But Aubrey asked the question she really wanted to know the answer to. “Were you dating her in October?"
"No,” he answered—maybe too quickly. It was fine that he had had women before, but she didn't want to be the other woman. The one he'd taken to bed while ignoring the girl waiting for him back in Vegas.
She shifted. “Look me in the eyes and say it."
He did, meeting her gaze. His eyes were clear, settled periwinkle. “I wasn't dating Rosie in October. I'd broken up with her weeks before that. I wasn't dating anyone in October."
She believed him. He looked too sincere to be lying. “That's good to know."
"That would have won me disapproval, huh?"
"Much disapproval."
"But has it won me approval?” he asked, cocking a single eyebrow at her.
"Hmm. Maybe."
"Maybe?” he scoffed, dipping his head to plant a kiss on the inside of her elbow.
She took the initiative, pulling his tie up and over his head.
"I'm going to absolutely ravish you,” he mumbled, catching her hand as it tossed the tie away and planting a lingering kiss in the center of her palm.
She smiled at him. “Ravish me?"
"Ravish you,” he repeated, sliding his tongue over her pulse point just to hear her sigh. “Absolutely ravish you.” He lifted his head to worry at her earlobe. “So that you know how much my heart is in my throat over the unthinkable possibility that I might never be able to do this again.” He darted a kiss over her eyelid and she made a small noise. “Ravish you,” he breathed over her mouth.
"Gray...” she said, although she didn't know if she meant to continue speaking, to tell him something, or just meant to—
"Ravish you,” he repeated, and was just about to kiss her senseless when the gong rang out through the penthouse.
Aubrey jumped a mile.
Gray swore, rolled away from her, punched a button by his bed that she had never noticed before. “What?"
"Just checking to make sure everything's okay, Mr. Delamonte. Mark said—"
"Yes, everything's fine,” Gray told him shortly, and turned back to Aubrey. “Mark and his overprotectiveness are going to keep us up all night."
"How often are they checking in on us?"
"Every fifteen minutes, supposedly."
Aubrey sent him a wonderfully wicked smile as she started unbuttoning his shirt. “You really think you need longer than fifteen minutes here?"
He chuckled. “Can you turn the television off?"
"Is that going to distract you?"
"Maybe."
The gong echoed through the penthouse again, startling Aubrey yet again. “You need to get rid of that doorbell,” she informed him balefully.
"I happen to like my doorbell. I just don't like all these people visiting me.” Gray punched the button again, sighing. “What?"
"Do you have a second?” his brother Doug asked.
Gray glanced at Aubrey, who nodded. “Yeah, I'll let you in,” Gray told him, then turned back to Aubrey. “I'm sorry. I need to talk to him."
"It's fine. We're going to be up all night anyway, right?"
"I'm not really concerned about—I just want to make sure I'm paying enough attention to you. I'm not really sure how I'm supposed to be acting."
"Normally,” she begged. “I really just want you to act normally. Go talk to Doug. I really don't mind. I'll be fine."
"I'll just be out in the living room. You can hang out there if you want."
"But I'll be fine in here, I promise.” And she didn't really want to deal with the awkwardness of encountering Doug right at that moment.
"Okay,” Gray agreed. “If you're sure."
"I'm sure,” she assured him.
Gray left her there, sitting in the middle of the bed, and rebuttoned his shirt as he walked out into the foyer and let Doug in.
He walked into the foyer saying, “Hi."
"Hi,” Gray answered dryly. “Where the hell have you been? After the whole close call with Sophie, you could have at least breezed by to make sure your little sister was okay."
"I came as soon as I got the message,” Doug retorted sourly. “How is Aubrey?"
"Don't worry about Aubrey."
"I'm not trying to steal her. Unlike you. How long did you wait before you made your move?"
Gray scowled. “This is not a competition between the two of us."
"Oh, no? All of a sudden Aubrey's your type? You didn't want me dating her from the very beginning."
