Nothing To Lose: A Grey Justice Novel (13 page)

“That’s it?” Kennedy inwardly grimaced at her first unguarded moment. But she couldn’t believe he was hiring her without even interviewing her beyond those vague questions. And she was supposed to start immediately?

“Was there something more you should have told me or I should have asked?”

“Sorry…no. I just assumed you would have more questions.”

“Your reputation got you the job. Our meeting was a formality.”

Surprised but pleased, Kennedy stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then. Thank you for the opportunity.”

Instead of the cursory nod she expected, a slight gleam came into his eyes. “Thank you for the opportunity, Ms. Walker.”
 

With that enigmatic statement, he opened the door for her, and she walked out.
 

As she made her way home that night, Kennedy reflected on the grueling and emotional journey she’d taken to get this far.

When she had realized her house was most likely bugged, she had known she had only a finite amount of time before someone came after her. Having lived with so little as a child had trained Kennedy to be a minimalist. She didn’t need a lot in the way of material things to survive. Being married and secure with Thomas had blurred that lifestyle, but she had never allowed herself to collect “things” the way regular people did.

With that mindset, she had thrown clothes, shoes, a makeup bag, and her small amount of jewelry into a duffle bag and was ready. Even though a part of her had ached to take some of Thomas’s things, she’d forced herself to settle for his leather jacket that still carried his scent and an old Texas A&M sweatshirt he’d practically worn out. On her way out the door, she had weakened and grabbed a framed photo of their wedding day, along with a photo album that chronicled their short life together. Altogether, it had taken her about five minutes.

The only anomaly in her escape had been her middle-of-the-night visit to the ICU ward to visit Nick. Seeing him like that had steeled a resolve in her that nothing and no one could shatter. She had no proof that Slater had been behind Nick’s shooting, but it was just too damn coincidental that Thomas had been murdered, and three days later his best friend had been shot.

She had followed Nick’s progress as best she could. Through newspapers and by lurking on the Facebook and Twitter accounts of some of his friends, she knew his recovery had been slow and painful. She knew there were days, maybe weeks, when the doctors didn’t know if he would survive. But he had. Knowledge of his recovery had helped but hadn’t diminished her determination to see this through. Both he and Thomas deserved justice for what had happened to them.

Upon completion of her new identity, she had moved to Dallas. The first couple of months, she had concentrated on getting settled—bought a house, opened a bank account and credit lines at local stores—all the things a new resident might do. And she had continued her research on the Slaters. Having had almost no knowledge of them, other than the few things she had heard, she’d had a lot to learn.
 

Once she had been reasonably sure of her course, she had applied for a job at Slater House Hotels. At that time, the only opening had been an entry-level position. Even though she had documentation that Rachel Walker had a business management degree, she’d assured the personnel director that she would be quite happy to start at the bottom. Laying it on thick about her admiration for the Slater empire and how much she wanted to work for such an impressive company, she’d never given the man the chance to tell her she was overqualified. Within a week, she had been hired.
 

Every opportunity for advancement that had come her way, she had applied for and gotten. Yes, they had still been low-level positions, but that hadn’t mattered. In each job, she’d learned a little more and earned a reputation for being a motivated, dedicated employee, eager to move up and open for all opportunities.
 

Today, that reputation had paid off. She would soon be working for Eli Slater himself.
 

Even though she knew Thomas would never have wanted her to put herself at risk like this, she couldn’t help but believe he would be proud of her progress. One day the Slaters would be sorry as hell they had ever heard of the O’Connells of Houston, Texas.
 

Chapter Eleven

Nick sat in the dark, waiting. Kennedy should be home soon. Breaking into her house had taken him a lot longer than he had anticipated. Not only did she have a quality security system, she had locks that would make most intruders turn around and find an easier target. He wasn’t most intruders. He was here on a mission—to talk her out of whatever harebrained scheme she had cooked up. And if that didn’t work, then he was going to aid her. Either way, he was here for the duration.

Yesterday he’d followed her from the building where she worked to her house. It had been all he could do not to call out her name when she’d walked to her car. He literally ached to be in her presence but had made himself wait. He was glad he had. As if she knew or feared she was being watched, she had taken an odd, circuitous route home. In fact, he’d almost lost her twice. She was, understandably, skittish as hell.

A week ago he hadn’t known what had happened to her or where she was. And now, in mere minutes, she would be close enough to touch. Something he was still trying to process.
 

 
He had to give Grey Justice credit. When the man said he would take care of things at the precinct, he’d meant it. The day after their meeting, Nick had gone to work, still struggling with how to take leave without appearing as though he would be pursuing an investigation of the Slaters on his own. He’d barely sat at his desk before his captain had called him into his office. It seemed the governor had requested a special statewide task force be formed to battle inner-city gangs in the major cities. Nick was being asked to join—a six-month commitment, maybe longer. Was he interested?

Oh, hell yeah, he was interested. Nick had never doubted that Justice had somehow created this opportunity. And when he’d gone to his first meeting, his suspicions were confirmed. The meeting had been nothing more than a young man with an envelope with all the information he would need to find Kennedy and a note from Justice saying he would be in touch.

As much as he’d wanted to hop on a plane and go after her immediately, Nick had forced himself to wait. If he were being watched, no way in hell would he lead anyone to Kennedy’s door.
 

