I threw my favorite blue jeans, some long-sleeved Henleys, and an array of colorful tanks into my suitcase. Then I added a couple of dresses, in case North Carolina was hit with an early autumn heat wave. And, finally, I sorted through the clothes Jayne had tossed into her carry-on, put most of them back into the dresser, and selected some flip-flops, sneakers (to wear on the plane), and strappy high-heel sandals. You just never knew when you’d need the power of a sexy pair of shoes. I zipped the suitcase closed, and then tucked my computer and adaptor into the easy-access outside pocket.
Sweats. I grinned. Exactly not the thing to wear on a Steele Management jet when Parker was working, but it would irritate Jayne and bring out the tiny creases that circled her pinched lips. Small payback for her attempt to take over my life, but it was enough to cheer me up. Dressed and ready to go, I detoured through the bathroom for a last minute check-in, collected my makeup bag and, toothbrush, then scooped my watch off the counter. I’d need to keep it set on Hawaiian time or I’d lose track of when my clients were scheduled.
One last room check. Did I want to pack my weapons? No, Mitch had all sorts of useful and high-tech items in his study, items I’d be shipping home to Hawaii. I couldn’t leave them with Jayne and Parker, not with memories of the many hours Mitch and I had spent training together embedded in every one. And certainly not with little Mitchell growing up in the house.
Time had run out, so I stomped toward the door, rolling both my suitcase behind me.
Parker glanced at me, did a double take, and then broke into a muffled coughing fit. Jayne glared. Very proper people, Parker and Jayne. They were both dressed in pressed khakis, wrinkle-free shirts, and had spit-polished shoes on their feet. Yep. I’d done good. And I’d even chosen my best sweats. No holes or anything.
Parker was the first to find his voice. “Do you have coaching appointments you need to cancel before we leave?”
“No. Most of my work nowadays is with phone clients, and since Jayne assured me you have excellent communication service on the plane, it should be fine.”
Jayne harrumphed, then stalked into the bedroom to retrieve her carry-on.
I stuffed my makeup bag and toothbrush into a side pocket of my suitcase, fastened the watch on my wrist, and made a last-minute decision to take my iPad along as well. Slinging my handbag over my shoulder, I glanced around the living room and kitchen. Nothing was out of place, so I made a final round of the windows and the slider, checking that everything was secured. “Ready?” I asked.
Double nods. I shooed them out the front door, set the alarm, and locked up, briefly regretting that I wouldn’t be around when Pierce came looking for me. It would have been an invaluable education to watch him pick my lock and disable the alarm. There were a few things he hadn’t taught me about breaking and entering, and, unless I caught him unawares, would probably never learn his deepest secrets.
I dialed Annie from the car, but there was no answer so I left a voicemail. My thumb hovered over Pierce’s speed dial number. Bad idea. It would be much better to give him a heads-up on my activities from the plane. He’d want his own transportation, and could use the flight time to chase down Eamon Grady. That way, when I was done in North Carolina, I could switch to Pierce’s corporate jet…well, right after I convinced him the confrontation with my parents’ killer should be a team effort. It was always better to have an infallible plan when dealing with a man. Especially, when the man was Tynan Pierce.
The first part of the flight went by quickly. I kept my nose buried in my computer, composing emails to Annie and Adam, and beginning an extensive and detailed Internet search for Grady. There hadn’t been enough time for me to grill Pierce about him before Jayne and Parker interrupted us, but the name triggered all kinds of alarms. Definitely Irish. Or maybe Scottish. And it seemed like Pierce would have said something about Grady being from his homeland, since he kept a mental dossier on Ireland’s underworld inhabitants. So Grady was probably a Scot.
In all the time I’d known him, Pierce had never mentioned his life in Ireland. And wasn’t that odd?
Jayne poked her nose into the bedroom I was using as a workspace. “Lunch is being served.”
I glanced at my watch to check Hawaiian time. “I have about an hour before my first client, so the timing is perfect.”
She started to back away from the door.
“Jayne?”
“Yes,” she said, poking her nose into the bedroom.
