Fade To Gray (Triad Series Book 1)

by Dee Davis

  "She’s not with me. She asked for my help and I gave it to her." Gideon stood up, clearly putting an end to the conversation as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "If you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to my team." He smiled at Emily. "I’ll be right outside if you need me."

  A look passed between the two of them. Blake reflexively tightened his fists. As soon as the door closed, he moved closer to his daughter. "What on earth is going on here? I want you to tell me everything. Right now."

  "I can’t. It’s better if you don’t know."

  "Angel, you’re starting to worry me. First I get the call that you almost died. And now I find out that you’ve been seeing Gideon Sloan behind my back."

  "I told you, I haven’t been seeing him. At least not like that. You know as well as I do that he can’t stand the sight of either of us."

  "Well, I don’t see that he’s got much of a leg to stand on, considering he’s the one who betrayed us and not the other way around."

  Emily sighed as the hospital door opened again. Blake whirled around, ready to throw Sloan out, but it wasn’t him. Just what he needed—another complication. "Vincent."

  His brother rushed across the room, concern reflected in his eyes as he moved to Emily’s side, taking her hand. "Are you all right? I came as soon as I heard."

  "I’m fine. Just a little bit of a headache. Nothing to worry about."

  "Nothing to worry about?" Blake snapped. "You could have died."

  "Yes, but I didn’t." Her voice was low, almost a whisper. "Gideon was there."

  "Gideon Sloan?" Vincent’s surprise was evident. "What in hell was he doing at the brownstone?"

  "Rescuing her, apparently," Blake said, shrugging aside his disgust.

  "But he—" Vincent broke off, looking first to Emily and then to Blake.

  "There was a gas leak," Blake replied as if the sentence explained everything. But of course it didn’t even scratch the surface.

  "It wasn’t a leak; it was…" Emily trailed off on a wince.

  "I’m sorry, angel." Blake reached out to push a strand of hair back from her face. "You’re hurting. And we’re tiring you." He reached out again to squeeze her hand.

  "What did the doctor say?" Vincent asked, his voice tight with worry. "Are you truly all right?"

  She gave them both a weak smile. "Yes. I promise. Nothing a little bit of rest won’t cure."

  "Great." Blake nodded, feeling an urge to take control. "Then I’ll take you home with me. You can recuperate there."

  "Daddy, I’ll be more comfortable at the brownstone."

  "Surrounded by Sloan’s people poking around? No. I won’t leave you on your own there. You’re coming home and I don’t want an argument."

  "I can’t." Her expression turned stubborn. He was reminded of when she was a little girl. She’d never been one to accept edicts. Especially not his. "What about Bailey? If it’s not safe for me to be there, it’s surely not safe for him."

  Vincent lifted his eyebrows, his quirking smile indicating that he knew how much Blake hated the damn dog—almost as much as he hated being cornered.

  "Fine," he spat out. "The monster can come, too."

  Emily’s lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. "He’s not a monster. You just don’t like dogs."

  "I’ve never understood the need to have animals underfoot."

  "No, to do that you’d have to have an ounce of compassion." Vincent shrugged apologetically.

  "Bailey is a dog. He doesn’t need compassion." Blake glared at his brother and shifted his gaze to Emily. "But I’m willing to accept that he’s important to you. And so somehow the two of us will manage to co-exist."

  "Well, I’m not holding my breath on the success of that." This last was mumbled as Vincent dropped down into the chair by the bed.

  Emily chewed on the side of her lip. Something she’d done since childhood. A way to ease stress. "I don’t know. I think it might be better if I…"

  "Emily, what is it you’re not telling me?" Blake studied his daughter, searching for the answers she clearly didn’t want to provide.

  "Nothing. There was an accident and I’m sure it’s all been set to rights by now. I know you’re trying to help, Daddy, but I’m all grown up. And I can take care of myself."

  "With Gideon Sloan helping you, no doubt. You promised me you’d stay away from him."

  "Good Lord, Blake, it’s been nearly ten years. Surely the boy has done his penance."

