by Ivy Layne
Evers' arms locked around me, his hips moving in tight, fast jerks, he breathed my name as he came.
After, neither of us moved, struggling for breath. Finally, he said, "You're shaking," and I realized that I was.
Not shivering. How could I be cold with Evers stretched out on top of me?
No, my body shook with a fine tremble I didn't understand. My heart was too full, felt too much. I wanted to bury my face in his neck and cry. This was so right. So good, and I wanted him so much.
I didn't know what to say. I knew what I wanted to say.
"I—"
The words were stuck. In my head, I spoke them loud and strong.
I love you.
I love you so much.
My lips, my voice, couldn't form them. Couldn't give them substance. I pressed my mouth to his, trying to outrun all my uncertainties. Trying to show him what I couldn't say, to give him what was in my heart the only way I could.
He kissed me back, turning to his side and taking me with him, tangling his legs with mine as if we had all the time in the world.
Eventually, we got up and made use of the shower. Soap in my hands, I washed Evers' back, thoroughly exploring every curve of his amazing ass. It wasn't long before I found myself pinned against the white limestone wall, legs spread, holding on for dear life as Evers fucked me to another blinding orgasm.
My legs were wobbly when he set me back down. He whispered in my ear, "When we fix up my house, we're putting a shower next to the pool. A big one."
"I'm in favor of that," I agreed. I was boneless, every joint liquid as I pulled my wet bikini back on and shrugged into my robe. Evers had to check in with the control room again, and I needed to comb my hair or I'd wake up with a rat's nest in the morning.
"I'll walk you to the control room." I threaded my fingers through his and strolled down the hall, a sleepy, smug smile on my face.
We were passing one of the storage closets when I caught a familiar scent in the air and came to an abrupt halt.
I wasn't the only one. Evers smelled it, too.
On a surge of anger, I wrenched open the door to the closet and found my father, a joint in his hand, pungent smoke wreathing his head.
"Are you kidding me?" I planted my hands on my hips and stared him down. My father looked back with a slightly befuddled, completely unrepentant gaze.
Of course, he didn't care that he was smoking pot in my boss' house. Caring about someone else would be inconvenient.
"Where the hell did you get that?" I demanded.
"Relax, baby girl. It's just a joint. I had it in my pocket. Don't be so uptight."
"I am not uptight!" My voice was rising to a screech. Not only was security just down the hall, the theater was at the other end. I did not want Cynthia coming to investigate. Searching for control, I said, "You cannot smoke that here."
Evers reached out and plucked the joint from Smokey's hand. He ground it out against the concrete floor of the storage closet. "I'll be right back."
He disappeared down the hall toward the spa, the rest of the joint in his hand.
Smokey leaned out of the closet, watching him with a yearning I imagine he'd never expressed toward any of the people in his life. His spine sagged, and he stared at his feet forlornly.
"He didn't have to take it," he muttered.
"He did have to take it," I hissed, leaning in. "I already told you. You can't do drugs in this house. This is Cynthia's place. If anyone found out—"
"All those Hollywood types do drugs. She's probably got a stash in her room upstairs." At that thought, his eyes lit up.
"Oh, no. No way. Maybe other people are like that, but Cynthia is not. She doesn't do drugs. She doesn't even like prescriptions, and she rarely drinks. Unless it's champagne," I corrected. Cynthia did like her champagne.
"This is her home. She kindly invited you to stay for a few days. Your other option is the Sinclair Security safe room, and I don't think you want to stay there."
"I can't believe you'd let them lock me up. You know what they'd do to me if they had me in there. Maxwell told me about his boys. They're all ex-military. Hard-asses. Are you really gonna let your boyfriend hurt your dad?"
I stared at Smokey, speechless. I honestly hadn't considered what the Sinclairs might do with Smokey if they had him under their control. He had information they needed, and he wasn't talking. Unease spiraled through me.
My dad made me so furious I thought my head would explode.
Smoking pot in Cynthia's house? How could he be so rude? How could he endanger my job this way?
