Fade To Gray (Triad Series Book 1)

by Dee Davis

Fortunately, Emily had shown no interest in the man. Not that any of it mattered now—not with everything threatening to blow up in his face.

  "Vincent, are you listening?" Margaret reached out to touch his hand and he jumped.

  "Yes. Yes. It’s just all so hard to take in. My niece and I were just talking to the man earlier this evening. But aside from the information he gave me, I don’t see what his death has to do with our plans."

  "Maybe nothing." Margaret withdrew her hand, crossing her arms over a surprisingly ample chest. "Maybe everything. You know as well as I do that with all the questions about Tom Irwin’s death, our plans may very well be upended." She stared up at him for a long moment, her gaze assessing. "Are you sure you didn’t have anything to do with that?"

  Vincent felt a tremor run down his spine, but he kept his expression neutral. "Of course not. You know I had plans for the good senator, but believe me, death wasn’t part of the deal." Unless his partner had panicked or Yuri Patanko had stepped in to take action. He never should have involved the Russians.

  "Well, either way, I can’t see how we can move forward now. The senate will be in panic mode. They’ll call for investigations of investigations. Even if Irwin was clean as a whistle, which we know he wasn’t, they’ll be trying to make sure there’s nothing about his death that could connect to legislation."

  Again Vincent fought against a wave of panic. He needed the legislation or his entire plan fell apart and his life wasn’t worth shit. "Maybe it’s the best time to push," he countered, stepping closer to her, surprised when she moved back a pace. "We can make it happen while no one is looking. Margaret, your hands are as dirty as mine. If things fall apart we’ll go down together."

  "Are you threatening me?" Again she took a step back.

  He forced himself to relax. To smile. "Of course not. I’m just reminding you of how far in this we already are. We need to finish. I don’t have to remind you that Yuri Patanko is not a patient man. And if the bill doesn’t pass soon, well… You know how he handles things."

  "Do you think he killed Irwin?"

  At least she’d moved on from the idea that he’d done it. "I don’t know. It’s possible that he believed taking the man out would speed up the process."

  "I wish to hell I’d never gotten involved in any of this." Margaret blew out a long breath. "I feel like it’s all spinning out of control. Like I’m going to be next on the hit list."

  "There’s no reason to believe that. Especially if we keep up appearances and work toward our mutual gain. And I don’t have to remind you, Margaret, of exactly how much there is to be won. And a large share of that is yours if we succeed."

  "And if we don’t succeed?"

  They’d probably both be dead. Patanko wasn’t a man to forgive a debt.

  "We will. We have to. Which means we need to turn the investigation away from anything that could connect Irwin to either of us."

  "Yes, but how do we accomplish that?"

  He lifted his chin, his eyes meeting hers, ignoring the churning in his gut. "You just leave that to me. I have an idea." An awful, horrible, gut-wrenching idea.

  But at the end of the day it was all about survival of the fittest, wasn’t it?

  CHAPTER 14

  "MY FATHER ISN’T GOING to be happy when he finds out I came home with you." Emily stood fidgeting in the hallway as Gideon lifted the heavy door that enclosed the old freight elevator.

  The 1920s building had originally housed a factory. The five-story structure had been home to a production plant that manufactured light switches and other electrical works. For most of the ‘70s and ‘80s the building had stood empty. But the escalating economy of the ‘90s had seen a rebirth for the old factory. Its soaring industrial spaces turned into modern day lofts—one per floor. Five in all. Gideon’s, on the fourth floor, wasn’t the largest, but the oversized windows each had Art Deco balconies. He’d fallen in love with the simplicity of line and form. A delicate balance of old and new.

  "Then don’t tell him where you are." He hadn’t meant to snap, but Emily’s preoccupation with her father always set his nerves on edge. And even more so now that he worried the man had played some kind of role in the events of the past few days. It was hard to believe he’d hurt his daughter. And yet, if he’d been pushed into a corner, Gideon had no doubt that Blake would come up swinging—collateral damage be damned.

