“Yessir,” his three-year-old self had said, and he’d vowed right there that he’d never let any harm come to her.
If he’d arrived sooner, demanded to stay with her after she’d insisted on him and Beckett leaving... If he’d only controlled the situation better, faster, been stronger...
Wilder had wanted to kill that man, and he’d gone after him, hoping he hadn’t given them the slip. That’s when Beckett had arrived—same bad feeling—and found her dead, assumed he was the first to find her. He’d called the police—and an ambulance, though there was no need; it was too late.
When Wilder had returned empty-handed and seen Beckett’s devastation—his blind rage—he had reined in his own temper. That much he could control. He could step up and lead, be the levelheaded one as always. Bring Meghan’s killer to justice. Keep Beckett sane. Carry the grief of his family on his shoulders.
And he’d hold it together now and make sure no one—not Beau Chauvert, Jeffrey Levitts or anyone else—laid a hand on Cosette.
“Wilder?” Cosette called his name. He’d zoned out on her.
He blinked back to reality—to the woman before him with fear in her eyes.
“Don’t worry about me,” he told her. “I’m fine. More than fine and completely able to take care of you. I will take care of you. I promise.”
“Wilder, you keep everything inside. You’re not fine.”
“Pot, meet kettle.” He winked. “Get some sleep. I’ll turn on the monitors in my office surveilling the outside perimeter. Don’t worry.”
He waited for her to close the door before heading downstairs to his apartment. To the piano, where he’d pound out his secrets on the keys. He’d be strong for her. For them all.
He was not weak.
But he did feel weighted down by the responsibility of seeing to everyone’s safety—within his team and their clients. Like the world had been nail-gunned to his shoulders.
He sat at his baby grand and lightly ran his fingers over the keys.
He’d failed Meghan.
And another woman he’d cared about just a year before that.
But he would not fail Cosette. He’d die first.
* * *
Sleep didn’t come until the wee hours of the morning for Cosette, but there was great power in concealer and contouring. She had already dressed in a gray pantsuit and pulled her hair away from her face, letting the rest hang down her back. She wouldn’t let Jeffrey—or Beau—steal her life. She had patients to counsel today at the therapy clinic. These people depended on her.
How was it she had the ability to help other people fix their lives, but her own was a disaster? As she knew he would, Wilder had asked why she hadn’t filed a report on Jeffrey. He’d surprised her, though, with no major reprimand and walking her up the stairs when they both knew good and well CCM was the safest place in the world. That gesture made it difficult to defend her heart around him.
But she had to remind herself that Wilder was doing his job. And it was no secret he had a tender side. She’d seen it dozens of times with his sister Caley, and with his cousin Jody, who worked for him and had been shot during an assignment a few months ago right in front of him. He hadn’t left her side at the hospital... Cosette had tried to get him to talk about it—how it made him feel. He was their team leader. Alpha male. Former SEAL. The man wouldn’t take defeat, failure or mistakes well. He seemed to remain in control, with a cool and calm exterior, but Cosette was concerned a storm was brewing inside him and could unleash without much warning. Her hands were tied, though. He refused to confide.
She came downstairs to chatter and the aroma of strong brewed coffee and freshly baked blueberry muffins.
Wilder sat at the head of the sixteen-seat conference table with team members Beckett Marsh, Shepherd Lightman, Evan and Jody Novak and Wheezer, who clicked away on his laptop. Beckett’s wife, Aurora, held a file folder in one hand and her black plastic glasses in the other. The chatter died.
“What’s going on?” Was everyone discussing her failed relationships? Her pitifulness?
“I’m going over stalking laws in Georgia,” Aurora said. “Want coffee? I brought it from the shop, and assorted muffins—none have nuts.”
Well, she wouldn’t have to worry about dying by nut allergies. Just an obsessed stalker. Cosette darted a glance at Wilder. “I have to get to the clinic this morning. I have patients, and I’m going to see them.” Not up for discussion.
