Eyes Wide Open: The Blackstone Affair, Book 3 (17 page)

“Brynne, sweetheart, your dad—he drowned in his swimming pool—the maintenance service found him—”

My ears heard the words but my brain rebelled. I couldn’t accept it. I wouldn’t. “No!” I cut her off.

“Brynne . . . it’s true. I wish it wasn’t . . . but it’s true.”

“But he can’t—Mom. He can’t be . . . no! No, don’t say that to me! Mom . . . Mom?”

“Sweetheart, he’d been in the water long time. It was probably a heart attack.”

“N-n-no . . . .” I whimpered. “It can’t be true. Daddy’s coming to London to visit me. He’s coming for my wedding . . . he’s giving me away. He said so. He told me he would be here . . .”

“Brynne . . . he’s gone, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” She was crying. My mother was sobbing into the phone to me and I was struck with the idea that I’d never seen or heard her cry before now.

I dropped my phone and it landed in my soup bowl with a big splash that sprayed across the front of me. I just stared and left it lying at the bottom of my chicken tortilla soup. Ethan would have to get me a new one. That phone was dust now. I’d never touch it again.

I ended up on my feet somehow, but I didn’t have anywhere to go. There was nowhere good to go to—I was trapped.

So I started to float like I had that other time. Only I realized what was happening to me this time around. I welcomed the sensation. Lightness feels good when your heart is so heavy it wants to drag you down into the pits of hell. Yeah, being out of my body felt much better.

I floated higher until I could look down at myself. I saw Ben bracing me on his lap. He sat on the floor of the restaurant holding me. Gaby was beside him talking into a phone at someone. The waiter rushed over to assist.

But it was all so stupid.

Why were we all on the floor of a posh London restaurant when we should have been eating our lunches? We had to get out of there. I had a dress to find and a wedding to plan. My dad was coming to give me away at the ceremony in just seven weeks. The Queen of England had received an invitation, for Christ’s sake. We didn’t have time to fuck around like this!

Eventually I figured it out. The lightness that felt so nice went away and the weight of pain and grief returned to take its place.

I didn’t want to come back down to Earth. I wanted to stay right where I was.

That’s not true. I wanted to keep floating upward until I dissolved. That sounded really nice to me. Dissolving . . .

I felt nothing but enraged hatred for the ceiling. That goddamn motherfucking ceiling was keeping me from floating away.

Let me go! Let me float away . . .

16

♠
I
sat up and looked over at Brynne. She slept. In a comfortable guest bed, in her father’s modern house, in a very nice suburb of San Francisco, my girl slept. She was crushed inside her heart, but for now she rested. She was unburdened from the grief for the moment.

I couldn’t let her out of my sight for more than a few hours, so leaving London and going to the States for her father’s funeral without me was out of the question. What if they tried to take her on American soil? No, I couldn’t risk the possibility. This was a day-by-day, hour-by-hour operation. Keeping Brynne safe was my greatest priority now, Olympics be damned. Neil was back in London stepping in for me, and between him and Frances, they’d keep the business machine running. I wasn’t very troubled at all about my job. No, my worries were much, much bigger and vastly more terrifying.

I hoped to shed some light on what had happened to Tom on this trip but didn’t hold out much hope. Either way, I wasn’t going down without a fight. They could try to get at her, but they’d have to go through me first.

Mrs. Exley had wanted us to stay with her in the home she shared with her husband, the nontalkative Frank, but Brynne wouldn’t hear of it.

She said she wanted to be in her father’s home, with his things, in the place where she’d last seen him talking to us on Skype. She felt grateful that the last time they’d spoken had been a happy time. She kept saying that to me. “Daddy was happy about us. He knew everything and he was happy.”

“Yes he was, baby . . .” I whispered over her sleeping form. My sleeping beauty in the night with her long hair tangled in the pillows, the blanket pulled up to her throat like she was seeking comfort from the weight of the fabric against her body. She was still suffering from shock and barely eating. I feared for her health and that of our baby’s. I was scared that this would change us. Change her feelings for me. Push her into an emotional tailspin.

I was well aware of her past, and that knowledge bore down impossibly heavy on me now. My girl suffered from depression. She’d even tried to kill herself at one very low and tragic point in her life. There, I said it. Didn’t do me a fuck’s worth of good to acknowledge it either. Yes, it was a long time ago, and she was very together and sensible now . . . but there was no guarantee she wouldn’t revert back to those self-destructive behaviors again, or tell me to sod off and leave my sorry arse for good when it all became too much to deal with.

