Hold on to Me (26 page)

She had a point, but Mitch didn’t want to believe it. Turning to the Feds could be her only chance now. And his.

Dammit. They were right back where they’d started. Only worse off, because even if he agreed to disappear to get away from all this, he knew for certain he wasn’t doing it with her.

“Simone,” Ryan started.

“No.” She pushed out of her chair. “I’m not running back to the Feds, because I have nothing to give them. Did your PI find out anything else? Anything at all that could be of use to me?”

Ryan’s wary gaze slid from Simone to his wife, seated beside her. Simone glanced from one to the other. “Just tell me already.”

Ryan rested one hand against his thigh. “There is one more thing, but I don’t know how relevant it is.”

“Spit it out.”

When he hesitated, Kate said, “Ryan, you have to tell her.”

Simone waited, her brow lifted, her face expectant. Across the room, the tick of a clock was the only sound that echoed through the vast space.

“My PI got a hold of your husband’s medical records,” Ryan said. “And while it’s true he showed symptoms that are often present in pancreatic cancer patients, that’s not what’s listed on his chart as cause of death.”

“What was?” Simone asked cautiously.

“A blood clot. Which traveled to his brain and caused a stroke.”

Several second passed as Simone glanced around the room, clearly not seeing it. “I don’t understand. His doctor diagnosed him with cancer. He got sick and passed quickly, but that’s what happens with pancreatic cancer. They said his symptoms went unnoticed for months, and that his organs just…shut down.” She looked at Ryan. “Are you telling me he didn’t have cancer?”

Ryan glanced at his wife, then pushed off the coffee table and stepped to Simone. “I’m not saying he didn’t. I’m just saying that the acute onset of symptoms related to pancreatic cancer can be attributed to a lot of different…substances.”

“Substances,” Simone repeated suspiciously.

“Chemicals,” Ryan clarified.

Simone stared at him. And from across the room, Mitch felt her anxiety as if he were standing right next to her. Ryan ran a pharmaceutical empire. If there was anyone that knew about side effects—intended or not—it was him.

Shit. Don’t say it
…

“Chemicals,” Simone repeated. “You mean poisons. Are you trying to tell me Steve was poisoned?”

“No,” Ryan said quickly. “There’s no way to know that unless Steve’s body is exhumed and tests are run. And I’m not saying that’s the case here but, from a medical perspective, after looking at his files and everything else, I’m saying…something seems fishy to me.”

He reached for a folder he’d set on the coffee table and handed it to her. “Steve’s attending physician was a man named Clayton Browers. He got his undergrad degree at the University of California at Berkeley, then did his post grad work at George Washington University in DC. The Cyphers don’t have a chapter at George Washington, but they do at Berkeley. They’re one of only a handful of bicoastal societies on record. Browers’s name isn’t listed on any formal charter that we could find, but associates my PI talked to claim he has the same dagger brand all Cypher members have. The fact there’s no genetic history of cancer in your husband’s family, coupled with the reality that some of his symptoms don’t match up with those we see from cancer patients, well, it has me curious.”

Simone looked down at the folder in her hand. “This is Steve’s medical record?”

“And the info on Browers. Nothing’s definitive, Simone. I don’t want you to get worked up. I’m just pointing out some inconsistencies and areas of caution.”

Mitch watched the color drain from Simone’s cheeks, and an uncontrollable need to go to her, to comfort her, consumed him. But he kept his feet rooted in place, knowing if he did, she wouldn’t turn to him. And honestly…why should she? If what Ryan’s guy had uncovered was true, the Cyphers—his associates—had murdered her husband.

His stomach rolled, a sickness that consumed him from his toes upward. He looked toward the bottle of Jamison on the counter, desperate for a glass.

“I… I think I need a few minutes alone,” Simone said, turning for the stairs.

Kate pushed off the couch. “Simone—”

Simone held up her hand to keep her friend from touching her. “No, I’m okay. I just… I want to read through this. I was pretty stressed back when Steve got sick, and I didn’t pay attention to everything like I should have. I’m not saying I buy into all this, but…” She swallowed and faced Ryan once more, and even in the middle of what Mitch knew had to be the shock of her life, she pulled up that rock-solid strength she’d always had and faced it. “Thank you. For all of this. For what you’ve done. I…appreciate it. I really do.”