Wilder had the look—he was sizing her up to see if he could win a verbal war with her. “I’ll drive you.”
She jingled her keys in the air. “I’m fully capable of driving myself and watching my rearview if necessary.”
“Watching your rearview is always necessary. Didn’t you take driver’s ed?”
Humor and the twinkle in his eyes wouldn’t deflect her. She didn’t need him to fawn all over her. Now that she knew the danger, she would be cautious. This, sadly, was a road traveled before. “It’s overkill.”
“It’s smart. And safe. If this Levitts guy is here—or Beau—he’s watching you. Which brings me to a question.”
Great.
“Now that you’ve had time to process, professionally, do you think it could be Beau Chauvert? He seems more like an opportunist, not a plotter. I did some checking—”
Wheezer cleared his throat. “Uh-hum.”
“Wheezer did some checking.” Wilder grinned. “Beau didn’t show up for work the other night. He could have been in your apartment, but he doesn’t have the kind of money to hop a plane or even spend the gas money to get to you.”
“Unless he’s fixated, and then he’ll steal if necessary to get what he wants,” Cosette offered. “But no. I thought about it. The earrings are expensive, dainty. Beau was never a gift-giver. Unless it was giving me something that already belonged to him. Like an old football jersey or class ring. The mind games...they’re more psychological. More Jeffrey.”
“Could it be someone other than Jeffrey? A newer patient who’s become obsessed? Anybody giving you unwanted or even extra attention recently?”
She shook her head. “This has Jeffrey written all over it. But I’ll give it more consideration and go over my patient files today to be sure I haven’t missed anything.” She’d missed the signs with Jeffrey. She wasn’t infallible.
Wilder grabbed his phone. A knock echoed in the foyer. “Painting crew’s getting an early start. Come on.”
No point arguing. Wilder wouldn’t let it go and she’d end up running out of arguments and be late for work.
An older man with long gray hair, two middle-aged men and a bright-eyed hotshot stood on the porch. Wilder greeted them and gave instructions. Cosette smiled and followed Wilder outside.
“Ma’am!”
Cosette turned to the tousle-headed millennial, who appeared to have rolled out of bed only minutes ago.
He grinned and held up her keys. “You dropped these.”
“Oh, thanks,” she said. “I didn’t even hear them fall.”
He approached her with some seriously practiced swagger.
“Cosette, come on,” Wilder hollered from the SUV.
“Cosette...that French?” He handed her the keys, his finger brushing her palm.
“Yes.” She tucked them soundly into the side pocket of her purse.
“I took two years of French back in high school.” He glanced to the left, then resumed eye contact. His pupils dilated. He was attracted to her, and he was lying about French.
“That’s nice. Thank you for these.” She hurried to the SUV and hopped in.
Wilder raked his hand through his hair. The urge to touch it made her fingers tingle. He grunted and clicked his seat belt into place. “I only know of three—no, four—men who don’t flirt with you. They all work for me.”
“I dropped my keys.”
“Yeah, and he tried to drop a pickup line.” Wilder chuckled. “I took two years of French, too.”
“Now you’re both lying.” She snorted and buckled up.
“Well, I know a few French things.”
“Dare I ask?” She snickered and checked emails on her phone.
He wiggled his eyebrows playfully. “Double dog dare ya.”
She wasn’t playing into this repartee but... “If we’re about to play Truth or Dare, I’d settle for truth.”
“This coming from the woman who tried to hide a stalker from a security specialist.”
It did seem ridiculous. She couldn’t help it; she laughed. “I’m sorry.”
He pulled into the clinic parking lot and Cosette’s phone rang. Dad’s lawyer. She declined the call.
“He’s been relentless having his lawyer call. But quite frankly, there is nothing he can say that will change what he did or how I feel about him. I don’t want to hear platitudes and apologies, Wilder. The day I put her in the ground, I put him there, too. Mentally.” She may have written him off much earlier than that.
