Never once had Rye held Grace responsible for the actions of her stepbrother. She, herself, had pulled away from Rye both emotionally and physically over that following year out of misplaced feelings of self-imposed guilt. Nothing he did had prevented her from slowly fading away from his life…nothing but time could ease her own sentence.
He’d never experienced helplessness before then, and it was something he promised himself he’d never endure again, if at all possible.
The elevator doors slid quietly open, as if taunting him in his last thought.
Rye would have laughed at the irony had he possessed the energy.
He sighed in resignation and stepped into the elevator, pressing the correct floor number. He tried to rub the exhaustion from his eyes, but his attempt only made the burning sensation that much worse. He could only imagine how bloodshot his eyes must look.
“You look like shit,” Cynthia said the moment she opened the door. Her biased gaze dragged over his wrinkled suit and loosened tie, but it wasn’t his appearance she found offensive. It was the fact that Grace had lied to the police on his behalf, regardless that he hadn’t asked her to do so…and he never would have even contemplated such a request. “You should have waited to see her until tomorrow morning. She fell asleep around an hour ago waiting for you.”
Rye had met Cynthia at a few business dinners over the years, usually involving clients who invested money in both funds. It wasn’t an uncommon practice. The one thing he’d noticed right away, though, was the fact that Grace hadn’t told her two best friends about their past history. He didn’t fool himself into thinking it had anything to do with him, and everything to do with her stepbrother’s past.
“It’s not my intention to wake her, so put away your claws.”
He saw Cynthia’s growing smile before he stepped inside and she closed the door behind him. She might not like that Grace had involved herself with Manon Investments’ biggest competitor, but there was a begrudging respect for holding his own in a brawl.
“Cynthia? Is everything okay?”
Laurel Calanthe came around the corner wearing a pair of blue sweatpants and a matching t-shirt. Her hair was tousled, and she was squinting her eyes to adjust to the overhead light Cynthia had turned on in the small foyer.
Laurel had a reputation of being one of the best retail analysts on the street.
He wasn’t going to lie.
He would have given anything to have her on his team, but he didn’t doubt that she would become part of the new fund Smith Gallo would be opening by the middle of next year.
“Apparently, Rye didn’t have anywhere else to stay tonight.” Cynthia slid the security chain home before turning around to address his presence. She was taller than the other two women and barely needed to look up to address him. Her blue eyes were like lasers, but he didn’t take offense at her glare. Loyal friends like this were hard to come by, and Grace was certainly blessed in that department. “You get the chair, Marshall.”
Rye would have argued that his place was in Grace’s bed, but he’d meant what he said a moment ago. It wasn’t his intention to wake her. She needed her sleep, and his delaying the inevitable had nothing to do with the unavoidable argument in his foreseeable future.
“Have you been caught up with what happened this evening?” Laurel asked, her demeanor kinder than that of Cynthia’s treatment. The women had two diametrically opposed personalities, yet the trio had formed a ring of friendship that was rare in this line of business. He did have to wonder how they would react when Grace finally told them the truth about her stepbrother’s behavior, and he truly hoped they would understand her need to protect herself in this kind of industry. “Did you hear that someone planted the knife used to kill Brad into Grace’s vehicle?”
“Yes, I spoke with Justin earlier.” Rye set his suitcase down on the tiled floor of the foyer. They all slowly moved into the living room, purposefully keeping their tones low so that their voices didn’t carry into the bedroom. A quick glance showed him the door was shut, but these walls were rather thin. “Grace and I will be heading into the police station tomorrow morning to meet with Detective Nielsen. We’ll be coming clean about the timeline of the night Brad was murdered.”
“Wait,” Laurel said in confusion, raising her hand as she blinked several times. It was evident that she was still clearing away the cobwebs from what had to be less than an hour’s sleep. “You’re going to do what?”
