She was gone. Poof.
Until...now?
“Nina!” I called as I dodged around people exiting the elevators. The blonde girl slipped inside along with the waiting crowd. “Nina, wait!”
She didn’t respond. But it was her. I knew it was her.
Until it wasn’t. The elevator doors closed, but not before the girl turned, revealing a face that was pretty enough, but which definitely did not belong to the woman who had cast her spell. One corner of her lips tugged upward in a half-smile, and she offered a little wave at me just before the doors shut. Like so many of them, it was her little way of saying she was mine for the taking.
Except like all the others, she wasn’t the one I wanted to take.
“So that’s her name, huh? Nina?”
I swallowed as Derek approached behind me. I hadn’t actually uttered the name to anyone. Not since I’d spoken to her. Not since that night.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said flatly. “She doesn’t exist.” I jabbed one of the call buttons with more force than necessary. “Now, come on. We have to get our heads in the game.”
“Jesus. Fuckin’. Christ.”
Obediently, I passed my fingers from forehead to chest, then shoulder to shoulder. Spectacles, testicles, wallet, watch, or so they said. Hey, it wasn’t like I never took His name in vain, but it couldn’t hurt when Derek continued cursing at the newest evidence from the craziest case either of us had ever worked on. I could practically feel my grandmother, Nonna, shaking her fist next to me. Better safe than sorry.
Eric de Vries, Chairman of De Vries Shipping, spread a selection of photos across his entire desk. “My bodyguard took these when we found them,” he said quietly.
In spite of his designer suit and the glinting edges of his top-floor office, Eric had the pale, numbed look of a man still recovering from a war zone. It was something I was familiar with, having served in a few myself before becoming a prosecutor with the Brooklyn DA’s office.
It wasn’t Iraq, but the man had been through it over the past six months. Heir to one of the wealthiest dynasties in New York, he had returned from years away to marry Jane Lee Lefferts and claim his birthright. The only problem was that Jane turned out to be the illegitimate daughter of the de Vries family’s sworn enemy—a fact she hadn’t even known until she was about to walk down the aisle.
Jonathan Carson was a verifiable madman. Demonic as the devil. Slippery as an eel. And as the leading munitions manufacturer in the country, he had half the armed forces in his back pocket, which meant most of the federal agencies too.
Maybe they should have walked away. But that was never an option. And if you saw them together, you’d know it too.
Unfortunately, they were still suffering the consequences of that decision. Despite the fact that the de Vrieses have more money than God and enough evidence for the FBI to lock Carson up and throw away the key ten times over, all they had was…me. Apparently I was the last government employee not on the take from John Carson. And Eric and Jane’s last hope in vanquishing this psychopath.
If it had been anyone else, I would have walked the fuck away. But Jane and I had been casual friends for years. And truth be told, I had a soft spot for true romance. So despite the fact that Eric could be an imperious dick, even he deserved a shot at real happiness. So few of us get it in the end.
Oh, Matthew. You will.
That voice. That breathy, smooth, silky voice, husky with pleasure, full of promise. For a moment, she was here with me again. Urging me not to settle for less than she believed I deserved.
Why, I thought to a woman who wasn’t there. You coming back to me, doll?
She wasn’t real, of course. So there was no answer.
“Walk me through it one more time,” Derek said to Eric, gesturing at the pictures. “You’re locked up, so Jane goes to Korea to get her mom?” He shook his head. “What the hell was going on again?”
“Carson had me framed for securities fraud,” Eric said dryly. “Without bail, thanks to a bribable justice. Once my lawyers were able to change the judge, the suit was dropped. But it took almost two weeks.”
“And so he used that time to, what, kidnap your wife?”
“Her mother, actually.”
Eric pointed to one of the pictures, where a frail, glassy-eyed Asian woman I took to be Jane’s mother was curled on a stained cot. Sedated, obviously. I didn’t know Yu-na Lee Lefferts, but if she was anything like her daughter, she wouldn’t have gone without a fight.
“She was bait. For Jane. And then for me, I guess.”
“So she goes to Suwon, gets taken hostage, and then he waits for you so he can, what? Hit you up for some shipping deals?” Derek asked. “Seems like a bit much.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.” Eric gestured to the pile of notes he and Jane had brought back from Korea a few days earlier, which he’d mentioned on the phone.
“Carson was building a plant on the border between North and South Korea,” I told Derek. “In conjunction with the Russians, potentially. We’re pretty sure he was getting ready to produce and sell nuclear weapons to the North Koreans.”
Derek looked up from the pad of notes he was leafing through. “What?”
Eric nodded. “You heard right.”
“But that’s…that’s…” my friend sputtered.
“Treason?” I filled in for him. Yeah, I’d been there. When Eric told me about these new revelations a few days ago, I’d just about lost it myself. I still wasn’t convinced there wasn’t someone with the feds who couldn’t help here. International arms deals were a bit above my pay grade.
But those calls had been met with silence. Copies of Eric’s notes had been received and filed away.
Meanwhile, John Carson was still at large.
