Dark Reunion
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Justine Davis
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18
Chapter 1
First one hired, first one fired.
Leave it to her to get that twisted, Reeve Fox thought as she made the turn off the coast highway onto the road leading to the marina. It was supposed to be last one hired, first one fired. Or laid off. Told to resign.
“Whatever,” she muttered.
She knew she’d hit bottom when she slipped into useless ponderings like the twisting of clichés. A beautiful, sunny day in Southern California, with people coming great distances to soak up the warmth and enjoy the sand and surf, and here she was, reduced to talking to herself.
Of course, it did help to take her mind off where she was going. For an instant, anyway.
Any of those visitors to the golden shores of this paradise—well, paradise as long as you didn’t have to drive in the traffic or plow through the crowds—would no doubt be delighted to have her destination. A summer’s day visit aboard a brand-new, luxurious corporate yacht was a treat that few would turn down.
And an afternoon with world-famous international entrepreneur and self-made multi-billionaire Josh Redstone would be a hot ticket for anyone, from those wanting to learn how he’d done it to those simply wishing some of it would rub off on them. Or perhaps hoping he’d part with some of that wealth for their cause, a hope well-founded in Josh’s lengthy history of doing just that if you could convince him or move him.
But she was dreading this afternoon. Dreading it because she loved and admired the soft-spoken, gray-eyed man who’d built a dream into an empire and managed to keep it alive and well and prosperous and as tightly knit as a loving family.
Dreading it because Josh was her boss, and she knew he was about to tell her this had to end. Josh was kind and generous and loyal, but he didn’t get to where he was by being a pushover. And if he felt he had to, he’d fire her.
She hated the sound of that. Fired from Redstone. Terminated sounded just as bad. It was very rare that anyone was fired from Redstone. Left by mutual agreement, maybe, but fired? No. Josh’s instincts—and his security’s background checks—were too thorough. They’d had some bad apples turn up in the past year or so, but they were the very rare exception.
She wondered if Josh would just let her resign. She’d prefer that. And he was a generous man, maybe he would, despite the way she’d failed him. And continued to fail him, holed up in her little house, barely able to function. He’d carried her, paid her for doing nothing for so long now….
She was dead wood, and anyone else would have fired her long ago.
As she took the turn to the marina, she dodged a carload of pointing and gawking tourists in a mini-van and pulled in behind an old sedan with a rack full of surfboards on the roof, likely explaining the oxidized state of its once silver paint. The surfers in the sedan looked young, and she wondered if they were old enough even to be aware of the controversy surrounding the building of the marina, that it would destroy the break at one of the best surfing beaches in the county. She’d grown up here in Orange County, and remembered as a child hearing the adults discussing—sometimes arguing—the subject.
Of course, she was older than those surfer kids were, and about the only thing they had in common was blond hair.
Much older, she thought wearily, and in more ways than one.
While the slightly battered sedan continued on, she turned into the marina parking lot. And her mind went immediately back to the meeting before her.
So much for distraction, she thought wryly.
She turned left at the edge of the marina, heading toward the guest slips that were near the yacht club. When St. John, Josh’s ubiquitous and enigmatic right-hand man, had called her to set up this meeting, in his usual laconic way he had said only that it would be afloat. She was never sure if he simply hated to talk or just trusted that anybody who worked at Redstone could figure out the rest.
She wondered just how small the club of ex-Redstone people she was about to join was. Tiny, she guessed; those who were lucky enough to get hired rarely left, at least not permanently. Unless they were stupid enough to break Josh’s cardinal rules of integrity, hard work and ethics. Redstone was huge, but somehow Josh, the glue that held it all together, managed to keep that feeling of kinship among his people, fostered by the knowledge that if any of them, no matter how low on the ladder, needed help, the full force of Redstone would be behind them. Like family.
A family, Reeve thought with a sigh as she parked and got out of the car, that was about to divorce her. She looked around. She noted the location of the marina office in case she needed to ask where the boat was. She was peripherally aware of another car pulling into the far end of the same row, saw from the corner of her eye a dark-haired man in a light-blue shirt get out. She glanced at him, thinking he looked familiar, but he was too far away to recognize.
