Chapter 14
Drake
I stared out the passenger window as city streets blurred past, my mind replaying Scarlett’s empty eyes scanning over us like strangers. The memory made my chest physically ache. Beside me, Brody’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel with each passing mile, his rage a tangible thing in the confined space.
“I’ve never seen her like that,” I said finally, breaking the heavy silence that pressed against us like a physical weight. “Not even after…” I couldn’t finish the sentence, memories of that attack in her apartment too raw in light of whatever had just happened. The image of her broken body on that kitchen floor overlaid with today’s vacant stare made bile rise in my throat.
“It was like she was there, but not there.” Brody’s voice came out rough, the Beast barely contained beneath his words. “Like someone had… emptied her out.”
“Even during the worst times, she still had fire in her eyes.” My gaze shifted anxiously from one side of the vehicle to the other, searching for threats that might not exist. My heart wouldn’t stop racing. “Remember after the attack, her quip about stabbing the attacker with the meat thermometer and saying he was done? This was different. Clinical almost.” The memory of her dark humor in the face of trauma contrasted sharply with today’s emptiness, making my stomach turn.
“Like she’d locked herself away somewhere we couldn’t reach.” Brody took a corner too sharply, his control slipping as visibly as mine was threatening to. “Graham better get her out of there fast.”
We pulled into the garage, the house looming silent and watchful above us. I caught Brody’s arm before he could storm inside, my fingers trembling slightly against his skin. “Gym first,” I said quietly, fear making my voice rough. “We need to talk, and we know it’s clean. After Christian did the sweep and found those bugs in the living room, we can’t be too careful. Scarlett’s life might depend on it.”
Brody nodded tersely, understanding. We moved through the house with careful casualness, painfully aware of the surveillance devices hidden in the living room. Every step felt like walking through a minefield. I grabbed my tablet - clean, no network connection - while Brody headed straight for the stereo system, his movements tight with contained violence.
Heavy bass rattled the gym’s windows as Brody attacked the punching bag, each strike carrying months of pent-up rage that echoed my own helpless fury. I settled on a weight bench, pretending to track sets while scanning my offline notes about Jenny’s case. The familiar leather beneath me did nothing to steady my racing thoughts.
“Tell me you found something,” Brody growled between punches. “Anything.”
I kept my voice low despite the pounding music, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. “I traced some patterns in all the documents Christian sent over before I had to pull back and go offline with it all. Money movements, shell companies. But I can’t connect them to Jenny directly.” I paused, watching Brody’s savage rhythm against the bag, each impact making me flinch. “There’s something else though. The timing of certain transactions…”
Brody stopped, steadying the bag with hands that shook. “What about the timing?”
“They aligned perfectly with Scarlett’s original attack. And Maddy’s death.” I met his eyes, seeing my own horror reflected there. “And now Jenny. Like someone’s following a script. I’m sure the detectives have spotted this. I mean Rory has been on it since day one. I wonder why they haven’t told us.”
The punching bag creaked under Brody’s grip, the sound like bones breaking. “The same people?”
“Has to be. The patterns are too precise.” I glanced at my notes, the numbers swimming before my eyes. “But every time I get close to linking it all together, the trail disappears. Like someone had taken the time to scrub the docs before I got them. Maybe even before the detectives did.”
“Someone who knows what to hide.” Brody’s voice carried deadly certainty that sent chills down my spine.
I nodded grimly, my throat tight. “Someone who knows exactly what someone would be looking for.” I’d been avoiding this conclusion, but seeing Scarlett’s empty eyes had forced me to face it. “We’re being played. Have been from the start.”
Brody resumed his assault on the bag, each strike punctuating his words like gunshots. “Graham. Said. Walter. Found. Something.”
“What kind of something?”
“Don’t know.” Another savage combination rocked the bag. “But Graham’s terrified for her. You saw him in the office.”
I considered this, my heart pounding against my ribs. Graham’s fear wasn’t just about Scarlett’s safety. It went deeper than that. Like he’d discovered something that changed everything. Combined with my findings about the transaction patterns...
“We need to assume everyone’s compromised,” I said finally, the words leaving a bitter taste. “Except the five of us.”
“What about April?” Brody’s question came sharp and fast.
I sighed, feeling the weight of suspicion crushing my chest. “She’s been a good friend to Scarlett that’s for sure, and it isn’t that I don’t trust April anymore. I just can’t see trusting anyone right now. Not completely.”
I thought of April’s confusion about Rory, about Reeves’ constant presence. My skin crawled with paranoia. “She’s being manipulated. We all are.” I stood, moving to spot Brody as he switched to weights. “But right now, Scarlett’s the priority. Whatever happened up there…”
“Broke something.” Brody finished, his voice raw with pain that matched my own. “Or made her remember something.”
