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  “There is no God,” I hiss. And if I ever find out differently, I’ll kill him myself for all the pain he rained down on the good people I love. “Stay out of this, Smith. Your part is to protect Gabrielle and protect my brothers. That’s it. I told you I’d manage the rest.”

  “You’ll never get away with it.”

  “I don’t need to get away with anything.” I’m willing to take whatever punishment comes, even death. It’ll be worth it. “I never shirk my responsibilities.”

  “Your father doesn’t have to win.”

  “He already did. Go to the cemetery where my mother and Sera are buried, where Georgina and her baby will be buried in a week. Go down the hall and take a look at Zack, then go talk to Chase who prefers the company of machines to humans, or to Gray, who can’t fuck a woman unless he’s negotiated an airtight contract about where he can put his hands. Go upstairs, sit by the bed and listen to Gabrielle whimper in her sleep. After that, come back and tell me he hasn’t already won.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way. It’s only like this because you’re pigheaded. You spend every waking minute of your life trying to manage everything yourself. Nobody can go it alone. And it’s no way to live.”

  I’ve lived alone with this for so long, I wouldn’t even begin to know how to share the burden. And I don’t want to share it, because the end will be grisly and I wouldn’t dream of ever saddling anyone with that. “I have responsibilities. I can’t pass them off to someone else. But you’re right. It’s not living. It’s hell.”

  “I want to talk to my father,” Smith says. “Some of this might be a matter of national security.”

  “Do not involve him in this shitshow. It can only come back to bite him.”

  “This isn’t just a personal vendetta, exacting revenge for what happened to your family. This is bigger than that. DW runs the fucking country. Sends kids to war. Controls the damn economy. When Dad was head of the Joint Chiefs, and when he was a general, commanding forces, my father stared down presidents, and enemies as formidable as DW. More formidable. Trust me when I tell you he can take care of himself.”

  “DW destroys everyone, and everything that gets in his way. Only death will stop him.”

  “Maybe. But you will not be the one to mete out that punishment. Not if I have a damn thing to say about it.” He raps his knuckles on the table. “Don’t give up your firearms, but I’m going to shadow you so close, you won’t be able to bend over without worrying my dick’s going to slide up your ass.”

  5

  Julian

  I stand outside my bedroom trying to form the words to say to Gabrielle. Wondering if she’ll be fully lucid today, or in and out. She had another bad night, crying in her sleep. It was awful.

  I’m filled with hate. Consumed by guilt. Guilt about Gabrielle. Guilt about Georgina and the baby.

  Smith is right, this is my fault. How could I have underestimated a man who murdered his family? My family. How?

  With all the planning and celebration surrounding the inauguration, I thought we’d have more time before he struck hard. I thought he’d be too preoccupied with the transition of power to keep too close an eye on me. But instead he used the fucking inauguration as an alibi, for himself, and for Olson. I don’t care what Smith says about chasing red herrings, my father might not have lit the match, but he’s responsible for the fire, and that bastard Olson is in up to his eyeballs too.

  I rest my forehead against the door for a few seconds before turning the knob quietly so as not to disturb her. Gabrielle’s curled into the side of the bed I normally sleep on. She doesn’t look like she’s moved since we laid her there.

  Something about her in my bed—not the bed at the apartment—my bed, hits me hard. I’ve spent countless nights on that mattress, in the very spot she’s in now, thinking about her. Conjuring hundreds of different scenarios that all ended with me falling asleep wrapped around her warm body. I never once imagined anything like this.

  The nurse smiles at me. “How is she?” I ask softly.

  “She seems to be resting more comfortably in the last hour. Would you like some time alone with her?”

  I nod. “A few minutes.”

  I inch closer to the bed, watching her chest move up and down. Relief washes over me. What if it had been her trapped in the back office? What if I had to identify her charred, lifeless body?