“Carson’s only problem was that he couldn’t transport them across the border,” Eric continued. “The South Koreans couldn’t be bought, and DVS has nearly exclusive contracts on all private ports there. His plan was simple. Steal my wife and mother-in-law to make me ship his weapons north.”
I peered at him. “Would you have done it? If…” I gestured at the photos.
“I would have given him whatever the fuck he wanted to get my wife back,” Eric said softly. “Unfortunately for him, I found her first. Like that.”
All of us turned back to the photographs near the edge. These were the worst. Jane lying in a pool of her own blood. Face whitened, eyes starry and glazed. Black hair matted to her face from dried sweat and who knew what else. Alone. Scared. On the precipice of death.
The idea that his own flesh and blood mixing with de Vries DNA had proved to be too much for the sycophant. When he had discovered that his daughter was pregnant with Eric’s child, Carson had abandoned his plan of catch and release in favor of something much more gruesome.
“What kind of man takes a woman’s baby right out of her body?” Derek wondered.
“The kind who isn’t really a man at all,” Eric replied. “The kind who’s a fucking monster.”
His voice was stone.
Eric had this look about him, like he would do just about anything to end this madness. I’d seen it before. Men clutching a maimed arm or leg. Screaming “make it stop!” until a medic was able to run a sedative. Ready to cut themselves open or anyone else just to make something happen.
“Eric,” I said slowly. “This is…look, I hate to say it. But I think you need to keep trying with the CIA. Maybe not the director right now, but there are still good people over there. I still have a friend from the Marines I can check in with. And you know we don’t have jurisdiction with any of this.”
Eric’s gray—and right now, irritatingly familiar—eyes sharpened like steel. God, Nina’s eyes…they did the same thing. Shone like silver in some lights. Glowed like ice in others.
I blinked. I needed to focus. Forget the girl. Get the fuck back to work.
“So you’ve said,” Eric snapped. “Ab
out ten times. I’m traumatized, Zola, not an idiot.”
I held up my hands in mock surrender. Okay, I should give the guy a break. Eric de Vries was a kingpin in a city with plenty of illegitimate ones. But I couldn’t help it. I generally liked the guy, but there was something about him that made me want to knock him off his high horse. We’d known each other for going on five years now, friends of friends of friends. And even though I was helping his family out with this case, I couldn’t help goading him here and there. Even at a time like this.
I told you. Not a good guy.
Matthew…
I shook my head. God, she was driving me crazy, and she wasn’t even real.
“We tried your friend with the CIA,” Eric was saying. “And the FBI. And the NSA. Carson bought them all. No one gives a shit, Zola. Except you, apparently.”
Derek rubbed the back of his head and sighed as he scanned the pictures once more. “Not much for neat crimes, is he?”
“We already knew John Carson liked a spectacle,” I said. “The man literally stopped Jane and Eric’s wedding in front of a thousand rich New Yorkers. His grudge against the de Vrieses was all over the Post for weeks.”
“Well, that gives you a motive, doesn’t it?” Derek tapped his finger on a picture of Jane wrapped in Eric’s arms. The moment of rescue.
I stared at it for a long time. Eric, like all these types of suits, generally wore the inscrutable mask of the ultra-wealthy. He was terse and unreadable, just like the rest of his caste. But in the photo, with equal parts pain and love were all over his face like they had been etched with a knife. He clutched the girl like he’d never let her go again. Like he’d been certain she was gone forever.
Do you believe in love at first sight?
It had just fallen out of my mouth in the early morning hours, as instinctual as the way my fingers stroked her skin.
And then, to my utter fuckin’ shock, she’d answered.
Not until I saw you.
Fuck it. You only met the love of your life once. Some of us only got one night. But others might get a lifetime.
If they were lucky.
Who was I to watch someone else tear down that chance when I might be able to help?
“We can’t do anything about this,” I said, ignoring the way Eric’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “We just need to find a crime here to prosecute.”
“What’re you thinking, Zo?” Derek asked.
“One thing is bothering me. Eric, do you know who actually turned you in for securities fraud? If you were indicted, it should have gone to discovery. Were any witnesses named in the documents?”
“No. That’s why it was dropped. There was no documentation, and the single witness’s testimony was both anonymous and without corroboration.” Eric shook his head with disgust. “It shouldn’t have made it to trial to begin with.”
“You don’t have any idea who might have offered testimony, though? Someone close enough to you to actually be a witness?”
Eric opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. “Well—no.”
“What were you going to say?” I asked.
He looked uneasy, but decided to go with it. “Look, it’s just a feeling. No one ever came out and said anything—not after the will was read. But I’m fairly sure at least some family members weren’t exactly happy I inherited the company after so long away. The accusations about securities fraud were linked more to requests made by Carson…but the evidence for them could have come from a few different people.”
I looked at Derek, who nodded and made some notes. It was vague, sure. But it was still a motive. Eric’s gut might lead us in the complete wrong direction, or it might give us exactly what we needed to close this bitch of a case. There was only one way to find out.
“I gotta get going, but I’ll look into it,” Derek said. He nodded at Eric on his way out. “Mr. de Vries.”
We waited until Derek was gone and the door had closed to speak again. Eric had already picked up his coat from the back of the chair, no doubt eager to get back to Jane.
