The Blame Game_A Brook Brothers Novel

by Tracie Delaney

  Phil gave her an incredulous look. “Jesus. What the hell happened to your face?”

  She took the lid off the coffee. “I was mugged. Day before yesterday.”

  “Shit. Why didn’t you call me?”

  She shrugged. “The police are handling it.”

  “Have they caught the fucker?”

  She shook her head.

  “Hell, sis, you should have called me.”

  She didn’t want to tell him she’d been with Jax. That he’d been late to meet her, and hence, she’d been hanging around on a street corner when it happened.

  “Can we talk about something else?”

  Phil set his jaw. “Yeah. We can talk about why you wanted to meet me so urgently. What’s going on?”

  She scanned the coffee shop then looked down. Her teeth grazed her bottom lip as she sucked it inside her mouth. This was harder than she expected. No point in delaying, though. Better to blurt it out and then deal with the consequences.

  She leaned forward in her seat, lifted her chin, and tried to keep her gaze steady. “It’s over, Phil. I’m not doing this anymore.”

  Phil froze, his coffee halfway to his lips. A flash of anger made his nostrils flare. He slammed his cup down on the table, spilling coffee everywhere. His hands clenched into fists, and he cracked his knuckles. She winced, the sound going through her. He hadn’t done that in years. As a younger man, it had been a habit until it had gotten on Dad’s nerves so much that he’d beaten the crap out of him. Phil had never done it again. Until now.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I love him, Phil, and he loves me.”

  He pressed his body closer, menacingly so. Indie scraped her chair backward to put some distance between them.

  “Him falling in love with you was exactly the fucking idea, sis, so congrats. As for you loving him, well”—he shrugged—“it’s a side effect you’re going to have to suck up. You’ll deal. In time.”

  “No, I won’t!” Her raised voice caused a few customers to glance their way. Even Phil’s eyes widened in shock at her outburst. “I’m sorry, Phil, but the deal’s off. I’m telling Jax everything.”

  Phil looked her up and down, a sneer curling his top lip. “And you think he’ll still want you when you tell him the truth?”

  A knot of anxiety formed in her gut. “I don’t know. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take. He’s worth it.”

  “And I’m not?”

  Indie covered her face with her hands and rubbed hard. She blew out a heavy breath. “You know I love you, Phil. And I always will. But this revenge plan was a terrible idea. It’s not Jax’s fault that his father was a vicious asshole. He hasn’t got a clue about any of this.”

  The look he gave her held a hint of danger. “How do you know?”

  She reached out and placed her hand over his clenched fist. “I know.”

  Phil stared at where their hands were joined, a nerve beating in his cheek.

  “Don’t you want me to be happy?” she asked.

  His head snapped up. “Of course I do. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “Then let it go. Please.”

  Seconds scraped by as Phil refused to break her gaze. But whether he saw something he hadn’t before or whether, like her, he was just tired, he let out a deep sigh. With a slow shake of his head, he said, “Do me one favor?”

  “Anything. Name it.”

  “Sleep on it for twenty-four hours. Come to dinner at my place tomorrow night. If you’re still as insistent then…” His voice drifted off.

  Indie frowned. “I don’t see what good twenty-four hours will do. My mind is made up, Phil.”

  His eyes flashed. “Then it won’t make a fucking difference to give me the time, will it?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I guess not.”

  He blew out a heavy breath. “Sorry, sis. Didn’t mean to snap. I’m a little on edge, that’s all.” He glanced at his watch then rose from his chair. “Probably nerves.” When she frowned in confusion, he added, “I’ve got a job interview.”

  Indie got to her feet. “Oh my God, that’s fantastic. Where?”

  “Don’t get too excited. It’s only cleaning at City Hall, but it’s a start. I’ve hated taking money from you. It’s about time I took care of myself.”

