Chapter Nineteen
Chapter 19
DECLAN
THREE DAYS REMAINING.
The thought echoes through my mind as I stare at my reflection in the steamy bathroom mirror.
With heavy limbs—even though I’ve been sleeping better and feeling rested with M.W. in my bed beside me—I give myself a quick shave and then comb gel through my damp hair. I don’t want to leave her today since the minutes are counting down, but I also have work responsibilities and need to attend at least some of the damn conference.
I run my thumb over the scar on my wrist, tracing the raised line of tissue. I hate looking at my scars; they only conjure images of blood on the tile and Tiffany’s horrified brown eyes.
After our struggle that day, after I had the utility knife away from her, she had suddenly snapped back to herself like she’d been sucker punched. She gaped at the gashes she’d made on my body, tried to give me first aid even though I wanted to tend to her wounds first.
The way she had clung to me, sobbing and shaking, is still too vivid.
“Please…take me somewhere,” she begged. “I’m so sorry. Take me…have me committed. I need help. I can’t…can’t do this…”
Our bodies were bloody from superficial wounds we needed to clean, but I sat on the edge of the tub, in the house we’d bought together just two years prior, holding her, rocking her, telling her it would all be okay. Touching her stomach where our son was growing, I told her we’d get through everything. I wouldn’t leave. I would keep her safe. NexaProtect had taken off. We had money to pay for her care. All she needed to do was focus on feeling better and I would take care of everything else.
I took her to the best mental hospital money could buy, held her hand as she checked herself in. I visited every day, brought her favorite garden and fashion magazines, told her how proud I was of her for getting help.
It felt like a fresh start; I had dreams of Tiffany returning to her vibrant, bubbly self. She’d birth our son, and she’d be happy. We’d both be happy. She had always wanted to be a mother, so I thought our son would heal everything.
After one month into the three-month program, she begged me to come home. “I miss you,” she told me during one of my visits, her face pale and drawn. “I can’t stand being away from you. I don’t like this place. There are too many people talking all the time and I’m exhausted. I’m already feeling so much better. My head is clear again, and I just want to be home and tend to my garden. This environment isn’t good for the baby.”
My gut told me not to listen—she needed intensive therapy and someone making sure she took her medications.
I should have said no.
But I was weak. I missed her too, missed our life together. I thought I could handle it, could be there for her in a way the doctors couldn’t.
I was wrong. And it cost me everything.
I grip the edge of the marble bathroom counter and hunch forward, pain splitting my head open. Those memories are something I keep locked away, trying only to think of them only once a year on the anniversary of when Tiffany left. But my mystery woman has compromised so much inside me. I’ve been craving to know everything about her, and my scars were a bargaining chip. I wasn’t sure she’d take the bait, if she’d be vulnerable in return, and now I’ve sunk even deeper into her.
Regardless, should she ever become mine, she’d end up another possession I fail to keep safe. I couldn’t protect Tiffany from her own demons. What makes me think I could do any better with M.W.? She’s clearly running from something. If I let her in, let myself care, how long before whatever she’s fleeing catches up to her? When it does, will I be powerless yet again, watching as someone I care for slips away, knowing I should have done more, been more?
Or she could choose to simply leave me behind. Leave me in an empty house with questions that have no answers.
With a retching sigh, I release the bathroom counter. I need to stop letting these repetitive thoughts cycle in my head. I need to focus on getting ready for the day.
I walk to the closet and start picking out clothes. M.W. stirs on the bed after I’m mostly dressed and buttoning my gray shirt. I try to move quietly, but as I grab my watch off the nightstand, she groans. She’s laying on her stomach, her bare back exposed while sheets cover the rest of her, and her eyes flutter to give me a half-awake glance and a slight curve of her lips.
“Have a good day,” she mumbles.
The simple phrase, the casual domesticity, is a profound pang through my chest. It’s been so long since I had this, since someone saw me off in the morning with a smile.
I walk to the bed, brushing a strand of hair off her shoulder. Her skin is warm, and it’s hard to resist the urge to climb back in beside her, to lose myself in her softness for yet another day.
I want to take her back to San Francisco with me. Want to ask her why she’s so determined to stay in Hawaii, what she’s running from. I want to be the one she runs to, the one who protects her.
At the same time I yearn for that, I know I’m too fucked up, too haunted by my ghosts. It’s too selfish to try to make her mine.
I press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’ll see you this afternoon,” I whisper, my lips lingering on her skin. Then I tap the new cell phone on the nightstand, the one I bought her yesterday. I still don’t believe her story about what happened to her old one, but what matters is that I have a way to contact her again, something I may need more than she does. “Text me if anything comes up or just to say hi.”
She nods, pulling the sheets up to cocoon herself in my bed.
My bed—I’d rather she never sleeps anywhere else.
With a heaviness in my gut, I force myself to pull away, to walk out the door before I can change my mind. The door clicks shut behind me as I enter the hallway; it’s a hollow, echoing sound.
