Mitch frowned again and picked up his pack and the snowshoes, then climbed into the backseat. Warmth enveloped him, but it wasn’t the warmth he wanted. No, the warmth he still stupidly wanted was sitting in the front seat, angled toward Tate, making small talk about the weather or some other dumb topic.
He watched the scenery as they headed back to Tate’s house and tuned out Tate’s flirting. Simone was right to worry. Someone did know they were here. He just couldn’t figure out how.
By the time they made it back to the house, all that resentment he’d squashed was back full-bore, and this time it wasn’t just Simone’s fault—and that pissed him off more. All he wanted was a stiff drink, a shower, and a bed where he could crash for a few hours. What he had was a nightmare he knew he had to deal with now rather than later.
They pulled into the garage. Tate killed the engine and popped the door. The guy was too busy telling Simone about the property he’d purchased and his headache with the builder to care what Mitch was up to. After dropping the snow gear in the garage, Mitch stomped the snow from his boots and followed them toward the house. Inside he was immediately surrounded by warmth, but it quickly chilled when Simone stopped talking midsentence. She glanced his way, and a dark look spread over her features, one Mitch wasn’t going to feel guilty about.
She turned her attention back to Tate. “I’m going to take a shower. Thanks for picking us up.”
“No problem,” Tate said with a shit-eating grin. “Take as long as you like.”
She disappeared up the stairs.
“Wow,” Tate muttered when they were alone. “She really does not like you.”
Mitch tugged off his jacket and hung it on a hook near the door, then toed off his boots. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“What the hell did you do to her?”
What had he done? Yeah, it was all him. He pushed past Tate and headed for the kitchen. Instead of the alcohol he really wanted, he opted for a soda from the fridge “I’m really not in the mood to talk about it.”
Tate followed, pulling his cell from his back pocket. “You might have to in a few minutes.”
Mitch popped the top on the can and took a long swallow. “Why?”
Tate held up his phone. “Text from Ford. Harrison and his wife are on their way. Should be here anytime. Think that means they have some answers for you?”
Mitch’s hand froze with the can midway to his mouth. Yeah, that was exactly what it meant. And he knew instinctively it wasn’t going to be good. Because if it was good news, Ryan would simply call.
His stomach churned with a mixture of fear and dread. Now more than ever, he really needed that drink, but because he needed to keep his head screwed on tight tonight, that wasn’t going to happen. “I think that means I’m about to get fucked. And not in a good way.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The shower did little to help Simone’s mood.
Wrapped in a towel, she sat on the end of her bed and rubbed her aching forehead. She was making things worse. Every minute she spent with Mitch made his life that much more miserable. She didn’t want to hurt him anymore. She wanted him to be happy, and he was never going to be that with her around. A cold reality spread through her chest. She couldn’t wait for Ryan’s PI any longer. What she needed to do was pack her bags and get the hell away from Mitch once and for all. Then deal with her broken heart in the aftermath.
A knock sounded at her door, and her head came up, nerves rushing though her at the thought it could be Mitch. “Come in.”
The door pushed open, and she held her breath, waiting for…she didn’t know what. But when Kate peeked into the room and smiled, Simone’s excitement turned to confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m happy to see you too.” Kate closed the door at her back.
Simone shook her wet head, realizing she was being rude. “I am happy to see you, I’m just surprised.” She tugged the towel tighter around her breasts. “Shannon—”
“Shannon’s fine, don’t worry. I talked to the kids this morning. They’re having a great time with Ryan’s parents.”
A breath of relief seeped out of Simone. As long as Shannon was okay, she could deal with everything else. “When did you get here?”
“A few minutes ago. Ryan’s downstairs with the guys. They told me you were up here alone.” Kate’s green eyes—so much like Mitch’s—narrowed with concern. “Are you okay?”
Was she okay? That was a stupid question. Even more ludicrous, because Kate should be worried about her brother, not the woman who’d tromped all over his heart. Rising, Simone grabbed clothes from the dresser drawers, then headed for the bathroom so she could get dressed. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” Kate said from beyond the bathroom door. “In fact, you and Mitch both look quite frazzled.”
Frazzled was a nice way to put it. She tugged on the pants and buttoned them. “Mitch will be fine once I’m gone. This was a dumb idea, coming up here. I never should have let you talk me into it.”
Kate’s features were drawn and sad when Simone pulled the bathroom door open. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Simone moved for the closet and pulled out her suitcase. Nothing she was going to tell Kate, at least. She didn’t deserve her friend’s sympathy. Pulling clothing from the drawers, she dropped them in her suitcase, determined not to look into Kate’s knowing eyes.