But then she spotted her goal, on a side tie at the far end of the first dock. She’d never seen the boat, hadn’t even known this prototype was finished and in the water, but she recognized it immediately. Not because it was flashier or brighter than the other luxury yachts tied up in this large-slipped section of the marina. The opposite, in fact; she recognized it because of the sleek, powerful lines and the subtle Redstone color scheme of slate and red.
The gangway to the dock wasn’t particularly steep with the tide in, nor was it slippery, yet Reeve felt as if it were both as she made her way down. She hadn’t really realized how much she had come to rely on having the massive force and support of Redstone behind her. Hadn’t realized how much she had come to trust Josh Redstone himself.
It’s your own fault. You’ve thrown it away. Even Josh’s patience had to run out eventually, and you’ve let him down for nearly a year.
The litany she’d been running through her head ever since she’d gotten the call from St. John continued in an endless loop as she made her way down the dock. She began to feel as if she were in a tunnel as her field of vision narrowed to nothing but the boat that managed to look racy despite its size and the fact that it was sitting quietly in place.
“Ms. Fox?”
She only realized she’d come to a halt when the voice came from above and snapped her out of whatever zone she’d slipped into. She looked up to see a man who, from the Redstone shirt he wore, was apparently a crew member on the big boat. He was tall, lean and had the tan, slightly weathered face that spoke of life spent outdoors.
“I’m Captain Taggert. Josh is expecting you. Come aboard, please?”
Leave it to Josh to have the captain serve as greeter, she thought. But then again, she realized, it was Josh who made people like the handsome, straight-backed captain here jump to do things before he even had to ask. It was all part of the incredible loyalty and love he inspired in everyone at Redstone, around the world.
She was going to miss it. All of it.
With a vague nautical image of walking the plank in her head, she followed the captain’s gesture and walked toward the back—stern, she supposed—of the boat. It was beautiful, she realized on some level of her mind that was able to look at it dispassionately. But then, it was a Redstone, so she would have expected no less.
“Nice boat,” she said, feeling pressure to say something.
“Yes,” Taggert said. “The man’s a brilliant designer. She’s set up for work or play. You could host anything from a society wedding to an international conference complete with media connections on this boat.”
She nodded, smiling rather wistfully at the pride in his tone. She’d heard back when the keel had been laid that Josh wanted this still-unnamed yacht to be their—meaning any Redstone personnel—escape from the city, which now seemed to stretch unbroken from L.A. to south O.C., when they needed to work or play without interruption.
“Not many would build something like this and then make it available to anybody who works for him,” the captain said, the admiration that most who dealt with Josh felt clear in his voice.
The rest of the crew radiated that same pride and admiration she saw as she noted men and women busily going about the tasks of checking, double-checking, and then rechecking yet again every inch of the new and as-yet-untested-by-blue-water vessel.
“The Redstone family,” Reeve whispered, aching now that the loss of that family loomed so close. She’d been numb for so long the emotion startled her.
She had the feeling she was about to again see in action the shrewd and sharp mind behind the lazy drawl and unhurried manner, the mind that had built the Redstone empire. The man so many had misjudged as stupid, lazy or naive, much to their later dismay when they realized they’d been out-thought, out-worked and outmaneuvered.
She’d never misjudged him. But she was very much afraid he must feel as if he’d misjudged her about now.
The main salon, as the captain had called it, was also beautiful, with the quiet, understated elegance that typified any Redstone project. In the past, Reeve had wondered if it had been Josh’s late, beloved wife who had given him the sense of flawless style, because he himself seemed more of a down-home, comfort-over-style kind of guy.
As he did today, sitting at a banquette with papers strewn across a table made of a beautiful wood burl and polished to a mirror sheen. He didn’t look as if he belonged there, tall and lanky in his jeans and simple Redstone T-shirt, his longish dark hair tousled as if he’d just run his hands through it. But this boat, and all the rest of the far-flung Redstone empire, would not exist except for the acumen of the gray-eyed man who turned to look at her now.
