The Devil's Daughter

by Ophelia Bell

  35

  Ben

  I’m pretty sure Flores brought Mom just to fuck with me and Baz. But I suppose since he already made up with us, we owe her some time. The only problem is now is definitely not the time.

  She’s mid-stream in explanations about what happened when Toni was conceived when Baz shows up and gets caught in the undertow of our mother’s emotional current. Most of this is information I really didn’t need to know the first time she told me, more than a week ago, but she seems to think repeating the story will work the second time around. What I need is to get back to my circuit of the pavilion to watch for Miles Sitnik.

  “You need to get back to Drake,” I tell Baz, who volunteered to stick with our new boss since I might be a little too emotionally involved at this stage.

  “Thomas is on him until I get back. Looked like you needed backup.”

  “Backup?” Mom says. “Am I just another security challenge to you two? Ay Dios mio.” She flaps her hands at us and shakes her head.

  Baz sighs. “No, Mamá, but right now is not the best time for us to catch up. If we promise to call, will you let us get back to work? We aren’t actually here as guests. Drake and Elle both need protection today. Our job is to make sure they aren’t harmed.”

  At the mention of Elle, her features soften and her eyes brighten. “Elle is such a lovely girl. She doesn’t disrespect her mother the way you two mocosos do.”

  Elle arrives then, touching Mom on the elbow. “Elena, Drake wants us to gather at our tables. Why don’t we go and let Ben and Baz get back to their duties?”

  She shoots us both a warm smile that dissolves every last bit of tension caused by my mother’s emotional barrage. Thankfully, Mom willingly leaves, letting Elle lead her off behind the others. Her brother Sam holds back, looking at us both like he’s ready to throw down. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Baz smacks me on the arm as he turns to walk away.

  “Not the time, hermano. He’ll keep.”

  We keep staring until Toni gives Sam’s hand a frustrated tug, and offers me an apologetic, though exasperated roll of her eyes.

  I resume my patrol of the perimeter, then work my way through the tables. The guests have assigned seating, and we’ve made sure to place Miles in a spot as far from Drake as he can be, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stay there. He isn’t there now, so I pull out my smartphone to check the check-in roster from our man at the door. A few guests have yet to arrive, including him. Elle’s brother Marco and his guest also haven’t arrived.

  My gaze drifts to Elle who is settling at the table in front of the stage with the others. Salads are being served as Drake takes the stage. He’s a charismatic fucker, that’s for sure, which is evidenced by the reaction to the crowd when he makes a joke before his short introduction speech. He had planned to be on stage for more of the event, but we talked him into hiring an emcee to minimize his time front and center. He still insisted on the personal touch of a single greeting, as well as his bigger presentation that will happen over dessert. I’d love to just stare at both him and Elle tonight and marvel at my luck, but I know it won’t last if I let down my guard.

  Baz is stationed near the stage looking my way, while I’m halfway down the side of the room near the table Miles is assigned to, eyes constantly scanning the crowd. When I turn toward the entrance, I do a double-take. A man has just walked in who could be Drake’s doppelgänger. I whip out my phone to check the list again. Miles’ name is checked off. It’s him.

  When I look a little longer, I can see the differences between them. There’s no mistaking he’s related, though he’s slightly shorter and slighter in build, and when he comes closer, I see signs of a receding hairline, but he isn’t so desperate as to need a comb-over. He doesn’t have a date and heads toward his table alone, glancing periodically at Drake with a determined set to his jaw.

  “Target is seated,” I murmur into my earpiece. The security staff within sight all swivel their heads to pinpoint his location. Everyone except for Karl Thomas, who keeps his gaze on Drake. I suppose it can’t hurt to have eyes on the boss too.

  I peek at Elle once more, determined not to forget she’s as important as Drake, even if the risk to her safety isn’t as dire at this event. All the men at her table are on alert as much as the security staff, though. In fact, I think the only person not scanning the room is Arturo, who seems to be fixated on observing Elle watch Drake up on stage. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t aware of everything around him. When my brother and I worked for him, he was effectively training us, which wouldn’t have worked if he didn’t already know more than we did. He wouldn’t have gotten where he is without razor-sharp instincts.

