The Ambush

by M. S. Parker

  Any way we go, it'll hurt, I thought.

  I stood behind the kitchen door and watched her go to the refrigerator. As hungry as I was, the cook was in the kitchen, and even though I was new on staff, I knew better than to disturb her. The stern-faced woman had a nasty habit of gesturing with knives and other sharp kitchen implements. Leighton, on the other hand, got a free pass, and not only because she was the privileged granddaughter.

  “French toast,” Shandra said, jabbing a sharp finger in the air at Leighton.

  “With peanut butter,” Leighton said.

  They faced off, and Shandra was the first to break. She smiled widely and brushed Leighton out of the way. Leighton kissed her cheek, something I didn't believe any other creature on earth would dare to do. She grabbed a bottle of water before sitting down. At least she was going to rehydrate herself.

  I leaned against the doorframe, not wanting to disturb either woman, but unable to take my eyes off of Leighton. I rarely got to see her like this. She'd wiped away all her make-up, left her short, flame red curls wild. She wore jeans and a white tank top with a loose cotton scarf around her neck. The infinity scarf's blue to blue ombre caught the exact shade of her eyes. She was just as beautiful now as she had been in her party clothes last night, but I liked her better now.

  At the party, she'd held her head high, her chin jutting out in a way that added defiance to her beauty. Now, idly watching the cook beat eggs into a froth, Leighton held herself differently, softer.

  “Don't forget the cinnamon,” Leighton said.

  The comment teased instead of commanded, and I watched in awe as Shandra smiled again, a phenomenon I'd never seen before.

  “I haven't forgotten the cinnamon once since you were a little girl. What makes you think I'm going to this morning?”

  Leighton tipped her head instead of tossing it, a smile playing on her lips. “Old age?”

  “I wouldn't trade with you,” Shandra said as she turned to the stovetop.

  That was it, I thought. The reason Leighton was so at ease was because Shandra didn't want anything Leighton had.

  Every day, she faced people who wished they had her money, her clothes, her hair color, her figure. Even the ones who had money wanted something she had. The staff envied her the money, the lack of a job, her friends, the parties she attended. Even her grandfather looked at her and saw the kind of privileges and chances he would have traded anything for at her age.

  I should have taken that realization and gone to list those whose jealousy was potentially dangerous to Leighton, starting with the people who had access to her every day. Instead, I felt compelled to watch her as she sat at the kitchen island, her attention on Shandra and the food preparation. I knew she was trying to drive me away, and it would be even worse now because of what happened last night. I needed to find a way to get through to her, and not just because I hated the thought of her continuing to distance herself from me.

  First, we needed to clear the air. It was simple and obvious, but my fists tightened at the thought. What could I say to Leighton about walking out four years ago that would make her understand? I tried last night to at least give her a partial truth, but that hadn't worked. Was my only option to lay it all out? Tell her everything about how I felt, both then and now?

  How would she react? I knew she was attracted to me, but what if that was as far as it went? Physical attraction. But what if it wasn't? What if she told me she felt the same?

  My head spun and I knew it wasn't from the vertigo. If Leighton felt the same as I had that night four years ago, then we had more to talk about than either of us could handle.

  No, I thought, not now. Not ever if I was going to protect her.

  Leighton needed me to keep a clear head and find this threat before it got too close to her. I looked at her again and felt the tight pull of longing. I reined it in as I realized it couldn't happen. I would never be her friend. I would never sit in a room with this relaxed, open, and utterly irresistible version of her.

  “Peanut butter ruins French toast.” Shandra slid a warm plate in front of Leighton.

  “Yeah, but in a good way,” Leighton said with a grin.

  She took a bite and her eyes drifted to the ceiling in ecstasy. How the hell could eating peanut butter French toast be so damn sexy? As she looked back down to take another bite, I felt her gaze touch on me.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Looks like my tough guy bodyguard is scared of you, Cookie.”