“What if the uptick in calls is because he’s sick? You might regret not talking to him when it’s too late.” Wilder unclicked the seat belt for her. “You’re going to be late. What time do I need to pick you up?”
She glanced at the seat belt and bristled. “I’ll call you. I’m not sure.” Would she regret not speaking to her dad if he died? To know his dying words? What could he possibly say to bring back Mama? To make what he did right? There was nothing.
“You want me to walk you in?” Wilder asked.
“Again, might be overkill.” She hesitated. “What did the team say? When you told them?”
Wilder smirked. “We all wanna kill him. Some of us more than others.”
“Let’s not go that far.”
He grasped her arm as she stepped from the vehicle, holding her back.
“Cosette, I’ll go as far as I need to go.”
She blinked back tears. “You’re the best boss I’ve ever had.” A reminder that that was all he was. Her boss. She couldn’t see him as anything more. She couldn’t need him for anything more than to watch over her, and she didn’t like that fact.
“I’m the best boss anyone’s ever had.” He gave her his signature wink, but his face had fallen some.
He waited in the parking lot until she was inside, then she watched him drive away. The office smelled like antiseptic and lavender. Her heels clicked on the polished white tile as she headed for her office.
“Cosette!”
She turned and smiled. Her colleague Roger Renfrow greeted her with a perfectly pearly-white smile, his blond hair spiked in the front. He held up a manila folder. “I found some information for you on the equine therapy. Talked to one of my friends in Michigan who runs one. Mercy Abrams. She said you can contact her anytime. Fly out there and check her place out.”
Cosette took the information. “Wow, Roger, thanks so much. That’s generous.”
“No problem. On another note, Malcolm is here. Early and antsy.”
Malcolm was twenty-four and one of the sweetest young men she knew. But he was also a pyromaniac. “Antsy, huh? You didn’t happen to notice if he was carrying a lighter? Matches?”
“No, he wasn’t, that I saw. Look, if you need anything else, let me know.” Roger squeezed her shoulder and left her at her door.
Inside, Malcolm would be in the small waiting area painted in soft blues and greens. She opened the door and grinned. “Hi, Malcolm.” She invited him into her personal office. “Have a seat,” she said and unlocked her filing cabinet to retrieve his file. “How are you?”
“I’m having those thoughts again. That’s why I’m early.”
“Let’s talk about them.” She noticed an envelope propped against the picture of Mama that she kept on her desk. No writing. Her heart skittered and her hands turned clammy.
She had to concentrate on Malcolm and his disturbing thoughts about fire, but she couldn’t seem to pry her eyes from the envelope.
How did it get in here? What was inside? Her neck flushed.
“...but I didn’t. I didn’t do it. I just did what you said, but I wanted to, Miss LaCroix. I wanted to watch the fire dance its way through the apartment.”
She gained focus. “Good, Malcolm. I’m glad to hear you didn’t go through with it.”
For the next thirty minutes, she worked tirelessly to concentrate on Malcolm. When he left, she stared at the envelope, gathering the courage to look inside. With shaking hands, she sliced across the top with the letter opener.
Another note.
She squeezed her eyes shut. No, she had to read it. Face this. Be brave.
The note inside read: You work hard. Enjoy a nice night out.
Movie tickets for an outdoor screening of His Girl Friday at the amphitheater and a gift card to a new Cajun restaurant. Seventy-five dollars. That was odd. She glanced around her office, which suddenly felt degrees colder. She peeped through her office window. Nothing abnormal going on, but being in here alone creeped her out. She shoved the envelope in her purse and rushed into the hall, bumping into Roger. “Hey, have you seen Crista?” Maybe someone had given it to her administrative assistant and she’d laid it on her desk.
“No, why?”
“I got a gift. Anonymous.”
“What is it?” he asked.
She told him. Showed him the typed note.
“Looking for a date Saturday night?” He grinned. “Just kidding. Sort of.”
