Lie by Night: An Out of Darkness novel (Entangled Ignite)

  A younger man with a military cut and massive biceps stepped from the shadowed hallway that ran from the right side of the room. A tattooed black and red snake slithered out from underneath his short sleeves, coiling around his arm until its head came to rest on the top of his wrist. A pistol lay snugly in a shoulder harness, a submachine gun rested in his hands, ready at a second’s notice.

  He looked familiar. Her eyes widened. The man from the beach.

  Grant stood to the side, his face set in a grim line. He brushed his hands along his shirt in a fruitless attempt to smooth the wrinkles Cole had impressed on his already mussed fabric. All appearance of fear and timidity had vanished from his face.

  Alistair smiled. “Well played, boy. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”

  Grant ignored him as he finished tucking his shirt back into his slacks.

  Alistair chuckled. “I could almost forgive you for the meeting with Yuri.” He spun suddenly and backhanded Grant across the cheek with his gun hand.

  Grant’s head snapped backwards. Blood poured from a gash in his cheek. He said nothing, reaching almost casually into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief and pressing it to his cut.

  Alistair turned back to Emma, charming smile back in place. “Dear Emma, how difficult you’ve been to track down. There was really no need for all of this drama.”

  She bit the inside of her lip and raised her chin. Her hand slipped instinctively into her pocket, fingers toying with the retractable string.

  “Of course,” he continued, “I could have separated you from your guard dogs at any time. I simply preferred to operate under the radar.” He sighed. “Alas, look what you’ve driven me to do.” He held out his hand. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

  She ignored the pounding of her heart and squared her shoulders. “Where’s my brother?”

  “Your brother? I don’t believe the young man and I have met.” Alistair raised his free hand to stroke his goatee. “What is his name?”

  Anger, strong and cleansing, banished Emma’s fear so that when she spoke, her voice remained steady and strong. “His name is Jacob, as you well know.” She intentionally adopted the lofty cadence of his speech, determined to give the impression they were equals.

  He took a step toward her. “I said you have something that belongs to me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Before I give you anything, I have conditions.”

  “Really? You have conditions.” Alistair laughed, drawing out the last word and emphasizing the “s” as though multiple conditions were quite an amusing concept. He waved her toward the sofa.

  She stared into his green eyes, so identical to Zach’s in color, yet they lacked any of the warmth, compassion, and humanity that defined Zach.

  “I rather like your spirit, dear Emma. Have a seat, and tell me what you want.”

  Her eyes darted from him to Grant to the man from the island as she approached. She bumped into the sofa table, bruising her hip on the heavy mahogany piece that stood sentinel to the sitting area. The oriental vase and figurines wobbled precariously. Emma reached out to settle the expensive art before she circled to the front of the sofa.

  Before she could sit, Alistair laid a hand on her arm. “Where are my manners? Please, let me take your coat.”

  Emma recognized a command when she heard it. Reluctantly, she shrugged out of her coat, avoiding physical contact with Alistair as much as possible.

  He tossed the coat to Grant. “Hang this up.”

  She sat gingerly at the edge of the cushion. She’d have preferred to stand. And she’d have preferred to keep her coat.

  Alistair lounged in the richly upholstered wing chair, setting his gun on the side table. He crossed his legs and steepled his fingers. An air of great anticipation emanated from him. Clearly, he was not worried about the men who’d been sent on a wild goose chase.

  Fear’s icy fingers danced along her spine.

  The thug shifted position, keeping her in his direct line of sight. He remained stoic, weapon at his side, an extension of his snake-emblazoned arm.

  Alistair noted her sideways glance at the man. “I see you remember Manuel. I believe you bashed his head with a rather nasty branch back on the island.” He grinned. “He’s been most anxious to meet you again.”

  Emma tore her gaze from Manuel’s sneer and watched Grant hang her jacket on an ornate coatrack near the door then blot at the blood still oozing from his cut. It galled her to think that no matter what Sam’s biological father had said he wanted, here he was, doing Alistair’s bidding once again. How had he ever hoped to keep his daughter safe?

