by Eden Summers
“I’m sorry you had to witness this.” I remain transfixed on the replay as Robert approaches the passenger side of Luca’s car, gun raised. He yanks open the door, drags Penny out, and shoves her down the road.
An innocent bystander steps forward, calling for him to stop. But there’s no stopping. Robert barely pauses as he raises his weapon and guns the man down.
“It was horrific,” the woman whispers. “None of us knew what to do.”
“Us?” I don’t raise my gaze from her phone.
“There was a group. About five of us. We were all in hiding, not sure if we should risk our lives to help. I feel so guilty.”
“There’s nothing you could’ve done.”
Robert drags Penny toward a silver sedan parked behind the Suburban and shoves her in the trunk. Then, as easily as if he’s heading out for a leisurely Sunday drive, he climbs into the car and leaves the scene. No screech of tires. No frantic escape.
He abducted her effortlessly. Not one hint of doubt.
“As soon as he was gone, we all rushed to help those people. But the man from the sedan was already dead, and the other…” She drags in a ragged breath. “He was so scared.”
“It’s going to take you some time to come to terms with what you witnessed.” I give her a sad smile and fight against the need to get more involved in Cole’s drama.
He wouldn’t want this recording shared.
And Penny doesn’t deserve to be a news headline or a viral sensation.
“But this footage is great.” I keep smiling, attempting to exude warmth. “Do you know if anyone else recorded what happened?”
“Not that I know of. I think once the gunshots started, most people were too busy hiding. After the police arrived, everyone crowded me to get a second look.”
I nod and pull out my own device, deleting the notices of Easton’s missed messages and calls. “I’m going to need you to Bluetooth it to me. Can you do that?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I talk her through the transfer and wait patiently for the file to arrive, double-checking it as my stomach churns with foreboding.
I shouldn’t be getting involved.
I shouldn’t. But goddamn it, I can’t help myself.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I got your name, ma’am.” I inch closer.
“Izzy,” she offers. “Isabel Masen.”
“Thanks, Isabel.” I lower my voice. “Before I let you go, I want to make sure you know the legal risks associated with holding onto recordings of a crime such as this.” I’m bullshitting, talking completely out of my ass. All for what? Cole fucking Torian. “If someone else gets hold of this—if your phone is stolen or hacked—you could be in a lot of trouble.”
“Are you for real?” Her lips part in shock. “I thought I was helping.”
“You were. It’s the aftermath that gets tricky. You don’t want to be responsible for leaking information on an investigation as important as this.”
Why am I helping Cole? Why, Anissa? Why?
“Can I delete the video?” she begs. “I don’t want to be a part of this. I just want to go home.”
“Of course you can. I have the footage now. If you delete your copy you won’t have to worry about anyone else getting hold of it. And I have your name for future reference. But I’d like to take your cell number, too.”
“Okay.” She nods and recites the digits as she taps buttons on her screen. “It’s gone. Deleted. Do I need to go to the police station to make a statement?”
My stomach dips, the hollow organ seeming to fall to my feet. “No, you’re free to go home.”
She releases a relieved breath. “Thank you so much.”
Sickening guilt works its way through me in an increasing tide. I force myself to breathe normally. I’m going to get fired. Not only that, I could end up behind bars.
The woman pockets her cell, gives me a tired farewell smile, then leaves.
I’m so screwed.
Tampering with witnesses. Destroying evidence. Involving myself in a case that isn’t even remotely in my jurisdiction while I’m on leave.
I’m in over my head, trying to convince myself I can’t walk away because of my fear for Penny’s safety when my reasons for being here are far deeper than that.
I’m protecting Cole. Again.
Risking my career for a criminal.
I stare at my phone, the morning hours growing colder, my breath fogging in the frigid air. I should call Easton. After listening to him spit a quick verbal barrage about Cole’s reputation, I could be back on the straight and narrow… but I don’t call.
I send him a quick message instead—I’m climbing into bed. Sorry I didn’t text sooner. Night. Then I get in my car.
I should go home. For the sake of my job and my mental health, I should head directly for my apartment building. But I don’t do that either.
I drive to Cole’s restaurant. Bright lights continue to illuminate the room as I slowly inch my vehicle forward, yet all the guests are gone. There’s only a cluster of waitresses rearranging tables and a lone man with a mop pushing through the kitchen doors.
I park at the curb, the engine still running as self-hatred eats me from the inside out. I need to know if Penny has been found. If she’s okay. If she’s even still alive. I wonder about Sarah, too. Did she see a doctor? Is she recovering?
And Robert. What about him?
The reasons to call Cole mount on my shoulders.
No, they’re excuses. Placations.
Sarah isn’t my friend.
Penny is just another victim.
Robert is one of many threats I’ve earned in my career.
I just want to talk to Cole. For no other reason than to hear his voice.
I cringe through self-loathing as I pull out my cell. I sigh as I dial his number. Then I hold my breath and listen to the phone ring.
He doesn’t answer.
After two quick trills his voicemail cuts in, announcing loud and clear he rejected my call.
He’s rejecting me when only weeks ago he was in front of my building with flowers, demanding my attention.
