by Dee Davis
Originally a nineteenth century stable, her brownstone was on three levels, but instead of the kitchen in the basement, as was the norm in these converted spaces, she’d had hers done on the parlor floor, open plan style, in conjunction with her living room. A den and office comprised the lower floor, which opened out to the garden, and the third floor held the bedrooms.
The décor was sleek and modern, a detail that had left her open for a never-ending amount of teasing by both family and friends, considering her attraction to all things eighteenth century, although the Canaletto landscape of the Grand Canal hanging over the fireplace definitely spoke to her heart. It was her favorite possession. A gift from her mother just before she’d died.
Emily walked over to the breakfast bar and opened the jar of treats sitting on the granite counter top. "Sit," she implored her tail-wagging companion. Bailey’s ideas about obedience rivaled Emily’s, neither of them particularly fond of doing something just because someone else ordered them to. "Please?" she offered, holding the dog biscuit in the air. Bailey looked at her and then the biscuit and with a doggy sigh settled onto his haunches. "Good dog." She fed him the treat.
"Now what shall Mommy’s treat be? Tea or wine?" She looked at the kettle, her mind trotting out the image of a nice hot cup of Earl Gray and milk. And maybe some of those chocolate-covered pretzels she’d fallen in love with. But the bottle of cabernet on the counter was equally appealing. A big glass of wine and a hot bath.
"Thoughts?" she asked her dog as she leaned back against the counter. Bailey wagged his tail but offered no further opinion. "I know you’d rather I opt for tea." Her dog did not appreciate being locked out of the bathroom. And Emily, not inclined to bathe with her dog, wasn’t fond of listening to him whine, and on occasion out-and-out howl. It wasn’t conducive to relaxing. In fact, he’d gotten so annoying she’d taken to locking him down on the lower floor when she really wanted to enjoy a long soak.
His eyes seemed to plead, and she’d just started for the tea kettle on the stove when her cell phone rang. Crossing back to the counter, she picked it up, checked the caller ID and smiled as she answered. "So what? You’re still checking up on me?"
"I can’t help myself," Jules said. "You really looked wiped out at your father’s. And considering the news, I just wanted to check in."
"Well, I’m fine. I was just standing here debating whether I wanted hot tea or wine."
"You know me. I always vote for wine. Want me to come over and keep you company?"
"A lovely idea," Emily agreed. "But I think tonight I just need to be on my own."
"Are you sure there isn’t somebody else there? Or someone coming over? It isn’t like you to be so cagey." For a moment Emily thought Jules was talking about Gideon. Her heart rate ratcheted up and then she realized her friend was referring to the imaginary man she’d slept with last night.
"Sadly, there’s no one here. I swear. And no one coming." More’s the pity. Unwillingly her mind flashed another image of Gideon, his lips pressed to her hair. "Last night was a one-off. A mistake. And I can guarantee it won’t be happening again." Now there was an honest pledge.
"All right. We all deserve a night of illicit romance now and then. I won’t press for details. At least not tonight." Jules’ voice echoed with laughter.
"Thanks. I promise one of these days I’ll fill you in on everything." Or then again maybe not. "I’m not being totally selfish, am I?" It wouldn’t be that hard to get dressed again to go out, but just the idea exhausted her. "I know you probably want to celebrate your success from this morning."
"No. Actually, I’m still feeling the effects of last night’s migraine. I think I’ll make it an early night too."
"Well then, how about tomorrow? I talked to Sylvie earlier. We’re planning to meet for lunch tomorrow. Haru. You game?"
"Count me in. I’ll call you in the morning. I really am glad you’re all right."
"I’m fine. Just going to stay away from tequila for a while. Love you."
"Right back at you. Enjoy your wine. Night." Her friend rang off and Emily smiled. As usual, Jules was right; wine was just the thing. That and a long sudsy bath.
"Sorry, Bailey, my love, but I’m going to have to take you downstairs."