“Reeve,” he said warmly, unexpected welcome clear in his voice.
“Mr. Redstone,” she said, feeling it proper under the circumstances.
The formality stopped him in the act of reaching for her shoulders.
“Mister?” he asked quietly. “I’m still Josh, Reeve.”
“I know. You’ll never change.”
He stepped back, studying her for a moment. “And you have?”
The laziness of his drawl, a combination of all the places he’d drifted through during formative years, didn’t fool her. He was on point, and she was the focus.
“Irrevocably, I’m afraid,” she said. Suddenly desperate to change the subject, she gestured around her. “It’s a beautiful boat. The biggest yet, isn’t it?”
For a moment he didn’t answer, but finally he let the change of subject happen. “Yes. I don’t think we’ll go much bigger than this. More than 150 feet and you might as well just build a cruise ship and get it over with.”
“Redstone Cruise Lines?” she suggested, managing a smile.
“No, thanks. I’ve got enough going on with Redstone Resorts. Sometimes I think I should have just stuck with building airplanes.”
“The world is glad you didn’t,” she said, meaning it.
“Not all the world,” Josh said wryly, “or you wouldn’t be carrying around that piece of lead that was meant for me.”
“Josh,” she began, falling back into the old habit of using his first name.
He shook his head, cutting her off, then took her elbow and led her to a cushiony sofa upholstered in a fabric that felt like the richest of suedes. Or perhaps it really was suede, although she doubted it; Josh made the decisions on this kind of thing, and for all his wealth he had a decidedly practical streak.
He sat down at the other end of the sofa, close but not impinging on her space. He studied her again, for a long, silent moment that made her feel beyond awkward.
“I know you don’t like to hear it, but I will never forget that you took that bullet for me.”
“It was my job.”
She grimaced inwardly. The nutcase who four years ago had decided somebody had to do something about the huge entity that was Redstone, and the fact that it functioned so well despite not being run or overseen by the government, had come out of the blue and without warning, but she still felt guilty. It was after the shooting and the revelation that the shooter had a Web site full of psychotic ravings that Redstone Security had widened their scope and begun to monitor the Internet more carefully.
“Really my job was to stop it from being fired in the first place, but failing that….”
“Sounds like Draven,” Josh said with a sudden grin.
It did, indeed, sound like the head of the much vaunted Redstone Security team, the tough, unbeatable John Draven. But not uncatchable, she thought, since he’d recently, to the surprise of all of Redstone, gotten married.
It was Josh’s grin that did it. She simply could not bear the thought that Josh was keeping her on simply because he felt as if he owed her. Especially since it was, in fact, she who owed him, and she had let him down so badly….
Smothering a sigh, she tried to give him what he deserved from her. “It’s all right, I understand. It’s not like I gave you much choice.”
“Choice?”
She shrugged. “You can’t keep paying such an exorbitant salary to someone who hasn’t worked in nearly a year. It’s time I left, I know that.”
“Your salary,” Josh said, leaning his six-foot-two length back against the cushions, “is not exorbitant. I want the best, I hire the best, so I pay the best. Simple formula.”
It was simple, she thought. It was also a big part of what made Redstone what it was. And she supposed he must be right, or Redstone wouldn’t be consistently at the top of any Best Places to Work list that was released.
“Yes, but you pay them to work,” she pointed out. “I’d prefer you didn’t fire me, though. I’d like to resign. Could you have somebody, Sam maybe, pack up my things for me? I don’t really want to—”
“Fire you? What are you talking about?”
“You don’t owe me anything. You gave me a chance at a great job I loved. You took care of my medical and rehab bills four years ago, and let me ease back into working after the shooting. And now you’ve done everything possible to get me through this ugliness. It’s not your fault or Redstone’s that I can’t do it.”
“I see.”
She was afraid he really did, that he somehow saw the dark, yawning hole inside her. She began to talk faster, before that darkness expanded and engulfed her, right here in front of him. “If anything, I owe you. So—”
“Fine. I’m collecting.”
His short, blunt words startled her into silence for a moment. “What?” she finally said.
