by Dee Davis
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Praise
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Also by Dee Davis
Epilogue
Chapter 1
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Copyright Page
Praise for Dee Davis
After Twilight
“Dee Davis pours on the atmosphere and cranks up the danger in this terrific new thriller. Perfect pulse-pounding reading for a cold winter’s night.”
—Romantic Times
“Dee Davis provides her fans with a powerful romantic suspense. After Twilight is an entertaining tale that works because the characters seem real and their interactions quite genuine.”
—Affaire de Coeur
Just Breathe
“Rising star Dee Davis returns with a new story of sizzling romance and danger. Just Breathe is sure to please Ms. Davis’s growing list of admirers.”
—Romantic Times
“A wonderful, not-to-be-missed, stay-up-late read.”
—The Philadelphia Inquirer
Dark of the Night
“Intrigue, deception, and murder make Dark of the Night a great way to spend your entertainment hours. Author Dee Davis is making quite a name for herself in the romantic suspense field.”
—Romantic Times
“Dark of the Night is a compelling, thoroughly entertaining tale of romantic suspense. Fans of the genre should add Dee Davis to their list of ‘don’t miss’ authors.”
—America Online’s Romance Fiction Forum
Also by Dee Davis
Published by Ivy Books:
AFTER TWILIGHT
JUST BREATHE
DARK OF THE NIGHT
DANCING IN THE DARK
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For Lexie, the light of my life
Acknowledgments
Without the input of the following people, this story would not have been possible. Although I have worked to portray the characters in an accurate way, there are bound to be errors, and for those, I take full responsibility.
Thank you to Diana Hunter, Ph.D., PT, and Myrna Ward, RN-C, for helping me understand traumatic brain injury and its repercussions; Laura McCanlies, who made sure my Spanish was accurate; Julie Kenner and Kathleen O’Reilly, who put up with my inane worries and questions at all hours of the night; Charlotte Herscher, who, as always, pushed me to be my best; and a wonderful FBI agent, who, by request, shall remain nameless.
Prologue
Choahuila, Mexico
What he needed was a little excitement.
Jonathan Brighton shook his head, trying to clear it, to stop the slow incessant onslaught of fatigue, forcing himself to concentrate instead on the road ahead. It was the sameness that was getting to him. The lack of anything remotely entertaining.
The hazy mountains shimmered in the distance, taunting him, the diametric opposite of the arid hellhole he was driving across. As if in testament to his thoughts, a swirling cone of dust chased a tumbleweed across the road, dissipating when it reached the other side.
What in God’s name had possessed him to come here? He’d needed a break from the headaches of running Guardian, but surely a nice beach located next to a five-star hotel would have been a better choice of get-away. Instead, he was heading for a mountain retreat that was apparently located in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere remote.
Isolated.
He’d lost his fucking mind.
Or rather his brother had. He’d been the one to insist that Jonathan needed something different. Something quiet. And of course, his partners had jumped right up on the bandwagon, offering their sage advice. Go here. Go there. Take this road. Take that one.
And he’d listened.
So here he was, in the middle of nowhere, in a rental car that shook if he accelerated past fifty, with a radio that only worked some of the time and an air conditioner that had stopped before he’d gone a hundred miles. Another of his partners’ brilliant ideas. “Don’t drive your own car in Mexico, Jonathan. Just rent one. It’s cheap, it’s . . .” Crap. The goddamned thing was crap.
Oh yeah, this was the life.
Based on the way things were going he sincerely doubted there’d be anything redeeming about the trip at all. He did not feel refreshed. He didn’t even feel like he was on vacation—more like he was exiled in hell. Angrily he punched at the fan button, pushing it to high. Sun-heated air blasted out of the vent, and he gritted his teeth, reaching over to roll down the window. Nothing was worth this kind of torture.
Truth was, he wasn’t the rough-it-out-in-the-wilds type. He smiled at the thought, glancing down at his pressed jeans and polo shirt. Even they felt odd. He spent his days dressed for success, Armani his uniform of choice. The rest of the world might believe in dress-down Fridays but Jonathan thought it was bullshit. A way for people who couldn’t afford the best to justify their situation. And he wasn’t falling for it.
With a murmured curse, he pressed down on the accelerator. The little car shook, but held its course. It was turning into a hell of a day. Hopefully things were going better in Austin. Derek’s email had certainly made it sound that way. Although with his cryptic ramblings it was hard to tell for certain. Still, John was glad he’d stopped before crossing the border to check on things.
Between Danny and Derek, everything would be handled properly. It was tempting under the circumstances to go home and deal with it himself, but his brother was totally competent, and Derek had as much as said that things were fine. He just needed to have a little faith.
And call the office the minute he arrived.
