The Empire

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “And yet Isaac’s birth certificate is missing,” I point out. “And that message pointed us to another birth certificate. Maybe another sibling. Are you sure that birth certificate doesn’t somehow disinherit my mother?”

  “Positive. Your mother inherits upon my father’s death unless she’s had an affair that can be proven in court.”

  “An affair? That’s where my mind went earlier. I said—was he cheating and my mother found out? What if she was having an affair instead?”

  “There’s no indication of an affair. Blake would have told us that.”

  “Are you sure?” I press.

  “Blake would have told us,” he repeats.

  “Call him. Have him look for one. Have him dig.”

  “He’s already looking, baby. I promise.”

  “Please call him. Just make sure he’s actually looking at my mother as a villain, not a damsel in distress.”

  “Harper—”

  I lean in and kiss him. “Don’t protect her to protect me. I need to know what’s real.”

  He cups my face. “We’re real, baby. If you think that changes when this is over, it won’t. Wait and see.”

  “The sooner this is over, the sooner we prove you right. Call Blake.”

  “If it will make you feel better, I’ll call.” He dials Blake and talks for all of three minutes. “Blake says he’s already taking a deeper look at your mother, to help us be ready for her tomorrow. He’ll look for an affair. Until tonight, he didn’t consider it an option, but now he agrees. It’s worthy of a deeper look.”

  “What about news on the birth certificates?”

  “He has one of his men working backdoors to get Isaac’s birth certificate. He’s going to work on it all night. I’m not sure where that leads, but we’ll find out soon.”

  “What about the other birth certificate? Who is that man? What was his name?”

  “Ryan.”

  “Okay. Ryan. Why were we sent a coded message with his information? With his birth certificate of all things.”

  “Blake says he’s going to have a full update tomorrow morning, but he’s found a business link to my father.”

  My brow furrows. “Why would we be given one of your father’s business contacts as a lead? Is it a mob connection, maybe? Have they been involved with the mob longer than we know?”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me in the least,” Eric says, as the doorbell rings with our food delivery.

  He stands and walks to the door. I twist around and call out. “You might want to zip up your pants before you open that door. That prize is all mine.”

  He laughs and zips up. “Happy now?” He opens the door.

  A few minutes later, we’re chowing down and sipping wine when a thought hits me. I set my slice down and twist around to face Eric. “Is Ryan more than your father’s business associate? Is he the man my mother is having an affair with?”

  “He’s dead, Harper. Remember? He’s been dead for years.”

  “Right. He’s dead. And dead people can’t speak from the grave.”

  “But obviously someone is trying to do it for him. He’s important. We’ll find out why.”

  I nod and accept what I can’t change now, and that’s our ignorance on too many topics. For the next few hours, we talk and strategize how to handle my mother tomorrow. We debate all the ways this could go, and somehow I start telling Eric stories about her and my father to support her being a warm, loving mother. When our stomachs are full, our minds numbed with wine, my mother is still in the air, on her way here to try to hurt the man I love, and that defines her more than the stories. “I’ve been trying to convince you that my mother couldn’t order the murder of your father.”

  “Convince me?” he challenges. “Or you?” We’re on the couch, side by side, facing each other, both with a leg on the cushion between us.

  “Me. I’m trying to understand why my mind went there. Why I thought she could be responsible for any of this but my answer isn’t in the past. It’s in the present. In her current behaviors. She knows you matter to me yet she’s coming after you.”

  “She knows he killed my mother,” he says. “It’s not unreasonable for her to believe that I did this.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “Is that a question, Harper?”

  “No. It’s not a question. Is that a test?”

  His eyes narrow on me. “She’s going to try to turn you against me.”

  “She already tried and failed.”

  “In person is different than on the phone, baby. You know it and I know it.”

  “She can’t turn me. I’m with you. All the way.”

  I lean into him and press him back against the cushion, the two of us stretching out long and close on the cushion, our bodies folded forward into each other. “I’m with you,” I promise.