"What makes you think Aubrey isn't my—"
"Gray,” Aubrey said, walking into the foyer holding a piece of paper that she was looking at with perplexity, eyebrows drawn together. Doug, looking annoyed, moved a little away, sticking his hands in his pockets.
Gray smiled at her genially, evenly, all smoothly assured calm. “Yes?” he inquired.
"Did you see this?” she asked.
"What is it?"
"It was taped to the watercolor, and I—” She looked up at him. “I'm not sure what—"
"What is it?” he asked again and looked over her shoulder.
It looked like a standard memo, filled out to a name he didn't recognize. Parts of it were helpfully highlighted for him.
...no verifiable connection between Delamonte and the money-laundering taking place at the Bienvenue...
...the Aubrey Thomas angle may deserve closer attention...
Gray's eyes danced over the words, dropped to the signature at the bottom of the page.
The same signature he received on the daily reports his head of security passed across his desk.
Gray swore.
"Is it a set-up, Gray?” said Aubrey quizzically. “I mean, obviously the person who tried to kill me left it here for—"
Gray swore again, as pieces and more pieces fell magically, finally, into place in his head, with sickening, dull thumps that rattled his being.
"Gray?"
"It's not a set-up,” he told her flatly. “Mark ... Oh, Mark is getting a visit from me.” He strode purposely over to the elevator, whose doors instantly opened for him. Aubrey had to scurry to make it into the elevator with him before they closed.
Doug just managed to get out, “What—?” before the doors silenced him.
"Gray, maybe we need to calm down,” she decided. There was a simmering quality about him that she didn't like.
"Calm down?” he repeated. “Calm down? I don't think so. My life is falling to pieces around my ears here.” The elevator opened. Gray marched down the hallway to the main elevator. “Falling to pieces. And my best friend is hastening the catastrophe."
"I'm sure he's not—"
"I don't know why I didn't see it. I mean, why didn't I see it?” He marched onto the elevator and she followed helplessly. “Mark's never wanted to work here. How many times did I ask Mark to work here? Why wasn't I suspicious? All of a sudden he decides to take the job, so why wasn't I suspicious?” The elevator opened on the lobby and Gray headed out, walking swiftly, forcing Aubrey to run to keep up with him.
"Gray, I'm serious. I don't think we should do anything right now. I think you need a second to calm down—"
"I'm not going to calm down,” he snapped at her. “I've been too calm for too long, while things were getting out of hand. My car. Now!” he barked at a valet, who looked at him in alarm. Then he whirled on Aubrey. “He's investigating you, you know. Doesn't that make you angry? He thinks you have something to do with the money-laundering. He thinks you're running around pretending people are trying to kill you and faking being a Red Sox fan."
Aubrey gaped up at him in amazement. Then she demanded, “He thinks I pretended being almost strangled?"
"Yeah, see, now you'd like a piece of him, too, wouldn't you?"
The car pulled up, quick service even for Gray Delamonte. He must look especially threatening. Which was good. He wanted to look threatening.
Aubrey slid into the car next to him.
&nbs
p; He looked at her. “Maybe you shouldn't come."
"I'm coming,” she informed him firmly. “You have a look in your eye that I don't trust. I'm coming to make sure you don't end up accidentally killing someone."
"I'm not going to kill anyone,” Gray denied. “Mark and I are just going to have a conversation.” Gray then shifted into drive in a way that belied the fact that he just planned on having a conversation with Mark. “We are going to have a conversation about exactly how stupid he thinks I am. That would seem to be pretty stupid. And it turns out that I actually am pretty stupid. Because I had to wait for the people who are actually stealing money from me to tell me what was going on right under my nose."
"Gray, that's why I think we should maybe tackle this calmly. Whoever left the memo for you to find obviously has an ulterior motive here. He's not doing it out of the goodness of his heart."
"All I do is sit around worrying about who's betraying me,” Gray continued as if she hadn't spoken at all, taking a corner far too quickly. “And it never even flittered across my consciousness that it might be Mark. And then there's Mark telling me that the person betraying me is you. Again, how stupid does he think I am? That I could be that easily played by you? See some red hair, talk some baseball, and I lose all ability to think for myself, right?” To punctuate the last word, Gray slammed on the brakes in front of a neat, picturesque Las Vegas house with a well-manicured lawn.
