Fade To Gray (Triad Series Book 1)

by Dee Davis

  "But it doesn’t wash with the idea of leaving his daughter practically comatose at the scene," Ryder replied.

  "Unless things went seriously south?" Declan frowned. "It’s doubtful that Masterson would have done the dirty work himself anyway, right? Which could mean that someone else had a separate agenda?"

  "Or maybe someone is just trying to make it look like Masterson was behind everything." Gideon couldn’t help but feel that the answers were right in front of them, if only they could decipher the clues. But instead, everything seemed to be jumbling together with no sense of order at all. "The truth is that without more to go on, everything we’ve got is just supposition."

  "Then I say we need to pay a call on Jack Wetherston," Ryder said. "Is he still here?"

  "Negative on that." Declan shook his head. "I saw him leave just before Emily."

  "All right, so we need to run him to ground," Gideon said, grateful to have something to do. Anything that kept him from reliving the moment with Emily. "Declan, you come with me. And Ryder, you head back to the office and see what you can dig up about this supposed blackmail scheme between Irwin and Masterson."

  "Won’t be easy," Ryder cautioned. "The only thing we have to go on is Wetherston’s word."

  Gideon forced a smile, pushing down the sense that the clock was ticking. "Just do what you can. Maybe we’ll get something more from talking to Wetherston."

  At least he hoped the hell they did. Because no matter how things stood between him and Emily, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the proverbial clock was ticking, and that if time ran out, he’d lose any chance he had to find his way back to her.

  *****

  EMILY STARED OUT the living room window of her father’s apartment, watching the East River roll by. An estuary, the river actually ran both directions, depending on the tide. At the moment it was rolling back toward the bay. A lone barge made its laborious way upstream, lights draped across the wheelhouse making it look almost festive.

  She’d arrived home to a crowd of journalists and a persistent police detective full of questions. Nothing alarming. Just routine stuff about her time with the senator at the bar. But she’d felt like the worst sort of criminal not telling the full truth. Not that there was anything to be gained in confessing everything now. There’d be time enough for that when Gideon figured out who the real culprit was.

  Still, she felt dirty somehow and the feeling didn’t sit well at all. She’d always thought of herself as a law-abiding citizen. And now suddenly she was caught up in a web of half-truths and lies that seemed to be spiraling out of control.

  Just as lies always did.

  She’d thought for so long that the world was either black or white. Everything clearly falling on one side or the other. Good or evil. Shadow or light. And the truth was a hard pill to swallow. Everywhere she turned there were only shades of gray.

  "I brought you some tea," Uncle Vincent said, walking into the room with two steaming cups. Emily crossed over to take one from him.

  "Just what I needed. Thank you," she said, dropping down onto the sofa, inhaling the sweet, grassy fragrance of chamomile. Uncle Vincent sat in the wingchair across from her, sipping from his own cup. "You didn’t have to stay."

  "You shouldn’t be here on your own."

  "Daddy should be home soon. And I’ve got Bailey."

  "I just talked to your father, and he’s still tied up at the office. And besides, even if he was here, I wouldn’t have let you run the gauntlet on your own."

  "I know, but you don’t need the hassle any more than Jules."

  Her friend had wanted to drive Emily home, but Em hadn’t wanted Jules any more involved than she already was. As an assistant DA, it was clearly a conflict of interest and as a political candidate it had the potential to be catastrophic. So Uncle Vincent had volunteered not only to drop Emily off, but to shield her from the worst of the paparazzi as they tried to dig further into her presumed relationship with Tom Irwin.

  "I’m just sorry I couldn’t stop the detective," Uncle Vincent said. "Unfortunately, he wasn’t a man inclined to take no for an answer."

  "It was better to go ahead and answer him. He just wanted to know about my relationship with the senator. I just hate that I had to lie to him."

  "You didn’t lie," her uncle soothed. "You just stuck with the questions he asked. And despite my feelings about Gideon Sloan, I think he made the right decision in getting you out of there."