And why did I still want to protect him? Why did I feel responsible for him? When had he ever protected me?
Evers returned with a wet paper towel. He shoved it in Smokey's hand and pointed at the dark smear on the concrete floor where he'd put out the joint.
"Clean it up." When Smokey looked as if he would argue, Evers only said, "Now."
Smokey dropped to his knees and started to scrub.
I couldn't look at Evers. My stomach was tight, sick with humiliation.
There was nothing I could say to excuse my dad's behavior. Nothing I could say that would make it okay.
We watched my father clean the floor in stiff silence. When he'd wiped away the evidence, he stood, the wet paper towel clutched in one hand, the other shoved in a back pocket, his chin jutting up, looking more like a rebellious teenager than a fully-grown adult.
Faking bravado, or maybe he really was that stupid, he attempted to shoulder past Evers, saying, "Might as well go finish watching the movie."
Evers' hand closed over his shoulder in a grip so tight Smokey and I flinched simultaneously.
"You're going to your room. I'm posting a guard on the door. You don't come out until breakfast." I'd never heard his voice so hard. So cold.
"What if I get hungry? Or thirsty?" Smokey whined as Evers half led, half dragged him down the hall, his hand still clamped on my dad's shoulder, me trailing behind.
Disgusted with my father, he said, "Drink out of the tap. You get food at breakfast."
The walk to our rooms was endless. Smokey's temporary quarters were at the end of the hall, beside Angie and across from Viggo. Evers shoved him into the room, following. Over his shoulder, he said to me, "Go to your room. I'll stay on his door until someone gets here."
I nodded and walked blindly down the hall to my own room. I needed to comb out my hair and dry it, to rinse out my bathing suit, and wash my face. I did it all mechanically.
I lay my head on my pillow in the dark, too wound up to sleep, reeling from the whiplash. One moment I'd been blissfully happy. Boneless with pleasure. A blink later I was drowning in humiliation, regret and fear freezing my heart and turning my stomach.
The Evers in the pool, in the dressing room, in the honeymoon cottage—that Evers I loved. I trusted. I'd do anything for that Evers.
The Evers who locked my dad in his room?
I loved him, too, but I didn't trust him. My dad was right. Evers had his own agenda. I couldn't blame him for that. He was looking out for his family. Just like I was.
My dad was irresponsible and thoughtless, but he was mine. He'd been my father for twenty-six years. Evers had been in my life for two years, and for more than half of that he'd been lying to me. Using me.
How could I put him before my own father? My father had never particularly looked out for me.
Neither had Evers. At least my Dad never set out to use me for his own ends.
My brain and my heart at odds, I fell into an uneasy sleep, my dreams flashes of being chased. Of wandering in the dark, lost. Alone.
I woke sometime later to feel Evers stretched out beside me, his chest pressed to my back, his arm around my waist, his hand curved around my breast. I drifted back to sleep, suffused with a sense of safety, and knowing that safety was an illusion.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Evers
My phone rang, dragging me out of sleep. My eyes bli
nked open and my brain clicked online.
Axel's ringtone.
I grabbed my phone off the nightstand.
4:12 AM.
"What happened?"
"Attempted break-in at the condo. Through the window of Mom's bedroom."
My gut clutched. "Is she okay?"
"Yeah. She twisted an ankle trying to get out of bed. Got tangled in the quilt. He set off the alarm and bailed, but he managed to get the window open. If he'd wanted to, he could have taken a shot."
"Did you get him?"
"No," Axel said, sounding annoyed and resigned. "I thought she'd broken her foot and I didn't want to leave her alone long enough to go after him."
"Fuck." Beside me Summer stirred, rolling over and looking at me with questioning eyes. I reached out to take her hand, running my thumb over her knuckles. "Did you talk to Cooper yet?"
"A minute ago. Mom and I are headed to Vegas as soon as I get her ankle checked out."
"I thought you said it's a sprain."
