Nothing To Lose: A Grey Justice Novel (26 page)

“So you talked to Thomas, too?”

Something like guilt flickered in his eyes. “No.”

His answer was uncharacteristically abrupt, telling her the conversation had made him uncomfortable. She made one final statement. “This is the first time I’ve been able to talk about this to anyone.”

His hand covered hers. “Thomas would be proud of you.”

“You think so?”

“After he stopped yelling at you for putting yourself at risk…yeah, I think he would be damn proud.”

She smiled at that. Thomas hadn’t really had a temper, but he’d had a way of getting his point across that left few questions on how he felt about a matter. Without a doubt, he would have had some issues with her decisions, but she did like to think he would be proud, too.

“I think he would be happy we’re working together. Don’t you?”

“I promised him I would take care of you.”

His answer had the same effect as an ice pick on an overinflated balloon. How could she let herself forget the real reason Nick was helping her?

 
“Ravioli for the lady?”

They both jerked at the voice of their server with their food, and Nick released her hand.
 

The rest of the meal passed uneventfully. And when they went home, she to her bedroom and Nick to his, nothing happened other than a soft exchange of good-nights.

After such an eventful evening, Kennedy figured the instant her head touched her pillow, she would be out like a light. But sleeplessness plagued her. Nick was here to watch over her because of his promise to Thomas. Wishing for something more or different was pointless.

When sleep finally claimed her, the last thought on her mind was the intensity in his eyes and his words,
Do you think I could have any kind of life until I found you?

Was that just a promise to a friend?

Chapter Twenty-three

Mathias swallowed his blood pressure medicine, knowing he would need it in the next few minutes. He’d been told about the video of Jonah and Eli but had yet to see it. Contrary to what his ungrateful sons thought, he didn’t stay in front of a television screen 24/7 watching them screw up their lives. He controlled thousands of lives, billions of dollars. His sons were barely worth the trouble of having someone monitor them weekly, much less hourly.
 

“You ready?”
 

Mathias glared up at the hulking, pug-nosed man standing beside him. Cyrus handled the more unpleasant aspects of keeping Mathias the most powerful man in America. Having been with him for years, the man knew every Slater secret.
 

As efficient as he was deadly, Cyrus rarely messed up. That little incident in Houston a couple of years ago was probably the first screw-up he’d had since their early days together. Of course, that was due in large part to the ineptitude of his oldest son. Adam’s first independent action as a Slater leader had been a near disaster.

Even though Mathias ended up having to do some major cleanup to ensure all leaks were plugged, the matter had been resolved satisfactorily. That damn busybody cop and good-for-nothing accounting clerk had gotten what they deserved. The other cop…Gallagher something or other, had gotten off easy, with a valuable lesson learned: Never tangle with a Slater and expect to win.

And that cop’s widow? She’d learned her lesson, done the smart thing and disappeared completely.
 

“Would you like to wait until later…when you’re feeling better?”

Mathias’s blood pressure shot through the roof. Sometimes he wondered if Cyrus enjoyed these kinds of things a little too much. How many times had he caught a gleam in his eyes or a slight smirk on his ugly, wrinkled face? If Mathias hadn’t trusted him more than anyone else, he’d have had the giant killed. Problem was, he’d have had to find someone to do the deed. How ironic that the only man he could have trusted to kill Cyrus was the man himself.
 

“Mr. Slater...sir?”

“I’m ready,” Mathias snapped. “Turn it on.”
 

Without another word, the screen blinked bright. At first the images were so blurred it was hard to tell that the two men sitting across from each other were his sons. Then the image cleared, and he saw them. Eli, with his ever-present holier-than-thou expression, and sitting across from him, separated by a glass partition, was Jonah, his youngest son. The boy looked ill, like he’d lost weight. Good. He needed to suffer. Defiance and lack of loyalty had put him where he was. Mathias wasn’t a man to feel pity or regret—they weakened the mind. Looking at the dull, almost-dead eyes of his son, he felt none of that now. A man reaps what he sows, and Jonah was reaping a whole mess of bad stuff.
 

The voices were lower than he liked. He waved an irritable hand at Cyrus. Since they’d done this a thousand times over the years, Cyrus knew exactly what he wanted. The volume increased, and Jonah’s voice came through loud and clear.
 

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Jonah said.

Oh yeah, they were talking about the harlot Jonah had hooked up with. If not for her, his youngest son might’ve never started digging where he hadn’t belonged. Any time a man got led around by his pecker, trouble always followed. The woman had gotten off lucky. He’d wanted to see her suffer, but Cyrus had persuaded him to move on. A bullet in the head had been too good for her, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that her head and hands would never be reunited with the rest of her body. That was something.

The minute Eli confirmed Jonah’s statement, the kid’s eyes blazed with a life Mathias had never seen in the boy. Was he finally getting through to him? Maybe now his youngest realized how serious his daddy was about teaching him a lesson. Could this be the turnaround he’d been hoping for?
 

Jonah’s chair rolled back, and he stared straight up at the camera. Little pipsqueak knew his daddy would see this. When the vile contempt spewed from Jonah’s mouth, Mathias had a small moment of pride. The little shit could spit out venom with the best of them. He liked seeing that fire. Neither of his other boys had it.
 

But as quickly as it came, the pride vanished and a fiery wrath replaced it. How dare he talk like that to his daddy? Did he actually think he was going to get away with such behavior? The disrespect wasn’t something any father would stand for, much less Mathias Slater.
 

The brat ignored Eli’s hushed urgings to stay quiet. Mathias ignored Eli…he’d given up on him long ago. He might do an adequate job with Slater House Hotels, but he was too weak and mealymouthed to be the kind of man that Mathias could be proud of. Eli’s poor choice of wife had been the last straw.