  "I don’t want him to worry." She was chewing her bottom lip, a sure sign that she was conflicted. Bailey loped onto the elevator, wagging his tail, clearly oblivious to his mistress’s unease.

  "Look, if you don’t feel comfortable here, I can take you home." He meant what he said, but as he watched her, waiting, he found he wanted her to stay. Wanted her to admit that she desired him as much as he apparently still desired her. Which, of course, given the circumstances, wasn’t fair. Hell, a man had just been murdered. A man who at the very least was her friend. And quite possibly something more.

  Except that she’d said that there was nothing between them.

  It shouldn’t matter anyway. But somehow it did. When he’d seen Wetherston cornering Emily on the balcony at the gala he’d wanted to pull the guy away from her. Slam his fist into the bastard’s smug jaw and send him careening over the railing. The urge for violence hadn’t really surprised him. Gideon had grown up in a survival of the fittest kind of world. But the possessive need to protect Emily had definitely caught him off guard. He’d thought those kind of feelings were long gone. Buried in the soul-destroying vitriol her father had rained down upon his head.

  "No." She shook her head, rubbing Bailey’s ears as she moved to stand next to the dog in the elevator. "I want to be here. You make me feel safe."

  It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but it was something. He stepped onto the wooden platform and hit the button to take them to his loft. They rode in silence, the only sound the humming motor of the elevator and the soft panting of her dog.

  The elevator lurched to a stop and he bent down to lift the door. "This is it."

  "It’s an interesting building," she said as they walked out into the foyer that led to his loft. "Do you own the space or rent it?"

  "Actually, I own the whole building. I rent the other floors out."

  The overhead lights flickered as Gideon reached in his pocket for his keys. Emily moved closer. Bailey growled.

  "Easy, boy," Emily whispered, her hand on her dog’s head.

  Gideon took a step forward, instinct on alert. He trusted the dog. Something didn’t feel right. Suddenly the lights went out, plunging the hallway into darkness.

  "Get back," Gideon warned, shoving Emily behind him. There was no window in the hall. And no light coming from beneath the door. Bailey growled again. "It’s probably just the electricity, but better to be safe. Stay next to the wall."

  He strained into the darkness, listening for some kind of noise, a tell that someone else was with them in the dark. But everything was quiet, a soft whine from Bailey the only discernable noise. "I’m going to check inside," he said, keeping his voice low, feeling Emily beside him even though he couldn’t see her. "You stay here."

  "No," she whispered back. "I’m coming with you."

  He started to argue and then abandoned the thought. Emily had always been stubborn. Better to just keep moving. "Then stay behind me. Understand?"

  "Yes."

  He pulled his gun and took a step forward, Emily’s palm resting lightly against his back.

  Reaching out slowly, he inserted the key in the lock and turned, his breath catching in his throat as he realized it was already open. "I think we have company," he whispered. "I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you and Bailey headed for the stairs."

  "But what if they’re down there, too? I’m safer—" She paused, the warmth from her hand sinking into his skin "—with you."

  He nodded once, realized she couldn’t see him, and then slowly pushed the door open. The loft was one huge room cut in places by large support pillars
. Light from the city flowed through the oversized windows, sending shadows dancing across the floor. He reached for the light switch on the wall, but when he flipped it, nothing happened.

  Maybe it was just the electricity.

  Bailey growled again, pulling at his leash.

  "Hold on to the dog," he whispered.

  She nodded, her silhouette highlighted by the light from the windows.

  He took another step into the room and suddenly something or someone exploded into motion. Bailey barked and pulled free from Emily, the dog bounding forward as something hard slammed into Gideon from behind. Pain exploded in his head and he blinked, trying to maintain his focus.

  A shadow moved—heading toward Emily and the door, the dog on his heels. Gideon lifted his gun, but couldn’t take the shot; the risk was too high that he might hit Emily or her dog. The man, clearly outlined now in the sparse fall of light, grabbed Emily by the throat. "Call off the damn dog and drop your weapon."