Her dog cocked his head to one side as if considering the matter and then with another doggy sigh padded down the stairs to the den. Emily followed, just to be sure his dog door was unlocked and that there were toys to play with. "I won’t be more than an hour," she called out as if Bailey actually spoke English. "There are two new bones and if that isn’t enough to keep you entertained, you can always go out to the garden."
Laughing, she headed back up to the kitchen and, after opening the wine, grabbed a glass and headed up to her bathroom. The large tiled room was warm and inviting. With a window of glass blocks providing light and a tub big enough for, sadly, her and Bailey, the room was designed to feel like a sanctuary. And tonight that’s what she needed.
She filled the glass with wine and took a long sip, closing her eyes in enjoyment as the smoky liquid slid down her throat. With another sip, she opened her eyes and, after setting the wine bottle and glass on the side of the tub, crossed to the wall and turned on her entertainment system. Soft, melodic music filled the air as Emily turned on the taps, added some bath salts to the running water, and then lit the various candles scattered about the room.
Then, after stripping off her clothes, she turned off the lights, had another long sip of wine and slid into the warm, scented water. Candlelight filled the glowing room and the dulcet notes of Agnes Obel’s Riverside seemed to float amidst the steam. Emily closed her eyes, for a moment just enjoying the music and the warmth and the feel of the water lapping against her skin.
And then her mind presented an image of Gideon. Not as he was now, but as he’d been when she’d first met him. She’d still been in college. At Barnard. Visiting her father on a rare afternoon off.
She’d first seen Gideon standing in her father’s office. Bending over the desk actually, looking at something her father was showing him on a computer screen. He’d straightened as she’d walked into the office. And she’d been aware even then of the carefully leashed power. The lean whipcord strength. A man determined to make his own way in the world. His black hair had been a little too long. The kind of hair that made a woman want to run her fingers through it.
She remembered her heart pounding, her mouth going dry. And she remembered the deep, dark green of his eyes, sparkling with secrets and promises. If that had been all there was, maybe she would have walked away. Had a daydream or two, but marked him off as nothing more than a passing fancy.
But then he’d smiled and she’d been totally and completely lost.
Of course, with her father sitting there looking on, she hadn’t given any of that away. And neither had he. She’d listened to her father introduce him. A new junior associate. Gideon Sloan. She remembered liking the sound of his name. Strong. Sensual.
Tipping back her head, she ran her hands over her breasts and thighs, remembering.
Then she’d shaken his hand and watched as he’d walked from the office. The rest of the afternoon had passed in a blur. But she’d obviously managed to make conversation with her father and other people in his office. In fact, she’d begun to think she’d imagined the whole thing, until she’d stepped outside her father’s building to find Gideon waiting for her.
It had felt as if his beautiful smile was reserved only for her.
He’d taken her to a bar and they’d eaten sandwiches and drunk beer. They’d talked and laughed. Played darts and danced to a stupid song on a jukebox. And it had felt as if she’d known him forever. Then when the bar had closed, they’d gone to his apartment. A walk-up in Hell’s Kitchen on the sixth floor.
The rooms were tiny and ugly, but Emily had barely seen them. The only thing she’d had eyes for was Gideon. His hands, his hair, his mouth. He kissed her then for the first time and it felt as if
their souls had touched. Thinking on it now, she knew she’d been young and naïve. But even so, the memory of that kiss made her body sing.
She circled a nipple, then her fingers drifted lower.
He’d kissed her again and then pulled her to the window and out onto the fire escape. Laughing, they’d climbed the ladder to the roof, the Hudson river shining in the distant moonlight. Everything had seemed magical. As if the world existed only for the two of them. They’d kissed and touched and slowly…so slowly…removed each other’s clothes until they were pressed skin to skin, heart beating against heart.
Steam swirled around her and her body tightened with the memory, yearning for a release that only he could give her.
Gideon.
Neither of them had been virgins, but it had still seemed like the very first time. As if everything leading up to their making love had been nothing. As if they’d been waiting, both of them, for that moment on the roof. For the two of them joined together, moving together. Passion ignited. Growing. Building until…
Emily cried out, tears filling her eyes, the memory so strong it was almost painful.
