Two Together

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “Knew your father,” he says. “Know you’ve been through a lot. No worries here.”

  I nod my appreciation and turn to Savage. “I don’t think we can trust anything he says until he sobers up.”

  “We can sober him up with some adrenaline.”

  “Just do it safely.”

  “Why do I feel like you won’t be here?”

  “We won’t be here. Have your team do it.” I think back to the promise I made to Emma about not letting her go. I think of the gut feeling I ignored when I left her. I need to listen to the one I have now. “We’re going to San Francisco.” I dial Eric.

  “What’s the word?” he answers.

  “You still holding that plane?” I ask.

  “You bet your ass.”

  “I’m coming back. Now.”

  “We’re still not clear for takeoff. It might be a few hours.”

  “Of course, it will,” I murmur.

  We disconnect, and Smith walks into the bar with two additional men, clearly ready to handle Brody. I kneel in front of my brother who is now sitting against the wall, face tilted down. “Brother,” I say.

  He forces his head up, a slow lift that he accents with a groan. “I am your brother,” he says. “Don’t forget that.”

  Nothing about that statement sits well with me. “But that will not protect you if I find out you hurt Emma.”

  “I—didn’t. I didn’t hurt Emma. Ass-hole.” He lowers his head.

  I sit there a minute, shaken by his erratic behavior. No one who didn’t know him would think that he was the brain behind a chain of his own whiskey and cigar bars. No one would know how brilliant he is. And he is. Losing Hunter fucked with his head, beyond what is reasonable and expected. I hope like hell he didn’t lose his shit and hurt Emma. Because if he did, I’ll kill him. If he didn’t, then I need to rein him in and get him help.

  I push to my feet and incline my chin at Smith, before Savage and I head to the door. We step outside into gusting winds that force us to linebacker it to the vehicle. Once we’re inside and on the road, the SUV shakes with the impact of more wind.

  I told Emma I wouldn’t let her go, but it feels like the universe has its own ideas and is working against me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Jax

  Two hours later, compliments of the wind, we’re still on the runway when Savage’s men report back on their meeting with Randall and Chance that went nowhere. Chance and Randall both, predictably, claimed worry for Emma and admitted nothing.

  “What about York?” I ask Savage. “Is there any possible way—”

  “We’re checking on him but no one who didn’t know that castle got past us.”

  “Do you know how many employees we have and have had over the years?” I ask. “One of them could have been paid to help.”

  “Our team is checking all angles, man,” he assures me. “More soon.” He stands up and walks away. I fight the urge to punch the wall but it’s s not my plane, and that’s not me. I don’t punch walls. I’m in control. I need to be in control. Random acts of exaggerated emotion don’t help me or Emma. I force myself to deep breathe and calm my damn nerves.

  At some point, I fall asleep on the plane. I know this only because I wake to sunlight peeking through the window and Savage nudging me awake. “We’re clear for takeoff.”

  I glance at my watch. “Six in the damn morning? Really?”

  “We were clear two hours ago; at which time, the engine light came on. And no, you can’t make this shit up.”

  I scrub the rough stubble now present on my jaw. “I’m so damn glad I slept through that.”

  “We found drugs in your brother’s car and we had a doctor come check him out. He’s fine but he overindulged in a dangerous way.”

  “Drugs,” I murmur. “That explains a hell of a lot.”

  “They change a person,” he says. “Brother needs rehab. To drive that point home, in a brief moment of questionable alertness, he rambled about Jill again and passed back out.”

  “Have we talked to Jill?”

  “Yes. She said she knew nothing which is bullshit. At the very least, she knows how badly Brody wanted Emma to leave. Which I know because Emma and I overhead the two of them talking. More soon.” He stands up. “I’ll let you rest. If we have the internet in the air we’re supposed to have, I’m going to be online, getting updates. I’ll wake you if I hear anything.”

  I nod and he walks away.

