Damage Control Read online

  My cell phone buzzes with a text message from Nick: We’re a go.

  Translation: Ted’s team has entered the BP plant and now I have to wait on the guard to call me to confront Derek. Things are about to get crazy and I dial Emily. “Shane,” she says, answering immediately and sounding anxious. “Where are you?”

  Close and yet so far away, I think. “Still problem solving. It’s going to be a few more hours. Midnight or later.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “You don’t sound like it’s okay.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  She’s worried about me. Not about the magnitude of the problems she discovered today, but about me. As an adult, I’ve never thought I needed, or wanted, anyone to worry about me, and yet, Emily caring matters. It calms and soothes the many rough spots inside me, which I am not sure I even knew existed.

  “Shane?”

  I blink and realize I’ve lost myself, and her, inside my own head. “It’s me who’s worried about you.”

  “I’m safe in the apartment with a trusty guard protecting me.”

  Her voice is strained, her attempt at lightness failing. She’s captive to my hell and her own, and I have to fix it all, starting with Martina, tonight. “A few more hours,” I say softly, when my phone beeps. “I have to take that. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Shane, I—”

  “Soon, sweetheart.”

  I end the call and sure enough, it’s security at the BP plant. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I say, ending the call, and putting the Bentley in drive. Only ten minutes later, and a few miles away, I park in front of Teresa Martina’s little white cottage of a house that runs about half a million—hard to afford on a waitress’s pay. I grab the tape recorder from my pocket and turn it on before exiting the vehicle and charge up the walkway, pounding on the door. The curtain moves and then there is silence before Derek steps outside, his shirt hanging out of his pants.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he demands.

  “The FBI is inside the BP facility.”

  “Fuck.” He scrubs the stubble on his jaw. “Right now?”

  “Right now.”

  He inhales and straightens. “They’re not going to find anything.”

  “You better be damn sure of that or we’re in a world of hurt right now.”

  “I am.”

  “What about in Boulder? Because I just put Seth on a plane in that direction, and I need to warn him if there is anything there.”

  “It’s clean.”

  “You better be fucking sure, Derek.”

  “I’m sure, Shane.”

  “I’m not exactly confident in a man sticking his dick in Adrian Martina’s sister. You’re really an idiot with a death wish.”

  “Or really damn smart, but then, you get the friends in the right places thing, or you wouldn’t be fucking Emily. Fine piece of ass, man. I hate you beat me to her, but I’m up for the challenge of turning her from your cock to mine.”

  I want to hurt Derek, and I want to hurt him badly, but this is a test, a way to discover any feelings I have for Emily, which works in my favor in ways Derek can’t begin to understand. Not yet but he will. My lips quirk. “You can try,” I say, intentionally goading him for a reaction, “but I’ve always been better than you at everything, and you can’t stand it. I, on the other hand, quite enjoy it. I’m going to BP to ensure we don’t all end up in jail.”

  His anger is instant, darkening his features, and crackling in the air around us, but I don’t stay to enjoy it. I turn and start walking, his stare following me, a hot beam that feels downright violent, my spine stiff as I wait for an attack that doesn’t come. I climb inside my car, and he’s no longer on the doorstep. I start the engine, and pull around the corner but still able to see the house, to wait for what I am certain will follow. And sure enough, five minutes later, my brother’s Porsche pulls out of the garage, turning toward downtown.

  I follow, and in all of ten minutes, we’re at Martina’s restaurant. I park a block down and watch my brother enter, but I don’t alert Nick’s people I know are following me. They’re here. They’re watching, but we all know they can’t go inside with me. This one is on me. I grab the tape recorder that’s still running and turn it off, and not about to risk Adrian finding it, I leave it in the car. Stepping out of the Bentley, remnants of the snow crunching under my feet, I leave my coat behind. I start walking, the cold air welcome, its biting viciousness reminding me that I am alive and plan to stay that way. Emily’s voice plays in my head: Just come home safely, Shane. I shove it aside, facing the truth. You don’t win in a courtroom by fearing a loss. You enter the room confident, even arrogant, about the preparations you’ve made up to that point. And that’s the person I have to be right now. That’s the person I am.

