by Shandi Boyes
Brodie's brow cocks high into his hairline as a ghost of a smile cracks onto his lips. "I aim to please."
I smile more broadly, equally loving and hating his cocky attitude.
I wait for him to finish latching his belt before mumbling, “Can I ask you something, Brodie?”
He runs his hand along the scruff on his chin, gathering the stubborn drops of rain still clinging to the bristles of his beard before replying, “As long as it's a question I can answer, sure, shoot.” His tone is as hesitant as his facial expression.
Surprised by his anxious reply, the question sitting on the tip of my tongue rams into the back of my throat. Taking my silence as the end of my interrogation, Brodie shrugs, cranks the ignition on his car, then begins to back up. His foot glides from the gas pedal to the brake when the shrill of a cellphone rings through my ears. My heart beats triple time when I register the ringtone as familiar. A grin curls on my lips when Brodie's cell phone starts hollering not even two seconds later. My smile doesn't last long, only long enough for a terrifying notion to bombard me. Usually, bad news is delivered in quick succession.
My panic subsides when Brodie mumbles, "It's Lucy."
He nudges his head to the cell I’m clutching for dear life, enquiring my caller’s identity, his eagerness unmissable. I lower my eyes, just as eager to discover who my caller is. My smile returns when I spot Lexi’s scowling face stretched across the screen. She wasn’t impressed when I snapped a sneaky picture of her last week.
My smile must answer Brodie’s questions as he drifts his eyes back to the road before activating the bluetooth device in his ear. I follow his suit, minus the bluetooth part.
“Miss me?” I query into my cell, not bothering to issue a greeting.
Lexi gags. “Only a lunatic would miss your snoring ass.”
“Whatever,” I force out with a laugh. “I’m not the one who talks in her sleep. ‘I swear, professor. I might think your breath smells like dog doo, but I’d never say that out loud.’”
I giggle even more loudly when my confession has Lexi stumped for a reply. My insides do a little jig, pleased as punch I’ve finally shocked her into silence. This is the first time I’ve succeeded what I previously thought was an unwinnable achievement.
When Lexi’s silence lingers longer than anticipated, I ask, “Is everything okay, Lex?” I use Jackson’s nickname for her, conscious it may catch her off guard enough to disclose whatever the problem is.
"Yeah. . . umm . . . Never mind. I've just realized why the microwave isn't working. It wasn't switched on." She huffs loudly, feigning stupidity. Her tone is so convincing, if I didn't know her as well as I do, I might have believed her.
“What’s going on, Lexi?” My worried pitch is strong enough to gain the attention of Brodie. He disconnects his call, houses his cell in his jacket pocket, then devotes his eyes to me. When I catch sight of the time on the dashboard of Brodie’s car, my worry intensifies. “Why aren’t you with Jackson? I thought you guys were going out tonight?”
“I’m fine.” She’s lying—don’t ask me how I know, I just know she is.
“And I’m not with Jackson as he got called into work. His schedule is all over the place.” Now she is telling the truth.
I stare at Brodie, speechless. I know Lexi is lying, but I can’t just call her out, can I? Brodie must spot the apprehension in my eyes, as the instant he gets a clearing in traffic, he completes a U-turn, altering our course from Marcus’s residence to Montclair.
“Brodie and I are coming; we’re around forty minutes away.”
Lexi breathes slowly down the line, attempting to drown out the expletive curse word that quickly follows it. "I'm not at home," she discloses after a stretch of uncomfortable silence. "I'm in New York."
I grit my teeth. I knew she was lying. If I had just called her out on it, we could have saved two minutes driving in the wrong direction. When I advise Brodie of her location, he dangerously veers into oncoming traffic. Thankfully, the motorists driving on the other side of the road are vigilant, meaning we avoid getting into a collision.
I brace my hand on the ceiling to lessen the crazy bounces hammering my body from Brodie’s manic maneuvers. “Where exactly are you, Lexi?” My tone is unforgiving.
If she lies to me again, I'm not above disciplining her. I don't care that she is twenty-one, she is still my baby sister. My worry could be unwarranted, but being deceitful isn't Lexi's forte, so for her to lie to me, I know it's for something significant.
