Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
COLE
A s soon as I’m back in my car, I hit the button for Sawyer’s number and turn on speaker phone.
“King.”
“Heard you had a convo with the principal,” I say in lieu of a greeting.
“Figured you were going to get to it sooner rather than later. Also thought it wouldn’t hurt to give Ms. Whittaker’s workplace a heads-up that you would be hanging around.”
“I appreciate it.”
“How’d it go?”
“He wanted some assurances about the safety of his staff and students. Since whoever it is seems to be targeting Hannah Grace, I see no reason to be concerned that anyone else is in jeopardy. With or without me at school.”
Whoever it was, they wanted to scare Hannah Grace. But I had no idea why.
“You sound like you’re driving.”
“I am. Heading back to Hannah Grace’s to see if I can figure anything out about who was in her place.”
“Have you thought about installing a camera?” Sydney pipes up from the background.
“What the hell? Did you bug Sawyer’s phone and join in for fun?” I ask.
It’s six in the morning in LA.
“I asked Sydney to come in and show me what she did for Featherlight’s security on their servers.”
“And the best time to do that was six?”
“It helps from a bandwidth perspective. And no one else is at work yet. We wrote it into their contract that the latest they want me running anything is no later than seven,” Sydney explains. “Now what about the camera?”
“Awww, Syd, look at you sounding all adult and rational. I figured you might have a suggestion or two for one I can pick up that can be monitored and recorded remotely.”
“Oh my God, is know-it-all Cole asking me for recommendations?” Every word drips with her signature sarcasm.
“Don’t let it go to your head. You have more time than I do to track down that kind of stuff.”
“Who needs to track it down? I already have a list of what I recommend. Let me see if they have what I’m thinking of local and you can pick it up. Otherwise we’ll have to ship it and that could take a few days.”
I bite back the groan.
A few days in close quarters with Hannah Grace is not what I need. Even if it might be what my body craves.
“Find something local.” I bite the words out.
“Sir, yes, sir,” she snarks and I can picture her saluting.
“Sydney, put your arm down,” Sawyer tells her.
Called it.
“Do either of you have any suggestions for a full security system?” I ask, changing the subject.
I have no doubt Sawyer does.
“I have a couple of concepts I can send you. What are you thinking? Windows? Doors? Motion sensors?” Sawyer asks.
“I—”
“Does Hannah Grace want a security system?” Sydney asks.
“I haven’t talked to her about it.”
If it keeps her safe, of course she’ll want it.
“Since it’s her house and she’s going to have to pay for it, don’t you think you should ask?”
“I’m trying to keep her safe. You should recognize that. Your apartment is like a maximum security prison.”
“Part of that was at Jax’s insistence. He’s pretty protective of Jessie.”
Sydney lives with her college roommate, Jessie Bryant, whose older brother is a famous musician. But the few times I’ve been to their place, I’ve been impressed by the amount of security for the two of them.
“And,” Sydney continues, “there’s a difference in that I control the security of my house, Cole. I don’t have some overprotective Neanderthal shoving it on me with an ‘ask forgiveness’ mentality. You need to see what Hannah Grace wants.”
“What she wants doesn’t matter. What matters is keeping her safe.” I’m all but yelling at the dash.
Why can’t Sydney understand that protecting Hannah Grace is the most important thing? She is the client.
Yeah, because you’d argue like this for anyone .
“Why don’t you talk to Ms. Whittaker and get her thoughts on a security system?” Sawyer breaks into the conversation.
But I’m not giving this up.
“I still?—”
“I’ll send you the specs. But don’t do anything until she approves.”
I turn into Hannah Grace’s neighborhood and relax my grip on the steering wheel.
“Did you see my notes I sent you on the names I got from Hannah Grace and on Zach’s socials?” I ask, attempting to lower my blood pressure by choosing something else to talk about.
“I did. I’ve already managed to track down three of the five on the dating app—God, remind me I will never be that desperate. Do you know how many dick pics Hannah Grace had in her deleted messages? Gag.”
Her comment is not helping my blood pressure.
“Fuck, Sydney, I don’t want to hear about that.”
