by Layne, Ivy
Alice waited in the kitchen, running a towel under cold water.
“Come here. Let me see your fingers. You tore a knuckle when you hit him.”
I raised my hand. She was right. I hadn't even noticed. I let her clean the blood off my skin, absorbing the feel of her soft, strong hands, so much smaller than mine, yet just as capable.
“You okay?” I asked. Alice laughed.
“The question is are you okay? That was a hell of a lot to get hit with in the middle of the night.”
“Yeah, well, that's Maxwell. Could you hear his story from the kitchen?”
“I heard enough. He never said what he's doing here.”
“I can guess,” I said. “He's run out of options. And maybe, possibly, he’s thinking about somebody other than himself.”
“You have a little sister,” Alice said with wonder in her voice. She dropped the wet towel on the counter, and I pulled her into my arms, needing the comfort of her body against me.
“I have a little sister.” The thought left me reeling. “We just have to figure out what we’re going to do with her.”
“Before that,” Alice said, “we have to figure out what we’re going to do with Maxwell.”
Maxwell strode back in, the grief wiped from his eyes, his smile all charm. “So, you two. Wondered how long that would take.”
Alice stiffened but said nothing, giving him her stoniest stare. I followed her lead and ignored him. I wanted to take another swing at him for daring to comment after all he'd done to keep us apart, but I stayed where I was, my arm firmly around Alice.
The silence grew more uncomfortable with every passing second. Maxwell shifted his weight and opened his mouth, but I got there first.
“Petra asleep?”
“It's been a long day,” he said in answer.
“I bet. Do you want a beer? Whiskey?”
“Whiskey,” Maxwell said with another flash of that charming smile. His charm had worn off on me long ago.
“Sit. I’ll get you a drink and we’ll talk.” I raised an eyebrow at Alice, and she answered with a quiet, “Yes, please.”
Maxwell sat in the middle of the couch, knees spread wide, taking up as much space as possible. He should know better than to think his power plays would do any good here. He’d raised me with this crap.
Alice perched on the arm of the chair opposite the couch, waiting for me. I delivered my father's whiskey and sat, handing Alice her own glass. Her free hand closed over my shoulder, a show of solidarity.
Taking a sip of my whiskey, I gave my father an assessing stare. “What’s your plan? I know you didn't come back here without one.”
“Things are a little hot right now. Petra needs to stay with you. Here. Where she’s safe. I can't lose her like I did her mother.”
If that was a bid for sympathy, Maxwell had the wrong audience.
“Petra can stay as long as she wants. You're staying, too.”
Maxwell lifted his chin, a hard look in his eyes. Just as I'd guessed. He wasn't planning to stick around, just wanted to dump his kid and run. I had no issue with keeping Petra. Hell, if he tried to take her, I'd stop him.
That little girl was my sister. She deserved better than to be dragged all over the world fleeing the man who'd killed her mother.
“It's time to stop running, Maxwell,” I said.
My father stared back, nonplussed, his impermeable veneer undamaged as if my words had bounced right off.
He shook his head with a wry smile I knew was an act, as was the smooth sip of whiskey before he spoke. “I can’t come back, Cooper. Surely, you can see that. I’m sure as hell not going to spend the rest of my life sitting behind a desk.”
I barked out a laugh, the amusement taking me by surprise. “Agreed. You're not coming back to the company. Ever. There’s no place for you at Sinclair Security.”
I expected to feel something as the words left my mouth. Guilt. Pain. I felt a twinge of regret, but that was it. Maxwell had made his choices. Much like our mother, Maxwell’s family had never been on his list of priorities. Not really. Like Lacey, he only cared about us when we served his interests.
We’d busted our asses to make the company what it was today, and now his bullshit with Andrei Tsepov put everything we’d built at risk. If it came out that Maxwell Sinclair was the subject of an FBI investigation into his ties to a mob boss we’d lose every one of our high-profile clients.
We needed to work with the FBI or we’d lose everything. My father didn't give a shit about that. I didn't care. He was going to cooperate whether he liked it or not.
“I'd argue with you, boy, but I'm done with the company. You can buy me out and have the whole thing. I just need you to keep an eye on your sister while I settle things with Andrei.” He slugged back the rest of his whiskey and made to stand.
“I don't think so,” I said putting my own glass on the side table. Alice's hand fell on my shoulder and squeezed, a silent message of support. I leaned into her for a second before bracing my forearms on my knees.
“Move one inch, and I’ll put you on the ground.”
Maxwell froze for a second before settling back into the cushions as if he’d never intended to get up. Time to lay out some truths.
“First, we will not be buying you out of Sinclair Security. You’re dead. Your ownership share was divided among the four of us as directed in your will. Unless you want to go through the legal process of coming back to life. I’m sure Agent Holley can help with that.”
His face blanched as the ramifications of being dead hit home. There was no way he could take that risk unless he cooperated. Not that we’d give him back the company even if he did cooperate with the FBI. I’d see him in court first.
“My father founded that company,” he protested.
“And you almost destroyed it. You still might. Who do you think Grandpa would want in charge? You or his grandsons?” I barely paused. We both knew the answer to that question, and it wasn’t Maxwell.