“Something definitely happened,” Kate said softly. “Might help to talk about it.”
Talk about the way she’d messed things up—again? No way. Simone tugged shirts from hangers and threw them in her suitcase, not bothering to fold the clothing. “Why are you here?”
Kate sat on the end of the bed and sighed. “Ryan’s PI found some information we thought you might be interested in.”
Did what he’d found really matter anymore? No, it didn’t.
Simone threw a sweater in her suitcase. “You could have just called. You didn’t need to come all the way up here.” She’d left her jacket downstairs. She needed to go down and get it, but dammit, she didn’t want to inadvertently run into Mitch just yet.
“Yes, we did. We both agreed what he found you need to hear face-to-face.”
Simone’s fingers paused against a shirt, and she turned to look at her friend. “What do you mean?”
“I think it’s better if Ryan tells both you and Mitch together.”
“Why? This doesn’t have anything to do with Mitch.”
Kate’s eyes filled with pity. “Yes, it does. Whether you want to admit it or not, this is about him now too. Running isn’t going to protect him from this anymore, Simone. It’s too big for that now. If you run, Mitch’s life is in danger. It’s time you faced this, head-on.”
“You didn’t tell her yet, did you?”
Mitch finished the soda and tossed the can in a recycle bin. “Nope, and neither will you.”
On the other side of the kitchen island, Ryan raked a hand through his blond hair. Dressed in loose jeans and a Cal sweatshirt, he looked nothing like the suit he really was. He also didn’t look like a total fucking asshole, but Mitch knew he was that too. “Dammit, Mitch—”
“Don’t start with me.” Mitch eyed the bottle of Jamison Tate had taken out of the cupboard, but was determined not to reach for it. He crossed his arms over his chest instead. “I have my reasons for not telling her, and besides, it doesn’t much matter anymore.”
Ryan frowned. “That’s a chicken-shit excuse and you know it.”
From across the kitchen where he was dropping ice into a glass, Tate chuckled. “Those secret-society guys are always full of chicken-shit excuses.”
Ryan shot a shocked look Tate’s way, then refocused on Mitch. “He knows?”
Shit. Here it came. Mitch rubbed a hand over his face.
“I knew when he got tapped, loser.” Tate poured a finger of whiskey.
“’When he got tapped.’” Ryan pinned Mitch with a look. “A
nd you still didn’t bother to tell me.”
Tate lifted the glass to his lips. “You were so pussy whipped back then, Harrison, you wouldn’t even have cared.” To Mitch he added, “I’m surprised he cares now. Guy’s worse than he was before.”
For the first time in hours, Mitch felt himself smiling, even if it was a pathetic turn of his lips. “You don’t know the half of it.”
Ryan scowled. “You two are so funny I forgot to laugh.”
Tate took his glass to the kitchen table and kicked back in a chair. “He’s seriously spending way too much time with that mouthy kid of his.”
“Look,” Ryan said, clearly irritated with them both. “Do you want to know what we found out or not?”
“I want to know.”
Mitch froze at the sound of Simone’s voice and looked toward the stairs. She was stepping off the last step, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved blue T-shirt, her dark hair hanging around her face in a soft fall of silkiness, her eyes as intense and focused as he’d ever seen. And though his stomach tightened with a thrill that warmed his blood at just the sight of her, common sense said anything she wanted to know had nothing to do with him.
“Hey.” Ryan crossed the room and pulled her in for a hug. “You hanging in there?”
“Barely.”
She dropped to her toes and let go of him. Behind her, Kate sat on the couch and tugged her feet up under her. “Well?” Simone asked. “What did you uncover?”
“Simone,” Kate said, “why don’t you come sit by me.”
Sit down? Dread churned in Mitch’s stomach. Definitely not a good sign.
He could see in her eyes that Simone wanted to argue, but she pursed her lips and sat next to Kate. And didn’t once look his way. “Okay, I’m sitting. Now tell me what’s going on.”
Ryan looked to Kate. When she nodded, he rested his hands on his hips. “Did your husband have any strange burns on his body? Any odd scars?”
“One,” Simone answered warily. “On the top of his wrist. He burned himself cooking one night in college. Why?”
“How big was it?”
“About two inches long, one inch wide. Ryan, why are you asking? What could that possibly have to do with anything?”
Ryan tugged his phone out of his pocket, paged through screens, and turned it to Simone could see. “Do you recognize this marking?”
Oh shit. From the sound of Ryan’s voice, Mitch knew exactly what he was showing her.
Simone studied the image for a few seconds, then said, “No. Why, should I?”
“It’s a brand. A brand for an organization known as Cypher and Dagger.
