by Ivy Layne
"Jacob Winters. I'm with Sinclair security. I've got two guys in here, and Cooper's on his way. Don't move your vehicle. The shooter's down behind your rear wheels."
"Is it all right if I get out of the car?" I asked.
"Not yet," the nameless voice answered, drawing closer to my car. "Let us get the shooter secured and clear the garage. Keep your head down to minimize the target until we give you the all clear."
"Got it," I said. I didn't want to sit in the car while the action was going on around me, but I wasn't stupid. The Sinclair team were the best. If they told me to stay put, I'd stay put. Sliding down, I reclined the driver seat so my upper body was out of view of the windows. It burned a little to hide. I didn't hide from my problems. But this wasn't my normal style of problem. This wasn't a business deal gone sideways. This was someone with a gun trying to shoot me.
I had no doubt the shooter was connected to Big John. He wanted Abigail, and if the Raptors were putting on the pressure, he'd be getting desperate. Desperate enough to try to take me out of the equation. I'd held off on locking down the garage, not wanting to inconvenience the residents and employees who had to use it. That was over. My phone beeped with a text. I eased it out of my back pocket and checked the display.
On my way. Team clearing the garage. Sending an extra man to your floor. Stay put.
Cooper. I texted back,
Got it. I'm in my car waiting for the all clear. Everything all right upstairs?
What if the shooter in the garage had been a diversion? What if someone was going after Abigail right now while the security team was all over the garage? But that was why Cooper was sending an extra guy upstairs. He's on it, I reminded myself. Cooper knows what he's doing, and Abigail is fine.
Unable to help myself, I pulled up the security app on my phone and logged into the cameras in my penthouse. I hadn't spied on Abigail since that first day. I'd wanted to, but invading her privacy repeatedly was dehumanizing. After what she'd been through in her marriage, I couldn't do that to her.
This time, I wasn't trying to catch her in anything. All I wanted to see was her sleeping peacefully in her bed, exactly the way I'd left her. I hadn't been nervous when I heard the footsteps in the garage. Not even when the window had exploded behind me. I'd felt a rush of adrenaline, my senses had sharpened, and I'd been ready to act, but I hadn't been afraid. Waiting for the cameras to come online, I felt a cold, deep fear. The garage had never felt so far from the penthouse. I might as well have been a mile away for all I could do to help her. Knowing there was security upstairs didn't help.
The camera on the front door flashed to life, showing part of the hall and both of the men Cooper had put on my door. Their posture was alert, but at ease. Flicking through the camera views on my phone, I let out a breath when I found Abigail's room and saw her, now stretched out on her stomach, one arm wrapped around her pillow, her hair loose and spread over her shoulders. The tight band of fear around my chest loosened. I could handle whatever was going on here as long as Abigail was all right.
In the distance, the wail of sirens bled through the quiet morning. Shit. Of course, we'd have to call the police. Sinclair Security had a good relationship with Atlanta PD. They even did jobs for them at a reduced rate when needed, and they maintained that relationship by playing by the book. Most of the time.
An intruder had shot out my window and I'd hit him with my car. Explanations were in order. I'd have to file a police report. Shit. The press would be right behind the police, and my quiet morning was about to turn into a total cluster fuck.
I texted Rachel and told her to cancel my morning meeting. Frustrated at being stuck in the car while the security team cleared the garage, I contented myself with watching Abigail sleep. As long as she was safe, everything else would work out.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ABIGAIL
* * *
I slept late and woke with the scratch of dried tears on my cheeks. Stupid. Crying over Jacob was a waste of time. I'd made my bed. Literally. The least I could do was sleep in it without getting weepy. Annoyed with myself, I dragged my tired body out of bed and took a long, hot shower. When I stepped out, feeling more together, if not quite awake, I pulled on a matching pair of yoga pants and hoodie.
Though I never left the penthouse, I usually dressed with a little more formality. Loungewear was comfy, but it wasn't really me. That morning, I'd woken with a dull headache, my body feeling heavy as if I hadn't slept. I wanted comfortable clothes and a mug of tea. As I zipped up the lightweight hoodie, my mobile phone rang. Jacob. My stomach tightened with nerves. He never called during the day. Something was wrong.
