by Alex Lidell
Michelle’s words hit my core, melting something that I just realize now was still coiled inside me. Turning my head, I study Cullen’s profile as he speaks to Eli, watching as every few seconds, he glances away from his friend to survey the room. To find me.
Yes, Cullen is an overprotective bastard, but he needs me as much as I need him. And that’s a whole new level of connection different from any I’ve ever had in my life. With anyone.
Cullen’s posture changes suddenly, and he motions me over as he pulls his phone from his pocket. Making my excuses to Michelle, I hurry back into the room to hear Liam come over the speakerphone.
“No one’s been inside the house,” Liam reports over the connection. “However, there’s a two-hour outage gap on the first of October between ten and noon, the outside footage surveillance. It was entered into the system as routine maintenance, and it would never have been flagged if I hadn’t been searching personally—that was the day my maintenance guy had a new kid born, and I sent him the fuck home off the books to take care of family.”
“October first?” Cullen looks up at Eli and me. “That’s when my new med delivery came in. Do you know who turned off the footage?”
“I’m having his ass dragged in now.”
“Not too loudly,” Eli says. “Can we please not make a bloody world announcement of all this until we want everyone to know what we know?”
“Roger.” Liam comes back at once, all business. “Received and understood.”
“When did you start running a PR firm?” I ask Eli as Liam disconnects the line.
Something dark comes over Eli’s beautiful features. “You have no idea.” He turns to Cullen before I can ask anything further. “Let me talk to Michelle and Yarborough and see if we can get you released for good behavior tonight if we promise to bring you back for surgery after we resolve this mess.”
That night, we gather in Cullen’s living room next to his massive gas fireplace, with everyone except Cullen nursing an adult beverage of choice.
“What do we have?” Cullen asks.
“James Dyer, the Denton Uncovered photographer, was, in fact, under orders to follow Cullen around and try to capture compromising footage,” Kyan reports. “Once I let him know I was displeased at discovering Cullen’s video getting emailed about, he was quick enough to point his finger at Frank. Just following orders and all. He’d been at it for a week now.”
“And Jaden?” I ask, quite proud of myself for saying the name without flinching. “Was he under Frank’s orders as well somehow?”
“Negative. So far as I could tell, Dyer got tired of dogging Cullen, so he was trying to get his new buddy Jaden to start something that could be recorded. Except then Jaden saw Sky and went off script. Photographer is still pissed. Says he barely got the camera lenses changed and had no time to reset the setting.”
“In other words, Jaden is mostly just an asshole,” I say, a new disgust running through me. That entitled bullshit wasn’t an act or setup. It was just the genuine personality of a man I nearly married. Cullen hands me a gin and tonic, and I take a grateful sip just as the doorbell plays a chime of cascading rain. “I’ll get it.”
Grateful to move around a bit, I peer through the front door peephole and feel my chest flutter at the sight of Jaz with her wrist in a brace.
“Hey!” I pull the door open, hesitating when the normally bouncy Jaz scowls over my shoulder. The championship. The one she had to forfeit because of me. My voice sobers. “Jaz. I’m so, so sorry about—”
She spins on me, her dark eyes flashing. “Don’t you dare, Skylar. Don’t you dare take responsibility for some other asshole’s actions.”
“But…” I wave my hand in her direction like some sort of genie. “You’re mad about something.”
“Of course I am. I had to fucking follow my brother like a damn tween just to find out what’s going on. And now that.”
The “that” in question saunters into the foyer, his arms crossed over a broad chest. “This isn’t a social gathering, Jazmine.”
“You going to let me in, Sky?” she asks brusquely, and, feeling like a moron, I step aside.
Liam shakes his head and disappears. I’ve still got no idea what has these two hissing at each other but… “His truck is outside. Did you not figure that he was in here?” I ask Jaz.
“I knew. But I don’t have to like it, do I?” she spits out venomously.
At least my friend is consistent. Throwing my arms around Jaz, I pull her along into our makeshift situation room and swear I see her stick her tongue out at Kyan before claiming my gin and tonic for herself.