Son of a bitch. Mitch rubbed his hand over his suddenly throbbing forehead. Right now, he was ready to wring Ryan’s neck.
“Wait.” Simone held up her hand. “Are you trying to tell me Steve was part of a secret society?”
“You’ve heard of the Cyphers?”
“Who hasn’t? I grew up in the northeast. Secret societies have been around for hundreds of years, at all different universities. And the Cyphers rank right up there with the Skulls at Harvard. But Steve?” She shook her head. “I have a hard time believing he was part of something like that. And he sure as hell didn’t have that brand. I would have known.”
Ryan sat on the wooden coffee table in front of her. “He most likely had it removed after he joined the witness protection program, which would explain the scar on his arm. It would have given him away to anyone who was possibly looking for him. The partners he turned on at his firm were members as well. But according to info my PI dug up, your husband wasn’t just a witness who came across something fishy. He was the society’s treasurer, and he’d been doctoring their books for years, long before you met him.”
Simone’s face paled, and Mitch fought the urge to tell Ryan to shut the hell up, that this wasn’t helping matters, but he kept his mouth closed, knowing if he stepped in now, he’d have to explain things he didn’t want to explain.
“The Cyphers are involved in…” Ryan scratched the back of his neck. “Well, everything. Every part of government, every part of society, every profession that touches on anything of importance—military, medicine, politics, industry, energy—you name it, they’ve got a foothold in it. And they don’t always do everything on the up-and-up. Eleven years ago, when you met Steve, the Feds were building a case against a key member of the society—Lyle Dobbs. Only they didn’t have all the evidence they needed. Enter Steve. He was young, idealistic, and, thanks to his relationship with you, a target.”
Holy hell… Mitch felt like a ten-ton flat of bricks had been dropped in the bottom of his stomach. Things suddenly made sense.
Simone drew in an uneasy breath. “You’re saying the Feds used me to get to him?”
“It looks that way. My guy couldn’t get anyone at the FBI to open up about it, but you were the only thing different in his life at that point. And they did confirm he was adamant that you be offered protection in exchange for his testimony.”
Simone stared at the coffee table as if she were seeing it for the first time. “Lyle Dobbs was not one of the three people convicted in Steve’s case.”
“No,” Ryan said, looking over his shoulder at Mitch. “He wasn’t.” He glanced back at Simone. “When it came to the trial, Steve surprised the prosecution and named the three from his firm, but not Dobbs. The Feds were pissed—understandably. Dobbs had just become the Cypher’s chairman, a position he still holds today. They were expecting the big fish. Instead, they got three small ones who didn’t do a thing to help their case against Dobbs.”
Silence settled over the room, then slowly, Simone’s eyes narrowed and her gaze lifted to Ryan’s. “Lyle Dobbs. You don’t mean Senator Lyle Dobbs from New Hampshire, do you?”
“The same.”
Simone’s eyes slid closed, and she leaned back against the couch. “Oh my God.”
“I don’t get it,” Tate said from the kitchen near Mitch. “What’s the big deal about this Dobbs character?”
Mitch wanted to punch the guy. Yeah, he was fairly bright, but he rarely paid attention to what was going on in the world around him. He was too caught up in his music to care. “Don’t you ever watch the news? Dobbs is gearing up to run for president.”
“Oh.” Tate looked back at Simone. “Oh yeah, that’s not good.”
Not good didn’t even cover half of it. Mitch had been wrong. Dead wrong. The Cyphers hadn’t come after him like he’d thought.
“They think Steve told me something that could ruin Dobbs’s shot at the presidency. That’s why they came after me, isn’t it?” Simone asked Ryan, obviously realizing the same thing.
“That’s what my PI thinks.”
Ryan’s words hung heavily in the air. So heavy Mitch felt the weight of them bearing down on his shoulders and chest.
Simone huffed out a laugh and pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I didn’t even know he was a Cypher. What does that tell you about my knowledge where all this is concerned?”
“Maybe it’s time you started thinking.”
“Why?” Simone dropped her hand, but instead of shock, anger filled her chocolate eyes. “So I can tell whatever it is to the Feds? If this is true, then they’ve been watching me all this time. And they did nothing to help when Dobbs sent those people after me who shot up Mitch’s house. I’m supposed to hope they’re going to protect me now? That they’re going to keep Shannon safe? Forgive me for not trusting them, but I’m not stupid. If they really think I have something that can be used against Dobbs, they’re not going to look out for my best interests. They’re going to use me and then cut me loose. And then I’ll be back in the same situation I’m in now. Running from a group who obviously wants me dead.”
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 thi
s, 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…