The Protector

by Cristin Harber

  Awkwardly, Jane moved Gigi’s underwear to her bed. It wasn’t organized, but for now, that wasn’t her problem. She took a seat and waited for Dax to look up. He didn’t until she cleared her throat.

  Reluctantly, he put his phone away. “You sure you don’t want a drink?”

  Jeez. “No.”

  He stood and paced. Each tight revolution seemed to amp him up, reminding Jane of football players psyching themselves up before a big game. This is what Dax did. It was as though he craved adrenaline so much that he called upon it constantly—most recently, in family meetings. He curled his hands into fists, clenching and unclenching with exaggerated movements. Tendons strained in his neck as his cheeks grew darker.

  “Dax, are you okay?”

  He pivoted like a sumo wrestler. His jaw flexed, his nostrils flared. Jane pushed against the back of her chair. She’d never been the sole focus of his adrenaline-driven mania before.

  “Dax?” Fear broke in her voice. “You’re scaring me.”

  He bounced on his toes, and his lips pulled back, revealing teeth sealed tightly together. Through clenched teeth, he managed, “Should’ve drunk your drink.”

  He lunged. Two hundred pounds pinned Jane to the couch. She thrashed and kicked. His hand covered her face, forcing a cloth over her nose and mouth.

  She gasped and choked. Her muscles weakened. Jane prayed for strength. She needed to kick and claw. The room spun. She closed her eyes, fighting the room’s awful tilt as the ceiling and the floor played hopscotch.

  “Breath,” Dax cooed.

  She battled the snowfall of psychedelic trails until her arms and legs were too heavy to lift. Dax floated back, kneeling next to her and staring as though she were important but worthless. Jane couldn’t move. He pushed her chin up and closed her gaping mouth. Jane tried but couldn’t part her lips again.

  “You’ve done your job,” he whispered reverently. “I promise. This won’t hurt.”

  Slowly, the edges of the world bled black and fuzzy and quiet.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  The lights were on, but no one was home. Chance returned to his truck. He’d parked in front of Courtney’s Kalorama home and, no doubt, any moment now, someone would call the cops on him if he continued to lurk. Maybe they already had and Titan Group had rerouted the calls.

  Once again, he double-checked the address that Parker had given him. It matched the address number on the bronze mailbox at the foot of the double stairs. Chance called back to Parker’s IT lair.

  “Status update?” Jared barked instead of Parker’s affable hello.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not much to share.”

  “Damn these Thanes. Always causing problems.”

  “To be fair—”

  “I don’t give a donkey’s crap about fair.”

  Chance shifted. Perspiration dampened the back of his neck. The stuffy air in his truck did him no favors as the night seemed to warm. Between that and Boss Man barking at him, he’d have preferred to get out of his truck. But if he hadn’t scared the neighbors yet, he didn’t want Jared’s booming growl to do the trick. “She didn’t know I was coming.”

  “She would’ve if she’d answered the phone.”

  Courtney Thane had to be the polar opposite of her brother. She shied away from the pomp her family’s wealth could bring, she stayed offline, and, apparently, didn’t answer her phone after eight at night. “We’re sure she’s in DC?”

  “Yeah, we’re sure.” Then, not to Chance, Jared demanded, “We’re sure she’s in DC?”

  “Affirmative,” Parker supplied in the background.

  Headlights turned onto the street. It didn’t see a lot of traffic. None of which had slowed like this Mercedes was now. Chance squinted to see the driver. Definitely a woman, but despite the glowing streetlights, her shadowed profile wouldn’t allow him to identify Courtney Thane. “What do you have on a dark silver Mercedes. Tags—” He checked his sideview mirror. The orange turn signal blinked. “It’s her. Gotta go.”

  The Mercedes disappeared into the alley. He hung up and jumped out of the truck, giving her thirty seconds to drive down the alley, wait for the gate, then pull into her garage.

  He bounded up the stairs again and waited for a thirty count. Through the decorative, clear glass panes along the door, Chance didn’t see movement.

