The Courage to Love Page 2

  The self-disgust and fear nearly cracked her composure. She fought hard and beat back the emotions, knowing as she did that she was merely buying time. As soon as I get on the jet, I’ll let them go. I’ll cry and scream and sob, and when I’m done, when all the pain has been released, I’ll start to try to find happiness…or at least free myself from this agony.

  “I’ve left everything in place, along with a detailed list of contact numbers if things do come up.”

  “Yes, I have them.”

  “Good. I’m trusting that you report anything, absolutely anything, that arises that shouldn’t.” It was what she was supposed to say, and, as she was supposed to, Cynthia nodded.

  “Of course.”

  The sky was heavy with steel-gray clouds, but no rain fell to soften the view of the city. At times she felt both isolated and surrounded. The city, she supposed, made most people feel that way. The few times she had been isolated in remote locations she had found a peace—as if she’d finally been able to exhale and relax. It was never like that in the city, not with so many people watching her and depending on her—or worse, waiting for her to make a fatal error so they could break her.

  Jake landed them with ease. After a quick good-bye, she was hustled off the roof and, within minutes, inside and heading down the brightly lit and elegant hallways of her father’s empire. The flow of work beat steady as she walked. Everyone, from the lowest clerk to the highest-earning staff on the payroll, was known to her, along with their families, close friends and, for some, their enemies.

  By now, everyone above a five-digit salary range knew of her pending divorce and the existence of ten new security guards. The three at her back were a solid, soothing force she drew on. Many things in life could be bought, but the sense of security a team of professionals gave was beyond measure.

  “I want you to check the boardroom prior to the meeting,” she reminded the head of the team, a Mr. Roger Dale.

  He nodded once but his dark eyes never stayed on one spot for long. He was in his mid-forties, a retired secret service man for President Bush senior. He’d served in three wars, been shot down in enemy territory and survived. The other two were the same—bold, strong and obviously on the job. All three wore dark suits with thin ties, ear plugs to communicate with each other and almost identical no-nonsense expressions.

  “If anything is detected, I want it dismantled and its existence explained before our meeting in one hour.”

  “Understood.” Mr. Dale motioned to the men beside him. “Mr. Smith will stay with you. I will lead the team through the boardroom, along with a sweep of the floor.”

  “That wasn’t done yesterday?”

  “It was. Today is today.”

  She kept walking. She’d hired professionals. She knew when to let them do their jobs. When I’m alone and not given the resources to have any near, who’s going to keep me safe? She had a plan, but it was sketchy, possibly because she hoped she could leave all this behind and, when she did, also the need for security. One of the real reasons for such measures was an insane criminal who thought her parents had cheated him out of his estate. Getting to her, he thought, would get him his empire. She could have told him that such methods were crazy, but she had a sense that Devon Blackmore was, in fact, quite mad.

  Her office assistant Joseph Sullivan stood when she approached. He pushed his glasses up from where they always slipped down his thin nose and stared, wide-eyed, at the security, then focused on her like a lifeline. She would miss him. He’d always made Steven grin at his nervousness. Steven had always teased her over how in love her assistant was with her. But that had been before, when Steven had still been with her, still stood by her side and not vanished from her life, bit by bit.

  She focused on Joseph, alarmed at the memories and pain that kept springing up like dandelions in a well-manicured lawn.

  “It’s okay, Joseph. A few extra measures today.” She took the folder he automatically placed on her open palm. “Come with me. I have some papers I need couriered over to Mr. Gallagher’s office.” The folder held her divorce agreement. She scanned it then set it down on her desk so she could scrawl her signature on the lines indicated by the yellow sticky tape arrows. Her heart couldn’t still be working. It wasn’t possible with the pain slicing through it. She reached up and rubbed the center of her chest, but the painful future without Steven’s warm strength stretched horribly in front of her. She wanted to rip the papers to shreds, throw them in his face then scream and hit him, to beat on his chest and demand to hear why he would let anyone—any woman but her—ever touch him.

