Damage Control Page 9

  “We need to let everyone think that I’m using you for a few more days. Just long enough for me to make a few strategic moves with Brandon Enterprises, and for Seth to fill in the holes in your background and assess what’s going on with your brother.” He leans on the counter. “I don’t want you in the middle of my family’s drama.”

  “It’s your family, Shane. If I’m not a part of it, I’m not a part of your life. And I’m pretty sure my family drama tops yours.”

  “Don’t count on that one.” He runs his hand over the stubble shadowing his jaw and quickly changes the subject. “Just tell my father you were weak and ended up in bed with me again.”

  “But I’m living with you and everyone is following everyone else.”

  “We’ll keep your apartment, but you’ll stay here. They’ll think I’m keeping you close to manipulate you.”

  “What about your brother? I know you said you’re going to clean up my records, but what if hearing your father saw us together sparks new interest in me?”

  “Knowing him, as long as you’re nothing but a conquest to me in his eyes, he won’t dig deeper. And by the time we let it be known you’re more, there won’t be anything to find.” A knock sounds on the door, and Shane pushes off the counter. “That will be Seth.” He walks away and I twist around to watch him, folding my arms in front of me, and wondering about his comment. I know there is trouble at Brandon Enterprises, but I handed him murder and hackers tonight. That’s pretty hard to top.

  Seth and Shane’s voices sound, low rumbles I can’t possibly make out, but there is this undercurrent to the conversation that is uncomfortably dark, and I’m concerned about whatever happened with the company while Shane was chasing me. Turning away, I walk out of the kitchen and go to the bar, staring down at the whiskey choices, and thinking I could use a little dumbing down right now to relive that night all over with Seth. There’s a shift in the air and I turn to find Shane rounding the corner from the kitchen to join me, his hoodie gone, his T-shirt stretched across a hard, broad chest that is far more appealing than the conversation to come.

  His stops in front of me, his hands settling on my waist. “You okay?”

  “Are you?”

  His eyes soften and warm. “Sweetheart, I’ve got you back. I’m fucking wonderful. And since you avoided my question, how about a drink?”

  “I’d better wait until I talk to Seth. Where is he?”

  “I’m here.”

  At the sound of Seth’s voice, I glance left to find him at the archway that separates us from the kitchen, his trench coat and suit jacket gone, his starched white shirt rolled to the elbows. He holds up his iPad. “Ready to take notes.”

  Shane squeezes my hip and motions right. “Why don’t we sit down?”

  I glance at the fancy leather furniture and back at him. “I’d rather stand.” I look at Seth, who is assessing me like I’m a criminal, and correct myself. “Never mind, let’s sit.” At least then he’ll be at eye level.

  We all make our way to the brown leather living area and Shane and I claim the couch, while Seth sits in the chair to my left, which is good. For a moment I revel in him not staring me in the face and then I realize that makes me seem guilty of something. I stand up and walk to the chair directly across from him, no longer sitting next to Shane.

  Shane arches a brow.

  “I’m on the witness stand, and I guess you are both judge and jury.”

  “No one is judging you, Emily,” Shane says.

  “I judge by data, not words,” Seth adds, his expression unreadable.

  “Since I’m telling the truth,” I reply, “I’d say that statement is comforting, but I’m kind of terrified about what you’ll find out. I know what happened the night I went into hiding. And more and more, I doubt what I thought I knew.”

  “Start with the basics,” Seth says, asking me the same kinds of questions Shane had, but more of them. My name. My address. The address of my brother and stepfather. My parents’ names. Every neighbor near the house. Every person I ever knew that worked with the Geminis, which was no one outside my stepfather and brother, but I’d heard names. He drills me, showing no emotion, for a good fifteen minutes, and one thing is certain: The man is stone cold. There is not even one tiny inflection in his voice.

  “Now I need to know about that night,” Seth says. “Every detail you remember.”

  “I told you what happened,” I reply. “I got to my stepfather’s house. He was dead. My brother was there. He refused to go to the police.”

  “You did,” Seth agrees. “But I need you to replay it from the moment you got there.”

