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  “Between you and Mr. Chase?”

  She nodded.

  “One percent.”

  The weight of the day crashed down around her and Allie sank to the couch. On top of everything else, it seemed Hudson Chase was her new business partner.

  Chapter Two

  Allie barely looked at the two caskets during the morning service at Fourth Presbyterian Church. Instead she kept her attention focused on the pastor as he spoke of eternal life, the organist as she played hymns to accompany the choir, or the specks of dust that drifted across the rainbow of light streaming through the stained glass windows. Anything and everything to avoid facing the reality of why they were there. Even as she stood at the podium to address five hundred strangers, she somehow managed to convince herself it wasn’t real. The two people she eulogized weren’t her parents. They were a businessman and his philanthropic wife, not her and father and mother. Not the only family she had in the world.

  But as she sat under a tent in the first row of wooden folding chairs, it was impossible to avoid the two mahogany caskets lying side by side in front of her. The smell from the cascade of lilies draped over the top was almost smothering despite the crisp November breeze. And the sight of them, perched above a discreetly covered but freshly dug grave, was a brutal reminder of her loss. Both her parents were dead, gunned down in their own home by what the police were suspecting was a random act of violence. She knew it was ridiculous to think of herself as an orphan at her age, and yet that’s exactly how she felt. It didn’t matter that she was twenty-seven years old; her parents were gone, and she’d never felt more alone.

  Her grief over the past few days had been overwhelming, an almost debilitating sadness woven with a rage that burned deep within her. She suspected it was that rage that kept her moving forward. The idea that each day might bring a new lead was the only thing getting her out of bed when she woke from a fitful sleep filled with gruesome images. But she wasn’t just angry with the shooter, she was angry with her parents. They were gone and now she’d never get the chance to confront them, to tell them she was done living by the unwritten code of the Ingram-Sinclair empire. She’d never have the chance to tell them how angry she was with them for attempting to control her life. How much she hated them for trying to manipulate her into marrying Julian. How hurt she was by the endless stream of lies. Or how no matter what, deep down they were still her parents and she loved them.

  Her body shook with a silent sob.

  Harper reached for Allie’s hand and squeezed it tight. “Are you okay?” she whispered from beside her.

  Allie met her friend’s concerned gaze with watery eyes and gave a small nod. Harper had been a near constant presence in Allie’s life since storming the barricades the night of the murders. She’d insisted Allie stay at her apartment, an offer that proved to be a godsend when their driver reached Astor Place only to find the entire block filled with news vans and satellites. Harper had braved the media frenzy alone, leaving Allie cocooned behind the limo’s tinted glass while she gathered items from the brownstone. And that was only the beginning. Whether sitting beside her as she selected headstones or hovering in the kitchen while she met with detectives, Harper had seen Allie through what had arguably been the worst five days of her life. There was no way Allie could have made it through the ordeal without Harper, and she would be grateful to her for the rest of her life.

  The wind shifted and the air crackled with a charge of electricity that swept over Allie’s skin. Her every sense sprang to attention, and instinctively she looked up and to her left. She hadn’t noticed the size of the crowd that had accompanied the two hearses, but as she looked across the cemetery she realized there had to be at least three hundred people seated in and around the white tent. A sense of anticipation coiled in Allie’s stomach as she scanned row after row of faces, searching for the one whose presence she could feel as tangibly as if he were the one sitting beside her holding her hand.

  Hudson Chase.

  Just the thought of him caused her heart to race. He’d always had this effect on her, from the very first moment she saw him ten years ago. Her friends at the yacht club might have viewed him as nothing more than another townie looking for trouble, but Allie saw past the stereotypical exterior of ripped jeans and a leather jacket. She knew the real Hudson. The one who took her for long walks along the beach. The one who made her laugh so hard she cried. The one whose kisses made her knees go weak.

