by Ivy Layne
I rolled over, punching the flat hotel pillow until it was thick enough to support my neck comfortably. I needed to get a good night’s sleep. I needed my brain sharp to finish up this job.
It wasn't dangerous. I was working undercover as a suit in a cubicle, gathering evidence to trap a clever embezzler two cubicles over. I had almost everything I needed for the client to press charges. In another day or two, I could go home.
Home was the last place I wanted to be. I'd kept Charlie out of my house for a reason. Now that I'd let her in, I'd see her everywhere. I'd never be able to look at my bed again without remembering Charlie there, the sheet wrapped around her long limbs, her dark hair spilling across the pillow.
I should've taken her up on the suggestion of a hotel.
I had to do something. I couldn't go on like this, obsessed with a woman I couldn't have. A woman who probably hated me after the callous way I'd walked out on her.
I couldn't get her back, but I could make sure she was safe. Before I went in to my last day on the job, I'd call Evers. There was no question the Sinclairs had their eyes on her. I could check in and make sure she was all right.
At exactly 8:30 the next morning, I dialed Evers's number. I'd managed to catch a few hours of sleep after I decided to call him.
I was braced for attitude. Charlie was like a little sister to all the Sinclairs and I'd hurt her. She told me the way those guys talked. Given that she'd run straight to her brother, I imagined the assembled Winters and Sinclair crew were out for my blood. It was no less than I deserved.
Evers picked up on the second ring.
"Jackson, I was going to call you today," he said, no hint of anger in his voice. He sounded friendlier than I'd ever heard him.
My guard went up.
"Were you?" I asked evenly. "What about?"
"We'll get to that later. Why did you call me? Something on your mind?" He almost sounded as if he were teasing me. I wasn't going to bite.
"Everything quiet there?" I asked.
"So far. What's bothering you?" Evers's voice sharpened on the question.
"Nothing specific," I admitted. "I just . . . I'm not solid on Marissa Archer for Charlie's stalker. The evidence lines up, but—"
A short gust of air sounded through the phone, as if Evers let out a held breath.
"I'm with you," he said. "We've got eyes on Charlie. Not all the time, but here and there. She still carrying her panic button and being smart about using the system at her house. I want to think all of it was Marissa. Makes it easy."
"But you're not convinced either," I said.
"No. And she's not talking. She hasn't said a fucking word. The last thing she said was to Charlie. 'He's still out there. And he's not done.' She knows what happened. I believe she delivered those pictures, though I have no fucking clue why. But I just don't see her going after Charlie. The vandalism, that note—those things were personal to Charlie. They had nothing to do with her family."
"It doesn't make sense," I finished for him.
"No, it doesn't."
"Does she know?"
"Charlie? Does she know we're not solid on Marissa Archer? No. Aiden knows. So does Jacob."
"The rest of them?" I asked. If her family hovered, it would drive Charlie nuts, but she was safer if they all knew she might be in danger.
"We're trying to keep it low-key. We don't have any proof that she's still in danger. Nothing's happened since you've been gone. But if you're convinced her stalker is still out there, then why the hell did you leave?" Evers's voice went hard. "Everyone said you two were good together, then you just walked out on her."
"Is this really your business?" I asked. I'd known this was coming, but I wasn't going to talk about Charlie with Evers. Looked like he wasn't going to give me another option.
"Are you fucking kidding me? If you think Charlie isn't my business, you haven't been paying attention. Or you're not as smart as I think you are. Did you get bored? She wasn't enough for you? Or was she too much trouble?"
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," I said. "It wasn't about Charlie. Charlie is fucking perfect. Anyone who can't see that is an idiot."
"Then what? Seriously, I don't want to do a play-by-play of your whole relationship, but just tell me why you'd walk away from Charlie if you think she's so fucking perfect."
"Because she deserves better, okay? I know you guys checked me out. You know who I am."
"We do," Evers agreed. "Not everything, but we have good access. Birth through your first two years in the Army were easy. After that, the data gets a little sketchy, but we could put together a fairly accurate picture."
"So you know. You know where I come from, you know the things I've seen. The shit I've done. Charlie deserves someone like her. Someone she can be proud of. Someone whose hands are clean. How can you not get that? You should want better for her if you care so much."
"I do. I want the best for her. But what you're describing isn't the best. You think she should be with one of those country club boys? Like the one who cheated on her or tried to drain her savings account? Or the one who tried to use her to get a job? That's what you think she deserves? Because that's what you're leaving her to."
"You don't understand," I said. I didn't know how to explain it to him. How could he not see?
"No, I understand. I do. You've got to figure this shit out for yourself. I don't have any words of wisdom. Except to say—you need to get your fucking head on straight. Do you know why she was so pissed at Aiden when he fired her? If you do, then you know you did the same goddamned thing."
"I'm done talking about this with you," I said, ready to hang up.
"Fine with me. I'm not a relationship counselor. But if you make her cry again, I'll beat the shit out of you."
"I'm scared," I said flatly. I'm sure Evers was trained and a good fighter, but I outweighed him by at least 50 pounds and had a few inches on him. Plus, whoever had trained Evers, I doubted he knew how to fight dirty. Not the way I did.