  “Emma, normally I’m not a man who cares for other people’s conditions. However, today, I’m willing to make an exception. A thank you of sorts for taking such fine care of the information your brother stole. I appreciate you keeping it out of Weston’s clutches. You’ve made it much easier to defeat Zach and destroy him and his men.”

  She lifted her chin in defiance, even as his words pierced her heart. Was that what she’d done? Protected Alistair? Put Zach and his family, Cole, Joey, and the others, in greater danger? Although she was committed to finding Jacob, she’d never meant to put the others in greater danger.

  To put Jacob in greater danger.

  Heart racing, she recalled that Grant had said he’d only been protecting Sam. And she’d understood, hell, she’d sided with him. Because she hadn’t realized—no matter how often Cole had tried to tell her—that by withholding information, she might be increasing everyone else’s danger.

  Grant shifted into her line of sight, his gaze boring into her. He offered a nearly imperceptible shake of his head before returning his attention to Alistair. What did it mean? His glance darted her way again. This time she thought she understood. Alistair was manipulating her—the way he’d manipulated them all.

  Jacob had been specific. Trust no one. But as time passed, she’d come to understand that she had to trust someone. And finally, she’d chosen Cole. He just needed to realize it.

  A sense of having done the right thing, however belatedly, settled inside her.

  “Very well, let’s hear your requests.” Alistair raised one eyebrow and waited.

  The pompous ass. Fine, let him think he held the cards. She may have made some bad decisions along this path, but she wasn’t completely stupid.

  “I don’t want you to hurt Cole. Or Joey or Kyle or any of the Westons.” She crossed her legs and tapped her fingers against her knee, careful to maintain eye contact. “Or Grant.”

  She sensed Grant’s surprise but continued to stare at Alistair.

  Alistair pursed his lips. “Why, Emma, that’s quite a list. I believe you are absolutely ruining any prospect of fun for me.”

  “And, of course, I want to know where my brother is.” Despite her best efforts to remain calm, she felt her muscles tense.

  He stroked his goatee. “What if I don’t promise? It seems to me you are asking for more than is fair.”

  “Then I won’t hand over the microchip.” Her hand stilled on her knee.

  Alistair smiled. “Why, then I’ll just take it.” He nodded toward the armed guard who took a threatening step forward.

  “I don’t have it with me,” she said quickly, “I told Cole the truth.” Sort of the truth.

  His eyes narrowed.

  “I’ve hidden it someplace safe.” This was mostly true.

  When he raised a skeptical brow, she continued, “Did you think I wouldn’t plan for this possibility?” Unfortunately, this comment was less true. She’d flown by the seat of her pants, and the experience had reinforced her preference for order and planning.

  “And you think I can’t make you tell?”

  “I know you can’t,” she lied. She knew enough about the many ways truth could be wrenched from someone to pray furiously it wouldn’t come to that.

  Manuel took another step forward. With a great laugh, Alistair held up a hand to stop him.
“Emma, you remind me of another young lady I rather admire. Lizzie. I believe you’ve met her?”

  She nodded, hoping to stall as long as possible. “I admire her as well.”

  “So, let’s see, I can’t hurt Cole or the Westons or Kyle or, what was that man’s name?”

  “Joey.”

  “Ah, yes, no hurting dear Joey.” Alistair inclined his head. “And Grant. Oh, and you want to know where your brother is.”

  “Yes.” She suppressed the urge to chew the inside of her lip.

  He reached across the coffee table and patted her knee. “Very well, my dear, I promise not to hurt any of your new friends, and I’ll even promise not to hurt your old friend.” He nodded toward Grant. “Although, I don’t see why you’d wish to protect him. And once you show me the microchip, I will tell you about your brother.”

  He was lying. Certainty welled in Emma, but really, had she expected anything else? Why else would she have slipped the microchip to Cole as he headed out the door?