We worked in silence for a moment, the music covering any possibility of surveillance. My mind raced through possibilities, discarding each as too risky. We needed information. Which meant…
“We need to do this old school,” I said finally, the plan forming even as I spoke. “No tech. No traces.”
Brody paused mid-rep. “What are you thinking?”
“Your fight.” I kept my voice barely above a whisper, fear making my hands shake. “The postponement gives us cover to meet people. Make calls. All completely normal for a rescheduling.”
Understanding dawned in Brody’s eyes. “Venue managers. Security teams. PR contacts.”
“All perfectly reasonable people for a fight promoter to talk to.” I allowed myself a small smile that felt foreign on my face. “And if some of those conversations happen to yield other information…”
“How long will it take to set up?”
“A few days. Maybe a week.” I watched Brody’s jaw clench, feeling the same impatience burning in my chest. “I know it’s not fast enough. But we have to play this smart.”
Brody nodded tersely, returning to his reps. We both knew what he wasn’t saying - a week was an eternity when Scarlett was locked in whatever hell that meeting had created. When Jenny was still missing. Every second felt like betrayal.
The Beast wanted blood now. But deep down I knew timing was everything. We had to wait. Had to plan. Had to trust that Scarlett could hold on until we found the truth.
The weight plates clanged with brutal finality as Brody finished his set. Outside, a car door slammed. Telling me Graham was here bringing Scarlett home. I caught Brody’s eye, saw my own worry reflected there. My heart caught in my throat as we waited.
Time to find out what was left of the woman we loved.
Then something impossible happened. The sound of laughter, bright, musical, achingly familiar, drifted up from below. I froze, exchanging shocked looks with Brody. That wasn’t the empty shell we’d seen in the office. That was…
“You should have seen Cassandra’s face!” Scarlett’s voice carried clearly between music tracks, light and bubbling with amusement. “I swear she was about to combust when Graham barely looked at her.”
I moved to the gym doorway, Brody close behind, my pulse racing with confusion and hope. As we climbed the stairs, we watched, bewildered, as Scarlett breezed through the kitchen, her heels clicking merrily against the tile as she raided the fridge. Her movements were fluid, natural - nothing like the rigid automaton from hours ago. Graham stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he caught my eye. The contrast made my head spin.
A slight tilt of his head toward my office sent a clear message that made my stomach drop. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
“I’m starving,” Scarlett announced, emerging from the fridge with containers of leftover Thai food. She glanced up, smile brightening at the sight of Brody. “There you are! Come eat with me while I tell you about Walter absolutely destroying Cassandra’s filing system reorganization.”
I followed Graham upstairs, my mind racing. The contrast between office-Scarlett and home-Scarlett was more than jarring - it was impossible. People didn’t just snap back from that kind of shutdown. Unless…
I closed my office door behind us, instinctively moving to the far corner away from any windows. Graham ran a hand through his disheveled ponytail, his corporate mask cracking now that we were truly alone. The fear in his eyes made my blood run cold.
“She was acting,” Graham said quietly, pride and fear mingling in his voice. “The whole time. From the moment she left that meeting, every movement, every blank stare - it was all for the cameras.”
I sank into my desk chair, my legs suddenly weak. “No shit? She had us completely convinced.”
“She had everyone convinced.” Graham’s lips curved slightly, though the pride in his voice couldn’t mask his terror. “My God, Drake, you should have seen her in the car. The second we were clear of the building, she transformed. Started breaking down everything she’d noticed, every reaction she’d cataloged. She’s been playing this role since the elevator doors closed.”
“The blank face in the office…”
“Buying herself time to process.” Graham lowered his voice further, glancing at the windows as if they might betray us. He pulled out his phone and cued up the images for me to look at. “Walter found something in Felicia’s old files. Documents that predate Scarlett’s attack. Proof that certain people knew it was going to happen.”
Ice slid down my spine. “She’s remembering, isn’t she?”
Graham nodded slowly, raw fear flickering in his eyes. “She said it hit her like a wave the moment she stepped off the elevator. She kept that blank mask in place while everything came flooding back.” He swallowed hard, his voice cracking. “She knows exactly what will happen if they realize she remembers.”
“That’s why she’s still acting downstairs,” I said, understanding dawning like a knife in my gut. “The bugs.”
“She’s brilliant,” Graham said softly, his voice thick with pride and terror. “Terrifyingly so. She fooled us all because she had to. Because the stakes…” He broke off, staring at something only he could see, his hands shaking slightly.
Graham moved to the window, staring out at nothing. “We never should have been involved. Any of us.” His reflection showed a bitter smile that broke my heart. “All because she wanted to learn self-defense.”
“The gym connection? They’re involved now because of her? I thought it was simply because we’d become clients.” I leaned forward, studying Graham’s tense profile.
“Brody was selected because of the connection. They wanted to bring the gym closer to keep an eye on things.”