Axel sighed, and I had a moment of gratitude that I was in Atlanta, in bed with Summer, while he was stuck in Florida with our mom.
"It is a sprain. If she hadn't had a supersized gin and tonic before bed, she wouldn't have fallen in the first place. She's insisting she see her own doctor. Actually, she's refusing to budge from the condo."
"What are you going to do?" I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
"Take her to the doctor and then go straight to the airport. I'll carry her onto the fucking plane if I have to."
"Fuck," I said again, torn between guilt that Axel and Emma were saddled with our mom and rising fury that Tsepov had gone after her so directly.
I couldn't shake the mental image of her waking in the night, afraid, struggling with her blankets while one of Tsepov's goons aimed a gun at her head. Our fucking father had a lot to answer for.
Axel interrupted my thoughts. "Cooper said you picked up Smokey Winters."
"Yesterday," I affirmed.
"He's not talking?"
"Not yet. Claims he doesn't know anything."
"That's bullshit," Axel burst out, worry simmering beneath his anger.
I was pretty fucking pissed myself. We knew Smokey had information that would help get Tsepov off our backs, and he was sitting around sponging off Cynthia and Summer, taking care of number one and leaving the rest of us blowing in the wind.
"Make him fucking talk," Axel said.
Summer went stiff, and I knew she'd heard.
I didn't look at her.
I couldn't.
I knew what I'd see in her eyes. Worry. Distrust. Fear.
She wanted to look out for her dad. She wanted us to go easy on him.
Easy was done.
I had another flash of my Mom, alone in her bed, one of Tsepov's men coming through the window. Not again. We'd tried it Summer's way. Now it was my turn.
Axel pulled my attention back to our conversation. "Cooper wants you and Smokey in the office. Now. He was going to call, but I told him I'd pass along the message."
"Understood," I said. "We'll call you back when we're done. Give Mom my love, okay? Tell her we're going to fix this."
"Yeah, I will. And you fucking better."
Axel ended the call.
"Is your mom okay?" Summer asked. I rolled out of bed and looked past her, unable to stomach the reproach I'd see in her eyes when I told her what was about to happen.
"She is for now. Someone tried to get into her condo. She's a little banged up. Scared. I'm bringing your dad in."
"In for what?" she asked, voice tight with fear. She didn't need my answer. She already knew.
"For questioning," I said, shortly. "We don't have time for his bullshit, Summer. It would be different if they were coming after me or my brothers, but my mom deserves better than this. He's going to fucking talk, whether he wants to or not."
I was through the door before she could respond, heading for my room to get dressed. Ready to go, I went for Smokey, swinging his door wide, the room flooding with light from the hall.
Smokey was so deeply asleep I'd pulled him to a sitting position before his eyes opened. "What the hell? What's going on?"
"Get your ass out of bed. You're coming with me." I pulled him to his feet, pushing him in the direction of his dresser.
"Hey, man, back off. You can't make me—"
I dropped Smokey's arm and stepped back, drawing my gun from the holster at the small of my back and leveling it on Smokey.
"I can do whatever I fucking want. Get out of the goddamn bed and put your clothes on."
Smokey's face paled as he took in the gun. He was a weasel, but he knew I wasn't. I'd learned early—never pull a weapon I’m not prepared to use.
Smokey saw the intent in my eyes. Moving faster than I'd ever seen him, he pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, shoving his feet into a pair of worn flip-flops.
"Face the wall and put your hands up."
He did. I holstered my gun and pulled a pair of handcuffs from my pocket. I had him cuffed and was shoving him into the hall when we almost bumped into Summer, pacing outside Smokey's door, her hair in a loose ponytail, wearing the bright yellow sundress she'd discarded last night in favor of that pink bikini.
I couldn't think of Summer in that bikini, of peeling it off her. Not now. Not if I was going to look after my family.
"I'm coming with you," she announced, dismay darkening her eyes at the sight of her father with his hands cuffed behind his back.
