by Rebecca Rode
“Are you saying it’s a competition?” The corner of his mouth quirked up.
“No, stupid.” She stretched her face up toward his. He leaned down and kissed her, long and slow. “Yes,” she said, when he finally pulled back. “That.”
“Once again”—he laced their fingers—”I’m not complaining, but, considering what we’ve gone through the last few years, we need more than chemistry.”
“You’re afraid I’ll run again.”
“Well, yeah, to be honest.” Wade held her gaze and that sweet something passed between them. “I want this, Shel—us. More than anything.”
“Even if ‘us’ alienates you from your family?” She’d met them. They’d interacted like her dream family. No emotionally disturbed mother who used her daughter’s love as a way to control her. Or a father who didn’t want to see her, interact with her, know her. Her father used her too, just in a different way.
“I talked with them this afternoon, after I left you. I told them about your father refusing to see you.” Wade chuckled. “I think they’re your fiercest champions now.”
“Really?” An unexpected sense of peace swelled inside her, washing away any remaining reservations. “Then trust this, Wade Masters. I can’t go through another horrible four years without you.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” He leaned over and gave her a quick peck before nodding toward the office building. “Martinez is in.”
Shelby gathered the snacks Ava had brought and stuffed them back in the bag while Wade came around to open her door. Struggling against the wind, he wrapped an arm around her, and she cradled the stash of food against her chest. They pushed against the wind and pelting rain and scrambled into the building.
“Where’s the guard?” Shelby set the bag onto the security desk and started riffling through it.
“I think he’s gone to the shelter with the others,” Ava said.
“Any signal here?” Shelby took out a package of peanut butter crackers.
“No.” Ava scowled, looking unhappy.
The image of a crashed copter tried to force itself on Shelby’s mind again, but she closed off the thought. She took her worry out on the package, and the plastic finally ripped open. One of the cracker sandwiches went flying. Wade picked it up and tossed it in a nearby trashcan.
“I’m sure he’s okay.” He put his arm around her. “He’s a smart man.”
“He better be, or I’ll kill him myself.” In spite of her churning stomach, she took a bite of a cracker. She didn’t dare risk passing out again.
“Well,” Wade said, “this storm has turned into a dress rehearsal. It’s one way to find weaknesses in the system. I thought this place had backups.”
“It does.” Shang Junior came jogging down the stairs. “They’re all down.”
“How is that possible?” Shelby bit into another cracker.
“What do you think?” Shang said. “Sabotage.”
Shelby gasped and choked.
“I thought it was supposed to be safer here.” Wade handed her a juice bottle.
“I’m going to check the equipment myself,” Ava said.
“I’ve already—” Shang began, but she’d already darted from the room.
“We have to get word to Alan,” Shelby said when she could speak again.
“How?” Shang asked.
“Can we do like they did in Jurassic Park and reboot the system?” Shelby felt stupid at the expression on his face. “Okay, so I don’t get how this all works. But where are all our tech—”
Lights from an approaching vehicle flashed into view, and Shelby’s heart leapt. Then Shang pulled out his revolver, and he positioned himself facing the door.
“This way.” Wade began towing her down the hall and out of sight of the entrance.
“But we don’t know who it is; it might be Alan,” Shelby said, unable to put into words what unsettled her. It could just be left over from her blood sugar crash. “Wade, no.” She dug in her feet, forcing him to stop. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Of course it doesn’t feel right,” he hissed. “We might be under attack.”
“Shh. Just wait a sec. We can run if we have to.”
She crept back toward the corner, not daring to peek around in case someone might see her. Wade eased up behind her, his comforting hand on her shoulder. The storm made it hard to hear what was going on outside, but she thought she recognized the sound of a car door slamming. A few seconds later the door burst open.
“We have to find out what’s gone wrong,” Alan said. “Our system’s backup should have been able to handle anything.”
A little thrill rushed through Shelby, and she moved to go out to him.
“Wait. I don’t feel right about this.” Wade pulled her back.
“Put your hands up, Mr. Grantham, and step against the wall,” Shang Junior said.
Her father was here? Shelby felt a little dizzy.
“What’s going on, Philip?” Alan’s voice had a cold edge to it.
“It’s time for me to retire,” Philip Senior said. “You’re going to help me make a withdrawal. A rather substantial withdrawal.”
Shelby rubbed her temple. They weren’t in a Jurassic Park movie. They were in Die Hard. She never wanted to see that film again.
“You’re right. It is time for you to retire,” Alan said, “if you think you can get away with robbing me.”
Wade swore softly. “Clever,” he breathed.
Shelby barely heard him, listening hard to hear her father’s voice. Why did he leave the talking to Alan? For all the times she had bitterly called her father horrible names, deep inside where she wouldn’t let anyone see it—not even herself—a part of her had wanted to meet him. As a child, she’d fantasized about a wonderful man coming to claim her, someone to take her away from the life she lived and the mother Shelby could never decide whether to love or hate. Charles Grantham was just around the corner.
“I believe you will do everything I require,” Philip said. “Son, go bring us Ms. Nash.”
