by Sylvia Day
Laughing, I headed back to my cubicle. I had other things to do besides referee someone else’s love life. Mark was juggling several accounts at once, with three campaigns rolling into the final stages. Creatives were at work and mock-ups were slowly making their way across his desk. That was my favorite part—seeing all the strategizing come together.
By ten o’clock, Mark and I were deep into debating the various approaches to a divorce attorney’s ad campaign. We were trying to find the right mix of sympathy for a difficult time in a person’s life and the most prized qualities of a lawyer—the ability to be cunning and ruthless.
“I’m never going to need one of these,” he said, somewhat out of the blue.
“No,” I replied, once my brain caught up to the fact that he was talking about divorce attorneys. “You never will. I’m dying to congratulate Steven at lunch. I’m really so thrilled for you two.”
Mark’s grin exposed his slightly crooked teeth, which I thought were cute. “I’ve never been happier.”
It was nearing eleven and we’d switched to a guitar manufacturer’s campaign when my desk phone rang. I ran out to my cubicle to grab it and had my usual greeting cut off by a squeal.
“Oh my God, Eva! I just found out we’re both going to be at that Six-Ninths thing tomorrow!”
“Ireland?”
“Who else?” Gideon’s sister was so excited, she sounded younger than her seventeen years. “I love Six-Ninths. Brett Kline is so freakin’ hot. So is Darrin Rumsfeld. He’s the drummer. He’s fine as hell.”
I laughed. “Do you happen to like their music, too?”
“Pfft. That’s a given. Listen”—her voice turned serious—“I think you should try talking to Gideon tomorrow. You know, just kinda walk by and say hi. If you open the door, he’ll totally barge through it, I swear. He misses you like crazy.”
Leaning back in my chair, I played along. “You think so?”
“It’s so obvious.”
“Really? How?”
“I don’t know. Like how his voice changes when he talks about you. I can’t explain it, but I’m telling you, he’s dying to get you back. You’re the one who told him to bring me along tomorrow, didn’t you?”
“Not precisely—”
“Ha! I knew it. He always does what you tell him.” She laughed. “Thanks, by the way.”
“Thank him. I’m just looking forward to seeing you again.”
Ireland was the one person in Gideon’s family for whom he felt untarnished affection, although he tried hard not to show it. I thought maybe he was afraid to be disappointed or afraid he might ruin it somehow. I wasn’t sure what the deal was, but Ireland hero-worshipped her brother and he’d kept his distance, even though he needed love terribly.
“Promise me you’ll try to talk to him,” she pressed. “You still love him, right?”
“More than ever,” I said fervently.
She was quiet for a minute, then said, “He’s changed since he met you.”
“I think so. I’ve changed, too.” I straightened when Mark stepped out of his office. “I have to get back to work, but we’ll catch up tomorrow. And make plans for that girls’ day we talked about.”
“Sweet. Catch you later!”
I hung up, pleased that Gideon had followed through and made plans with Ireland. We were making progress, both together and on our own.
“Baby steps,” I whispered. Then I got back to work.
AT noon, Mark and I headed out to meet Steven at a French bistro. Once we entered the restaurant, it was easy to spot Mark’s partner, even with the size of the place and the number of diners.
Steven Ellison was a big guy—tall, broad shouldered, and heavily muscled. He owned his own construction business and preferred to be working the job sites with his crew. But it was his gloriously red hair that really drew the eye. His sister Shawna had the same hair—and the same fun-loving nature.
“Hey, you!” I greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, able to be more familiar with him than I was with my boss. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, darlin’. Mark is finally going to make an honest man out of me.”
“It’d take more than marriage to do that,” Mark shot back, pulling out my chair for me.
“When haven’t I been honest with you?” Steven protested.
“Um, let’s see.” Mark got me settled in my seat, then took the one beside me. “How about when you swore marriage wasn’t for you.”