“What? It’s the truth. It makes me feel a little better that none of those guys got a response in return. The five she scheduled dates with were all aboveboard from what I can see. One with a second date ended up messaging her after on their lack of chemistry, so I’ve already eliminated him. The second wasn’t as nice, so I’m diving a little deeper. Seems our boy struck out with a bunch of women he met for dates.”
Red hazes my vision and I take several deep breaths for it to clear.
“What about the partial plate?”
“You just fucking sent that! How about asking me about something I’ve had a little time to look into. Like the socials.”
My molars click together.
“Fine,” I grit out. “Tell me.”
“Say please.”
I’m going to need some serious dental work after this.
“Sydney,” Sawyer warns before I can say anything.
“You guys seriously are no fun. It’s perfectly fine to give me shit, but neither of you can take it as well as you can dish it out.”
“Sydney,” Sawyer repeats her name.
She sighs.
“Fine. I’m running a couple of different programs both on the current social media and seeing if anything else exists with his info. So far, all I can tell is your boy has a serious hard-on for your ex-girlfriend.”
Will she ever learn to sugarcoat anything?
“Sydney.” This time Sawyer’s use of her name is more like an invocation.
Probably for patience.
“What? It’s true. You’ve seen it too.”
The silence on Sawyer’s part is all the confirmation I need.
Tell me something I don’t know .
Zach wants more with Hannah Grace. Whether she does is not as clear.
“He’s her friend,” I tell the two of them.
“Does he have any ideas? Has he seen anybody outside the school or around them when they’re together?”
“The grocery store guy. He’s the one who gave me the partial plate.”
“Does he know about the dating apps?” Sawyer asks.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“You didn’t ask him?” The surprise is clear in Sawyer’s question.
“The dating apps are none of his business,” I growl.
“If my best friend were on a dating app, she would tell me. There’s safety in phoning a friend on a bad date,” Sydney says.
“He wants more. I’m sure her sharing that with him would be awkward.”
“Does she know that he wants more?” Sawyer asks.
“I have no fucking idea. This is only my second full day here. I’ve been a little busy talking to the police, getting Hannah Grace settled at the hotel, and cleaning up fucking flowers.”
“Do I need to come out there? I can tell Evie?—”
“No. This is my assignment.”
And no one is going to replace me. Even if it’s my boss.
“What if it’s an order?” The question is quiet, but steady. Exactly like Sawyer himself.
“What would you do if it was Evie?” I fire back.
I already have the answer. Sawyer had almost gotten himself killed protecting his now wife when her ex-label rep found out where she was hiding. Granted, he found out from Sawyer, but neither of us expected the asshole to brain Sawyer with a rock that could have killed him.
“Fine. But if you get too close, I will replace you.”
“Not going to happen. She hates me.”
It didn’t change how I felt about her. How I had always felt about her.
I pass Hannah Grace’s house and turn onto the adjoining street before I park. I don’t want the neighbors to question my car’s presence if any of them happen to be home, and I’m less conspicuous on foot.
“I’m at Hannah Grace’s now. I’ll circle back with you if I find anything. Syd, keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
We may irritate the shit out of each other, but I know I can trust her. Just like she knows she can trust me too. The phone beeps and I pocket it only to have it vibrate with a text. Sawyer’s name is on the screen when I pull it back out.
SAWYER
She may hate you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t still have feelings for her.
Didn’t ask about the police. Anything?
Nothing yet. They told me they’d call with updates.
Got assigned a detective. Murphy O’Connell.
SAWYER
Keep me up to date.
SAWYER
And be careful.
Something tells me Sawyer isn’t just talking about my physical safety. But I can keep myself in check. I will find who’s terrorizing Hannah Grace so that she can move on with her life. It’s the least I can do.
Much like every other time I’ve been on Hannah Grace’s street, it’s quiet. A dog barks on the next street over but no cars and no people on her street.
The late model Jeep is in the driveway again. Pulling out my phone, I snap a pic and text it to Sydney. This time her response is the middle finger emoji which for her is the same as a thumbs-up.
“Can I help you?” The voice is smooth as velvet, a southern drawl coloring the tone, but the steel is unmistakable.
It’s not often I’m caught off guard, but I didn’t see anyone come up behind me. Whirling around, I reach for the gun tucked against my back. My hand closes around the handle, but I keep it there given that he appears unarmed.