“How is she?” I asked.
The Jane de Vries I knew was a vibrant woman with more attitude than a teenage rebel. The ghost in these pictures was her polar opposite.
Eric expelled a labored breath. “She’s…” He stared out the window toward the New York City skyline for a long time. “She’s as good as can be expected, I suppose.” He glanced toward the door again, then back at me. “But it might be better if you come to the house from now on. Aside from the fact that you really shouldn’t be seen here in case Carson has people watching, I think it would be good for her to hear about your progress for herself.”
I nodded. I really couldn’t promise to do much. After all, Derek was right. For me to be any help at all, I needed to find a crime that John Carson committed within Kings County. And then he needed to be in New York for Derek and his guys to make the arrest. It was a long shot, if there was anything at all.
But the look in Eric’s eyes—the pure, unadulterated sorrow—kept me from saying as much.
Instead, I extended a hand. Tentatively, Eric reached out, and we shook.
“I’ll do whatever I can,” I promised. “I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter Two
Nearly six weeks after my meeting with Eric de Vries, I found myself in Manhattan, having just finished a meeting in midtown interviewing a witness for another trial. As I sometimes did on days where I worked out of the office, I had my assistant forward my calls to my cell phone for the rest of the afternoon so I could wander. And just like all those other times, I was walking circles around the Upper East Side.
Up Fifth Avenue to the northeast corner of Central Park. Take a right into the farthest, fading reach of Spanish Harlem, then walk back down Lexington Avenue until I reached the upper Sixties. Hang another right past the Church of St. Vincent Ferrer, and repeat.
It was early March, so the trees hadn’t quite started blooming. The last of winter hung over the city like a chilly dream, including a few heaps of snow from one final blizzard just a week before. But small buds hanging off the branches held the promise of color and light again. Tiny signals that change was afoot. Something was about to happen.
Just like the rest of New York, I was thoroughly tired of winter. Even so, the storms and the snow hadn’t kept me from my patrols of these tired city blocks.
It was a dream that did it. A dream that woke me in the morning feeling like a part of me was missing. My chest would ache, my jaw would be tense, my throat tight with her name on my tongue.
It usually started with one part of that night or another. The things that were burned into my memory. A heated gaze. A prolonged conversation. Sometimes even the feel of her body, clenched around mine so tight I’d cry out in my sleep.
“Do you ever wear red?” I found myself asking, despite the fact that I’d never see her in it, even if she did. “Like this?”
Nina just watched the progress of the bud as it traveled down her side, over one leg, to flirt with the delicate curve of her ankle. She cleared her throat. “Well, no. Not really.”
“Not even lipstick? Maybe your nails?”
“Grandmother always thought it garish. Unfitting for someone like me.”
“Someone like you?” I drew the flower over the hook of her heel.
Nina shrugged. “Someone of my ‘station,’ she would have said.”
“She probably knew you’d attract a trail of lovers. Like the pied piper, except with color instead of song.”
As I trailed the rose back up her other leg, I found myself wondering what Nina would look like with a bright red mouth, puckered with want. Scarlet fingernails digging into my skin. A crimson silk negligee, begging to be torn off.
Christ, I was hard at just the thought.
And yet, despite our frenzy on the street, despite the way Nina was watching the progress of the rose like it was a piece of kindling that might literally burst into flames…I stayed where I was, dri
fting the soft petals up and down her equally soft skin while I studied her reactions. The way her breath hitched slightly when I found a particularly sensitive spot. The way her lean curves tightened in anticipation of something I wasn’t quite ready to give.
“What do you want, beautiful?” I murmured. “What can I do for you?”
Nina’s eyes brightened as I drew the rose back up her chest. I played it over the line of her bra, feathering it over her breasts. She wasn’t a Coke-bottle pinup, far too slender for that. But I knew without checking that each breast would fit perfectly in the palm of my hand.
“I don’t know if anyone has ever asked me that before.”
I dragged the flower over one nipple, causing it to perk through the silk. Nina squirmed and bit her lip. All right, then. Clearly that was something I needed to do more of.
I leaned over her, enjoying the way she arched slightly in anticipation. The rosebud traveling over her other nipple. She moaned. Just barely.
“I’m asking now,” I said, hovering my lips over hers. I wanted to kiss her. God, I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to feel that give of her body against mine again, see what happened when the fire there was allowed to burn unfettered.
But.
Not yet. Not. Quite. Yet.
“Tell me, sweetheart,” I said, as I placed a soft kiss on her jaw. Then another on the other side. “What do you like?”
Last night it had continued until I’d shouted loud enough that my sister Frankie had come running from her bedroom across the hall. Embarrassed, I’d snapped at her to get the hell out, then tossed and turned until I finally resigned myself to watching the sunrise glimmer over the roofs of Red Hook rowhouses like mine.
I did whatever I could to escape what haunted me. Trudged over to one of the bars in Gowanus, or even to Jamie’s joint in Manhattan. Had a few too many drinks. Gone home with one chick or another. Women who were usually blonde. Thin. Eager. And, because I was predictable as fuck, usually taken.
The Other Man (Rose Gold Book 1) Page 2