“Ah, I never said it wasn’t for me.” Steven winked at me, his blue eyes full of mischief. “Just that it wasn’t for most people.”
“He was really twisted up over asking you,” I told him. “I felt bad for the guy.”
“Yeah.” Mark flipped through the menu. “She’s my witness to your cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Feel bad for me,” Steven retorted. “I wooed him with wine, roses, and violin players. I spent days practicing my proposal. I still got shot down.”
He rolled his eyes, but I could tell there was a wound there that hadn’t quite healed. When Mark placed his hand over his partner’s and squeezed, I knew I was right.
“So how’d he do it?” I asked, even though Mark had told me.
The waitress, asking if we wanted water, interrupted us. We held her back a minute and ordered our food, too, and then Steven started relaying their anniversary night out.
“He was sweating like mad,” he went on. “Wiping at his face every other minute.”
“It’s summer,” Mark muttered.
“And restaurants and theaters are climate controlled,” Steven shot back. “We went through the whole night with him like that and finally headed home. I got to thinking he wasn’t going to do it. That the night was gonna end and he still wasn’t going to get the damn words out. And there I am wondering if I’ll have to ask him again, just to get it over with. And if he says no again—”
“I didn’t say no the first time,” Mark interjected.
“—I’m going to deck him. Just knock his ass out, toss him on a plane, and head to Vegas, because I’m not getting any younger here.”
“Definitely not mellowing with age, either,” Mark grumbled.
Steven gave him a look. “So we’re climbing out of the limo, and I’m trying to remember that fan-fucking-tastic proposal I came up with before, and he grabs my elbow and blurts out, ‘Steve, damn it. You have to marry me.’ ”
I laughed, leaning back as the waitress put my side salad in front of me. “Just like that.”
“Just like that,” Steven said, with an emphatic nod.
“Very heartfelt.” I gave Mark a thumbs-up. “You rocked it.”
“See?” Mark said. “I got it done.”
“Are you writing your own vows?” I asked. “Because that’ll be really interesting.”
Steven guffawed, snagging the attention of everyone nearby.
I swallowed the cherry tomato I was munching on and said, “You know I’m dying to see your wedding binder, right?”
“Well, it just so happens …”
“You didn’t.” Mark shook his head as Steven reached down and pulled a bulging binder out of a messenger bag on the floor by his chair.
It was so packed that papers were sticking out of the top, bottom, and side.
“Wait ’til you see this cake I found.” Steven pushed the breadbasket aside to make room to open the binder.
I bit back a grin when I saw the dividers and table of contents.
“We are not having a wedding cake in the shape of a skyscraper with cranes and billboards,” Mark said firmly.
“Really?” I asked, intrigued. “Let me see.”
WHEN I got home that night, I dropped my purse and bag off in their usual place, kicked off my shoes, and went straight to the couch. I sprawled across it, staring up the ceiling. Megumi was going to meet me at CrossTrainer at six thirty, so I didn’t have a lot of time, but I felt like I just needed a breather. Starting my period the afternoon before had me
riding the edge of irritation and grumpiness, with a dash of exhaustion tossed in for shits and giggles.
I sighed, knowing I was going to have to deal with my mom at some point. We had a ton of crap to work through, and putting it off was starting to bug me. I wished it were as easy to work things out with her as it was with my dad, but that wasn’t an excuse to avoid addressing our issues. She was my mother and I loved her. It was hard on me when we weren’t getting along.
Then my thoughts drifted to Corinne. I guess I should have figured that a woman who would leave her husband and move from Paris to New York for a man wasn’t going to give up on him easily, but still. She had to know Gideon well enough to realize hounding him wasn’t going to work.
And Brett … what was I going to do about him?
The intercom buzzed. Frowning, I pushed to my feet and headed over to it. Had Megumi misunderstood and thought we were meeting here? Not that I minded, but …
“Yes?”
“Hi, Eva,” the guy at the front desk said cheerfully. “NYPD detectives Michna and Graves are here.”
