Scandal Never Sleeps, Page 3

  He stared at the space where she’d been standing. If she hadn’t been holding hands with another man, he probably would have been a schmuck and followed her. It was just as well she wasn’t available since he had a job to do.

  Gabe sighed and started back up the steps. The others were waiting for him at a bar down the street. A good deal of Mad’s friends and coworkers were meeting for a few hours of drinking and storytelling and trying to forget that Mad was gone forever. He stepped back into the church and was assaulted by the silence. So quiet now. He could hear his footsteps as he crossed the floor.

  The cathedral was beautiful with its marbled arches and bronze doors, but it seemed cold to him. Pretty and empty without people to animate it. A little like his life had become. Materially, he had everything a man could ask for, and he was starting to wonder if any of it was worth the work. He’d gone numb. That girl on the street was the first time in months that he’d felt something beyond anger, anxiety, and sorrow.

  No matter what had happened between Mad and Sara, the grief over his friend’s passing lodged in his gut—for the man he’d known more than half his life and for everything that should have been.

  Damn, he wished the last words they would ever exchange hadn’t been said in anger. He couldn’t help but think that during his final encounter with Mad, he’d told his best friend that he wanted him dead.

  That night, he had been.

  Gabe stepped into the chapel, searching for the priest who had performed the service. Tradition required the family of the deceased to make a “donation” to the church. Mad hadn’t had any remaining family, and he’d written Gabe a letter with the directions for his funeral, should anything happen to him. As pissed as Gabe had been at the man, there had been a time when they’d been closer than brothers. Executing this duty was up to him, so Gabe had a check for ten thousand in his pocket for the priest. If only he could find the man.

  As he trekked inside and looked up the aisle, he stopped because he wasn’t as alone as he’d thought. A man in a dark suit stood in front of Maddox’s urn, his head down. His shoulders moved, and he turned slightly so Gabe could see his square jaw and the set of his brow.

  An odd sense of relief swept through Gabe. He’d come. Somehow, even though he’d been told otherwise, he’d expected all his friends to be here to mourn the loss of one of their own.

  “Mr. President, your detail sucks. I could have snuck up on you.”

  The president of the United States straightened but didn’t turn. “I think you would find that task difficult, to say the least. My detail is surprisingly attentive.”

  That was when he noticed three red dots of light on his chest. He scanned the sanctuary and found the snipers. Yes, he could be dead in about two point three seconds. “Damn, Zack. Could you tell them who I am and not to shoot?”

  Zack turned and flashed one of his rare grins. The quiet man had been cold and shut down since his wife’s murder two years ago. Gabe couldn’t think of the event in any other way. Joy Hayes had been cut down during a campaign rally. He’d been standing in the crowd with Dax and Mad. Sometimes, he could still hear that shot and the resulting screams. He could still see Zack’s face as he realized Joy was gone. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he saw Zack holding his dead wife to his chest while the Secret Service did their damnedest to haul him away. He’d won the election in a landslide three days later.

  It was good to see his old friend smile again.

  “Gentlemen, this is Gabriel Bond. I doubt he’s here to hurt me. Please don’t take out one of my oldest friends.” Zack strode down the aisle and his grin faded. He put out his hand. “We’ve already lost enough today.”

  “We certainly have.” Gabe took Zack’s hand but hauled him in for a manly hug. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

  Zack stepped away, his eyes tired as he put a hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “You, too. You have no idea. How are you holding up? I know you two weren’t on great terms when he died, but this has to be hard on you. You were the closest to Mad.”

  Gabe thought about lying, but he couldn’t. “It’s fucking hard. I’m struggling to believe that he’s really gone. I looked at myself in the mirror after I got the news. Do you know what I saw? A man who learned how to properly knot a tie because Maddox Crawford taught him. I kissed my first girl because Mad engineered the situation.”