  The engine roars to life, and I quickly dial Emma’s phone again, only to get her voicemail. Next up is her brother. I’m thrown into his voice mail as well which pisses me off. I don’t care what time it is, if he’s sleeping like a baby while his sister is missing, he’s a waste of air.

  I lean back in my seat and I type out a text message to Emma: I don’t even know if you will see this but I’m dying here without you. I miss you. I’m worried. I love you, Emma. I don’t even hesitate. I hit send but I don’t set my phone down. I hold onto it, waiting for the reply that doesn’t come. The plane lifts off, and my connection is lost but I refuse to believe that Emma is as well.

  I’m going to find her.

  And then I’m going to do as I promised. I’m not letting her go.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Emma

  I blink awake to sunlight beaming in through a window and my stomach rolling. Oh God. I’m going to be sick. I sit up, a brief moment of relief to discover that I’m home in my apartment, in my own bedroom. The masks. The airplane. That must have been a nightmare. I throw away the covers, and I’m naked. I don’t remember getting undressed. “Jax!” I call out. “Jax!”

  That’s when I realize that Jax and I were not in my apartment. We were in Maine in his castle. My stomach cramps again, and I rush to the bathroom, fall to my knees and heave over the toilet. It’s gut-wrenching, fierce heaving, and I can’t make it stop. I throw up again, clutching onto the seat for dear life. I need my phone. I need my man. I need Jax. Finally, the pain eases and I curl onto the floor, unable to move. Help me, God. I’m naked, and I’m in San Francisco. I don’t remember how I got here.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, and just lie there. No. No. I think I fall asleep because I come to again sick as a dog. I crawl to the toilet and throw up again, returning to the floor after I’m done to fade into misery and sleep. The next time I wake up, I’m on my back staring at the ceiling. The room is dark, I realize but light beams in from the bedroom. So, I’m in the dark and it seems that I’m shivering. I’m cold. I’m really cold. I roll over and sit up on my knees, testing the steadiness of my stomach, and despite some dizziness, I seem to be past the sickness.

  With some effort, I push to my feet and grab a robe from behind the door, pulling it around me, and then grab the edge of the counter by the sink to stare in the mirror. My hair is everywhere. My mascara is so all over the place that I look like I’m wearing a zombie Halloween costume. I frown. Costume. Mask. I remember now. I relive that moment, back at the castle, when this all started:

  I step in front of the elevator and a man is standing inside with his back to me. He turns, and my heart lurches at the sight of a Michael Myers mask covering his face. As if I’m trying to relive a stupid Halloween movie, I turn and fall flat on my face. Then, he’s over the top of me, and a needle is jabbed into my arm.

  I come back to the present with a sharp inhalation of air that I hold and then force out, my state of undress undoing me. My hands run over my naked skin, looking for bruises or tender spots. I find nothing but I’m naked. If not for that, I’d think Randall or my brother masterminded all of this. But the mask and my lack of clothing, along with me ending up in bed; those things read like York’s doing this to me. And like I was raped while I slept and I start to tremble. I need my phone. No. I need to make sure I’m alone. Why have I not even considered that I might not be? I shove aside any thought of rape. I refuse to be weak. I refuse to let York do that to me.

  I push off the counter and head to my nig
htstand where I keep a gun I bought after a crime wave last year, that is thankfully where I left it. I grab it, the heavyweight and classes I took, cold comfort I don’t want to need. With quiet cautious steps, I inch out into the living room, where I find no other person. I sweep the rest of the apartment and then go to the front door to find the lock broken. I don’t even know what to think about this. Did someone break in to put me in my own apartment? I grab a kitchen chair and shove it under the knob, searching for my phone. I find my suitcase and my purse, but my cell is missing. So is my MacBook. Someone didn’t want those things to be used to track my location.

  I need to call Jax.

  I also feel disgusting.

  Someone undressed me.

  Someone touched my body.

  Suddenly I need to shower.

