Exposed in Darkness Read online

  I looked down at the thickly wrapped splint on my arm. By the time I’d gotten an X-ray, the swelling had been pretty bad, but fortunately nothing was broken. However, there would be no thoroughbred riding for me in the coming weeks, and I’d have to rely on my weaker arm to handle my firearm—and probably many other tasks I hadn’t even thought of yet.

  “If you could help me to my car, that would be great,” I called after him. “I need to get back to Midland.” I stepped away from Declan’s car and slammed the door closed, swaying on my feet again. I hadn’t been thinking straight when I took the painkiller the doctor handed me. I didn’t even question what it was or what effect it would have on me.

  “No,” Declan said over his shoulder.

  I stared daggers at his back as he entered his house. I could hear him speaking to someone. Despite the loopy feeling in my head, I began the slow trek toward the house, stopping once or twice to try to get the world to stop spinning.

  Declan reappeared and closed the distance between us. He stood in front of me, holding his hands up just out of my grasp and daring me to grab hold. When I wobbled, he lifted both brows. “Now do you understand why you’re not driving anywhere tonight?”

  He leaned down, and next thing I knew, he had me scooped up in his arms. Thanks to a head that was swimming, I had no choice but to drape my good arm around his neck and hang on.

  “David,” he said as he entered the foyer, “please put my vehicle up for the night. We’ll see you here at six a.m. tomorrow. Miss Fairfax and I have an early flight.”

  “Very good, sir. See you in the morning.”

  I moaned into Declan’s chest. I felt useless.

  He carried me up the grand staircase and down a hallway. I tried to look up, but my head only dangled, throwing the world off kilter again.

  When my body met softness, I looked up at him. “Where did this cloud come from?” I asked, then giggled.

  He sat next to me on the edge of the bed and smiled. “Now the meds are really kicking in.” He leaned away from me, and I could feel him remove my shoes, one at a time. He looked back at me. “I’m assuming you brought something comfortable to sleep in. Or do you prefer to sleep in the nude?” There was humor in his voice.

  With an effort I furrowed my brows, processing his question. Then, also with great effort, I smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  He answered quickly. “Yes, actually.” He reached down to my overnight bag and began rummaging through it. After much searching, he pulled my University of Virginia T-shirt and a pair of silk pajama shorts from my bag. “Is this really what you sleep in?”

  “What? The ridiculously rich, super-arrogant Declan O’Roark doesn’t approve of my sleeping attire?”

  “I find it… interesting. That’s all.” He sat back beside me and set my PJs on my chest.

  I lifted my uninjured hand and weakly brushed my fingers from his temple down his cheek. “I’m not angry with you.” When he looked at me funny, I continued. “Earlier, you said I was mad at you. But I’m not.” I raised my other arm. “I’m pissed about this, though. And I don’t want you helping me.” The truths just rolled off my tongue.

  “Why don’t you want me helping you, Brooke?”

  “This is not how I want you to see me. Weak. A damsel in distress. I’m good at what I do. I don’t need your protection, and I certainly don’t need some man taking care of me.”

  He pressed a finger to my lips. “I know you’re good at what you do. I’m counting on it, actually.” Even in my loopy state, I could see the worry and sadness on his face. “And I’m going to let you continue your work after you eat some soup and get some sleep. Let the anger go for tonight.”

  “You’re cute, you know that?” I reached further and touched his dark, slightly messy—but in a good way—hair. “No,” I corrected. “Handsome. You’re handsome.”

  After another laugh, he pushed hair out of my face. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on my lips before whispering against them, “I’m going to get you some soup. The nurse said you need to get a little something in your stomach to handle the pain medicine the doctor gave you.” He stood to go.

  I ran a finger across where his lips had just touched, and I wanted more. “Wait!” I tried to sit up, but immediately fell back against the pillows.

  “I won’t be long. Relax and let the medicine do its job.”

  Chapter 19

  Declan

  I entered the spare bedroom with a tray of soup, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and an ice pack for Brooke’s arm. But she was already asleep. Her injured arm was resting on a pillow beside her, and her other arm was hugging her sorry excuse for pajamas to her chest.

  After setting the tray on the nightstand, I eased the T-shirt and shorts from her grip. I sat beside her and carefully lifted her upper body toward me. Instinctively, she stretched her arms around my neck and moaned against my shoulder, causing a stirring in my own body.

  I pulled her sweater carefully over her head, sliding each arm out one at a time, being extra cautious with her injury. Then, just as carefully, I slid the T-shirt over her head and in place. Though I was holding her close to me and purposely didn’t get a look at her body, the feel of her skin against my hands had me imagining what it would be like to finally get to know this woman. To feel her body react beneath my touch. To get her to trust me in every way.

  Setting her back against the pillows, I unbuckled her jeans and slid them over her legs, then replaced them with the silk shorts. When I had her more comfortably dressed, she moaned again and rolled on her side. I placed her injured arm back on the pillow and set the ice pack on top. I then leaned in one last time and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Sleep well, sweet Brooke,” I whispered before turning off the side lamp and leaving her.

  As I pulled the door closed, my phone buzzed.

