Fade To Gray (Triad Series Book 1) Page 2

  The differences had caused a rift between the two boys, one that had followed them into adulthood. But, in the end, blood always won out. That and the fact that the two women in Blake’s life—his only weaknesses—had insisted on having Vincent at hand. First his wife, who’d always adored his brother’s company and then, after her death, Emily, who begged for her uncle’s presence.

  Not that Blake truly begrudged the man. He was charming in his own way and loyal to a fault. He simply lacked ambition. Not that he lacked ideas, grandiose ones at that, but they rarely seemed to amount to anything. The problem was that Vincent lacked a certain edge. A killer’s instinct, not to put too fine a point on it. Which meant that most of the time his schemes wound up costing Blake money.

  "Actually I was looking for Emily," his brother said, breaking into his thoughts. "Is she here?"

  Blake frowned. "Why? Is something the matter?" He knew he was overreacting. Being overly protective. But then he’d learned the hard way what could happen if he wasn’t vigilant when it came to his daughter. It was his responsibility to make sure no one took advantage.

  Emily was the shining star in the golden realm of all that he’d achieved. And he wasn’t about to let just any upstart get his hands on her. He’d worked hard to grow all that he’d inherited. It hadn’t always been easy, and there’d been casualties along the way. Staying at the top of his game meant bending the rules and taking no prisoners. But above everything else, he was determined to protect his daughter—even from herself.

  "Everything’s fine as far as I know," Vincent responded, running a hand across his balding head, the gesture reflective of younger days and more hair. "I just thought we were supposed to meet up this morning. She’s helping me with my new project." A fleeting shadow crossed his face.

  "I hope you’re not asking her to contribute." Despite his efforts to control Emily’s purse strings, thanks to her trust fund, she had an annoying habit of going around him to do exactly as she pleased. "Not after I turned you down."

  "Of course not." This time the shadow turned to a scowl. "I’d never go behind your back like that. I just asked her to look over the proposal and come with me to a meeting."

  "I see." Blake nodded once, and the maid, standing silently in a corner, moved quickly to refill his coffee cup. After the woman had withdrawn, Blake turned his attention back to Vincent.

  "I’m not involving her. At least not in the way you mean," Vincent protested, lifting another forkful of egg. "It’s just that she’s good at catching details I’ve missed. And she volunteered."

  "Of course she did." Blake sighed. His daughter had always had a soft spot when it came to Vincent. "Anyway, she’s not here. Did you go by her apartment?"

  "I did. No one there at all—except Bailey. I could hear him snuffling around behind the door."

  Bailey was a sixty-pound mass of mixed-breed exuberance Blake could live without. But Emily always opened her heart to strays. Which of course explained her short-lived infatuation with that bastard Gideon Sloan. And probably her lack of interest in Tom Irwin. The senator was a take-what-he-wanted kind of man.

  "She’s probably at Jules' then. I think they went out together last night. Did you try her place?"

  "No. I figured I’d try here first." Vincent tilted his head, his expression puzzled. "Why do you always say her name with that tone of voice?" Irritation surged, as it always did with the mention of Emily’s best friend. "She’s practically one of the family." Vincent, as usual, was being obtuse.

  "She’s hardly a blood relative." And more importantly, she’d stood in his way one too many times. If it weren’t for her interference he wouldn’t be in the mess he was in right now. In fact, if she’d kept her mouth shut, Emily would probably be engaged to Tom Irwin and the senator wouldn’t be threatening him for failing to bring his daughter to heel. Although considering what he’d learned about the man, maybe the damn woman had done him a favor. Except that it was too little, too late.

  "Well, Emily is very fond of her," Vincent was saying.

  Blake pushed his thoughts aside. "Jules is just one of Emily’s projects. I tolerate her for my daughter’s sake, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to go so far as to think of her as family."

  "Pity, that." Vincent’s smile was forced. "Maybe we’d all be a bit happier around here if you’d give a little instead of pushing so hard for your own agenda."

  Blake laughed. "Says the pot calling the kettle black. I take it you’re still angry that I declined to invest in your little project."