  Straightening, she handed the file over, aware that her fingers were trembling. She didn’t glance at Joseph as he took them. She kept her focus down and flipped open the next file.

  Mr. Smith was sweeping her room, but she ignored him and the way Joseph seemed on pins and needles next to her. She had to pull herself together. Find the ice. Fill yourself with the ice. Cover the pain, hide it and don’t let it show.

  The daily report on her assets blurred. Her eyes stung, but she glared at the papers in front of her, determined to read every line. Slowly, the words and numbers made sense. She read each line ruthlessly, beating down her emotions. The company’s growth was substantial, but since yesterday at ten p.m., there had been no significant changes.

  “This is all?” she asked, moving to her chair and sitting.

  “Yes, nothing else has come through. I have your flight arranged, and ground transport is aware of your arrival.” Joseph sounded relieved to settle into the business of the day.

  A few more hours. A few more hours and I will be free of all this.

  Mr. Smith took up a position by the windows, hands folded in front of him at his waist.

  “I also have the hotel confirmation.” Joseph glanced furtively at Mr. Smith then focused back on what he was saying. “We have the plane prepared and the captain is new, but we have excellent references for him.”

  “That’s good.” She clung to what Joseph said. It gave her something to think about other than the gaping wound in her chest. “Now, who’s missing?”

  Joseph pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Most of the board are in the tea room, as you instructed.” Joseph took a breath then rushed out, “But Mr. Masterson, Mr. Philips, Mr. Donahue and Mrs. Wright have not arrived.”

  “Mr. Masterson will no longer be a part of this company. Please put in an order for new stationery,” she added, penning her new name on a note card and handing it to Joseph. Her hand barely trembled now. She concentrated on ice—cold, freezing ice that buried her hurt. “Everything will be changed over. Alert the lawyers. I will need new contracts produced with this name on them, as well. Everything needs to be complete by this afternoon so that it’s finished prior to my departure.”

  Joseph nodded, wide-eyed. “Of course. I’m sorry. I mean, I hope you weren’t hurt by… I mean, I’m deeply sorry for your loss.”

  “Joseph, Mr. Masterson isn’t dead. I’m divorcing him.” She smiled briefly enough to hopefully ease him somewhat. She couldn’t even let Joseph see how much she hurt. Maybe Cynthia did, but it was harder to hide with people who knew you so well, since Cynthia had known her long before she was the woman she now pretended to be. With Steven, with Joseph and certainly with her board, no one would see the pain that was slowly killing her.

  “Of course. I know. I meant—”

  “I know what you meant,” she said gently. “He will no longer be allowed in this building. Understood?”

  Joseph nodded so briskly that his glasses slid down again. “Yes, of course, I knew that. I meant to simply express—”

  “I appreciate it—and you. Now, is there anything else we need to go over before I prepare for the meeting?”

  “No, nothing else,” Joseph said quietly.

  “Good. Please send in coffee for Mr. Smith. I will have water and a cup of tea. Thank you, Joseph.”

  “Of course.” Joseph left, shutting the door with
a solid snick of her auto-lock.

  “He is dependable?” Mr. Smith asked.

  “Dependable? Completely.” She turned on her computer, settling into her role for the last time. “He and a handful of others are completely trustworthy. The rest, I have no use for.” She experienced another sharp pain, so deep this time that she worried she was having a heart attack. Can people die of heartache? She wouldn’t, she promised herself.

  “You’re firing them?”

  “No.” She debated what to say. “I want to know if I can keep them. If the three board members are not here in fifteen minutes, I want them brought in.”

  “Understood. I have men stationed outside their residences.”

  “Good.”

  Joseph walked back in with the coffee and tea. Setting them down, he cleared his throat nervously. “There is still no sign of the missing members, Ms. Andros.”