  I knew he would go after her, and this time I shouldn’t have been caught off guard. No excuse. I didn’t do enough to protect her. Maybe it’s not even possible to protect her from him. I squeeze my hands into tight fists and release them, stretching my fingers. Maybe Smith can do a better job. Maybe between both of us, she’ll be safe.

  Gabrielle begins to stir, and I lower myself onto the edge of the bed beside her. “It’s just me.”

  Her eyes snap open and dart around the room. She has no idea where she is. “You’re in my bed at Sweetgrass. You’re safe here.”

  She pops up, and examines the bandage on her hand. “My parents!” There’s terror in her voice, but I’m relieved she’s thinking about them, grateful for every normal reaction from her.

  “It’s okay. I sent Lally to be with your parents first thing this morning. I thought it would be better for them to hear about the fire, and about you, in person. I’ve spoken to them twice. You can call them whenever you’re ready. I’m sure they would love to hear your voice.”

  “Lally? Lally is with them?” She tips her head to the side. “In Houston?” she asks in a way that tells me her memory is fuzzy, not just about the fire, but in general.

  I nod. “She stopped by the hospital this morning to see you before she left. Do you remember talking to her?”

  She hesitates. Her face is sallow, her lips colorless, like she’s been dragged through hell. After several seconds she nods, and the furrow between her brow eases. I relax a bit, when she lies back down, her head resting on the pillow, dark hair fanning the cream linen, like a piece of modern art displayed in a contemporary gallery.

  “Lally will be back in a day or two to dote on you. Prepare yourself for non-stop hovering.”

  “Georgie.” She wets her lips, before pressing them together. “Georgie was in the office when the fire happened. She died. And the baby. The baby died, too.”

  Her affect is still dull, and there isn’t a trace of emotion in her voice. It’s all been stripped away. Maybe it’s the medicine. “Yes.” I force the word out.

  “But everyone else is okay. That’s what they said.”

  “Everyone else got out safely.”

  “Why, JD? I did everything by the book.” Her voice has a bit more life to it now. “Everything was to code or exceeded it. Even when people told me it was okay to cut corners, I didn’t cut a single one.”

  I take hold of her hand. The anguish in her face carves a wedge from my soul. My father will pay for this. “You listen to me. That fire was not your fault.”

  “Wade. I need to talk to Wade.” She pulls off the quilt and looks down. She’s wearing one of my T-shirts and a pair of underwear Lally sent. “These aren’t my clothes.” She tugs at the T-shirt. “I don’t have any clothes.”

  Her eyes are glassy, as she looks up at me, studying my face for answers. “I don’t have anything.”

  “You have people who love you. That’s more important than anything else. You can rebuild when you’re ready.” There is no end to the stupid shit I allow to come out of my mouth, because I don’t have anything better to offer her.

  “I don’t have Georgie,” she says softly. “Not even all the love in the world can rebuild Georgie.” She shuts her eyes. I can tell from her erratic breathing, she’s not asleep, just retreating.

  Gabrielle will have everything she needs to recover. I’ll make damn sure of it. And I’ll help her rebuild the hotel with my bare hands, if that’s what she wants. But I can’t give her back her friend. No amount of money or influence can raise people from the dead. Death is the great equalizer.
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  “No.” I reach under the sheet and grasp her hand. “We can’t bring Georgie back. But she would want you to be strong. She would expect you to mourn, and then get on with your life. You can honor her by doing that.” It’s such bullshit, I barely have the stomach to say the words out loud. It was what well-meaning people told me after my mother and Sera died. It didn’t make me feel any better, but Gabrielle is different. She believes in God, in goodness, in honoring souls, living and dead, by doing good works in their names.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for honoring the dead too. But not through selfless good works. I believe in honoring them with justice. I believe in settling scores. In retribution. In revenge, served cold and bloody.

  But I don’t want Gabrielle tinged by my style of vengeance. I want her heart to beat free from hate. “Maybe when you’re feeling better, we can come up with something to honor Georgie and the baby,” I murmur. “You’re good at that.”

