They followed the map to their room, up the sweeping staircase, to the left and down to the end of the wing. The Astor Suite was at the end. Once inside, she took off her glasses and looked around. “Wow. Now that is what I call a chandelier.”
And it was. The suite was the epitome of opulent, late nineteenth-century luxury, with a sitting room and a dining room, each one with a towering arched windows. French doors opened onto a large terrace that overlooked the river canyon below. The entire building seemed perched on the edge of a cliff, and not far upstream they could see a stunning three-tier waterfall.
The bed was a single king, a carved wooden four-poster. Elisa peeked into the bathroom, which had a sunken tub that could have been billed as a small swimming pool. “Impressive,” she said. “When you go into hiding, you do not mess around.”
“You’re the Roarke heiress,” he said. “I’d imagine it’s hard to dazzle you.”
“It’s been a long time since I lived high on the hog,” she said. “Plus, I’m not rich like Dad was, not anymore. What’s left is still more than enough to be called wealthy, if you’re not Gil Clemens, that is. Anyhow, expensive tastes fall away real fast when you’re on the run.”
Nate thought of the times he and his mom had been running from his father, sleeping wherever they could. Grateful for the smallest, simplest luxury. An indoor toilet, a peanut butter sandwich. Nothing could be taken for granted.
Elisa sat down on the bed and gave him a thoughtful look. “It’s strange, having you know all this,” she said. “You’re the first one since Willis. I’ve been living in two worlds. There’s the one where everyone else lives, and then there’s my own private world with all my awful secrets. I pay social visits to the normal world, then I go back to the one where Willis and Erasma were killed. Where Josh has a knife to his throat.”
“I’m so glad you told me,” he said simply. “I’m glad you’re not alone any more.”
“I’m not used to having any company in that world,” she said. “It feels crowded.”
He grunted. “Well, scoot over and make some room. I’ve been trying to get inside since the day we met. It’s about fucking time you let me in.”
“Don’t take it personally,” she told him. “I was just trying to be tough, and do the right thing. You know, not get anyone else killed. Give me some credit for that.”
“News flash,” he said. “I like to be tough and do the right thing, too. For your information.”
“I got that message, loud and clear,” she told him. “And thanks, by the way.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.
Her face went pink. Her eyes fell. And just like that, the air between them just ignited. His heart revved, his whole body tingled.
Down, boy. This was not an opportune time. “I’m not taking anything for granted,” he blurted. “Just so you know.”
That little line between her brow appeared. “Taking what for granted?”
“Sex,” he said baldly. “I just want to help you. I’m not expecting anything from you. Sexually, I mean.”
“Ah.” She bit her lip, her gaze sliding away. “I see.”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he blundered on. “If it happened, I’d be thrilled. But, ah...”
“It’s okay, Nate.” She gave him that mysterious, under-the-eyelashes smile that brought him to his knees. “That’s gratifying. Thanks for saying so. You can stop now.”
Oh, God, he just needed to shut up before he dug this hole any deeper. “So. It’s almost lunchtime. You hungry?”
Elisa looked confused by the question. “Not really,” she said. “When I’m this tense, my stomach just shuts down. I forget all about food.”
“When did you eat last?” he asked. “Did you have any breakfast?”
She shook her head.
“How about at the reception last night?”
She looked embarrassed. “I was frantic last night. And miserable. The party had to be perfect, plus I had that bus ticket burning a hole in my pocket, and I was saying goodbye to everyone in Shaw’s Crossing, in my head. Including you. I was a basket case. Couldn’t eat a bite. Not that I had the time.”
Nate fished a room service takeout menu out of the heap of guest info material that lay on the table. “Maybe if you had some food in front of you, the appetite would come,” he said. “It’s worth a try. Want to look at the menu?”
She shook her head. “No. Order something for yourself, and some yogurt and fruit for me, maybe.”
“I’ll pick something out, but keep in mind. You need energy to fight that vicious, evil motherfucker. You won’t have enough if you don’t fuel up.”