  …

  Cole rolled his neck from side to side. Emma loved him? What the hell was she up to, springing the information on him like that? And how in hell was he supposed to believe her now?

  The damned words settled in his heart, even though he knew she couldn’t be trusted. Hadn’t she just proved it? Sharing critical information with Grant and hiding it from him.

  Now, she said she loved him. Hell, she probably didn’t mean it. And yet…for just one second, the words had felt so real.

  She lied to you before; she’s lying now, the voice in his head argued.

  He tapped impatient fingers against his leg as the elevator crawled toward the basement. Something wasn’t right, and it wasn’t just his love life. Logically, he knew it was right to leave Emma behind with Grant and search the basement with Joey and Kyle—Joey had searched the penthouse; the lock on the penthouse door was secure; Grant wasn’t going anywhere without his daughter; Emma clearly felt safe, practically pushing him out the door. And yet, Cole’s every instinct screamed he was making a mistake.

  Joey cast a concerned glance his way. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. Hell of a thing, Emma withholding information like that. If she has something Alistair wants, she must have felt she couldn’t tell you. But telling Grant…she must be desperate.” Joey stared at Cole’s restless fingers.

  He thanked Joey for his insight with a glare as anger pushed aside his confusion over her parting words. “We can’t trust her right now.” Maybe when this was all over.

  Maybe never. Was this the facts or the lingering effects of the drugs?

  Clenching his fist, he admitted he couldn’t be sure.

  “Look, Cole, if you think we’re making a mistake, one of us can head back upstairs to stay with her,” Kyle suggested.

  The elevator came to rest at the basement.

  Cole hesitated and then shook his head. “No, once we search the basement, one of us can go back for Emma.” He’d go back for her, and then, by God, she’d tell him the complete truth.

  Their footsteps echoed ominously on the concrete floor. The basement consisted of a long hall, door after door of which opened to reveal nothing but storage and the heating system.

  The last door, however, refused to budge. Joey removed a pick from his wallet and went to work. Cole fought the urge to tell him to hurry, because he knew from experience that helped no one. Joey knew his business.

  At last the lock clicked, but the door remained frozen in place.

  “Well, that would have been too easy.” Joey said, before removing a small, explosive device from an interior pocket of his jacket. He ran a penlight along the seam between the door and the jam to find the dead bolt. Then, inserting the slim explosive into the narrow crevice, he ignited the fuse. Everyone turned away. A small explosion knocked the deadbolt loose, and the men busted through.

  Kyle went first, scanning the entire room before he swung to cover the right. Joey followed, turning left, and Cole came in low through the middle. The basement hideaway resembled an uptown loft. To the left, an expensive, oriental rug covered the beautiful wood floor and grounded a leather sofa and two captain’s chairs. To the right, a state of the art kitchen gleamed in the dim light. A doorway at the back led to another room. Cole moved forward, gun ready, and rushed through the doorway. Joey followed to cover him, while Kyle stayed to guard the entrance.

  Inside the room, a king-size bed rose on ornately carved posts. A forest green comforter covered the bed, and moss green, silk pillows rested against the black leather bed rest. A luxurious bathroom opened to the left, featuring an oversized marble tub and pedestal sinks. Bags from Bergdorf Goodman were strewn haphazardly across the bed.

  Cole dropped his gun to his side and smacked his hand flat against the wall. “Empty. Everything in this damned suite is empty.”

  He stalked out of the bedroom and back to the pristine main room. Joey followed.

  “Anything?” Kyle asked from the door.

  “Just the shopping bags. Cherise has been here and gone. The question is whether or not she’s still in the building.” Cole ran his hand along his jaw. “And if Alistair is with her.”

  “Interesting, though, that this very expensive suite is still perfectly maintained after more than a year.” Kyle referred to their last stand off with Alistair as he flipped a switch, bathing the room in light.

  “Hey,” Joey called from the far side of the sitting area. “Look at this.”

  A hidden panel sat against the outer wall. Joey holstered his gun and began looking for the trigger that opened the exit, an exit that hadn’t been there a year ago.