“So where were we?” Jaz asks.
Liam gives her a look that would smite a lesser being, but turns his attention to Cullen. “Timothy Browning. That was the technician on duty when Cullen’s outside camera went dark for bullshit maintenance. Three guesses as to who put him up to manufacturing the malfunction.”
“Frank.” I don’t bother phrasing it as a question, but Cullen nods anyway. I blow out a slow breath.
“The bastard’s been conducting illegal activities for years,” says Cullen. “But he’s so damn slippery, nothing sticks.”
“Can we call the police on this?” Jaz asks.
“And say what?” Liam snaps at her. “That because Frank squeezed a weak link in my company, he’s somehow responsible for Cullen’s meds getting switched? Or that having his photographer dog a top Denton businessman is a smoking gun of anything but gossip? We might as well try to convict the fucking tooth fairy.”
“Maybe you should be vetting your own people better,” says Jaz. “Are you the head of a security company or Disneyland?”
“Enough, you two.” I don’t realize I’ve raised my voice at Liam until the man cocks a brow down at me and my pulse stutters, my muscles bracing for a blow. Cullen’s quiet curse says he’d seen my flinch, but before he can say anything, Liam steps back, giving me the floor.
“You were saying?” Liam prompts.
I draw a fortifying breath. “Jaz is right. We do need the police. But like Liam said, we need proof. I think I know how to get it.”
And I’m one hundred percent sure Cullen is going to hate every word of it.
40
Sky
I’m wrong. Cullen doesn’t hate my idea at all. He despises it on all grounds. But that doesn’t matter. It’s the only idea we have, and if I can manage to pull it off, it will work.
Mostly because it has to.
“I don’t like that it’s you,” Cullen says, scrubbing his hands through his closely shorn hair while Liam fits me with a tiny recording device.
Truth be told, I don’t like it either. My nerves have become living things, writhing through my intestines like rabid snakes, but I’m not letting that—or Cullen—stop me.
Taking my shoulders, Cullen turns me toward him. I start shaking my head, sure he’s about to tell me to call it off, but instead, Cullen levels me with his gaze. “We’ve got your six, Reynolds.”
Cullen’s words bore into my core, filling me with warmth and confidence. And yes, they also make me want to strip that shirt off him and burn off some nervous energy just now, but that would mess up the button camera Liam has been so carefully adjusting on me. Standing between Liam and Cullen just now, the pair of muscle-bound men towering over me make me feel like a Lilliputian beside two giant Gullivers.
The Lilliputians got the upper hand on that one.
Holding on to that final thought, I step out from between the men and, with a steady hand, smudge my mascara.
The sun has been up for several hours when I slink into Denton Uncovered, see his frosted glass office door standing wide, and flinch in Oscar-winning surprise at finding Frank behind his desk. At least I don’t have to fake the rapid beat of my heart, which hammers against my ribs. “Frank.” I swallow. “I… I just wanted to pick up my things and apologize.” I bite my lip, barely lifting my gaze off the floor. “I know it wasn’t the best exit but,
well, let’s just say you were right. About everything.”
Frank walks down the aisle separating the various work spaces toward where I’m hurriedly packing my belongings into a haphazard pile and perches his left buttock on my desk, the sweet bug-spray-like scent drifting off him. “Want to tell me what I was right about?” he asks, his voice so gentle, I’d believe it if I didn’t know better.
I shrug one shoulder. “Cullen. The… You were right about the temper, Frank. Please don’t make me say any more. I…” I look up at the ceiling, imagining the damage that Jaden did to Jaz and finding my eyes watering on cue. “I couldn’t do that again. I’m sorry I just slipped my resignation in like a coward, but… It got bad, Frank. Really, really bad.”
“Sky, honey.” Frank takes the liberty of wrapping an arm over my shoulders, which makes me glad the guys have no visual on me, lest they barge in and ruin everything before it starts. “I understand. The asshole’s hurt me too. Like I said, there’s a certain type to people like him. But it’s all right. I have you now, and I’ll stay with you as long as you want. You can even stay with me for a while.” Frank’s hand snakes down along my spine.
