Red After Dark: A Romantic Thriller (Blackwood Security Book 13) Page 3

  “Forget it.”

  One of Alaric’s own sources had heard that the reason the FBI hadn’t pursued Alaric to the ends of the earth was because Harrison had whispered in the director’s ear. At the behest of Emmy, undoubtedly, but he’d still taken the pressure off. Alaric had owed the man a favour.

  “It’s late,” Black said. “Shall we get on with this?”

  Harrison shrugged. “Emmy? Why were you asking about Kyla Devane? Are you looking at her for some reason?”

  “We’re looking at Irvine Carnes, and Devane’s name popped up as an oddity. Why’d he endorse her?”

  “Why are you looking at Carnes?”

  Emmy jerked a thumb at Alaric. “We’re still after those bloody paintings from the Becker Museum raid, and we’ve got reason to believe Carnes’s assistant picked one of them up in London the Wednesday before last. Either he’s masquerading as an art thief in his spare time, or he was there on Carnes’s behalf.”

  “Carnes was always a straight shooter. I can’t see him getting involved in a robbery.”

  “You also couldn’t see him endorsing Kyla Devane, right? And what would you say if I told you he once tried to buy this particular painting from the museum?”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah, that’s about where we got to. I’m heading to Kentucky tomorrow with Alaric, but I want to get an idea of what we’re walking into. Forewarned is forearmed.”

  “If I could tell you, I would, but quite honestly we’re scrambling here. The Devane thing blindsided everyone. But holy shit, we need to keep her out of that seat.”

  “Why?” Alaric asked. He’d looked Kyla Devane up before the call, but he wanted to hear Harrison’s reasoning. “Forgive me, I haven’t been following that particular race. Isn’t she running as an independent?”

  Since Harrison was the country’s first independent president, logic said he should be on her side. His victory had come after a vicious, mud-slinging battle between the Republicans and Democrats left the populace jaded, and a clever campaign coupled with people’s apparent desire for change had enabled Harrison to slide through and claim the top job. Which was pretty much the path Devane seemed to be following. Oh, and it didn’t hurt that both of Harrison’s main rivals had been tainted by scandal right before the election. A call girl for one and association with a white supremacist group for the other if Alaric recalled correctly.

  “She’s unpredictable. Her policies are all over the place, and since the senate’s split forty-seven Republicans, forty-eight Democrats, and four independents after Carnes’s retirement, there are times when she could be the deciding vote.”

  “Playing devil’s advocate, isn’t that a good thing? She claims her wealth will allow her to listen to the people rather than corporate lobbyists.”

  “That’s bullshit. She’s not a politician, she’s a party girl trading on her family name. Look at her history. Everything Kyla Devane does is to benefit Kyla Devane, nobody else, and she doesn’t understand that if she’s making decisions on a national scale, millions of real people are going to be impacted. Hell, she promised to hold Twitter surveys to help her decide how to vote.”

  “Or perhaps she does understand the impact of her decisions,” Black suggested. “When her grandfather held that seat, he voted against the minimum wage, against the equality act, against tax breaks for lower earners. Yet he pushed forward legislation that reduced estate tax and increased the lifetime exemption.” Black’s lips flickered in a poor imitation of a smile. “I should have sent him a crate of champagne. The asshole saved me a fucking fortune.” He quickly turned serious again. “But no matter. Kyla claims she’s running in his memory, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes,” Harrison agreed.

  “And since she personally benefited from her grandfather’s decisions, it stands to reason that she understands the influence she’d wield.”

  “That’s worse than the alternative.”

  “It is. And she’s not as clueless as you think. Power-hungry, yes. Narcissistic, yes. Devoid of empathy, yes. But not stupid.”

  James sighed long and hard and reached for a glass of wine. “She’s running a smart campaign. Where her policies are unpalatable, she’s using her gender to appeal to women and her looks to appeal to men.”

  Emmy burst out laughing. “Dude, look in the mirror. Do you have any idea how many women decided to vote for you after those shirtless pictures got splashed across the tabloids?”

  “Why do you think I went surfing the weekend before the election? I froze my damn nuts off.”