  “I think Alistair has been staying here since the escape, keeping tabs on Zach.” Kyle gritted his teeth in frustration. “Look at the place. It’s obviously well cared for, not a trace of dust. And yet completely empty except for Cherise’s recent purchases. No indication that anyone lives here.” Kyle glanced at the security cameras Zach had installed. “The bastard must have bypassed the security system we installed.”

  Cole ran his hand along his jaw again. Something was wrong. “I think the real question is why did Grant send us here?”

  The men exchanged glances.

  “I’m going back to check on Emma.” Cole headed for the door. “You guys search for anything helpful, and open that damned door.” His last words echoed down the basement corridor. He was already halfway to the elevator.

  He pushed the call button impatiently, contemplating the stairs. At this time of day, he should make the ascent to the penthouse more quickly via modern technology than on his own steam. Adrenaline had him practically running in place.

  The door opened with a ding. He stepped inside and stabbed the button for the twentieth floor.

  He ran his hand over his hair as the elevator began to climb. Joey and Kyle could take care of themselves. Emma had only Grant. The nagging feeling that something was wrong, that he’d been wrong, intensified.

  The elevator stopped on the twelfth floor. A couple of boys, maybe ten years old, stepped onto the elevator, giggling. They looked at him, and their smiles faded, exchanging glances as the elevator continued its drive upward.

  The boy with spiked hair reached out and pushed the fourteenth floor.

  Cole shoved his hands into his pockets to avoid grabbing the kid by his collar. His fingers encountered an unexpected object.

  He froze, feeling the color drain from his face.

  “Oops.” The taller boy reached to push sixteen as well. The giggles returned. Cole swept his hand out and blocked the boy just before he punched the button. They stared at him with wide eyes. Laughter faded. The elevator stopped on the fourteenth floor. When the door opened, Cole ushered the boys out and hit the close button.

  “Hey! You can’t…”

  “Listen, mister…”

  The look on Cole’s face silenced them. They gawked as the door shut in their faces.

  Cole withdrew his hand from his pocket. He slowly unfurled his fist.
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  Emma’s precious Mace rested securely in his palm.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Cole jerked his phone from his pants pocket and dialed. The call went through, but lost its signal in the middle of the first ring. The elevator continued its ascent.

  The sense of wrongness that started the moment he left Emma hardened into resolve. She had known something he hadn’t. He now feared that whatever secrets she shared with Grant were the least of his concerns.

  Pulling his gun from his holster, he waited impatiently to reach the twentieth floor.

  …

  Inside the penthouse, Alistair checked a text message on his phone, typing a quick reply before nodding at Manuel. “Wait near the door.”

  Brushing a piece of nonexistent lint from her sleeve, Emma frowned in disproval. “It’s rude to text when you’re in the middle of a conversation.” Better to show foolish bravado than fear. That was her new motto.

  Alistair peered at her, one eyebrow raised. He held the phone up, and without taking his eyes from her, pushed a button. “Alright now, Emma, I’m through waiting. I want the information Jacob had, and I want it now.” He rose from the chair, grabbed her arm, and jerked her out of the chair. “You choose, my dear, whether Jacob lives or dies.” He lowered his head until she felt his breath against her face. “Decide now.”

  He whispered the last two words, his insincere gentility falling away to reveal a malevolence that Emma had known lurked beneath his handsome face. Knowing hadn’t fully prepared her for experiencing it firsthand, however. She stiffened her spine, refusing to show fear.

  A loud knock sounded at the door. Relief flooded through her.

  Then Alistair smiled, and her blood ran cold.

  “Ah, it’s about time. Emma, that’s your young man. If you ever want to see your brother again, you will do exactly as I say.” He shoved his fingers through the hair at her nape and jerked her head back. “Do you understand?”

  Hatred warred with guilt. What had she done? All the secrecy. All the lies. And what had it gotten her?

  She nodded her understanding.

  “Grant, invite our guest inside.”