“Who the fuck are you?” I ask the man standing in front of me.
“Who the fuck are you?” he repeats.
“I asked you first.”
Because that’s a strong argument.
“Well, given that you’re taking a picture of my fucking Jeep, I’d say I get to know who you are first.”
“This is yours?” I gesture to the SUV.
He crosses muscular arms across his chest.
“That’s what I said. Now who the fuck are you?”
“I’m a friend of Hannah Grace’s.”
“She’s not home,” he says.
If anything, I’m sure the stone-cold glare he’s giving me is meant to send me on my way. Too bad I don’t scare easy.
“Who are you?” I repeat.
“You think I’m just going to buy the fact that you’re a friend of Hannah Grace’s and you don’t know her schedule? You’re not the first asshole I’ve sent packing. Probably won’t be the last.”
“Goddammit. I am friends with her. My company sent me to protect her. I know she’s fucking at school. I have a key to her house.” I lift the key from my pocket.
He huffs a laugh.
“That could be your key for all I know. Prove you’re her friend.”
Fuck. How do I do that? Especially since we’re not really friends and she’s instead just putting up with my presence here.
“My name is Cole Strickland?—”
“You’re Cole?” he asks, relaxing his stance slightly.
“She’s mentioned me?”
“A time or two. Is that really her key?”
“Yes. You can text or call her if you want but she’s probably got about twenty five-year-olds running around her right now.”
He nods slowly, his bright green eyes losing their wary expression. He shifts closer, extending a hand that I reluctantly shake.
“Braeden Medina. I’m Hannah Grace’s neighbor.”
“Cole Strickland.”
One corner of his lips quirks.
“I take it whatever you’ve heard hasn’t been the best?”
“You could say that. I haven’t heard much. But one night she came to the bar I work at to hang out. She ended up having one too many and your name was on repeat for the rest of the evening. And before you ask, no, I didn’t send her home by herself. I brought her home and made sure she was all set before going back to my own house.”
“How did you know I would ask?”
He lifts a shoulder and lets it drop.
“It’s the next question I would have if I was in your shoes. Especially with her. Your girl gets quite a bit of attention.”
I don’t bother to correct him.
“You lived here long?” I ask.
“I moved in about six months before Hannah Grace. It’s a quiet neighborhood, but better to be safe than sorry, you know? We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well over the last few years. I’m just looking out for her the same as I would want someone to do with my sisters.”
“Appreciate it. You said you’ve seen other guys around here?”
“A couple. I didn’t catch any names, and since I didn’t see them back again, figured they got the hint.” The smirk he gives me reminds me a lot of myself.
“Anyone recent?”
“Last one was a couple of months ago. Why?” His wariness is back as he eyes me.
“I’m not really able to say right now. But there’s a reason I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
He nods. “Good to hear it.”
“You’ll let me know if you see anything I should be aware of?”
“Absolutely. If you need me, Hannah Grace has my number. Or you can find me at Duke’s. That’s where I bartend most nights.”
He reaches over and we shake hands again.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head to bed. I was moving in that direction when I saw you staring at my Jeep.”
He leaves and I’m left alone outside Hannah Grace’s. I’m glad she seems to have found a community to keep an eye on her.
Are you?
Does Braeden have feelings for Hannah Grace? If so, I didn’t get that vibe. But I don’t need to add to her list of admirers, even if he is a suspect until proven otherwise.
“Okay, Strickland, this isn’t getting anything done. You didn’t find anything outside yesterday. But whoever was here was in the house.”
Which means maybe they left a clue. Pulling the key from my pocket, I unlock the front door and let myself into the dimly lit living room.
Thank God Hannah Grace didn’t fight me when I asked to hang on to it last night.
The air is a mix of cinnamon and vanilla, the room as clean as it was last night when we left. Several candles crowd the mantel next to a picture of Hannah Grace and Laura Leigh in front of the gazebo in Mistletoe Creek’s town square. The sundresses and Laura Leigh’s age in the photo tell me it was taken within the last few years. Laura Leigh’s graduation maybe? Hannah Grace and I took a similar picture after our high school graduation in that same spot. Does she still have that picture? Mine is tucked in an envelope in a box I refuse to open. Clearing my throat, I yank myself out of memory lane and back to my task at hand.
