by Ivy Layne
"You're not going to call the police, baby. I know you hate me. I know you have a right to feel that way. I promise, if you just agree to talk to me one time, I'll go away and leave you alone. I'll give you the divorce. I'll give you anything you want. If you just see me one last time. I promise."
"Why?" Cynthia asked blinking rapidly to fight back tears. "What's the point? All we do is hurt each other. We can't go back, Clint. We can't save what was never there."
"Don't say that. Don't say that. I messed up. I messed up so badly. I ruined everything, and I know it. But I love you, and I know you loved me. Maybe you don't anymore, but you did, once."
"That was a long time ago," Cynthia said, her voice thin and sad. I wished he would just get to the point so we could hang up and she could go back to being excited and happy.
Cynthia had spent a lot of this past year lonely and miserable. I hated seeing her slide back. Once upon a time, I'd liked Clint Perry, thought they were great together. Now? I wished she would call the police so we could have the satisfaction of seeing his ass thrown in jail.
"Just meet with me," he said. "One time. Let me explain and then I'll leave you alone, I promise."
"Fine," Cynthia snapped out, her sharp tone drowning out Evers' groan and my sharp intake of breath.
What was she doing?
She’d gone to all the trouble of getting a restraining order, and now not only wouldn't she use it, she was breaking the terms herself. I couldn't see how meeting with Clint was a good idea, but I was just the assistant. Cynthia was in the driver's seat.
Evers tried to talk sense into her. "Cynthia, this is not a good idea. I can't recommend—"
"Evers, set it up. I have a party to get to. You know my schedule. Find a time, and make the arrangements. Not here. Your offices. And Clint, after the arrangements are made, you leave. Immediately."
"Understood, baby. Thank you."
Evers took the phone off speaker and put it to his ear, sending Cynthia a dark look as he stalked from the room, barking at Clint over the phone. I gave Cynthia's face a quick look, relieved to see that she'd managed to hold back her brimming tears. Her makeup was still perfect.
I wanted to hug her, but Cynthia needed to shore up her defenses. A hug wouldn't help. Later, after the party when there was no one else to see, she might let me offer comfort. Not now.
Right now she had to get into character, and there was no character she liked playing more than the fabulous, glamorous, and unbelievably talented Cynthia Stevens.
Unable to help myself, I reached out and gave her arm a brief squeeze. In a low voice, I asked, "You good?"
"Fan-fucking-tastic," she answered, determination filling her voice. That determination had propelled her from waiting tables and doing toothpaste commercials to the Oscars. It would get her through tonight.
"I knew you would be," I murmured. "I'm off to check in with the band. I'll send a text when we're ready for you. I don't think it'll be too long. Based on the sound of voices downstairs, I think everyone was eager to be here on time."
Another quick squeeze of her arm and I left to confer with the band. Less than twenty minutes later, Cynthia swept in, serenaded by a lively beat as assembled guests clapped in appreciation.
Normally, I might give a discrete internal eye roll at her need for drama and attention. Tonight, after what Clint had pulled, I just hoped all that adoration filled the hole he'd left in her heart.
Chapter Fourteen
Summer
The next two hours disappeared in a blur of hors d'oeuvres, spilled wine, music, and laughter. So far, everything was going to plan. The food was delicious, not that I was surprised, knowing May. She was my favorite caterer for a reason.
Rycroft Castle was at its best in a party, and the guests got a kick out of the atmosphere. They were wealthy, some of them famous, and probably lived in mansions of their own, but Rycroft Castle was a step above.
I bumped into Charlie just as the party was hitting its stride. I stood to the side of the room, a glass of wine in hand, scanning for anything that might need my attention. She sidled up beside me, nudged my shoulder with hers and said, "This party is fantastic. Rycroft is amazing. I grew up in Winters House, which is pretty impressive, but it's not a freaking castle."
"I know. This place is just beyond. Every time I walk down the hall I feel like I'm in a different century," I said.
