Damage Control Page 11

  “Go. Do. Get answers.” He hesitates and I arch a brow.

  “We don’t know how well the Geminis know this woman. She lived with two members for years. We don’t know how much of a liability she represents to them.” He reaches into his pocket and hands me a thumb drive. “That’s information on the Geminis you need to know. I know I’ve said this before but I’m saying it again: They’re dangerous.” I accept the drive and he adds, “If she knows how dangerous they are, and she left to protect you, she’s a brave-ass bitch.”

  “Sounds like you trust her.”

  “Leaning that way,” he repeats stubbornly.

  “Lean harder and find a way to protect her. She matters to me.”

  He nods and turns, while I do the same, entering the apartment and shutting the door. Emily is not yet present, and I walk to the kitchen and put on my suit jacket before loading my computer into my briefcase. By the time I’m back in the foyer, she’s standing there in her coat, ready to go. “He still doesn’t trust me.”

  “Why do you say that?” I ask, slipping on my coat to downplay Seth’s concerns, which I know won’t last.

  “‘Leaning that way,’” she says, repeating what he’d said about trusting her. “I was attached to the Geminis for a decade plus. He’s doing his job.”

  Shifting my briefcase on my shoulder I face her, finding her oddly at ease. “You don’t seem upset.”

  “I am upset. I’m scared. I hate my brother put me in this position. But the good news is that I have a full stomach or I might just plain flip out. I should really warn you that I’m unstable when unfed. Maybe I should take food to your father. Maybe that’s the key to soothing the beast.”

  “Unless it’s raw meat,” I say, “don’t bother.” And I tell myself that I’m playing along with this façade of flippancy because it’s obviously her way of coping, a way of being strong. But silence is better than a comfort rooted in a lie.

  * * *

  Emily and I end up stopping the elevator four times on the way to the ground level and finally step out into the garage. “There are a few negatives to this living arrangement,” I say, as we walk toward the car.

  “The pluses outweigh the negatives,” she says. “Room service. Security. Location.”

  I click the button to unlock the Bentley, and the lights flash. At the same moment, a black Cadillac Escalade pulls out of a parking spot and drives just past us, then stops. Unease rolls down my spine and I stop walking, turning to look over my shoulder. Still, it sits there. “That’s weird,” Emily comments. “Why is it just sitting there?”

  I have no idea why but I know in my gut who is waiting for me in that hundred-thousand-dollar SUV. I take Emily’s hand and palm her the keys. “Go to the office. I’ll meet you there.”

  “What? Why? Shane—”

  “I need you to do this and not ask questions. Text me after you meet with my father, and tell me you’re okay. But don’t say or text anything you don’t want hacked or listened in on.”

  “Okay I will, but I can’t drive your Bentley. I’ll walk. What if you need it?”

  “I have a spare key. I’ll pick it up at the office.” I firm my voice. “Take the car. Go now.”

  She inhales and then nods. “Yes. Okay.” And then as if she senses the danger I know exists right now, she adds, “Be careful, Shane.” She turns and walks to the car and gets in. Only when she starts the engine do I turn back around and walk to the vehicle. When I reach the back window, it rolls down, exposing a man in his thirties with dark wavy hair and dark eyes. He leans forward; I know him from photos.

  “Adrian Martina,” I say, making it clear I know I am talking to the second in the Martina cartel, and the man my brother has brought to my doorstep.

  “Shane Brandon,” he replies. “It’s time we talk, don’t you think?” He pops open the door and I show no hesitation getting in. Fear doesn’t win. And I’m going to win.

  I climb into the double backseat, sitting across from him, and shut the door. Adrian hits the button to raise the window that seals us away from the driver. He is refined in every way, his suit a glossy pale blue that practically gleams money.

  Our eyes meet, and in his I feel the push for control, the hunger for power and money he already possesses but wants more of. The things that draw him to my brother, but also put them at odds, as they want the same things. “I understand we’re practically family.”

  I arch a brow. “How exactly is that?”

  “You don’t know your brother and my sister are dating?”

