Betting On Us (Wilde Love Book 3)

by Kelly Collins

  “You’re such a weirdo when you try to stop acting like a super-serious grown up.”

  Rafe waved a hand toward my apartment impatiently. “Go get your stu—”

  I glanced at him, confused as to why he would stop mid-sentence. “Rafe?” I wondered aloud.

  He scowled. “You didn’t leave a light on when you left your apartment, did you, Kirsten?”

  I shook my head, then, turning to face my apartment building, realized what Rafe saw. My living room light was on.

  I looked at him. Both of us sobered up and were brought back to reality by that one, single light. A cold wave of fear washed up my spine.

  “Someone’s in my apartment.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You are not going up there alone, Kirsten.”

  “Obviously not. You’re coming up with me.”

  “We should probably call the police.”

  “I somehow doubt they’ll arrive in time to catch whoever’s in there,” she replied, her tone dry and sarcastic. “I especially doubt they’ll respond to a call from someone they believe to be a criminal.”

  Whether she was right or not, if she didn’t want to call the police, then that was up to her. “The two of us it is, then,” I said, getting out of the Audi at the same time Kirsten did. “Just don’t do anything reckless.”

  “Me, reckless? I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Very funny. Now, get behind me.”

  She thankfully followed my command without complaint, wordlessly handing over her keys to the building and her apartment. I had to admit, even I felt nervous—if someone really was in Kirsten’s apartment, then it was unlikely going to be a good thing. If the intruder was armed, well…

  All I had were my fists. The best I could hope for was the element of surprise or that the intruder was here to plant evidence rather than hurt anyone.

  Imagine a lawyer hoping someone is actually planting evidence. I’m in way over my head.

  I meant that in more ways than one. I was only a newly graduated lawyer, after all—it didn’t matter that I’d been at the top of my class or the only one Kirsten could trust to defend her. At the end of the day, I wasn’t entirely convinced I could find a way to win her case, not with so little to work with.

  That was part of the reason why running off with Kirsten had been such an appealing idea. If I didn’t—or couldn’t—win her case, then she would go to prison. I’d meant what I said earlier. I wouldn’t be able to cope with that, never mind the fact that Kirsten didn’t deserve to go to prison in the first place.

  And she had been correct, of course. If this was mob-related (which it almost definitely was), then there was no guarantee she wouldn’t be set up again. Or, for that matter, me. Getting out of Vegas was what was best for both of us.

  If only we’d done it years ago.

  But now we had to deal with what was right in front of us, no matter how unpleasant or frightening that might be.

  We soundlessly navigated the hallways and stairs to the second floor. It almost felt as if Kirsten wasn’t daring to breathe. I couldn’t blame her; I felt much the same way, and it wasn’t even my apartment that had been broken into.

  Kirsten’s front door lying open was all the confirmation we needed that there was definitely someone inside her apartment. Shifting her further behind me with my arm, I took several purposeful steps inside.

  “Whoever the hell is in here, get out right now,” I bellowed. There was a moment of silence, followed by the sound of smashing glass, then a masked man came hurtling out of Kirsten’s bedroom, pushed past me with all his weight and threw Kirsten against the wall as he made his escape.

  I ran after him, but he vaulted over the stairway guardrail and was outside before I’d made it down a single flight. When I returned to Kirsten’s side, she was picking herself up off the floor. The poor thing was shaking.

  “Kirsten, he didn’t hurt you, did he?” I asked, torn between worry and fury.

  “N-no,” she stammered, “but he’s done a number on m-my apartment.”

  Kirsten was right. Taking a look around the place, I realized the intruder had upturned or ripped into just about every piece of furniture she possessed. Her kitchen and bathroom hadn’t fared much better when I wandered over to inspect them. A wracked sob coming from the bedroom had me bolting over to the sound in a second.

  I found Kirsten sitting on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass and clutching an empty picture frame. She looked at me with eyes full of tears.

  “He took it.”

