31. Arden
31
ARDEN
I stood at the threshold to my workshop. The bright yellow crime scene tape felt like a permanent stain in the form of a massive X across the door. Anger swirled, building on itself. Whoever had done this was probably pleased as punch about that.
My fingers curled around one piece of the tape. I tugged it free and balled it up before doing the same with the other piece, thinking I’d like to burn it. Steeling myself, I punched in the code to the door.
Then I stepped inside.
As I turned on the light, my gaze swept the studio space—a place that had felt more like a home than any other place had. It didn’t feel that way anymore. I couldn’t even let Brutus inside with all the damage and debris littering the floor. That only had my anger burning brighter, which was intensified by my stubbornness. Whoever this asshole was didn’t get to win.
I stormed back onto the stoop and picked up the stack of cleaning supplies. I’d need to refill them before long, but at least this would get me started. It wasn’t that people hadn’t offered to help. All my siblings had, so had Nora and Lolli. And of course, Linc. Cope had even offered to hire a team to come in.
And it wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate the offers. It was that I needed to do it myself.
Three days.
Three days since someone had infiltrated my safe space and smashed it all to hell. Three days since someone had tried to scare the hell out of me.
My gaze moved to the writing on the wall. YOU CAN’T HIDE.
I wanted to scream at the person who’d written it. Rage. I wasn’t hiding. That part of my life was over. I was living. And I wouldn’t let them stop me.
I’d erase them from every inch of this place and then go right on with my life. Moving around the room, I opened every window and propped the two doors open, as well. It wasn’t like I was at risk.
A patrol car was parked between my house and the studio—it or another was present since the day I’d discovered it all. I hadn’t slept in an empty house since then either. My siblings had offered to slumber party it, right up until Linc said he would stay. Lolli had loved that idea.
“Woo-hoo. The broody billionaire bites the dust. I can’t decide, is he stoic in the sack or wild? Each would have their benefits.”
A few shouts, Rho’s laughter, and Shep gagging had stopped her from saying more. I’d wanted to crawl under a rock. Linc had just grinned at her and winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
But Linc hadn’t made a move. I’d waited as he showered, my breath catching when he came out shirtless and in nothing but gray sweats—basically lingerie for men. Only, all he’d done was turn out the lights and hold me.
Each morning, I woke with my face pressed to his throat and more turned on than ever. Linc would mutter something about needing a cold shower and then disappear. If this studio destroyer didn’t take me out, my blue lady balls would.
Pulling out the paint tray, I filled it with baking soda and then poured a little hydrogen peroxide in. I swirled it together to form the paste my research had told me was good for removing blood from surfaces—research I was certain had gotten me on some sort of watch list. I was just glad it hadn’t been human blood.
Trace had sent a sample off for testing and it had come back as pig’s blood. They were now canvassing butchers in the area to get a list of people who had purchased the stuff. The thought made my stomach churn.
They weren’t going to win.
Flipping on my music to some mind-numbing decibel, I got to work. I lost myself in the rage-filled riffs and angry refrains of song after song. It helped. It bled out all I wanted to but wasn’t quite ready for.
I started with the walls and worked in a circle, leaving the paste to sit. Then I got out the industrial trash bags Fallon had picked up for me. I threw away ruined tools and paints and countless other supplies. But when I got to the statue in the center of the room, the real heartbreak set in.
The woman reaching out wasn’t a picture of hope now. She looked as if she’d fought a battle and lost. The metal was covered in blood, pieces of her face were smashed in, and the hand was broken. As I studied her more closely, I saw that it looked like someone had taken a bat or some other solid object to her. Bastard.
My music switched off, and I whirled, automatically assuming a defensive stance. Instead of some hired hitman, I found Trace glaring at me with Anson and Linc behind him. My brother prowled forward, carefully restrained rage coursing through him. “Someone breaks into your studio, leaves what is very clearly a threat, and you think it’s a great time to blast your music with all the doors and windows open?”
“Trace,” Linc warned, his jaw going hard.
“I know she’s been through a lot, but I’m not about to let her be an idiot about her safety,” Trace shot back.
Linc moved then, getting in Trace’s face. “I know you’re tweaked and scared as hell something’s going to happen to her. But you do not get to speak to her like that. Not ever. But especially not in front of me. ”
Trace’s eyes flared in surprise as he took in Linc with new eyes. “This serious?”
“If Vicious wanted to share that information, she would.”
My heart stutter-stepped as a wave of fear hit me hard. Serious. We hadn’t even slept together. As if that would keep Linc out of my goddamned heart. He was like a ninja, sneaking into places without me even noticing he was there.