  When she’d turned around to find him standing behind her two months ago, the mere sight of him took her breath away. Even after ten years the connection was still there, so tangible she could almost see it pulse in the air between them. Everything about him called to her on some primal level. From the dark, unruly hair she longed to run her fingers through, to the intensity of his gaze when his blue eyes locked on hers, to the way he held her on the dance floor, her body responding with a longing it knew for no other. He’d felt it too, and despite her engagement had pursued her with an unrelenting passion until she was his, body and soul—and then betrayed her in the worst way possible.

  A woman in a wide-brimmed hat shifted in her seat, and Allie’s breath caught. She looked away after only a glimpse of the dark, wavy hair, but she was certain. It was him. Her hands curled into fists in her lap, her fingernails biting into her palm. How dare he show his face here? After everything he’d done to steal her father’s company out from under him, Hudson Chase had the nerve to attend his funeral?

  Bagpipes began to play but Allie could barely hear them over the sound of the blood roaring in her ears. Harper reached for her elbow, urging her to her feet as the pastor approached to offer his final condolences. Allie’s knees wobbled as she extended her hand.

  “They were wonderful people, Alessandra. Their loss will be felt by the entire congregation.”

  A quiet “Thank you” was all she managed in reply.

  Harper leaned closer. “Maybe you better sit back down. You look as white as a ghost.”

  “No, I need to . . .” Allie looked over Harper’s shoulder just as the man behind the wide-brimmed hat rose to his feet. Her chest tightened.

  It wasn’t him.

  “You need to what?” Harper asked.

  “Nothing,” Allie mumbled. What the hell was wrong with her? Hudson Chase was the last person she should want to see at her parents’ funeral. And yet of all the emotions waging war inside her, there was no denying the fact that at the moment the strongest was . . . disappointment.

  A quiet murmur built around her as the mourners began making their way back to their cars. Some lingered, and selfishly Allie hoped they wouldn’t approach. As the new majority stockholder of Ingram Media, she knew there were people she should greet and hands she should shake. But as the only child of the two people about to be buried under six feet of dirt, she wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Actually, despite her feelings of anger and betrayal, in that moment what she truly wanted was nothing more than to have Hudson’s arms around her. To feel the soothing touch of his hands stroking her hair. To hear the rasp of his voice whispering in her ear, telling her everything would be okay, and to know that despite all evidence to the contrary, it would be.

  Allie straightened. She had to stop thinking of Hudson as some white knight riding in to save the day. He was a dark knight whose duplicity had hurt her far too deeply to ever let him back into her life.

  Elizabeth Prescott waved a gloved hand at her from across the tent. Allie cringed. She was definitely not up to a round of country club small talk with her mother’s friends. She glanced around, and within seconds wide shoulders stepped between Allie and the rest of the mourners.

  “The car is ready when you are, Miss Sinclair. Just say the word.”

  Allie tried her best to muster a smile. “Thank you, Clayton. I’m ready now.”

  He gave a curt nod and whispered discreetly into a microphone barely noticeable at the cuff of his dark suit. Having a bodyguard wasn’t something All
ie had ever wanted, but Mr. Weiss had been adamant, insisting the additional security was necessary to ensure her safety during the ongoing police investigation. In the end she’d agreed to the added precaution on a temporary basis. At the time her concession had been more to relieve his worry than hers, but she had to admit Clayton’s shielding presence came in handy at moments like these.

  “This way, ma’am.” He gestured toward the rear of the tent.

  In the distance Allie could see the black limo waiting at the bottom of the hill. She paused, her hand reaching out to rest on the gleaming wood of her father’s casket, before turning to leave. She and Harper had nearly reached the car when she heard someone call her name.

  “Alessandra,” Benjamin Weiss said, hurrying to catch up to her. “A word, please.”

  “I’ll wait for you in the car,” Harper said. She slid into the limo and Clayton closed the door behind her before assuming his post a few feet away. Allie knew that behind those dark sunglasses his razor-sharp gaze was scanning the crowd, and that beneath that well-tailored suit a loaded gun was holstered. She tried not to think about why, focusing her attention instead on Mr. Weiss.

