by Sybil Bartel
“How long?”
Luna chuckled. “You’re on paid leave with a beautiful lady, amigo. Fucking relax.”
“I’m not on paid leave.” I wasn’t taking his money for doing nothing.
“Yes, you are. Medical leave. I saw the size of the welt on the back of your neck. Can’t feel good.”
“I’m not injured. I’m fine,” I ground out.
“Glad to hear it, but enjoy your time off anyway. And FYI, Ty is outside while Preston handles something for me tonight.”
“Preston is a loose cannon. You shouldn’t have hired him.”
“I do a lot of things I shouldn’t.”
“What’s his deal? I don’t want him around Genevieve.”
“He has a particular skill set I need.”
“Which is what? Besides cataloguing shit like a professional criminal?”
Luna hesitated, then evaded. “He served with Ty. Ty vouches for him.”
I was pissed off enough not to filter my response. “Ty’s trigger happy with zero loyalty.”
Luna chuckled. “He’s loyal to his bank account, and that I can trust.”
“Ever wonder what he needs money for?” I was being a dick. Luna vetted all his employees.
“Every one of my men needs money except you. That’s why they work, amigo.”
“Fine. Point taken.”
Luna exhaled. “All right, bro, listen. I know you’re used to being in the driver’s seat, it’s why I hired you. But trust me, I got your back. Take the time, stop with the fucking guilt, and take care of the chica. I’ll be in touch.”
“Copy.”
“Later.” He hung up.
I tossed my phone on the counter.
“You’re injured?”
I spun to see the look of alarm spread across her features. “No.” Goddamn it, how long had she been standing there?
Her eyebrows drew together. “Did you get hurt bad last night?”
Her hair wet, still wearing my clothes, she was beautiful. And married, I reminded myself.
“I said I’m fine.” I turned back to the stove and put the heat on under the grill section.
“Who were you talking to?”
“Luna.”
“Did he find the SUV?”
I hated the hope in her voice. “No.”
“Oh.” She blew out a breath.
“He will.” He better.
“And my purse?”
“I don’t know.” I opened the fridge and scoured the fruit drawer. I grabbed two lemons.
“Oh shoot, I need to cancel my credit card and bank card. I can’t believe I didn’t do that last night.”
“You had a lot on your plate.” I picked up my phone and slid it across the counter toward her. “Call them now.”
She took my phone and looked at it for a moment. “Are these your friends from the Marines?”
I’d forgotten about the picture on my lock screen. “Yes.” They were more than my friends. They were my brothers.
She walked over to me, holding the phone out. “Who are they?”
I looked at the picture, and my chest tightened like it always did. “Left to right, André Luna, Jared Brandt, Alex Vega, me, Matt Folsom, Reggie Parker and the guy looking over his shoulder is Talon Talerco.”
A shy smile touched her lips. “He looks like he’s laughing.”
“He usually is.”
She pointed at Luna. “And that’s who you work for?”
“Yes.”
She smiled shyly again. “Tell me about the others.”
Her innocence was disarming, and I was about to crush it. “Folsom and Parker didn’t make it home. Brandt was medically discharged, and him, Vega and Talerco live in Florida.”
“Oh.” Sorrow etched across her face. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I was sorry Parker left behind a wife and a newborn, and Folsom an aging parent who needed him. I tipped my chin at the phone. “Make your calls.”
She took my phone and started toward the living room, but then paused. “You, um, have a text.” She handed my phone back.
Savina: Where the hell are you? I’ve been texting you for days.
I fired off a response to my sister.
Me: Working
She replied almost instantly.
Savina: That’s such bullshit. You have the time to call me back.
I didn’t respond, but she texted again before I could hand my phone back to Genevieve.
Savina: I have papers for you to sign. Don’t make me come over there.
She always had shit for me to sign. Since I was on the board of my father’s company, she needed my signature every time they made legal changes, but I was over it. I didn’t need the money. The quarterly payments I’d been receiving for over a decade that were sitting in a bank account I hadn’t touched yet would more than carry me if I never worked again. I didn’t give a shit about my father’s company and I’d never wanted anything to do with it. Savina knew this.
I texted her back.
Me: Simple solution. Take me off the board.
Savina: Don’t be an ass. Come sign the shit and take me to lunch.
I wasn’t going to lunch with her. She was a mini version of my father. She’d harangue me for an hour about my life choices before telling me to grow up. Then she’d remind me I had an office at Savatier headquarters waiting for my ass to sit down behind a desk and rot for the next forty years.
That was never going to happening.
I texted her back.
Me: Not happening. Courier the papers. I’m tied up for the next couple of weeks.
“Everything okay?” Genevieve asked.
Savina: You’re a pain in the ass. I’ll wait two weeks, but only because you’re my brother. We’ll have lunch and you can sign the paperwork then. Call Mom, she misses you.
“Yeah, just my sister,” I answered Genevieve as I fired off one more text to Savina.
Me: No on lunch. Courier the papers. Mom knows my number.