“You want me here?” Sean asks, sitting in a chair and reading like always. He flicks a long black bang from his eyes.
Jeremy is down the hall looking bored, like he’s tired of hanging out in his and Sean’s suite.
I adjust my watch, trying to shift my mind to business and away from the woman sleeping in my bed. “Yeah. Both of you should stay here with M.W. I’ll be fine.”
“Got it.”
I SETTLE INTO MY SEAT, just one among a sea of people. I’m attending a panel that’s discussing global security challenges, sipping a coffee I picked up near the entrance of the convention center. Hope it’ll help me focus because my mind is not into this today.
As a man steps up to a podium and starts introducing the panelists, I scan the room. I met with a lot of founders from startups today. They’re always a gamble to partner with but can sometimes pay off big. Regardless, I’m hunting someone more elusive: John Nakamura, the CEO of a casino group with a lot of Vegas properties. Davis heard from a contact that Nakamura would be here. His properties had a huge security breach recently, which shut down operations for an entire three days, costing hundreds of millions. He’s likely antsy for better security services—something my company is more than happy to provide. But he’s a hard man to reach. Davis thought I might ‘bump’ into him here. It’s a longshot, but worth a try.
As one panelist answers a question about GDPR compliance, my mind wanders to the woman I hope is still naked in my bed. This coffee is useless. I take another sip and give up on trying to focus.
Completely distracted now, I pull out my phone and shoot her a quick text, telling myself it’s only so I can check that she’s using the phone I bought her.
Me: Morning again.
I roll my eyes at my bland message. As I’m trying to think of something to add, she responds with a picture that gets my heart pumping.
It’s a simple shot of her laying in my bed, her arms stretched high to give me a bird’s-eye view of her gorgeous face and smile. Her short black hair is splayed around her head, looking adorably messy, and she’s still a little sleepy-eyed. I brush my thumb over the soft freckles that are only under her eyes.
I completely forget where I am for a moment; the world becomes a dull hum around me. She’s my singular focus, an all-consuming beacon, a magnetic pull that I’m powerless to resist.
In a move that’s not like me at all, I snap a selfie and hit send. I follow it with: Thought you might like to see how much you made me smile.
Then I rub my chin, wondering how I suddenly developed a glass jaw. But I think I’m enjoying it; my cheeks hurt from grinning so wide.
When’s the last time I felt so…giddy?
The crowd around me laughs at something, snapping me back to this stuffy conference room. When I think about staying here in search of a unicorn versus going back to the suite to be with my mystery woman, I feel like an idiot for even wasting a moment debating it.
There’s no question what I want.
I stand and hurry through the rows of chairs to the exit. Once I’m outside the room, I turn left toward the entrance of the convention center.
My phone buzzes, and I’m hoping she sent another picture. But it’s not her; it’s Davis.
I have a few minutes of walking until I’m outside, so I answer.
“Hey,” I say, moving closer to the walls where there are fewer people.
“Any sightings of Nakamura?”
“Nope.”
He sighs, and his voice is tighter and edgier than normal. “Well, that’s disappointing. But, hey, do you have a few minutes? There’s a situation.” Davis is normally a cheerful guy who always looks at the glass half-full, so the serious tone of his voice makes me stop.
“Yeah, one second.” I move to a small outside balcony, away from the people and chatter. The sun is blinding after being inside for so long, so I step into a shaded area, glancing down at the street below, which doesn’t have much traffic. “Okay. What is it?”
Another heavy sigh, which he rarely does. He’s not one to waste sighs on small matters, so my concern is peaking.
“What?” I ask again, my stomach coiling tight.
“We’ve, uh…we’ve been getting some strange emails over the past couple of days. Threatening ones.”
My grip tightens on the railing around the balcony. “What kind of threats?”
“At first, we thought it was just your run-of-the-mill scammer or troll. Some college kid trying to be funny by getting access to our internal messaging system. Like some kind of ‘fuck you’ to big business. You know, just a dumb kid. Because the emails weren’t threatening at first. They were literally just bad knock-knock jokes.”
“And?” Sometimes Davis doesn’t get to the point fast enough for my liking.
“And, well, yesterday they started flooding in non-stop. Employees are getting swamped with the same emails and they’re struggling to weed through them all to find important ones from clients. We’ve set up filters and adjusted the server settings to mitigate the flood, but it’s been only partially effective.” Yet another sigh. “But there’s”—he clears his throat—"About the email we started getting yesterday…well…"
I make a fist, digging my fingernails hard into my palm. “Will you just tell me? You know I hate when you tiptoe around shit.” I don’t enjoy sounding so gruff, but he’s got me concerned with how he’s hesitating to say what’s so damn threatening about these emails.
He clears his throat. “Um, I’m just going to send it to you. Before you read, though, just know that we’re tracing the source, and we already set up a temporary server for employees to use. We’re monitoring the new server, and so far, the flood hasn’t replicated there. One second. Okay. Sent you a screenshot.”
