Deep (The Deep Duet Book 1) Read online

  The Bluetooth in her car rang, and she pressed the Yes button. “Hey, Charisse.”

  “Hey, Di. What are you up to?”

  “Oh, you know. A little of this. A little of that.”

  “Still following Rafe, huh?”

  She sighed. “So what if I am?”

  “Are you at least being safe?”

  “Yes. I’m being safe. I promise. Besides, I already have a plan to get at him.”

  She could hear her best friend muttering something about saints preserving her. “Shit. Di, do I even want to know how you plan to get at him?”

  “Probably not. You wouldn’t like it.” Charisse was her oldest friend from university. She was also the only one who had the whole picture on what she was doing.

  She’d given Diana a place to stay while she planned and a shoulder to cry on when shit got so hard she didn’t think she’d be able to continue.

  “Di, look, I get it. This guy killed your father, but that’s all the more reason you should let the authorities handle it. Because he is a killer and he could hurt you.”

  “Well, he’s going to have a hell of a time. I’ve been planning for this, training for this. I have given up any semblance of a life just to get this close.”

  She’d started looking for him three years ago, as soon as she graduated university. She’d dug up her father’s old files that she could access, tried to think of anyone who might have information.

  She’d been so deadly serious about pursuing him she’d even asked her brothers for help in finding information. They didn’t think that a woman was capable of much, so they’d laughed her off. But not before giving her the name of someone who could do the legwork. It had taken time. But she’d been given a name. And a name had been all she needed.

  After that, she tracked him. Rafael DeMarco. Italian. Grew up in Connecticut but then moved to Brooklyn. He had a younger sister, Lucia DeMarco, married to Noah Blake with one child.

  Rafael DeMarco had never been married as far as she could tell, unlike Noah Blake. He was supposed to be dead. He looked pretty damn good for a corpse. If that guy was a vampire, she suddenly saw the appeal of all those sparkly undead.

  The first time she’d seen Rafe’s obituary, the despair had been deep. She’d been sure she’d lost her only chance to find out why her father had been murdered. But she’d gotten lucky.

  She’d had eyes on his sister because she figured Lucia might know something about the people her brother worked for. Then one day out of the blue, Rafe had just walked into Lucia’s office. She’d been studying him ever since, getting ready to spring a trap. Hell, it had taken patience and dedication and help. At least she had the funds to finance the help. She couldn’t watch him all the time. Nor should you. Lest you become obsessed.

  “Look, Char, I know you’re worried about me, and I appreciate it. But this man is a killer. He took my father away from me. He has to pay.”

  “I hear that, but you need to be careful. You don’t have enough information about him. You say he’s a killer. What if he finds out who you are? What if he finds out that you are lying to him? I mean, he killed your father. So he has no qualms about killing innocent people. Maybe he had business with your father, maybe he didn’t, but you don’t know that he won’t hurt you. You’re lucky to have what you have. Maybe it’s time to move on.”

  “Charisse, I wish I could explain, but I cannot move on with my life. It feels like I’m stuck in the memory of that day. My father, he wasn’t always around, but I know he loved me. And that man took him from me. I can’t just let that sit. It’s like I’m stuck. I can’t move forward.”

  “I understand. I do. I just— I think what you’re doing is dangerous, and I worry about you.”

  “I appreciate it. But look, right now I’m hidden. No one can see me. No one knows I’m observing them. I’m at his job. I know he goes there every day. I’ve been tracking his movements. His employer of record is Blake Security. These are things I know. I know he has a sister. She’s married to the boss. If I can get a little leverage, then I can guarantee he won’t hurt me.”

  The baby in the carrier strapped to Lucia DeMarco waved a fist and then giggled. Diana couldn’t exactly hear it, but she could imagine the sound. And despite herself, a smile tugged at her lips. Lucia DeMarco looked happy. With her handsome husband, smiling at him, walking with friends. Did she know her brother was a killer? Did Noah Blake know what Rafe was capable of?

