by LENA DIAZ,
Without taking his eyes off her father, Jace moved his hand on top of hers. She turned her hand palm up, entwining their fingers, grateful for the strength and support he offered her with that one small action.
“Is that why you sent that letter to those two Council members? The ones found dead at that motel?” Jace asked. “So you could set them up, to kill them, so they wouldn’t vote against you in the meeting? Just like Marsh said? All so you could run your precious company because you’re so enlightened and the rest of us aren’t?”
“So you were listening in on the meeting. How?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He shrugged. “I suppose not. But you’re wrong. Marsh is wrong. I sent that letter to schedule a meeting, nothing more. I was set up.”
“By whom?” Jace asked. “Who did you give the letter to?”
“The same man I told to terminate you.”
Jace’s jaw tightened. “Stefano.”
Melissa rubbed her hand across her forehead, soothing the ache that even the pills Jace had given her weren’t touching. “I can’t believe you’re saying this like it’s nothing. You told Stefano to kill Jace. And, what, now you’re saying you weren’t going to kill the Council members, and that Stefano killed them and tried to frame you? Is that your claim?”
“It’s the truth.”
Melissa pressed a hand to her throat. “This can’t be happening.”
The hard mask of indifference on her father’s face cracked, and she caught a glimpse of the loving, caring man she’d always thought him to be.
“You have to understand, Melissa. I had to protect my legacy, preserve the company your mother and I began, for her memory, and your brothers, and for you. That’s why I’m trying to get the Council to drop my probation, to stop stifling me so I can run everything the way it needs to be run.”
“Is that what Jace was doing? Stifling you? So you sent Stefano after him and almost killed me, too?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “Is Stefano the man in the ski mask, too? Did you send him to scare me, to wave a gun at me and force me off the road, because you knew I was investigating EXIT?”
His brow furrowed. “I assumed the man in the ski mask was someone working with Mr. Atwell.”
“Well he wasn’t.”
“Maybe ski-mask guy is the Watcher,” Jace interjected. “What’s the Watcher’s real name?”
“I have no idea. The Council appointed him, but his identity is protected.”
“Could he be Sebastian? Or Tarek?” Jace asked.
“They certainly watch me as much as they can,” he said, his voice sounding bitter. “But I’m able to shake them when I need to. No, the Watcher is someone else.”
Melissa didn’t say what seemed obvious to her, that Stefano was probably the Watcher, that he might be taking orders from the Council and manipulating her father at the same time. She couldn’t say it. Because if she did, her father might try to kill him. He might try anyway because Stefano had almost killed her when he’d gone after Jace.
How had everything gotten so horrible and so royally screwed up?
She closed her eyes, tears flowing down her cheeks. She brushed them away, hating that she was showing such weakness again. Crying had never been her thing, and here she was, crying for the second time in one day.
Jace stood and slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. “We’re done here. I want my car brought around. And I want my gun.”
“It’s in your car. And your car is already parked out front, with the keys inside.”
Jace carefully drew Melissa to her feet. He swiped her jacket from a nearby chair and helped her into it before shrugging into his own. When he bent down to pick her up, she stepped back.
“I’m fine. I’ll walk.”
He didn’t look happy with that, but he let her pass. He kept his hand on the small of her back as they crossed the room and made their way to the front door.
“Melissa?” her father called out from behind them.
Jace yanked the door open and scanned outside as Melissa looked over her shoulder at her father.
“I should have protected you better. I’ll find out who was in that van. And I’ll figure something out with the Council. I’ll find a way to keep you safe.”
She shook her head. “No, Dad. I don’t want you doing anything on my behalf. I know what happens when you protect someone.” With her heart breaking inside her chest, she stepped out the door and didn’t look back.
CYPRIAN STOOD FOR a long time at the front windows in the foyer, looking out at his property, the architectural outdoor lighting casting a soft yellow glow far beyond where the tree-lined driveway disappeared down a hill. This home had been Isabella’s dream. It was an anniversary gift to her. And just a few short years later, she was dead. Along with the sons he’d hoped to pass his empire to.
He pressed his hand against the cold, dark glass, as if he could reach into space and somehow bring his family back to him. His dream had died that day. But he’d done his duty, raising the daughter Isabella had doted upon. And little by little, Melissa had worked her way into his heart, becoming nearly as important to him as his sons had once been. The more he praised her accomplishments in school, the harder she tried—earning the highest marks, winning the attention of only the best and brightest colleges. Her quick wit, intelligence, and business savvy had delighted him and sparked a new dream—one that saw her eventually taking his place at the helm of the enforcer side of EXIT as well as the tour company.
But Melissa had proven to be too soft-hearted, too firm in her convictions, unwilling to bend or see his vision. Every time he’d considered revealing the truth about EXIT to her, something would happen to convince him it would never work, that she could never see the world the way he did. And he’d finally accepted that if she ever found out the truth, then his dreams, all of them, would be over.
“Mr. Cyprian? It is late for you to be up. Is something wrong?”
