by Ivy Layne
Aiden sat up straighter, dropping the pretense of disinterest. “No. I went to sleep around eleven and didn't wake up until five thirty. What time was this?”
“It was three twenty-seven when we heard the noise. I made sure Sophie was secure and then went to take a look around.”
“Did you find anything?” Aiden asked.
“Nothing conclusive. A stack of books was out of place in the library. So was a lamp, but nothing was broken. There was no sign of forced entry. But we did hear something fall over. If there was no one else in the house, we should have seen what it was. Instead, everything looked normal.”
“You're saying that someone was in the house and they put back whatever it was they knocked over?” Aiden asked.
“That would be my guess. But the alarm was on. It was armed when we heard the sound, and it never turned off. If you were in bed, Sophie and I were in the kitchen, and Amelia was asleep… It's possible it could have been Abel. Does the alarm for the house include his garage apartment?”
“It does. Theoretically, he could've been in the house. I'll check with him this morning. If it wasn't Abel, I'll ask Cooper to come out and go over the system again.”
“When was the last time Sinclair Security reviewed the system?” I asked.
Sinclair Security was the best private security company in the country, and it was run by the current generation of Sinclairs, who happened to be our closest friends. Convenient when it came to things like having one of the best alarm systems known to man installed at Winters House. Since the death of our parents, no one at Winters House took security lightly. At my question, Aiden looked uncomfortable, and my nose for trouble went on high alert.
“What?” I demanded. Aiden shifted in his seat and shuffled the papers on his desk, not meeting my eyes.
“We've had a little trouble this year. We were under the impression it had been resolved but—”
“What kind of trouble?”
Aiden's explanation turned my blood to ice in my veins. It seemed that one of our parents’ old friends had gone completely insane and had been leaving crime scene photographs of our parents’ murders for the family to find. First Jacob, with a picture of my parents’ murder. Then Vance, with the doctored version of the same photograph. Finally, she went to Charlie, where they caught her trying to leave another photograph.
The culprit, Marissa Archer, had been a crony of our parents’ and our uncle William. She'd also, apparently, gone stark raving mad, ranting on Charlie's front porch about how only she knew the truth and it wasn't over, he was still out there. We all assumed she was talking about the murders, but shortly after she'd been shut away in a mental health facility, she'd stopped talking completely.
Aiden said they were keeping a close eye on her, but since she'd fallen silent, there'd been nothing. It's not like she was a reliable witness, anyway.
“Were any of you planning to tell me about this?” I asked.
“There didn't seem to be much point in bothering you with it,” Aiden said, evenly. “You weren't here, and you weren't planning on coming home. It wasn't your problem.
“Of course it's my problem,” I burst out. “This is my fucking family.”
Aiden raised one cool eyebrow at me as if to ask—Is it?
“How sure are we that Marissa Archer was working alone?” I asked, ignoring Aiden's taunt.
He shrugged one shoulder. “We're not sure of anything. Nothing has happened since she's been locked up, but that isn't proof.”
“Is there any chance this is related to the papers Charlie found? Have you had any luck finding out what happened to the baby?”
I couldn't call the missing child my brother. Not yet. Not until we knew what had happened to him. I’d had a lot of shocks when I'd come home, but finding out that my mother had borne a child before she married my father and given him up for adoption was the biggest.
Charlie had found the records, carefully hidden for years until a leak in the roof caused old boxes to be repacked and shuffled around, bringing the buried paperwork into the light. I hadn’t gotten my head around the idea that there was another one of us out there somewhere.
We knew so little about what had happened. I guessed my father knew because the papers had been among others he would've seen. But we had no idea who had fathered the child or why she'd given him up. We didn't know anything, including where he was or what had happened to him.
Aiden shook his head. “The Sinclairs have been looking into it, but it's starting to look suspicious. Every time they follow a lead, it falls apart or doubles back on itself. Almost like someone—”
“Like someone left a false trail?”
“Exactly. Cooper and Evers both agree it feels like it has their father's fingerprints all over it.”