  Indie came around the table and hugged him, the earlier tension between them evaporating. This was the chance she’d been hoping for, praying for—to be with the man she loved and to get her brother back. She’d known it was all connected to dropping their revenge plan. “I’m so proud of you. Good luck. Call me later to let me know how it went.”

  “I will.”

  They left the coffee shop together. As Phil went in one direction and she went in the other, he called out to her, “Eight o’clock tomorrow. I’ll cook pizza.”

  Indie laughed. “Eight o’clock. And for the record, throwing a frozen pizza in the oven doesn’t count as cooking.”

  Phil winked, reminding her of the man he used to be. “It does in my book.”

  * * *

  The following evening, Indie set off for Phil’s. The weather had turned milder, the snow on the streets and sidewalks rapidly turning to horrible brown slush. She preferred the pristine white of newly fallen snow—the way it made even the ugliest building look beautiful… the magical sight of snow-covered tree branches… the sense of peace it brought as it crunched underfoot.

  She’d been in a great mood all day. The talk with Phil had gone better than she’d imagined, and she figured the fact that he’d given in so easily was a good sign he’d been having doubts too. All she’d done was draw on her strength to speak what was in her heart, and it had paid dividends.

  And who knew? Maybe one day, Phil and Jax could even be friends. If Phil proved himself a loving, loyal brother, Jax would have to soften toward him. After all, Jax’s belief in family had carried him through some tough times. Surely, he’d understand that all families went through difficulties from time to time.

  When she got to Phil’s, she clutched her purse tighter to her body. His building gave her the creeps. Maybe if he got the job at City Hall, she could help him move to a better place. His job interview had gone well, and he would know within a week whether he’d been successful.

  The elevator had an Out of Order sign plastered to the front, so Indie took the stairs. The stench was so bad that she had to hold her nose. She carefully navigated a couple of discarded needles where drug users had clearly gotten their fixes, praying she wouldn’t happen upon any of them.

  She walked down the third-floor hallway and stopped outside Phil’s apartment. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she knocked. No answer. She knocked again, harder this time. Still no answer. Where the hell was he? She pummeled the door with her fist. Nothing.

  Oh God. What if something had happened, or he was ill and couldn’t get to the door? She was on her way to super’s office when a thought occurred to her. Did old habits die hard? She retraced her steps and crouched down, peeling away the edge of the frayed, dirty mat outside Phil’s apartment.

  “Yes,” she hissed as she picked up the key. He used to do that when they were kids, in case Dad wasn’t in and she arrived home from school to an empty house.

  She inserted it in the lock and pushed the door open. “Phil?” she called out. “You here?”

  When he didn’t respond, she stepped into his living room. As she did, a chill ran up her spine, making her shiver. Something was wrong. She darted into the one and only bedroom. Apart from rumpled sheets, which told her he’d slept there recently, the apartment was empty.

  Indie began opening cupboards and drawers. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she was compelled with an urge to keep going. After an exhaustive search in which she came up empty, Indie sank onto the couch.

  She reached into her purse and felt around for her cell. Dammit! She still hadn’t found time to replace it from when she’d been mugged on Wednesday.

&nb
sp; “Where are you?” she said under her breath.

  And then her eyes fell on Phil’s laptop.

  Her nerves began jangling, and her mind raced in an unhelpful way. Telling herself she wasn’t snooping, she opened the lid. The screen immediately asked for a password. She typed in his date of birth. “Wrong password” was the reply. She moved on to hers, Dad’s, even Mom’s. Nothing.

  “Think, Indie,” she muttered. Phil wasn’t the most original of people. It couldn’t be that hard to guess what he might set as a password.

  After two more fruitless attempts, she huffed and tossed the laptop to one side. It hadn’t felt good invading Phil’s privacy anyway.

  She did another sweep of the apartment, even tapping on the inside of his closet in case there was a hidden panel, and then laughed at herself. You’ve been watching too many bad detective shows, Indie.

  As she was about to leave, a flash of inspiration hit her. She picked up the laptop once more. With trembling fingers, she typed “Star Wars.” Phil had always been a huge fan. Her finger hovered over the return key. She pressed it.