“That’s why Felicia was watching her so closely.”
“Felicia was supposed to keep her contained. Buried in meaningless work, away from anything important.” Graham’s voice hardened with barely contained rage. “But she failed when she submitted Scarlett’s work as her own and I found out about it. And what Walter found… God, Drake, it goes so much higher than corporate fraud.”
“How high?” My voice came out as barely a whisper.
“Senator Collins’ sudden heart attack last year? The DA who drowned in his pool?” Graham turned from the window, his face ashen. “Turns out both of them had recently met with board members about campaign financing irregularities.”
I felt the blood drain from my face as the implications hit me. “And Scarlett remembers…”
“Enough to get a lot of powerful people arrested. Or killed.” Graham’s hands clenched until his knuckles went white. “She wasn’t supposed to survive that night. But once she did, once it became news…” He trailed off, his voice breaking.
“Too high profile for another attempt,” I finished, my mouth dry with fear. “As long as she didn’t remember.”
“She knows all of it now. The shell companies, the payoffs, which judges are compromised.” Graham’s voice dropped even lower, each word falling like lead between us. “She recognized someone in that meeting today. Someone who’s running for governor.”
I closed my eyes briefly, nausea rising. “Oh shit.”
“She’s going to start acting normal at work again. Says it’ll look more suspicious if she doesn’t.” Graham raked a hand through his hair, his composure cracking further. “And I… I need to distance myself. Publicly. If they think I’m giving up on her…”
“They might let their guard down,” I nodded, understanding even as my heart broke for them both. “But Brody…”
“Can’t know the details. Not yet. The Beast…” Graham didn’t need to finish. We both knew Brody’s protective instincts would drive him to immediate action. “Just… keep him focused on Jenny for now. That’s connected too, though we don’t know how yet.”
Below, we could hear Scarlett’s laughter floating up - perfectly pitched to carry through the house’s surveillance. Playing her role flawlessly. My chest ached with pride and terror.
“She’s stronger than any of us knew,” I said softly, my voice thick with emotion.
“She has to be.” Graham moved toward the door, his shoulders heavy with the weight of what was coming. “Because if they realize what she remembers…” This time, he did finish the thought, his voice barely a breath. “They’ll make sure they don’t fail again.”
“We’ll tell Brody tonight,” I said, reaching for the door handle. “Once we’re sure…”
“Make sure he understands.” Graham checked his watch, his movements becoming more precise as he prepared to play his own part. “I need to leave now. Any longer than discussing the postponement would look suspicious.” He straightened his tie, corporate mask sliding back into place though his eyes remained haunted.
We descended to find Scarlett perched on the kitchen counter, regaling Brody with some story about Walter’s latest office triumph and how good she felt about selecting him to take over for Felicia. Her performance was flawless - voice animated, gestures natural, eyes bright with exactly the right amount of enthusiasm. But when those eyes met mine for a fraction of a second, I saw everything she was hiding - sharp, alert, terrified but determined. Nothing like her earlier performance. A slight nod passed between us, quick enough to miss if a person wasn’t looking for it. I dipped my chin in acknowledgment, my heart breaking for what she had to do.
“Heading out?” Scarlett called to Graham, her voice carrying just the right note of casual warmth. But I saw how her fingers tightened on the counter edge, the only tell in her perfect act.
“Unfortunately. Early meeting tomorrow.” Graham gathered his briefcase, every movement calculated for the unseen audience we now knew was watching.
“Thank you for driving me. Mind picking me up in the morning?” Scarlett hopped down from the counter, following him toward the door. Her heels clicked against the tile in a rhythm that seemed too cheerful. “A girl can get used to not having to take the subway. You’ve been so kind since my injury. Have I told you how grateful I am?”
“Well, Scarlett, you’ve been doing a great job and the attacker hasn’t been caught. It’s the least we can do after what happened at a company sponsored event.” Graham’s corporate tone was perfect, but I caught the slight tremor in his hands.
“Not really, but thank you. I do appreciate it.”
They disappeared behind the small wall leading to the front door. The soft sound of a kiss carried back - intimate but not overly so. Carefully calculated for their surveillance audience. My chest ached knowing how much they were both hiding.
“I’ll be here at seven,” Graham said, his voice steady despite everything.
“See you then,” she said, closing the door behind him.
When Scarlett emerged, her eyes were swimming with tears she couldn’t quite hide. The mask slipped for just a moment, showing such raw pain it took my breath away. Then it was gone, replaced by her careful performance.
Brody’s jaw clenched, confusion and anger warring in his expression as he watched them, not understanding why Graham was leaving and what her shift was all about. The Beast was rising in him; I could see it in the tightening of his shoulders, the dangerous stillness that preceded violence.
