“And?” Leland said.
Romeo fidgeted, looking only at Gracie. “He said he was your son. And that his father had told him about us. He said he’d taken over a school email address but was actually the one who’d given us the lead on the group. And that he had others.”
That made absolutely no sense. Although Romeo would have had no way to know. She knew that John would never, ever have told him about her lifestyle. El, maybe. Ty, never.
Gracie put her hand against a stomach doing fix-this-now flips. Someone had set Cee, Ty, and her up in a very smart, very detailed way. “It wasn’t Ty sending those emails. You were catfished.”
Romeo shook his head, turned a healthy shade of shame. He started to stammer, protest, then accepting the information, began to talk: “Cee wouldn’t tell me where she was supposed to meet Ty—said it was better if I didn’t know—but I got the impression it was in the Poconos.”
She swung her head between Momma and Leland, both of them staring past her at each other. It wasn’t Ty. It wasn’t Cee. It was someone drawing them together while pretending to be both of them. Someone with computer experience, enough to set all of this up. Someone with motivation.
Momma and Leland had been right. This time it was Gracie who named her first. “It’s Layla.”
Gracie’s cell beeped. Her heart picked up its pace; she looked at the text. It was from Cee. Coordinates. And the words, He’s here. Come alone. Or Cee, who’s not here, will die.
She handed Leland the phone and he shared the image with Momma. Layla had them both, apparently at separate locations. Her eyes traveled across Leland’s desk. And she’d used Cee’s phone number—despite the fact that she was currently staring at Cee’s cell sitting quietly on Leland’s desk—to text Gracie.
She was good. She’d hacked Cee’s phone—which had layers of security. There was no doubt she’d used that phone to spy, to listen in on conversations, to gain information, to manipulate. That’s how she’d known about the elevator. She’d been listening in on their conversation, because unlike the Mantua Home, Gracie’s apartment didn’t have a countersurveillance system.
Come alone.
Fudge.
The desk phone rang. Leland reached across his desk and picked it up. He frowned. “Wave them inside.”
He hung up. “Dusty and Victor are here.”
Dusty and Victor?
Chapter 61
Dusty was done arguing with Victor, who’d been outside the club when Dusty had escaped through Gracie’s elevator and tunnel. The man had a look of pure rage on his face. Though that could be from the pain of driving an Expedition with his arm in a sling.
“I could’ve driven your SUV, you one-armed bastard,” Dusty said.
“I’m not trusting you with my ride. I saw him—Tony.”
Not again. “I don’t give a fuck what you saw, the man is dead.”
Dusty rubbed at his aching eyes. The setting sun right in his face didn’t help. His head throbbed. His stomach turned. Leave it be, man. Leave it be.
He bent forward to get away from the sun and massaged the sides of his skull.
Victor looked at him. “You okay?”
“Can we just leave this be? Let’s worry about saving Gracie’s son.”
“You don’t look good.”
Going quiet, Victor drove the car to a place Dusty had never imagined would have more of a pull for him than the job.
Victor stopped the car at the manned gates of the Mantua Home. A guard came out, and after a rather surprisingly quick check of the car, waved them through.
They drove through the gate and over a new speed bump large enough to jar his teeth. Still recovering from his injuries, Victor cried out, “Mother. Fucker.”
Looked like the Mantua Home had themselves a new scanner. Swanky. “Pretty sure that motherfucker speedbump had a scanner in it that just weighed our balls.”
Victor’s eyebrows rose. “Could’ve bought me dinner first.”
After passing through campus and up the hill, Dusty directed Victor where to park. He pulled into a spot and turned off his car.
Dusty climbed out of the SUV, his stomach in knots. He had no idea how this was going to go. For all he knew, Gracie would kick him right out.
He took the front steps two at a time. The door opened, and he walked into the Parish home and found himself greeted by…Gracie.
His heart gave a whoop of joy and a rallying cry of Steady, man.
“Feel for you,” Victor said as he sidestepped past him, then nodded at Gracie. “Where’s Momma?”
She pointed down the hall. He began to walk in that direction and threw back, “Go get ’em, Red.”
Really? Dusty braced himself. He’d rather she hit him than look at him with eyes that screamed her pain.
Gracie stopped within feet, looked him right in the eyes. “What happened with Tony after we left?”
He startled. “What? Tony?” He tried to think, tried to remember what had happened at the end. His head ached like someone tried to split it open with an ax. He cringed, put his palms over his eyes. Leave it be, man. Leave it be.
He had no choice. He relaxed, let it go, lowered his hands, and blinked at her. “I have no idea.”
Her eyes looked strained, hurt. Wait. Hurt not by him but for him? She moved forward and put her arms around him. Why couldn’t he remember?
A thread of sharp alarm winged up his spine. He wrapped his arms around her soft warmth. “Grace, I can’t explain why, but I don’t remember what happened at the end with your brother.”
She shushed him. “I know. I know.”
Again that sharp slice of alarm. Something was fucked there. He felt what must be her tears soak into his shirt. “You do?”
She stepped back, wiped her eyes. “We have a dire situation here. I need your help. And I don’t have time to explain M-erasure to you, the levels of mind wiping, or what a complete and total Moby Dick my brother Tony has been to you. So can you trust me on this?”
He found his throat swelled with emotion. She was asking him to trust her? “Hell yeah.”
He bent to kiss her. And when she lifted her lips up to his, he claimed them, tasted and rejoiced in them, in her. She moaned. His heart filled his chest. So sweet. She put a hand on his face and pulled back. She ran a thumb across his chin. “I love you.”
He sucked in a breath. Damn, he was going to cry. He swallowed. “Love you more.”
Chapter 62
Layla’s computers were set up on the dining table in the great room of the True family vacation home. The shades were drawn, the room was dim. Just like Layla liked it.
Though, as far as cottages went, this one was ridiculous, with Victorian couches and lamps and an old-grandma smell and feel.
She preferred modern furniture. Sort of like the upstairs office in Gracie’s club. Another thing they had in common. Like computers and technology.
Despite its crowded and kitschy décor, this cottage was perfect for her needs. Far into the woods, secluded in the Poconos, and it abutted a whole lot of nothing. She typed another instruction into her computer, checking the images of the surrounding property on the multiple computer screens.
She directed a drone into place on the perimeter of the home. The tiny drone, an invention she’d named Huntsman, flew up, skirted branches, and when it reached the coordinates attached its talons to a tree branch.
The device weighed less than five ounces. Like the others, it was programmed to recognize and track human movement. And the best part? They weren’t that expensive. So losing them in the fire wouldn’t be a big deal.
One of the mercenaries on loan from her father’s biggest overseas supporters—a rich billionaire with more sand than soul—walked in from rigging the underground propane tank to the detonator.
Privately she called these borrowed