  "I’m not angry." Vincent shrugged. "Disappointed maybe. But I’ll be fine. I’ve got other investors lined up."

  "Do you? And what of support for the energy bill?" There were too many variables involved in the success of Vincent’s latest scheme. Moving pieces that had to be aligned exactly right for things to go the way his brother envisioned. That’s why Blake had refused to invest. That and the not inconsequential fact that Vincent’s schemes, more often than not, came to nothing. "My sources indicate the bill won’t even make it through committee. And without strategic changes in policy, the new technology will be useless and you’ll be shit out of luck."

  "My sources indicate otherwise." Vincent crossed his arms, his chin lifting as he challenged Blake. "I know my track record is less than stellar. But this time I’ve got a good feeling. And I have a plan."

  "Well, it had better involve convincing Tom Irwin that he should vote your way. And believe me, it’s not easy to change his mind." Which had turned out to be the understatement of the century. The man was almost as single-minded as he was, leaving Blake with no alternative but to take more drastic measures. After all, he had to protect his assets.

  "Don’t worry about the senator. I think I’ve found a way around him." Vincent’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and for a moment, Blake was reminded that his brother could be quite formidable when backed into a corner.

  "Well, I’m glad to hear it." In more ways than Vincent could possibly imagine. "Despite the fact that I turned you down, I still wish you success. And I think at its heart the idea has merit."

  "If the new energy bill passes, then everything is going to change," Vincent said around a mouthful of bacon. "And I’ll be right at the forefront of technology, primed to rake in the profits."

  And if not, then Blake would be left to pick up the pieces. Again. Although if things went as planned, maybe he’d wind up helping his brother after all.

  CHAPTER 2

  GIDEON’S HEART RACED as he slid Ryder’s engineered keycard into the hotel lock. For a moment the door refused to yield and he shot Declan a look of frustration, but then after a soft beep, the red light turned green.

  "Right, then, we’re in." Declan glanced in both directions, making certain the hallway was still clear.

  It had taken them longer than Gideon had anticipated to make it through midtown traffic to the hotel, but once they’d arrived everything had gone just as Ryder had predicted. Gideon pushed open the door and strode into the room, his only thought to find Emily. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep himself from calling her name. But anything they did to call attention to themselves could spell disaster for Emily. And he wasn’t about to take chances with her life.

  "Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Declan whispered, his voice cracking a bit on the last word.

  Gideon moved past Declan, eyes drawn to the bed. The blood-soaked bed. His stomach curled even as he dispassionately took in the senator’s mutilated corpse. This hadn’t been a calculated kill. It reeked of passion.

  "He didn’t go easy," Declan commented as he eyed the bloody knife.

  "No he didn’t. And I’m thinking that whoever did this was pretty damn angry when it happened. There’s not much of him that hasn’t been cut up."

  "Destroyed, more like it. Where the hell is Emily?" Declan spun around, gaze assessing.

  Gideon’s heart hitched up another notch. Please God, let her still be here. The evidence was damning a
nd if she was out there somewhere—covered in blood… "Emily?" he called quietly. "Em, can you hear me? Where are you, sweetheart?" The endearment slipped out, but didn’t go unnoticed.

  Declan’s frown deepened as his hand slid to the gun holstered under his arm.

  Gideon shook his head, then started for the bathroom door at the sound of a whimper. "Em?" He rounded the corner and stopped frozen in place, his heart tightening to the point of pain.

  She was crouched in the corner of the bathtub, pressed against the tiles, almost naked and spattered with blood. One hand tightened and released convulsively around what looked to be clothing of some kind. And the other was pressed to her mouth, the fingernails crusted with dried blood. Her hair fell in lank waves around her shoulders, matted in places and knotted in others. She moaned and then slowly lifted her eyes to his. For a moment she tensed, pressing closer into the corner, as if she thought to hide, but then recognition dawned, tears welling in her deep blue eyes.

  "Gideon."

  "Holy Mary," Declan exclaimed as he stepped through the doorway.

