Twenty Hours in Boston

by Priscilla Darcy

  "This is very bad. I told you that."

  "I know, but I didn't understand...” Gray took a deep breath. “...until she showed up in my office with bruises on her neck. What are my options here, Mark? I only have one, right? I should be cooperating with the FBI. All the way."

  "I think so, yes."

  "And are they going to listen to me?” Gray asked bitterly. “Are they going to believe that I'm not the one behind all this?"

  "I've been telling them this from the beginning. If you go to them in a gesture of good faith and ask for their assistance ... Even if they don't believe you, they won't be able to ignore the evidence. Someone else is behind this, Gray. The FBI will figure that out eventually."

  "You have a lot of faith in law enforcement."

  "I guess it's habit."

  Gray sighed. He wished desperately that his life was different. He wished he wasn't mired in this money-laundering quicksand from which he felt he was never going to emerge unscathed. He wished he could just pick Aubrey up and take her home and sleep next to her and wake up next to her and make love to her and then lie in bed all day talking. Instead ... “Arrange a meeting with them in the morning."

  "Consider it done."

  Gray sighed again and glanced at Mark, who was sporting quite an impressive black eye. What a memory to have in those first family pictures taken with little baby Justin. The thought managed to make Gray smile, amazingly enough. “You look like hell,” he said.

  Mark blinked, as if required to switch gears in his head. Then he chuckled. “My only consolation is that the other guy looks worse."

  "You know what I find truly upsetting about this whole affair?” Gray inquired, making a conscious effort to maintain the light attitude between them. “I've been paying you this whole time and you've been getting a paycheck from the FBI, too."

  * * * *

  Aubrey woke alone in Gray's bed. She had no recollection of actually getting to Gray's bed, but she was there. And, as usual when she woke up, the other side of the bed was empty.

  There was a hum of a voice from the adjoining room. Probably Gray, she thought. Possibly Gray. She was suddenly terrified it wasn't Gray, as she pulled herself out of the bed and over to the closed bedroom door and stuck her ear against it.

  "Well, yes,” Gray's voice said. “Of course. As soon as I can."

  Thank God. Breathing a sigh of relief, Aubrey opened the door and walked into the living room. Gray was fully dressed in a charcoal suit, with the phone pressed to his ear. He had his back to her but as she walked into the room, he turned and smiled at her in greeting. Smothering a yawn, she sank onto the couch.

  "All right. I love you too,” he said and hung up the phone. “Sophie,” he told Aubrey. “Wanting to know when I'm coming to visit her. Because naturally the world revolves around her. Good morning.” He leaned over and kissed her very lightly.

  "Do you ever sleep?” she asked by way of reply, frowning up at him. He sounded bright and chipper, but he looked ever-so-slightly bleary-eyed.

  He gave her a crooked grin. “Not lately, no. I'm too keyed up."

  "You're running on adrenaline. You're going to collapse."

  "And isn't that why you're still here instead of someplace safe like Maine? To catch me when I collapse?” he inquired mildly. “Croissant?” He handed her one from a platter of them that she just noticed on the coffee table.

  She took the croissant and tore off a flaky piece. “How did we get home last night?"

  "I drove us. I was still wide awake. It amazes me how you could sleep with all that was going on."

  "How's the baby?"

  "Splendid, according to Mark. Just beautiful. They named him Justin."

  "That's a nice name. And Monica's okay?"

  "Yes."

  "And what about you and Mark?"

  Gray sighed. “We're in a bit of a holding pattern. At any rate, he made an appointment for us to meet with the FBI. He seems to think this is a step in the right direction."

  "I have to agree. Surely the FBI will be able to figure out who's really behind this more efficiently than you can."

  "Well, they haven't demonstrated this so far,” Gray mumbled. “Anyhow, I'm meeting Mark in the lobby and we're going off to the meeting. I've arranged for you to work on my mother's portrait this morning."

  Aubrey paused in the act of reaching for another croissant, looking up in surprise. “What?"

  "She's expecting you in her suite."

