“Believe me, sweetheart,” I say, leaning on the edge of the desk. “I get it.”
“I was sad and scared this morning, but now … now I’m angry. I want him to be alive just so I can throttle him and scream at him. And I don’t know what else. I get that we’re convincing the world I’m dead and this is our new beginning, but if we don’t find him, I’m not going to be grieving him, Shane. I’m going to still feel like that hammer is waiting to fall, with him holding it. You have to feel the same.”
“I do,” I admit, “but what we’re doing right now makes me feel a hell of a lot more secure than I did previously.” I snag her hips and walk her to me. “We may never find him, which means we are both going to have to set a deadline to shut this off and mentally declare him dead.”
“You’re a control freak, Shane. How can you accept this as our solution?”
“By finding a way to control what I can’t control. In your brother’s case, by paying and trusting the right people, like Seth and his team, to know when, and if, your brother surfaces again. And in your case, I’ll buy expensive wine and fill your glass as often as needed until you stop thinking so much.” I push off the desk. “Grab your purse. There’s a wine bar by the apartment that I’ve been wanting to show you. We’re going to drink too much while talking about your new fashion label.”
“Sold,” she says. “I can grab my purse on the way out. It’s at my old desk outside your father’s office.”
“I’ll grab my briefcase and meet you in the lobby,” I say, heading back to my office, where I quickly gather my things, and I’m just about to head for the door when Seth calls, and I can almost feel the tension slide down my spine.
“Just a heads-up,” he says when I answer. “Your mother’s at home, having dinner with a female friend.”
Reading between the lines, I ask, “And my father?”
“With his mistress, in your building.”
“Of course he is,” I say. “In fact, some might say he’s celebrating the death of his son by being a bigger prick than ever.” I don’t wait on the reply I don’t want and that Seth won’t offer. “Tell Cody we’re on our way to the garage.”
“Done.”
I grab my briefcase and cross the room, turning out the light, and without a conscious decision to do so, I end up in the doorway of Derek’s—Emily’s—now dark office. I step inside, and without bothering to turn on the light, I walk to the desk, open the top left drawer, and my hand goes to the black king chess piece inside. A souvenir Derek had claimed after beating my father for the first, and only, time, at age sixteen. It could have been the moment he rose above my father. Instead I believe it became the moment my father decided he would never let Derek win again.
I pocket the chess piece and walk back to the door, pausing before I exit. “You won,” I say, as if he can hear me. “He’s going to hell, but you aren’t there waiting for him.”
I exit the office and pull the door shut, walking down the hallway to find Emily waiting for me in the lobby. “Ready?” I ask.
“I am,” she says, holding up a black box I know all too well. “This was on my desk with a card that has your name on it.”
I take the box and open the card to read the one word inside: Checkmate.
“What is it?” Emily asks, indicating the box.
“An aged bottle of Macallan ‘M’ Lalique with a collector’s decanter,” I say. “Worth at least ten grand. My father’s trademark way of celebrating a five-million-dollar deal, and his way of telling me that I sold him the hedge fund operation right before he closed one of those deals. In other words, he doesn’t have to share the profits.”
“Do you care?”
“Not in the slightest, but I’ll be happy to take the whiskey.” We exit the lobby to the corridor outside the elevators and I punch the elevator button. “We’ll drink it to celebrate that he, and his dirty money, have left the company.” I pull Emily close and lower my lips to her ear. “When the only thing dirty left around here is you and me when no one is looking.”
* * *
An hour later we’re sitting at a table in the dimly lit wine bar, laughing as we debate the merits of a neon red “power” clothing line. “Maybe for the Fourth of July,” I joke.
“Tommy Hilfiger does the red, white, and blue as a trademark,” she says, and laughs, sipping her wine. “We could do a neon version.” She sets her glass down. “And we’re joking now, but Jessica made it look good. She owns it.”
“My father called her a bitch today.”
