The Nightingale Trilogy: An Alpha Billionaire Romantic Suspense

by Cynthia Dane

  “Honestly, after tonight, I want a break. I love fucking you and all, but after this past week I feel like a very used fleshlight down there. Your pounding game has been too strong and I’m starting to feel it.”

  She expected Vincent to be testy with her, but instead she heard the first lighthearted joke from him in a very, very long time. “I always knew I had it in me.”

  “You’re a dick. I hope you know that.”

  His arm wrapped her, followed by his strong, not-so-clean-anymore body folding around hers in the most protective embrace he had shown her all week. “We’ve got enough to worry about right now, darling.” Shivers went through Nala like water through a river. “Let’s focus on what we can control right now. We need to figure out what to do next.”

  Yes, next. Nala looked in the direction of her backpack, wondering if she would ever have the courage to face – let alone talk about – that photo Maggie happened to hand to her.

  ***

  When Vincent finally had some time off that weekend, they formed a plan. This came shortly after hearing word that Robin was not only up and walking, but slated to go home in another week. The police came to Vincent’s office no fewer than three times, asking questions, subtly threatening to take him in, and finally leaving him alone as – even though Robin was left to die in his home – every path toward Vincent being the primary suspect turned into a dead end.

  They could not implicate Xavier Crow or even Hawk, whose real identity was as vague as Robin’s had been before she was admitted to a hospital. Not only would he create his own dead ends, but it would put a bigger mark on Vincent and Nala’s backs. There were no more threats or attacks as of yet, but Vincent didn’t know that Robin was merely a warning. As long as they kept their heads down and stayed in line, Xavier would not try to touch them. Yet.

  Their plan was terrible, but it was all they could come up with: Vincent was going to hire the best lawyer he could find, even better than the one he usually had on retainer. This lawyer would hear their side of the story, dole out his professional advice, and well… they would go from there.

  Nala laughed to hear it.

  “That lawyer is going to tell you what you already know,” she said, draped across his body on a couch. His hand stiffened around her leg. “The only way to take Crow down is to either wipe him out with our bare hands or have so much irrefutable evidence that doesn’t even make it into the hands of police. No way. We need to get evidence, make copies, and send it to the press… that preferably aren’t owned by him. Does he own any media?”

  “I think he has some stakes in a few newspapers. Not sure.” Vincent rubbed his chin. “What kind of evidence would we even get? Come on, Nala. We’ve already tried robbing his office, and nobody will tell us a damn thing. All we’ve got is that letter about a previous couple. That’s not enough. It’s conjecture.”

  “I know. That’s why we’re going to get a confession out of him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The only evidence that would ever be strong enough is if he’s caught on camera committing a crime – which he would never be – or if we get him on tape confessing. I’ll do it, Vincent. I’ll get to him about Tasha.”

  “You’re talking crazy. Don’t.”

  “It’s the only chance we have.”

  “If we do go that route out of total desperation…”

  “We will.”

  “…Then it will have to be the most carefully planned thing in the universe.”

  “I’m not saying let’s go bust down his door this weekend, but you know I’m right, Vincent.”

  He pulled her into his arms, lips nibbling her cheek and the bottom of her ear. “You’re dangerous when you’re right.” When his hand went to his breast, she shrugged him off. “Sorry.”

  “I’m not ready for that again yet.” Nala disengaged from him and sat up on her side of the couch.

  “Have I hurt you?”

  “No.” The soreness was gone. I needed a break. Not a trip to the ER while some camera crew bursts in and asks how sex sent me there. “It’s not only that. There are other things.”

  “Like what?”

  Like sure I like it rough, sir, but not every damn time. “Maybe a girl wants some tenderness once in a while.”

  “To be fair, this past week has been a doozy for the both of us.”

  He didn’t say.

  They curled up in bed later that night, Vincent stroking her temple until she finally fell asleep against his chest. Okay, good. Now give me some tenderness in the other kind of bed. Nala remembered the way he made love to her the night she cried in his car.