Evers laughed.
"You should be scared. I'm not stupid enough to take you on by myself. But I have brothers, and so does Charlie. Trust me, you don't want us coming after you."
"Fine. That it?"
"No. I was going to call you later today, but now that I've got you on the phone, we can just talk now," he said, all business.
"What's up?"
"I know you've been freelance since your thing with the Raptors ended. But we're looking to expand in your area. We don't have anyone with your kind of experience. We've got some hackers on the team, and we've got people who can go out in the field. We need someone to lead the new division who can do both. We want you."
That was the last thing I expected Evers Sinclair to say. Did he just offer me a job? And not just a job, but the chance to lead a whole department?
He stayed silent on the other end while I ran through the implications. I wouldn't have the same flexibility I did now if I worked for Sinclair. And they'd have to fork over a hefty salary to match what I could make on my own. But the challenge was intriguing.
I could already see the possibilities in my head, the way I could meld the two sides of my talents into a team. Sinclair Security did good work. The best. If I were going to join a company, theirs would be at the top of the list.
When the silence had stretched out for too long, I said, "That's an interesting offer."
"If it's something you'd be willing to consider, I'll email you a formal proposal. We can talk when you're back in Atlanta."
"That sounds good," I said slowly, still trying to catch up. "I'll text you my email. I should be back the day after tomorrow. This job is about done."
"Works for me."
Evers hung up.
Now I just had to make one more call. This one, I was dreading. I'd almost asked Evers to pass on the news, but I wasn't a coward.
I pulled up Aiden's number and hit SEND. He was considerably chillier than Evers when he answered.<
br />
"Jackson. Can I help you with something?"
"Yeah. Look, I'm probably the last person you want to hear from right now. This isn't about Charlie."
"Then why are you calling me?"
It was a good thing we had a few hundred miles between us. If the cold rage in his voice was any indication, Aiden's first move if he saw me in person would involve a swinging fist. Or a bullet.
"I told you I'd do some digging. It took a while, but I managed to get in touch with a guy I know. I don't have any proof to show you, but they're ninety percent sure Gage is still out there."
"They think he's alive?" The relief in Aiden's voice was so sharp it hurt to hear. It killed me to pull him back.
"They intercepted some communications that indicated he was being held. That's all they know. But they haven't heard anything that suggests he isn't still alive. That's no guarantee he's coming home. You know that, right?"
"Yeah," Aiden said, his voice husky. "But for now, they're pretty sure he's alive?"
"For now," I agreed. "Based on what I could find out, if anyone can get free and make his way home, it's your brother."
"Yeah. Thanks. I appreciate your looking into this."
I wanted to ask how Charlie was. Why, I don't know. It would be pouring salt in an open wound, and Aiden would cut me to pieces for daring to say her name.
I couldn't help myself.
"Is Charlie—"
Aiden cut me off. "Stay away from Charlie," he said in a hard voice. "I can guess why you walked, Jackson. I'm even a little sympathetic, considering that I was the last man to fuck up her life because I was sure I knew better than she did about what she needed. She deserves more than a guy she can't depend on. She's had enough of those. You can stop worrying about her. Her family will watch her back."
He hung up. I sat on the edge of the hotel bed, staring at the screen of my phone with blind eyes. That's what Evers was getting at. Aiden had fired her because he thought he knew what was best. And in that case, he had. It didn't make his actions right. He'd taken her choice away. He'd treated her like a child.
Then I'd turned around and done the same thing.
I loved her for her intelligence, her strength of spirit. Her courage.
I was the one who was lacking.
She knew who I was, where I came from. I'd told her. When she was challenged at the benefit, she hadn't hesitated for a second. She could've made an excuse or pretended Elizabeth's insults were a joke.
Instead, Charlie had looked Elizabeth right in the eye and said she was proud to be by my side.
Who was I to tell a woman like her that she couldn't choose who she wanted? If I loved her, really loved her, I'd trust her to make her own decisions.
I fell back on the bed, my head bouncing on the firm mattress, and let out a groan.
I was a fucking idiot.
A stupid fucking idiot. I'd walked away from the only woman I'd ever loved. I'd treated her like a fool.
I'd hurt her. Hurt Charlie. A memory of her shattered eyes when I left flashed through my mind.
Fuck. Of all the challenges I'd overcome in my life, all the battles I'd fought, none had ever been as important as the one that was coming.
I had to get Charlie back. No matter what, I had to convince her to give me another chance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHARLIE
I stayed with Aiden for almost a week. Winters House was familiar. Comforting. And once Aunt Amelia and Sophie moved in, crowded.
It was nearly impossible to be crowded in a house that size, but I felt like crap and I didn't want company.
I adored my Aunt Amelia. She was hysterical and a troublemaker. As Maggie and I had hoped when we hired her, Sophie was the perfect counterpoint. Her quiet, shy nature hid a strong will. She had a dry sense of humor that let her appreciate Aunt Amelia, but her backbone meant she wouldn't get steamrolled. Much.