  Another smirk from Black. “Which was why I advised you not to wear Speedos.”

  Why didn’t it surprise Alaric to find out Black had been involved in that plan? Running a presidential campaign cost a fortune, and although Harrison had a lot of grassroots support, Alaric suspected some of Black’s estate tax savings had also been funnelled in his old friend’s direction. The men might have fought over Emmy, but they still shared certain goals. And Black understood the nuances of power better than anybody.

  “Can we stay on topic?” Emmy asked. “I don’t need to think about Speedos or shrivelled nuts tonight. Irvine Carnes?”

  “We spoke most weeks,” James said. “He was Ranking Member on the Foreign Relations Committee, and I valued his advice. But he’s sick. Cancer. That’s why he stepped down. I wonder whether medication could be impairing his judgement, because I don’t have any other explanation for why he’s backing Devane over Biggs. I also hear he’s made a number of poor investment decisions lately.”

  “What kind of cancer? Not a brain tumour?”

  “It started in his lungs, but it’s spreading. They caught it late. He thought it was bronchitis and put off going to the hospital, then boom. I doubt he has long left. When you ask about this painting, tread carefully. Whatever misjudgements Carnes might have made recently, he’s still served this country well for over three decades.”

  Could things get any more complicated?

  “I’ll be polite,” Emmy said, and James groaned. “Okay, maybe I’ll let Alaric do the talking,” she conceded.

  Gee, thanks.

  “I think that would be best. And I know I shouldn’t ask, but if there’s anything you can dig up on Devane…”

  “I’ll take my spade.”

  “Always comes in handy for burying the bodies,” Black muttered.

  James reached forward. “I didn’t hear that. I’m going now.”

  The screen went dark.

  CHAPTER 4 - EMMY

  “WE’RE NOT TAKING the Corvette?” Daniela di Grassi dumped her bag next to my brand-new Range Rover and made a face. “What sort of a road trip is this?”

  Originally, Dan had booked this week off to go on vacation with her family, but then Ethan, her significant other, got asked to produce a charity single to raise money for a recent earthquake in Haiti, and he didn’t want to say no. And Caleb, their son, had been more excited about hanging out at the studio with a bunch of pop-star-rock-stars than taking a jaunt to Italy anyway, so they’d postponed the trip until summer. Caleb’s principal would be happy—she hated when Dan snuck him out of school, never mind that seeing the world was more of an education than doing projects on the life cycle of woodlice or whatever he was working on this week.

  And me? I was happy too. Dan had been one of my best friends for over a decade, and with so much going on in our lives, we didn’t see enough of each other anymore. An adventure in Kentucky was just what the doctor ordered. Actually, I might need a whole hospital since Dan had offered to share the driving.

  “No, we’re not taking the Corvette. Firstly, I can’t fit all my guns in the trunk, and secondly, if you’re taking a turn behind the wheel, this is the vehicle I want to crash in.”

  “O ye of little faith.”

  “How many times have you crashed this year?”

  She counted on her fingers. “Four? Five? Does the fox count? It ran right out in front of me.”

  “You needed a
new bumper. Yes, it counts.”

  “Well, how many speeding tickets has Mack disappeared for you?”

  Mackenzie Cain was another of my besties as well as being Blackwood’s best hacker.

  “Uh, two.”

  “Really? This year? That seems low.”

  “This month,” I admitted. “Put your stuff in the car, Dan.”

  We’d considered taking the jet, but the helicopter was being serviced—first-world problems—so we’d have had to drive to the airfield anyway. And then we’d have needed a rental car to get around at the other end, and I wouldn’t have had an excuse to road-test my shiny new toy. Kentucky really wasn’t that far.

  Bradley bounded through the back door, hauling my suitcase along behind him. “Everything’s packed. Did you eat breakfast yet?”

  Not quite everything—I hadn’t paid a visit to the basement armoury yet. But Bradley had sorted out the boring stuff at least.

  “I had coffee.”

  “You can’t survive on coffee. Mrs. Fairfax made banana muffins, and they’re a-ma-zing.”

