by Dee Davis
They’d already found both Evan and Russ. Evan Swann was dead. A close-range gunshot to the head. Russ had suffered a gut wound. He was still alive, but barely. One of Gideon’s men had stayed with him, summoning an ambulance. Gideon fought against his anger. It wouldn’t help Emily if he lost control.
Bailey, who had greeted Gideon’s arrival with shivers and a soft whine, followed close behind him as he quietly made his way up the stairs, the others following in his wake. Weapon at the ready, he leaned around the corner of the doorway and froze.
Jules stood facing Emily, Blake Masterson on the ground between them. Relief flooded through Gideon. Relief and fury. Jules was still holding a gun on Emily, who was staring down at her father with tears streaming down her face. From this angle, there was no way for him to get a shot at Jules without hitting Emily.
The others joined them at the top of the stairs. Declan with a hand to Bailey’s collar, the dog growling softly.
"Don’t move," Jules said to Emily, her voice preternaturally calm. Fortunately, she remained unaware of the men standing on the staircase landing. Gideon held his position, praying that he’d get an opening.
"But Daddy needs my help." Emily started to kneel.
Jules leveled the gun. "I said be still."
"If you’re telling the truth, he’s your father, too, Jules." Beside Gideon, Vincent gasped. "You can’t just let him die," Emily begged.
"Of course I can." Jules stared down at Blake, her body held in rigid control. "If the positions were reversed, he wouldn’t have lifted a finger to save me."
"You’re a monster," Emily whispered.
"I’m what your family made me."
"You’re what you made yourself," Vincent said, striding past Gideon into the room, hands raised as he walked toward Emily and Jules. Ryder issued a soft curse.
Jules turned, the gun pointed at Vincent. Emily dropped to her knees beside her father. "What the hell are you doing here?" Jules asked.
"Trying to make you see sense," Vincent replied, hands still in the air, his position still effectively preventing a clear shot.
"And how are you going to do that?" she snapped, eyes flashing.
"By telling you the truth."
"The truth." Jules bit out a laugh. "How did you get in here anyway?"
"Through the back. Is my brother alive?" he asked, his gaze moving to Emily.
She nodded, her face tight with anxiety. "He’s breathing. But there’s so much blood. We need to call an ambulance."
"No," Jules bit out, her attention still on Vincent. "You shouldn’t have meddled. This is none of your affair."
"You should have checked your facts," Vincent said.
Gideon inched forward, motioning for Ryder and Declan to follow. At least Vincent’s position provided them a modicum of cover. Emily was watching Vincent and Jules, her face ashen, her fingers still wrapped around her father’s wrist.
"What facts?" Jules asked.
"Paternity for one."
She shook her head. "I have all the facts. I have a DNA test. And my bracelet. Blake is my father."
"No. He’s not," Vincent said, turning his hands so that his palms turned up. "I am."
"What?" Emily and Jules said almost in tandem.
"I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. A.S. Byatt. I had it inscribed upon the bracelet."
"You?" Jules said, her knuckles turning white as she tightened her fingers on the gun. "You’re my father? Not Blake?"
"Yes." He shrugged, dropping his hands. "It would appear so. Of course, I didn’t know. To be honest, I never really looked at the bracelet until today. And your name is different."
"I changed it when I went to school. To get closer to my father." Her gaze dropped to Blake and then back to Vincent.
"I had no idea Helen had a child," Vincent said. "We parted ways and then she disappeared."
"Parted ways? What does that mean?" Jules’ attention was riveted on Vincent now.
"It means that my brother would have disowned me if he’d found out about the two of us. Once Helen realized our relationship would never become permanent—that I would never marry her—she left town. I never saw her again."
"Did you even try to find her?" There was a sense of hopelessness in Jules’ words. Hopelessness and anger.
"No," Vincent said. "She didn’t love me. And I didn’t love her. Our affair was based on passion." He shrugged. "And passion dies."