"Jacob?" I said when I answered. Immediately, he responded,
"Everything is fine." No, it wasn't. Not if he'd bypassed 'hello' for reassurance.
"What happened? Is it my mother?" I asked, suddenly dizzy. I sat on the edge of the bed, the pounding in my head worse.
"No. Your mother is fine. Griffen already checked. We had an intruder in the garage. He shot at my car."
I gasped. "Are you okay? Jacob—" He cut me off.
"I'm fine. He didn't hit me, just my window. I backed into him, and he's in police custody. The building is secure, I've got eyes on every entrance to the penthouse level, and the guards are on the floor below, blocking the stairwell. Elevators above the office level are locked down to hand prints only. No one is getting upstairs. I moved the guard from directly outside the door—between the police and the press, it's a mess down here, but you're completely safe. I didn't want you to see the building on the news and worry."
"I never watch the news. I read the paper," I said absently, my mind racing over what he'd told me. I wasn't worried for myself. Jacob had reassured me he had this level covered. I was worried for him. "Big John is coming after you, isn't he?"
"It looks like it," Jacob admitted. "The shooter was a mid-level guy with the Jordans. He already had a record, so they IDed him right away."
"I should leave," I said, panic arcing through me. When I'd come here, I'd been thinking of my mother. And myself. Jacob had seemed invincible. I never thought Big John would come directly for him. Not like this.
"Abigail," Jacob's hard voice cut through my rising panic. "Don't do anything. Stay in the penthouse."
"But—" I couldn't stand the idea that Jacob would be hurt because of me. I'd been selfish enough asking him for help. I couldn't let him get hurt.
"No, listen to me," he commanded. "Even if you leave, he'll come after me. At this point, I'm his best lead. The only way to stop that is for you to turn yourself in, and that is not going to happen. Understand? I'm covered. I have the best security all over me. I'm locking down the building. I was avoiding going that far—I didn't want to draw Big John's attention by changing things at Winters House too much. Now that he's come after us, there's no reason not to get serious about security. Before, we were trying to keep it low-key. Now, it's going to get very visible. No one is getting in the building who doesn't belong here. No one."
"Okay," I said. He had a point. The only way to pull Big John off Jacob was to turn myself in. If I did that, I was as good as dead. Worse than dead. "I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Don't be, sweetheart. I'm starting to think the day you came to my office might have been the luckiest day of my life. We'll figure out a way to handle the Jordans, and then you'll be free again. Trust me."
"I do. You promise you're all right?"
"I promise. I have to go down to talk to the police and make some arrangements with Cooper and Evers. I'll be back around lunch time. Don't worry."
"Okay," I said again. He hung up the phone. I was a liar. Of course I was going to worry. Big John had sent someone to shoot at Jacob. I felt sick to my stomach. My head pounded. I dragged myself to the kitchen and made a cup of tea.
In a movie, I'd sneak out of the penthouse and confront Big John. I'd figure out some clever way to get myself out of this mess and save the day. I was no action movie h
eroine. This penthouse was the one place in the city I knew I was safe. I'd do as Jacob said and sit tight, as much as I hated being useless.
I finished my tea and took something for the headache that wouldn't go away. It helped a little, but I still felt slow and draggy. I thought I'd slept well, but maybe I hadn't. I drifted off on the couch, waiting for Jacob to come home. The sound of pounding on the penthouse door startled me awake. I rolled to my feet, fighting off a wave of dizziness, and stumbled to the kitchen, grabbing the house phone off the counter.
I'd left my mobile somewhere. I couldn't remember. I'd been good about carrying it with me since the picture had been delivered, but somehow, I'd misplaced it that morning after I'd talked to Jacob. I started to dial his number when I heard the key in the lock. It couldn't be Jacob. He wouldn't have knocked. But he'd assured me an intruder couldn't get to the penthouse level. And an intruder wouldn't have the key. Clutching the phone in my hand, I waited for whoever it was to come down the hall.
