by Shandi Boyes
Recognizing that he is at point B, whereas I’m still struggling to find my way to point A, Alex rips the Band-Aid off in one quick succession. “I believe the man who assaulted me last night was the same man in your apartment Friday night.”
“Huh?”
I want to say more, but I’m too shocked to string words together. That doesn’t make any sense. Nothing he is saying makes sense. Danielle threatened me. When I failed to adhere to her threat, she turned up at Luca’s memorial with a pig’s heart. Alex arrested her, and she got carted off to jail, meaning my stalker case is now shut. It’s been solved. Done and dusted. Never to be mentioned again.
My brain stops trying to unjumble the evidence when Alex says, “My place of employment is at 4756 Marcotte Avenue.” He waits, giving me time to retrieve the Ravenshoe map stored in my head before continuing, “The windows in my office face the alleyway where you found me.”
“That proves nothing.” The drumming of my heart on my ribs echoes in my reply.
Although frustrated by my lack of trust, Alex continues chipping away at it. “What time did you arrive for your meeting last night?”
“A little before 11,” I answer, unsure what that has to do with anything.
“And where did your meeting occur?”
I lick my dry lips before answering, “In an office at the warehouse my employer is remodeling into a nightclub.”
“An office that happens to face Marcotte Avenue, with windows that can only be peered through from an elevated position, such as the office building across the street?”
My pulse thrums faster with each word Alex delivers.
“I wasn’t scheduled to work yesterday, but even if I were, my office is usually empty by 6 PM. Excluding janitors, it is rare to find anyone on the premises after dark.”
My pride rises to the occasion, but a voice in my head tells it to remain calm until we’ve gathered all the facts. “That’s circumstantial evidence. It will never hold up in court.”
Alex smirks, apparently amused at my attempt to switch our conversation from personal to business. I was, but it doesn’t mean he needs to laugh about it.
“I’m not here to convince members of a jury. I’m just hoping my girlfriend will hear me out.”
He stares straight at me when he says the dreaded “G” word, but I act coy. “No matter who you’re trying to convince, you need more evidence.”
Alex grumbles. “The person who assaulted me had dainty hands. . .” Before I can interrupt him with the assurance that a lot of men have dainty hands these days, he quickly adds on, “His size, hair coloring, and build match that of the assailant we caught on surveillance entering your apartment Friday night.”
A bolt of shock rattles my core. “Hold on, what? Go back a minute. You have surveillance of the person who entered my apartment Friday night?”
Alex smiles to hide the curse words streaming through his eyes before he dips his chin.
“How?” When he looks at me, confused, I reveal, “The owner of my building had his security personnel scour the tapes Saturday morning when he discovered my warped door. He said they didn’t find any evidence of a break in but requested I check my possessions just in case.”
My furious eyes dance between Alex’s for several minutes before I spit out, “I wasted two hours of my precious time this morning with an insurance agent going over the inventory of my apartment to ensure nothing was missing when I knew without a doubt nothing was stolen.”
Although peeved I lost time I’ll never get back, I preferred it over telling Isaac what really caused my door to get out of whack. With my stalker case closed, I didn’t feel the need to burden him with old issues.
“Segments of the tape from that night were accidentally corrupted. . .” My brow quirks from Alex’s desolate tone. “But footage of the suspect was transferred to a secure server before it was wiped.”
I remain quiet for several long minutes. I’m torn. Knowing there is footage of Friday night’s incident fills me with both panic and gratitude. I’m panicked because I’d rather sell a lung than have Isaac discover what truly happened, but grateful because if Alex’s theory is right, and Danielle isn’t to blame for what occurred in my apartment, that footage could be my only means to seek justice. Even if I weren’t a defense attorney, I know video evidence is damning in cases like this.
Over the next ten minutes, Alex updates me on everything he knows. He gives me a play-by-play rundown of what occurred before he was knocked out, before he switches to the data still a little blurry in his head.
By the time he has finished updating me, I’m still only halfway over the fence. I’ve looked at the facts objectively, so I can comprehend his anxiety, but I need a few more t’s crossed and i’s dotted before I can fully regard his idea. It isn’t because I’m stubborn. I’m just. . .
Stubborn.
“So can you understand my request to go home, Rae? If this man is the same man who threatened you, he knows your routine. He recognizes your strengths and weaknesses, but he’d never anticipate this move.”
“No one would anticipate this move—not even my momma.”
Alex grins, hearing my comment as I had intended: playful. I was hoping a bit of wittiness would dispel some of the tension in the air. It seems to have the opposite effect. I’m more panicked now than I’ve ever been, but my worry isn’t caused by the person determined to hurt me. It is the plea in Alex’s eyes.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Alex. I have my job. Friends.” A testing inability to say no to you. “I can’t just pack up and leave town for a few days. People rely on me.”
“And who do you rely on, Rae? Who has your back?”
I nearly say him, until I realize it is an utterly ridiculous thing for me to say. He’s a stranger, a man I’ve fucked more times the past forty-eight hours than I’ve been sexually active the past two years, but that’s not the point. Gaining enough trust to be someone’s crutch takes years. It isn’t something you achieve over a weekend.