My sister being the person she was, didn’t take the hint.
Savina: See you in two weeks.
I deleted the texts and handed my phone to Genevieve. “Make your calls. You can ignore any more texts that come in.”
She looked at me for a beat. “Are you okay?”
I frowned. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. You were frowning, and I just thought….” She trailed off.
It hit me like a freight train. No woman had ever asked me if I was okay. Not even my own mother. But this woman, who had no family of her own, who had staples in her head and a gang after her, was standing in my kitchen asking if I was okay.
My head spun, shit hit my chest, and I had to stop myself from reaching for her.
“My sister’s agenda is not mine,” I admitted.
Her head dipped as she studied the floor. “Oh.”
I realized my mistake too late. “I’m not ungrateful I have a sister, we’re just two very different people.” If we weren’t related, we’d never be friends. “Everything’s fine. Make your calls.”
“Okay.” She made her way into the living room.
I cut a lemon, squeezed it into a glass, fished out a couple seeds, then added honey because I didn’t have any sugar. Some water and ice later, I stirred it and left it on the island.
I was grilling peppers when she came back.
“Well, I got lucky.” She set my phone on the counter. “No charges appeared on the bank card, and the credit card only had one charge at a gas station but the credit card company reversed the charges.”
I glanced at her. “What gas station?”
“They said it was some station downtown on Third Street.” Her eyes went wide. “Oh! Do you think that will help find them?”
“Not sure.” I picked up my phone and texted Luna the information. “Luna will follow it up.” I tipped my chin at the glass. “That’s for you. Dinner will be ready shortly.” I went back to grilling.
Sh
e didn’t say anything.
I turned the peppers, then glanced at her.
She was staring at the lemonade.
“What’s wrong?”
She didn’t look up. “There’s a cut lemon on the counter.”
I didn’t deny it.
She looked up at me with innocence and trust. “You made me lemonade.”
She’d said it was her favorite. “Let me know if it’s sweet enough.”
“It’s perfect,” she whispered, her eyes welling.
HE MADE ME LEMONADE.
Honey and a cut lemon on the counter, the evidence was right there.
He made my favorite drink. From scratch.
Except he’d pushed me away and said we’d never kiss again, but when my lips had touched his, he’d groaned. I know he did. I’d heard it all the way to my soul. But now that kiss was dead and I was sitting here staring at homemade lemonade.
I was so confused and so out of my element, my eyes welled with emotions I didn’t know what to do with.
As if he were my saving grace, I looked up at him.
Just like when he was texting his sister, he frowned. “It’s just lemonade.”
It wasn’t just anything. “Okay.” It was kindness and thoughtfulness, and no one had ever done anything like that for me.
“Drink,” he commanded, using the same tone of voice he’d used when he’d put the whiskey in front of me.
And just like then, I took a sip.
Tart, perfect amount of sweetness, and ice cold—I wanted to sob in my lemonade. How come I couldn’t have met someone like him before I’d foolishly married Brian? Who was I kidding? What did I have to offer someone like him? Clumsiness that made me pull a ski mask off a gang member who was robbing us?
His frown deepened. “Not sweet enough?”
“Why am I really here?” That was a better question.
He turned back to his fancy stovetop that had a grill in the middle of six burners, and he flipped the red peppers he was cooking. “You shouldn’t be alone when you have a grade two concussion.”
“That’s what I thought.” Miserable, I pushed the lemonade away as a knock sounded on the door.
Sawyer set the tongs down and issued a command I wasn’t even sure he was conscious of saying, he was so accustomed to protecting people. “Wait here.”
I watched the muscles in his thighs carry him toward his front entry as his wide shoulders stretched the fabric of his T-shirt.
He opened the door. “Hey.”
A man said something in Spanish I couldn’t decipher.
“Yeah,” Sawyer answered him in English. “We’re in the kitchen.”
Sawyer came back, followed by a dark-haired, dark-eyed man who was a couple inches shorter than Sawyer, but every bit as muscular. But unlike Sawyer, a smile spread across his face when he saw me.
“Miss Jenkins, at last we meet.” The man held his hand out. “André Luna.”
I scooted off the stool and shook his hand. “Mr. Luna, I’m so sorry about your Escalade.”
He brushed it off. “Cars are replaceable, chica. People are not. No worries. I’m just glad you’re okay. And call me André.” He nodded at the stool I’d just vacated. “Have a seat.”
I sat back down.
Sawyer went to the stove. “You hungry?”
“No, gracias.” Luna sat next to me and set a tablet and the latest model of a new cell phone down, pushing them toward me. “Your number’s programmed into the phone for you, chica, but I’m afraid you’re on your own as far as contacts. Do you have a backup anywhere? I can program it in for you if you do.”
I stared. “Those are for me?”
André tipped his chin in a movement that wasn’t unlike Sawyer—quick and precise. “Yes, to replace the ones you lost. If you have a backup for your files for your tablet, I can update that too.”
