Denial (Careless Whispers #1)

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “And then what?”

  “I meant to hurt him.” My words are confident, strong—the way I wish I were about everything, not just murder.

  “But you don’t know that you did?”

  “Yes. No. Yes.”

  He arches a brow. “Okay. Let’s move to something cut and dry. Do you remember what he looks like?”

  “No.”

  “What did you do with the gun?”

  “I just remember looking at it and knowing I had to use it.”

  “Nothing else? You’re sure?”

  “That’s it.”

  “We don’t know that you even tried to kill him.”

  “I know what I feel.”

  “You also keep saying I’m familiar beyond what is the truth.”

  “No one else I’ve met feels like you do to me.”

  “Case in point,” he says. “Your mind is sending you messages you aren’t always reading right. You can’t jump to conclusions until you fully recover your memory.”

  “What if it was Niccolo?”

  “He’s alive.”

  “What if I tried to kill him?”

  He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his phone, punches a couple of buttons, and then offers it to me. “Niccolo.”

  I close my hand over his and take the phone, staring down at the image of a man in his thirties with curly dark hair and dark eyes, dressed in an expensive fitted suit. And I wait for the familiar feeling to follow, but it doesn’t.

  “Anything?” Kayden asks.

  I shake my head and look up at him. “No, but you just said my memory is not working right. Maybe it’s not. I mean, Niccolo is hunting me.”

  “I’m not convinced it’s because you tried to kill him.”

  “Then why would he be chasing me?” I ask.

  “That’s what we need to find out.”

  “What if ‘he’ was someone close to Niccolo?”

  “We’ll go through pictures of everyone close to him once we’re at my place.”

  “Go home with you?” I say. “Are you crazy? You have to see that I can’t do that now. I have to go underground.”

  “Gallo won’t leave this alone if you do. He’ll chase you down and document it all.”

  “I can call him. I’ll convince him I’m fine.”

  “He won’t settle for a phone call that could be coerced. Even seeing you in person, he’s going to check every piece of your puzzle. You need to hide in plain sight, exactly where no one will expect Ella to be. And you do it with me.”

  “Adriel could have died instead of those men. Anyone around me is in danger.”

  “They have to find you first, and obviously I don’t believe that’s going to happen.” He stands and takes me with him. “Let’s give Matteo his house back and go to mine.”

  “You’re sure I shouldn’t go underground?”

  “I never say anything I’m not sure of.” He reaches down and laces his fingers with mine and starts walking toward the door, and I let him for one reason and one reason only: if he’s wrong, we’re both dead. I can’t think of any agenda he could have that makes that work for him.

  An hour later, Kayden and I are in the Rolls-Royce again, and he pulls us out of the garage, into a downpour. “I can’t believe it’s still raining like this,” I say, watching the splatter hit the front window over and over.

  “Be glad it is,” he says, cutting onto a narrow road I assume leads to one that’s more drivable. “Because I promise you, the weather made the search for you a little less aggressive and bought us some time.” He motions to the file. “Test time. Full name?”

  “Rae Eleana Ward,” I answer as he turns onto yet another narrow road.

  “Birthday?”

  “July 20, 1988,” I answer, and suck in a breath as he maneuvers the car around a corner and onto a path so narrow I am certain we’re going to crash. “Holy crap,” I say, grabbing the door handle. “Are all the streets this narrow?”

  “Most of them, yes.” He cuts me a sideways look. “Makes you appreciate my motorcycle a little more now, doesn’t it?”

  “I’d rather walk, thank you.”

  “Motorcycles are fast and efficient. You’ll get used to riding them.”

  “No,” I say, a thought hitting me. “I can’t get used to anything. My passport is only good for ninety days.”

  “I have a plan,” he says. “I always have a plan.”

  “Matteo?”

  “Yes. Matteo.”

  We take another crazy narrow turn and I cover my eyes. “Yep. Walking for me.”

  “Walking’s certainly popular here. In fact, you can’t drive in certain neighborhoods, this one included, unless you live in the area and have approved plates.”