  "That boy almost brought down everything I spent my lifetime trying to build. There’s no coming back from that."

  "Look, Daddy," Emily said, "the man saved my life. The least you can do is recognize the fact and maybe show a little gratitude."

  "I’ll do no such thing. Sloan isn’t to be trusted." Actually he hadn’t done a damn thing except try to steal Blake’s only child right out from under him. But that had been worse than anything Blake had accused him of. He was a low-born bastard. Which meant he wasn’t good enough for Emily. Not even close. "Sloan’s a parasite."

  "I’ve seen what the papers say," Vincent said. "He’s worth a fortune now. He’s earned his success."

  "Doing God knows what." Blake waved a hand through the air. "Tigers don’t change their stripes. Emily is better off sending him back to whatever rock he crawled out from under."

  "Daddy, I’m too tired to argue with you right now. And I really want to go home and sleep in my own bed in my own room."

  "You have a room in our apartment. You grew up there, for God’s sake. I’ll be able to watch out for you there. And I already said you could bring the damn dog." He could feel his anger rising again. He’d never understood why Emily had felt the need to leave home at all. He’d given in and bought the damn place from her. But that didn’t mean he liked the idea of her living on her own—halfway across the city. "You’re my daughter. I care about what happens to you. I want you to come stay with me. At least overnight. Until we’re sure you’re really okay."

  "I understand that you want to watch over me. But I won’t be at home all that much anyway. The Delacort gala is tonight."

  "Well, under the circumstances, I imagine Gabrielle will manage just fine without you."

  Gabrielle Delacort’s annual fête to raise money for abused children was one of the major events of the year. Society mavens would literally kill for an invitation. Despite the sensual lure of the overly endowed widow, Blake had never seen the appeal of attending the kind of crush her parties always promised to be.

  "I’m sure she can." Emily’s chin jutted out. "But Sylvie and I are sponsoring the silent auction. It’s promotion for the gallery. And I promised I’d be there to make sure that everything goes smoothly."

  "Sylvie can do it," Blake said.

  "We’re partners, Daddy. That means we each do our share. Besides, she’s flying to Paris tomorrow. We’re vying for a recently discovered Renoir. She’s got enough on her mind."

  "You almost died. If you can’t let Sylvie handle it, let Vincent." He nodded at his brother.

  "I’d be happy to. Of course you’ll have to fill me in on the details."

  "Don’t be silly. I’ll be perfectly fine to do it myself."

  "Do what yourself?"

  The door swung open and Gideon Sloan filled the opening. The man seemed bigger than he’d been ten years ago. Harder. There was an edge that hadn’t been there before. He’d always been tough, but before it had been the bravado of youth. Now it was like a harnessed power, a strength tempered by adversity. Blake had tried to destroy the man once, but clearly his reserves were greater than Blake had anticipated. Which would only make it that much sweeter to bring him down again.

  "Attend a gala," Blake snapped. "Emily seems to believe she’ll be fine traipsing about town tonight."

  "I won’t be traipsing," she grumbled. "Just attending a party. And I have to be there. I promised."

  "I don’t care what you promised. I want you home with me, where I can watch over you."

  "I
think she should go."

  "You do?" Emily and Vincent asked almost in unison. If everything weren’t so fucking messed up, Blake might have found it humorous.

  "Look, under the circumstances, the more normal you make things appear, the better it is for your…" He paused, his gaze meeting hers. Again with that unspoken conversation. Blake gritted his teeth, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "…situation," Sloan finished.

  "And I suppose you also think it’s a good idea for me to stay at my father’s?"

  Vincent looked to Blake in what was clearly confusion. He, too, recognizing the current running between Sloan and Emily. The question being what the hell it was all about.

  "I do. I think we need to keep you safe. And for the time being your father’s apartment is the best option. His security is second to none. As far as the party is concerned, if you really have to be there, then I’ll go, too."

  "But you can’t just barge into a private affair," Blake protested, still trying to decipher the unspoken conversation.