All noise ceases to exist when Lexi replies, “I’m at Toloache.”
“Why are you at Toloache?” Panic roars through my body.
Hearing my question, Brodie increases the pressure on his gas pedal.
“This is where the note told me to come,” Lexi answers, her tone relaying that she feels stupid.
I push aside my desire to agree with her assessment for a more appropriate time. “What note, Lexi?”
"A card. It was on my bed when I woke up from a nap this afternoon. I thought it was from Jackson, but he just messaged me. It wasn't from him. He's only just got out of surgery, he's been in their since midday. Cleo, something doesn't feel right. I've only just arrived, but my intuition is warning me something is off.”
Jesus Christ. I lock my panicked eyes with Brodie as dread chills my spine. “Please, hurry.”
Nodding, Brodie flattens his foot on the gas pedal. We weave in and out of traffic with more stealth than bees swarming a honeypot.
“Lexi, are you there?” I query, panicked by the eerie silence coming down the line.
“Yeah.” My heart leaps in my chest from the sheer panic relayed in her tone.
“Can you leave?”
“Uh huh.”
"Okay. Leave. Now. Please." Wheezy breaths separate my words.
I hear a chair scrape across the ground before a male voice filters down the phone. The panic curled around my throat lessens when I realize it's the waiter checking in on Lexi. After assuring the server she is okay, Lexi accepts her coat then leaves. I've never been more appreciative to hear the buzz of traffic as I am right now. Hearing noise tells me Lexi is okay. It's silence I don't want to hear.
"Take a right as you exit; Links is a few blocks over. I'll meet you there."
“Okay,” Lexi croaks out, her voice shattered by anxiety. “Cleo?”
“Yeah,” I reply.
“Will you stay on the phone with me as I walk?”
I brush away a tear rolling down my cheek from her panicked tone. "Yes, of course I will.
I do precisely that for the entire ten-minute journey that usually takes twenty-five. We don't speak; we just listen to each other breathe, both grateful for the lack of commotion.
Brodie has barely pulled to the curb at Links when I throw off my seatbelt and race into the foyer. Even with my top lip dotted with sweat, I keep my jacket on, too motivated to find Lexi amongst the hundreds of patrons who use Links every day. I close my eyes and sigh loudly when I spot her standing at the side of the rec room with a wide-eyed Serenity. Not even caring that I’m in public, I let my tears flow freely, beyond grateful she is uninjured.
“Do you recognize this man?” Shian slides a photo across the desk I’ve been sitting behind the past two hours.
Although Lexi was uninjured, Brodie suggested we report the incident to the authorities. The fact someone was in my house when Lexi was alone warranted my agreement, but instead of calling Montclair PD as I had expected, Brodie called Shian.
Not looking at the picture, I crank my neck to Lexi. She shakes her head, acknowledging she’s unaware of the man’s identity. “Shian showed me his picture earlier; I’ve never seen him before,” Lexi discloses, her voice not as haunted as it was earlier. Lexi acts tough, but her insides are a little squishier than she’d care to admit.
After running my hand down her arm, soundlessly assuring her she is fine, I lower my eyes to the picture. The longer I glance at the mug shot, the closer my brows jo
in.
“That’s Andy. He was working behind the bar at the fundraiser I attended Saturday.” My gaze dances between Shian’s worried eyes. “Why do you have his photo? What does he have to do with this?”
Shian plucks the photo out of my hand. “We believe he is the man who left the note for Lexi.”
"Why? Lexi said she’s never seen him before, so why would he do that?" I cringe when my voice comes out snarky. I do not mean to be short with Shian; I'm just lost on what this all means.
Bile gurgles in my throat when Shian slides a second picture across the table. I curse the day I was born when I recognize the faces projecting back at me. It's Richard and Andy standing side by side. From the way they are clutching each other's shoulders and smiling broadly, it's as obvious as the sun hanging in the sky they know each other well.
“Andy thought Lexi was me,” I murmur under my breath, answering my own question.
