by LENA DIAZ,
“Mel?” Warm hands gently smoothed her hair back from her face. “Honey? It’s okay. We’re okay.”
She peeked between her fingers. Jace was leaning over the console, his face inches from hers. She looked around. They were sitting on the shoulder of the road. Parked. As if nothing had happened. She very slowly lowered her hands.
“We’re . . . we’re not dead?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “No. But it was close there for a few seconds. We had a blowout and hit some ice.”
“A blowout?” She looked out the passenger window. The guardrail about fifty feet back was twisted at a crazy angle, one section completely missing. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
He put his hand beneath her chin and forced her to look at him. “We’re okay. That’s all that matters.”
She threw her hands around his neck. “We almost died.”
He hugged her tight and ran his hand up and down her back in a soothing motion. “But we didn’t. We’re okay. Everything’s okay.”
She clung to him until she quit shaking. Then she forced herself to let go and sit back. She pressed her hand to her chest. “My heart’s still racing. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life.”
“You and me both.” He smiled and kissed her softly. “Better?”
She nodded. “Better.”
“Let’s see what kind of damage we’re dealing with. Come on. It’s safer if you’re not in the car when I jack it up to change the tire.”
The flat was on the front passenger side. When Jace got the spare and the jack out and headed around the car to change the tire, he froze.
Melissa winced on his behalf. She’d already seen what he was just now seeing. The whole side of his car was dented in, from front to back. And the paint had been scraped down to the metal. “I’m so sorry about your car.”
He feathered his fingers over the worst of the damage. “It’s not just a car. It’s the last project I ever did with my dad. We searched for months through junkyards until we found this door. It took years to complete the restoration.”
“Last project? Your dad, he’s . . . gone?”
“Lung cancer.” He shook his head in disgust and went to work on the flat.
“I’m so sorry.” She smoothed the hood, which thankfully didn’t look damaged all that much . . . except for the bullet hole it was sporting from earlier.
He didn’t answer. He frowned as he inspected the hole in the tire.
She sighed and settled in for a wait. But it seemed like only a minute or two had passed before he’d put the spare on and they were driving down the road again. He’d been incredibly fast. If he ever got tired of being a bodyguard, maybe he could make a living as an auto mechanic. Or a pit-crew member for a professional racecar driver.
Once they were safely off the mountain, the tension drained out of her shoulders. A few minutes later, they’d pulled to a stop beneath some trees a few hundred yards from her father’s house, off the road hidden from view.
When he cut the engine, she let out a sigh of relief and laughed. “I guess your Navy SEAL motto was right after all, huh? The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday? Who’d have thought after everything else that we’d almost get done in by a stupid accident?”
He pulled something out of his jacket pocket and tossed it in her lap.
She frowned and picked it up. It was a tiny piece of charred, twisted metal with a little wire hanging from it. “What’s this?”
“A remote-control detonated charge. That’s what I found sticking out of the hole in the tire when I changed the flat. The blowout wasn’t an accident. Someone just tried to kill us.”
CYPRIAN RAN HIS finger along the back of one of the dining-room chairs, checking for dust. But as usual, everything was pristine. His dear Silvia was most efficient. He wished he could instill that kind of work ethic in all of his employees—not that Silvia was just an employee.
She chose that moment to enter the dining room through the opposite archway, a glove on her right hand as she checked the cleanliness of the buffet and straightened a painting that was slightly off-center.
“Silvia, dear, everything is perfect. As always. Thank you.”
She smiled the smile that she reserved for him, a smile that had warmed him in and out of bed for many years. She was a passionate, caring woman, and he didn’t know what he would have done without her help in raising little Melissa after the death of his cherished Isabella and their sons, Marco and Marcelo. And in spite of her hellion son, Stefano, she’d managed to help him ensure that Melissa got the attention she needed in order to grow up well-adjusted, and feeling loved, after losing her mother and brothers.
But Silvia could never replace his beloved, and both of them knew it. He’d done his best to make that up to her, giving her all the money she could possibly need, if not his love. And even though she could have bought any house she wanted and hired her own maid, she’d vowed to stay with him as long as he needed her. Because above all else, she was loyal, as loyal as his own Isabella had been.
It was selfish to bind her to him when he could never give her his name, or the lost pieces of his heart, but he also couldn’t imagine ever not needing her. So she stayed. She was the only person who could keep his oppressive loneliness at bay and help him fight the constant battle against depression.
There were many days when it was a struggle just to get out of bed. And it was only because of Silvia, and the carrot of seeing his beautiful daughter at the office, that he was able to get up. It wasn’t the life he would have chosen. But it was the best he could hope for after having his heart ripped out by a terrorist’s bomb.
She stopped a proper distance in front of him, always formal and maintaining decorum whenever they were outside of the bedchamber. It was one of the things that he appreciated most about her. Politeness, manners, and proper behavior were appallingly lacking in today’s generation.