Another gorgeous smile. “You’re right,” she agreed. “Good point.”
He called room service and ordered the first item he saw on the lunch menu. Afterwards he sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to him. “Grab your laptop,” he said. “Let’s get to work. Tell me everything you know, felt or guessed about Clemens or Sinclair. Everything you remember about Erasma’s video.”
Exhausted as she must have been, Elisa rose to the occasion. He took notes as the words rushed out of her. He sensed that talking about it was an intense relief after her long silence. Like built up steam desperately seeking a pressure valve.
She played the videos in which Gil and Josh appeared together for him. Nate watched each one multiple times. Gil’s body language made him want to strangle the guy. The way he angled his fingers toward Josh’s neck. To the uninitiated, it really did look as if he were trying to gently comfort his brother-in-law.
Manipulative, mind-fucking prick. He urgently needed to die. In a fire.
By the last video, Josh’s hair was shaggy, his chin stubbled and his eyes were hollow. His face looked gray, his lips flat and colorless. He stared into the camera with barely concealed desperation. Just looking at the poor kid made him anxious.
Elisa got so wound up watching the videos, the knock on the door made her jump up with a startled cry.
“Room service,” a woman’s voice called out.
“I’ll get it,” Nate told her gently. He went to the door, undid the chain lock and peered out, tucking his gun discreetly back into the back of his jeans before opening the door and letting the waitress wheel the cart inside and into the dining room.
He passed her a generous tip. “Lunchtime,” he called.
Nate had chosen, somewhat at random, cream of tomato soup and grilled cheddar on sourdough, in addition to the fruit and yogurt, and he felt self-conscious when she lifted the covers from the dishes. “The hotel restaurant makes fancier food,” he said almost apologetically. “I opted for comfort food. Hope it works for you.”
“It’s perfect,” she assured him. “It smells fabulous.”
It was, in fact. The soup was tangy and salty and sweet all at once. Freshly stewed tomatoes, pureed with sweet sautéed onion and fragrant basil. Each bowl had an artful swirl of heavy cream in the middle and a sprinkling of freshly chopped herbs. The sourdough sandwich was grilled to buttery, golden perfection, oozing melted cheddar in long molten strands. Still crisp, still hot.
“Oh, wow,” she murmured, licking her fingers. “Even Demi would approve.”
“High praise,” Nate said. “I’m glad.”
She actually ate the whole meal, which felt like a big win and emboldened him to push his luck. “Gina told me they do fancy cakes here. Didn’t think to order dessert. Should I call for some?”
She laughed at him. “God, no. I’m stuffed. Maybe next time.”
“For sure. But you must be accustomed to world-class restaurants. You’re the daughter of a billionaire tech titan. And the wife of a DA with political ambitions.”
Her smile faded. “That’s not how I define myself. Not now, anyway. I’ve learned my lesson. I have been defined by those two men for way too long.”
“Good,” he said. “Progress. One thing’s for sure, though. You’re an artist.”
“Amateur
artist,” she corrected.
Nate considered that statement. “I wouldn’t say that.”
She shrugged. “I’ve never been a working artist. When I wanted to try it, Gil told me to move over and make space for people with real talent.”
“What a gold-plated dipshit. I hope you told him to fuck himself.”
“Well, it wasn’t just Gil who thought so,” she confessed. “A few months before this blew up in my face, I tried to launch an art career, in spite of Gil’s disapproval. I organized a one-woman show in the gallery that I ran. It was a big deal. This famous art critic agreed to come, as a favor to Gil. I was so excited. Alan Herzog, coming to my show, woo hoo! And well…” Her voice trailed away.
He braced himself. “So what happened?”
“I got slaughtered,” she said simply. “The critic just trashed me. He could not say enough harsh things. That I was derivative. Childish. Self-indulgent. Dull.”
Nate was baffled. “That is fucked up,” he said. “That is just so wrong.”