  “I’m sorry to bring this up now,” he said, “but the board has called for an emergency meeting at Ingram headquarters. I’d hoped to put this off until at least next week, but between your parents’ passing and the revelation of Mr. Chase’s acquisitions . . . Well, I’m sure you can understand their concern.”

  Allie nodded. Of course the other board members were concerned. Richard and Victoria Sinclair were gone, and now their daughter, a relative stranger to them, was at the helm alongside a man who’d spent the past few months covertly acquiring a substantial portion of their stock. When he wasn’t fucking her on every available surface, that is. At least the last part wasn’t general knowledge. It was going to be hard enough to face that room with Hudson sitting across the table from her. Thankfully no one on the board knew about their personal involvement.

  “When?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow morning.” Mr. Weiss gave her a quick rundown of the proposed agenda before ducking into the back of a waiting town car.

  Allie pulled her coat closed and crossed her arms over her chest, holding the pieces of herself together as she stared out across the top of the limo at row after row of headstones. When she’d walked out of Hudson’s penthouse two weeks prior, she hadn’t planned on ever seeing him again. Now she had a little less than twenty-four hours to prepare for her first board meeting with him. She had no idea how she would react once they were in the same room, but one thing was certain: she had to keep her distance. And never, under any circumstances, allow herself to be alone with him.

  Chapter Three

  Worst. Fucking. Day.

  Scratch that. Shit days were piled up behind him, so this one was going to have to take a number.

  Hudson hooked his finger into the immaculate knot at his throat and gave the expensive noose a sharp tug as he stepped off the elevator and into his penthouse. The silence wasn’t a surprise. In fact, once upon a time, he had infinitely preferred it. But now it was a killer. His loafers pounding against the wood floor were too loud, and as he pulled his tie from around his neck it sounded like sandpaper grating against the fabric of his collar. He thought of the numerous times he’d come home, beat to hell from work, to find music blaring or a fucking video game plastered across the theater screen. Instead, the place was a mausoleum. God, he’d give anything to have that noise polluting his penthouse now. At least it would muffle his thoughts, which at the moment were like loud screams jackknifing through his brain.

  He reached for the stool at the breakfast bar and his fingers curled around the edge as he contemplated throwing the thing. He wanted to disturb the silence and emptiness, wanted to punch through the reality of the present and invade the past, altering its course. If he could, his parents would still be alive, Nick wouldn’t be a goddamn junkie, and—his head dropped and he exhaled a sharp breath—he wouldn’t have royally screwed things up with Allie.

  Quitting the white knuckle routine on the barstool, Hudson stripped out of his jacket, draped it over the back of the stool, and then tossed his tie on top. As he did, he remembered his phone. He flipped the lapel back and reached into his pocket for his cell, but when he pressed the button to fire up the screen, he found a whole lot of nothing. No messages. No missed calls. What the hell did he expect? It had been two weeks and Allie hadn’t returned a single one of his calls.

  He stared at the screen, lit up with a photograph of Allie taken during their trip to Lake Geneva. She was straddling his Harley, beckoning him with a smile, her cheeks still a little flushed from the wine. But instead of that perfect smile all he could picture was how fragile she’d looked sitting in front of two matching caskets, clinging to the redhead seated next to her. The anguish etched in the delicate features of her tear-streaked face had shredded him. And when her shoulders shook with the sobs she was trying to hold in, he knew he should have felt grateful for her friend’s support. Instead he’d envied her purpose. Hudson wanted it to be his arm she gripped. He wanted to be the one she counted on to hold her up as the world as she knew it bottomed out.

  He punched the button on the phone, cutting off the self-torture.

  Fuck, he needed a drink.