Silvia. He’d been worried that she might have heard the gunshot earlier, but then he’d remembered she always wore earplugs to bed. A habit born out of necessity from when they slept together, because he tended to snore, and she couldn’t sleep otherwise.
“Nothing is wrong. Go to my room, darling. I’ll be there momentarily.”
She shuffled down the hall to use the back stairs to his master bedroom. It certainly wasn’t necessary, not with the house empty. She could have used the main staircase. But she wasn’t nosey, never asked about his business or whether anyone else was around. It was her habit to always assume the possibility that someone might be around, a lesson learned because of their one failure: the day her then-teenaged son had come into the house unexpectedly and caught them sharing a passionate embrace in the foyer.
After that, Stefano had been impossible to deal with. He was angry that his mother wasn’t good enough to marry and only good enough to screw, as he’d coarsely put it. Stefano hadn’t understood their relationship. He’d rebelled. But once he’d reached adulthood, he’d matured. And they’d come to an understanding.
Little by little, Stefano had proven himself as a tour guide. And later, as an enforcer. When Stefano had seen how arrogant and disobedient Sebastian and Tarek had acted, he’d approached Cyprian, offering to help in any way—the implication being that he’d risk the wrath of the Council by eliminating the two assistants if that was what Cyprian required. He’d proven his loyalty by making that offer, and Cyprian had believed he could trust him completely after that.
Apparently, he’d been wrong. Horribly so. Stefano had played him for a fool. He’d encouraged Cyprian for months to meet with some of the more amenable members of the Council, to convince them to rebel against Marsh and end the probation. He’d even gotten Cyprian to pen a letter, but Cyprian had waited on sending it. He’d wanted to try one more time to convince Marsh first, without going behind his back. But after that disastrous meeting at EXIT, where Marsh had nixed any hopes that he’d support ending the Council�
��s punishment, he’d told Stefano to do it, to send the letter to the Council members, to set up a meeting.
But Stefano had really been setting up Cyprian to take the fall. All these years, Stefano must have been burning up with hatred for him because of his mother. And he’d patiently waited until the right opening came along to destroy him. He very likely was the Watcher. He’d probably eavesdropped on Cyprian’s discussions with the Council and heard they were going to appoint a Watcher. And then maybe Stefano had volunteered for the position so he’d know what all was going on. So he’d be sure that no one was watching him as he set Cyprian up.
Clever. Stefano had been far too clever. And Cyprian had never even suspected that he’d been used. Stefano must have laughed when he’d been ordered to kill Atwell. He must have seen the opportunity to kill Melissa at the same time as the ultimate way to hurt Cyprian.
Ordinarily, that alone would have gotten Stefano a death sentence. But Melissa had turned against Cyprian, too. She’d betrayed his trust and was associating with his enemies. Instead of worrying about her, and what she’d done, and what he should do about it—he should be focused on figuring out how to get around the Council’s forty-eight-hour deadline to prove his innocence.
If he brought them the man responsible for the murder of the two Council members—Stefano—they wouldn’t believe him. Stefano was presumably their Watcher, after all. He was the only person who made sense as the Watcher. They obviously, foolishly, trusted him. So where did that leave Cyprian? What options did he have? How could he salvage everything?
An hour passed as he stared out the windows, immersed in his thoughts, considering all of the possibilities. And when he finally headed into his office, he knew exactly what he had to do.
He sat behind his desk, with Atwell’s forgotten first-aid kit sitting on top. Apparently the man had been in such a hurry to get Melissa away from her own father that he hadn’t thought to take it. Cyprian shook his head, then noted the stains around the kit. The desk’s cherrywood finish was ruined from the peroxide and blood that had dripped onto it while Jace had cared for Melissa’s injury. He frowned and made a mental note to have someone come out as soon as possible to refinish the surface. Thankfully, the phone wasn’t soiled as well. He picked it up and made the first of two calls.
The line clicked. “Marsh.”
“It’s Cyprian. I’m afraid there’s been a terrible accident involving Tarek. I need to see you right away.”
He was proud of himself for keeping his poise during the distasteful conversation. Marsh was his usual arrogant self. But he’d taken the bait. So listening to his condescending comments was bearable.
He keyed another number in.
“Yes?”
“Stefano, did you take care of my last instruction?”
“Uh, yeah. Yes, yes, sir. Atwell’s dead. Like you wanted.”
He smiled. He could well imagine Stefano’s panic and anger when he’d searched along the mountain road to confirm that the car had gone over the railing, only to discover that it hadn’t. He was probably going frantic trying to figure out where Atwell was so he could finish him off before Cyprian found out he was still alive—and so he could play his ultimate card, the revenge Stefano had wanted all along—to punish him by telling him his daughter was dead.
“Excellent. Good work. There’s another task I’d like your help with. But we’ll need to discuss this in person. Yes, the usual place. No, not right now. I have something else to take care of first. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Barely hurts anymore.” Melissa shifted in the passenger seat of Jace’s worse-for-wear car and raised her left arm to demonstrate that she felt fine, in spite of the dull ache that still throbbed where the bullet had grazed her. She forced a smile, hoping her little white lie was convincing. Because insisting she was okay every five minutes when he asked her, again, was really getting irritating.