She disappeared up the stairs. Above, a door closed, then silence fell over the room.

On a sigh, Ryan turned in the middle of the living room and caught Mitch’s gaze. “Now do you see why I said you needed to tell her? It wouldn’t have come as such a shock if you’d at least prepped her a little.”

Mitch huffed out a laugh. But the sound held no humor, just a hot burn in the center of his chest, one that ignited a firestorm that felt like it was consuming every part of him. He knew things were pretty much finished with Simone, but if he’d held out any hope he could salvage a relationship with her daughter, that was dead and gone now. As soon as Simone discovered he was a Cypher, she wouldn’t let him within fifty yards of Shannon. “Thank you, Ryan. Thank you for everything you dug up and the sensitive way in which you presented it. Ever hear the phrase, ‘if you keep digging, you’ll dig your own grave?’ Well, you just dug mine. Remind me to return the favor some time.”

“Mitch, dammit,” Ryan sighed.

Mitch moved out from behind the island in the kitchen. Right now he needed a shower. Needed to be alone. Needed to think.

Ryan stepped in his path. “Hold up. I wasn’t trying to fuck things up for you.”

Mitch clenched his jaw, and his hand flexed into a fist at his side. “Well, you did.”

“These aren’t the kind of people you screw around with, Mitch. And contrary to what you think, I didn’t come here with all this to make things worse for you. I came because I’m worried. If they got to her husband, they can get to you, and regardless of how pissed you are at me right now, I don’t want anything to happen to you. I care about Simone, but I care about you more. You’re not just my best friend, you’re my brother, and while that might not mean much to you at the moment, it means everything to me.”

Mitch’s jaw tightened. The red haze that had slid over his vision retreated just a touch. Just enough so he didn’t plow his fist into Ryan’s jaw. But he wasn’t ready to get all touchy feely. He was too pissed for that. “I know what kind of people they are.”

“Then you know this isn’t a game. You’re in some serious shit here, Mitch. They’ll come after you because of her.”

Mitch knew that better than anyone. He didn’t need Ryan reminding him of that fact. He stepped around his brother in law. “I’ll be fine.”

“But you’re not fine,” Ryan said, looking after him as he headed for the stairs. “You haven’t been fine since you met her. What are you going to do?”

Mitch hesitated with one foot on the bottom step. What was he going to do? At this point there was only one thing left he could do. Only doing it meant stepping back into a world he never should have been a part of.

He pushed his feet up the stairs toward his bedroom. “I don’t know. Right now I don’t have a single fucking answer to anything.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

S
imone tossed the file Ryan had given her on her bed, closed the laptop on her lap, and raked her hands through her hair. She’d read the file ten times, had researched until her eyes hurt, and was still having trouble processing the information.

Steve had been a Cypher. He wasn’t an innocent victim. He’d known what he was getting himself into. And regardless of what had happened to him, whether he’d died of cancer or something more sinister—which she still didn’t totally believe—the angry truth was that he’d known the people he associated with would never truly leave them alone. He’d
known
what he was dragging her and their child into the moment he’d asked her to run away with him.

She shifted the laptop to the bed and rose, unable to sit anymore. Brushing the hair back from her face, she looked out at the darkening lake beyond her second floor window. Dusk was settling in, robbing the lake and trees and sky of color, turning everything to a drab gray chill she felt settle deep in her bones.

She hadn’t known Steve. Not the real him. That he could have kept something so big from her wasn’t just a blow to the sternum, it was a blast to her pride and the carefully constructed life she’d built for her and Shannon. But what really stung, what truly cut through her like a hot, sharp knife was the reality that she’d given up her life for someone she hadn’t even been in love with, all while the man she
did
love was suffering because she couldn’t be honest about her feelings.

Anger simmered under her skin, then turned to a bitter misery that sank into her bones when she thought of Mitch’s face the night she’d come back from DC and told him she didn’t love him. Of how angry he’d been last night, when she’d pulled away in that fire lookout after kissing him. Of the dozens of times over the last few months he’d told her he loved her, and she’d kissed him to shut him up or changed the subject entirely because she was too afraid of what
might
happen.