"But you should have known. Should have felt something." Jules frowned, the gun wobbling as her hand shook.
"Biology isn’t everything, Jules. Family is so much more than blood." His gaze moved to Emily. "Forgive me for bringing all of this down on your head." He shifted then, moving quickly for a man his size, stepping between Emily and Jules, protecting Em and leaving a clear path for Gideon.
Leading with his weapon, Gideon swung fully into the room, Declan and Ryder beside him. "Drop the gun, Jules. We have you covered."
Jules spun around, her face contorted with fury, and fired. The shot went wild, but Gideon’s didn’t. Jules’ eyes widened as she crumpled, her gun clattering against the wooden floor. Vincent dropped beside his brother as Ryder and Declan surrounded Jules, and Gideon swept Emily up into his arms.
"Are you all right? Did she hurt you?" he asked, brushing the hair back from her face.
"No. I’m okay." She pressed herself against him. "Now that you’re here. I’m fine. But my father…" She trailed off as Vincent looked up at them, his face awash in pain.
"I’m so sorry, Emily." Her uncle swallowed, his eyes filled with tears.
She shuddered and Gideon pulled her closer, wishing he could take away her pain. "Is he dead?"
"Yes." Vincent pushed to his feet, looking suddenly haggard and old. "He’s gone."
"And Jules?" Emily asked, her voice not much more than a whisper.
"She’s lost a lot of blood. But she’s still alive," Ryder said. "More’s the pity. Ambulance is on the way."
"Oh, God…" Emily turned her face into Gideon’s chest, her whole body shaking. Bailey, hearing her voice, ran across the room to press against her legs.
Gideon tightened his arms around her, his lips against her hair. "It’s over, sweetheart. I’ve got you. And I promise, I’m never going to let you go."
EPILOGUE
MUSIC DRIFTED THROUGH Millie Westfeldt’s classic six, the wail of a bass sax filling the apartment. What had been planned as a party had turned into an impromptu wake. Gideon’s man, Evan Swann, had been buried a couple of days ago, but since Millie’s party had seemed a perfect opportunity to honor his death, the members of Triad had gathered to remember him.
Emily stood in the dining room doorway, feeling a little out of place. No one had made her feel unwelcome, but she still felt as if she were crashing. These people had come together to save her life. Not just once but over and over again. And the cost had been too high.
The previous week had passed in a haze. Jules, her wound not life-threatening, had been arrested on five counts of murder. Unrepentant to the last, she’d refused to consider any kind of deal, and was currently sitting in Rikers awaiting her trial. Uncle Vincent had accepted a plea deal. He’d confessed to his role in Irwin’s murder and everything that had followed. And though he’d spend time in prison for his part in the whole affair, his taped evidence against Yuri Patanko would mean a reduced sentence.
Her father’s funeral had practically been a state affair, with dignitaries and moguls from around the world in attendance. It had been one of the most difficult times of her life, but Sylvie and Gideon had been there. And Triad had managed to hush up much of what happened, keeping the worst of her family’s indignities from the press. Still, that didn’t change the facts and although Emily had been grateful, she’d also felt guilty, knowing all that her father and uncle had done.
She sighed, watching as Ryder told some kind of story, Gideon, Declan and Logan Ceraso laughing as Ryder illustrated his words with broad gesture
s and exaggerated movements. Sitting in an armchair by the fire, Russ Lasko was talking with William Tate, Paige Donaldson and Sylvie. Thanks to Jules, Russ had had a close call at the brownstone, but fortunately, he was going to make a full recovery.
"It wasn’t your fault, you know." Millie stopped beside her in the doorway, handing her a glass of wine. "This is what they do. They know the risks going in. And believe me, there’s no place else they’d rather be. Even when the cost is this high."
"So how do you live with it? The possibility that at any moment something awful could happen. That you could lose Ryder or Gideon or Declan?"
"I just accept that these are the cards I was dealt. I can’t imagine not having the boys in my life. And if that means accepting the risks they take, then so be it. It isn’t easy. But there isn’t a choice," Millie said with a shrug. "He loves you, you know."