  “What did he take?” I asked as I gently swept the glass away from the floor. Some shards had cut her knees open, but Kirsten didn’t seem to notice.

  “The photo of me and my mother. It was the only one I had. And he—he took it.”

  My mind was blank. Why would the intruder have taken a photo of Kirsten and her mother?

  I coaxed her onto her feet and over to the bed. Though the duvet was torn to shreds and the mattress was in tatters, it was still preferable to sitting in a pile of broken glass.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. There must be other photos of your mother.”

  “That’s the thing—this is the only one of me with her!” Kirsten wailed, tears streaming unchecked down her face.

  “Surely, your father must have—”

  “There was that small fire when I was eleven, remember?” Kirsten cut in.

  I did vaguely recall us having conspired to work out who had started that fire, though, in all honesty, I couldn’t remember if the culprit had ever been discovered.

  “What about the fire?” I asked, gaining an inkling of what she was about to say.

  “It was in my father’s study, where he kept all the family photos. Everything was destroyed. All that remained were a handful of photos of my mom and dad when they got married and on their honeymoon, one of my mom with Patrick and Ian, and…this one. And now it’s gone.”

  I was speechless. It felt too much to be a coincidence that the intruder just so happened to know this was her only surviving photo of herself with her mother. They had to have known, but now wasn’t the time to say that.

  I sat beside her, hugging her tightly as I stroked her hair. “You’ll be okay. Shh, don’t cry. We’re gonna work this out.” I paused, then added quietly, “Sweetheart, I need to call the police.”

  “I know,” she mumbled against my chest, voice choked with tears. “I know.”

  “I’m gonna call now, then I’ll sort out those knees. They’re a mess.”

  Kirsten looked down at her legs as if only just noticing they were bleeding. She winced. “Shit, I didn’t—I didn’t realize.”

  “It’s okay. Just stay there. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Kirsten was cleaned up and the police had arrived. After explaining what had happened to the detective—Charles Peters, who was the detective taking charge of Kirsten’s entire drugs case—I exited out into the hallway to call Ian.

  No number of deep breaths was going to be able to prepare me for this conversation, but Ian had to know. Kirsten’s entire family had to know.

  The phone rang once, twice. By the third ring, I was ready to hang up and simply drive Kirsten over to her family home, but then Ian picked up.

  “Rafe? What’s up? Can’t wait until tomorrow for a drink? I feel you, man—”

  “Someone broke into your sister’s apartment.”

  The silence on the other end of the line was somber and serious.

  “Is she okay?” was all he asked.

  “Shaken up. Scared shitless. Cut herself on some glass, and the asshole pushed her into the wall when he left—”

  “Wait, she was there when it happened?”

  “No, she—we—got to her apartment, and the light was on. The guy got spooked and ran out when we confronted him.”

  “Jesus Christ, Rafe. I’m coming over. I’ll be ten minutes, tops.”

  Ian made the journey in seven. The s
econd he saw Kirsten, he wrapped her up in his arms and she started sobbing all over again.

  “This place is a mess, huh? At least you weren’t inside when the guy broke in,” Ian murmured, using his usual mix of sincerity hidden behind sarcasm to calm her down.

  “Ian, they—they took the photo of me and Mom.”

  The change in Ian’s expression when he heard that was entirely unexpected. He froze, but she was too buried against him to see it.

  I did.

  Ian glared at me as if to say ‘We can talk about this later, but don’t you dare ask about it now.’ I was smart enough to take that advice.

  “Kirsten,” Ian continued, “finish giving your statement to the detective, and I’ll take you home.” He looked at me. “Do you need a lift, too, Rafe? I didn’t see your car out there.”

  “Ah, I took the Audi,” I said, realizing too late Ian knew about the Quattro. He knew what it meant.

  My best friend frowned at me. “Come in my car anyway, and we can talk at the house once Kirsten’s in bed.”

  “I’m not a child, Ian,” Kirsten mumbled.

  “You’ll always be my kid sister, though. Go speak to Detective what’s-his-name, and we’ll be off.”