  They look like a family. The pang sliced through her, deep and strong, debilitating enough to make her suck in a short breath. One day. One day you’ll have that.

  Yeah, just as soon as she’d dealt with Rafael DeMarco.

  She snapped another picture of the guy she didn’t know and then frowned when she zoomed in on the image. He had dots, a series of them on the back of his neck. Just like Rafe did.

  What the hell?

  She photographed Rafe as usual. She photographed Lucia, but no such dots. But Noah Blake had them too.

  What in the ever-loving hell?

  “Hello, earth to Diana.”

  “Sorry, I just—”

  “Diana, you said you were following Rafe. Where exactly are you?”

  Diana sank in the seat of her car as if Charisse could see her. “Well, about that—”

  “Where are you?” Her bestie was not to be fooled.

  “I’m across the street from Blake Security.”

  “Oh my God, are you insane?”

  “Relax. It’s fine. They can’t see me.”

  “They could have cameras.”

  “Maybe. But (a) I’m wearing a wig, (b) I’m a tourist taking photos, (c) I keep changing out my rental cars so they don’t notice. I’m fine. I got this handled.”

  “I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”

  So did Diana. Because if she didn’t, she might end up dead.

  Like your father.

  Diana started down over the edge of the ravine and swallowed hard as saliva filled her mouth. She hated heights. Heights meant she could fall to her death. But hey, details, right? Besides, the whole plan was for it to look like she’d nearly tumbled to her death. It was times like this that she needed a rational friend to tell her that her plan was crazy. Note to self, make more rational friends. Or hell, any friends. Funny how there wasn’t time for friends when you had revenge on the brain.

  Ovary up, bitch. This is the plan.

  If she wanted her plan to work, it was going to require sacrifice, which meant getting this car down the fucking ravine and then climbing down herself. Time to put on her big-girl thong.

  She gathered up her long blond hair and secured it with a ponytail holder. Time to get to work. She only had a couple of hours. She’d been following Rafe DeMarco every Tuesday for months. This was the path he’d take. It was too late for another plan. Besides she’s been setting this up for months.

  She had selected the perfect spot for this. Right before the guardrail began. As an added bonus, there was a path she could use to initially climb down and a rock outcropping she could stand on to wait for him.

  She’d scattered broken glass to make it look like an accident. Once the car was in neutral, she jogged around to the trunk and started to push.

  Her ribs throbbed. That asshole in krav maga class had forgotten they were training and had gotten in a brutal hit. She’d have bruises for days. But it wasn’t like she could wait to heal up.

  Even as the sweat popped on her brow and her body screamed, inch by inch she pushed until she finally started to get some momentum. And then managed to get the car right up to the edge. With one more deep breath, she rolled the car over the edge.

  The crash, boom, thud sounds echoed all through the ravine as the car tumbled front-over-end down the jagged edges of rocks. A quick glance at her watch told her she needed to haul ass. DeMarco was likely turning on to the road by now, so she didn’t have time to waste.

  It was a stupid thing, but she felt a pang of hurt looking at th
e shiny blue paint she’d picked out, all crumpled and cracked. That was the first car she’d ever bought for herself.

  She’d never had her own car before. Her father had preferred for her to be chauffeured, and her brothers had felt the same way. So she’d been excited to pick out a car on her own. And look at it now… a martyr for the cause.

  “Your sacrifice will not be for nothing, young Toyota.”

  The back of the car was now completely smashed and bent, so it looked like the car had skidded off the road and plunged down the embankment. She shivered. Under her coat, she only wore a thin dress, one that clung to her curves. But it was part of the plan, so she’d pushed past the mortification. It would all be worth it soon.

  She clasped her forehead, rubbing at the stress ball of tension that had settled behind her eyes. Now or never.