  I reach the entrance to the restaurant and I don’t hesitate even a moment. I pull open the door and enter.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SHANE

  “Table for one?” a hostess asks at the same moment my gaze lands on a rounded booth in the back where my brother now sits with Adrian.

  I step around the woman I’ve barely glanced at and make a beeline for my targets, neither looking up until I’m already sitting down with them. “I think it’s time we talk,” I say, noting that even in a UFC T-shirt, Adrian has this edge of arrogant money about him that reminds me of my father, who I’d once aspired to be, and perhaps resemble far more than I’d like.

  “Holy fuck, Shane,” Derek growls. “What are you thinking?”

  Adrian arches a brow. “I’d be curious to know the same, since I don’t typically take uninvited guests.”

  “I assume my brother told you the FBI is at the BP facility.”

  “He did,” Adrian confirms, “and since you’re understandably concerned, I’ll excuse your intrusion. This is uneventful. I told you. Your facilities are clear.”

  “We are on their radar,” I say. “An insider told me the FBI is looking at sports players as users of a drug they’re calling Sub-Zero.”

  “Because I call it Sub-Zero,” he says. “And they’ve been looking into it for a while. It doesn’t show up in tests.”

  “We have a stockholder that’s in sports,” I say. “We hold a drug company in our portfolio. Don’t you think that makes us dangerously visible?”

  “There’s a reason we left Mike Rogers out of this,” Adrian says, and I see the irritation flash in Derek’s face, as if his hand has been shown before the vote. And it has been. I was right about Mike. He’s too cautious, with too much to lose, to land in dangerous waters by choice. Adrian sips his whiskey. “He’s the perfect cover, don’t you think?”

  “That’s nothing shy of insanity,” I say, treading cautiously so as to not get Mike killed. “He’s a magnet for attention just like BP is as a pharmaceutical company. Made worse by Derek’s careless actions.”

  “Spoken by the brother afraid to ever take a damn risk,” Derek bites out.

  I reach into my pocket and grab a sheet of paper, which I unfold and set in front of Adrian. “That’s my brother paying off a federal official to get drug approval. The FBI found out.”

  Adrian inhales a slow, calculated breath and looks at Derek. “Is this true?”

  “It was necessary,” my brother says, and what comes next is so fast, so unexpected, I don’t have time to prepare myself.

  Adrian picks up a steak knife, and stabs it through my brother’s hand, all the way to the table.

  Holy fuck.

  Derek cries out in horrific pain and the brother in me wants to rescue him, but Adrian isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at me. “What the hell?” Derek demands. “Get it out! Shane, get it out!”

  I don’t move, my gaze locked with Adrian’s cold, brutal stare, as he says, “Shut up,” to Derek, “or you will not like the results.”

  I discreetly slide my knee to Derek’s, giving him a silent warning, and he sucks in a trembling breath, saying nothing else.r />
  “Where were we?” Adrian asks, his hand leaving the knife, which he doesn’t even attempt to remove from my brother’s hand. “Oh yes, where Mike Rogers fits in. If our answer is that he doesn’t, let’s buy him out. Whatever the price, I’ll pay it.”

  And there it is. Adrian is now exactly where he wants to be, setting himself up to own a piece of Brandon Enterprises. “I’m not selling you any part of my company.”

  “Then I’ll go to him directly.”

  “My father was never an overly honest man,” I say. “He got away with a lot of things, and recently I saw him in action, and was reminded that he is a king for a reason. Much like your father. Let’s not be the two dead brothers.”

  He narrows his gaze on me. “You know about my brother.”

  “And you now know about mine. This is going nowhere good. This will destroy us both.”

  “We’ll take a three-month breather,” Adrian says. “We’ll let things cool off.”

  “Three months is nothing to the FBI and don’t you think they will look at what prescriptions Brody was taking? That’s going to tie back to us.”

  “He had a legitimate prescription.”

