Veils: A Killers Novel, Book 4

by Asher, Brynne

  “I ate the first batch and stuffed my face with pastries and berries while I was making yours.”

  I guess we’ve both had a few long days.

  “Grady wants you to call him,” he keeps talking and I stop chewing mid-bite. “He’s anxious to hear your voice. I assured him you’re going to be okay and told him what the doctor told me.”

  I look back to my coffee and continue eating. I don’t feel like talking to Grady right now. He’ll demand answers and I don’t know what to say. He’ll be so angry on my behalf and he’s shouldered enough of that through his life. I love my brother but I’m not ready to go there right now. And there’s no way for me to tell him without Noah finding out whatever happened to me is linked back to him. That’s not anything I’m excited to talk about either.

  I hear his coffee hit the marble and look up as I tear a hunk of buttered layers off a croissant. Noah keeps the conversation going all on his own. “He wanted to come here and get you himself. I convinced him there was no need and promised I wouldn’t take my eyes off you. I think I convinced him to stay put for now, especially since he has his hands full there at the compound. Asa won’t be back from his honeymoon for a few days and Crew is at the hospital with Addy.”

  My eyes jump to his and I talk with my mouth full. “Is she okay? The baby?”

  He nods. “Yeah. It’s a girl. Grady said everyone is good but Crew is being his normal overbearing self, the way he always is with Addy and Vivi.”

  My face breaks into a big smile. I don’t even care that it pulls at my split lip and hurts like hell. “I’m so happy for them.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees half-heartedly before going on. “Gracie, we need to talk—”

  “I don’t want to talk,” I mumble around my pastry. Croissants really are better in France. Who knew?

  He takes in a big breath, “Baby—"

  “What did they name her?”

  He frowns. “Who?”

  I frown back like he’s dense. “Who do you think I’m talking about, Jarvis? The baby.”

  He crosses his arms. “Should I read into it when you call me Jarvis as opposed to Noah? What exactly does that mean?”

  I roll my eyes and he keeps doing what he’s a badass at—talking.

  “I have no clue what they named the baby. Your brother didn’t say and I didn’t ask. I’ve got a lot on my mind and all of it has to do with you.”

  If he only knew. I pick at my bacon and let him continue.

  “You need to rest. We can stay here as long as you need. I don’t want you to have to make the long flight home with a concussion. I feel bad I didn’t think of that when I put you on a plane to get out of Turkey. All I could focus on was getting you to a place I knew was safe and to a doctor I trusted. But when you’re ready, we need to talk about what happened.”

  I put down my bacon and pick up a napkin to wipe the grease off my fingers and lips. “Did a toothbrush come with my new wardrobe? I could really use one.”

  “Bathroom. Top drawer. It’s brand new.”

  I slide off the barstool, carefully and slowly, making my way back to the bedroom.

  “Baby, are you going to call your brother?”

  I stop at the threshold to the bedroom and look back to him. “No.”

  His eyes pierce mine. “No? Just no?”

  “I told you I don’t want to talk. Thank you for breakfast. Or dinner. Or whatever it was.” I make my way to search for a toothbrush.

  I hear him sigh but he doesn’t argue or press the matter. I don’t know why he doesn’t but I’m grateful.

  Chapter 17

  Spiral

  Jarvis

  I’ve never lived with anyone.

  Okay, so I had roommates at the Academy. And I lived with the other trainees in Crew’s barn for almost a year. And then there were my parents.

  But none of them count.

  I’ve certainly never lived with a woman. Or if I had a woman in my life, there was never a time when we sat silently in each other’s company. No TV. No music. And no fucking talking.

  Something to know about Gracie Cain: when she says she doesn’t want to talk—she fucking means it.

  It’s two in the morning and Paris is mostly quiet. I’ve spent the time, since she went to find her toothbrush to now, watching her. And thinking. Wondering how in the hell I can get her to tell me exactly what happened after she was taken. What they did to her. If she was honest with the doctor.

  And if I can manage any of that, the bonus round will be getting her to tell me why she’s so set on ditching me.

  At this point, if I’m ten percent successful, then smack me on the ass, hit me over the head with a trophy, and call me a winner. Because the woman sitting next to me proves to become more and more of an enigma as the minutes painfully tick by.

  She found a bottle of wine about three hours ago. She tried to pop the cork on her own but I could tell she was struggling because of her ribs.

  “You shouldn’t drink with a concussion. As a nurse, you should know that,” I said.

  She turned her glare on me and waved a hand toward her face. “Look at me, Jarvis. I think I deserve a drink. I am a nurse but after what I’ve been through, I can say for certain, a little wine will not be the death of me.”

  Jarvis. I’m beginning to learn the meaning of that.

  Without another word—since silence has become our thing—I took it from her, uncorked it, and handed it back even though I didn’t want to, which does not bode well for me.

  She grabbed the bottle and a glass and hobbled to the veranda.

  That’s where she’s been ever since. Gracie, staring at the Eiffel Tower lighting up the night sky like a beacon, and me, staring at her. I might as well be on another continent the way she’s ignoring me. I’ve decided that until I can figure out a way to get her to give me some type of meaningful information, she can have what she wants. But I can’t say it’s been a walk through a Parisian park because it’s a form of torture I’m not used to.