Cosette shook her head at Roger’s teasing and relaxed a fraction. She wasn’t alone anymore. The sunshine brightened the hall, the light chasing away the darkness.
“You okay?”
Cosette smiled and breathed. “Yes. Just threw me for a loop.”
“A good loop. I hear that restaurant is to die for.”
She wasn’t ready to die for Cajun food. Jeffrey was smart and deceptive, but he wouldn’t leave her with an option to take someone else to dinner and a movie, and his note wouldn’t be simple and caring, meant in a friendly way. This gift was different. She’d anonymously done nice things for coworkers and this seemed similar.
She couldn’t shake the eerie notion, though, with everything else transpiring. Something felt off and sent a jolt of uneasiness through her. She glanced outside. Couldn’t stop feeling eyes on her.
She rescheduled the two appointments she had left and texted Wilder to pick her up. “Thanks again for the information, Roger.”
“No problem. How was Malcolm?” Since they’d both treated him, she didn’t mind sharing about the earlier session.
Wilder texted back that he was on his way.
“He’s using the steps we’ve worked on to fight the urge to burn the world down, but he seemed agitated. That was new.”
They discussed Malcolm a few seconds more, until Wilder pulled under the portico. Had he been in the parking lot all this time? That was fast.
“Front-door service these days?” Roger asked, a hint of curiosity and male defeat in his voice.
“It’s not like that.” She held up a hand for Wilder to wait on her.
“What’s it like then?”
Wilder entered the building, eyed Roger discreetly. “Ready, Cosette?” He positioned himself slightly in between her and Roger—as if her colleague was a threat. Get. A. Grip. She needed security, she’d admit, but this behavior was unacceptable. She was her own person. What could possibly happen five feet away from the man?
He was like a tomcat spraying the area. One more reminder why she didn’t need a man. Wilder should be protecting her, not marking his territory. “I am, but you could have waited in the car.”
“Could’ve. Didn’t.” He smirked, ignoring her clipped tone, and extended his elbow. She ignored that.
“See you tomorrow, Roger.” She blew past Wilder and got into the SUV.
“What’s with you?” he asked, as he buckled up.
“What was with the primitive man ritual back there? You all but urinated on me.”
Wilder hooted. “If only I’d been feeling the urge.”
“Not funny. Wilder, let me be clear. I appreciate your thoroughness—”
“Almost thoroughness... I didn’t actually relieve myself on your leg.” His smile was smug, but disarming. He was good at that—and at getting his way. Not on this.
“But thoroughness doesn’t mean having possession of me. Picking me up is one thing. Walking in and hovering over me is another, especially when I told you to wait. I’m not an object. I’m a person.”
“Cosette is a human. Noted.” His jaw pulsed once...twice. Great. But he needed to understand boundaries, and even in protecting her, there were some. There had to be—she needed them. She’d been bullied by too many men in her life and for too long.
“I’m not trying to be cold or ungrateful, Wilder...” And she definitely hadn’t meant to make him mad, but this conversation was necessary and she was stressed. She sighed. “I got another ‘gift’ today.”
* * *
Wilder whipped into a parking space and ushered Cosette inside Sufficient Grounds 2.0. The smell of coffee and cinnamon did nothing for his stomach. Had this Levitts guy gotten into her office? How? And could he even inquire? Cosette had thrown up a barrier. Put him at arm’s length, where he’d been keeping her. Tables turned felt crummy.
Maybe he had sized up the dude in the bow tie who’d been falling all over her. Everyone was a suspect.
Except that wasn’t true.
Something about the way they’d interacted—comfortably—sent Wilder swimming in an ocean of green. He’d reacted. Bounded in and all but staked a claim on a woman he had no right to. A woman who didn’t want to be claimed. He had to respect her wishes—her boundaries. He could do that without it interfering with his duty to protect her. At least, that’s what his head said. His heart was itching like it’d been dragged through a patch of poison ivy. Where was the emotional cortisone when a man needed it?
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