by Ivy Layne
"What the fuck were you thinking? What the fuck were you thinking, Abigail?" His voice rose to a shout as he loomed over me, two spots of red flushing his cheekbones. I took a step back. I'd never seen Jacob angry before. I wasn't afraid of him, not exactly. I took another step back, which only seemed to enrage him further. He crossed the distance between us. "Stop fucking moving."
I stopped. I wanted to ask what about the picture had set him off. I wanted to demand he not yell at me. I didn't say anything. His eyes narrowed on my face, his body vibrating with anger. He was a wild animal I didn't want to provoke. This man, his silver eyes liquid with fury, was not the Jacob I knew. Yet he was. Here was the intensity he kept bottled up but let out with sex. Here, it was set free in anger.
"I never would have thought you could be so stupid. The next time you hear something you shouldn't, see something you shouldn't, you fucking call me. You fucking lock yourself in your room and you call me. You do not go check it out."
Finding my voice, I said, "What is it? I was afraid it might be about Big John. But it's not. What is it?" I had to know what had upset him so badly. I didn't believe his anger was just about me, about worrying I'd put myself in danger. This was something else.
"It's none of your fucking business, Abigail. That's what it is. It doesn't have anything to do with Big John or you."
"I figured that out once I saw it," I said, keeping my voice as low and as soothing as I could manage, given his temper. "But what is it? Who are those people?"
His face went dark. Jacob closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they were blank of emotion. Moving mechanically, he used a dishtowel to pick up the photograph and slide it back into the envelope. The envelope, he put into a plastic bag.
"I'm going out," he said, ignoring my questions, his voice like ice. I didn't want to pry. I just wanted to help. He didn't care. "Don't go near the door, and keep your phone with you, for fuck’s sake."
The door slammed behind him. A second later, the deadbolt clicked into place. My mind reeled, trying to catch up with what had happened. I was trying not to feel hurt at the way he'd talked to me. He was right. I should have called him. I'd gotten complacent, so sure the penthouse was safe. The sounds at the door had scared me, but clearly, not enough. I wouldn't make that mistake again.
It still didn't explain the depth of Jacob's rage. I was fine. Nothing had happened. That outburst hadn't really been about me. He didn't care for me enough to get so angry over my safety. I felt a little sick at the thought, but I knew it was true.
Jacob liked me, and he seemed pleased with the way our deal was working out. But I was his pet, not his girlfriend. He wasn't in love with me, and he never would be. I was a convenience. He should have been annoyed that I'd endangered myself, not furious, so why had he been so angry? Who were the people in that picture?
I was going to have to get over my curiosity. Jacob wasn't going to tell me, and it seemed smarter to stop asking. I wanted to take his anger away, to soothe the fury he'd felt. That wasn't my job. Unless he wanted to fuck it out, his emotions were outside the scope of my duties. I still wanted to help. My chest was heavy with regret and a pain I didn't want to examine.
I'd made this deal. I knew what I was to Jacob, and he'd been more than clear about the limits of our relationship. I'd be the worst kind of fool to start looking for more. With everything else I had to deal with, I didn't need to start having feelings for Jacob Winters. Gratitude. Lust. Those were okay. Anything more would be a disaster.
I looked at the counter, at the now warm pie crust. I could scrape it up and put it back in the fridge, then roll it out again, but the dough had already been handled too much. Working it a second time would leave me with a heavy, dense pie. Heavy and dense, like the sick feeling inside me after the scene with Jacob. At that thought, I peeled up the crust and threw it away. I had nothing else to do with my time. I might as well make a new one since that was all I was good for.
Pushing back the bitter, helpless pain in my heart, I emptied my mind of everything but the ingredients in front of me. I couldn't help Jacob if he didn't want me to. I couldn't help myself any more than I already had. All I could do was be here to fuck when he got home and cook his dinner. With a sigh, I started measuring flour, ignoring the hot tears rolling down my cheeks.