  Immediately the light dimmed in Emily’s eyes, her hands moving to draw her knees up as she pressed backward, shaking her head. "No…no…no…"

  "Get out," Gideon barked, surprised at how very much he wanted his friend gone. "Wait out there until I tell you. You can call Ryder and apprise him of the situation. Then the two of you can devise a plan to get her out of here. And whatever you do, don’t let anyone in this room."

  Declan nodded once, shot a last look at Emily, and backed out of the bathroom.

  Gideon moved slowly toward the edge of the tub and Emily, who was rocking herself now and whimpering softly. He’d seen a lot of violence in his life, but this was beyond the pale even for him. And for someone as sheltered as Emily…

  He struggled for control, wishing to hell he knew the right words to say.

  "It’s okay, Em. Declan’s gone back into the other room. He won’t come in here again unless you say it’s okay. It’s just me, sweetheart. Just me." He moved closer, kneeling down on the cold tile. "I’m here, Emily, I’m right here." He reached out slowly, as if trying to entice a baby bird, and laid a hand against the side of her cheek. She shuddered beneath his touch, but didn’t pull away. "Come on, baby, look at me."

  Her breathing was labored. And now that he was touching her, he could feel her shaking. Shock. She was going into shock. He needed to get her out of here. But first he had to soothe her—gain her trust. And that wasn’t going to happen if he let anger take control. He’d think about what had happened here later. When he was calmer. When she was safe.

  Slowly she lifted her head again, as if willing it to respond. Tears trembling against her lashes. "Gideon." His name came out on a whisper, like a prayer. His heart stuttered. "You came."

  "Of course I did."

  "But I did something awful." Her voice rose and the words came out in a staccato rush, tears falling in earnest now. "I killed Tom. I killed him, Gideon."

  He tried to take her words at face value. To remind himself that she’d betrayed him once upon a time, but his heart wasn’t buying it. Emily couldn’t kill a fly. She was more likely to rescue it and then set it free. There was no way in hell she’d killed Tom Irwin unless the bastard deserved it.

  "What happened?" he asked, clenching a fist. "Tell me what happened."

  She shook her head, eyes still wide. "That’s just it. I don’t know…I…I don’t remember anything. Not coming here, not Tom, not…not…" Her chest jerked as she struggled against her panic. "Not anything. Just waking up with him in there…like…like that. Oh, God…" Her lips trembled, her eyes full of fear and, oddly enough, what looked like hope.

  He should never have come. Despite the passage of time it was all still there, all those feelings, buried deep inside him. Only it was too late. Still, he couldn’t ignore the fact that she needed him now. This was what he did. Clean up messes. Save people from whatever disaster faced them. If he could do it for strangers, surely he could do it for Em.

  "We’ll figure out what happened. I promise you. But right now we need to get you out of here."

  "But the police…the tabloids…they’ll see me and they’ll know. My father will know."

  "Not if you let me take care of it."

  "I can’t. Gideon, if I did this"—She waved toward the doorway—"then I can’t walk away."

  And for a moment, he forgot all about the past, forgot about the horror surrounding him, he saw only the girl he’d fallen in love with ten years ago. The girl so at odds with the world she lived in. Someone who was kind. Good. Someone who believed in doing the right thing.

  Until her father had demanded otherwise. Damn Blake Masterson to hell.

  "But you don’t know that you did this. You don’t remember anything. So let me take care of you. Let me take care of this."

  Their gazes met and held, so many unanswered questions, so many lies, the past hanging over them like a razor-sharp guillotine. But there was no choice. He had to help her.

  "It’s what I do, Em," he urged softly. "I rescue people. So let me rescue you. At least for now."

  She searched his face again, looking for God knew what, and then with a shuddering sigh, she held out a shaking hand. Ignoring it, he grabbed an extra blanket from the adjacent closet, and after wrapping it around her, swept her up into his arms, crushing her close against him. "It’s going to be all right, baby. I swear to you, it’s going to be all right."

  Now he just had to find a way to make that promise come true.