  I don’t want to replay it, and push back at him. “How does that help?”

  “When you slow down and relive things, you might remember something. A car parked across the street. A name written on a piece of paper. Anything that tells us who might have been there beside your brother.”

  “There was no one.”

  “Are you sure?” he presses.

  “I am.”

  “Distress does not feed accuracy,” he pushes back.

  “Seth—” Shane starts, but I cut him off.

  “It’s fine, Shane.” I look at him. “Thank you, but I’ll try.” I shut my eyes and inhale, forcing myself back to that night. I am there. I am living it again. Desperate to confirm my brother was safe after two weeks of silence, I pull my silver Taurus into the driveway of my stepfather’s two-story stucco mansion of a house, the lights aglow on the bottom level. He might be dodging my calls, but he’s obviously home. He will have to tell me what’s going on with Rick. I glance at the stack of books in the passenger seat—I should be home studying—and quickly reach for the door and get out.

  Motion detectors trigger lights and I walk up the drive and then make my way up the six steps leading to the front door. I ring the bell and wait. And wait some more. I ring it again and finally, I decide to go around back. I hurry down the steps and around the corner, more motion detectors setting my path aglow, until I’m at the back patio, where I find the door ajar. I walk toward it and …

  My eyes pop open, that moment when I’d found my stepfather too near. “There is nothing new to tell. It was bloody. It was bad. My brother did it.” I shut my eyes and think of the driveway, encased in trees, and then open them again. “No cars that I could see. The house isn’t gated, but it’s shrouded in trees.”

  “But your brother’s car was there?” Seth asks.

  My brow furrows. “No. Actually it wasn’t.”

  “Did he park in the garage?”

  “Not for a visit,” I say. “Unless he moved back in and I didn’t know it. Now, that I think about it, that’s odd, and I don’t even want to think about the suspicion that stirs in me. Despite all of this, I love my brother.”

  “I can see what you and Shane have in common,” Seth says dryly. “Two brothers. Two problems.”

  A little too true to swallow right now. “How long will it take you to find out if my stepfather has been found?”

  “I’ll know a great deal by morning,” he says. “And we’ll get the holes in your record filled in by then as well.”

  “By morning?”

  “You don’t play around with the Geminis,” he answers. “If that’s who we’re dealing with.”

  The comment rubs me wrong. “I didn’t pull that name out of a hat.”

  He holds up his hands. “I didn’t say you did.”

  “But you still don’t trust me.”

  “I told you. I trust facts, not people.”

  “You don’t trust me yet. Please just say it.”

  Shane moves to crouch on the ground in front of me, taking my hand, but I stay focused on Seth, who gives me my answer. “All right. I don’t trust you yet.”

  I let out a breath. “Thank you.”

  He arches a brow. “Thank you?”

  “For being honest. I like honesty right now. I like speaking it. I like hearing it.” I turn to Shane. “I know you
two need to talk about me and other things right now. I’m going to go upstairs.”

  “Before you go,” Seth says, dragging both our attentions to him. “If your brother calls you, we need to have a plan as to what you should say to him.”

  “What should I say?”

  “There’s the real possibility that he knows where you work—”

  I shake my head. “No. I didn’t tell him.”

  “Your fake social security number will be in the IRS database.”

  “Right,” I say, hating the dread that fills me. “So he can find me and connect me to Shane.”

  “The only way he’s going to look up your social,” Shane says, “is if he can’t find you.”

  “Shane’s right,” Seth adds. “Tell him you got spooked and went to New Mexico. I’ll handle getting your payroll changed to our shell company there.”

  I frown. “How will you explain that to HR?”

  “We’ll handle it through a technology back door.”

  I glance between them. “What company am I working for?”

  “Drake Metals,” Seth says. “But tell him the job doesn’t start for a week, to give us time to set everything up.”

  “If he finally calls, I’ll tell him, but I threw out my disposable phone.”

  Seth reaches into his pocket and hands me a new one. “Leave him a message now.”