“Mr. Cyprian, Richard arrived a few moments ago as requested for your dinner party. He said the meal will be ready in precisely one hour.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Silvia. You may retire to your suite for the evening. My guests prefer to maintain their privacy, and they’ll be arriving around seven. You understand.”
Her smile slipped a little, but she obediently nodded and headed out of the dining room toward the back of the house. With her gone, and Richard relegated to his domain, the kitchen, he’d have the house to himself—and the Council, of course, once they arrived.
Sebastian, his constant shadow, had left long ago, at his insistence. There was only so much of his assistant’s smirks that he could stand in one day. And he’d be damned if he tolerated him in his home any longer than necessary. But Tarek hadn’t proven to be quite so amenable. He claimed that Adam Marsh had requested his presence at the meeting. Cyprian didn’t know why Marsh would do that, but he’d certainly make that the first point of discussion. For now, he’d ordered Tarek to take himself off somewhere and stay out of his sight.
He headed through the house and into his office. As always, he paused before the family portrait on the wall to the right of the double doors. A much younger version of himself, sitting at the same cherrywood desk that remained in this office today, stared back at him with eyes that were still full of life and happiness, untouched by the traumatic loss that would happen just a few weeks after this portrait was hung.
Standing behind him, her hand upon his shoulder, was Isabella. Her long dark hair hung in perfect waves down her demure blouse, buttoned to the throat as it should be. And standing on either side of the chair were Marco and Marcelo. Little Melissa cuddled a baby doll at her mother’s feet.
He smiled at the memory and ran his fingers across his wife’s cheek, his sons’ hair. Then he moved to the small table set against the wall decorated with various knickknacks his wife had picked out when they’d built the house. He knew every surface of those dust collectors because he was the one who kept this room clean, not Silvia. She was forbidden to ente
r here.
A five-by-seven photograph taken just a few years ago beckoned him. He picked it up and stared down at his daughter. She was smiling into the camera. They both were. Had she known back then? Wouldn’t he have seen it in her eyes? Hiding the horrors that his duties often required was the first thing he thought of every morning and the last thing he thought of before he closed his eyes at night. Because Isabella wouldn’t have wanted her daughter to be touched in any way by his quest to save others from the heartache he’d had to endure. Isabella would have wanted him to do whatever he could to keep Melissa sheltered and happy. And even though his ongoing quest to find and eradicate any traces of the Serpentine terrorist group had so far failed, he thought he’d succeeded in keeping Melissa ignorant of his activities.
Until today.
His gaze settled on his desk by the windows. He’d been avoiding this for hours, but couldn’t put it off any longer, not with the Council on their way. There were decisions to be made.
After setting the picture frame down, he slowly crossed the room. He sat in his chair and rolled it up to the desk, then picked up what he’d set on top of the cherrywood surface hours ago—a small piece of blue thread.
He’d picked it up from the stairs in his private office as he’d followed Sebastian. And although it had puzzled him at the time, he hadn’t figured out its significance until he’d seen his daughter in that disgusting embrace with Atwell.
And saw the torn and ragged cuffs of her blue jeans.
IT WASN’T AN ACCIDENT.
Those words kept running through Melissa’s mind, chilling her far more than the frigid wind blowing through the trees. She wrapped her arms around her waist, huddling against the cold while Jace finished setting up their equipment.
She still couldn’t believe that someone had tried to kill them. The danger to her, and now to Jace, had never felt completely real until now. And what terrified her more than anything else was not knowing who was trying to kill them. Or why. How could they protect themselves when they didn’t know who their enemies were?
Was it the Council? Sebastian? Tarek? This Watcher fellow? She’d voiced those same questions to Jace, and he’d added another name. Cyprian. She’d shook her head at that suggestion and hadn’t said a word since. Regardless of what else her father might have done, she refused to consider that he could want her dead. It made no sense. He had no reason to kill her. He loved her.
And so, here she and Jace were, together and yet worlds apart, sitting beneath the tarp Jace had rigged over the branches above them to keep out most of the snow. He’d used some kind of thermal insulated blanket on the ground to help block out the cold, but nothing could completely stop the face-tingling chill of winter once the sun went down.
They might have been freezing, but at least the equipment was working, The phone-sized receiver in Jace’s hands brought the conversations in the dining room in loud and clear, so clear that he had to turn the sound down when a Council member sitting close to one of the bugs spoke.
The meal passed like any other. There was a brief mention early on that two of the members might be late, but nothing else was said about them. Did the Council not know that the two members had been killed? And what was the purpose of the meeting?
Melissa was about to suggest she and Jace pack it up and leave when a ringing sound, like someone tapping a wineglass with a piece of flatware, brought conversation to a halt.
“Now that dinner is concluded,” a man’s voice said, “our host, Cyprian, has expressed his desire to petition the Council to end his probation. However, I think it’s far more appropriate to discuss something else first: the fact that two of our Council members were murdered yesterday. By Cyprian.”
IF JACE COULD have saved Melissa this pain, if somehow he could have taken it on himself, he would have. But it was too late. All he could do now was sit beside her and wait for the revelations to stop. And then, if she’d let him, he’d try to help her pick up the pieces of her life.