A man rounded the corner, dark hair falling in his eyes, his face determined and pissed off. The expression was familiar. Not sure what to do, I said, "Leave, or I'm calling security."
"Who the hell are you?" the stranger demanded. "And what are you doing in my cousin's penthouse?"
I relaxed a little. One of Jacob's cousins. I knew he had one who lived a few floors down and worked in the building. That would explain how the stranger had gotten on the penthouse level without anyone raising an alarm. And how he had a key. Studying his face, the family resemblance was clear. "You're one of Jacob's cousins, I presume? Which one? You're too young to be Gage or Vance, so you must be Tate."
"Good call," he said, his eyes narrowed on my face. "When will Jacob be back?"
"You'd better come in," I said, turning back to the kitchen. I set the phone down in its charger, finally spotting my mobile beside the single-serve coffee machine.
"Who are you?" he asked again.
"I think it's better if Jacob answers that question," I said. If Jacob hadn't told his family what was going on, I wasn't going to do it. "But I have his permission to be here, if that's what you're worried about. Would you like some coffee? Tea? It's a little early for lunch, but I can probably throw something together."
"Coffee, and something to eat if you have it. It's been a long morning," he said, sitting down at the counter facing the rest of the kitchen.
I started a cup of coffee and decided to make him a sandwich. We had turkey and some leftover pesto sauce. I'd made bread the day before. Unless Jacob ate at the precinct, he'd be hungry when he got back. Making lunch would keep me busy. I snuck glances at Tate while I worked. He didn't bother sneaking, his deep blue eyes openly studying me as I moved around the kitchen.
He looked so much like Jacob it was a little scary. Except for the eyes, a warm blue to Jacob's cool silver, and his youth, he was almost a carbon copy. They had the same thick, dark hair, though Tate's was worn longer, showing its wave. The same aristocratic face and lean frame. Tate wasn't that much younger than Jacob, I didn't think, but he had a lightness to him that I didn't see in Jacob. Maybe it had nothing to do with age. I could imagine Jacob as a serious toddler, barking orders and concentrating intently as he built a Lego empire.
"Do I know you?" he asked.
"Wouldn't you know if you did?" I countered. "Cream? Sugar?" I held up a steaming mug of coffee. Normally, I loved the smell, but this morning, it turned my stomach. I needed more tea. With honey. My throat was starting to prickle when I swallowed.
"Black is fine," he said, taking the coffee. "Did the mess in the parking garage this morning have anything to do with you?"
I couldn't help my flinch, but I settled my expression to hide my nerves before I answered him. "You really need to ask Jacob," I said. Checking the clock, I saw it was close to noon. "He should be home soon."
Tate drank his coffee in silence as I finished making his sandwich and slid it in front of him. He ate it in big bites, as if he were starving. Part of me wanted to ask what he knew about the 'mess' in the garage, but I didn't want to betray my own ignorance. I knew I was safe with Jacob's family, but I wasn't going to tell Tate anything Jacob didn't want him to know.
Feeling off balance wearing such casual clothes in front of a stranger, I excused myself and went to my bedroom. My wet hair was still up in a simple twist, so I left it. Despite the medicine, my head hurt. I didn't want to touch my hair. Shedding the yoga pants and hoodie, I pulled on a loose but tailored shift and shoved my feet into matching sandals. Comfortable, but more appropriate. I added some make-up, alarmed to see how pale my skin was, with two bright spots of color on my cheeks.
I never got sick. I was one of those people who escaped unscathed when everyone else caught a cold, but I was beginning to think I might have picked something up. How, I had no idea, since I never left the penthouse and Jacob was vibrantly healthy. I hoped he didn't catch whatever I had. It was bad enough I'd gotten him shot at. I didn't want to get him sick on top of that. A short laugh escaped me as the idiocy of my thought caught up to me. A cold wasn't exactly the same as dodging bullets. Jacob had almost been shot because of me.
Just the idea of someone trying to kill him sent a fresh wave of nausea through me. Every time I tried to make things better, I ended up creating a bigger disaster. People used to say I was smart, back when I was in school and had my whole life in front of me. My current circumstances were proof that having good grades didn't mean I had any common sense.
