Fade To Gray (Triad Series Book 1) Page 16

  Across from her, about two rows back, Gideon sat with Declan. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised; Gideon seemed to find a way to be where he was needed. And she had no doubt that he was here because of her. Or at least because of all that had happened to her. She could feel his gaze hot against her back, and knew that his presence only added to her father’s displeasure.

  The priest raised his hand in benediction, and the crowd collectively released a breath as the organist began the processional. Bach. Prelude No. 1 in C major. It was a favorite, which somehow made her presence here seem that much more surreal. The music soared through the vaulted nave, filling the church, and Emily fought back a sob.

  She shouldn’t be here. It was wrong on so many levels she couldn’t begin to count. But her father had insisted. Demanded actually. He wanted them to show a united front. Continue the charade that had grown far beyond the original horror of waking up in Tom’s hotel room.

  The priest lifted his staff and moved forward, robes swaying. In front of her, a black veiled woman sobbed into a handkerchief. The music swelled and the clergy walked solemnly down the middle aisle, incense filling the air as they moved.

  Behind them, the flag-draped coffin followed, hoisted on the shoulders of the grim-faced pallbearers. Three senators, a general, New York’s mayor and the Manhattan district attorney. A veritable who’s who of political power. Uncle Vincent reached over to cover her hand with his. The gesture was meant to comfort, but it only made Emily feel captured. Stuck in the middle of a farce that had turned into a nightmare.

  Jules, who was seated beside her uncle, leaned forward, eyes full of concern. Emily shook her head slightly and forced her lips upward in the semblance of a smile. She needed to get the hell out of here. Away from all of this. Pushing to her feet, her muscles contracted, ready to flee, but of course she couldn’t do that. There were people in front of her. And there was her father’s need for decorum. Lifting her chin, she followed Vincent out of the row and into the aisle, joining the crowd pushing their way to the open doors at the far end of the nave.

  Mourners jostled her even as Jules and Uncle Vincent fought to keep her path clear. She scanned the crowd for Gideon, hating herself for needing him so badly but wishes were horses and all that.

  "He’s gone," her father said from behind her, as usual following her train of thought.

  She nodded, swallowing disappointment, forcing herself to keep all emotion locked away. All she had to do was survive the gauntlet of reporters and make it to her father’s limo and she’d be fine.

  There was a graveside service, but she wasn’t going. Not even her father could force her into watching Tom be lowered into the ground. She’d spent more than enough time with the man as it was. Despite the end result, she couldn’t forget that it was quite likely that he’d drugged her, planning God knows what in that hotel room. And if it turned out to be true, then in some truly macabre way she owed Tom’s murderer a debt of gratitude.

  Except that he’d left her alone with the body to take the fall.

  There was that.

  They reached the back of the church and the reporters swarmed. Quickly they managed to cut her off from her family. Jules shot her an apologetic look as she was carried forward by the crowd. Her father was pulled sideways and Uncle Vincent had just disappeared. He’d never been fond of the limelight but lately had seemed even more reticent than usual. Not that she could blame him.

  "Ms. Masterson," a man called, shoving a microphone in her face. "Is it true that you were with Tom Irwin the night that he died?"

  Another mic came from the opposite side, a woman’s voice accompanying its arrival. "Were you and Senator Irwin an item? Can you substantiate the rumors that the two of you were engaged?"

  She swallowed, keeping her head down, trying to move forward to the sunlight and safety, but the questions kept coming.

  "You were with Jack Wetherston the night he died as well, weren’t you?" another reporter asked, his tone snide.

  "Were you seeing both of them?" someone followed up.

  They had her backed against a wall. Her breathing was coming in short gasps, her chest hurt and her eyes threatened to fill with tears. Frantically she looked for her family, but no one was in sight. Clearly, they’d all managed to escape the melee. If only Sylvie were here. Her friend was a master at handling the press. But her plane for Paris had left early that morning. Emily was on her own. The reporters moved closer, sensing her weakness. It was as if she were dripping blood and surrounded by hungry sharks.

  The imagery brought to mind the senator’s mutilated body. She fought a wave of nausea.

  "Ms. Masterson, do you have a comment?" This time the man edged close enough to touch her, the microphone pressing against her cheek. Her head swam, her knees threatening to buckle.

  "The lady has nothing to say," a deep voice said just as a hard arm circled her waist, pulling her free of the man and his questions.

  Gideon.

  She sank back against him, allowing him to maneuver her forward, deflecting the reporters as they moved.

  "Stay close," he whispered, his voice soothing her in a way that nothing else ever could. "I’ve got you now."

  She wanted to thank him. To say that she was all right. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead she pressed closer, wanting only for him to make good on his promise and get her out of there.

  They reached the outside steps, and suddenly her father and Jules appeared through the crowd. "I’ll take her now," her father said, late to the party as usual. Emily shook herself, hating the thought. Her father loved her. There was no reason to fault him for her being surrounded.

  And yet she did.

  Jules caught her eye, her own full of questions. Emily leaned back into Gideon’s strength and shook her head. She wasn’t going anywhere without him. Period. With a nod, Jules linked her arm through Emily’s father’s and whispered something in his ear. His face tightened with anger, but with a last look at Emily, he allowed Jules to pull him away.