  The entire scene had been meticulously planned. With a deep breath, she scooted around the guardrail and held her breath as she started down the nearly nonexistent trail. Sand and razor-sharp rocks were more than happy to mingle with her toes and cut up her feet, but she kept moving.

  The son of a bitch had better take the bait. He will. This whole plan banked on Rafe DeMarco being a decent enough human being to care about someone else potentially being hurt. Either that or curious enough to stop and see what the hell was going on.

  The glass was hard to ignore. She just prayed some other stray motorist didn’t decide to be a Good Samaritan. But this was an access road, rarely ever traveled.

  She shoved aside the lingering feelings of doubt and concern and guilt. This man had taken everything away from her, deliberately and systematically. She was going to return the favor. And she was going to get her life back. It didn’t matter how long it took.

  She shivered again when she remembered his dark eyes peering at her from behind the mask. He’d just killed her father. Two bullets in the skull. Cold. Efficient. His lips had been set in a firm, grim line.

  She’d gasped from her hiding place, the fear and the shock and despair leaking through her body like a chemical spill. She still remembered the sound of his voice as he muttered a single word. “Fuck.” When he’d pulled aside the curtain, she’d been so sure he was going to kill her too. Positive he was going to murder her like he’d done her father. But he hadn’t. He’d let her live.

  That was his first mistake.

  Maybe he’d assumed she’d be so traumatized by the situation that she wouldn’t remember. Maybe he thought she’d be grateful he hadn’t killed her. Maybe he thought she’d forget his face, his voice, the way he made her feel.

  Bad luck for him. She remembered that day in startling clarity. The day he’d turned her family upside down. Come to think of it, she needed to have a slogan for when she saw him again. Like in The Princess Bride.

  “My name is Diana Vandergraff. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” She wasn’t the villain here, so she wasn’t going to have some long, drawn-out bragging speech. But he would know. She’d make sure he understood the series of events that had led to his world crumbling.

  She wanted him to know.

  Before she got her revenge, she’d get the answers she’d been searching for her whole life. Her father hadn’t been particularly affectionate or demonstrative, but he’d always been gentle with her. She couldn’t imagine any reason that he would be murdered other than for his money. Even as sheltered as she’d been, Diana had seen how people treated them all because of their wealth.

  There were quite a few men who had approached her brothers about her simply because she’d inherited such a large trust fund. Men whom she’d had only brief conversations with were suddenly ardent admirers once they found out she was the Vandergraff heiress.

  Well, she was an heiress no more. Hell, she didn’t even recognize that version of herself, the one who represented her family at society functions, wearing a ball gown and an insipid smile.

  That girl was soft. That girl was vulnerable. The moment Diana was out of school, the only identity she knew was avenging angel.

  Diana rubbed her hands up and down her arms when she reached the outcropping. The man she was targeting was a killer and a criminal. He had this coming. To do what she had to do, she couldn’t be Diana Vandergraff. She needed to be Diana Renquist.

  chapter three

  “It seems our old friends at Interpol want you back.”

  Rafe lounged against the far wall of the intake room. He would think after all this time he would be used to rooms with no windows. “What can I tell you, Alan? I’m a likable guy. But no thanks. I like being a civilian. You know, drinking pumpkin ass-tasting lattes or whatever at Starbucks.”

  His handler didn’t seem impressed with his jokes. “Can you be serious for a moment?”

  Rafe forced his shoulders to relax. Normally everyone was telling him to loosen up. He used to be a company man, followed the rules to the letter. But hello, disenchantment, my old friend.

  He didn’t miss this. The secrecy, the hiding out. He still checked in every week like clockwork out of habit. Because there were active cases he had worked on for years. And even though he was a Blake Security man now, he wanted to see those cases play out. Thankfully that was coming to an end.

  He’d given his family up for the job. Well, no more. He was done doing favors. He had Lulu back now. He wasn’t getting dragged back into some undercover gig.

