Thirteen
Page 61
“Then I’d have to explain why I didn’t stop you. And the men who left him here would have to explain why he wasn’t better secured. He’s valuable Cabal property, ma’am. I’m going to insist on this.”
When she looked over at Clay, he shook his head. He was right, of course. As leader of this mission, her priority was keeping him and Savannah safe.
“Later,” Clay murmured. “We’ll handle this later.”
He walked over to where Malcolm still lay on the ground. “Now that I know you’re alive? I won’t rest until you’re not. Remember that.”
TWENTY-SIX
Only two guards tried to stop us as we made our way out of Nast headquarters. The rest pretended not to notice us. One even distracted his comrades so we could sneak past.
In the immediate aftermath of Thomas’s death, the staff had turned to Josef, the senior high-ranking Nast. But as the shock passed and news of what happened spread, many must have been reconsidering that. Sean was heir, meaning he was now CEO, meaning it might not be wise to stop his sister from fleeing the building. Especially now, when word had spread that I really was his sister.
The moment we’d cleared the building and any cell blockers, Elena’s phone started vibrating. It was Lucas. We ducked between two vans in a nearby lot and she passed it to me while we caught our breath.
“We’re out,” I said. “And you?”
“Twenty minutes ago,” I heard Adam say in the background. “Where the hell were you?”
“Adam was concerned,” Lucas said.
“So I hear. We ran into … a werewolf Clay knew from years ago. There was a fight.”
Lucas didn’t ask for details. He knew that any mutt we bumped into would take advantage of the opportunity to fight Clay, and he’d have no choice but to stop and defend himself.
“Can you put Elena on?” Lucas said. “They have a car, and we all need to get to it.”
I handed over the phone. Elena gave Lucas directions as Clay started moving us along.
“We’re not telling Jeremy about Malcolm,” he said when Elena hung up.
Elena didn’t answer. When I glanced over, she was just walking, carefully scanning the road.
“I’m talking to you, Savannah,” Clay said. “Elena doesn’t need to be told that.”
“We aren’t telling Karl either,” she said. “Malcolm’s resurrection is staying between us.”
“Why not Karl, though?” I asked.
“Because I don’t want competition over who gets to kill the bastard,” Clay said.
“Malcolm killed Karl’s dad when he was about fifteen,” Elena explained. “Not a fair fight, if the rumors are true.”
“Mutt hunt,” Clay said as he checked around the next corner, then waved us onto the sidewalk. “Malcolm and the Santos men used to track down and kill mutts, even if they were staying out of trouble, minding their own business. Karl’s lucky he got away.”
“I think Karl blames himself for what happened,” Elena said. “But it’s not the kind of thing you can ask him about. He doesn’t need this now, though.”
We got to the car just before the others showed up, then we drove to Bryce’s condo. I’d never been there, not surprisingly given that until two days ago, Bryce and I hadn’t been on speaking terms. Sean had keys, also not surprisingly. He figured it wouldn’t be under surveillance, since the Nasts knew Bryce was in Miami, too sick to move. We could hole up for a bit and decide our next move. From the outside, the building was exactly what I would have expected from Bryce. Very Nast. Ultramodern, with BMWs and Mercedes filling the lot, and probably more MBAs in the halls than in the Harvard School of Business. Not one of those professionals, bustling to or from work, said a word to us.
Walking through the door to Bryce’s place, though, was like walking into an entirely different building. It was painted in greens and rusts and oranges, oddly natural shades for a guy who snarked about the camping and hiking trips Sean took with Adam and me. The furniture was all chosen for comfort, big chairs and deep sofas. There were books, too, shelves stuffed with them. Along with stacks of music. Stacks covered in dust. Bryce had been a music student before our dad died. It was hard to remember that now.
Sean and I settled onto a couch in the living room. Clay and Elena had gone into Bryce’s home office to call Jeremy, and then the twins. Lucas was on the phone to Paige. Adam was hanging back, pretending to check out the artwork on the walls in the hall, giving me a moment with Sean.
The kitchen—which I could see through the living room door—was the only place that seemed to have escaped Bryce’s redecorating. It was all spotless white and gleaming black and glistening stainless steel, like something off the cooking shows Paige watched.
“Kitchen doesn’t get a lot of use, I see,” I said. “Seems all three of us got the take-out gene.”
My voice startled Sean. He looked at the kitchen, as if replaying what I’d said. Then he shook his head.
“Bryce cooks. He’s really good at it. He used to say he was going to be a chef one day. Dad took us over to France when Bryce was twelve, so he could go to a cooking school there for our vacation. Granddad …” He paused. Cleared his throat. “Granddad gave him shit for it. Said Dad was filling Bryce’s head with nonsense, but you know Dad. Anything we—” His voice cracked. “Anything we wanted. As long as we were happy.”
I put my hand on his arm and leaned against him. He hesitated a moment, then hugged me, his face pressed against my hair, and I could feel him shaking.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m really, really sorry.”
He took a deep breath and spoke to the top of my head. “I hated what Granddad did to you and I hated how he treated Bryce, but he was still …” Another deep breath. “I saw other sides of him. Better sides.”
I sat up and met his eyes.
“I hope he went someplace …” He shook off the thought and cleared his throat. “It was good seeing Dad. Really good. I wish Bryce could have been there.”