Crap. Everything else lost significance in that moment. Fear spread through me with crawling fingers of ice.
I wanted a lawyer with me. Too much was on the line.
But I didn’t want to seem like I had anything to hide.
I had to swallow twice before I could answer. “Thanks. Can you send them up, please?”
14
MY HEART WAS pounding as I hurried to my purse and silenced the burner phone, tucking it into a zippered pocket. I turned around, looking for anything that might be out of place, anything I should hide. There were the flowers in my bedroom and the card.
Unless the detectives had a warrant, though, they could only take note of what was in plain sight.
I ran to shut my door, then went ahead and shut Cary’s, too. I was breathing hard when the doorbell rang. I had to force myself to slow down and walk calmly to the living room. When I reached the front door, I took a deep, calming breath before opening it.
“Hello, detectives.”
Graves, a rail-thin woman with a severe face and foxlike blue eyes, was in the lead. Her partner, Michna, was the quieter of the two, an older man with receding gray hair and a paunch. They had a rhythm between the two of them—Graves was the heavy who kept the subjects occupied and off-balance. Michna was obviously good at fading into the background while his cop’s eyes cataloged everything and missed nothing. Their success rate had to be pretty high.
“Can we come in, Miss Tramell?” Graves asked in a tone that made the question a demand. She’d tied her curly brown hair back and wore a jacket to cover her holstered gun. There was a satchel in her hand.
“Sure.” I pulled the door open wider. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”
“Water would be great,” Michna said.
I led them to the kitchen and pulled bottled water out of the fridge. The detectives waited at the breakfast bar—Graves with her eyes pinned to me while Michna scoped out his surroundings.
“You just get home from work?” he asked.
I figured they knew the answer, but replied anyway. “A few minutes ago. Would you like to sit in the living room?”
“Here’s good,” Graves said in her no-nonsense way, putting the worn leather satchel on the counter. “We’d just like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind. And show you some photos.”
I stilled. Could I bear to see any of the photos Nathan had taken of me? For a wild moment, I thought they might be pictures taken at the death scene or even autopsy shots. But I knew that was highly unlikely. “What’s this about?”
“Some new information has come to light that could be related to Nathan Barker’s death,” Michna said. “We’re pursuing all leads, and you may be able to help.”
I took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m happy to try, of course. But I don’t see how I can.”
“Are you familiar with Andrei Yedemsky?” Graves asked.
I frowned at her. “No. Who’s that?”
She dug in her bag and pulled out a sheaf of eight-by-ten photos, setting them down in front of me. “This man. Have you seen him before?”
Reaching out with shaking fingers, I pulled the top photo toward me. It was of a man in a trench coat, talking to another man about to climb into the back of a waiting town car. He was attractive, with extremely blond hair and tanned skin. “No. He’s not someone you’d forget meeting, either.” I looked up at her. “Should I know him?”
“He had pictures of you in his home. Candid shots of you on the street, coming and going. Barker had the same photos.”
“I don’t understand. How did he get them?”
“Presumably from Barker,” Michna said.
“Is that what this Yedemsky guy said? Why would Nathan give him pictures of me?”
“Yedemsky didn’t say anything,” Graves said. “He’s dead. Murdered.”
I felt a headache coming on. “I don’t understand. I don’t know anything about this man, and I have no idea why he’d know anything about me.”
“Andrei Yedemsky is a known member of the Russian mob,” Michna explained. “In addition to smuggling alcohol and assault weapons, they’ve also been suspected of trafficking women. It’s possible Barker was making arrangements to sell or trade you for that purpose.”
I backed away from the counter, shaking my head, unable to process what they were saying. Nathan stalking me was something I could believe. He’d hated me on sight, hated that his father had remarried instead of mourning his mother forever. He’d hated me for getting him locked up in psychiatric treatment, and my being awarded the five-million-dollar settlement he thought of as his inheritance. But the Russian mob? Sex trafficking? I couldn’t comprehend that at all.