  “Dating doesn’t constitute family.”

  “I understand that might change.” I don’t react, though I silently vow to cage my brother before he marries us to a cartel. “Mexicans take family to heart. It’s serious. It’s business.”

  “My business is not your business.”

  “Your brother’s business is my business,” he counters.

  “If my brother controlled Brandon Enterprises, that would be true, but he doesn’t. Just as you don’t control your family operation.”

  “Our fathers,” he says. “Both ready to retire.” His lips quirk slightly. “In their own ways.”

  The inference that mine will soon die is without question, and is meant to gain a reaction I don’t give him. “Since when is your father ready to retire?”

  “Whether he does or does not, I am heir to all that is his, but you, my new friend, we both know, cannot say the same.”

  “Don’t believe everything my brother tells you. He’ll land you in jail.”

  “Yes. About that. I understand you have Feds sniffing around.”

  “And the irony of that is that it’s unrelated to whatever arrangement you’ve made with my brother, but not unrelated to him. He bribed an inspector to get drug approval.” Surprise flickers in his eyes. “He didn’t tell you,” I say, jumping on this. “Or he didn’t tell you the truth. But then why would he want you to know that he’s done something to assure the Feds are all over us.”

  “Surely you can clean it up.”

  “Had I not cleaned up a mess with the Feds my brother created a year ago, you’d be right.” I lean in and rest my elbows on my knees. “There’s a reason no other operation such as yours has infiltrated the legit market. It’s swarming with Feds. Get out before my brother hands you, and me, to them on a silver platter.”

  “I don’t want out. I want you in.”

  “That will never happen.” I open the door and get out, and he rolls the window down to glance at me.

  “The Feds will find nothing wrong inside your operations. You have my word. And I am a man of my word.” The window closes.

  I am a man of my word, as well, I think as the SUV drives away, and when I said his business is not my business, I meant it. I turn to find the Bentley gone as I expect it to be, and while Emily has driven it away, she is still consuming my thoughts and in my life in a way that means I have more on the line than ever. I head toward the elevator and start walking, removing my phone as I do to key in Seth’s number. He doesn’t answer.

  “I’m at my apartment, alone. Meet me here. We have a mammoth-sized fucking situation I can’t talk about on the phone.” I end the call, but the problem keeps growing.

  By the time I’m back inside my apartment, my mind is replaying Martina’s words. The Feds will find nothing wrong inside your operations. I head to the kitchen and start a cup of coffee, trying to convince myself that Martina is using our labels, but not our facility, and that security breach last night was just a glitch. I reach for my coffee, and start doctoring it my way, while I replay Adrian’s statement again. Damn it to hell. He said “operations,” as in plural, and a man like him does not make slips of the tongue. I lean on the counter. We know for a fact that the transportation division in Boulder is moving drugs, which means Adrian’s message is he cleaned up the evidence, at least for now. I’m not comforted, not even slightly.

  My gaze lifts and catches on the folder Seth had found in Emily’s desk,
and I sit down on the barstool I’d claimed earlier and start reading. Emily said she felt like something was off in the paperwork, and that premise always has legs when it comes to my father. And one of the reasons my father likes hedge funds is how under regulated they are. How easily the manager of the fund—him in this case—can manipulate the money. It’s gray water that leads to a black hole that seems to be opening up on all sides of this company and my family, with Emily along for the ride. Because I have no doubt Martina chose to approach me when I was with her for a reason. It was a threat. The entire meeting was one big not-so-subtle threat.

  CHAPTER NINE

  EMILY

  I pull the Bentley into Shane’s reserved parking spot in the private garage of the high-rise Brandon Enterprises calls home and kill the engine, having taken no joy in driving it. Not when whatever happened back there was trouble. I open the door and grab my purse, settling it on my shoulder, and step out of the car. Pausing, I check my coat pocket and my phone just to be sure my brother hasn’t called. And he hasn’t. After the desperate messages I left him, he hasn’t called and I have to be angry, otherwise I’ll start thinking of him lying in a puddle of blood. No matter what, that would destroy me.