CHAPTER TWELVE
JACOB
* * *
I called Cooper on the way to my car, the plain, brown envelope in my hands. My mind spun as I tried to register what I'd seen. Who the fuck would send me a crime scene photo of my Aunt and Uncle's murder? They'd died twenty years ago. It was a cold case. What was the point? I couldn't untangle the fury in my chest far enough to figure out what had me more pissed—the sight of their dead bodies, or the idea that Abigail had been just feet away from whatever sick fuck had delivered it.
She was supposed to be fucking safe. The whole point of her staying with me was to keep her safe. She was not supposed to get the shit scared out of her by someone delivering a picture of dead bodies to the one place she was protected from the danger that had been stalking her ever since she’d married John. I needed to get it together. Anger wasn't going to help anyone. Usually, that was my thing. Control. I didn't lose it, ever. I left the elevator and pulled out my phone, hitting the shortcut to the Sinclair Security office.
"This is Jacob Winters," I said when the receptionist answered, hearing the bark in my own voice. Toning it down, I said, "Put me through to Cooper."
"Sir, he's—"
"I don't care," I interrupted. "Put me through."
"Yes, sir," she said crisply. Seconds later, Cooper Sinclair picked up the line.
"Jacob, I'm in a meeting—" he said.
Talking over him, I interrupted. "Someone just slid an unmarked envelope with a crime scene picture of my Aunt and Uncle's murders under my door." I gave Cooper a minute to filter through all the implications. He didn't disappoint me. Thirty seconds later, he said, "Are you on your way?"
"I'll be there in five," I said. He hung up the phone. I knew whoever he had in his office would be gone by the time I got there.
Not just because Cooper Sinclair and I had been friends since preschool. Not just because he'd known both my aunt and uncle and my parents before they died. This was about more than friendship and family connections. Sinclair Security was responsible for designing and implementing the security protocols at Winters House. At every one of our residences and businesses.
If someone had gotten through their system far enough to slide an envelope beneath my door, Cooper would want answers almost as much as I did. While I was the only one with access to the cameras located inside my penthouse, Sinclair Security had the recordings for all activity in the more public areas, including the elevators and the stairwells. I wanted to see who had been at my door. I needed a face for my target.
I let myself in through the front door of the Sinclair offices, not seeing the gray walls, understated black leather furniture, and sedate charcoal carpet. I'd been here too many times to notice my surroundings. All I was interested in was whatever Cooper had been able to find out in the five minutes since we'd spoken.
I opened the door to his office to find him sitting at his desk, his eyes trained on a monitor, his younger brother, Evers, beside him. All four of the Sinclair brothers looked alike—tall, with dark hair and the same sharp cheekbones. Cooper and Evers shared their father's icy blue eyes, though Cooper's build was bulkier than his brother’s since he'd started power lifting in college.
"Evers, I didn't know you were back," I said. He looked up from the monitor and nodded to me, apparently too distracted by the hole in their security plan to be friendly. That was fine with me. We'd known each other too long to bother with that shit anyway.
"I finished up in Houston early," he said. "Since when do you have Abigail Jordan living with you?"
"Since she came to me asking for help. She said Big John wanted to use her as barter in one of his deals."
"W
hy didn't you just send her to us?" Evers asked, pinning me with his gaze. "We would've helped her. You know I've always had a soft spot for Abigail. She never should have ended up mixed up with the Jordans."
Under his breath, Cooper said, "Yeah, you have a soft spot, but Jacob has a hard one. He's been waiting years for a crack at Abigail."
Evers straightened, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes still intent on mine. "I know. That's why we're talking about it. Taking advantage of a woman in a desperate situation? That's low."
An unfamiliar mix of emotions tore through me, a crazy alchemy of jealousy and possessiveness and something else I didn't understand. "Stay the fuck out of it, Evers," I said. "I need your help keeping her safe, not protecting her virtue. She knew what she was getting into with me. She's fine with it."
Evers raised an infuriating eyebrow, his disbelief clear in his eyes. "Is she? Or is she just doing what she has to? You're no prize, Jacob. Not for a woman like her. She had a shitty marriage. She deserves better. You're a step up from being stuck with Big John."
