The Red Ledger
7
MEREDITH WILD
This book is an original publication of Meredith Wild.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2019 Meredith Wild
Cover Design by Meredith Wild
Cover photographs: Alamy & Shutterstock
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All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
Continue The Red Ledger
Also by Meredith Wild
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
Tristan
Boston, Massachusetts
Bare trees thrash in the wind, but otherwise the streets are quiet. I speed through the greenway, ignoring the biting chill against my skin, the beginnings of a freak spring storm that seems to have shown up precisely as we did.
My lungs burn from the cold. As my rapid footfalls on the sidewalk mark the seconds, the pendulum of my heart is a constant reminder that I have someone else’s heartbeat to worry about now. Isabel Foster’s. She’s become my reason for breathing, even if she’s trying to hide things from me. I tighten my fists and run faster, causing my heart rate to hammer from the added effort.
I follow the map in my head, turning down a narrow street that leads me toward the wharf and our home base for the time being. I slow my stride in front of a long stretch of brick building and gaze up at the carved stone archway that’s collecting snow along its edges. I stall there, catching my breath and regretting the run wasn’t longer to give me more time to think. But night will fall fast under the storm, and no matter the weather, I have plans I can’t cancel.
I punch the code onto the door’s keypad, climb the stairs to the third floor, and enter the apartment. Isabel is perched by the window seat, a blanket wrapped around her. Her chestnut hair kisses her shoulders, framing the face I’ve come to love. Her stormy eyes are darkened, almost sullen. The light has left them a little more each day since I set our course for Boston for reasons I won’t explain to her.
“It looks like it’s getting bad out there,” she says.
I pull my shirt over my head and walk to the kitchen for water without saying a word. Shutting her out is so easy sometimes, but it rips me apart to do it as well as I do. It’s like volunteering to have a vital organ extracted while I watch in determined silence, knowing once it’s gone I’ll die. Without her, I would. That fire to survive and kill and protect would taper off until someone had a gun to my head, and I’d find myself wishing for it to all go black so I didn’t have to think a second more about losing her.
I guzzle down a glass of water and half of another, my back to her all the while, even if I can feel the heaviness of her stare. The emotions she whips up in me are more than I can handle sometimes, so I shove them down, run them off, or hide them among the sins of my recent memories, tucked away with a version of me who wasn’t as vulnerable.
Then she’s behind me, a brush of chenille throw and her cheek warm on my back. She curls her arms low around my waist, which activates the one part of me that I’m willing to share with her lately. Long into the night, I feed the demon in me with her willing body, her whispers and cries filled with all the things we don’t say. All the things we feel.
“You’re freezing.” She roams her hot palms over my chilled skin, methodically trying to warm me up. The gesture is sweet and selfless and makes me hate myself.
I grasp her hands and gently untangle her from my body. “I have to shower. Then I’m heading out for a while.”
To kill your ex-boyfriend.
When I turn, her eyes are shadowed with hurt as if she somehow heard my quiet desire. If Kolt Mirchoff gives me a good excuse to rid our lives of him forever, I won’t hesitate to act on it. It probably won’t come to that, but if it does, Isabel may never forgive me.
“You shouldn’t go out in this weather.” Some of the warmth has left her voice. “The city is probably going to shut down once the snow really starts coming down.”
“This is Boston, not DC. I doubt everything is going to come to a standstill over a little winter weather.”
She folds her arms across her chest, still covered by her blanket. “Where are you going? What’s so important?”
When I don’t answer, her countenance relaxes under a strange calm. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”
I don’t believe her, but she leaves, resuming her seat by the window before I can make up some bullshit excuses for why I need to leave our cozy apartment in the middle of a blizzard. Excuses she’s apparently not interested in hearing. I should be relieved, but suddenly I’m questioning all my red rage over Kolt’s communications with her and wondering if I should have confronted her about it and thrown all of it into the light instead.
Not really my style. Pressing the muzzle of a gun to his temple and threatening his life for everything he knows about his murdering family is more what I had in mind. The fleeting vision of a scenario like that spurs me toward the bedroom, where I shower and change, discreetly stowing my Sig Sauer in my jacket along with anything else I’ll need to make my point.
When I return, the window seat is empty. Her blanket hangs off the edge. My heart thuds heavily in my chest because I can feel that she’s gone. A scrap of paper is pinned to the mullion of the door.
I walk over and yank it free.
Went out for coffee. See you later.
I glance at my watch. It’s almost five o’clock. I never confirmed an exact time Kolt could expect to meet with Isabel when I hijacked her email account, which gives me an undetermined window to scope out the area, watch, and wait for his arrival. I don’t have time to track Isabel’s coffee run or psychoanalyze her reasons for leaving, though as I start the short walk toward my destination, I imagine it’s her way of telling me to fuck off for leaving her behind and keeping her in the dark.
