by Shelly Bell
Ryder tapped his fingers on the desk.
The question was, if Evan had added a backup file to the attachment, where would he have programmed it to hide on her computer?
Ryder recalled Jane telling him how Evan and Barbara had used the picture frame to hide the SD card. Could Evan have sent the antivirus program to Jane’s photo folder?
He clicked open her pictures. She didn’t have many, and the ones she did have were clearly work related, so the photo of a yellow smiley face caught his attention immediately. Hadn’t Jane mentioned seeing a smiley face after seeing a flash of code?
His hand hovered over the mouse. What if opening the file caused it to destruct the computer?
He had two choices.
If he picked the wrong one, he’d destroy more than the computer. He’d destroy their only chance of finding out what was on that SD card.
What would he have done if he’d been Evan?
He blew out a breath.
And didn’t open the photo.
Instead, he said a silent prayer that his gut was right. “Let’s see what’s on this thing,” Ryder said, putting the SD card into a flash drive and slipping it into the port on Jane’s computer. He held his breath as he clicked on the card’s sole file.
The screen went dark.
Fuck. It wasn’t going to work.
He waited for the flash of code, but instead, a message popped up.
Jane,
I know you’ll do the right thing. Whatever you do, don’t trust McKay.
Evan
The screen filled with code.
Code he recognized.
Code Ryder had fucking written.
“Tell me what’s going on, Ryder,” Tristan said, now standing beside him.
“It’s the code.” He shook his head. “That fucking code. Evan figured it out and re-created it. It’s all my fault that people are dead. It’s all on me.”
If it weren’t for him, Evan and Barbara would be alive. Dreama wouldn’t be in the hospital. And Jane…
Because of his selfishness, Jane’s life was in danger.
He just had to do it, had to prove to himself and everyone else that he could solve the riddle of the autonomous code. He’d fucking known what would happen if that code fell into the wrong hands, but he’d been cocky and stupid and had developed it anyway.
Tristan paled. “Since Jane didn’t steal Novateur’s designs, how did it end up at McKay?”
Finn didn’t say a word. Instead, he seemed to be finding his shoes entirely too fascinating.
Ryder plucked the flash drive out of the computer and, standing, returned it to his pocket. “I don’t know. But I’m sure as hell gonna find out.”
TWENTY-FIVE
With Maddox sleeping over her shoulder, Jane stared at the home improvement show on the small television hanging on the wall in front of her. How did they make it look so easy? She couldn’t even paint a straight line much less the walls of a house. Maybe that’s what made these kinds of shows so fascinating. There were so many, each one hosted by an attractive married couple. They all seemed to blend together after a while, but she couldn’t manage to look away.
Someone thrust a cup of coffee in front of her.
She looked up at Isabella and accepted it. “Thank you.”
Dreama’s family had already come and gone. She wasn’t sure, but she thought they’d said something about eating down in the cafeteria. Jane had offered to stay in case the doctor came by with some news. The last thing they’d heard, Dreama was in recovery and they were monitoring her closely in case of more clots. She hadn’t woken up yet and the doctors weren’t sure if she would have brain damage when she did.
Dreama had actually died on the operating table.
The doctors had worked on her for two minutes before they’d gotten her heart beating again.
It wasn’t fair. Dreama didn’t deserve any of this. And she feared that her friend would never be the same because of it.
Isabella sat down in the chair next to her. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you go home and take a nap?”
Forcing herself to look away from the television, she blinked the blurriness out of her eyes. “Not until I know that Dreama’s going to be all right.”
Isabella was right. She was exhausted. But it was Jane’s own fault that she’d spent most of the night making love with Ryder rather than getting the sleep that she needed. And she didn’t regret a single second of it.
“If you think she’s not, you obviously don’t know her as well as you think you do,” Isabella said, her voice full of conviction. “Dreama’s strong. She’s not going to let something like a blood clot kill her. My cousin will probably live to a hundred and die while riding reverse cowgirl on some hot, nubile twenty-year-old.”
She didn’t want the image in her head, but thanks to Isabella, it was there anyway—a wrinkled Dreama with a rope in one hand, wearing nothing but a damn smile on her face as she died in a final blaze of glory.
Jane’s amusement didn’t last long now that her guilt had returned with a vengeance. Isabella needed to know the truth. All of Dreama’s family should know. “It’s my fault she’s here.”
Isabella reared back. “What? Why would you think that?”
“The guy who attacked her was looking for something that I have. Or had. Ryder has it now.”
“How does that make it your fault?” Isabella asked, her eyebrows raised in question. “Was it you swinging the bat? Did you tell the guy to hurt her?”
“No, of course not. But I didn’t warn her.”
“So you knew someone would break into the apartment.”
“I should have known it was possible.”
“It’s always possible someone could break into an apartment,” Isabella pointed out. “Why do you think Dreama had a baseball bat in her closet in the first place when she doesn’t play baseball?”
Jane frowned. She’d never thought about the fact that Dreama kept a baseball bat in her closet. “Why does she feel the need to have a weapon?”