I dropped my head in frustration. “Shit,” I said. “If Maxwell Sinclair hid the baby, we’re screwed.”
“They're all on it,” Aiden said. “Cooper, Evers, Knox, even Axel. There taking it personally, not that they weren't before. They're going to find him. It's just a matter of time.”
“Is it possible we’re stirring things up by looking into it?” I asked.
“Anything's possible,” Aiden said.
“We have to keep looking,” I said, stating the obvious. We'd lost enough family as it was. If there was another one of us out there, we had to track him down.
“Agreed. I'm leaving this morning for a business trip,” Aiden said, changing the subject. “I won't be back until Sunday evening. I'm sure you won't need anything, but if anything happens, call Cooper.”
I stared at him, his words leaving me speechless. If anything happened, he wanted me to call Cooper Sinclair and not him. Hard not to see that as a slap across the face. But worse, he was leaving? The next day was the anniversary of his parents’ murder, and he was leaving?
“You're leaving on a business trip? Through the weekend?” I couldn't quite bring myself to call him out, but Aiden knew what I was getting at.
He turned away, not meeting my eyes, and went back to straightening the papers on his desk. “Is that a problem?” he asked, in his iciest voice.
“No, fine. Whatever.” What was I supposed to say?
Yes, it's a big fucking problem. It's the first year I've been home on the anniversary since they died and you’re fucking taking off.
Was this betrayal and abandonment the way Aiden had felt when I left? I should be over it by now. Thirteen years had passed since my aunt and uncle had died. More than enough time to process everything—their deaths, the part I’d played. I’d thought I was past it. Being home, surrounded by memories of my parents and Aiden's, I knew I wasn't even close.
I wasn't going to argue with Aiden about his travel plans. Instead, I decided to take a shot at mending the rift between us.
“Are we ever going to talk about it?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level, though I couldn't help the thread of challenge that wound through my words.
Aiden's eyes flashed with anger, and maybe something else, maybe hurt, before he said, “There's nothing to talk about, Gage. You left. Now you’re home.”
I resisted the urge to be a smart-ass and said, “If there's nothing to talk about then why do you keep shutting me out? I know I shouldn't have left. I know I walked out on all of you, and it was a shitty thing to do.”
Looking carefully over my shoulder, at me but not meeting my eyes, Aiden said, “Water under the bridge. It's been a long time. No need to talk about it now.”
“I think we do. We used to be friends, Aiden. Now you'll barely look at me.”
Aiden picked up a pen and drew a stack of papers in front of him. He couldn't have been more clear about wanting me to leave if he’d walked me to the door himself.
I knew how to take a hint, but I was also good at ignoring them when I wanted to. I stayed where I was, sitting in the chair across from his desk, and stared him down.
Finally, he said, “I don't know what you want from me, Gage. We're n
ot kids anymore. You left. My parents were dead, the kids were crying themselves to sleep at night, no one knew what the fuck was going on, and you just disappeared. Fine, I get it. I got it back then. You felt too guilty to stay, and you had to get out of this house. I understand. But it doesn't change the fact that you've been gone over a decade. Coming home for a few days here and there doesn't make up for that, and you can't just move back in and think it's all going to go back to how it was.”
Aiden always knew how to hit where it hurt. He was right. About everything. After the night Uncle Hugh and Aunt Olivia were murdered, I'd been steeped in guilt, drowning in it. I couldn't face my family. I couldn't face myself.
I’d left to escape. To spare them the sight of me, the reminder that I’d let them die. I wondered if it would be better if I were gone. My stomach turned over, my breakfast curdling in a wave of nausea. I didn’t want to leave again. I wanted to be here, in Winters House. I wanted my family back.
I stood. Talking to Aiden wasn't getting me anywhere. He wasn't ready to give me a chance, and I couldn't force him to. Maybe we'd be better off if we just avoided each other for a while.