She closed her eyes, hating the truth. Hating that she couldn’t change it. It already
had
happened. He
was
in this nightmare. And if nothing else, she knew now he wasn’t getting away from it. If these people could get to Steve in the witness protection program, they could get to Mitch through her. And if there was ever anyone she
should
give up her life for, who deserved that kind of sacrifice, it was him.

One tiny burst of hope bubbled up through the murky darkness, forcing her eyes open. There was one way she could fix this. One way to make at least one small part of this right. Maybe she couldn’t protect him from what Steve had done, but pretending she didn’t care wasn’t working. There was a slim chance that if he knew how she felt, if he knew she wasn’t just trying to protect herself, that she could convince him to disappear like she’d tried to get him to do after his house had been destroyed. It was a long shot, but at this point, it was the only one she had left.

She opened the door quietly and peered out into the hall. The space was empty, but voices drifted up the stairs from the kitchen. Ryan’s, Kate’s, Kendrick’s, but no Mitch. Nerves humming, she moved quietly down the hall and stopped when she reached his bedroom door.

He could have left, but she doubted it. Ryan wouldn’t have let him leave knowing his life could be in danger. She lifted her hand to knock, then thought better of it. She didn’t want to give him any reason to tell her to get lost, and she didn’t need anyone downstairs knowing what she was about to do.

Her hand closed around the door handle, and she turned it. Quietly, she moved into his room and closed the door behind her.

The bedrooms were all similar, suites rather than simple guest rooms. Mitch’s room looked the same as hers but a little bigger—a king-size bed made of knotty pine, two matching nightstands and lamps, a dresser, and a flat-screen TV on the wall. But unlike her room, there was no half-packed suitcase, no clothes thrown across the bed, no sign he was planning to run. Like she was.

She closed the door at her back and looked around. The lights were off, only dwindling moonlight through the sliding glass doors that faced the lake illuminating the space. The bed was untouched, the room empty.

Her heart dropped, and she leaned back against the door, forcing back the defeat. He must have been downstairs after all. She could wait, but she didn’t know how long he’d be. And if he decided to leave before she had a chance to talk to him—

The sliding door across the room pulled open, and a burst of cool air whoosh in just before Mitch. Darkness and the hoodie over his head made it hard to see his face, but her breath caught when she saw the way his shoulders stiffened at the sight of her.

He tugged the hood of his sweatshirt off, turned and looked behind him, then pinned her with an irritated look, one she’d seen too many times over the last few days. “I think you have the wrong room.”

He was still pissed. And he had every right to be. But instead of running from it, she knew it was time to face the fire.

Hands shaking, she forced herself to step away from the door and move farther into the room. “I-I need to talk to you.”

“No, you don’t.” He shut the slider and crossed the room, heading for the closet on the far side. “We don’t have anything left to talk about.”

But they did. So much. She moved closer to the bed. “Mitch.” God, how did she start this? “I wasn’t honest with you. About…way too many things. I should have told you what was going on right from the start but I-I was scared. I thought that by not telling you, I was doing the right thing.”

He huffed from inside the walk-in closet. A thump echoed, followed by fabric rustling. “Sweetheart, you don’t know what the right thing is.”

No, she didn’t. He was right about that. But she knew this was better than what she’d done yesterday. And the day before that. “I never wanted to hurt you. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s the truth. I’ve lived under this shadow so long, I think I forgot how to open up and really let people in. You’re the only person I let get close, and it scared me because… Because part of me was afraid something like this would happen someday. I never wanted you to get sucked into this.”

She couldn’t see him, and she couldn’t hear him moving around in the closet anymore, but she needed him to come out and listen to her.

“Mitch.” She sighed, feeling lost, helpless…desperate. “I didn’t lie to you because I was trying to hurt you. I lied because I was trying to protect you.”

He emerged from the closet, barefoot, wearing only low slung faded denim jeans, dim light glinting off his muscular chest. But instead of the carefree, laid-back man she’d come to expect, this one was fire and malice and clearly didn’t want to have anything to do with her. “Why the hell do people think I need protecting? Do I have
imbecile
stamped on my forehead? I don’t need you or Ryan or anyone else looking out for me. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been getting along just fine by myself for thirty-six years.”