“Adam?” she called out, turning towards the staircase, “is that you?” But there was no sound, no noise. “Mike?” she called. But still nothing. The floor creaked underneath her as she walked towards the stairwell. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Her eyes were wide open. She knew there was no one back there; she was just hearing things, freaking herself out over nothing. The house was secure; there was no way that anyone had snuck in here. She kept repeating that thought to herself as she walked closer and closer to the door to the back stairway.
It was the servants’ stairway, but no one called it that anymore. A hundred years ago or so, servants, like children, were meant to be neither seen nor heard. They worked behind the scenes making it seem like a house this size ran all on its own. The back stairs were made of wood and creaked; they were dark. Dakota had been scared of them her entire life. When she had been a child, there were nights when she would have to prop a chair against the door to keep it closed, convinced that would keep monsters at bay.
She was in front of it now. But she couldn’t hear or see anyone. She carefully pressed her ear to the door and listened. Did she hear someone breathing? Impossible. There wasn’t anyone back there, and if there were she wouldn’t be able to hear them breathing through the door. Still, just to be sure, she reached over and put her hand on the doorknob and, just as she was about to turn it, she heard it again, a muffled cough. Someone was back there.
Dakota turned and ran down the hallways, hearing the door open behind her and the sound of heavy boots hitting the floor, catching up with her.
“Adam!” she screamed, hoping he was still in the house, that he could hear her. “Adam, help! There’s someone up here!” She screamed. She raced down the hallway towards the main entryway of the house, her feet slamming against the floor, but the footsteps behind her were getting closer. As she ran, she chanced to look back and saw a hulking man in all black with a black mask covering his face, a gun in his hand. He was charging down the hallway, quickly catching up to her.
It was every nightmare Dakota had ever had: she was running, but she wasn’t fast enough. She couldn't make herself be fast enough. He was catching up. And she felt his hand on her back, and then he pushed her, a hard push right to the center of her back. Dakota tumbled forward, her head hitting the wall as she went down. She saw stars, and the world began to spin uncontrollably. Dakota tried to stand, but the world wouldn’t stop spinning and she toppled forward, only to get up and try again. She called out for Adam again, but could barely hear her own voice.
The man grabbed her by the hair and Dakota screamed in pain. He pulled her into one of the many guest rooms and threw her forward, leaving her sprawled on the floor. She tried to stand and felt a vicious kick to her stomach that knocked the wind out of her. She curled up into a ball. She was on the hard floor and she finally looked up at the man who was trying to kill her. Behind his facemask, she could see that the man had blue eyes. As he lifted his gun and pointed it at Dakota, she stared back at him. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t do anything.
And, then, the door swung open and Adam stormed into the room grabbing the attacker by the back of his head, pulling him backwards away from Dakota. One hand still on the man’s head, Adam punched him in the stomach, his other fist hitting the arm with the gun, sending the weapon clattering across the floor. But the attacker wasn’t so easily finished; he recovered and punched Adam in the face, and Dakota could hear the sickening crack of a bone. And then it was a melee as the two men punched and shoved and pushed each other around the too-small room.
Gun, Dakota thought to herself. Must get the gun. The spinning had slowed, but she didn’t yet trust her legs. She could hear the grunts and cries behind her and she didn’t know who was winning, but she knew it wouldn't matter. Whoever had the gun at the end was the winner. She could see it; it had slid under the bed. She lay flat and reached for it, her fingers and arms stretching and stretching before she touched the cold metal, a surprising heft as she pulled the gun towards her. Then it was in her hands and she stood shakily to her feet, and held the gun between her hands. The safety was off and she pointed it to where the two men were still fighting.
“Hey!” she said loudly. Adam turned to look at her and the attacker took the opportunity to punch him in the kidney; he cried out and fell on one knee. And then the attacker was advancing on Dakota, marching towards her with no fear at all in regards to the weapon that was pointed at him. Dakota knew that she needed to shoot him, but her hands were shaking. She couldn't find the trigger. She had never even held a gun before, let alone fired one.
She forgot how quick Adam was. He stood quickly and, within two steps, was on the attacker. He took one of his strong hands, grabbed the attacker and, with one motion, slammed his head into the solid oak wall. The attacker stood for a moment, dazed, swaying slightly. Adam ripped the ski mask off and slammed his head into the wall again and the man crumpled to the ground.
Dakota was frozen in place, the gun still pointing at the man on the ground, even though it had proven useless in her hands. She couldn’t move. All she could do was take heavy, gasping breaths. Her entire body was shaking, tears streaming down her face, but still she couldn’t move. She was staring at the attacker, but had no idea who he was. He was an older man, white, with blond hair, and a lined face, as if he had spent a great deal of time in the sun. But otherwise, he was unrecognizable and nondescript; he could have been one of the hundreds of people Dakota passed on the street every day.