Aunt Amelia could steamroll anyone, even Aiden sometimes. I was glad my brother had company in the house again. It made it easier to pack my duffel bag back up and come home.
Home. My decrepit house in the Highlands wasn't so decrepit anymore. The floors still needed to be refinished, and I hadn't stripped all of the paint from the trim on the first floor, but I was getting there.
My kitchen was in, and it was spectacular. The bright white cabinets and marble countertops were perfect. The appliances had been hooked up while I was at Winters House and I stopped at the grocery store on my drive home to buy actual groceries for my real-life, full-size refrigerator.
It took a few trips back and forth to the car to unload everything. I had a bad moment after I unpacked my duffel and put the groceries away when I realized that was it. I was moved in, I was alone, and that wasn't going to change.
Lucas wasn't coming back.
I saw him everywhere I looked. Just the thought of getting back to work on stripping paint made me sick to my stomach. Everything about it, the smell, the feel of the heater in my hands, the sound of scraping the wood—all of it reminded me of Lucas.
I had to get over it.
I was the one who'd messed up. I'd told him, promised him, that our hookup was casual. No big deal. Friends with benefits, except without the friends part. He'd stepped in when I was in trouble, done me a favor. I was the one who crossed the line.
It didn't matter that I was head over heels in love with him. It didn't matter that every part of me yearned for him, missed him with an ache that went down to my bones.
He wasn't coming back, not to me, and I had to get used to it. I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life pining over a guy who didn't love me.
I'd had my heart broken before. I could handle this.
I could talk a good game in my head, but in my heart, I knew this was nothing like breaking up with Harrison.
Then, I'd felt betrayed, angry, and yes, hurt. But not like this. Not like something had been torn away from me, like some essential part of myself was missing, a part I'd never get back. A part that now belonged to Lucas, whether he wanted it or not.
Standing in the middle of my gorgeous new kitchen, I took a deep breath, held it as long as I could, then slowly let it out. I'd cried all over Aiden when I'd shown up at Winters House the day Lucas dumped me.
Not since. I was done with crying.
I was Charlotte fucking Winters, and I'd been through worse than some guy fucking me and leaving me. My heart was broken, sure. I'd lived through that before too. I wasn't going to dissolve into some weeping mess of a woman.
Every time my emotions began to get the best of me, I forced myself to stop and take a deep breath. I was moving forward. I had to.
I had no job, and now I had no heart.
All I had was this house. And maybe, possibly, if everything worked out right, another one. I'd intended to keep this house. I loved it, loved every inch of it.
Now that Lucas was everywhere, had seeped into the grain of the wood, maybe I'd just sell it when it was done and move into the next one. I knew people who did that, moved from house to house, rehabbing and flipping as they went.
It was risky. You never knew when you'd run into serious problems the inspection didn't uncover. I'd been incredibly lucky on this job that everything had gone to schedule. Most of the time, between getting subcontractors and delays on materials, that wouldn't be the case.
Time was money on a flip.
The longer you held onto the house, the narrower the profit margin could get. Definitely a risky line of work.
I wanted it anyway. I loved it. Nothing was like the rush of satisfaction at taking something neglected and making it new again.
I made myself a quick turkey sandwich and ate it standing at the island in the kitchen. It was time to get back to work. My stomach full, I grabbed my headphones and shoved them in my ears.
The paint was stripped off the trim in the living room, the front hall, and most of the dining room. I could finish the dining room, but I didn't feel like strippin
g paint. Not yet.
Fortunately for me, all of that cleaned trim needed to be sanded. It was another repetitive, endless job that would be well worth the effort when I was done.
A half an hour later, I was reminding myself how good it would look as my arms ached. I'd only made it up three steps of the staircase.
The detailed carvings on the banister and the spindles were beautiful, but they'd been a pain in the ass to strip and they were just as irritating to sand.
Music pounded in my ears, a hard rock rhythm that suited my mood. No weepy love songs for me. Not for a while. Maybe not ever again the way I felt. Loud, angry rock? I could so work with that.
It was turned up too loud. If I'd had it lower, even just a little, I would've heard something.
I would've been ready.
My only warning was a shadow crossing the side of my vision. Then he was there, sinking his hand into my hair and yanking me back.
I fell on my ass at his feet and looked up to see Bruce Hayward standing above me, a gun in his hand, the barrel pointed at my chest.
"You fucking bitch," he spat out, his eyes wide and wild, the hand holding the gun shaking.
Not good.
I assumed he was here to shoot me, but if he wasn't, I didn't want to be hit accidentally because he couldn't keep his hand steady.
My first instinct was to argue with him, but that would be stupid. As unhinged as he was, I didn't need to push him any further.
I needed to calm him down if I wanted a chance to get away. The panic button was in my purse. Which was in the kitchen.
Stupid, stupid Charlie.
Marissa was in jail and everything had been quiet. I'd thought I was safe.
Suddenly, it occurred to me—my alarm was on and the doors were locked.
"How did you get in?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level and non-confrontational.
Hayward sneered down at me. "You left the door unlocked while you were getting your groceries. I snuck in and hid in your laundry room. Now, we're locked in together. Just you and me."
"What are you going to do?"