  Forty seconds passed. Then fifty. After a full minute, he wondered if she’d spotted him lurking. He pulled out his phone and tried her cell phone number again. No answer. Just like his and Titan’s calls before. Damn it.

  Seemingly far from the front foyer, a light turned out. Then another. Courtney had finally made it inside and was apparently on her way to bed. He knocked. No answer. The last of the first-floor lights turned out. Then she moved slowly into the hall.

  Chance knocked again, wishing he’d thought to bring night-vision goggles. What was she waiting for? Hesitantly, she stepped closer until he was certain she was at the peephole.

  “I work for your brother,” Chance called loud enough to penetrate the heavy wood door. But, that revelation didn’t gain him entry. Though, why would it? Her brother was batshit crazy and, according to Jane, Courtney Thane knew it. “My name is Chance Evans. I work for the security company employed by your brother,” he tried again, “Titan Group.”

  “If you don’t leave,” her whisper floated from an unseen intercom speaker. “I’ll summon the police.”

  “For all the waiting I’ve done, they’re probably on their way.”

  “What do you want?”

  He ran a hand over his face, not sure what would convince her to open the door. “A conversation about Dax and Gigi.”

  “No.”

  “It’s important. If you would check your phone. My boss has been reaching out to you.”

  She didn’t respond.

  Maybe Chance should’ve watched Teddy, and Jane could have come for Courtney instead. “You have to trust me.”

  Waiting for her felt like years. Finally, she added, “I don’t.”

  Chance had hoped the delays meant she’d been checking her phone. “It’s about Teddy.”

  She didn’t answer. He continued to wait, mentally willing her to open the door. No dice. She must’ve gone to bed. He dropped his head back—the door cracked open.

  His chin snapped down then his stomach dropped. Courtney clutched her phone while holding a sleeping little boy to her chest.

  “Teddy…” Chance couldn’t breathe. “What’s going on?”

  “I listened to the voicemails,” she replied, not lessening his growing panic. “Your name again?”

  “Chance Evans.”

  Courtney narrowed her eyes but stepped back. “Come in and close the door. I’m going to put him to bed.”

  Chance wanted to steamroll her with questions but bit his tongue and agreed with a lift of his chin. He locked the door, then walked into a formal living room. Leather-bound books lined the walls—and toys lined the floor. In the corner, an art easel waited to be used again, while a row of Teddy’s artwork lined the windowsill, haphazardly taped in place like the little boy had been allowed to do it himself.

  His heart raced as he walked farther in. Wood furniture gleamed, no less beautiful under a pile of coloring books. The sofa and couches matched, upholstered in dark blue silk, but they looked comfortable and, dare he think it, well-used.

  Carefully, Chance lowered himself onto the couch. It was comfortable, and though he was still alarmed, he felt a sense of unpretentious comfort.

  Courtney returned, folding her arms over her chest. She stayed at the edge of the living room, wary. Chance wasn’t certain of everything that made her cautious, but he didn’t want to be on that list. “I apologize for barging in on you.”

  “It’s been one of those nights.”

  He swallowed hard and pressed his hands to his knees—but stopped himself from rising. He wanted her to trust him, and without more than a few voicemails and messages, he was on s
haky ground. “How much did my boss say?”

  “Enough to allow you in the door.”

  His heart raced. “Is Teddy okay?”

  “I need a glass of water.” She nudged her head and left. “Would you like one, too?”

  “All right,” he said, on her heels.

  Courtney filled two glasses with tap water and gestured for him to sit at the table. “You’re the one who bedded Gigi?”

  He cringed. Jane had warned him that Courtney didn’t pull punches. But the thought of touching Gigi made his stomach roil. “I’m the guy they’d like you to think bedded Gigi.”

  Courtney regarded him carefully, then handed him the glass of water. She sat in the chair across the table and set hers down, untouched.

  “Before I jump into everything. I need to know.” His pulsed raced. “Why do you have Teddy?”

  “My brother and his wife are off on another trip and their nanny called in sick.”

  Fuck. He needed to speak with Jane immediately. “Excuse me a second. I need to make a call—”

  With the razor-tipped edge of an ice-cold stare, Courtney denied him. “Sit down.”