  The fog slowly lifted. The haze dispersed. Soon, all Nala was left with was a healthy dosing of fear, regret, and a huge pile of secrets she was keeping from Vincent. They would have to be released soon.

  Entry #17

  Nightingale and I are doing what she calls “hotel hopping.” Since I currently do not trust my own home, I have had no choice but to move us from hotel to hotel in the vain hope of keeping an assassin off our tails. Although there has been no formal threat, finding a half-dead woman in one’s home will tick off the paranoia.

  Nevertheless, Nightingale and I are not living the healthiest of lives. There is something ticking like an old and worn clock beneath everything we do. We are time bombs. Every day we come closer and closer to losing who we really are.

  All I want to do is sink into her body and forget all the pain, all the worries plaguing me at every turn. Used to be I escaped into my work to forget my troubles. Now I want to escape into Nightingale, both literally and figuratively.

  I didn’t think it was possible to find another woman to want like this. I hate myself for being so distracted by her while people die all around us.

  Chapter 4

  An invitation was stuffed in Vincent’s mailbox the next time his assistant Andrew drove by to check on things. And to set off any bombs there, let’s be real. Nala had suggested that Vincent hire a temporary bodyguard, but Mr. I Box For My Workouts shrugged her off. Yet when Vincent brought an invitation to their hotel room Monday evening, Nala turned milk white and excused herself to the bathroom to vomit. Fuck, I’m pregnant. She knew worrying about it this far away from her supposed period would only make things worse. But even though she was back on her pill and Vincent brought her two pregnancy tests – that she still had yet to take – Nala worried about everything.

  She emerged from the bathroom to find him composing a polite response at the table. “Due to previous work commitments and the sorrow we feel for our fellow indisposed club member, Nightingale and I must regretfully decline this week’s invitation. We shall make sure to put on a grand show the next time we can make it.”

  When Nala asked what this work commitment was, Vincent announced he was taking two days off from work starting the next day and driving to the coast.

  “Why the coast?” She asked this, and yet Nala was already packing for another hotel move. He better get me clothes for the beach. “You’d think we’d want to be as far away as possible.”

  “Because it’s a good place to go on short notice. Be ready to go early in the morning. I want out of here. I can’t breathe.”

  Nala made sure everything was delicately packed up before going to bed that night. Sure enough, at the crack of dawn, Vincent dragged her out of bed and into his car so they could start the long, long drive to their destination.

  When he said the coast, Nala assumed somewhere around Astoria or Cannon Beach, a respectable hour or two away from Portland depending on weather and traffic. But noooo. The moment they were in the car, they were going south on the interstate, Nala’s heavy eyes making her fall asleep again until she woke up three hours south in Eugene. It was only then that Vincent finally headed west, into the mountains.

  Nala was used to sparse landscapes and utter, utter solitary living. She had lived in Nevada for a good amount of years, after all. Rural Oregon was different. The mountains and hillsides were cov
ered in evergreen trees, trailing to wild rivers and weaving in and out of suspension bridges and tiny hamlets that looked like they never left the 1930s, 1950s if they were lucky. These blew by as the sun was shining upon them, a riot of oranges and golds spreading across water, asphalt, and the hood of Vincent’s black car.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, sleepy.

  He kept his eyes on the road, sunglasses masking them from the harsh angles of the sunrise. “Somewhere far away from the bullshit. Go back to sleep. It’ll be another couple of hours.”

  The radio came back on once they broke free of the mountains and turned onto Highway 101. Nala kept her eyes out for the ocean, but Vincent informed her – to the tune of John Mellencamp coming in and out of the speakers – that they wouldn’t see it for a while. Still sleepy, Nala leaned her head back and willed herself into another nap. This was the most sleep she had in days.

