Dirty Little Lies: A Men of Summer Novel (13 page)

Jazz, Slade, and Zack wore their customary jeans, T-shirts, and boots. The color of the shirts might vary, but the style rarely did. Though Zack was known to wear neatly pressed shirts, sleeves rolled back, and dressier boots whenever working at the office of the construction company the three men inherited from Toby Rigor.

“Stand your people down, Vince,” Alexander suggested after a moment spent sizing each other up. “I’m not here to take her. This just a meeting, nothing more.”

Like they believed it, Grace thought, glancing at her uncle’s expression before examining Zack’s. There was little trust here. The headway she and Victoria had been making over the years was in danger of dissolving with one wrong word.

From the corner of her eyes, Grace watched Victoria give a mocking shake of her head though her normally smiling lips were tight with anger. Then Victoria turned to face her directly.

“Grace, let’s you and I visit while these men have their little testosterone powwow,” the other woman announced with an edge of cynicism. “I don’t know about you, but I’m in danger of choking.”

Yeah, Grace could also feel that noose tightening around her neck a little more the longer she stood there. “I know Zack has coffee,” she told the other woman as she pushed through the wall of men. “I’m not sure about tea.”

“I brought my own.” Victoria waved the comment away as she shifted the large leather bag she carried on her shoulder. “Let’s go before I do choke out here, trying to deal with them.” Blunt to the point of abrasiveness, Victoria was ready to explode with opinions they didn’t want to hear. If she exploded, the entire meeting would go straight to hell, and they both knew it.

Grace’s luck was actually with her where tea was concerned. She led the way to the kitchen and found a teapot on the chef’s stove, ready for use. Filling it with water and turning the gas on beneath it, she turned and watched Victoria reaching up for the teacups she’d found in the cupboard.

“Tall men never think about the fact that a lover or wife might be shorter than they are,” she snorted. “Let alone company.” Cups and saucers were placed on the marble counter, individual blue and violet silicone tea bags filled with peach herbal tea were placed in each cup before she turned back to Grace. “They’re so stubborn,” Victoria muttered, her expression turning mutinous as she leaned against the counter, her arms crossing beneath her breasts. “My party’s coming up soon. I told Dad he didn’t need to do this, but does he ever listen to me? He doesn’t even listen to Madden,” she bit out. “We’ve argued with him over this continually since Zack left the house after learning of your attack.”

After learning of her attack?

“Zack left the house when he found the orders to have me brought in for interrogation on your father’s desk, Tory,” Grace informed her. “He learned of the attack as he was driving out of the estate.”

Tory’s lips tightened, her amber eyes glittering with a promise of retribution. “He lied to us, then. I shouldn’t even be surprised, should I?”

Remembering Zack’s observation regarding Alexander, Grace murmured, “The position he holds requires he make the bastard decisions. Like Uncle Vince. I don’t always agree with him, but I understand his reasons behind it.”

For a second, grief flashed through Tory’s gaze, but just for a second. “Yeah, well, I’ve always said you were too soft for this life,” Tory reminded her as the teapot began whistling. “Pour the tea before I begin bashing heads.”

Bashing heads actually sounded like a good idea. No doubt by time the males of this little meeting were finished, she and Tory would be plotting their demise again.

Carrying the tea to a glass-topped table across the room, Grace bit back the urge to curse as she heard her uncle’s voice from the living room, his tone confrontational, though it was only matched by Alexander Brigham’s.

Fragrant, steaming peach tea filled Grace’s senses as she and Tory sat down; the ritual of chilling out after dealing with her father or older brother always involved tea for Tory.

As Grace was sipping at the steaming liquid, her eyes fluttered in pleasure at the taste.

“How you drink it that hot, I have no idea.” Tory shook her head in amusement as she watched Grace. “My tongue would stay blistered.”

“Says the woman who eats raw jalapeño like a cucumber,” Grace laughed. “I’d much prefer the hot tea over the volcano spice.”

Sipping at it again, Grace could feel the easing of the tension that had kept her knotted up inside since learning her mother had accused her of aiding in murder and treason.

“I’m sorry about this, Grace,” Tory sighed, her arms braced on the table.

Tory would whimper if she had to sip her tea before it cooled sufficiently.