  “So will others who end up dead.”

  “No one has died,” he insists.

  “Brody.”

  “That was a car accident.”

  “You and I both know that’s not true and this is death number two the FBI is looking into. Real drugs covering for illegal drugs have a trail you can’t avoid. In premise, this was a good idea, until you find out where it leads, and that’s to you, then your father.”

  He considers me for several long seconds, his expression unreadable, while Derek’s heavy breathing fills the air. “You’ve become far more profitable to me than you know.”

  I feel those words like a punch in the chest. “And far more of a liability than you know.”

  “We’ll rotate drugs.”

  “They still lead back to you and me.”

  “We’ll find a way around it.”

  “We won’t.”

  “I’m not walking away from the money. You’re smart. You’ll find a way to protect us, like your father always protected your business before you.”

  I lean forward. “Like our fathers protected our businesses,” I say, making sure he gets the point. “And they survived, and continue to do so, by knowing when to stay out of something, or when to get out, when they were already in.”

  “Find a way to redirect my sales, and I’ll get out, but not until then.”

  My lips thin. This is not the solution I wanted, but it’s at least an option. “I need to know what you’re doing, and how you’re doing it, in order to do that.”

  “If you can’t figure it out, then neither can the FBI. Figure it out. Get me out with money in my pocket, and we’ll be passing friends. And control your bloodline or I will.” He rips the knife from Derek’s hand, sliding out of the booth, and leaves us with blood everywhere.

  I grab a napkin and steady my brother’s arm, holding it when it trembles, wrapping his hand, before grabbing another napkin. He doesn’t stop me. He hardly moves and is clearly in shock, blood already seeping through the napkins. I grab my tie, loosen it and pull it free, to create a tourniquet around his arm.

  “Don’t move,” I say, standing and walking to the hostess booth, where the woman behind the counter gladly supplies me with more napkins and the scissors she has at the stand. Derek still isn’t moving or speaking, and I cut cloth and wrap it around his palm, tying it off this time.

  Derek’s gaze meets mine, his eyes pure bloodshot hate. He stands up and takes two steps before he sways. I am there before he falls, catching him. Still, he doesn’t speak, and I focus on getting him the hell out of here before Adrian makes a further example of him. I manage to get him out the door, and when he shoves away from me and starts walking, he falls again. His weakness and pain, no matter how we’ve grown apart, guts me, and I drop to a knee by his side. My hand goes to his back, and he arches forward, managing to push to a knee. “Get the fuck away from me, Shane. This isn’t over. In fact, it’s just begun. He doesn’t want out. He’s not getting out.”

  “Derek! Oh God. Derek!”

  I look up to find Teresa, Adrian’s pretty brunette sister, rushing forward, and she’s on her knees in a heartbeat. “Please tell me my brother didn’t do this to you.” Her hands are on his face, and it’s clear she cares about my brother and will take care of him.

  “He needs to get to the hospital,” I say.

  She looks at me. “Yes. Of course. Can you help me get him—”

  “No,” Derek growls. “No help.”

  I inhale and let it out, pushing to my feet, and walking to my car, my legs weak from the rush of adrenaline surging through me. Digging out my keys, I click the locks and slide into the driver’s seat, staring forward, the sweet scent of Emily fading into that of blood and betrayal. I don’t let myself think about it just yet, needing to get past a visit to the BP facility that will be expected to uphold this failure of a façade. I start the engine and drive to the facility. I barely make it in the front door before Lana has thrown herself into my arms, hugging me.

  “Oh God. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Irritated that I’ll now have to explain to Emily why I smell like a woman she knows I once fucked, I grab her arms and pull her off me. “Why are you even here at this hour?”

  “I’ve been auditing records later at night, checking up on that problem you and I discussed. The problem that brought the FBI here.” Her eyes go wide. “Oh my God. Why are you bleeding?”

  I don’t blink. “It’s not me. My brother cut his hand and at this point, I have no idea why the FBI is here, but you keep your mouth shut.”

  She gives me big puppy-dog eyes. “You know I would never betray you.”