The light layer of dust is undisturbed, and I turn for the hallway to her bedroom, moving slowly as I look for any sign of whoever visited here yesterday. There’s an errant flower petal—a semi fresh one—that I pick up and pocket from where it rests against the closed door to a combination guest room and office.
The brass door handle to Hannah Grace’s bedroom is shiny, wiped clean of any evidence. I asked her about it last night and the way the color drained from her face, it was clear that whoever left the flowers had also wiped the handle clean. We kept the door open when we left, and the curtains are pulled across the windows, casting a dim light through the room. I open them carefully, looking along the ground for any sign that someone may have left. But whoever was here is good.
Too good .
There’s absolutely no sign of anyone but Hannah Grace in this room. Even under the bed when I drop to my hands and knees and lift the bed skirt.
“What the fuck?” I mutter to myself and stand.
For any sign of someone being here, they might as well be a ghost. Except ghosts don’t leave tangible “gifts” on my ex-girlfriend’s bed.
No prints, no wrappers from pockets, no nothing, and I’m back at square one wondering who the hell is harassing her and if I can figure it out before I lose my sanity.
Frustrated at the lack of anything, I lock up the house and head back to my car. Sydney has texted that she ordered the cameras she wanted from the local electronics store so I pick them up, stopping back by the house and installing one at the back door and one at the front. There are still too many entrances that I can’t cover with the cameras, but the others are all windows that are locked tightly—confirmed all three times that I check them before locking the house back up again.
With nothing else to do at the house, I stop by and pick up lunch for Hannah Grace and me and head back to the school.
I meet her in the lobby of the school, her face brightening when our eyes connect.
“Happy to see me?” I tease.
“I had just reconciled to eating cafeteria food. What’d you bring?” She nods toward the plastic bag clutched in my hand.
“It’s a surprise.”
She steps closer and studies the bag, but there’s no label on it, so I don’t try to hide it from her.
“What’d you bring me?”
A corner of my mouth kicks up in a soft smile. Her question transports me back to a simpler time when I would show up at Silver Screens, the movie theater in Mistletoe Creek where Hannah Grace worked in high school, with dinner for her. She had always loved breakfast for dinner so I took a chance with breakfast for lunch.
“Want to go to your classroom to eat? I want to talk to you about a few things.”
She gives me an odd look, confusion and curiosity painted in the arch of her eyebrows before she nods.
“Okay.”
The silence that engulfs us on the short walk to her classroom isn’t awkward, but companionable.
Is she thinking about all those times I’d swing by when she was working and we’d share whatever plates Mama had packed? She always seemed to recognize that I was going to eat again and inevitably packed a plate for Hannah Grace and a second one for me.
My mouth waters for the Sunday roast that was my favorite, and I make a note to visit my parents after this job is over and sweet-talk Mama into a good, old-fashioned Sunday dinner.
“When was the last time you were home?” I ask as we step into her classroom.
The smell of crayons and glue permeates the air as Hannah Grace moves gracefully to fold herself on the carpet at the front of the room. I eye the desk, but join her on the floor where she starts to unpack two takeout containers I grabbed from the diner.
“I usually go back in the summer, but I taught summer school this year. Last Christmas was my last trip back. You know Mom and Dad.”
The words are almost silent, even in the quiet classroom.
She’s right. I do. They both play Santa and Mrs. Claus every year for breakfast with Santa for the entire town on Christmas Eve. Mistletoe Creek is home and is one of my favorite places in the world, but it shines the brightest at Christmas.
“Not even a weekend here or there?” I ask, picking up the Styrofoam container marked with my name.
She sinks her teeth into her lush lower lip, her focus moving to the container in her lap before she shakes her head.
“It’s…hard,” she finally says.
Maybe she doesn’t go home because it’s just as hard for her as it is for you .
Guilt eats at my stomach and I drop my gaze to the alphabet pattern on the dark blue rug. She loves Mistletoe Creek.
Doesn’t sound like it anymore .
“You brought me biscuits and gravy?” she asks, and I blink at the Styrofoam container still clutched in my grip before I lift my gaze to where she’s opened hers.
“You still like breakfast for dinner?”
“Pfft. I like breakfast anytime. Especially the b&g goodness.”
