The Danger You Know Read online

  “I don’t fuck up.”

  “There’s always a risk. You know it and I know it. What happens to Adeline if you misstep?”

  “I won’t.”

  We reach the garage, and the elevator doors part with a ding. I move to walk out, but Lincoln steps in my path, his wide shoulders filling the doorway.

  “You have no conscience, Ari. You can’t have one and do the job you do. But, when it comes to this girl, for some fucking reason you do, and you feel responsible.”

  He’s riding my last nerve, and my finger twitches in search of a trigger. Not that I would shoot to kill Lincoln. Maybe just put a bullet in his foot to distract him enough so I can shove past him through the door.

  “Your point?”

  “Will your conscience allow you to hide the fact that you were the person who killed her dad? How will you live in happy bliss with that hanging over you for the rest of your life? Every time she cries about him, when she grieves on his birthday, on Father’s Day, on the anniversary of his death, how the fuck will you sit there and hold her knowing you caused that? And we both know she’ll grieve. We’ve watched her for seven years.”

  I thought it wise not to mention that I’d just taken advantage of her grief to approach her at the cemetery. I also thought it best to leave out that I lied and said I had a friend who offed himself like her dad.

  Do I have a conscience when it comes to Adeline? I like to think I do. I care what happens to her. I’m just not willing to spend too much time thinking about whether stealing her from Grant would be because it’s what’s best for her, or because it’s what I want for myself.

  I’m also not willing to consider if the lies I’m telling are beyond the pale. A man with a conscience wouldn’t do what I’m doing to her. Wouldn’t use her pain to get what he wants.

  But she’s miserable, and Grant treats her like a dog. Regardless of where she ends up, it’s better he isn’t in the picture.

  The questionable morality of what I do to accomplish that can’t be a factor.

  I purse my lips, meeting his stare. “Are you done with your lecture or do I need to physically move you away from the door?”

  “Please,” he scoffs, “as if you could.”

  Lincoln moves anyway and tails me to the car, his quiet presence not helping matters.

  “Think about it, Ari,” he says as I hit the key fob and open the door to my car. “Try to imagine what her reaction will be when she first steps foot into your penthouse and sees it’s covered with the proof you’ve been watching her for years. How the hell will you explain that?”

  All valid points, but ones I’m not willing to waste too much time on in the present moment. “Are you finished?”

  “No. How did you get an invite to their house in the first place?”

  Smiling at that, I slip into the driver’s seat and let my head fall against the headrest.

  “Steven Turner decided to help me out by putting in a call to Grant to rave about how badly he wants to pull me in as an investor. Grant, being the dick he is, couldn’t handle being the odd man out. He gave me a call a few hours later.”

  Lincoln taps his fingers against the top of the car. “Why would Steven do that? You’ve done several jobs for him, yes, but he has no reason to care about what’s going on with your personal life.”

  My smile widens. “I may have told him there is a hit on Grant, and I needed access.”

  Lincoln curses under his breath as he steps away. “You’ve lost it, Ari. I hope you know that.”

  Reaching out to grab the door, I meet his stare.

  “I lost it a long time ago. The only thing I’m doing now is accepting what I’ve always known.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “That Adeline belongs to me. And I’m not willing to share her anymore.”

  Slamming the door, I start the car and gun the engine to head out of the garage. It takes me twenty minutes to reach Adeline’s house and park in front of their large front porch.

  Grant opens the door as I’m ascending the steps, a professional grin in place.

  “I’m glad you found the place. I’ve heard that GPS systems tend to screw up the directions.”

  I didn’t need a GPS, but I keep that to myself.

  So far, I’ve discovered his gated community lacks proper security. While the front has a small station with a guard attendant, the back entrance only has a gate. All one has to do is wait for a resident to pull through and tail him into the neighborhood.

  Not that I plan on physically stalking the house. It won’t be needed if I can figure out what kind of electronic surveillance he has. But still, any information is good to know.

