The Best Revenge Page 14

  “And the third?”

  “Tess Machado. First pilot he hired. No one else would—she was just a kid, and a woman. Josh saw her land a flight school plane with a collapsed nose gear perfectly in a crosswind that should have made it impossible. Hired her on the spot.”

  Jessa felt a moment’s pleasure that one of Josh Redstone’s first people was a woman, mixed with deepening curiosity about the man who saw what others had missed.

  As he had with this man, even as a boy.

  “The triumvirate,” St. John said softly.

  “Draven, Tess…and you?”

  He nodded. “Mac labeled us.”

  “Mac?”

  “Harlen McClaren. Our honorary fourth. Doesn’t really work at Redstone, but he gave Josh the kick start.”

  The moment he spoke the name of the famous treasure hunter, she remembered the bit in that article she’d read, that McClaren had invested in Redstone when it was nothing but a hangar and a dream.

  “We were there when Elizabeth died,” he said, his voice tight. “We thought it would destroy him. We were all afraid. Took turns sitting with him, dogging him, nagging him, until he came out of the tunnel.”

  It struck her hard, that parallel to her own life now, and her mother. And his expression told her he knew it, and she realized he’d meant it to give her hope.

  And it had.

  “So…what is it you do at Redstone?” “Told you.”

  She had a feeling there was a bit more to it by now than general gofer. Something faintly amused in his expression told her she was right. But she let it go for the moment.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Redstone Headquarters.”

  She chuckled. “I’ve heard he inspires that kind of dedication, but—” She broke off as she looked at him. “Wait. You meant that…literally?”

  He nodded. “Top floor. Apartment. Like to stay close. Monitor things.”

  “There are apartments in Redstone Headquarters?”

  “Three. Mine. Josh’s, for when he’s jammed. Third for whoever needs it.”

  That alone told her he was far from just a gofer; if he rated a permanent apartment at Redstone Headquarters, if Josh Redstone wanted him close by to monitor things, he was much more.

  “Whoever?” she asked.

  “Redstone,” he said, “takes care of our own.”

  That, too, had been one of the main points of the article, that the entire massive power of Redstone would be mobilized for the lowest echelon of their people, if necessary. The Redstone family was just that. But she was too focused on the way he said “our own” to give it more than a passing thought. The Redstone family, she thought again. He was part of it. And she felt a burst of grateful warmth that he’d landed there, found some kind of family at last.

  …the entire massive power of Redstone.

  Her own thought came back to her, and belatedly the pieces tumbled into place.

  This was how he’d done it. The bank, the investigative reporter, the sudden interest of a global giant like Redstone in a company in this rural, un-noteworthy place.

  “You are going to destroy him,” she whispered. “You’re going to use Redstone to grind him up.”

  This time it was he who echoed her. “Problem?”

  “No. No one deserves it more. I’m just…a little in awe.” And at finding out battered, tortured Adam Alden had not only landed on his feet, but obviously done so with considerable success. “I mean…Redstone.”

  He smiled then, and it was the closest to a natural, normal smile she’d seen since he’d come back. “Yes. Redstone.”

  “Is it…everything I’ve heard?”

  “And more.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Everything you’d hope.” He gave her a sideways look. “Some ways, like your father.”

  She smiled in turn at that. “He admired him. But Dad was happy to stay here, in little Cedar. Josh Redstone built an empire.”

  “Yes. And fought off those who want to destroy it.” His expression darkened. “So far,” he muttered, as if to himself.

  Jessa couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to destroy something as magnificent as Redstone. “Competitors?”

  St. John laughed, harshly. “Can’t compete. So clear the field. Sound familiar?”

  The tactics did sound too familiar. “Your father.”

  “Yes.”

  She had nothing more to say to the stark truth of that. The computer monitor flashed as the bot left on another search. She’d have to adjust that, she thought. Once or twice a day would be enough, every hour was overkill. She smiled wryly as she realized she was making plans on how to use this system she couldn’t afford and was already loath to give up. She had—

  Another realization interrupted her own thoughts.

  She had had a Redstone exec, or whatever he was, doing computer grunt work, apparently all night, in her little feed and hardware store.

  “This,” she said, gesturing at the new setup, “this is from Redstone?”

  “Been building our own for a while now,” he said. “Barton does the geek work. He’s a genius. Could have his own department, but loves working for Gamble.”

  Gamble. She remembered Uncle Larry mentioning the name. Ian Gamble, that oddity in this day and age, one man who invented. Brilliantly. The article had talked of all those who had tried to lure him away from Redstone, but he’d laughed in their faces. Even the government had come calling, but he wouldn’t speak to them at all. Josh Redstone had given him a chance when no one else would, gave him the kind of free rein he would never find anywhere else, he’d told the interviewer. He would stay with Redstone until he died or Josh closed the doors.

  “And just how much would last night’s work cost, at what Redstone pays you?” He shrugged.

  “I don’t take charity,” she said.

  He met her gaze then. And for an instant, the usually cool, steady gaze seemed to soften. “Not. You paid me long ago.”