  Relief swamped through her. And again she felt a wash of guilt. Everything she did these days seemed to hurt someone.

  "Looks like I gained an unexpected ally," Gideon said as he propelled her down the steps toward a waiting car.

  "A strategic alliance at best," she said, her voice low and raspy, her heart still pounding.

  "I’ll take anything as long as it means she’s running interference with your father."

  "My father is only trying to take care of me," she protested, immediately recognizing that it was the wrong thing to say.

  Gideon’s jaw tightened as he reached out to open the town car door. "Get in."

  "Where are we going?" she asked before she could formulate a better reply.

  "Does it matter?" His jaw was actually twitching now.

  "No. I mean, yes. It does matter, but I…I trust you." She lifted her gaze to meet his, surprised at the anger reflected there.

  "Do you?"

  "Of course I do." And she realized that she did. Completely. To prove the fact, she slid into the car. Gideon followed her, his body pressing close to hers as he shifted to pull the door shut. Reporters swarmed, but the car was already pulling away from the curb.

  "Close call," Declan said from the driver’s seat. "Looked to me like they were circling for blood."

  "Yeah, and not just Emily’s." Gideon leaned back against the leather upholstery, his jaw still tight, his eyes glittering with anger.

  Emily fought the urge to offer comfort. He wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. And she wasn’t sure she wanted him to know how much she still cared.

  "Anyone say anything to make you think they know more than they should?" Declan tossed over his shoulder as he pulled away from the church.

  "It’s like with Ceraso. They know something’s up. But there’s nothing concrete to back up the feeling."

  "At least not yet."

  At Declan’s pronouncement her throat tightened, her heartbeat ratcheting
up again. Emily closed her eyes, fighting for control. Everything had gotten so tangled together, she couldn’t even master her own rebellious thoughts. Gideon reached over to cover her hand with his, their fingers twining together. Immediately her traitorous heart relaxed.

  "It’s going to be all right." The warmth in his voice stroked her like a caress.

  "Where are you taking me?" she asked, not bothering to open her eyes.

  "Somewhere away from all this. At least for a little while."

  "Sanctuary," she sighed, wishing there were truly an easy way out of all of this.

  "That might be a bit of an overstatement." Declan snorted. "We’re heading for Triad."

  Gideon’s offices.

  Once upon a time, she’d known everything about Gideon. Practically lived in his pocket. Until everything had gone so terribly wrong. Now there was nothing but distance between them. He had an entire company that she knew nothing about. Except that, thanks to Triad, she’d managed to escape all kinds of hell.

  At least for the moment.

  *****

  GIDEON WATCHED EMILY as she stood at the windowed wall of his office staring out into the city and he wondered, not for the first time, what he was doing. He’d thought he’d closed the door on their relationship a long time ago, but here he was, his blood racing at just the thought that she stood a few feet away from him.

  At the church, he’d felt overly possessive, wanting to knock the bastard reporters out of the way. Anything to stop them from harassing Em. Hell, he’d even wanted to take a swing at her father. Not that the desire was anything new. Blake Masterson deserved what he got. But Gideon couldn’t bear the idea of the fallout hurting Emily.

  Not that he should give a damn anymore. He tried to tell himself that all this concern was only because he was worried about her safety. That he didn’t know who he could trust. But the real truth was that he was afraid she was going to disappear from his life again.

  Not that she was really in it. At least not in any meaningful way.

  He was acting like a lovesick fool. And he prided himself on being neither of those things.

  "None of the people out there give a damn about any of this. They don’t care at all about me and most of them don’t care about Tom Irwin, except maybe as a passing news story." She turned away from the window, wrapping her arms around her slender waist. "I can’t quit thinking about what he looked like. Afterward, I mean." She shuddered, and he fought to keep from crossing the space and taking her into his arms. "It’s never going to go away."

  "It’ll get better." He reached out a hand and then dropped it. "It just takes time."

  "And closure." She walked over to the wall of books behind his desk, picking up a small figurine. He grimaced, hating himself for his own weakness—and the fact that now she knew about it. "You kept it." She turned, holding the plastic replica of Captain Malcolm Reynolds.

  Firefly was a favorite of his. He hadn’t believed it when she’d told him she’d never seen the show. As a result, he’d insisted they spend a whole weekend glomming the series and the movie. She’d sworn she loved it as much as he had. Especially Nathan Fillian’s Reynolds. And so she’d given him the action figure. He shouldn’t have kept it. But it had been a reminder of sorts—of all that he’d had and all that it had cost him in the end.

  "Captain Reynolds is still a favorite."

  She nodded and put the little figure back. "I watch the whole thing at least once a year. Although I usually skip the movie."

  So maybe he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t completely let go. "Yeah, well, in truth, it never was as good as the series."

  She blew out a long breath and turned to face him. "I talked to my father last night. After I got back from your apartment."

  "I’m betting he wasn’t thrilled with the fact that you’d been with me. Particularly under the circumstances." Her hair hid the worst of the bruising and the rest had been covered with make-up, but he could still see the purple tinge on her forehead and the shadow of a line marking the gash.