I moved swiftly to the kitchen, raising my voice slightly to carry over any listening devices. “Beer?” I pulled two bottles from the fridge, the glass cold against my sweating palms. “Come help me find the bottle opener.”
Brody stalked over, tension radiating off him like heat. His eyes burned with questions he couldn’t ask. I leaned close under the pretense of searching a drawer, my voice barely a breath against his ear. “Later. For now, just follow her lead.”
I felt rather than saw his nod, a slight shift of air as he forced himself to relax his stance. The cost of that control was visible in the thin line of his lips, the pulse hammering in his neck.
Scarlett reappeared in the kitchen, her smile never wavering. But her eyes, when they met mine, carried volumes of unspoken meaning. The terror beneath her performance was visible only to those who knew where to look – in the slight tremor of her fingers as she reached for a beer, in the too-perfect cadence of her laughter.
I handed her the bottle, deliberately letting our fingers brush. In that brief moment of contact, I tried to convey everything I couldn’t say aloud – that I understood, that I was with her, that we would protect her no matter what. The slight pressure of her fingertips against mine told me she received the message.
“You would not believe the office drama today,” she continued brightly, hopping back onto the counter with casual grace that had to be exhausting to maintain. “Walter’s becoming quite the office champion. He completely reorganized the filing system that Cassandra thought she’d improved.” Her laugh was musical, perfect. Too perfect.
I watched her perform, my chest aching with conflicting emotions. Pride at her strength and cleverness warred with rage at what she had to endure, at the masks we all had to wear even in our own home. Beneath it all ran a current of fear so intense it made my hands shake – fear of what she now remembered, fear of what would happen if they discovered her act.
“I should get changed,” she announced, sliding off the counter with a practiced smile. “These heels are killing me.”
As she passed me, her hand brushed against mine again, a deliberate touch that lasted half a second too long. Our eyes met, and in that unguarded moment, I saw everything – her terror, her resolve, her silent plea for us to understand. Then her mask slipped back into place, and she was climbing the stairs with that same casual grace, chattering about some office gossip that meant nothing.
Brody moved to follow her, but I caught his arm, squeezing hard enough to stop him. “Give her a minute,” I murmured, nodding toward the ceiling where our bedroom was directly above the kitchen. Where she could safely break down without risking being overheard.
We stood in silence, listening to her movements above us. The soft thud of her heels being kicked off. The rustle of fabric as she changed. Then, barely audible, a single choked sob quickly stifled.
Brody’s head snapped up at the sound, his entire body tensing to spring. I tightened my grip on his arm, willing him to understand. “Beer first,” I said loudly enough to carry. “She’ll be down in a minute.”
Above us, water ran in the bathroom sink – covering any other sounds she might make. Smart, always so smart, even in her fear. My throat tightened with emotion I couldn’t express.
I guided Brody to the living room, positioning us near the stereo where the music would help mask our conversation. “Not yet,” I whispered, reaching past him to turn the volume up slightly. “She’s playing a role. We need to follow her lead until we can talk safely.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed immediately by rage. “What the fuck is happening?” he hissed, his voice barely audible even inches from my ear.
“Later,” I promised, squeezing his shoulder. “Trust her. Trust us.”
His nostrils flared as he fought for control, the Beast barely contained beneath his skin. But he nodded once, sharply, and settled into the couch with deliberate casualness that must have cost him dearly.
When Scarlett descended the stairs minutes later, her transformation was complete. Gone was the corporate powerhouse in her tailored suit, replaced by our Scarlett in soft leggings and one of Brody’s old t-shirts that swallowed her small frame. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, face freshly washed of makeup. Only the slight redness around her eyes hinted at what had happened in the bathroom.
“Much better,” she announced, curling onto the couch beside Brody with practiced ease. Her hand found his, fingers twining naturally. Her body language was perfect – relaxed, affectionate, completely normal. But I could see the effort it took, the slight tension in her shoulders, the too-deliberate way she blinked.
The game was on, and we all had parts to play. As I watched her expertly maintain her performance, pride and terror battled in my chest. She was brilliant, stronger than any of us had realized. And that brilliance might be the only thing keeping her alive.
I settled into the armchair across from them, raising my beer in a silent toast to her courage. Her eyes met mine over the bottle’s rim, a flicker of gratitude warming the fear in their depths. Then she turned to Brody, launching into some story about Walter’s latest triumph over Cassandra, her voice perfectly modulated to sound natural while carrying just enough to be picked up by any listening devices.
The evening stretched before us, a minefield of potential mistakes. But watching her navigate it with such precision, I felt something unexpected beneath my fear – hope. If she could maintain this act, if we could protect her long enough to unravel the conspiracy around us, maybe we could still win this impossible game.
For now, all I could do was follow her lead and pray that would be enough. The woman I loved was fighting for her life with nothing but her wits and courage as weapons. And somehow, impossibly, she was winning.