  “What neighborhood is this?”

  “It’s called Trastevere, and thanks to several American colleges in the area, it has a large population of English speakers.”

  “I’m relieved to know I’m not such an outsider here. Do people speak English near your house?”

  “It’s not as English-friendly as Trastevere, but it’s close. And we’re here.” He cuts into a driveway, and I gape at the towering structure in front of me, two steps barely visible in the midst of the rapidly falling rain.

  “Kayden. It’s a castle.”

  “This area is largely medieval, but yes. It’s a castle, and it has one of the few garages in the neighborhood.” He hits a button and a door begins to rise.

  “I can’t imagine living in a castle,” I say. “Is it remodeled like Matteo’s place?”

  He makes a disgusted sound and pulls out of the storm to drive down a ramp. “I wouldn’t destroy history the way Matteo has in a place that was once a work of art. I’ve done some restoration work, but made an effort to keep the original architecture in place.”

  “How long have you lived here?” I ask. The garage is big enough to hold a mini car lot inside, and from what I can tell from the rows of sport vehicles and motorcycles, it does. He hits the button to seal us inside and kills the engine. “I inherited the castle five years ago.”

  Inherited. The meaning of that word is unmistakable. Someone died, and some part of me aches with a hurt that runs deeper than the moment. I cut him a look to find him resting his wrist on the steering wheel, staring ahead. “Are you alone, like me?”

  “Not like you,” he says, still not looking at me, his body rigid, like his voice. “No one I’ve lost is coming back.”

  My gut twists into knots, and I look away, wondering about the family I may have lost. No. I have lost. “Mine are gone, too,” I say, my voice cracking with the admission.

  “You don’t know that,” he says, and our heads turn at the same time, gazes colliding.

  “I do. I just wish I had their memories to hold onto.”

  “Memories are the enemies that never die,” he says, turning away and shoving open his door, leaving me with the pain carved in those words that I am fairly certain he didn’t want me to hear. But I did, and they speak to me, diving deep in my soul with the blood of my own loss, and taking root. I say I want my memories back, but I’m not so sure I really do. It’s an idea I reject as I shove open my door and stand.

  Kayden is already at my side of the car, and I face him, the door between us. “If the memories die, so does everyone we loved. That might be okay with you, but it’s not to me.”

  His jaw tics, but he offers me no agreement or disagreement, a wall firmly placed in between us as he says, “Let’s go inside.”

  I step around the door, letting him shut it, my gaze scanning the four motorcycles to my right, and beyond them three cars with Jaguar logos. “Do you have a thing for Jaguars, or just cars in general?”

  “Just the Jaguar F-TYPE, but I won’t turn down anything else that catches my eye.”

  My attention shifts to a sleek, shiny blue sports car directly in front of the Rolls-Royce. And I walk toward it, stopping by the passenger’s door to examine the curve of the hood. Kayden steps to my s
ide and I glance up at him. “How rich are you?”

  “I inherited a substantial amount of money and I have my own.”

  “Translation. You’re so crazy rich it’s almost dirty.”

  He laughs, his eyes flashing with wicked heat. “I like everything a little dirty.”

  I blush, having no doubt that’s true, and refocus on the fancy vehicle in front of us. “This isn’t a Jag, right? It’s a race car?”

  “It’s a Pagani Zonda, and yes, it’s designed for the racetrack. They only make twenty to twenty-five a year.”

  “Do I even want to know how much something like this costs?”

  “A million dollars, give or take, but in my case, it was a gift for a job well done.”

  I whirl around to face him. “What do you do to earn a car like this?”

  “The client wanted to pay me in cash but I wanted the car. That was my price to do the job.”

  I do not miss the way he’s dodged my direct question and I try again. “Price for what, Kayden? What do you do?”

  “I work for a group called The Underground. We call ourselves Treasure Hunters. If the price is right, and in this case the car was the right price, we find just about anything for our clients.”