  Zack nodded. “And I found my first real friends because Mad sat next to me in class one day and cheated off my pre-algebra exam. That was the first time I sat at your lunch table. He told me he could use me so we might as well be friends. At least that’s what he said. I found out later the asshole was a mathematical genius and he hadn’t cheated at all.”

  “I figured his scheme out when we were in college. He came up with a reason for us to hang out together until the group was tight. Mad gathered us together. He wanted a family since his didn’t give a shit about him, so he made one for himself. It’s interesting that he chose outsiders. I guess he always considered himself one of us, even after we became the popular kids. Maybe because he knew he could count on us.”

  Gabe needed a freaking drink. Or twelve. God, he needed to sit and bond with his pack, to remind himself that he belonged somewhere.

  “Is there any way you can ditch the snipers and come down to the pub with us?” he asked. “We’re meeting at this place down the street. All of us. Me, Roman, Connor, and Dax. The guys would love to see you.”

  Gabe didn’t mention that he needed Zack, needed the gang together even though they would never be whole again. What had happened? He’d thought they would go to each other’s weddings. Dax had eloped in Vegas, and none of them had been there, though they had thrown him one hell of a divorce party two years later. Zack had been the only one of them who had gotten married with proper pomp and circumstance, before it had ended in horror.

  Now Mad had suddenly met his maker after a tragic, unexpected death. They needed something good.

  Zack’s grin was back. “Roman won’t be happy to see me. In fact, he’ll be perfectly dismayed, but I think if we sneak in the back, we can manage an hour or so. Maybe two. I’m not due back in DC for a bit. What do you say, Thomas?” He looked to his left.

  Gabe followed his line of sight and saw a tall African-American man in a black suit. He stood at least six foot five and was built like a linebacker. Even indoors, he wore mirrored aviators and looked like the badass he certainly was. “I think you’ve gone insane, Mr. President.” He smiled, showing even, white teeth. “You also know I love a challenge. Give me five to scope the logistics, then we’ll move. I smuggled you in here without the press noticing. I’ll get you in there, too.” He took a cell phone out of his pocket and hit a button. “The Professor is thirsty, boys. We’re going to get the boss a drink.”

  Zack sighed. “The Secret Service loves me. I hope this bar has a back room.”

  “If they don’t, we’ll make one, Mr. President.” It was still surreal to think his boyhood friend was the most powerful man in the free world.

  Zack shook his head. “Please don’t call me that, Gabe. Let me pretend to be Zack for an hour or so.”

  Gabe knew exactly what Zack needed. “Oh, if you want to feel like one of the guys, we can do that for you. In fact, we’ll be happy to remind you of the days you were a dumbass kid, Scooter.”

  Zack groaned, but at least something besides desolation lit his eyes. “Don’t call me that, either. It’s bad enough that my Secret Service call sign is The Professor. I don’t need to be reminded about that damn scooter incident.”

  But the scooter incident had been so much fun. “I promise nothing.”

  • • •

  Everly Parker looked around the swanky bar and felt out of place. This wasn’t her crowd, even though she worked with some of these people. She wasn’t a big bar hopper. She didn’t watch the clock and wait for five p.m. so she could hit her favorite watering hole. No, she was a work-long-hours-and-go-home-to-a-good-book-and-hot-bath kind of
girl. But tonight she wanted to be someone else—anyone who hadn’t buried her mentor and friend an hour ago and wasn’t now staring down the possibility of losing both her job and the roof over her head.

  “Hey, are you going to nurse that drink all night long?” Scott Wilcox leaned over and winked. He was on his third margarita. “Because I think you should down a few glasses of wine and be my wingwoman. Harry from accounting is here and I swear I’m going to die if I don’t go out with that hunk of man soon. He’s the only truly beautiful boy at work. He should be mine.”