  *****

  EMILY STARED INTO THE bedroom mirror as she pulled her wet hair into a ponytail. Despite the fact that she was clean and wearing her own clothes, she could still see the blood. Smell it. Feel it. It was as if she’d been indelibly imprinted with the horror of Tom Irwin’s death. She recognized the blue eyes in the reflection. The blond hair, the angular face. But the expression was new. Haunted.

  She’d killed a man. Or at least it was possible.

  And now just a few hours later, she stood in a strange bedroom, waiting while someone else cleaned up the mess she’d made. Not just someone, a little voice in her head whispered—Gideon. Gideon.

  Almost as if she’d summoned him with her tumbling thoughts, the door swung open and he stood there, his sharp green gaze raking across her, making her shiver in anticipation—of what she had no notion at all.

  "I just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed." He stepped closer, and involuntarily she stepped back. A shadow flickered across his face and was gone.

  "Yes." She shot him a ghost of a smile, reminding herself that she was a Masterson. Which meant that she was equipped to deal with anything. Even this. "Thanks for getting my clothes." She waved at the jeans and T-shirt she was wearing, then squared her shoulders. "At least I feel more human."

  "It was nothing. Well, maybe not completely nothing; that brute of yours almost took my head off." His sudden smile threatened to suck her breath away.

  "Somehow I doubt that. Bailey is definitely all bark and no bite." It felt good to think about her dog. To think of anything normal.

  "Well, I’ll admit he was more forgiving once I fed him." He shrugged. "So no need to worry."

  "Thank you for that. I feel better being here knowing that he’s okay."

  "I know this isn’t easy for you." He lifted a hand as though to stroke her cheek but clearly thought better of it, dropping his arm and walking to the window instead. "Any of it. But it’s better for you to be here for now."

  "Better for the lie, you mean." She couldn’t prevent the note of bitterness that colored her voice.

  He turned to face her, leaning back against the window ledge. "It isn’t a lie, Em. It’s just a way to buy some time. To figure out what’s going on here without the media making a circus out of your life."

  "A man died, Gideon. And it’s entirely possible that I killed him."

  "But we don’t know that for sure."

  "You’re
right. I don’t know anything for certain." She sank down on the end of the bed, clenching her fists on her thighs. "I don’t even know where I am."

  "You’re in the meatpacking district. A row house owned by my company. We use it as a safe house of sorts."

  "A safe house. That sounds like you’re in the CIA or something. What kind of regular person needs a safe house?"

  "You for starters." He blew out a breath and folded his arms across his chest.

  He’d filled out over the last ten years. The promise of youth hardened into a man. His face was leaner, tougher somehow. And he was broader than she remembered. Bigger. Larger than life almost. Which was an inane thought.

  "But there’ve been others who used this place," she whispered, almost afraid to say it out loud. Not certain what it meant. Not certain she wanted to know.

  "Yes." He nodded, his eyes dark with compassion. "There have been others. People who find themselves in circumstances beyond their control. People who need rescuing, as it were."

  "Triad." She tried to order her thoughts, his company’s name coming to her from some recess in her brain. "I’ve seen references to it in the media. You fix things, don’t you? Messes people like me make."

  And people like her father. The thought came out of nowhere and she dismissed it as ridiculous. Her father never needed anyone. Period.

  "Yes, we fix things," Gideon said, his expression guarded. "I assumed that’s why you called me."

  "No." The word came out sounding harsh, and she lifted her gaze to his, shaking her head. "I’m not sure why I called, really. I just knew I needed someone I could trust." The words came of their own volition. "I mean…I didn’t…"

  Gideon waved a hand, shaking his head. "Tell me what you remember about what happened."

  "Not much. I went out to dinner with friends last night. Then we hit a couple of clubs. The last one I remember was Avalon."

  "Was the senator there?"

  She searched for censure in the question, but found none. In fact, Gideon didn’t seem to be emotionally involved at all. Which shouldn’t be a surprise and certainly shouldn’t bother her. But somehow it did anyway.