by Amy McKinley
Through my very fortunate, long life, my heart has fractured in the face of tragedy, death, and love. I don’t regret many things, only the loss back in Germany.
You, my sweet Stella, are another one who holds a portion of my heart. I am so very proud of you—always remember.
All my love,
Oma
I swiped at the tears tumbling from my eyelids. Her letters got to me every time. Reading them was as if she were next to me, repeating what she’d penned, word for word. Oma talked about Stefan to us, even though reliving those years was painful. It was how she kept his memory alive.
Lost in my world, I didn’t notice that Hawk had paused in whatever he’d been doing. Not until he had crouched down in front of me, his beautiful eyes conveying concern.
Cupping my cheeks with his hands, he ran his thumbs under my eyes and brushed the tears away. “Are you okay?”
I sniffled. Dammit. I hated for anyone to see me cry. “I’m fine. It’s my Oma’s letters. I miss her so much.”
He reached out and squeezed my knee, leaving little sparks of awareness where his hand had been even after he removed it. “I’m glad you have something to remember her by.”
“I am too. It’s something my brother doesn’t see much value in whenever he checks the jewelry box for anything to sell. I guess he thinks I would hide cash in here too. That’s where he’s wrong, though. The letters are worth more to me than any amount of money. They should be to him too.”
“But he never finds any in there. And he keeps checking?”
I nodded. “I don’t have much. I mean, I’m a waitress. I’m not rolling in cash. He should know he’s wasting his time.”
“Why does he keep coming back to you for money? If he’s already sold what you’ve given him, what does he expect to find?”
“Treasure.”
His eyes widened. Disbelief shimmered in their blue depths.
“Oma used to talk about a treasure. It was probably a figment of her imagination. Or she was talking about what meant the most to her—us, her locket, this jewelry box, things like that. Honestly, there isn’t anything I have that’s worth the kind of money he’s looking for. Maybe there once was, but I suspect whatever she was referring to was left behind when she and her family fled Germany.”
“But your brother believes you may have what she considered valuable or know where it is?”
“Yes. Oma used to talk to me all the time about it, little hints here and there. Not my brother, though, not after that first couple of times.”
A pained expression came over his face. “I’m sorry, Red.”
My shoulders tensed. “Why?”
“If your brother believes a treasure exists and you have information about it, he could have shared that with the people he’s indebted to. If he did, they wouldn’t stop searching for you.”
The blood drained from my face, and I knew if I hadn’t already been sitting I would have fallen. Max was desperate, and I knew it.
Hawk started throwing the things I’d taken out of my bags back in. “We need to leave, now.”
Chapter 7
Hawk
Stella hurried beside me, a bag over her shoulder along with her backpack. Two large duffels hung from my shoulders, and one held my rifle. After checking into a hotel not too far from where our building was, I ordered room service for us.
If things went to hell, I wasn’t sure when we would be able to eat, and I’d skipped breakfast. And with the news of the treasure or family heirlooms, I guessed they would be relentless in their search for her. My stomach rumbled in protest, something I hated—it’d happened too often when I was a kid. Those weren’t memories I needed to deal with just then.
“Ah, this place is pretty nice.” Stella shifted from foot to foot. “I—”
“It’s on me.” I could tell she was worried about the cost. “Our company can handle the bill, and I would rather stay somewhere decent.” I’d stayed in enough run-down places to last a lifetime. All the guys in my crew felt the same. Plus, Chris handled investments for all of us. Speaking of Chris, I needed to check in. “I’ve gotta make a call.”
Stella nodded, the tension in her shoulders lessening as they dropped about half an inch. She sat on the couch, pulled her knees up, and clicked on the TV. Vulnerability shimmered briefly across her features before she locked it down. I admired that about her. Her looks were deceptive, so beautiful and soft, but from the few glimpses I’d had when talking to her, I knew there was steel underneath.
I’m doing the right thing. In part, I had to keep reminding myself that, especially because the family issues she was dealing with caused a constant jackhammer to fracture the lockbox where I preferred the memories of my family remain.
I tapped Jack’s contact on my phone. As I waited for him to pick up, I went to one of the two bedrooms off the main room of our suite. I set my laptop on the dresser then powered it up. Once it was booted, I clicked on the link to the cameras. Three guys were in front of Stella’s door. Shit, we got out just in time.
“Tell me you see this too,” I said when Jack answered.
“Chris is uploading their pictures to face-recognition software right now. We’re going to need to sweep our apartments for bugs or video surveillance.”
Our private military corporation, Gray Ghost Securities, owned the place I was staying in next to Stella’s. That would be a red flag. Once those guys got wind of the fact someone in security lived next door or Max told them about me, they would look for Stella there. They shouldn’t be able to get any clues if they broke in. I needed to get that dealt with now and mentioned it to Jack. We had to maintain the advantage.
“I’m sending Keegan to handle it. Where are you now?”
I glanced out the window. I’d chosen the east side, claiming we wanted to be able to watch the sunrise when we woke tomorrow, a bullshit story that the blushing receptionist seemed all too eager to buy into. That wasn’t the real reason. “We’re at the hotel a few blocks away. I have a partial view of our building.”