  I remember the tattoo on Matteo’s arm that matches Kayden’s. “Does Matteo work for them, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Nathan?”

  “No.”

  I dare to reach for his arm and study his tattoos, confirming that the one on his wrist is a square with a king chess piece inside. I glance up at him. “Matteo has this too.”

  “Everyone in the Italian division of The Underground has it.”

  My thumb caresses the script up his forearm. “And the writing.” I glance up at him. “What does it say?”

  “It’s an Italian proverb. Once the game is over, the king and the pawn go back in the same box.”

  I close my hand over the words, and it is as if they burn my palm. “In death we’re all equal.”

  Surprise flickers in his eyes at my understanding of the meaning, but he’s no more surprised than I am. “Yes,” he confirms softly. “In death we are all equal.”

  “Why that proverb?”

  “It’s a reminder to us that no one, no matter how powerful, is better than The Underground.”

  I reach for his other arm, and trace the image of a bird with bright blue extended wings etched across his wrist. “A hawk?”

  “Right again.”

  “Why a hawk, Kayden?” I ask, wanting, needing, to understand this man.

  “It’s symbolic of me being a protector. I’m the leader of this division of The Underground, thus the protector of those reporting to me.”

  “Like you’re protecting me.”

  His eyes burn through me, and there is a swell of response in me that borders on longing. “Yes,” he agrees, a velvety quality to his voice. “Like I’m protecting you.”

  I am seduced by this man, easily able to forget the questions in my mind, but I do not allow myself more oblivion to add to what is in my mind. “What kinds of things does The Underground find?”

  “Whatever the client wants. It could be a car. A painting. A computer file, in Matteo’s case.”

  “Do you break the law?”

  There is a slight clench to his jaw, but his reply is instant. “Everything we do is not simple.”

  The absence of denial is confirmation, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. “What did you find for the man who gave you the car?”

  “His ex-wife, who ran off with his money.”

  My throat thickens. “You found a person?”

  “Yes,” he confirms, his expression unreadable. “I found a person.” Kayden covers my hand where it rests on his arm. “Just like I found you so no one else could. And no one else will. No amount of money will change that.”

  I think of the car. “A million dollars is a lot of money.”

  “I already have a lot of money.”

  “What about the other members of The Underground?”

  “The only ones who know about you are my inner circle; they won’t betray us. Besides, it would take a lot more than a million dollars to get the attention of any one of them.”

  “What if it’s a lot more?”

  “You’re safe. You have my word.” He releases me abruptly and steps back, and I can almost feel that wall slam between us again. “Let’s go inside.”

  I frown, not sure what just happened, but then, this is my life, and what’s new? I want to ask, but one look at the steely set of his jaw and I decide better. I’ll figure him out inside. I walk toward the door, curious about his home, about him, this man who is my reluctant hero. I’m aware of him following me, and once I am at my destination, he is there too. My hand closes on the knob, but before I can turn it, he reaches around me, his hand covering mine, his warmth stealing the slight chill of the garage. “When I said you were safe,” he says softly, a hint of wickedness in his voice, “I meant from everyone but me.”

  And somehow I know he’s testing me, asking for my trust when, for whatever reason, he doesn’t believe he deserves it. He doesn’t know what I know. Right, wrong, or dangerous, I already trust him. He steps back from me, and I don’t look back. I open the door and enter a corridor where a winding stone stairwell awaits me and start up the path that leads to both the king’s and the wolf’s domain. And with nothing but the clothes on my back and the purse he bought me, I am truly at his mercy.

  ten

  A wave of nerves settles deep in my belly and radiates lower and lower with each concrete step, and I really have no clue why. Oh yeah. I have a wolf at my back. A really sexy, rather cranky wolf, who I’m apparently about to be living with. In other words, he really does have me at his mercy, as he’s unapologetically made clear. So why am I not afraid of him? Nervous, yes. Afraid? No. Kayden does not scare me, and unlike last night, when I ran, I don’t seem to fear my lack of fear anymore. In fact, as I reach the top of the stairs and a huge dungeon-style dark wooden door greets me, my nerves are quickly replaced with the excitement of seeing the castle.

