Whatever It Takes (12 page)

Some might think he was being sentimental. Maybe he was. First time for everything, he guessed. Whatever the reason, this room would always be open to her, whether she wanted to be here or not.

He picked up a small porcelain clown, its face both comical and sad. Everywhere they’d traveled, Irelyn had insisted on buying a clown for her collection. He’d known her since they were both in their teens, and in spite of all they’d gone through together, Grey had found her sentimentality charming. There was an enormous amount of depth to Irelyn, and every time he thought he had figured her out, he’d find another layer.

Returning the figurine to the shelf, he surveyed the room. She’d spent a lot of time in here. The cool cream color of the walls and furniture should have clashed with the bold slashes of color in the accent pieces, pillows, and drapery, but they didn’t. Every piece spoke of the many facets of Irelyn Raine.

This room had been her retreat…from the world, yes, but mostly from him. Outside this room, she’d had a role to play. She had been his partner, confidant, co-conspirator, employee, and lover. And she had often called herself his prisoner. But if she retreated to her suite of rooms, he hadn’t bothered her unless there was an emergency. That had been their agreement…their arrangement.

Grey wasn’t one to second-guess his decisions. He wouldn’t do so now. What he had made her do that night had been for her benefit—even more so than his. Of course, she hadn’t seen it that way. Might never see it that way. Yes, he had wanted the bloody prick dead. Hill Reed had been a dark shadow in his and Irelyn’s past. One that had been long overdue for elimination. Assassin, contract killer, defiler of innocents, the bastard had gotten what he deserved. But as much as Grey had wanted the man dead, Irelyn had been the only one who had deserved the privilege of killing him. 

She had seen the act in a completely different light.

If Grey had one wish about that night—one do-over—he wouldn’t have made her watch. He would’ve come in before the man died and taken her away. Watching him struggle for air and then breathe his last breath had almost destroyed her. It had most certainly destroyed them.

The chime at his front door pulled him from his regret and from the room. Reviewing past sins didn’t do a damn bit of good. What was done was done.

He opened the door, pleased to see the glowing couple in front of him. Marriage looked good on them. “How was the honeymoon?”

Kennedy Gallagher flashed a bright smile as she walked in beside her new husband. “I can attest that the last part was lovely. You’ll have to ask Nick about the first part, though, as I was in the bathroom most of the time.”

Sending his wife an amused, loving look, Nick shook his head. “Let’s just say I got caught up on all the television shows I’ve missed over the last couple of years.”

Grey chuckled as he led the newlyweds into his office. Though the wedding had taken place last year, they had postponed their honeymoon until after Adam Slater’s trial. When they were certain that Adam would rot in prison for the murder of Thomas O’Connell, Kennedy’s first husband, they’d planned to enjoy an extended honeymoon. Two days before they were scheduled to leave, they’d learned that Kennedy was pregnant. Postponing again wasn’t something either one of them had wanted to do.

“Feeling better now?” Grey asked.

“Feeling wonderful,” Kennedy answered. “Nick was worried…” She shook her head. “We were both worried because of what happened before, so I saw a doctor in Madrid. He agreed with my doctor here. The pregnancy is normal, as is the nausea.”

“I’m glad.” Grey led them to a sofa and then seated himself across from them.

“Your phone call sounded serious. Has something happened? Are Eli and Jonah okay?”

It was a testament to the character of Kennedy and Nick that they cared. Many people lumped all the Slaters together, and either hated them or revered them as one entity. But this couple, who’d been through so much because of two of the Slaters, held no grudge or resentment for the rest of the family. They knew where the evil had existed. 

“They’re both fine. Sorry to worry you. Not much has changed.” 

Grey didn’t mention the threats Eli was dealing with. They were being handled. 

“And Eleanor and Lacey? They’re still in France?”

“Yes. I doubt that will change anytime soon. Mathias’s death, along with learning what he did to Jonah, isn’t something Eleanor will recover from, but hopefully she’ll learn to deal.”

“What about Irelyn?” Kennedy asked. “Any word from her?”

