a Touch of Revenge (Romantic Mystery - book 6): The Everly Gray Adventures (5 page)

It was too high for me to reach, so I shoved the desk closer to the book-lined wall, climbed on top, stretched, and snagged it with the tips of my fingers. It slid further back on the shelf, out of reach, so I went on tiptoes, tumbled off the desk, and banged my elbow on the edge of a shelf.

Electric fire sizzled through my arm. Fortunately, my martial arts training ensured that I ducked and rolled, so I wasn’t seriously injured, but I’d definitely have some bruises to show for my stupidity.

The fall knocked over an empty wastebasket, and the tedious back and forth rock of metal against the wood floor grated on my nerves. So careless of me, and I knew better. When the shock of falling faded from my muscles, I stood and stomped around the room rubbing at the pain shooting from my elbow to my fingertips.

There was absolutely nothing amusing about smacking the funny bone, but the physical pain had jarred my memories into an uncomfortable place. Mitch would have kissed it and made it better. My thoughts strayed to the sofa where we’d made love so often. There had been something deliciously exciting about sneaking into his lair to seduce him, and I’d often taken full advantage.

I eyed the sofa with caution, then filtered through my memories, concentrating on his expressions, and whatever words still lingered in my mental data banks. Behavioral nuances I’d missed in the heat of passion flooded my mind with glaring intensity. Mitch suddenly shutting down his computer, sideways glances at stacks of paper on his desk, and once he’d not-so-subtly turned me away from the weapons cabinet, stopping my questions with a series of toe-curling kisses. And I’d been totally and completely distracted because, hey, the man was a skilled, patient, and dedicated lover.

But he wasn’t here to distract me now.

I shifted my attention from the misplaced mystery book to the steel weapons cabinet, my movements stilted and awkward. A fresh shaft of pain pierced my heart. As much as Mitch had loved me…or maybe he’d just pretended to love me—I’d probably never know, but it still blindsided me with a heap of hurt. I sucked in a breath, and made my way to the cabinet. It had been built into the room, the doors fitting flush with the wall, and covered with a wood veneer. A keypad was hidden behind a tiny sliding door that was nearly invisible to a casual glance.

I ran my fingers over the seam, slid the door aside with the edge of my fingernail, and entered the code. It didn’t click open. Had Jayne changed the combination? No. She wouldn’t have known about the hidden lock. Mitch, then.

If he wanted me to open it, he would have used a code only I would know. Something obvious to me, or more likely, to my fingertips. I inhaled and rested the pads of my fingers just above the lock and a string of random numbers flashed in my mind. Holding the image, I typed the numbers into the keypad and the door swung open. He’d planned for this. Wanted me to find…whatever. Or maybe he’d been thinking about the combination when he touched the cabinet. Something else I’d never know.

The usual weapons were there—guns and knives that we’d used during target practice and sparring sessions. But tucked in the corner there was a manila envelope. A tremor rocked me, and my teeth chattered. I reached for the packet, fumbled, dropped it. Giving in to my weak knees, I plopped onto the Oriental throw rug and stared at the sealed packet until my eyes watered.

Blinking, I finally reached for it. The only image my fingers absorbed was of Mitch when he’d shelved the envelope. The vision fluttered on my internal monitor like a poorly exposed photograph, too dark for me to see clearly since there hadn’t been any lights on in the study. I made out the plaid shirt Mitch had on—the one he’d worn the day he left on his last mission, so at least I had a time frame.

I slid my finger to open the sealed flap and peeked inside.

One sheet of paper, crackly and worn with age.

I caught it between my thumb and index finger, and an immediate image of Mitch hit my internal screen. Expected. And then a picture of my mom, brow wrinkled, filled my mind. She’d held this sheet of paper.

My heart did a flip, then bottomed out. Stifling my impatience, I gently eased it from the envelope. Faded, illegible writing filled the top of the page, but farther down there were two clear entries—Iguazú Falls and Torquay. Why had my mom written in pencil? Had she wanted the information to fade with time? Iguazú Falls was in Argentina and Brazil.