I sucked in a breath and looked over toward the mirrored closet doors to see my reflection. Who in the motherfucking hell was I kidding? Brynne wasn’t alone. Depression was a harsh mistress, and she and I had been well acquainted for quite some time now.

I resisted the urge to touch her. She needed rest and I needed a cigarette. I checked the bedside table for the time and got up carefully. I threw on some joggers and a shirt, heading outside to sit beside the pool and serve my nicotine habit. I wanted to ring Neil too.

I stared at the dark water while I waited for my call to connect. The same dark water where Tom Bennett had spent his final moments in this life.

I left the door cracked so I could hear if Brynne needed me. She’d started having nightmares again, and because she was pregnant, drugs were not a good option. There was too much risk to the baby’s development. She would have refused to take them anyway. So she suffered. And I worried.

The summer moon reflected in the water’s surface, and I thought about Tom dying in it. I was no homicide detective, but some scenarios were certainly running through my head. Bringing myself to voice them aloud was out of the question. If I did that, then I was damning my girl to a similar fate. I wasn’t going there. No fucking way.

“Hey mate.”

“Holding down the fort okay?” I replied to Neil’s brusque greeting.

“Things are typically chaotic here, so you have nothing to worry over. It’s business as usual, E.”

“True. And I trust you too. Tell those arseholes I said that, please.”

“With pleasure, boss, but you should know that every client has been very understanding. Most of them are human.”

I sucked in a deep lungful of clove and held it to get maximum burn. Neil just waited for me patiently. Nothing ever seemed to rush him. Coolest bloke I’ve ever known. “Events like these bring out one’s priorities rather quickly, you know?”

“Yeah. I bet they do. How is Brynne holding up?”

“She’s . . . doing her best to be strong, but she’s struggling. I haven’t broached the possibilities with her yet, and I’m not sure we’ll ever have that conversation. Looks like it was a massive heart attack while swimming, which it very well could have been, but I want to see the autopsy report.” I sighed. “You know how long those can take. The forensics labs are just as fucked up in the States as they are at home.”

“Any clues present themselves at his house?”

“Not yet. Being a solicitor for probate, wills and trusts and such, everything was in order as you would imagine, but there’s something just a little too tidy about it. Like maybe he knew his time was marked. And it very well could have been his heart. Brynne knew he took blood-pressure medication and she worried about him. You’d never know to look at him. The guy was very fit.”

“Hmmmm. The only people who would benefited from his death are Senator Oakley’s camp.”

“I know. I hate to know it, but I do. Everything goes to Brynne—the house, the cars, the investments. No surprise there, but I’m wondering if Tom left anything incriminating against Oakley.”

“Like a videotaped deposition?”

“Yeah . . . exactly like that. May know tomorrow. We have a meeting with his business partner in the morning to go over the trust, then the funeral and service. It’s gonna be a long fucking day.”

“When are you coming home?”

“If we can wrap everything up, the red-eye tomorrow night. I want Brynne out of here. Makes me fucking nervous. I’m out of my element.”

“Right. Give her our condolences, please. Ring if you need me. I’m here.”

“Thanks . . . see you in twenty-four.”

I ended the call and lit a second clove, the smoke curling slowing up into the still night air. I smoked and thought, my mind going back to a place I’d not been to for a long time. It terrified me, and with good reason.

Drowning is a horrific way to go out. Well, it is if you’re conscious. This was something I knew from experience. The cold and desperate feeling as water invades your nose and mouth. The impossible attempt to stay calm and hold your dwindling breath. The pain of lungs utterly depleted of oxygen.

I think the Afghans experimented on me to see what all the fuss was about with waterboarding. It wasn’t their preferred method, that’s for sure. Winching me up by the arms and shredding my back was their favorite. That and depriving me of sleep for what seemed like weeks at a time. The mind does crazy shit when there is no rest for the cogs.

I looked up at the stars and thought of her. My mum. She was an angel up there somewhere. I knew this. Spirituality is deeply personal and I needed no other confirmation of what I believed other than what I knew to be real inside my heart. She was up there watching over me somehow and was with me when they were going to cut off my—

Nope. Not going to that fucked-up horror right now. Later . . .

I got up quickly and stubbed out my second ciggie. I tucked the butts back in the pack and went inside my father-in-law’s nice American modern house. I’d never speak to him again, but ironically, one of the most important conversations I’d ever had, when weighed against all the others in the whole of my life, had been with him. An email with a plea for my help . . . and a photograph.

As I went back in to crawl into bed with Brynne, I prayed. I did. I prayed that Tom Bennett had been unconscious when he left this world.