  I rest easy knowing her brothers are all on task here too. It lets me spend less time worrying about her and focusing instead on nailing Miles Sitnik the second we catch him doing anything suspicious.

  Now he’s just sitting at his table, greeting the guests beside him, and digging into his salad. He looks too relaxed for someone sending death threats to a family member.

  I glance at Baz, who tilts his chin toward Miles. I nod to indicate I’ll stay on him. Then my brother slips his phone from his pocket, frowning as he views whatever alert he just received. He taps a message, then looks to me. My phone vibrates, so I check the screen.

  Authorities found Curtis Hagler’s body. Bullet to the back of the head, dumped in Cleveland National Forest. A hiker reported it.

  Fuck.

  I look at Baz, our gazes lock, and I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking. Hagler’s disappearance was too suspicious to discount, so I know we were both leaning toward him being involved somehow. But now I’m positive whoever killed Hagler is who we want to look for.

  I type back a message: Ballistics?

  Baz replies: 9mm.

  That doesn’t narrow it down much. Every single member of our security team carries Glock 17s. It could be one of us for all I know, or someone else entirely. But every guest passed through a metal detector, and our target also got a pat-down so we know he won’t be armed.

  A sick feeling settles in my gut as I work through the possibilities in my head. We’re new to Typhon and don’t know the security staff as well as I’d like. Baz and I both did our due diligence checking everyone out when we took the position as co-chiefs, and there weren’t any major red flags. Almost all were hired by Drake himself, the rest hired by his former security chief when his dad was CEO. A lot of the muscle are ex-military—other men like Karl Thomas, most of whom were vetted and approved by Drake at some point in the process.

  Drake also makes a point to get to know his employees. We have no reason to be suspicious, especially because we haven’t hired anyone new and had no need to outsource our security for this event, even with the increased coverage we needed when we learned of the threat, and that Elle would be coming.

  What if it isn’t Miles at all?

  Baz seems to read my mind when he sends me another text: You keep eyes on Drake and MS. I’ll go see if I can dig up some more intel on the murder.

  If only we knew who we were looking for, but given his skill when it comes to data analytics, I trust Baz to work his magic on his laptop to pinpoint the most likely suspect. I just wish we’d thought to look this closely to begin with.

  36

  Drake

  The evening is going so smoothly I begin to second-guess that there could be a problem. My presentation is a wild success. After it’s finished, I make my rounds, personally visiting each table to gauge support. Lindsey’s at my side, setting up meetings with most of the attendees to dive deeper into the issues, and to secure their pledges to fund research and implement renewable energy options so our industry can divest itself of its reliance on fossil fuels.

  I catch sight of Ben lurking near the fountain and take a detour to talk to him. “Any luck? He’s here, right?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think he’s a threat. That’s him there, table ten. He looks like you, only not as ho
t.”

  “Thank you,” I say, smirking back at Ben as I glance toward the table he indicated. I locate Miles immediately, but I don’t see myself when I look at him. I see our father, which doesn’t instill any sense of fraternal affection whatsoever. “So if he isn’t a threat, who is? We’ve been through the guest list with a fine-toothed comb.”

  He takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “There’s something you need to know. Curtis Hagler was murdered.”

  “What?” The blood drains from my face as I turn to stare at him. “Do you think it’s connected to this?”

  “We have to assume it is. You said the last thing he did before resigning was sweep your place for bugs. What if he found the cameras, figured out who put them in, and whoever it was killed him to keep him from alerting you? Baz is upstairs checking into it to see if he can find any links to the people here.”

  “Did he find a name?” I ask.

  “No, but our contact sent us a copy of the forensics report. Ballistics on the gun he was shot with match the guns used by Typhon security. The same contact just texted to tell me the cops found the weapon. It was traced to the same dealer Typhon uses to supply our security department’s weapons. That’s too close to be a coincidence.”