  After her grandmother died, she spent every Saturday night that summer babysitting. She arranged it with YWCA, so single moms without extra income could sign-up for the service. Gabrielle didn’t charge them a penny, even though she could have used the extra money. It gave these women who were raising children alone a night to visit with a friend, or to just run errands without dragging the kids along. She did it to honor her grandmother. Gabrielle never talked about it, and she brushed off anyone who tried to make a big deal about it. That was the summer I decided to marry her. The summer I realized I couldn’t live without her. The summer before I learned there would be no happily- ever-after for us.

  I sit, holding her hand, until I’m sure she’s asleep before going downstairs to grab another cup of coffee. Patrick’s working in the small office my grandmother once used as a sewing room, but the house is eerily quiet without Lally hurrying around the kitchen and bossing anyone within earshot.

  As I pull a mug from the cupboard to pour myself a lukewarm cup of coffee, there’s a quick rap on the side door, before it creaks open. I glance over my shoulder at my brother Chase coming into the kitchen. “Hey. Want a cup of coffee?” I ask. “It’s not hot, but I can nuke it.”

  He holds up a hand. “I’m good. I should have called before I stopped by. You probably have a lot on your plate.”

  “You don’t need to call unless you’re bringing company with you that requires me to be wearing pants. I don’t know how many times I need to say it.”

  “Gray said to tell you he’s around if you need anything. He’s been trying to reach you.”

  I nod. I’ve texted back and forth with Gray, but I’ve been avoiding his calls. The thought of him defending my father is more than I can take today. I don’t want to say anything to him I’ll come to regret.

  “How’s Gabby?”

  I put the mug in the microwave and set it to reheat. “I don’t know. I’m afraid the road’s going to be long and hard for her.”

  Chase nods. “She’ll be okay. We’ll make sure of it. How about you? You look like shit.”

  “I’m fine. Or at least I will be when I have some more answers about the fire.”

  “I might be able to help with that.” When I glance across the countertop at him, he hooks a thumb in the direction of my study.

  The microwave beeps and I grab my coffee and follow him out of the kitchen. Chase and Zack are not identical twins, but before the accident it was hard for most people to tell them apart. Zack was the more outgoing of the two, larger, with more self-confidence. Chase often looked to his lead for almost everything. They were inseparable.

  When we get to the study, Chase tosses his phone on my desk, and I do the same before following him into the closet. I’ve spent so much time in here recently, I should have surround sound installed. This tells you how fucked up my life is that I have to spend copious amounts of time in a secure room.

  “Hey.” I point at his laptop.

  “It’s all good,” he responds. I have no reason to doubt him. He’s forgotten more about tech security than I’ll ever know.

  I shut the door and take the chair across from him. “Do you know something?”

  “I don’t know anything about The Gatehouse fire, but I think SOLO is connected to the warehouse fires. And I think Rofler is involved somehow too.”

  I’m not entirely surprised. That bastard Rofler. He’s nothing but a snitch, runs to my father with everything. I should have beaten the piss out of him a month ago and thrown his ass to the curb. “I’m listening.”

  Two days before the fire, a Sayle Pharmaceutical van pulled up to the loading dock outside the SOLO lab. A couple of guys moved some boxes out of the building and into the vehicle before driving away. It happened at least three separate times that day. I haven’t been able to crack the security cameras inside the lab, so I don’t know what was in the boxes. We might never know.” He shrugs his right shoulder. “It wouldn’t surprise me if the cameras were down. They tried to disable the ones outside, but they missed a step. Anyway, I was able to trace the van to the warehouses.”

  “I’m not entirely following you, Chase. How did you track them to the warehouses, you were in DC?”

  “Remotely,” he responds like I’m an idiot. “There are cameras all over the city. I tracked their stupid asses the entire way.”

  “But we don’t know what they took over.”

  “Nope. But something did go from the van onto a small boat.”

  “Wait a minute. One step at a time. If they were driving a Sayle van, we can run the license plate.”