"Why do you care?" I demanded, offended by the comparison. Maybe I wasn't offering Abigail a wedding ring, but that didn't make me an abusive sociopath like her father-in-law. "You don't want Abigail. You've got a hard-on for my cousin." As I'd known it would, the mention of my cousin, Summer, was enough to derail Evers.
"She's a fucking pain in my ass," he complained. Summer had shown up months ago in the middle of a situation with Evers and Cooper's brother, Axel, and his now fiancée, Emma. Summer was a mystery. Her last name was Winters, an unlikely coincidence, but we didn't know her and she acted like she didn't know us.
Evers had been discreetly keeping an eye on her ever since and had uncovered some interesting information, including her identity as a distant cousin to my branch of the Winters family. But we'd had our hands full lately, and as long as Summer kept to herself and didn't cause problems, for the moment, we were happy enough to let her be. Besides, she and Evers hadn't exactly gotten along.
Since the day they'd met, when he practically kidnapped her to bring her back to Atlanta so she could deliver evidence for Emma, they'd set sparks off each other whenever they collided. With those two, it was either fight or fuck, and so far, they'd stuck with fighting.
"Have you seen her lately?" I asked. Evers glared at me, and Cooper hid a grin from his brother.
"No, I haven't, and stop trying to distract me. I'm keeping an eye on you and Abigail," he said. "She needs someone to look out for her."
"She has someone," I said, clenching my fist at my side for the second time that afternoon. "She has me. I'm not going to say it again, Evers. Back the fuck off Abigail. When she had trouble, she didn't come here. She came to me."
"Leave it, Evers," Cooper said. Rotating the monitor so I could see, Cooper pointed to the different segments of the screen, all of which showed specific areas of Winters House. Some of the screens were frozen, as if Cooper had set them at pause, while some showed live-action. "Whoever it was, they knew about the security. They didn't know the exact location of the cameras, but it's clear they knew they were being watched. Unfortunately, we don't have a good view of their face. Not good enough to run it for the facial recognition program."
"Can you tell how they got in?" I asked, frustrated. "Man or woman? General height, size, anything?"
"If it's a woman, she's tall. The intruder is about five ten, based on height relative to the elevator door. I'm inclined to think the hair is a wig." He paused one of the screens and showed me the slightly blurred image of a figure in a long coat, face turned to the side, shaggy hair obscuring the line of the chin and forehead.
I understood what he was saying. Without the hair, it could've been a man or woman, but the style was the perfect choice to hide the intruder's features without being noticeable. Cooper flipped through the screens, taking the figure back from crouching at my door to where he or she exited the elevator on my floor—a floor no intruder should have access to—to the lobby where they entered the elevator. He sat back in his chair and looked at me, an apology in his eyes.
"I lost him on the first floor. Retail at the entry level is good for business, but it's shit for security. I've told you before that you have too many entrances on the retail level and too many people going in and out of the offices to fully secure the upper floors."
I nodded. I knew this, and when I'd renovated the building, it hadn't been a major concern. Winters House was as secure—more secure—than most luxury condos. We hadn't designed it to be airtight. There hadn't been a need. As long as we could keep out the paparazzi, we hadn't been worried about it. Now, my priorities had changed.
"Can you put someone on my door twenty-four seven?" I asked. "Until Big John turns his attention elsewhere, Abigail's not leaving my place, but this scared the hell out of her. I want to know she's safe when I'm not there."
"We'll take care of it," Evers said. "No one will get to Abigail."
I nodded again. We all gave each other a hard time. We've been friends too long not to, but as much as I knew Evers would give me shit when he had the chance, I also knew he'd have my back. His face grim, Cooper raised his chin toward the plastic-wrapped envelope in my hand and asked, "Is that it?"
Pulling on a pair of thin plastic gloves he got from the top drawer of his desk, Cooper pulled the envelope from the plastic bag with a pair of long metal tweezers. He laid the envelope over the plastic bag and teased it open with the tip of the tweezers. I looked away as he drew the photograph into view.