  Everly smiled. After she’d started at Crawford last year, she’d met Scott during her orientation. Initially, she’d mistaken his playful nature for a come-on. But he’d finagled her into having coffee with him shortly thereafter and apologized for giving her the wrong impression. He’d admitted that he hadn’t been himself because he’d recently been through a rough breakup with his boyfriend. Scott sometimes used his happy-go-lucky face to mask his somber moods. To finally see him let go of his lost love and dip his toe in the dating pool with a hot guy thrilled her.

  Honestly, Everly wasn’t sure she believed in true love. Attraction and affection, yes, but love? Her father had been burned by the concept. He’d taken the shock and sorrow of his wife’s abandonment to his grave. Her mother had always seemed so distant, as though she’d spent her life up until the moment she’d walked out on them longing for something else.

  She shook her head. “Scott, I don’t even know what a wingwoman would do.”

  He sat back and thought about it for a moment. “Well, first you should go over there and talk me up. Tell him how perfect I am, what a great guy I can be. If that doesn’t work, then slip him a roofie so I can have my wicked way with him.”

  She rolled her eyes. Sometimes Scott had a vivid imagination. “Sure. I’ll get right on that.”

  “I tried,” he said with a long sigh, his gaze trailing to the back of the room.

  Everly followed his stare. A waitress in a female version of a tuxedo carried what looked to be a cheese plate past a large black man wearing a nondescript suit and aviators. He guarded a door that led to what she could only imagine was a VIP section.

  “See that? I heard a rumor,” Scott whispered in her ear. “While you were in the bathroom, Marty from processing stopped by and told me the craziest story.”

  “You shouldn’t listen to him. He’s a horrible gossip.”

  “Do you want the scoop or not?”

  She was kind of afraid that the next big scoop after Scott’s would be “Wonder Girl Gets Fired After Kindly Employer Dies.” She’d shot through the ranks like a comet, and now she was going to hit the ground with a great big thud. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do when the new boss came in and found out his or her head of information security was a too-young-for-her-position hacker who everyone except Maddox Crawford thought couldn’t handle the job. Maddox had been her champion, her mentor in this crazy corporate world. He’d also been a surprising friend.

  At first, she’d been so shocked by his death. The devastation still hadn’t worn off. But now, almost a week later, her brain had begun working overtime, and she had questions—the sort no one seemed to want to answer.

  Maddox Crawford had been an experienced pilot. Had his death really been an accident?

  Not according to that mysterious, inexplicable e-mail she’d received last night.

  “All right. What’s the big scoop?” Everly decided to disregard her own advice. She would listen to any gossip that took her mind off her troubles. She needed one good weekend before she faced whatever crap Monday morning would bring.

  She took a healthy gulp of the sauvignon blanc she’d ordered. Scott was right. She needed to live a little before the hammer came down on her head. If things went the way she suspected, she would be lucky to afford box wine next month.

  “You know how the Great Crawford had some seriously powerful friends, right?”

  She didn’t follow the gossip rags the way everyone else did. In fact, she purposefully avoided that tripe. Why fixate on the problems of celebrities when she had so many of her own? Besides, when it came to people like Maddox, more fiction than truth filled the tabloids. They wanted a good story, and real life tended to be too boring. The Maddox she knew had worked hard—twelve hour days, often six days a week. He’d cared about his employees. She bet no one reported that. “He knew a lot of people. Men in his position often do.”

  “But he knew one very powerful person,” Scott whispered.

  She wasn’t sure what he was insinuating. “I don’t doubt that. He was in a lofty position, Scott. It’s not so surprising he knew key players.”

  Scott huffed, his frustration evident. “Damn it, don’t you know who I’m talking about? Zachary Hayes, the president of these United States, the hottest man to ever hit the White House. They were friends as teenagers, according to rumors. I’ve heard the president is a sentimental man. I think he secretly attended Crawford’s funeral and is even now somewhere in this bar.”

  Maddox had told her once that he’d attended the same prep school as the current president and that they’d been close back in the day. The two of them had been part of a small group of friends who had dubbed themselves the Perfect Gentlemen. Everly wasn’t sure if they’d meant the name to be ironic, but she suspected so, given Maddox’s less-than-polite reputation. The rumors of their high jinks had been the stuff of legend . . . and they’d come up in some really low-blow campaign ads against Hayes.