I looked between him and Sawyer, but Sawyer still had his back to me. “I, um, thank you.” Sawyer must have put André up to this. As someone who owned her own business, I knew this wasn’t just an incredibly nice gesture, it was time and effort that took away from what I was sure was André’s very busy day. “I can update them.” I could figure it out.
He picked up the cell phone. “This is a slightly newer version of your old phone. It has face recognition. You’ll have to set it up.” He swept his finger across the screen a few times and handed me the phone. “Just follow the prompts.”
I took the phone. “How did you know what model cell phone I had?”
He chuckled. “I know lots of things, chica.” He winked. “Set up the face ID.”
Wow. He was devastatingly handsome. He wasn’t Sawyer, but his smile alone I was sure stopped women in their tracks. Looking away from him, I did as he said. When I was done, I set the phone down.
André’s expression turned deadly serious. “You willing to talk about last night?”
My stomach knotted. “Okay, but I don’t remember much,” I lied.
“Can you tell me anything about the carjacker that you remember? Any identifying marks, description, anything?”
“It was dark,” I said too quickly, adding, “and it happened really fast.” I glanced at Sawyer, who’d turned to face us. “Maybe Sawyer remembers what the man looks like?”
Sawyer shook his head. “I didn’t see his face. He was already heading for the SUV. All I saw was his back after his mask came off.”
“And the tattoo on his wrist,” André added, before looking back at me. “The men who took the SUV are part of the Tres Angulos gang, and unfortunately, they now have your personal information. As I’m sure Sawyer explained to you, it’s in your best interest to lie low until we find the guys behind this. In the meantime, you’ll be safe here.” He stood to leave. “We have a man out front, and you’re in good hands with Sawyer. I’ll be in touch when we know more.”
“How long will it take?” I blurted. “I mean, how long before you think you’ll find them? Or my purse?” Or before I could go home?
“Unfortunately, chica, I would count your belongings as a loss. If we’re lucky, we could wrap this up in a few hours. If not?” He shrugged one shoulder. “Hard to say, but we’re working on it. We don’t want this to drag out any more than you do. We know you have a life to get back to.” He glanced at Sawyer and said something in Spanish.
Sawyer nodded once.
“I’ll see myself out. Enjoy your evening.” With a smile that was more natural than practiced, André left.
But his words replayed in my head like a cruel joke.
We know you have a life to get back to.
SHE PUSHED BITES OF CUT meat around on her plate.
“You don’t like steak?”
“No, I love it.” She’d barely touched her food.
“Then what’s wrong?”
She glanced toward the entryway. “When did my suitcase arrive?”
“Early this morning.”
“Mm-hmm.” She nodded. “Before or after you gave me your clothes?”
“Before,” I answered truthfully.
“Then why did you give me your clothes to wear?”
Because I couldn’t fuck her, but I wanted my mark on her anyway. “Mine were closer.”
“It is a big apartment,” she mused.
Penthouse, I silently corrected. “Eat some more.”
She stabbed a bite of meat and slowly chewed before swallowing. “Why are you a bodyguard?”
“I don’t want to work in an office.” It was mostly the truth.
“Doesn’t it upset your family?”
Like she wouldn’t believe. My father most of all, which was why I did it. “They would prefer I did something else.” My father had even tried to bribe me into coming to work for him by giving me the penthouse and the Range Rover when I didn’t reenlist with the Marines.
“Who’s they?”
“Pardon?”
“Your family?” she asked. “I mean, besides your sister.”
“Jus
t my parents and my sister.” Which I was acutely aware was more than she’d ever had.
“How old is your sister?”
“Thirty-three. She’s two years older than me. She runs the day-to-day operations of my father’s company.”
“Wow. She must be… good at what she does.”
She was ruthless. “My father’s been grooming her since she was a teen.” Since the day I’d caught him cheating on my mother and told him he was dead to me, he’d flipped his attention to her like the callous tyrant he was.
“Mm.” Genevieve took another bite of steak.
I changed the subject. “How did you wind up in foster care?”
“Teenage mother. She tried to raise me. Kept me until I was six, then she couldn’t make ends meet anymore.” She shrugged like it was no big deal, but her hand tightened around her fork.
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged again.
“Do you remember her?” As much as I hated my father, I couldn’t imagine not having a mother. I didn’t talk to her often. I steered clear of most interactions with my family because my father turned everything into a clusterfuck anytime I showed up at the house or called my mother. So I avoided it altogether, but I did check in with my mother once a week with a text.
“I remember her red hair.” Unconsciously, Genevieve pushed a red pepper around on her plate.
“Did she ever try to contact you, or vice versa?” I couldn’t imagine what she’d been through.
“Nope.” She got up and cleared her plate. “Should I load my plate in the dishwasher, or do you have a maid?”
I stood and cleared my plate, purposely brushing past her as I opened the dishwasher. “I don’t have a maid, and I neither earned nor paid for this penthouse.”
She stiffened. “This isn’t your place?”
“It’s mine.” I rinsed my plate and put it in the dishwasher.
“But you didn’t buy it?”