by Eve Langlais
No, he hadn’t, and it apparently meant something.
He grabbed the waiter’s wrist. “Who gave this to you?”
“A gentleman at the bar.”
“What guy? Show me.” He scanned the bodies, most of them wearing suits, seated at the bar.
“Let me go, sir.” The waiter pulled, but Reaper didn’t loosen his grip.
“I’ll let you go when you show me the fucking guy who sent you over with this.”
“It doesn’t matter. I have to go.” Annie popped out of her seat and snared her coat. She made her way quickly through the restaurant.
Tossing money on the table, he hurried after her. It was becoming a bit of a pattern.
He caught up to her on the sidewalk, frantically scanning left and right.
“Who are you looking for, Annie?”
“No one.”
“Like fuck.” She flinched, and he took a deep breath. “Sorry.”
“I can’t deal with you right now,” she said in a near whisper. “I have to go home.”
He’d take her home, but no damned way was he leaving her alone.
Not now.
Not ever.
As to whoever had put that frightened look on her face? Ticktock, asshole, I’m coming for you.
Chapter Seventeen
“Let’s go.” He palmed her lower back, and Annique didn’t protest.
Fear wouldn’t let her deny the comfort and security she felt in his presence.
This man, whose friends called him Reaper, had an assurance about him, and she knew he could protect himself and her.
She needed that right now.
Needed him.
For once, he didn’t cajole her with questions or teasing. They drove in near silence to her place, and only as they drew near did he finally ask, “What’s the deal with the rose?”
“Nothing.” Said in a low monotone.
“Nothing doesn’t have you shaking like a leaf in a storm. Why are you scared?”
“I am not scared.” The lie quavered, and Annique closed her eyes, waiting for him to badger some more, yet he kept quiet after that.
He parked in a spot in front of her building, and she jumped out. He followed.
It both pleased and annoyed.
“You can leave now. I don’t need you,” she growled.
“We already had this argument. You didn’t win then; you won’t win now. I’m seeing you to your apartment.”
“There’s no need. Only residents can get in. They fixed the front door.” Finally. She shook her coded pass card at him.
“Wrong. Tonight, anyone can pay a visit.” He yanked on the door, and it opened. He pointed to the jamb. “Someone bubble-gummed the latch.”
Despite the sudden clammy fear gripping her, she managed to utter, “I’ll be fine.” Words that fell on deaf ears.
For once, she didn’t mind Reaper’s stubborn nature. He provided a steadying presence inside the elevator. A shield against the fear. She wanted to tuck herself against him and hide.
Wanted someone to tell her that everything would be okay even as her whole world crumbled.
The elevator door slid open on the fifth floor, onto a dark hall. She didn’t step out.
He, on the other hand, took up position in the frame, blocking the sliding doors.
“Odd the lights being out,” he remarked. “I could have sworn they were working last night.”
“They were.”
“Stay behind me.”
She would have preferred to go back down to the bright lobby, but instead, she took a wooden step forward, hiding behind his bulk as he trod softly up the hall.
The only illumination came from the seams of light peeking from under the doors, enough to make out the basics.
He stopped, and she ran into his broad back.
“Someone left you a present.”
Her stomach sank, and she peeked around him to see. There was a bouquet of flowers on the floor. Trampled, but she still noted the white petals.
The door to her apartment itself appeared untouched, yet her hands shook as she used her key to unlock it. The tumblers turned, but that didn’t ease her trepidation.
The only reason she didn’t run screaming was because Montgomery stuck close to her side.
The door swung open, and he entered first. She followed and reached to the left of the portal for the switch. A light came on, yet she saw nothing but the fabric of his coat still blocking her view.
She didn’t need to hear his cursing to guess what he saw.
“Fucking hell. Someone trashed your place.”
Not someone. Him.
No more mistaking the signs. He wasn’t dead, after all. Somehow, Joel had survived.
And he’d found her.
Chapter Eighteen
It took no effort at all to convince Annie to turn around and leave the scene of destruction.
Whoever had invaded her place didn’t do so to steal but leave a message. One that said I can get to you anytime I want.
The level of destruction—pillows slashed, legs broken off chairs, dishes smashed—spoke of revenge and instilling fear.
Reaper should know. He was good at doing that.
Only as he pulled into his parking garage did Annie rouse enough to finally ask, “Where are you taking me?”
“My place.”
At that, she got agitated. “No. I have to go to a hotel.”
“Hotels have shit security.”
“Then take me to an airport or a train station.”
“You’re not running away.”
“I have to. I can’t stay here anymore.”
“Tell me who’s threatening you.”
“I don’t want you getting involved.”
“Too bad.”
“This isn’t a joke.” She turned on him with flashing eyes. “I don’t want your help.”
“Yeah, I know you don’t, but I’m still going to give it to you.”