I knew what they were looking at. I didn't want to see it again myself. I barely remembered my aunt and uncle. A vague impression of cigar smoke and a bristly mustache, the scent of gardenias and the absolute security of tight hugs.
Losing them had been the first great shock of my life, of all of our lives. Their deaths had changed everything, in so many ways. Looking back, knowing what had come after, James and Anna Winters’ murders marked the beginning of the end for all of us. Echoing my thoughts, Cooper murmured, "What kind of sick fuck would send you this?"
I shook my head. "No fucking clue," I admitted. "The case is closed. It's been closed for nineteen years. What's the point in dragging it up now? If someone wanted to get a reaction out of me, they should've given it to me in a public place, not slid it under my door."
"Anything you're involved in that might lead back to this? New business deal? Someone you haven't worked with before? Anyone who owes you money?" Evers asked. I shook my head.
"I've already thought of that," I said. "The only thing new is Abigail. But this seems a little subtle for Big John."
"I agree," Cooper said. "Digging up a crime two decades old just to fuck with your head is not Big John's style. A rocket launcher into your living room, maybe. Running your car off the road and shooting you in the head, definitely. But this? I don't think this has anything to do with Abigail or Big John."
"Is it worth checking for fingerprints?" I asked.
Cooper busied himself putting the photograph away. None of us wanted to look at it any longer than we had to. Cooper and Evers had been young, but they'd known my aunt and uncle. Seeing that picture couldn't be easy for them either.
"We'll check and see if we find anything. I'll get it back to you when we're done."
"Fine," I said. Checking the time on my watch, I realized I had a conference call in twenty minutes that I didn't want to miss. "I have to get back to the office."
"I'm sending Griffen up to watch your door for now," Evers said. "We'll get a regular rotation on it starting tonight. I'll also increase security on the stairwell access and the lobby elevator."
Nothing was foolproof. I knew that, but increasing security was a start.
"Thanks," I said as I turned to leave. "Keep me posted."
I headed back to my office, trying to get my mind on my upcoming call. I was in the middle of negotiations for a plot of commercial real estate I was hoping to buy from the original investors at a steep discoun
t after they'd completely fucked up the first stages of development.
I had to get my head back in the game. Since when was my personal life more distracting than business? Never. Now that I'd dealt with the security issue, all I could see in my mind was the pain in Abigail's face when I'd yelled at her.
I'd yelled at her. I called her stupid and yelled at her. What the fuck was wrong with me? She'd been scared enough by some fucked up intruder slipping stuff under the door without me losing my temper. She didn't need that kind of shit.
In the past two weeks, I'd seen her relax as the specter of Big John had faded. A steady diet of orgasms and safety had wiped away the pinched look in her eyes and the stiffness in her shoulders. Despite the way we'd begun, I refused to accept Evers's implication that she was pretending to be happy because she had no other choice. Abigail wanted to be with me. She wasn't looking for more, and neither was I. Evers was completely off base. Abigail and I were fine. Or we had been.
I'd taken pride in being the reason she was finally starting to be happy, and then I'd gone and fucked it all up. The sad thing was, I had no idea what to do about it. Had I ever apologized to a woman before?
Maybe, over small stuff, but not like this. It had never mattered. I'd never cared if they accepted my apology, never really cared that they were pissed in the first place, except as it might inconvenience me. With Abigail, the memory of that look in her eyes, that stomach turning combination of fear and sadness, pity and hurt . . . I had no idea how to fix it.
I thought about asking Rachel to order her flowers, then threw the idea away before it could fully form. Flowers wouldn't get the job done. Neither would jewelry or any other stupid clichéd gifts. Abigail wasn't my girlfriend. She was supposed to be a pet. She was supposed to be uncomplicated and simple. So what the fuck had happened?
I managed to banish Abigail from my mind for the rest of the day. I'll admit, though it makes me a prick, that when a minor crisis came up at five thirty, I opted to handle it myself rather than delegating it. Call me a pussy, but I couldn't bring myself to go home and face Abigail. I texted her to let her know not to hold dinner, aware I was an asshole as I hit Send.