  Yes! She was in. She opened the explorer program and had a quick scan down the file names. Nothing stood out as strange or untoward. Moving on to the web browser, she opened the history. A sick feeling began to grow in her stomach as she scanned down the types of pages Phil had been visiting. Why would her brother be visiting propaganda sites that spoke of hate, death, and destruction?

  She started opening documents in date order. They all had innocuous titles. Then she spotted one that had been nested in another folder. It had been saved as a date: 123118. December 31, 2018. The date Jax was opening the hotel. She clicked on it, quickly scanning the contents. Her chest filled with horror.

  No! He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jax wiped paint-splattered hands down his coveralls and surveyed his work. It was pretty good. His painting skills were definitely improving. With five weeks to go until they opened, he was starting to get a little nervous bite of tension in his abdomen. He’d put so much into this project. It had to be a success. Only time would tell, of course, but if he focused on getting everything perfect for the opening weeks, hopefully word of mouth would start to drive organic traffic to his website.

  He turned up the radio to drown out the silence. After the craziness of the Thanksgiving holiday, it felt strange to be alone. Cole was on a night shift. Calum had dragged Nate out to some bar or other in search of female company—which, knowing those two, they wouldn’t have too much trouble finding. He wished Indie were there, but she was having dinner with her deadbeat brother.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched it. He knew Indie loved Phil, and he understood it—to a point. But every time she mentioned his name, Jax had to clamp his jaw shut to stop himself from blurting what he really thought but couldn’t say because it would hurt Indie.

  He was gathering up the paintbrushes when a loud banging sounded on the door. He frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone, although now that the sign had gone up, perhaps someone was wondering about the hotel and when he was planning to open.

  He set the brushes on some newspaper and jogged down the two flights of stairs. He drew back the door, his eyebrows shooting up when he saw who was outside.

  “What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were having dinner with Indie?”

  “We need to talk,” Phil said, shifting from foot to foot. He swiped at a sheen of sweat gathered on his top lip, which, considering it was only twenty-five degrees outside, was more than a little odd.

  “What about?” Jax kept his tone flat and his expression impassive.

  Phil’s eyes darted around, looking everywhere except at Jax. His anxiety and shiftiness set Jax on alert.

  “Look, Indie’s told me how important you are to her, and as such, I think it’s time we had a little chat to set a few things straight, so to speak.”

  Jax narrowed his gaze. “Are you high?”

  Phil shook his head vehemently and cracked his knuckles. “I don’t do drugs.” He abruptly shoved his hands into his pockets. “I just want to talk.” He cast his gaze over Jax’s paint-soaked coveralls. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “I was just clearing stuff away.” He stepped back. “You’d better come in.” Jax closed the door behind Phil and began walking upstairs. He picked up the paintbrushes and covered them in Saran wrap to keep the bristles from hardening. Phil followed and stood by the bathroom doorway, watching him, saying nothing.

  Jax finished what he was doing and perched on the edge of the roll-top bathtub. “So you wanted to set things straight.” He gestured. “Go ahead.”

  Phil folded his arms, his stance defensive, which made the hairs on the back of Jax’s neck stand up. “Do you love my sister?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “The question is, though, do you love her enough?”

  Jax frowned. “Enough for what?”

  Phil shifted his weight, his arms dropping to his sides. “To forgive her.”

  Jax shook his head and rose to his feet. “Look, bro, I don’t have time for riddles.”

  Phil glowered at Jax, his eyes sparking in defiance. “I’m not your fucking bro.”

  Jax’s skin prickled, and he clenched then unclenched his hands. “Fine, whatever.” He brushed past Phil as he went back out into the hallway.

  “Do you believe in atoning for the sins of the father, Jax?”

  Jax glanced over his shoulder. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You see, I do.”

  Jax made a frustrated noise. “If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out, and then leave.”