  “Already did. The plates belong to an abandoned vehicle. And it wasn’t actually a Sayle van.” He pulls an image up on the screen and zooms in. Chevrolet.

  “We don’t have any Chevys in our fleet.”

  “Nope,” he says, leaning back in the chair.

  “Have you been able to ID the guys in the van?”

  “Only one is a Sayle employee.”

  “Rofler?” Chase nods. “Let me see the bastard.”

  He pulls up another set of images. “I’ve never seen these guys before.”

  “But you’ve seen this dickwad.” Chase shows me a video feed taken outside the warehouse where Sayle stored packing materials and other supplies before the fire destroyed it. Rofler pulls what appears to be a piece of rolling luggage and a knapsack from the back of the van and climbs into a boat on the dock. Chase fast forwards to the same boat pulling away toward open ocean with Rofler still aboard.

  “The fire started about an hour later.”

  “How did you get this feed? The fire must have destroyed the camera.”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “It did, but the feed isn’t inside the camera. It’s sent remotely to the security offices. And to me,” the cheeky bastard adds.

  “Right. And all this had to take place before the inauguration, because Smith was scheduled to take over security for Sayle the very next day.”

  Chase nods. “Probably.”

  “I need you to share everything you have with Smith. He’s coming by in about forty-five minutes to meet with me. Can you wait?”

  “No problem. You’re the guy signing my paychecks.”

  “Rofler didn’t pull this off by himself.” I catch myself thinking out loud, which is never good around my brothers. Jesus. I rub my eyes. I am so damn tired.

  “I’m sure your father and Olson are involved somehow,” my brother says, like he can read my mind.

  “Sorry to break the bad news, but the asshole is your father too.” Chase growls, low and mean.

  Fuck. I’ll bet anything he destroyed whatever evidence there was linking him to the accident. Evidence that I’ve been waiting years to get my hands on. That fucker. I slam both fists on the table. “They destroyed all the evidence.”

  “Nothing in a lab, or in cyberspace, is ever fully destroyed.” Chase stows his laptop in a beat-up leather bag. “I didn’t see any connection to The Gatehouse fire. And I looked hard.”

  “Oh, they’re responsible for that too. It’s
all connected. The Gatehouse fire was just a slap in my face on their way out. A parting gift.”

  “I’ll keep looking.”

  “No. You will not keep looking. They’ve killed someone now. They won’t hesitate to kill you.”

  “This isn’t the first time they’ve killed. We both know that. The bastards almost killed me once,” he says. “I’m not afraid of them.”

  I’m speechless for a few seconds while I wrap my head around what he just said. He thinks my father is responsible for the accident too. How did I miss this? “Chase—”

  “Don’t Chase me. I spent over six fucking hours inside that goddamn car while they died around me. I will never be that powerless again. And no, I don’t have any hard evidence, but I’m as determined to find it as you are. So don’t you dare Chase me.” He shoves his chair aside. “I’m going to spend some time with Zack. Let me know as soon as Gabrielle is up for visitors. I’d like to see her.”

  I guess the youngest Wilder boy is all grown up, and almost as much of an asshole as the oldest one. “I’ll let you know when she’s ready. I’m sure she’d like to see you too.” He nods and opens the door. “And Chase?”

  “What?” he snarls.

  “Thanks for putting these pieces together. And for coming by. She’d be proud of the man you’ve become.” She is our mother. I don’t need to explain that to Chase.

  “Don’t get all sloppy on me because you haven’t slept in days.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. “Pfft. Don’t worry. I didn’t say I was proud of you. Or even that I think you’re a man.”

  I catch the smirk as he snatches his phone off my desk. Little pissant. He’s right about one thing. Nothing is ever completely destroyed. There is no such thing as the perfect crime.

  6

  Gabrielle

  I’m lying awake trying to patch together the last forty-eight hours. It’s like a challenging jigsaw puzzle, the kind with thousands of tiny pieces, nothing more than splashes of color.