  "And covering things up." She took another sip of the soothing brew, trying to ignore the knot in her gut. "I truly am sorry to have gotten you tangled up in all of this." She lifted a shoulder in apology as she curled up in the corner of the sofa.

  "That’s what family is for." The warmth in his words helped to dissolve some of the angst. "You know I always have your back. Besides, your father would kill me if I’d left you to deal with all that on your own."

  Emily smiled, knowing the gesture didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was so tired and her head was pounding. "I just feel like everything is spiraling out of control. Just when I think I’ve got a handle on what’s happening, the picture shifts and it’s all a puzzle again."

  "I know this is hard. But if the authorities knew the whole truth, there’s no question that you’d be the number one suspect. And that wouldn’t play well at all for the press."

  "For Daddy, you mean."

  "No, Emily, I mean for you. To have this kind of thing attached to your name isn’t something you can outrun. Even if you’re ultimately cleared of anything dubious."

  "You believe me, right? I mean, you don’t think that I killed Tom?"

  "Of course not. You don’t have it in you. Tom Irwin was a bastard through and through. I never understood your father’s reasons for wanting you to marry the man. Nothing he could bring to the table would be worth that kind of sacrifice, to my mind."

  Emily thought about what Jack had told her. The idea that maybe Tom had held something over her father. Something that would force him to take action he might otherwise have never agreed to. Like enticing his only daughter into marrying a predator.

  "Daddy’s been more understanding lately. Less pushy." Maybe because he’d made plans to remove the senator from the equation. The thought terrified her.

  Emily closed her eyes and swallowed another sip of tea, letting the warmth ease the tightness in her chest. Her father hadn’t killed Irwin. Not with her lying on the bed next to the man. It was too much to even contemplate. And something she couldn’t—wouldn’t share with Vincent. She opened her eyes to meet her uncle’s worried gaze. "You know how he is. Single-minded until the bitter end. But I can be as stubborn as he is. And I think he recognized the fact that he wasn’t going to change my mind."

  "Because of Gideon Sloan?" Uncle Vincent asked.

  "No. Because Tom Irwin was a creep. He turned my skin. Literally. So no. Gideon has nothing to do with my decision about Tom. And besides, Gideon and I are over." Except for the not so insignificant fact that she’d just fallen into his arms as if they’d never been apart.

  "Could have fooled me with that little demonstration on the balcony."

  "I was upset. Gideon was just trying to comfort me."

  Her uncle harrumphed and took a sip of tea.

  "I know what Gideon did, Uncle Vincent. And I understand what it could have cost Daddy."

  "Ah yes, but the heart wants what it wants."

  And therein lay the crux of the matter. She did want Gideon. As much or maybe even more than when she’d originally fallen for him. There was a part of her that was always going to be attracted to the man. Which meant that if she wanted to preserve her heart she needed to steer clear of him.

  Which, thanks to the current situation, was more easily said than done.

  "I had a weak moment. That’s all it was. My loyalty to you and Daddy is absolute. You know that."

  "Well, you know it goes both ways. I just want you to be happy. And to be honest, I don’t trust Gideon Sloan. Who
’s to say this whole thing isn’t some kind of scheme for revenge?"

  "Are you saying you think Gideon is behind all of this?"

  "I’m saying he has motivation."

  "No matter what he did in the past. No matter what happened between us. Gideon would never hurt me like that." The words came out without a moment’s hesitation. And even as she said them, she knew they were true.

  Vincent sighed, clearly not convinced. "But hasn’t he already done just that?"

  Emily swallowed a sip of tea, her heart twisting. "Yes. I suppose he has."

  "And nothing he’s done or said—" Uncle Vincent waved his hand to cut off her objection "—kiss notwithstanding, has indicated that he’s repentant about what happened, right?"

  "He’s helping me." She knew that it wasn’t enough. Knew that in truth, he was still angry about what had happened, still insistent that he hadn’t been the one in the wrong.

  "I’m not trying to make things more complicated. I don’t know what the man’s motivations are. Maybe he is still in love with you. But then again, maybe he’s not. All I’m saying is that you need to be careful."