  Emotion welled up inside her, a confusing tangle of the old ache and a new one she hadn’t yet dared to put a name to.

  With uncharacteristic avoidance she dodged thinking about that. She told herself she simply wasn’t ready to face that snarl in her already complicated life just now. And as she dodged those thoughts, she ran smack into another. And this one she couldn’t dodge, if for no other reason than she had once before, and had never forgiven herself.

  “Tyler,” she said.

  He went still.

  “He’s where you were. He’s in that same hell.”

  “When he goes down, kid will be free.”

  “If he lives that long,” Jessa said, reaching out and grabbing his hands. “He’s not as strong as you were, and I don’t think as smart.”

  He shook his head sharply, she wasn’t sure at exactly what.

  “You learned. You figured out how to dodge your father, how to anticipate, to stay clear, and he still nearly destroyed you.”

  She felt the shiver that went through him then, knew she was reaching him.

  “Dam,” she said, using his adopted name for the first time, “Tyler’s trapped, just like you were. Abandoned, betrayed by those who should love and protect him.”

  He still didn’t speak. Jessa knew she would never have a better chance to break through his single-minded determination.

  “I’ve met his mother. She’s as blind, or as weak as yours was. She’ll just stand by and let it happen, out of fear or, damn it, because she doesn’t want to lose what she has.”

  She heard a sound from him then, an odd sort of strained choking, as if he were fighting down an eruption of words.

  “Your plan,” she said softly, “it’s working. It’s getting to him. It’s making him angry enough to lose his cool in public, and people are seeing it. They’re rethinking. He might even lose this election. But who’s paying the real price?”

  “Have to stop him.” The words came out from behind clenched teeth.

&nb
sp; “Yes. I know that. You know I know that, or I wouldn’t be doing this in the first place. But Tyler…”

  He shuddered this time, she felt it through his hands, still slack under hers.

  “We have to help him,” she whispered. “We can’t leave him alone, helpless, bewildered by things that are so hideous they shouldn’t, can’t be borne. There are agencies, people to help, more than there were when…”

  Her voice trailed off. He was looking at the floor, but she knew he wasn’t seeing the old, scarred wood.

  “He’s your stepbrother,” she said. “I know you don’t know him, and it probably means less than nothing, after what you’ve been through, but…I can’t leave him to that. I didn’t do anything when I should have, once. It’s been hard enough living with that. It torments me every single day. I couldn’t live with myself if I did it again.”

  He looked at her then. In the same instant his hands came alive under hers, gripping her fingers and pulling her closer.

  He said nothing, simply pulled her into his arms, into an embrace she didn’t even think about resisting. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him, wishing that by some magic she could erase it all for him. All the vicious, ugly memories, all the pain, the agony of betrayal, she wished she could take it away.

  She couldn’t. Nothing could.

  But he let her hold him. And for now, in this moment, it was enough.

  Chapter 19

  His stepbrother.

  St. John stared at the boy who was sitting on a bench on the sidelines of the early-evening soccer practice, his left arm in a cast, his left eye still swollen nearly shut. It would, he knew, turn black soon and take weeks to completely fade. He wondered if the boy looked in the mirror and saw it as the price he’d paid for not being quick enough or smart enough to avoid it. He wondered if the boy resolved to be better, to behave perfectly, only to discover it made no difference. He wondered if the boy had begun to make intricate plans to avoid contact at all with his tormenter.

  He wondered if the boy spent hours trying to figure out what it was about him that made Albert Alden hate him.

  Slowly he walked over to the bench. Calculating what the boy would think a safe distance, he sat down just more than an arm’s reach away. Tyler gave him a sideways glance, although he didn’t meet his eyes. It was as if he’d just wanted to reassure himself whoever this person was, he wasn’t close enough to be a danger.

  He was wary, skittish, but he hadn’t learned yet, St. John thought. Hadn’t learned that with some predators, no distance was enough, there was no safety to be found anywhere with them, except in death.

  If he stayed here, he would learn.

  If he didn’t figure out the nature of his enemy quickly, he would learn sooner.

  If St. John kept pushing Alden, kept tightening the vise he’d set in motion, it might be the last thing he ever learned.

  He knew what the boy was feeling. Just as he’d known when he’d been a kid just a couple of years older than Tyler, that if he didn’t escape, he would die. The idea of heading off into nowhere, where he knew nothing and no one, had been terrifying. The idea of dying had been more terrifying. And in no small part because it had begun to seem tempting. And he’d begun to understand why his mother had felt it her only choice.

  He shook off the memories and focused on the boy sitting on the bench, alone and apart, as he had so often been. He had the feeling this was going to be futile. He’d never dealt well with kids. Josh said it was because he’d never really had the chance to be one himself.

  He knew that commenting on the boy’s injuries would be the wrong approach; nothing had been worse than constantly having to lie about what had happened, to keep his ugly secret.

  “Rather be playing?” he said at last.

  After a moment’s hesitation, and still with no eye contact, Tyler said bluntly, “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “No good.”

  “That’s why they call it practice.”

  “Don’t want me.”