  Mrs. Fairfax was my housekeeper, and yes, she was an awesome cook. But banana muffins sounded all too healthy. I’d planned to stop for a McDonald’s breakfast en route, but then Toby, my nutritionist, materialised behind Bradley with a paper carrier bag.

  “You get muffins and fruit salad, plus sandwiches for lunch. I wouldn’t want you to starve on the way.”

  His tone said he knew exactly what I’d been planning. The dude was psychic. Last time I’d stopped for a cheeky cheeseburger on the way home, I’d paid cash and thrown the wrapper in a rubbish bin on the outskirts of Richmond, but somehow, he still knew what I’d done.

  “Super, thanks.”

  Alaric was borrowing one of Blackwood’s Ford Explorers for the journey, and now Bethany appeared with a single hold-all. Had she finally learned how to pack light?

  “You guys ready to go?” I asked.

  “Alaric’s on a call, but he said he wouldn’t be long.”

  Yeah, right. Alaric could talk for England and America when he got going. Folks, this could take a while. At least it gave me plenty of time to select my hardware, and I could probably fit in some shooting practice too.

  “How’s Gemma? Have you spoken to her?”

  Gemma was the girl we’d helped out of a difficult situation earlier in the week. Bethany hadn’t been keen to leave her alone in England, but Gemma had insisted she’d be fine. I wasn’t entirely convinced—nobody recovered from what she’d been through overnight—but I had to look at the bigger picture. Gemma still worked at the gallery Bethany had been fired from, the same gallery that had handled Red After Dark and at least two other stolen paintings that we knew of. If our efforts in Kentucky failed, we’d have to try another tack, and having somebody on the inside who we could leverage wasn’t a bad idea. Plus she could retrieve the bugs me and Alaric had planted a couple of weeks ago.

  I’d asked Roxy, an acquaintance in London, to check in on Gemma regularly, and Alaric’s buddy Judd had promised to keep an eye on her too. I’d walked in on the tail end of the conversation between the two of them, which was more of a warning on Alaric’s part—an eye, not hands, you asshole; Gemma’s fragile—and if Judd didn’t do anything stupid, she’d be okay. Hopefully.

  “I called her last night and offered the use of my flat if she doesn’t want to go home straight away, and Judd’s insisting on driving her to work tomorrow morning so she doesn’t have to brave the Tube. He seems nice, doesn’t he?”

  Bethany hadn’t seen Judd shoot a man between the eyes without flinching.

  “Yeah, he seems nice.” I shoved Toby’s offerings into the back seat of the Range Rover—out of sight, out of mind. “Tell Alaric to get a move on, would you?”

  Closure. I just wanted closure. To find Red, find Emerald, slam the door on that chapter of my past, and move on. I owed Alaric, but I didn’t want to spend the rest of my days repaying the debt.

  Down in the basement of Riverley Hall, I found the door to the weapons’ locker ajar. The room was a terrorist’s wet dream, and if the cops ever got a look inside, we’d probably all be arrested. Fortunately, the entrance was well-hidden.

  Black was lurking at the back near a stack of Russian-made RPG launchers. We’d come across a whole bunch of goodies on a trip to Siberia a while back, and some of the stash might have made its way home with us. Not the nuke, though. We’d handed that over to the authorities. Ain’t nobody wants to sleep on top of that shit.

  “I’ve packed your electronics.”

  My husband waved at a black plastic case that looked more like carry-on luggage than a spy kit. I flipped back the lid and took an inventory. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him—if I needed it, it would be there—but more that he’d spent nearly two decades drilling the importance of checking my own equipment into me. Cameras, burner phones, night-vision goggles, a nifty little device the size of a cigarette lighter that could download the entire contents of a smartphone in less than a minute…

  “How many people are you expecting me to bug? We’re trying to retrieve a painting, not discover state secrets.”

  “Yes, about that…”

  Uh-oh. I knew that tone. I hated that tone.

  “I’m just gonna back away slowly.”

  “Kyla Devane.”

  Shit.

  I’d thought it was odd Black hadn’t tried to stop me from going to Kentucky with Alaric. Arranged a meeting or a training exercise or a last-minute assassination, that sort of thing.