Trace looked from Linc to me and back again. “Fuck,” he muttered.
His use of the curse word meant he was at the end of his rope. He generally tried to avoid anything that could accidentally get passed on to Keely. He scrubbed his hand over his face, and I noticed the stubble on his jaw was a little thicker now.
That had guilt settling in. Trace had been working around the clock to find something—anything—that would point us toward the culprit. “Sorry, T-money. I figured I’d be safe to rage-clean with someone out front. I’ll be more mindful.”
Trace blinked at me a few times before speaking. “One, did you just call me T-money?”
My lips twitched. “Maybe.”
“Am I a rapper now?”
“I’m fairly certain you are far too much of a rule follower to be a rapper.”
Anson choked on a laugh, knowing I was right.
Trace sent him a scathing look. “Hey. I’ll have you know I drove five miles over the speed limit on my way here.”
“Shit,” Anson muttered. “Someone call his second-in-command. He needs to be relieved of duty.”
“I hate you all,” Trace muttered.
“No, you love us. But we give you gray hair.” I ditched my cleaning gloves and moved into his space, swiping at the tiny flecks of silver at his temples.
“The insults keep pouring in.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist and gave him a tight hug. “Sorry, T-money. ”
He hesitated for a moment and then hugged me back, hard. “I just worry about you.”
“I know. And I don’t handle that well.”
Trace pulled back and stared down at me. “Who are you, and what did you do with my sister? You’re all agreeable.”
A laugh bubbled out of me. “You know, that’s a little insulting.”
One corner of Trace’s mouth kicked up. “Insulting or accurate?”
“Both, damn it.”
That only made him grin wider. “No one knows you like your siblings.”
Wasn’t that the truth? But as I studied him, once more taking in the presence of all three of them, the smile slipped from my face. “You found something.”
Trace’s expression shifted then, too. He lost some of the amusement, and his usual stoic mask slipped back into place. “Nothing concrete, but I brought Anson on board as a consultant.”
Anson scoffed. “What he means is that he paid me a dollar and made me sign a contract.”
“You accepted it,” Trace shot back.
“Thank you,” I cut in, meeting Anson’s stare. I knew it cost him to put those profiler shoes back on. And he only did it for the people he loved. Because he’d fallen so head over heels for Rhodes, he’d do it for me.
“It’s no big thing.”
“It is a big thing. And I appreciate it,” I said, steeling myself for whatever might come.
Trace shifted into official mode, his shoulders straightening, and his voice slipping into his no-nonsense tone. “We’re working this one from multiple angles. I’ve got the local push. Anson’s tackling the profile and connecting with his resources at the bureau, and Linc has provided some private resources.”
My gaze cut to Linc. “Private resources?”
He met my stare and didn’t look away. No part of him was intimidated by my challenge. I should’ve known as much. “I work with a security company out of Seattle. They have a different sort of resource network, along with a unique perspective on security systems and personal safety.”
“The one Cope used to upgrade the system here? Holt Hartley’s company, Anchor?” I asked.
Linc nodded. “Holt’s a silent partner now. He’s too busy running a search and rescue team in Washington.”
“Yeesh. Hero complex, much?” I muttered.
Linc’s lips twitched. “Not anymore. But he did design a new system for your workshop. The equipment already arrived. I’ve got an installer ready to go as soon as we finish clean-up in here.”
That twitchy feeling took root again, the one that sparked the not entirely rational fear that held me hostage. I did everything I could to shove it down.
“Do you really think that will change anything?” I asked. “There was a system on it when someone broke in.”
“That wasn’t exactly a system,” Trace cut in. “You have cameras and locks, but all it took was them cutting the external power source, and the cameras didn’t do shit. All we have is that one shot. This system will be hardwired to the power grid, and those lines will be buried, just like they are at Cope’s. We’ll do the same for your house.”
I battled not to argue. Logically, I knew it was the smart play. Knew I needed those precautions in place to keep me safe. But each new thing felt like a metal bar, and once they were all in place, I’d be in prison.
Linc moved in, reading my thoughts like a note scrawled on a page. “It’s not forever. Just for a little while. We’re going to find this asshole, and you won’t have to worry anymore. You can play that noise as loud as you want in the middle of the night with all your doors and windows open.”
“I’m gonna get a noise complaint from miles away,” Trace muttered.
“It’s good to have goals,” I shot back. But the humor I searched for in those words didn’t come.
Linc’s fingers slid through mine, squeezing. “Just a little while. Cope tried to hire a three-person bodyguard team, so be thankful I talked him down from that. The new system was our compromise.”
I gaped up at him. “A three-person bodyguard team?”