He sighed, leaning back against the headrest. He’d put everything he had into Guardian. It was like a child. And he wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow anything to happen to it. If it died, so did he.
A horn sounded behind him, breaking into his reverie. He hadn’t even heard the truck coming up behind him. Three hours in the desert and he was already losing his edge. With a frown, he pulled the rental over onto the shoulder.
The truck, its red paint faded to orangey-brown, started to pass, then slowed, matching its pace to Jonathan’s car. A stocky man in the passenger seat smiled, gesturing for him to stop. Jonathan held his speed steady, concentrating on the rutted shoulder. The truck stayed with him.
Just what he needed to top off an already perfect day—a couple of crazy Mexicans in a beat-up pickup truck. Jonathan accelerated, the car protesting its mistreatment. The pickup followed suit, the man waving his hand now in agitation, his smile fading.
Something glinted in the man’s hand. A badge. The son of a bitch was waving a badge. Jonathan blew out a breath, relief mixing with anger. Where the hell w
as his siren? Pulling the car to a stop, he turned off the ignition, already reaching for his wallet.
The cop walked up to the car and leaned down, his beefy face glistening with sweat. “Salga del coche.” Jonathan’s beleaguered brain struggled to translate as the man repeated himself. “Salga del coche.” Get out of the car.
Jonathan reached for the car handle, but before he could open it, the door jerked outward, the man’s beefy hand closing on Jonathan’s shoulder.
“¡Ahora mismo!”
He nodded and stepped from the car. The big man’s partner joined them, his eyes hidden behind the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses.
“Su licencia, por favor.” Despite the word please, Jonathan recognized that the request was in fact an order.
He opened his wallet, digging for his license. “Yo no hablo español.” He actually did speak the language, but it had been a long time, and until he understood what was happening, he thought it best to keep the fact to himself.
The two men conferred for a moment, and then the second man handed the license back, his fat friend heading for their truck. “Where are you headed?” Jonathan returned his attention to the policeman in sunglasses. He was speaking English now, his words heavily accented.
“I’m on my way to the mountains. A place just outside of Satillo.” He was actually heading for a little village near Torreon, but again it seemed prudent to keep his destination private.
The man nodded. “You are on vacation here in our country?”
“Yeah. I needed a little peace and quiet.” Which was turning out to be a whole lot less soothing than advertised.
The policeman smiled, revealing a gold front tooth. “You have come to the right place, my friend. I think we can guarantee you nothing but peace and quiet from now on.”
Jonathan smiled back, but the hairs on his neck rose as some part of his body responded to a thread of something else in the man’s voice. For the first time he realized that neither of the men was wearing a uniform. Laughter off to his left signaled that fatty had moved, and Jonathan turned, his heart pounding as adrenaline pumped through his body.
The heavyset man was standing a few feet away, the hot sunshine highlighting the pistol in his hand.
There was a flash, and before Jonathan had time to think, let alone act, the sound of the gun’s report filled his ears. Then for a moment everything was quiet, the world seeming to move in slow motion. He watched as a bead of sweat dropped from the shooter’s heavily jowled face, waiting for the inevitable, and it came—an explosion of heat and light that obliterated all other thoughts.
He struggled to hold on, fighting to maintain consciousness. There was still so much he wanted to do. Somewhere amidst the pain in his head, he heard tires squealing as his assailants’ truck pulled back onto the highway, leaving him alone on the side of the road.
If he could have, he’d have laughed. It was an inglorious way to die, ironic really. The complete opposite of the life he’d led. Always pushing for more. As the darkness swirled up to swallow him, his last thoughts were of all that had been left undone. What he could have been. But nothing—not his money, not his connections, and certainly not his company—could save him now.
With a sigh, Jonathan Brighton gave in to the dark.
Chapter 1
Austin, Texas—Six months later
All he had to do was lift the goddamned pen.
John Brighton concentrated on the writing implement, willing his right hand to move. He was halfway there. He’d managed to get his fingers to close around the thing. Now all he had to do was lift it up.
His hand quivered and for a moment rose off the table. He closed his eyes, trying to visualize the action. How could something so seemingly inconsequential be so difficult? Six months of rehab and he was no better than a newborn. Weak and untried.
He swallowed, concentrating on the pen. This might be the biggest challenge he’d ever faced, but he wasn’t about to go down for the count. A couple of low-life Mexican thugs were not going to get the best of him.
The pen lifted, his fingers shaking with the effort.
“Hey, bro. Ready to blow this pop stand?”
The pen dropped to the bed, then rolled to the floor. “Danny.” John looked up, trying to conceal his annoyance. Maybe he was jealous of the fact that his brother had full use of his faculties, or maybe he was just in a generally crappy mood. Either way, there was no point in taking it out on Danny.
