Fade To Gray (Triad Series Book 1)

by Dee Davis

  Gideon glared at his friend. "Declan’s right. We need to concentrate on business. There will be time for discussion later." Although he was furious at Ryder for talking to Em without telling him first, he was also grateful, if he were being truly honest. Last night never could have happened—or if it had, it wouldn’t have been the same—without the full truth coming out. On both sides.

  What the hell would come out of it all was still to be seen. He wasn’t even sure he knew himself.

  "Fine with me," Ryder said with a shrug. "The girl in the office said Tyler’s in room 220. Up there just past the stairs." He nodded at the row of doors leading off from the second floor landing.

  They’d had a hell of a time running Jesse Tyler to ground. He hadn’t been at his office or apartment, and when it became clear that no one had seen hide nor hair of him since the night of Irwin’s murder, it had been pretty clear that Tyler was on the lam. Fortunately, the bastard hadn’t ditched his cell phone. Which meant that Ryder had been able to trace him to this fleabag of a motel.

  Now all that remained was to surprise the bastard and find out what he knew about Irwin’s murder and Emily’s abduction.

  The three of them moved cautiously up the stairs. The motel, except for a couple of cars, seemed pretty much deserted, but it was always better to treat a potentially hostile situation with care. After reaching the landing, they drew their guns and, backs to the wall, inched toward the door marked ‘220’. Then, with Ryder flanking the door on the left and Declan on the right, Gideon reached out and knocked.

  The door swung inward.

  "Not a good sign," Declan observed.

  "On three," Gideon whispered, counting down slowly on his fingers.

  With a nod, Gideon surged through the door, leading with his gun, Declan and Ryder right behind him. Gideon blinked in the dim light, at first thinking the room was empty.

  "Fucking hell, we missed him," Ryder said, echoing Gideon’s earlier thought. But then Ryder hadn’t looked down.

  A sock-encased foot stuck out from the far side of the bed.

  "Son of a bitch," Declan said to no one in particular.

  "Yup. Looks like someone beat us to it." Gideon crossed the room, rounding the end of the bed. A man sprawled across the floor. A pool of blood beneath his cheek, a blackened hole in the middle of his forehead. Gideon knelt beside the body, checking for a pulse. "He’s definitely dead."

  Declan toed the arm splayed above the man’s head, turning his wrist so that the dragon was clearly visible. "And he’s definitely Jesse Tyler. Poor bastard," he said, nodding toward the gunshot wound. "Looks like he didn’t stand a chance."

  "Another loose end tied up," Gideon said. "I’m guessing whatever role Tyler played in all of this, he wasn’t the one pulling the strings."

  "Yeah, and unfortunately now he isn’t in any shape to help us figure out who that might be."

  "He may not be able to help," Ryder said, holding Jesse’s phone up with a grin, "but I’m betting this just might have a lot to say."

  "We’re going to have to call the local police."

  "Great. First they’re going to be pissed that we fucked with their crime scene and then because this death might be related to Irwin’s, they’ll have to deal with Ceraso. Which will no doubt make their day." Declan grimaced as Gideon pushed to his feet. "Between the NJ cops and Logan, we’re not exactly making any Miss Congeniality lists. Ceraso in particular is not going to be a happy camper. This is the third crime scene related to the senator’s death we’ve contaminated."

  Gideon pushed to his feet. "I don’t give a damn what Logan thinks. What matters is finding answers." His cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it free. "Sloan."

  "It’s about Emily," a quaking female voice said. "Your picture is on her phone. And you were here last night."

  "Mrs. McNamara?" he asked, his gut churning. Why the hell did Mrs. McNamara have Emily’s phone? "Just tell me what happened."

  "There was…there was an explosion. A…a car. In front of Emily’s brownstone." The fear in the woman’s voice clawed at Gideon.

  "Where’s Emily, Mrs. McNamara?"

  Declan and Ryder, clueing in to the fear of his voice, crowded closer.

  "They…they took her away. I thought you’d want to know."

  "Is she alive?" The words ripped out of him, and he steeled himself for the answer.