  Gideon threw down the gun and whistled for the dog, who froze, whining in frustration as he looked first to Gideon and then back at Emily. The man backed to the door, a gun at Emily’s head. As he reached the threshold, he shoved her forward hard, sending her sprawling into the wall.

  Gideon heard her head crack against plaster as the man disappeared into the darkness of the hall. "Em, are you okay?" He reached down to grab his gun and sprinted forward, torn between following the man and checking on Emily.

  "Emily?" he repeated, his voice rising as his heart scudded into his throat.

  "I’m…I’m okay." Her voice was weak, but clear. "Go. Go."

  Gideon raced out into the hall, Bailey barking at his heels. Without electricity, the elevator was useless. He turned toward the stairs, moving by memory, the hall still too dark to discern movement. Ahead, he heard the stair door slam and footsteps on the concrete staircase. Sprinting now, he reached the door and threw it open, leading with his gun. If possible it was even darker here in the stairwell. With one hand pressed against the wall, he started down, his assailant’s footsteps still echoing below him.

  As he hit the third floor landing, he realized the footsteps were louder. He was gaining ground. With a deep growl, Bailey surged ahead of him, his night vision clearly superior to Gideon’s. Ahead, he heard the man pause as Bailey closed the distance between them. It was still pitch black, and Gideon couldn’t risk taking a shot.

  Bailey’s growl intensified and Gideon heard the man curse as something slammed into the wall below him. The sound of a gunshot ricocheted through the enclosed stairwell. Bailey yelped once and was silent. Gideon was running now, regardless of the fact that he couldn’t see. He rounded the second floor landing and heard the man’s footsteps again as he took the final stairs to the first floor.

  Below him the street door opened, and for a moment the stairwell was filled with light. Bailey lay on the first floor landing. As Gideon passed he raised his head and whined. Gideon’s gut clenched but he kept moving, knowing he had only seconds before the man disappeared again. A shadow filled the doorway and a second shot rang out. Gideon felt the white heat of the bullet as it cut across his shoulder, then the door slammed shut, sealing out all light.

  Ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder, Gideon took the last two steps and flung the door wide. Street light flooded the building’s foyer, but the little room was empty. Gideon rushed through the front door, still holding his gun, looking frantically to the left and to the right.

  The street was empty. Nothing moved except the flutter of the wind in the trees. In the distance he could hear the wail of an ambulance. A car turned onto the street, its headlights illuminating even the shadows. Nothing moved. The car passed, wheels thumping against cobblestones.

  With a sigh, Gideon holstered his gun, letting his gaze make one last sweep of the street. Everything remained quiet.

  The man in the stairwell was gone.

  *****

  "YOU’RE SURE YOU’RE okay?" There was an undercurrent of feeling in Gideon’s words, and despite the pounding in her head, Emily felt a shiver of desire. Even with the circumstances, or maybe because of them, the attraction between them stretched white hot.

  But they weren’t alone, and even had they been, Emily wasn’t sure she truly wanted to follow through. "I’m fine. Just a bruise on my temple from the wall. You and Bailey are the ones who got shot."

  At the sound of his name, her dog thumped his tail, a small white bandage on his flank indicating where the assailant’s bullet had grazed him.

  "Nothing more than a flesh wound," Gideon said, tilting his head in Bailey’s direction. "For either of us."

  The loft was teeming with people. Declan, Ryder and a host of other Triad employees, including Dr. Tate, who’d seen not only to her head and Gideon’s shoulder but to Bailey as well, much to the amusement of Declan and Ryder.

  "Well, then I guess we’re all lucky." She shivered again, but this time it had nothing at all to do with desire.

  "Emily," Gideon said, closing the distance between them, his hand gentle against her cheek, "I’m sorry I got you into this. I thought you’d be safe here."

  She looked up at him, the intensity of his gaze sending flutters through her stomach. "You didn’t get me into anything, remember? This all started with a dead man and a hotel. My mess—not yours."

  "We don’t know that the two things are related."