  I nod and dial, hoping he answers, only to have the call go to voice mail. “Once again,” I say, “I’m calling you. I’m in trouble, which you don’t seem to care about. I’m leaving Denver. I’d like a little help here.” I end the call, emotion balling in my chest, with both men staring at me.

  “You have help now,” Shane says softly, as if answering a question.

  I look at him. “I know, but he’s my brother.”

  “No one understands that statement more than me.”

  “If he calls,” Seth says, dragging my attention back to him, “talk to him. Feed him the story about you leaving Denver. When the conversation ends, turn off the phone immediately and take the battery out. He can’t track it if it’s off and he can’t turn it back on himself if the battery is out.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Okay.”

  “We’re pulling your payroll off the books,” Seth continues. “That’ll make it look like you’ve left if he checks up on your taxes and new social security number. And do not say anything to either of us in texts or on the phone that you don’t want recorded or read. There are too many people rattling both of your cages to take that risk.”

  “Understood,” I say, feeling sick to my stomach at the idea that my brother, the only person I thought I had in this world, could be dangerous to me and to Shane.

  “I’m talking on any phone line about anything important to you or Shane or the company,” he presses.

  “Understood,” I repeat, “and on that note, I’ll go upstairs now.”

  Shane squeezes my hand and I face him again, finding concern in his gaze. “I’m tough, Shane. And I’m glad Seth doesn’t trust easily. It actually makes me feel safer.”

  He gives a delayed nod, seeming to hesitate, but finally releases my hand. I turn and start walking, but I’ve made it to the side of Seth’s chair when he says, “You’re in good hands. I’m the best at what I do. Everyone Shane has working directly for him is the best.”

  “I know,” I say. “It’s Shane.” I start walking again, and this time neither Shane nor Seth stop me. I pause at the bottom of the steps when my gaze catches on my bag sitting by the coatrack. I quickly divert, heft it over my shoulder, and head up the long row of stairs, the sound of Shane and Seth’s voices reaching me, and it’s not me they are talking about.

  “No answer is unacceptable,” Shane snaps. “I need to know what is going on inside BP. We aren’t chasing our tails and playing shadow swords with my brother or Martina.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Seth asks, and as I reach the last step I want to linger and listen in, but eavesdropping is a kind of betrayal that Shane and I don’t need between us. I’ll tell him I overheard and ask what is happening.

  Entering the bedroom, I flip on the light, and for a moment, I just stare at the spacious, masculine room, the giant bed draped in brown in the center. Shane’s bed. My bed. Our bed. My lips curve and I cross the room, and entering the bathroom, I flip on the light to illuminate the sparkling white décor, before plopping my bag down on the counter. Unzipping it and craving structure and security, I take the liberty to claim parts of the sink, to set up my few makeup and hair-care products, the sight of them on Shane’s counter next to his items feeling pretty surreal about now.

  Task complete, I scoop up the shopping bags beside the bathtub, along with my duffel, and, a bit overloaded, struggle my way through the bedroom to the closet. Dumping it all at the door, I survey Shane’s neatly organized closet, my stomach fluttering with the sight of his things, which will soon be next to my things. Well, the few things I have, which feels a little embarrassing right now, but somehow, not quite as hollow as it had just yesterday.

  In all of this, I have found a man I care deeply for.

  I walk forward and drag my hand down the row of neatly hung expensive suits, inhaling that raw masculine scent that is Shane everywhere around me, and considering where we were a few hours ago, it’s surreal. I turn and press my hands to my hips, standing in the center of the closet. Glancing around me, I decide this is his space, his world, and it’s best to allow him to invite me inside it in his own way. Still, I need to get my duffel out of the way and I pick a corner to neatly stack my clothing items and shoes. I do the same with the contents of the bags, then stuff the bags in the duffel. With some tiptoe action, I manage to shove the duffel on top of the empty shelf above.

  Tasks complete and Shane’s still downstairs, so I head to the bathroom, strip, and step into the shower. Warm water bordering on hot flows over me, and unbidden, my mind starts to drift to that night again, and I picture myself standing at the sliding glass door of my stepfather’s house. I reach for the handle, pulling it back, and it’s like everything is in slow motion.