“I’ll let you get back to work then,” I said. I thought Aiden was going to ignore my retreat, but he looked up and met my eyes, his own deadly serious.
“I meant what I said. Stay away from Sophie.”
I gave him a sharp nod, turned on my heel, and left, closing the door behind me.
A lot of things about being back in this house reminded me of the days when Aiden and I had been tighter than brothers, but nothing so much as the overwhelming desire to slam my fist into his face.
Most of the time, we’d gotten along in an almost scary synchronicity, knowing what the other was thinking before he had to speak. That didn't mean we didn't fight. We fought over big stuff, over stupid shit. When we were seven, and when we were seventeen, Aiden and I had been responsible for our share of bloodied noses and bruised knuckles.
I missed the relief of solving our disagreements with our fists. These days, our problems couldn't be solved with something as straightforward as a fistfight.
Aiden still blamed me for his parents’ deaths, and I couldn't do a thing about it. Worse, I was starting to think that he was interested in Sophie, which, in a way, was a much bigger problem. Hugh and Olivia's murders were in the past. Sophie was here, and now.
Aiden had talked a big game about staying away from a woman working in our home, but the way he'd said it… I couldn't stop wondering. Hearing them laugh together. Seeing the smile on his face freeze as I opened the door to his office. Aiden wasn't a big smiler. It could've been innocent. I was sure it was on Sophie's part.
But Aiden… Was Aiden warning me away from Sophie so he could have his own shot with her?
She wasn't exactly his type, with her practical clothes and neatly braided hair. Aiden went for glamour. But Sophie, Sophie was naturally beautiful. She didn't need a ton of makeup and a couture wardrobe to highlight her assets.
I didn't want to think about what a bombshell she would be if she bothered with all of that. I could barely keep my hands off her as it was. If she was irresistible in a floor length nightgown and thick cotton robe, I couldn't imagine how I would stay away if she started flashing cleavage and left her hair down.
My mind raced over the problem of Aiden and Sophie. She'd been living here six months. Maybe Aiden had seen her dressed up and realized she was his kind of woman. Maybe he was taking his time in his courtship.
I knew he hadn't kissed her. I couldn't believe he'd touched Sophie the way I had. She’d responded like a woman who hadn't been kissed in years. If Aiden had managed to get his mouth on Sophie, he wouldn't have let her go.
If we hadn't heard that sound in the library, I wouldn't have either. I'd almost fucked her right there in the kitchen, so drawn in by the feel of her in my arms, her mouth under mine, that I hadn’t cared where we were.
I needed to see her again. I thought about hunting down Sophie and Aunt Amelia, and just as quickly rejected the idea. Amelia had sharp eyes, and I didn't want her to see my interest in Sophie. She'd either get in my way, if she disapproved, or, possibly worse, try to help.
I didn't need Amelia's help with Sophie. I needed to get my shit together. As pissed as I was after that conversation with Aiden, he'd had a point. I wasn't dependable.
I wanted to be.
I had been, for years. Any one of the guys on my team would've beaten the shit out of my cousin for calling me undependable.
I understood why my family might see me that way, but I'd spent the last thirteen years in the Army defining the concept of dependable. I always followed through, always completed the mission, and I never left one of my guys behind. Fuck, the insurgents who’d grabbed me in the desert, miles from our base, only got me because I was buying time for my team to finish the mission and get clear.
When you went to the heart of it, Aiden was wrong. I was dependable. I was loyal. And I would fight for the people I loved. But in another way, he was right. I didn't have a job. I still wasn't sleeping. I was plagued by nightmares. Loud noises set my heart racing and left me fighting the urge to dive for cover. I was too quick to anger, and I couldn't control my emotions.
Gage Winters was dependable and steadfast. But some time during my six months of captivity, I'd lost touch with that Gage Winters, and I hadn't quite found my way back. Sophie deserved better.
Not Aiden. He couldn't have her. He was too stiff and formal for Sophie. I didn’t see her wanting life as a society wife. She'd want a home and children and affection. I didn't know if I was the man to give her that. But I knew I wanted to find out.