“Here’s what's going to happen now, Dad. You're going downstairs to the safe house with Mom. The whole building is secured and under guard. No one gets in and no one gets out without my approval. Everyone on guard is authorized to use force on anyone who moves without clearance. In the morning, we’re going to call Agent Holley. You will work out an arrangement with him that is satisfactory.”
“Satisfactory? For who? Me or the FBI?”
“For the FBI,” I answered, inwardly shaking my head. I reiterated, “Satisfactory for the FBI. And in case you don't understand, satisfactory means that the FBI will not be pressing charges against me, Axel, Knox, Evers, or Mom as accessories to your long history of criminal behavior in coordination with the Tsepov empire. You will give them whatever you need to to get the rest of us off the hook. Do you understand?”
“You might as well pin a target on my back, Cooper.”
“That's not my problem.”
“You’d throw your old man to the wolves like that? You’re asking me to inform to the FBI, to hand them Tsepov. You might as well put a gun to my head.”
“What do you think you did to us when you stole his money and ran? You took your girlfriend and you left us at the mercy of the fucking mob. You left Mom at the mercy of the mob. Did you know they broke into her condo? Took pictures of her sleeping to scare us into getting their money back?
“And Andrei is a fucking moron. At least when his uncle was in charge we were dealing with a professional. He almost killed Alice and Adam at Knox's house by accident. He shot Smokey Winters and left him to bleed to death.
“This whole shit-storm is your fault, and not only could you take down the business, we could all end up in jail as accessories.”
“Holley knows you boys aren’t involved,” my father said in a weak protest.
“That doesn’t matter,”
I shot back. “He might believe us, but you used the company to run protection for Tsepov’s deliveries which makes us accessories anyway. But you don't give a shit about that. I guess we should count ourselves lucky you care enough about our little sister to get her somewhere safe before you take off again.”
I hated the anger in my voice. I wanted to be cold, ruthless and unemotional. I wanted to be ice. Instead, that pure rage was back, the flames burning hot.
“You're my son,” Maxwell blustered. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“Where's the money, Dad?”
“What money?”
I gritted my teeth, losing patience. My hand fisted at my side. If not for Alice’s presence beside me, her fingers curled over my shoulder, I might have launched myself out of the chair and planted my fist in his smug face.
“Don't fuck with me, Dad. Where's the goddamn money?”
My father looked at me through eyes I knew as well as my own. I could see the calculation there as he weighed and measured his answer before he said, “It's gone.”
“Bullshit. That's bullshit, but fine.”
Maxwell and I stared at each other, the silence in the room a lead weight. I knew exactly what he was thinking, knew he was already working out a plan to make a clean getaway from his family, the FBI, and Andrei Tsepov. Then he could ride off into the sunset, his pockets stuffed with his stolen cash and the rest of us holding the bag.
Not this time.
He must have read me right, must have known I wasn't going to let him go anywhere because he sat back, all charming smiles again. “Okay. Okay, kid, we'll play it your way. I'll go downstairs and make nice with your mom. We'll see about tomorrow. But listen, don't tell your mom about Petra.”
Disgusted, I agreed. At the thought of how my mother would react if she found out my father's love child was stashed one floor above— Nope, not going there.
Petra was three. My mother was confined to her apartment. How hard could it be to keep them apart?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Alice
We were just finishing breakfast when Cooper's phone rang. He looked at the screen, his jaw going tight before he stabbed at the answer button and said, “Hey, man. You're on speaker. Alice is here.”
“Hate to bug you so early,” came Griffen's familiar voice, “but we just nabbed your dad trying to leave the building. I hit him with the Taser—clean shot in the leg. I’ve got him in the holding room. What do you want me to do with him?”
“Fuck,” Cooper swore, but it was halfhearted. I didn't have to ask to know he'd been expecting this. “Keep him there. I already messaged Agent Holley. I was going to call him as soon as we finish breakfast. Do me a favor?”
“Anything, Coop.”
“Call my brothers and tell them to meet me in the conference room in an hour and thirty.”
“On it. Anything else?”
“Yeah, how do you feel about doing a little shopping?” Cooper looked up at me, the lighthearted glint in his eye warming me from the inside.
“Shopping for what?” Griffen asked warily.
“My dad didn’t come alone.”
“Shit. Who did he bring?”
“My little sister.”
A long pause. “Holeeee shit. How old?”
“Three. And typical of Dad, she showed up with her pajamas, a stuffed rabbit, and not much else. I don't know what the fuck we’re going to do with Maxwell, but he's not taking off with my sister. Not with Tsepov on his trail.”
Cooper looked up at me in question. “Do you mind, Alice? Can you go with Griffen and get her sorted out?”
I answered, “Of course,” at the same time Griffen offered, “Let me call Lily, see if she can come with us. If anybody knows what a little kid needs, it's Lily. Better than the rest of us.”
“Great idea,” I said in relief. I was happy to hit the stores and set Petra up with whatever she needed, but beyond clothes, I had no clue.