  Shoving his phone in the front pocket of his pants, Hudson strode to the Subzero and yanked the door open, only to find it empty of the beer he was craving. Cursing, he snapped it closed and stalked upstairs toward the game room. He didn’t bother turning on the lights. The glow from the glass door fridge behind the bar provided the only light he needed to hit his target. He grabbed a Heineken, cracked it open, and flicked the cap off with his thumb. As he watched it slam dunk into the trash, he suddenly realized where Nick had picked up the nifty little trick.

  Hudson flinched at the sound of his phone echoing through the cavernous room. He set the bottle on the bar and dug his cell back out of his pocket.

  “Chase,” he answered, not bothering to screen the call.

  A gravelly voice came from the other end. “Hey.”

  “Nick, hey, how—”

  Nick cut off the hi-how-are-ya’s. “Has it been on the news?”

  “Couple lines in the Trib, but nothing more.” Hudson wasn’t surprised. Dead drug dealers didn’t make headlines. Nick blew out a relieved breath, but Hudson could still sense the undercurrent of stress. “You’re not to worry about it, clear? I’ve handled it.”

  “What do you mean? The cops gotta be looking for me. APB or some shit, right?”

  Hudson ran a hand through his hair. “No one is looking for you.”

  “How can you be sure? What if someone saw the—”

  “Not like this, Nick. Not on the phone.”

  “Why? Do you think someone’s listening?”

  “No. But I—”

  “Holy shit, is your line tapped? Are you being watched?” Hudson could hear the wild panic gaining momentum.

  “Jesus Christ, Nick, no. But my presence has already been requested at the police station in regards to the Sinclair murders. I’m not taking any chances.”

  Nick snorted. “Yeah, like you’d kill Allie’s parents.”

  “They have to rule me out as a suspect and I intend to cooperate.” Anything to keep the police from having a reason to dig too deeply into his life. Looking into the shit buried in his past was like pulling a thread. Yank on one and the whole thing would unravel.

  “What if they’re just playin’ you? What if they know something?”

  “Like I said, don’t worry about it.” Nick was a first-rate addict and the last thing Hudson wanted was for him to relapse and die by his own hand. Not on his watch. If it took stint after stint at high-priced rehab facilities, so be it. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to hit a brick wall when it came to saving his little brother. “Focus on getting yourself clean, understood?”

  “I’m clean as a fucking whistle, Hudson. So stop
the song and dance bullshit. Level with me.”

  “Well, let me switch it to a different tune.” Hudson tightened his grip on the cell phone until he heard the thing squeak. “Sober, Nick. You need to cut the shit with the booze, the drugs, the life you’re living.” His voice grew more powerful with each word. “Goddamn it, I don’t want to bury you next to them.”

  Silence stretched out between them, filling the line with white noise.

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Nick’s voice came quietly through the phone. He’d been saying the same thing for the past ten years, but the fact was Hudson was wholly responsible. He’d never forgotten his litany of failures, and every time he tried to get some shut-eye a motherfucking slideshow played in his head: Nick being ripped away from him; gruesome images tinted with red; his mother’s cold, lifeless body staring up at him; and finally, Allie in the elevator as the doors slid closed.

  He couldn’t lose his brother or suffer through long, dark months of not knowing where Nick was or whether he was alive or dead. Hudson choked back anger laced with fear. “I don’t want to lose you too, Nicky.”

  “Not happening, no fucking way. I got a new lease on life, ya know?” Nick chuckled, no doubt to break the tension they both felt, but then dove headfirst into another minefield. “Have you heard from her?”

  “No. She won’t return my calls.”

  “Did you go to the funeral? Shit’s been all over the news. Even made The View.”

  “The View?”

  “Yeah, ladies in here dig it, and I’m kinda stuck for the ride. Good thing that one chick has a nice rack.”

  “Fuckin’ A, Nick.” Hudson laughed for the first time in two weeks.

  “So did you talk to her?”

  “No.” Hudson rubbed the back of his neck. “She didn’t even know I was there.”

  “Dude, why the fuck not?”

  “Wasn’t the right time.”

  “Chicken-shit pussy.”