  The door fully opens. The sound of my stepfather’s favorite Mozart compilation is playing in the background, the one I’ve come to hate, as it represents him. I dread seeing him because, of course, he will be arrogantly obnoxious. I inhale, and step into the kitchen. I shake myself before I see the blood. Before I see my brother standing there with red streaking his shirt and face.

  The shower door opens and I yelp, only to be greeted by Shane’s low, sexy laughter and his hard, naked body.

  “You scared me,” I reprimand him.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, folding me in his arms, and he is hard where I am soft, and strong in ways I wish I were not weak. He would face blood. “You’re obviously jumpy, because no one else would be joining you in the shower, which, by the way, I liked coming upstairs to. But what’s bothering you?”

  I flatten my hand on his now damp chest. “That night. I hate thinking about that night and I hate that it rattles me so badly.”

  “You might not have liked your stepfather, but he was the man who helped raise you. There is a grieving process you have to endure at some point.”

  “I didn’t like him. He cheated on my mother. He talked down to us. He dragged my brother into the Geminis, and that led to this. But then I think I’m blaming him for his own death. I feel guilty for that.”

  “I feel similar things about my father,” he admits. “I hate him and I love him and I don’t know how those two thing are possible to feel at the same time. Ironically, in this, I know Derek and I are the same. It’s our only middle ground, but I can’t find a way to make that bring us together. In fact, I can’t bring us together and I’m done trying.”

  “Shane, he’s still your brother. Are you sure?”

  “I’ve tried. I’m done. It’s war between me and Derek.”

  “I take it your problem tonight got bigger.”

  “No. It�
��s simply unsolved and unresolved, because at the root of it is the battle for power between myself and Derek, which I can’t deny, to save this company and my family.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He cups my face and presses me into the corner. “No,” he says, his voice a low rasp. “I want to fuck.” He kisses me then, a deep, demanding, tormented kiss, and before long he is inside me, pumping, thrusting, and I sense he is trying to drive away his demons, and mine with them. But long minutes later, when we are naked in bed, my back to his front, his big body draped around mine, I also sense that he isn’t sleeping any more than I am. His demons and mine are alive and well, two poison kisses, which could too easily turn our sweet hello into a brutal good-bye.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHANE

  I wake at six in the morning, still naked, still holding onto Emily, not even remembering when I finally went to sleep. All I know is that for hours, I’d just held her, trying to figure out how to protect her from her brother and mine. And for a good long while, I think she did the same, until finally her deep breathing told me she rested, even if I could not. I inch back, trying not to wake her, and grab my phone from the nightstand, checking for a message from Seth with some kind of update. There isn’t one, but then, he has to sleep. I know this, yet I struggle to contain the urge to text him now.

  Sitting up, I run my hands through my hair and stand, taking my phone with me to the bathroom, and the hole in my stomach reminds me we never ordered that pizza. Emily is going to be starving when she wakes up. I shut the bathroom door and stare down at the few items she’s set on the sink and it steals my breath. She is in my life now. Really in my life. My responsibility, though Emily would disagree on that part, but I know of no other way than to take care of her, to protect her, and that is what is gutting me. How do I protect her when our families are basically two tornadoes about to sideswipe us at any moment, or worse, collide, with devastating results?

  I push off the door and waste no time getting in the shower, and then out again, with two thoughts in mind. I have to contain Emily’s situation. And I have to get rid of the Martina cartel before they are fully embedded in Brandon Enterprises, if it’s not already too late. And I can’t do it pussyfooting around, which is exactly what we’re doing by toeing every spot Derek might be hiding the Martina involvement instead of stomping it out. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I inch the door open, finding Emily still asleep, the first glow of morning light illuminating her dark hair draped across the pillow. Seeing her like this, peaceful and sweet, punches me in the chest and stirs unfamiliar emotions. Crossing the bedroom, I step into the closet and shut the door, flipping on the light. That’s when my gaze goes to Emily’s tiny stack of clothes sitting on the floor, in a corner.