In between finishing up as many cases as he could so Margo wouldn’t be stuck with them, Nick had spent hours researching. This time, instead of trying to find dirt on the Slaters, he had dug up what he could on Grey Justice. Surprisingly and disturbingly, it wasn’t what he had found that concerned him—it was what he couldn’t find. The man was a billionaire, several times over, having invented a small computer device that apparently every company in the world decided they needed. Raised in a small town outside London, parents deceased, moved to the States when he was in his early twenties. Single, never been married, dated a variety of women, and had been on several top ten lists of the world’s most desirable bachelors.
 

There were a multitude of articles on Justice, too numerous to count. Problem was, the articles revealed only so much. Without a doubt, someone was controlling the level and quality of information.

It was public knowledge that Justice was heavily involved in his highly touted Grey Justice Victims Advocacy Foundation. The press had labeled him the “white knight” of those in need of a champion. How many knew that the man had a dark side?
 

Nick had come away from his research with one disturbing conclusion. Grey Justice was a powerful, mysterious man—possibly even more powerful than the Slaters.

Headlights blazed through the front windows. Nick tensed, waiting, anticipating. Seconds later, the front door opened and closed. Footsteps sounded as Kennedy walked into the foyer. He heard beeps as she tapped her security code into the small box beside the front door. Even though she was in another room, he imagined that he could already smell her sweet scent, feel her vitality and essence. For the first time in almost two years, he felt alive.
 

When he heard the click of a revolver, he smiled. Her instincts were good. She’d detected something off almost immediately. He felt a moment of pride that she was prepared to protect herself. The tension in the room increased. She was only a few feet away from him now. She was silent, but he knew she was there. Alert…waiting.

“Relax, Kennedy. It’s me.”
 

“Nick?”
 

She’d said his name with a slight hitch in her voice, and despite his best intentions, he went hard at the soft, breathless sound.
 

“Yes.”

“How did you find me?”
 

“Wasn’t easy.”
 

“I…” She swallowed. “How are you?”

“Healed. Took awhile.”

“I know…I watched the news as much as possible, looking for information on you. I’m so sorry for what happened.”

“What do you know about it?”

“I assumed it had to do with the Slaters.”

“Why would you assume that?”

“Because of Thomas’s murder…and all that happened. Was I wrong?”

“No, you were right on target. I was meeting a man who was going to give me information on them.”

“And it almost got you killed. Did you get anything from him?”

“Nope, just a hole in my head.”

“I’m glad you can joke about it now.”

“I’m not joking…I’m dead serious.” He leaned forward, his eyes trying to pierce the dark. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Kennedy?”

 
“For right now, I’m holding a gun on you, that’s what I’m doing.”

Nick’s burst of laughter held no humor. “I remember the day Thomas and I took you for your first target practice. You’ve come a long way from the frightened girl who shook the first time she held a gun in her hands.”

“I’ve come further than you’ll ever know. What do you want?”
 

“A helluva lot of things, kitten, but for right now, I want you to tell me what you’ve got planned.”

Several seconds of silence followed. Was it because of the obvious anger in his voice or because of the endearment that had slipped out? She did remind him of a kitten, wary, untrusting…vulnerable.

“I’m going to make them pay.”

“And how are you going to go about doing that?”

“It’s not something you need to be involved with. I’ve got this covered.”

Got this covered, my ass.
His hands gripped the arms of the chair to keep himself from jumping to his feet and shaking some sense into her. Deciding on a less drastic alternative, he asked mildly, “Mind if we turn the lights on?”
 

The instant after he said that, light flared in the ceiling fan. Kennedy stood only a couple of feet away from him. Damn, she was beautiful. Not like the old Kennedy, who had been serene in her beauty. This woman was slightly flamboyant and sexy as hell, as if she wanted to attract attention. Something else was different—not in appearance, but demeanor. She’d always had an air of delicacy about her, and after Thomas’s death she’d been understandably fragile. Now she had a new awareness, a surprising toughness.
 

Unable to sit while she stood as if on guard against him, he got to his feet. Just like that, she took a step back. A fist twisted in his gut. Was she afraid of him? Did she think he was somehow in on the shit that had happened to Thomas?

Putting that aside for now, he began walking around the room, picking up small items and setting them back down. Yeah, it was a delaying tactic, but the monumental weight of fear he’d had for the past twenty months had been lifted from him. That was a damn hard thing to adjust to.
 

The items he could pick up were few and far between. In Houston, her house had been nice and homey, filled with framed photographs and little knickknacks scattered around. By comparison, her house here was Spartan and utilitarian, like she knew she might have to up and leave without taking any belongings with her. He didn’t like that. Kennedy deserved to be surrounded by beautiful things.

“Would you stand still already? You’re making me nervous.”
 

He turned to face her. Amazing the difference a change of hair color could do to a person.

“In case you’re wondering, I checked for intruders when I came in.”

Her mouth twitched with a slight smile. “An intruder checking for intruders. That’s different. Why would you check?”
 

“Because you’re working for the spawn of Satan, that’s why. Even though the Slaters don’t seem to know your identity, you’re too smart not to be wary.”
 

Kennedy almost gasped at the fury in Nick’s eyes. He’d been acting so easygoing, almost unconcerned, that she had let her guard down. But it had all been an illusion. He was furious with her. “How do you know who I’m working for?”

“I’ve been looking for you for over a year. Do you have any idea what you did to me…to your friends when you left? How worried everyone has been? Dammit, Kennedy, you disappeared without a trace.”