Gray, full of energy, bounced his way up the front walk. Aubrey, accompanied by dread, followed him gamely and was surprised when he knocked, delicately and politely, on the front door.
"Who is it?” a woman's voice called.
"It's Gray,” Gray answered with the familiarity of a friend announcing himself, while his eyes glinted with restless fury.
After a second the door opened, apparently pulled open by a toddler who said with delight, “Unc-ray!"
Gray fell from force of habit into the adoring uncle role. He sent the baby a smile and, obeying her unspoken command as expressed by the extension of her arms, picked her up, saying, “Hello, Madison, love.” He kissed her cheek.
"Unc-ray, look!” exclaimed Madison, pouting, holding up her finger.
"Oh, what did you do?” Gray asked, expressing appropriate chagrin over the small cut on her finger. As he spoke, he was walking into a family room, Aubrey trailing behind, where an enormously pregnant woman was collapsed on a couch.
She smiled at him in greeting. “Gray. This is a pleasant surprise. You never come by anymore."
Gray leaned down and kissed the woman's cheek. “I've been busy."
"So Mark tells me."
"How are you doing?"
"Well...” The woman sent him a rueful smile and patted her stomach. “Let's just say I've been better."
"This is Aubrey,” Gray said by way of introduction, stepping aside so that the woman could see Aubrey. “This is Mark's wife Monica,” Gray told Aubrey.
"My pleasure,” Aubrey said to Monica, slightly annoyed at having to go through all these pleasantries.
"It's so nice to finally meet you,” Monica replied with a wide smile. “I've been begging Mark to get Gray to bring you by. I've so wanted to meet you. I would have proposed making us dinner, or going out, but I'm afraid I'm barely fit to move from this couch to my bed anymore."
"Where is Mark?” asked Gray, apparently growing tired of this inconsequential chit-chat.
"Yes, splendid, go see Mark so Aubrey and I can talk about you. He's in the back. He was mowing the lawn but now I suspect he's just pretending to be busy and sitting on the patio doing nothing."
Gray headed purposefully to the patio, putting Madison down as he went. Madison followed, but Gray said, “Stay here, darling,” as he slid the door to the patio closed behind him.
Aubrey heard Mark say in surprise, “Gray.” Monica was saying something, but Aubrey moved forward, to the sliding screen door, arriving there just in time to watch Gray deliver a vicious left hook. Mark, caught completely unprepared, reeled backwards several steps before he caught himself against the railing of the porch.
Madison let out a small cry and Aubrey instinctively pushed the child gently toward her mother, and then determinedly slid open the screen door. She was not just going to stand there.
Mark had recovered himself at least enough to dodge the next punch Gray threw at him and to counter, in the process, with a pretty effective blow to Gray's stomach.
"Gray!” he said, dancing out of the way as Gray lunged at him. “We need to talk about this."
"Talk about it?” Gray repeated, narrowing his eyes, watching Mark as he tried to weave away from him. “How stupidly, eternally blind did you think I was that I would never notice that you have been spying on me?” He made his move then, a glancing left blow followed lightning-quick with a couple of dead-on right punches.
"Gray, really!” Aubrey stepped forward just as Mark collected himself enough to ram his head into Gray's midsection and propel him backward against the house. Aubrey found herself frozen in something like shock.
"I haven't been spying on you!” Mark panted.
"How long have you suspected I was the one behind the money-laundering?” Gray demanded, wiping a trickle of blood away from his lip. “Do you still think I'm the one behind the money-laundering?” With startling quickness, Gray launched himself onto Mark, tumbling both of them off the patio where they hit the ground hard.
"Gray!” Aubrey exclaimed in horror and hurried after them.
"You must still think I'm the one money-laundering or you would have told me what you were up to so I could help,” Gray said bitterly, just as Aubrey managed to grab at his shirt.
