By the time we’re in traffic, Savage is on the phone and I figure out that he’s talking to Blake fairly easily. From there though, I try as I might to pick up details. The conversation feels coded, impossible to understand. Before the call is even over, Kace leans his head back against the seat and shuts his eyes. As much as I want to push him to talk, I know this is not the time or place. With forced restraint, I lower my head and shut my eyes and drift into the past.
I’m eleven, and it’s a few months before my father disappeared before my life was turned upside down. I’ve just finished a violin lesson with him in which I failed horribly and ended up in tears. He’d called me heavy-handed and no matter how hard I tried, I’d failed. It’s just me and him now, alone in a field of daisies, my white lace dress blowing in the wind. He’d placed a bow in my hands and knelt in front of me, and spoke to me in Italian.
“What do you see?”
“The bow. The daisies.”
“We are the bow and the daisies.”
“I don’t understand, Daddy.”
He turns me and has me face the daisies. “Watch the daisies blow in the wind. They are delicate and fierce like our instruments, like our family. They bend but they do not break.” He rotates me again. “Listen, my little angel, and remember this always. When you feel defeated, do not break. Listen to the music in your heart.”
The vehicle halts and my eyes pop open, my head turning toward Kace, only to find him staring at me. His blue eyes are flecked with amber from the afternoon sun but without a clue to where his mind lies. I reach over and press my palm to his face. He leans into the touch, his lashes lowering until he rolls into my palm and presses his lips to the center. The doorman opens his side of the vehicle and while the moment is lost, it’s left me hopeful and eager, for our time alone. We exit the SUV and it’s all I can do to endure the normally enjoyable greetings with the staff.
Savage is right there with us and once the three of us are inside the building elevator, he breaks the silence. “Blake will be here to discuss the situation in half an hour.”
Kace inclines his chin. I, in turn, want to scream my objection at a meeting that delays my chance to have a real one-on-one with Kace. I do not, however, do so, as memories of my father whisper in my ear—a daisy, a Stradivari, is delicate but fierce. We do not scream. I glance down at my ring, a gift from my mother to represent my bond with my father and do so with the realization that she never fully understood its meaning.
We do not hide.
Hiding is not fierce.
Once we're at the front door of Kace’s apartment, he stuns me by pulling me in front of him to indicate the security panel. Obviously, he wants me to open the door. He’s continuing to drive home a point that I belong here. That I belong with him. Any other time, I’d revel in this message. Right now, I just want in the door and to get him alone.
I punch in the code, open the door, and hurry inside, shrugging out of my coat to hang it on the coatrack. Kace and Savage don’t immediately follow, but I can hear Kace’s indiscernible murmurs to Savage before both men enter the apartment. Savage shuts the door and locks up. Kace shrugs out of his coat and hangs it up. It all feels robotic and excruciatingly slow.
That is until Kace’s big hand closes around mine, and he starts walking, taking me with him. My heart is racing, our energy like a bouncy ball, volleying back and forth between us. Wordlessly, he leads me up the stairs and we don’t stop until we’re in his office, where the vault is set-up.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, opening the vault door and entering on his own.
I stand there a moment or two, waiting, my heart still racing. I begin to pace and I can’t take it. I enter the vault to find him standing next to a giant drawer that’s open and built into a wall. He’s facing away from me, leaning on the wall, chin to his chest, tension in his broad shoulders.
“Kace?”
He straightens and shuts the drawer before he rotates to face me. He crosses to halt just in front of me, the tension still in his shoulders also rippling along his jawline. “When I visited your father, I was with him for two full weeks.”
“You were? I don’t remember that.”
“I do. Every day of my life, in some way, be it conscious or not, I know he’s there. I connected in a way that I never connected to my own father. He was a man of honor. A man to admire. A man to aspire to please.”
“I know. He was. I—miss him often.” I touch his arm. “Tell me about the daisy in the wind.”
“After only a few days together, he told me that I was the true daisy in the wind, the only true daisy in the wind and that I must not ever forget that. We wrote a song together. It was the first song I ever wrote and I promised him I’d never use it for profit.” He hands me a sheet of music. “It’s called ‘The Daisy in the Wind.’”
I glance down at the song, my chest tightens. I read over the musical notes and glance up at him. “This is special. And it’s going to make me cry because it’s a part of you and him together, but I don’t understand why you’re as upset as you are right now.”
He repeats the text message. “Look for the daisy in the wind. Be careful or you’ll end up dead. Someone knows about the song. Someone knows I’m the daisy in the wind. Not ‘a’ daisy in the wind Aria. The message says, the daisy in the wind. Someone is trying to scare you away from me.”
“He told me the daisies represent our family.” I show him my ring. “That’s why I wear the ring. I didn’t know he called you the daisy in the wind. I wouldn’t know this meant you and why wouldn’t they just say beware of Kace?”
“I don’t know. What I do know is that someone is playing a game with us. And our paths crossing again doesn’t feel like such a coincidence any longer.”
“What are you thinking?”
“You said your brother would never have left that letter for you to find. You also think someone has the security code to your building.”