“There’s bacon too.” I point at the pile in the container and attempt to ignore my body’s reaction to the moan that hums from her lips.
I open my own box and start eating the scramble I ordered for myself.
“What’d you order?” She leans over and makes a face. “Ew.”
“Still don’t like eggs?” I ask around my fork.
“Deviled only.”
“Good, that means I don’t have to share.” I focus on my food, polishing it off quickly while she works on hers.
“I forgot how fast you eat,” she mumbles as I reach over and throw my container in her trash can.
“There isn’t always extra time for food. Eat when you can.”
Her expression is full of mischief that morphs to a look full of fire.
“There’s always time to savor.” Her lips wrap around the words as she draws out the last syllable, her tongue sliding along her lips before her expression morphs back to one of amusement.
“I never said I didn’t have time to savor.” I fight her fire with one of my own.
She clears her throat and centers her attention on her fork as she drags it through the leftover gravy.
“You said you wanted to talk to me about a few things. What’s up?” she asks, but keeps her gaze averted.
Moment over .
It’s for the best. But if that’s the case, why do I want to reach over and lift her chin with my fingers?
I take a deep breath and blow it out.
“I went to the house to check things out. Nothing new since last night.” I don’t bother to hide my disappointment.
“I didn’t think you missed anything.” There’s no censure in her voice, none of the distrust that normally colors every word with bad memories.
Instead, she seems…understanding.
“I was hoping I would have seen something. Maybe if they come back the cameras will catch them.”
She chokes on the drink of water she’s taking, coughing and sputtering until she can speak.
“Cameras?”
“I also want your opinion on the security system we’re going to install at your house.”
She drops her fork, her spine straightening as her eyes narrow.
“Excuse me?”
Danger, danger, abort .
I ignore the alarm.
“You need something for the house. Something that can help protect you.”
“I’ve lived alone for almost four years. I think I’m the one qualified to make that decision about my house. I don’t want a security system.”
“If you’re worried about the cost, I?—”
“First, I’m not worried about the cost. I can pay for myself. Second, read my lips. I. Do. Not. Want. A. Security. System . ” She ticks a finger up for every word she spits in my direction.
“I want—need—you safe, Hannah Grace. I couldn’t stand if something happened to you.”
“Why do you care all of a sudden? You didn’t care for the last four years.”
“That’s not true. I’ve always cared about you.”
She scoffs.
“Yeah, right. You have a great way of showing it.”
“I stayed away from you because I care. Because you deserve more than the life I could have given you.”
She stands and throws her trash into the can by her desk.
“Why don’t you want a security system?” I ask.
I’ve never had someone argue against one so adamantly. But she hasn’t told me why.
“I’m not getting into this with you. I’ve managed to look after myself for years. I take a self-defense class every year with Zach. I’m not putting a security system at my house. That’s final.”
Trying to argue with her when she’s shutting down like this is a lost cause.
“Okay, fine. Just tell me why. If you give me a good reason, I’ll let it go.”
She sighs but doesn’t say anything. That’s fine. I can bide my time and wait for her to respond.
“Because if I get one it admits that it’s real. That someone really did break into my house.”
The words are whispered against her whiteboard, but each one pierces my heart.
I close the distance, lifting my hands to rub up and down her arms.
“It’s real regardless. I just want you to be safe. And I promised not to push, so I won’t.”
She steps out of the circle of my arms and moves closer to her desk.
“Thank you.”
“I only promised on the security system. And only for right now. I reserve the right to change my mind if something else happens. But would you agree to cameras?”
She blows out a breath and sets a strand of blonde hair waving next to her cheek. I have to clench my fists at my side to fight the temptation to shift the hair behind her ear.
“Where?” she asks.
“The front and back doors. There’s an app we can monitor, and it notifies you when there’s motion at each door.”
“If I let you install the cameras, does that mean I can go home?”
I fidget uncomfortably, not admitting that I’ve already installed them.
“I still don’t think it’s safe to stay there by yourself.”
“Well…I do have a guest room. Maybe…I want to go home, Cole.”
“So you’d be willing to let me stay in your guest room?”
Am I insane even considering this idea? The hotel is bad enough. But her house? Surrounded by everything Hannah Grace all the time?