“Are you all right?” Adam asked, moving towards her. His voice was soft, and his eyes stayed on hers as he reached out for the gun. Dakota allowed herself to finally look away from the man, but it took all of her will. She was sure that, at any moment, he would spring back to life and attack her again, “It’s all right,” Adam said. “Let me take the gun, all right? I’ll hold it for you.”
Dakota nodded, and Adam’s hand gently took the gun from her. Her arms fell to her side once the weapon was taken away from her. It had been so heavy; her arms hurt when she relaxed them. Adam removed the bullets from the gun and cleared any from the chamber, putting the ammo in one pocket and the gun in the other. He grabbed a sash from the curtain and quickly hogtied the unconscious attacker.
“Do you know him?” he asked, and Dakota shook her head with a whispered no. Adam’s hands were on her chin, checking the bruise and bump on her forehead. It was only when he was this close that Dakota could see him; the room was so dark that when he wasn’t close, he was just a blur. But now, inches away from her Dakota could see the bruise on the bridge of his nose. She could see the cut and swelling that was forming under his eye. “Are you okay? Did he do anything to you? Did he touch you?” Adam asked.
“No,” Dakota said, trying not to cry, trying desperately to keep it together. “He pushed me and I hit my head, then he kicked me,” and then she lost it. The tears she had been holding back tipped over her eyelids and spilled down her face as a sob erupted from her.
In a second, Adam had enveloped her in his arms. His arms going around her back, as he whispered comforting words and she heard sirens coming down the lane. “I hit the panic button when I heard you scream,” Adam explained as the noise grew closer and closer.
“Thank you,” Dakota whispered into his chest. “You saved my life. I’m so glad you were here.”
Adam nodded and ran his hands over her back. “We should go let them in,” he said, finally pulling himself away from her. Dakota nodded, and Adam took her hand and led her out of the room and down the stairs. Red and blue lights were flashing through the window, making the entryway feel like a haunted house.
Adam opened the door and put his hands up, shouting to the police that the attacker was upstairs.
“Show us,” a grim faced detective ordered as a paramedic took Dakota by the arm and led her out into the street, towards the back of a waiting ambulance.
“Wait,” she said, her voice weak. “Adam was hit. He needs to see a doctor.”
“Go with them. I’ll be right behind you.”
She watched him walk back up the stairs, about ten officers following in his wake until she was pulled away. In the ambulance, they shone a light in her eyes and asked her what year it was.
“You probably have a mild concussion. We’ll take you to the hospital to be sure.” Dakota nodded, but her eyes were on the attacker. He was walking now, stumbling a little as police escorted him in handcuffs towards a squad car. For a moment, she couldn't believe it; she was sure that, like a ghost, he would have disappeared in the few seconds they were gone. But there he was, flesh and solid bone, alive for the questioning. Was he her father’s attacker? Was it all over?
“Ms. Kane, I’m detective Jennifer Evans. I know you’ve had a difficult night. But I just want to ask you a few quick questions before you go to the hospital. Is she clear for a moment?” the detective asked. She was tall and fit, with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“A few minutes,” the paramedics answered as Adam was brought up next, the EMTs examining the bruises and cuts on his face.
“Can you run me through tonight’s events? I’m just trying to get an idea of what happened,” the detective asked.
“Um...” Dakota said, unsure of where to begin. “Adam and I came back from running an errand for the Boys’ Home and it was a nice night, and he wanted a chance to drive this car my dad had. So we went for a drive in the country and it was really nice and relaxing and then we came home. I went upstairs to take a shower,” at this point, Adam turned to look at her, but his expression was unreadable and Dakota was aware that she had just lied to the police. “I went upstairs to take a shower, and then I went to find Adam, to talk to him, and I heard this noise in the back stairwell. I knew I shouldn’t have. I don't know what I was thinking, but I wasn’t really sure that anyone was back there. And then I heard someone cough and I called for Adam and ran, but the guy caught up with me. He hit me and pointed a gun at me. I thought I was going to die and then Adam came in. They fought and he beat him. He saved my life.” Tears were in her eyes again and Dakota wiped them away, annoyed that she couldn’t control them better.
She hadn’t told them about being with Adam in the car. She didn’t want that moment to be part of the public record. She didn’t want the police snickering over the idea of Dakota Kane getting fucked by her bodyguard in the back of a car. It was too tawdry; they wouldn’t have understood. She wasn’t embarrassed about being with Adam, but so much of her private life, from her grades in school to who she took to prom, was part of the public record. She wanted to have something she could keep secret, something that was just hers.
“And you, Mr. Mendel, what do you remember?” the detective asked, turning to Adam who was having an ice pack placed gingerly on his forehead.
“I escorted Ms. Kane back into the house. We had been gone for several hours. I was running a security sweep, but none of the sensors had gone off. Whoever this guy was, he knew how to get into the house without anyone knowing. I was just setting the system for the night when I heard Ms. Kane call out for help. My gun was in the other room, and I didn’t have time to get it. I ran upstairs where I saw the attacker had a gun pointed at Ms. Kane. I pulled him away, we got into a fight, Ms. Kane managed to get the gun, and we subdued him.”