I accept this, push Isabel out of my thoughts, and make my way toward Faneuil Hall. The snow falls heavier once I arrive at the pedestrian-friendly promenade. Tourists slip and laugh as they maneuver the cobblestone streets, arms heavy with shopping bags.
I pull my cap down my forehead a little farther and move quickly toward the green-faced pub on the corner, scanning the cross streets on my way. Nothing’s tripping my radar. I decide to head right inside, too eager to see if he’s beaten me here.
A blast of warm air and traditional Irish music greet me when I step inside. I don’t have to wait long. My mouth is nearly watering when I see Kolt appear at nearly the same moment. He’s across the restaurant, hovering at the end of the bar. He brushes the snow off his jacket and runs his hands through his dark-blond hair. He doesn’t notice me. The fool can’t feel me watching him like he’s prey. Something else holds his attention.
I follow his gaze to the opposite end of the bar. And that’s when I see her. Her sullen eyes are suddenly brave, brimming with determination as she slices a look my way that stops me dead in my tracks.
/> ISABEL
We’ve been fighting this war for days. Something snapped back in Miami. I felt him change, transforming back into the cold, calculating Tristan bent on a mission. Next thing I knew, he was making plans for Boston. That’s when I figured he had set his sights on Kolt.
I found the email messages he thought I’d never find—the emails he trashed after confirming a meeting only he was supposed to know about. In retrospect, maybe I should have never answered Kolt’s plea to begin with. But while the guilt of the evasion ate at me, so did the unspoken murder in Tristan’s eyes whenever I opened doors for him to tell me the truth. He never did.
Now there’s nothing to say. The bar is busy with patrons. While Tristan seems pinned in place at the opposite doorway, Kolt takes long strides toward me. I tense, bracing myself for danger. But the second I meet his eyes, I know he’s not here for that.
His snow-damp hair is overgrown, the tips curling against the collar of his black peacoat. He still looks rich in his designer jeans and expensive boots. He reaches out to embrace me when he’s arm’s length away, but I hold up my hand, stopping him before he can.
He doesn’t get to touch me that way anymore. Judging by the stung look in his eyes, I think he understands this. I’ve been harboring my anger for weeks. Seeing him in the flesh borders on overwhelming because it’s with new eyes, knowing everything I do.
“It’s good to see you.” His voice is quiet, almost apologetic as he slips onto the stool beside me. “Is everything okay?”
I swirl a spoon through my coffee a few times. A couple of months ago, I would have had a very different answer to that question. The hole Tristan left in my heart is nothing compared to the death-defying journey we’ve endured since he came back into my life. Worse, the blank innocence in Kolt’s expression dashes any hope I’ve been clinging to that he may actually be able to help me.
“Why did you want to meet so badly?”
He looks past me like he’s steeling himself for something, but he doesn’t speak.
“I don’t have a lot of time, Kolt. If you have something to tell me, I need to know now.”
He licks his lips and tentatively looks me over. “Are you safe?” He studies me that way for a long time, his whole body tense, like he’s trying to find something that’s different. I may seem the same on the outside, but on the inside everything’s been rearranged for survival.
I peer over my shoulder and scan the restaurant. I can’t see Tristan now, but I know he’s here somewhere—watching, waiting, and definitely fuming over this shift in plans. I’m not sure I want to know what his actual plan was. Any latent affection I had for Kolt incinerated the second I found out he was sent to Rio by his family to get close to me, but I still don’t want him dead.
I turn back to Kolt. “I’m not like you anymore. I can’t stay in one place for too long. It’s never safe for me.”
“I want to help you.” I can barely hear his offer over the murmur of patrons and restaurant music. “I’m just in a tough situation.”
“You are? I lost my whole life over this. And all this time, you knew I was in danger and you never warned me, never tried to help me. Why should I believe you want to help now?” I curl my fist on my thigh, renewed anger flooding me at his betrayal—deceit that led me into his bed too many nights, creating memories that make me cringe with regret now.
“Just—” He closes his eyes a moment and exhales a deep breath. “You don’t have to believe me, but I hope that you do. I didn’t go there to hurt you. I didn’t go for any other reason than to get the hell away from my life here. I was failing at school, cracking under the pressure, and I was ready to jump at any chance to get away and have some fun. My uncle said I could help him with a work issue in Rio. All I knew was that your family was in a dispute with the company. He wanted me to keep an eye on you and see if you knew anything about it that might help. Honestly, I didn’t care about any of that. I asked you a couple of questions about your family when I met you, and I knew right away that you had no part in whatever was happening. Then it was over. I had nothing to report back, so I was just living my life in Rio and getting to know you.” He reaches across, grazing his fingertips along the outside of my fist as if willing me to unfurl it. “As much as you’d let me.”