“Which I didn’t change, I just realized, but where are you going with this?”
“I was always going to be at that auction,” he says. “And once you believed your brother might be there, so were you.”
My mind races with this possibility. “But why bring us together? To try to scare me away?”
“Maybe the same person who brought us together didn’t send you that text.”
“Who would want us together?” I ask.
“And who would want us apart?” he counters.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Who would want us together?
Who would want us apart?
Kace and I are still in his vault with those questions hanging in the air when the doorbell rings.
“I don’t want that song given to Walker Security. I trust them, but I gave your father my word that I would show it to no one. I don’t know why that mattered to him the way it did, but it did. You are the only person I have ever shown it to.”
I offer it back to him and close my hands over his. “I believe you were supposed to show it to me just as much as I believe I’m supposed to give it back to you.”
He studies me for a long few beats, an emotion I cannot name in his stare. “The drawer is unlocked and the song is labeled as ‘daisy.’”
It’s an obvious invitation for me to go into the files and pull that song out anytime I wish, but he doesn’t wait for my reply. He walks to the drawer, offering me his back in the process, his spine remaining stiff, his shoulders as knotted as they were when I’d found him in here.
The doorbell rings again.
Kace rotates, and in an out of character outward sign of frustration, scrubs his jaw. “I guess Savage isn’t answering the door. Let’s talk to Walker and get them out of here.” He heads for the door, but not without catching my hand and taking me with him.
I’m becoming accustomed to just how together we are, and it’s both wonderful and scary at the same time. Sometimes two people come together, b
ut they are really only boats passing in a sea of possibilities, and they become nothing but a whispered wind, soon forgotten. I’m way beyond Kace ever being a whispered wind. If we part ways, I already know that my sails, and my heart, will be shredded.
Somehow he snuck inside me, settled in, and made me fall in love with him.
Once we’re downstairs, we find Blake, and only Blake, waiting on us. “I sent Savage and Adrian downstairs,” he says. “Sometimes too many voices drown out the ones I need to hear, which is yours. And I know you, Kace. You are not a ‘many is better’ kind of guy.”
It’s a statement that tells me that he and Blake have communicated one-on-one, and not just in passing. Blake seems to read my mind and he glances over at me. “I hitched a ride to Europe with him a few years back when I needed a cover story his events provided and learned a lot about him in the process.”
“And clearly you really did,” Kace says. “You alone is a good call today.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re in the living room, with Blake and I perched on chairs with a coffee table between us. Kace is standing in front of the window with the Hudson River at his back and so far, we’ve told Blake everything about the note, the song, my father calling Kace the one true daisy.
“Let me get this straight,” Blake says, leaning forward, elbows on his jean-clad knees. “You think Sofia’s letter was a setup by her or someone else to bring Aria to you?”
Kace’s hands settle on his waist. “I do. That’s what my gut is telling me.”
Blake glances at me. “What do you think?”
“Gio would know I’d check his office. He’d know I’d find that letter and if he wanted me to know about Sofia, he would have told me about Sofia. Therefore, there are only two options, at least in my mind. As I’ve said in the past, at least to Kace if not you, it reads to me like he left suddenly, without expecting to leave. Or now with this new information, perhaps the letter was planted. The question is why? Why would anyone push me into Kace’s path?”
Blake eyes Kace and arches a brow in a silent question.
“I don’t know,” Kace replies, “but that text she got reads more like someone trying to get her away from me.”
“So someone pushed her to you, and someone wants to pull her away,” Blake says, seeming to think out loud. His lips press together. “Hmmm. Unless it’s the same person with an agenda we don’t understand, but I don’t think so. I buy into the two different someones more than I do the latter.” He looks between us. “Let’s backtrack. Let’s start with what we know.”
Kace sits down next to me on the chair. “Obviously, it’s someone who knows I spent that time with her father.”
“And someone who knows he called you the one true daisy,” I add.
“No one knows that,” Kace argues. “Just me and your father.”
“What about Gio?” Blake suggests. “Wasn’t he there, too?”
“He was,” Kace agrees, “but he was never present when I was with her father.”
“Maybe her father told him about his time with you,” Blake offers.
“Gio doesn’t even play an instrument,” I say. “He didn’t ever want to play. He wanted to learn the business side of violin-making. Which to point out: Kace’s training wouldn’t have been a topic my father and Gio would have discussed.”
“You can’t know that,” Blake says. “You are assuming and we can’t afford to assume. That said, anyone close to your father, or even Kace, who had handlers and security, might have picked up on something between them. And as we all know, the formula is a priceless commodity.”
“We wrote a song,” Kace says. “Just a song.”
“You know that,” Blake counters. “Only you. And her father, who is missing.”
“Who is dead,” I say, my throat tight with those words despite the years that have passed.
Blake doesn’t comment. He’s focused on Kace. “What if Gio thinks you have the formula? His father did call you the one real daisy. Maybe that’s some sort of code for the keeper of the formula.”
Kace grimaces. “He, or anyone else for that matter, can’t possibly believe his father gave a sixteen-year-old stranger a formula.”