  In other words, she would. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” she says, all innocent when she is not. “Tomorrow.”

  Regretting any involvement she has, despite her figuring out Ridel is the hiding spot for Sub-Zero, I walk toward the security booth. Ted, a tall, dark-haired man in jeans and T-shirt, a gun at his hip, presents his badge and we head into a private office, where I update him on the failure of this operation. As my contact man he’s not any more pleased than I am, but full of assurances they’ll come up with another plan.

  It’s an hour later when I finally pull into the Four Seasons hotel, having decided I’ve played too nice and too straight up. I can’t win that way, but I’ll find an answer that gets Adrian out of my company, and I have one thing my brother does not: My father is on my side now, and ironically, I guess I have my mother to thank for that. I might be farther from an answer to my Adrian Martina problem than I thought, but I’m closer to the head of the table.

  But right now, my biggest challenge is facing Emily. The easiest thing to explain will be the blood and perfume on my shirt. The hardest will be that I’m now committed to working for a drug cartel, while my brother is committed to making sure the next knife is in my hand.

  Lies destroy, but I fear the truth is worse. Maybe lies are better. Or maybe they aren’t.

  EMILY

  Somehow, I end up in black sweats and a tank top rather than pajamas, sitting in the middle of the floor of Shane’s office, leaning against the couch to the far left of the door, a laptop on the coffee table, and files all around it. I’m obsessing about a Brandon clothing and cosmetics line, loving the idea, and I try to focus on every way this is a good move, in order to present the plan to Shane. But my gaze keeps going to the time on the laptop, where I’m putting together spreadsheets on companies, historical profits, and success stories. It’s midnight, the moment the pumpkin is no longer a carriage and I feel a bit like Cinderella, dreading the loss of her prince, and I don’t like how it feels.

  Twelve thirty comes and the door opens and closes, sending a rush of relief through me, but I force myself not to move. He’s home. He’s safe. We
can talk, but rushing at him and demanding answers won’t help us as a couple at all. And I don’t want to be this nagging, demanding woman, who says Now, now, now. I want to be his partner in life, and that means he has to invite me into it. That means I might have to accept that he’s not ready to talk and that my need for immediacy is, at least in part, about me and my past, not him.

  He appears in the doorway, oddly wearing a T-shirt with his dress pants. “Hey sweetheart,” he says, eyeing my work. “What are you working on so late?”

  I move to sit on the edge of the couch. “I have this idea for Brandon Enterprises that I’m pretty excited about. I’m trying to make sure I give you reason to be as well.”

  He leans on the door frame as if he isn’t overly anxious to come near me, and I’m not sure why or how to feel about that. “Cosmetics and clothing. Ties. Shoes. Purses. We could buy stock in a big company, but there are several growing brands with potential we could take over. It’s really not corruptible and we could have brands within the brand to hit price points, and ensure economic stability.”

  “I like it,” he says quickly. “And I really like that you’re so excited about it.”

  “I am,” I reply, and the silence that follows beats like my heart—unbearably heavy—and I blurt out. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  “I was with Derek when he had a hand injury. He bled all over me.”

  “Oh God. Is he okay?”

  “He didn’t exactly invite me to the hospital with him.” He hesitates. “There’s another reason. There was an ordeal at the facility tonight. I went there, and Lana greeted me at the door by flinging her arms around me. There were witnesses. A camera, and I can—”

  “I don’t need a camera or witnesses,” I say, no hesitation in my response. “I want to not feel what I feel right now. I want to stop thinking I’m my mother, with a rich man buying me things and keeping secrets.”

  I’ve barely gotten the words out and Shane is in front of me, shoving back the coffee table and bringing me to my feet, his hands cupping my face. “Don’t do that to you, me, or us. Don’t make us them when we are not. I worked my ass off for my money that has no connection to my family and I invested it well. I won’t apologize for my money or finally having someone I want to spend it with or on.” He doesn’t give me time to digest that before he moves on. “As for secrets, I have none. I simply have things I wanted to fix before they scared you away.”