  "I know. And for what it’s worth, I’m not going to let anything more happen. I’ll keep him at arm’s length, I promise. He just caught me off guard tonight. Jack Wetherston upset me."

  Uncle Vincent tensed, leaning forward in his chair. "About what?"

  Emily toyed with the idea of spilling it all. Of sharing what Jack had told her. But some part of her resisted the urge. She trusted her uncle with her life. But if the fragile house of cards she’d managed to build came tumbling down, she didn’t want Uncle Vincent caught in the avalanche. And worse, she didn’t want him to tell her father.

  "He just wanted to ask me about my time with the senator that night at the club. And it was difficult because I wasn’t telling him the whole truth."

  "About the rest of the evening."

  "That, and the fact that I don’t really remember what I talked about with the senator. I keep thinking that if I could remember maybe there’d be a clue as to why things happened the way they did. But whatever we talked about, it’s lost—probably for good."

  "I’m sorry, pumpkin," he said, using the name he’d called her when she was a kid.

  Instead of making her feel comforted, the endearment made her feel suddenly lost and alone. Adrift in a sea of lies and deception that wasn’t going to be easily untangled. It seemed like everyone had a hidden agenda and that nothing was exactly as it seemed.

  Her father might have been driven to push the match between her and the senator. And Uncle Vincent was right; Tom Irwin’s death presented the perfect opportunity for Gideon to manipulate the situation to gain some kind of twisted revenge. But she couldn’t imagine either of them actually using her in that way. It just didn’t make sense.

  There had to be some other explanation.

  Because if either one of them had played a part in any of this—she wasn’t sure her heart could survive.

  CHAPTER 12

  JACK WETHERSTON LIVED IN an Upper East Side townhouse a block east of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was a pricey neighborhood. But then Wetherston’s money was older than the building itself. No doubt it had been commissioned by some ancient and equally annoying Wetherston ancestor.

  The townhouse was narrower than its neighbors, but no less impressive. The white stone façade was decorated with carvings and half-pillars, the rooftop and window embellishments made of copper burnished to turquoise with age. The windows were mullioned and the door painted a vibrant shade of blue. Everything about it, from the gargoyles on the drain spouts to the lion head door knocker, screamed wealth.

  Despite the fact that Gideon could buy pretty much the whole row of houses should he choose, he still held on to memories of the cramped walk-up he’d grown up in—and his extreme dislike for the overly wealthy. Even the tiniest portion of their income could have made things more bearable for others less fortunate. But he’d learned long ago that life wasn’t fair. And so he took every opportunity to use his wealth to help people who hadn’t had the same opportunities he’d had.

  "Nice digs," Declan said, the sarcasm in his voice echoing Gideon’s thoughts. "Although a little too high-brow for me." Declan had an apartment on the Lower East Side, a modern, sleek affair that was all about space, windows and light.

  "Right there with you, bro. But to each his own, I guess." Gideon followed Declan as they crossed the street, a gust of wind sending leaves rattling in the gingko trees that lined the street. "Kind of creepy how quiet it is." There was a light on in an upper floor window, but otherwise the building was dark, its neighbors equally shuttered. "It’s almost like we’re not in the city anymore."

  As if to dispel the notion, the wail of a siren over on Fifth Avenue filled the air.

  "I guess when you’re rich enough to own one of these places, you’ve also got homes in the Hamptons and the south of France."

  "You have a house in the Hamptons," Gideon reminded his friend.

  Declan grinned in response. "Yeah, well, thanks to you, I’m not exactly hurting for money. And you know the place in the Hamptons was a lark. I only bought it because I could."

  And because Declan’s mother had always dreamed of living there. But Gideon wasn’t about to remind his friend of the fact. Declan didn’t talk about his mom. Not once since the day she’d run off and left him. And that had been more years ago than Gideon wanted to count.

  "Ryder tell you we’ve been invited to Millie’s for one of her impromptu parties?" Declan asked as they started up the steep steps leading to the blue door.

