Red After Dark: A Romantic Thriller (Blackwood Security Book 13)

by Elise Noble

  Black knew someone who knew someone who knew O’Shaughnessy’s campaign manager, and that person had vouched for Blackwood as well as making the introduction. Ever the ruthless businessman, Black had negotiated a fee for their services, to be split seventy-thirty between Blackwood and Sirius. At least they were getting paid for this shitshow.

  When they sat down, Black positioned his chair a foot farther back than Alaric and Emmy, and he made no move to speak. Was this some sort of test? Because Alaric would have no problem passing it. He’d dealt with a hundred O’Shaughnessys in his life.

  “I think the more appropriate question is ‘why are you here?’”

  “Why are you here?”

  “We had front-row seats for yesterday’s debate.”

  “So, what? You’re here to gloat?”

  “The opposite, actually. We’re here to work out how to undo the damage. The people of Kentucky deserve an above-board election, and there’s concern that one of the parties isn’t playing fair.”

  “Not playing fair? You know where I was before this? Getting interviewed by the police. They’ve taken my laptop to be forensically examined, and the media’s talking about jail time.”

  “It was your laptop?” Alaric asked, to confirm the rumour. “Not an aide’s?”

  “No, it was mine. It’s my habit to keep the final version of the speech and presentation on my own computer in case I need to make any last-minute adjustments. Communications move at a frantic pace these days.”

  “Any idea how the porn got on there?”

  “Of course not! I never watch that stuff.”

  Liar. Alaric was watching O’Shaughnessy’s face closely, and he blinked three times in quick succession before the second phrase.

  Black, it seemed, agreed with Alaric’s assessment.

  “Really?”

  Alaric couldn’t see Black’s face, but he could imagine those cold eyes fixed on O’Shaughnessy’s. Black’s irises very nearly matched his name, and the effect was unsettling.

  “Well, not the gay stuff. And definitely not the kiddie stuff.” His gaze flicked towards Emmy. “Just the…you know. The regular stuff.”

  Alaric took over again. “You watch it on your laptop?”

  “No, only my phone. And that video popped up right in the middle of my presentation. Talk about timing.”

  “Which leaves two possibilities.” Alaric had discussed the problem with Naz earlier in the day, and Emmy had done the same with her team. Both had come to the same conclusions. “Either you downloaded a virus and got unlucky, or someone sabotaged your speech. How well do you know your staff?”

  “It wasn’t Malorie. She’s been with me since the beginning.”

  “Malorie was in charge of playing the presentation?”

  “Yes, and she’s devastated. My wife had to drive her home.”

  “How’s your wife taking this?”

  “Yes, well…”

  “She’s not speaking to you?”

  “It’s been a shock for everyone. The police interrogated her too, you know. Kept asking how I behaved around the younger members of the family. As if I’d ever touch them.”

  He shuddered, and Alaric did believe he was genuinely disgusted.

  “Did you speak to Malorie before she left?”

  “She said the computer just went crazy. The presentation vanished, and nothing she clicked would make the video stop. Even when she closed the lid, it kept playing until she pulled the cable out.”

  So, sabotage then. It was a thirty-second job if Alaric had access to the laptop. Jam a USB stick into the side, wait nonchalantly as it loaded a malware file timed to activate while O’Shaughnessy was speaking… Each candidate had been allocated a time slot yesterday. Child’s play to write a program like that, Naz said. They’d hoped to look at the laptop, but if the police had it, they were left with guesswork for now.

  “When did the schedule for yesterday get announced? How far in advance did you know you’d be speaking?”

  “We’ve known about the event for weeks. This debate was a big deal.”

  “And the running order?”

  “That kept getting changed. At first, they wanted to do some sort of presentation to local veterans at the beginning, but then they switched it to the end, right before Elodie Bryan was meant to perform.”

  The cynic in Alaric said they’d saved the best part until last to keep people from leaving. Elodie Bryan was an up-and-coming country singer from Frankfort, and he’d been looking forward to her set himself.