Before he finished the words, Wade was pulling Shelby away again. He shifted them around, so he was behind her now and hurrying her along the corridor toward the stairs.
But Alan was back there. And her father.
“Stop, Masters,” Shang Junior called. Wade continued to push her until Shang Junior said, “I’ll shoot.”
Shelby jumped at the sound of a revolver being cocked; she stopped. Wade crashed into her. They staggered against the stair doors and froze. Through the window into the stairwell, she found Ava staring back at her. Shelby’s heart raced, and with wide, scared eyes she held her hand in the shape of a gun before putting a finger to her lips in a shushing motion. She prayed Ava wasn’t part of this.
“You didn’t really think you could get away, did you, Ms. Nash?” Philip Shang Junior’s disdain had never been more powerful. “Now come back so you can meet your father.”
Chapter 10
SHELBY DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO feel as she slid her hand into Wade’s, and they turned around. Shang Junior nodded his head toward the lobby and signaled with his revolver that they should go ahead of him.
The Shangs were behind this. She tried to get her still-wobbly head around it all. It seemed as though she hung from a tree, her world turned horribly upside down. Like she had when Alan and Philip had showed up at her mother’s funeral and told her the identity of her father.
She was finally going to meet him.
They came around the corner into the reception area. Shelby scanned the faces, not recognizing the men who stood on either side of Philip, both armed. One turned to point his rifle at them while the other held his at Alan. She wanted to rush to him. When she released Wade’s hand he put his arm around her and held her close to him, almost as though he thought she’d need support. Where was her father?
Then realization hit her, and her sense of reality wavered, everything turning fuzzy. A s
harp pain in her chest made her gasp. Alan? Her knees went weak, and she understood why Wade held her so close. He must have known Alan was Charles Grantham. Had they all lied to her? White-hot anger hit her.
“You?” Shelby spat, no longer unsteady. She tried to lunge toward Alan; she wanted to hit him. Wade held her back. She whirled on him, pulling away from him. “You knew too.”
“No, no, Shel.” Wade held up his hands, his expression frantic. “I only figured it out just now in the hallway.”
“And you didn’t say anything?” Her breathing came out in gasps, her energy sagging again.
“I was trying to get you to safety.”
“While your little family drama might be entertaining to you,” Philip said, sounding bored, “we need to move on.” He turned to his son. “Where’s Conti?”
Shelby jerked her attention away from Wade to Philip. Conti, the previous project manager. Her gaze met Alan’s, and the fury blazing there matched the one growing in her chest. For the moment, they were of one mind.
“He’s already upstairs,” Shang Junior said. “He’ll text when he’s ready for Grantham. I’ll have to go check his status since the system’s down. Ava is somewhere in the building.”
“So it wasn’t sabotage?” Shelby asked, unable to restrain the question.
“Let’s just say there are different kinds of sabotage.” Philip gave a smug grin. “The storm, however, while creating a complication, has also provided us with some additional camouflage. And how ironic that Charles Grantham should become a victim of one of his own business ventures.” His tone went flat. “Seems fitting, doesn’t it, Alan?” Philip looked at his son. “Lock these three in the office until we need him.”
Shelby didn’t wait for the men holding the rifles but went straight into the office manager’s workroom. Her hands shook again. She hoped the older secretary had found safety in the dorms and wouldn’t try to come back. Setting the bag of food on the desk, she kept her back to the door and refused to look at either Alan or Wade. She tried the phone and found it dead. No surprise there.
“Shel, I—” Alan began but stopped when she spun around to face them.
“Why?” Shelby’s throat closed up, preventing more words. Her eyes stung. It had taken so long for her to trust. So long. She felt sick. Why did everyone lie to her?
“I had no idea you existed until the obituary came out.” Alan’s faced contorted for a second, and he rubbed at his jaw. For the first time that she could remember, he seemed old. He sank into one of the chairs in front of the desk. “My secretary saw the notice in the paper and recognized the name. She said she wouldn’t have bothered me about it except for the mention of a teenaged daughter.”
Shelby said nothing. Her emotions jumbled around inside her, taxing her still-woozy brain. What could Alan say to make this right? Her father. It was too much. She stepped into Wade’s arms. He didn’t hesitate but wrapped them around her. With her head against his chest, she let him support her, grateful she didn’t have to face this alone.
“I’m glad to see you two have reconciled,” Alan said. “It’s what I’ve hoped for.”
“Don’t you dare.” Shelby lifted her head and shot him her worst glare. “Don’t you even dare try to take credit for this.”
“I’m not trying to take credit,” Alan snapped and then squeezed the bridge of his nose. He heaved a sigh. “Your mother—”
“Don’t compare me to her.” Shelby snapped back.
“Let him explain,” Wade said softly. “You know you want to hear him out.”
Did she? Shelby took a deep breath. “But can I believe anything he says?”
“Have you ever seen him lie without a good reason?”
Did she even know Alan? As she studied him, he accepted her scrutiny. Was this a good reason to lie? Her gut told her it was not.
“Look, I don’t know how much time we have.” Alan glanced at the door before looking at her again. “What can I tell you?”
