Chapter Eleven
Max sauntered in with a crooked grin on his face. “You're going to want to sit down for this. We got a lock on Jay Grant's phone. He's in D.C.—Cambridge Heights Apartments.”
Trick stood so suddenly, his office chair threatened to tip over but righted itself with a loud thunk.
Max ignored his shock and continued. “So I took a little trip down to our nation's capital.” He held up his phone and showed a picture of a scruffy-looking man, peering over his shoulder as if someone might leap from the bushes. “This your guy?”
“That son of a bitch.”
“He looked strung out. He has been using, and probably for a while.”
Declan had asked about gambling, drugs, or women. If the man Max had seen was Jay, they knew the answer to that question.
Trick's mind spun like a roulette wheel only to land on one question. Did Rachel know? He grabbed his jacket. Confronting her wasn't smart, but hell, nothing he'd done in the last few weeks was smart.
“Max, go get him for me, will you? Bring him back by any means necessary. I'll be back.”
He turned the corner and ran smack into the very woman he was headed to see. Rachel wore jeans and a blouse, her hair hanging long and wet, and no makeup graced her face.
“How long have you suspected Jay took the money? Like really known?” she whispered.
His heart didn't know which way to go—feel a smug satisfaction at the shock on her face or crumble under the unshed tears forming in her eyes. “I've suspected for a while.”
“I talked to Jay. He's on a mini-break.” She drew quote marks in the air. “Now his fricking voice mail . . .” She lifted her cell phone and shook it. “. . .is full. Whose voice mail is ever full?”
The amount of relief that flooded his body was ridiculous. Rachel didn't know where Jay was. “Come inside. We'll talk.”
Max gave him a small salute before Trick shut himself and Rachel in his office—alone.
She paced. “He was worried I was with you. Told me to stay away.” She looked dazed, as if she couldn't believe her own words.
“Let's sit.” He moved her to the long couch and pulled her down, her movements robot-like. “We've been looking for him, Rachel. Traced his cell phone—”
“How? Oh, you pinched his number from my phone, huh? Did you hire me just to get info on Jay?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” He was done telling her lies—even the simple, little white ones.
“Well, I win the ulterior motive contest. I came here to steal back the $3 million from you.” She stared at the center of the room, dazed and unfocused.
“I figured that might be a possibility.”
She turned to him, more tears forming in her eyes. “You hired me anyway.”
He shrugged; his throat clogged with emotion. Those tearful eyes were going to kill him.
“He took the money, didn't he?” Disbelief, sadness, resignation cascaded like dominoes through her words. Sorrowful resignation colored every halting word.
He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest to keep from hugging her. He should tell her the whole story. Her brother was a larger fuck-up before the trust fund debacle than she knew, but that sordid account could wait for the appropriate time.
“When I saw you at Talman's, I began to think you weren’t involved,” he said. “In my gut, though I couldn't admit it at the time, I think I knew you couldn’t be part of the set-up and waitressing at the same time.” He felt the need to confirm it for some reason, both for himself as well as her. Now he had proof in the form of Rachel's tears and honest shock at being thoroughly misled by her brother.
Her eyes grew wide. “I called Northstar. They had never heard of Jacob Anthony Grant.”
“We know.”
“Jesus. Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped.”
“Yeah? Like you really would have done that.” She looked like he'd slapped her. “I've been trying to talk to you about him for over a week. You wouldn’t listen to a word I said.”
She stilled and recognition crossed her pretty face. “Well…I’m ready to listen now.”
“Okay, let's start at the beginning. Did he ask you to move to Baltimore with him?”
She nodded.
“So you both moved but he didn't stay. He left shortly afterward.”
“For Northstar, or so he said, but he just wanted me someplace you wouldn’t find me, didn’t he?” She put her head in her hands. “Jay could be anywhere—”
“He's in D.C. Max found him.”
She lifted her gaze to him, her eyes brimming with even more frustrated tears. She shot up. “You have a car, right?”