  Our palms lock, and he attempts a firmer grip than he gave me at lunch. I’m not sure if he’s trying to play me at my own game or what, but I grin and tighten my own, this battle of who has the bigger dick ending when his callous free, delicate businessman hand crunches beneath a grip that has strangled men to death.

  Grant winces and pulls away, a fake laugh falling from his lips as he leads me inside the house.

  “Welcome to my home. I’m sure it’s not as flashy as someone of your caliber is accustomed to, but I’m a humble man.”

  Is this guy fucking kidding me?

  The home is 30,000 square feet, boasts three floors, a billiards room, an in-home movie theater, a wine cellar, its own tennis court, private helipad and three pools, one of which is inside and situated next to a fully stocked gym. And that’s not all the features.

  I’d found and studied the floor plan off the property appraiser website, then located old photos from when the property was last up for sale. I also knew Grant had spent three million in updates and renovations since purchasing the home, every one of them documented by permits pulled by his construction company which I plucked from city records.

  But I’m not obsessed, or anything. Just well prepared. And thorough.

  “It’s impressive,” I comment while wondering how so much money could be spent on a home this cold. Rather than walking into a place that looks lived in, I feel like I’m stepping onto the page of a design magazine, if they have those for places that are so white they’re clinical.

  White marble stretches the floors, topped by beige area rugs with white patterns. The carpet rolling up the winding staircase is white, the furniture, the walls, the fucking drapes and architectural ceilings – all white.

  You couldn’t so much as breathe in this place without leaving a stain, which makes me oddly happy that I neglected to wipe my feet before we walked in.

  Not that Grant would be scrubbing the tracks, if I left any.

  Our voices echo in the large space, and I’m led through two sets of doors to a sitting room where Adeline sits primly on a love seat, her dark hair and blue dress a splash of color against the room.

  Unfortunately, the smile she gives me is the fake one, and I clench my teeth in response to it. Without doubt, she’s angry, and I attempt to remind myself of that fact, but I hate the fake smile unless she’s giving it to someone else.

  She’s never given it to me before, not until I started messing with her life. Knowing she’ll give me the real one again eventually, I stand in place by Grant while she pushes to her feet.

  “Mr. Nash,” she says with a voice so cold it freezes the blood in my veins, “it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  I accept her hand when she reaches out to me, my eyes trapping hers as my thumb gently strokes her skin. “Call me Harrison, please.”

  Or Ari...in that way it sounds like a prayer when an orgasm tears your apart...

  Adeline visibly shivers as if she can hear the thought, but snatches her hand away. “Harrison. Of course.”

  Grant touches my shoulder, his deep voice driving needles into my skin. “Adeline, I think you’ve forgotten to offer Harrison a drink.”

  He looks to me, feigned apology in his eyes.

  “You’ll have to forgive her. Dinner was supposed to be ready for when you
arrived, but Adeline wasn’t specific with the caterers. We’ll have to wait a half hour. And now she’s apparently forgotten to offer refreshments while we wait.”

  His eyes snap to Adeline, mouth thinning as if silently warning her to mind herself in some trained behavior.

  It makes me angry, but I decide to expose the asshole a touch more. “It’s so difficult to find good help these days,” I say matter of factly.

  Grant nods and laughs. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  Sliding my gaze to Adeline, I search her expression for any sign she’s about to tell this asshole where he can stick his opinion. Finding none, the disappointment covers me like a shroud.

  Not even a year married to this man and she’s a shell of who she’d once been. A ghost, really. And it only pisses me off more. I decide to keep poking the bear. Continue exposing the asshole for who he is, peeling him away layer after layer until the girl I remember can’t take it anymore.

  Will it be hell on her? Yes.

  But is it necessary? Also yes.

  “What would you like to drink, Harrison?”

  Normally I’m a scotch man, but rather than asking for it, I reach for a memory. “Vodka and cranberry, if you have it.”