She shook her head, her sloppy bun slipping farther. “You don’t understand what you’re offering. You have no idea what I’m dealing with.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head, and her lower lip trembled. “There are things in my life that are dangerous. I can’t allow you to get involved. You might get hurt.”
He leaned close to her and whispered, “Again, still don’t care, and you might be surprised at what I can handle.”
He heard her mutter, “Cocky real estate bastard,” as he swung out of his car.
She still trembled as he helped her from the car, the shock holding her in its grip.
What kind of asshole terrorized a woman?
The kind he liked to kill.
As if he needed an excuse.
Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm meant he only had his left free if something should happen.
But—and this was the reason he’d chosen his place instead of a hotel—no one but his closest allies knew where he lived, and he could count those folks on one hand.
The other reason, the security here was topnotch and, again, watched over by his friends at Bad Boy Inc.
Finally, his condo had all the bells and whistles and toys—so very many deadly toys—a killer could want.
Let the asshole come and find them there. He’d gladly show him what he thought of guys who terrorized women.
My woman.
Reaper would start with the kneecaps first because those really fucking hurt when smashed and prevented a person from running away. Then maybe he’d break some fingers. They snapped like twigs when twisted right. Then…
“Why are you doing this? Helping me?” Her soft query trembled.
“Because I don’t approve of dickwads terrorizing women.”
“A knight in a suit.” She uttered a borderline hysterical giggle. “Where’s your sword?”
He kept his sword in his pants. “I don’t need a sword. I’m handy with my fists.” The elevator shot smoothly upward. Penthouse
level. Of course.
“I saw you fighting. You’re good.”
“I know.” Modesty wasn’t a character trait he cultivated.
“But being good with your fists won’t help you. Or me.” Her chin dropped, and he had to clench said fists lest he punch something.
How dare someone frighten her?
Reaper wanted to fix this. Wanted her chin tilted proudly again, her eyes flashing as she didn’t back down from him.
The elevator slid open onto a vestibule with cameras. He gave a signal to indicate all clear with his guest because someone was always watching, especially since the incident with Calvin in the summer.
Attacked in his own home. The nerve of the riffraff. Since Reaper was still recovering from the shooting, Harry hadn’t allowed Reaper to join the fun, but he’d heard about it.
Fuck with one employee of Bad Boy Inc. and the academy, and be hunted by them all.
The door to his place clicked at his approach, and it then opened.
“Ghosts or a butler?” she asked, taking note.
“Neither. It senses the key fob on my body.” He gestured for her to enter first. He didn’t worry about the security in his building. Anyone who actually managed to get into his place wouldn’t get out alive.
The moment they entered, lights came on, soft, recessed ceiling sconces that showcased the open floor plan and the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.
Extremely resistant glass, he might add, that wouldn’t easily shatter, even if someone took a sniping shot. But a missile, on the other hand… If someone got that reckless, he had bigger problems.
Directly ahead of them was the living room, the Brazilian tigerwood floors giving way to plush area rugs done in shades of gray. The walls were an off-white and held abstract art, nothing with too much color.
When he came home after a day of blood and screaming—always with the screaming unless you gagged them—he enjoyed the serene quiet of this muted space.
Unzipping her boots, Annie said not a word as she removed them and entered his place in her stocking-clad feet. She went right to the window and peered out.
Framed against the glass and the backdrop of the city with its sparkling lights, she looked small. Fragile. A feeling came over him, one that urged him to protect.
She must have seen him approach, his reflection in the glass clear, yet she didn’t move as he positioned himself behind her. A looming shield to her frailty.
“You can see the river in the daytime,” he said to break the ice.
“At my apartment, day or night, I can see the guy in 4B doing naked yoga on his balcony.”
He stiffened.
She laughed. “I should mention he’s probably eighty, if not older. It’s not a great view. But I guess I won’t have to worry about that anymore.”
“You’re right, because I’ll find you a better place.” His closet had room. His bathroom, two vanities.
Shoot me now. Why am I even thinking like that?
Because there was something so right about Annie being here with him.
She sighed. “You won’t have to do a thing because I’m leaving.”
“Don’t you mean running away?”
A shrug rolled her shoulders as she turned to face him, their bodies so close she had to tilt her head to stare him in the eye. “Sometimes, running is the only choice you have.”
“What about standing to fight?”
“I tried that once.” A shadow fell over her expression. “It obviously failed.”
“Who’s doing this?” Because he didn’t doubt that she knew. The fear radiating off her, the subtle hints in her words, they all screamed it.
“A ghost.” A wan smile pulled at her lips. “You can’t fight something that doesn’t exist.”
“The Ghostbusters did.”
“Fantasy isn’t reality. Listen, while I know you mean well, you have no idea what I’m dealing with. Just being here, with you, puts you in danger.”
“No one is getting to you here.”
“Locks won’t stop a ghost.”
Bullets would, though. He kept that to himself. “You’re tired. You should get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”
“No, they won’t.” She sounded so morose, and it boiled his blood. Who had the ability to turn her into this defeated shadow?