  “Maggie,” I said as I made my way back toward my real office—not the one Brooke had seen, but a private space in an alcove above my bedroom. “Tell me what you found. Did you get a hit on that plate I sent you?”

  The screen to Brooke’s phone had shattered when she fell, but while she was preoccupied with a possible broken arm, I was able to pull a photo of a license plate she’d taken just before being assaulted and send it to Maggie.

  “It belongs to an employee of the stable,” Maggie said. “Danny Ramsey. He’s from a town west of here. His parents died in a car accident two years ago when he was only sixteen. Authorities tried to put him in the system, but he ran away from every foster home. He’s eighteen now, and he jumps from stable to stable, learning everything he can about horses. Aidan says he’s good at what he does and keeps to himself.”

  “You spoke with Aidan?” I crossed through my bedroom, up a skinny spiral staircase to my office, and sat in front of a wall of computers.

  “Yes, sir. He was having a drink in Midland at the Black Tulip.”

  “How was he doing?”

  “To be honest, not good. He’s taking José’s passing hard.”

  And he was probably still more than upset that his investment in the distillery had gone south so quickly. “Did you get anything out of the police regarding what killed José?”

  “No, sir. But I’ll keep trying.”

  “What about Marti? Any update?”

  “She’s in stable condition. They said they’d know more in the morning.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Maggie. We’ll be leaving early. I’ll check in with you when we land in Chicago.”

  “Sounds good. I’ve sent copies of all of my findings to your email.”

  I hung up with Maggie and logged onto my computer. I had six monitors in front of me and could do my own analyzing—analyzing I would never ask of my employees. If anyone was going to break cyber security laws, it would be me.

  I stared up at the wall of monitors and began typing. My first order of business was to find out what my university buddy, Fritz Hahn, had been up to before we confronted him tomorrow. Seeing a
s he was one of the only people I knew who understood the complex components of tacin—including how to reproduce it or modify it—he would be integral to the investigation going forward.

  Chapter 20

  I woke to darkness and to an arm that was on fire. It didn’t take long to remember the events of the previous night—most of them, anyway. I sat up and looked down at my UVA T-shirt and silk shorts. I didn’t remember changing into my pajamas. I pressed a hand to my chest and was relieved to find a bra still there.

  I glanced around the bedroom, barely making out a dresser and a couple of plush chairs by a window with curtains drawn. I saw no light around the edges of the window, making me think it must still be dark out.

  I pushed back the down comforter and grunted in pain as I maneuvered my body out of bed with only one arm. My bag was in a chair nearby, and the clothes I’d worn the previous night were folded on top. My purse sat behind the bag. I rummaged through my things one-handed. I didn’t find my phone anywhere, but my Glock was still safely in the bottom of my purse, where I had placed it after injuring my arm.

  I searched the bedside table again. No phone.

  I turned on a lamp, thankful it only produced a dim glow, and glanced around the room—a room painted in a light gray and decorated in soft tones. Fresh flowers sat on the dresser. My heart tightened. The only reason Declan would have placed fresh flowers in the guest room was if he’d expected someone—me—to stay in here.

  I touched my lips, remembering the gentleness of his touch the night before. He’d made no secret of the fact that he wanted me in his bed, yet he hadn’t planned on that happening last night. Of course, there had been no chance of it after I’d sprained my wrist and succumbed to painkillers.

  Seeing an open door to my left that was obviously not the main entrance to the room, I realized how badly I needed to pee. I made my way into what was thankfully the bathroom and flipped on the light, cringing at its harshness. I let my eyes adjust while I used the bathroom, then quickly realized just how much of a nuisance an injured right arm was going to be.

  When I had managed to take care of business left-handed, I found and used my toothbrush. I had spent considerable time at the FBI Academy learning to be ambidextrous when it came to firing a handgun, yet brushing my teeth left-handed was surprisingly challenging.

  The house was quiet, and when I opened the door to the hallway, I realized I had no idea where I was located within the spacious expanse of Declan’s mansion. I had a faint memory of Declan carrying me up the grand staircase, but everything else was fuzzy.

  I stepped out of the guest room. The hallway was faintly lit by a dimmed overhead light. I walked to my right, and soon I knew where I was, as the hallway opened up and overlooked the foyer below. I stood in front of the set of doors where Declan and I had talked the night of the Lexington Stakes.

  I pushed the right door open and poked my head in. The office was dark, and the oversized, arched window overlooking the back of the house was black. I pulled the door closed and continued down the hallway. All the doors were closed except for one, which was cracked slightly, letting a thin line of light emerge.

  As I pushed gently on the door, it creaked, loud against the dead silence. I stepped into the room and heard Declan’s voice coming from somewhere in the distance.

  I realized I had entered Declan’s bedroom. The walls were a dark, midnight blue. The bedding, which was the same shade, didn’t appear to have been slept in.

  “Declan,” I called in a small voice.

  Nothing.

  I walked into the room. To one side was an open entrance to a bathroom—there was no door. Thankfully, that was not the direction from which his voice was coming. On the other side of the bed was another open entrance, and I padded softly over to it. A spiral staircase led up to the source of Declan’s voice.