Gideon….Gideon.
They’d had nine amazing months. Shared a love she was certain she’d never find again. A connection so deep she’d believed nothing could sever it.
But she’d been wrong.
So very, very wrong.
She finished her wine and poured some more, her heart aching now. The memory shattered.
She was tired. So freakin’ tired. The candles flickered and the water moved in slow languid circles. Anna Nalick was singing now. She sounded so sad. Emily sucked in a breath, her head spinning. Too much wine. Too many memories. Closing her eyes, she let go—let herself fall.
Maybe finally she’d find some peace.
*****
A STORM HAD BLOWN in and rain was buffeting Manhattan. Gideon tried to drive responsibly, but something in his gut was urging him to hurry. Thunder rumbled down the avenue as he drove through Columbus Circle and onto Central Park West, neon reflected in the rain-slick streets. Cars honked, but he ignored them, zipping in and out of traffic like the most seasoned of taxi drivers.
According to his man on watch, Emily had come home a few hours ago and hadn’t left the brownstone since. She was probably in bed, exhausted from the emotional roller coaster ride of all that had happened. She wouldn’t be happy to see him. That much he was certain of. But she deserved to know what they’d found. About her tests, about the blood spatter, and most importantly, about the elevator. Of course all of that could have kept until morning.
If anything were to happen, it wouldn’t be tonight. Which made it even more crazy that he was out in the middle of a thunderstorm, driving like a maniac. But even that realization didn’t make him stop. He turned onto West 71st, honking when a truck moved too slowly. And then cursed the lack of a place to park. Grabbing his phone, he pressed the button to call Russ Lasko, his man on the street.
"I need your parking place," he barked. "I’m about halfway up the block." Ahead he saw taillights flash, and he pulled into the space as the other car pulled out. "Thanks, Russ, I’ll take it from here." He ended the call and slammed the car into park, then leapt out the door, rain pounding against his face, lightning seeming brighter here on the quiet street as it flashed overhead.
He’d known she’d bought the brownstone. Hell, it had made Page Six. He’d even driven past it once or twice. But he’d never in his wildest dreams considered that he might be going to actually knock on the door. Well, maybe in his wildest dreams, but this certainly wasn’t one of those, and he’d never expected to come twice in one day.
He took the stairs of the stoop two at a time, and then pounded the heavy knocker, the sound carrying even through the storm. He was acting a fool. He knew it. She was inside, asleep and well. And she’d not thank him for the interruption. Tom Irwin was dead. Any threat the man had been to her in life was gone. But still all he could see was the bastard holding her in that elevator, her eyes closed, her head falling back against his shoulder.
He shook himself, trying to clear the image and knocked again—calling her name. A light came on next door. But there was no response from Emily. He tipped back his head, blinking against the rain. There were lights flickering in an upstairs window. Candles, his beleaguered brain submitted. She was home. She had to be.
He knocked again and then, beneath the sound of the rain and the rumble of thunder and traffic, he heard something. Bailey. Barking. The dog was outside. There was no way in hell Emily was going to leave her dog outside in the rain.
He made his way back down the steps, and down the almost hidden walkway between Emily’s building and her neighbor’s. An ornate stone gate separated the narrow walkway from the garden, but he’d been this way before. And he quickly entered the passcode she’d given him at the safe house to open the gate.
It swung soundlessly inward, and Bailey rushed forward, barking like crazy, jumping up to plant two muddy paws on Gideon’s chest. "Where is she?" he asked, as if the dog held all the answers. Then, as if he had indeed understood, Bailey dropped back to his feet and gripped Gideon’s coat in his mouth, tugging once, and then, after letting go, bounded ahead toward the back of the brownstone, barking and stopping for a moment, urging Gideon on.
Together the two of them made their way through the garden to the back door. And with Bailey barking encouragement beside him, Gideon felt over the top of the door for the key he’d used earlier in the day. He knew he was intruding. Knew he had no business here. No place in her life.