I throw the phone to the passenger seat and grip the steering wheel.
“This isn’t healthy.” I exhale long and loud. “It’s not normal.” I suck a deep breath in. “Go home, Nissa.”
I don’t know what’s worse—talking to myself or using the nickname Cole gave me. But this time, I listen.
I pull into the empty street, cranking the music loud to drown my thoughts, and find my way home on autopilot. I don’t pause a second in contemplation once I set foot inside my apartment. I head straight for my medicine cabinet to snatch at the sleeping pills, downing two with a vodka chaser.
The liquid burns. Just like my shame.
I don’t trust myself to fall asleep unaided. If left to my own devices, I’ll toss and turn, my subconscious feeding me unwanted thoughts of dark eyes and a darker soul.
I don’t change. Or shower. I fall face-first into bed and stay there, unmoving, until darkness takes me away.
When I wake, the sun is already creeping through my curtains. It’s still early, and the heady lethargy from the pills makes it difficult to get my ass vertical.
I shower. Eat. Tug on my light grey pantsuit and then stare at my phone, willing it to ring. I flick from news station to news station, listening to vague information about the alleged gang-related violence from last night. The footage shown includes a snapshot of Robert and Penny, but neither of their faces are visible.
If authorities had detailed descriptions they would’ve been shared.
The witness I spoke to might be right. I could have the only video of the crime.
I dial Cole’s number, pretending I have an obligation to let him know, when the necessity for contact is far more complicated than that. But the call rings out.
He’s cut me off. After claiming he wanted me. When I was meant to be everything to him. He severed ties without a backward
glance.
I’ve tried everything apart from exorcism to rid myself of feelings for him, and he flicks off the hinderance like a damn light switch.
Asshole.
Well, good for him. But it’s not going to stop me from getting answers on Penny.
I snatch my purse, keys and cell from the counter, ignoring the unanswered messages from Easton, and down my half-filled mug of coffee in one chug before leaving the apartment.
Within a short drive I’m at his front gates with a guard approaching my window.
“Who are you?” He glowers at me with unabashed superiority as I lower the glass.
“A friend of Cole’s. I need to speak to him.”
He sidles up beside my door and rests a forearm against the roof of my car, making his jacket gape to expose the holstered gun beneath. It’s deliberate intimidation. I wouldn’t expect anything less from one of Cole’s men. “No visitors today. You’ll have to come back some other time.”
I smile, sweet and pure. “I don’t need to see him. I just need to speak to him. Tell him Anissa is here and that I’m not going anywhere until we talk.”
“He’s not going to give a shit who you are, sweetheart. He’s given strict orders not to be disturbed.”
My lips tighten, venom entering the upswept curve. “Call him.” I pull out my badge, enjoying the tiny flare of surprise in his eyes. “You don’t want to be responsible for me returning with a warrant and a full team of agents when all I want to do is chat.”
It’s a bluff, but given Cole’s reputation, even the slightest hint of a warrant should put this guy on edge.
He glares, stepping back to right his jacket with a hard yank of the lapels. “Fine. I’ll call him. But it won’t mean shit. He’ll still say no. They’re dealing with a family emergency and want privacy.”
“I know all about the emergency. Just make the damn call.”
He retreats, unclasping a cell hooked to his belt. He turns away, murmuring words I can’t decipher in front of a house that looms tall and menacing in the distance.
I’ve never been inside the perimeter. Not even a foot. But I’ve heard stories. I’ve been told about the wealth on display. The secrets hidden.
There’s a whir of metallic sound, then the gates open to expose the path to damnation.
My pulse kicks like an unruly mule.
The guard returns. “Park at the front of the house and ring the bell. Someone will meet you.”
Wait. What?
I’m not going in there.
That’s not what I want.
“I only need to speak to him.” I meet the guy’s eyes. “Not enter the property.”
“I called,” he growls. “I got you an audience. Now hurry up and drive inside, or get the hell out of here.”
No. I shake my head. I can already hear the snarled anger from my boss, Taggert, as he lambastes me on why I would even approach the property, let alone slip through the gates.
I’ve crossed so many lines. All of them dark and dangerous, the distinction between right and wrong clearly defined.
“I swear to God,” the guard mutters, “once I close those gates I won’t be opening them again. Either get in, or leave.”
It’s not that easy.
I have legitimate reasons for being here. Penny was abducted. Robert was responsible. Men died. Yet again, there’s violence on Portland streets.
I need to be updated on what’s happening.
But none of those things will appease my boss when I’m meant to be keeping my distance from Cole.
“Now,” the guard snarls.
Goddamnit.
I press my foot on the accelerator, entering uncharted territory.
The landscape before me is pristine. The grass, lush and green. The hedges, trimmed.
The whir of the closing gates brings an icy chill to my arms. The quiet calm of early morning that follows puts me on edge. Every sound is amplified. The crunch of gravel beneath the tires. The sweep of breeze through the trees.
I approach the towering two-story mansion with its perfect white curtains in every window, not a cobweb or tarnish in sight across the entire veneer. I park in front, my discomfort multiplying, the tension inside me wringing tight.