  Right about now, he was in the zero-fucks-to-give category. Besides, it would be next to impossible to make undercover work for him. And he wasn’t leaving Lulu vulnerable again. It had been an overly interesting year already. It wasn’t like Noah wasn’t strong enough or deadly enough to protect his sister. But they’d just gotten their lives started, and he didn’t want to bring trouble to their door. Not that trouble didn’t seem to find them.

  Or at least that was how he rationalized it. “You’ve got my full attention.”

  “Glad to hear it. Right now we’ve got problems from an old friend of yours.”

  His inner killer, the part of himself he kept chained up in the dungeon of his brain, started to stretch out. Easy. We don’t do that anymore.

  “What now?” He rolled onto the balls of his feet. Ready, poised for action. And that was the underlying problem. He was always ready. Always poised for action.

  Truth be told, he wasn’t sure he could do normal. What kind of woman wanted a guy who was always ready for a fight… or worse? He knew from his sister’s experience that the kind of physical security required for a relationship with someone like him was stifling.

  “Do you remember the Vandergraffs?”

  Oh hell. Did he ever remember them. As much as he tried to forget, there was no shoving them out of his mind. Those dark eyes looking up at him. “Yes, of course I remember them.”

  Dieter Vandergraff had been a sanctioned hit. The CIA had farmed out the job to ORUS. It had been part of a joint task force effort to see which organization could get the closest. Of course, his former employer had been the one to get it done. He’d been the one to get it done.

  “What about them?”

  There was a knock at the door and Alan called out, “Come in.”

  “Alan, sorry I’m late.” She turned her attention to Rafe. “Agent DeMarco? Long time no see.”

  Oh shit. Emilie. How long had it been since he’d seen her?

  The woman standing on the other side of the room had long hair in such a deep red color that he’d always doubted it could be real. She was pale and statuesque, with the kind of curvy figure and impossibly small waist that usually had men’s tongues hanging out. Her eyes were dark, and she blinked at him from behind delicate, fluttery lashes. She was beautiful. Rafe acknowledged the fact in a distant fashion, but when their eyes met, he felt nothing but wariness.

  Emilie Durand was the type of woman who could cut your throat and have you smiling throughout the entire thing. Dangerous.

  “Rafe, you remember Interpol Agent Emilie Durand?”

  There was nothing in
Alan’s voice to indicate hostility, but Rafe got the distinct impression that his handler wasn’t too fond of the woman in question. And he understood why.

  “Agent Durand.”

  “Nice to see you again, Agent DeMarco.” Emilie held out her hand, and Rafe shook it quickly, pulling back when she held on a moment too long. Ah, that is going to be a problem, he thought when he registered the look of interest in her eyes. She wasn’t even bothering to hide the fact that she was ogling him. Some things never change.

  “Can you bring me up to speed?” He directed the question at Alan, but Agent Durand was the one who answered.

  “Since Dieter Vandergraff’s death, the family has mostly been quiet. Small-time gigs. We primarily allowed the Austrian authorities to deal with them in whatever manner they saw fit. But it looks like they’ve gotten into bed with the Russian mob. And they’ve ramped up their father’s old business pursuits and have started making a nuisance of themselves in a major way.”

  Rafe scowled as he thought of Dieter Vandergraff’s sons. At the time he’d taken out their father, they’d been younger, small-time thugs. They certainly hadn’t been strong enough or powerful enough to take over their father’s empire. Their organization should have withered away, but they’d apparently proved more resilient than he’d thought.

  “What do you want from me?” He prayed the answer would be nothing. It was the only job that still haunted him after all these years. Those dark eyes.

  He’d left one crucial fact off his original report. Dieter’s daughter. Their intel had said she wasn’t supposed to be at the house. Before she’d had a chance to scream, he had his hand over her mouth. He knew what was in the ORUS playbook for such events. And he knew that as an FBI agent on a joint task force team with the CIA and Interpol, he should have put her in the report. But he hadn’t.