  “She can’t be allowed to win this election,” he continued. “This government’s got too much left to do to risk having progress derailed by some crank and her self-serving agenda.”

  “And by government, you mean James?”

  Black just smiled. That didn’t surprise me—he’d invested a considerable amount in James’s campaign, and he wanted to get his money’s worth.

  “Businessman first, friend second?”

  “Husband first, patriot second. Friendship and business come lower down the list. James needs to finish what he started, which means fixing what the last asshole broke, then winning a second term. America can’t afford another four years of political infighting, which means he needs a clear path to do his job without being blocked by a woman more interested in sound bites and photo ops than global stability and a healthy economy.”

  Quite the little speech from a man as economical with his words as politicians were with the truth. But no matter how much I wanted a quick, no-nonsense trip to Kentucky, I couldn’t pretend he was wrong.

  “I’ll take a look into what’s going on.”

  “Give me a few days to get my current project sorted out, and I’ll lend a hand if you need it.”

  Alaric and Black both in Kentucky? Brilliant.

  “I’ll keep you updated. Nate’s already started researching Devane and Carnes.” Nate was one of our business partners. “Check your messages.”

  Black handed me a suppressed Smith & Wesson .22. “Don’t forget this.”

  I took my previous “shit” and raised it to a “fuck.” If Black wanted me to take that weapon, it meant wetwork was on the cards, and I wouldn’t get much sleep until the job was over. So much for a fun road trip.

  CHAPTER 5 - ALARIC

  “THERE HE IS,” Emmy murmured. “Smile, honey.”

  She raised a camera, and Alaric plastered on a cheesy grin and mugged for the lens. It could have been any old tourist photo in small-town Kentucky, but this one just happened to catch Stéphane Hegler as he paused to stub out a cigarette. A moment later, the man darted into a café.

  Thankfully, all four members of the crew had made it to Kentucky in one piece. The trip wasn’t so much of a problem in the drama-free tranquility of the Ford Explorer—Beth and Alaric had agreed on a radio station, shared the driving, and stopped twice for snacks on the way. The dream team of Emmy and Dan? Alaric’s vehicle had passed the Range Rover fifty miles out of Richmond, pulle
d over at the side of the road in front of a state trooper. Two hours after that, following a brief period with no phone signal, he’d picked up a garbled voicemail from Dan. Apparently, she’d hit a guy, his dog was injured, and they were going to the veterinarian. Beth had gasped at the thought of a hurt animal, and Alaric had nearly bitten through his bottom lip as he watched her tearing up in the passenger seat.

  He wanted to hit the brakes and give her a hug, but he didn’t dare. Fucking Dan.

  And then things got worse.

  Somehow—somehow—the pair of crazies beat Beth and him to Kentucky, and the true horror of the situation became clear. Miracle of miracles, Dan hadn’t had yet another fender bender. No, she and Emmy had stopped for their junk food fix at some diner in the middle of nowhere, and there they’d seen ol’ Joe Bob booting his mangy old mutt across the parking lot. Emmy, of course, had asked him to stop, and when he gave her a mouthful in return, Dan had punched him in the face while Emmy slashed the tyres on his pickup. Then they’d stolen the damn dog and driven it to Lexington for a check-up. And now? Now Beth was feeding the skinny pooch cocktail sausages in their rented house while Alaric and Emmy tracked Irvine Carnes’s assistant.

  “Coffee?” Alaric asked after Emmy finished taking pictures.

  He’d deal with Fido later. Right now, there were more important things to worry about.

  “We’ve known each other for fourteen years, and you still feel the need to ask that question?”

  Fair point. An old-fashioned bell jingled as he held the door to the café open for her, although the rest of the decor looked reasonably modern. A dozen tables were scattered haphazardly in a space large enough for twice that number—good if you wanted a private conversation, not so great if you wanted to listen in on somebody else’s. Hegler ordered a chai latte and took a seat beside the window, paying more attention to his phone than the surroundings.

  Alaric had learned his lesson. “One light coffee, one black coffee, and a chocolate muffin for the lady.”