  Disappointed, I shove it back in my pocket, and shut the car, locking the doors. “Holy Rocky Balboa, are you driving the Bentley?” I turn to find Jessica rushing toward me, her spiky blond hair a tad lighter today, her black pantsuit stylish and sleek. “How did you convince him to let you drive it?” she asks, falling into step with me as we head toward the elevator. “He won’t let me drive it.”

  “He shoved the keys at me and told me to take it. There was some man in a black SUV who showed up in the private part of the Four Seasons parking garage.” I punch the call button for the elevator and it opens right away. “Do you know who that was?”

  “I have no idea,” she says as we step into the car, “but most likely one of Seth’s people working for Shane. Have you ever driven the Bentley before?”

  “Forget the Bentley,” I snap.

  “I have a point here, honey, sweetie, cranky. If you’ve never driven it and he shoved the keys at you—that tells you how much he wanted you away from that meeting.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I’ve never driven the Bentley before.”

  “Then whoever it was is a problem.”

  The doors open and we enter the lobby, heading toward the main elevator. “I’m really worried about this war he has with his brother.”

  “There’s a lot to be worried about,” she says as we reach the elevator bank. She punches the button herself this time.

  I glower at her and the car opens, thankfully empty. “Thanks for making me feel better,” I say, as she keys in the twenty-fifth floor.

  “Honey, I’m not Dr. Phil and I don’t pretend to be. I’m more Judge Judy. Right to the point.”

  “And kind of judgmental,” I add, thinking of her lecturing me about hurting Shane sometime back, as if I would do so on purpose.

  “Just a little,” she replies, holding up two fingers, and apparently completely unapologetic, which is actually fine. It’s her knowing herself and owning it. It’s honest, like Seth last night. I’m seeing a trend. I’m the only one in his life close to him that’s lied to him. No matter my reasons, that’s going to take time to completely erase. I refocus on Jessica.

  “What can I do to help him?”

  She holds up her hands. “Me pushing you to dive into troubled waters will get me in hot water.”

  “I’m serious. He has to win, Jessica. We both have to do what we can to help him. What does he need most to win this war?”

  “What he needs most is to be back in New York practicing law. He loved it.”

  “And yet he’s here,” I say, realizing now that we have even more in common than I thought. We’re both here. We’re both not practicing law. And that choice was made for both of us by our families. No wonder we connected so quickly.

  “Yes. He’s here and he’s not going anywhere, so you’re right. He has to win.”

  “Which means I have to keep my job at his father’s door today.”

  “Why today? Is Senior more of an ass than normal?” She cringes. “I occasionally feel sorry for saying things like that since he’s dying, but then he does something new and freshly brutal and I say it again.”

  “He saw Shane and I together last night getting off the private elevators at the Four Seasons. It’s pretty obvious I’d only be there for one reason.”

  “So you now look like the office slut and Shane is the brother who banged the woman in front of his father’s door.”

  “Can you not be you at this very moment and say stuff like that?”

  “Judge Judy, honey. You’re now part of the game. You won’t get fired.”

  “That’s exactly what Shane said and if that’s true, I can still use my position to help Shane. Brandon Senior is doing something weird with the hedge fund he’s putting together and I don’t know enough about this type of thing to figure it out.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Mike. The one who owns the professional basketball team and who is a huge stockholder. I don’t know if he knows it’s dirty, but I think he is, and that means he’d be on Derek’s team, not Shane’s.”

  “Are you sure? Because I really wanted that man to be the father of my children.”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe he doesn’t know what Senior is up to, but they have been communicating often. Jessica, what if Brandon Senior isn’t really letting Shane have a shot at the company? What if this game has already ended?”

  “A stacked deck maybe, but Senior knows Shane is savvy. You know this, Emily. Nothing is done until it’s done.” The elevator dings. “But you do need to share your concerns about Mike with Shane.”