♠
In a black Chanel suit with her hair pinned up, Brynne looked gorgeous. Terribly sad, but tragically beautiful. Her mother had brought the clothes over for her to wear. They were the same size, apparently, and Brynne was pretty much helpless against arguments at this point. I sensed she was merely coping to get through and hadn’t really allowed herself the freedom of indulging in her grief yet.

I stayed on the fringe and kept out of discussions as much as possible. Brynne was in no shape to bear a family row, and so I held my tongue to keep the peace. Mrs. Exely and I had a wary truce—we pretty much avoided direct contact. I never heard her ask Brynne about how she was feeling with the pregnancy once. Not one time. It was almost like she pretended it wasn’t happening. What mother didn’t care about her daughter being pregnant enough to even ask her about it?

I wished for this to end swiftly so I could get my girl out of here. I wanted her back on British soil. The flight home tonight couldn’t come soon enough for me.

The funeral had gone off well; if a death suffered too soon could be memorialized in a good way, that is. I wanted it to be an unfortunate consequence of life, not murder. Brynne had not asked me. I don’t think the idea occurred to her, and for that I was grateful.

I knew him the instant he walked into the gathering after the graveside service. I’d seen enough photos of the slimy prick to know him on sight. Bollocks must be the size of grapefruits for him to stroll in here looking entitled, as he most definitely did. He came right over and put his hands on Brynne, hugging her, and offering his fake sympathies for her terrible loss. I think she was too sad to react much to his presence. Her mum stood alongside and engaged him with demonstrative affection, which angered me. How could she do that to Brynne? This man’s son had raped her child, made a public video of it, and she called him a friend? Blah, blah, bullshit. I locked eyes with Oakley and made sure my handshake was delivered overly hard.

Yeah, that’s right, Senator, we’re just getting acquainted. You’ll meet my dick in a bit. It’s huge.

I had to step away and pull myself together. I kissed my girl on the forehead and told her I’d be back shortly. The senator and I had a date.

I tracked him around and pegged his security detail immediately. I mean, we’re all recognizable in the trade. All I would do was talk to the senator. Harmless, right?

When Oakley left for a piss I made sure I was a bit delayed behind him. Perfect timing. Security goon was busy filling his plate with food. The men’s room had a lock, which was an added bonus. My luck seemed to have no bounds today.

I was leaned up against the wash counter when he came out of the stall adjusting his belt.

“We are alone and the door is locked, Oakley.”

He stopped dead flat and assessed the situation. The senator seemed to have been blessed with some modicum of intelligence, I’ll give him that. He did not panic.

“Are you threatening me, Blackstone?” he kept his voice level.

“You remember my name. Very good. And I really couldn’t say . . . yet.” I shrugged. “Why don’t you tell me,
Senator
?”

“I’m here to honor the life of a friend of many years, that’s all.” He went forward to the sink and turned on the water.

“Ahh, that’s what you call it. I’d say it was more of a campaign stop, wouldn’t you?”

“Tom Bennett’s death was a tragic shock to me, and to everyone. Brynne is a very sweet girl. She always has been. The loss of her father must be a terrible burden for her to bear. I know how much Tom loved her. She was his world.”

I just stared at him, quite impressed with his dramatic dialogue. He must be in training for all the political speeches he had in his future.

“Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials and forthcoming child,” he said as he washed his hands at the sink.

“So you’ve read the announcement already.” I tilted my head in a bow and planted myself in front of the door. This motherfucker wasn’t leaving until I was ready for him to go. “This is how it works, Senator. You listen, I talk.”

He pulled down a hand towel and methodically began to dry his hands.

“I know everything. Montrose is dead. Fielding went missing in late May. I’ll bet he’s dead too and will remain missing. I know you had your son stop-lossed by the U.S. army. I can connect the dots. Everyone is disappearing. When the autopsy report is filed on Tom, I
will
read it. Wonder what it’ll say?” I shrugged dramatically.

“It’s not coming from me, Blackstone.” His light-brown eyes bored into me. “Not me.”

I stepped a little closer. “That’s good to know, Oakley. Make sure it is true. I have taped depositions, documents, records . . . everything. Tom Bennett did too.” Couldn’t know for sure on that one, but it sounded good. “And if you think you can take me down to get to Brynne, you’ll unleash a political shitstorm that will make Watergate look like an episode of
The People’s Court.
” I took another step forward. “My people know what to do if I disappear.” I whispered. “They pop the party balloon and it all goes . . .
poof.
” I flicked my fingers out for emphasis.

He swallowed imperceptibly, but I caught it. “What do you want from me?”