  It’s Adeline’s favorite drink, one I’d watched her consume far too many times in the clubs she frequented when she was younger. I would most likely have to choke it down, but I’m not here for a pleasant night out. I’m here to remind her of who she once was.

  Grant, recovering from hearing the odd choice, snaps his fingers at Adeline when she doesn’t immediately spring to action.

  She’s too busy staring at me, trying to figure out how its possible we’re so much alike, meanwhile I’m deciding how to accidentally break Grant’s hand if he snaps at her one more time.

  We’re also having a silent conversation, one where she’s calling me an asshole instead of the man snapping his fingers at her. I intend to turn that aggression on its head.

  “We should take a seat while Adeline prepares the drinks. Cognac for me.”

  Sliding a hand into my pocket, I turn to follow Grant to a small seating area near a large stone fireplace. Flames roll languidly over the logs, not enough to heat the place, but more a nice touch of ambiance in a house with no soul.

  He launches into another long-winded bid to secure my investment, and I make a concerted effort not to stare at Adeline while drowning him out.

  Instead, I study the room, noting the lack of personal touches: art, photographs, anything that reveals Adeline had a hand in decorating the space. There’s nothing, her vibrant, chaotic style completely absent.

  It’s depressing as hell, and I think back to her bedroom in her former house, the hours I’d spent exploring everything there was to know about her when she wasn’t home.

  There’s no better way to describe it than eclectic. Take every culture, every style, every time period and shove it all together into a ticking bomb, then let it explode out onto the walls - that was Adeline’s room.

  The mix of colors was pure chaos, but somehow worked with the patterned silk tapestries she had covering one wall, the Native American dreamcatchers next to impressionist statues and abstract paintings. Add to that the photographs she’d printed and hung with clothespins and string, the insanity of the dreamscape images she’d captured and manipulated.

  There wasn’t anything in her space that made sense, and yet it was the lack of sense that made it brilliant.

  Compared to this place, her bedroom had a frenetic pulse that made you want to touch, to examine, to study while recognizing the hint it gave into the head of the woman who’d tossed it all together.

  There was warmth in Adeline once that is utterly lacking now.

  My jaw ticks to realize it, my hand extending to accept the drink Adeline hands me with a scowl adorning her pretty face.

  “Thank you.”

  She nods and hands Grant his drink before taking a seat close enough to be available to jump when something is demanded of her, but far enough to be excluded from the conversation.

  I won’t allow it.

  “You know,” I say, cutting into whatever Grant was rambling on about, “I notice you don’t have much art in this room. It’s a shame, really. I think some photographs would be a nice touch with the design you already have in place. A splash of color, you know?”

  Grant sits with his jaw slack while Adeline tosses a not so well hidden sneer in my direction.

  Shaking himself of his shock, Grant smiles. “Are you a photographer, Harrison?”

  “Me? No. But I do collect it. I’m impressed by people who are able to show the world what they see through the images they capture.”

  A light goes off in his head, one I’d planted, although he’s too stupid to realize it. “My wife happens to be a photographer.”

  “Really?” I turn to her. “Have you done any gallery shows recently?”

  Blue eyes meet mine with enough hot anger behind them to melt a person to the ground.

  “No,” she says simply.

  “Actually...”

  My gaze darts to Grant.

  “Adeline did do a show before we got married. It was very successful from what I remember. The prints sold out within the first hour.”

  I know they did because I bought them.

  Eyes back to Adeline. “Which gallery? I might be familiar.”

  Her lips move to answer, but Grant’s annoying voice interrupts. The asshole can’t stand not being the center of attention.

  “It was the Weeping Willow, wasn’t it? A smaller place downtown. I believe Rebecca Oliver owns it.”

  I take a sip of my drink and resist wincing at the bitter, yet sweet, flavor.

  Eyes locked on Adeline, I ask, “Do you have any work you can show me? I’d love to see it.”