“Why haven’t you searched Mitch’s lair? You’re his sister. It’s your home now. I don’t understand why you’re dragging me across the Pacific and an entire continent to do this. I want to find out who killed my parents, and who Mitch worked for, as much as you do, so I’m grateful, in a strange sort of way, but—”
Her shoulders sagged. “Mitchell kept the upstairs study a secret. From me, not from you. Even after we discovered it and he knew I’d been inside, he never mentioned it, never explained why he had it hidden on a non-existent third floor. It wasn’t in the original blueprints, you know. I…it isn’t my place to rifle through whatever he kept there. You were his wife, spent time with him in that room, were welcome there. And you have those magic fingers. Even if there aren’t any written documents leading us to his employers, you’ll find clues.”
Pain was etched in the tightness of her forced smile. They’d been so close, Mitch and Jayne, and that he’d kept a secret this important from her had to hurt. Every empathic cell in my body thrummed right along with her pain. “I will do my best to find his boss. Have you tried calling the number Mitch gave you? The one to report any emergencies while he was away on assignment?”
“Disconnected. Parker has a business meeting in thirty minutes, so if you want lunch it would be best to eat now.” The door closed with a soft snick.
One quick but delicious lunch later, I retreated to my workspace-slash-bedroom for the client sessions I’d scheduled. And after finishing those, I cancelled everything on my calendar for an indefinite period, because there was no telling how long my revenge would take. That done, I settled in for a long nap. It was a cowardly way to avoid Jayne and Parker, but they had business, and sometimes my fingers got flakey when I was over-tired. It would be best if my magic digits were in top form when we arrived at the Steele house.
Not Mitch’s. Not mine. It was Steele property now.
Tears welled. Mitch wouldn’t be there waiting for me. When I’d stayed in one of the guest rooms during the week of his funeral, I kept seeing him come around corners, heard his laugh echoing faintly in the hallways, and felt his arms slide around me while I slept. Maybe some of his energy was there, but more likely it was a phenomenon born from stress and lack of sleep.
Jayne woke me just before we landed, and my sleep-clogged brain took a few seconds to remember where I was and what was happening. Mitch. I was chasing down the man he’d worked for. And then what was I going to do? No Annie, no Adam, and no Pierce for backup. Without them to support me, I wouldn’t be doing anything more dangerous than finding a name. Maybe an address.
The forty-five minute drive from the airport to the country sped by, and when Parker turned into the driveway the butterflies in my stomach rebelled. Good thing I’d slept through dinner on the plane. Stiff spine, Everly. You can do this. It hasn’t been your home for almost a year. It won’t be the same. Won’t feel the same smell the same, or look the same.
The house was full of people. My former in-laws had been taking care of baby Mitchell, a live-in nanny supervised the trio, and Jayne and Parker had hired a full-time cook and a part-time housekeeper. Damn good thing it was a big house.
A sigh fluttered from my chest. Nothing of Mitch, or me, remained on the main floor. Now it was cluttered with kid stuff, the scent of baby powder, and a mishmash of voices and excited squeals when little Mitchell spotted his parents. Jayne and Parker had made a family.
Loneliness sucked.
I offered the requisite hugs to my former in-laws, kissed the bab
y, met the nanny, cook, and housekeeper, and kept my hands to myself. Had anyone noticed? Other than grabbing Jayne’s shoulder at my condo, I hadn’t touched anyone. At all. I quickly made my excuses, went outside, and climbed the staircase to Mitch’s private quarters, where I planned to stay until I could gracefully exit this menagerie, hopefully with some of my sanity still intact.
But there was still his grave. It was the main reason I’d avoided our former home, and probably why I’d never considered searching Mitch’s lair. His death was still too raw, too fresh, and my guilt was relentless. It would be impossible for me to avoid his final resting place while I was on the third floor. The deck looked directly over his burial site.
The wheels of my suitcase clunked on each step, a counterpoint to my thudding heart. I hadn’t come anywhere near Mitch’s lair, even during the week of the funeral. I still wasn’t ready, but I relentlessly ignored the panic building in my gut.