  "I don’t know," the old lady said, tears making her words almost indecipherable. "She...she was thrown clear. But she hit a tree. And there was so much debris."

  "Where did they take her?" he interrupted, unable to control the strident tone of his voice.

  "The hospital."

  "Which hospital?" he barked, his hands starting to shake. If anything happened to Emily…

  "Presbyterian," the old woman answered.

  Gideon terminated the call, his mind reeling with the awful possibilities.

  "What happened?" Declan asked, his eyes dark with concern.

  "Someone blew up my fucking car. And because of me, they almost blew up Emily as well."

  "You couldn’t have known," Ryder began.

  "Doesn’t matter. It’s still my fault. I should have stayed with her. I should have made sure she was safe. I shouldn’t have let her drive my damn car."

  "Go," Declan urged. "We’ll handle things here."

  "She’s going to be all right," Ryder said.

  "You don’t know that," Gideon snapped, immediately sorry. He might be angry at Ryder, but he knew for better or worse his friend always put him first. And he’d clearly come to like Emily. "I didn’t mean—"

  "Just go," Ryder responded, cutting him off as he squeezed his shoulder then pushed him toward the door.

  Gideon took the stairs two at a time, his mind screaming protest as his heart threatened to shatter. He couldn’t lose Emily, not now, not when they’d just found each other again.

  CHAPTER 23

  "HEART RATE AND BLOOD pressure are back to normal. You’re going to be sore for a couple of days, but overall I’d say you were really lucky," William Tate said as he loosened the BP cuff in Emily’s hospital room.

  Between having the presence of mind to call for Dr. Tate and the fact that her father had funded most of the hospital’s cardio wing, Emily had managed to avoid making a spectacle of herself in the ER, instead being admitted directly to the hospital. Unless, of course, one counted the exploding car on W. 71st, four fire trucks, an ambulance and a very distraught Mrs. McNamara. Not exactly an under-the-radar kind of event. Still, she’d managed the hospital without encountering any press, and all of that while moving in and out of consciousness with alarming regularity.

  "I want you to follow the light with your eyes," Dr. Tate instructed, and Emily dutifully focused on the moving penlight. "Looks good." He smiled at her, and then wrote something in her chart. "I can prescribe pain meds if you’d like, but with the chance of concussion, I’d rather you tough it out if you can. You can always go with something OTC, like ibuprofen if you really need it."

  Emily nodded, thinking a couple of Vicodin wouldn’t be out of place, but she understood the doctor’s concern. Her head felt like it was splitting in two, a knot the size of a fist decorating the side of her skull where she’d hit the tree trunk. Her left shoulder was scraped and bruised, as well as her hip where she’d slammed into the sidewalk, and she was covered in cuts and gouges, thanks to flying shrapnel. In short, she felt like she’d been through a battle and come out on the losing end.

  Although nothing was broken and she was drawing breath, albeit painfully, so maybe she needed to revise that statement.

  If it hadn’t been for Mrs. McNamara…

  "I’m fine with no drugs," she answered, realizing she’d been fading out again. "It’s probably for the best. I’m still a little fuzzy headed." In fact, she was hanging together by just the smallest thread, her emotions running the gamut from sheer terror to some hysteria-tinged version of giddy relief. What she really wanted was Gi
deon. "When can I get out of here?"

  Dr. Tate’s eyes were filled with sympathy. "I can’t release you until there’s someone to take you home."

  "But you said that Gideon is on his way?"

  "Yes. Apparently your Mrs. McNamara called him. And just as a head’s up," he added, flinching slightly, "your father is on his way as well. He’s listed on your insurance as your next of kin."

  Of course he was. The last thing she needed was to have to deal with her father.

  "I’ll go ahead and start the discharge paperwork. But remember, it’s conditional on someone staying with you through the night. Got it?"

  She started to nod again, and then thought better of the motion. "I understand."

  "All right then, I’ll try to come back before you leave." As he turned to go, Emily reached out almost involuntarily, the idea of being alone frankly scaring the hell out of her, but she forced herself to drop her arm and smile.