She gave an ineffective tug, saying firmly, “Gray! Stop behaving like a spoiled little boy. I don't see why you can't settle this like two adults."
"He's the one who thinks you're strangling yourself,” Gray reminded her.
"Haven't we had enough violence for one day?” Aubrey demanded.
And that was when the three of them suddenly became aware of Monica shouting, “Mark!"
"Get off me,” Mark said, shoving at Gray. Gray obediently rolled away. Mark sprang up and sprinted toward the house.
"What did you hope to accomplish here?” asked Aubrey, hands on hips, glaring at him.
Gray wiped again at the persistent trickle of blood on his lip and rose slowly to his feet. His only answer was a mirroring glare.
"Do you feel better?” Aubrey continued scathingly.
Mark, surprising both of them, suddenly darted over and thrust Madison into Gray's arms. “Can you watch her for me?” Mark asked quickly—as if they had not just been attempting to throttle each other.
"What? Sure,” Gray answered—and Aubrey could tell that he answered automatically, just as he automatically caught the squirming toddler against his side. “Is something wrong?"
Mark was already rushing to the house as he threw back over his shoulder, “Monica's in labor."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Baseball, like all professional sports, is a business. But in spirit, at least, the Boston Red Sox belong to the fans.
—Joan Vennochi, Boston Globe November 16, 1999
February 26, 2004
Gray was sitting in the family room watching late-night television in a listless manner. Aubrey, head pillowed on his lap, was sound asleep. Mark paused briefly in the door, feeling both awkward and exhausted. He straggled in and collapsed into the chair beside the couch and said nothing for a long moment, watching the television in the same vapid manner as Gray.
"Well?” Gray prompted after a moment. “How's the baby?"
"Sleeping, healthy, beautiful."
"And Monica?"
"The same."
"Good. What did you name him?"
"Justin. Justin Mark Dailey."
"It's a nice name."
"Did we make the right decision?"
"I would say so, yes."
Mark let silence fall for a moment. Then he said,
“Madison's sleeping?"
"Yes. She was an angel."
"She's usually an angel for other people,” Mark commented dryly. There was another moment of silence. Mark ventured finally, “Gray, I am sorry. I wish I could impress upon you how sorry I am. I know I didn't handle it well, but the minute they approached me with this whole idea that you were—"
"What did you say?” Gray demanded, keeping his voice low out of deference to the sleeping Aubrey. “When they told you they thought I was laundering money? Did you just look at them and think, Huh. Maybe they're right!"
"Of course not, Gray. Of course I told them they were wrong. On the wrong track. I've been telling them that consistently from the very beginning. I know that they are wrong."
"But why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me this was going on in my hotel? Clearly I was clueless. Have been completely clueless for way too long, and you could have told me, you could have prepared me, long before it got to the point where people are trying to kill the people close to me."
Mark hesitated. “I was being ... I should have told you at the very beginning. Once I didn't, I couldn't bring myself to tell you later. I knew you would be upset. Justifiably upset. And I took the cowardly path and didn't tell you because I was hoping that maybe I'd get out of this whole mess without ever having to tell you."
Gray was silent for a long moment. “Why didn't you tell me at the very beginning?” he demanded finally.
"I was worried it might be true. And if I asked you, you would tell me no, but I would never be quite sure you weren't lying."
"But what would ever make you think it might be true?"
"I don't know, Gray. People tell you these things, and my initial reaction was, This is ludicrous, and then the following day I woke up sick to my stomach that maybe I was being a blind idiot where you were concerned."
"We still don't know who's behind this money-laundering scheme."
"No,” Mark agreed.
"So why are you so sure suddenly that it's not me?"
"Because you're a very bad liar. I figured that out when you started lying about how much she means to you.” Mark nodded in the direction of the sleeping Aubrey.
Gray stroked his hand over Aubrey's hair and did not think about Mark's last comment. Instead he said, “This is bad, isn't it?"
Twenty Hours in Boston Page 36