"Summer," Smokey said, sensing an advantage, "baby girl, tell him to let me go. Call the police or something. He can't do this. It's unconstitutional—"
"Shut up, Dad," she said, glaring at her father. To me, she said again, "I'm coming with you. I'm not letting you take my dad away. I'm coming with you."
"Summer," I started, but she cut me off.
"I'm coming with you or I'll report you for kidnapping. You can't just lock him up until he tells you what you want to know."
I could do exactly that. And I would. If I had to, I'd stop Summer from calling the police, too. I hoped it didn't come to that.
"Summer," I tried again. I risked a look at her face and knew she wasn't going to back down. Might as well let her come. At least I'd know where she was. "Fine, but stay out of our way."
Summer fell in line beside us, glaring at her dad and refusing to look at me.
I was fucking up again. I knew it, and I couldn't stop myself.
I was done babying her father. Maybe she wanted to lie to herself about dear old Dad, but I had to face reality.
Smokey Winters was a criminal who didn't deserve our consideration.
He had information we needed, and he was going to give it to us.
That was reality. Anything else was Summer fooling herself.
I'd fix things with her later. I had to believe I could.
For now, Cooper and I had one job. Get Smokey Winters to talk.
Cooper was waiting in the safe room when we got there. Lucas Jackson was with him. If I'd wondered about Cooper's plan, seeing Lucas answered my questions.
Torture wasn't our go-to when it came to extracting information, but Smokey Winters didn't know that.
Lucas Jackson is a good guy. A marshmallow when it comes to his wife. At 6'6", with shoulders as broad as a barn door, he made for an intimidating threat. He looked like a brawler, had spent some time undercover in a biker club, but at heart, Lucas preferred peace to war.
We'd brought him on knowing his military and civilian files had blank spots. A lot of blank spots. He'd done things he didn't like to think about, and he worked with us because we rarely asked him to access the darker side of his skill set.
He ran our division of computer experts. If you didn't know better, you'd never guess Lucas was happiest in front of a keyboard. He looked like the furthest thing from a computer geek, which just went to show that appearances are deceiving.
Smokey took one look at Lucas, and his eyes flashed wide with fea
r.
Good.
Maybe a little fear would loosen his tongue.
A table sat in the middle of the safe room, a chair on either side. I shoved Smokey toward one of the chairs.
"Sit."
Cooper took the other chair. Lucas stood behind him, arms crossed over his chest, his green eyes flat, dangerous, and trained on Smokey.
Smokey squirmed. Summer started forward, moving to her father. I closed my hand over her elbow and pulled her back.
"Stay out of it."
Smokey shot her a pleading glance, but she stayed where she was. Her quiescence wouldn't last.
She was thinking, trying to figure a way out for her father. There wasn't one. This wasn't a game. Not with my mom's life at stake. Smokey wasn't leaving this room until he told us what we wanted to know.
If it got ugly along the way, we were all going to have to live with that.
"How long did you work with my father?" Cooper said, starting with the easy question.
I could see the gears turning in Smokey's mind. Saw him consider a smartass response. His eyes, so like Summer's, flicked up to Lucas. He took in Cooper's resolve, his silent daughter beside me, and decided to give a little something before it was dragged from him by force.
"Off and on since 2003."
"What happened in 2003? Why then?" Cooper asked.
Smokey shot a look at Summer. "You don't need to be here, girl. Let your man take you home."
Summer went stiff. "What happened in 2003, Dad?" she asked, the suspicion in her voice telling me she knew she wouldn't like his answer.
Smokey was a mostly-absent father, but he knew his daughter well enough to tell when she wouldn't be budged. He held his breath for a long moment before it rushed out in a gusty sigh, carrying with it a flood of words.
"It was when Hugh died. I called. I wanted to come see my second cousins, or whatever they are. I wanted to see the kids."
"First cousins once removed," Cooper murmured.
"Whatever. Hugh and James were gone, I wanted to see—"
It hit all of us at the same time. Summer made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a wail. "You wanted to see if you could get any money out of them, didn't you?" she asked, her voice rough with pain. "That's why you called them."