When I reached the top of the stairs, the panorama of rolling hills and forested land took my breath. It always had. Autumn colors highlighted the deep green of evergreens with brilliant hues of red, orange, and gold, and for a minute I was able to avoid looking at the sakura tree that marked the…place where Mitch was buried. Jayne and I had chosen the Japanese cherry tree because it symbolized the evanescence of human life. Fleeting. Exactly what Mitch’s life had been, to say nothing of our life together. At least the darn tree wasn’t in bloom. I could almost handle bare limbs. Almost.
I spun away from the view, my breath hitching. Time to face Mitch’s lair. Closed blinds covered the huge picture window so I couldn’t see inside. No way to sneak a quick peek to prepare myself before I walked in.
Reaching for the doorknob, I stopped short. No telling what images lurked behind the sparkling brass, but there was no way I could avoid touching it. I touched the diamond in my navel instead, my talisman, closed my hand around the knob, and was almost flattened by the sudden, furious flash of images that sucked my breath away.
FOUR
I JERKED MY HAND OFF the doorknob, and frantically rubbed my palm over my thigh. So that was what happened when a person attempted to shut off their psychic gifts. I closed my eyes to stop the spinning images. Not that it worked. There were too many, and they moved too quickly for me to see anything but a blur of hazy colors.
If I had any hope of discovering Mitch’s secrets, I’d have to ease into the transition from dormant touching to active fingertips. I spun away from the door and crossed the deck to the railing where I’d first seen Mitch being attacked by the thugs who killed his friend, Tony Civitelli. Those images had probably faded long ago, but maybe there was something more recent to prime my fingers on.
I hesitated, my hand a mere inch from the wood, and then stepped back. The anger and guilt still churned deep in my belly and in my thoughts—not a good thing to combine with ESP fingers. I hadn’t practiced much yoga since Mitch was killed, preferring to run until I was exhausted instead of searching in my soul for any semblance of peace. Standing in the middle of the deck, I concentrated on the view, on the tranquility of the rolling hills, and slipped into a comfortable yoga routine of half sun salutations.
Five minutes later I managed a full breath. Another ten minutes, and the rich scent of sun-warmed wild grass permeated my senses, and dulled the panic I’d shuffled so successfully into the back of my mind that I hadn’t realized it was there. Yes, I was afraid to face Mitch’s secrets first-hand. I’d seen the proof of his spy-on-Everly assignment when Annie had hacked into his email and files, but there was more, had to be, and when I touched the things in his lair I’d learn about them.
I stretched tall, arching my neck to watch a cluster of fluffy clouds meander across the pale blue North Carolina sky. It had never truly been my home, this house that Mitch had created, and it was time for me to let it go.
Dropping my arms, I crossed the deck, and without hesitation reached for the doorknob, safe in the knowledge that there would be no lingering images after the onslaught that hit me with the first touch. I’d absorbed all the energy from them and still had the roiling stomach to prove it.
I turned the knob. Locked. Odd that Jayne hadn’t given me the key. I shrugged it off. She was a new mom who’d been away from her baby for the first time. Seeing the way he’d grinned at her, and raised those chubby arms to be picked up had probably killed any thoughts less important than cuddling the baby. I dug in my handbag for my lock picks and made short work of getting inside.
Dust and stale air. There were no remnants of the cologne Mitch had used or the comfortable fragrance of pine logs he’d loved to burn in the fireplace. My heart ached for how quickly the memory of him had dissipated. I crossed the room to the refrigerator and wrapped my fingers around the handle. A vibrant picture of Mitch smiling, snagging a bottle of water, then turning toward me flashed on my internal screen. I remembered the moment. It had been just before he left on his final assignment, the one when I learned he was going to Honolulu and hadn’t asked me go with him. It had been my first big clue that something was very wrong with our marriage.
The refrigerator was empty now. Of course super-fastidious Jayne had cleaned it out. I wandered into the bathroom, turned on the tap, and scooped handfuls of water into my parched mouth. No images assaulted my fingertips—not surprising, since Mitch had never lingered in the bathroom long enough to leave any emotional traces behind. Unless we were sharing the shower, but no way was I going to be touching anything in there. Nope. Definitely not letting the intimacy of those images rip my heart out.
Time to stop procrastinating, Everly Gray Hunt.