His brother hung a garment bag on a hook, and dropped into a chair by the hospital bed. “Having a little trouble signing out?” He bent down to retrieve the pen.
“I could have done it.” John sounded petulant and he knew it. “You surprised me. That’s all.”
“Look, Jonathan, there’s no need to push yourself like this. Your recovery is nothing short of miraculous as it is. What you need is a little downtime. Let your body come back at its own pace.”
“I’ve had six months of downtime, and believe me when I tell you it isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.” He wasn’t surprised to hear bitterness in his voice. So much had been lost. Things he might never recover. Gaping holes in his memory. A darkness that sometimes threatened to swallow him whole.
Danny held up a hand in apology. “I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers. I just want you to take a breath. Maybe move a little slower. The mind’s a funny thing. You shouldn’t push it.”
“There’s nothing to push, Danny. What’s gone is gone. My memories aren’t coming back. The only thing I can do now is try and pick through what’s left. Get on with my life.”
“So let me help you. It’s about time I got the chance to be the big brother.” His expression belied the lightness in his voice.
“And how exactly do you propose to do that?” John swung his legs carefully out of the bed, using his left leg to propel his right.
“Well, to start with I can sign these.” Danny reached for the dismissal papers. “I doubt anyone will look too closely.” His grin was contagious and John felt his mood lightening. Maybe things would feel more normal once he was home.
“Whatever it takes to get me out of here.” He watched as his brother signed the release papers, envying the ease with which he wielded the pen. “So what’d you bring me to wear?”
“Armani.” Danny smiled. “What else? I made a special trip to get it.” He unzipped the bag and pulled out the beautifully tailored suit.
John swallowed back a wave of frustration. The suit had enough closures to keep him occupied for a century. All hundred years. He forced a smile. “Thanks. But I think I might have preferred something a little simpler.”
Danny frowned. “Yeah, right. This coming from a guy whose friends wager about whether he wears a tie to bed at night.”
John winced at the reference. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it. But repetition didn’t make it seem any more real. He remembered the need for things like Armani, but the idea just didn’t fit anymore. It was as though that part of him had been damaged, twisted— the mirror image of what he’d once been. And no one seemed to understand.
He was Jonathan Brighton. And he wasn’t.
All at the same time.
Hell, he didn’t really understand it himself. He only knew he no longer wanted to wear Armani, even if he did have an entire closet full of it.
He looked up at his brother, striving for levity he simply didn’t feel. “I hope I’m not an odds-on favorite, because I don’t think I’ll be tying ties anytime soon.” He fought to close his hand, frustration combining with anger. Even the simple act of making a fist eluded him.
“Which brings me back to my original point. You’re pushing yourself too fast.” Danny reached for the suit coat, sliding it off of the hanger. “Flo said you were even thinking of coming back to work.”
“It’s time. I’ve been out of commission too long as it is.” With his good hand he levered himself up, careful to center his weight, slightly favoring his good leg.
“You we
re shot in the head, Jonathan. It’s going to take more than a few months to recover.”
He frowned at his brother, fighting to keep his irritation from showing. “I’ve asked you to call me John.”
“I know that, but after thirty-three years of calling you Jonathan, you can’t expect me to just instantly switch.”
“I expect you to try.” He knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
“Honest to God, John, what kind of man changes his name at thirty-five?” His brother’s tone bordered on exasperation.
“The kind whose life has been turned inside out.” He met his brother’s gaze, the tension in the room almost palpable. “The simple truth is that part of Jonathan Brighton died on that highway in Mexico, and it’s never coming back.” He shrugged, a left-sided affair that still managed to convey his misery. “John is all that’s left.”
“You’re talking nonsense.” Danny’s voice was earnest, worried. “You’re going to be fine. It may take time, but everything will be like before, you’ll see.”
“Nothing will ever be the same, Danny. I’ve accepted that fact. And you’d do well to accept it, too.” He blew out a breath, suddenly feeling tired.
“I’m working on it.” Danny dropped his gaze to study his wingtips. “But in the meantime, I can’t help worrying about you.”
“I understand that. And I appreciate your concern.” John closed his eyes, massaging his temple. “But the fact remains that it’s my call. And I say I’m ready to come back.” Anger, hot and heavy, swelled through him. “What I need now is work. And the work I choose is at Guardian.” He banged his good hand down on the table. “At my company. Do I make myself clear?”
Some part of him, deep inside, was appalled at his tone of voice, surprised at the depth of his anger, but it held no sway. He glared at his brother, waiting for an answer.
Danny sighed, obviously working to contain his emotions. “I just want you to be yourself again.”
“I know that.” John dropped heavily back onto the bed. “I didn’t mean to lose my temper. It’s just that right now, Guardian is all I have. And for the time being I need to be there. I need to try and make it all work again.”