“Grace never should have lied to the police when they questioned her regarding the events of that night. The truth needs to be told in order to flush out the guilty party. Having her in the crosshairs of someone so unstable isn’t acceptable, and it’s only a matter of time before he or she uses blackmail to impose on Grace to his or her advantage.”
Rye easily made out that Laurel had been sleeping on the couch. Cynthia must have claimed the spare bedroom, but her quick response to his knock told him that she’d still been awake. Was she worried that whoever tried to frame Grace for Manon’s murder would try something else? He wanted to assure them that the building was being watched very closely for any unusual comings and goings, but he wouldn’t divulge information to them that Grace had the right to know first.
“Blackmail?” Laurel rubbed her face as she shuffled her bare feet across the floor. “Don’t you think that would have already happened if it was going to?”
“Not necessarily. It’s evident that someone was fully aware that Grace and I weren’t together that evening. How he or she has come to be privy to that information might very well be all the evidence we need to turn this individual in to the police.”
Rye didn’t need to remind them that no one else knew Grace had lied to the police with the exception of the two women in front of him. With that said, he didn’t believe for a moment that either one of them was the guilty party.
“Who could’ve known that?” Cynthia was wearing some type of lightweight robe that billowed behind her as she spun around to claim a cushion on the overstuffed loveseat. She curled her long legs underneath her, settling in for their quiet discussion. He was going to try to keep it short and sweet, because he needed at least a few hours of sleep himself to function come morning. Tomorrow might prove to be a difficult one. “Grace told Laurel and I that the two of you weren’t together in the early evening hours the night Brad was murdered, but Laurel’s office door was closed when she made that confession to us. Grace hasn’t told anyone else to my knowledge.”
Rye understood perfectly well the reason why Grace had panicked when the police had questioned her for an alibi, as they had with every employee of Manon Investments. Her concern had been for him, though, and not herself. It had clearly not crossed her mind that she’d be putting herself in between a rock and a hard place.
The original plan that night had been for Rye to drive from his house to her apartment for a late dinner, but a flat tire had delayed him by at least an hour. It didn’t help his cause that he’d already been running sixty minutes behind, thus deferring his arrival well over two hours later than their originally scheduled meeting time.
To say he was shocked to discover her false confession to the police had been an understatement. They’d argued for days afterward, which eventually led them to make up in a surprisingly sexual fashion.
That hadn’t prevented Grace from defending her decision, saying that he would have been the police’s prime suspect if he’d had no alibi and no one to confirm his whereabouts or the reason for his delay en route to her house. In doing so, she’d unknowingly opened herself up to becoming a target for some obviously deranged individual.
“Our office doors are rather thin, so I suppose someone could have been standing outside in the hallway listening,” Laurel proposed with obvious reservations, covering herself up with one of the blankets she’d gotten out of Grace’s linen closet. He’d seen that exact same one when he’d gone searching for a bath towel last week. Laurel gripped the plush fabric as she said aloud wha
t they were all thinking. “Which would indicate that the killer wasn’t someone who Brad was in debt to or even motivated by his ex-wife. It has to be someone we are currently working with.”
“Unless, of course, if Meredith Manon was at the office that day,” Rye pointed out, not willing to cut anyone slack. He could tell from Cynthia and Grace’s shared glances that he was right. “So, Meredith did make an appearance at the time you had your meeting.”
The acute anger he’d experienced upon discovering that someone had purposefully targeted Grace had been beyond overwhelming. He wouldn’t allow anyone to make her a target, and he would pull Cheryl into the police station with them if the need arose in order for her to confirm that Grace hadn’t left her apartment building that evening while she was waiting on him. Yes, doing so would open himself up to suspicion, but it was better than having Grace put under the microscope once again.
“Meredith walked in on our morning meeting, but we’d assumed she’d arrived seconds before Paul started to address the employees.” Cynthia twirled a strand of her black hair as she looked off into the distance, clearly trying to remember the details of that specific day. “It was the same morning when Josh Green told the entire office that Meredith and Steve had been having an affair behind Brad’s back.”