“I’m heading out now. We’ll be there as soon as we can. I think Mike and Chris are coming too. We’ll text you when we’re in the air.”
Good. “Let me know when Chris gets a hit from facial recognition.”
“Will do.”
I headed back into the main room, and a knock sounded at the door. Stella’s eyes widened, and I held up a finger for her to hold on. “It’s probably room service,” I whispered, motioning for her to go into the bedroom and stay out of sight. She frowned, but I went back to the issue at hand: who was at our door.
I doubted the men after her would’ve tracked us already, especially when they were spotted going through her apartment a few minutes ago. A second knock sounded with “room service!” announced through the door. My hand gripped the door handle, my other on my Glock. I looked through the peephole, which revealed a guy wearing a hotel uniform and his hands on the side of a cart, looking bored. There weren’t any signs of stress on his face or in his posture.
Stella came back into the main room. I opened my mouth to tell her to hide when I noticed what she had on and almost laughed. Brilliant. She’d taken a towel from the bathroom and tightly wrapped it, turban style, around her head. Not a strand of her gorgeous hair showed through. Her eyebrows were red, but I doubted the guy would notice. She had her arms crossed over her chest, and I realized she had a stubborn streak. I guessed she didn’t like taking orders.
I opened the door and grinned. “Sorry, man. My wife was just getting dressed.”
I tipped him and ushered him out as fast as I could. With a turn and click, I locked the door, sliding the chain home for good measure. Stella already had the covers off the food. She whipped the towel from her head, and the corner of her mouth quirked up. “Wife?”
My mind warred against the word, what it meant, and what I was soon coming to realize I might want some day. Marriage hadn’t been a part of my plans, ever. Not even a steady girlfriend.
I shoved the confusing thoughts away. “If I’d said sister that could have been a red flag if the staff was compromised and questioned by one of the people after you. They’d be looking for a brother and sister, not a husband and wife.” It was a long shot, but I was uncomfortable with the idea of her reading into what I’d said.
Her arms dropped to her sides. “Oh, I didn’t think of that. Smart.”
The fact was, my blood was tainted. I had no business wanting what I couldn’t have. There was always the possibility that I was more like the people who’d raised me than I thought. It was my worst nightmare. I never wanted to have a kid and have him or her feel like I did growing up.
She returned to her spot on the couch in front of the TV while I retrieved the laptop. I set it up on a portion of the stand that held the TV then angled it toward where I planned to sit.
“We’ve got some time to relax. Might as well take advantage of it.” I set the food on the coffee table.
I dropped onto the couch next to her and picked up one of the burgers. “What the hell are you watching?”
She blushed then fumbled for the remote. “It just came on. I wasn’t paying attention.”
I laughed—I couldn’t help it. She’d been watching a sappy Hallmark romance movie. She flipped through the channels, stopping when she saw a rerun of HGTV’s Fixer Upper. I leaned back, finishing the burger in a few bites while she nibbled on hers.
“I love this show,” she said around a mouthful.
“Same. They crack me up.” I liked how the couple bantered. It was another example of what I’d grown up without. For some reason, they gave me an odd sense of hope. Some of my surrogate brothers had that. Matt, Liam, Chris, and now Jack were happy, and that was enough for me. Their wives—Jo, Liv, Mari, and Hannah—were like sisters to me, and for that, I would forever be grateful.
It wasn’t in the cards for me. I knew that.
“My grandparents loved one other like they do.” Stella waved at the TV. “They were always building each other up, and their bickering was good-hearted.”
They weren’t alive anymore. I’d figured that much out. “What about your parents?” I hoped she’d had a happy childhood.
She shrugged then picked up a French fry slathered in ketchup. “They were always working. I’m not sure if they were much more than roommates before they died. But they loved Max and me and were there for us in most ways until they weren’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“They died, and my grandparents raised us until I went off to college. My grandparents passed away during my freshman and sophomore year.”
“I’m sorry.”
She finished off the fry. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I miss them, but I’m happy I had the time with them that I did.”
We ate the rest of the food and watched the end of the show. I glanced at the time. The guys would be arriving soon, probably close to midnight and only after they did a sweep on our place and Stella’s.
She leaned over and swiped one of my sweet potato fries. The muscles on my thigh tensed from the press of her palm. Electricity shot through me.
She yanked her hand away. She must have felt the same attraction. I shifted in my seat as she gasped.
“Oh my God!” Her hand extended, and she pointed to the laptop.
Shit. I thought I’d angled it far enough from her view. She must have seen it when she leaned over.
“What do we do?” Her voice trembled. “I-I-I don’t know how to deal with this. They’re touching my stuff.”
Her voice rose at the end. It was personal. I got it. I pulled her close and wrapped an arm around her. “We’re not going to do anything—yet. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.” Three men were in her apartment, and her stuff was everywhere. They were ransacking her bedroom. “You have what’s important to you from your place.”