I’ll kill him.
First, though, he had to figure out who he was. And since she wouldn’t tell him, he needed her out of the way so he could find out. The cameras Declan had set up should offer some answers.
She didn’t say much as he offered her a T-shirt to sleep in and the use of his bathroom to change. She only balked when she realized he’d put her in his bedroom.
“I can’t sleep here. With you.” Her wide eyes held a note of panic, at odds with the nipples protruding through the fabric of his shirt.
Damn the suddenly surfacing gentleman gene that wouldn’t allow him to seduce her and tease that bud with his lips.
“The other bedroom is set up as an office and has no bed. I’ll take the couch; your virtue is safe.” Not by choice. Yet even he recognized her fragile state wasn’t something he should take advantage of.
But I want to.
She stood in the middle of his room, his T-shirt hanging down almost to her knees, her body swathed in it, and for a moment, he almost said fuck it. Almost grabbed her in his arms to tell her she didn’t have to worry.
Except it wouldn’t fix anything. Only taking care of the root of her fear would. And he was good at taking care of shit.
Permanently.
He shut the door and entered his office. The various layers of security took a few minutes to get through, but finally, he was in. And cursing.
The cameras Declan had installed? All working perfectly until about half an hour before they arrived. All of them, every single one, went black.
He had no footage of the perp who’d trashed her place.
Slamming the desk with a fist, he cursed. Here he was with access to everything he could want and no further ahead.
Annique Darlington barely existed. Deeper searches didn’t show her registered at any schools, at least not any that he could access. Her supposed birth record was electronic only, the original building housing the paperwork conveniently flooded over a decade ago, making it impossible to verify.
What were the chances she’d changed names? Pretty good, but that made his search even more complicated. He couldn’t find a random woman out of millions. Not without a name.
But he did have a date of birth. Probably fake too. Her DNA? Still being run.
Damned lab was backed up, and since this was personal, he couldn’t ask for a rush on it.
Setting his machine to run some automated searches and cross checks, he decided to try for a few winks.
Might as well.
Except sleep proved almost impossible. The couch was made for sitting, not sleeping.
I should be resting in my bed.
Who was he kidding? If he were in bed with Annie right now, they wouldn’t be asleep. They’d be screwing.
Maybe even snuggling afterwards, which would be a novelty considering he usually didn’t let women into his home, and he certainly never spent the night with any.
He’d learned his lesson young that the person who went to bed with you the night before wasn’t always the person you woke up with. Alcohol, and a liberal application of makeup, tended to do that.
He shifted to his side and tried to count rounds fired at turkeys.
One turkey. Dinner.
Two turkeys. Sandwiches.
Three turkeys. Soup.
He’d made it to forty turkeys, and the mother of all feasts with cranberries, when he heard it.
“No.”
The faint word had him rising from the couch and moving even before the whimper that followed it.
He made it to just outside the bedroom when Annie screamed.
Forget being cautious, he dove at the door and thre
w himself inside.
Chapter Nineteen
“I found you.” Joel sneered at Annique, the ugly twist of his lips matching the dark gleam in his eyes.
“How?” She’d moved so far. Thought she’d left him behind.
“You can’t hide from me.”
But she kept trying. Two cities now, Annique had fled. Escaped because of the threats. Just the sight of white roses made her sick to her stomach.
“Go away.”
“Stupid Qiqi.” He’d adopted the nickname Jazzy had for her, yet from him, it sounded mocking. Mean. “We have unfinished business.”
“No, we don’t.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” The hands tucked behind his back came forward.
Her breath caught. “What are you doing?” A dumb question, given she could clearly see the gun pointed at her chest. A gun held by a man she’d slept with. A man she’d once foolishly thought she loved.
“Doing?” He waggled the weapon. “Are you really that dense? I am preparing to kill you.”
“But why? Why do you keep terrorizing me?” Why did he hunt her down and pluck every frightened nerve she owned? “We broke up. It happens. You can’t tell me you loved me.” Joel made his regards to Annique clear when she found him in bed with another woman.
“Love.” He sneered. “Did you really think I could care for an old hag like you?”
That burned. She was only five years older than he was.
“If you never loved me, then why are you doing this? Why did you even date me at all?” Because she’d certainly never understood why this younger man, handsome and rich, had wanted her. They had nothing in common. A part of her knew better than to date him. But he pursued her, ardently. Made her feel desirable. In the end, she’d let her hormones decide for her.
“I had my reasons. You served your purpose. Now, for the grand finale.” The gun steadied, and she couldn’t help but plead.
“No.” She whimpered. “Please.”
There was no mercy in his gaze, and so she shut her eyes from seeing the death reflected in his. Closed them tightly and screamed as a gun was fired. Then shrieked some more when she saw all the blood…
So much blood.
“Annie. Wake up, honey. It’s just a nightmare.”