But Jonah. Oh, his dear boy Jonah. He might actually grieve because the boy was going to have to be punished again. This time in a more substantial way than just a prison sentence. He’d had it too easy.

The screen went blank, then dark. Mathias drew in a breath and then expelled it, along with a harsh, rasping cough. Damned lungs. They were going to give out on him before he could get done all the things that were necessary to carry on his legacy. Dammit, he didn’t have time to take care of this matter. Wasn’t it just like his children to be so blasted inconsiderate? He refused to think what was going to happen when he did finally kick the bucket.
 

Cyrus still stood beside him, waiting. He knew Mathias wasn’t going to just sit back and let his good name be defiled.

“He needs a stronger lesson,” Mathias finally said.
 

“Yes, sir.”
 

“You’ll handle it?”
 

“Of course. How severe shall I get?”
 

Jonah’s vile, rebellious words reverberated in his brain, and the decision clicked. Mathias barely took a moment to consider the consequences. A powerful man had to make quick decisions without regret or sentimentality getting in the way. The kid was a hopeless case…was never going to come around.
 

This would be a good lesson for the two other boys. Their daddy only had so much patience.
 

Pulling himself to his feet, Mathias winced at the sound of popping joints. He wasn’t that old, dammit. Taking another breath, making sure this one was shallower, he said, “Make it the last punishment he’ll need.”
 

For the first time in a long while, Mathias saw a glimmer of surprise in Cyrus’s face. Maybe the lesson wasn’t going to be just for his children. Maybe this man needed to see it, too. No one, but no one, defied Mathias or defiled the Slater name without severe repercussions. Time for the piper to be paid. Too bad Jonah hadn’t realized that before.
 

Feeling older than when he’d come into the room, Mathias shuffled out the door. Now he had to figure out how to deal with what would follow. Eleanor, Jonah’s mama, would have to be protected at all costs. By keeping his Nora from the harsher truths of life, they’d had forty-one happy, peaceful years together. Losing her son would be difficult for her, but he would be there to comfort and console her, as any good husband should.

The press, on the other hand, would eat this up, and while it wasn’t necessarily the best publicity, he would do what he had so many times before—make lemonade out of lemons. Perhaps a donation to a prison library—The Jonah Slater Memorial Library had a nice ring to it.
 

The idea gave him a boost of energy. The matter was closed.
 

Kennedy stood in front of the floor-length mirror in what she had come to call her “torture chamber.” From one in the afternoon until six in the evening, she trained with surely the most devilishly devious, physically beautiful, and extraordinarily irritating woman on the planet.
 

She made a sudden move and winced as a sore muscle reminded her of yesterday’s new torture routine. Irelyn had taken her into another room in Grey’s vast office complex filled with weight machines, free weights, exercise mats, and yet even more mirrors. Admittedly, Kennedy hadn’t been able to exercise as she would have liked the last couple of years, but she had still felt she was in reasonably good shape. Irelyn had proved that theory wrong.
 

Next week they were to begin self-defense classes. Even though her body might resent the training, Kennedy was grateful for all the time and energy being spent on her. She hoped to be able to pay back their investment in her with what they all wanted—Adam and Mathias Slater in prison where they belonged.

“You look as though you’ve got a fire ant between your toes. What’s wrong?”

Shifting to take the weight off one foot, Kennedy explained, “These shoes are too tight.”

“They’re the perfect size. You’re just not used to wearing four-inch heels. You’ll get used to them.”

She shot an envious glance down at Irelyn’s low-heeled pumps. “Easy for you to say.”

“Take your shoes off.”

Relieved that she was being given a reprieve, she quickly complied and almost cried at the instant relief to her poor feet and ankles.

Instead of going on to another part of her lesson, Irelyn surprised her by slipping out of her own shoes and sliding her long, narrow feet into Kennedy’s stilettos. She watched in awe as Irelyn walked up and down the room with the cocky assurance of a supremely confident woman. There were no glitches in her graceful steps and no painful grimaces on her lovely face.

“How long did it take you to learn how to do that?”

“I don’t measure time. It’s wasteful and useless.”

Kennedy eyed the other woman carefully. She’d given up on trying to read her, learning quickly that Irelyn could be anyone, with any emotion, within the blink of her beautiful gray eyes. But just for an instant, she’d seen beyond the impenetrable façade to a woman of churning and volatile emotions.
 

“So, are you ready to try it again? This time without the whining?”

The mask was firmly back in place, but to Kennedy the last few moments had been a revelation. This woman was as human as anyone, but whatever had happened in her past had created the Irelyn Raine of today. Seeing that little bit of vulnerability gave her confidence that she could do it, too.
 

Sliding back into the shoes Irelyn handed her, Kennedy put everything into being the woman she needed to be to trap and ensnare a snake. When she was finished with him, Adam Slater wouldn’t know what hit him.

“Excellent.”

Irelyn’s word of praise made her proud. They were few and far between and therefore all the more treasured.

“Grey wants a meeting. Let’s go.”

How the woman knew what Grey wanted wasn’t something she wondered about anymore. Once she’d almost jokingly asked if they had some sort of psychic connection, since Irelyn seemed to know what Grey Justice wanted without any indication that he had told her. Then one day Irelyn had pushed her silky black hair behind her ear and Kennedy had seen the earbud. The revelation came quickly. Was he in touch with her constantly? The thought made her uncomfortable. Not for her sake, but for Irelyn’s. Grey Justice was the most intense and focused person she’d ever met. That kind of constant attention had to be exhausting. She had it only for a short time each day, and then she got to go home to Nick. At that thought, her spirits lifted. What would she do without him?