I swallow bile. “You know what I hate the most?” I say, leaning into his shoulder. “I can’t do anything about it.”
“Why in the world not?” Frank rubs a circle between my shoulders. “You’re a journalist, Sky. The one thing you know you can do is write. So start with a statement of what he’s done, and we’ll go from there.”
I stare at the paper Frank slides over to me, a pen following suit.
“We can press charges against him,” Frank coos into my ear. “A restraining order. Anything that might help you feel better.”
I pick up the pen and see Frank’s breath still, satisfaction glimmering in his sweaty face. Holding it just above the paper, I wait a few seconds before deflating his hopes. “There’s no point,” I say—which happens to be the truth, though not for the reason the asshole thinks. “No matter what I write, nothing will come of it. These damn vets, they’re above the law. They do shit, and it’s oh, my meds made me do it. And before you ask, yes, Cullen is one of those faux PTSD bastards, popping pills as an excuse to do whatever he goddamn pleases.”
Frank’s fingers halt, my breath stilling with them. Then the man moves his hand, trailing it across my face until my—no longer fake—anxiety-filled face tips up at him. “What if there was a way of proving meds had nothing to do with it?” he asks quietly. “Would you go to the police, then?”
I snort. “Impossible. I’ve been to Cullen’s. He’s more religious about those damn pills than most evangelicals are about church.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Frank’s smile flickers in concert with the satisfaction in his eyes. “I have it on good authority that Cullen Hunt is off his meds. They’ll confirm as much if the docs test him.”
Asshole. I freeze. As good as a damn admission. But good enough?
“Keep going, Reynolds,” Cullen’s iron order sounds through my earpiece, releasing something strange into my blood. Confidence. Resolve. For all his overprotectiveness, when the decision has been made, Cullen is backing me fully. Trusting me fully. A commander used to leading from the front, taking a support role with the same perseverance he does everything else. For the first time, I feel myself part of a unit, and damn it if it doesn’t make a world of difference just now.
I give Frank a hopeful gaze, my hand coming up to almost touch his cheek before falling away in despair. “It won’t. I’m telling you, he pops the pills like candy.” I swallow, blinking rapidly in rhythm with Frank’s quickening breaths. “Sorry, I was just hopeful there for a moment, but then reality struck. It’s no use.” I start pulling my things toward me, back into a pile. “I have to leave. It’s the only way of keeping safe from him.”
He licks his lips, the bulge in the front of his trousers stirring. Unlike my hesitating hand, the pad of his thumb does touch my lip, caressing the skin. “But what if it were true?” he whispers.
I scrape my upper teeth over my lip, worrying the skin where he’d just touched me, my eyes locked on his beady muddy brown ones. “Then I’d say you’re the most genius man to walk the earth. But please, don’t tease me.” I touch the tips of my fingers to his knuckles, his skin covered with a thin sheen of perspiration. “I don’t think I can stand another broken hope.”
“All raw truth, Sky.” He leans closer to me, his face inches from mine. “I replaced his prazosin with a placebo two weeks back.”
Did you now? Like personally? I lay my palm on his cheek. “If that’s the truth, you’re a damn genius. It means that all Cullen’s antics, all the violence, that’s the true him. Not some meds. Not on paper, not anywhere.”
“Oh, it’s true, sweetheart. I knew Hunt was a ticking time bomb. It was my responsibility to show the world that too.”
“That’s brilliant,” I breathe, letting the tease of my open mouth hover between us for a moment before speaking. “But dangerous as hell. What were you thinking, breaking into his house? He could have hurt you.”
“Didn’t have to, sweetie.” He gives me a triumphant grin. “He’s too lazy to pick up his stuff, so it was just a matter of switching it out of his mailbox. I did him a favor, if you ask me. What kind of entitled ass leaves drugs in a mailbox?”
“The kind who doesn’t care what happens to other people,” I tell him. “I mean, there are kids who live on that street. What if one of them had grabbed the bottle?”
“Exactly.” He moves closer to me, his fingers tucking a lock of hair behind my ear and sending my pulse into a gallop. “We have to look out for each other. Sticking together is the only way to deal with these commandos.”