  "Thank you, Dr. Tate. I appreciate your coming so quickly."

  "No problem. I’m just glad I was able to help."

  The door closed behind him and Emily let her eyes drift shut, tears gathering in the corners as her mind replayed the explosion in slo-mo. She could hear Mrs. McNamara calling her name over the sound of traffic and then the flash of light and rush of heat. It had felt as if a giant hand had shoved her forward, the smell of gasoline and burning metal filling the air.

  She hated being so weak, but she needed Gideon.

  The door made a whooshing sound and Emily opened her eyes. As if she’d conjured him, Gideon’s frame filled the doorway, his eyes dark with worry.

  "Em," he said, her name coming out like a prayer.

  In two strides, he was across the room and, regardless of the pain, she threw herself into his arms as he sat on the side of the bed, his heat enveloping her, his breath fanning against her cheek. "Are you all right?"

  She nodded, tears falling, unable to get out any coherent words.

  He shifted so that he could better see her, gentling his hold as his gaze raked up and down her battered body.

  She sucked in a breath and forced a watery smile. "Dr. Tate says it’s all superficial. Nothing that won’t heal."

  "William is here?"

  "Yes. I had them call him from the ambulance. I figured under the circumstances it was better to have someone you trusted."

  "That’s my girl." He stroked her hair back from her temple, his fingers shaking. "Oh God, Em, I thought I’d lost you."

  "Not that easy, I’m afraid." This time her smile felt more like normal. "Turns out I’m pretty damn indestructible. Although I think maybe I owe Mrs. McNamara big time. If she hadn’t called out to me I would have…" She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

  Gideon held her closer, the feel of his heartbeat comforting in the most primitive of ways. "It’s okay, baby, it’s all going to be all right."

  "How the hell can you sit there and say that when it’s your goddamned fault my daughter was almost killed—again?" Blake Masterson strode into the room, his body tight with fury.

  Emily shuddered and pulled free of Gideon’s embrace, lifting her head to face her father. "It wasn’t Gideon’s fault. But given everything I know now, I wonder if maybe it wasn’t yours." She shivered again, and felt Gideon’s fingers link with hers.

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  Emily fought a wave of pain, both physical and emotional. "I’m talking about everything you did ten years ago to try and ruin Gideon’s life. Not to mention the man you sent to Gideon’s apartment to try and steal the papers that proved his innocence."

  "Nothing about Gideon Sloan is innocent," her father said, his eyes narrowing as his gaze moved from her to Gideon. "He took advantage of you ten years ago and he’s doing it again as we speak."

  Emily felt Gideon tense, anger flashing in his eyes, and she tightened her fingers around his. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."

  "Emily, I’m your father. You have to know that everything I do is in your best interest."

  "As defined by you." Her heart twisted as she realized he hadn’t denied her accusations. Just danced around them. "Daddy, I could have died today. If I hadn’t turned back, I’d have been caught full-on in the blast. The doctor says I was extremely lucky. But instead of asking about that—instead of checking to make sure I’m okay—all you’ve done is make accusations."

  "I talked to the doctor outside." He waved through the open door at the hallway. "He told me you were going to be all right. I just wasn’t prepared to see Sloan here with you—like that." He gestured with his hand to encompass their embrace.

  "I don’t know what William Tate told you," Gideon said, anger coloring his voice. "But it was more than a close call today. I could have lost Emily—we could have lost her. And if I find out you had anything to do with that bomb, I promise I will make it my eternal mission to bring you to your knees."

  "Your threats don’t scare me."

  "Well, they should."

  For a moment her father almost looked shaken, but then his eyes narrowed. "I want you to leave. I’d like to talk to my daughter alone."

  "Gideon isn’t going anywhere." Emily tightened her hand on his. "Anything you have to say to me, you can say to him. Considering what you’ve already done, I’m not interested in listening to you try to fill my head with more lies."

  Her father’s expression hardened. "You’re my daughter. I’ve spent my entire life protecting you. Where is your loyalty to family? Surely you aren’t saying that you care more about him than me. He’s nothing," her father spat. "Nobody."