She watched as Gideon laughed at something Declan said, his grin reaching all the way to his gorgeous green eyes. She wanted to freeze the moment. To hold him captive in her heart. Safe and secure. But that wasn’t living. And he most certainly wouldn’t accept being caged.
"I love him, too, Millie," she said, the enormity of the emotion threatening to swamp her. "I can’t imagine him not in my life. But so much has happened."
"Yes. It has. And I know some of it was really painful. But despite all of that, you’ve been given a second chance. Not everyone gets that opportunity. Don’t let it pass you by because you’re afraid. Or worse, because you don’t feel like you deserve it. You belong here, Emily. With Gideon. With all of us. The past is just that—past. And the future—" She paused with a smile. "—well, now that hasn’t yet been decided, has it? So it seems to me like all you have to do is reach out and take it."
"Gideon is right. You’re a very wise woman."
Her smile widened and she squeezed Emily’s hand. "Let’s just say I’ve been around the block a time or two."
"What are my two favorite girls talking about?" Gideon asked, sliding an arm around Emily and pulling her close against his side.
"We were talking about second chances," Millie said. "Speaking of which, I see a certain gentleman I’ve been wanting to have a word with. If you’ll excuse me?"
"Are you all right?" Gideon asked when Millie was gone.
"I am." Emily smiled up at him. "A little bit shell-shocked still, but definitely getting better. Especially now that you’re here."
"Come with me."
"What? Now? But all your friends are here."
"My friends—our friends—can wait. Just come with me." He took her hand and pulled her through the dining room into the kitchen, where an open door beckoned. As they stepped outside, she gasped in amazement.
Millie’s rooftop terrace was covered in fairy lights. The colored bulbs twinkling amidst the potted plants and trees dotting the brick expanse. A small fountain in the corner filled the air with the soft rush of falling water set against the mellow notes of the saxophone coming from the party inside.
In the center of the terrace was a small wrought iron table with two chairs. A lantern flickered at the center and an ice bucket holding a bottle sat next to two crystal flutes.
Emily sucked in a breath, her heart pounding. "Did you do this?"
He shrugged, the gesture at odds with the intensity of his gaze. "Millie might have helped." He smiled then, and her heart hitched. He was so handsome. And she loved him so very much.
"Champagne?" he asked, pouring the golden liquid into the flutes and then offering her a glass.
She took it, her eyes never leaving his as they touched their glasses together and then took a sip.
"I know there hasn’t been much to celebrate lately. And maybe this isn’t the right time. But if I’ve learned anything in the past few days it’s that life is too damn short to wait for the perfect opportunity. It might never come. And then all we’d be left with is regret."
"Millie was just saying much the same. And you’re both right. It just isn’t easy to let go of the past. You know? Sometimes it feels like it’s got the power to destroy me. Or at the very least, define me."
"Oh, baby, if I could take away the pain, I would. But I can’t." He took her glass and set in down on the table, and then pulled her back against him, his warmth surrounding her as they stood and looked out into the colorful barrage of lights that was Manhattan. "What I can do, though, is be here. To reassure you. To hold you. To cherish you."
"I want that," she whispered as he kissed the top of her hair. "But it doesn’t seem fair to you. Not after what my family has cost you."
"Emily, you’re not your father. Or your uncle. And you certainly aren’t responsible for Jules Clarke or whoever the hell she truly is. All of that is over. It’s time to move on." He shifted so that they were facing each other, his hand cupping her chin as he looked down into her eyes. "Emily, I’ve loved you for almost ten years. Even when things were bad between us, I still loved you. And now that we’re together again, I find I can’t wait to start living my life with you."
Her heart swelled, her eyes filling with tears. "I can’t wait to be with you either."
"So will you marry me?"
"Yes," she whispered, the tears falling now. "Yes. I will. I love you with all my heart, Gideon."