  Had she seriously just called Shandra Cookie? I barely dared to call her by her first name. Half the time I thought she'd skewer me for that alone.

  “Never liked a man without much to say.” Shandra gave me a hard look.

  Leighton smiled as I moved into the kitchen, but it wasn't a happy one. Her chin tipped up, and I saw defiance hardening her expression. It caused a near-physical pain knowing I was the one who made her look like that.

  Trying to do anything to take that away, I spoke, “Peanut butter on French toast? Why does that actually sound good?”

  Leighton was wary, defensive. “Best thing for a hangover. I can hardly remember last night, so this might actually be saving my life. Are you hungover too? Sneak something after we got back here?”

  The cook stabbed a fork towards me. “I didn't make extra.” The look on her face said she was daring me to ask her to do just that.

  “No problem,” I said easily. “I was just checking in with my employer.”

  “Oh?” Leighton asked, her voice testy. “And what did he say?”

  I wanted to take her hands and tell her about the threats. I wanted to assure her I wasn't leaving her, that I would find who was sending them, that she would be safe with me. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and tell her that I saw her for who she really was and I'd be damned if I let anyone hurt her. I wanted to tell her that I would do anything for her...Shit.

  I stamped down on those thoughts before they could go any further. That had been too far as it was.

  I risked the fork-wielding cook and reached for a cup of coffee.

  “You,” I said. “I'm checking in with you.”

  Leighton chewed her French toast for a moment and took a long gulp of her water. “Don't you mean my grandfather?”

  “No. He's agreed that I'm your employee. So if you want to fire me, go ahead.” I hoped she wouldn't decide to test things and do just that.

  If Leighton believed she had the power to choose my presence or not, she might lose some of her defiance. Now that I'd seen her, the real her, I didn't think she'd make an arbitrary or petty decision. Either way, in order to earn her trust, I had to give Leighton some of the power in this dynamic.

  After an excruciatingly long pause, most likely designed to bug the shit out of me, she answered.

  “Not yet.” She turned back to her late breakfast. “First I have to see how you handle a real shopping excursion. Up until now, they've all been child's play.”

  I smiled. Leighton was going to test me, but whatever gauntlet of LA atrocities she had in mind didn't matter. Leighton would let me keep her safe. And her being safe was all I cared about.

  Chapter 3

  Leighton

  I drove up to the gates, but didn't expect them to open. It had been a few days since the party and I was certain Haze had told my grandfather about it, about Ricky and everything. I knew my grandfather was always just one screw-up away from cutting me off completely, and I was honestly surprised this hadn't been the last straw.

  After that morning in the kitchen, I told Grandfather I was moving back to Ricky's beach house. He'd insisted I wait until Haze vetted the place, but I'd simply gotten in my car and left. I hadn't been surprised at all that Haze had followed. He'd gone into the house, done whatever it was Grandfather paid him to do, and then worked on keeping himself as far from me as possible.

  When I was alone, he stayed inside the house, but whenever Ricky was there, Haze mysteriously vanished. I didn't doubt he was still watching. He was
always watching, but my actions with Ricky at the party had brought whatever this was between the two of us to a screeching halt.

  I glanced in my rearview mirror. Since we'd taken two vehicles to Ricky's house, I'd insisted on driving myself back and Haze had relented, following me in the sedan my grandfather had given him. I couldn't see much of him in the mirror, but I knew it didn't really matter. His expression would be blank, as always.

  Except it hadn't been blank that day in the kitchen, the morning after I'd made a total fool of myself at the party. When I'd seen him in the kitchen, I'd been sure he'd come to tell me that he'd quit. Instead, he'd deferred to me as his employer and told me that it was up to me if he stayed or went. He'd smiled when I'd hinted he could stay.

  Unguarded, I thought. That was the only way to describe that smile. For one moment, Haze had been unguarded, and I'd felt the warmth of that rush into my heart.