  “When did they finalise the timings?”

  “Sometime in the morning. Around eleven o’clock? You’d have to check with my team.”

  “And where was the laptop then?”

  “On the battle bus.”

  “The bus that takes you between campaign stops?”

  “Yes.”

  “And who has access to the bus?”

  “Just my team. But I’m telling you, none of them would have done this. And besides, my wife was there for most of the day, sitting in the chair right next to my desk. She wasn’t feeling well.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time a wife had sabotaged her husband, but it seemed an unlikely option. Meagan O’Shaughnessy had always appeared supportive.

  “Okay, so let’s narrow it down to the times the laptop was out of sight of the two of you.”

  “The police already asked these questions.”

  “Would you mind going over it again?”

  “Why am I even doing this? I still don’t know who you’re working for.”

  “Let’s assume we’re working for you.”

  Emmy chipped in. “The police aren’t going to win you this election, Mr. O’Shaughnessy, but they’ll sure as hell help you to lose it if you don’t take steps to control the damage.”

  O’Shaughnessy had started off pale, but now he lost another shade of colour. “The only time the laptop was out of my sight was when I handed it over to Malorie.”

  “Then we need to speak to Malorie.”

  “I’m not sure she’s in a fit state—”

  Emmy tapped her watch. “The clock’s ticking, Mr. O’Shaughnessy.”

  Malorie Sykes was a nervous blonde in her early twenties. This was her first job in politics after majoring in political science at the University of Kentucky, and possibly her last if she was involved in this monumental fuck-up.

  “I only ran to the bathroom,” she said. “I was gone, like, five minutes max.”

  “And you didn’t take the laptop with you?”

  “There’s no place to put it in those bathrooms except on the floor, and…” Her ski-jump nose crinkled. “Yuck.”

  “So you left it…where?” Emmy asked.

  “On a chair beside the stage. There were people around. Like, security people. I thought it would be okay, and when I came back, the bag was right where I left it.”

  “Security people?” Emmy slid a photo out of her purse, an old picture of Eric Ridley from his Navy days. Alaric wasn’t sure whether Black had called in a favour to get it or sent in one of his pet hackers, but it was the best they could do on short notice. “Did you see this guy hanging around?”

  “Kyla Devane’s boyfriend? Sure, he was around. Why? Do you think he was involved in this…this…horror show?”

  Kyla’s boyfriend? This just got better and better.

  “Devane’s dating this man?”

  “Well, yeah, I think so. I mean, isn’t she?”

  O’Shaughnessy leaned forward and plucked the photo from his intern’s hand. Studied it. “I always thought he was part of her security team. Eric, right? He looks younger in this picture. Must be fifteen years older than her if he’s a day.”

  “You’re familiar with him?”

  “Not really. I’ve seen him with her a time or two, and he introduced himself once.” O’Shaughnessy tapped his head. “Never forget a name. It’s been a blessing in this game.”

  Emmy turned back to Malorie. “What m
akes you say he’s her boyfriend?”

  “I… I… I’m not sure. I guess I just saw them standing real close, like…you know. And so I figured…”

  “It’s okay. We’re not trying to catch you out here, only understand your thoughts. Gut instincts are often the right ones.”

  If Ridley was involved with Devane on more than a professional level, it certainly gave him an incentive to assist with a dirty-tricks campaign. The money he’d get for providing security services paled beside the influence he’d gain as one half of Kentucky’s newest power couple. He’d had it all—means, motive, and opportunity.

  The only thing missing was the evidence.

  But now Black leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

  “Diamond, when you saw Ridley yesterday, was he wearing gloves?”

  Emmy closed her eyes for a moment, thinking. “No, he wasn’t. And the convention centre was hot as hell. I only kept my jacket on because…” She glanced at O’Shaughnessy. No, best not to admit that she’d smuggled a gun past the metal detectors. “Never mind. Anyhow, gloves would have looked weird.”