Knox's girlfriend Lily was mom to five-year-old Adam, the boy I’d shot Tsepov’s man to protect. Lily was great—not a surprise since Knox was too cool to hook up with anyone who wasn’t. Lily would know exactly what we needed for Petra.
As Cooper nailed down the details and got off the phone with Griffen, the subject of our conversation came wandering into the kitchen clutching her bedraggled stuffed rabbit. Petra looked lost and confused, but not scared. Not yet.
Her eyes landed on Cooper and she picked up speed, her little feet covering the distance between the hallway and the kitchen faster than I would have guessed. She was small and slight, but she was quick.
Petra reached Cooper and closed her small hand around the fine wool of his suit pants. She tugged, lifting her other arm to reach for him, the bunny dangling from her tightly clenched fingers.
Neither of us had any experience with kids, but her request was unmistakable. Cooper leaned down and picked her up, settling her on his hip. Her eyes drooping, still half-asleep, she laid her head on his shoulder. In her light, clear voice she asked, “Daddy?”
Cooper rubbed a hand over her back in comfort. “Your daddy had to go to work. Alice and I are here. Do you want to go out with Alice? Get some clothes and toys?”
Petra’s dark eyebrows raised at the mention of toys, but she snuggled deeper into Cooper’s shoulder. “Hungry,” she mumbled, her eyes still only half-open.
“We’ll make you breakfast,” he promised, moving his hand over her back. Her eyes slid shut, and I thought she might have fallen back to sleep.
Cooper's voice low, he said, “I'll give you my credit card. Get whatever she needs. Long-term, not just for the next week or so.”
I looked at the little girl holding on to Cooper, my heart melting and twisting with worry at the same time. What was it about a tough guy holding a little kid that was so sexy? If I could have blinked Petra back into her bedroom, I might have jumped him right there.
Sexiness aside, did he really know what long-term meant? I thought he did. He'd said he wasn't letting Maxwell put Petra in danger. Knowing Maxwell, I couldn't imagine he was truly interested in being a parent to this little girl. Not now that he’d dumped her on Cooper.
Regardless, Cooper didn't look like he planned to let her go.
“Are you sure?” I asked, aware that Petra looked asleep but might be listening to every word.
Cooper reached out with his free hand and wove his fingers through mine, pulling me to his side. His eyes fixed on me, a question lurking in their depths, he said, “She’s my sister. I’m sure. Are you okay with that? We haven’t talked about—”
“I'm okay with it.” The words shot out before I could think, but I didn't regret them.
I knew she was Maxwell's daughter, but seeing her in Cooper's arms, her dark head tucked against his shoulder, she might have been his. In the secret part of my heart, I’d imagined a little girl that looked like Cooper, and here she was, flesh and blood.
The logical part of my brain protested. This little girl was going to need full-time care. She needed parents. Is that what we wanted? Cooper was a workaholic. So was I. I had my classes and my friends. Cooper traveled for work.
I’d always pictured a life with children, but that was the fuzzy, distant future. Petra was here now.
I took in the curve of her cheek, flushed with sleep, the fan of dark lashes against her skin. So innocent. Far too vulnerable.
Was I going to tell this little girl she was inconvenient? That she wasn’t part of my plans?
Were children ever convenient? Even when you'd planned for them?
I had a feeling the answer was No.
I decided to worry about all of that later. For now, Petra needed a sense of stability. She needed affection and care. Food and clean clothes. I may not know what long-term meant, not yet, but I’d happily handle affection and care.
/>
Cooper glanced at the clock over the stove. “I have to get downstairs. Are you okay with her this morning? I can—”
“I’m good. Give her to me. I'll get her some breakfast. When you get downstairs, check with Maxwell and see if he has a bag for her. I can take her shopping in her pajamas but—”
Something occurred to me, and I reached up to tug at the back of her pajama pants. As I'd expected, she was wearing a diaper or a pull-up or something. Not potty-trained.
“At the least, she probably needs a new pull-up or whatever before we go out.”
Cooper transferred the sleeping toddler from his arms to mine, and she resettled herself against me, nestling her head in the hollow between my neck and collarbone, eyes open but still drowsy.
Cooper pressed a soft kiss to my mouth, both of us aware of Petra taking it all in. He reached out to run the back of a finger up and down her soft cheek before promising, “I'll see you later, Petra, okay?”
She nodded, reaching out to tap his chin with her fingertip. “Look like Daddy.”
Something burned in Cooper's eyes as he caught her finger in his and shook it in a jiggling motion that made her giggle. “I look like your daddy because I'm your big brother. And you’re my little sister.”
Petra looked up at him, uncomprehending. There was a sweetness to her that was a miracle considering Maxwell had been her primary caregiver for the last six months. I had to wonder about the poor girl who’d been her mother.
My bet was that Mila had loved her little girl, had given her as much as she could in the short time they had together. Cooper pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, dropped another on my cheek, and left.
I wished he could stay. I had no idea what I was doing with a three-year-old, but whatever happened with Petra, it was going to be better than what Cooper was walking into.
He and his brothers may have found Maxwell, but holding onto him was another matter altogether.
Petra patted my cheek with her open palm to get my attention. When I looked down into those familiar ice-blue eyes, she said, “Hungry. Beffast?”