by Lori Foster
How? How could he feel so familiar and safe in such a short time? He deserved so much better than what she’d brought to him.
“I don’t think so.” Ronnie touched his face, feeling the rasp of his whiskers, the warmth of his skin. “I need to do this.”
“Ronnie—”
She put her forehead to his. “Don’t say a word, okay? I’m almost positive it’s not Dad, that he wouldn’t do anything to threaten me, but I still don’t want him to know I’m with you.” She wouldn’t take chances. Not with Jack. “Promise me.”
“We should call the police.”
Of course he was right. It’s the advice she’d give to anyone else. Still, Ronnie shook her head. “He said not to.”
“Fuck that. Some anonymous coward doesn’t get to call the shots.”
Oh, how she agreed. It rubbed her raw to think of the miserable puke sitting back in glee while he played his sick games.
But as usual, how she felt didn’t matter. “He’s threatening my sister.” Yes, she and Skylar were estranged, had been for years now. In Ronnie’s heart, that changed nothing. Skylar was still, and would always be, her little sis. “He’s watching her, Jack. Maybe watching me.” Maybe watching you. “I don’t know, but until I figure out what he wants, I can’t do anything to put her more at risk.”
Jack’s hand tunneled into her hair, fingers spread. “All right. But I want a promise from you, too.”
She eyed him warily. “What?”
He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Remember that you aren’t alone. Can you do that?”
Damn it, her mouth trembled with an excess of relief. Oddly enough, the brief emotional weakness gave her strength. “Yes, thank you.”
His mouth quirked. “Don’t thank me, babe. Just don’t cut me out.”
As if she could. Ronnie stared at the phone a moment, hesitating in a maelstrom of emotions. Would her father give her hell? Would he blame her, yet again, for the separation from her mom?
It seemed likely.
But what choice did she have? None. Realizing it galvanized her, and she put in the call to the man who had raised her...and no longer cared.
* * *
NORTH SMILED AS he took apart the phone and disposed of the pieces. He was always thorough, never buying his burner phones in the same location, never using the same one twice, making the calls well away from where he lived. Caution in his work was second nature.
As he pulled into his humble home, he went over plans.
How long could he resist ending Veronica? Not long at all.
Thinking about her built the need to a fever pitch, and the only way he knew to soothe himself was by viewing his collection.
After locking up his house, he descended the steps to the basement, went past the false wall, and flipped on the bright florescent lighting overhead. The mementos waited there, forever captive. Proof that he was the best at what he did, the most elusive, invincible.
Eternal.
“Hello, my pets.” Strolling the perimeter of the room, North let his hand trace lightly over each photograph with the wisp of hair neatly stapled to the corner. When he reached the last photo, his mouth flattened. The red haze threatened to cloud his vision.
This keepsake was incomplete, something he couldn’t abide, but he’d correct the situation soon.
And then, when he finished toying with Veronica, he’d add yet another photo—and with it, a clipping of silky, platinum hair.
* * *
NICHOLAS ASHFORD HADN’T answered the first call a few minutes before six, nor when Ronnie called again at seven. Or, after she’d dressed had breakfast, when she called at eight.
But finally, at nine o’clock, her father answered with a slightly slurred, “Hello?”
Until that moment, Ronnie hadn’t considered how to start. She couldn’t call him Dad—he’d forbidden that long ago. Business associates called him Nicholas, friends called him Nick, but she couldn’t bring herself to use either name.
Rather than address him at all, she identified herself. “It’s Ronnie.”
The heavy pause hurt, until he said with enthusiasm, “Veronica? Honey, s’it really you?”
She frowned at the way his words ran together. “Did I wake you?”
“Yes, but doesn’t matter. How are you?” Before she could answer, he said, “Your mother kicked me out, did ya know that? After everythin’, she said she’s done with me. Took another goddamned lover.”
Ronnie blinked. “Skylar told me.”
“And so you called.” He sighed heavily. “I’ve been such a bastard to you. It’s jus’... I love her, ya know? Love her so much.”
Jack was near her in the kitchen, a tall, strong, symbol of strength and support. He tried a casual stance, his hip against a counter, arms crossed over his chest. But he was oh so attentive.
The contrast between Jack, a strong, kind, responsible, family man, and her selfish, weak father sent a scalding flush of embarrassment over her skin. How crazy was that? Jack already had a low opinion of the man, but now, for him to be a witness to this... In some way, Ronnie felt like it reflected on her...but Jack wouldn’t.
No, Jack would never look down on her for anything her father did. He liked her. He respected her.
Knowing that helped to ease her mortification.
“Veronica?” her father said, in a whine.
For lack of anything else to say, Ronnie asked, “Are you all right?”
“No. I’m not. And she doesn’t care. Skylar doesn’t either. She’s spoiled. That girl goes with the money. But you, Veronica, you’re strong.”
Praise? The laugh choked out of her, causing Jack to push off the counter and take a step toward her. She got her lips to form a smile, shaking her head to let him know she was fine. Confused but fine. This little phone reunion wasn’t going at all as she’d expected.