  "He wasn’t. He had someone following me actually."

  "You can’t blame him for that. He’s just worried about you. Hell, so am I."

  "I know. And I guess I don’t blame either of you. It’s just that it makes me feel like everyone else is calling the shots when it comes to my life. Like I’m not in charge anymore."

  "Of course you’re in charge; you just need to let us make sure you’re protected, that’s all." He took a step closer to her, his hands lifted in supplication. "We both care about you." The words came of their own accord.

  Her eyes widened and she twisted her hands together, clearly considering her next words. "I asked my father about the blackmail." So she’d chosen to ignore his outburst. Smart girl.

  "And?"

  "He dodged the question. And I was too tired to push him any harder. I’m sorry. I should have found a way to pin him down."

  "It doesn’t matter. It says a lot that he didn’t deny it."

  "I still say that even if Tom was blackmailing him, it doesn’t mean he had anything to do with the murder."

  He swallowed a retort. There was no sense in pushing her where her father was concerned. "Emily, we’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise." Except that so far, damn it, they seemed to have more questions than answers.

  She nodded, her face still tight with anxiety. He lifted a hand to her cheek, his body reacting to the silky softness of her skin. She leaned into the touch, closing her eyes. He framed her face with both hands and leaned in to kiss her, his heart pounding like an adolescent boy.

  For a moment, it was simply a joining of lips, a move meant to comfort, and then hunger took over. Hunger and desire. Emily moaned, pressing against him as he closed his arms around her. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips and when she opened for him, he delved deep, taking—possessing. Heat sparked between them, threatening to consume. Gideon allowed himself the luxury of tasting her, touching her.

  He ran his hands down the length of her back and over the gentle swell of her hips, deepening the kiss, their fevered passion bursting into flame. She arched against him, her breasts pressing into his chest, her nipples pebbled and ready. God, he wanted to push her back onto the desk and…

  "Shit." Ryder’s voice cut into the moment and they jerked apart, Gideon spinning around to face his friend. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt."

  "You didn’t." Emily’s face was tinged with red, and her voice was thready, but her gaze was steady as she stepped farther away from him, lifting her chin. "Honestly, it was nothing."

  "What have you got?" Gideon asked, trying not to glare. It wasn’t Ryder’s fault he couldn’t keep his libido in check.

  "Just wanted to tell you that Harrison is here. He’s ready to try to enhance the tattoo." Ryder shifted awkwardly, clutching a manila envelope in one hand.

  "The tattoo?" Emily had taken the moment to pull herself into control. It was almost as if nothing at all had happened between them. But then again, maybe nothing had happened. Nothing that mattered anyway.

  "Yeah," Gideon said, his voice tight with frustration. "Remember I told you about the security footage of you and Irwin getting on the hotel elevator? And that there was a shadow that looked like an arm?"

  She nodded.

  "Well, we think maybe there might be a tattoo on the arm."

  "And if you can make it clearer then maybe it can help you identify the killer." Her frown was thoughtful as she considered the possibility.

  "Or at least know for certain that someone else was there—helping Irwin." Ryder still looked vaguely embarrassed. Which served him right for not looking before barging in to Gideon’s office. "Anyway, he’s asking for you."

  "Right." Gideon pushed aside his conflicting thoughts. "I’m on my way." He shot a look at Emily but she just motioned for him to go on. "You’ll wait for me?"

  She paused, then nodded. "I’ll be here."

  "Great. Thanks." He turned, feeling a
s if he was leaving something precious behind, but certain that staying wouldn’t change things one way or the other. "You coming?" he called to Ryder as he strode from the office.

  "In a minute," Ryder responded. "I need to run something by Emily first."

  Gideon’s gut churned, and he fought against the realization that he was jealous. Which was ridiculous because it was Ryder. His friend would never screw him over like that. And even more ludicrous, considering he had no claim on Emily. Both of which should have made him feel better.

  But instead, it made him want to punch a hole in the goddamned wall.

  CHAPTER 17

  "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU mean letting your man shoot at my daughter?" Blake strode into Douglas Colburn’s office, anger raging.

  "In point of fact, no one shot at her," Colburn said with a calm that belied the severity of the situation. "It is regrettable that Emily had to be pushed aside but there was nothing that could have been done to avoid it. Unless of course, you’d have preferred to have your machinations discovered."

  "Of course I don’t want to be discovered. But that doesn’t mean I want my daughter hurt." He pulled out the chair in front of Colburn’s desk and sat down. "Why the hell didn’t he just go out the window or something?"

  "Sloan lives in a fourth floor loft." Colburn sat back, steepling his fingers. "And there isn’t a fire escape. Anyway, the salient point here is that Emily wasn’t critically injured and your man," he said, emphasizing the last words, "got away. I’d call that a win."

  "Well, I wouldn’t. Emily has been shaken up enough already as it is. And if Sloan identifies his intruder…" He trailed off with a sigh.

  "He won’t." Colburn waved a hand in dismissal. "It was dark and everything happened in a hurry. He said he shot Sloan. I guess it’s too much to hope that there was serious damage?"