“Pretty sure he suggested a dozen at first,” Trace said.
“Jesus,” I mumbled. “I’ll take the security system.”
Linc squeezed my hand and then released it. “See, told you she’d come around.”
Anson’s gaze followed the hand movement—the reassuring gesture, the release of it. I could imagine his genius brain putting all the pieces together, but I hated thinking about what he might find.
“Thank God for small miracles,” Trace said.
I stuck out my tongue at him. “Hey, I’m agreeable now, remember?”
He chuckled. “Fair enough. All right, from my corner of things, we’ve got a deputy here while you are. They will be your tail for the foreseeable future. The county lab is still running trace analysis, but we’re guessing the perp wore gloves in here. We haven’t found a single print other than yours, not even on the broken items.”
Damn. I was hoping whoever it was would be an idiot and leave a path straight to them. But that would be too easy.
“Anson?” Trace asked, tossing the baton.
I forced myself to look at the broody profiler but couldn’t help but fear that he was about to lay all my secrets bare with his mental sorcery.
Anson met my gaze, and I swore he was trying to reassure me somehow. “We’re looking at a progression in events, an escalation.”
Even though Linc was no longer touching me, he was close enough that I felt him stiffen. As if the air around his body vibrated at a higher frequency due to the tension in his muscles. “Meaning this will keep getting worse,” he surmised, his voice taking on a deadly air.
“It means that Arden isn’t giving whoever this is the reaction they want. That can be a good thing or a bad thing.”
I mulled that over, frowning. “That doesn’t make sense. If this is linked to my past, it means someone’s trying to silence me again. Why not just take me out while I’m crossing the street sniper-style, or blow up my car? Why are they playing with me?”
A muscle in Linc’s jaw fluttered wildly. “Could you please not talk about all the ways you could get dead?”
“Seconded,” Trace mumbled.
“Sorry, but it’s true.”
Anson nodded. “You have a point. And it sometimes helps to approach it logically, not personally.”
He was right. Because if I really let it sink in that someone wanted to hurt me—possibly kill me—after everything I’d fought through to get safe…I wasn’t sure I could keep going.
“A couple of things,” Anson went on. “We don’t know for sure this is about your past. One of the things I wanted to talk to you about was if anyone has been paying closer attention to you lately. Anyone new in your life?”
“The deputies already asked me?—”
“Quentin Arison,” Linc spat, cutting me off.
Anson pulled out his phone. “Who is he?”
“A douchebag. But he doesn’t exactly strike me as the type to get his hands dirty.” I gestured around the space. “This took work. Quentin wears three-piece suits and thousand-dollar dress shoes.”
Anson met my gaze as though he needed to know I was hearing him. “This takes rage, Arden. It’s personal on some level, but that doesn’t mean it will necessarily make logical sense to you or me. Someone whose mind has twisted on them can see something as slight as you not smiling at them as justification for this.”
“She refused to go on a date with him. Refused to sell art to him before the auction,” Linc cut in. “I had someone on my security team do a little digging. Family wealth, from Europe. Used to getting what he wants. His reputation is less than stellar.”
I turned slowly to Linc. “You had a background check done on him because he asked me out?”
Linc shrugged as if it was completely logical. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you. ”
Trace choked on a laugh. “And I bet that had nothing to do with him asking her out.”
Oh, Jesus. I would never hear the end of this.
Linc ignored him and turned back to Anson. “You said you had a couple of things.”
Anson nodded. “I talked with my old partner at the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and the agent who has the case. They haven’t seen any movement.”
“But?” I asked.
One corner of Anson’s mouth tugged up the barest amount as if he was trying to smile but couldn’t quite get there. “Whoever was pulling the strings back then stayed under the radar. We still have no clue who ordered the hit or who the second person in that hallway was. There are no phone records, no emails. We have no idea how they were communicating.”
I knew all that. “If there’s nothing, and I obviously haven’t remembered a damn thing, why would someone risk trying to hurt me now?”
“Arden, whoever had your parents killed uses people like pawns to get what they want. And they were smart enough to make it so we couldn’t trace anything back to them. Even the few cases we know your dad threw don’t have a common thread.”
The reminder of what my dad had done felt like a stinging slap. He had thrown away his purpose and family for just a little bit more .
Anson pressed on. “Someone like that won’t want any loose threads. They won’t want to take that risk. They’ll have been looking for you this whole time. And the kinds of people someone like that would hire for this type of work? Their brains don’t process empathy the same way others do. Some simply disassociate from the fact that they’re taking a human life. But others? They get joy from it and the hunt. And those people would play with you before they killed you. Just because it makes it more fun.”