  “Malorie, you mentioned a bag. Yet there was no bag listed on the police evidence log. What happened to it?”

  Good spot. Guess that was why Black earned the big bucks. That and apparently having his tentacles deep inside the Kentucky police force’s databases.

  Malorie sat up straighter. “I… I don’t know.”

  “Did you pick it up?”

  “I think I put it in the box with the flyers. Everything was in chaos, and people were shouting, and…”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Emmy tried to soothe her. “Where did the box end up?”

  “Maybe on the bus? I have no idea.”

  Black looked straight at O’Shaughnessy. “Get me onto that bus. We’ll also need your fingerprints for elimination purposes. Malorie’s too.”

  O’Shaughnessy gulped and nodded. “Let me make a call.”

  Two prints. They found two unknown prints on the oversized metal zipper tab, one each side, thumb and finger by the positioning. Black had photographed the laptop bag in situ on the bus, careful to follow evidence collection rules in case their findings were ever needed in court, then they’d couriered the package to the nearest Blackwood lab in Cincinnati, where a team was on standby. They had the results by the time Beth served dessert. In terms of resources, Blackwood was Harrods to Sirius’s Mom ’n’ Pop general store.

  But who did the print belong to?

  The working hypothesis was that Ridley was involved, but Mack hit a snag when she dug his fingerprint records out of the FBI database—they were held there by virtue of his military service.

  “They’re smeared,” she said. “Forensics says there’s one small area that looks the same, but the rest is too smudged for a conclusive match.”

  “Why are they smudged?” Beth asked. Alaric was pleased to see her taking an interest in the case. “Did he sabotage them or something?”

  Black shook his head. “Poor-quality prints are more common than you’d think. You get printed as a matter of routine at the beginning of your military career, and the people handling the process aren’t always as careful as we’d hope. Estimates suggest around a third of prints on file have imperfections, some worse than others.”

  “So we can’t prove that Eric Ridley was involved? Kyla Devane will get away with ruining a man’s reputation?”

  “No, he won’t. It just means we have to get more creative.”

  Alaric was glad Black had chosen to fight on the same side as him for once. He wasn’t sure what “more creative” meant, but he wouldn’t have wanted to be in Ridley’s shoes at that particular moment.

  “Define ‘creative,’” Emmy said.

  Black held out a hand to her, and when she placed hers into it, he brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them.

  “Join me for dinner, Diamond.”

  “We just ate dinner.”

  “Thursday evening at the O Club.”

  “The O Club?” Beth’s eyes widened, and Alaric realised where her thoughts had gone. Not that kind of O, sweetheart. But he liked the way her mind worked, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

  “Short for the Officer’s Club. It’s a hotel in Norfolk, Virginia,” Black clarified. “And the day after tomorrow, it’s hosting Destroyer Squadron Twenty-Six’s annual get-together. Ridley will be there. He never misses an opportunity to dress up and brag about his conquests. I usually skip it.”

  “Then how do you know he goes?” Alaric asked.

  Black glared at him. “I skim the newsletter.”

  After their recent run of bad luck, they deserved a break. And if Ridley did show up at the dinner as Black predicted, it would save them from following the man to restaurants, rallies, and other random places. Emmy laughed, then twisted Black’s hand in hers and brought it to her lips in a return of his gesture.

  “It’s a date, Chuck.”

  CHAPTER 13 - ALARIC

  “YOU’RE NOT TIRED?” Alaric asked.

  Beth had yawned three times since dessert, but rather than going to bed, she flopped onto the couch in the living room. Her blonde hair spread out along the top of the cushions. The two of them had spent little more than a day at Riverley, but that had been enough time for Bradley to cut it into layers and dye it a few shades darker. More than ever, Alaric itched to run his fingers through the silky strands.

  “Exhausted, but it’s only nine o’clock and my sleep pattern’s all over the place. I thought if I watched a movie and then went to bed, it might help me to adjust to the time zone.”