I attempt to tell Alex that, but something stops me. I want to say it is the plea in his eyes, but a flash of red unconcealed by bad lighting harnesses my lie. If he is right, and our attackers are one and the same, his assault is my fault. He was injured because of me.
Although his injuries are nothing compared to what Luca suffered, they still have guilt eating me alive. For that reason, and that reason alone, I lock my eyes with Alex and say, “We’re staying at a hotel. If your parents hate me, don’t blame me. If they demand you leave Ravenshoe or burn at the stake, don’t blame me. If your sisters, cousins, or any other female relative says I am to blame for their husband’s wandering eyes, d—”
“Don’t blame you,” Alex fills in. “Got it.”
“I don’t think you do. You haven’t seen this in operation around other people.” It is conceited of me to do, but I swipe my hand down my body. “People get agitated around things they don’t understand. I am often misunderstood.”
Alex tugs my bottom lip out from under my teeth, saving it from being gnawed to death. “Stop it. You’re fucking perfect. My family will love you.”
It seems like he wants to say more, but before he can make a foolish mistake, I save him for the second time this week by sealing my mouth over his.
My nerves spike when Alex rounds the hood of the taxi before clambering into the seat next to me. His packing expedition took one tenth the time of mine. I barely sucked in three breaths between his departure and return. I know why he is eager. He wants to get me to the airport before I change my mind for the eleventh time this morning.
Isaac was fine with me taking time off. His quick reply was more to do with his inaccurate assumption that my request centered around the anniversary of Luca’s death. But even if it didn’t, he still would have granted my request because he knows I wouldn’t ask unless it was important.
“You ready?” Alex draws my focus to him.
I shake my head. “But that won’t save me, w
ill it?”
“Probably not.”
He does up his seatbelt before leaning across my torso to do the same to mine.
“Do you really think a sliver of material will stop me from escaping if I choose to run?”
Alex’s chuckle makes me hot and needy.
“Probably not,” he repeats, “but I packed my running shoes just in case.”
If I hadn’t seen the honesty in his eyes, I’d assume he was joking.
With it being a Tuesday morning, our commute to the airport isn’t as hair-raising as the one we made Saturday. Commuter traffic is still at a standstill but since we’re heading in the opposite direction, it doesn’t hinder our progress—unfortunately.
I drag my sweaty hands down the flare of my skirt before asking, “Do your parents know we’re coming?”
When Alex shakes his head, concealing his smirk, I whack him in the bicep. It is not a smart thing for me to do. His arms feel like they’re made out of concrete, and they make my needs even more urgent.
“Why didn’t you tell them?”
Before he can answer me, my phone buzzes, advising I have a new text message. My eyes only skim the first line before Alex snatches my cell out of my hand.
Unknown Number: No video evidence of your assault was located.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Since Alex isn’t talking to me, I don’t reply. Lucky, as I wouldn’t have gotten a word in between his index finger smashing the screen of my phone as he dials a known number, and his angry roar bellowing down the line. “What do you mean there’s no evidence?!”
He waits, grunts, then waits some more.
“You know she’s full of shit, right?”
Another long pause.
“Because this is the crap she pulls.”
This pause is the longest of them all.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to find another way?”
When he swings his eyes my way, I dart mine to the scenery whizzing by our window. My attempt to act ignorant comes too late. Alex spotted my snooping ways, but instead of lashing out in anger, he subdues my curiosity by holding out his hand palm side up.
Not even thinking, I accept his gesture. It was a smooth move for both of us. Just his fingers intertwined with mine calm the erratic beat of my heart and stop his fists’ clench and unclench routine.
He doesn’t wait for his phone companion to quit squabbling before he suggests, “Send the footage to Dane. Even if it’s been cut and removed, he’ll find it.”
After a few more grunts and a jerk of his chin, he disconnects his call and hands my phone back to me.
“Bad news?” I ask, stating the obvious.
Heat slicks his face as anger pulses through him. “It’s just the same shit, different day.”
I nod in understanding. “That’s been my life the past eight years. I am stuck on a hamster wheel. Same emotions. Same monopolized day. Same acquisitions. There’s just one difference this week: I have a new sidekick.” I bump him with my knee to ensure he knows whom I am referring to. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
Alex shakes his head for barely a second before his brow arches. “Does the warehouse across from my building have any surveillance installed?”
I twist my lips. “Most likely. Isaac is pedantic about security.”
Alex appears more displeased than happy—even while asking, “Do you think he’d give me access to his security servers?”
Lines of worry indent my forehead. Isaac isn’t cautious about security for no reason. He has millions and millions of dollars’ worth of assets to protect, much less items you can’t place a monetary value on.
Spotting my apprehension, Alex assures, “I don’t need access to his servers. Just the footage from the alleyway. He could burn it on a CD or. . . thingy.”
His deficient computer knowledge compels a smile onto my lips, but it doesn’t award him a reply.
“Please, Rae.” He purposely uses my nickname as he knows how much I love hearing it. “This could close your case sooner, meaning you’ll be back on the hamster wheel before you know it.”