She sighed. “Yeah, well. Maybe. But that’s what the guy said, and everyone listened to him. My friends were so embarrassed for me. It was pretty agonizing. So, that was that. So much for the art career. I went back to painting for myself, just to stay sane.”
“But you’re not an amateur,” he said.
“I don’t mind being called an amateur,” she said. “It just means, quite literally, that it’s something that I do for love. And I definitely qualify.”
“Not anymore,” he said on impulse.
“No?” She looked perplexed. “How do you figure that?”
“What happened to you over the last few months burned the love out of it,” he said. “What I saw in your apartment didn’t look like love. It looked like necessity. Truth.” He thought about it. “Hell, maybe it’s the same thing. Fucked if I know.”
She looked puzzled, but pleased. “Damn,” she said. “I’m not sure what you mean, but I like the way it sounds. You have a future as an art critic, Nate.”
“Nah, I’m not the type to bloviate about art like that dickhead at your show. But I know bullshit when I see it. And fluff, too. Your stuff is neither of those things. You have a voice. And raw power, to burn. If this guy couldn’t see it, then he was a fucking bonehead idiot.”
She let her hair fall forward over her reddening face. “Thanks,” she said.
“No problem.”
“Nate,” she said tentatively. “Does it bother you that I’m Terry Roarke’s daughter?”
Nate thought about it for a moment. “No,” he said. “I don’t judge people according to how much money they have or don’t have. Or used to have. I don’t come from money myself, but I have plenty now. Not like the Trask guys, because those dudes are huge overachievers, but enough for my purposes. It’s real simple. I’ve lived with money, and I’ve lived without it. With it is better.”
“Agreed,” she said. “If the money is your own.”
He grinned. “Goes without saying. I used to daydream of getting super rich when I was a kid. My plan was to sweep my mom away to a life of luxury and ease.”
“What about your dad? Didn’t he get to be swept away, too?”
“Not him,” he said. “He was a mean, violent drunk. I didn’t mourn him when he rolled his truck and died. By the time I was ten years old, I’d already decided that he could fuck off and die. And then, finally, he did. It was a relief.”
She was startled into silence for a moment. “I’m…so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “The only thing I regret was not getting the opportunity to take care of my mom properly. I didn’t have time. She tried to leave him, more than once, but she couldn’t make it stick. He convinced her that she couldn’t make it without him, and died before she figured out that he was full of shit. Of emphysema. My dad killed himself in a car accident not long after that.”
She patted his hand gently. “I lost my mom, too,” she said. “When I was thirteen. She hit her head in a ski accident. How old were you when you lost yours?”
“Seventeen,” he said. “Shortly before I joined the Marines.”
She sipped her water, staring down at the highly polished soup bowl in the silence that followed. “So is your mom the reason you’re so intense about me?”
He frowned. “Excuse me?”
“You say wanted to save her from your violent dad. Sweep her away, those were your words. No parallels there? Not that I’m judging you. You like to rescue the damsel in distress. And thank God for it. I’m lucky.”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “The world is full of assholes, and I like to thump them when I can, but you’re no damsel in distress. You’re a badass bitch, trying to save your little brother. You’re holding onto a demon by the tail. There’s no shame in needing a little extra help with a demon. It’s amazing that you’ve made it this far in one piece. I am in awe of your strength and focus.”
She laughed. “Aww!” she said. “And here you go again with the sweet talk.”
“Hey, it’s kind of our first date, right? Just trying to be charming.”
“I appreciate it,” Elisa said. “I really do, but I still don’t understand why. Because none of this crap is your problem. Unless you turn it into your problem.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s it going to take to convince you?”
“Of what?” she said.
“I’m not going to back down,” he said. “You can’t scare me off. Just give in.”
She shook her head with a helpless sigh. “I appreciate the sentiment, but damn. This is the thing. I like you, Nate. I really do. I mean, intensely.”