Shian nods, even though I didn’t need her confirmation. “We couldn’t comprehend why we were still intercepting messages in regards to your stalker case after Richard’s death. Now we have a better understanding. These two are like brothers,” she says, pointing her index finger between Andy and Richard. “They did everything together.”
Clearly.
“Can you stop this from continuing? Will Andy be held accountable for this? He broke into our house. Into my sister’s room. . .” My words stop as I fight to hold in my sob.
Shian licks her lips, her eyes hesitant. “The fact Andrew was detained sitting in the booth he reserved to meet with you aids in our case, but with how fickle the justice system is, I never make guarantees anymore. With no fingerprints at the scene or on the note, our evidence is minimal at best.”
“He broke into our house!” I stand from my chair, my anger too great to inhibit. “You need to make him confess, Shian. He knows what he did wrong; force him to admit that.”
“It isn’t that easy, Cleo—”
“Bullshit!” I interrupt, shaking my head. “Look him in the eyes and force him to kneel. You’re a Domme for crying out loud! How can you not make a pathetic man like him kneel?”
Ignoring Shian’s flaming-with-anger face, I make a beeline for the door. Legally, Shian can’t force a confession from someone, but I sure as hell can.
I’m shocked as hell when the first door I fling open in the long corridor is the one Andy is sitting in. Andrew, I correct myself. He is not my friend.
“Cleo,” he says, shocked, adjusting his slumped position. “What are you doing here? Did you read my note?”
“It’s a bit hard to read when you gave it to the wrong person,” I reply, my words a vicious snarl.
Andrew’s brows crimp as his lips purse. “What?” he asks, confused as ever.
“That was my sister’s room. The note you left for me was placed on my baby sister’s bed!” I roar, sending my loud voice bouncing off the stark white walls before booming back into my ears.
Andrew’s eyes bounce between mine, his confusion unmissable. “Woah. . .hold on a minute. I didn’t give your sister a note. I gave you a note. Remember?”
“You gave it to the wrong person, you dipshit!”
My brisk charge across the room is thwarted by the FBI agents sitting across from Andrew. They dive out of their seats, halting my endeavor to smack the confusion right off his face. I kick and wail against them, acting like a woman possessed. Going after me is one thing, but endangering the life of my sister intensifies my anger to a whole new level. Nothing gets in the way of me protecting my sister—not even two burly FBI agents.
Using their distraction of Shian's reprimand to put me down, I shrug out of their hold and charge for Andrew. Although the handsome blond agent curls his arm around my waist before I can reach Andrew, his firm hold leaves my arms unrestrained, meaning I can strike Andrew across the face. Since the agent yanks me back at the same time my hand sails wildly through the air, nothing but my sharp nails connect with Andrew's face.
Air hisses through his teeth when my nails drag across his face, leaving three significant scratches embedded in his nearly perfect skin. "What the fuck, Cleo? What the hell are you doing?"
He appears genuinely shocked, like he is appalled at the level I will stoop to protect my sister. He has no idea. If I weren't being subdued by a man the size of a bear, the scratches on his cheek would be the least of his worries.
“Tell them the truth,” I implore as the FBI officer drags me out of the room.
“What the fuck do you think I’m trying to do?” Andrew yells through the rapidly closing interrogation room door.
“Read the note, Cleo!” I hear him scream as I’m hauled down the corridor, suddenly panicked I’m about to face my own prosecution. “It will explain everything. Just read the note!”
12
I carefully drape a cashmere blanket over Lexi's sleeping frame before tiptoeing out of the spare room of Marcus's residence. Warmth flourishes in my heart when my quiet exit from her room has me passing by a man I know she's been dying to see: Jackson.
“How is she?”
I crank my neck to peer back at Lexi sleeping before returning my drooping eyes to Jackson. “She is good. She wanted to wait for you to arrive, but Aubrey’s hot chocolate is more lethal than she realized.”
Some of the heaviness on my chest clears away when Jackson’s bright white smile lights up the faintly lit room.
"Go on," I say when his eyes relay he is chomping at the bit to check on her himself.