  Emmy and Black had disappeared, along with Dan. Emmy had muttered something about a conference call, but whether that was just an excuse for some alone time with Black, Alaric wasn’t sure.

  “What movie are you watching?”

  If his ex was doing her husband upstairs, Alaric didn’t want to overhear, and the walls in the rented house weren’t particularly soundproof. He knew that because Beth had been singing to herself in the shower this morning, and he’d heard every word. She could really hold a tune.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “I just said I don’t know what I’m watching.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m not ready to go to bed yet either.”

  Alaric left his unfinished glass of wine on the table. It had been a while since he was alone with Beth, and already he could feel the tension building. But he was a glutton for punishment, and when she shifted to the side and patted the seat next to her, of course he took it.

  “There’s so much on TV,” she said, flipping through the myriad of channels. “By the time I find anything good, I’ll be too shattered to watch it.”

  “Then let’s talk instead. How did it go at the ranch today?”

  “Is this your attempt at employee relations?” she teased.

  “Something like that.”

  Fuck, every time he closed his eyes, she was back in his arms at that party. The party where he’d taken things way too far and made her come in front of her ex-husband. Although really, the ex had been an excuse. Alaric should have stopped before he got her off, but the asshole inside him had wanted to see her O-face, and he hadn’t paused to consider the ramifications.

  Actions have consequences, son.

  His father’s words echoed in his head, the culmination of a heated argument over Alaric’s steadfast denial of the charges levelled at him. When he’d refused to admit to stealing the Emerald pay-off, his father had disowned him.

  Everyone makes mistakes, son. A man owns up and takes his punishment. Only a coward ducks the blame.

  Bancroft McLain would rather have seen Alaric in prison than be branded the father of a weakling. Didn’t he realise that all the put-downs, the constant criticism and the bullying, they’d only made Alaric stronger?

  Don’t you walk away from me, boy!

  He hadn’t walked, he’d run.

 
He’d punished Emmy for something that wasn’t her fault, and he’d done a hatchet job on his own heart in the process. Never again would he put himself in a position where he could hurt another woman like that.

  Which meant keeping his relationship with Beth on a professional footing. He cared about her too much to play with her emotions.

  “The ranch was fun,” she said. “Harriet and Stéphane are both lovely, Dan’s friendly and so, so smart, and it was wonderful being around the horses all day. And Barkley—she’s such a sweet dog.”

  And yet Beth didn’t sound happy.

  “But…?”

  “But what?”

  “You don’t sound as if you had a great time.”

  “No, I did. Honestly. It’s just… I guess…”

  “You guess what?” Alaric pressed.

  “I guess I feel guilty about that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m meant to be working. You’re paying me, and I was messing around with horses.”

  “And work can’t be fun?”

  “Well, historically it hasn’t been.”

  “There’s an old saying that goes ‘find a job you enjoy, and you’ll never do a day’s work in your life.’”

  “I always thought that was a myth.

  “Sirius has its moments—you already got thrown in at the deep end last week—but when we started the firm, we all agreed that our priority was to have a good work/life balance. Without going into the details—the other guys’ stories are theirs to tell, not mine—the four of us have been through enough shit with work that we don’t want to go down that road again. Sirius is profitable, and we each make enough money to be comfortable. I’m never going to be a billionaire like Black, but nor do I want to be. I just want to be happy.” Alaric smoothed the hair away from Beth’s face. “And I want you to be happy too, okay? If there’s anything urgent for you to do, I’ll let you know, but until then, have fun with Harriet. Oh, fuck. Don’t cry.”

  “I-I-I’m sorry. You’re t-t-too nice.”

  Too nice? No, Alaric was just trying to be a decent human being. It pissed him off that his attitude was unusual enough that it made Beth weep with fucking gratitude. That dick she’d been married to should have had her on a damn pedestal for the last decade, but instead, he’d torpedoed her expectations into the depths along with her self-esteem.