“Well, she kind of is,” Emily says. “But I love her kind of bitch.” Her eyes light up. “Maybe we could have a clothing line called ‘Bitch.’”
“That would get some attention.”
“Exactly,” she says. “It would be trending on social media, and even if we could only sell it online, it would get our brand attention.”
“I like it,” he says. “You just have to decide what statement the ‘Bitch’ line makes.”
“I think it’s Jessica’s line. It’s about her sass.” She sips her wine and studies me a moment. “You know. I was thinking of your mother as inspiration for a ‘Maggie’ line as well. She’s elegant and professional. We might even use her in some ad campaigns.”
“Just be cautious,” I say. “Keep her, and my father, out of the business side of things.”
“Of course,” she says. “And since we’re talking about Maggie. Have you talked to her today? I called to check on her, but she didn’t answer or call me back.”
“I tried to call her too,” I say. “And got the same, but Seth tells me she has a friend over tonight.”
“Hmmmm,” she says. “Maybe she’s too emotional to talk. Sometimes people just need alone time.”
“And yet she’s with a friend,” I remind her, grabbing a bottle of wine from an ice bucket sitting on the empty chair to my left. I refill her glass.
“Who isn’t her son who reminds her of her other son.”
“She has no idea what an ally you are,” I say, refilling my glass and returning the bottle to the ice, when suddenly a familiar man sits down at the end of the table between us.
And he is not a welcome visitor. “Agent Dennis,” I greet him, noting his appearance. “Is two-day stubble and a gray suit, which you may or may not have slept in last night, FBI dress code?”
“FBI?” Emily asks, and I don’t miss the way her fingers curl into her palms on the table.
“That’s right,” Agent Dennis says. “I was around the night you landed in the hospital from the car accident that wasn’t a car accident.”
“Don’t play games with her,” I warn. “What do you want?”
“Relax,” he says to me. And then to Emily: “Really. You can relax. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“And yet you just made that car accident comment,” I say.
“To make a point,” he replies. “I kept my mouth shut because I know Nick, and he convinced me you’re one of the good guys. And I’m loyal to Nick. Or actually to his sister, who I’m in love with but who hates me, which is a long story I won’t tell. Bottom line: I know you’re doing business with Martina’s consortium.” He holds up a hand again. “I know. It’s legit. And it is, but he’s not.”
“What do you want, Agent?” I repeat.
He taps the table. “To do you a favor in the hopes that, one day, you might do me one.” He doesn’t give me time to reject that option. “I know your brother was the reason Martina was involved with your company. And I can see that you’re separating yourself from anything that might attract him to you. But a man like him likes to come back for seconds. Maybe not now. Maybe not in a year. But eventually.”
“I’m not going to help you take him down,” I say, “and neither is Emily. So cut to the chase.”
“Emily is a weapon he’ll use against you,” he says. “But you see, he has an Emily too.”
“You mean his sister?” I ask. “Because I’m not convinced he’d put her abo
ve business.”
“He wouldn’t,” he says. “But Jennie is another story.”
I arch a brow. “Jennie?”
“A good girl who fell in love with him before she knew who and what he is,” he explains. “And she paid the price. His enemies came after her. He changed her name and gave her a new start.” He reaches into his pocket and sets a letter-sized envelope on the table. “That has everything you need to know to confirm this information, but this needs to stay between the three of us and no one else. Once it gets out, it’s no longer the life insurance you want it to be.”
I leave the envelope on the table. “How do you know about this woman?”
“How I know about her isn’t what’s important,” he says. “I know about her. And now you know about her. It protects Emily. We have to protect those we love from bastards like Adrian Martina. If you ever need to use that name, you’ll be remembering Derek and appreciating how true that is. And I’d appreciate you dropping me a few pebbles on Adrian.”
“We have to protect those we love,” I repeat, narrowing my eyes at him, his motives suddenly clear to me. “This is personal to you.”