  Since it had been only a few minutes, she examined Joseph and realized he must be nervous from the tension in the company. “Yes, I know. Thank you, Joseph.”

  As soon as he left, Mr. Smith sat. Settling his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward. Mr. Smith had played college football while he’d been in the ROTC. He still had the body of a player. Even his close-shaved hair and African-American features seemed chiseled from the hard game—or perhaps the hard combat he’d done in the Marines. Still, she couldn’t silence a sense of unease with him. If she were staying and not leaving, she would have dismissed him from her employment. Instincts, she knew, were essential. Then why did my instincts say I could trust Steven? That I could love him?

  Mr. Smith’s attention seemed focused on his earpiece then he said, “The men found nothing in the boardroom. Should they continue on to the offices you’ve outlined?”

  “Yes.” Her emotions were back under the ice. “I want no surprises. As soon as the meeting begins, I’ll have their offices packed. Their things will be waiting for them in our parking lot. I want them gone within five minutes from the time they leave the room.”

  He gave the team his answer then asked, “Will they go quietly?”

  She glanced away at that. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Is that a problem?”

  He got to his feet. “Not at all.”

  “When I am gone, I would like you and your men to keep an eye on Cynthia. She will take on a very large burden. She doesn’t need any distractions. I want the company looked after closely, as well as the grounds around my home. Bring in more men if you need, but I want everything to run smoothly in my absence.”

  “Do you anticipate problems?”

  “I always anticipate problems. That’s why I hired you. I want you to catch the troubles before they occur.” She sank back in her chair and contemplated Mr. Smith. Her unease grew. She wasn’t sure why—or even if it was unease with him or the entire horrible mess of her life.

  He held himself easily, the way men who were sure of themselves the world over stood. It would be accurate to call him arrogant. I suppose he’s confident.

  Much as she was, at least on the outside. What she showed the world—and everyone in it—was strength, confidence and, above all, the poise and self-assurance she’d learned at her father’s knee. Inside? Well, that was another matter, and no one, not even Steven, had reached that deep. Because I was too much of a coward. Would it have kept him with me? Would he have loved me enough then to never leave me?

  “That might be difficult. If we had an idea what you expected, it might help.”

  “I can’t anticipate everything.” But she always tried. “Is there something you already feel you can’t handle?”

  “We weren’t informed you would be out of the picture. Where will you be?”

  She narrowed her eyes at his deflection but let it be…for now. “You weren’t informed because you didn’t need to be. Is this a problem?”

  He shrugged. “It’s unusual, but not a problem.”

  “You can contact Cynthia with anything you find. She can then contact me.” No one knew what she was going to do and no one needed to know—not even Cynthia. Soon, no one would need to worry about her at all. Soon, she’d be on her own. She checked her watch. In less than four hours, I will be done with all this. Instead of if reassuring her, the knowledge made the pain grow nearly unbearable.

  She stood, needing to move. “It’s time. They haven’t arrived. Please have your men fetch them for me. I will be in the tea room with my board.”

  “Already in play.” Mr. Smith’s tone held a firmness that left little doubt her meeting would be assembled on time.

  “Good.” She straightened her suit and adjusted her sleeves so the pure white of her blouse showed a quarter-inch below the pinstriped black jacket. Her makeup was impeccable, her hair lying in long, loose auburn curls down her back and her heart was broken. What more could she want before a board meeting where she would expose three crooks and threaten the remaining board with a buyout?

  Nothing other than my freedom.

  Chapter Two

  Devon could hear his teeth grinding over the whirl of the machines. Standing in his largest warehouses with the pathways between the rows of workers who were lining up in front of him like dominoes, all he wanted was to shoot every person in the room, starting with Lucky, the idiot who couldn’t tie his shoes without his mommy’s help. The punk was built like a horse—six foot and some, barrel-chested from pumping iron and with a head just as thick. His jeans were down so far that Devon doubted he could run without them falling and tripping him in his oversized, unlaced boots. Dull, stupid, but occasionally effective. Of course, this time he fucked up.

