostly hate-laced compliments buffered with moments of civility only because both women loved me.
At least I’d thought both women loved me.
Now I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know who I could count on. I’d trusted Jack instinctively the very first day I’d met him. A friendly face that felt like a brother I’d never had. Someone who could help me navigate the choppy waters of this crazy relationship with Blake.
I thought Jack was in my corner.
But he’d been loyal to Blake. He fell into the protector role way too easily. Both of them were ready to pat me on the head like I was an idiot that needed coddling. I didn’t want to be the damsel—I sucked at it. I wanted to know the truth.
Even if that truth was as ugly and roiling as a winter storm off the coast. These two men who I’d thought were pieces of a new bedrock that I could maybe, just maybe build on—all of it was crumbling like sand.
I knew there were too many mentions of Philomena in the diary. I knew the picture was hinky. How many times had I picked it up and stared at it since we’d found the diary pages?
How could I complain about Blake lying to me when all I did was lie to myself?
And now my brain was exploding with all this new information. How the hell did both women know Blake’s father? Now everything made sense when Blake had closed off as I looked through the pictures.
The cast of characters was starting to make sense—even if it was terrifying.
The coincidences were too much for anyone to ignore.
Blind trust only went so far. How could I not question everything? I didn’t think my grandmother could possibly have been involved and yet here we were.
Hands settled on my shoulders. His scent surged around me like a wave. As always, anticipation warred with an odd sense of peace. I wasn’t quite sure how he did that, but right now I couldn’t question it.
It was one of the few things which did make sense.
He brushed his cheek against my hair. “This has been a less than ideal night.”
“Understatement, pal.” But I curled my fingers over his hand. “I’m tired of the lies.”
“No one wants to hurt you.”
“And yet you all keep doing so.”
He turned me around and cupped my cheeks. “I would do anything to keep you from harm. I’m not sure you understand that.”
“I don’t want a protector. I want a partner. I want you to treat me like an equal. Is that so hard to ask?”
His hazel eyes were more green than gold in the diffused light of the moon. “I’m trying, Ms. Co—Grace.”
My shoulders eased a little. There were no games behind his words when he actually called me by my given name. All too often he saved it for moments of skin-on-skin intimacy. But there was a world of secrets between us. I was tired of swimming through them to get
to him.
He stepped closer until his warmth was as encompassing as his scent. “Be patient with me.”
“You’re asking a lot.”
“I know.” His voice was whisper soft against my lips. “But the thought of losing you…” His eyes narrowed. “It can’t happen.”
Then his mouth was on mine. The heat explosive and intense.
Was Jack still there?
Did I care?
My nails curled into the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He bent me back with the force of his kiss, his tongue swirling into my mouth like the tide. Each pass eroding all my anger and hurt.
I knew he felt something for me. I even dared to hope it was as intense as the love I had for him. But could a real, lasting love be built on the lies we kept telling each other?
Or did how we truly felt cancel out our lies?
As quickly as the lust threatened to drown me, he stepped back and it was gone.
Jack’s over the top clearing of his throat dented even my lust-addled brain. Blake’s as well, if the flush of red up his neck was any indication.
He twisted his fingers around mine as he drew me back into the kitchen where Jack stood in front of his trusty laptop.
“I’m sorry, Blondie. I don’t want to lie to you. I won’t lie to you. I know what it’s like to be in the dark all too well.”
I nodded. Jack didn’t talk about his past much, but I knew that he’d worked in the darker pockets of government thanks to his time with the Rangers. “Just tell me what you found.”
By the time Jack filled me in on all the things he’d learned, my head was swimming. Fatigue and sadness dragged at me until I was numb.
This woman, who had been like a second mother to me, was supposed to be a criminal mastermind? Phil could barely hold a show together without me lining up all the pieces.
“All right, Blondie. I think that’s enough.” Jack closed the laptop and the scrolling spreadsheet with so many damn names on it. Names of business, names of clients, names of people she knew in Marblehead for most of her life.
Bishop, Stanwick, Gregory, and of course, Stuart. The damning proof was literally in black and white. Even if it was buried under corporate shell companies that belonged in a Grisham novel rather than my life.
My home.
Marblehead, for fuck’s sake.
“Do you really think it’s possible someone broke in for this? That they could possibly know what kind of information we have?”
Jack shrugged. “I think that this is a town full of rich people who wouldn’t want this kind of information made public. And not just because of fines or jail time.”
“No.”
My little corner of the cove was filled with people who valued their public persona, their reputations, even their yards more than living within the boundaries of the law. And still this information was even more damning because my family had perpetuated it.
And I’d perpetuated it by proxy.
The chipped polish at the corner of my nail blurred. The shell pink color I’d started wearing because I didn’t have time for manicures, or even time for my workroom.
Even I was wearing a veneer these days. The corporate assistant who thrived on building something within the confines of another’s dream.
Did that make me an even bigger liar?
I glanced over at the tall, austere man with his dark hair, brows, and impeccable suit even this late at night. Ever the controlled center of the room. The man I was trying valiantly not to let deeper inside my heart.
Trying and failing by the way.
And his counterpoint—the gilded Jack, disheveled and straining at the confines of his suit. The man who exuded capability with an air of relaxation most of the time. The undercurrent of danger was hidden from most, but I saw it in his eyes sometimes.