That fit, sort of, with what Pierce had said about a South American official being the one to order my parents’ “accident.” A dead lead, according to what Pierce had told me. Torquay was somewhere in England. Devon, maybe. I’d have to check an atlas. I ran my fingers over the letters and a shiver rippled along my spine. Pierce found Eamon Grady, but hadn’t located him. Could he be in Torquay? Or didn’t the English address have anything to do with my parents’ murder? At least it was a starting place.

I couldn’t tackle the Torquay lead until after I packed the weapons for shipment to Hawaii. Anxious to get started, I jerked my cell out of my pocket and punched in Jayne’s number.

“Everly?” She sounded confused. I probably should have walked downstairs and braved the family.

“Yes. Sorry to bother you, but I need a couple of boxes to pack up the guns and knives. I’ll break the guns down so they
could
be shipped by commercial transport, but I think it would be better if they were moved in a Steele Management jet.”

She huffed. “Of course. I’ll send…no, I’ll bring them up myself. Medium-sized?”

“Yes, please. And some bubble wrap if you have it.”

“Of course, we have packing material. I’ll be right up.”

While I waited for Jayne, I copied the information from the sheet of paper into my phone, and then carefully slipped the page into the envelope. I wasn’t ready to share my plans with Jayne quite yet.

She tapped on the door a few minutes later. I swung it open and took the boxes from her overloaded arms. “Thanks. I need these weapons to keep up with my target practice and sparring, and it’s probably best to get them out of the house before Mitchell is walking.”

Jayne nodded. “Have you found anything?” She spotted the moved desk and overturned wastebasket, then glanced at me with raised eyebrows.

“I was trying to reach a book on the top shelf and slipped.” I really didn’t want her to touch that book.

She craned her neck, checking out the spines. “
The Eight
? It’s the only title that stands out.”

I wanted to say no, but Jayne was already on top of the desk, reaching for the book—and since she was a couple inches taller than me, had it in her hand and was thumbing through it before I could wrap my tongue around a denial.

“Nothing here.” Her eyes were damp with unshed tears.

I barely kept from ripping the book out of her hands. There had to be some kind of clue in it, but now her energy was all over the pages, probably obliterating anything helpful that my fingers might have picked up. “I’d hoped…”

Swiping at her eyes, she jumped down, dropped the book on the desk, and turned to leave. “There will be something here, Everly, and it
will
lead you to Mitchell’s boss. Please let me know when you find it.”

“I will.” My words bounced off the firmly closed door. And I would tell Jayne. Just not everything, because as much as she had a right to know, it was dangerous, and I didn’t want anything to happen to the mother of Mitch’s nephew and namesake. Potentially endangering Tynan Pierce was bad enough.

I packed the weapons, addressed the boxes, and set them by the door for Parker to collect when there was a corporate flight heading for Hawaii. After completing my search of every nook and cranny in Mitch’s lair, I carefully tucked the envelope with my mother’s note into my handbag.

Time to go.

FIVE

I GAVE THE ROOM A
final, cursory once-over, and spotted the book Jayne
had rescued from the top shelf of the bookcase. She’d said there wasn’t anything inside, but it wouldn’t hurt for me to check as well. I scooped it off the desk, my index finger slipping inside the cover.

An image flashed and the book fell from my hand.

Pain wracked through me. The picture was vivid and hurt so damn bad. Mitch with tears running down his face. And for the first time I understood what Jayne had been trying to tell me. Death had been a release for him, a way to escape the pain of lying to me, spying on me—and worse, turning that information over to the people who
might
have issued the assassination order on my parents, as unlikely as that theory was.

Oh, yeah…Pierce had said it came from a South American Security guy, but this image of Mitch told a different story. His pain had traveled through my fingers and soaked into my bones. He’d been betrayed by one of his own. By someone he trusted. Or maybe I was just sensing his guilt. Sometimes it was difficult to interpret those emotions from the images my fingers picked up.

It took a few minutes to get my ragged breathing under control before I dared attempt to touch the book again. I inched it off the desk with my palm until there was enough of the spine free for me to hold without using my fingertips, then hugged it to my chest. Mitch had hidden secrets within secrets, and now it was up to me to chase them down. To avenge his death.