I lower my phone to check the image. As I read the single sentence, my blood runs cold, a sick feeling rising in my throat. There’s no question what the email is about.
Does the world know about the baby?
Fury crashes over me like a relentless wave, so intense it nearly takes my breath away. How dare they. How dare they fucking bring up my son.
And how the fuck do they know? I hid every last record so the vultures in the press wouldn’t speak about him. The only person who knew was Davis, and I’m completely certain he’d never betray me.
“Find them,” I grit out, my voice pulling zero punches as I try to contain my rage. “I don’t care what the hell it takes, Davis. Fucking find them.”
“I know. I know. We’re working on it. And”—his voice lowers—"no one understands the message. They just think the hacker is talking nonsense. I don’t think anyone will link it to you."
“Doesn’t matter because this asshole knows. What if they send something to the press?” My pulse is hammering now. It would devastate Tiffany’s family, bring the wrong attention to NexaProtect. “Fuck. Who could…”
“I don’t know, but I promise I’m throwing every resource I can into this. I’ve got our team working overtime. I know you’re not due back until Sunday, but you might want to scrap the hunt for Nakamura and return ASAP.”
I drum my fingers on the railing, too many thoughts flooding me all at once. “That would be best,” I tell Davis.
What about the remaining days I thought I had with her ? I want those days because they’re all I get.
Three entire days of my enigmatic mystery woman just…gone?
I might murder this asshole hacker when we find them.
I shove a hand through my hair, pulling on the roots. Davis doesn’t exactly know I’m here with a woman. “I don’t know yet,” I say. “I trust our team to find the source, but I know my presence can help. I’ll be here at least one more day and then…” Then she’s gone from my life forever. Unless I convince her to finally tell me what she’s running from—ask her to return home with me and make this more than just a fling.
That’s a risky step because if I ask for a relationship, she’ll eventually learn about my past. My failures. I have a lot of baggage and ghosts; I can’t ask her to take that on with whatever she’s dealing with.
“There’s one more thing,” Davis says.
I close my eyes, trying to brace myself as I’m still processing the last blow. What kind of fucking asshole would flood my company with an email like that? I’ve made a lot of people unhappy over the years, but I can’t think of any true enemies, not someone who would do something like this. “What else?”
Thankfully, he doesn’t tiptoe around the issue this time. “Halliwell has been trying to get in touch with you. Insistently. He says it’s extremely urgent.”
“I thought I made myself clear—we’re done with him.”
“I know, but he’s insisting on speaking with you directly. He says he won’t stop calling until you contact him.”
I rub a hand over my face, suddenly feeling like all the strength has drained from my muscles. All I want is to go back to the suite, lose myself in the woman who is waiting for me, and escape the rest of the world.
Maybe that’s impossible.
“Just ignore him,” I tell Davis. “He struck me as a whiny man who doesn’t like losing, so he’s probably trying to throw some clout around to get us to partner with him. Just focus on the emails because I want to personally murder whoever sent them.”
Davis laughs nervously. “I know you don’t really mean that.”
I stay silent. Ultimately, it wouldn’t be good for my company’s reputation if I did something so reckless. Doesn’t mean I don’t really want to.
“Right,” Davis says. “I’ll keep you updated.”
“Thanks for handling this. It’s…I appreciate everything you do. Thanks for always being in the trenches with me.”
I hear a smile in his voice. “Of course. You’d be useless without me.”
He’s damn right about that.
I hang up, slipping the phone back into my pocket. My head is spinning, my gut churning, and I really do need to punch something. Before I get to the suite, I’ll stop by a gym. I don’t even care about changing. I just need to smash my fists against a bag.
Does the world know about the baby?
Moisture pools at the corners of my eyes. I can’t think about that fucking email or my son right now. If my time here has been cut short, if I can only allow myself one more day before reality comes crashing in, then I’m going to make the most of it. I want to be completely consumed by M.W. and forget everything else.
I take a breath, walking back inside and turning again toward the convention center’s exit. A quick stop at the gym to get my head straight, then I can return to my mystery woman. Once I’m back, I’m not leaving the suite again until our time is up.
That’s the plan. Of course, once I’m near the exit, I see my unicorn: John Nakamura. I yank off my tie because it’s too tight around my neck. Then I stuff it in my pocket. The fucking timing. I’d really be an idiot not to talk with him, and I have responsibilities to my company and the people I employ.
What an irritating day this is turning out to be. Quickly, I pull out my phone, seeing that M.W. sent a heart emoji to my previous text, along with: You make me smile a lot, too, handsome.
Her words relax some of my tension, and she’s really tempting me to say ‘fuck it’ and return to her right now. But the more sensible part of me responds: Give me two hours. Then I’ll come back to you and we’ll be the only two people in the world.
Straightening and plastering on a polite expression, I walk toward Nakamura.