  I scan the room, but don’t immediately catch sight of any of the security. They’re good at sticking to the shadows, I’ll give them that. Something isn’t adding up.

  “Should we read Karl Thomas in on these developments?” I ask.

  Ben gives me a grim look, jaw clenched. “I wouldn’t. At this point, I need to caution you not to trust anyone except me and Baz—not even Karl. Pretty sure Elle’s brothers are safe too, but they might kill you just on principle.”

  “With the evidence we have, are we even sure Sitnik is responsible?” I ask.

  “There’s more than enough evidence to suggest Sitnik is the man we want. If he wants to take over, it makes sense that he wouldn’t want to get his hands dirty. He’d pay someone else and make sure he doesn’t leave any whiff of being involved. I prefer to assume the worst. If it isn’t tonight, he’ll try something else later. I’ll see if I can corner him alone soon and get something out of him. I’ll have Baz keep working on which of the security staff might be our hitman.”

  I frown and shake my head. “Don’t make a scene. I don’t want the guests to lose faith in my dedication to this endeavor.”

  “Well, forgive me, but I don’t want you dead,” he says.

  We have a stare-off for several seconds, and it’s all I can do not to kiss him. My adrenaline is high, which makes for a potent cocktail when combined with my attraction for both him and Elle. I suddenly ache for the night to be over, and without incident, so we can go back to the yacht and get her out of that damn dress.

  “I’ll be careful,” I finally say. “I need to get back to my table. They’re serving the entrées now, and I need to eat fast so I can get back to schmoozing.”

  I pat him on the arm and head to the table. Since there was no chance I’d split the group up, it meant enlisting Lindsey to set up a special table that could seat fourteen. All the other tables here are round and seat eight apiece. Ours is a long, oval table near the stage, the happy banter of the Santos and Flores families greeting me when I arrive and take my seat.

  Elle gives me an affectionate look when I arrive, and I have to control the urge to lean over and kiss her too. Fuck, I’m so lost over these two, it isn’t funny.

  While we eat, a large screen descends to the stage and a video begins to play, giving an overview of the history of the shipping industry. Once that’s finished, an auction begins, offering luxury vacations to the highest bidders. The final auction will be for a yacht not unlike the Brizo, complete with all its self-sufficiency upgrades. Not all the guests are such high rollers, but a few are, including Miles Sitnik, who puts in the winning bid for the yacht.

  A pair of seats at our table remain empty, and I catch Elle glancing at them periodically.

  “He’ll be here,” I whisper.

  “I’m not worried,” she says. “Marco’s life is pretty unpredictable.”

  “You miss him?”

  “I miss all my brothers. It’s too bad yours turned out to be an A-hole.”

  I give a derisive snort. “I suppose I understand why I was never good enough for my father now—he already had a kid who was made in his image.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, clasping my hand under the table. “I suppose I got lucky in the big brother department. They’re all about as different from Dad as they could get. Thank you, by the way.”

  “For what?”

  She leans closer, bumping my shoulder with hers, and the faint, delicious scent of her body wash wafts over me. “For doing all this for me. Inviting them to come, even though you know they won’t spend any money.”

  “I beg to differ,” I say, pointing out Mason, who is rabidly bidding against another guest for an all-expenses-paid vacation to Bali. He shakes his head and stops when the bid reaches mid-five figures. I lift an eyebrow as he faces the table again, laughing.

  He accepts a conciliatory kiss from his fiancée, then says, “Was hoping to plan ahead for our honeymoon, but that’s too steep for me.”

  “Tell you what,” I say, deciding on the fly that if I want to stay in Elle’s good graces, keeping her family happy is the best course of action, “when you two tie the knot, you can have the Brizo for two weeks. Go wherever you want on my dime.”

  “What’s the Brizo?” Callie asks.

  “It’s his yacht, where we’ve been staying this past week,” Elle says.

  Mason’s eyes light up, and beside him, Maddox almost chokes on his food.

  “You do not want to loan this man a boat,” Maddox says after clearing his throat.