  Hurrying into the bathroom, I turn on the water, step underneath and I can’t scrub hard enough but I force myself to be quick. Thirty minutes later, I’m in jeans, a T-shirt, and boots. I even dry and flat iron my brown hair to a silk around my shoulders. I go so far as to put on makeup, going through the motions of living, when I should be running for the door. All the while, I flashback to the mask, the elevator, the plane, the second mask. It’s like the process of getting dressed is my mind’s way of finding order in chaos, in stabilizing my mind that keeps trying to go off the deep end.

  Finally, I grab my purse and slip it over my shoulder. I still can’t get over the fact that whoever did this brought me and my suitcase to my own apartment. It’s like I’m in the twilight zone. One thing I grow more confident in is that York didn’t do this. York wouldn’t bring my suitcase back and he wouldn’t just leave. He’d stay to taunt me. My brother wanted me back here. My brother did this. Randall probably did this for my brother, and then that pervert undressed me. I glance at the clock. It’s nine in the morning, but I don’t know what day of the week it is. How long have I been knocked out? I think it’s Sunday. I just can’t know for sure.

  I hurry for the front door, grab a light black jacket from the coatrack, and shrug into it before I remove the chair from the knob and exit my apartment. I don’t waste time trying to lock a broken door. I head downstairs to the lobby where people in suits and dress clothes bustle around. At the security desk, I corner a fifty-something guard named Jimmie who has been around for years. “What day of the week is it?”

  He frowns and looks confused. “What?”

  “Just answer, Jimmie,” I press.

  “Monday.”

  “Right. That’s right. Monday would make sense. That means I was only out overnight. I need to use a phone.”

  “Ah. Yeah. Sure.” He hands me his cellphone. Not what I expect but okay. “I’ll pay you five hundred dollars if I can use this for the day. Mine is broken, and I have an emergency.”

  “Take it, Emma. You don’t need to pay me.”

  I don’t argue. “Thank you, Jimmie. I’ll make good on the five hundred dollars. And my lock is broken on my front door. Can you replace it?”

  “Of course. Right away.”

  “Thank you again,” I say, already turning away from him.

  I exit the building and dial Jax. He doesn’t answer, which forces me to leave a message. “It’s Emma. I don’t know what happened. I woke up in my apartment. I was drugged. Or I do know what happened. A man in a mask happened. Just—call me. My phone is missing. I paid the security guard at my apartment for this one.”

  I hang up and don’t ask me how, but I remember Savage’s number. Funny thing how being nearly pushed to your death makes you remember the Jolly Green Giant bodyguard’s number. I get his voicemail, too. I leave a similar message. Next is Smith. His number was only two digits off from Savage’s and thankfully, I remember that, and thankfully, Smith answers. “This is Smith.”

  “Thank God. Smith, it’s Emma.” I step under the overhang beside a coffee shop next to my building.

  “Emma. Thank God is right. What is going on? Where are you?”

  “San Francisco,” I say, “and not of my own free will. I can’t reach Jax. I need Jax.”

  “He’s in the air. He had a feeling you were there. He’s coming for you with Savage. What the hell does not of your own free will mean?”

  “Jax is coming here for me?”

  “Yes. Of course. That man loves the hell out of you. He’s losing his damn mind. Now, talk to me and quickly. What does not of your own free will mean?”

  He loves the hell out of me. I want to linger on that statement, but I force myself to push past it and tell Smith what I know. “A man with a mask shoved a syringe in my arm and then I woke up in my own bed. I thought York kidnapped me, because—because I was naked when I woke up. But then, my suitcase is here and that doesn’t feel like something York would bother with.” I start thinking out loud, putting together facts. “And my front door lock was broken. Like they broke in to get me inside but how did they get past security? My brother could but he wouldn’t undress me but Randall might and my brother could have gotten him past security.”

  “York is in jail, Emma. He was arrested three days ago. Some of the women involved in his sex parties were underage. With the help of the police, we questioned him. We don’t think he was involved.”