I left my room, wishing the day were already over and I could crawl back into bed and sleep for a year. Maybe by then, this would all be over. Voices filtered down the hall from Jacob's office. Jacob, sounding cold. Tate, angry and frustrated. Moving closer, I heard Tate demand, "Why do you have a crime scene picture of my parents’ murder? What the fuck is going on? Does this have anything to do with what happened downstairs? And why do you have a woman living with you that none of us have ever seen?"
The picture. I hadn't realized Jacob had left it out. Tate shouldn't have seen it. He'd only been a child when he'd lost his parents.
"Would you relax?" Jacob asked, his voice icy and unyielding. He'd sounded the same way when he'd walked out on me after I'd shown it to him. It hurt him to look at it. The idea that he hadn't protected Tate from it would make him furious.
"No, I will not relax," Tate shot back. "I want to know what's fucking going on. My girlfriend just broke up with me over that bullshit in the garage."
"Your girlfriend? Since when do you have a girlfriend?" Jacob asked, sounding as if he were laughing at Tate. I eased away and went back into the kitchen to make Jacob something to eat. I didn't want to get caught listening to their conversation. With the office door open, I could hear them easily. They weren't making much of an effort to be quiet.
I tried not to smile at the sulk in Tate's voice when he said, "Since this morning, but it didn't last very long, thanks to you."
I heard the sound of a drawer slamming shut, then Jacob say, "I'm not going to talk about the picture. Not yet. Come back in the kitchen. It's been a long fucking morning, and I'm starving."
They came into the kitchen, Tate sitting back down at the island in front of his empty plate. Jacob came around the island to stand beside me as Tate asked, "Are you going to introduce us?"
Jacob slid his arm around my waist, the woodsy scent of him making me lightheaded. He dropped a gentle kiss on my neck just below my ear. "Are you all right?" he asked, nuzzling me, his arm pulling me against him. Tate seemed nice enough, but at that moment, I wished he were anywhere else. I wanted to stay exactly where I was, leaning on Jacob, his lips warm on my skin.
"I'm fine," I said. "Did you get everything straightened out?"
"Yes. Everything is locked up tight. They won't get that close again." He stepped back from me, leaving me cold without his arm around me, and said, "Abigail, you've met my cousin, Tate. Tate, this is Abigail Jordan. She's my guest, and while she's here, security has been tighten
ed."
"It's nice to meet you, Abigail," Tate said, sending me a charming smile I imagined got him his way more often than not. To Jacob, without a smile, he said, "Where have you been all morning? What happened in the garage?"
Jacob took the coffee I handed him and sipped before he said, "Abigail has an unfortunate situation that is none of your business. As part of that situation, someone tried to shoot me in the garage this morning. We're still not sure exactly how he got in, but he's in police custody and I'm fine. When she got here, I increased security, but I did it quietly because we didn't want to broadcast her location. After this morning, that's no longer a concern."
"The Sinclairs are on it?" Tate asked. Jacob nodded. I was grateful for his discretion. I was ashamed enough about my situation. I didn't want to stand there while Jacob laid out my dirty laundry for his cousin. He went on.
"You, Holden, and the other residents will get a brief this afternoon. Traffic in and out of the garage will be personally checked. It's going to be slow, but it should prevent the kind of scene you dealt with this morning."
"And you're not going to tell me why someone was shooting at you?" Tate asked.
I started to speak, feeling like he deserved some kind of explanation, but Jacob flashed me a glance that clearly ordered me to stay silent.
"It's not your business," Jacob repeated. "Despite what happened this morning, I don't want anyone to know Abigail is here, so don't tell Holden or your brothers."
With a mischievous grin on his face, Tate said, "What about your brothers?"
Jacob's spine went straight and he glared at Tate. "Don't fucking tell Aidan anything."
I didn't want Tate to goad Jacob into a fight. Interrupting, I asked, "Your girlfriend broke up with you because of what happened in the garage?"
"Because of the reporters," Tate explained. "They were like a pack of wolves, shouting and taking pictures. Emily has problems with anxiety and panic attacks, and it was too much. She freaked out, and then she broke up with me."