  I grumbled to myself as I parked, and then got out of the car. Remembering that smile had become a bad habit. Over the past few days, Haze had been the epitome of a professional bodyguard. Always there in the background, but never once stepping forward to bother me. When I spoke to him, he answered, but that was it. He hadn't even blinked when I'd said I was moving back to the beach house. He only made sure I understood I'd need to wait a bit for him to check it out.

  He hadn't clenched his jaw when it was clear Ricky had accepted an invitation from a jet-setting blonde and had disappeared to Monaco two days ago. I'd dragged him all over Los Angeles and spent an obscene amount of money redecorating the master suite at the beach house, but he'd never even raised an eyebrow. Nothing seemed to rile him. He'd accepted everything I'd done without a word, and I should've been glad, but all I could think about was seeing that smile again. I didn't want cool, unemotional Haze. I wanted the other Haze back.

  My Haze.

  His mind was somewhere else. I could see it even as he got out of his car. He checked his phone, scrolled through a message, and scowled.

  “Girl trouble back home?” I asked. The idea of him having a girl back home bothered me more than I cared to admit, even to myself.

  He looked up. “I'm sorry, what?”

  “Girl trouble back home?” I repeated

  Haze looked startled, even glancing over his shoulder as if looking for someone else I could be talking to. When he realized the question was directed at him, he shook his head. “Not at all.”

  “No, I suppose you keep them all happy.” I started up the front steps. “Give them a memorable night and then leave them quick enough that they never know if it's your fault or theirs.” The words sounded bitter even to my own ears.

  “Why do you think that?” His voice was quiet, but the question was underlined with something I couldn't name.

  “I just assumed I wasn't the only one to merit such special treatment.”

  As I reached the top step, Haze's hand closed around my arm. I tensed, unprepared for the electricity that shot through me at his touch. We hadn't had any physical contact since the night of the party, and I found myself not wanting to pull away even though I knew I should.

  “Maybe we should talk.”

  I glanced at him over my shoulder. His jaw was clenched, and his grip on my arm was tight enough to tell me that my comment bothered him. When I saw his eyes and saw the hurt, realization hit me. What I'd said hadn't just made him angry. My stomach twisted.

  “What is there to say?” The question came out softer than I'd intended.

  He cleared his throat, but kept his dark eyes on mine. “Leaving wasn't meant to hurt you. I had to go. I was shipping out that day. Staying would've just made it harder.”

  “And you couldn't have bothered leaving a note telling me that?” My tone was harsh, but I realized I wasn't angry at him, not entirely. Sure, he could've left me a note, but I'd never even thought about things from his point of view.

  He was a soldier, serving his country. He'd been in LA on leave and had to ship back out. That much I should have realized back then. He'd made no promises, and I'd asked for none. If anything, I was the one in the wrong because I'd been the one who'd instigated the whole thing. All this time, I'd been pissed at him for leaving, when I should've been mad at myself for being so selfish and silly. He'd been willing to give up what I now realized had been his last night of leave for a stupid girl who'd fallen and hit her head.

  Even understanding that, however, couldn't erase the hurt of him having left me as if our night together hadn't meant anything to him. Like I hadn't meant anything. Like I still didn't mean anything.

  My cheeks burned with a combination of humiliation and anger. I tried to pull away so he wouldn't see. I shouldn't have opened my mouth.

  “Wait,” he said, his fingers tightening on my arm. “What're you thinking?”

  I didn't look at him. “I'm thinking this is a stupid conversation. The past is in the past.”

  Still, he didn't let go. “Except you're the one who keeps bringing it up, using it to push between us.”

  I yanked my arm hard to free it. “Why does it matter if it's between us? Nothing else is.”

  Something flashed across his eyes, but his voice was even when he spoke, “Because if you're angry at me, you can't trust me, and I need you to trust me.”

  “Trust you?” I let out a bitter bark of a laugh. “Oh, I trust you to protect me. Whenever and however it happens to be convenient for you.”

  He flinched, and I felt a vindictive stab of pleasure.

  “Is that...” Whatever he'd intended to say trailed off. “Can we start over?”