Would Irelyn be surprised by the concern in Kennedy’s eyes? Probably. With their lifestyle and need for secrecy, neither Grey nor Irelyn had ever developed the kind of close personal relationships that most people enjoyed. Forming relationships…friendships was just too damn normal for them.

“No. I’ve not heard from her.”

The disappointment in his wife’s face was apparent, and Nick took her hand and squeezed it gently. Looking over at Grey, he said, “So this is another matter? You have a job for one or both of us?” 

Nick had become an operative for the Grey Justice Group a while ago, but Kennedy, who had been working for the Slaters in an undercover capacity, had only recently agreed to work for Grey as well. Gallagher was a former homicide detective, Kennedy a highly skilled researcher. 

  “A job for you both.” The murder file lay on the coffee table between them. He slid it forward. “I want you both to investigate a murder.”

While Kennedy reviewed the file, Nick stared at him with the keen eyes of a cop. He would know there was more to the case than mere words on the page.

Grey had already decided what he could share. “The victim, if one could call him that, is Bobby O’Leary. Born in Dublin, Ireland. Raised by his granny until he was about ten. Once his grandmother died, he found a way to avoid detection, became a street punk. By the time he was sixteen, he’d raped and killed several women. He then met up with a man who showed him that what Bobby liked to do for fun could be a profitable business.”

“Hit man?” Nick asked.

“Yes.”

“He took to the job like he was born for it. He had several kill methods, but his favorite was two at a time.”

“Two?” Kennedy asked. “How do you mean?”

“He took contracts that often involved killing a couple—a man and a woman was his preference. He’d study them, learn their weaknesses, then lure them with whatever story he had to. He’d rape and torture the woman—usually for hours—in front of the tied-up and helpless man. He would make promises that he’d let them go if she cooperated.

“When he’d gotten his fill, had his fun, he would shoot the woman first, then the man.”

Nick gave a low growl of disgust. “And do you want us to find the person who killed this sadistic son of a bitch and give him a medal? Because that’s my first inclination.”

“I just want a name.”

“Grey?” The hesitancy in Kennedy’s soft voice told him what was coming. “Do you think Irelyn killed this man?”

Kennedy’s instincts, as always, were excellent. However, that wasn’t something he could share. “Why would you say that?”

“She’s from Ireland, too.” Her brow wrinkled. “Isn’t she?”

He didn’t blame her for her confusion. One of Irelyn’s many talents was the ability to perfectly mimic every accent she’d ever heard.

“She’s spent a lot of time in Ireland, yes.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “You know, it’d be a helluva lot easier if you’d tell us as much as you know.”

“I’ve told you what I can.”

“Once we find out who it is. What then?”

“Get me a name. I’ll take it from there.” 

And he hoped to hell the name was different from the one he feared.

Chapter Thirteen 

“Maybe we should have waited until they got home from school.”

Eli glanced over at the woman in the passenger seat beside him. Something about him put her on edge. He didn’t get the idea that she disliked him. It was more as if he disturbed her composure, unsettled her. And that didn’t bother him in the least.

“It’ll be better this way. It’ll be fine. I promise.”

Even though he was no longer looking at her, he knew her eyes were throwing daggers at him. It wasn’t as if he’d forced her to come with him. She’d left after lunch, assuring him she’d be back by three o’clock to go with him to the school. He’d been a little surprised that she’d actually come back, but shouldn’t have been. One of the many things he had learned about Kathleen was her need to keep her commitments. When she made a promise, she kept it. Since he didn’t have a lot of faith in mankind these days, that character trait was damn refreshing.

The dress she was wearing couldn’t be more perfect for this meeting. He had chosen well, though she didn’t yet know that the dress had come from him. 

And her hair. Nothing had prepared him for how lovely she would look with her hair unbound and flowing over her shoulders like a river of red gold. She was both spellbinding and enchanting. A fairy sprite come to life. His daughters were going to love her.

She didn’t believe they would take to her, but Eli knew better. Plus, he had a secret weapon. One that he didn’t feel the least bit guilty in using. 

The first part would be the hardest, for both of them.

Steeling himself, he glanced over at her and said casually, “I like the dress. Very fetching.”