  “I will,” I say as we step into the lobby, my gaze catching on the Brandon Enterprises logo on the wall, the lion emblem reminding me of Shane’s tattoo: a lion, which represents his father, with an eagle with spread wings representing Shane, perched on the lion’s head. He confessed getting it one night when he was drunk. Knowing him better now, Shane doing anything while drunk and driven by emotion doesn’t fit him, and I wonder what was in his head that night. What had pushed him to a place he doesn’t go?

  “Did you hear me?” Jessica asks.

  “What?” I say, blinking her back into view and realizing I’m standing and staring at the wall, not walking.

  “I have to go. I’ve got something to handle for Shane.”

  “Yes,” I say, wondering if that something has to do with ballplayer Brody Matthews, which seemed to distress Shane this morning. “Sorry,” I add, when she’s still looking at me expectantly. “Go ahead.”

  “Good luck with Senior,” she says, hurrying away.

  Luck isn’t likely to help me with Brandon Senior, I think, walking toward the door with no real plan as to what I’m doing. Remembering everything I did last night, it seems the controlled, planned, calculated person I was not so long ago with the name Reagan is gone. Entering the lobby I wave to the receptionist, and oh the irony of her chomping on bubblegum after my comment about such behavior resembling Brandon Senior.

  I stop at her desk. “Is Senior in yet?”

  She chomps, then answers with, “He was here when I got here,” before chomping some more, and I can’t take it.

  “You might not want to chomp that gum while on the phone. I hear Senior dislikes it.”

  She pales. “Oh. Yes. That was bad of me on the phones. Thank you.” She turns to the trashcan, and I start down the hallway to the left, which leads to the alcove and my desk. It guards Senior’s office, but no one is here to guard me this morning. Clearly, he’s feeling rather spry today to be here so early, which really isn’t in my favor.

  Rounding the corner, I find my desk looking as neat as when I left it last night, while Senior’s door is thankfully closed. Letting out a sigh of relief at the momentary reprieve that gives me a chan
ce to prepare for the storm ahead, I walk to my desk and sit down. I stick my purse inside my desk, then remove both of my phones and stick them in my top drawer. That’s when the door behind me opens, and I instinctively stand, expecting Brandon Senior, but instead, his wife walks out.

  “Emily,” she greets me, and always stylish, her shoulder-length dark hair is a dramatic contrast to the pale pink dress she’s paired with sleek knee-high boots.

  “Hello, Mrs. Brandon,” I reply, wondering how she can be Shane’s mother when she looks like she’s forty-five years old at the most.

  “Maggie, please,” she says, stopping in front of me. “You’re making me feel old. And we’re friends now.”

  “Maggie,” I repeat, not sure what to make of her now or ever.

  “We have so much to talk about,” she says, and I’m pretty sure the spicy scent I smell is her husband’s cologne, though it’s not at all familiar. “How about another lunch? Would tomorrow work?”

  I’m not sure if this means I still have a job and I’m invited into the game, or if she doesn’t know I’m possibly about to be fired. “Yes,” I say. “Great. As long as I don’t have anything work related to stop me.”

  She gives me an all-knowing smile. “I’ll make sure you are free. I’ll meet you here at one. See you then.” She walks away and my intercom buzzes.

  “In my office, Ms. Stevens.”

  I grimace, certain that bubblegum chick told on me and is not to be trusted. Hardly anyone in this place can be trusted it seems, which is all the more reason Shane needs me here.

  “Ms. Stevens?” I hear again.

  “On my way,” I say, heading to the door, when it hits me that maybe leaving my phone behind when my brother could call isn’t such a great idea, though I don’t know what I’d do if he chose right now to finally contact me. Still … Turning around, I grab it from my desk, place it on vibrate, and then stick it under my blouse in the band of my pantyhose beneath my skirt. With a calming breath, I return to Brandon Senior’s door, and open it.

  Entering it, I find him sitting behind his massive half-moon-shaped wooden desk, his fingers steepled on the sleek wooden surface, but rather than looking at me, he is sitting with his head is tilted downward, his eyes shut, and oddly, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know I’m here.