Unraveled (The Untangled Series Book 1)

by Ivy Layne

  Cooper came through the door. His eyes were bright with relief, though all he said was, "Did you have to set the guy on fire?"

  "That wasn't me. They threw up a flash-bang, and it landed right on their guy."

  Under his breath, Cooper muttered, "Fucking amateurs."

  Things moved quickly after that. Quickly and glacially slow.

  Lucas headed back to Rycroft to collect Charlie and let Summer know I was fine. I tried to call myself, but agent Holley wasn't having it. No phone calls, no side trips. We were going straight to the FBI building, on communications blackout until they were done with me. Holley wanted this by the book, with no special exceptions Tsepov's lawyers could pick at later.

  I rode with agent Holley into the office, and aside from a quick duck under a shower and a change into the clean clothes Cooper brought, I spent the next few hours going over my time in Tsepov's lair in excruciatingly boring detail.

  I hadn't enjoyed my visit the first time. Reliving it wasn't an improvement. Finally, Holley released me with a warning to be careful. Just because they had Tsepov and the men who'd been at the house didn't mean he was neutralized.

  On the ride home, Cooper said, "You did what you had to do, Ev. Don't let it eat at you."

  "I know."

  I knew I'd done what I had to do.

  I also knew it would eat at me. If that was the price I had to pay for getting out alive, so be it.

  I'd never been so glad to see Rycroft Castle emerge from the trees. Summer was waiting on the stairs. As I jumped from the passenger seat of Cooper's SUV, she flew down, taking the steps two at a time before skidding to a halt in front of me.

  Reaching up, she cupped my face in her palm, searching for any sign of injury.

  "I'm okay," I reassured her, "didn't get a scratch."

  At that, she threw herself into my arms, wrapping hers around me and squeezing so tight she drove a gust of breath from my lungs. I rested my cheek on the top of her head, drawing in the lemon and flowers scent of her. Home. I was home.

  I was thinking I could hold her in my arms forever when she reared back and punched me in the chest.

  "What the hell were you thinking? They could have hurt you. They could have killed you."

  Her hands waved in the air as she yelled, and I had the feeling she was winding up for another punch. I caught her arms, tugging her close.

  "I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I will never let anything happen to you."

  Summer's eyes were wide and blue and swimming with tears.

  "I never got to tell you. Everything happened so fast, and I never got to tell you."

  "Tell me what?" I asked, watching one tear and then another trail down her cheeks.

  "I love you. I never got to tell you that I love you."

  "I know," I said, smiling down at her.

  Summer glared through her tears, outrage all over her face. Rearing back, she swung her fist at my head.

  That's my girl.

  I caught her hand before she could slam it into my chin.

  "You know?" she shrieked. "I finally tell you I love you, and all you have to say is you know?"

  "I know you love me. Of course, I know. You saved my life, Summer. Your Dad—"

  The fight drained out of her. Shoulders drooping, eyes on the ground, she said, "I couldn't let him shoot you."

  I pulled her into my arms again, resting my cheek on the top of her head. "I'm sorry. So sorry. But I'm glad you love me enough to pick me."

  "Every time," she whispered. "I'll always pick you."

  "Is your dad—?" I didn't want to ask.

  Summer let out a gust of air. "He's stable. For now. They said no visitors for a few hours. He's recovering from surgery."

  "Is everyone else okay?"

  "Fine. Tired from whatever Dad slipped in the wine." She pulled back, looking up at me, her eyes landing on mine briefly before skidding away. "I'm so sorry."

  Tears spilled over her cheeks again, and my gut clenched in panic. Why was she crying? I was home, we were safe, her dad was alive. Tsepov was in jail. We hadn't heard from Knox, but I knew my brother. He'd turn up. There wasn't any reason to cry.

  "What? Why? You don't have anything to be sorry about."

  "You knew my dad was a problem, and I didn't believe you. I brought him into Rycroft, and he almost got all of us killed. It was my fault."