  “And I’m with you,” he says, rolling onto his back and settling me on his chest, but we don’t speak again.

  He’s thinking, and I hate the idea that he’s thinking about us. That’s he calculating our odds of making it past tomorrow.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Harper

  I wake with a jolt to sunlight and sit straight up to find Eric standing at the window, fully dressed, staring out at the new day, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Oh God,” I murmur. “How long did I sleep? How did I not know you were up? And where is my mother?”

  Eric turns to face me, sunshine lighting his blue eyes with a hint of gold, the stretch of his black T-shirt over his perfect chest, awakening all the parts of me that hadn’t yet caught up until now.

  “Easy, baby,” he says, crossing to sit down next to me. “Have some coffee.”

  I reach up and stroke my fingers down the damp tendrils of hair curling at his temples. “I wish you would have woken me up.”

  “We both fell asleep on the couch. I woke about an hour ago and you never even moved. Obviously, you needed rest.” He presses his cup into my hand. “Now you need caffeine.”

  “My mother—”

  “Is in a hotel room sleeping. She didn’t get in until a few hours ago. Her flight was delayed.”

  I breathe out, relieved that I haven’t woken up to hell, but then, I’m with Eric. That isn’t hell at all. It’s heaven, and for a moment, I revel in the fact that I’m here with him. That I fell asleep in his arms. That I get to fall asleep in his arms every single night from here on out. I hope. It’s what I want. I think it’s what he wants as well. I sip the coffee. “It’s delicious,” I say, savoring the chocolatey flavor like I’m savoring this moment with this man. “What is that?”

  “Reese’s peanut butter cup creamer.”

  “Okay, no wonder. That’s sinful.”

  He laughs, his lips curving into a smile, and God he has beautiful lips. Why can’t I just think about this wonderful coffee and this sexy man’s mouth all day and night? “Drink my cup,” he says. “I’ll grab another.” He stands up and heads toward the kitchen, a hero who gives away his Reese’s coffee for his woman. What more could a girl want?

  More of him.

  I want more of him.

  Exactly why I stand up and follow him, remotely aware of the fact that my hair must be standing on end, and my make-up smudged everywhere, but I don’t care. I feel that comfortable with Eric. I feel that at home here, and so very easily, and that’s a bit surreal. Everyone wants that kind of comfort with another human being, but how often do they find it?

  Eric makes a beeline for the coffee pot and reaches above it to a cabinet to remove another cup. I stop at the island behind him. Obviously aware that I’m here, he eyes me over his shoulder. “You should explore the cabinets. Find out what’s here. We can go shopping.” He fills his cup and turns to me. “We need to make this your home, too.” He walks to the fridge, grabs the creamer and pours a healthy dose in with his coffee.

  “You’re here.” I set my cup down. “That’s all that matters. I don’t care about the superficial things. I care ab
out us.” I think about his comments last night. About him asking me if I believe in him. “You know that, right? Nothing she says will change that.” I don’t have to name the “she.” We both know it’s my mother.

  He puts away the creamer and steps to the island across from me. “I know, baby. I know.”

  “Then why am I not at her hotel right now getting this over with?”

  “We need to watch her. We need to see who she meets. What she does.”

  “No, I don’t want to wait. I’ll make her talk.”

  “We need to step back—”

  “No more stepping back. We need that peace you claimed for us yesterday to last. I need that. You need that. I’m going to shower and then I need to just go see her, Eric.” I sip the coffee. “Decision made. I need to get this over with.”

  “We need—”

  “Each other,” I say leaning on the counter.

  His eyes warm. “Yes. We do. I need you, Harper. Don’t forget that.”

  “I hate that you feel the need to remind me of such a thing. I can’t forget I need you. I didn’t for six years. Why would I start now?”