"And I love you. Forever and always." He covered her mouth with his, the kiss a covenant. A promise of their life to come. And as she reveled in the feel of his lips moving against hers, Emily followed Millie’s advice—she let go of the past and, secure in Gideon’s arms, soared into the future.
People find themselves in trouble all the time. Sometimes because of stupidity or greed. Sometimes just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But regardless of how it happens, they all need help. Expert help. Someone capable of cleaning up messes without leaving collateral damage behind.
Welcome to Triad…
Watch for more of Dee Davis’ Triad Series.
Ryder, Declan and Logan’s stories coming soon!
And now…an excerpt from Dee Davis’ After Twilight
Prologue
Southampton
"I DON'T WANT a divorce, Alex. I want a husband."
Lightning flashed as the glass pane shook with the force of the wind. Kacy felt it vibrate under her fingertips. Rain pounded against the French door, running in rivulets down its face, partially obscuring the wildly gyrating trees outside. The path to the beach, beyond the trees, was totally invisible, the downpour acting like a moving curtain, obliterating almost everything.
"I am your husband, Kirstin." Alex's voice was tense, a low counterpoint to the fury of the storm.
She turned to face him, alarmed at how his use of her first name could sound so wrong, so foreign. "Maybe in name, but . . ."
He cut her off with the wave of a hand. "In all ways." His eyes narrowed, telegraphing his meaning.
She shivered. "It isn't like it used to be."
His smile was slow, almost lazy, and it didn't reach his eyes. "Well, perhaps it's time you learned to be a little more adventurous."
She clenched her fists, wondering how she'd managed to get herself in this position. By marrying a stranger, the little voice in her head calmly announced. Thunder rattled through the living room. The lights flickered, went out, and then came on again. She squinted as her eyes adjusted. "I need someone who loves me, Alex—"
"Loves you?" His look changed to derision. "And that's why you eloped with someone you hardly knew? Come, Kirstin, be honest, you married me for the same reason I married you." His hand snaked out and he jerked her to him, his tongue tracing the line of her lips. "You want me, Kirstin." He pressed against her. "You want this."
"Alex, I . . ." She tried to push him away, to find the right words, to face the reality of what he'd become. "Not like this, please."
"Fine." He stared down at her, his jaw tightening, then he released her, his handsome face mottled with anger. "Have it your way." The words exploded from his lips and he pushed past her, thr
owing open the door. Rain lashed into the room, instantly soaking them both.
"Where are you going?" She placed a timid hand on his arm. She'd never seen him this angry.
He shook off her hand and turned, his hair already plastered to his head. "Out."
"But the storm . . ." She gestured toward the torrent of rain pounding the paving of the patio.
"It beats the hell out of being here, with you." Each word was clipped, designed to wound. She flinched as if she'd been struck, watching helplessly as he headed out into the storm.
"Alex, wait." She followed him, the wind snatching away her words. He was only a dim shadow now, moving down the path toward the beach, illuminated at off moments by a flash of lightning. She took a step toward his retreating figure, surprised at the strength of the wind. For every step forward, it seemed to beat her back two. She sniffed, her nose filling with rain and tears.
Coughing, she fought her way forward, urged on by the dark silhouette of her husband heading for the beach, feeling the wet sand suck at her feet. Alex was almost to the dock, his frame bent at the waist as he tried to maneuver. Their little sailboat bobbed violently in the roiling ocean. Surely he wasn't going to try to go out in that?
"Alex," she screamed. Again the wind tore away her words, throwing them back at her with an almost angry savagery.
She neared the ocean's edge, still a hundred feet or so from Alex and the boat. He'd managed to climb out on the dock. In the recurring lightning, she could almost make out his features. It was like watching him in strobe lighting. There and gone, there and gone, there and . . .
A violent clap of thunder split the night. For an instant, Alex was illuminated clearly. Behind him, green in the eerie flash of light, a huge wall of water served as a backdrop. There was a roaring sound and she opened her mouth to scream.