  Sloan turned to Blake, his smile not reaching his eyes. "I won’t have to. I’ve been invited."

  Blake opened his mouth to protest, to tell Sloan that he didn’t need his help. That he could take care of his own damn daughter. But suddenly the pieces fell in place, and he realized what it was that had been bothering him. "Why the hell would you say that Emily needs to be kept safe?"

  "It was just an accident, right?" Vincent added, his face crumpling with confusion.

  Emily and Sloan exchanged glances, and Blake felt the hair on his neck begin to rise. For a moment the only sound in the room was the soft beep of a monitor. Something was off. Something more than just a gas leak.

  "Goddamn it, Sloan, tell me what the hell is going on."

  Sloan blew out a long breath. "I was just talking with Declan. An associate of mine."

  "I remember Declan." And not fondly. He’d made Sloan look like a fucking angel. "What does he have to do with any of this?" Blake asked, bracing himself for the answer.

  Vincent leaned forward, his attention too locked on Sloan now.

  "He and a team of my forensics experts have been going over the brownstone," Sloan continued.

  "Did you find the wine?" Emily interrupted.

  "No. And the hock wine glass was in the cabinet with the others. It was clean."

  "But that just doesn’t make sense." Emily shook her head, the two of them clearly forgetting there were others in the room. "I was drinking wine. The doctor even confirmed it."

  "It makes sense if someone was trying to make it look like a suicide attempt."

  "Stop. Stop it now. This is preposterous. Why would anyone want people to think that Emily…that Emily…" Blake couldn’t make himself say the word.

  "Maybe because their attempt to frame her for murder didn’t go as well as expected." Sloan’s glittering gaze collided with Blake’s.

  Vincent gasped as Emily sucked in a startled breath, struggling to move to a sitting position. All three men moved to help her at once, but Sloan got there first, his hands gentle as he slid his arm behind her back and helped her to settle against the pillows. Blake fought against the urge to have the man thrown out. There’d be time enough for that later, once he understood what the hell was really going on here.

  "I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone?" Emily shot a look in his direction, and then returned her attention to Sloan.

  "I’d prefer we not share it with anyone but my people. But if I don’t read them in, they’re only going to make things more difficult as we move forward. They care about you. So they’re not going to let it go. Besides, as I said, your father is in as good a position as any to protect you."

  "But I thought…" Emily trailed off, biting her lip again. Silence stretched for a moment, Sloan clearly waiting for her approval. Again Blake felt an irrational surge of anger. It had always been this way between the two of them. A shorthand that he couldn’t seem to break. Even with ten years between them, he could still sense their connection. Emily sighed. "Fine. Tell them. If nothing else, it’ll prove how wrong Daddy was about Tom Irwin."

  Blake frowned at his daughter. "There’s no need to air our differences in front of a stranger."

  "He’s hardly a stranger, Daddy. And besides, it’s not a secret that you wanted me to marry the man. Go on," Emily urged Sloan, "tell him."

  Sloan nodded, then turned his attention to Blake and Vincent. "The truth of the matter is, that despite what the police found, Senator Irwin wasn’t alone when he was murdered."

  "Oh my God…" Vincent pushed to his feet, his face going white.

  "How the hell would you know that?" Blake asked, the hairs on his neck at full attention now.

  "Because I was there," Emily said, her voice back to a whisper. "I was in the room when Tom was murdered."

  "That can’t be." Blake sank down into a chair, his mind running in circles as he tried to consider all the ramifications of Emily’s pronouncement. After everything he’d recently learned about Irwin, his blood ran cold at the thought of his daughter alone with the man. And the idea that she’d witnessed his murder. A horrible thought presented itself front and center. What if his man had… Blake shook his head, banishing the thought, focusing on his daughter instead.

  "It’s true." She lifted her chin, her expression without guile.

  "So…so," he stumbled over his words, horror dawning as he tried to process, "then you know who killed him?"