I nodded, and leaned against him again, as he seemed to struggle to be happy about that part, to find some good in this hellish day. He couldn’t quite manage it. Seeing our father, only to lose him again, had hurt, like me with Mom.
When she looked over at Clay, he shook his head. He was right, of course. As leader of this mission, her priority was keeping him and Savannah safe.
“Later,” Clay murmured. “We’ll handle this later.”
He walked over to where Malcolm still lay on the ground. “Now that I know you’re alive? I won’t rest until you’re not. Remember that.”
TWENTY-SIX
Only two guards tried to stop us as we made our way out of Nast headquarters. The rest pretended not to notice us. One even distracted his comrades so we could sneak past.
In the immediate aftermath of Thomas’s death, the staff had turned to Josef, the senior high-ranking Nast. But as the shock passed and news of what happened spread, many must have been reconsidering that. Sean was heir, meaning he was now CEO, meaning it might not be wise to stop his sister from fleeing the building. Especially now, when word had spread that I really was his sister.
The moment we’d cleared the building and any cell blockers, Elena’s phone started vibrating. It was Lucas. We ducked between two vans in a nearby lot and she passed it to me while we caught our breath.
“We’re out,” I said. “And you?”
“Twenty minutes ago,” I heard Adam say in the background. “Where the hell were you?”
“Adam was concerned,” Lucas said.
“So I hear. We ran into … a werewolf Clay knew from years ago. There was a fight.”
Lucas didn’t ask for details. He knew that any mutt we bumped into would take advantage of the opportunity to fight Clay, and he’d have no choice but to stop and defend himself.
“Can you put Elena on?” Lucas said. “They have a car, and we all need to get to it.”
I handed over the phone. Elena gave Lucas directions as Clay started moving us along.
“We’re not telling Jeremy about Malcolm,” he said when Elena hung up.
Elena didn’t answer. When I glanced over, she was just walking, carefully scanning the road.
“I’m talking to you, Savannah,” Clay said. “Elena doesn’t need to be told that.”
“We aren’t telling Karl either,” she said. “Malcolm’s resurrection is staying between us.”
“Why not Karl, though?” I asked.
“Because I don’t want competition over who gets to kill the bastard,” Clay said.
“Malcolm killed Karl’s dad when he was about fifteen,” Elena explained. “Not a fair fight, if the rumors are true.”
“Mutt hunt,” Clay said as he checked around the next corner, then waved us onto the sidewalk. “Malcolm and the Santos men used to track down and kill mutts, even if they were staying out of trouble, minding their own business. Karl’s lucky he got away.”
“I think Karl blames himself for what happened,” Elena said. “But it’s not the kind of thing you can ask him about. He doesn’t need this now, though.”
We got to the car just before the others showed up, then we drove to Bryce’s condo. I’d never been there, not surprisingly given that until two days ago, Bryce and I hadn’t been on speaking terms. Sean had keys, also not surprisingly. He figured it wouldn’t be under surveillance, since the Nasts knew Bryce was in Miami, too sick to move. We could hole up for a bit and decide our next move. From the outside, the building was exactly what I would have expected from Bryce. Very Nast. Ultramodern, with BMWs and Mercedes filling the lot, and probably more MBAs in the halls than in the Harvard School of Business. Not one of those professionals, bustling to or from work, said a word to us.
Walking through the door to Bryce’s place, though, was like walking into an entirely different building. It was painted in greens and rusts and oranges, oddly natural shades for a guy who snarked about the camping and hiking trips Sean took with Adam and me. The furniture was all chosen for comfort, big chairs and deep sofas. There were books, too, shelves stuffed with them. Along with stacks of music. Stacks covered in dust. Bryce had been a music student before our dad died. It was hard to remember that now.
Sean and I settled onto a couch in the living room. Clay and Elena had gone into Bryce’s home office to call Jeremy, and then the twins. Lucas was on the phone to Paige. Adam was hanging back, pretending to check out the artwork on the walls in the hall, giving me a moment with Sean.
The kitchen—which I could see through the living room door—was the only place that seemed to have escaped Bryce’s redecorating. It was all spotless white and gleaming black and glistening stainless steel, like something off the cooking shows Paige watched.
“Kitchen doesn’t get a lot of use, I see,” I said. “Seems all three of us got the take-out gene.”
My voice startled Sean. He looked at the kitchen, as if replaying what I’d said. Then he shook his head.
“Bryce cooks. He’s really good at it. He used to say he was going to be a chef one day. Dad took us over to France when Bryce was twelve, so he could go to a cooking school there for our vacation. Granddad …” He paused. Cleared his throat. “Granddad gave him shit for it. Said Dad was filling Bryce’s head with nonsense, but you know Dad. Anything we—” His voice cracked. “Anything we wanted. As long as we were happy.”
I put my hand on his arm and leaned against him. He hesitated a moment, then hugged me, his face pressed against my hair, and I could feel him shaking.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m really, really sorry.”
He took a deep breath and spoke to the top of my head. “I hated what Granddad did to you and I hated how he treated Bryce, but he was still …” Another deep breath. “I saw other sides of him. Better sides.”
I sat up and met his eyes.
“I hope he went someplace …” He shook off the thought and cleared his throat. “It was good seeing Dad. Really good. I wish Bryce could have been there.”
I nodded, and leaned against him again, as he seemed to struggle to be happy about that part, to find some good in this hellish day. He couldn’t quite manage it. Seeing our father, only to lose him again, had hurt, like me with Mom.