  Emily drew in a fortifying breath, her ribs protesting the motion. "Get. Out."

  Anger flashed across her father’s face. Anger and arrogance and for a moment she thought he was going to leave, but then his expression crumpled, his shoulders sagging. "I didn’t do it."

  "I have the proof," Emily said, feeling as if her heart were being ripped in two.

  "No. I’m not talking about ten years ago. I’m talking about the bomb. I didn’t do it."

  "Of course you didn’t do it," Gideon snarled. "You have henchmen for that kind of thing. Hell, you probably have people on your payroll full-time."

  "No one in my employ was instructed to take you out. With a bomb or otherwise." He lifted his hands, his expression bleak. "I swear it."

  "Why should we believe you?" Gideon asked.

  "Because as you just pointed out, my daughter damn near died. I know the two of you are close again." The timbre of his voice reflected his dismay. "I wouldn’t do anything that would risk her being caught in the crossfire."

  "Yeah? Well, what about the break-in?"

  For a moment she thought her father was going to refuse to answer. But then he blew out a breath and shrugged. "No one was seriously injured." As always he managed to dodge the question. Neither an admission nor a denial.

  "Gideon and Bailey could have been killed," she protested. "And your meddling all those years ago was just as bad. You almost destroyed Gideon. And in doing so, you almost destroyed me."

  "But you didn’t truly love him," he protested. "You were too young to know what you wanted." His hands sliced through the air. "It’s my job to watch over you. To keep you from making the kinds of mistakes that can ruin your life."

  "I need to make my own choices, Daddy. No matter the results. Can’t you see that everything you’ve done has only made everything worse? If you hadn’t lied to me and then thrown me at Tom Irwin, none of this would be happening."

  "Tom Irwin was a mistake," her father admitted, looking far older than he had when he walked into the room. "I never should have pushed you at him."

  "But you did," Emily said, her head starting to pound again. "And because of that he fixated on me. Enough to want to drug me and do God knows what else."

  "I never dreamed he was capable of something so heinous. I knew he was capable of a lot—but not that. You have to believe me, Emily, not that."

&
nbsp; "But Wetherston was telling the truth, wasn’t he? Irwin was blackmailing you," Gideon said, leaving no room for her father to argue.

  "The bastard thought he could force my hand. Make me give Emily to him in return for keeping certain—secrets."

  "I’m not a commodity you can just trade away to strengthen your business prospects. Daughters as chattel went out with the Dark Ages."

  "I didn’t agree to it. I would never have agreed to it."

  "So you murdered him," Gideon accused, his gaze probing. "Or you had him murdered."

  "No." Her father shook his head. "I didn’t kill him. And my man didn’t either."

  His words were specific, as if there was at least partial truth in Gideon’s accusation. "What do you mean, your man?" she asked.

  Her father paused, looking down at his hands, and then, with a sigh, looking up again. "I told you I’d do anything to protect you. Irwin wanted you. In a way that wasn’t…right. So I had to do something to stop him."

  "You could have gone to the police." Gideon leaned forward, still holding onto her hand, his touch grounding her in a way that nothing else could have.

  "I couldn’t. Not with what Irwin held over me. So I took matters into my own hands." He paused, his expression hardening. "I wanted the threat of Irwin removed."

  Emily felt as if all the breath had been sucked from her body. He hadn’t actually admitted his involvement. Not full out, but the implication was there. Her thoughts spinning, she looked at her father and saw only a stranger. It was as if there was nothing left of the man she’d adored.

  "But you said your man didn’t kill him." Gideon’s eyes narrowed as he studied her father.

  "He didn’t. Someone murdered Irwin before my man could act." His gaze met Emily’s. "I swear I had no part in what happened to you in that hotel room."

  "Daddy, your machinations are what set everything in motion. Even if you didn’t put the drug in my drink, even if you didn’t drag me to that hotel room—you are at fault, simply because you meddled in my life when it wasn’t warranted."

  "I love you, Emily. You’re my life. You have to believe that."