“Let’s just say that I had a brother once too,” he says, grabbing a napkin and curling it in his fist. “Nick can reach me if you want or need a buffer between me and you.” He glances at Emily. “Nice to meet you, Emily.” He stands up and walks away, my gaze tracking his departure when Emily grabs my arm.
“Shane,” she says. “We have a problem.”
“I’m sure he’s a problem,” I say. “If he’s right—”
“Shane, he took my napkin. He made a point of taking it. That can’t be by accident. He was after my fingerprints, which means he must suspect I’m not who I say I am.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A moment after Emily drops that fingerprint bomb, Cody claims the seat Agent Dennis has just vacated. “Before you blast me,” he says, holding up his hands stop-sign fashion, “letting Dennis get to you was not my call. Nick didn’t allow me to intercept him. He wanted to know what the guy was going to say to you.”
“Nick should have given me a heads-up,” I say, slipping the envelope Dennis gave me inside my jacket pocket.
“I agree,” Cody says. “But he’s the boss. What did he want?”
“My fingerprints,” Emily says. “He took my napkin.” She looks between us. “What if he finds out I’m Reagan, a dead girl in Texas?”
“Then he’s shit out of luck,” Cody says. “Your prints will pull up as Emily Stevens. Just like the woman in Texas who was identified as Reagan pulls up as Reagan.”
“We’re certain of this?” Emily presses.
“One hundred percent,” Cody assures her. “So if he took your prints, he took your prints. No harm. No foul.” He looks at me. “Nick wants you to call him.”
“Tell Nick that Dennis offered us his friendship, took Emily’s napkin, and left. There’s nothing more to tell. He needs to figure out the who, when, where, and why, not me. I’m enjoying a glass of wine with Emily.”
“This is where you want me to leave, correct?” Cody asks.
“This is where I want you to leave,” I confirm. “And tell Nick to give me a fucking heads-up next time.”
“I’ll pass that message along,” he assures me, and smartly stands, my gaze tracking him as he walks to the door.
“You didn’t tell him about Jennie,” Emily says, drawing my attention.
“And I’m not going to either,” I say. “I trust Seth. We’ll get him the envelope in the morning in a discreet way, when no one is watching or standing over his shoulder, expecting me to call him. We’ll let him validate the information.”
“How bad is this, Shane?”
“If Dennis is being up-front with us, this is good, not bad.”
“Do you trust him?”
“I never trust anyone without a hell of a lot of reason to do so,” I say. “Which is why we’ll have Seth check him out. And why we’ll watch him and deal with him with caution.”
“He took my fingerprints,” she reminds me.
“Which will get him nowhere,” I remind her.
“Why would he do that? What does he know?”
“I have no doubt he wants a way to force me to help him. That doesn’t make him one of the bad guys. It makes him good at his job.”
“He wants to find a way to force you to help him.”
“But he won’t, and the bottom line here is that our newfound agent buddy gave us a golden ticket. If Martina comes at us outside the boundaries I’ve set with him, we have ammunition to shut him down and protect our interests and our safety.”
“By threatening Jennie.”
“It’s a chess game, sweetheart,” I say. “And should I have to play with Adrian, I will play and win.”
“By putting her in danger.”
“If anyone ends up dead, it will be him, not this woman. You have to trust me on this. This woman is our insurance. It’s protection and peace of mind. This is all good, sweetheart. Not bad.”
“Protection from a drug cartel while I’m hiding from a hacking organization.” She downs the rest of her wine. “It’s like an alternate universe that would be bad, except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“We wouldn’t exist if those other things didn’t exist too. And I love us.”
“I love us too, sweetheart,” I say, tossing money onto the table. “Let’s go home. Our home.”
“Our home,” she says, her voice warming. “I will never get tired of hearing those words.”