  “You’re Navy guys, aren’t you? I don’t see a problem.”

  “It isn’t a problem,” Mason says, shaking his head a little too enthusiastically.

  “That is the problem,” Maddox says. “How big is it?”

  “Sixty meters.”

  “It has a helipad,” Elle interjects. “And a pool. And two staterooms. And Wi-Fi. And a gym, and…”

  “Hell, I’m sold,” Callie says.

  “Fuuuck,” Mason says, looking for all the world like he just creamed in his pants.

  “This,” Maddox says, pointing at his brother and giving me an I-told-you-so look. “This is why you shouldn’t tempt him. He’s been known to take anything with a big enough engine for a joyride. You let him have the keys to your toys, the next thing you know, he’ll actually sail it to Bali.”

  “Theo’s a capable captain. I think he can handle your brother. I also think he’d be more than happy to sail to Bali, if that’s where you want to go.”

  “I draw the line at anywhere that takes more than two weeks of travel time,” Callie says. “Hawaii is a maybe. Why not Cabo?”

  “I’ll take you wherever you want, as long as I get to sit in the captain’s chair,” Mason says.

  I’ve created a monster. Laughing, I shake my head. “You’ll have to take that up with Theo. Wherever the Brizo goes, he goes. He won’t give up that seat.”

  Mason narrows his eyes, already plotting. “Does he play poker?”

  “Yes, but he’s a fucking shark.”

  Callie rests a hand on my arm. “Don’t worry about him. We haven’t even set a date yet.”

  “This will happen,” Mason says. “Babe, we’re setting a date the very second Marco’s home from the op. Then we’re taking a cruise.”

  The conversation shifts to wedding planning. With all three sisters present, as well as two mothers, plus the bride-to-be, it quickly overtakes any talk of high-powered toys. My stomach flips, though, because it occurs to me that a permanent arrangement between Elle, the twins, and myself might be too complicated for a proper wedding. I know I’m jumping the gun even thinking about it, but it puts me in a slightly sour mood all the same.

  The servers clearing our dinner
plates is my cue to head back up on stage. I give Elle a peck on the cheek without even thinking and say, “See you in a few.”

  What I did hits me when I’m a few steps onto the stage, and I hazard a cautious glance at the table. All three of her brothers, as well as Leo, are giving me death glares now. Arturo is grinning like a fool, as if he just watched me fall into a trap. It only slows me for a second, but I recover with my opening joke, and the rest of my presentation is either dull enough or entertaining enough to cool them down by the time I finish.

  The hired emcee takes over running through his spiel to ask for donations, and I head back to the table. Before I can sit again, Karl Thomas stops me.

  “Mr. Stavros, I need you to come with me. We captured someone hiding out in the Apollo command module in the rotunda. We think he’s our guy. We just need you to come see if you know him. I already notified the Quins. They’re on their way to the rotunda now.”

  My stomach flips and I glance up at Karl, nodding to play off my hesitation at immediately following him. “Give me a moment,” I say, looking him in the eyes and hoping I can gauge whether he means me ill. He’s his all-business, competent self as he moves a few yards away to wait.

  I bend over to whisper in Elle’s ear, “Security thinks they have the guy. I’m going to go see if I can identify him.”

  “Really?” she asks, turning and starting to rise. “Let me come with you.”

  “No, stay and enjoy your time with your family. The dance floor should be opening up soon.”

  As if on cue, the music changes from dinner music to dance music. Mason hauls Callie out of her seat and they hit the dance floor, joined by several other guests.

  “Be careful,” she says, squeezing my hand and glancing at Karl dubiously.

  If the twins are already in the rotunda, it shouldn’t be a big deal to leave Elle, not with her brothers all in attendance. As I pass by Miles’ table, I catch his eye. He gives me a nod and a smile that’s just a little too wicked to be merely polite. I may be reading too much into it though. It must be his resemblance to Dad that I see. I wonder if he even realizes my security team just caught whoever he hired to try to assassinate me.