"Lucas and I flip houses. Well, I do it full time, he works with me when he's not doing his thing at Sinclair. I just got my contractor's license, and I have a pretty good idea what this must have cost." She rolled her eyes and grinned. "This is what they mean when they say price is no object."
"It's one of the perks of my job. I usually work from my condo, but every once in a while, I get to stay in a place like this." I thought about it and corrected, "Okay, never quite in a place like this."
I'd noticed Charlie's husband Lucas and Lise's husband Riley mingling with the guests, their eyes sharp, alert. I didn't know exactly what they did for Sinclair Security, but both of them shared that cool, efficient veneer Evers had when he was on the job. Whatever came up, they would handle it. Nothing would get in their way.
When Lucas came up behind Charlie and me, I looked up to see his face and felt a trickle of concern.
"What is it? Is Clint back?"
Lucas shook his head. "Not a security problem, but I thought you'd want to know. I was outside when the band was taking a break. Heard them saying they're going to refuse to play past ten unless you kick in another grand."
I swore under my breath. "They can't do that. I have a contract. If you'll excuse me for a moment, I need to grab some paperwork and have a chat with the bandleader."
Lucas winked at me and said, "Good idea. We'll come with, just in case he gives you a hard time."
"I can handle it," I assured. I didn't want them to leave the party, but Charlie looped her arm through mine.
"Let us help. Lucas is excellent at looming and looking scary. He won't even need to say anything. He'll just stand there, and you can do your thing. More efficient that way."
I laughed and said, "Thanks, then. I'd appreciate it."
I worked my way through the crowd until we reached the hall to my office. At the edge of the party, I said, "You guys can wait here. I'll be right back."
The din of music, voices, and laughter faded away as I moved down the hall, the sounds dissolving into the clatter of silverware and plates, the rush of the servers and May hustling in the kitchen.
I ducked past the kitchen, turned down the short hall to my office, and skidded to a halt. The door to my office was cracked, light spilling into the dark hall.
I'd left it shut. I'd checked. There was security all over the place, and it's possible one of the servers or May had been looking for something and checked my office, thinking it was another pantry or storage closet.
With a shrug, I strode down the hall and swung the door open, coming up short and staring in a moment of shocked confusion at the dark figure bending over my desk, clicking keys on my open laptop, my phone in one hand.
What the hell? Who would be interested in my computer? Too late, I realized the person at my desk was probably not a guest. I had to get the hell out and go for help.
I stood there for a second too long, jaw dropped, thoughts scrambled. The figure straightened, and I saw he was a man around my dad's age, dressed in a tuxedo like so many of the other partygoers.
The clothes aside, he didn't look like a guest. There was something in his dark eyes. Something hard. Cold. He shut the lid of my laptop and tucked it under his arm, sliding my phone in his pocket.
He took a step toward me, and I backed up, stumbling a little as my heel caught on the corner of the doorframe.
"What are you doing? You can't take that!"
Stupid. So stupid. He said nothing, answering with his fist. His arm flashed out, the back of his hand hitting the side of my head hard enough to send me flying into the doorframe,
the sharp corner smacking my shoulder, spinning me to the side. My heel twisted, breaking. Off balance, I stumbled, my ankle giving out beneath me.
Another hit, this one into my stomach, driving the breath from my lungs. I went down, falling on my ass and rolling, the back of my head smacking the floor. My broken shoe flew off, sliding across the floor as I gasped for air.
Looking down at me as if I were no more than a bug, the man calmly stepped over me and took off down the hall at a sedate, leisurely pace.
"Stop! Stop! You can't—someone stop him!" I tried to shout, but he'd knocked the wind out of me and my words were a harsh whisper. Scrambling to my feet, the floor tilting beneath me as my ankle wobbled, I wondered if I was going to throw up before I managed to get help.
I stumbled, my stomach hitched, and I fell to my knees, the drumming of my heartbeat in my ears turning into feet pounding on the floor.
Then Lucas was crouching in front of me, saying over his shoulder, "Get Evers."
Charlie's voice, high and strained, "I'll be right back."