  When she reluctantly left the two of us to speak to Detective Peters, Ian full-on glared at me.

  “What the hell were you planning, you son of a bitch?” he growled.

  But I’d had enough. I stood my ground.

  “Just…don’t, Ian. Don’t test me. Kirsten and I are consenting adults—”

  “She’s my sister.”

  “And? She’s an adult. We were planning to leave together. We knew what the consequences were, but look at what we literally just walked in on. Kirsten isn’t safe in Vegas.”

  “She’s isn’t safe here, definitely. That’s why she’s going to stay at home.”

  “Ian, I don’t think that’s a good idea. If this is a ploy to get to your entire family—”

  “Then we’ll deal with it as a family,” Ian all but spat out. “You’re Kirsten’s lawyer. All you’re supposed to do is clear her name of this drugs charge. You’re not responsible for anything else, no matter how much you try to prove otherwise.”

  Oh. That hurt. Just as I was about to respond, Detective Peters and Kirsten returned.

  “I have all I need, for now, Mr. Wilde. Mr. O’Leary,” the man said, looking at the two of us in turn. “You’ll need to vacate the premises so we can do a full sweep and determine if this is related to the charges placed against Dr. O’Leary—”

  “They’re obviously connected,” Ian burst out.

  Peters sighed. “I’m not at liberty to come to such a conclusion at this moment.” He inclined his head at me. “Mr. Wilde, might I have a word with you tomorrow?”

  I nodded, curious but confused. “Of course.”

  “Then all of you are free to go,” he glanced at Kirsten, “provided you’re taking Dr. O’Leary to her family home.” We all nodded.

  With everything going on, I had almost forgotten Kirsten had her freedom restricted. It felt like a lifetime ago that we’d foolishly decided to run from our problems.

  I wish we’d never stopped by her apartment, but it was too late now.

  When I went to wrap my arm around her shoulders, Ian pushed me subtly but unceremoniously out of the way to wrap his arm around her himself. He ushered his sister into the front passenger seat, leaving me to sit in the back of his car.

  The drive to the O’Leary house was the polar opposite of mine and Kirsten’s drive earlier. Silent. Serious. Scary.

  For what felt like the hundredth time, I had to wonder, What the hell is going on?

  And who the hell is after Kirsten?

  Chapter Thirteen

  I barely remembered getting home from my apartment. I felt numb, aside from the stinging in my knees where I’d cut them on the glass on my bedroom floor.

  Someone had broken in and trashed my apartment. I didn’t even know what they were looking for, or if it had merely served to scare me shitless. What would have happened had I been in, alone? Was the only reason my apartment broken into because I hadn’t been in at the time, or had the intention been to harm me if I’d been there?

  And on top of all that…they took the one photo that existed of my mother and me. Tiny, newborn Kirsten O’Leary, wrapped in her mother’s tired and happy arms, just hours before she suffered the fatal aneurysm that stole her from my family forever. Thinking about it caused a few errant tears to escape my eyes.

  Those few hours in the hospital were all I got with my mother. I never got to know her. Never got to spend any time with her. And yet, I loved her fiercely and grew up on stories about her from my father and brothers and everyone else who knew her. Every day, I looked at my life and wondered if I’d grown up to be a woman my mother could be proud of. I hoped I was.

  The intruder must have known about the importance of that photo, otherwise, why would he have taken it? Even if the only point of taking the photo was to emotionally hurt me, it worked. Something told me there was more to it.

  The intruder—or whoever sent him to my apartment—wanted me to know that.

  I was too exhausted and emotionally drained to think about it much longer. When Ian finally pulled into the driveway of our family home and let me out of the car, it was all I could do to follow him to the front door.

  Rafe was with us—Rafe, who had also remained wordless in the car. It hadn’t escaped me that Ian clearly worked out what had been going on, and I knew Rafe was going to be the one to pay for my stupidity. I was the one who’d wanted to run away. I had to ensure Ian was set straight…for both of our sakes.