Isabella shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not sure. She’s a single woman who doesn’t want a gun in her home. Maybe she figured it would be a lot easier to swing a bat than to use a knife on someone.”
“Her mother said…” What was it? Something about things they never mentioned. Challenges. “Did something happen to Dreama as a child? Was she hurt by someone?”
“Hurt?” Isabella pressed her lips together and lines marred her forehead. “No. Not that I’m aware of and my family talks. A lot. As I’m sure you noticed at Thanksgiving.” She tilted her head. “Why do you ask?”
If Isabella didn’t know about whatever Mrs. Agosto had been talking about, Dreama and her family must have buried it deep. It wasn’t Jane’s place to stir up trouble. She’d just make sure that if there came a time when Dreama needed to talk about it or anything else, she’d be there for her. Just as Dreama had been there for her.
Jane gave Isabella a small smile. “I don’t remember the particulars. I’m sure I just misunderstood.”
Thankfully, Isabella dropped the subject. She put a gentle hand on Jane’s forearm. “Dreama will get through this. She’s the fiercest person I know. I’m not sure if she told you, but a few years ago, I was attacked by an ex-boyfriend and almost died. It was Dreama who got me out of my depression and brought me back to the land of the living. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have met Tristan or have been strong enough to fight for everything I wanted.”
“I don’t believe that. You and Tristan were meant to be. Somehow, someway, you would have found your way to each other.”
Just as fate had brought Jane and Ryder together.
“I’d like to think so,” Isabella said on a smile. It was obvious she was head over heels for Tristan. “The attack on my life changed me. There’s no way that Dreama will be the same person as before, but I guarantee you that eventually, she’ll heal. And she’d never blame you for what happened to her, so don’t beat yo
urself up for it.”
When Jane’s phone rang, she quickly snatched it out of her purse, expecting to see Ryder’s number on the screen. Instead, she recognized Ian’s number.
Why was he calling her on a Saturday morning? In fact, why was he calling her at all?
She put up a finger to Isabella, letting her know she’d only be a minute, and answered. “Hello?”
Needing to stretch her legs, she moved Maddox to his car seat for him to finish his nap and stood, taking her coffee with her to the other side of the room.
“Jane. I heard about your roommate. Is there anything I can do to help?” Ian asked, concern evident in his voice.
She racked her brain as to how he’d found out. “Who told you?”
“Finn.”
Of course.
“I’m good. But thank you for asking.”
“I’ve spoken with your mother and we both would like you to come stay with us for a little while, at least until you find somewhere else to live. I can’t imagine you want to go back to the apartment where your roommate was attacked.”
Right. He didn’t know that she and Ryder were together.
“That’s awfully kind of you, but I’m sure I can—”
“You sound tired. Why don’t you come over to my house and take a nap. Your mother is here and she’s extremely worried about you. We both are. And we can watch Maddox for you while you sleep.”
Sighing, she realized she didn’t have the energy to argue. She’d watched with envy as the Lawsons and the Agosto families leaned on one another during this tragedy. “I’d really appreciate that. Thank you for offering.”
After hanging up, she typed out a message to Ryder letting him know she was leaving the hospital for Ian’s house.
She didn’t know why her own family had chosen now to suddenly support her, but she wouldn’t bite the hand that was feeding her.
Not when she needed it so damn much.
* * *
Tristan parked the car in Keane’s driveway and turned to Ryder. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?”
They’d left Finn back at the offices with instructions for him to look for any evidence tying Keane to the theft of Novateur’s designs or any plans for what Keane intended to do with the code. Because Ryder didn’t for one second believe his father had stolen them simply to go into the restaurant automation business.
This was about something far more dangerous—Ryder’s worst nightmare brought to life.
Ryder slid out of the car and placed his hand above the passenger door as he leaned in to speak to Tristan. “I’m sure. If I’m not out in fifteen or you hear anything suspicious, get the hell out of here. I don’t need Isabella’s wrath raining down on me if anything happens to you.” With that he slammed the door and ran up to the porch.
He wasn’t surprised when Keane’s maid opened the door before he even knocked.
“Where is he?” Ryder asked curtly, not up for pleasantries.
If the maid was offended, she didn’t show it. “He’s in his office, sir. If you follow me, I can—”
He didn’t wait for her to lead him politely through the house. Instead he barreled his way inside and kept moving, knowing perfectly well where the damn office was located, even though this was the first time he’d set foot in the house in more than a decade.
A chill swept through him as he stepped over where his father had killed the woman—his mother—all those years ago. Today he would get retribution for her. He would make sure of it.
The house hadn’t changed in all these years. A beautiful showpiece filled with priceless artwork and nothing of real value. Ryder would take a framed photo of Jane and Maddox on his wall over a Picasso any day.
When he got to the old man’s office, he didn’t knock before he threw open the door and went inside.
His father was at his desk, a glass of bourbon on the rocks sitting in his hand. Just like old times. “Ryder. This is a surprise,” he said pleasantly. “Come in and have a seat.” He gestured to the chair in front of the desk. “Can I get you a drink?”