“That is certainly a motive for murder, now isn’t it?” Rye pointed out, anxious to meet with Justin at the police station so that this piece of information could be passed along to Detective Nielsen. “Listen, we all need to get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day, and the morning is going to be a gauntlet.”
“And why is that?”
Rye had known Grace was standing in the doorway of her bedroom before he even finished speaking. The heat from her stare had a way of alerting him to her presence. Not that he was complaining. There had always been something about her sexual aura that had his awareness heightened, and it had only grown stronger over the years.
Cynthia and Laurel both stood in unison and vacated the living room without another word. Again, he was astonished at what good friends they were to Grace. There were only two people on the face of this planet that he would trust with his life, and one of them was standing in front of him right now.
Grace was wearing those short shorts that he loved so much, along with a tank top that reminded him of the beloved eighties. Her blonde hair was slightly tousled, but she’d contained most of it with a scrunchy at the base of her neck. She was devoid of any makeup, which was the only reason he could see the tinted blemishes underneath her eyes that conveyed the stress she’d been under since yesterday morning.
At least he could alleviate some of her anxiety, though he wasn’t sure what her response was going to be considering her moment of weakness would then become public knowledge.
He actually debated on closing the distance between them, picking her up so that her legs wrapped around his waist, and carrying her back into her bedroom to love her the way she deserved until she collapsed into a deep sleep. But delaying the inevitable wouldn’t be good for either of them.
That wasn’t to say it wouldn’t have been a nice distraction. The sexual tension between them hadn’t been alleviated in the least during the past few months that they had begun seeing each other regularly. Hell, half the time they barely got in the door before their combined tangle of clothing was hitting the floor.
Rye would have given anything for tonight to have been in the same realm as their usual trysts. Unfortunately—and he hated to admit this—there were some things that were completely out of his control.
“Grace, I’m having Justin meet us at the police station tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.” Rye automatically stood when he saw the immediate tension settle in her shoulders. He should have chosen option A. To prevent himself from closing the distance between them, he crossed his arms and remained where he was to avoid the upcoming backlash. She would no doubt fight him on this decision, but he refused to have her become a target for Brad Manon’s killer. “We’re going to clarify our alibis with the police and amend our statements. Our lies—”
“You mean my lie, don’t you?” Grace unfolded her arms and took a step forward, her soft baby blues darkening as she harnessed the anger at his good intentions. “All you did was cover for me after you learned the truth. We should leave well enough alone. After all, I’ve been cleared. There’s no need to rock the boat needlessly.”
Rye grit his teeth at her stubbornness. Why was she always making things difficult between them? It hadn’t always been this way.
“You call being targeted by a killer being in the clear? Someone obviously knows that we gave false statements to the police.”
“And that someone’s plan backfired, so he or she is back to square one.”
“No, square one would have been you telling Detective Nielsen the truth that night.” Rye ran a hand through his hair in frustration before venturing into territory that was bound to be even more explosive than coming clean with the police, but he needed an answer to something. And he needed it now. “I’ve had enough of this cat and mouse game, Grace. Tell me the truth. Why are you so hell bent on protecting me when I don’t need it?”
“Because I didn’t protect you when you needed it the most.”
CHAPTER THREE
Grace was more than exhausted; she was downright shattered with fatigue. All she wanted was to step into his embrace, have him kiss her the way she needed to be kissed, and then make love to her until everything else around them faded into nothingness.
That wasn’t going to happen.
She should have stayed in bed and ignored the low murmurs of conversation that were no doubt about her future. Well, she still had some say in how that panned out, and Rye would just have to accept that she wasn’t the gullible woman who fell for her stepbrother’s charms years ago.
She’d grown into an independent career woman, and one who more than welcomed the reins in the palms of her hands—she needed them.