“Sometimes a stranger is safer than those close to you,” Blake replies. “And you were never a normal kid or teenager. Think about it. This gives us a reason that Gio would want Aria to get close to you. That allows him to get close to you and the formula.”
“He’s not even here,” I say. “He’s missing. And my brother knows I’d kill him for pulling such a stunt.”
“Exactly why he might not ask for the help,” Blake suggests. “He’d set you up to give it to him.”
“And yet I get a text message that’s warning me away from Kace?” I challenge.
“Is it a warning?” he counters. “Digest the words of that text: Look for the daisy in the wind. Be careful or you’ll end up dead. That could be instructions, perhaps from Gio himself.”
I shake my head. “No. No, this is not Gio. I don’t believe that. This is not how he’d communicate with me.”
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Kace says, frustration roughening up his tone. “Where does this leave us? Can the text be traced?”
“It cannot,” Blake replies. “Unfortunately, there’s a wild array of ways to send an untraceable text. Which is why, no doubt, this came to Aria as a text. As for where this leaves us? It leaves me doing my job. There’s an operation called The Underground. They treasure hunt and play a role in keeping the modern-day mob in check, which I won’t get into. They’re worldwide, but the leader of the European operation, Kayden Wilkens, is a close friend. If someone wanted to hire someone to find it, they’d eventually end up with The Underground. And since this originates in Europe, in Italy where he’s based, they’d end up with him.”
“You think my brother had gone, or will go, to him?” I ask.
“I think your brother wouldn’t have a reason to go to him if he thinks Kace has the formula.”
“We don’t know that he thinks any such thing,” I remind him.”
“Fair enough,” Blake concedes, “but I also don’t think your brother had the funds to hire The Underground. They aren’t cheap.”
“He handed me a wad of cash,” I rebut. “He could have cash I don’t know about.”
“Or,” Blake replies, “maybe we’ll find out that someone else, with or without Gio’s involvement, funded the money to hire The Underground.”
“Like Sofia,” Kace suggests.
“Like Sofia,” Blake agrees. His phone buzzes with a text and he yanks it from his pocket, glances at the message, and then back at us. “I need to run unless you can think of something else?” He stands up and sticks his phone back into his pocket.
Kace and I are already on our feet as well. “What’s your take on Aria being in danger?” Kace asks.
“And Kace being in danger?” I ask, glancing up at him. “You’re the one true daisy, remember?”
“Quite well,” he says tightly, his lips pressed together.
“Nothing has changed,” Blake says. “And if this is Gio we’re dealing with, the risk is even less. He’s not going to hurt Aria or risk hurting Aria.”
“It’s not Gio,” I insist.
“I’m looking at all options or I wouldn’t be calling Kayden Wilkens,” Blake assures me before he eyes Kace. “Can I get a copy of that song you wrote with Aria’s father?”
“No,” Kace says, his tone absolute. “I promised Aria’s father no one would see it. That man impacted my life. I’m not dishonoring his.”
Blake’s lips quirk. “And you wonder why he would trust a sixteen-year-old with the formula. You won’t even give me a song.” He heads for the door.
Kace and I watch him leave and when the door shuts, Kace turns to me. “You know I wasn’t hiding the song from you, right?”
“Kace, you told me the minute you saw the text. I’ve only known you k
now who I am for two days. You didn’t have the chance. And you didn’t have to tell me at all.” I wrap my arms around him. “I know you would have told me.”
He folds me close. “I would have. Aria, I promise you. I knew it would be emotional for you. I was waiting for the right moment.”
“It’s special, Kace. It’s like having a piece of my father through you.”
His expression darkens, his change of mood palpable. “What is it, Kace?”
He cups my face, studying me with such intensity it’s as if he means to memorize every arch and plane. “I don’t know how we came together, Aria,” he says, a stark quality to his voice, “or why, but right or wrong, we’re here now.”
My hand goes to his hand. “What is this Kace? What are you saying?”
“Facts. I’m just speaking the truth.”
Tensions curls inside me. “I don’t understand.”
“I know. Aria, there are parts of me you aren’t going to like, parts that I don’t want you to even know about.”
“Why are you saying this now?” “
“Because I need you to know, that none of them have to do with your family or that formula.”
“I believe you.”
Tension ripples down his jawline. “You won’t like those parts of me.”
“Are you telling me or inviting me to find out for myself and make that decision?”
“Against my better judgment and because I can’t walk away from you, I’m asking you to stay.”
“Gio is not going to come back and convince me to leave, if that’s what you think.”
“I’m not worried about Gio, Aria. I’m just telling you that sooner or later you will have to decide to stay or go. I’m asking you to stay.”
I study him and I can see the torment splintering in the haze of his blue eyes. Something about that song, about his past with my father, has triggered him and I’m reminded of the cage he lives inside. Alone. He lives there alone. And even with me here, he’s still alone, until I find a key.
And so I press my hand to his face and say what I feel, and what I hope he wants to hear. “I don’t have to be told twice.”
A Wicked Song Page 15