  She doesn’t look at me when she picks up the bottle sitting next to her and empties the last of the deep red fermented grapes into her glass. She even shakes it to get every last drop, bleeding it dry, not much different from what she’s doing to my wits at the moment. I’m nearing the end of my rope—fraying and falling apart.

  I pick up my water—because there’s no way I’m lessening my senses right now—and take a sip before I utter the first words spoken between us in hours. “You know, if you need to dull the pain, you can take some more Advil.”

  She sighs, curling her glass into her chest like it’s a precious keepsake. “I know.”

  “Do you want me to bring you some?”

  She shrugs and lifts her glass to me before taking another sip. “This is doing the job.”

  I’m about to get up and get her some meds anyway because she’s going to have one helluva a headache on top of what she’s already dealing with after drinking the whole bottle. But my phone vibrates on the table between us.

  Her eyes flash to mine and I glance at the screen before sliding my finger across it and greet him. “Grady. What’s up?”

  He’s irritated and I don’t take my eyes off his sister, almost feeling the pinch of his teeth when he bites my head off. “She hasn’t called.”

  “She’s resting.” I watch the topic of our conversation nibble on her cracked bottom lip. I could tell him the truth but Grady isn’t the one I’m trying to win over. He has no fucking problem telling me absolutely everything on his mind.

  “Has she been up at all? Maybe you should call the doctor.”

  My guilt is heavy. I’m tight with Grady and he loves his family—he’s worried about his sister. Even so, I continue to cover for her.

  “She’s been up. I made her something to eat and she showered.” There’s no point in filling him in just yet on who washed her hair and most of the rest of her, too. If Grady knew about me and Gracie, he’d be on the next private jet over here, thinking h
e could kick my ass. I’d have to prove him wrong and he doesn’t need that kind of negativity in his life right now with everything else he’s dealing with.

  “Wake her up. I need to talk to her.”

  I look to the woman who’s turning me into someone I don’t recognize. Her blue eyes bore into mine, pleading—no, begging—me not to hand the phone to her. I realize this doesn’t bode well for me because I’m doing all kinds of things I’d never usually do, including lie to one of my best friends and my boss. “Sorry, man. She needs to rest. But I swear to you, I haven’t taken my eyes off her.”

  Not even in the shower. There. One shred of truth to save my soul.

  His frustration vibrates through the phone in the form of an exasperated sigh. “I should just get on a damn plane. How long do you think it will be before she can travel?”

  “Not sure,” I keep on with the simple truths. “But I don’t think you coming here is necessary.”

  “Asa will be back in two days. Addy and the baby get home from the hospital tomorrow. Maya was going over to help and I was going to stay here with the kids because Crew’s a freak about germs. But Bev can help and she’ll be thrilled about it. Crew won’t like it but he’ll understand because he understands everything when it comes to Gracie.”

  I look back to the subject at hand and she looks away, taking another sip of wine. I’m feeling pretty fucking jealous right now because I’d like to understand everything about her, too.

  Grady keeps talking. “I just need to see for myself she’s okay. She can’t have another setback like she did a couple years ago. I’m not sure any of us will be able to handle that, least of all her.”

  Even though I have no fucking idea what he’s talking about, I blindly assure him. “Hold tight for another day. I’m sure she’ll call and I’ll keep you up to date.”

  “Just don’t let her drink,” he adds as I watch his baby sister drain the last of the wine from her glass.

  “Good to know.” Fuck me. “Why?”

  “She doesn’t have a problem—it’s never been about that. When she’s already down and drinks, it makes it worse. I’m sure she’s upset about what happened and she’s with you—a stranger.” Debatable. But again, that’s a conversation for another day. “She doesn’t need anything to bring her down further. Especially not with the concussion. She’ll spiral.”

  “I’ve got it under control,” I lie and decide I need to do everything I can to get him off the phone so I can focus on making sure Gracie does not spiral. I also realize my not being able to say no to her is going to be a personal problem I might need to get a handle on. “It’s the middle of the night. I’ll hit you up tomorrow.”

  He pauses one more time before his voice turns pained. “I don’t know what I would have done had you not been close. Nothing is more important to me than my family, Jarvis. Nothing.”

  “I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” I say, proud of myself for more truth telling, but also freaking the fuck out since I just let her do the one thing she shouldn’t be doing.

  “I’ve talked to the hospital where she works. When she wakes up, assure her she’s good there. And keep me up to date,” he demands.

  I’m pretty sure it’s another lie when I respond, “Absolutely.”

  I disconnect the call and put the phone back down on the table, wondering what the hell I’m going to do now.

  Food. She should eat. “I’ll make you dinner.”

  She sets her glass down. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “You’re also wide awake. You should eat.”

  She leans her head back on the thick cushion of her lounge where she’s resting. “Maybe later.”

  “You tired?” Maybe it’s best if she sleeps it off.

  She shakes her head but doesn’t look at me.

  “Baby, your brother is worried about you. I know you said you don’t—”

  She interrupts me. “What do you do?”