  I stepped lightly on the first step. The banister was on my right, but I was unable to hold it with my sprained arm, so I kept my left hand on the pole in the center as I climbed. When I got to the top, I found Declan standing with his arms crossed in front of a wall of televisions or computer monitors, maybe a combination of both. He was speaking French into a headset.

  I walked closer, and apparently seeing me out of the corner of his eye, he jerked around to face me. His face softened. He said a couple more sentences in French, then ended the call and ripped off the headset.

  “Good morning, Brooke.” He was dressed in dark khaki slacks and a starched, blue button-down shirt.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “It’s nearly six a.m.”

  I gave him the once-over. “Did you sleep? How long have you been up?”

  He smiled. “I slept.” He walked over to a desk and stuck the headset into some sort of charging station. “I was just about to wake you. If we’re going to make our flight, we need to leave soon. How are you feeling? Are you in much pain?”

  I looked down to where I was cradling my right arm with my left and shrugged.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  I glanced around the room again. “I seem to have misplaced my phone.”

  He picked up a phone from his desk. “Your screen shattered when you fell. I had David pick up a new one last night. Same model. I switched over your SIM card and added security to it. If your phone is ever stolen, or you lose it, I can wipe it instantly. You’ll need to set up your own passcode, and sync it with your computer when you get a chance, to get back any photos or music.”

  I winced. I needed the photo of the license plate I’d taken just before Romeo had assaulted me. But I didn’t want to let Declan know I’d been chasing after one of his employees, so I let my disappointment go. I angled my head and smiled at him. “Do I need to remind you that I’m an employee of the FBI?” At least, currently. “That I just might already have a pretty good level of security on my phone?”

  “No, you don’t need to remind me, but I assumed you’d like a phone for our trip, so this is a temporary fix. Plus, I’m pretty good at the security thing. You’ll find this is as secure as anything you can get from the Bureau.”

  I glanced toward the wall of monitors. “Is this part of your security?”

  “Actually, yes.” He walked over to the keyboard, typed a few things, then nodded toward the monitors. “I can see almost every inch of my property with these monitors. Also, I can observe every financial market and all major news stations at any time of the day. You’re not the only analyst around.”

  “Apparently.” I stared at the monitors and remembered how he had known I was stalling outside his gate the night we had dinner.

  “When we return from our trip, I’d love to show you how to use this system. I think you’d find it quite useful in your work.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You’d let me mess around on your computer system?”

  “I think you’d find it quite resourceful.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt.” I eyed the phone. “Have I received any calls?”

  “Quite a few.”

  He handed it to me, and I scrolled through missed calls and texts. Ty was obviously trying to get ahold of me. As was Mike, and the director of the FBI, who was simply called Director in my phone. Most of the calls had happened near midnight, with a few from Ty in the past hour.

  I looked up at Declan. “How much time do I have before we leave?”

  “Thirty minutes? I can delay the flight a little if you need more.”

  “And how would you do that?”

  “It’s my plane, Brooke. I can do anything I wish.”

  I smiled. “You like calling your own shots.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

  “Of course.” He nodded to my arm. “Would you like help getting ready?”

  “Like you helped me last night?” I asked with a slight accusatory tone, while glancing down at my bare legs.

  “I was completely respectful of your privacy.” He smiled. “Would it make you feel better if I told you that I closed my eye
s the whole time?”

  “Did you?”

  His eyes darkened a little. “Brooke, I did not undress you for my own cheap thrills. I helped you into something more comfortable, hoping you would sleep better despite the pain of an injury. I was quick, and your exposure to me was minimal. Now, would you like help getting ready?” Anger seeped into his hardened tone.

  I started to apologize for offending him, but thought I’d probably done enough damage. “I think I can manage. But I would love some coffee.”

  “That can certainly be arranged.” His voice softened. “I’ll get you some, and we’ll have breakfast on the plane.”

  Back in the guest bedroom, I managed to wash my face and body with a washcloth, apply minimal makeup, and run a brush through my hair. I slipped into a pair of slacks and a blouse that hung over my waistband. I adjusted my holster so that I could wear it on my left side.

  I stared at myself in the mirror, specifically at my hair. “That will have to do,” I muttered to myself. At some point, I was going to have to wash my hair though. Maybe with enough painkillers I’d find a way.

  At the sound of a knock at the bedroom door, I exited the bathroom and called, “Come in.”

  Declan entered carrying a travel mug of coffee. “You look lovely,” he said.

  I cocked my head. Smiled. Started to make a smart-ass comment, but thought better of it. Instead, I nodded toward the mug. “For me?”

  He held the coffee out to me, and after stuffing my new phone in my back pocket, I took it.

  “And since I only have one hand, do you mind?” I eyed my bag next.

  “With pleasure.” He gathered up my bag and my purse.

  “Such a gentleman.”

  Standing close to me, he leaned in next to my ear. “Oh, Brooke, my dear, you have no idea.”

  My back stiffened, and I slowly turned my face toward his. A slight tilt to his lips told me he was just toying with me.