“I can’t stomach the memories,” he says, and I get it. I do. It’s the same reason I haven’t been, despite loving the property and the experience.
“A time when they convinced us we were a happy little family.”
He glances over at me. “You mean we weren’t?”
It’s a sarcastic, rhetorical question, and I give a humorless laugh. “Of course we were,” I say, walking toward the driver’s side of the truck while he does the same on the passenger’s side. In unison, we climb inside and shut the doors, and for the first time since my return home, that mountain between us feels more like a hill. “Makes you wonder what was real, doesn’t it?” I say, still talking about our family. But the idea behind the statement has me repeating, “You know more about Adrian Martina than you should,” before a realization hits me. “But it’s not him you know. It’s Teresa.”
“You already know this. What’s your point? She was my gateway drug into Adrian’s operation.”
“That you got addicted to,” I surmise.
He cuts his gaze from mine, looking forward, and does so a little too quickly for my comfort. “I told you,” he says. “Leave her out of this.”
“But you can’t, can you? Because she is your drug, like Emily is mine.”
He doesn’t react or look at me, his gaze focused on the front window, where there is nothing but a wall to inspect. “Yes,” he surprises me by conceding, his eyes meeting mine. “Yes, she is.”
“Derek—”
“She isn’t like them.”
“She actively, willingly lives and works close to her brother,” I say. “She’s one of them.”
“She’s trapped.”
“You’re trapped. We’re trapped. She is not. If she wanted to leave, they worship her. She could leave.”
His cell phone starts to ring, and he removes it from his pocket and then glances at me. “Surprise, surprise,” he says dryly. “It’s Mike, no doubt wanting to know why our building is on the news. Aside from the fact that he’s a pain in our fucking asses we don’t need right now. Do we have a story we want to tell him?”
“We have no idea what Pops might have already told him,” I say. “He could be cornering you into a conflicting story.”
He hits decline. “That’s the excuse I needed to ignore that call, but he won’t be ignored for long. He’ll call back.”
My phone starts to ring, and I fish it from my pocket and glance at Mike’s number on the screen. “No,” I agree, showing the caller ID to Derek. “He won’t.” I end the call, return my phone to my pocket, and start the engine. “It’s time to deal with our enemies, once and for all.”
“Our enemies?” he queries.
“They are our enemies, Derek, Mike included.”
“And what does that make our mother?” Derek asks.
“Indeed,” I say, my agreement bitter on my tongue. “That’s a question we have to ask.”
“One with an answer we might not like.”
He’s right, and somehow, as I pull us out of the garage, I have this sense that not only are Derek and I alike but different, but circumstances now force us to be united despite our divisions. I’d call that progress if those circumstances weren’t quite possibly life-and-death.
EMILY
The Escalade we ride in to the Four Seasons is large enough to allow myself, Jessica, Shane’s parents, and two of Cody’s men to ride with us. I don’t ask questions about the smoke or the building evacuation with Jessica and Maggie present, nor do I say much about Shane’s call, for fear I’ll create questions none of us want them asking. For Maggie’s part, she simply doesn’t ask questions, which I can only assume comes from her role as the grandame of the Brandon family. And while I do not believe Jessica knows about the Martina family, she understands the secrets and lies that are the Brandons, and chooses to keep her lips as sealed as mine.
After a short few-block drive, the Escalade turns into the parking garage of the Four Seasons, at which time I have one thought. We might be out of the smoke, and Brandon Senior might be able to breathe again, but I can’t. And that won’t change until I’m back with Shane, touching him, kissing him, confirming that he’s alive and well. I’m just not sure how we all stay that way with a man like Adrian Martina in our lives. Once we’ve parked, Cody and his men escort us to the elevators, though only Cody joins us in the actual car. The ride begins, and the silence is deafening until Brandon Senior begins to cough, a reminder to me that he’s dying. It’s also a sharp-edged knife in the heart of this family, a blade Derek handed to Adrian Martina to dig a little deeper.
We exit to the hallway, and Jessica tugs my arm, pulling me to the back of the group. “What’s going on?”
“I really don’t know,” I say, and even if I did, I would not involve her in this.
“You asked Shane if this was related to last night.”
“Shane’s taking over as acting CEO,” I say, grasping for a reasonable answer, and wishing like hell this woman didn’t see and hear too much, too often. “Not everyone is happy about that.”
“Derek?” she queries, but doesn’t give me time to reply. “Of course,” she says. “He wants the company to look in chaos under Shane’s control.”
“I thought so, but the smoke changed my opinion,” I say, concerned now that I have eased her fears a little too much, when I want her to remain cautious. “It seems extreme,” I add. “Maybe this isn’t related to the family at all. Maybe it’s terrorism or some other situation.”
“Right,” she says again. “It could be, but the timing does seem rather curious.”
We reach the door to the apartment and head inside, where Cody locks up and sets the rules: “Don’t leave. Don’t answer the door. If you need something, I’ll be on the balcony, making a few phone calls. Questions?”
Jessica shoves a lock of her now long blond hair behind her ear and folds her arms in front of her, concern furrowing her brow, her saucy attitude nowhere to be found. “Because the press is dangerous?”
“You’re damn straight they’re dangerous,” Brandon Senior barks, his voice raspy, almost unrecognizable.
Cody’s eyes meet Jessica’s. “I’ll be on the balcony,” he says, and not for the first time, there is a fizzle of connection between them that has me wondering if that was an invitation.
Whatever the case, he steps down the hallway, and Brandon Senior motions toward the apartment. “I need an office to work in.”
“I thought you’d want to lie down,” I offer.
“He does,” Maggie insists.
“I need to work,” he counters.
“You won’t be alive for the chemo if you kill yourself,” she argues.
It’s a good argument, but his phone rings, disrupting her efforts, and the minute he takes it out, looks at the screen, and says, “Mike,” before declining the call, I know she’s lost her influence tonight.
Clearly oblivious to this fact, Maggie looks displeased and questions him, “Why didn’t you take that? Surely Mike wants to know what’s going on.”