  She didn’t know the name of the town they stopped in. Some port, some bay, some Native American word or some English word nobody knew the meaning to anymore. Mispronounced French words abounded. Even the Spanish titles were hilariously off. Down here, the citizens lived in their insular worlds where they welcomed tourists – as long as they had the money. Vincent had plenty of money to spare, as evident when he got them one of the nicest hotel rooms in town and immediately went out to buy some snacks and even more spare clothes for Nala. Andrew had brought some of her shirts and jeans, but he refused to go near even her clean underwear. Over the past week, Vincent gradually brought her the plainest cotton fare around. Today, in celebration of them getting out of Dodge, he dropped a pack of colorful underwear on her as she continued to snooze in the hotel bed.

  By the time she was awake, Vincent sat on the patio overlooking the beach. I didn’t even notice where we were. It was a cloudy, slightly drizzly day on the coast. Then again, what day wasn’t that time of year? Nevertheless, Vincent looked content sitting at a small bistro table wearing his jeans and hoodie, snacking on a bag of potato chips as if that was what one did when they came to the Oregon coast.

  Nala leaned in the doorway, shaking off the chilly breeze by wrapping her own sweatshirt closer to her body. “Can I join you? Or are you contemplating the Pacific Ocean by yourself?”

  Vincent pulled out the other chair without another word. He also pushed the rest of his chips in Nala’s direction after she sat down. She chewed on one, letting the salty, crunchy texture wash over her tongue in tandem to the salty ocean waves crashing on the beach.

  “You ever been here before?” Vincent asked.

  Nala shook her head. “I’ve never been to the beach before.” She tried to not look too impressed.

  “What? You lived in Oregon before.”

  “I lied a little. I’ve been to the beach when I was a kid, but it was only once or twice and was such a long time ago that I barely remember it.” Before her father died, they would sometimes take short family trips when they could afford it. A couple of those trips veered toward Cannon Beach or Newport during the height of summer, when it was sweltering in Portland. Nala’s parents, who were not used to such a hot climate, would pack up and go somewhere cooler along with the rest of the Willamette Valley.

  “If I had known that, I would’ve brought you here sooner.”

  Nala smiled in his direction. “Oh, would you? Taking me on romantic getaways, are we?”

  “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  “It is.”

  Vincent smiled back at her, but did not say anything.

  Does this man love me? It wasn’t the first time Nala wondered that, but it was the first time she seriously considered it. Vincent was not a man who shared his emotions. Not verbally, anyway. She had felt the gamut of them through sex. Anger, bitterness, grief, guilt, shame… no, not merely negative emotions. There had been a lot of joy and gratefulness in there too. Sometimes simple tranquility. Except he had never verbalized any of these emotions.

  That was okay. Nala didn’t need to hear “I love you” from anyone. Not from her sister, not from her mother, and certainly not from Vincent. She had learned the cues over the years. A kind gesture. A small, tender smile. Words of worry and praise. Her family had never been big into expressing positive emotions the traditional way. Tasha was the first one to start saying “I love you” to family members. She was also the last person to tell Nala that she was loved.

  She slid her hand across the small table and brushed against Vincent’s. He did not shrug her off. Instead, he looked at her and said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

  With only chips in her stomach and the plain clothes on her back, Nala got up and followed Vincent to the beach.

  The sand was hard and compact here. The tide must have gone out. Sure enough, kelp and seaweed were strung here and there, with pieces of fresh driftwood beached for the crabs to climb over. Far, far away was the stench of some poor dead creature coming down on the wind. In time, they either walked far enough away or Nala’s nose chose to no longer recognize it. I’m hoping for both. After the week she had, the last thing she wanted to see was some poor dead sea lion decaying on the beach. Or whatever it was.

  Nala pulled her hair back into a ponytail, tucked it into her sweatshirt, and pulled up her hood so her hair would stop whipping in her face. Sometimes the breeze died down enough that she could stop and admire the loud waves rolling upon another, tossing boats around and drawing in squawking seagulls. Other times the wind was so strong that she felt like she walked against a hurricane. The only creatures on the beach not affected by the wind were dogs, running up and down as if in the most blissful hysterics. Their owners stayed far away, sometimes throwing sticks, but otherwise sitting in peace with their camera phones or books.