  St. John fell silent. The boy had spoken all of a half dozen words, yet he had revealed so much. And the irony that it was himself speaking in full sentences to the boy’s terse answers wasn’t lost on him.

  The beating-down process, the sense of worthlessness, was well on its way. And the isolation, the apartness was there, as well; whether it was by choice or because the kids around him knew he was different in ways they didn’t want to know about didn’t really matter. He felt an ache rising inside him, a pain he’d never thought he’d feel again. But looking at this boy was like looking at himself, all those years ago, and the thought of what pure hell was yet to come made his gut knot almost unbearably.

  Tyler said nothing more. So he’d already begun to learn what St. John had early on; the less you talked, the less attention you drew to yourself. In the beginning, he’d tried to limit that to just his father, but it had been too hard to make the switch back and forth, so he’d resorted to the minimum of words with everyone—everyone except Jessa. She’d been the only one he could relax his guard around.

  The rest of the world got that surly, near-silence. It had earned him the reputation he had today, but it had, on occasion, saved him, so he considered it worth it.

  He talks like he’s at war….

  He’d heard it said around Redstone, knew it had originated with Gabe Taggert, the former naval officer who was now captain of Redstone’s flagship, Josh’s latest venture into nautical design.

  He’d also heard that Gabe’s wife Cara’s response had been simply, “Maybe he is.”

  That’s what this was. The final battle of a war that had been interrupted by the retreat of the weaker adversary. But he’d learned, he’d gotten stronger, he’d gathered the weapons, although he’d never intended to use them like this. Had his father stayed off his radar, he wouldn’t be here.

  And he never would have seen Jess again.

  The jolt that gave him was beyond unsettling.

  “You’re Jessa’s friend, aren’t you?”

  For an instant it seemed as if the boy had read his mind, and it took him a moment to answer. “Yes.”

  “I like her.”

  “So do I.” And that, he thought, was an understatement if ever there’d been one. “And Maui.”

  “He likes you, too.”

  The boy’s expression brightened. “Really?”

  St. John nodded. And then Tyler looked away, drawing back into himself in a way he knew all too well.

  “Don’t tell,” the boy whispered.

  “Tell what?” St. John asked. “About Maui.”

  “Tell who?”

  The boy didn’t answer, but the fear in the gaze that darted his way and then dodged away told him.

  “Something might happen to him.” The boy slid off the bench, cradling his broken arm with the other. “Gotta go.”

  St. John watched him go, with a wrenching sadness he couldn’t fight. A cheer went up from the soccer field, seeming miles away rather than just a few yards. And a world away from the life Tyler Alden was living.

  St. John left the park, walking toward town, glad now he’d left his rental parked at Hill’s. He needed the exertion. He’d be running if he didn’t know it would earn him, in street clothes, attention he didn’t want. And that realization shook him; where was the vaunted St. John control? Where was the legendary cool, the emotionless assessment of every situation?

  The more complicated the plan, the bigger the chance for failure.

  That had always been his philosophy, even when it came to the biggest of ventures for Redstone. And he’d applied it here; the plan was simple—drive Alden to expose his true self—it was only the execution that had been a bit complicated. And it was working, just as he’d known it would. The smooth, polished facade was cracking, giving glimpses of the ugly, twisted soul beneath. And soon—sooner than he’d even thought—that crack would become an irreversible breach, and Albert Alden’s life as he knew it would be
over.

  But now he had to face the very real possibility that the self-destruction he’d engineered for a man who deserved every iota of it might also destroy the life of an innocent boy, trapped as he once had been. Destroy it in a brutal, very literal sense.

  He consciously slowed his steps as he realized he was on the verge of breaking into that run.

  And clenched his jaw against the turmoil raging inside him when he realized that he wasn’t hurrying to get back to his car.

  He was hurrying to get to Jessa.

  She had always been the one clean, pure, golden thing in his life.

  It seemed she still was.

  Chapter 20

  “He likes you.”

  At his words, Jessa looked at St. John as he paced the space near the hay bales in the storage barn. She heard a round of applause from the square, where Alden was holding another rally. Maybe it was her imagination, but it didn’t seem as loud as it had been in the past. Or as frequent. And the rumble of dissent was actually heard now and then, unlike before.

  People were getting curious. Several had approached her, asking about his public explosion. She told them the truth, but she no longer felt the sense of pride she initially had in how she’d handled it. She couldn’t, not when it had cost Tyler so dearly.

  Which brought her back to the matter at hand.

  “I think he likes Maui more,” Jessa said, reaching down to tickle the dog’s ears. The animal lifted his head obligingly, leaning into her caress.

  “Talks to you.”

  “He talked to you, too.”

  “Not much.”

  “By your standards, that would mean total silence,” Jessa said drily.

  Usually a retort like that had earned her, if nothing else, a quirk of his mouth. This time all he did was keep staring out the window at…well, she wasn’t sure what. But she was pretty sure it wasn’t the physical reality outside.

  “Too late to stop it all.”

  She went very still. She hadn’t expected him to reach this point so quickly. She hadn’t even been sure he would reach it at all. “Stop it?”