  "What made you think you could dictate what I'm going to do on any given day?"

  "The fact that yesterday you were almost killed and I'd do pretty much anything to make sure you're not almost killed today and if that includes fighting with you over this, that's fine, as long as I get my way in the end. You, my mother, my sister and my brother can all be in one place so that security can keep track of you that much better."

  Because she didn't want to get almost killed either, she had to admit his plan made a certain amount of sense.

  Not seeing any protest, Gray decided his wisdom had been accepted. “I have to go,” he said, leaning down and planting a kiss on her forehead. “As soon as you get ready, call Danny, and he'll escort you to my mother's suite. I'll be back as soon as I can."

  * * * *

  I can't believe,” Sophie grumbled, “that Gray is first, too busy to come and see me, and second, holding us prisoner in this suite."

  "Your brother has his reasons,” Moira answered simply, keeping her head tilted at the angle Aubrey had requested.

  "I bet Aubrey knows his reasons."

  Aubrey looked up from her canvas. Sophie was collapsed over the couch in dramatic misery, frowning firmly in Aubrey's direction. Aubrey lifted an eyebrow and went back to carefully delineating the outline of Moira's profile.

  "So?” Sophie demanded. “What is up with him? He has been acting so not himself lately."

  "He's busy,” Aubrey answered shortly. “He has a lot of balls in the air right now. You need to give him a break."

  "What kind of answer is that?"

  "Babe,” contributed Dirk, “maybe you should just give it a rest for now."

  Moira rolled her eyes, unseen by Dirk, who was intensely involved in the bag of chips he was munching on.

  "Stop pacing,” Sophie snapped at Doug.

  Doug, who had indeed been pacing, obeyed—but only momentarily.

  Aubrey sighed and concentrated on her painting. All these people had to do was sit in a suite together all day, and Aubrey was fairly frightened they would start killing each other before long.

  "Can I talk to you for a second?” Doug finally asked her abruptly.

  Aubrey looked at him in bewilderment, then at Moira, then back at him. “Well, I guess so. We'll just take a break here.” Aubrey put down her paintbrush, followed Doug into the adjoining bedroom.

  "Those bruises on your neck,” Doug began.

  "Oh. Don't worry about them."

  "No, I ran into Danny last night, after you and Gray took off, and he told me something about someone trying to kill you. It's true, isn't it?"

  Aubrey sighed. “Doug. No one is actually trying to kill me. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  "This may be getting out of hand. I may be in over my head here."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I really thought it would be harmless,” Doug said. “No one would ever know, right? And I could make enough money to pursue my music career."

  "Your music career?” Aubrey repeated in confusion.

  Doug looked crestfallen. “Yes. You remember. I told you. I compose music on the clarinet."

  That's right. She remembered now. She tipped her head and said slowly, “Doug, what are you trying to tell me here?"

  "I'm trying to tell you that it was never my intention that anyone get hurt. Especially you."

  Aubrey looked at him steadily for a moment. She knew she should be having some sort of reaction, but instead she felt absurdly c
alm and collected and almost unsurprised. As if she were so shocked that shock was manifesting itself as a total lack of surprise.

  "Doug,” she said, still speaking slowly, as if she wanted to make sure that he understood every word she was saying, “are you trying to tell me that you've been allowing Dennis Halcourt to launder money through this casino?"

  "Well ... I guess you could call it that."

  Aubrey didn't know what to do, what to say. She regarded Doug helplessly while she tried to process the information. Doug. When Gray found out that it was Doug, his own brother...

  "Oh, Doug,” she said and finally she began to feel something like anguish. “How could you do this? Why would you do this?"

  "I told you,” he answered defensively, indignantly. “I made enough money to pursue my music—"

  "But you already have money, Doug. You have plenty of money."

  Doug scratched his head in a sheepish manner. “I kind of ... Well, I spent that money."

  "You spent it?” Aubrey repeated, in disbelief. “All of it?” She had no real idea of how much money was actually involved, but if Doug and Sophie's father Simon had been rich enough to own casinos and hotels...