“Look...” Damn it, what did she call him? “Nick, did you text me a photo of Skylar?”
The silence dragged out so long, Ronnie thought he’d hung up on her or maybe passed out. Hard to imagine since she’d never, not once, seen the man drunk. Slightly tipsy a time or two, but even then, only on a holiday. The drunken slur was as uncommon as the forlorn and pathetic attitude.
In overblown misery, he stated, “That’s what yer callin’ me now. Nick.”
She plunked the phone onto the table and hit the speaker button so she could pace. “What should I call you? Huh?” She flung out her arms, shocked at her own tumultuous response. “You made it clear you’re not my father.”
“Ah, God, honey. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t,” she warned, anger chasing away the disorienting surprise. How dare he do this to her, now of all times? “We’re past that. I just need to know, did you text me a pic?”
“No. Other than checkin’ on you a few times, I haven’t contacted you. You know that.” He added, “I’ve been such an ass.”
Ronnie went still, her hand covering her mouth. No, she couldn’t have heard him right. “What do you mean? When have you ever checked on me?”
“I thought without you there, his child, she wouldn’t keep thinking of him, ya know? But it didn’t stop her. She’s screwin’ someone else now...”
“Mom?” Ronnie shook her head. “I can’t sort out your marital problems for you, and I didn’t call to be your confidant.” Even as she said it, she felt...bad. For him and for herself.
“It didn’t matter if you were there or gone.”
Because she hadn’t mattered. Damn it, Ronnie straightened her shoulders, refusing to do this again. “When did you check up on me?”
“I’ve always known where you were. I wanted to see you, honey, but I didn’t know where to start, what to say. And now it doesn’t matter.” Indulging his self-pity, he sniffled. “You hate me, too, don’t you?”
Closing her eyes, Ronnie rubbed at the ache in her forehead. God save her from drunken idiocy. As she dropped her hand she felt Jack’s nearness. She looked up, and there he stood, backup if she needed it, in her corner whether she requested it of him or not.
A month ago, even a week ago, she’d have refused to lean on him. But now...? Trying to process everything her father had just said, she dropped her forehead to his shoulder. Jack’s hand opened on her back, gently pressing, warm and vital.
It helped more than she could explain.
“I’m here,” Jack whispered, as if she needed the reminder.
Ronnie inhaled a fresh breath.
So many times she’d known she was being watched, and now, in a moment of drunken weakness, her father explained it was him. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that beyond annoyance.
“Veronica?”
She stepped back to the phone. “Next time you come around,” she stated, making her tone firm, strong, “say something.” At least that way, when she felt his presence, it wouldn’t alarm her. “Can you do that?”
“I’d like to see you. Maybe we could—”
“I have to go.” No way was she ready to make up with him, not right now. He’d thrown too much on her at a time when she didn’t feel particularly receptive. “Just...be careful, okay?”
“Veronica—”
She ended the call before he could say anything that might sway her. She needed time. She deserved that much.
Jack stayed close, waiting, she knew, to see how she’d react.
She raised her brows and tried to laugh it off. “So. Not Dad.”
“No.” His hands settled on her shoulders and he looked into her eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Surprised for sure.” She twisted her mouth. “I wasn’t expecting any of that.”
His fingers gently massaged, easing the tension in her muscles. “Good surprise or bad surprise?”
“Both?” She huffed a breath. “God, leave it to him to hit me with another shocker.” Some dormant sense of loyalty had her explaining, “He doesn’t usually drink that much. At least, he never did when I lived at home.”
“Sounds like he took right to it.”
The grin came despite her pangs of resentment. “I guess.” Groaning out her frustration, Ronnie asked, “Why unload to me? And for him and Mom to be split up... I’m so out of the loop with them, I just figured everything was... I don’t know. Fine?” Better than fine, actually.
She frowned at her own misconceptions.
“You thought without you, they managed to become a happy little family unit? Come on, Ronnie.” Jack stroked his fingers through her hair, something he did quite often. “Happy people don’t act like assholes.”
She snorted a laugh, always amused when he lost his manners. “No?”
“Definitely not. And they don’t abandon family.”
“I’m not family,” she pointed out.
“Bullshit. Your mother is still your mother, your sister is still your sister, and the man who raised you should still be your father, blood ties or not. Family is what you make of it, and if you don’t mind me saying so, they only made a mess.” He tipped up her face. “That doesn’t sound very happy to me.”
“No, I guess it doesn’t.” Happy people were more like his family, sometimes at odds but still there for each other. “It’s all so...dysfunctional. I just never realized.”
When they heard the car pulling down his drive, Jack gave her a crooked grin. “Speaking of dysfunctional, are you ready for this makeup party?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Which was not ready at all. “I don’t know much about this stuff.” She gestured. “Women and friendship and doing the...the girl thing.”
“Just be yourself. That’s all you need to do.”
So easy for him to say. Before the others walked in, Ronnie needed him to know something else. “I’m taking this seriously. The threats I mean. Knowing it wasn’t my dad makes it more disturbing. I want to give this guy a day or two, see if he contacts me again. If not, maybe there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Ronnie,” he said.