  "That's bullshit," I said. Summer wasn't taking on her father's guilt. "Your father, my father, Tsepov—they're responsible. They did this. Not you, Summer. Never you."

  "I should have known," she said, wiping at her eyes.

  "He's your dad, and you wanted to see the good in him. No one gets that more than me."

  "I'm sorry," she said again.

  "I'm not." Summer looked at me in surprise. "I'm not," I insisted. "You're loyal. You look for the best in the people you love. That's who you are, Summer. I love you. All of you."

  "Even when I almost get you shot?"

  "Even then. I've loved you since the beginning. I think I've loved you since the day we met. I found you at that conference, told you that you were coming with me and you just stared me down and said I don't think so in that snotty tone."

  "I was not snotty," she protested, laughing through the last of her tears. "You were a total stranger."

  "You came with me anyway," I teased.

  "You were persuasive."

  "I was a goner. By the time I got you back to Atlanta, I was hooked. You scared the fucking hell out of me."

  "I must have," she said, "because you ran away like a little boy."

  I cupped her face in my palms, studying every inch of it, absorbing her eyes, her spiky lashes wet with tears, her full, pink lower lip. Every part of her was a treasure.

  "I did," I admitted. "I ran like a scared boy. It took me way too long to realize that I'd never have what I wanted most if I couldn't stand up and be a man. I wasn't afraid of you, Summer, I was afraid of me. Of not being good enough. Of fucking everything up. Of hurting you. Then you threw me out, and I knew there was only one thing I was really afraid of. Losing you."

  "You stayed away," she said. "I thought you'd come back, but you never—"

  "I was working on a plan to win you back."

  Summer looked over her shoulder at Rycroft Castle, rising above us, it's turrets and white limestone walls belonging in a different century. "Kind of an elaborate plan. You could have just sent flowers."

  "Like that was going to work. You would have shoved them in the disposal and sent me back the stems."

  Summer's lips quirked in a grin. "Probably. Still, this was overkill."

  "This was just good luck." I thought about our fathers and everything they'd done. "Maybe not good luck. A silver lining?"

  "Whatever it was, I'm glad it brought you back to me."

  "I was always coming back for you, Summer. I love you."

  "I love you, too." Going up on her toes, she kissed me, sliding her fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck, teasing her lips across mine.

  When she pulled away, she said, "Are you done with the FBI? Can we go inside so I can take off that suit and make sure you're not injured?"

  "I told you, I'm fine."

  Summer raised an eyebrow and unbuttoned the top button of my shirt.

  "I know, but I want to make absolutely sure. I'm going to need to examine every inch of you."

  "Oh, well, in that case, you never know, I might have an injury or two. You'd better check me out. Thoroughly."

  Summer stepped back and took my hand, leading me up the stairs into Rycroft Castle. Winking at me over her shoulder, she said, "Oh, I plan to examine you very thoroughly. For a long, long time."

  Epilogue

  Summer

  I didn't end up examining Evers. I meant to. I led him upstairs to my room and went to work on the buttons of his shirt, my fingers slow and awkward.

  Every time I'd touched Evers I hadn't had to think. I saw him, and my body went on automatic pilot, dr
iven by desire. By need.

  I wanted Evers. Always.

  The second his fingers unfastened the top button of my cardigan I went stiff.

  I didn't mean to. I didn't want to. I didn't even know what was happening until he dropped his hands to his sides, a wave of worry washing across his face.

  Lightly, he rested his hands on my shoulders. "You're shaking."

  The shame should have flooded my cheeks with heat, but I was cold. Cold and embarrassed and afraid.

  I risked a look at Evers. His jaw was tight, the muscle flickering as he clenched his teeth, but his words were gentle. "Cooper said he didn't touch you. He didn't hurt you."

  I swallowed hard. My voice grated on my ears. "He didn't hurt me. Not really. But he—"

  I still couldn't say it.

  I didn't need to. Evers closed his eyes. In a low, guttural voice he said, "He touched you."

  I gave a jerky nod and risked a tiny step closer. Evers' hands on my shoulders dropped to my back, urging me into his arms. My heart ached with love for him.