  "I told you. My music is expensive."

  "Oh, Doug. I don't think you realize what you've done. Gray is going to ... This is going to kill him. Think of what you've done to him."

  "I haven't done anything to him. It's you I'm worried about."

  "Me? Me? Forget about me. I wasn't the person that guy wanted to kill yesterday. He would have preferred to kill Gray. Gray is the one who is actually in danger. And not just of dying, Doug. This casino is his life. Haven't you realized this about him? And the FBI has been investigating him for months because of this. How can you not have known what you were doing to him? How can you have...?"

  She shook her head. “It doesn't matter. We just need to fix this. As quickly as possible. Gray's meeting with the FBI today. They're going to work together to figure out who's behind the money-laundering. We have to warn Gray that it's you. We can't let him just stumble upon it, or let the FBI tell him."

  Doug looked chagrined. “We have to tell Gray?"

  Aubrey was momentarily speechless with amazement. “Of course we have to tell Gray! He is going to find out sooner or later! And you've just admitted that this wasn't what you intended, that this whole thing has spiraled out of control. Don't you think we have to tell Gray? Gray will help."

  "Gray will gloat,” Doug responded sulkily. “About how he's never done anything this stupid. About how he never would."

  "Doug. This is kind of stupid."

  Doug glared at her.

  "I'll tell Gray,” she decided. “You don't have to be there."

  Doug brightened immediately. “Really? You would do that for me?"

  Oh, yeah, she thought. Because Gray might kill Doug. Especially if Doug broke the news in this petulant, defensive fashion. She didn't really relish the task, but she would do it, she decided. If she didn't do it, she could only see total disaster ensuing.

  * * * *

  Gray didn't look good when he trailed in from his FBI meeting. He looked tired, as she would have expected, but also drawn and a little out of sorts. She guessed that the meeting did not go well.

  He covered up all that, as he usually did, smiling jovially at Sophie as he kissed her cheek. “How are you feeling?” he asked her.

  "Oh, now you're all concerned,” she drawled.

  Aubrey blended a bit more paint, trying to capture the exact shade of Moira's hair.

  "I'm sorry I didn't stop by to see you earlier. I've been busy.” The apology was perfunctory.

  "Aubrey told us that, too. She wouldn't tell us what you've been busy doing."

  "It's personal."

  "How come Aubrey gets to know? Sleeping with you carries special privileges?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes, it does,” Gray replied without missing a beat, and walked over to look at the canvas.

  "How's it look?” his mother asked. “She won't let me look at it."

  "Well, it doesn't look at all like you,” Gray answered.

  "I haven't really done anything yet,” said Aubrey. “I'm working painstakingly."

  "I can tell. Hello, Doug. Hello, Dirk.” Gray did a very good job of pulling off a nod and a smile in Dirk's direction almost as warm as the nod and the smile he sent in Doug's direction.

  "So have you cleared everything up you were worried about?” his mother asked him.

  Oh, if Moira only knew, thought Aubrey. She seemed to think it was nothing but a passing flurry of activity on his schedule, easily dealt with.

  "Mostly,” Gray told her, making it look as if this were true. “Just a few more loose ends. I'm going back to work."

  "Do we still have to stay cooped up in this suite?” Sophie demanded.

  "What would you rather be doing?” Gray inquired mildly, which seemed to stump Sophie.

  "Gray,” Aubrey said, putting her palette and brush down firmly. She had better get all this over with sooner rather than later. “Can I talk to you before you go?"

  Gray looked surprised, but pleasantly so. Aubrey desperately wished she was asking for privacy in order to better share a few clandestine kisses. She wished desperately that things could just once be so simple between Gray and herself. “Sure,” he said.

  "Can we maybe go to your suite?” she asked. She would rather not break this news while Doug was just in the other room.

  "Sure,” he said again agreeably.

  "Wait, now the two of you get to leave this room?” Sophie protested.

  "Hey,” Gray informed her matter-of-factly, as he held the door open for Aubrey, “I already told you. We're special."