His smart ass remark isn’t helping to plead his case. If anything, it has me wanting to say no. I’m scared shitless about meeting his family, but a little part of me—a teeny, weeny tiny part—is a tad bit excited.
Before Luca’s accident, I was an adventurous, fun-loving person. If there was a party or social gathering, you could be assured I would be the first person there. Well, not first, as everyone knows it’s more fashionable to be late than early, but you get what I mean. I lost part of who I was when Luca’s life perished way too early. With Alex’s help, I’m rediscovering who I’ve always wanted to be.
Incapable of ignoring Alex’s flopped head and lowered lip for a second longer, I breathe out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll call his head of security before we take off.” When he gives me a flirty wink, announcing my pledge of assistance will be well-rewarded, I forewarn, “But don’t get your hopes up. I’ll need to give Hunter way more than a smile to get him to agree to this.”
My tease has the effect I am aiming for when Alex grumbles under his breath. He does the same thing anytime he’s jealous. His inaudible grumbles remind me of Muttely, the cartoon dog from Wacky Races. It’s cute and endearing, enough to send any girl’s pulse racing, even while she’s in the process of facing her worst fears head on.
10
“Peanuts,” Regan hisses under her breath for the fifth time since we disembarked the plane and entered our rental car. “Peanuts.”
She stops fastening her seat belt, her narrowed eyes straying to mine when I say, “You could have had pretzels.”
She doesn’t find my humor amusing. The heavy groove that settled between her brows when I told her we were flying economy remains as strong as ever. I didn’t refuse the travel agent’s offer of an upgrade for no reason. I did it to settle Regan into normality before she hits the streets of suburbia. She might have grown up on a farm, but Regan is as glamorous as they come. If the price tags on the unworn dresses she packed “just in case” are anything to go by, she left the norm a very long time ago.
Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love who she is—sparkling dresses and all—but she won’t get that here. Here, she’ll get a belly full of food and a heart full of love. Everything else stops at the door. It’s real. It’s gritty. It’s the Rogers way.
Regan wiggles in her seat the next thirty miles, her senses shifting into high gear the more unpopulated the streets become. She won’t find the farm she is seeking—just a hidden pocket of perfection on the outskirts of Washington DC. My childhood home has been in my family for decades. It’s been handed down generation after generation—just like my job title.
“Wow.” Regan’s breath expels without the quiver her jaw has had since we exited the tarmac at Ravenshoe Airstrip.
After taking in the swinging sign advising we’ve arrived at The Manor B&B, she shifts her eyes my way. “Never took you as a bed and breakfast traveler. Sleazy two star motels seem more your style.” A frisky wink accompanies her slam.
“Up to your standards?” A wicked smile crosses my lips.
She sucks in a wild breath before nodding. “Very much so.”
I’ve barely come to a stop at the end of a long driveway when Regan pops open her door. Her hand protects her eyes from the late afternoon sun so they can absorb the pre-war features of concrete and stone. The entire lower level of The Manor is constructed with Braddock’s rock, dug from a quarry not far from here. Each piece was carefully selected to ensure it fit with the previously set rocks.
The veins of earthy red tones throughout the rock contrast against the white shutters and restored timbers of the top floor, making The Manor one of the most architecturally sought-after homes designed in the pre-war era. It is a house you’d expect to find in the countryside in the United Kingdom. The big, expansive verandas are a testament to the man who built the home—as are the current own
ers.
“Have you stayed here before?” Regan asks, her voice picking up suspicion from the valet greeting me by name.
My shoulder touches my ear when I shrug. “A few times.”
I curl my hand around Regan’s before climbing the eight stairs separating the footpath from the full-length patio numerous guests are putting to good use. Grayson leans against the railing, his gaze wide with amusement as he eyeballs our approach. He’s my eldest brother. The deal maker. The deadly marksman. The all-round playboy. He has the same rugged grin as me, carved facial features hidden by a few days’ growth, and an appreciative eye for fine ladies.
His long gaze at Regan’s svelte frame leaves no doubt to my last confession. Grayson’s interests are piqued, but not enough for him to leave his mark. Someone else must have his attention.
Placing my hand on the curve of Regan’s back, I guide her toward the side entrance of The Manor, barely saving her from the quirk of Grayson’s curious brow. He was happy appraising her from afar until I blew the calm, collective ruse I was working with by placing my hands on Regan. Now he’s shadowing us into the private entrance of our home, his interest as notable as Regan’s.
“Don’t we need to check in?” Regan asks, stunned I’ve guided her into the core of The Manor via the back entrance.
Before I can answer her, a loud squeal pierces my ears. “Alex! What the bloody hell are you doing here?! I thought you weren’t due home until Christmas!”
Darcy, all one hundred and ten pounds of her, darts off a stool at the kitchen island to head my way. Regan’s eyes, which were back to their normal width seconds ago, narrow when Darcy leaps into my arms and plants her lips on my cheek. She is so excited to see me again, she’s failed to notice Regan standing beside me. It’s probably for the best. If she catches sight of the death stare Regan is giving her, she may not survive its wrath.