I swivel toward the bar, torn over whether to believe him. He sounds genuine, but he fooled me before too.
“So you never thought getting close to me might cause problems?”
“I figured it was a lawsuit or something that would blow over. And once it did, who cares if our families had issues? You love who you love.”
“That’s obviously not how it works in your family.”
“No kidding. I was way off base. I’m lucky I’m alive.” His next words are hushed, like he doesn’t want to risk anyone hearing him. “I want to help you in any way I can, but if I turn on my family, they might come after me next.”
“You’re their flesh and blood.”
He shakes his head like I’m definitely wrong. “They don’t know why Tristan didn’t kill you the first chance he got. He had clearance to—” The notch in his throat moves when he swallows. “Let’s just say if I happened to be collateral damage, it wouldn’t have been a total tragedy for them.”
I wince at the thought of his family caring so little about his life. “That can’t be true.”
“I’m pretty sure it is. I overheard my uncle talking on the phone about it one night. He didn’t like that I’d gotten so close to you, something he wouldn’t have had to worry about if Tristan had taken care of us both that night.”
I’m too stunned to respond. Seeming to sense this, he continues.
“I’m their blood, but they’ll never trust me to take over the company, Isabel. I’ll just get some pointless job with a fancy title because I’m part of the family, but no power and no responsibility. And instead of living in blissful ignorance, I’ll have to spend the rest of my life knowing they never gave a shit if I lived or died.”
My heart hurts over Kolt’s new reality, but I’m past family heartache. I have enough of my own. I’ve been trying too hard to survive to dwell on the shortcomings and well-meaning betrayals of my own parents.
Kolt’s soft brown eyes dim a little. “You don’t want to hear about this. I get it. Honestly, I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”
“I’ve lost count of the number of people who’ve tried to kill me. Strange thing is, I think I might be getting used to it.”
The weight of what’s been lost and everything that’s changed adds more tension to the air between us. A part of me wishes I could spill all of it to Kolt, a man who’d once been a lover but also a friend. Someone I could talk to. I wish he could understand all the brushes with death, the unthinkable things I’ve had to do to keep myself alive, the people I’ve lost.
“Disappear with me.” A glimmer of hope hits his eyes. “They want us gone. Why don’t we just fucking leave and never come back? I’ve got enough money in my trust to float us for a long time.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“It doesn’t? That’s what you’ve done.”
“And they’ll keep trying to find me until I’m dead. Extinguished. A slash through my name for real, not just on paper.”
His lips thin. “What do you want me to do?”
I let his question linger between us a moment, almost waiting for him to draw it back right away. He doesn’t.
“Can you get me more information from the inside? Something that will give me leverage or any kind of advantage?”
“What if they find out I’m helping you? Then I’m fucked and you’re no better off.”
“You’re smart. Just be careful. You know them better than most.”
“I used to think that…until they tried to kill the girl I was falling in love with.”
I avert my eyes to escape the pleading in his. He talks like maybe there’s a chance I’ll say it back. It’ll never happen.
; “I should probably go.”
“Isabel. Stop. Please.” He places his hand over mine, breaching the space between us again.
This time I don’t move. “What?”
He hesitates like he’s trying to find the right words. “You know how I feel.”
“Yes. I do. It doesn’t change anything.”
“Maybe it changes what I’m willing to sacrifice.”
Everything inside me tenses. “What is that supposed to mean? I thought you wanted to help me. Now you have conditions?”
“Are you still with him? And I don’t just mean under his protection.”
I keep my body perfectly still, not allowing myself to scan the room again for Tristan or give Kolt any reason to believe I’m not here alone. The less he knows, the better.
“Are you seriously worried about whether or not I’m sleeping with Tristan when I have a bounty on my head?”
“Yes.”
His answer is so hasty, I’m momentarily stunned by it.
“He was the one, wasn’t he? The one you talked about who you could never get over.”
My silence is my answer. I don’t have time for these confessions. Kolt and I are over. We never really started. But I can tell he’s not letting it go.
“He’s a murderer. Have you considered that? God knows what he’s capable of.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know that I want you back. I know this isn’t over between us. No doubt these are severely messed-up circumstances, but I think once the dust settles, once you don’t need him to be your bodyguard anymore, you’ll realize he’s not actually the right person for you.”
The Red Ledger: 7 Page 1