Grace just wished they were having this discussion after she’d gotten a good night’s sleep. She ran her hands over her face in hopes of lasting long enough to have the conversation she and Rye should have had months ago. Hell, make that over six months ago when she’d walked into a dinner party and saw him standing there across the room.
“Is that really what you think?” Rye asked, his disbelief evident. She wasn’t sure why he would be surprised by her declaration, considering she’d been honest about why she’d left him all those years ago. These past few months they’d spent in each other’s beds didn’t erase their past. “That you didn’t protect me from your stepbrother? I thought we’d left all that baggage in the past.”
Grace sighed audibly in submission, now wishing this conversation was over with so that they could both get some sleep and start tomorrow as if it were any other normal day on their agendas. She slowly made her way over to the couch so that she had time to formulate a response that wouldn’t be open to questioning. The sooner they got this out of the way, the better off they both would be.
Surprisingly, Rye didn’t try to touch her as she brushed past him. They’d been acting like horny rabbits, making up for lost time. No matter how many times they had sex, whether it be in bed, up against the wall, or in the shower…nothing dimmed their sexual desire for one another.
Rye keeping his distance tonight was for the best, because her mind failed to work properly when her body came into contact with his. She needed every ounce of mental fortitude she had not to commit to something more than…what did they have?
Grace hadn’t even told Cynthia and Laurel the entire truth about her past with Rye. Were they currently in the bedroom with a glass pressed against the wooden door, listening in on the conversation? She wouldn’t blame them, but this wasn’t how she’d wanted them to find out about her sordid past.
How could she explain that her stepbrother had traded inside information to bolster his personal portfolio at the expense of his integrity, truly believing he
wouldn’t get caught for his crimes?
Brandon Walsh had a side to him that was purely materialistic and greedy. It was one he’d kept well hidden, and he’d fooled Grace into believing in him. She’d been conned, just as the elderly man who had been swindled out of his two hundred dollars by Big Bertha when she’d stolen his wallet. He was just another victim of the same old game of bump and slide.
Grace had been in her thirties before her mother had married her stepfather. Hardly anyone in the business had even known that she and Brandon had been related.
Having a criminal in the family, no matter if it was by marriage, wasn’t something that she liked to talk about…with anyone. And honestly, by the time she’d formed friendships with Cynthia and Laurel, too much time had passed to bring up such a delicate topic out of the blue. They probably would have choked on their wine, so she’d technically saved their lives by her omission.
Unfortunately, she’d been the one stupid enough to recommend Brandon to Rye back in the day, and all because her mother had asked Grace to put in a good word for her stepbrother.
Brandon’s betrayal had cut deep, and Grace had blamed herself for Rye almost losing everything he’d worked so hard for. After all, he wouldn’t have hired Brandon if she hadn’t vouched for her brother’s skills as a trader.
The blame lay solely at the tip of her high-heeled shoes.
“We could rehash history, but we’ll only end up running in circles without being able to resolve anything more than we have before.” Grace crawled underneath the blanket that Laurel had grabbed from the linen closet. The remaining warmth enveloped her, helping to chase away the cold hard truth. Or maybe that was due to actually having this long overdue conversation. Rye was right. It was better to get this over with, leaving the final decision in his hands. “I was the one who almost cost you your firm and your reputation. That is fact.”
“You’re covering ground that we’ve already gone over, Grace. It’s old news, and your take on it will never match mine. Brandon had acquired a reputation for timing the market just right in order to gain an edge for those few extra pennies that made a massive difference on most trades over one hundred thousand shares. One after another after another. He was arrested for insider trading. As far as I was concerned, that was the end of it.” Rye slipped his hands inside the pockets of his black slacks. It was easy to tell he’d curled his fingers into fists, effectively showing her that he still had residual anger, regardless of his denial. “No matter how much I loved you back then, I still did my due diligence. Brandon’s employment at my firm was on me, not you. You were just a reference, and one of many, as I remember it.”
Motive Page 3