  “Why?” I asked, shrugging in a way I hoped made it seem like none of this mattered to me. “There's really nothing to say. I was a silly girl who threw myself at you.” I let my lips twist into a sneering smile. “You've seen me. It's what I do.”

  It hurt to say it, to portray myself like that to him, but it needed to be done. I couldn't let him see how much that night had meant to me, how I'd let it tie me to him. Not if it was just another fling for him. It wouldn't be fair to me or to him.

  “It may have started like that but...”

  Ian ran up the front steps and stopped short. He looked from me to Haze and back again. His forehead furrowed and I knew he was wondering what he'd interrupted. To my relief, he didn't ask. “Sorry to interrupt, but I'm really glad I ran into both of you.”

  Haze looked away from me and at my brother, and the moment between us was gone. Again.

  “It'll be so much easier if I have you on my side when I tell Grandfather,” my brother continued.

  He was grinning as he bounced from foot to foot. I could see no trace of the injury he sustained during his army enlistment. The injury that had, thankfully, been minor compared to what would've happened had Haze not been there.

  “You have some grand scheme in mind to keep yourself busy?” I asked.

  “No scheme,” Ian said. “I've sponged off family money long enough these past couple months.”

  My brother had no idea how his comment stung. Our grandfather made it clear that, while he'd never entirely approved of Ian's choice to enlist, he'd been proud that my brother was doing something with his life.

  Unlike me.

  It hadn't ever been said flat-out like that, but I knew that's how Grandfather felt. I loved him, but he'd always pushed us both to make something of ourselves separate from the family name and fortune. Like Grandfather had done. Except making something of yourself generally meant that a person had to know who they were first. And I didn't. The absence of direction in my life had always been a sore spot for Grandfather.

  “Well, if it's no simple scheme, I'm going to need some coffee before you tell me more,” I said as I walked into the house. Ian immediately fell in step next to me and I felt Haze trailing behind.

  “Haze, you should join us,” Ian said. “And, don't worry; I won't make you pour for us. You still outrank me.”

  I looked back to see how Haze would take Ian's comments and saw
the warm, open smile I'd been thinking about for days. I stumbled over my high-heeled sandal and Ian laughed.

  “Out partying last night, Sis?” Ian asked.

  “You know me,” I said flatly. Even though my cheeks burned, I met Haze's eyes. The open expression was gone and in its place was something I couldn't read.

  “Leighton spent all night hanging crystal stars from the ceiling,” Haze said. “She created an entire cosmos before she fell asleep in a chair. Not really much of a party.”

  Ian stopped at the kitchen door and gave me a strange look. “Mom hung a crystal star above our fireplace at home. I remember how it used to shine when there was a candle on the mantelpiece.”

  “Same effect.” I brushed past him, not wanting him to see my emotion at the memory.

  My cheeks were too warm, so I went straight to the refrigerator and pretended to search for cream.

  “Don't worry, Haze,” Ian said. “Shandra takes a break right about now.”

  “She almost stabbed me with a fork the other day,” Haze replied, a bit of humor in his voice.

  Why couldn't he talk to me that easily? Why couldn't I make him smile and tease the way Ian could? I shut the refrigerator door and turned, catching Haze watching me for a moment before he looked away. He had more to say to me, I was sure, and the thought sent my heart into a gallop.

  “Well, Ian better make his presentation quick then,” I said. “Because Shandra will be back before you know it. We don't want to have to explain a fork stabbing to Grandfather.” If Ian ran his idea past us, got our opinion, and then went to talk with Grandfather, there was a chance Haze and I could finally finish our talk. “All right, Ian, what's going on?”

  He waited until I slipped onto a tall stool at the kitchen island before settling across from me. He took a slow, deep breath and then spoke in a calm voice. “I'm re-enlisting in the army.”

  Silence.

  I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Was he kidding? If so, it wasn't funny. And what if he wasn't joking? He couldn't be serious. Not after what happened to him.