“Yeah.”
“If I say yes, will you not yell at me for already installing the cameras?”
“You already installed them?!”
“If it means you can go back home?”
She closes her eyes, her lips moving as she mutters numbers under her breath.
“Fine,” she grits out. “If it means I can go home, you’re forgiven.”
There’s still an edge to her voice, but I’ll take it.
“You want to see?” I ask, pulling my phone out and opening the app the cameras feed to.
Our fingers brush as I pass her the phone, the electric current zinging up my arm. I lock my jaw, fighting my body’s reaction. And failing.
“And they’re only staying until we find out whoever’s doing this.”
“Let’s talk about that later. I’m going to try to convince you to keep them. To add everything, Hannah Grace. Someone has been in your house at least once, probably more times than that. And who knows if they’ve ever decided to come in while you’re there. You may not want them, but please just think about it.”
She opens her mouth—I’m sure to argue with me—before snapping it shut.
“If you really don’t want them, I’ll pull them down once this is done,” I promise her.
It’s the only promise I can keep with her.
“Can I have this app?” She holds up my phone.
I nod. “Of course. Where’s your phone?”
She bends behind her desk, and I try not to zero in on the curves of her ass under the light purple fabric of her pants. My dick has no problems with focusing on the way the fabric outlines her body, and my hands flex with a mind of their own.
Thank God for the rough denim of my jeans that hides my semi.
“Here.” She hands me the unlocked phone without touching me.
I find the app and install it, logging her in.
“The password is Mistletoe Creek and your birthday,” I tell her, passing her back the phone.
The alarm starts to sound on her phone.
“I have to go pick up the kids from lunch.”
“What are you going to tell them about me?” We probably should have spent some of the lunch period coming up with that plan.
She shrugs.
“You’re a friend from home visiting and wanted to meet the kids. They’re five. They’re just excited when someone new is here.”
She’s right. Once the kids are back from lunch, she calls them to the carpet and introduces them to me, and we play a round of favorite things courtesy of the thousand and one questions they all want to ask. But once that’s done, the rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of activity, questions, and watching Hannah Grace in her element. She’s a natural with the kids, and by the time we’re walking them to the front door, I’m in awe of her and her ability to connect with her students. It leads me to imagine a different path I could have taken with my life. To watching Hannah Grace be the mother to our children.
Not that I can ever tell her that.
“Bye, Ms. W. Bye, Cole!” Adam, one of Hannah Grace’s students who was my shadow all day, waves and runs off to a woman standing with another student.
It’s chaos in front of the school for a few minutes as kids leave until only a few teachers remain.
“Now what?” Hannah Grace asks.
“You tell me. What do you do after school?”
She shrugs.
“A little classroom pick up and home.”
“So does that mean you want to go home tonight?”
She nods excitedly.
“So back to the hotel for our stuff?” I ask.
“Yes, please. I just need my bags and I’m ready to go.”
“I thought you said clean up too? Do you need some help?”
She shakes her head.
“It won’t take me long. Ten minutes?”
Ten minutes Hannah Grace-free before being immersed in her world. I’ll take that break. Gladly.
Anything for my sanity that already hangs by a thread.
She reaches over, throwing her arms around me in a quick hug.
“I’ll be right back.”
She skips down the hallway, and I can’t fight the smile that tugs at my lips.
“You guys seem to be getting along better,” Zach says, walking out of the gym and closing the door.
I shrug, but don’t say anything.
“She never could stay mad at anyone for long,” he adds.
His words hit a nerve, despite his conversational tone.
“Sounds like you know her really well.”
“Better than anyone.”
That fucking taps my nerve like a damn woodpecker in a tree, but I don’t let my irritation show.
“Glad you guys are such good friends.” It takes everything I have not to stress the last word, but I manage not to.
Barely.
This time he grunts in response.
“Tell HG I’ll call her later,” he says after several moments of awkward silence.
“Have a good night.”
He waves and the door slams shut behind him, leaving me alone in the lobby. But it isn’t long before Hannah Grace is back, her bags bumping along her hips with how quickly she’s moving.
“Ready?”
Fuck. To see her smile like this? I’d do anything to keep it in place.
Including giving up my sanity.
“Lead the way.”