“You lured them to the motel room with this letter,” Marsh’s voice proclaimed. “You set up an alleged meeting. Your signature is on the bottom.”
“It was supposed to be a real meeting,” Cyprian insisted. “It wasn’t a ruse. Since I haven’t been able to sway your opinion about my probation, I approached them to help plead my case at this meeting.”
“The Watcher saw you go into the hotel room,” Marsh continued. “When you left, the Councilman and Councilwoman were dead. And he found your letter.”
“As I said, I went there to talk. What would I gain by killing them? I needed them here to help my petition.”
“Perhaps they told you they would vote against you, so you killed them.”
“This is ridiculous. I didn’t kill them.”
The meeting continued, with Marsh arguing against Cyprian, and Cyprian proclaiming his innocence. And then Marsh made a motion to remove Cyprian as head of the enforcement arm of EXIT.
Jace closely watched Melissa. Her face was pale, her eyes downcast. Did she realize what was at stake? That if the Council voted to remove her father, they meant it in the most serious possible interpretation of the word? Removal was a death sentence. Cyprian knew too much. If he could no longer be trusted at the helm, he could no longer be trusted with EXIT’s secrets. He’d never live to see another sunrise.
When the debate was over, and the votes were counted, Melissa blinked and finally looked at Jace.
Her father had been given a reprieve. Two days to prove that he didn’t kill the Council members. If he couldn’t prove his innocence in that time, he would be removed as head of the enforcement arm.
The meeting ended, and the sounds gradually faded as the members took their leave. It was a long time before she finally spoke.
“What happened to innocent until proven guilty?” Her voice was scratchy and raw. “How is someone supposed to prove innocence?”
“EXIT operates by its own set of rules.”
She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle. “They said they’d remove him. Do you know what that means? Is it a code word for . . . something else?”
He hesitated.
“Just tell me, Jace. No sugarcoating.”
“Okay. Yes. I believe it’s code for . . . something else.”
She gave him a jerky nod and drew a deep breath. “What do we do now?”
“We go home. Sleep on it. Take a fresh look tomorrow to decide what our next steps should be.”
“What about my father? We have to help him.”
He shoved himself to his feet and started packing up the equipment.
“Jace, please. He’s my father. I can’t ignore what I just heard. This Council is going to kill him if we don’t do something.”
He zipped the duffel closed. “That’s between your father and the Council.”
The flash of hurt in her eyes sent a stab of guilt through him. But what did she expect? She’d read the Hightower binder. She knew what her father had done, what he was capable of. How could she expect Jace to want to protect a monster like that?
He settled the strap over his shoulder, so the duffel was on his back, and held his hand out to her. “Ready?”
Shoving his hand away, she leaped to her feet and started to pass him on her way to the car.
“Don’t.” He grabbed her arm. “Don’t let your anger rule your head. Just because you’re pissed at me doesn’t mean you should go stomping off by yourself. We go together.”
She gave him a stony look but didn’t try to pass him again.
They were almost to the car when a man suddenly stepped out from behind a tree twenty feet in front of them, holding a pistol.
Tarek.
Chapter Sixteen
Someone was going to die.
Melissa crossed the familiar brick pavers of the long circular driveway in front of her father’s mansion, drawing inexorably closer to what had once been her home, too.
Someone was going to die.
Unl
ess she could do something to stop it.
Behind her, Jace was so close that she could feel his heat at her back, even through her coat. She could also sense the tension radiating off him, feel it in the stiffness of his gait every time he brushed against her, hear it in the sureness of his steps, as if every movement was planned, as if he was only waiting for the perfect opportunity. Then he would strike.
And someone would die.
“When we’re almost to the door,” his whisper sounded behind her, “dive down and to the right, then run like hell. Circle back through the woods to my car.”
“Jace, please—”
“Stop talking,” Tarek called out from behind them.
He was closer than before, but not so close that Jace could knock the gun out of his hand. Tarek had made Jace toss his gun, so he didn’t have one. She still had her derringer, only because Tarek hadn’t even considered that she’d have a gun. But what good did that do? There was no way she could win a gunfight with someone like Tarek, especially when he already had his gun out.
So what was Jace going to do? He would sacrifice himself, she knew it, to give her the head start that he thought she needed. Because that was the kind of honorable, brave man that he was.
“Get your derringer ready,” he whispered. “Put it where I can grab it.”
She swallowed hard and did what he asked, even as she debated whether to let him try whatever he was thinking about trying. They were going to the house. Her father would protect them once they were inside. He’d make Tarek stand down. There was no reason for Jace to try anything. It was too dangerous.
He believed her father was evil, that he would kill them both once Tarek revealed that they’d listened to the Council meeting. Jace would probably assume that her father would use that to sway the Council, to make them see that he wanted to protect them. Maybe he thought he could use their deaths to bargain for his life. That’s what Jace would think. Could he be right? She didn’t know. But no matter what, she couldn’t let him do what she thought he was planning to do—trade his life for hers.