“Do either of you recognize that man?”
“No,” Dakota and Adam both answered, shaking their heads.
“We need to get them both to hospital for tests,” the medic interrupted.
“Okay,” Detective Evans answered. “I will be in touch with both of you.”
Dakota felt herself being pulled back into the ambulance, “What about Adam?” she asked.
“We brought two ambulances, so you each get a private ride,” the EMT answered as Dakota allowed herself to be lowered on the stretcher. She had only intended to close her eyes for a moment, but sleep overtook her anyway.
Dakota woke to the gentle sounds of equipment beeping and a spray of roses, red, yellow, and white on a bedside table. She was in the hospital, the same one her father was in. Groggy, she forced her eyes to stay open. She wondered what time it was, how long she had been asleep. Slowly, she turned her head to the right, expecting to see Adam sitting there, watching her as always. But it wasn’t Adam. It was Marley, dressed in a mini skirt and halter-top with that month’s issue of Vogue splayed out on her chest.
“Marley,” Dakota called out, her throat felt terribly dry, but she wasn’t in any pain. She had that pleasant numbness that she attributed to an IV running up her left arm. “Marley,” she called again, this time a little louder.
“Dakota!” Marley said, waking with a start, the magazine slipping and falling onto the floor. “You’re finally awake. I was so worried.”
“Water,” Dakota mumbled, and Marley brought her a glass. Dakota took a sip, feeling the liquid sooth her parched throat. “What time is it? Where’s Adam,” she asked putting the water back down.
“It’s like seven in the morning. You’ve been asleep for hours, but you need more rest.”
“What about Adam? Is he here?”
“Here? No, come on Dakota. You know he couldn’t afford this place; he’s probably being treated at county. But I’m sure he’s fine, just some bumps and bruises. You hit your head badly; you need to get some sleep.”
“I should call him,” Dakota mumbled, but sleep sounded so tempting. She was exhausted.
“Dakota, for the millionth time, you need to take care of yourself. Go to sleep.”
When Dakota woke again, it was late afternoon, and James was there, offering to escort her home. She felt better, ready to go home. She had already spent so much time in that hospital. She had a mild concussion and lots of bruising. The doctors wanted her to rest, but expected a full recovery in a few days. Dressed and ready to leave, Dakota stopped by her father’s room for a briefing from the police. He was awake, although still terribly pale and weak, holding Dakota’s hand in his own.
“The man’s name is Michael Martin. He spent ten active years in the military and then moved into private contract work. He worked for your father’s company about five years ago, according to records your lawyer provided. Mr. Kane informed us that things ended with Mr. Martin on good terms, but clearly something else happened,” Detective Evans was explaining everything in a calm and soothing voice, slow and assured. As Dakota listened she stared at the picture of Michael, her attacker, and wondered why he hated her family so much. “He has confessed to today’s attack and hit on your father a few weeks ago.”
“Why did he do it?” Dakota asked.
“He hasn’t provided a motive yet, but that’s normal. He’s getting a lawyer so he’s probably waiting to see what the district attorney’s office offers. At the moment he’s looking at life. And you don’t remember anything about him, anything that might strengthen our case?” she asked John.
“I only remember him vaguely. He was doing some work for us in the city, but I remember we didn’t agree on some of the ideas he had for land development. We parted ways, but I thought, at the time, it was as amicable as it could be,” John answered.
“I guess he saw it another way,” the detective said.
“Well, I suppose that’s that, then. It seems so strange that it’s over this easily. I thought it would be bigger, but it was just one angry man.”
“We will, of course, keep you updated on the situation as it develops. You have my card. Please let me know if you have any questions.”
“We should be thankful that everyone survived intact,” James said, smiling at Dakota and her father. “But, Dakota should be getting home, and you, my old friend, need some rest. I’ll see that she gets home all right.”
“And shut the gate and set the alarm,” her father said. “And I suppose we don’t need the protection any longer. You must be happy about that, Dakota. I know it was unpleasant for you.”
“It wasn’t so bad. I think I was being a little immature. They di
d a really good job. We should be sure to tell them that.”
“I’ll hand it, my dear,” James said. “Let’s get you home.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
That night Dakota didn’t go back to the house; she went to her apartment in Center City. It overlooked Rittenhouse Square Park, which was awash in soft light, and she could see children and couples and dogs all playing enjoying the evening air. It reminded Dakota of her night with Adam, their endless drive and the passion that had followed. But she hadn’t heard from him since the accident – no phone calls, no texts, business was over. But she figured it was for the best. They were too different to ever really work. It was a moment of passion she would remember forever, but never experience again.
***
The check in Adam’s hand was for over six figures. They could pay off the club, own it in full. It was a staggering amount of money, and, yet, James Hastings handed it over as if it were a piece of scrap paper, like the amount bored him. Adam saw that the money wasn’t coming from Hastings. It was from Kane, or one of Kane’s many companies.
HANDS OFF MY WOMAN: Padre Knights MC Page 53