  "How was the meeting?” Aubrey asked him as they walked down the hallway to the elevator bank.

  Gray seemed to consider the question. Then he looked at her as he called for the elevator. “How did you think it would be?"

  "Well, did they believe you? About you not being behind the money-laundering?"

  "No. I don't think they believed me for even a heartbeat.” The elevator doors opened with a ding. Gray entered behind Aubrey, swiped his card, punched in his code. “Mark was very supportive, tried very hard, and they certainly pretended, but I think that they think I'm only doing this because I'm guilty as sin and I think it'll look good."

  They stepped out into his foyer and Gray continued. “I'm sure that they will somehow be able to twist my willingness to work with the FBI to find the money-launderer into positive proof that I actually am the money-launderer. The only way I'm going to convince them is if I actually expose the real money-launderer, and I'm going to have to rely on Mark to do that for me.” Gray sighed. “So. I should try to do some actual work. I've been neglecting everything."

  Aubrey wanted desperately to say something comforting and supportive. “You have a lot on your mind.” Sure, something as innocuous as that had no problem coming out.

  "Yeah. Thank you for worrying about me, but I emerged from the inner sanctum of the FBI relatively unscathed.” Smiling, he kissed her almost negligently at a random spot below her ear. “Even though I know they must be driving you crazy—"

  "Gray, I need to talk to you,” she blurted out.

  He pulled back a little, looking down at her with concern. “Is something wrong?"

  "Yes, actually.” She looked up at him anxiously, swallowing thickly. “Maybe we should sit down."

  "Sit down?” Gray now looked full-fledged alarmed. “Aubrey, you're scaring me."

  "Gray, I was talking to Doug and he—” She stopped and gathered himself. “We were talking about..."

  "What the hell did Doug tell you?” Gray demanded. “If he said anything—anything at all—about me in some stupid childish attempt to win this competition he thinks we have going on over you—"

  "No, no,” she said quickly. “No, no, it's nothing like that, it's not...” She took a deep breath. “Gray, Doug's been ... He's been acting as
the insider for Dennis Halcourt."

  Gray looked at her for a long moment. Just looked at her. “See, the thing is, you look like you're serious about that,” he said finally.

  "I am serious about it, Gray."

  "You think Doug is the one laundering money through the Bienvenue?"

  "I don't think it, I know it. He told me."

  "He told you that he's been laundering money through the Bienvenue?"

  "Gray, I don't think he's the one actually doing the money-laundering. I think he's the insider allowing Dennis Halcourt access."

  "What makes you think this?"

  "He told me, Gray."

  "He told you? After all this time, Doug was suddenly besieged by an attack of conscience and told you?"

  "Yes. He ... Things have taken a violent turn lately, Gray. To his credit, he's not too happy with it."

  "Things have taken a violent turn lately,” Gray repeated. “Dammit to hell, did he think it was an ideal situation before? I've been running around like a ... like a ... I've been drowning in ... This doesn't make sense. Not at all.” He narrowed his eyes at her, as if he thought she might be lying. “Why would he do this?"

  "Money, he says. He's doing something with music and the clarinet. I don't know the details. He just claims he needs the money.” She was feeling exhausted. What must Gray feel like, she thought, if she was this shattered?

  Gray muttered a curse, tearing his hands through his hair as he walked away from her. Then he shouted the curse. And then he did something that she should have predicted.

  He kicked the wall.

  Hard.

  Aubrey winced in sympathy. Gray limped and swore some more. “This is all my fault."

  Other than the swear words, those were the first actual words that he spoke, as he paced in a tight circle around the foyer. Aubrey supposed those words were as predictable as kicking the wall had been. “Gray, this is not your fault."

  "Yes, it is. Yes, it is. I was the one who pushed for them to have all the money, all at once, and now he's obviously burned through it and he needs more."

  "Gray, it is not your fault that Doug was irresponsible with his inheritance."

  "Don't you think I should have watched more closely what he was doing with the money?"