Her eyes dropped to take in the multicolored confection. Every hue of the rainbow mingled together to create a mesmerizing, eye-catching mélange of fabric and design. With every move she made, the material shimmered in rhythm with her body. 

“I’m attending a cocktail party at the art center this evening. I won’t have time to go home and change, so…” She shrugged as if self-conscious and shifted her attention out the window. The soft rosy flush on her face added additional enchantment to her beauty. 

“And your hair is lovely, too. You don’t wear it down often.”

“No. Kind of gets in the way.” Her smile was tight. “Breaking into houses and all.”

“Ah, makes sense. So, tell me a little more about your childhood. I know that you raised your sister. You were what…nine when your mother died in childbirth? Raising a child is tough enough. Being responsible for one at the age of nine is remarkable.”

She didn’t respond, clearly uncomfortable with discussing herself. Too bad. She needed to realize that not only did he know almost everything about her, he admired and trusted her.

“I didn’t raise Alice by myself. My father was there, too.”

Eli didn’t comment about that, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate Eli’s opinion of a man who was not only irresponsible enough to depend upon his nine-year-old daughter to raise her sister, but to make his living as a thief. 

“When your father went to prison, you and your sister went to separate foster homes. I can only imagine how hard that was for you.”

No response again, but her lovely mouth had become a mutinous line. Being a stubborn, tenacious man, he didn’t let that stop him.

“That was what…for three years? Then you were reunited?”

“My father agreed to work for the government. He paid his debt to society. He got the family back together as soon as he could. It worked out fine.”

“And you lost him two years later.”

“Mr. Slater, you’ve proven you’ve done your homework. I don’t need my life history verbalized. I’ve lived it.”

He had become
Mr. Slater
again. While he regretted her need to put distance between them, he intended to have his say. He had the odd feeling that Kathleen wasn’t as big a fan of herself as he was.

“At eighteen, you were in charge of a nine-year-old. How’d you do that? Go to college and work, too?”

“Very poorly, I assure you. You are apparently aiming to prove that I’m some sort of marvel or saint. I can assure you I’m not. If I were, Alice wouldn’t have found herself on trial for murder. And she wouldn’t be dead.”

“So you blame yourself for all the things that happened to your sister?”

“Who else can I blame?”

“Umm. The scumbag Frank Braden, for one. And how about your sister? She holds no responsibility for what happened?”

Her eyes flashed with both anger and grief. “My sister is dead.”

“Yes, and I’m very sorry for that. But you did everything you could for her. The choices she made led her to Braden. Not you.”

Fire gleamed in her eyes as a defiant expression came over her face. “So tell me, Mr. Slater. Do you feel any regret or remorse for the fact that your wife died of a drug overdose?”

He was glad she had gone on the offensive, greatly preferring that to her sadness and guilt. And she had made an excellent jab, because he did indeed feel a great responsibility for what had happened to Shelley. How could he not?

“As a matter of fact, I do. More than most people realize or could understand.”

Ashamed, Kathleen looked away from him, awash in regret. Yes, his questions and comments had been out of line, but using his own tragedy against him had been deplorable on her part. She rarely lost her cool, but when she did, she had a tendency to lash out in the most hurtful way possible. 

“I’m sorry, Eli. I was out of line. If you were at Alice’s trial, you had no choice but to hear about my past. And it only makes sense that you’ve had me investigated.” A brief smile cracked her face. “I’m sure you don’t allow just anyone to break into your home. However, knowing about my past and talking about it are two different things. I had quite enough of that during the trial. 

“Dwelling on bad memories gets you nowhere. I prefer to focus on the here and now.”

As if she hadn’t spoken, he went on, “The hit-and-run accident in Denver. They never caught the guy who did it?”

Her head jerked around, and she couldn’t help herself…she gawked at him. Why would he continue to bring up some of the most painful moments in her life?

“I recovered.” Her voice was curt, bordering on rude. 

“Your fiancé broke off your engagement not long after your accident. You dodged a bullet there. Guy must’ve been a giant prick.”

Before she could tell him to stop again, or agree with him because Stan had indeed been a giant prick, he continued, speaking at a rapid clip now, as if to dump out all the garbage of her life in one fell swoop.