  I frown at those short words she threw at me out of left field. To me, they’re heavier and more serious than the Spanish Inquisition. “Sorry?”

  She looks at me, her eyes glassy and tired. “What do you do?”

  “How much do you know about what your brother does?” I toss back, thinking if she’s good with Grady’s job, she might accept me. Hell, she loves Maya and is friends with Addy and Keelie. They’re good with us and I’m not above throwing that in her face if she freaks out.

  “Grady works with the CIA and I know from my love of movies that the CIA does a lot of questionable shit. I’m assuming Grady isn’t a party planner and you’re not his balloon-animal expert.”

  “No,” I agree. “I’m definitely not that.”

  “There were gunshots in that building yesterday. Several of them.” She twists the end of her hair around her finger in a dizzying swirl. All of a sudden, I wish we were back to sitting in silence. “And I know there were more than a few men there when I woke up because I heard voices. You killed them, didn’t you?”

  I don’t lie to her. I can’t. “I would’ve taken down an army to get to you.”

  “My brother would’ve too,” she adds unaffected by the topic. “I don’t even know what he does with the CIA but he’s already killed for me and I know he’d do it again. From what I know about Crew and Asa, they would, too.”

  Not for the same reasons but I don’t tell her that. “I know for a fact, they would.”

  “You do that a lot? Kill people?”

  “Yes.” I don’t take my eyes off her, looking for anything—a flinch, a cringe, a sneer, even a judgmental tick of her brow—but she gives me nothing. I keep my voice low and clear so there’s no way she can misunderstand. “It’s all I do.”

  I get nothing but a nod.

  What the hell does that mean?

  “You okay?” I ask.

  She sighs and looks back out to that damn Tower. “I’m here and alive so, yes. I guess I’m okay.”

  That is not the way I thought that would go. For the first time in my life, I feel the need to defend myself, what I do, and, most importantly, why. I’ve never felt the need to do that ever before, with anyone. Not with my mom, and certainly not my dad—never him.

  “Grace—” I call for her so I can start my defense, but she interrupts.

  “Do you know what I’m most upset about?”

  I stop and stare, wondering what road she’s on, where she’s going with this, and most importantly, worried if she’s spiraling because of the wine since she’s all of a sudden chatty after not giving me so much as a hiccup for hours. As much as I want to know everything that’s flying through her head right now, my heart races at what could come next.

  “Tell me,” I demand and decide I might as well take advantage of her drinking. “Lay it on me, baby. I’ve had it with the silence. I want to know everything.”

  She turns to me and her face is blank and void of all emotion. “I had an amazing two weeks in Uganda. The place, the people … that trip was life changing. I want to go back and I want to go to other places, where people need me. I left Africa on a high. But it’s been ruined and now every time I think of my time there, I’ll think of this. I lost my phone with my pictures and videos. It didn’t backup while I was there because of the bad connection. I’ll never get them back.”

  That’s what she’s most upset about? I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m so happy I could do backflips off this veranda.

  I unlock my phone and bring up the thesis she wrote me during the two weeks it wasn’t safe for me to communicate with her. I flip through to one of the pictures she attached and hold my phone for her to see. “You mean something like this?”

  Her face falls and her hand flies to her mouth. Unfolding from her lounge, she pushes to her feet and moves. Her voice is hoarse when she reaches for my phone without taking her eyes off of it. “I’m an idiot. How could I forget I sent you pictures with all my ramblings?”

  I move my legs to straddle the lounge and she sits, scrolling
through the thread. The look on her face is a fucking gift after the last twenty-four hours.

  “Does that make it any better?” I ask.

  Looking up to me from the phone in her hands, she falls into my chest, groaning quietly. “Yes. Thank you. So much better.”

  Fuck it. I pull her into me gently and wrap her up, holding her close, something I’ve been itching to do all damn day. “That was the easiest thing I’ve done since I met you besides taking you home that first night. I could’ve fixed that problem hours ago had you just told me.”

  She rests the side of her face against my shoulder and tucks her legs under her. I watch her sit and scroll through our string, but really just hers since I never had the chance to reciprocate, not that I could’ve if I’d wanted to. No way could I ramble on about my daily work—I don’t have that luxury, not that I’d lay it on her heart anyway.

  She reads through her own messages, maybe going back to a better time, before she left the place she came to love. When she finally settles on the first picture she ever sent me, the one of her holding a boy on her hip, both of them hot and sweaty and happy, she stills and stares at it.

  When she tucks the phone to her chest, she sighs.

  “I can’t tell if those make you happy or sad.”

  “Both,” she says without opening her eyes. “I miss him but I’m grateful to have the pictures I thought were stolen from me.”

  I run my hand up and down her back. “Tomorrow we talk. I don’t care if it’s about the farm report or global warming. I can’t take your silent treatment anymore.”

  She picks her head up off my chest and runs her thumb over my bottom lip. Her eyes are glassy from the wine and her body is sinking into me like she wants to crawl under my skin. “No more silent treatment.”

  “And no more wine. Not ‘til you’re feeling better.”

  “Okay.”

  “Baby, we need to talk about what happened. You need to tell me what you remember about the man who—”