  His jaw clenched until white spots danced in his vision. Alarm and terror seesawed in his chest. If Chance didn’t speak with Jane soon, he’d explode. But if he didn’t listen to Courtney, he’d lose valuable intel and a possible ally. Agitated, he took a seat.

  “What urgent conversation demanded phone calls from the Titan Group and a visit from Gigi’s—” She stopped herself. “A visit from their security personnel.”

  Chance didn’t know where to start. “We’re concerned—”

  “Concerned?” Courtney massaged her temples. “What are you going to tell me that I don’t already know? My brother’s a manic asshole? His wife’s a self-centered bitch? They’re hopelessly addicted to attention the way some junkies crave a needle? I know.” Her hands dropped to the table, and she couldn’t hide her exhaustion. “Trust me, I know.”

  “I left their house after dinner with Jane and Teddy. She wasn’t ill. If she got sick, she would’ve called me.” He leaned forward. “Jane’s the reason I came to find you. She’s scared for Teddy. But, since Teddy’s here? I’m scared for her.”

  Courtney’s eyebrows drew together. She tapped the pad of her index finger along the table as her wheels turned.

  “Dax and Gigi had left,” Chance emphasized. “They didn’t know I was home with Jane and Teddy.”

  Courtney’s finger tapped faster. “Call Jane.”

  Chance laid the phone in the center of the table and called, pressing the speakerphone button. A flash of her contact picture—a selfie of them—flashed before the first ring. Courtney lifted her gaze to him, but she didn’t question the way Chance had held Jane.

  Voicemail picked up. He gripped the edge of the table as he listened to her recorded message. “Hey, MP. It’s important you call me back.” He ended the call and shot off a text message with the same request.

  “You didn’t say where you were,” Courtney pointed out.

  “I don’t know why she’s not answering the phone.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “They took Teddy from her—”

  “Their nanny.”

  “Who’s not sick.” His mind had a hundred nightmare scenarios in queue. “We both know they’re crazy.”

  Courtney rubbed her temples again. “But how crazy…”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Slowly Jane came to. Her head ached. Voices swirled around her; she could almost see them tumbling across her vision and she couldn’t decipher which word meant what. A meaningless rush of familiar sounds.

  Her tongue felt as though it didn’t fit in her mouth, her cheeks like they’d been air dried in a dentist’s chair. She couldn’t swallow. Her dry throat wouldn’t allow it. Just like her eyes wouldn’t stay open.

  Jane tried to roll over but couldn’t. She had no feeling in her limbs nor strength in her neck to lift her head. Had she died? Jane didn’t think death would give her such a painful headache.

  So, not dead. Not awake. She was too tired to care.

  Unable to sleep, bits of memory teased the edges of her mind. Chance made her happy. Teddy made her…worry. A cold prickle of panic tingled at the back of her neck. Why did she worry for Teddy?

  “This is killing me,” Gigi’s theatrical cry rang clearly and broke through Jane’s fog.

  Yet Jane still couldn’t move. But she could hear—and remember. Memory upon memory came into focus and zoomed away as though she were watching a slide show. The reporter and the damning pictures. Chance explaining the truth. She whimpered, recalling how Dax pressed a caustic cloth over her face.

  Though her eyes were closed, she sensed someone approach. Jane lay perfectly still, scared to take a breath.

  “Did she make a noise?” Lark leaned close on Jane’s right.

  “I thought I heard something also.” Gigi lifted Jane’s wrist and dropped it.

  Helpless to control her body, her arm bounced to her side. Jane couldn’t have moved it on her own if she wanted to.

  “There’s nothing to hear. She’s not waking up,” Dax said.

  “I know,” Gigi muttered. “But this is a lot of work—”

  “Think of all the shopping you can do.” Lark moved away. “Think of the media bookers that will want your story on their shows.”

  Jane’s ears burned. She still couldn’t move and didn’t understand. Where was she? And what were those sounds?

  “What about this?” Lark asked.

  “Yes!” Dax cheered. “Throw it against the wall.”