  I wished I’d fought the urge to leave Las Vegas without going to my apartment first—had we simply left, I’d never have known what happened. I wouldn’t feel this ache in my chest knowing someone wanted to hurt me in the worst way possible. I could have remained wild and carefree with Rafe, living wherever we wanted and however we wanted.

  It was a pipedream. It had always been a pipedream. I should have counted myself lucky I even got to experience fifteen minutes of it.

  Rafe subtly squeezed my hand behind Ian’s back before we entered the house, giving me a small, reassuring smile that didn’t entirely reach his eyes. I didn’t have it in me to smile back. I was empty.

  When I saw my father in the hallway, I rushed to him and collapsed into his arms, sobbing profusely. I’d thought I couldn’t possibly have any more tears to cry—how wrong I was.

  “It’s okay, it’s all right,” my dad murmured soothingly as he crushed me against him.

  “Kirsten, you’re okay,” came a female voice—Katya, followed closely behind her by Patrick. I’d forgotten she was spending a few days getting to know her real father, but I was suddenly so very glad she was here.

  I pulled away from my father. “I’m going to—I’m going up to bed. Katya, will you come with me?” I asked, my voice rough and hoarse from tears and disuse. Katya nodded her head, taking hold of my hand as I reached her side. “Rafe can—he can fill you in on what happened better than I can.”

  “I’ll send the housekeeper up with some food,” my father said, smiling warmly at me as I walked up the stairs.

  “Thanks, Da.” I glanced at Rafe one final time. I was sorry to put him in a position where he’d have to explain what happened without me, but I simply didn’t have it in me either to tell everyone about it or listen to him recount it.

  When I reached my childhood bedroom, I headed straight for the adjoining bathroom and removed my make-up. I looked a complete mess—my mascara was halfway down my face, marking the tracks my tears had taken. My skin was red and blotchy from the crying, too. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Returning to my bedroom, I saw Katya rifling through a drawer. She glanced at me when she noticed my return.

  “Just looking for some pajamas for us,” she explained as she pulled out some oversized, soft cotton shirts. I took one from her, removing my hoodie but keeping my
shorts on, throwing the shirt on before removing my bra; Katya went through a similar routine to get changed. I then collapsed on my king-sized bed just as Katya did the same.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

  I turned my head to look at her. Katya’s beautiful eyes were full of sadness and concern. She could tell it clearly wasn’t merely a break-in I’d encountered.

  “They took the only photo that exists of me with my mother, just after I was born and hours before she died.”

  Katya’s eyes filled with tears as she hugged me. “I’m so sorry, Kirsten. I didn’t know that. I had no photos of my mother until your dad gave me one. I know what your pain feels like.”

  I’d forgotten Yuri had erased all traces of her mother. “I don’t talk about it much, because it’s so painful,” I murmured, rolling out of the hug to lie on my back. I stared at the ceiling. “My dad pretty much raised me and my brothers all on his own. We all turned out okay, so I guess you could say he did a good job.” I chuckled half-heartedly. “That’s not really doing him justice—he’s the best dad anyone could ask for.”

  “Then I should count myself ‘lucky’ he’s my real dad, and not Yuri,” Katya joked, making a shameless pun on my father’s mob nickname.

  “I take it the two of you have been getting to know each other?”

  “Definitely. He’s nothing like Yuri was—it’s like he actually sees me as a person, rather than a commodity.”

  “That’s because he does. He might be a mob boss, but he’s my dad first, and he’s never once seen me as anything other than a child he loves. He’s never even brought up the subject of marriage, let alone a politically minded one, for me.”

  “You sure that’s not because he thinks you’re hopeless?”

  I let out a bark of genuine laughter. “What a question. You might be right.”

  “Do you think it’s because he knows you love Rafe?”

  I paused for a second. “He doesn’t want me involved with Rafe. Not because he doesn’t want me to choose who I want, but because me being with Rafe has ramifications for the mob whether I want it to or not. I guess he just wants me to be with someone completely out of this life, so I can be, too.”