Mitch’s so-called government boss had sent someone to pick up his laptop, desktop, and paper files right before the funeral. I’d deliberately shaken the guy’s hand with the intent to trespass, but only learned that he was a bureaucratic underling who knew nothing. And there was no way for me to stop him from taking Mitch’s things, seeing as both the hardware and intellectual property belonged to the US government. Probably. Jayne had brought the guy up to Mitch’s lair, kept an eye on things until they’d left.
A tingle of awareness spread through me. Hadn’t she? My memories from the days surrounding the funeral were vague and scattered. Maybe Mitch hadn’t been working for the government. Maybe he hadn’t known who he was really working for, at least not when it came to spying on me. I wasn’t his typical military assignment.
Well, hell. Why hadn’t I thought about the possibility of Mitch having two different bosses months ago? I whipped out my cell and sent texts to Annie and Pierce. Annie should be able to trace every damn one of his assignments back to its origin. Computer geniuses could do that, couldn’t they? And Pierce had friends who knew stuff. Between the two of them, information should pop out of the bits, bytes, and those amazing blatant threats Pierce could deliver with a single glance.
I tucked my phone back into my pocket and turned to the task at hand. If I were Mitch, where would I have hidden something I didn’t want to be found? I made a slow pivot, taking in all the nooks, crannies, searching for anything that seemed out of place.
And there it was, on the top shelf of the bookcase behind his desk. One of the mysteries I favored had been tucked between books on photography and architecture, almost invisible unless you were looking for it. The color of the three hardcover spines blended so well it looked like one giant tome.
It was too high for me to reach, so I shoved the desk closer to the book-lined wall, climbed on top, stretched, and snagged it with the tips of my fingers. It slid further back on the shelf, out of reach, so I went on tiptoes, tumbled off the desk, and banged my elbow on the edge of a shelf.
Electric fire sizzled through my arm. Fortunately, my martial arts training ensured that I ducked and rolled, so I wasn’t seriously injured, but I’d definitely have some bruises to show for my stupidity.
The fall knocked over an empty wastebasket, and the tedious back and forth rock of metal against the wood floor grated on my ner
ves. So careless of me, and I knew better. When the shock of falling faded from my muscles, I stood and stomped around the room rubbing at the pain shooting from my elbow to my fingertips.
There was absolutely nothing amusing about smacking the funny bone, but the physical pain had jarred my memories into an uncomfortable place. Mitch would have kissed it and made it better. My thoughts strayed to the sofa where we’d made love so often. There had been something deliciously exciting about sneaking into his lair to seduce him, and I’d often taken full advantage.
I eyed the sofa with caution, then filtered through my memories, concentrating on his expressions, and whatever words still lingered in my mental data banks. Behavioral nuances I’d missed in the heat of passion flooded my mind with glaring intensity. Mitch suddenly shutting down his computer, sideways glances at stacks of paper on his desk, and once he’d not-so-subtly turned me away from the weapons cabinet, stopping my questions with a series of toe-curling kisses. And I’d been totally and completely distracted because, hey, the man was a skilled, patient, and dedicated lover.
But he wasn’t here to distract me now.
I shifted my attention from the misplaced mystery book to the steel weapons cabinet, my movements stilted and awkward. A fresh shaft of pain pierced my heart. As much as Mitch had loved me…or maybe he’d just pretended to love me—I’d probably never know, but it still blindsided me with a heap of hurt. I sucked in a breath, and made my way to the cabinet. It had been built into the room, the doors fitting flush with the wall, and covered with a wood veneer. A keypad was hidden behind a tiny sliding door that was nearly invisible to a casual glance.
I ran my fingers over the seam, slid the door aside with the edge of my fingernail, and entered the code. It didn’t click open. Had Jayne changed the combination? No. She wouldn’t have known about the hidden lock. Mitch, then.
If he wanted me to open it, he would have used a code only I would know. Something obvious to me, or more likely, to my fingertips. I inhaled and rested the pads of my fingers just above the lock and a string of random numbers flashed in my mind. Holding the image, I typed the numbers into the keypad and the door swung open. He’d planned for this. Wanted me to find…whatever. Or maybe he’d been thinking about the combination when he touched the cabinet. Something else I’d never know.
a Touch of Revenge (Romantic Mystery - book 6): The Everly Gray Adventures Page 3