“Neither will I,” I say, rounding the table, offering her my hand, and helping her to her feet, our eyes locked, the connection between us suddenly electric. We don’t speak, but in unison, we are both smiling. That is the power of this bond I have with her. We can smile for no reason, in the middle of a storm that has yet to fully pass.
I help her with her jacket, my hand covering her smaller one, this deep, clawing need to protect her overtaking me without warning, followed by a flickering image of my brother’s casket that I’ve managed to suppress all day today, until now. I combat it by inhaling Emily’s sweet floral scent and guiding her outside to begin the short walk to our apartment.
We manage two steps and she sways. “Easy there, sweetheart,” I say, catching her waist and holding her close.
“O … kay,” she says, her hands settling on my chest. “Too much wine for me. Good thing we only have a block to walk. I think I need protection from the sidewalk.”
I laugh, turning us forward and setting us in motion. And I indeed protect her from the sidewalk the way I plan to protect her from everything for the rest of our lives. My brother is gone. And no one, most especially Adrian Martina, will ever, ever take Emily from me.
* * *
Once we’re home and inside our apartment, I help Emily remove her coat, and then carry her up the stairs to the bedroom. “No more wine for me ever,” she murmurs as I settle her onto the mattress. “My God,” she adds, kicking off her shoes. “How did this happen? I was fine at the table.” The doorbell rings, and she peeks through her fingers. “If that’s Nick, you’re going to kill him and I can’t stop you right now.”
“I’m fairly certain he can take care of himself,” I assure her as the doorbell rings again. “Go to sleep,” I order, heading for the door.
“Not until I know what happens down there,” she calls out, and I smile at her groggy voice, certain she won’t make it five more minutes before she’s out cold.
I head down the stairs, and I’m a few steps from the door when my cell phone buzzes with a text from Seth telling me he’s at the door, which I open. “I heard about Dennis,” he says, ironically wearing a gray suit not so unlike Dennis’s, with one exception: it’s pressed. And while I’d assume this indicates Seth is a man of control while Dennis is not, I get the impression that Dennis wants to be underestimated.
I reach into my pocket and hand Seth the envelope Dennis gave me, and t
hen I turn away, walking down the hallway and cutting across the living room to the bar. I’ve just poured us each a glass of Scotch when he appears by my side, holding up the envelope. “What am I looking at?”
“Supposedly the love of Adrian Martina’s life, who’s in hiding from his enemies.” I take a drink. “A gift from Dennis that he doesn’t want shared with anyone, including Nick.”
He gives me a two-second deadpan stare and then slips the envelope into his jacket pocket. “What did Dennis want in exchange?”
“If I use the information, he hopes I’ll throw him a pebble about Martina—that’s a direct quote. The words ‘hope’ and ‘pebble’ were both used. There were no demands, and he claims to understand my pain, so to speak, and wants to help.”
“That’s because his brother was a DEA agent who disappeared while undercover with Martina. And I checked him out after his hospital visit. By all appearances, he’s a good agent and a good man. Potentially, an excellent ally.”
“Emily believes he took a sample of her fingerprints. I assume he wants the same ammunition against me that he has against Martina.”
“Know who you’re dealing with and how to control them,” he says. “He’d be foolish if he handled himself any other way. A motto that is far from unfamiliar to me or you, since I use it to protect you and yours. But I’ll cover all bases with Dennis.” He picks up his glass and downs his Scotch. “On another topic. I managed to review your brother’s will. He left everything to Teresa, right down to his underwear, but the legal team can’t reach her.”
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
“Then make sure she gets what my brother intended for her to have.”
“Understood,” he says, glancing at his watch. “I’ll check out the information he gave you and text you within the hour.” He starts walking, and I don’t linger behind to watch him go. I down my Scotch and follow him, locking up after he exits, and then climb the stairs to the bedroom. I pause in the doorway to find both lamps on and Emily under the covers, on her side, her hand on my pillow. There was a time when I swore I would never share my bed with another woman. And then Emily happened.