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes, the president of the United States is here. I’m so sure.”

  Scott looked pointedly back toward the VIP room. “Have you seen the surprising number of men in black suits hanging around here?”

  “Scott, the majority of people in this bar came straight from the funeral. Are you really shocked they’re wearing dark suits?”

  “And the sunglasses?” Scott shot back. “How many people besides crazy, scary feds do you know who wear sunglasses inside a crowded bar at dusk?”

  She turned and caught a glimpse of two overly large men standing by the entry to the back room. When a woman stumbled toward them, they gently but firmly turned her away. Everly caught a glimpse of metal. Maybe Scott was onto something. “Holy shit. I saw a SIG Sauer.”

  Scott’s brow rose. “A what?”

  Clearly, Scott hadn’t been raised around firearms. “It’s the weapon the Secret Service uses. I know because my father was a cop and a complete gun nut. I knew how to shoot practically before I could walk. I don’t know if that guy is actual Secret Service, but he’s carrying a similar piece.”

  Scott stared at the doorway being guarded by the aforementioned black-suited, aviator-wearing bodyguards. “Think about it. The hottest of all the commanders-in-chief might right now be sitting in that room, downing shitty tequila.”

  “Somehow, I think they’d give him the good stuff. And it’s probably not him. More than likely, it’s some pretentious CEO or trust-fund playboy Mad knew. Surely, the president would go someplace more secure. Besides, if he were here, the press would be crawling everywhere.”

  Scott shrugged as if he saw Everly’s wisdom but still liked his own theory better.

  Grinning, she canvassed the room to see who else from Crawford Industries had come to pay their liquid respects to Mad and noticed Tavia walking her way. The stunning, polished executive dashed toward them, her standard professional smile in place.

  “Good to see you here, dear. I thought you’d go back to Brooklyn after the service.” Like many raised on the Upper East Side, she said the word Brooklyn as if it was a virus she didn’t want to catch. Those poor deluded people thought the city only existed between Midtown and Harlem, and wouldn’t dirty their designer shoes by walking on the rest of the island. But in every other way, Tavia had proven personable, if a bit high-strung. The woman could barely sit still.

  “Scott convinced me to stay for a while.” It hadn’t taken much. Her loft had been so
quiet for the last five days. The silence had become intolerable. She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to depend on her boss’s friendship.

  For the last couple of months, he’d shown up on her doorstep out of the blue and uninvited with some project to talk about. They’d spent hours gabbing and eating. At first, she’d worried that she would have to fend off a lecherous boss, but he’d actually been surprisingly sweet. Kind, even. He’d taken a profound interest in her, but not as a lover. Somehow they’d fallen into a comfortable companionship, as if she’d known him all her life. There had not been a single spark between them.

  She was going to miss him so much. The ache she felt at not seeing him again definitely hurt. Everly took a sip of wine, wishing again that she was someone else and somewhere else. Escape sounded great about now.

  Tavia tapped a Prada wedge against the floor. The shoes might have been a few years old, but they still looked sleek and classy. “Hey, I wanted to pass on a little insider info. Crawford’s lawyer is meeting with the executor of his will Monday, so it looks like we’ll have some news about the company’s future soon.”

  Scott went a little green. “So the pink slips could go out in quick order. God, I don’t want to look for another job. It took forever to find this one.”

  Tavia shook her head, her pale hair jerking over her shoulders. “There’s always a shake-up after someone new takes the reins, but you should be fine in the executive development program. They usually take out the players at the top. The new guy tends to like to bring in his own leadership team. If anyone’s going to get the boot, it will be me and Everly.”

  Scott rolled his eyes. “It could be any of us. I’m not exactly a peon, thank you very much. I’m rotating through all the departments until the program ends.”