Jace shot her a suspicious look. “The words coming out of your mouth are in direct opposition to how pale you are. I should take you to the hospital and get you some prescription painkillers.”
“No, you shouldn’t. Neither of us wants to have to explain my injury. I imagine emergency-room doctors can recognize a bullet wound a mile off even if it’s only a paltry flesh wound.”
He winced. “Did I really call it paltry?”
“You really did.”
“Sorry. I really am. I never should have taken you with me tonight.”
“If you hadn’t, if my father hadn’t admitted right in front of me the things he’s done, I’d still be doubting you and trying to argue that you’re wrong, even after reading all those files. I guess it’s just human nature to hope your father isn’t, well, that he hasn’t done all those things. It hurts like hell knowing you were right. But at least my eyes are open now.”
He squeezed her hand.
She looked out the window, but there weren’t many lights in this lightly populated area. Mostly all she saw were the white lines in the middle of the two-lane highway. “Where are we going? We’ve been driving for over an hour, and nothing around here looks familiar. I don’t think we’ve passed another car in the last five minutes.”
“I didn’t want to chance driving through the mountains again, just in case Stefano, or anyone else, was waiting up there for us. I took the long way around.”
“Around to where? Where are we going?”
“Right here.” He slowed and turned into the parking lot of a dilapidated two-story foam-green motel that was off by itself and looked like it had maybe twenty rooms, total. Peeling green-and-white railings framed the second-floor outside hallway. And there were only three cars in the lot, parked at the far end.
“Be still my heart. You sure know how to spoil a girl.”
He parked in one of the empty spots at the opposite end from the other cars. “We can’t risk going to my apartment or your house, not with your father knowing that we know about EXIT. And I don’t have enough cash with me right now to spring for something nicer.”
She put her hand on his. “I was only teasing. I can rough it like anyone else. My only concern is that I don’t have a go bag like you. I’ve got nothing to wear.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Doesn’t sound like a problem to me.”
She slapped his forearm and laughed.
He hurried around to her side to help her out of the car. But she pushed the door open and stood before he reached her.
He frowned with disapproval.
She put her hands on her hips. “Jace, in spite of the mountain of gauze you strapped to my arm, I know I’ve essentially got the equivalent of a skinned knee. So how about stop treating me like an invalid who can’t do anything for herself?”
He opened his mouth as if to argue.
She jabbed her finger against his chest. “Don’t you dare ask me if I feel okay or argue with me that my arm is worse than I’m saying. I’m through talking about it. I assume we’re here to get a room for the night. So let’s get one.”
His sigh could have toppled a tree, but he escorted her to the manager’s office without another word.
Less than a minute later, Mr. and Mrs. John Smith were booked into room eight. The manager didn’t even blink at the made-up names, and barely looked up from the basketball game he was watching on TV to give them a room key.
The door to their bottom floor bungalow was so grimy that Melissa wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be gray or had once been white. “I sure hope the inside is cleaner than the outside.”
Jace dropped his go bag beside them and fit the key into the lock. “That just proves the main difference between you and me. You’re an optimist.”
“And you’re a pessimist?”
“I’m a realist.”
She rolled her eyes as he pushed the door open.
Something whipped past her from above and made a zapping noise. Jace stiffened and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Melissa loo
ked up in horror to see a man dressed in black with most of his face covered by a dark cloth, hanging down from the railing on the second story, holding the other end of a Taser.
“Jace!” She lunged for the coiled wires pulsing electricity through his body. Someone grabbed her from behind. She opened her mouth to scream, and a rag was stuffed inside. The man who’d gagged her slapped a piece of duct tape across her mouth.
She drew back her fist and slammed it into the side of his jaw.
Laughter sounded from the balcony above. Her captor cursed and grabbed her. She twisted and kicked, trying to get away, but he held her arms like a vise. Had her father sent someone after them? How? How could anyone have followed them? Jace had done everything right, checked his mirrors, turned down side roads. They’d never seen any lights behind them.
The zapping noise stopped. Jace lay on the ground in front of the door, his chest heaving, his teeth drawn back in a snarl. He shoved himself to his feet. Bzzzt. The Taser sent another charge through him. He fell to the ground again, his body bowed up against the concrete.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Melissa tried to yell, but it came out a muffled sob against the gag.
A dark-colored van zoomed up beside them. Its brakes screeched, and before it had even stopped, the side door slid back on its rails. A man with a bandana tied over the bottom half of his face and a baseball cap covering his hair hopped out.
No, no, no. Stefano. It had to be. He’d kill them for sure this time. She desperately strained against the man holding her. Her hurt arm throbbed in protest, but all she could think of was getting to Jace. She couldn’t bear it if he died because of her. She cursed against the gag in her mouth and tried to turn around and rake her captor’s eyes with her nails.
The man she assumed must be Stefano yanked a hypodermic needle out of his pocket and flipped off the plastic cap. She bucked like a wild horse, knowing that if he stuck her, she and Jace would both be as good as dead.
“Damn it, hold her still.”
“I’m trying. She’s stronger than she looks.”