“No, Rachel. Let us handle this.” He pulled her back down. “We have reason to believe he's using. It's not safe.”
“Drugs? He never was—”
“Come on. He got high every second he could, Rachel. Don't you remember?”
“No, I don't. He was probably better at hiding it from me than you. I've been sending him money. Not much.” She shrugged. “But still. . .”
His jaw began to ache from clenching it so hard.
“Trick, I don't know why he's been lying, but it doesn’t mean he took the trust fund—
“Jesus, Rachel,” he cried and stood. “Doesn't it? A few million doesn't go far when it's snorted up your nose or pushed into a vein for three years.” By the way her eyes reddened further, his sarcastic tone wasn't helping, but he was so tired of everyone being so naive about Jay. He went to fucking jail because of that guy. “Rachel, look . . .”
Her face screwed into a grimace and a sob broke from her chest. He dropped back on the couch and pulled her into him. She cried into his shoulder until his shirt was soaked with tears—stupid tears that she should never have shed. He was going to kill Jay Grant the minute he found him.
She gulped air as her body shuddered. “I'd have finished sc-school. And, oh, God,” she looked up at him, shocked. “We would have been m-married.”
He didn't know what else to do. He grasped the sides of her face and kissed her hard. Salty tears mixed with the sweet taste of her lips. His hands shot under her shirt, and her lips trembled as she took shuddering breaths. His lips, tongue, and mouth reclaimed what he should have never lost. He felt her despair, yet he couldn't feel bad, because after three long years, she finally, finally believed he could be innocent of crimes that took him away from her.
~~~~~
Rachel was drowning—in his kiss, in all the lost time, in the foolishness she'd displayed. As wave after wave of emotion swept her, she clawed at Trick's shirt. If she could get lost in the feeling of skin on skin, she might forget what she'd learned.
She yanked the fabric of his jeans and heard the ping-ping of a button skittering against a hard surface. Trick pulled his half-unbuttoned shirt over his head. Frantically, she fumbled for fasteners and zippers. She furiously kicked her legs trying to peel off her jeans. She didn't want anything but his skin against hers. His lips were back on her as if understanding the life-and-death nature of the contact.
When they'd finally shed all clothes, he jerked her underneath him and slammed into her. She heard herself moan, a long, throaty sound that rumbled in her ears. She emptied the air from her lungs into his mouth. He took it all. She nearly came undone again at the intruding thought of all he'd endured—for her, for Jay.
Her throat clogged and a muffled cry caught in her throat. He broke his lip lock on her mouth and stilled. “Breathe, Rachel.”
Her lungs sucked in a large breath, and she stared into his eyes as he moved in and out of her, slowly, then urgently. She hooked her legs over his, her arms clung to his shoulders. Involuntary, animalistic sounds vibrated in her throat, and her body opened to the stretch of his cock, his wild thrusts. Still, she needed him to go harder and deeper, to drive out the loss and distance of the last three years. Crushed by the disclosures about Jay's probable involvement, overwhelmed by the injustice done to Trick, and staggered by all she’d lost as a result, she clung to Trick like a buoy in a stormy ocean. Being with him like this was genuine, true. Everything else had been a lie.
His lips cruised along her collarbone, up her cheek, to retake her mouth in a wild tangle of lips and tongue. She lost herself in his musk, his weight, and his hard cock battering her pussy. Hips aching from being stretched wide, nipples raw from scratching against the light hair on his chest, she wanted to ride the feeling of him in her, on her, everywhere, forever. A yearning sound left her throat as her desire rose impossibly higher, and fresh pleasure spread down her legs and up her torso as her orgasm built. When she finally crested, they were both panting, and the sweet and satisfying release moved her to further tears.
Trick slipped free, pulled her up and onto his lap, and held her while she sobbed. Neither of them moved until she had no more tears left. She stayed wrapped in Trick's arms until her brain slowly reawakened, an unwelcome development, because one clear thought cut through the haze and fog. Jacob Anthony Grant, if you did what I suspect, you are no longer my brother.