My cheeks incline when he places a quick peck on the edge of my mouth before ambling to her bedside. Lexi stirs, her body recognizing Jackson’s presence even in her sleep. Her groggily saying his name is the last thing I hear when I enter the hallway, closing their door behind me.
I jump, startled to within an inch of my life when I spot a shadowy figure propped up halfway down the hall. Although I'm grateful for the smiling assassin’s eagle watch, he still isn't the person I was hoping to see.
The whole "Andy" incident happened over six hours ago, and I still haven't heard from Marcus—not even a text asking if I am okay. I'm not going to lie—even with his house filled with people I care about, I'm devastated by his lack of contact.
“Did Andy confess?” I ask Brodie, hoping he will have an update from Shian.
My hopes are dashed when he shakes his head. "Not yet, but the DA is holding him on remand a few days; we’ll see if a few nights in solitary can rattle a confession out of him."
I nod. “Hopefully that works. If not, I wouldn’t mind another attempt.”
Brodie smirks before shaking his head. “You’re lucky Shian likes you, Cleo. If anyone else pulled that stunt, you would have been eating Christmas turkey behind bars.”
A stretch of silence passes between us. It's plagued with awkwardness.
I’m the first to break the silence when I ask, “Have you heard from Marcus?” My words come out quietly.
Brodie scrubs his hand across his chin while muttering, “Yeah.”
"Yeah?" I question, certain I heard him wrong. I didn't. The guilt in Brodie's eyes grows tenfold when hundreds of silent questions from mine bombard them.
“What did he say?” I eventually ask when Brodie doesn’t crumble under the pressure of my eyes.
Brodie half shrugs. "Not much." He breathes heavily, exposing he hates being stuck in the middle of Marcus and me. "It was the same stuff he always says. Make sure you're eating, sleeping, etc." He lifts his eyes from the ground to me. "To make sure you're safe."
Even annoyed Marcus didn’t call me himself, heat blooms across my chest from Brodie’s admission. “Did he say when he was coming back?”
Brodie nervously shifts on his feet before shaking his head. "He didn't mention anything to me."
“Alright,” I breathe out slowly, my disappointment revealed by my short response. “Well, I’m going to go to bed.” I don’t know why I felt the need to update Brodie on my happenings, it just occurred before I could shut
it down.
Brodie nods. “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning?”
Since his statement comes out sounding like a question, I nod.
Just before I enter the master suite, Brodie calls out of my name. “Marcus did say one thing that baffled me.”
He waits a beat, unaware he is torturing me, before adding on, “’Tell Cleo if she is cold, she can borrow my jackets. Navy blue is my favorite color.’”
“What does that mean?” Shock is evident in my tone.
Brodie’s shoulder touches his ear when he shrugs. “I don’t know.”
After a final shrug showing his confusion, Brodie gallops down the stairs, disappearing into the blackness of Marcus’s residence in three heart-thrashing seconds.
While showering and preparing for bed, I contemplate what Marcus’s riddled statement could mean. Minutes of deliberation award me even more confusion. Shrugging off my perplexity as the effects of an exhausting week, I crawl into bed, wanting to forget the world exists.
I don't know how much time passes before I'm startled by someone slipping in between my sheets. The panic surging through my veins simmers when the unique scent of Marcus lingers into my nostrils. He scoots across the mattress until the heat of his naked torso warms my cami-covered back. A grin tugs on my weary face when he curls his arms around my waist and draws me back until he is cocooning me. It's incredible how well he eases my agitation. Every worry I've had the past forty-eight hours disappeared the instant he wrapped me up with his warmth.
“Hey,” I greet him, my words barely a whisper since I’m half asleep.
“Hi, baby.” Marcus presses his lips to my temple. “Go to sleep. I just want to hold you for a minute.”
Blood floods my heart. “You flew all the way here just to spoon me?” I try to conceal the sheer delight doubling my heart’s size. I miserably fail. I’m as smitten as hell he is here.
“Yes,” he replies, his tone shocked. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I was tied up convincing a friend not to arrest my girlfriend for battery.”