“How did you do it? Get through those years?” Her lips met the soft cotton of his shirt.
“I survived one day at a time like you're going to do now. It will get better, I promise.” He released her and lifted the phone from its cradle on his desk. “You and I are united now.”
“As in having a common cause?”
“As in we’re getting back together.” He placed one hand on the side of her neck, warmth, rough skin, and strength holding her gaze in place. “Love doesn’t die easily, not even in the face of total betrayal. We do have a ways to go. We have to learn to trust one another again. Slowly.”
He released her and turned to his desk.
Fair enough. Pretending everything was fine now was too much, too soon, too deep, too everything, despite her wanting to get lost in him earlier. It was true she loved him, as true as the sky was overhead and the ground was below. But her compass had been skewed for too long. She couldn't snap to a sure direction—not yet.
“Dinner,” he mouthed at her, holding the phone to his ear.
Her mind wandered as Trick debated chicken parmesan versus salmon with the kitchen staff. She needed her brother to stand in front of her, tell her the truth for once. Had Jay ever loved her ever? Ever had her back as he said? Only someone who hates you deep down inside would do something like steal everything from you, let you work yourself to death for a bare minimum while you did … whatever he’d been doing. Truth was all she wanted now.
Except the universe didn't want her to have that truth. Max and Nathan arrived with news two hours after Rachel had her meltdown. Max had found the apartment where Jay had been living. A woman with track marks up her arm had opened the door, and while she confirmed Jay “once lived there,” she refused to say much else. Within the hour, one of Declan's hacker friends had traced Jay's cell phone to a dumpster a mile from the apartment. Rachel's last conversation with Jay must have spooked him and he had fled.
Jay went from suspect to fugitive in less than half a day. And she went from attempting to manipulate Trick to needing him. Life really liked its curveballs. She was so done with this game.
17
Trick could count on one hand the number of times Declan had asked for him. The man stood with his back to the club, a curl of smoke drifting around his silver-flecked hair. He didn’t know what Declan wanted, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. His nerves were shot from the last few hours, bouncing from frustration to vindication to a renewed hatred of Rachel’s brother.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Didn't take you for a smoker.”
Declan turned to him. “Every once in a while.” He dropped the butt to the terrace stone and crunched it under his heel. He shifted his weight onto his cane. “Where's Rachel?”
“Asleep on my office couch. Nathan said you wanted to see me.”
“I'm taking him and Max off the case. Off finding Jay. Wanted you to know before I did.”
“What—”
“I can't afford to have them near anyone who's likely mixed up with illegal activities.”
Trick stuffed down a rising disappointment before it morphed into something more serious. He could not expect Declan to handle his problem by committing Shakedown employees' time. Really, what kind of man doesn't do things for himself? “I'll handle it myself.”
“Sure you need to find him at all?”
Declan couldn't be serious. “Going to be real hard to get exonerated without him.”
“Do you need that?”
The man's second question almost didn't compute in his brain. “Are you fucking kidding?”
“I've seen other men, good men, spend their lives chasing ghosts to clear their name at the expense of having a life in the present. You have Rachel. She should be enough without killing the man who put you in jail.”
Declan’s real reason for this lecture crystallized, and he didn’t know which to feel first, shame or fury. “You think I'd have Jay Grant killed?”
Declan strode forward, and for one flash he saw the man as he might have been twenty years ago before his prison-induced leg injury. Sure-footed, hardened jaw, eyes that didn't twitch when drilling a hole in you. “Would you?”
A man with innocent thoughts would scoff at such a question. Truth was, he definitely had enough anger to do something stupid like that—and had contemplated it for one hot minute. He wouldn't, though, because of Rachel. That woman made him do a lot of things he never thought he would.
Declan shifted on his feet, those glacial eyes boring into him. “I'm going to give you some advice. Hear it or not. Nothing good comes out of reuniting with family that doesn't give a shit about you. Instead of revenge, help her move on.”
Trick stilled, but a cynical scoff escaped his throat. Of course, she was going to move on. She also needed time to settle into a new life and a new reality. While he'd never practice law or work for an investment firm—he'd lost his taste for that world— there was no reason why she couldn't fulfill her dreams of college, a family they'd create together. If that was even a dream of theirs anymore. He drew in a breath. “I won't do anything to undermine Rachel's future or Shakedown. You have my word.”
“Not what I asked.”
“I know. But that's the best promise I can make.” He would find the man who interrupted their lives so spectacularly. No one could expect him to stop that quest and still be a man.
Declan simply nodded once, and that step-thump of his cane grew distant as he disappeared inside.
18
Drumbeats thundered through the club. A hand rose to catch Rachel's attention, and she scooted low so as not to block the view of the stage. She took the man's drink order and turned to see the man with the ice-blue eyes staring directly at her. He lifted his empty tumbler in a refill request. Straight vodka—no ice, no lemon twist, just like the last two nights. He sat alone, still, his eyes trained on the stage most of the time. She nodded once and headed back to the bar.
This was her life now.
Her feet were constantly pinched inside high heels as she tried not to stumble on the dark steps leading to and from the bar. She sat in the dancer's dressing room on her breaks. Trick pulled her into the back storeroom and bent her over old barrels in a musty warehouse during her breaks—or over his desk in his office, or on his oriental carpet, or even once against the door again. Trick dropped her off at her apartment every night. He didn't ask to take her to his place, and she didn't question it. They needed time to adjust even though they could barely keep their hands off one another. It helped a little—that familiar, physical lust blinding her to anything, forcing her into the moment.
Then he’d go back to his office, and she’d go back onto the floor.
Her therapist said she should take things slowly with Trick. However, barring the stop sign exercise, she had never been good at taking her therapist's advice.
Trick still looked for Jay, and she was glad. She just couldn’t be a part of it right now. She was barely holding it together. Everything spun around her, not quite touching her on the inside, her life remaining in a curious state of limbo despite Jay's betrayal growing a little more clear in her mind each day.