  “You know—”

  “That I need a shower and to get this over with for both our sakes.” I turn and head for the bedroom, snatching my phone from the coffee table on the way.

  I half expect Eric to follow but his cellphone rings, and I fight the urge to turn and find out who’s calling. I need a shower. I need to be dressed. I need some semblance of control and that feels like it comes from my mother. This idea quickens my pace and it’s not long before I’m under the spray of warm water, suds in my hair, and try as I might, I can’t stop thinking about Eric downstairs, about the call that had to be some kind of news I don’t know.

  I finish up and once I’m out of the shower, there’s still no Eric. It feels off. It feels like I need to get downstairs. I hurry into the closet, pull on a pair of dark jeans, a lacy pink blouse, and boots. I hurry through my make-up routine and then start drying my hair. That part isn’t fast and it’s driving me nuts. Finally, it’s dry, flat ironed, and I’m about to head downstairs when my cellphone rings. I glance at the caller ID, and the international number sets my heart racing. I grab the phone and quickly answer. “Gigi?”

  “Yes. Listen quickly. They’ve found me. I need to tell you before I can’t.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “I need to,” the line cuts out, “and then,” more static. “Isaac is,” more static. “And your mother knows the truth about Eric. She knows, Harper. I’m sorry, but—” There’s a pounding sound. “Oh God. Oh God. They’re here. It’s over for me.” She sobs. The line does dead.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper, and quickly dial Blake.

  He answers on the first ring. “Blake, Gigi just called me. I couldn’t make out half of what she said but someone was there for her. She was scared.”

  “I picked up the call,” he says. “We’re tracing it. More soon.” He hangs up. Obviously, this is time sensitive. I grab the sink. The truth about Eric. What does that even mean? Well, I know it’s not good. I know that already but why is it that Gigi seems to be warning me of? I don’t understand any of this. I push off the counter and turn to exit the bathroom when Eric appears in the doorway, his hands on either side of the archway. His expression is taut, jaw hard, eyes haunted.

  “What happened?”

  “He’s dead.”

  I jolt with the words. “Your father?”

  “Yes. My father.”

  Shock radiates through me. He’s lost his father and the fact that he hated him only makes this more confusing to him, painful in ways that torment and cut. And perhaps more devastating. He’s lost the final link to his mother. I close the space between us and wrap my arms around him, holding him, but he doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t move, but I can feel his body humming. I can feel the savant in him, battling to take control and if that part of him wins, I know the numbers will cripple him. And I know this is the part of him that he dreaded me ever seeing.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Harper

  Lies. We can hide from the truth, but we can’t hide from death. It finds us all, often sooner than we expect .Eric’s father’s death has shaken him. I know this. He still hasn’t moved, hasn’t touched me. “Touch me,” I order, tilting my chin up to look at him. “Let me help.”

  “I’m fine,” he says, his eyes steely, the lines of his face all dark shadows and torment.

  I reject this answer. I reject his withdrawal, his refusal to let me inside the pain I know that he feels. “You’re not fine and you’re not alone. You don’t do this alone. You don’t feel this without me. I’m here. I’m with you. I’m—”

  His hands come down on my shoulders, his forehead settling against mine. “I’m okay.”

  “No.” My hands press to his face. “You’re not okay, but you’re not alone either.” He needs to hear that again. I feel it. I know it. I press on his chest, inch back to let him see the truth in my eyes, to let him feel my presence. “I understand every conflicted feeling you have right now. I understand that you need to melt down and you can do that with me. You don’t have to hold back. You don’t have to fear how I’ll react. I—I know it’s soon to say this but I love you and—”

  His fingers tangle in my hair. “You love me?”

  “Yes. I love you. So very much. You don’t have to love me back. I just want you to know—”

  “Baby, I fell in love with you the moment I met you. You’re why I’m still standing right now. You’re why I—breathe.”

