Damage Control (Dirty Money #2)

“Don’t do that to yourself,” I say, resting my hand on top of her knees. “The mind is an amazing thing. It protects us. It compartmentalizes so we can stay sane. You’ve survived when many wouldn’t have. You’re stronger than I think you realize.”

“I wasn’t strong that night, or I might have made different decisions. I was freaking out. Crying. Screaming. Losing my mind.”

“Why did he kill him?”

“He claimed that he found out my stepfather stole money from him and the Geminis and made it look like my brother did it. They fought and came to blows, and my stepfather ended up with a statue in his head.”

“So it was self-defense.”

“He says it was.”

I arch a brow. “That sounds like doubt.”

“I don’t know my brother anymore, and the past few weeks have really driven that point home. I mean, my first reaction was to go to the police. I wanted, no, I begged him to go to them, but he wouldn’t.”

“You said there was a murder. That doesn’t sound like you think this was an accident.”

“There was an obvious struggle. I believe they fought, but what kind of person bashes a man’s head in, Shane?” She swallows hard and shuts her eyes a moment before she looks at me again. “It wasn’t one bash to the head. Or maybe it was. Who am I to judge? I could barely look at him like that.”

“If you think it was more than self-defense,” I say, “I trust your instincts. What was his reasoning for not going to the police?”

“He said that Geminis don’t turn in Geminis or they end up dead. And Geminis that steal from Geminis end up tortured and then dead. In my eyes, that was a reason for him to offer evidence against the Geminis in exchange for immunity.”

“But he didn’t agree.”

“He told me he had to clean up the mess, prove his innocence. And if he failed, he said two things would happen: They’d make him watch me die and then they’d kill him. I told him I’d go to the police. I’m not a Gemini, but he said anyone who turned on them ended up dead.”

“That’s when he told you to run,” I say, but I’m beginning to think he was just getting rid of a problem, thankfully without killing her.

“Yes,” she confirms. “That’s when he told me to run. He had me take a leave from school, made my new identification, and sent me on my way. He wouldn’t even let me touch the money my mother left me that I have saved. He said it would look to the Geminis, and the police, like I was running. Which I am, but he made up some story about some trip to Africa to help the starving and sick. Booked my tickets, registered me.”

“Let’s hope he did a better job of that than he did on your identity.” And as I’m suspicious by nature, and even more so about her brother, I ask, “How much money do you have in your account?”

“Two hundred thousand in three accounts. I’m paranoid. I didn’t want it all in one place.”

“And your brother has money too, right?”

“Oh yes. He’s a millionaire, just like my stepfather. And if you’re asking yourself why am I living like I am here in Denver, it’s a good question. He keeps promising to send me my money, but he doesn’t.”

“What is his reasoning?”

“He says he’s trying to find a way to send it to me without drawing attention, but he’s sent me nothing. Not a dime. I left school because of him, and I can’t even get to my own money. I was down to pennies when I got the job working for your father.”

“Based on what you’ve told me about your stepfather, I now know why you handle my father so well.”

“My brother and stepfather are different variations of your father. All three are rich, arrogant jerks. He’s actually a little too like my stepfather for comfort.”

“They’re both certainly poison to everyone around them. Do you have any idea if your stepfather has been found?”

“My brother told me he made it look like he left the country.”

“We can find that out, and let’s hope he did a better job of that than he did of creating your new identity. I’m going to get Seth to do some discreet digging and we’ll have answers tomorrow.” I stroke her hair behind her ear. “I want you to move in with me.”

She catches my hand. “How, after all I’ve told you, can you think that having me in your life is a good idea? I don’t want to be an obligation. I’m fine at my apartment.”

“Sweetheart, there are a hundred ways I could help you and not invite you into my bed, or my life. I want you to live with me.”

“Shane—”

I lean in and press my lips to hers, lingering there before I inch back and look at her. “Save whatever you’re going to say for my bed that is now our bed, unless it’s a request to get naked one more time before we leave.” I lower my voice, confessing what I’ve felt, but haven’t even admitted to myself. “I need you with me.”

“You don’t have to be my protector.”

I think of my family, of the lines I’ve walked for them, of the lines, even now, I cross, and something about this woman reminds me why I can’t be the Brandon my father wants me to be. “Maybe it’s me who needs you to protect me.”

“You? Who do you need protection from?

My lips quirk. “Usually my mother.”

“I’d laugh, but I think we all need protection from your mother.”

My mother’s motives and actions burn in the back of my mind, but right now, it’s Emily’s mother that deserves attention. “Speaking of mothers,” I say, reaching into my pocket and removing the velvet box, which I open for her.

She sucks in air and reaches out to touch the chain before glancing up at me. “Thank you, Shane.”

“Why aren’t you wearing it?”

“I never took it off before all of this happened. It seemed like something the police might detail on my wanted poster.” She reaches up and tugs on her dark brown hair. “Right along with the blond hair I no longer have.”

“You’re really a blonde?”

“Yes. I am. Can you picture it?”

“I’ll picture it when you change it back.”

“I’m not sure I’m going to go back.”

“We can buy a wig.” I glance down at the velvet box. “Put the bracelet on.”

“No,” she says, resolutely shutting the box and taking it from me. “It’s too much a part of the old me. I need to be the new me. That’s how I survive.” She speaks the words with the strength and bravado I expect from her, but underneath there is a vulnerability that says she’s still scared. I want to tell her she doesn’t have a reason to be.

My cell phone rings and I dig it out of my pocket, see Seth’s number on the screen, and hit the answer button. “How are things there?” he asks, and I know him well enough to see this as the prelude to whatever he really called about.

“We’re headed to the garage in five minutes,” I say and, as if Emily takes my cue, she slides off the bed to start dressing. “Why?”

“There was a partial power outage at Brandon Pharmaceuticals,” Seth says, “and it included the security cameras.”

I don’t react. Not with Emily sitting here watching me. I’m also aware that the assembly lines are shut down for the night, and that my cell phone can never be assured secure; I keep my question cautious. “Any activity?”