Drinking more, Grace could feel that slow, steady relaxation simmering through her, pulling the tension free but giving her an otherworldly feeling. So much so that her brain began to feel numb, her limbs weak.

The sound of glass breaking was a distant one, instantly followed by Tory’s cry for Zack and then a cacophony of male voices rising like waves, crashing discordantly before easing and rising again.

She couldn’t move.

Fear tore through her, an animal-like whimper echoing in her ears, though she didn’t know who made it.

What was wrong?…

She couldn’t move, couldn’t process information, her brain wasn’t working and neither were her muscles.

“I have you, Grace,” she heard Zack’s voice from a distance. “It’s okay, baby, I have you.”

chapter nine

“What did you do to her?” Zack snapped at Tory, his tone deadly, the need to kill surging hot and fast inside him. “So help me, Tory, you’ll pay for this.”

The other woman stood back from the table, her face white, her amber eyes wide in fear and shock. “Daddy?” disillusionment and confusion filled her voice as the little girl inside her reach out; a plea that she hadn’t been used as she obviously had been, as tears glittered in her eyes.

“So help me God, Dad, this is it,” Madden snarled, turning on his father, enraged. “You swore you weren’t pulling anything here.” His fists were clenched at his side, fury enveloping his expression.

“I didn’t order this.” Frustrated bemusement filled Alexander’s face, and his gaze locked on Grace.

She was so still, her breathing erratic; the fear in her eyes was killing Zack.

“It’s one of the drugs we use for interrogation,” the agent flanking Alexander stated. “I notice the signs. It has a covert delivery system with hot liquid, coffee or tea—the caffeine aids in the quick delivery of the drug into her system.”

Zack gathered her closer to his chest, his hands rubbing at the chill in her arms.

“The drug will be active in approximately thirty minutes,” the agent continued. “Then it will begin easing from her system.”

“You used me!” Tory screamed at her father. “How could you do this?”

“I didn’t do this,” Grace whispered, the question activating an overriding need to answer whatever inquiry she heard posed.

He was going to kill. Zack could feel the urge racing through him as accusations and protestations of innocence became a war of words between the others.

A war that was going to turn into questions at any minute, and once the questions started, Grace would attempt to answer them whether she understood the questions or not.

Zack lifted her against his chest until she was cradled in his arms and then strode from the kitchen, livid, the need to beat his uncle senseless resounding through him. Damn him, he had to be behind this, it wouldn’t have happened otherwise. Alexander had complete control over his section, and he used it ruthlessly.

“Where are you going, dammit?” Alexander burst out as Zack carried Grace past him.

“I don’t know,” Grace answered.

“Get fucked, assholes,” Zack snarled back, the wooden tone Grace used to answer the question enraging him further.

Let them fight it out, Maddox and Brigham. He was aware of Jazz and Slade following him through the house, then up the stairs. The only safe place for her would be his bedroom, safely behind closed doors, where the bastards couldn’t get to her.

“Zack,” Vince called out as Zack’s foot lifted to take the first stair. “I hate like hell what they’ve done, but let them question—”

“Go to hell!” The snarl that ripped from his throat resonated with fury and the need for violence. “She didn’t consent to it, and I’ll be damned if I’ll allow her to be fucking mind-raped for a Brigham’s convenience. And by God, you should feel the same way.”

He didn’t give anyone else a chance to protest. Taking the stairs two at a time as he cradled Grace closer to him, he wondered at the rage building inside him. Yeah, he should be pissed, sure—outraged for her, even. But the killing fury trying to envelop him was far stronger than anything he should be feeling.

“Baer and Banyan are moving in on the house.” Slade spoke softly behind him as they entered the bedroom. “Max and Beau-Remi are right behind them. A word of warning, Beau brought that fucking gator of his with him.”

“I hope it’s hungry!” Zack snapped furiously as he laid Grace on the bed and then sat next to her, brushing her hair back from her face.

The fear in her eyes was still killing him.

“Someone drugged you, baby,” he whispered. “It was in the tea. The effects will wear off in about thirty minutes. Everything’s going to be okay.” He cupped her cheek, holding her gaze. “Everything’s going to fine.”

A tear spilled from the corner of her eye as another of those hoarse whimpers left her chest. Her entire body was stiff, fists clenched, and he knew she was in pain. He knew about this particular drug, knew the bastards who’d created it.