“Good enough,” Liam says over my earbud. “Get out of there.”
Frank’s fingers grip my chin, the hold tightening when I try to pull back. I draw a quick breath, my mind racing my heart.
“It’s all right,” Frank whispers. “I know you’ve wanted this since you walked into Denton Uncovered. There’s no reason to fight it any longer.”
“If you want us to come in, clear your throat,” Liam says over the earbud.
Frank’s breath tickles my skin, his bug-spray scent making bile climb up my throat. But I don’t clear it. Because the last thing I need is more flying fists and splattering blood—and that is exactly how the Tridents’ version of backup is going to play out if I let them in here just now. Pinching the corner of my eye with two fingers, I wipe some black smudge along the bottom lid and jerk back hard, holding the makeup toward Frank’s face like garlic before a vampire. “Oh my God! I must look like a hot mess. I don’t want you to see me like this.”
Frank blinks, indecision playing across his face.
“Do you mind helping me construct my statement after I get cleaned up?” I press on, getting to my feet. “I’m not up for doing it myself just now. I know it’s an imposition.”
“Of course.” By the time Frank finds his voice, I’m already halfway to the washroom. More importantly, I’m yards away from the man. “I’m here to help.”
“Thank you, Frank.” For once, there’s nothing fake about the sincerity in my tone, because I mean every word. “Thank you so much for talking me through this.”
“Yes, I appreciate it as well,” Chief Arnie Jackson booms, walking in as if he owns the place, his salt-and-pepper mustache defining a strong upper lip. Frank, who was still leaning against the table from which I escaped, stares at the chief like a deer caught in the headlights, blinking only when the door opens again, this time to admit Cullen and Liam.
Cullen holds his arm out to me, and I walk gratefully into his embrace, while Liam holds up a cell phone—a recorder app already pulled up. A flick of Liam’s finger, and Frank’s voice fills the newsroom once more.
“All raw truth, Sky.” Frank’s breathing on the recording sounds even more intrusive than it had in real life. “I replaced his prazosin with a placebo two weeks back.”
Liam throws
the recording onto what passes for a conference room table in Denton Uncovered’s newsroom, the chief pulling a chair out for himself. “Take a seat, Frank.”
Moving with impressive self-possession, Frank walks over to his desk, stows away the blank sheet he’d handed me for my “statement,” and reaches for something deeper inside the drawer. For one insane second, I imagine he’s somehow planted a gun inside the drawer, but what he retrieves is nothing more hazardous than a sheaf of papers.
“Good morning, Arnie.” Ignoring the Tridents altogether, my editor pulls a chair out for himself beside the chief. Settling in, Frank motions me to a free seat as if I’d walked in on a companionable chat instead of having just set him up for criminal charges.
My stomach tightens. Frank is sleazy and two-faced and vindictive. But he’s also a coward. Which does not at all jive with the self-possession oozing from him now.
I glance at Cullen, but the man’s stony face gives away nothing of his thoughts.
“Frank,” says Arnie. “I’m pretty disturbed by what I just heard. Trespassing, theft of a controlled substance, mail tampering. We’re talking federal offenses here—and I haven’t even talked to the prosecutor yet to get a comprehensive list. I’ll level with you—it’s a bad situation. But I’ve known you for a long time. I think maybe you had your reasons. You don’t have to talk to me just now, and you can get on the horn with your lawyer, if you’d like, but I wouldn’t sleep right if I didn’t at least offer you a chance to help yourself out of this mess.”
“Help myself out?” Frank parrots. His eyes narrow on me and Cullen for a moment, but then return to the chief with too great an inner confidence. “What did you have in mind, Arnie?”
Arnie reaches between his legs to adjust his chair, then leans forward. “Accept responsibility, give me some names, and we can talk about a plea deal.”
“Mmmmm. I see,” my editor drawls. “I had something different in mind, though. I’m an extraordinarily careful man, you see. And I like information. It’s what keeps the world moving. You want to know things, I want to know things, the public wants to know things.”