Still, he couldn’t shake the thought that something was wrong. That Emily needed him. Yanking the door open, he ran through the room and up the stairs, Bailey still barking at his heels. But when he tried to open the door separating the two floors, it refused to budge. Locked.
Cursing, he called out for her. Yelling her name, ignoring all attempts at subtlety. Bailey too seemed to sense that something was wrong, his barking changing to whining, his tail dropping between his legs. Gideon bent to pat the dog. To reassure him. Maybe Emily had just gone out. He’d seen the dog door on his way in; Bailey hadn’t been locked outside. Maybe he was just freaked by the storm.
The dog whined again, pressing against the door, and Gideon caught a whiff of something pungent. Something wrong. Breathing more deeply, he recognized the smell for what it was—gas. He was smelling gas. Without stopping for further thought, he backed up on the landing and then launched a kick aimed at the door handle. It held firm, pain reverberating through up his calf and thigh. Gathering his strength, he kicked again, as Bailey slammed into the door, throwing his sixty-odd pounds into the endeavor.
Between them it was enough. The hollow-core door splintered, and Gideon reached through the hole to flip the lock. The smell was almost overpowering now, the kitchen overrun with gas. Gideon yelled at Bailey to stay and then after pulling his jacket over his face, ran into the room and over to the stove. A teapot sat on a burner, rattling from the force of the escaping gas. There was no fire. Turning off the knob, Gideon fought a cough and screamed Emily’s name.
Panic ripped through him as he ran through the living room and up the stairs. The brownstone was old and narrow, and anything but energy efficient, which meant that the gas had traveled quickly to higher ground. The smell was not as strong here but still enough to make him choke. "Emily?" he called, trying to keep his breathing shallow.
The bedroom was empty, but there was a flickering light beneath a door in the corner. Candles. Sweet Jesus. They could blow the whole house. He slammed the door open, putting out the candles as he advanced into the room, the lightning from the storm presenting a frightening picture. Emily in the bathtub, her face partially submerged in the water.
Oh God, no.
His heart pounding, his throat burning from inhaling the gas, he grabbed a robe from a hook and for the second time in one day, wrapped her in cotton and pulled her into his arms. Then, holding her close and taking
the stairs two at a time, he hit the bottom landing and dashed through the living room, then back down the basement stairs. He hadn’t even stopped to see if she was breathing. There wasn’t time.
Thunder crashed, resounding off buildings as lightning illuminated the sky and he and a frantically barking Bailey stepped back into the yard. The rain beat down upon them as he knelt on the grass, tipped back Emily’s head and breathed into her mouth, willing her to respond. To live. To survive.
For a moment it seemed that he had lost her, and then she coughed, the sound like music to his ears. She sucked in a shuddering breath and opened her eyes, confusion clearing when she recognized his face. "Gideon?"
"I’m here, Em. I’m here." He stroked back her hair, his gaze devouring hers. His heart pounding so loudly he was certain she could hear it.
"Wh…why are we in the rain?"
"I’m sorry, baby. I had to get you out of the house." Still holding her, he reached for his phone to call for help, Bailey settling down beside them.
She frowned and tried to swallow, the movement clearly difficult. "Wha…what happened?"
His arms tightened around her, as if somehow, by simply holding her, he could keep her safe. "I don’t know for sure. But I think some goddamned son of a bitch just tried to kill you."
CHAPTER 6
EMILY’S EYES FLUTTERED open, the motion mimicking her state of mind as she struggled for clarity. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t quite remember what. Which seemed to be par for the course these days. She looked up at the ceiling. Sunlight bounced off of institutional acoustic tiles. Great. Another morning and she wasn’t in her own bed.
"You’re awake." Gideon’s deep voice came from somewhere close to her left ear. She shivered and turned to have a look. He was seated beside her, his hand covering hers on the sheets. Behind her, the syncopated beating of a monitor filled the room.