I didn’t tell her the entire truth. It wasn’t okay.
Chapter 8
Hawk
The afternoon passed quickly, as did the evening. As it grew dark, we decided to grab a few hours of sleep. Or one for me and several for her. I promised to wake her up when it was time to go. If we stayed off the radar, we could remain there for a couple of days. She headed to the bedroom farthest from the door. I set the alarm on my phone and stretched out on the couch, closing my eyes.
The bed would have been better, but I wasn’t about to let anyone have even the slightest chance of slipping past me to her. Even as my breathing evened out and I started to drift off, a sense of dread played at the edges of my consciousness. There was a similarity I couldn’t quite place about the way one of the guys moved or his shape. I wasn’t entirely sure. But it was there, and my brain wanted to pull it from whatever memory it was filed away in.
Chris would have news about the men who’d been into Stella’s place. For the time being, we had to wait at the hotel. We should have had more time, but I didn’t think we had that luxury. Unfortunately, I knew it wouldn’t last. With several deep breaths, I relaxed enough to sleep.
Sleep brought dreams, and those ushered in more of the reasons why I couldn’t have what some of my brothers had. I would never be good enough.
Suddenly, I was a twelve-year-old boy again. Through the threadbare T-shirt, the sun had warmed my back and splashed my shadow across the steps. I had taken that first step and had committed to whatever I would face inside.
I placed each footfall with care.
I paused before opening the front door. It was quiet. That didn’t always equate to safe. There were times when silence was deceptive.
Please, no one be home. That was rarely the case. My hand shook as I touched the dented doorknob. In slow increments, I turned it before pushing the door open a crack. Any more, and it would squeak. My eyes narrowed, and my breath caught. A glimpse within was all I would need to know if I had to get the hell out of there. Otherwise, it would have been a minefield of a chance.
I squinted. Assessed. Is anyone even home? Could I have gotten lucky, for once?
I ticked off what I saw through the crack in the door, while possibilities and memories played through my head like a spliced movie.
The armchair Mom’s husband occupied most of the time was empty. My mind raced. Had I heard him tell Mom he would be out? Did the door slam behind him last night? Those were the nights I slept easy. If I stayed out of Mom’s sight, I wouldn’t be harassed, and at least she never hit me.
I’d found out where he went on the nights when I could sleep without fear. He had a girlfriend he stayed with sometimes.
It was a fun evening when my mom learned that bit of information. They screamed their usual insults. I wished I could’ve changed who I’d come from. I didn’t look like him. If I did, things could have been different.
He suffered our presence. That’s what he’d said more than once. Our good fortune, as he’d often lectured, depended on his. He’d been talking about gambling. His occupation. I hated it and knew I would never get involved in what he was addicted to. Over the years, we saw less and less of that good fortune.
After good nights at the track, he’d begun to stay with the girlfriend. More often than not, we got the other side of the coin. He came home when he’d had a shit night, which happened all the time.
I couldn’t wait out on the steps any longer. When no sound came from within, I pushed the door wider, enough to squeeze through. Red-rimmed dark eyes in a sea of tangled hair met my gaze. Leaning back against a counter with a drink in hand, she glared at me with hatred as I stepped inside.
That she didn’t like me was like a knife twisting in my gut on a daily basis. I thought she loved me, in her way, but I wasn’t sure. But I was positive that she never liked me. I was a mistake.
With jerky movements, she set the glass on the counter with an irritated clink. Already in the house, I took a careful step and weighed my chances of a quiet night by her expression. Could have gone either way. I wasn’t sure, and the risk was high,
but I needed a few things. I’d left a school textbook at home with homework stuffed between the pages. Not only that, I wanted to switch out the clothes I stashed in my backpack for clean ones.
With my bag hanging over my shoulder, I kept one hand clamped around the strap. A teacher had taken pity on me. It wasn’t new, but it didn’t have holes in the bottom, and the zipper worked. My mom and her husband hadn’t noticed it yet, but I knew they would. I had no idea what they would do. Take it from me, probably. Nothing was safe in that house.
Nothing was mine except my room, which was about the size of a closet and had a small window. I had no bed, just a sleeping bag on the floor and a clock I’d gotten from the second-hand store. I’d lifted it and somehow made it out of there without getting caught. I needed it to make sure I was on time for school. When I wasn’t home, I tried to hide it under the sleeping bag as best I could.
I took another step and hunched my shoulders, dropped my head, and made a beeline for my room.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
The high-pitched accusation locked my muscles. Shit. It wasn’t going to be one of the times Mom pretended not to see me.
“Nowhere.” I inched closer to the wall. My room was close. Why can’t she be passed out? Or watching one of her favorite shows on the TV we still had by some miracle?
“I asked you a question.” Her voice cracked like a whip.
I lifted my head, careful not to meet her eyes. When I did that, both she and her husband got angrier. “To my room to do homework.”
She laughed, and that horrible, bitter sound cut through me. “You think that’ll matter? That someday you’ll make something of yourself? You’ll never crawl out of here. Same as me. You’ll always be nothing.”