"Summer, are you all right? What happened?"
He eased me to my side, helping me sit up. "Take a deep breath. You're okay."
"I came down the hall. Door was open a little. I left it shut. I know I left it shut. He was in there. He took my laptop and my phone."
"Who was in there, Summer? Did you recognize him?"
My vision slowly cleared, the chaos of thoughts in my head slowing. "No. I've never seen him before. He was maybe in his fifties? Dark hair. Dark eyes. Wearing a tux."
"Did he say anything?"
"No. Just hit me and took my laptop and my phone and walked out. I… I should have stopped him, but he hit me, and I fell, and then he was gone."
Evers strode down the hallway. "Where is she? What the hell happened?"
The second Lucas saw Evers, he stood, taking off at a jog. As he passed Evers he said, "Ask Summer. I'm going after him."
Evers dropped to his knees beside me, framing my face with his hands, turning my head in the light, looking for injuries.
"What happened? Where are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I breathed, fighting to fill my lungs.
Evers looked to Charlie, who said, "He knocked the breath out of her, shoved her, but that's all."
He stroked a hand over my back, murmuring, "Just breathe. You're okay."
I made a noise in the back of my throat, my eyes squeezed shut against his tenderness.
"Take a breath and tell me what happened."
I told Evers what I'd told Lucas. He swore under his breath and sat, settling against the wall and pulling me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me and nestling my head in the crook of his neck.
"Lucas will find him," he whispered against my hair. "He hit you twice, in the shoulder and the stomach, and you fell and hit your head. Your ankle might be twisted, but nothing else? You're not hurt anywhere else?"
I shook my head, rolling my forehead against his warm skin.
"Summer?" he probed.
"No. Nowhere else. Still hard to breathe. Feel sick." I couldn't seem to string together more than a few words at a time. A steel band was wrapped around my chest and my insides felt bruised. Sore.
From somewhere behind me, I heard Charlie say, "I'll go check the freezer for peas or something. A bag of ice for her ankle."
"I don't need ice," I said slowly, the tightness in my lungs finally easing, bit by bit. "I'm okay. I just need aspirin or something."
"You need to rest," Evers said, resettling me against him. "The team will find the guy who broke in."
As that thought filtered through, a bolt of alarm cleared my mind.
I couldn't rest.
I was the middle of throwing a party.
I had a job to do, and I wouldn't let Cynthia down. I struggled against Evers, trying to sit up, to get back on my feet.
His arms tightened, and he growled, "Where do you think you're going?"
"I have to get back to the party. Have to get back to work."
"No," Evers said baldly. "You're hurt. Once we get you settled I'll take a closer look and decide if we need to take you to the hospital or just call in the doctor."
"You didn't go to the hospital when you almost got killed," I said peevishly.
I wanted nothing more than to peel off my silk dress and crawl between the sheets of my bed so I could fall asleep and escape the growing ache in my shoulder, the throb in my ankle, and my pounding head.
It didn't matter. I'd get through it. A few hours and the party would be over. I could rest then.
From above me, I caught the rustle of silk and Charlie's voice. "When did you almost get killed, Ev?"
Evers shifted, and a second later the blessed relief of cold spread across my ankle.
"None of your business," he said in retort.
"Hmm," Charlie grumbled, and if I'd never met them before, from that short exchange I could have guessed they were the next thing to siblings.
We sat there in silence for a long minute, me soaking up the icy relief of the cold pack on my ankle, and Charlie clearly thinking hard.
Breaking the silence, she burst out with, "Oh, my God. Summer is her. Summer is your secret. Holy crap."
"Shut up, Charlie."
"I will not shut up. Did Lucas know?"
No answer from Evers.
I shifted my head an inch to see Charlie standing over us, arms crossed over her chest, glaring down at Evers, her eyes annoyed but her mouth stretched in a shit-eating grin.
Evers let out a huff of air. "I decline to answer the question on the grounds that it's going to get my buddy in trouble."