“I’m collecting. I need a personal favor from you. That’s why I asked you here.”
“Oh.”
She felt rather foolish, and didn’t know what else to say. She’d been so geared up to deal with what she’d thought she was here for that this unexpected turn left her grasping. And she knew that this was just one more sign that she couldn’t return to her job; one didn’t survive on the dauntless Redstone Security team when you couldn’t handle a simple unanticipated turn in a conversation.
She also knew that Josh had found the one way around her self-imposed exile; there was no way on earth she could say no to a personal request from him. She could only hope it wasn’t anything that would test her tenuous composure.
“Of course,” she said, pulling herself together. “What is it?”
“My nephew is missing.”
Alarm bells went off in her mind at the very mention of a missing child, but surprise muted them somewhat; she hadn’t realized he had a nephew.
As if she’d spoken, he explained. “Rodney is Elizabeth’s sister’s boy.”
“Oh,” she said again, sounding so inane she wanted to kick herself. “How old is he?”
“Sixteen. It’s not clear-cut, Reeve. There have been some problems recently, some petty crimes, and he has that surly teenager attitude down pat.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“Since Friday. He never came home from school.”
Today was Monday. The implication was obvious, but Reeve asked anyway; not for nothing had she trained under Draven, who drummed into them all never to assume, even the obvious.
“And he didn’t show up at school today?”
Josh nodded. “I need your help, Reeve.”
She lapsed into silence, her brief burst of professionalism burned out. She felt a little stunned, both by Josh, who almost never asked for personal help from his staff, and by the fact that he was asking this of her, that she work another case involving a missing child. She wasn’t sure the fact that this one was a teenager instead of a toddler made much difference.
“I know he’s a punk. But he’s Elizabeth’s blood,” Josh said softly.
Reeve felt a rush of emotion. Everyone at Redstone knew how much Josh had adored his late wife, knew that he’d remained steadfastly alone since her death, no one, apparently, able to measure up to those beloved memories. Even if Josh hadn’t stood by her so firmly over these past months, she would have found it nearly impossible to refuse this unexpected request.
“You won’t be alone on this, and you’ll have all the resources you need,” he said. “You’ve got to try again sometime, Reeve.”
He knew what he was doing, Reeve realized. He was giving her the chance to face her demons, to fight this mental fog she’d been living in since she’d arrived too late at the grim, bloody murder scene that had blasted her life to pieces. She’d tried before, had gone back to work three times, only to be unable to focus, to give the job the concentration it required. After the third time, she’d given up fighting to get over it and return for good. Clearly it was going to take more time than she’d hoped.
Maybe forever.
Josh simply waited, watching her. Reeve knew what she was up against. This was a man who negotiated billion-dollar deals the way others bought cups of coffee, a man who persuaded much more powerful people than she. What chance would she have of turning him down, even forgoing what she owed him? And even if she didn’t feel she owed him, she still admired and respected the man more than anyone she knew, so how could she—
“There you are,” Josh was saying. “Come sit down, Zach.”
She blinked, wondering how long she had zoned out this time. She hadn’t even realized someone else had come into the room. She turned to look.
She’d half expected someone else on the team, thought perhaps she’d see Rand Singleton or Samantha Gamble, or even Draven himself walking in.
But once again, her expectations were exploded. Her breath shot out of her as if the newcomer had kicked her in the stomach.
Oh, God, she murmured inwardly.
It was the man she’d seen earlier; she recognized the blue shirt. And she couldn’t see how she hadn’t recognized him even from across the parking lot. How could she not have instantly known that steady jaw, the thick, uncooperative dark hair, the strong, tall frame….
It was the man she’d spent too much time with on her last case. The man whose image was scarred into her memory like only one other.
The man she’d hoped never to see again in this lifetime or any after it.
Zachary Westin. Tied up with the worst memories of her life, memories that had in effect stolen that useful, productive, satisfying life from her. Because his was the case she’d blown. She’d failed, been too slow, too stupid. And because of that the unthinkable had happened.
His six-year-old son was dead.