  It was far from tourist season, so they mostly had the beach to themselves. Even so, Nala still felt like she was in her own world, where Vincent strayed at the edges but never committed to fully crossing her borders. Sometimes he stopped to contemplate the water. Other times he stopped to dust off a shell or throw a stick for a dog that ran by. Most of the time, however, he ambled aimlessly, Nala along for the ride.

  Yeah, that about summed up their whole relationship.

  “Are you hungry?” he eventually asked, facing a steep staircase that went up to a restaurant. “Let’s get lunch.”

  Seafood, of course. Seafood and coleslaw for him, while Nala loaded her plate with French fries. He stole some of hers occasionally, and she was in a good enough mood from the fresh sea air to not chastise him for it. Their seats, overlooking the beach down below, gave them privacy from other diners, but not from the waitress making the rounds in and out.

  “We get a lot of cute couples around here,” she finally said, bringing Vincent his bill. “You guys take the cake this week. If I didn’t know any better, I would say you guys are brother and sister.” She stopped, suddenly horrified. “Oh my God, if you are, I am so sorry.”

  Nala turned her lips downward, but Vincent laughed, taking out a wad of cash. “That’s not my sister. That’s my girlfriend.”

  The waitress sighed in relief before walking away with Vincent’s payment. Whatever she did with his generous tip was on her.

  “So I’m still your girlfriend?” Nala asked. Her hood slipped down her head, freeing some of her long hairs as they blew around in the breeze.

  “Yes.” Vincent took her hand on the table and gave it a single squeeze. “I’m sorry I’ve been a terrible boyfriend this past week.”

  “Don’t apologize for any of that.” Nala shrugged. “You’ve done the best that you can. We only decided who we really are to one another a moment before…”

  “Yes. Before Robin.”

  Nala looked away before she could see the anger alight in his eyes again. “I know they picked her because she was my friend. I can’t help but feel guilty.” That was an understatement.

  “I know, but trust me, they wouldn’t have ruffled Lucian’s feathers if he weren’t on Crow’s shitlist too. I don’t kn
ow what he did to piss Crow off, but I’m sure it was a double-whammy. Freak us out, and scare Lucian shitless. I don’t doubt that Robin was okay to die. If they only wanted to hurt her a little to send a message, they wouldn’t have gone to such violent…”

  “Stop it.” Nala kept thinking about that note. “Desirée screamed a lot.” She didn’t need more visuals.

  “I’m sorry. It’s stuff I’ve been thinking about.”

  “You think I haven’t been too?” Vincent didn’t know. He still didn’t know what Nala did.

  His hand returned to hers. Their fingers interlocked across the table, a stray French fry flying off the balcony thanks to the wind. “I don’t want to think about it anymore today. I only want to think about you.”

  Nala lifted her chin, eyes meeting his. His steely blue visage had softened for the first time in a whole damn week. This wasn’t the man who emerged from a shower and took her to crazy places. This was the man who held her in the car, who took her to a soccer game, and who first showed her that sea of stars flowing gently by the universe.

  Technically, it was the man she fell in love with.

  “There’s nothing else we can do today about our situation,” Vincent went on to say. “Besides make the most of it. I’m here. You’re here. We can breathe a little. Let’s pretend none of that other shit exists. For today.”

  Nala couldn’t help but smile. “I’d like that. I’ve never had the chance to fully appreciate what it means to have a boyfriend. Not with you, anyway.”

  “Then what are we waiting for? A sign from God?”

  “Maybe.”

  Vincent scooted back his chair and stood, hand still interlocked with Nala’s. “We’re at the damn beach already. What other sign do you need?”

  Absolutely none.

  It took a few minutes for Nala to force herself to relax, but once she was able to take her cue from Vincent, everything fell into place.