  "I don’t," Emily said, her expression bleak. "I don’t remember. I don’t remember being with Tom at all outside of a few minutes’ conversation at the club."

  "Oh God, you didn’t...you couldn’t have…" This from Vincent.

  "No. She couldn’t. And the evidence seems to support that," Sloan was quick to explain. He went on to fill them both in on exactly what his team believed had happened, both facts and assumptions. The thought of what Emily had been through was sobering. Blake’s heart twisted at the thought that he might have had a role in any of it. No matter what he’d done, he’d never wanted any harm to come to Emily. Just for her to come to heel. To do as was expected of her.

  "I still don’t understand where you come into all of this, Sloan," Blake said, pulling his thoughts back to the moment at hand. "Why in the world would you call him over me?"

  Emily had the grace to at least look embarrassed. "I wasn’t thinking clearly. I saw his picture on my phone and before I knew what I was doing I dialed."

  Sloan looked startled at her pronouncement. And Blake swallowed a curse. Clearly, despite her agreement to the contrary, Emily had not put her affair with Sloan behind her. At least not completely. Of course he hadn’t kept his end of the bargain either, but that hardly mattered now.

  "Look, Emily’s reasons don’t matter now," Sloan said, still looking at Emily. "What matters is making sure that she is protected. If I’m right and someone did try to frame her for Irwin’s murder, then thanks to my team’s intervention, things have gone off book. Which could explain the attempt on her life at the brownstone."

  "You think someone wanted the world to think she’d killed herself over the guilt," Vincent said.

  "It’s possible. Although we don’t have anything solid to verify it yet."

  "Well, as much as I hate having to admit it, I’m grateful to you," Blake offered, trying to keep the disdain from his voice. He’d hoped never to have to see Gideon Sloan again, let alone feel like he was in the man’s debt. Hell, if he’d had it his way the man would be rotting away in prison. "But I can take it from here. Emily is my responsibility, not yours."

  "I’m sitting right here." There was a note of anger in Emily’s voice. "And I can make my own decisions about who I want to help me." Blake opened his mouth to argue, but Emily waved him quiet. "I want Gideon’s people to stay on this. They’re very good at what they do. And they’re neutral. They haven’t got a dog in this hunt, as you like to say."

  "I wouldn’t go that far," Sloan responded, his lips twisting in a
crooked smile. "It’s not as if I don’t know you."

  "True. But you know what I mean. We haven’t been a part of each other’s lives in a long time. And we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms."

  "Yes, well, you can blame that on your father."

  Again, it was as if Blake and Vincent had ceased to exist. As if they were the only two people in the room and no time had passed at all. And worse, as if all his machinations had accomplished nothing.

  "We’ll have to agree to disagree on that," Emily was saying. "But I still want you to help me—if you’re willing, that is."

  "I told you I would. And I don’t break promises." She held his gaze for a moment and then nodded, as if some kind of accord had been signed. Damn it all to hell, Gideon Sloan was the last thing Emily needed right now.

  "What about tonight?" Vincent asked, breaking through the tension. "Now that we know the truth, it seems to me that it might be better if Emily doesn’t go to the gala tonight."

  "I agree completely," Blake said. "She’ll be much better off in the safety of our apartment." Safe from whomever was threatening her. And safe from Gideon Sloan.

  "While I don’t disagree," Sloan began, "it’s possible that we’d accomplish more if she actually does attend the gala."

  "Show the world that nothing is amiss and maybe even draw the killer out." Vincent never ceased to surprise Blake. His insight spot on. He should have thought of it himself.

  "I will not have my daughter be made into a target."

  "I already am one, Daddy. And besides, as I said before, the decision is mine to make." Emily’s eyes narrowed, and Blake recognized the look.

  "Fine. I’ll take her. She’ll be safe with me."

  "No. I’ll take her," Sloan said, moving closer to Emily, his stance almost proprietary. "Protecting people is something my firm excels at."

  "I’m fine with your being there." He took a step closer, his hands closing into fists. "But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you get your claws into her again."