But I need answers.
About Penny. About Robert.
And most of all, about Cole.
I don’t let doubt take a stronghold. I turn off the car, get out and stride for the front door, ringing the bell twice in quick succession.
For a while, I don’t think he’ll answer. I wouldn’t be surprised if he let me through the gates just to lock me in his yard until I had to climb my way free.
I press the bell again, this time holding my finger in place.
Trudging footsteps approach from inside, the thuds ricocheting through my chest. I hold my breath as the door is yanked open. But the man who stands before me with a monstrous scowl isn’t Cole.
“How the fuck did you get in here?” Hunter barks.
“Cole is expecting me.”
He stiffens. Straightens. “Since when?”
“Since now. Are you going to let me in?”
His eyes narrow to lethal slits. “Do you have a warrant?”
I sigh, losing all strength in my posture.
I’m tired. Of the fighting. Of the battle. I haven’t felt alive in weeks. There’s only the memories of the vicious verbal conflicts with Cole to invigorate me. “I just want to speak to him. I’m not here for drama.”
“Let her in.” Cole’s far-off voice comes from inside the house, his authority brushing over me like a favored blanket. His adamance squeezes my belly.
Hunter doesn’t budge. He remains imperial in his defiance.
“You heard him.” I step forward, testing the boundaries, strengthening my resolve. “Move out of my way.”
He snarls, the dog-like threat entirely fitting for such a pit bull as I squeeze past him, my nose immediately assaulted with the scent of bleach.
The chemical hangs heavily in the air, smothering each breath I take.
“What happened here?” The possibilities fill me with dread. Yet there’s a curious niggle of hope, too. A sickening sense of pride at the possibility of Cole having killed Robert.
“Hunter?” I swing back to face him. “What happened?”
“Keep pushing me and you’ll experience a reenactment.” His poisonous smile is slow to form. The bags under his eyes negate the taunt. He’s just as exhausted as I am. “He’s in his room.” The words grate over thinly veiled hostility. “I suggest you watch your snappy mouth. I don’t have the energy to dispose of another body.”
Another?
“Robert’s dead?” I ask.
He ignores me, marching ahead, passing a staircase that he hikes a thumb toward. “Torian is up there.”
The thud of his footsteps continues down the hall, the silence closing in once he turns out of view.
The house becomes eerily quiet. Empty.
I glance around my surroundings—the high ceiling, the artistic photography lining the walls, the light, clean crispness of it all. It’s spectacular. I wouldn’t expect anything less from Cole.
But it’s cold. And not only due to the breeze sweeping my skin from another part of the house.
This place is hollow. Without heart.
I walk to the stairs, the light murmurings of haunted conversation brushing my ears as I climb the first step. The whispers of secrets and scandals are hidden in the unheard words. I grab the banister for grounding. For courage.
I can already sense him. Can instinctively feel Cole’s presence wrapping around me. Coiling tight.
My pulse increases as I reach the landing and turn the corner, finding more steps leading to a captivating portrait of a middle-aged woman.
His mother?
Their compelling eyes are the same. The warm skin. The dark hair.
“Cole?” I call his name at the top step, feeling like an interloper.
A shuffle eman
ates down the short hall to my right. No verbal response. No civil welcome. Just the intimidation of his existence.
I approach the sound, my steps leading me toward the daylight sweeping in through an open doorway. I keep my head high, my shoulders straight, my breathing level, even though all three fight against me.
“Cole?”
Again, no response.
I reach the threshold and pause, my attention skimming over the intimidating king-size bed with its shiny black covers and shifting to the man standing at the open window, his back to me, his attention focused outside.
Air congeals in my lungs, the splinters of unwanted yearning punishing me from the inside out.
He’s still in the same suit as last night, the material remaining pristine, his posture oozing power.
“Good morning.” I attempt to add authority to my tone. Fortitude. My ears hear it for the weak greeting it is.
He remains immobile. Statuesque.
“Cole?”
He shudders out a breath, the sound foreign for a man with such tenacity. He turns to me, slow, controlled, those dark eyes meeting mine, the indecipherable emotion in them twisting my stomach.
He’s almost unrecognizable with the defeat in his features.
A Jekyll to his usual Hyde.
“What happened?” I force myself to remain in place. “Is Robert dead? Have you found Penny?”
He scoffs, his frame jerking slightly before the silence returns. There’s nothing but a slight whistle from the breeze.
My unease grows. Bubbling. Spitting. “Answer me. I deserve to know.”
The demand is the only leverage I have. I can’t throw my badge at him—not when he has enough dirt on me to send me to prison.
“You deserve it?” His voice is a low growl of barely contained anger. “You don’t deserve shit from me.”
The spike of aggression squeezes my ribs.
He’s been hostile toward me before. Too many times to count. There’s been intimidation and unrest. But this is different. There’s no energetic anger in his eyes. No mindless rage.
This is clinical hatred.
I open my mouth to say something… anything… Problem is, I’m isolated from reason. I can’t think when he looks at me like that. When he looks like that.