I’d seen pieces of it tonight.
Vigilant to save me, protect me, fight for me.
I understood it in Blake. There was a relationship building between us. It wasn’t tenuous any longer, but the edges weren’t quite defined yet.
The fact that Jack was so quick to jump in could be just part of his genetic make up, but it felt like more. Like I’d finally found a friend and confidante.
Save for the lies. The lies tripped me up every damn time.
“Don’t look so dour, Blondie.”
I gave him a half smile.
“Better.” Jack shoved his laptop into his bag. “This is just the beginning. I need more. This is an impressive array of details, but we don’t have a trail back to anything. There’s no proof here.”
I goggled at him.
“I just mean, there’s no paper trail. I need you to dig harder into the diary pages. The information is here, but going to the police will be difficult. It would create a pretty amazing case against a lot of people, but how did your grandmother get all this info? That’s what I need.”
“I’ll dig deeper.”
“Not just the diary.”
My gaze dropped to my chipped nails again. “I know.”
Jack patted my shoulder. I could feel Blake stiffening beside me, but thankfully there wasn’t another altercation in him tonight.
“Next time you’re tempted to do some recon in the city, maybe bring along a friend. One who’ll tell Danny where to go if he starts sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“I didn’t exactly offer him a roadmap of my itinerary,” Blake said drily. “Besides, Danny is Vi’s brother.”
Jack didn’t reply to that, and yet another undercurrent I didn’t understand passed between the two men.
Brothers didn’t seem to count for a whole lot when it came to turning a jaundiced eye on someone, it seemed. Then again, neither did best friends and CEOs.
On the walk to the door, Blake and Jack spoke in murmurs. I was too tired to get riled up again so I didn’t even try to eavesdrop.
Blake came back into the kitchen and slid his arm around my back to grip my hip.
“Upstairs?” I asked.
He seemed to search my face for something, his hazel eyes wary.
“What?”
He shook his head. “It’s late.”
I sighed. “Something’s going on in that head of yours. Just spit it out.”
“I don’t spit anything out.”
“Luckily for you, I don’t either.”
His nostrils flared. “Ms. Copeland.”
I slid my hand along his rock-hard belly. “It’s a joke, Blake.”
“Come with me.”
“Are you going to show me your etchings? Because I’m kind of tired. And I still didn’t get my cupcake.”
His lips actually twitched. What did it say about me that those little things got me far too excited? Even when I was aggravated, tired, and defensive. I was a bitchy trifecta and still I wanted a smile out of him.
Yep.
Certifiable.
“I promise you’ll get a cupcake.”
“There needs to be copious amounts of chocolate after the crap you pulled tonight.”
“Understood.” He gave me a sideways glance.
“What?”
“Will chocolate always work?”
This time it was my lips that twitched. The moments of earnest Blake almost always made up for the jackass jacket he wore like skin. “More than it doesn’t.”
“Good to know.”
He drew me through a door I’d assumed was a closet. It was narrow and he had to turn his shoulders to fit through it. In all the weeks I’d explored his house, I’d rarely traversed the back of the house. The backyard was heavily canopied thanks to ancient evergreens.
Since there was no ocean, I confessed to very little interest. It was the only view that settled me completely.
And I missed it desperately.
But this was no simple patio. It wasn’t even on the back of the house, but a bonus room off the side. If you could call it a room. It seemed too tame of a word for the pure wonder of it.
&n
bsp; Moonlight and shadows striped the hardwood floor until we crossed a threshold made of glass. My mouth dropped open. Colorless glass encased a four season room with a forest backdrop. He’d left it wild, only clearing enough space for his design.
It was fairytale perfect with lead channeled frames around each massive glass panel. Echoes of the atrium we’d spent the night in were everywhere. Until the ceiling. It was no simple domed view up into the sky.
No, it was a huge clock face instead. Very much like the one in the gallery at Carson Covenant. Instead of hands to tell the time, he’d created a sun dial effect that stole my breath. This wasn’t the in-your-face style from his lobby. This was art.
The truest form of Blake. Form and function creating a masterpiece out of glass.
I spun around to face him, but before I could try to tell him how beautiful everything was, I was struck mute for a whole different reason.
“My glass.”
He moved to my side. “Yes.”
The fallen angel I’d designed was on a simple pedestal at the far side of the room. That was was enough to steal my breath. That he’d actually put it in such a place of honor in this beautiful… Well, church was the only thing I could come up with.
A four-season room didn’t quite the fit the bill with this much attention to detail.
The angel with smoky glass and copper wings was breathtaking in this setting, but the stained glass he’d made part of his design was what shocked me to the core.
My glass.
The first stained glass piece I’d ever created.
Twelve
Grace
“Why do you have this?”
Was that my voice? It sounded desperately far away. So quiet when it seemed so loud in my head.
“I bought it.”
I whirled to face him. “You did not.”
He folded his arms. “I can assure you I did.”
I invaded his space, forcing him to lean back. “No, you didn’t. I never sold this piece. Ever.”
Blake’s eyebrows snapped down. “I bought this piece before I had any money. In fact, I ate ramen noodles for a month because I had to have it.”