  “Why is this so complicated? Why? I wanted one thing! One!” Devon shoved the man backward two feet then got right in his face. This close, he could see the disgusting yellow of his teeth. “And you couldn’t even do that!” He released him to get the stench of bad breath and body odor away from him.

  “Mr. Blackmore, to be clear, we did the best we could with what you gave us. If we’d only—”

  “You didn’t try hard enough!” Devon’s scream was loud and sharp enough to stop production. He spun to the women nearby. “Get back to fucking work! Do I look like I pay you to listen to my conversations, bitch?” He dragged one worker up by her black hair, shook her then threw her to the ground. “Get back to work.”

  “Mr. Blackmore—”

  Devon spun around and grabbed Lucky by his filthy white T-shirt. The gangster had muscle, but he wasn’t used to anyone getting the jump on him and was too stupid to even realize when he’d fucked up.

  “I don’t give a shit how much you tried. You didn’t get the job done, did you, asshole?” Devon took out his Sauer then shot the punk in the head. Lucky isn’t so lucky after all. He dropped his hand and watched Lucky crumple to the floor. “Now, get me someone who can get her. You understand me, Murphy?”

  Murphy hadn’t moved. His big arms remained at his sides, his suit still in perfect condition. He might not have the brains needed but he had loyalty and sometimes common sense. Both had helped him survive so far.

  Not surprisingly, he didn’t blink at Lucky’s bad luck. “I understand.”

  “If I want shit work, I can pay a hell of a lot less than this fucker was asking. Get his ass out of here. I want results, boys,” Devon muttered, straightening his jacket. All around him, work had resumed. It was odd how fear made everything run smoother. He breathed in deeply, imagining that the air was tinged with it. “Send in one of those new girls. I need a shirt. Mine’s now ruined, thanks to the very unlucky Lucky.” He started for the better part of the warehouse, his own hidden gem amid this shithole.

  “Devon,” Murphy called, wincing when Devon stopped and turned around. “There’s a man in your office waiting for you.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Devon snarled. He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He had to keep his head on straight if he wanted to get back what belonged to him. Nicole wasn’t an easy woman to catch, and he wasn’t a patient m
an. He’d have to wait if he wanted his prize, which was going to be her on her knees.

  He shook his head to get his brain back on track.

  Two of his men had taken Lucky by the arms and feet and were carrying his heavy weight out of the back door. He’d have to double check that they burned the body. He couldn’t afford any heat, not at this point in his operation. “A man. Do we know more than that, Murphy? Do we let any Tom, Dick or fucking Harry in here?”

  “No, sir, we don’t.” Murphy fiddled with the change in his pockets. He never could keep his hands still when things got messy. “He’s come with a white card, or we’d not let him past the door.”

  Devon nodded and started for his office again. He needed a blow job and a new shirt. There wasn’t time for his dick or his new clothes, though. A white card meant a possible payday. Money was always worth more than a slut on her knees. A white card could mean his waiting was over. He surveyed the assembly line of money going through the process called laundering and wagered his entire year’s take that this time he was getting what he needed. He could feel that tingle in his bones that always led him right at the track. What I want most… Is that what I’m going to get?

  Nicole Masterson. On her knees, back, stomach, dead, alive… It didn’t matter. Preferably alive, though, so he could kill her himself, after he humiliated her in every way possible.

  “Good. That’s real good. I hope he’s been given some refreshments while he waits.” Devon stripped off his jacket with a curse. Free of it, he began rolling up his sleeves to hide the blood.

  “He’s in the red room. Toni’s taking care of him.” Murphy checked his guns before preceding him into the elevator.

  Devon glanced at Murphy’s nervous expression. Murphy fingered his gun and shifted his feet. “What’s got your radar up?”

  Murphy snorted and nodded downward to the operations floor. “You killed a man. We can’t always cover that shit up as easy as you think.”