Chapter Eleven
Sophie
I should've stayed in bed. The night before, I'd been smart. Instead of roaming Winters House when I couldn't sleep and risking a run-in with Gage, I’d curled up in the window seat in my bedroom and stared out into the dark night.
Things had gotten out of control with Gage in the kitchen. I couldn't afford to let it happen again. Just the memory of his mouth on mine, the feel of his hands on my skin, and I was wet. No man had ever had this effect on me. One minute I was admiring his eyes, or the stretch of his shirt over his shoulders, and the next I was dizzy with lust, willing to risk everything for just one more minute with him. Stupid.
I knew better. I loved my job. Getting involved with Gage was a complication that could drive me from the only home I’d had in years. I’d decided to do the only responsible, mature thing—I was avoiding him.
I hadn’t seen him since he'd interrupted my meeting with Aiden. He hadn't come to lunch or dinner for two days, staying closeted in his room. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn't help worrying about him.
A somber mood hung over the house, infecting everyone. Amelia, Mrs. W—even Abel seemed subdued. When I asked Mrs. W about it, she explained that it was the anniversary of Hugh and Olivia Winters murder.
When Charlie still lived in the house, she’d told me, Aiden would come up with a business trip that required both of them to leave town until the anniversary had passed. Even when the children had still been young, Mrs. W said Aiden had emptied the house every year rather than face the memory of the night his parents had been killed. She said she wasn't surprised he’d left again this year, only that he hadn't taken Gage with him.
Pouring myself a cup of tea, I'd said, “They don't seem to get along very well.”
Mrs. W rarely gossiped about the Winters family. She was loyal to the core and loved them like they were her own, so I was surprised when she said, with a shake of her head, “Those boys. They were tight as ticks when they were young. But after Gage left and Aiden had so much on his shoulders…” She trailed off. Briskly assembling a snack plate for Aunt Amelia, she went on, “They'll work it out. They just need some time. But I don't like Gage on his own. Not tonight.”
She slanted me a look I couldn't read. No one in the house knew that Gage and I had met in the middle of the night mo
re than once. As far as everyone else was concerned, we were strangers, sharing a few meals at the dinner table and no more.
But the way Mrs. W looked at me, the suggestion I thought I saw in her eyes—did she know? Sometimes it seemed like Mrs. W knew everything that happened in Winters House. Maybe she did.
I couldn't get her words out of my mind. I'd managed to fall asleep when I tucked myself into bed, but I'd woken not long after midnight from a nightmare of grasping hands and swinging fists.
Like most of my bad dreams, this one took place in the dark. My memories of Anthony belonged in the dark. Still half asleep, fighting my way out of the dream, I rolled over and flicked on the light. One day, I would sleep through the night, but it wouldn't be tonight.
I got out of bed and pulled on my robe. For the first time in ages, I wished I had something a little more feminine. The waffle-weave white cotton was clean and crisp, attractive in its own way. Attractive, but not at all feminine. Not sexy. When did I start worrying about being sexy?
Since Anthony, I’d done my best to downplay my more attractive features and focus on my skills over my looks. Not that I was a raving beauty or anything, but between the almost platinum shade of my hair and a curvy figure men seem to like, I drew attention.
I'd never be a supermodel or a movie star, but since I'd hit adolescence, my looks had attracted men. I'd always been a little too shy to make the most of it, and after Anthony, I had no interest in any kind of attention, especially attention based on the way I looked. That could only get me in trouble.
I definitely shouldn't wish I had a different nightgown. I looked down at the thin white cotton trimmed in lace and shook my head. I dressed like someone's maiden aunt. After years in the thick flannel chin-to-toes nightwear Anthony gave me, the light, thin cotton felt like freedom.
I wasn't ready for anything more skin bearing. This nightgown was sleeveless, and that was enough to make me feel daring and exposed. I tried not to remember the negligée I'd chosen for my wedding night. I hadn't worn anything like it since.