  Phil took a step in Jax’s direction. He was sweating profusely, his hair clinging to his damp forehead, a wild, almost deranged look in his eyes. “You come from a bad seed. My sister deserves better.”

  Jax coughed out a laugh. “Better? You stand there talking about better when you don’t know a fucking thing about me… when you abuse your own sister.”

  Phil’s eyes widened, and spittle gathered in the corners of his mouth. “I do not abuse my sister.”

  “Oh yeah?” Jax planted his hands on his hips. “Then tell me why she’s covered in so many bruises. You’re a sick fuck, and you’re lucky I haven’t given you a taste of your own medicine. I don’t give a shit what you’ve come to say. Just fuck off.”

  Phil made a howl, almost like an animal in pain, and before Jax could get out of the way, he lunged.

  Chapter Twenty

  Indie launched Phil’s laptop to one side and ran downstairs.

  Every cab that passed had someone inside. On Thanksgiving weekend, the city was full of tourists enjoying the splendor of New York heading into the Christmas season.

  She looked around wildly, and her legs began to shake. What should I do? What should I do? Come on, Indie, think. Should she call the police? No, not until she had a chance to talk to Phil. Her brother had clearly suffered some sort of psychotic breakdown, but she wanted the chance to talk him down. If she involved the police, he’d be dragged into the system, and she’d lose him forever.

  Then her luck turned. A cab pulled up right in front of her. A couple spilled onto the sidewalk, their arms around each other as they giggled together. She wanted to scream at them to stop laughing. She reached into her purse and felt around for her phone to call Jax and warn him. God dammit! No cell.

  If Phil executed his heinous plan, Indie would lose everything. She’d never feel joy again. No. She wouldn’t accept that as her fate. Everything would work out. It had to.

  Ten minutes later, she arrived at the hotel. With her heart pounding, she ran up the steps and twisted the door handle. Locked. She scrabbled around in her purse for the key Jax had given her the previous evening. God, was it only last night when they’d made love in the penthouse? She ran around to the back of the hotel, where the door to the basement was located. Her fingers trembled so badly that it took h
er several attempts to get the key in the lock. Finally, she succeeded. She stumbled through the door.

  “Jax!” she hollered. “Phil!”

  She opened every door in the apartment. Empty. She scrambled upstairs into the hotel itself. The moment she entered the hallway, she heard a commotion on the upper levels—raised voices, although she couldn’t make out the words. Angry voices. And thudding.

  “Jax,” she called out as she took the stairs two at a time. When she reached the third floor, her heart stuttered. Phil and Jax were fighting. Fists were being thrown, and the sound of hard knuckles on tender flesh made her wince.

  “No, stop,” she yelled. “Stop this. Phil, please, stop this right now!”

  They either didn’t hear her or were too busy making sure the other didn’t land a painful blow. Jax pounced and managed to get Phil around the throat. His forearm tightened, the muscles and tendons straining. Phil tried to get his fingertips inside Jax’s arm to relieve the pressure on his windpipe. His face began to turn purple.

  “Jax, no!”

  That time, he heard her. His eyes cut to the side, and his arm slackened. It was all Phil needed. His elbow shot backward, catching Jax in the abdomen. Jax let go, stumbled, clutching his middle.

  Like an angry bull, Phil charged. She couldn’t make out where one man ended and the other began. Phil stumbled and lost his balance. Jax grabbed him again, their bodies tangling with one another. Then Phil fell backward, taking Jax with him.

  Indie screamed as the two men went careering past her. She tried to grab onto their clothing but wasn’t close enough. Their bodies made horrific noises as they hit each stair. And then… silence.

  Indie sprinted down the stairs. Jax lay on top of Phil. Neither man was moving. Jax’s leg was stuck out at a horrible angle, and a pool of thick blood oozed from the back of Phil’s head.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Indie wailed. “Help me!” Her cries were fruitless, though. No one came to her aid—because she was alone.