  "You can’t tell me after what happened to Jack Wetherston that you think this is a random burglary." She waved her hand at the chaos surrounding them. Furniture had been overturned, sofa cushions slashed, even the art on the walls had been tossed to the floor, pictures stripped from their frames. Yet amidst the savage mess, Emily could see Gideon’s expensive stereo, a flat screen TV and an open curio cabinet crammed full of signed baseballs and footballs and other memorabilia. "If so, they were the stupidest thieves of all time."

  "Yes, well, I’m sure you’re not surprised to hear that I’m a man with many enemies." There was a warning in his tone, but Emily ignored it.

  "My father among them. But that doesn’t mean that this attack wasn’t related to Jack’s death. Or the senator’s. You said someone was trying to tie up loose ends. If that’s the case, then maybe, through your association with me, you’ve become one."

  "Emily, this isn’t something you need to worry about." He dropped his hand, stepping away, and she immediately missed the contact. "I can take care of myself."

  "You could have been killed tonight."

  "So could you." His hand clenched and she watched as he forced himself to relax. "And the idea makes me want to hit something."

  She hadn’t expected him to admit to the weakness. "You’re the reason I’m all right. You and Bailey." She reached down to stroke her dog’s silky ears. "I just hate the idea that after everything we’ve been through, I put you in harm’s way—again." She tilted her head so that she could see him better, her heart rising to her throat at the emotion she saw reflected in his eyes. It was the closest she’d come to admitting that whatever had happened between him and her father, she’d, albeit unwittingly, played a key role.

  "I want to be here." He moved close again. "I choose to be here." He brushed back a strand of hair, his fingers brushing against the bandage on her head. "Emily, despite our past, you matter to me. I don’t want to see you hurt." He blew out a breath, and stepped back, all expression shuttered. "Which is why you need to leave here. Now. Unless he’s fallen down on his game, it won’t be long before Logan Ceraso and his men get here. Considering this is happening on the heels of Wetherston’s death, he’ll figure it’s all connected to his investigation somehow. Anyway, I don’t want him to find you here."

  "Why? If it isn’t related to what’s been happening, then it doesn’t matter." She crossed her arms, anger sparking. She knew she shouldn’t be taunting him. He’d just saved her life—again—but she’d be damned if she was going to let him shove her away.

  "I meant what I said. There’s no reas
on to think that the break-in here is actually related to Wetherston’s or Irwin’s death. No matter what Logan thinks."

  "You expect me to believe that? What if the killer saw you at Wetherston’s?"

  "Then he’d have laid in wait and killed me—not ransacked my place."

  "Well, then maybe someone involved with all of this thinks that I gave you something that could incriminate them. Or that you found something that might point to them. I don’t know. I just don’t believe for a minute that there’s no connection."

  "Smart woman," Ryder said, striding over to join them. Gideon took another step back, his expression still guarded. "My money is on someone looking for incriminating evidence. Under the circumstances, it makes total sense."

  "What circumstances?" Emily asked, surprised to see Gideon shooting a warning glance in Ryder’s direction. What in the world was he hiding from her?

  "He means that because the place has been summarily tossed, and as you already pointed out, since nothing was taken, it seems fairly obvious that our intruder was searching for something."

  She was fairly certain that wasn’t what Ryder had meant at all, but when she looked to him for further clarification his attention was still focused on Gideon. Eyebrows raised, Ryder stared at his friend, who clearly wasn’t about to give an inch, and then with a shrug turned back to her.

  "Obviously no one asked for my opinion."

  Emily opened her mouth to protest, but Gideon stepped to her side, his arm sliding possessively around her waist. "I was just telling Em that we needed to get her out of here before the police arrive."

  This time Ryder frowned. "I didn’t know you’d called the police."

  "I didn’t." Gideon shrugged, his arm still holding her in place. "But word travels fast in the city and Ceraso already has his nose to the wind. You know how he can be. And we don’t need for him to find Emily here."

  "On that we most certainly agree." Ryder shot them both another questioning look, then it was his turn to shrug.

  "I’ll get a cab." Emily pulled away from Gideon, suddenly having had enough of his posturing. All men’s posturing, for that matter.