I dropped into the desk chair, and practiced breathing. The last time I’d sat in this chair it had been on Mitch’s lap…before I knew the truth. A long, shaky, filled-with-regret sigh for what might have been worked its way free from my chest, and then I honed in on the book, running my fingers over cover and binding.

No images were attached to the outside, other than a faint picture of Jayne pulling it from the shelf.

I removed the dust jacket and ran my fingers over the seams. Smooth. Nothing had been tampered with since it left the printer. Despair leaked into my hope. There had to be more than the single image of Mitch. Simply had to be. He hadn’t read fiction, had preferred biographies and technical nonfiction.

I set the book aside and climbed back on top of the desk, stretched, but couldn’t see the back of the shelf. Scanning the room, I spotted a step stool tucked under the bed where Mitch used to nap, and where we… I shook the memories off, hopped off the desk, snagged the stool, arranged it on top of the desk, and climbed up—slowly, balance not being my forte.

The extra inches gave me just enough height to see over the edge of the shelf. There in the back. A piece of paper. I reached for it, but came up shy. Maybe if I nudged closer to the shelves, ducked out of the way, and stretched from my armpit…yes! I crumpled it in my fist, and the stool slid out from under me.

For the second time in a few hours pain shot through my elbow and hip, but thank the gods and goddesses, I landed on the desk instead of the floor, and I hadn’t dropped the folded square of paper. Un-crumpling myself took a bit of maneuvering, and the aches and bruises would be with me for a while, but it was worth it.

Black dots danced in front of my eyes, obscuring the image of Mitch’s hands when he’d folded the paper.
Breathe, Everly. Passing out now isn’t acceptable.
I sucked in a breath, then unfolded the tidy square in the exact reverse sequence that Mitch had folded it.

And there it was. In neatly printed uppercase letters.

FION CONNOR

TORQUAY, DEVON, ENGLAND

The first burst of triumph that shot through me was quickly followed by a solemn dose of common sense. Connor could be anyone. Still, it was my first tangible clue about Mitch’s possible boss, and therefore worth following.
And
since North Carolina was more than halfway to England, now was the perfect time for me to finish the trip.

I gathered my things, locked up, and went downstairs to the main part of the house. There was absolutely no reason for me to prolong the agony of hanging around North Carolina, not with a fresh trail to follow. And even if it didn’t lead to Grady, it would keep me busy while I waited for Pierce. There was possibly some kind of connection between Fion Connor and my parents, but maybe…

Holy crap! Was it possible this Connor guy was friends with my mother and had hired Mitch to spy on me to…protect me? Being the protective sort, it would be just like my mother to set something like that up. And it was an interesting coincidence that I’d found two links to Torquay in Mitch’s office. Maybe Mitch had figured out that his spying was a positive thing, intrusive and underhanded, but still… There was no question it was information he’d follow up on, and since I didn’t believe in coincidences, it was definitely a trail I needed to follow. If nothing else, Connor had some kind of connection with my mom and might be able to lead Pierce and me to Grady.

I left Mitch’s lair, fought to keep my eyes on my feet, but darn if that bare sakura tree didn’t call to me. I blew out a sigh, hoping it would ease some of the pressure in my chest, and then trudged down the stairs to face the inevitable. I braced my suitcase against the bottom of the staircase and made my way across the lush fields toward the Japanese cherry tree. Dry leaves rustled in the wind. They’d hang around for a while, unlike the too-short life of the cherry blossoms. I didn’t bother to glance back at the house to see if anyone watched me. It would be expected that I visit my husband’s grave, so there was nothing odd or remarkable about my behavior. Nothing odd, unless you were me.

It was the emptiness that clung to me, smothering the breath from my lungs. I knew Mitch wasn’t in that grave. Oh, his physical remains were, but Mitch, my Mitch, had transitioned to the light. I’d watched his soul leave his body when he died in my arms. I hadn’t told anyone, not even Jayne, about that part.