  "He did. And I was thinking about bringing Em. Millie always liked her."

  "Until she let her father throw you under the bus."

  "Yeah, well, maybe I’m crazy, but it seems like Emily could use a little time away from all of this."

  "Away from her father and her uncle, you mean."

  "That, too. Anyway, I haven’t asked her. And, given her reaction to what happened at the party, maybe I’m pushing my luck." He shrugged and reached out for the brass ring in the lion’s mouth. Only instead of lifting it to knock, the motion actually swung the door inwards.

  Declan reached for the gun holstered beneath his jacket. "Shit. Looks like we might be too late."

  "Only one way to find out." Gideon reached for his own gun, and the two of them cautiously opened the door and stepped into the foyer. Gideon swung left into what was the living room, and Declan moved right into a smaller room that served as an office.

  "Clear," Declan said, keeping his voice low as he stepped back into the living area.

  "Why don’t you go down and check the first floor while I look up there?" Gideon nodded toward the stairs leading up to the third floor.

  "I live to serve." Declan’s lips quirked at the corners. "Be careful." With a lift of his chin, he stepped into a hall running next to the stairs as Gideon started up.

  Twelve steps later and he’d reached the third floor landing. Whereas the second floor was laid out with a large open feeling, the third was constructed for practicality. Three doorways separated by a narrow hallway. Moving slowly, he lifted his gun and pivoted into the first room, his gaze sweeping across it. Light from the street spilled across the wooden floors, and Gideon could make out the shape of a bed and a tall chest of drawers. A large chair sat in the opposite corner.

  "Clear," he whispered to himself, and eased back into the hallway, still leading with his gun. The second doorway was smaller. And as he swung inside, he wasn’t surprised to find a bathroom, the shadows lit by a small nightlight in the plug above the sink. Crossing the tiny space, he carefully pulled back a shower curtain to reveal—nothing.

  Turning around again, Gideon moved back into the hallway, freezing at the sound of a foot treading on the stairs. Spinning toward the noise, he lifted his gun and then relaxed as Declan appeared on the landing.

  "It’s all clear down below. Just a kitchen and a small storage room
. Everything’s neat as a pin. What about you? Find anything?"

  "Not yet. One more room to check and there’s a fourth floor."

  Together they moved forward again, Declan swinging into the third doorway while Gideon kept an eye on both sets of stairs.

  "It’s just a bedroom." Declan stepped back into the hall. "Not one anyone’s using if I had to call it. Damn place is quiet as a tomb."

  "Famous last words," Gideon murmured as they started up the last flight of stairs.

  About halfway up, Gideon thought he heard something. A low moan, or maybe just the shifting of the old townhouse. He motioned for Declan to stop.

  "You hear something?" Declan asked, his voice low, barely audible.

  Gideon strained into the silence, listening for something more. But everything remained quiet.

  With a slight shrug, he started to move upward again, Declan close behind him. At the top of the landing, he could see the soft glow of light. Probably what they’d seen from outside on the street. Keeping his back to the wall, he stopped at the landing, waited for Declan to get into position and then stepped out into what was clearly the master bedroom.

  The entire space was open, with the exception of a small door on the immediate left leading to what Gideon assumed was a bathroom. A king-sized bed took up most of the space on the right wall adjacent to the landing. A lamp on the bedside table failed to fully illuminate the room, but cast a warm glow across the bedcovers. Across the way, two French doors looked out on what appeared to be a terrace, light from the city spilling across the floor.

  Despite what he thought he’d heard on the stairs, the room was quiet.

  Declan reached out and pushed open the bathroom door and stepped inside. Then only a few seconds later, stepped out again. "It’s empty. Looks like Wetherston isn’t home."

  Gideon frowned, moving farther into the room, staring into the shadows surrounding the bed. Suddenly, from the far side, something moved, and Gideon heard the moan again.

  Still holding his gun, Gideon walked slowly around the end of the bed, Declan shifting to cover him.