Chapter 25
twenty-five
“How the fuck did this happen?”
The moment we are alone, Grayson spirals.
He’s already been banished from Ella’s hospital room.
After he snapped at every single person who tried to touch her, she finally lost her patience with him and sent him out to the hall.
Now he’s pacing and trying to figure out how the hell his cousin got out of prison. And into our event.
He’s wasting his time. I’ve already considered every angle multiple times. And the only explanation isn’t one either of us is going to like.
“How the fuck did this happen?”
He keeps asking. Again and again. I’m unsure who he wants an answer from. Me? Himself? God, maybe.
He shoves his hands into his hair, pulling at the roots.
The quiet clack of heels approaches, and Jacqueline Stryker appears, looking both ethereally elegant and devastated beyond all words.
Her pale lips move while the rest of her face remains wreathed in pain.
“I’ll stay with him, Marco. You ought to go get checked out and make sure you don’t have a concussion.
Mason wants to speak with you, as well.”
Hopefully to fire me.
That is what I deserve. All of this is entirely my fault.
With a somber nod, I leave my head bent in apology. “I’m fine, ma’am. I’m only sorry I was too late to stop any bloodshed.”
I’m not sorry Pierce shot the fucker, though. No matter how stained the carpet ended up. Or how frenzied this will make the media.
Alice.
I’ve thought of her a hundred times in the last three hours, praying she got my texts and stayed home. It isn’t safe for her to be out alone. Especially not now.
Whoever took her personal information could have sold it. Everyone knows she’s Grayson and Ella’s planner—and with this bombshell of an evening? It’s never been less safe for her to be by herself. Even at home.
Goddamn it. I should have finished installing those cameras last night.
There isn’t enough time to properly flay myself for any of this. Not now. Grayson’s father, Mason Stryker, is hovering a few yards away, looking jaundiced in his white tuxedo shirt. Throughout his three years of failing health, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him look so broken.
My dress shoes squeak against the linoleum while I close the space between us and stand across from him. Folding my hands in front of my torso, I hang my head, waiting for his dismissal. “Sir.”
Instead of reaming me out, his gruff voice lowers to a whisper. “Is he really dead?”
Images flash through my head; pictures of the limp body under mine.
A bullet through the head. Blood rapidly pooling around us.
Pierce, horrorstruck, standing in front of Ella, his shaking hands wrapped around a smoking handgun.
The body of Daniel Stryker, lifeless and pale on the coroner’s stretcher.
My stomach tumbles as I bite back bile and grit, “Yes, sir.”
Mason looks haunted. “Someone has to call Ted.”
His brother. I wonder if he feels any grief at the notion of losing the monster that was his nephew. Or if he feels any sympathy for the man he grew up with.
I don’t.
“The police did it. They have to notify next-of-kin, even if the person killed is a scum-sucking piece of shit.” I clear my throat, embarrassed by my outburst. “Apologies, sir. I know he was your nephew.”
Mr. Stryker simply stares back at me. “Not anymore, it would seem. I ought to thank that new agent. He did us all a service, ridding the world of Daniel. Though, I wish it hadn’t happened in my house. With two hundred guests inches away.”
Carajo. Barnes and Pierce have been handling that nightmare.
One thing is certain; the kid proved his mettle beyond all doubt.
Any lingering apprehension I once harbored evaporated as he gave his statement to the police, reliving his heroic act without a hint of pleasure.
I understand that feeling—he hates that he’s taken someone’s life, but he would do it again.
If that doesn’t solidify his loyalty, I don’t know what will.
Brad, on the other hand…
Someone had to let Daniel into the engagement party—or at least look the other way while he snuck in.
Barnes, Pierce, Brad, and I each swept a different wing of the house an hour before the party started.
None of us found anything to indicate any other way in.
Someone had to take his invitation and look him in the eye as he entered.
Unless he scaled the building and broke in through a window.
But how would Barnes not see that? He sat over the monitors all night; he should have caught anyone coming in or out. The old house may not have as many cameras as Grayson’s, but it still has eyes on every door and window. Barnes is a former MI6 agent—how could he miss a strange man busting in?
I’ll have to review the footage myself. Assuming I still have a job.
Mason’s yellowed eyes meet mine. “How did that monster get into my house, Marco?”
Even hunched and sickly, he is a formidable man. A titan, really. I resist the urge to fall back and square my shoulders, prepared to take full responsibility. “It’s my fault, sir. The security for tonight was under my authority. However he penetrated the system… I am responsible.”
“I don’t disagree.” Mr. Stryker regards me stonily before raising one brow—a gesture his son often mimics when staring someone down. “But how did Daniel do it? Who let him out? Did he have some key? A disguise of some sort?”
The short answer is, I have no answer. But as I start to rattle off the various security concerns I brought to Grayson’s attention ahead of the party, Mason shakes his head, sighing.
“Too many holes,” he mutters. “I told Jacqueline this party was a bad idea. The paparazzi will be fucking ravenous, now. We’ll have to lock Ella up in the townhouse.”
I’ve had the same grim thought.
“You’ll need an updated security plan for her,” he goes on.
Before my face registers my shock at not being terminated on the spot, Mason’s frown deepens.
His voice drops low. “Tomorrow, of course. We’ll need you here tonight.
Grayson can take Ella to one of our rental properties and hide out there in the meantime. ”
I nod again, speaking around my surprise. “Of course. I’ll call Barnes and have him bring you and Mrs. Stryker some other clothes from the house. Then I’ll contact Grayson’s housekeeper to do the same for Mr. Stryker and Miss Callahan.”
“Good.” He casts his eyes down the hall, fixing them on the room I commandeered for Ella’s cautionary exam. “I should go join my wife and my son. I trust you’ll run interference in my stead if the police have more questions?”
With a final jerk of his head, he clips his way down the corridor. I stand at the other end, frozen under the fluorescents.
The weight of everything that’s happened crashes down onto my head. A tsunami of guilt. My knees buckle while black spots bubble around my peripheral vision.
Shit.
I have to keep it together, but it feels like I’m about to pass out. Did I knock myself in the head tackling Daniel? Or is it just the simple fact that I watched him point a gun at someone I care about?
Neither explanation makes sense. I’ve been in combat. I watched my own father die. And I remained upright every time.
I push both hands through my hair, doing my best to breathe deeply as I close my eyes. Food, my mind rasps weakly. You didn’t eat anything all day.
Too late for that, though. I have a job to do. Before I lose the ability to stand, I spin on my heel, intent on finding a quiet corner to make a few calls.
And there’s Alice.