  I knew the idea that anyone had touched me must be driving him insane. That it had been Andrei Tsepov only made it worse. Yet he locked it down, only that flickering muscle in his jaw giving away his emotions.

  His hands on my back were light, giving me room to step away if that was what I needed.

  It wasn't. The idea of being touched by anyone else turned my stomach. Anyone except Evers. I buried myself against him, pressing the side of my face to his chest, the cold draining away as his arms closed around me.

  "I'm okay," I whispered. "It was nothing."

  Evers’ lips grazed my temple. "You're okay, Summer, but it wasn't nothing. I know you want to push it away. Pretend it didn't happen. Don't do that."

  "I don't want to think about it," I admitted. "It's over and I never want to think about it again."

  Evers let out a sigh, his arms tightening around me. We stood like that for a while. Long enough for me to finally start to feel warm. For me to realize how exhausted I was.

  "Can we lay down?" I asked.

  Evers didn't answer. He didn't touch his clothes or mine. He led me to the bed and guided me on top, fully clothed, pulling the coverlet over us. I rested my head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

  I thought he was asleep until he said, "I killed four men today."

  I didn't know what to say to that. I squeezed my arm around his chest and whispered, "I'm sorry."

  "Not your fault. I didn't have a choice. In each case, it was him or me. I picked me."

  "I'm glad you did," I said.

  "Me too. You said what happened with Tsepov wasn't a big deal. That it's over. It is. Everything that happened is over. But I know from experience that it's never really over. You have to let yourself understand that because it's going to come back. When you least want it to, it's going to come back."

  "I just want it all to go away," I said into his shirt.

  "I know you do. So do I. That's not the way it works. Most of our jobs are pretty tame, but the cases that aren’t…” He blew out a breath. “Shit happens. We have a few different psychologists we work with. There's one who the women say is good, especially when it comes to assault—"

  "It wasn't—he didn't—"

  "I think you should talk to her. At least once, okay? Just once."

  "Okay," I breathed.

  I didn't want to talk to anyone. Talking meant reliving, and I never wanted to go back. While Tsepov had me, I kept telling myself that all I had to do was stay alive. I'd done that. I was alive. Now it was over.

  If it would make Evers feel better, I'd talk to his psychologist. Once.

  I thought about those four men. How they would weigh on him. "What about you?"

  He shifted to kiss the top of my head. "Standard procedure. Not after every job, but if there's loss of life? Always."

  "Really?" Everyone I'd met on the Sinclair team, men and women, looked tough as nails. They reminded me of soldiers. Commandos. Strong and unyielding.

  "Really," Evers confirmed. "Like I said, shit happens. Too much stuff we think we're prepared for. We think we can handle. We can't afford to have it come back on us later. Can't afford to freeze at the wrong moment. We have to deal with it. Process it. Figure out how to live with it before we move on."

  Another kiss to the top of my head. "Ignoring the bad stuff doesn't make you stronger. It just leaves you with weak spots you can't see until it's too late. I know you don't want to talk about it. I don't want you to have to talk about it. But trust me when I tell you, you'll feel better after."

  "I don't want to tell you—"

  His arm tightened around me again. "Unless you need to, I don't want to hear it. I think it's probably better if I don't. We'll get past this. I promise."

  Evers was right. About a lot of things. After two more failed attempts to have sex—attempts initiated by me in a desperate effort to convince myself that I'd left Tsepov behind—I set an appointment with the psychologist Evers recommended.

  It wasn't a magic fix. She was nice, and I liked her. It was still excruciating going through everything I remembered of my time with Tsepov. The bag over my head. Those hands.

  Excruciating.

  I'm not going to say I walked out of her office feeling back to normal, but there was relief in telling the story. Relief in her lack of judgment, in her easy acceptance of the bad moments I'd had since then. The way I'd wake in the night flinching from Evers. The shame that my head had confused him with someone else in the dark.

  I surprised myself by making a second appointment. I needed time, but a little more talking wouldn't hurt.