“I know, I know. It seems like it’s all tied together, but we can’t be sure.” In so many ways it felt like her safe little boxed-off world was unraveling around her.
On the plus side, there was Jack. He’d come into her life and turned it upside down in all the most remarkable ways.
But on the negative, she appeared to be in the crosshairs of a nut. A person she couldn’t identify. A person who would hurt those around her.
“It could just be coincidence, all of it.”
“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
No, she didn’t. Ronnie blew out a breath. “I can’t risk going to the regular cops. But the officer who helped me when I was kidnapped? For a year after, he checked up on me. If he hasn’t changed numbers, I could... I could maybe reach out to him? That is, if the creep bothers me—”
“Us.”
“—again.” Ronnie blew out a breath. Good or bad, Jack was so insistent on being a part of it with her.
As the doorbell rang, he said, “We’re in this together. I need you to remember that.”
Amazingly, he made her feel better about everything. The threats didn’t seem as real, and the news of her family no longer felt as emotionally disruptive. Oh, those things were still there; she had to figure out how to proceed, she would continue to worry for Skylar, and her heart would remain divided over family issues.
But for right now, she could enjoy Jack and the lovable chaos of his family. A real family...the kind she wished so badly that she had. As far as distractions went, she couldn’t ask for more.
On the way to the door, she asked, “What are you and Brodie going to do?”
“Watch?”
“Ha!” The look in his dark eyes told her he was teasing, but still she said, “Absolutely not.”
“We’ll entertain ourselves,” he promised, before growing serious again. “Try to enjoy my family, if you can.”
Enjoying them wasn’t the problem. Ros, Mary, and Charlotte were so warm and friendly, her only problem would be growing to care for them too much.
Jack put his arm around her waist. “Whoever texted you, there’s not much more you can do right now, so for today, just let me do the worrying.”
Something in his tone gave her pause, but then he opened the door and Howler bounded in, overjoyed to be visiting. Kneeling to greet him, Ronnie accepted that no one could be downcast while receiving enthusiastic doggy kisses.
Mary came in carrying Peanut, followed by Ros carrying food, and Charlotte carrying a bag of makeup. Brodie followed the women, and the way he and Jack shared a quick look, Ronnie knew they were up to something.
She just didn’t know what, and at the moment, she didn’t even care.
* * *
IN JACK’S THIRD BEDROOM, which he’d set up as a small in-home office, he and Brodie scrolled the internet, starting with social media. Ronnie didn’t use Facebook, but the rest of her family did.
Did she know she was still included in their photos? That both her mother and sister showed her in Facebook albums and in dated Instagram pics? Occasionally, one or the other of them had reshared an older image. Skylar had done so just last week, with a photo of the whole family together.
“Fuckers,” Brodie muttered low.
“I don’t disagree,” Jack said. If they cared about her, how could they be so callous?
“She’s a sweetheart,” Brodie said.
“A complicated, thorny sweetheart?”
Grinning, Brodie shrugged. “You’d know better than me.” He searched for Drake Dolby and found several, but only one included a brother. “Drake and Drew Dolby. Jesus, they even share Facebook.”
Luckily, given their pride in collecting,
their profile was public. Jack scrolled the wall quickly, finding a lot of nonsensical posts...and finally an image that interested him.
Ronnie. His heart gave a lurch, but then, he always reacted to her. The sight of her, the sound of her voice, her touch.
Even the thought of her.
He clicked the photo, making it larger.
Ronnie stood in the doorway, sunshine pouring in around her, her eyes up as if in exasperation, holding one of the hideous dolls Jack had seen in their basement showroom. It was an endearing photo, showing her forbearance for the brothers’ hobby—especially since her mouth tipped in a slight smile.
The brothers posted many of their acquisitions, and more often than he’d expected, they featured Ronnie clowning around.
In one, she held out a crude painting of some sort between finger and thumb, her nose scrunched in distaste. In another, she struck a pose with Drew, the two of them wearing mock expressions of horror. Between them was a mannequin with an abandoned hornet’s nest where a head should be.
Yet another showed her sitting on the couch in the living room Jack recognized from their house. She had her feet up on the coffee table, toasting the cameraman with a can of cola.
“Looks like they’re documenting their time with Ronnie, too.” Brodie scrolled, but paused on one from several months ago. Smiling, he said, “She’s cute.”
Normally Jack would disagree, because to him she was scorching hot. But in this pic, she looked adorable. She held a lock of darker hair over her head, her eyes crossed and her lips pursed.
Jack couldn’t quite smile. “I didn’t realize.”
“That she’d made them her family?” Brodie shrugged. “Can’t say I blame her. They’re odd, but they seem more tenderhearted than her flesh and blood.”
Jack studied her face in yet another photo. She looked tired but triumphant, and no wonder, given that the text claimed she’d driven two days straight to get a preserved ostrich egg.
“He said she took something from him.” Jack glanced over the various objects again. “One of these things could be it.”
“Someone who got outbid? A seller with regrets?” Brodie frowned. “Or just a nut?”