Graves flipped through the photos until she came to one of a platinum sapphire bracelet. An L-square ruler framed it—unmistakably a forensics shot. “Do you recognize this?”
“Yes. That belonged to Nathan’s mother. He had it altered to fit him. He never went anywhere without it.”
“Yedemsky was wearing it when he died,” she said without inflection. “Possibly as a souvenir.”
“Of what?”
“Of Barker’s murder.”
I stared at Graves, who knew better. “You’re suggesting Yedemsky could be responsible for Nathan’s death? Then who killed Yedemsky?”
She held my gaze, understanding the motivation behind my question. “He was taken out by his own people.”
“You’re sure about that?” I needed to know that they knew Gideon wasn’t involved. Yes, he’d killed for me—to protect me—but he’d never kill just to avoid going to jail.
Michna frowned at my query. It was Graves who replied. “There’s no doubt. We have the hit on surveillance footage. One of his associates didn’t take too kindly to Yedemsky sleeping with his underage daughter.”
Hope surged, followed by chilling fear. “So what happens now? What does this mean?”
“Do you know anyone who has connections to the Russian mob?” Michna asked.
“God, no,” I said vehemently. “That’s … another world. I’m having trouble believing Nathan had any connections. But then it’s been years since I knew him …”
I rubbed at the tightness in my chest and looked at Graves. “I want to put this behind me. I want him to stop ruining my life. Is that ever going to happen? Is he going to haunt me even after he’s dead?”
She quickly and efficiently collected the photos, her face impassive. “We’ve done all we can. Where you go from here is up to you.”
I showed up at CrossTrainer at quarter after six. I went because I’d told Megumi I would and I’d already flaked on her once. I also felt a tremendous restlessness, an urge to move that I had to exhaust before it drove me insane. I’d sent a text to Gideon as soon as the detectives left, telling him I needed to see him later, but I hadn’t heard back by the time I’d put my purse in a locker.
Like all things Gid
eon, CrossTrainer was impressive in both size and amenities. The three-story club—one of hundreds around the country—had everything a fitness enthusiast could want, as well as spa services and a smoothie bar.
Megumi was slightly overwhelmed and needed help with some of the high-tech machinery, so she was taking advantage of the trainer-supervised workout for new members and guests. I got on a treadmill. I started out at a brisk walk, warming up, and then eventually progressed to a run. Once I hit my stride, I let my thoughts run, too.
Was it possible that Gideon and I were free to pick up the pieces of our lives and move on? How? Why? My mind raced with questions that I needed to ask Gideon—with the hope that he was as clueless as I was. He couldn’t be involved in Yedemsky’s death. I wouldn’t believe he was.
I ran until my thighs and calves burned, until sweat ran down my body in steady streams and my lungs ached with the effort of breathing.
It was Megumi who finally got me to stop, waving her hand in my line of sight as she moved in front of my treadmill. “I am so totally impressed right now. You’re a machine.”
I slowed my pace to a jog, then a walk, before stopping altogether. Grabbing my towel and water bottle, I stepped off, feeling the effects of pushing myself too long and hard.
“I hate running,” I confessed, still panting. “How’d your workout go?”
Megumi looked chic even in gym clothes. Her chartreuse racerback tank had bright blue threading that matched her spandex leggings. The ensemble was summer-bright and stylish.
She bumped shoulders with me. “You make me feel like an underachiever. I just did a circuit and checked out the hot guys. The trainer I worked with was good, but I wish I’d gotten that guy instead.”
I followed the point of her finger. “That’s Daniel. Want to meet him?”
“Yes!”
I walked with her toward the mats in the center of the open space, waving at Daniel when he lifted his gaze and caught sight of us. Megumi quickly yanked out the rubber band holding her hair back, but I thought she’d looked great with it on, too. She had beautiful skin and I envied her mouth.
“Eva, great seeing you.” Daniel extended his hand to me for a shake. “Who’s this you have with you?”