  It helped that things were quiet once Tsepov went to jail. He stayed there for a whole five days before his attorney argued for bail and handed over a fat check that set Tsepov free. Andrei Tsepov strolled out of jail and disappeared.

  I didn’t have time to think about what that meant. My father made it through surgery but flatlined twice the next day. Eventually, he slipped into a coma. He never woke up. My mom and I sat with him, listening to the machines beep as he quietly faded away into silence.

  I was struggling to handle it, my emotions a jumble of contradictions. I couldn't forget that my father was the reason I'd ended up with Tsepov. My father could have killed everyone at Rycroft.

  Alive, Smokey was a danger to me. To my mom. To everyone I loved. We were safer with him dead, and I grieved as if he'd been Father of the Year. I grieved for the lost chances. For everything we'd never have.

  My mom stuck around for a week, invited to stay at Rycroft by Cynthia. The chance to stay in a castle with two real-life movie stars wasn't enough to offset the loss of her ex-husband, but it helped.

  Cynthia, I suspected, was happy for my mom to distract me so she could focus all of her attention on Clint. The two of them mooned around Rycroft like newlyweds. I can't count how many times I came around the corner to find them locked in an embrace.

  Cynthia is my favorite client, but there were things I didn't need to see.

  After Smokey's funeral, Evers took me aside and handed me a ring. My grandfather's ring.

  "This is yours now. Someday, if you want, you can pass it on."

  I closed my fingers around the ring and held on to a piece of my father. My history. The past I'd never known.

  I brought the ring and my mom to a family party at Winters House. We'd been wrong, the extremely wealthy did do barbecues. The Winters' chef was a master. I don't think I'd ever had better ribs in my life.

  My mom fit right in with the Winters, not the least bit awed by their notoriety. I thought I was going to faint when she started lecturing Aiden on one of his subsidiaries' environmental record.

  To my shock, he took her seriously, giving her his email and telling her to submit a formal report. He didn't promise to make any changes, but he did promise to review it himself. My mom beamed. She left for home happy that I had Evers at my side and family around.

  Cynthia
went back to L.A. a few weeks early, Clint in tow, and Evers and I moved out of Rycroft Castle. To say my condo was a letdown after Rycroft is an understatement. I'd always liked it before, but after Rycroft, it felt like living in a closet.

  Evers, with his trademark combination of sneaky and sweet, slowly started moving me into his house. He never formally asked me to move in, just said, “You should bring that to my place," about my much better coffee maker, or, “Half of my closet is empty. There's plenty of room for your stuff."

  He'd said his house needed work, but it looked fine to me. The kitchen could use some updating, and the wallpaper and carpet were dated, but his pool was spectacular.

  We talked about making improvements but didn't do anything, even though it would have been as simple as calling Charlie and Lucas.

  Instead, we waited, stuck in a holding pattern.

  The account numbers were still missing, along with Maxwell Sinclair. Cooper and Evers were doing everything they could from Atlanta.

  Axel was growing impatient with the delay, not enjoying living with their mother for the first time since high school. Even Emma was ready for her to go back to Florida.

  And Knox… Knox was making progress, but not fast enough. Lily Spencer was more than just a widow with security problems. Instead of answers, Lily only brought more problems. Dangerous problems. Evers wanted his brother home. Now. But Knox's priorities had changed.

  Tsepov's threat loomed over our all of our heads.

  I wanted the situation with Maxwell and Tsepov resolved for the Sinclairs’ sake, but I wasn’t in a rush for life to move on. So much change so fast, and a part of me was still reeling.

  In the space of weeks, I'd gone from swearing I’d never speak to Evers again to practically living with him. I was just fine with things staying the same for a little while.

  Evers was not.

  We’d gotten into the habit of swimming after dinner. In the heat of summer, it was a great way to decompress after a long day. Me, alone with Evers, mostly naked. I couldn’t think of many things better.

  One night, a few weeks after Cynthia went back to L.A., I jumped in, ready to wash away a day of phone calls and social media posts. Most days I loved my job. That was not one of those days.