  I quickly thumb down the door lever and shove it open, entering into a foyer with yet more stone beneath my feet, and I discover a giant winding staircase on the opposite side of the stunning room. In awe, I happily give Kayden space to enter behind me and cross to the center of the room, seeing towering dungeon doors to my left and right. Turning in a circle, I admire the intricate trim work around the walls with what appear to be handcrafted roses. There is a flicker of a memory in my mind that I reach for, though I do not believe it’s about this place, but another. He sent me roses. Dozens of roses. I frown, not sure where the words came from, but nothing else follows, and I let it go to look up and inspect the conical ceiling, with more of the same design dissecting it into quarters.

  Kayden joins me, stopping in front of me, his eyes half veiled, his energy dark, his expression all hard lines and shadows. “It’s gorgeous,” I say, when he doesn’t speak. “How big is it?”

  “There are three towers in total. The central tower behind us is about eight thousand square feet. The east and west towers, divided by this room, are both around six. Adriel, his sister, and the housekeeper live in the east. You’ll be staying with me in the west.”

  I’ll be staying with him. This pleases me, though I suspect he simply wants to ensure I don’t lead him on another race through the rain and frigid temperatures.

  “This way,” he says, motioning toward one of the dungeon doors.

  I nod and follow him, watching as he keys in a code and then hits a button, and the massive wooden door begins to lift. “The door is code protected,” he tells me, “with an alarm if it’s breached. I change the code once a week, and each wing has its own code. Right now, ours is one-nine-eight-nine.”

  “One-nine-eight-nine,” I repeat. “Got it. Is the central tower empty?”

  “Adriel runs a high-end collectibles store out of it.”
r />   “High-end collectibles?” I ask as we enter yet another foyer, with an archway directly in front of us that appears to lead to some sort of sitting room. “What do you mean by ‘high-end’?”

  “Anything and everything, all high-dollar items, many of which are museum-worthy.”

  “That can’t be as profitable as treasure hunting.”

  “Yeah, well, his father was killed on a hunt two years ago when his sister was sixteen. She blames The Underground.”

  We reach the next level and enter another foyer, and before he can continue forward, I grab his arm and stop walking. “He died because of a hunt?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what you do is dangerous.”

  “We each choose the jobs we take, and accept the danger that comes along with them. Generally the higher the payday, the greater the risk.”

  “And Adriel’s father, what was he after?”

  “A file that proved a certain pharmaceutical company had faked the results to clinical studies to get FDA approval. Which I damn sure found and turned the payday into a trust for Giada. She gets it at twenty-five.”

  “How much was it?”

  “Ten million.”

  I gape at the astounding figure he mentions so nonchalantly. “You gave her ten million dollars?”

  “Yes.” Tightness forms around his mouth. “I gave her ten million dollars, but all that money doesn’t bring their father back, and it damn sure didn’t stop the pain.” There is a hint of rasp to his voice, and he cuts his gaze to indicate the room beneath the arch and the end of the topic. “You have to enter the living area to get to the kitchen. It’s well stocked, and Marabella, the housekeeper, picks up anything I need. She’ll do the same for you. She has a whiteboard on the counter to leave a note.” He points to the walkway forking left and right of the arch. “You’re left. I’m right.” He starts walking left.

  I fall into step with him and enter a chilly corridor with high ceilings. We pass what looks like a library, and he motions to a set of stairs. “There’s a full gym on the next level if you want to work out. And this,” he says as we reach the door at the end of our path, “is your room.”

  This is your room. The words echo in my head, and again, I have a memory of another time and place. He opens the door, and I enter ahead of Kayden to find myself in a much warmer room that is truly made for fairy tales. The spectacular bed is the centerpiece, thick, high posts of mahogany towering ridiculously high and draped with sheers. A white wooden fireplace is alight and sits to the left of the bed and directly in front of me, with a comfy-looking brown leather chair next to it.