  “Do not throw that against the wall,” Gigi cried. “At least not until we’re ready to leave. A little Chanel is fine. A bottle soaking in the carpet?” She gagged. “I won’t stick around.”

  “How much more should we do?” Dax asked. “Everything?”

  Both women hummed in contemplation. Jane moved her pinky finger. Her ability to orient herself came back to her in spurts. She could feel fabric under her palms and, minutes after Lark had been by Jane’s side, the tilting sensation of her crawling close—on a bed—came back. It was as if her senses were on a delay.

  Jane opened an eye. Her headache throbbed. She could see, but that didn’t matter. Nothing registered yet. Her other eye opened. If she could’ve winced she would have. The lights weren’t bright but they stabbed into her eyes—she almost knew where she was. The familiar location was on the tip of her tongue—the Thanes’s bedroom. She was in their bed.

  The sound of rips and tears mixed with the clicks of wooden hangers tangling. Jane could stretch her fingers. Her fingernails dug into the comforter.

  “Remember this one?” Gigi called. “I wore it to the Met.”

  Dax laughed. “It looks like a trash bag with sequins.”

  “It is a trash bag with sequins,” she agreed.

  Jane tilted her chin and squinted toward the voices. With a knife in one hand and the dress in the other, Gigi stabbed and sliced her bag dress until it looked like it had been used to capture clawed animals.

  Jane opened her eyes wider. Dax, Gigi, and Lark worked diligently through Gigi’s clothing. They cut, tore, and shredded. Why?

  More confused, panic pressed on Jane’s chest. Her fear and lucidness came in bursts. She clenched her fingers, wriggled her toes. Jane fought the stranglehold that had paralyzed her. The pounding headache worsened. Jane wanted to vomit. Instead, she opened and closed her fists.

  One by one, her muscles returned to her control, but she wouldn’t make a move until she could run. Jane managed movement in her right leg, but not her left. She couldn’t do anything with her arms beyond her wrist. Carefully, she tested her neck’s range of motion. She froze, staring at the nightstand. A vodka bottle and container of cranberry juice were lined up next to a row of Gigi’s Xanax bottles.

  “Where’s that pencil skirt I hate?” Gigi asked.

  “On the bed?” Lark suggested.

  Jane closed her eyes and retur
ned to her original position as best she could.

  “No, never mind. I already did that one.”

  “I think we’re almost finished,” Lark said.

  Dax’s heavy footsteps crossed the room. He opened a closet and returned, dropping something next to Jane’s head. He cackled. “I haven’t used this thing since that IPO went buck wild.”

  Gigi groaned, muttering, “Don’t forget, you got sick for days.”

  Jane cracked her eyes when Dax walked away. A red funnel connected to a long plastic tube laid on the pillow next to her. A beer funnel.

  Jane’s clarity came in one astonishingly calm second. The slashed clothes. The liquor, pills, and funnel. If it would have done any good, she would have screamed. They were going to kill her and the story would tell itself. The brokenhearted nanny who lost her handsome boyfriend to the billionaire beauty drowned herself in booze, ending it all in a jealous, newsworthy rage.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  How crazy are Dax and Gigi…? The question might haunt Chance for the rest of his life. It was certainly on repeat as he pressed the gas pedal and sped out of DC. When he and Courtney couldn’t answer that question, they’d known the answer. Their next call had been to Jared.

  Boss Man had answered on the first ring. He didn’t question their combined situational assessment and conclusion: Jane was in danger. No one had seen that coming, but that would be another thing that would haunt Chance.

  Outside of National Airport, they could land a helicopter in DC without the risk of scrambling military fighter jets. Between Jared and Courtney and their fleet of helicopters, they promised Chance they’d get him in the air faster than he could drive to the Thanes’s. All he had to do was cross into Virginia. By the time he got there, they would know who had the closer chopper with the shorter preflight checklist.

  Chance rounded the corner of the highway, passing under the Virginia is for Lovers welcome sign. His phone rang; the Bluetooth speakers picked the call up as he sped by the Pentagon. “Yeah?”

  “Pull onto the left shoulder and stop,” Jared ordered.