"He did know. That weasel. He's too good at keeping secrets." Charlie moved to the end of the hall by the kitchen and Evers' head popped up. "Don't. Stay here until Lucas gets back."
"Why? Do you think there's anyone else in the house?"
"No. I don't, but I'm not taking any chances. Lucas is doing his thing, Riley is leading the team securing the house. You're staying right here with us until one of them comes back to give us the all clear. There's enough to keep track of with all those guests out there, we don't need to make it harder."
"Cynthia—" I started to say.
Evers cut me off. "Cynthia is fine. I have two guys who won't let her out of their sight."
Griffen appeared at the end of the hallway "Lucas hasn't come back yet."
"Is he—?" Charlie asked, nerves in her voice for the first time.
"He took two guys with him," Griffen reassured. "I've got ears on him," he said, tapping a discreet earpiece. "He's fine, just trying to catch the guy who got in. Cynthia's covered. No one out there has any clue. We've got two teams sweeping the house, all exits secured. We can move Summer upstairs."
He’d no sooner finished speaking then Evers was rising, holding me in his arms as he stood and strode down the hall.
"I've got your shoes, Summer," Charlie said from behind us.
"I can walk," I said to Evers.
"You can, but you're not going to.
I tried not to be relieved. I needed to get back to the party. Back to work.
My body had other plans. Taken on their own, none of my injuries was that bad. A sore stomach, a bruised shoulder, a twisted ankle, a bump on the head. All together they left me feeling as if I'd been hit by a truck.
Evers set me down on my bed and put the ice pack back on my ankle. Over his shoulder, he said to Griffen, "Call Whitmore."
"She's a little banged up. She probably feels like hell, but she doesn't need a doctor," Griffen said.
"Call him anyway," Evers insisted. "She hit her head when she fell."
Griffen ignored him and strode to the side of the bed. He leaned over, nudging Evers out of the way. Turning on the bedside lamp, he said, "Open your eyes and look up at me, Summer."
He studied my eyes for a moment. "Close them." I did. "Open." I did. "Pupils are reacting normally. Nausea?"
"Not really. Right after he hi
t me, but not now." I said.
"Take a deep breath." I did. My chest was sore, but my lungs were finally cooperating again. "Again."
After two more full breaths, Griffen nodded. He held up a hand, one finger extended. "Follow my finger." He moved his finger from side to side, then up and down. "Blurred vision? Dizziness?"
"A little dizziness," I admitted. "No blurred vision."
He flashed three fingers. "How many?"
"Three."
He tested me a few more times, threw some math at me and pronounced me in need of a painkiller and a good night's sleep.
"She's fine," he said to Evers, patting him on the shoulder.
"You're not a neurologist," Evers muttered.
"She doesn't need a neurologist. She's fine. You had it a hell of a lot worse than Summer, and you let me stitch you up. Relax."
I twisted to look at the scrapes on Evers' neck, mostly hidden by his collar. I reached out to touch them, and he caught my hand.
"You didn't tell me you needed stitches," I said, irrationally angry that he'd hidden how bad it was.
"I didn't. That was another time," he said absently, still holding my hand in his, his thumb rubbing my knuckles. "Don't you have something to do?" he asked Griffen.
Griffen sent me a wink and a grin. Then, more seriously, he said, "If you start to feel sick, your headache changes, you have any drainage from your nose or ears, confusion, or blurred vision, let Evers know. Basically, you should feel better from here, so if you feel worse, we'll take you to the hospital. Otherwise, I think you're fine."
"Thanks, Griffen."
He lifted his hand to his forehead in a jaunty salute before he disappeared through the door.
Charlie wandered to the window and peered through into the dark night. Mostly to herself, she murmured, "I like not knowing what he's up to when he's in the field. It's easier. I hate sitting here and waiting."
"He can handle himself," Evers reassured.
"I know," Charlie said with a sigh. "I know he can. I'll still feel better when he's back and I can see that he's fine."
She paced for what seemed like an hour, but was probably less than twenty minutes, stopping only when the door opened and Lucas walked through, Riley behind him.