  Tears pool in my eyes and his mouth closes down on mine, his tongue stroking deep, his kiss hungry, edgy, desperate, but when I would sink into him, when I would pull him deeper into our connection, the doorbell rings. “That’s Savage,” he breathes out, tearing his mouth from mine, the torment of that effort radiating through him into me. “He’s taking you to see your mother. You need to tell her about my father.”

  “No.” I wrap my arms around him. “No. I can’t leave you. Not now. Not yet. You didn’t even want to touch me seconds ago. You’re still trying to get a handle on this. You’re not okay.”

  He cups my face. “I’m fine. You love me. How can I not be?”

  “Eric,” I whisper.

  “I’ll be fine until you get back.”

  “You’re not fine.”

  He inhales and walks me backward, pressing me to the vanity, his hands on either side of me. “She’s your mother, Harper. She needs you.”

  “Does she? I’m not sure I know her anymore. Maybe this is what she wants.”

  “Assume it’s not.”

  “What if it is?”

  “You’ll know. You’ll feel it when you tell her, which is why you need to tell her before someone else does. As cold as this sounds, if there was ever a time that your mother would tell you everything she knows, it’s after she finds out my father is dead. But the whole idea here is to make sure no one else ends up dead.”

  “You’re right. You’re right. I have to go see her. I have to go now, I just—”

  He cups my face and kisses me. “I promise you, I’m okay.”

  “Your body is vibrating,” I argue, “I can almost see it. I can feel it.”

  “It’s something that happens when the numbers are flying at me too fast.”

  “How often?”

  “Not often, but the numbers are good for me right now, Harper. They force me to see them, they consume me, while other things might if they didn’t exist.”

  “They cripple you.”

  “Do I look crippled?”

  “Not yet, but—”

  “I’m fine. He wasn’t my mother.” He gives my cheek a quick brush of fingers. “The numbers in my head will keep me sane until you can save me later when we’re alone.” He pushes off the counter and laces the fingers of one of his hands with mine, setting us in motion.

  I snatch my purse as we walk, following him willingly, but my eyes pinch and burn. I didn’t like
his father, but he’s his father. He’s also dead now. That’s hard to process. That’s hard to get my mind and emotions around, but I have to be strong for Eric.

  We start down the stairs and my mind is on my mother. Oh how a week changes things, even a few days. There was a time when I would have been crushed for my mother, fearful for her even, but now I don’t feel those things, and that’s painful in an entirely different way. I’ve lost her and it happened a long time ago. I just wasn’t willing to admit it.

  Eric releases me by the couch and heads toward the door. I hug myself and watch as he opens the door and Savage enters the apartment. Savage who is bigger today than normal, which is a silly statement. He’s not bigger. He just feels really big and broad and towering, perhaps because all of this feels big right now.

  He gives Eric a once over. “You okay?”

  “I hated him,” Eric replies, almost as if he’s reminding himself of this fact, using that detail to shove aside grief.

  “Like I said,” Savage repeats. “How are you?”

  “Pretty fucking shitty,” Eric replies, shocking me with his honesty.

  “Of course you are,” Savage says, his hand catching Eric’s shoulder. “Grayson’s on his way over here.”

  Eric rejects Grayson instantly. “He needs to step back from this until we know more.”

  “I thought he had a massive heart attack?” I question, hurrying to join them, looking between both men. “Is there a question about how he died?”

  “The police are involved,” Savage says. “But under the circumstances, that’s expected.”

  “They have no proof of murder,” I argue. “Right?”

  “Nothing has changed,” Savage states. “There was no one in the room with him when he died. There was no evidence of foul play at this time. All there is that points to a problem is that hotel footage of the man we found entering his room under the guise of being an employee.”

  “Who we know to be an assassin,” I remind him.

  “There’s no proof of murder,” Savage replies. “Maybe your mother can offer insight into exactly what happened the day he collapsed.” His phone buzzes with a text. “Grayson’s on his way. He left Mia behind. He thought you’d want to talk one on one.”