  A mix of relief and anger surges inside me. “I was right. It’s my brother. That bastard. That asshole. And he let Randall undress me? What kind of brother does that? I need to go.”

  “Do not hang up that phone.”

  “Smith. I need to see my brother. Tell Jax to call me on this phone. I don’t have my phone or my MacBook. And tell him that I really—I—I love—no. Tell him that I just want to see him. Okay?”

  “Wait where you are, and I’ll have a man come to you.”

  “I’m going to my office. He can meet me there.” I hang up.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Emma

  Smith tries to call me back, and I want to decline, but I don’t want to worry Jax. I take the call. “I’ll stay at the office until Jax arrives. I promise.”

  “Wait for one of my men to find you. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

  “My brother is what we’re dealing with.”

  “The one who might have killed Hunter?”

  “We don’t know that,” I snap.

  “We don’t know,” he agrees. “Exactly why you don’t need to be out there alone.”

  “Have you talked to Jax?”

  “Turns out my information was wrong. He was stuck circling the airport for hours because of the storms that just passed through, but apparently, he landed in Oakland, showered and changed in the airport first-class lounge, and got on a chopper there, right before you called. He’s in that chopper now. He’ll be on the ground and with you soon.”

  “Okay. Good. Really good. I need to see him. And, just tell him—”

  “I will. Where are you?”

  “I can’t walk into my brother’s office with Jax or Walker Security. He won’t talk freely.”

  “And you think he’s really going to talk at all?”

  “There’s more of a chance with me alone than otherwise,” I argue. “I’ll record him like I did York.”

  “Just let us get eyes on you. No one will know we’re there.”

  “Fine,” I say, considering the fact that I’m dizzy and queasy, and I don’t think I’ve eaten in a very long time. I need food. I have to eat, or I’m going to pass out. That’s not a condition to be in while confronting your good-for-nothing brother who might have killed the brother you didn’t even really know. I spy a street sign and give Smith my cross streets. I also spy a street vendor. “I’m going to get some nuts and some water. How soon can your man be here?”

  “Before you finish the nuts and water, I already sent him in your direction. I’ll text you when he has eyes on you.”

  “Thank you, Smith.”

  “Just stay alert.”

  “I am. Or I will be after I eat.”

  We disconnect, and I hurry to the street vendor
and buy a bag of nuts and some water. I then lean on a building wall and stuff them down so fast I’m not sure they’re digestible. Water guzzling follows. Great. Now I need to pee. My dramatic confrontation is going like crap. I walk to the McDonald’s I spy across the street and go to the bathroom. I’m just stepping onto the street when Smith calls yet again.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “McDonald’s. I had to pee.”

  “Stay there,” he all but growls.

  “I’m stepping out front now,” I say, “and it’s only now, feeling steadier on my feet, that I realize it’s cold and overcast.

  “Hold on,” Smith says, and there’s silence on the line for about twenty seconds. “Okay, he’s got eyes on you. I’d prefer you wait for Jax and talk to him before you do what you’re about to do, but I know I can’t stop you.”

  “Especially not now that I ate. I’m feeling better.”

  “Be careful, Emma.”

  “He’s my brother, Smith. He’s not going to hurt me.”

  “Don’t be flippant Emma or I swear—”

  “I’m not. I’ll be careful.” I hang up and start walking, replaying the events of last night, trying to remember anything that tells me who did this. Obviously, my brother and Randall didn’t get into the castle. They hired someone and that means someone who knew the castle. But no one, including Jax, seemed to even know about the elevator working. It makes no sense unless—it must have been Echo. He’d know the castle. He’d know things even Jax might not know about the castle. He was there as an adult all the years Jax was a kid.

  I dial Smith. “What about Echo? Did we find him?”

  “He’s a ghost. The only logical explanations are either he’s dead and buried, or he left by water where there wouldn’t be cameras.”

  “He’d know the castle to get to me.”

  “Good point.”

  “And Jax’s mother. Anything?”