  Her eyes flick to Grant to see if he’ll allow her to talk for once. When he manages to keep his big mouth shut, she brushes her hair over a shoulder and explains, “No. I haven’t used my camera in a while. I’m busy with other things.”

  Like dinner parties and following orders.

  I won’t let that continue.

  Gaze sliding to Grant, my mouth tugs into a thin line of disappointment. “That’s too bad. I would have been so impressed to see her work.”

  That’s the only hint Grant needs to believe he’s sinking a hook in me when really it’s the opposite.

  “Rebecca offered Adeline another show if she ever wanted it.” His head turns to Adeline. “Why don’t you give her a call and set that up?”

  Quiet for a few seconds, Adeline clears her throat. “I’m not sure I have time. The company event is coming up, and I need to see to the details-“

  “Nonsense,” he dismisses, “Gloria can handle the rest of it. Do you think you can have a show ready within the next month?”

  I can feel Adeline’s gaze stabbing me in the back, every hit coming with expert precision. Had it been actual knives, she would have taken out every vital organ I have.

  Eyes back to her. “You wouldn’t happen to have a macabre taste, would you? It’s my favorite.”

  “Her stuff was a little strange from what I remember.”

  Brilliant is the word for it. Grant can fuck off.

  Still pinning Adeline with my stare, I fire back with my own knives. “Are you familiar with the Hidden Lake Cemetery nearby? There’s a mausoleum there that would be a beautiful setting for anything you do.”

  Adeline’s gaze snaps to her husband and back to me, heat coloring her cheeks. I know what she’s remembering, and the comment had been intended just for that.

  “Isn’t your father buried there?”

  Turning to her husband, Adeline answers, “Yes, and I’m familiar with the mausoleum.”

  Proud of himself for finding yet another way to reel me in, Grant boasts, “Well, then it’s settled. You’ll be extremely impressed with Adeline’s work. I can’t wait for you to see it.”

  Yes. That’s settled. But I’
m still not done.

  “What is this about a company event?”

  Grant’s eyes widen, he takes a sip of his drink and swallows. “I’m surprised I’ve forgotten to mention it...”

  Off he goes again on one of his long rants about how wonderful the formal event will be, how anybody who’s anybody will be there, and how amazing he is for all his wife’s hard work. Obviously, I’m invited because he would just love for me to see how much influence he can throw around.

  No, he doesn’t say that specifically, but the hint is there, and I gladly accept the invitation. I intend to insert myself into the picture as often as possible, and Grant is the perfect opening for me to do so.

  The man is a tool, and it’s a simple feat to unsnap the leash he has attached to Adeline’s neck to use on him.

  He’s too arrogant to see it, but judging by Adeline’s expression, she knows exactly what I’m doing.

  Good. When the time comes that she opens her fucking eyes to see this process was necessary in order to free her of this sham for a life, she’ll appreciate me more. Maybe even forgive me.

  Or maybe not.

  A half hour passes and Adeline announces dinner is ready. Happy for the interruption, I stand from my seat and follow them into the dining room.

  Scanning the home as we pass through it, I take note of the cameras throughout, my lips kicking into a grin because Grant may have spent a pretty penny renovating the place, but he was cheap as fuck when it came to security.

  It will be too easy to hack into the home’s system, and I’m chomping at the bit to get back to my place to do just that.

  Unfortunately, before I can do so, I have to sit through another hour at least of Grant’s bragging.

  It’s worth it, though.

  It has to be.

  For Adeline, I’d do just about anything, even kill this loudmouthed fuck if it ever comes to it.

  Adeline

  I’m going to kill him.

  I’m not sure how, or when, or even if it’s possible, but in my head, Ari is as good as a dead man.

  After manipulating Grant into practically demanding I pick up my camera and somehow manage a show worthy set within a month, Ari sat at our dining room table for over an hour continuing with his games.