“That’s good news. What’s the big qualifier that I feel coming up?”
“I do not want to see you killed!” she snapped. “How’s that for a fucking qualifier? Every time I close my eyes, I see Willis being zipped into a body bag! He was engaged to be married, you know? His girlfriend was pregnant. Now he’s dead, and Greta’s kid has no father, because I was an asshole, dragging him into things that were bigger than I understood. I learned my lesson! I don’t want you hurt just because you have to be a fucking hero! Just because it’s your nature!”
Nate pondered that for a moment. “I’m hard to kill,” he said calmly. “Besides, we can’t walk this back now. If Clemens has done his homework, and he seems like the methodical type, then he knows my name already. So don’t worry about it. Just grit your teeth and buckle up. We’ll ride this thing together. To the very end.”
She pressed her hands against her eyes. “Shit,” she whispered. “I am so screwed.”
“No,” he said gently. “Just tired. Go lie down for a while.”
“We need to get back to work,” she said.
“I’ve got plenty to work on without you,” he assured her. “Take a nap. We’ll look at it all again with fresh eyes afterward. Go on. You’re swaying on your feet.”
Elisa reached over to grab her red nylon jacket from where she’d tossed it across one of the dining table chairs. She pulled the Hello Kitty padlock off the zipper, and pried out the flash drive. “You say Eric and his team could decrypt this?”
“If anyone could,” he told her. “Him and those Erebus types are wizards.”
She held it in her hand for a while, shook her head, and held it out. “Will you take charge of this while I sleep?”
“I got it.” He took it from her as she shuffled unsteadily into the bedroom.
Nate stared down at the little padlock, moved that she trusted him that much.
He slid it into the inside pocket of his leather coat. It belonged to a later phase of the plan to utterly destroy Gil Clemens. There were preliminary steps to take first.
Like letting Elisa sleep for a few hours, while he worked like a bastard to get up to speed. He’d have to scramble to live up to all his bold claims, and solve this clusterfuck before they all got killed. No one was ever going to let her down again.
He’d see to
it.
12
Elisa opened her eyes to darkness. She was sunk deep in a deliciously soft bed, covered by a fluffy blanket she did not remember putting over herself.
It was a while before she could place herself at all. The big, luxurious room, the cloud-soft white mohair blanket, the four-poster king-sized bed, which seemed like something from the baroque bedchamber of a Renaissance-era queen.
Then it rushed back. The fancy hotel. Nate, pampering her, protecting her.
Insisting on helping her.
She sat up, amazed at how much better she felt. She’d actually slept. Deeply.
She heard faint sounds, a bluish light flickering from the sitting room, through an open door. Nate was in the living room, still working. The thought of Nate made emotion twist in her chest, hot and soft.
She had fallen asleep so deeply because finally, someone else was thinking about her problem. Someone else was applying energy and attention to it.
Finally, she could close her eyes without feeling like she was abandoning Joshie. She wasn’t the only one who knew, or cared. Oh, the sweet relief.
She sat up. She was still wearing her jeans and sweatshirt.
“There’s a T-shirt on the bed for you, if you want to change,” Nate called from the other room.
“Thanks,” she said. “So you always have your clothes with you?”
“I keep a go-bag in my car,” he called. “I just moved it into the rental car, along with my coat. I have an extra toothbrush in the bathroom for you. It’s on the shelf over the sink, still in the packaging. Feel free to use my other stuff.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate that.”
“Why not try out that tub? Be a shame not to make use of it.”
“It’s a little much for me right now,” she admitted. “I’ll grab a quick shower.”
A big glass double shower stall was opulent, too. She luxuriated in the strong stream of hot water, using all the bottles of perfumed goop that the hotel had provided. Afterwards, she dried off and dried her hair with the hair dryer, always a lengthy proposition. She stared at her own naked body in the mirror. She was rosy pink from the heat.
Heedless: The Hellbound Brotherhood Book Four Page 11