“Besides the truth?” Shelby didn’t try to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“My dear, dear Shelby, don’t you remember how angry you were?” He leaned back on the sofa. “And for just a second, think about me. I’d just found out I was a father. That my ex-wife had not only kept her pregnancy a secret from me but never told the child who I was. That your mother’s silence had made you hate the very idea of me.”
She took in a breath to argue, but Wade’s soft shh in her ear kept her silent.
“When Philip and I came to the funeral, I expected to tell you my identity, even though at that time I was masquerading as my attorney. I didn’t know what to do.” Alan leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his expression the most sincere she’d ever seen it. He looked so vulnerable that it twisted her heart. “If I’d told you then who I was, what would you have done? How would you have felt toward me?”
“I would’ve hated you.” Shelby’s eyes burned, and she blinked.
“I wanted to give you time to adjust,” Alan said. “I thought if you got to know me, I could eventually tell you the truth.”
“It’s been ten years, sir,” Wade said.
“I know. I’m a coward.” Alan’s entire body language pleaded for her to believe him. “The more time passed, the closer we got. But you never once let up on the ‘sperm donor.’ What could I do? If I told you the truth, I risked losing you forever.”
Shelby tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Her father. Her secret dream for years had been for Alan to be her father. But he’d just been another person who’d lied to her. She closed her eyes so she didn’t have to look at him.
“It’s in my will.” Alan said. “When you graduated from college and went off, only coming home once a year, I knew the truth. You would never forgive Charles Grantham, but I thought you cared for Alan Bradley. Only after I died would you know the truth.”
She opened her eyes. “Why are you wasting your time telling me this instead of thinking of a way to stop Philip from stealing your money?”
“I’m more worried about losing you.”
Alan’s gaze met hers, and if Wade hadn’t kept his arms around her she might have run to him.
“Shouldn’t you be worried about what they plan for us?” Wade’s question pulled Shelby back, and a sharp pang of fear shot through her.
“Yeah.” She straightened and pulled his arms from around her to face Alan. “They said they need you. What for?”
“And what happens when they’re done with you?” Wade laced his fingers with hers.
“I have state-of-the-art security in place.” Alan rose to his feet. “I’m not worried about it.”
“You didn’t answer my question, sir.”
The old Wade wouldn’t have pushed the issue. A noise outside squashed the good feeling.
“They think they only need my fingerprint and a retina scan.” Alan’s expression had turned smug.
“Are you going to cooperate with them?” Wade lowered his voice and moved closer, pulling Shelby with him.
“I don’t plan on it.” Alan’s gaze never left her, and she knew he wanted to get back to their previous topic.
“And when they threaten to hurt Shelby?” Wade’s asked.
“What’s that?” She finally pulled herself out of her thoughts. “Me? Why me?”
“Because they know I’d do anything to keep you safe, you fool girl,” Alan said.
“We have to get the both of you out of here.” Wade studied the small office’s only window. “How many of them were there?”
“I only know about the ones you saw.” Alan stepped toward the window. “Philip likes to run small ops. It’s easier to get in and out with a smaller team, and keep undercover of the local authorities. I imagine he’s pretty confident with what he has, since the tropical storm turned at the last minute. I haven’t been here in a year. Can you suggest a good place for us to hide if we can get out of here without being caught?”
Shelby and Wade exchanged glances
before saying together, “The La Playa Cave.”
“The cave? Oh!” Alan rubbed his chin. “Is it done enough? And wouldn’t that be harder to get to in this weather?”
“Yes, but it’s also not been mentioned in the news,” Wade said.
“Let’s see if we can get a chair to stay under the door—” Alan frowned.
“That won’t work. It doesn’t have a knob.” Shelby pointed to the door’s shaft-like handle. “Is there a rope in here?” She scanned the room. “Something we could use to tie this handle to the closet door handle.”
“Good thinking.” Wade opened the closet door and chuckled. He reached in for a plastic package and held it up for them to see. “Support hose.”
“Perfect.” Shelby took it from him.
“Should I call you Mr. Grantham now?” Wade asked, unsure.
“The name Grantham has only caused me grief, my boy. Call me Alan. It is one of my names.” He looked at Shelby, contriteness in his expression. “It wasn’t really a lie, and I am an attorney. I didn’t make that up just for you, Shel. It was part of my therapy.”
“What therapy?” Wade asked.
“I’m recovering from Paranoid Personality Disorder. It’s part of what drove Shelby’s mother away.” He pulled an unhappy face. “Two mentally ill people make for a poor marriage.”
“And poor parents,” Shelby muttered, ripping open the plastic bag.
“And poor parents.” Alan lifted one of the legs of the support hose and started wrapping it around the closet door handle. “My doctor thought if I didn’t have to be Charles Grantham that I might be able to go out in public again. We worked on it over a few years, establishing me as Alan Bradley, but keeping my contact with people to only phone calls and such.”
“Are you kidding me?” Shelby shot him a flat look as she wrapped her hose leg tight around her door handle. “Please don’t even tell me you really thought you could pull a Clark Kent.”
“Come on, Shelby,” Alan said. “You know me.”
“I thought I did,” she whispered.