Ryder stopped by the chair but didn’t bother to sit. “This isn’t a social call. I’m going to get right to the point. Jane had a break-in at her apartment. Her roommate was severely beaten.”
Keane’s skin turned ashen. He covered the left side of his chest with his hand. “My God. Is Jane okay?”
And the Academy Award for best actor goes to…
“She wasn’t home at the time,” Ryder said, knowing damn well the man already knew that.
“Thank goodness.” On an exhale, his father’s shoulders dropped, and he reclined back in his chair. “I’m so sorry to hear about her roommate. But I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”
Keane’s confusion seemed genuine, proving to Ryder once again that his father was the consummate liar.
It was time to cut through all the bullshit.
“Were you behind it?” Ryder asked point-blank. “Did you send one of your men after Jane?”
His father frowned. “Why would I want to hurt Jane or her roommate?”
“Two of your employees have died recently under questionable circumstances.”
Keane tipped his head to the side. “I hardly think a suicide and carbon monoxide poisoning could be considered questionable.”
Oh, he’s good. No wonder he’s gotten away with everything for so long.
“It is when the person who committed suicide had no history of depression and the other died accidentally the next day,” Ryder said, ticking off his fingers. “Two separate events that in any other circumstance would seem unrelated.” He leaned over the desk. “Except I don’t think they are. What is the statistical probability of two people in the same department dying and the third having her apartment broken into in the same month?”
“I understand you’re worried about Jane.” Keane pushed back in his chair and stood. “But I won’t allow you to come in here and accuse me of having people murdered. You’ve always viewed me as some kind of monster. I admit I use tactics that most would find reprehensible. But I have never ordered a hit on anyone. Certainly not on my own employees.”
Lies. They fell from his lips like rain from the sky.
Ryder didn’t bother keeping his voice down. Let the staff overhear. They should know the kind of man they were working for.
“Jane thought you walked on water until I told her the truth about you. How you had your enforcers convince others to do what you wanted.”
Keane coughed into his hands, the congestion sounding thick and deep. That’s what a lifetime of smoking got him. He took a sip of his bourbon. “You were always too soft. There are things you have to do in business. I was no different than other billionaires like Ian Sinclair. But I never killed anyone.”
Never killed anyone?
Did he really think Ryder didn’t remember?
“Jane thought you cared about her, but you were just using her, weren’t you? You never cared about anyone or anything other than the deal.”
“That’s not true.” He coughed again. “I care for Jane and Maddox. I love you and your brother. And I loved your mother.”
Ryder shook with fury. “My mother? You loved my mother? You killed her! I saw you!”
Keane stumbled and put a hand over his chest again. “I didn’t kill your mother. She died in Mexico giving birth to you.”
“Lies. All lies. You think I don’t remember because I was only five? I saw you kill her. She came for me and you took the gun out of her hand and shot her out there in the foyer as I looked down from upstairs.”
His father hung his head and gripped the edge of the desk with both hands. “You remember that?”
That sounded like a confession to him.
Keane took a moment, seemingly having a difficult time catching his breath. Ryder supposed that could happen when confronted with one’s sins. When his father looked up, there were tears in his eyes.
“I always regretted the
way I handled things that night with you. I thought if I told you it was only a nightmare, you would eventually forget about it. I didn’t know…” He reached out to Ryder, then suddenly thought better of it and dropped his hand to his side. “That wasn’t your mother. It was your aunt Alma, your mother’s older sister from Mexico.” He sighed. “It’s a long, complicated story.”
His aunt?
“Condense it,” Ryder ordered.
“Alma wasn’t a well woman. She’d suffered from mental illness since she was a young girl. That’s why when your grandmother got sick, Maria needed to return to Mexico and care for her. Alma just didn’t have it in her to care for anyone. What I told you about your mother dying shortly after giving birth to you in Mexico was true. But I left out a piece of the story. After your mother passed, Alma refused to give you to me unless I paid her a hundred thousand dollars. Of course, I didn’t hesitate. The money meant nothing to me. You were my son. I would have paid everything I had to bring you home.”
Ryder felt as if he were in the middle of a soap opera. His father’s words seemed scripted and overly emotional, intended to pull on his heartstrings. “Why did you kill her?” he asked.
“It was an accident.” Keane’s voice was raspy. “About a month before that night, she came to the door and accused me of kidnapping you. She thought you were her son. Her mother had passed away and she’d totally lost her grip on reality. I tried to have her institutionalized but they ended up releasing her after the initial seventy-two-hour hold. When I didn’t hear from her again, I’d assumed she’d returned to Mexico. I obviously had assumed wrong. The next time she returned, she brought a gun with her. I tried to reason with her, but she was determined to take you away from me. We fought over the gun and it went off. She’d been trying to shoot me, but in the scuffle, she lost control and the bullet lodged in her stomach.”
Ryder closed his eyes, able to recall the image from his nightmare of the bloody woman lying on the floor. “If it was an accident, why didn’t you report it to the police?”
