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“What the fuck!” Wagner was suddenly in front of her, incredulity marking his face as he jerked the pieces from her hand. “What have you done?” He stared at her as though she had gone insane. “Bailey, what have you done?”
She faced him, forcing ice over her expression, watching as he looked at the broken halves, then back to her.
“It doesn’t matter what you know,” she told him calmly. “Remember where your loyalty lies, Wagner. Remember who your father is. Before you end up as dead as your mother and sister.”
It broke her heart. She was going to strangle on the tears that fought to be free. She wanted to curl onto the floor and die, the agony was so intense. Nothing, except losing Trent, had ever hurt like this. Nothing else but the loss of the man she loved had ever ripped into her with the needle-sharp talons that raked over her now.
Agony pierced every bone and muscle, every joint and cell. She felt as though she were moving in slow motion, as though the air itself had thickened around her, forcing her to plow through it, making her body feel as though it weighed a ton.
She didn’t want to return to her room. She didn’t want to face John, she didn’t want to face herself. She wanted to find a hole, a very deep, very small hole, and crawl into it for a very long time.
“Is your sense of loyalty to the bastards really this strong, Bailey?” Wagner’s voice was a hard rasp as she reached the door and gripped the doorknob.
“It is.” She didn’t turn to face him; she couldn’t. “It always has been, Wagner. No one just ever cared to realize it.”
Her loyalty to her friends. Her loyalty to her parents. It had always been strong, it had always driven her to find their killer. As it should have driven Wagner.
“Good night, Wagner.”
Walking from the room was incredibly easy. As she moved down the hallway she watched as another door opened. Myron Falks stepped from his suite next to his employer’s and watched her, his gaze narrowed.
“Bailey.” He nodded to her as she neared. “Could we talk?”
She glanced at the watch on her wrist. Fifteen minutes before John came looking for her. Could she make it that long before she allowed herself to curl into the comfort of his arms? Could she bear talking to this monster for fifteen seconds, let alone a few minutes or more?
“Sure.” Did she really have a choice?
He moved back from the doorway, allowing her to enter. As she walked into the room, she glanced at the sitting area. Raymond stared back at her.
Rising to his feet, he moved to the bar, fixed a straight whiskey, and brought it to her.
“Sorry, whiskey is the only choice tonight.” He handed her the glass.
“Thank you.” It was exactly what she needed. She sipped at it rather than throwing it back as she needed to, to burn the shock and horror from her system.
“You met with Wagner,” Myron began with an air of curiosity. “We’ve been worried about
him lately.”
“Really?” She sipped at the whiskey again and stared back at him with false interest. “Why would you be?”
His brows lifted as though in surprise. “The last few days he’s been rather upset with his father.”
She tilted her head and gazed back at him silently for long moments.
“Wagner will be fine.” She finished her drink and set it on the side bar before shoving her hands in her pockets again with an air of impatience.
“Perhaps if we knew what was wrong with him,” Raymond suggested, “we could help him.”
Her smile was tight as the fury brewing inside her threatened to spill over. Bullshit—they knew what was wrong with Wagner, or at the very least strongly suspected.
“Wagner will be fine now,” she repeated her earlier reassurance. “He had a few issues, but they’ve been resolved.”
“You took care of it then?” Myron asked.
“I took care of it.” She tightened her lips as though irritated with the fact that she had been forced to do it. “Of course, if others were more aware of their responsibilities, I wouldn’t have to take care of nearly so much.”
Myron’s lips twitched at the comment as she moved back to the doorway.