“Kate and Lara are pulling in the front drive,” Jazz reported from the bedroom door, where he was standing to bar anyone who might enter. “They’re going to be pissed.”

A few seconds later, there was the sound of the front door slamming. Then the whirlwinds Jazz called Kate and Lara moved quickly past Jazz into the room.

“I just saw that asshole Maddox heir,” Lara snapped. “He looks fit to be tied and all wrapped up in Little Miss Brigham.” The disgust in the woman’s tone drew only a moment’s attention from Zack.

Small-boned, lethal, and too lonely Lara seemed to have developed a dislike for Cord Maddox. She had a lot of company, Zack thought with a heavy sigh.

“Madden isn’t any better,” Kate snorted with a roll of her eyes. “That boy can’t decide if he’s dressing hobo or just grunge. He needs serious style help.”

The corners of Grace’s lips tugged toward a smile just before tightening again, indicating another wave of pain.

“Your taste in friends is deteriorating, Grace, my girl,” Lara drawled, sitting on the other side of the bed. “Tory Brigham? Really? She’d cut our throats in our sleep.”

Zack wouldn’t put it past her.

*   *   *

Staring up at Kate and Lara, Grace wanted to scream. There was a vicious tug-of-war going on inside her. She couldn’t talk, but the need to communicate was overwhelming. Zack should just have let them question her and get it over with. Then she could have tacked on a few insults while she was answering them.

The pain wasn’t going to last long. She reminded herself that Zack had promised no more than thirty minutes, though it felt as though hours had passed. She was trapped inside her own mind, unable to scream, unable to voice the pain and fury rolling through her.

Had Tory betrayed her? Grace could remember her screaming, but she couldn’t remember what the other woman was saying. Everyone had been screaming, though the words seemed so far away that she couldn’t make sense of them.

“Five minutes to go, Zack,” Jazz stated, and that Grace understood.

Her thirty minutes must be nearing an end. It had to be.

“Grace, are you feeling any better?” Zack’s voice was strangled.

“A little.” Being able to answer him gave her a reprieve from the desperate need to answer something.

“I’m going to keep the questions casual, nothing too intense. Is that okay?”

“That’s good,” she whispered. “Very good.”

“Okay, honey, what’s your favorite color?” he asked, staring down at her with dark gray eyes.

“Slate.” She couldn’t stop that particular answer, though she had a feeling what was coming.

A frown touched his brow as though she’d surprised him with her answer. “Why slate?”

She fought to hold the answer back. “It’s the color of your eyes. Damn, Zack, ask something that won’t embarrass me.”

Yeah, she could tack a little on with her answers. She liked that. He should have let them question her. She would have told Alexander Maddox what she thought of him.

Zack’s lips twitched at the comeback.

“What did Kenni get for my birthday?” Jazz suddenly asked with such innocence, it was insulting.

“An ass-kicking for asking me are her exact words,” she answered. “And I’m supposed to let her know if you did. She’s not telling anyone what she bought. All she says is that it’s going to blow your little mind.”

“That was so wrong, J-man,” Lara informed him. “On so many levels.”

“I would have acted real surprised,” Jazz assured them all. “But, damn, she’s making me nervous about it.”

“I’m going to kick your ass for it,” Zack promised him, knowing Grace would have been heartbroken had she given a confidence up. “See why I waited for questions, honey?” he asked then.

“I do see,” she assured him. “I should thank you.” Because she actually did know what Jazz had gotten for his birthday, but she was able to cover it just a bit by giving him the answer Kenni had told her to give him.

“What do you want for your birthday, honey?” Lara asked then, still laughing at Jazz’s attempt to learn something Kenni didn’t want him to know.

Her birthday was just a few weeks away, just before Jazz’s. And she knew what she wanted, what she’d wanted every year. “Zack,” she sighed. She wanted him for her birthday. A totally illogical request. “Try asking questions that he couldn’t possibly be the answer to.”

Silence filled the bedroom.

“Damn, Grace,” Kate sighed. “How’s Magnus doing?”

Her Magnus. The pup Zack had given her was huge now. Almost a year old, and far more protective than she’d ever imagined. “The vet says he’ll be fine, he just has to watch him, make sure Magnus doesn’t tear the stitches or get an infection.” She missed the rowdy Rottweiler. He was all playful energy, always butting against her for hugs.